The Rebel Surgeon's Proposal. Margaret McDonagh

the usual introductory process she used with every patient, greeting them and telling them her name and her role, confirming their identity and that the details had been entered properly on the computer notes. Next she asked them to outline the reason for their visit and found out their history and if they had ever had X-rays or scans in the past.

      ‘Have you had an ultrasound before?’ The woman shook her head, clearly alarmed at what was to happen, so Francesca was swift to reassure her. ‘It’s a quick and painless procedure—just the same as pregnant women have to check on their unborn babies. The scan uses sound waves to see inside the body and build up a picture of organs and structures. In your case Dr Buchanan wants to check to see if you have any stones in your gall bladder that could be causing your symptoms. Did he explain that to you?’

      ‘Y-yes,’ Mrs Bryson stammered.

      ‘OK.’ Rising to her feet, Francesca crossed to the examination table by the ultrasound machine and made it ready. ‘If you’d care to lie down for me… ‘

      The woman hesitated. ‘Do I have to get undressed?’ she asked, betraying the source of her anxiety.

      ‘No, I just need access to your abdomen, so we can adjust the clothes you are wearing.’ Keeping businesslike but friendly, hoping to aid the stressed lady to relax, Francesca helped her to settle on the table. ‘If you could lie more on your left side… That’s perfect,’ she praised, helping adjust the woman’s clothing to expose the area she needed on the right side and across her abdomen while retaining as much of her dignity as possible. ‘Now, I’m just going to put some gel on your skin. It’s cold, I’m afraid, but it’s necessary to get a good image.’

      What she refrained from saying, so as not to upset Mrs Bryson any further, was that the larger the patient, the less sharp the image the scan could produce, given the layers the sound waves had to pass through. The woman was already self-conscious enough. ‘Next, I’m going to run the hand-held transducer over the area and we’ll see what we can find. You’ll feel a little pressure as I get the best connection possible. It shouldn’t cause you any discomfort, but tell me if you have any worries or there is anything you want to ask.’

      With her patient declining the invitation to look at the screen, Francesca began the scan. Although the image was not the sharpest, it was obvious at once that Mrs Bryson did have gallstones. Several of them were apparent. She printed out copies of the images for the file, as well as saving the scan digitally for the doctors to review on screen, sending it through to A and E for Gus Buchanan. That done, she helped wipe the remains of the gel from Mrs Bryson’s skin, clearing up while the woman adjusted her clothes and climbed off the table.

      ‘Is that all there is to it?’

      ‘To the scan, yes.’ Francesca smiled sympathetically, hoping that the doctors could treat the stones without resorting to an operation, which she feared would scare the nervous woman even more. She jotted a few notes and handed the file back. ‘If you’d like to take this back to the A and E department, Dr Buchanan will explain the results and discuss them with you. Always speak up and ask any of us questions if there are things you don’t understand.’

      ‘Thank you. You’ve been so kind.’

      ‘My pleasure.’ Francesca opened the door and showed her out, ensuring she knew her way back to A and E. ‘Good luck, Mrs Bryson.’

      Having finished her notes for the on-duty consultant radiologist who would review the day’s cases and write any reports needed for the referring departments or GPs, Francesca tidied the room, relieved that no more unexpected patients arrived. It was time to go home. Time to see Luke. A curl of heat percolated inside her. Aware, too, of a mix of excitement and confusion, she headed for the women’s locker room to change out of her uniform. Mindful of hygiene and the dangers of superbugs and cross-infection, one of several initiatives the hospital board had introduced was reinstating the policy of changing and laundering on site rather than allowing staff to wear uniforms to travel to and from work.

      Only Dee Miller was in the room as Francesca entered. Her immediate superior, the head radiographer and technician was in her early fifties, short and plump, with warm hazel eyes and a dark brown bob. A lively, organised and caring woman, Dee had been working in the unit for many years. Well respected, she was responsible for the section Francesca worked in and for reporting to Derek Barwick, the chief consultant and clinical director of the radiology department.

      ‘Everything all right?’ Dee asked, already dressed in street clothes and in the process of putting her discarded uniform into the hospital laundry basket before returning to her locker, a few down from Francesca’s.

      ‘Fine, thanks.’ Detecting an odd note in Dee’s voice, she looked at her colleague and frowned. ‘Why? Have I done something wrong?’

      ‘Goodness, of course not!’ Dee reassured her with a surprised laugh. ‘You’re the best radiographer we have. No, I just thought you seemed distracted this afternoon.’

      Francesca shook her head, unable to explain that she had been in shock since meeting up with Luke at lunch time. Instead, she hid behind her locker door on the pretence of rummaging inside for her things.

      ‘The new surgical registrar made quite an impression,’ Dee continued, a teasing note in her voice.

      Feeling a blush warm her face, Francesca kept her head buried in her locker. ‘Mmm,’ she murmured noncommittally.

      ‘I gather you know each other.’

      ‘We went to the same school as children,’ Francesca allowed, downplaying the connection even though she feared Dee was not going to let the subject drop. ‘I’ve not seen Luke for ten years.’

      ‘For once it seems all the talk about changes in the orthopaedic department and rumours of a high-flying new surgeon coming here were true.’ Dee closed her locker door and sat down on the bench, clearly settling herself in for a good chat. ‘I heard that Maurice Goodwin snapped Luke up after he was left a man short on his team when the last registrar, Adrian Lomax, left under a cloud after that botched operation.’

      Like everyone else, Francesca had heard the talk, but she seldom paid much attention to hospital rumour. With Dee confirming that the news about the new surgeon was true…and that it referred to Luke…she knew that he had trained in London under the renowned orthopaedic maestro Professor James Fielding-Smythe.