A Medical Liaison. Sharon Kendrick
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the tack of his talk, switching from esoteric deliberation to a simple yet unpatronising explanation which the student appeared to grasp quite easily. It seemed that he knew his stuff.
The dark head had turned in her direction. ‘Perhaps Dr Gray might be able to enlighten you on the aetiology of this syndrome?’
All the heads had swivelled in her direction—talk about being put on the spot! She began to rack her brain for the causes, when suddenly, to her relief, the facts came rushing back to her in the same smooth sequence that she’d learnt them from her textbook. Facts. Reliable, conclusive facts. Thank heavens for facts!
She recounted all that he had asked her fluently and at the end of her talk she saw that she had their total attention—she even thought she had noticed a rather grudging nod from Dr Forrester—but on that she could have been mistaken! At any rate, she had passed her first test with flying colours.
‘Not bad,’ he remarked, getting to his feet. ‘I think that’s all for today, everyone. Let’s go over to Belling now, Dr Gray.’
She followed him up the ward, having to move quickly in an effort to emulate his long-legged stride. As he passed the ward office, Mandy came out with a drug chart for him to sign which he did willingly enough, even muttering an aside which produced a wide grin from the ward sister. Mandy, for one, seemed to find him pleasant enough, Louisa thought.
The lift doors slid open and they stepped inside. It was empty save for them, and she was immediately aware of the enforced silence and lack of eye contact which travelling in a lift always seemed to provoke, but she wanted to clear the air.
‘Did you know that I was going to be working with you?’ she asked, staring up at him.
He shrugged. ‘I knew that I had a new houseman starting, yes, and I knew that it was a woman. Once I’d found out that you were a doctor, I didn’t need the ability of Einstein to work out that you were most probably that person.’
She was furious. ‘But you didn’t think it prudent to tell me that you were my new boss?’ she demanded.
‘Slightly difficult, as you refused to tell me your name!’
He had conveniently forgotten that the reason for that was because he had embarrassed her so hatefully. ‘This is going to make things very difficult, isn’t it?’
He frowned. ‘On the contrary—if you’re moving out and our only contact is through work, then provided you do your job properly, I can anticipate no problems. I have no intention of letting a personality clash jeopardise your future—if that’s what you’re afraid of.’
It took the most monumental effort on her part not to snap back at him, but she forced herself to concentrate on why she was here—not to engage in a bickering match with some egocentric ex-media star, but to work!
She cleared her throat. ‘Would you mind telling me exactly how many medical beds we have?’
He clapped his hand to his forehead in an expression of mock amazement.
‘Unbelievable! It only took you three minutes to get your mind back on to the job—not bad for a woman!’
She deserved it, she knew that—but it did not make the criticism any less easy to bear. She had been tittle-tattling like an overgrown schoolgirl and that, on top of everything else, would do little to improve his opinion of her. He probably had her firmly registered in his mind as a vacuous, immature female doctor who couldn’t keep her mind on her job for more than a second. And she knew how much first impressions counted. . .
‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.’
The lift shuddered to a halt and he stood aside to let her pass.
‘We have forty beds, divided into the two wards—twenty on Belling, which is male, and twenty on Dale, which is female. In addition we have a five-bedded coronary care unit attached to Belling—and Dr Fenton-Taylor guards these jealously.’
‘What’s he like?’ she asked.
She saw a small frown cross his forehead while he considered the question.
‘Like?’ There was a pause. ‘He’s like most consultants of his generation and ability—brilliant, autocratic, occasionally intolerant.’
A suprisingly honest appraisal, she decided as she walked up the wide corridor beside him, but he spoilt it all with his next comment.
‘He likes good-looking women around,’ he said, his lip curling in an expression of derision. ‘So you should be all right.’
He was not going to get away with that.
‘You’d better get this straight,’ she stated forthrightly. ‘I have never traded on being a woman to get on in life, and I don’t intend to start now!’
He laughed. ‘No? A woman who doesn’t flutter her lashes and squeeze out every bit of sex appeal she’s got? Surely a contradiction in terms, Dr Gray?’
How bitter he sounded. She turned flashing dark blue eyes on him.
‘A medical version of the casting couch, you mean? Hardly, Dr Forrester—or else I might have been tempted to hang around the sitting-room late last night to take you up on your. . .er. . .offer.’
Their argument was abruptly terminated by their arrival at the ward, but she couldn’t miss the look he gave her. It seemed that he was very good at dishing out nasty little comments, but not so good at taking them!
He marched on to Belling with her at his side, taking her straight into the office to meet Sister. The cold-eyed blonde who jumped to her feet to greet him could hardly have been more different from the cheery Mandy Patterson. Her sister’s uniform of dark navy with white spots looked as though it were a size too small since it clung provocatively to her body in a way that no functional nurses’ uniform was supposed to.
The ash-coloured hair was drawn back from her face and neck in the regulation manner, but small fair tendrils had been teased out, so that it looked more like the coiffure on a classical Greek statue than the working hairstyle of a busy ward sister. Large eyes of the palest grey were skilfully made even bigger by the expert use of sooty shadow and mascara.
Irreverently, Louisa was reminded of the old nursery tale ‘Oh, Grandmama—what big eyes you have.’ Now here, she thought, was someone who did use sex appeal almost as second nature. It would be interesting to see whether Adam Forrester objected to this kind of treatment.
The husky voice matched the body and the hair and the eyes perfectly.
‘Adam!’ she exclaimed warmly, the glossy lips glimmering into a perfect smile. ‘I’ll come round with you.’
It sounded as if she were conferring the highest honour in the land on him, Louisa thought with amusement, watching to see what the interaction was between them, surprised and slightly disappointed to see him return her treacly smile with an amicable grin.
‘I’ve brought along my new house officer, Magda. I’d like you to meet Louisa Gray. Louisa—this is Sister Magda Maguire.’
She must have noticed Louisa standing at Adam’s side, but the grey eyes turned towards her now for the first time, the smile dimming fractionally, the eyes frankly assessing. Or was she just being paranoid? Had Adam Forrester’s unwelcoming behaviour made her expectations of St Dunstan’s totally unrealistic—and was she misinterpreting a simple look?
But she knew that many nurses resented female doctors, resented their proximity and relationship with their male colleagues. Lots of nurses still behaved in a very territorial way towards doctors, and in years gone by women doctors had posed little threat—their numbers had been so small. But today, when they comprised almost half the intake of medical students. . .Well, Magda Maguire need have no concern on her account—she would rather spend a weekend with a man-eating tiger than spend an evening in the company of the foul-tempered Dr Forrester.
‘Hello,