The Italian's Touch. Carol Marinelli
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face broke into a grin. ‘Do you want me to check for bugs?’
‘Don’t be so flippant!’ Fleur checked herself instantly. This was a consultant she was talking to after all, not Alex—though his office did somehow resemble her son’s bedroom when left unchecked!
‘The reason I asked to speak to you in private is because I believe that when someone has a grievance, while I agree it should be aired, there is a correct way of going about it.’
‘I am sorry, Sister, I really don’t understand what you are talking about.’ He gestured to his chair. ‘May I sit for this?’
His question was unnecessary and curiously insolent, and Fleur stood rigid as he calmly made his way around the desk.
‘You screaming at the staff in Resus is not only rude, it is ineffective. In the time you spent shouting at Felicity you could have shown her how to work the machine. I don’t know how they do it in Italy, but it certainly doesn’t wash here.’
‘Doesn’t wash?’ He screwed up his forehead.
‘You know exactly what I mean.’
‘No, Sister, I don’t. In fact, since you bring it up, I will tell you how things are done in Italy. The staff there are qualified and competent. I do not have to ask three times for a drug, I do not have to stop bagging an unconscious patient and deprive them of oxygen so that I can show the nurse how the machine works. Now do you understand why I shout? And contrary to what you say, I happen to find my methods extremely effective. I got the drug, didn’t I? I got a nurse who could operate the equipment!’
‘There are better ways of going about things,’ Fleur said, though with rather less conviction.
‘On that we can agree.’ He gave her a smile but it did little to reassure her—Mario had definitely not finished proving his point! ‘For example, a better way might be to have the associate charge nurse, which I’ve been told you are, in Resus instead of down in Section B, doing the stuff that is taught to Girl Guides. Who knows? If the nurse unit manager put in an occasional appearance now and then, we might even have a semblance of a well-run emergency department.’
‘You don’t know all the circumstances,’ Fleur replied hotly.
‘So enlighten me.’
She was good and mad now and in no position to pour out her heart to this insufferable man. Turning smartly on her heel, she wrenched the door open.
‘Running off again, Sister? You really don’t like to be where the action is, do you?’
Fleur turned, her eyes blazing. ‘After hearing so many reports about how wonderful you were, Mr Ruffini, I thought we might be able to discuss this. I was obviously wrong. But as you yourself pointed out, I am an associate charge nurse, so next time you have a problem with one of my staff, please, have the common courtesy to allow me to deal with it before you lose your temper.’
‘I don’t doubt that there will be a next time, but I will certainly bear it in mind. Oh, and, Sister?’
Her hand tightened on the doorhandle but she forced herself to answer evenly. ‘Yes, Mr Ruffini.’
‘Would you mind fetching my coffee? I think I left it in the staffroom.’
She didn’t slam the door, that would have been childless and pointless. She didn’t even come up with a smart reply. But the salt cellar was so achingly close to his mug on the coffee-table and she was so blinded with unvented fury that Fleur did what was probably the one reckless thing she had ever done in her life.
And that was that.
War had been declared.
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