of her hand. Anxiety was etched all over her face as she looked at Claire in concern. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? It must have been real scary for you, so don’t think you have to pull that stiff-upper-lip routine you Brits are famous for. If you want to bawl your eyes out then go right ahead.’
‘I’m fine. Really,’ Claire assured her. ‘OK, so it was a bit hairy at the time, but I was too angry to be really scared.’
‘Angry?’ Lola repeated. ‘You mean with the guys who were shooting at you?’
‘No. With Dr Jude Tobias Slater!’
Claire stood up and started to pace the room, her temper rocketing as she thought about all the things he had done that day. Ignoring her instructions to stay with the motorbike had been his first offence and his second had been the high-handed way he had taken charge. Maybe they were only minor misdemeanours in most people’s eyes but they were far more than that to her. Jude Slater had tried his best to undermine her at every turn and she had too much experience of the harm it could cause to allow that to happen to her again.
She turned and glowered at Lola. ‘The guy is a liability! He’s pushy and overbearing and, what’s more, he seems to think that he knows everything about what it takes to survive out here when he knows nothing at all. Would you believe that he actually expected there would be an MRI scanner in the hospital?’
‘It’s his first mission, though, hon.’
Lola shrugged, obviously trying to defuse the situation, but Claire didn’t want it to be defused. She wanted there to be tension between her and Jude, and lots of it, too, because it would help to blot out everything else. The one thing she mustn’t allow herself to do was to like him.
‘So?’ she scoffed. ‘I remember when you arrived, Lola. It was your first mission as well, but you didn’t expect there to be all kinds of fancy equipment here, did you?’
‘Ah, but I came straight from an inner-city public hospital, so my expectations were already fairly low.’
‘I suppose so.’ Claire gave a grudging smile. ‘From what you’ve told me, conditions there weren’t all that much better than they are here.’
‘You got that right, hon.’
Lola laughed. However, Claire knew that her friend was wondering why she had taken such an obvious dislike to the newest member of their team. There was no way she could explain that Jude reminded her of Andrew, not when she had told nobody about her former partner, so she remained silent and, after a moment, Lola carried on.
‘Dr Slater doesn’t have my kind of background, Claire. I checked his file while you were out and discovered that he’s been working in some fancy private hospital in London for the past five years. How’s he going to have any experience of real life when he’s been mixing with rich folks like that?’
‘In other words, I should cut him some slack—is that what you’re saying?’
‘I guess so. OK, so maybe you two didn’t hit it off, but don’t let first impressions colour your judgement. You guys are going to have to work together and it’s going to make life extremely difficult if you’re at each other’s throats all the time.’
Claire knew that Lola was right. However, the thought of having to work with him was too disturbing to deal with right then. She bolted down the rest of her coffee, fixing a smile into place when Lola looked at her in concern.
‘Don’t worry. I’m not about to do anything rash. I forgot to tell Dr Slater that he needs to sign in, so I’d better go and do it before I forget.’
‘You do that, hon. And I bet you find that he isn’t nearly as bad as you thought he was.’
Claire didn’t say anything. It would serve no purpose to argue with Lola. However, as she left the office, she knew that the one thing she wouldn’t do was try to improve her opinion of Jude Slater. She intended to keep him at arm’s length and the more things she could find to dislike about him, the easier it would be.
* * *
‘I’ll remove this section of bone. Then we can see how extensive the bleeding is.’
Jude bent over the operating table as he carefully eased the shattered section of bone from the man’s skull. It was delicate work and even the tiniest slip could have the most horrendous consequences for the patient but he knew that he possessed the necessary skills. He was a first-rate surgeon despite the fact that he spent most of his time these days stripping out varicose veins.
The thought that he wasn’t utilising his talent as he should be doing was unsettling. He had always believed that opting for the private sector had been the right decision. The perks which came with the job were all too obvious: an excellent salary; working hours which allowed him a healthy social life; an environment in which to work where the very best facilities were always available. However, he had to admit that he had become increasingly bored of late. Most of the work he did was purely routine and there was very little that stretched him. An operation like this was completely different. One slip and the patient could be left severely incapacitated and the thought put him on his mettle. As he suctioned away the massive haematoma that had formed inside the man’s skull, Jude realised in surprise that he was enjoying himself.
‘Clamp.’ He rapped out the instruction, nodding when the nurse at his side slapped the instrument into his palm. He clamped the damaged blood vessel then carefully removed two minute splinters of bone. Fortunately the meninges—the protective membranes which covered the brain—hadn’t been pierced, so once he had cauterised the vein, the bleeding stopped. Nevertheless, it was another hour before he was satisfied that he had done all he could. It was out of his hands now and up to nature to run its course.
Jude glanced at Bill Arnold, who was acting as his anaesthetist. ‘I’m going to call it a day. There’s not much more I can do for him.’
‘From what I saw, you did more than most would have attempted,’ Bill replied as he began to reverse the anaesthetic. ‘Good work, son.’
Normally, Jude would have bridled if anyone had called him son but for some reason he was touched by the compliment. ‘Thanks,’ he said lightly, not wanting the older man to guess that it meant anything to him.
He left Theatre, dropping his disposable cap into the bin on his way out before making his way to the changing room only to stop short when he opened the door and found Claire sitting on one of the benches. She immediately sprang to her feet when she saw him and he couldn’t help noticing how defensive she looked.
‘I forgot to tell you about signing in,’ she said quickly, and he winced when he heard the hostility in her voice.
It had been obvious when they were in Triage that he wasn’t exactly flavour of the month and he could only conclude that it was because of what had happened earlier in the day. Maybe he should have deferred to her instead of taking over like that, but in his own defence, he had been more concerned about their safety than her injured feelings. He had been right, too, he assured himself, so he would be damned if he would apologise when he had got them safely back to the hospital.
‘So tell me now,’ he said flatly, stripping off the top of his scrub suit and tossing it into the dirty-linen hamper. There was a stack of clean towels on a shelf, so he picked one up and flung it over his shoulder then glanced round when she didn’t reply. ‘Look, I don’t want to rush you but I would like to
