Forbidden to the Playboy Surgeon

by Fiona Lowe

  ‘Good,’ he said to her, tossing the dregs of his coffee into the sink. ‘I’m glad you’re on board, because I promised to have lunch with the new and very attractive burns-unit house officer. Inserting the VP would make me late.’

  Her tension rode back in as fast as the cavalry into battle and her eyes flashed so brightly he needed sunglasses to deflect the glare. ‘You’re having lunch instead of operating?’

  He gave a practised shrug—one that said, What of it? ‘I’ve got complete confidence in your ability, but please, do page me if you need me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of interrupting you,’ she snapped.

  Her previous lush mouth was now a thin, hard line and Alistair was thankfully back in familiar territory. Nothing about this Claire Mitchell was remotely attractive and his body reacted accordingly, which was to say, it didn’t react at all. ‘Excellent,’ he said, as much to himself as to her. ‘I’m glad we’ve got that sorted.’

  Without another word, he left the room and strode towards the lifts. He’d spend the unexpected extra time with Ryan Walker’s parents. It was the least he could do.

  * * *

  A few days later, Claire was handing out her morning coffees to the dawn crusaders at the hospital gates when she got chatting with a delightful man in his seventies. With his Cockney accent that reminded her of Eliza Doolittle’s father in Pygmalion, he told her he’d been born ‘a blue baby.’

  ‘Me ’art’s plumbing was all wrong like. Lucky for me, the castle ’ere had a pioneer in ’art surgery, otherwise I’d ’ave been dead a long time now.’ Reg flicked his thumb towards the original ornate building. ‘I’ve got a lot of love for the old girl. She gave me a chance to ’ave a bloody good life. One of me kids was born ’ere when she come early and the docs patched up the others when they broke bones. Me grandkids were all born ’ere and me first great-grandkiddy’s due on Guy Fawkes.’

  ‘It sounds like the castle is your family’s hospital,’ Claire said, thinking about the affection in the man’s voice.

  He nodded enthusiastically. ‘Too right. That’s why I’m ’ere every mornin’. All us Landsburys are on the rota right down to the little tackers. If that lot in suits close ’er down, it’ll be a bloody disgrace.’

  Claire was about to agree when she heard her name being called. She excused herself and turned to see Victoria Christie, the petite and dark-haired paramedic who’d galvanised everyone into action by starting the Save Our Hospital committee. With rapid flicks of her fingers, Victoria was motioning her over.

  Bidding Reg goodbye, Claire crossed the cobblestones with care, regretting her heels. She reminded herself that her extra height would be necessary soon enough when she did rounds with Alistair. ‘G’day, Vicki.’

  ‘Hello, Claire. How are things?’

  It was a broad question that really didn’t demand a truthful answer but Claire had an unexpected and utterly disturbing urge to confide in the woman about how hard she was finding working with Alistair North. The thought unsettled her. She’d never been a woman who had a lot of girlfriends, and truth be told she usually got along better with men than women—which was fortunate given she was working in a male-dominated speciality. But it was immensely competitive so any friendships that had formed were always constrained by that reality.

  She’d tried friendships outside of medicine but people didn’t understand the crazy hours. Her frequent failures to turn up at events due to being delayed at work frustrated them and she noticed that it didn’t take long for the invitations to dry up altogether. It killed relationships too, or at least it had played a big part in her and Michael’s demise.

  There was more to it than just your job.

  She pulled her mind fast away from difficult thoughts and concentrated instead on trying to work out why women had to run in a pack and share the most intimate details of their lives with each other. She did have two close girlfriends and she’d always considered them enough, but Emma and Jessica were in Australia juggling toddlers, babies, partners and a burgeoning women’s health clinic. She missed them, and these last few weeks at the castle had thrown her for a loop. Never before had she felt so at sea in a job and she had no one to talk to about her baffling boss.

  How could one man generate such disparate feelings? She lurched from admiration to antipathy and back again, although right now admiration was fast losing its gloss. In Australia, she’d worked under crusty old neurosurgeons who barely knew her name and when they did deign speak to her it was to bark out instructions. It hadn’t always been a pleasant experience but at least it was predictable behaviour. They’d played by the archaic rules set down a hundred years ago and she’d just put her head down and got on with the job. So why was she struggling to do that with Alistair North?

  Because he doesn’t play by the rules.

  And wasn’t that the truth! The man drove her to the point of distraction with his lack of attention to detail outside of theatre. Sure, she was his trainee, but along with her clinical work she was carrying his administrative load as well as her own and it was wearing her down. She’d been working ridiculously long hours trying to manage the paperwork and she didn’t know how much longer she could trade sleep to keep up. Last week, with an enormous sense of guilt, she’d offloaded some of it onto her house officer. Andrew had accepted it without question, because that was the system, but part of her had wanted to explain. The rest of her had overruled the idea. Since leaving Gundiwindi, she’d held her secret close so it couldn’t be used against her. She’d got this far and as soon as she qualified she’d be home free.

  Meanwhile, she was barely treading water with the added report load, and combined with her own exhaustion and the Pied Piper incident on the ward two days ago, she’d lost her temper. Oh, how she regretted that she’d given in to fatigue and frustration. It had been beyond unwise but what worried her even more was her current pattern of behaviour. For some reason, when she was in Alistair North’s company, she lost her protective restraint.

  Not once in her career had she ever spoken back to her consultant, and now with the end of her fellowship in sight, it wasn’t the time to start. But as each day passed, she felt more and more like a smoking and steaming volcano ready to blow. To try and keep herself in check, she’d started clenching her fists when she felt her frustrations rising. As a result, her palms had developed permanent dents in them. She’d discovered if she focused on the sharp digging pain she was less likely to say something she’d regret. It didn’t always work and she’d clearly seen his displeasure at her criticism of his approach with Lacey. But instead of disciplining her, he’d rewarded her by letting her operate.

  This unexpected offer had both stunned and thrilled her. At the time, she’d hoped it meant she’d finally passed his test of attempting to drown her under a sea of administrative work. That his offer for her to operate solo meant he’d finally recognised her clinical skills and they were entering the next phase in their working relationship. For a few delicious moments she’d floated on air and then reality had hit. His offer for her to operate had been pure expediency. The playboy had a lunch date.

  That moment was the first time she’d ever doubted his professionalism. Even then, the suspicion wasn’t straightforward. Back in Australia, she’d had opportunities to insert VP shunts and she was competent in the procedure. He would have known that, so the fact he wasn’t going to be in the operating theatre with her wasn’t exactly abandoning his patient. Yet he’d admitted to going to lunch!

  So, you’ll lambast him for telling the truth when he could have created excuses like your previous bosses?

  Sick of the endless loop of contradictory thoughts, Claire gave herself a shake. ‘Today’s a new day,’ she said cryptically to Victoria’s question, ‘with new things to learn.’

  ‘Alistair’s a generous teacher.’

  ‘He’s certainly generous,�
�� she said, fighting the urge to purse her lips in disapproval.

  Victoria laughed and her chestnut ponytail swung around her shoulders. ‘Our Alistair certainly loves women. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’

  Unable to hide her astonishment, Claire blinked at the pretty paramedic. Not you too! If the hospital grapevine was to be believed, Victoria and Dominic MacBride were very much together. ‘Oh?’ she asked cautiously.

  Victoria’s face lit up with enthusiasm. ‘You’ve heard about the hospital ball?’

  For anyone not to have heard about the ball, they’d have to have been living under a rock. Posters graced every noticeboard inside the hospital, and outside they’d been pasted on the poster pillars along the main road. Invitations had been sent to the past and present medical and auxiliary staff and one massive wall in the cafeteria had been covered with an enormous banner declaring the Spring Fling ball to be the social event of the season. The chatter about it had even managed to dent the football conversations about which team would be playing in the FA Cup final in a few weeks.

  ‘I think I may have seen a poster about it somewhere,’ she said with mock thoughtfulness.

  Victoria missed the joke and continued in earnest. ‘It’s our first major event and we’re hoping to raise fifty thousand pounds. The thing is, we really need Alistair to attend. If he doesn’t, it’s going to affect ticket sales.’

  Claire laughed and then stopped as she caught the expression on Victoria’s face. ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘Deadly. He told Dominic that things were—’ she raised her fingers into quotation marks ‘—complicated, which is code for he’s broken some poor deluded girl’s heart once again.’ She let out a long sigh. ‘Why they even think they could be the one to get him to commit is beyond me. The man is Peter Pan. Anyway, we really need him at the ball because we plan to auction the seat next to him. Women will have the chance to sit next to him for one of three courses. We’re also selling his dance card. Your job is to make sure he attends.’

  ‘I doubt I can make Alistair North do anything he doesn’t want to do,’ she replied honestly.

  Victoria shot her an understanding smile. ‘Alistair was raised right and he went to the right schools. As a result, he has a social code of conduct that he sticks to. He will go to the ball if he’s your date.’

  Claire’s intake of breath was so sharp it sent her into a paroxysm of coughing. ‘I can’t ask my boss out,’ she said, her voice rising sharply.

  Victoria shrugged as if the fact Alistair was her boss was immaterial. ‘Of course you can. We all have to do our bit to save the castle,’ she said pragmatically. ‘Besides, it’s all about how you word the invitation. Guilt him into it if you have to. Tell him it’s imperative there’s a show of strength from Koala Ward. He can’t really argue against the expectation that as head of the department he should be there.’

  The thought of having this conversation with Alistair North was enough to make her hyperventilate. ‘Victoria, I really don’t think—’

  ‘Do you know how much the community will suffer if the hospital’s sold?’ Victoria’s hands hit her hips, elbows akimbo. ‘Keeping the castle open means everything to me, to the staff and to the patients. We’re expecting to raise at least a thousand pounds by auctioning off his dance card, plus all the money we’ll get for selling the seats next to him.’

  Oh, how she wanted to rush to the ATM right this second and withdraw the cash but the idea of eating next month took precedence. ‘I can’t promise you—’

  ‘Yes, you can. And you will,’ Victoria said with the sort of authority in her voice usually reserved for recalcitrant patients. She reached out her hand and gave Claire’s arm a gentle squeeze. ‘And all the children and families in the district will thank you.’

  Claire, who towered over the brunette, couldn’t comprehend how someone so petite could be such an indomitable force. ‘That’s blackmail,’ she said weakly.

  Victoria smiled. ‘No. It’s preventing a travesty. We’re all mucking in to save our wonderful hospital for generations to come. This is your small contribution.’

  Small? If this was small, she hated to think what a big request would look like. Claire was keen to do her bit, but she knew that Victoria had just well and truly dropped her into the muck right up to her neck.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CLAIRE STOOD AT the end of Ryan Walker’s bed and chewed her lip. She had expected the little boy to have improved much faster than this. When he’d arrived at A & E barely conscious after being hit on the head by a falling beam at the Westbourne Primary School fire, Dominic MacBride, the castle’s trauma surgeon, had immediately called her and Alistair in to consult. They’d ordered a CT scan that showed Ryan had sustained a fractured skull. Fortunately, there was no displacement of bones but there was a tiny associated subdural haematoma.

  Rather than rushing in with guns blazing, she’d totally agreed with Alistair’s conservative treatment plan. They’d worked closely with Rupert Emmerson, the anaesthetist, who’d sedated and ventilated Ryan. Alistair had inserted an intracranial pressure monitor and she’d inserted a central line, administering a mannitol infusion to decrease any associated brain swelling from the injury. The small haematoma hadn’t diminished in size but neither had it grown. As a result, Ryan remained ventilated and his condition was still in a state of flux.

  Yesterday morning, in a moment of frustrated despair during teaching rounds, she’d asked Alistair if she’d missed anything. Despite the large group of students gathered around the little tacker’s bed, Alistair’s pewter-grey eyes had zeroed in on her as if they were the only two people in the room.

  ‘If you’ve missed something, Mitchell, then so have I.’

  ‘Shall we do another MRI?’

  ‘He had an MRI two days ago. While his observations remain the same it’s not warranted. You have to ask yourself why you’re doing the test.’

  Because I have to do something. Doing nothing feels like giving up.

  ‘Surely there’s another option?’

  Something she’d been momentarily tempted to think was sympathy had crossed his face but it vanished the moment he opened his mouth.

  ‘There is. We wait.’

  Wait? That wasn’t something. That was sitting on their hands. ‘And what if he doesn’t improve?’

  His shoulders had risen and fallen. ‘That may be the reality.’

  No. ‘I don’t like that reality,’ she’d said briskly as if being terse would change it.

  He’d given her a brief sad smile before returning his attention to the group of students. ‘Who can tell me the elements of the Glasgow Coma Scale?’

  ‘I swear he squeezed my hand before,’ Ryan’s mother said, her voice breaking into Claire’s thoughts. Louise’s anxious face was lined with two weeks of worry. ‘That’s a good sign, isn’t it.’

  It wasn’t framed as a question—it was a solid statement. Louise needed to reassure herself that her little boy really was showing signs of improvement when in fact he was neither improving nor deteriorating. It was the limbo that was so disconcerting and heartbreaking, especially when neither she nor Alistair could pinpoint the reason.

  Claire didn’t want to upset the traumatised woman but she didn’t attach the same significance to what was likely a muscle spasm. ‘He’s very heavily sedated, Louise.’

  Claire checked his vital signs as she did twice each day. No change. She wrote up a drug order to override the one that was about to expire and then she turned her attention to Louise. Gunmetal-grey shadows stretched from the mother’s eyes down to her cheekbones. Claire was familiar with the signs of relatives at the end of their rope.

  ‘How are you sleeping?’ she asked, despite the signs that the woman wasn’t sleeping very much at all.

  The exhausted mother shrugged and tilt
ed her head towards the rollaway bed. ‘It’s got springs in interesting places.’

  ‘We can get you another one,’ Claire offered, having no idea if that was even possible. With all the talk of the probable sale of the hospital land and relocating the facility to one of the home counties, the powers that be weren’t spending any money. If push came to shove, she’d buy a rollaway bed herself. At least it would feel like she was doing something other than this interminable waiting.

  Louise sighed. ‘To be fair, it’s as much the disturbed sleep as anything. I wake up every time the nurses do their hourly check.’

  ‘Would you consider taking a night off?’ Claire asked carefully. She’d learned to tread very gently with families.

  ‘I doubt I’d sleep any better at home.’

  ‘Your GP can prescribe some sleeping tablets. Believe me, eight hours sleep in your own bed would do you the world of good.’

  Louise gave her head a brisk shake. ‘I want to be here when he wakes up.’

  ‘I understand.’ She pulled up a chair and sat, putting herself at eye level with Louise. ‘The thing is, Ryan doesn’t have to be alone. I’m sure there’s someone in your extended family you could ask to give you a break? You know, so both you and Colin can get a full night’s sleep.’

  Louise glanced between Claire and her redheaded son, whose freckles seemed darker than ever against his porcelain-white face. A tear spilled over and ran down her cheek. ‘I’m beyond making decisions. My mind feels like it’s encased in a wet, London fog.’

  ‘Then let me make the decision for you.’

  She looked uncertain. ‘I’ve never felt this exhausted in my life. It’s like fatigue’s not only invaded my soul but it’s set up residence. All I want to do is curl up under the duvet and sleep for a week. I want to forget about the fire and how it turned my life on its head in an instant. But how can I? This is my new reality. Ryan can’t leave and forget. If I go home, aren’t I letting him down?’

  Claire had heard variations of this story from grieving parents many times before. She gave the woman’s knee a gentle pat. ‘If you don’t look after yourself, Louise, you risk getting sick. If you fall apart, then you’ll be away from Ryan a lot longer than twelve hours.’