In Her Boss's Special Care

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  She glared at him in affront. ‘We were not going for—’ But she cut herself short when out of the corner of her eye she saw the conference-room door open down the corridor. She watched in silence as a middle-aged couple came out with the head neurosurgeon, Anthony Pardle, in attendance, their faces ravaged by the emotion they were going through on hearing of the extent of their son’s injuries.

  As much as Allegra wanted the last word, she knew it would be pointless. Joel had yet again stripped her of her professional dignity, and the last thing she wanted was for anyone else to witness it. She didn’t understand why he had to be so obstructive. He had been so helpful with Mr Munsfield earlier, but now it looked as if the momentary truce was at an end.

  She waited until the patient’s parents and Anthony Pardle had passed before lowering her gaze and briefly apologising, even though the words felt like acid in her throat. ‘I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, Dr Addison.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Allegra felt the silent magnetic pull of his dark brown gaze, her breath stalling somewhere in the middle of her chest as their eyes locked. The silence was so thick she felt as if it was going to choke her. Her heart began to thump a little irregularly as his gaze slipped to her mouth for a nanosecond before returning to her wide green eyes.

  ‘Fine…’he said again, running a hand through the thickness of his hair in a manner that appeared to Allegra to be slightly agitated. ‘I’ll…er…let you get back to work.’

  She watched as he turned and walked with long purposeful strides up the length of the corridor, before disappearing from sight through the swing doors at the end.

  She blew out a little uneven breath and gave herself a mental shake.

  Don’t even think about it, she scolded herself sternly. Dr Joel Addison was definitely in the ‘too hard’ basket. And for the sake of her heart he had better stay there.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE pub was noisy and crowded by the time Allegra made her way there, but she wove her way through the clots of people to the table where some of the other Melbourne Memorial staff were sitting, chatting volubly over their drinks.

  Kellie waved to her as she approached. ‘Come and sit here, Allegra.’ She made room for her on the booth seat. ‘What will you have to drink?’

  ‘I’d better start with something soft,’ she said. ‘After five nights of on-call my head for alcohol gets a little wonky. I’ll have a lemon, lime and bitters, but you sit down—I’ll get it. Do you want a top-up?’

  ‘Thanks. Vodka and orange,’ Kellie said.

  Allegra made her way to the bar, saying a quick hello to two of the surgical registrars who’d been on call with her the last week. After a short exchange with them she carried the drinks back to the table where Kellie was and sat down with a sigh of relief marking the end of a stressful day.

  ‘How’s your coma study going, Allegra?’ Margaret Hoffman, an anaesthetic registrar, asked.

  Allegra exchanged a quick glance with Kellie before responding. ‘The new director doesn’t think it’s scientific enough for his exacting standards. He’s giving me a month to prove it’s worthwhile.’

  ‘Oh?’ Margaret looked surprised. ‘But it’s all been approved and your work on the Greeson girl was worthwhile, I thought.’

  ‘The Greeson girl died,’ Allegra said with a despondent sigh.

  ‘I know, but what you might not have realised at the time was how much it meant to her parents, having you there. I saw the way they drew comfort from you massaging their daughter’s legs and arms, touching her like a real person, instead of someone who’d been written off as a vegetable. You gave them a lot of comfort in a tragic situation, Allegra. Even if the study achieves nothing for the patient, it sure as hell gives the relatives comfort—shows that the staff are treating their loved one with dignity, like a real person.’

  ‘She’s right, Allegra,’ Kellie said. ‘That’s what’s missing from medicine these days. The staff are all run off their feet, no one has time any more for simple things, like holding a patient’s hand or listening to their worries or giving them a soothing back rub.’

  ‘I guess you’re right. But if I’m going to show anything from the study, I’m going to need the support of the director,’ Allegra said, reaching for her drink. ‘He seems against it on principle, and we haven’t exactly had the best start to a working relationship.’

  ‘I thought he was lovely when I met him at the welcome function,’ Margaret said with a twinkle in her eye, ‘and good-looking, too, which of course always helps.’

  ‘I wouldn’t care if he looked like the hunchback of Notre Dame as long as he lets me do my project—it’s really important to me,’ Allegra growled.

  ‘Ah, but your involvement with Patrick Naylor gives you the trump card, surely,’ Margaret said. ‘I say, why not aim for the top if you can.’

  Allegra frowned as she put down her drink. ‘I’m not involved with Patrick. Not in any way. Who on earth starts these rumours?’

  It was Margaret’s turn to frown. ‘But I heard him tell everyone in the doctors’ room the other day how you had dinner together. He’s really into you, Allegra. He made that very clear.’

  ‘He’s still officially married, for God’s sake,’ Allegra said. ‘Besides, I’m not the slightest bit attracted to him.’

  ‘Well, someone’s definitely got their lines crossed,’ Margaret said, as she leaned back in her seat. ‘The way Patrick tells it, it sounds as if you are the reason his marriage split up in the first place.’

  ‘No!’ Allegra gasped. ‘That’s not true! I only went out with him as he seemed so down. It was more of a goodwill gesture. I was worried about him. He told me his wife had left him and he started to cry. I’m hopeless when men do that, it really gets to me. I just can’t help going into rescue mode.’

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Kellie said, glancing towards the bar. ‘Don’t look now but guess who just walked in?’

  Allegra groaned and put her head in her hands. ‘Please, don’t let it be Patrick Naylor. I just couldn’t bear it.’

  ‘It’s not Patrick.’

  Allegra lifted her head out of her hands and swivelled in her chair to see Joel looking straight at her. She turned back to her drink, her face feeling hot all of a sudden.

  ‘Guess who’s blushing,’ Kellie teased, and, leaning closer, whispered, ‘Go on, admit it, Allegra, he’s hot. Look at those biceps—he must be lifting bulldozers in the gym.’

  ‘Shut up—he’ll hear you,’ she muttered hoarsely.

  ‘He’s coming over,’ Kellie said. ‘Hello, Dr Addison. There’s a spare seat over here opposite Allegra.’

  Allegra stifled a groan and sent her friend a blistering glare.

  ‘Thanks,’ Joel said, taking the seat facing Allegra. ‘Can I get anyone a fresh drink?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Margaret said with a friendly smile.

  ‘Me, too,’ Kellie said. Giving Margaret a surreptitious nudge, she got to her feet. ‘We’re calling it a night anyway. We’re on early, aren’t we, Margi?’

  ‘Are we? Oh, yes…silly me.’ Margaret grinned sheepishly and wriggled out of the booth. ‘See you later.’

  Allegra would have sent another scorching glare her friend’s way but Joel’s dark gaze had already searched for and located hers.

  ‘What about you, Dr Tallis?’ he asked, once the girls had left. ‘What’s your poison?’

  ‘I’m only drinking soft this evening,’ she said, her eyes falling away from his.

  ‘On call?’

  ‘No.’

  A small silence tightened the air.

  ‘I hope I didn’t frighten your friends away,’ he said after a moment. ‘They seemed in a hurry to leave once I arrived.’

  Her eyes came back to his, her expression taut with resentment. ‘They were trying to set us up. Surely you could see that?’

  He frowned in puzzlement. ‘Set us up? What do you mean?’

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. What plan
et had he just come down from?

  ‘Set up as in matchmake,’ she explained with a disapproving grimace. ‘Kellie does it all the time. It drives me nuts.’

  Joel took a leisurely sip of his lime and soda as he studied her expression. She had a wry twist to her mouth, as if the thought of being connected to him in any way was impossible.

  ‘I take it she doesn’t approve of your relationship with the CEO?’ he inserted into the silence.

  ‘I am not having a relationship with the CEO.’ She bit out each word with determination.

  ‘So that little tableau I witnessed earlier today was an aberration of some sort?’

  ‘Patrick and I are friends…sort of…’ she said. ‘He’s going through a particularly acrimonious separation. I found myself lending an ear one day and now it seems the hospital is rife with the rumours of us being involved. Nothing could be further from the truth.’

  ‘Hospitals are like that. Members of staff have only to stop and talk in the corridor and everyone thinks something’s going on,’ he commented. ‘But perhaps you should be straight with him. He seems to think you’re his for the taking.’

  Allegra frowned. ‘I know…but I don’t know how to avoid hurting his feelings.’

  Joel finished his drink. ‘He’ll get over it. Tell him you’re involved with someone else.’

  ‘Yeah, right, like who?’ she said, with another rueful twist to her mouth. ‘I work thirteen-hour shifts. I don’t even have time to do my own laundry and shopping, let alone find a date.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘I haven’t had a date in a year and a half. My mother is threatening to register me on an internet dating service.’

  Allegra stared at him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘What did I say?’

  She gave her head a little shake and picked up her almost empty glass for something to do to occupy her hands. ‘Nothing…It’s just that Kellie was suggesting I do the same.’

  ‘When you think about it, it sounds good in theory.’

  She scrunched up her face in scepticism. ‘You think so?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He leaned back in his seat, one arm lying casually along the back of the booth. ‘It cuts the chaff from the wheat, if you know what I mean.’

  Allegra couldn’t stop a bubble of laughter escaping her lips. ‘Chaff and wheat? Is that how guys these days refer to women?’

  He gave her an answering smile. ‘I guess it’s not the best metaphor, but I thought sheep and goats would probably be worse.’

  ‘You could be right,’ she said, still smiling.

  Joel ran his eyes over her features, taking in the light brown slightly wavy hair that seemed to be protesting about being restrained at the back of her head with a clip of some sort; loose tendrils were falling out around her small ears, and one long strand was over one of her rainforest green eyes. He watched as she tucked it behind her ear with her small slim fingers, her nails short but neat. Her face was faintly shadowed with residual tiredness but he knew if he looked in a mirror right now, his would look very much the same. Her mouth was soft and full, and her skin creamy white, as if she hadn’t seen much of Melbourne’s hot summer.

  She looked like she worked hard and he felt a little uncomfortable with how he had spoken to her earlier. She had a good reputation among the staff, everyone spoke highly of her dedication to patients, but he couldn’t help feeling her project had all the potential to provoke criticism and crackpot commentary as the new ICTU was evaluated by those who had backed its funding and those who had lost out on their own funding as a result. From what he’d heard so far, her study was time-consuming, had little theoretical basis and it would be hard to show results. And he of all people knew how important results were. His parents’ situation was living proof of how the wrong results could change everything—for ever.

  ‘So…’ Allegra said, moistening her lips as she searched for something to fill the silence. ‘How are you enjoying things so far at Melbourne Memorial?’

  ‘It’s a great facility,’ he answered, ‘the first of its kind in Australia. Having Trauma Reception on the same floor as ICU means that ICU staff are at close hand to be involved with trauma management. It’s a very innovative concept, even for a level-3 trauma centre.’

  ‘Yes, it makes a lot of sense. Less handing over of patients from one group to another, involvement of ICU staff right from the start of resus, and less movement of patients, too,’ Allegra agreed. ‘Wheeling patients twenty metres straight into ICU, instead of the old arrangement of up two floors and the opposite end of the hospital is a huge plus in itself.’

  ‘And having the two fully equipped operating theatres in Trauma Reception is real cutting edge,’ Joel said, ‘although some of the surgeons and theatre staff I’ve spoken to haven’t been too keen on it, actually. They don’t like splitting the staff and equipment between the main theatre and us.’

  ‘It can be disorientating, working in an unfamiliar theatre,’ Allegra pointed out, in the surgeons’ defense.

  He held her gaze for a moment. ‘There are some good people here. But it’s a high-pressure job and I’m very conscious of being the new broom, so to speak.’

  ‘You really like your metaphors, don’t you?’

  His smile was crooked. ‘I do, don’t I?’

  Allegra found the friendly, more approachable side to him totally refreshing and wondered if he was trying to make up for the bad start they’d had. Without the stark backdrop of the hospital and without his white coat and tie, he looked like any other good-looking guy in his early to mid-thirties. His face was marked by fatigue but, looking around the bar, most of the hospital staff who were still here looked much the same. It came with the job. Chronic tiredness was a given, especially in ICU, where the shifts were long and the work intense.

  ‘I heard you’ve been working overseas,’ she said, toying with the straw in her empty glass.

  Joel’s eyes went to her hands before returning to her face. ‘Would you like another drink?’

  ‘Um…why not?’ she said, deciding she was starting to enjoy herself for the first time in ages. ‘Vodka and lime.’

  ‘Coming up,’ he said, and got up to get their drinks.

  He came back and, placing her drink in front of her, took his seat opposite. ‘Yes, I was overseas for a while.’ He returned to her earlier question, his expression clouding a fraction.

  ‘Where were you stationed?’

  ‘In the Middle East.’

  ‘That would have been tough, I imagine.’

  He took a sip of his drink before answering. ‘Yeah, it was.’

  Allegra could sense he didn’t want to talk about it in any detail and wondered if he’d been involved in any of the skirmishes that had seen countless people injured or maimed for life.

  She took another sip of her drink and changed the subject. ‘Are you a Melbourne boy?’

  ‘Yep, born and bred. What about you?’

  ‘I’m a bit of a crossbreed, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘My father is originally from Sydney and my mother is a Melbourne girl. They both live here now but not together. I’ve spent equal amounts of time with them over the years.’

  ‘They’re divorced?’

  ‘They never married in the first place,’ she said. ‘But they’re the best of friends. They never went down that blame-game route. They’re what you might call…progressive.’

  ‘Progressive?’

  ‘They have a sort of open relationship. They don’t live together but whenever my mum needs a partner for some function or other, she takes my dad, and vice versa.’ She gave him a little embarrassed glance and added, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if they still occasionally sleep together.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘That’s pretty progressive.’

  ‘What about you?’ she asked, picking up her glass. ‘Are your parents still together?’

  ‘Yes, for something like thirty-five years.’

  ‘Do you h
ave any brothers or sisters?’

  His eyes moved away from hers as he reached for his glass, absently running the tips of two of his fingers through the beads of condensation around the sides. ‘I have a twin brother.’

  There was something about his tone that alerted Allegra to an undercurrent of emotion. His expression was now shuttered, as if he regretted allowing the conversation to drift into such personal territory.

  ‘Are you identical?’ she ventured.

  ‘Yes and no.’

  Allegra frowned at his noncommittal answer but before she could think of a response to it he met her eyes and asked, ‘What do your parents do for a living?’

  ‘My father’s a psychologist, who specialises in dream therapy, and my mother is a Tai Chi and yoga instructor.’

  His eyebrows rose slightly. ‘No wonder you have a tendency towards the other-worldly.’

  ‘I would hardly call what I do that,’ she protested, with a reproving glance.

  ‘So what exactly is it you do?’ he asked, settling back into his seat once more.

  ‘You’ll only rubbish it so what would be the point?’

  ‘I promise to listen without comment,’ he said. ‘Look, right now we’re just two overworked, tired people in a bar, chatting over a drink, OK?’

  She let out a tiny sigh after a moment’s hesitation. ‘All right.’ She took a little breath and briefly explained her theory of how human sensory touch could strongly trigger memories that might be integral to stimulating consciousness in a comatose patient. ‘There is evidence that skin sensation is wired up as our most primitive memory system, plugging more directly into primitive brain areas. If you think about your dreams, and record them after you wake up, the sensations you were experiencing just before you woke up are nearly always touch-related sensations. So—in this study, I encourage the relatives, particularly those who are most intimately involved with the patient, to touch them in predetermined ways. I teach them how to massage and touch their loved one in ways we think will trigger strong memories.’