find that she wasn’t a pushover any more. ‘Jordan, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you. Thanks for letting me know. When’s the next available two-hour slot?’
‘Friday morning, half-past nine. Do you want me to book you in?’
‘Yes, please. And, Jordan?’
‘Yes?’
‘If anyone tries to override it—unless it’s a majax—can you refer them to me, please?’
‘Sure.’
‘Cheers.’
‘Um, Miranda, I was wondering…would you like to come out for a drink with me? Or dinner, or something?’
‘Yes, that’d be nice.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Sorry. I’m on a late. How about Monday?’
‘Great. I’ll book somewhere…say, for seven? And do you like Italian?’
‘Seven’s fine and I love Italian—thanks. Talk to you soon.’
She cut the connection, rang the professor’s secretary and asked to speak to him.
‘I’m afraid he’s with someone, Miranda. He’s on his way to a demonstration.’
‘It’ll only take ten seconds, Ally. Promise. And it’s urgent. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.’
‘All right. As it’s you.’
A second later, a testy voice informed her, ‘Miranda, I don’t have time to talk to you right now. I’m about to do a demonstration.’
‘I know. In my theatre slot.’
‘For heaven’s sake, you were only doing an angioplasty. It’s a routine operation. You can reschedule.’
‘My patient has unstable angina.’ Didn’t that mean anything to him? Had he forgotten May so easily? ‘If she has an MI before I can do the angioplasty, I’ll have to do an emergency bypass and I don’t want to put her through that.’
‘It’s not that likely, and you’re making a fuss.’
‘Too right I am, Professor.’
His voice hardened. ‘Don’t you take that tone with me. I’m your father.’
‘We’re at work. Which means I’m a doctor first and your daughter second.’
‘Miranda, I don’t have time for this!’
She knew exactly what that meant. ‘Don’t tell me you discussed it over lunch, thought it was a good idea, saw my name on the list and decided that I’d make the least fuss about losing my slot. Wrong. I expect exactly the same treatment—the same courtesy—as you’d give any of your other consultants. Why didn’t you ask me first?’
‘We’ll talk about this later.’
‘Fine. And you’ll have my formal letter of complaint on your desk when you get back.’
‘This demonstration’s important. It could bring money into the hospital.’
‘And money’s more important than a patient’s health?’ Miranda asked scornfully. ‘This wasn’t an elective op. I’d have understood if there was a majax, but a demo? Why couldn’t your VIPs watch one of the scheduled operations?’
‘Don’t be difficult.’
She could feel her blood pressure rising. After all the years she’d spent training—all the exams she’d taken—he still treated her like a four-year-old who knew nothing, instead of a highly qualified thirty-two-year-old. ‘Difficult? Some would say I was a chip off the old block. Though from the days when he cared about people more than politics,’ she informed him sharply. ‘Enjoy your demo.’ She put the phone down before she really lost her temper.
She was still shaking when she saw Leila and asked her to hold the pre-med.
‘Are you OK?’ the senior sister asked.
‘Fine,’ Miranda lied. ‘I’ll explain to Imogen that her operation’s been rescheduled then I’ll be in my office, if anyone needs me. I may as well get stuck into the paperwork now I’m not in Theatre.’
She’d just printed off her carefully composed letter to her father when there was a rap on her door. She looked up to see Jack standing in the doorway ‘You OK?’ he asked.
‘Fine,’ she said tightly.
His raised eyebrow said it all. She sighed. ‘Sorry. I’m just annoyed that our slot was pulled at the last minute. I’ve rescheduled Imogen’s op for Friday morning.’
‘Don’t tell me—A and E?’ he asked.
‘Nope. Politics.’ She signed the letter with a flourish. ‘And this is a complaint letter. I’m just going to take it down to Ally.’
‘Pulling strings with the Prof?’
How could he even think that she’d go running off to Daddy at the first sign of trouble? ‘The Prof,’ she said in disgust, ‘is the one who took our slot—without having the courtesy to ask us. The complaint’s about him.’
‘Ah.’
‘Don’t worry, you won’t be caught in the crossfire.’ She folded her arms. ‘The Prof just needs reminding that I’m not a yes person. And I’ll fight for my ward’s rights.’
Jack exhaled slowly. ‘I think I’ll make sure I stay on your right side. Shall I ask Leila to pass the word round that you turn into Attila the Hun when someone crosses you?’
The tension suddenly drained from her, and she gave him a rueful smile. ‘Sorry. When hospital politics interfere with my patients, it drives me round the bend. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.’
‘Sounds to me as if you need chocolate,’ he said, producing a bar from the pocket of his white coat. ‘Catch.’
‘Thanks.’ She broke off a square, smiled and threw the rest of the bar back to him. ‘Perhaps it’s my lucky day after all—having a special reg who can read my mind.’
They exchanged a glance and her smile faded. On second thoughts, she hoped he couldn’t read her mind. Because chocolate wasn’t what she wanted right then. She wanted Jack Sawyer’s arms round her. And that beautiful mouth teasing hers…
No. She had to keep a very tight rein on her imagination, or it would play havoc with her work. ‘Thanks for the chocolate. I needed that. I’ll just drop this off—I’ll be five minutes, max. Bleep me if you need me.’
‘OK, boss.’
The ‘boss’ had been more for his benefit than hers, Jack thought. Because when he’d seen her sitting there, angry and upset on their patient’s behalf, he’d wanted to put his arms round her, tell her that everything would be all right. Hold her close. And to hell with his job.
‘I will not tolerate this!’ Ralph stormed, waving the piece of paper at his daughter. ‘What do you think you were doing?’
‘Exactly what I told you I’d do. Complaining about your behaviour. In future, I expect professional courtesy from you as a member of your staff,’ she emphasised.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t play games with me.’
‘I’m beyond that,’ she said crisply. ‘This is about my ward. My patients come first.’
‘You sound like May.’
Miranda smiled. ‘Thanks for the compliment.’ Even though it had been given grudgingly—and she wasn’t entirely sure he’d meant it as a compliment. She knew he hadn’t ever really forgiven May for stepping in when Miranda had been eighteen.
‘You’re