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