Claimed: One Wife

by Meredith Webber

  'He's very good,' she added to Jerry. 'I watched him clip an aneurysm last week. Talk about speedy fingers. And so neatly done I felt inadequate.'

  'Janey was scrubbing for him. She said the same thing. Said she barely had the clip on the forceps and he was finished.'

  Jane Dawson, Jerry's fiancée, was one of the hospital's top theatre nurses and Ted had fought hard to keep her for neuro work.

  'He wants a gathering of all the neuro staff—well, the medical side of it,' Sally told Jerry, knowing he'd pick up on who 'he' was. 'Probably to tell us we all have to pull together. That Daniel will be lucky if I don't pull off his ears.'

  'Don't bite when he teases you,' Jerry suggested. 'He only does it because he knows he'll get a rise.' «

  'He only does it because I'm a woman!' Sally retorted. 'I wish the new boss would consider splitting the team. Let Daniel take one strand and me the other.'

  'Perhaps you should suggest it,' Jerry said. 'Once Chris Simpson gets back from the UK, it'd be worth thinking about.'

  Chris Simpson was the second-year resident who made up their numbers in the small training unit, but because he was due back in a couple of months, no extra resident had been appointed.

  'And you could ask for me and give Andy to Daniel.' Jerry was sounding quite excited by the idea. 'Dr Hudson would have to approve it.'

  'And Daniel might not want Andy!' Sally added, gloom returning as she thought through the implications of any changes.

  Andy Spence was a brilliant man and a skilled surgeon, but already, three years before he took his final neuro exams, he was looking ahead to a different future. Stereoscopic radiography wasn't new, but the use in brain surgery of the three-dimensional images it produced was still limited. Andy was bent on expanding it, and on delivering clearer and more detailed images for the surgeon.

  'When's this get-together?' Jerry asked, and clear and detailed images of another surgeon suddenly filled Sally's head.

  'I have to check with his secretary to find out when he's free. I'll let you know.'

  She'd see the woman now, then grab something to eat, do a ward round and maybe, just maybe, get away early for a change.

  Miss Flintock greeted her with a grimace and a nod of her head towards the inner sanctum.

  So the bear was in his lair, was he? Sally's senses went on full alert.

  'I've got to organise for him to see all the staff together,' she whispered to the older woman.

  'So he said,' Miss Flintock said, sniffily enough to indicate displeasure.

  Oh, dear!

  'He probably doesn't realise you always did those things for Ted,' Sally said in her most soothing tones. 'I'm quite happy for you to arrange it.'

  'No. He said you're to do it, so you do it.' The words 'and don't expect any co-operation from me' remained unspoken but nonetheless implicit in the statement.

  Sally closed her eyes and prayed for patience.

  'So, when's he free?'

  Miss Flintock shrugged her bony shoulders.

  'How should I know? He tells me nothing. Nothing. First I'm supposed to screen his phone calls, only putting through people on the list. She was on the list. How was I supposed to know she was an impostor?'

  Trying to follow the conversation was akin to walking in quicksand. Or perhaps it's because I'm tired, Sally decided.

  'He must have a diary. Something that might show what he's doing when. Can't you check? He sounded as if he wanted this meeting soon.'

  But Miss Flintock's folded arms told Sally she'd asked the wrong question. Was she supposed to pursue the grievance the secretary had aired? Provide a sympathetic ear? What had she said? Something about an impostor?

  The sound of a phone being slammed back into its cradle and the faint echo of a colourful oath came clearly through the door and Sally, fearing her boss would emerge before she had the information she wanted, leaned forward and whispered, with what she hoped was sufficient menace, 'Just tell me when he's free, Miss Flintock. Now!'

  Perhaps slamming down phone receivers was becoming a habit, Grant decided. That made twice in as many hours.

  He rolled his chair back from his desk and massaged his scalp with his fingers. Hard.

  And as if he didn't have enough problems, there was someone whispering in the outer office. No doubt Miss Flintock telling one of her cohorts just how badly she'd been treated.

  Malice prompted by lack of sleep, fear for Tom and the frustration of the new job, brought him to his feet, and with the silent tread so deplored by his new senior resident he crossed to the door and flung it open.

  Sally Cochrane was leaning across Miss Flintock's desk, her face fierce enough to suggest that her next move would be strangulation.

  'Dr Cochrane?'

  She shot upright so quickly her short, shiny brown hair seemed to bounce on her head.

  'M-Miss F-Flintock's just checking your diary for me,' she stammered. 'To see when you're free. For the get-together.'

  Grant struggled with the smile that wanted to spread across his face. A couple of times today he'd caught her out, but this was the first time he'd seen her disconcerted about it.

  'And you were helping her look. Reading it upside down.' He glanced deliberately towards the desk, knowing full well the diary Wasn't there. He'd taken it into his office when he'd phoned Administration to argue, unsuccessfully as it turned out, for an immediate meeting to discuss the changing rooms.

  Sally gave him a wrathful glare, then flung up her arms.

  'Arrange your bloody meeting yourself,' she said, then she stormed out the door, slamming it viciously behind her.

  He stared at the still vibrating panel and allowed the smile to appear. He knew exactly how she felt.

  'What language. I'm sorry you had to hear that, Doctor. Not that it's like Sally. She's usually the easiest of people to deal with. Although she does work too hard, and all those brothers of hers to worry about. Sex, drugs and rock and roll, you know.'

  Miss Flintock's lips, pursed tight in disapproval, intrigued Grant even more than the strange phrase, but he had no intention of discussing the personal life of one of his staff with his secretary or anyone else.

  'My diary is on my desk,' he said instead. 'Perhaps you could fix a time for me to get together with the other doctors on the team.' He hesitated, the 'sex, drugs and rock and roll' words still beating in his head. 'A breakfast meeting later in the week—that'd be the thing.'

  He nodded to Miss Flintock and was about to leave the office when he realised he already had breakfast meetings with various of the other department heads lined up for later in the week.

  'Better still, make it tomorrow.' He hesitated, not knowing his way around the hospital well enough to designate a room. 'The cafeteria at seven. We can eat and talk. Keep things informal.'

  He walked away, the weariness in his legs reminding him of how little sleep he'd had. And the day had barely begun. He had surgery this afternoon, then tonight he was meeting Jocelyn for dinner. After standing her up last night, he'd better not forget.

  But it wasn't Jocelyn's image in his head as he slumped down at his desk. It was that of a small sprite of a woman, with glossy dark hair—with a temper to match the fire in her eyes.

  He smiled, then remembered all the reasons he didn't get involved with women on his team. No way!

  Ever!

  * * *

  Sally forgot about lunch and opted for a round of patient visits instead. The sooner she got away from the hospital, the less chance she'd have of running into Grant Hudson—and copping a lecture on irrational behaviour! »

  She shouldn't have slammed the door, but the man made her so mad!

  Calm down, Sally, breathe deeply.

  She checked Craig Greenway in ICU first. His wound looked healthy, his body healing itself, but still no messages were getting through to his hands or feet.

  'If you need the bed he can go down to a ward,' she told Ian Wheeler, the charge nurse on duty.

  'Maybe
tomorrow,' Ian agreed. 'Though we'd like to see some movement before we send him on. Matter of personal achievement.'

  Sally grinned at him. 'I know exactly how you feel.'

  The smile slipped a little as Grant walked in.

  He nodded to Sally but spoke to Ian, which was just as well as her mouth had gone unaccountably dry.

  Fear of retribution for the door-slamming? Or something else?

  'No change?'

  Ian shook his head.

  'Well, we can't expect miracles,' Grant said easily. 'You still here, Dr Cochrane? I thought you'd have headed home to catch up on some sleep. You're not on duty tonight, are you?'

  It was Sally's turn to shake her head. If she hadn't known better, she'd have assumed he was concerned about her.

  'I'm on call for emergencies, but during the week that's almost a guarantee of a good night's sleep. Whoever's on duty can usually handle whatever comes in,' she told him.

  A slight smile acknowledged her remark, then his eyes scanned her face before he spoke again.

  'Miss Flintock will be contacting you about the meeting. Breakfast tomorrow at seven in the cafeteria suit you?'

  His voice was as bland as milk, but two could play that game.

  Sally nodded, then decided she should leave before this nodding and head-shaking became a habit. Though it beat speech, given the dry-mouth thing.

  She pulled herself together with an effort.

  'See you later,' she said, uttering the meaningless phrase to the air between the two men.

  But as she walked towards the lift, a tension between her shoulder blades, and a prickle of electricity along her nerves, warned her escape wasn't going to be so easy.

  He'd caught up with her again.

  'We're a small specialty compared with most, so we have to work closely together.' He spoke as he came alongside, launching into the subject as if continuing an interrupted conversation. 'That's one of the reasons I don't promote a lot of socialising between my staff. We need to see other people to avoid becoming too focussed on what we do, to the exclusion of everything else.'

  'You made that clear in your initial memorandum,' Sally reminded him, though she was wondering, if that was one of the reasons, what the others were. 'No fraternisation.'

  He frowned as if underlings talking back to him was unexpected.

  'I'm sure I didn't put it that bluntly,' he told her. 'But I've experienced what can happen when a personal relationship between two members of a team goes wrong—disastrously wrong—and how disruptive it can be for everyone on the team.'

  Sally would have liked to point out that adults should be able to separate the work and play sections of their lives, but as he was frowning down at her she remembered her own mental warning and kept quiet.

  'That doesn't mean I don't want the team to work together,' the man continued. 'Friction between members can interfere with concentration, and I'm sure I don't need to remind you, Dr Cochrane, how important .concentration is in an operating theatre. Particularly in our field.'

  They'd reached the lifts and Sally turned towards him, hoping her face didn't reveal the satisfaction she was feeling. Talk about heaven-sent opportunities.

  'If you're worried that Daniel's niggling will upset my concentration, why not split the team?'

  Blue eyes, bright with intelligence, gleamed for an instant, but his face remained composed. No flicker of a grin—of any emotion!

  'I am not worried about Daniel's niggling, as you call it, upsetting your concentration, because I expect you to control your reactions to him. He's your direct superior, Dr Cochrane. It's his duty to instruct and inform you. Reacting with smart remarks or threats of violence is hardly mature behaviour, would you say?'

  Hope withered in Sally's chest, replaced by an urge to show this man exactly how violent she could be.

  'I assume he will also receive a little pep talk from you,' she said, wondering why she'd ever found such cold blue eyes attractive. 'Perhaps about showing proper respect to—'

  About to say 'female members of the team' she stopped abruptly. That was to close to telling the tales Daniel had already accused her of carrying.

  'Me,' she finished lamely.

  The lift arrived and the doors opened.

  'Have you considered it might be the way you treat him? I find him perfectly respectful,' Grant Hudson remarked, ushering Sally into the lift ahead of him.

  'That's not respect, that's toadying,' she muttered in reply.

  'Interested in animals, Dr Cochrane?' the aggravating man said. 'I remember hearing someone else likened to a bear.'

  The lift had stopped again, and Sally, heedless of the floor, stepped out and walked away, hoping she looked as if she had a reason for striding towards the... She looked around. Delivery suites! Great.

  Her heart was pounding, and the air she breathed felt heavy in her lungs.

  Please, let it be from lack of sleep, not Grant Hudson. Or from his reprimand, not his physical presence.

  He was no more interested in her than he was in any other member of the team, and a bout of unrequited love would be more disastrous to her work and study plans than pneumonia! Surely fate couldn't be so unkind?

  Not now!

  She turned into a washroom, fortunately empty, and leaned her forehead on the cool glass of a mirror.

  For ten years, since a wildly romantic rush of adolescent love had so distracted her from her studies she'd nearly missed the scholarship she'd been seeking, she'd put her career ahead of her social life. Ahead of everything, until her mother's illness had intervened. Now she had a year to make up—one year before she reached the goal she'd worked towards for so long.

  Once she'd begun studying, physical urges had been dampened down by her determination to be the best she could.

  The physical side of things with Greg hadn't been that great anyway. In fact, love-making had proved a disappointment, and she'd been happy to forego it.

  So why should her aging—if at thirty it could be described as aging—body suddenly start reacting to a man?

  To that man in particular?

  Not that she fancied him. In fact, he was so aggravating, she was more likely to clock him one than kiss him.

  She shuddered as one single word again pricked her slumbering flesh into a little shimmy of excitement.

  The mirror failed to provide answers so she washed her hands and splashed water on her face, then left the sanctuary of the washroom and headed for the ward. One quick check on the ward patients then she was off.

  CHAPTER THREE

  'If we all got the message, how come the boss didn't?'

  Seven in the morning and the team was assembled, an assortment of breakfasts, indicative of personal choice, in front of them.

  Daniel asked the obvious and Sally shrugged.

  'He certainly knew because he told me about it.'

  'He's not in Theatre now,' Andy said. 'But he was still at the hospital last night when the first of the freeway accident victims came in, so heaven knows what time he got home.'

  'I was there as well, in case you don't remember standing beside me,' Sally reminded him. 'I'm sure there used to be nights on call when nothing happened, but this week...'

  'He was up in the ICU early this morning,' one of the young interns offered. 'I saw him checking on the fellow in the revolving bed.'

  'I could phone ICU and ask if he's there,' Jerry suggested, but Sally shook her head.

  'If he's there, he must be busy, so we shouldn't interrupt him.'

  'I'll go up and see.' Daniel left them at the table, and Sally felt an easing of her tension.

  'I think the boss wanted to talk about us working as a team,' she said. 'Little pep talk about pulling together, treating each other with courtesy and getting on with things without getting too tied up with each other.'

  'He's back on the fraternisation among the staff, is he?' Jerry rolled his eyes in mock disbelief. 'That'd be OK if we ever had time to see anyone outside the hospi
tal—and outside the theatre and the neuro ward. When we're not working, we're studying, or writing papers, or trying to catch up on reading. I've a pile of recent journals on my floor you couldn't jump over.'

  'You've still had time to get engaged,' Andy reminded him.

  'Pure convenience,' Jerry retorted. 'Once you're engaged you don't have to go out nearly as much. You've got the excuse of saving up for the wedding, and then the house.'

  Sally finished her breakfast, only half listening to the conversation eddying around the table. Until something Paul was saying caught her attention.

  Something about why Grant Hudson frowned on fraternising within the team.

  'And my brother worked with him for a while in Sydney. Apparently, back when Dr Hudson was a resident he had this torrid relationship with a woman who was the neuro registrar. Went on for years, then she threw him over for the department head.'

  'That sounds like gossip, and if there's one thing this hospital doesn't need, it's more gossip,' Sally told him.

  Paul did an affronted look.

  'It's true. I can't remember her name but she married a guy called Binstead.'

  'Isn't there a Lance Binstead on the council of the College of Surgeons?' Jerry asked.

  'That's him!' Paul said, his tone revealing how pleased he was to have back-up for the story.

  But Sally's mind had drifted down another path, and she felt an uneasiness in her chest as she considered the blow such a defection would have been to a man as proud as Grant Hudson. It certainly made the no-fraternisation rule easier to understand.

  Though imagining him in love with anyone was difficult. Upsetting. But Grant Hudson thrown over in love? Impossible!

  The mere thought of it filled her with an inexplicable sadness.

  But why should she care?

  She sighed, then put his problems out of her mind to concentrate on her own.

  She'd been relieved when he hadn't shown up. In Theatre last night, she'd been able to ignore the physical manifestations his presence was causing her. Concentration formed its own barrier. But in daylight? At a casual breakfast meeting?

  The less she saw of him the better, she told herself, but deep inside, almost in the region of her heart, was a gnawing sense of concern.