A Medical Liaison
What a start! And what a man! She remembered how tranquil her thoughts had been in the car this afternoon, on the long drive up from London, anticipating her first job as a qualified doctor. And now this. Not the most auspicious of beginnings.
She walked over to her desk and tapped her fingers restlessly over a medical textbook. What was it the Dean had said about her as he had handed her the coveted Bailey prize for biochemistry in her third year? That she was calm, and unflappable, and dedicated. Oh, and ambitious. She mustn’t forget the bit about ambition—Mike would certainly be disappointed if she left that bit out. It was a quality which was lauded if possessed by a man, yet seemed to be greatly despised in a woman.
Men. They stood in your way and they got under your skin with their demands for more time, more meals, more of everything, until you had precious little left for yourself.
She had come to St Dunstan’s to forget men and to begin a new life in her chosen field of medicine. She had set herself various goals, and one of them was to start work for her MRCP examination as soon as she possibly could. Membership of the Royal College of Physicians was essential if one planned to make a career in hospital medicine. It was a tough exam, and the pass rate was low, but Louisa was determined to pass first time.
She switched on the Anglepoise lamp and sat down at the desk. She was going to have to work very hard indeed to get on—women in medicine didn’t have to be as good as their male counterparts, they had to be better. She had heard from older women doctors that even when you did land a good job, there were often the snide comments, that you’d fluttered your eyelashes in the right direction, flirted with the boss. Prejudice was alive and well in the 1990s!
She opened up the textbook, chuckling gently to herself as she did so. She could just imagine the smouldering resentment which must have led a group of her peers to campaign for sexual equality in the matter of accommodation—what a brave lot they must have been! Not that she had anything personally to thank them for—they were partly responsible for her having blushed for the first time in years.
Never mind, even if he had noticed her pink cheeks, it would be of little account in the morning. He could think what he jolly well liked.
Opening up the colossal tome which lay before her, she found the page on ‘Cardiological disorders in young adults’, and after a few moments was thinking of nothing else.
She came to with a start and, glancing down at her watch, realised that she had been reading for almost two and a half hours. Almost a quarter to nine. She was willing to bet that the canteen would have shut by now and she hadn’t brought any provisions with her.
As if in protest at her thoughts, her stomach gave a loud rumble. Lunch had been a hurried sandwich and a coffee in a motorway service station. Naturally slim, never having to diet, she could not, however, imagine surviving without anything more to eat until the morning.
So she had but two options—she could either wander around this unfamiliar hospital in the dark in search of a meal which she could not even guarantee being able to get at this time of night. Or she could be sensible and* ask Adam Forrester to loan her something until the morning.
So why did she recoil from the most sensible option? Was it because Dr Forrester had already had the most strange effect on her normally unruffable composure?
She stood up, stretching slowly. It was of no matter—she would do the most practical thing and go and ask him.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror as she clicked off the desk lamp. She had stupidly sat down to study in her grey suit, and the narrow skirt looked crumpled. It would need pressing before she could wear it for work.
She pulled the jacket and the skirt off, and the white silky shirt which she wore underneath—and pulled a pair of old jeans from out of the drawer. Some colours were difficult to wear with her pale skin, but the jade-green angora sweater she pulled over the dark red hair suited her perfectly, while the casual clothes had the effect of making her appear even younger, and much softer.
She let herself quietly out of her room, listening out for him, but the sitting-room and the kitchen were empty. She could see light shining from the crack underneath his door and so, rather reluctantly, she raised her fist and tapped twice.
There was no reply and it occurred to her that he might actually be ignoring her—but surely he wouldn’t be so childish? She raised her hand to knock for the last time when the door was flung open and he stood there, staring down at her with what looked like his habitual impatient expression.
He too had changed into jeans, and had removed the thick jumper he’d been wearing—instead he had on a thin shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and showing a great deal of very dark hair on his chest. And his feet were bare. She found herself staring at them.
‘Yes? What is it?’ he demanded perfunctorily.
There was nothing of his earlier manner about him now, his attitude was brisk and businesslike, almost as if they had never spoken before.
‘I’m afraid I’ve been working and didn’t realise it had got so late,’ she began, attempting to give him a pleasant smile.
‘Get to the point, will you?’
She bit back an angry retort to his rudeness—she was, after all, asking him a favour!
‘I’m very hungry, and think I must have missed the canteen—and wondered if you’d lend me something to eat? I could repay you tomorrow.’
There was something so very un-English about asking for favours, particularly from a comparative stranger, she thought, interpreting his frown as one of irritation at her request.
He looked at his watch. ‘Yes, you will have missed supper.’
Behind him she could see into his room—a replica of her own—but it shared none of the untidiness of the sitting-room she had seen earlier. She wondered who he had been sharing a meal with.
She could see everything neatly arranged, the bed smooth, books in neat lines on the shelves, and, judging from the light at his desk and the open books, he too had been studying.
‘There isn’t anything very much,’ he said ungraciously. ‘I was planning to make myself an omelette—you’re welcome to share that if you like.’
She had definitely not anticipated dining with him, but she couldn’t really insist on taking his food and then eating it in the privacy of her own room!
Instead she nodded. ‘An omelette will be fine, thanks.’
She stood there for a moment hesitantly, and he must have taken the hint because he closed his door and led the way through into the kitchen.
‘Do you want me to do anything?’ she asked.
‘I think I can just about manage an omelette,’ he said sarcastically.
What a bad-tempered man he was, she thought as she sat down at the kitchen table, tucking her slim legs underneath. She would much rather he had given her the eggs and she could have cooked for herself after he had finished. It seemed a bit of a farce to eat a meal together when he obviously couldn’t stand the sight of her.
She watched as he cracked the eggs into a glass bowl, and beat them with milk and salt and pepper.
‘Cheese OK for you?’
She nodded. ‘Thanks.’
He was certainly very organised—he melted butter in the pan and swirled the mixture on to it like a past master of the art, even browning the omelette under the grill so that it puffed up to twice its size.
When he placed the plate before her she smiled up at him—however crotchety he was, her stomach was certainly grateful!
He reached down into the bottom shelf of the fridge.
‘Do you want a beer?’
In fact she rarely drank much at all, but the hassle of requesting a cup of coffee from someone so unforthcoming was too much to contemplate.
‘Yes, please.’
He poured her out a glass of lager, and sitting down at the table opposite her, drank his own straight from the can. She sipped thirstily in between mouthfuls of omelette and brown bread.
She finished her meal to find that his own was scarcely touched, and he was regarding her with almost a glint of amusement in his eyes.
‘Why, you’ve hardly eaten any of yours!’ she exclaimed. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’
He actually smiled at her! ‘Not as hungry as you were, obviously! Do you want something else? Yoghurt? Fruit?’
She finished off the last of her beer. ‘No, thanks—that was plenty. I might just make a cup of coffee in the morning—if that’s all right?’
He indicated a cupboard by the cooker. ‘Sure. It’s all in there. Help yourself.’
She stood up a little unsteadily; the glass of unaccustomed alcohol on a virtually empty stomach had affected her more than it should have done.
She cleared her throat, and the icy turquoise eyes glanced at her questioningly.
‘I’m sorry there’s been this mix-up,’ she babbled. ‘I’ll come and collect my things tomorrow, when they find me somewhere else.’
He gave her the faintest of smiles and she could have kicked herself—she hadn’t meant it to sound as if she was apologising for being here. She paused in the doorway, the beer seeming to have given her an uncontrollable urge to talk.
‘I don’t expect you are very hungry.’ She smiled, remembering the dishes she had washed up on her arrival. ‘It looked a delicious bolognese sauce!’
What had she said to offend him? He looked absolutely furious. He stood up suddenly and stared at her as witheringly as if she had been some small mollusc on the floor in front of him.
‘How like a woman,’ he muttered in disgust. ‘Even when there’s nothing to say, she’ll always come out with some meaningless babble. What is it they say about empty vessels?’
She stared at him, speechless for a moment. She had never in her life been spoken to in such a rude, dismissive manner by a virtual stranger. What God-given right did this man have to behave in such an unpleasant way?
She regarded him coldly, suddenly completely sober again.
‘You seem to have a problem with communication, Dr Forrester. How surprising for someone who has worked so much in the media! You are rude and boorish. And a bully,’ she added, thinking of how he had snapped so unnecessarily on the telephone. ‘Personally, I’d get something done about it if I were you—it can’t make you a very good doctor, now can it?’
She didn’t bother to wait around for his reply, but she saw that her barb had definitely reached its target, for his face was as black as thunder.
The short walk back to her room seemed to last forever. It felt as though she was walking the plank. She didn’t know what she was expecting him to do—rush after her and blast her out—but, in fact, he did nothing.
Once inside, she waited until she heard him go back to his room before she hurried in to use the bathroom. She bathed and brushed her teeth and wrapped her dressing-gown around her tightly before going back to her room, remembering his words and feeling stupidly afraid that perhaps she might come face to face with his naked body.
She read her book for a while longer, and decided to turn in for an early night before starting her new job—she wanted to be refreshed and rested to face all the hard work which lay ahead of her.
And then she did something she’d never done in all the time she’d lived away from home.
Turning the key in the door, she locked herself in.
CHAPTER THREE
LOUISA awoke with that curious feeling of disorientation which accompanied the first night spent in a strange bed. Even before she opened her eyes she seemed to sense the unfamiliar surroundings, and she came to slowly, seeing the pale light of the winter morning come creeping through the ghastly hospital curtains of orange and brown.
She sat up and clicked off the alarm clock she had not needed—she was so used to waking before seven that it had now become second nature to her. Her fears of the night before now served only to niggle her with an embarrassed shame. No doubt the women doctors who had fought for this particular equality would be appalled if they’d known that she had barricaded herself in her bedroom like some medieval virgin—but then, they had probably never met Adam Forrester!
Nevertheless, she sat still in bed for the moment, clad in one of the baggy T-shirts she always wore, listening out for any signs of life or, more specifically, any indication that the man himself might be roaming around the flat in his threatened lack of attire.
But she heard nothing, and so swung her legs out of the bed, pulled on her dressing-gown and headed for the bathroom with a youthful exuberance which was hard to dispel.
The irritating events of the afternoon and evening before slid into their correct place in the rational light of a new day—the bickering between herself and that mixed-up man were of little consequence to her today. She scrubbed her face with vigour, heart beating faster than usual, longing to start her new job.
She dressed with care. Unfair though it might seem, the clothes that a woman doctor wore were important. In many hospitals jeans or indeed any kind of trousers were out. It was a rule which was unstated, but a rule none the less which most of the women adhered to. Anything too frivolous, too obviously feminine, was frowned upon as well, so frills or very short skirts would not find favour with the hierarchy. The idea, she had decided long ago, was to sublimate their sexuality in as attractive a way as possible!
She donned a knee-length black skirt, teamed with a dark green shirt of shot silk which she had picked up in the sales. Matching dark green woollen tights and slim black patent shoes gave her a neat, co-ordinated appearance and she tied her dark chestnut waves into a pony-tail at the nape of her neck with a broad black velvet ribbon.
That done, she pulled on her white coat and checked the pockets for the equipment she would need each day on the wards. Stethoscope, patella hammer, ophthalmoscope and auroscope. She carried a book which listed all the commonly used drugs, their side-effects and contra-indications, and a thick black pocket notebook which she would shortly begin filling in with the names and diagnoses of all her new patients.
She was to report to Dale Ward at eight-thirty, where she would meet the rest of the team for a ‘breakfast’ meeting. Her new consultant was Dr Stanley Fenton-Taylor and she couldn’t wait to meet him. She had been interested in cardiology since her pre-clinical days as a student, reading the erudite yet intriguing books on this specialist subject with fervour. When she had learned that she had gained a job on his firm, she had been disbelieving, then overjoyed, and it had made up for her decision to leave Barts. It had been a prize which had come at the end of the worst period of her life—and if it hadn’t completely compensated for the events which had occurred, then it had certainly made her view her future with an entirely different attitude.
The flat was deserted, and she made herself some coffee which she drank down quickly and afterwards washed and dried the cup up. All was neat and tidy, so he must have washed up after their omelette last night. Well, she wouldn’t have to tolerate such a touchy flatmate for much longer. And, by the end of her first day’s work she would be able to come and pick up her belongings and move to somewhere more congenial.
It was a bleak, dull October morning with a fine grey drizzle in the air, and by the time she had walked over to the main building to Dale Ward a few wispy curls had escaped from the stark lines of her pony-tail, giving her face a sweetly feminine appearance.
She found the ward easily enough, and tapped on the door of Sister’s office. She wanted to follow all the protocol of hospital life correctly; she knew from experience how first impressions counted and if she wanted to be liked by the ward staff, then she must make sure she was suitably polite and likeable.
‘Sister’ turned out to be surprisingly young—possibly even younger than Louisa herself, a tall girl with luminous green eyes smiling at her from behind dark-rimmed glasses. She stood up as Louisa entered the room and held out her hand.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘You must be our new house officer—I’m Amanda Patterson—known as Mandy—we don’t stand on ceremony much here!’
Louisa shook the proffered hand. ‘I’m pleased to hear it! Louisa Gray—nice to meet you.’
‘The breakfast meeting has already started,’ explained Mandy. ‘I think they always tell you to come along a little later on your first day. It’s held in the large interview room at the end of the ward. Come with me and I’ll show you.’
‘Thanks,’ said Louisa, following her out of the office and on to the ward, trying to quash the feelings of nervousness which had suddenly arisen. She didn’t really like the thought of trooping in late in front of the whole team.
‘Has Dr Fenton-Taylor arrived yet?’ she enquired.
Mandy turned to her in surprise. ‘Oh, but he’s in America until Christmas—didn’t you know?’
Louisa digested this surprising piece of information. ‘No, I didn’t know.’
‘But don’t worry,’ smiled Mandy. ‘One of the Research Fellows is standing in for him.’
They walked down the highly polished floor of the aisle between the beds and she could see patients watching her curiously. As they passed one elderly woman’s bed she heard her comment to her neighbour.
‘Bit young for a doctor, ain’t she?’
Louisa had to hide a smile and Mandy grinned at her conspiratorially.
‘Don’t worry, they’ll soon get used to you. They keep telling me that I’m too young to be a sister—it’s obviously not just policemen who start to look younger as one gets older!’ They were both laughing as she pushed open a door and Louisa was confronted by the sight of about nine men in white coats, sitting around in easy chairs in a circle and drinking cups of coffee.
‘Good luck,’ whispered Mandy. ‘Gentlemen—this is your new house officer!’
Louisa smiled nervously and looked around, trying to take it all in. As with all large groups of people, it took a moment for her mind to clear enough to look at them as individuals.
Some warning sound was clicking furiously in her mind, and her eyes travelled to the centre of the group, to the man who was obviously in charge of the proceedings. Now getting to his feet, moving his long legs reluctantly, watching her with an expression on his face which was not quite a smile—she found herself staring into the face of Adam Forrester.
‘Dr Gray, I presume?’ he asked and she nodded automatically, still too shocked by his appearance to say anything.
‘I shall be standing in for Dr Fenton-Taylor until he returns from the States. Shall I introduce you to the rest of the team?’ he was saying smoothly, guiding her by the arm until she stood in the centre, with all the uplifted, interested masculine faces greeting her. She hardly took a word in.
‘Basil James is my registrar and Huw Lloyd is our SHO. The other reprobates you see before you are a handful of medical students, who I’m afraid will be astounding you with their appalling lack of knowledge over the next few weeks.’ There were cries of dissent at this. ‘Oh, and by the way—I’m Adam Forrester, Research Fellow.’
The turquoise eyes were hard and cold as they stared at her and her heart sank. Of all the unfair twists of fate. She had been rude and retaliatory to a man who was effectively going to be her boss for the next eight weeks or so. And while she didn’t consider her response to his bad temper to be unjustified, she was far too intelligent to put her career on the line just in order to get her own back verbally. What on earth would he say to Dr Fenton-Taylor—the man on whom she would be relying for a reference? Damn, damn and damn!
Refusing a cup of coffee, she sat down to join in the meeting. She would just have to work like a Trojan. She imagined that the brittle Adam Forrester could be a hard taskmaster—she had better give him no opportunity to criticise her.
He had seated himself in a chair opposite her. ‘We’ve almost finished discussing the patients—the main ward round isn’t until tomorrow afternoon, so you’ve time before that to get to know some of the diagnoses. After we’ve finished here, I’ll show you where our other ward is and you can meet the staff there.’
She nodded and listened while he began talking about a patient who was suffering from the rare condition of Takayasu’s disease. One of the students hadn’t heard of it and asked a question. She watched with interest as he changed 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. . .