Consultant Care
Nicolette giggled, and both of them looked at her, and both joined in with her laughter, and there was something so. . .so. . .startling about the transformation which came over the stern doctor’s face when he actually allowed himself to laugh that Nicolette felt suddenly breathless and it took a huge effort to keep her mind on the job and not on that disarming smile of his. ‘So w-when would you like Simon discharged, Dr Le Saux?’ she stumbled.
‘How about tomorrow morning?’
Simon raised an irresistibly appealing face up to the doctor. ‘How about today?’
Dr Le Saux turned a cool, questioning gaze towards Nicolette. ‘Is that possible, Staff?’
‘That depends on whether Simon’s mother can be contacted, but I’m sure it can be arranged. But we’ll need to get in touch with Pharmacy soon if we’re to get Simon’s drugs to take home with him.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll go and write them up now,’ he said briefly, and swung the curtain back.
Nicolette rang Simon’s delighted mother from the phone on the central nursing station.
‘Discharged, you say?’
‘That’s right,’ said Nicolette happily.
‘But that’s marvellous—we thought he’d be in at least over the weekend!’
‘He’s responded to the drug regime far better than we anticipated,’ Nicolette told her.
‘Dr Le Saux tried something new,’ confided Mrs Lomas. ‘He said he thought it might pay dividends.’ She gave a sigh. ‘That man is an absolute saint!’
‘So I believe,’ agreed Nicolette drily, with a shameless disregard for her own feelings on the subject!
‘I’ll be right up to collect Simon,’ Mrs Lomas promised eagerly. ‘I can be there in about fifteen minutes, Staff.’
‘Now hold on a minute!’ laughed Nicolette. ‘It’ll probably take us a couple of hours to get everything arranged. Why don’t you ring the ward before you come up? He can have his tea first—say, about three-thirty?’
‘OK, Staff Nurse, three-thirty it is,’ said Mrs Lomas happily, then lowered her voice. ‘And tell me, have you any idea what I could buy Dr Le Saux as a thank-you present? He must be fed up with chocolates and whisky, but we always like to get him a little something. We’re so grateful to him.’
What about a one-way ticket to Australia? thought Nicolette with grim humour. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t expect anything, Mrs Lomas. I think he’d like you to spend the money on Simon!’ She said goodbye, and put the phone down.
Nicolette assumed that the saint-like Dr Le Saux had gone into the doctors’ office to write up Simon’s prescription, but she was wrong, for she found him in Sister’s office, sitting at one end of the large desk, his dark head glinting deep red lights, bent over the pharmacy form he was completing.
Leander looked up as she entered, and frowned. Lord, but she was a distracting vision, was the unbidden thought which flew into his mind. She really shouldn’t be allowed to walk around like that, he decided a touch ruefully. All that clean, healthy skin and shiny eyes and hair—she looked as if she should be starring in an orange-juice commercial! He ruthlessly killed the thought stone-dead and levelled his gaze at her critically.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ he said irritably, as though they’d been in the middle of a conversation. ‘Can’t you do something with your hair?’
Nicolette thought that she must have misheard him. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she queried faintly.
‘Your hair,’ he scowled. ‘Do something with it, for pity’s sake. It looks awful!’ How easily the lie slipped off his tongue.
Awful? thought Nicolette indignantly. It was untidy, true. Extremely untidy. But awful? She conveniently chose to ignore the fact that if it had been anyone else but Leander le Saux suggesting that she ‘do something with it’ she probably would have laughed and agreed with them. As it was, since it had come from a man she scarcely knew, who had already been ruder to her in less than an hour than she could remember anyone being in her whole life before, mad indignation began to sizzle away inside her, like an egg frying On a hot pavement.
She narrowed her blue eyes. ‘How dare you make such personal remarks to someone you’ve only just met?’
His frown deepened. ‘And how dare you walk around the place looking like Medusa?’
‘Like who?'
‘You heard,’ he snapped unrepentantly.
‘Oh!’ She bit her lip in outrage as she pulled the clip out of her hair, causing it to tumble unfettered to her waist. She scarcely noticed that the movement seemed to have arrested him, because she whirled round to fling at him, ‘It’s a pity I’m not Medusa,’ she raged loudly, ‘because I would have taken great pleasure from turning you into stone, Dr Le Saux!’
He opened his mouth to reply, when a female voice of authority interrupted them from the open doorway.
‘Staff Nurse Kennedy?’ came a high, disbelieving voice, and Nicolette found herself looking up in horror, into the set features of the senior specialist nurse manager.
CHAPTER THREE
NICOLETTE recognised the stony-faced specialist nurse manager immediately, struck once again by the fact that she seemed much too young to hold such a senior position, being probably still under thirty. Her name was Miss Dixon and she had sat in on the interview panel when Nicolette had applied for the job, since she was the senior nurse overseeing both wards in Southbury’s state-of-the-art paediatric unit.
In looks, she was the absolute antithesis of Nicolette. Her hair was a smooth, ash-blonde cap that framed her head and her eyes were cool and grey and calculating. Her small, neatly boned body made Nicolette feel like a strapping great thing in comparison! She looked, thought Nicolette, like a woman who had never been late for an appointment in her life. And a woman who wouldn’t tolerate lateness in others. At Nicolette’s interview the had been noticeable for her probing style of questioning, and it had not escaped Nicolette’s notice at the time that her manner had not been exactly what you would describe as friendly.
And her manner now looked positively bristling as she surveyed Nicolette across the office. When she spoke her lips barely moved, but Nicolette could tell that was only because she was so angry.
‘Staff Nurse, you look a disgrace,’ she said tightly. ‘Go to the cloakroom and do something with your hair immediately. After that, come back here. I wish to speak to you!’
Nicolette was momentarily stunned into immobility. She could never remember having been spoken to so summarily, or so severely—not even as the most junior of student nurses.
‘Is that understood?’ quizzed the senior nurse abrasively.
Nicolette swallowed, feeling about six inches high. ‘Yes, Miss Dixon,’ she answered quietly.
‘Then see to it!’ she snapped. ‘Now!’
It was utterly humiliating. Unable to meet Leander Le Saux’s eyes, her cheeks stinging with mortification and hurt pride, Nicolette put her stiff shoulders back and said in an even voice, ‘Very well, Miss Dixon.’
‘Um—Staff Nurse?’ came Leander’s voice as she reached the door.
The effect of that deep, mocking voice on her already tightly stretched nerves was like that of leaping into an icy bath after a sauna. What now? She found that her answer was unsteady, and despised herself for it. ‘Y-yes, Doctor?’
‘You’ve left your hair-clip on the table. Here.’
Unwillingly, she turned round to find him holding it out, the clip, with its Mickey Mouse motif, looking incongruously feminine—as well as rather childish—against the tanned masculinity of his strong palm.
She took it as gingerly as if it had been an unexploded bomb. ‘Thank you,’ she said gravely, and surprised reluctant laughter lurking in the depths of his dark eyes.
But as she left the office she heard the specialist nurse manager say, in quite a different tone altogether from the one she’d used with Nicolette, a sort of soft, smoky whisper, ‘So what was the problem this time, Leander? Adulation or insubordination?’
And, although she shamelessly strained her ears, Nicolette just couldn’t make out his first murmured response, although Miss Dixon’s voice was audible enough.
‘But I shall have to deal with it, you know, Leander.’
And the rather dry reply, ‘I rather think I’m able to handle spirited young staff nurses without your intervention, don’t you, Rhoda?’
‘Nevertheless—’
But Nicolette didn’t hear anything further, because she had sped up the corridor on swift feet and into the nurses’ cloakroom to tame her hair with hands that were shaking with emotion as his words sounded in her head.
And the predominant emotions were rage and indignation and utter disbelief! ‘Spirited young staff nurses’, indeed! It was the kind of thing men had used to say about women in the Victorian age! He made her sound like some young filly who needed breaking in! Ineffectually, she tugged the comb back through curls that surrounded her head like swirls of dark smoke.
And what a first impression to make to the specialist nurse manager, she thought in despair. She had never behaved like that in her life. Never. To the older woman, she must have appeared like one of the very worst type of nurses—the type who weren’t interested in the patients or in the work at all, but were at the hospital with solely one thing in mind: how to chat up the hunkiest doctors.
Nicolette sighed out loud. What had she been thinking of, ripping the clip out of her hair like some pathetic heroine in a B movie? But that was not how it had seemed to her at the time. She hadn’t even thought about what she was doing, or the consequences. It had been sheer, blind rage.
Provoked by him!
There was something about Leander Le Saux which had made her react to his remark about her hair with all the impetuosity of a teenager, instead of a young woman in her mid-twenties who had travelled all the way around Australia on her own. And although she certainly didn’t have a reputation for being an old sobersides—quite the opposite, in fact—she had enough common sense to realise that displays of pique such as she had demonstrated today would not do her reputation, personal or otherwise, any good at all.
So what was it precisely about Leander Le Saux which had caused such an over-reaction? she wondered. What was it they said—knowledge is power? If she analysed it then hopefully it would prevent it ocurring again.
Was it his raw, physical attraction, perhaps?
But I don’t find him attractive, she told her silent, grim reflection.
Oh, but you do, you do, you do! Her knowing eyes mocked her back. More attractive than any man you’ve ever set eyes on. Go on, Nicolette—admit it. Admit it!
Pulling a defiant face at her reflection, she grabbed two handfuls of hair and wound them together into the neatest, tightest top-knot she could manage. It still wasn’t perfect, but it was certainly an improvement. Then she secured it with the hair-clip, still smarting from the way Miss Dixon had spoken to her.
And yet what defence did she have? She had been caught out on her first day, in the most unprofessional of situations, and now she would have to go out of her way to ensure that Miss Dixon changed her mind about her. Because she had no doubt that the specialist nurse manager thought she was some flighty little bit of nonsense who cared more for the men in white coats than she did her job!
And I am not, thought Nicolette defiantly as she made her way back up the corridor. I really am not. I’m a dedicated nurse who loves her work.
She pushed the door of Sister’s office open, and quickly glanced around. Dr Le Saux had gone—thank goodness. Nicolette was dreading a carpeting, but was almost certain that she was about to be subjected to one. And to have had him witness it would have been like rubbing salt into the wound.
The room was empty save for Rhoda Dixon, who was standing beside the desk, obsessively straightening the corners of a pile of papers so that they all lined up perfectly. She glanced up as Nicolette walked in, her eyes glacially cold as they flicked over her hair.
There was silence for a moment. Then she said, very grudgingly, ‘That’s slightly better, I suppose, but not much. Haven’t you ever thought of having it cut off?’
For one wild moment Nicolette actually thought she was about to be ordered to cut her hair, and she smiled as she shook her head. ‘No, Miss Dixon.’
‘Have I said something funny?’
Nicolette shook her head. ‘No, you haven’t.’ She clasped her hands together in front of her tabard. ‘Look—I feel I’ve got off to a bad start, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have over-reacted like that—I’ve never done it before, and I shall certainly do my best to see it doesn’t happen again.’ She gave her familiar, wide smile in a genuine appeal to forget the whole incident.
‘Have you quite finished?’ asked the other woman stonily.
Nicolette gave an inward sigh. So that was to be the way of it. ‘Yes, Miss Dixon.’
‘Good. Then sit down, please.’
Nicolette glanced at her fob watch. ‘But I have two lots of antibiotics to give in ten minutes’ time—’
‘And this will only take five,’ interrupted Miss Dixon crisply, walking over to the office door and shutting it firmly. ‘Staff Nurse Turner has come on early, and has kindly agreed to keep an eye on the ward while I have a word with you.’
‘Miss Dixon, I do understand—’
Miss Dixon shook her smooth blonde cap of a head. ‘But that’s where you’re wrong, I’m afraid, Staff Nurse. I don’t think that you do. Sit down, please,’ she repeated, and this time, feeling about five years old, Nicolette did as she was asked.
The cool grey eyes looked curiously colourless. ‘It isn’t the first time it’s happened,’ said the specialist nurse manager inexplicably.
‘I’m sorry?’ queried Nicolette, not understanding at all.
Miss Dixon gave an impatient click of her tongue. ‘I’m not completely stupid, you know, Staff Nurse!’ Her cool eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t deny that Dr Le Saux is a very attractive man—’
‘Miss Dixon, please!’ protested Nicolette, but the older woman carried on unabated.
‘And this won’t be the first time that one of the nurses has set her cap at him, but he is also a hard-working and a very serious-minded doctor, who is engaged in a very important piece of research work, and the last thing he needs is swooning young women chasing him round the ward. I’m afraid that another nurse here on Paediatrics made rather a fool of herself over Dr Le Saux—and unfortunately it got so embarrassing that she had to leave us.’ She glued a forced smile on to her bow-shaped lips. ‘And I have no desire to see the same thing happen to you, Staff.’
Sure she didn’t! Nicolette couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was almost laughable—if it wasn’t so ludicrous. She was sorely tempted to point out to Miss Ice-Cube Dixon that the days in nursing where senior staff could dictate on the morals and behaviour of those junior to them were long gone. Well, she for one would not be bullied. Nicolette gave the specialist nurse manager a frankly considering stare. ‘And you’re basing this little lecture solely on the fact that when you walked into the office you heard me answering Dr Le Saux back?’ she queried calmly.
‘Answering him back?’ cried the older woman in disbelief, her grey eyes opening up like saucers. ‘What I actually heard was you being outrageously rude to Dr Le Saux!’
‘He had just been fairly rude to me,’ observed Nicolette blandly. Downright rude, in fact, even if you discounted the fact that they had only just met.
‘He is a very senior doctor!’ retorted Miss Dixon shrilly, sounding much older than her thirty or so years. ‘And if he decided to register a complaint about your insubordinate behaviour then I am afraid I would have no option but to back him up.’
As Nicolette heard Miss Dixon’s triumphant words she knew that she’d be on to a losing wicket if she attempted to bring this matter to any kind of satisfactory conclusion. The nursing profession still contained women like Rhoda Dixon—although thankfully they were rare—believing that doctors were white-coated gods who could say and do as they liked and nothing you could say or do would convince her otherwise!
She’s basically saying ‘hands off’, thought Nicolette with sudden insight as the other woman’s pale blonde beauty imprinted itself on her vision. And why was that? Did the neat specialist nurse manager have some prior claim to Leander Le Saux? And was her warning simply of a professional nature—or was it more personal than that?
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