by Anne Fraser
Julie hid a smile. She was having no difficulty imaging the friction between the two. In many ways Caroline reminded her of herself as a teenager.
‘But he was sort of right, wasn’t he? Look what occurred back there. You could have been hurt. I’m sure he would never have forgiven himself if anything happened to you.’ Julie shivered, remembering. ‘I was terrified. Weren’t you?’
‘When the worst thing possible has already happened to you, there’s not much that frightens you,’ Caroline said softly, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, and Julie’s heart went out to her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she continued, regaining her composure. ‘I don’t usually go on like this. I think I must be more shaken than I thought. Anyway, I’m completely fine now, and that’s what matters. I would have taken a taxi home perfectly easily, so he’s fussing over nothing.’
Julie knew there was little point in pursuing the conversation. It was between Caroline and her uncle. The two women sat in silence for a few moments.
Caroline looked at Julie curiously.
‘What happened to your face?’ she said.
As usual, whenever someone reminded her of her scar, Julie’s hand went to her cheek. Sometimes, not often, she managed to forget.
‘Skiing accident,’ she said, ‘when I was about your age.’
‘You should ask Uncle Pierre to fix you,’ Caroline said, and this time Julie heard the note of pride that had crept into her voice.
Fix me? Julie thought. She didn’t think anyone could fix her.
‘He’s a famous surgeon in France, you know,’ Caroline added.
‘So I gather,’ Julie said dryly. ‘However, I’m used to my face the way it is.’
But as she said the words she knew she was lying. She hated the scar.
They pulled up outside the address Caroline had given her. The house was an impressive detached sandstone building with a driveway large enough to hold several cars. Caroline showed her how to operate the gate from a button on the keyring, the gates swung open and Julie drew up beside the front door.
Caroline eased herself out of the car.
‘Thank you for bringing me home,’ she said politely.
‘Will you be all right on your own?’ Julie asked, unsure what to do. Should she go in with the girl? Wait for Pierre to return home? ‘Would you like me to come in? I could wait with you until your uncle gets back.’
Caroline shook her head with a disdainful lift of her brow.
‘There is no need. Please, you did what you said you’d do. I’ll be perfectly fine.’ Then her features softened. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t mean to be rude when you’ve been so kind. And I didn’t mean to offload on you like that. I think it was the fright.’
‘Hey, it’s okay,’ Julie said. ‘I understand. Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?’
Caroline shook her head again. ‘I’m going to go straight to bed.’ Julie knew she could hardly force her way into the house. So after a brief goodnight, and watching until Caroline was safely inside, she turned the car in the direction of the hospital. She was wide awake and knew sleep would be impossible, so she did what she always did when sleep eluded her—she went in search of work.
A and E was bustling with activity. A number of the clubgoers were being treated with minor injuries or for the effects of smoke inhalation. Julie found her friend Kim, one of the A and E nurses, gulping a cup of coffee at the nurses’ station.
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Julie asked.
‘Good grief, woman, do you tune into the police radio or what? How come you always seem to know when we have a rush on? Don’t you have a life?’ Kim stifled a yawn. She was always scolding Julie for working too hard, telling her she should get out more. Julie just ignored her friend’s good-natured cajoling. It was her life, not Kim’s, and she would live it the way she wanted to.
‘I was at the club,’ Julie said. ‘Yes, really. And dancing!’ She ignored her friend’s look of feigned astonishment. ‘I’m looking for one of the victims. The DJ. He was pretty badly burnt. Dr Favatier brought him in.’
‘Ah, the divine Dr Favatier,’ Kim sighed, rinsing her mug at the sink. ‘I’d heard about him from some of the other nurses—and they weren’t exaggerating. He is hot!’ She gave herself a little shake, then grinned at Julie. ‘But what am I thinking? And me a happily married woman and all.’ Her expression turned serious. ‘Your DJ—his name’s Tom Blackheath—is still in Resus. It’s been chaos in here the last few hours—since even before the fire. This is the first chance I’ve had to draw breath.’ She set her mug on the counter. ‘Let’s go find out how your injured DJ is.’
Tom was the only patient in the resuscitation room. There were several doctors and nurse working over him, Pierre included.
Tom had been sedated and ventilated and was still holding his own. Julie stood back from the gurney, not wanting to get in the way. She watched as Pierre checked the incisions and conferred with the A and E consultant. Eventually he noticed Julie. He seemed surprised to see her.
‘You managed to get Caroline safely home, then?’ he asked, turning peeling off his latex gloves and tossing them in the bin. When Julie nodded he continued.
‘Thank you, but you didn’t need to bring the car back here. I would have collected it tomorrow.’
Although it was after two in the morning and he was developing stubble, which only added to his dark good looks, he didn’t seem tired. Quite the opposite, in fact. He radiated energy and vitality that pulsated through the room. Immediately something clicked inside Julie. Despite his image, here was someone who felt the same way about the job as she did. It was where they belonged—where they felt most alive.
His dark hair had flopped across his forehead and for one heady moment Julie was tempted to reach across and push it away from his eyes. Horrified at the thoughts that were flitting through her mind, she forced the image out of her head. What was she doing? Fantasising about her boss. It was totally inappropriate! Besides, she hardly needed to remind herself a man like this wouldn’t be interested in someone like her.
‘Yup, she wouldn’t let me come in. I hope it was all right to leave her?’ Julie prayed she wasn’t blushing. He was probably used to women getting flustered in his presence but she was damned if she was going let him see how much he affected her.
‘She is a very stubborn girl,’ Pierre replied grimly. ‘Takes after her father.’
He turned to the A and E consultant. ‘I’ll operate tomorrow,’ he said, ‘if he pulls through. In the meantime, I’m off to bed. Unless you would like any more help?’ Satisfied he was no longer needed, he steered Julie away from the resus room.
‘Are you ready to go?’ he said. ‘I’ll run you home.’
‘I’d rather stay and help,’ she said.
He looked at her sharply, narrowing his eyes. ‘If you remember, you are joining my team tomorrow…’ He glanced at his watch. ‘This morning. De bleu! It is almost three. You need your rest.’
‘I don’t need much sleep,’ Julie protested.
‘You do if you are working with me,’ he said firmly.
Julie ignored him and nodded backwards in the direction of Tom. ‘How is he?’ she asked.
Just for a moment Pierre looked tired. He rubbed a hand across his cheek. ‘The next twenty-four hours are critical. If they manage to stabilise him—if he survives—we’ll start doing skin grafts later on today. You can assist, if you like.’
‘I’d appreciate that,’ she said quietly. ‘I would like to see his treatment through. I feel I owe it to him,’
Pierre looked at her intently. ‘I’ll need you alert and under control,’ he said. ‘There’s no room for emotion in the theatre,’ he said.
Julie realised it was pointless to argue. He had completely misunderstood what she had meant. Suddenly the adrenaline seeped away, and she felt exhausted.
‘You don’t have to take me home,’ she said. ‘I’ll get a taxi.’
The last
thing she wanted right at this moment was to find herself in close proximity to this man. A good night’s sleep, or at least a few hours—and there was hardly enough time to get more than that now—would be enough for her to pull herself together and get her emotions under control.
‘Of course I am going to take you home. It is the least I can do.’ He held out his hand. For a stunned moment Julie thought he meant her to take his hand, and almost laid hers in his. Just in time she realised he was expecting his car keys but she was unable to prevent the tell-tale blush flooding her cheeks. Pierre looked at her quizzically, then grinned.
‘You will be perfectly safe with me, Dr McKenzie, whatever people might say.’
Julie shot him a furious look before she could prevent herself and felt herself redden from the tips of her ears to the tips of her toes. Was he actually flirting with her? And what was worse, did he actually think she’d be flattered, grateful even?
‘And why should I think I wouldn’t be safe with you, Dr Favatier?’ she asked in the coldest voice she could summon. He looked at her, then as recognition dawned his blue eyes glinted mischievously.
‘Because people think I drive too fast, of course. What other reason could there be?’
Julie felt her skin shrink with embarrassment. Great start, Dr McKenzie, she thought. Way to go, girl!
Julie sank into the soft leather seat of Pierre’s car. Asking her for her post code, he programmed it into the satellite navigation system of his car.
‘It easier than you telling me how to get there,’ he said, pulling out into the road. ‘You did very well back there, at the fire.’
‘I’m just glad you were there,’ she said. ‘I would have hated having to do a tracheostomy on my own.’ She slid him a look. ‘It’s quite different having to do something out of the hospital setting.’
Pierre turned and flashed her a smile. ‘Something tells me you would have coped okay,’ he said. ‘You stayed very cool.’
Julie felt herself glow at the praise. ‘Skiing teaches you that. How to stay focussed, even when you’re terrified. And I was,’ she admitted.
‘Then you hid it well,’ he said. ‘I think I’m going to like having you on my team.’ He drove quickly through the now deserted streets. Julie was acutely conscious of his presence in the cramped interior of his car. Suddenly she felt awkward.
Glancing down at this hand on the gearstick, she noticed that his right hand had been burnt.
‘You hurt your hand,’ she said.
‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘I put some cream on. It will be fine.’
He smiled at her again, his eyes creasing at the corners. Julie felt a tingle run up her spine.
‘Are all Scottish women so reckless?’ he asked. ‘You must know you risked your own life staying inside the burning building to help.’
Julie straightened in her seat. ‘I only did what anyone would have done. I couldn’t stand back and do nothing. I wasn’t being reckless.’
‘I know men who wouldn’t have done what you did,’ he argued.
‘How people behave in a time of crisis has nothing to do with what sex they are!’ Julie said crossly.
This time Pierre laughed out loud.
‘Dis donc,’ he said. ‘So you say.’
Julie felt her skin prickle. He was mocking her. Despite finding him unnervingly attractive, she wondered if she actually liked her new boss—even if he was the kind of surgeon she aspired to be. He seemed to have a pretty sexist view of women. Perhaps that was down to the type of women he spent time with. Julie could just see him with a glamorous simpering model on his arm. Someone who hung onto his every word and liked to have doors opened and him order for her. Someone who was unlike her in every possible way.
‘Anyway, you were pretty reckless yourself,’ she said. ‘You took a risk going to help the DJ.’
Pierre raised an eyebrow, his eyes silver in the semidarkness. ‘A chance you were about to take yourself. In fact, you would have taken a greater risk than I. You would have never been able to get him out of there. And somehow I suspect you would not have left him.’
Hearing the admiration in his voice, Julie felt somewhat mollified. But whatever he thought, she’d only done what anyone in her shoes would have done.
Happily, before she had a chance to think of a response they had pulled up outside her flat in the West End of Edinburgh.
She leapt out of the car, noticing Pierre’s surprise at her almost indecent haste to get away.
‘Thank you for the lift,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you later this morning.’ Without waiting for a reply, she turned and was relieved when she heard his car roar off into the night.
Pierre felt strangely unsettled as he drove home. Stopping at a traffic light, his eyes caught an enormous billboard straddling the pavement. The woman advertising a famous make of bath soap reminded him of someone. Almost at once he realised who—Julie. The model had the same glossy-brown hair, sweet smile and charcoal smudged grey eyes radiating warmth, compassion and intelligence.
He rubbed the tiredness from his eyes. Dr Julie McKenzie was brave and cool under pressure, qualities he knew were important in a surgeon, but it was the Julie the woman who intrigued him most. She seemed oblivious to how beautiful she was, even with the scar. Instead, she came across as shy and uncertain of herself as a woman. He couldn’t help recalling the way she had blushed in his company. Had she’d been anyone else he would have felt flattered, even been tempted to show her how attractive she was. But she wasn’t just anyone, he reminded himself. She was his colleague, his junior colleague, and therefore out of bounds. An affair with her was completely out of the question. And not just because she was a colleague but because he guessed she was not someone who would take any relationship lightly. For him, the only relationships he liked were the casual ones. All his lovers knew that. At least he assumed they all did. Until Monique, that was. She had chosen not to believe him even though he had made his position clear right at the start of their relationship. But when he had told her it was over, after it had run its course, she had been devastated and furious. After the most embarrassing scene he had sworn he would never get involved with a colleague again.
It was a pity about Julie, he thought. He had enough of experience of women to suspect that underneath that shy exterior lay a woman of passion. Not that she was really his type. Not even remotely. Why, then, did the knowledge that Julie was off limits leave him feeling bleaker than ever?
Julie yawned as she poured herself another cup of coffee in the duty room. She finished looking over her patients’ charts as the other staff gathered together.
‘He’s gorgeous,’ one of the staff nurses was saying to her colleagues. ‘And as for that accent…’ She shivered with delight. ‘He could have his wicked way with me any time.’
Despite herself, Julie felt her ears prick up. It was obvious who they were talking about.
‘You’ll need to get in line, then,’ Dr Cramond, one of the other junior doctors, replied.
She, unlike Julie, was pretty in that doll-like way most men seemed to admire. She was probably just Pierre’s type, Julie thought, trying to ignore how envious the thought made her.
‘Do you think he’s attached, Julie?’ Dr Cramond asked.
‘Not a clue,’ said Julie, returning to her notes. She really didn’t want to be drawn into a discussion about Pierre with her new colleagues. Even if it made her seem a little standoffish.
‘Bound to be,’ said the nurse, a friendly looking woman with glossy black hair who had introduced herself as Fiona. ‘Very likely he has someone back in France.’
‘But I gather he’s not married,’ Dr Cramond said wistfully, ‘so as far as I am concerned that makes him fair game.’
They stopped talking abruptly when the man himself walked into the duty room. Dressed in a dark grey suit that must have cost an arm and a leg, clean shaven and with just a hint of aftershave, Julie was struck again by his model good looks. He wouldn’t look o
ut of place on the cover of a magazine.
Julie replaced her cup and scrambled hastily to her feet.
‘Good morning, Dr Favatier,’ she said.
‘Bonjour,’ he replied. He glanced down at the sheaf of notes he held in his hand. ‘Shall we get started?’
‘Have you heard how our patient from last night is doing?’ she asked as she and Fiona accompanied him across the ward.
‘I saw him in Intensive Care this morning,’ Pierre answered. ‘He’s stable. I plan to take him to Theatre later this morning. We’ll go and see him again after rounds. But first let’s see our elective patients.’
Pierre walked over to the first patient, a lady in her early sixties with short grey hair and a ready, if lopsided smile. ‘Bonjour, Madame Tulloch,’ Pierre greeted her with a broad grin. ‘I gather you know Staff Nurse already?’ he said, indicating Fiona. ‘And this is Dr McKenzie, who will be helping me look after you.’
‘Good morning, Dr Favatier. It’s nice to see you again, and to meet you, Dr McKenzie,’ Mrs Tulloch responded. Despite her smile, Julie could say traces of anxiety in her faded blue eyes.
‘Could you remind us of this lady’s history, Dr McKenzie?’ Pierre asked.
Julie had made sure that she had read up on all the patients earlier, having arrived at seven to give herself enough time.
‘Mrs Tulloch saw her dentist for a routine check-up six months ago and he discovered a suspect growth on her jaw bone. He referred her to the surgeons, who identified a tumour. The surgeons removed the tumour and a piece of bone was taken from the left hip and grafted onto the jawbone. Mrs Tulloch has had two rounds of radiotherapy and is doing well, apart from some difficulty with speaking and swallowing.’
Pierre nodded approvingly. ‘Well done, Dr McKenzie. Brief and to the point.’ he said.
‘Mrs Tulloch is scheduled for Theatre this morning,’ Julie finished.
‘How are you feeling, Mrs Tulloch?’ Pierre asked the woman, who had been listening intently to Julie’s résumé of her condition.
