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