In His Loving Care. Jennifer Taylor
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‘THE next case is an interesting one. The patient’s name is Ben Harmon. He’s a farmer and two months ago he had a serious accident while he was ploughing one of his fields.’
Helen withdrew Ben Harmon’s file from her case and handed it to Lewis then started the car. They were onto their fifth call of the day and the anger she’d felt in the surgery still hadn’t abated. She could scarcely believe that he’d had the temerity to tell her how she should run the practice after he’d been there for just one week. Why on earth did he think that he knew more about running the place than she did?
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did at the surgery. You have every right to be annoyed with me.’
The apology caught her unawares so that the car swerved towards the ditch. Helen’s mouth compressed as she quickly righted it. She hated to feel so vulnerable. Lewis was the new partner in the practice—an incomer, as the people of Summerfield would have called him—and he shouldn’t have this effect on her. She had to nip these foolish feelings in the bud.
‘I’m not annoyed. You’re entitled to voice your opinion, just as I am entitled to veto any ideas I feel aren’t appropriate.’
‘Good.’
‘Good?’ She shot him a wary glance, taking care to keep her attention on the road this time. Fortunately, there was very little traffic about so there’d been no danger of her causing an accident earlier. However, she liked to be in control of everything she did, whether it was driving a car, diagnosing a patient or choosing a lover.
The last thought made her gasp and she bit her lip, hoping that he hadn’t heard the revealing little sound. She had never entertained such a salacious thought in the whole of her life and couldn’t understand why it had occurred to her now. It smacked of desperation and…and sexual frustration, and she could feel herself growing hot at the idea it was that which had prompted it.
The strange thing was that sex had never been that important to her. She’d had very little experience when she’d married Ian and their sex life had been rather disappointing at first until she’d realised that the bells and whistles she’d read about in books only happened in fiction, not real life. Once she had adjusted to the realities of married life, she’d grown to appreciate the feeling of closeness that love-making had engendered, and realised it was worth far more than the wild passion that was the staple of all those romance novels. However, that didn’t explain why it suddenly felt as though she’d been missing something.
‘What do you mean by “good”?’ she demanded, furious with him as well as with herself for getting carried away by such a foolish notion.
‘I meant it’s good that you aren’t annoyed and that you welcome input from your staff,’ he replied with a calm that merely highlighted her own waspishness.
‘I am always open to new ideas,’ she told him between gritted teeth. ‘However, as I made clear before, I shall decide how the surgery should be run.’
‘And whoever works there will just have to fit in.’
His tone was bland so she couldn’t blame that for the fact that she felt a bit ridiculous all of a sudden. It was completely contrary to her nature to lay down the law, yet that’s what she’d done both now and earlier on in the staffroom. She was sorely tempted to apologise for her behaviour, only she wasn’t sure if it would be wise to show any sign of weakness in front of him. It was a relief when he changed the subject by asking her about the patient they were about to visit.
‘I think I mentioned that Ben was ploughing when the accident happened,’ she explained in a deliberately neutral tone. ‘He ploughed up some old oildrums which had been dumped in one of the fields, and when he got off the tractor to see what they contained, he ended up inhaling a massive dose of raw chromium fumes.’
‘How on earth did drums of chromium get into his field?’
‘Nobody knows.’ Helen shrugged. ‘The police are still investigating, but they think it might have been waste from the local tannery. It closed down a couple of years ago and the police are trying to trace the owners.’
‘I see. So what happened to Mr Harmon as a result of the accident?’
‘There was some damage to his nasal passages but the ENT specialist has sorted that out now. The real problem has been the burns on his arms. He’s been seeing a plastic surgeon at the local hospital so today I want to check how he’s progressing.’
‘So this visit isn’t because he’s actually ill?’
‘No. But it’s our policy to follow up on a patient, as I explained at your interview,’ she said, trying not to bridle at the implied criticism.
‘I remember. I also recall telling you that it was a policy I’d adopted myself. However, when I saw patients following their surgery, it was because I was still responsible for their care. If you’ve passed this patient over to a consultant, I would have thought your part in the proceedings had ended.’
‘Follow-up care doesn’t come with a cut-off point. I was and still am Ben Harmon’s first point of call for any future medical treatment. I like to be fully prepared so I know what I might be dealing with.’
‘An admirable sentiment but also a luxury few GPs can afford. Most are happy to hand over a patient to someone else to free up their time.’
‘Then that’s obviously where I differ from most GPs. I take my responsibilities to my patients very seriously,’ she shot back, stung into replying with more vigour than she’d intended.
‘Maybe too seriously,’ he suggested, his voice grating in a way that made the hairs on the back of her neck spring to attention.
Helen didn’t reply, afraid that if she said anything it might be too revealing. Letting him know about the power he had over her would be a mistake and she knew it, too. However, her silence didn’t appear to deter him, as she’d hoped it would.
‘There’s no doubt that you’re totally committed to the welfare of your patients, Helen, but is it right that you should put them first all the time and yourself second?’
‘I have no idea what—’
‘I’m talking about,’ he finished for her. ‘And that just makes it worse. You obviously can’t see that it’s wrong to work yourself into the ground the way you’re doing, and wrong to devote every waking minute to your job.’
He placed his hand on her arm and she had to make a conscious effort not to react when she felt the warmth of his fingers seeping into her skin. ‘When was the last time you took a holiday, for instance?’
‘That’s none of your business,’ she retorted, shrugging off his hand because if she allowed it to remain there she’d want to feel it on other parts of her body as well.
The thought was too much, coming on top of all the others. She drew up at the side of the road and turned to glare at him. ‘How dare you pass judgement on how I choose to conduct my life? You’ve been at the surgery for less than a week yet you seem to think that you know everything about me.’
‘It wasn’t difficult to formulate a fairly clear picture of your life.’
He didn’t back down, certainly didn’t apologise, and her heart spasmed in fear because she wasn’t sure if she was up to winning this argument. Reaching for the handbrake, she went to set off again but this time his hand closed over hers, hard and firm as he stopped her.
‘Your life can be summed up in one word, Helen: work. While it might be admirable to show a certain degree of dedication, you are taking it to extremes, and that isn’t good for you or the rest of the staff. A good manager leads by example.’
‘Thank you for that advice, Dr Cole. However, this isn’t