Megan Jones wriggled uncomfortably on the stool in the cubicle of the casualty department. She had been waiting for simply ages, first to have her wrist X-rayed and now for someone to come and decide on the treatment. The delay was even more annoying as she knew perfectly well what to do herself because she was Sister of the very same casualty department during the day herself. Just my luck, she thought moodily. When I have an accident there is nobody I know on duty!
The SEN was someone she had never seen before and could only assume had been sent down from the “bank” reserve of nurses. The Senior House Officer for the night was a locum and her friend Sister Moore was off on a tea-break.
Restlessly she got up and, picking up her X-rays, clipped them on to the wall-mounted X-ray screen and switched on the light. She could see her wrist looked perfectly normal, so the pain must mean it was just a sprain. If someone doesn’t come in a moment, she vowed, I’ll put a support bandage on myself!
“There is no point in looking at something you don’t understand, young woman. Sit down.” The words were uttered in a deep masculine voice tinged with more than a hint of annoyance. At the same time she was firmly and unceremoniously plonked back on the stool by a tall, dark-haired man.
“I…er,” began Megan, startled into breathlessness by the suddenness of his entry into the cubicle.
“Be quiet,” commanded the stranger. “I am a doctor. Just answer my questions. I want to find out whether or not you have done yourself any other damage.”
Another locum I suppose, thought Megan, beginning to feel angry at his high-handed treatment of her—and an arrogant one to boot!
“I am perfectly all right,” she said stiffly. “There is no need to concern yourself.”
“What are you wasting everyone’s valuable time for then?” he demanded. “Presumably you thought there was something wrong, otherwise you wouldn’t have come in!”
She glanced up at the man towering over her, not used to men so tall. She was small herself and found she had to look up to the doctors, but none of them was as tall as this man. He must be six foot two if he’s an inch, she thought, and if he wasn’t so angry and bad tempered he could be rather nice looking. At that particular moment, however, his strongly marked brows were drawn together in a frown and his piercing blue eyes looked at her severely. His firmly sculptured mouth was also set in a resolutely disapproving line as he surveyed her.
Megan tilted her head defiantly and pushed back her cloud of dark, unruly hair with her left hand. The movement caused her to wince with pain, a fact which he immediately noticed.
“Apart from your wrist,” he asked, “have you got pain anywhere else? I gather you sustained this injury while you were dancing.”
“Yes, I was in the…” she was going to tell him that she had been rehearsing for the Christmas revue and that she was a day sister in the casualty department, but she didn’t get the opportunity.
He interrupted her brusquely. “I haven’t got time for long explanations now, just answer my questions. Have you got pain anywhere else?”
Megan shook her head mutely. There was something completely overwhelming, about him, some force that demanded obedience, and Megan, much against her will, found herself responding to it. Wryly she reflected that he might have been the head of the department from the way he was behaving, and not just the locum which he must be.
“Hmmm,” he mused, looking at her carefully. “What about your arms and legs? Everything mobile?”
Silently Megan wiggled one foot after the other. “I think I just need my wrist supported,” she said eventually.
“I’m the best judge of that,” he replied, raising his eyebrows at her. For a brief moment something like a smile flickered in his eyes. “Doctor knows best, remember that!”
It was with difficulty that Megan contained herself. Pride forbade her to tell him she was a trained nurse, for it would look too much like boasting. So she remained silent but inwardly seething as she held out her left hand towards him for inspection. “Ouch!” The protest came out involuntarily, against her will, as he gently flexed her wrist.
“Humph,” he snorted, “Just as I thought. You can’t go rolling about on the floor without doing some damage to yourself.”
“I was not rolling about on the floor,” interrupted Megan indignantly.
“What exactly would you call it then?” he enquired, his strong fingers gently examining her left wrist. “I thought the whole object of dancing was to stay on your feet!”
“I…well, I,” Megan hesitated, then laughed. “I suppose it is difficult to describe it any other way.” Then she glanced up at the X-ray. “I haven’t broken anything, have I?” she asked.
“How do you know?” he countered.
“I can see from the X-ray,” said Megan, beginning to feel indignant again. “All I need is a support bandage.”
“I disagree—you need more than just a support bandage. You need a cold compress to check the effusion.”
Megan opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. She might as well acquiesce, it was obviously going to be easier that way in the long run.
So she sat as patiently as possible while he went to organise the cold compress. The SEN could easily have put it on for her, but he had sent her away and obviously Sister Juliet Moore had not come back, or if she had, she was busy elsewhere. Megan thought of all her friends who by now would be tucking into a Chinese meal at the local restaurant. If it wasn’t for this high-handed locum, she reflected, she would have been on the way there herself. The more she thought about it the hungrier she became!
He came back with a tray and an ice-cold compress. As he deftly bandaged her wrist Megan furtively studied him. She judged him to be about thirty-five or six and his crisp dark hair had just the faintest sprinkling of silver at the temples. His strong features were attractive in a dominant sort of way, and he wore his expensively tailored suit beneath his white coat with a casual self-confidence.
Yes, she thought, watching him carefully; quite an attractive man altogether. She gave a mental smile at the thought of his female patients. Most women tended to go weak at the knees over their doctors anyway, and she could just imagine the effect he would have on them. It was strange though, he didn’t seem the type to be a locum—he looked more like a Harley Street consultant! Still, it just shows, she thought—appearances can be very deceptive.
When he had put on the compression bandage to his satisfaction he stood up. Megan stood up too and slipped her arms into the sleeves of her coat which he held out for her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, turning to face him, raising her eyes to his as she started to button her coat.
For a split second his hands lingered on her shoulders, then suddenly his piercing blue eyes sparkled with a thousand blue lights and a smile spread across his face, revealing attractive, even white teeth.
Unaccountably Megan’s heart did a quick flip. The sudden magnetism of his smile unnerved her. Hey girl, she said to herself, don’t be ridiculous. This man is only a locum, here today and gone tomorrow. Also he probably has an elegant wife to go with that elegant suit he’s wearing, plus four or five children tucked away at some expensive boarding school. In spite of the fact that he was only a locum she instinctively felt that his background was expensive and elegant.
“Thank you for your attention,” she heard herself saying stiffly, feeling suddenly shy. At the same time she was telling herself not to be so stupid. It was ridiculous to feel suddenly so ill at ease when all the time he had been glowering at her and being rude she hadn’t worried in the slightest. Now, after one brief smile, she felt flustered, like a jittery schoolgirl.
“Do you have far to go?” he asked, his deep voice echoing the smile in his eyes.
“No,” said Megan quickly, “I live very near. She didn’t tell him how near. Just across the road in fact, in the nurses’ block!
“Well, goodnight then,” he said, swishing back the curtains of the cubicle and ushering Megan out. “Next time you go dancing be more careful.”
Again she was tempted to tell him what she had really been doing, but he had turned away and walked across to the desk at the side of Casualty. He picked up some notes and Megan could see from his absorbed expression that he had already forgotten about her.
Slowly she turned and walked out of Casualty. It wasn’t too late, so she would go and join the others and have something to eat. She knew her friend Susan North would be most upset if she didn’t. As she walked down the road towards the restaurant she thought about the mysterious doctor in Casualty. A brief meeting and one flashing smile had left her with a strange, nagging ache. How can someone you’ve only met for half an hour have an effect on you? she thought crossly. Pull yourself together, you’re behaving like a lovesick girl out of a romantic novel!
When she arrived at the restaurant Susan came bustling over and her chattering jerked Megan back to reality with a bump. Susan North had been Megan’s friend since they had trained together and she worked with Megan at the County General on the orthopaedic ward. A lively girl, full of fun, it was always good to be with Susan because she enjoyed life to the full.
Susan and the other girls were half-way through their meal and, while she waited for her own to arrive, Megan related the events of the evening to them.
Susan’s eyes were as round as saucers as Megan regaled them with the tale of the overbearing but attractive locum in Casualty.
“Do you mean to tell me you went through all that and never even told him that you were a Sister in Casualty?” she demanded. “Honestly, Megan, you are the absolute limit!”
Megan laughed. “He didn’t give me the opportunity. He wasn’t at all friendly—quite the reverse in fact, and I could hardly get a word in edgeways.”
“I should have made an opportunity,” retorted Susan, adroitly picking up bamboo shoots and eating them with her chopsticks.
“You weren’t there, otherwise you would know what I mean,” said Megan. “Anyway, I’m not going to waste time talking about him because I can see my food arriving, and I’m starving!”
The rest of the evening was spent in catching up with all the hospital gossip and it was quite late before the party of girls walked back together to the nurses’ block.
The next day the weather was awful and the morning cold and miserable. A penetrating drizzle poured from the skies, making even Megan’s umbrella virtually useless. For some reason her spirits felt as low as the depression that was causing the melancholy weather as she made her way to the casualty department to begin the day’s work.
Before she had even taken off her cloak Megan knew it was going to be one of those days. Every cubicle in Casualty was occupied and the waiting area was packed to overflowing with an assortment of people, none of whom looked seriously ill. They ought to be sitting in their GP’s surgeries, not here in Casualty thought Megan irritably, as she heard the cardiac arrest team being summoned to meet an incoming ambulance.
The morning was chaotic and all the administrative things she had planned to do in the office had to go by the board. Her time was spent helping to get the many and varied patients sorted out, tactfully helping the two senior house officers, who were both new. So it was with some exasperation that she went in answer to a peremptory summons from the Nursing Officer in charge of the accident and emergency services. Tapping briefly on the door Megan entered briskly. “Mrs. Smithson, I hope this won’t take long. Casualty is in absolute chaos this morning and I…”
“Why, have you been dancing again, Sister?” enquired a sarcastic sounding male voice. The voice had a distinctly familiar ring to it.
Megan spun round to face the tall stranger of her brief encounter the night before. Instinctively she touched her still-bandaged wrist.
“How is the wrist, Sister?” he enquired.
“Much better,” she faltered. “But who are…?”
“Sister, you surely haven’t forgotten that our new Casualty Consultant, Mr. Giles Elliott, is starting today? I sent you a memorandum at least two weeks ago, and in it I asked you to be here at one o’clock today in order to meet him.” The Nursing Officer, Mrs. Smithson, sounded aggrieved.
“Oh,” Megan gasped, her hand flying guiltily to her mouth. “I had completely forgotten.”
Mrs. Smithson tutted with annoyance and out of the corner of her eye she saw Giles Elliott give an amused smile. Megan felt her cheeks flaming. He must think I’m an incompetent fool, she thought crossly. “Casualty has been extremely busy this morning,” she began.
“No need to apologise, Sister, I do understand,” cut in Giles Elliott smoothly. “Although I would appreciate it if you could spare me five minutes of your precious time to show me around.” His voice had a sarcastic ring to it which annoyed Megan intensely.
“I can spare you as long as you like, sir,” she replied icily.
“What about all those patients needing your tender loving care? Surely they will suffer if I take up too much of your time?”
Angrily Megan glowered at him. It seemed she could do nothing right as far as he was concerned. Although sorely tempted to snap back, she resisted the urge and maintained a discreet silence. The only outward sign of her seething emotion was her rigidly straight back as she walked quickly down the corridor, the tall figure of Giles Elliott beside her.
“I understand your name is Sister Jones,” he said as they walked down the long polished corridor.
“Yes,” replied Megan briefly. “Most people just call me Sister.”
“What is your first name?” he persisted.
Megan glanced at him uneasily. His face wore an enigmatic expression. Was it polite chit-chat, or was he really trying to be friendly, he wondered? There was no way of telling, either from his expressionless handsome face or the silky tone of his voice.
Deciding it was almost certainly the former, Megan answered rather abruptly, “It’s Megan.” At that point they arrived at the entrance to Casualty so that put an immediate end to chatting, social or otherwise.
Megan took him on an extensive tour of the department, introducing him to as many staff as possible. To her surprise, far from being aloof and stand-offish as she had expected him to be, he seemed genuinely pleased to meet everyone and was interested in everything they had to say. By the end of the tour round the department it was way past the time when Megan should have had her lunch.
Giles Elliott looked at his watch. “I believe you are late for lunch, Sister,” he remarked casually.
“Well,” Megan hesitated, “yes I am, just a little.” She wondered how on earth he knew what time her lunch hour was scheduled to be.
He obviously noticed her slightly puzzled expression for he said quickly, “Mrs. Smithson told me your lunch time.” Then he added, “Perhaps we could lunch together. There are still one or two things I would like cleared up, mostly concerning the procedures you have here in this casualty department.” He paused and looked at her expectantly.
Megan shifted her weight from one foot to the other uneasily. She didn’t relish the thought of suffering an uncomfortable lunch hour with Giles Elliott. She always regarded her lunch-break as sacrosanct, the one time in the day when she could relax properly. The last thing she wanted was to be bombarded with questions about the casualty department while having her lunch.
“I would be extremely grateful, Sister. We’ll go now, shall we?” Put like that there wasn’t much she could do about it!
Dominating male, thought Megan irritably, straightening the sides of her uniform self-consciously as Giles Elliott flashed her the same devastating smile that had unnerved her the evening before. Expecting me to jump to attention at his slightest whim she thought, although nevertheless she found herself involuntarily smiling back at him.
“That’s better,” he said with a laugh when she smiled. “At least I can imagine you are enjoying lunch with me, even if in reality you are thinking what a bore it is to be asked questions.”
“Oh no, I wasn’t thinking that at all,” said Megan hastily. Liar, she said to herself silently as they made their way through the maze of long corridors towards the canteen.
It was late, nearly two o’clock, so all the hot food had gone. The choice was extremely limited; pork pie and salad or chicken and salad. They both chose chicken, even though Megan knew from past experience that the chicken would almost certainly be as tough as old boots.
“I wonder if the chicken here is any better than at my last hospital,” he remarked as they took their seats at an empty table by the window.
“I sincerely doubt it,” replied Megan truthfully with a laugh. “I must warn you that it is usually quite a challenge to the digestive system. It never fails to amaze me how chicken can be turned into something with the texture of leather.”
“It takes years of practice as a hospital cook,” he replied, echoing her laugh.
Actually, Megan enjoyed her lunch more than she had anticipated. The conversation flowed easily and apart from giving him the low-down on Casualty she also found out a little about him. He had been a senior lecturer in a large London teaching hospital, but had decided to switch from an academic career to a clinical one, and for that reason had moved out of London.
“I missed the daily contact with patients,” he said. His father had been a Harley Street consultant he told her, and he still had the family house in Cheyne Walk, although his father had died. So I wasn’t so far out about you, Megan thought with satisfaction. I knew you had that expensive air about you.
“Wouldn’t you prefer to do the same as your father?” she asked. “It’s very hard work here, for not nearly as much money.”
“I know that,” came his reply. “I don’t need the money, and I certainly don’t need the private medicine.” There had been a finality about his tone of voice that precluded her from asking any further questions.
It was as they left the canteen that Megan’s brother Richard came hurrying by. He was a third-year medical student and had just started the clinical part of his training. “Hi, Megan,” he shouted as he zoomed past, white coat flying out untidily behind him, “Don’t forget our date—eight o’clock tonight. Hope your wrist is OK.”
Megan laughed. I hadn’t forgotten,” she replied. She was about to inform Giles Elliott that she had been roped into the medical student’s Christmas revue, but the words got stuck in her throat when she saw the very disapproving look on his face.
“He is a little young, isn’t he?” he snapped.
“Young?” echoed Megan in surprise and with a burst of indignation. She supposed his disapproving look was on account of her brother’s untidy appearance. “He is twenty,” she said. “In fact he’ll be twenty-one in January.”
“Really?” replied Giles Elliott in a strange voice. “And how old are you?”
“That is a very personal question,” retorted Megan, really vexed by this time. She was twenty-six, nearly twenty-seven, but she didn’t think that it was any business of his.
“You are right, of course.” His voice cut across hers sharply. “It’s none of my business. Let’s get back to work, shall we?”
His previous friendliness seemed to have vanished like a puff of smoke. I thought it was women who were supposed to have moods, thought Megan, feeling a little disgruntled at his mercurial change of attitude. He strode along the never-ending corridors back towards Casualty, Megan practically having to run to keep up with him.
By the time the afternoon had come to an end and five-thirty had arrived, Megan was heartily sick of Giles Elliott, the casualty department and everyone in it. In the morning he had been all sweetness and light, but in the afternoon he had swept through the place like a hurricane. Nothing anyone did was right; the two senior house officers were trembling in their shoes and the pupil nurses were so nervous that they started dropping things at the mere sight of him.
Megan kept her temper with difficulty. Outwardly she remained cool and calm, encouraging her nurses and dutifully making notes on all the procedures Giles Elliott wanted changed.
“What’s the new consultant like?” asked Sister Moore who was coming on duty for the evening shift.
“High and mighty,” replied Megan through clenched teeth. “He thinks he is God’s gift to medicine. I really can’t think how we ever managed to treat any patients successfully before we had the services of the marvelous Mr. Giles Elliott.”
“Sounds as if you had a bad day,” observed Sister Moore. She was a comfortable, middle-aged woman who had returned to nursing, working in the evenings and nights only, to supplement the family income. “Don’t be too hard on him, it’s probably a case of the new broom.”
“Don’t be too hard on him!” exploded Megan. “He has reduced everyone else to the verge of hysteria! That’s not the way to get the best out of one’s staff.” she flung her thick navy blue cloak around her shoulders angrily and, picking up her bag, marched purposefully out of the department.
“Goodnight, Sister,” came a familiar male voice behind her. “Enjoy your date.”
“I’m sure I shall,” replied Megan coldly, looking over her shoulder briefly to acknowledge him. “Goodnight.” As she continued down the length of the corridor towards the exit by the side of the out-patient fracture clinic, she was keenly aware of the fact that his piercing blue eyes were following her progress along the corridor. And as she turned the corner towards the exit she saw, out of the corner of her eye, that he was still standing outside his office.
He looked strangely alone and Megan was almost tempted to wave goodnight to him. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. Don’t feel sorry for him, he is probably planning another assault course for you to overcome tomorrow! So with a defiant toss of her dark curls, which somehow always managed to escape from underneath her cap, she turned the corner without acknowledging the fact that she had seen him still standing there.
During the rehearsal for the Christmas Revue that evening, Megan found it difficult to concentrate. Her mind kept returning to Giles Elliott, even though she determinedly did try to concentrate on the work. When she reflected on his behaviour that afternoon in an unemotional way, she had to acknowledge that everything he had said was right. The department had got a little slack, for there had not been a consultant in charge since the previous one had retired nine months earlier. Having been saddled with two completely green senior house officers had not helped much either. Normally there was one experienced SHO to show the new one the ropes, but this year… Megan sighed. Perhaps she should have explained that to him.
Mentally she gave herself a shake. Oh well, no use worrying about it, she thought resignedly—tomorrow is another day. Her normally cheerful spirits bubbled to the surface as she threw herself wholeheartedly at last into the rehearsal.
Rather reluctantly she allowed herself to be persuaded into participating in a saucy sketch which involved playing the part of a patient, very provocatively dressed in brief bra and pants. The idea was that every night the students would drag one of the senior consultants up from the audience and on to the stage, and make him plaster her leg. The plaster of Paris bandage would be “doctored” so that it embarrassingly fell to pieces when he tried to use it and Megan’s role was to flirt outrageously with the consultant and make his task even more difficult.
They practised it and Megan didn’t mind too much. It was all good fun, and she knew from past experience that, however much they protested, the senior consultants were always flattered at being hauled out of the audience. They knew when they bought their tickets that there was more than a fifty-fifty chance that they would actively participate in the proceedings before the evening drew to a close.
By the time the rehearsal finished it was way past midnight and Megan was glad that she had brought her car and not walked or caught a bus. They had been using the lecture theatre at the medical school which was about four miles away from the hospital in the centre of the city. On arrival back at the hospital she parked her ancient little Mini in the car park nearest to the nurses’ home and started to walk briskly towards the tower block.
It was an intensely cold night. Her breath was like puffs of steam in the bitterly cold air as she blew on her fingers in a vain attempt to keep them warm, wishing she had had the foresight to have worn some gloves. The first frost of winter tonight she thought, stepping into the pool of light at the entrance to Casualty. Because it was so cold she decided to take a short cut to the nurses’ home, which meant crossing in front of the department entrance. The large red letters, CASUALTY, illuminated by the floodlights, stood out clearly, a signpost to anyone needing treatment.
She had just started her walk across the forecourt where the ambulances drew up when, to her astonishment, she saw the obviously very weary figure of Giles Elliott come out. He turned up the collar of his overcoat and hunched his shoulders against the biting cold of the night air. Megan started. Surely he couldn’t have been working continuously since she had left at five-thirty? Slowing her stride she hung back, hoping he wouldn’t see her, but he did almost immediately.
“You’re not going to get much sleep tonight, Sister,” he remarked. Megan thought his voice sounded tired but friendly—or was the friendly part her imagination?
“Oh, I’ve been at rehearsal,” she heard herself explaining. “It’s the medical students’ revue and I’ve got roped into it.” She laughed. “I must need my head examined, getting involved with that crazy lot!”
“I suppose that young man who spoke to you at lunch-time is in it,” he said.
“Oh yes, of course,” replied Megan enthusiastically. “He is one of the leading lights.”
“I can imagine,” came the wry reply. Then, to Megan’s consternation, he put his hands either side of his head on his temples.
“Are you all right?” she asked hesitantly. On a sudden impulse she hurried forward and put her hand on his coat sleeve.
He smiled and she noticed how exhausted he looked, with lines of weariness etched into his face. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all,” he replied. “A nasty accident came in, and I felt I just couldn’t leave one inexperienced senior house officer with a case like that. The other registrar was tied up in theatre with a surgical emergency from one of the wards, so there was no one to help him.”
Reaching across suddenly with his other arm he took her hand, which had been resting lightly on his coat sleeve, and clasped it. “My word, your hand is cold,” he said softly. “Perhaps I should burst into song and sing ‘Your tiny hand is frozen’!”
“His voice held a joking note, almost teasing, but his eyes were clouded and looked into Megan’s large brown ones seriously. She looked away quickly as her heart gave an unpredictable lurch, and she could feel it beating uncomfortably loudly against her ribs. The warmth from his large hands sent strange tingling sensations throughout her whole being. She was conscious that she had never reacted to anyone in that way before.
Megan gulped self-consciously, then tried to laugh lightly as she said, “You know what they say, cold hands, warm heart.”
“And is it?” he asked in a low voice.
“Is it what?” asked Megan, unable to tear her gaze away from his magnetic blue eyes.
“Is your heart warm?”
“Well, I…er,” Megan felt her cheeks burning in spite of the cold night air. “I really don’t know,” she mumbled.
He laughed and released her hand. “We are both tired and mustn’t stand here talking all night,” he said. Then he added, “I was only teasing, you know. I wasn’t expecting a confession on the state of your heart.”
“Yes, I mean…yes, I know,” stammered Megan. “Goodnight.”
She sped on her way back to the nurses’ home, a strange warmth pervading her being. At the same time she was cursing herself for behaving like a dumbstruck sixteen-year-old, just because he had held her hand.