Discovering Dr Riley. Annie Claydon
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needed to know, and then she’d allowed herself to fantasise about those innocent-as-sin blue eyes. The detached professionalism which she’d intended to hit Dr Riley with this morning wasn’t going to work.
‘Thanks.’ She grabbed at the strap of her bag, trying awkwardly to lift it over her head, and he came closer still to help, grimacing when he felt its weight.
‘How did you get here?’ It was probably just concern on his part, but Cori couldn’t help but feel there was an edge of criticism to the question. She took a breath, lacing her answer with a smile.
‘By taxi. If I’m going to be reckless, I’d prefer to do it the easy way.’
Taking the gamble of joking with him didn’t come off well. He seemed about to smile and then reconsidered, turning abruptly to lead the way past the reception desk. Cori followed him along a snaking corridor, her eyes fixed on his back, trying not to count the number of ways that she might be in disgrace.
He threw open a door. ‘We’ve set a room aside for you.’
‘Thanks …’ Cori caught her breath. The health authority scheme, linking art therapists with local hospitals, had produced a set of guidelines that stipulated a separate room, but most of the therapists in her group had been given a large cupboard at best. Tom might not approve of her presence, but he’d given her a bright and airy room, with two large tables to work at and a small seating area in one corner.
‘This is …’ Perfect. Wonderful. Suddenly it was quite unbelievable. ‘Are there any limitations on when I can use the room?’
‘Nope. It’s all yours for eight weeks.’ The breath of a smile played around his lips. ‘That’s what the guidelines requested.’
‘The guidelines asked for more than anyone expected to get.’ Cori looked around. ‘This is perfect, thank you.’
His nod indicated that he’d heard, but conveyed nothing else. ‘I have a meeting in a minute, so I hope you don’t mind if I leave you to it. I’ll get Maureen, the unit administrator, to show you around and then perhaps you can use today to get settled. It would be good if you could draw up a list of proposals for the kinds of activities you want to run, as well.’
She already had a list of proposals. Okay, so she hadn’t seen the space she was going to be using, but she’d made sure to include options that covered almost anything from a broom cupboard to Buckingham Palace. But Tom seemed to be intent on getting out of the room as quickly as possible and was already halfway to the door. Taking a breath and thinking first, before she said anything rash, was the thing to do now.
‘Thank you. Maureen, you say …?’
Was that a smile? Maybe he was congratulating himself at not having to bother with her any more this morning. ‘Yeah. She probably won’t be in yet, but I’ll leave a note on her desk. If you stay here, she’ll find you.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
This time there definitely was a smile. As swift as it was melting, it sent warmth tingling through her followed by a sudden, empty feeling of loss as it was withdrawn. She almost choked.
‘Coffee machine’s in the main office. Help yourself.’ He was gone. Taking with him his smile, the fresh scent that Cori had tried not to notice, and any hope that she might have had of winning him around at their first meeting.
She sat down with a bump, wincing as she did so. This morning hadn’t quite gone as she’d intended, but she was still here. And she was still in with a chance of finding out exactly what Tom had against her being here, and of changing his mind.
Not so long ago, the only thing expected of Tom when a pretty young woman arrived on the unit was that he would turn on the charm and ask her to dinner. But then Dr Shah had suffered a heart attack, and it had fallen to Tom to keep the unit running while he was away on extended leave.
It was a mystery to him that Cori was even here. He’d seen the bruises and knew that she must be hurting like hell. It wasn’t as if there was any hope of a job once her eight weeks in the hospital were up. Funding had been withdrawn, and the only reason this placement hadn’t been cancelled was that it had been considered too late to stop it. But she seemed determined, and it was his responsibility to provide her with as many opportunities as he could.
Thankfully Maureen was already at her desk, reviewing the contents of her handbag before she started her day. At least he could send someone else to provide Cori with the welcome that he’d entirely failed to give.
‘Was that the new art therapist I saw you with?’ Maureen dispensed with the usual Good morning and Did you have a nice weekend?
‘It was. Do you still have time to show her around?’
‘Of course. What have you said to her?’
‘That I’d see if I could find you …’
‘So, in other words, you ducked the issue.’
‘I know it looks a lot like that. Now I’m Acting Head of Department, I think I’m allowed to call it delegating.’ He grinned at her and she rolled her eyes. Maureen had been in the department for twenty years and there was no one, including Tom, who hadn’t been picked up and dusted down by her at one point or another in their career.
‘I’ll tell you now that I’ve no intention of playing good cop. Or bad cop, for that matter, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’ He imagined that the woman he’d met yesterday in A and E would spot such a game a mile off, and probably outplay him. ‘I just want you to keep an eye out for her. Let me know how she’s doing.’
‘And the better she does, the less you’ll like it?’ She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Does she know that?’
‘It’s not as simple as that …’
‘No. Nothing ever is.’ Maureen got to her feet, pulling her jacket straight in a no-nonsense motion. ‘Just as long as I’m not the one who has to explain that to her.’
Tom Riley was almost certainly a better doctor than he was a boss. Cori considered the matter carefully as she tidied up the pens and paper from the afternoon’s art session. It had been fun. Children from the ward had been joined by parents and siblings and more than one person had said that it was a great addition to the pastoral care that the unit provided. The only problem was that it hadn’t been art therapy.
The next eight weeks might not be precious to Tom but they were precious to her and time was trickling away. A day, then two, now three …
As expected, Ralph and Jean had provided comfort food, followed by advice over the washing-up.
‘You know this isn’t your fault, don’t you?’ Ralph was soaping plates vigorously.
‘That’s how it feels.’ She could share those fears with Ralph. He knew that was how she’d felt when she’d been a kid, rejected by one family after another. It had almost been too late by the time he and Jean had finally found her.
‘So you’ll be getting up at six in the morning to do the housework?’ A smile played around Ralph’s mouth. ‘You want a hand with that?’
Cori chuckled. That was exactly what he had said when he’d found her in the kitchen, seven years old and trying to reach the switch for the washing machine, reckoning that if she made herself useful Ralph and Jean might keep her for a while. She’d liked their relaxed, cluttered household from the start and being allowed to stay had seemed like the first time a dream had ever come true for her.
‘I think I’ve got it covered. I’m not going to be washing Dr Riley’s socks.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Ralph stacked more plates onto the drainer, his brow puckered in thought. ‘So let me get this clear. There’s an initial eight-week period, and if that’s a success the post becomes permanent.’
‘Yes,