Major Surgery

by Lola Keeley

  The tickets are crumpling in her grip, so she pushes them into her pocket for fear of tearing them. If Veronica doesn’t show up, Cassie is pretty sure she’ll go and see the film anyway. It’s at one of those quirky cinemas—Alan’s recommendation—where instead of rows of flip-up chairs, the space has been filled with comfortable clusters of armchairs, complete with side tables for a glass of wine and the obligatory cinema snacks. It’s a beautifully restored Edwardian building, and hopefully classy enough for someone like Veronica.

  The woman in question sweeps in just on the dot of their arranged meeting time, stunning in a dress that Cassie hasn’t ever seen on her at work. It’s knee length, dark silk with faint floral patterns. The cardigan over it is a perfect complement, just like the strappy heels. Her hair is properly pinned up, unusual but every bit as gorgeous as ever. It shows off the sparkle of earrings at each ear, matching the gold necklace that nestles against brown skin.

  Cassie has never been the world’s snappiest conversationalist, but right now she’s finding it hard to form words.

  “You look fantastic!” Veronica says, stealing what would have been a great opening line. “I have to say, Cassie, I didn’t know you scrubbed up quite this well. Uniform is one thing, but I think I’m going to need to take you shopping if you’ve got an eye like that.”

  Cassie’s fitted black trousers are a pretty comfortable choice, and the dressing room mirror did suggest they were flattering. The blouse is a bit gauzy, but with a camisole underneath it Cassie feels decently dressed at least. Alan had been kind enough to let her keep her leather jacket as part of the ensemble—“a classic for a reason, darling”—and the new kicky ankle boots might have a low heel but they would still feel at home on a Harley.

  “I can’t take the credit, I confess. You know Alan, from B rig?”

  “Vaguely.” Veronica looks momentarily shamed that she isn’t au fait with every person who passes through the hospital. “I didn’t know you were pals?”

  “Well, like everything else, it’s pretty new. He fought off a hangover to get me looking like a competent dresser, though, so I probably owe him more than the cake and coffee I got roped into.”

  “Ah. So, what are we seeing?”

  “You know, I’m not entirely sure. I just saw the posters with Cate Blanchett everywhere, and assumed I needed it in my life.”

  “Hard to argue with logic like that. Shall we?”

  Veronica crooks her elbow, offering her arm to Cassie like some Edwardian lady no doubt did on this very spot almost a hundred years before. There’s nothing prim and proper about the flash in her eyes as her gaze drags up and down Cassie again, though.

  “Let’s,” Cassie agrees, linking her arm with Veronica’s and leading the way inside.

  Chapter 23

  Gun to her head, Veronica really isn’t a cinema buff. Which is to say she can’t actually remember the last time she watched a film that wasn’t either already halfway through when she was channel hopping, or that she hadn’t fallen asleep before the end of.

  Still. There’s no denying Cate Blanchett is easy on the eyes. There’s a faint resemblance to Cassie, in fact, although the good major is a bit more realistically human. No mere mortal could have Blanchett’s height and bone structure and smouldering looks all at once, but Cassie makes a damn good stab at it.

  With her habitual glass of red, Veronica can’t remember ever being so relaxed on a date. Her few and fleeting attempts since Angela have been awkward and stilted affairs, some promising moments of connection that ultimately fizzled out. The biggest relief is not being peppered with questions about how cool it is to be a doctor, or worse still, the mid-date diagnosis request, usually from a specialty more troubling than Veronica’s own.

  As she’s had to explain more than once, a general surgeon is a great help if your appendix is about to burst or something has had the bad manners to whack you in the spleen and make the little bugger bleed like it’s going out of fashion. Less so if you have an embarrassing question about ingrown toenails or symptoms that put normal people off their dinner.

  Cassie seems quite content with her beer, turning to Veronica just before the lights start to dim. “I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

  Veronica smiles in response, glad Cassie is actually talking now. She’s been a little monosyllabic since the foyer. It’s given Veronica a chance to do plenty of discreet ogling, though, so it’s a net win for the home team thus far.

  As for the movie? Well, there definitely is one. Five minutes after the opening sequence lights up the screen, Cassie’s hand reaches across the small gap between their armchairs and takes Veronica’s hand in hers with a gentle squeeze. It’s a silent way of asking, “Is this okay?” and Veronica squeezes back in the affirmative.

  Any action on screen fades away as Cassie’s restless fingers trace and wander again, just as they did in her office. Whether it’s a nervous habit or an intentional ‘move’ of some kind, Veronica has zero complaints. It seems such a simple thing, but Cassie finds every sensitive spot, and more than once Veronica’s breathing hitches. Each time, Cassie smirks without looking around, so it’s definitely some kind of intentional.

  When the end credits start to roll, Veronica finds herself wishing it had been more of a Les Mis than a lightweight indie, if only because she wouldn’t have to get up just yet. Cassie does seem reluctant to let go of her hand, but when she does in order to stand, she quickly bows to kiss Veronica’s cheek. Just as quickly, she’s upright again, ready to lead on.

  “I hope you weren’t too bored?” Cassie asks. “I know not everyone likes these low-budget flicks with lots of smeared mascara and long pauses, but I’d watch most things for Cate.”

  “Should I be jealous?” Veronica replies, smiling. “What’s up next? I believe you mentioned dinner.”

  “God, I’m starving.” Cassie grins at her own confession. “My recommendation was for a Spanish place, sorry, Basque. Small plates, pick-and-choose sort of place? And the wine list is double the length of the food menu, I’m reliably informed.”

  “Not bad for a new girl. I think I even know the place you mean.”

  “It’s not so far, just down Portobello Road.”

  “Then let’s get going,” Veronica says.

  The cinema has emptied out around them, and the staff are already pushing through the rows to clear up. It’s not exactly a private moment, but Veronica is feeling pretty impetuous.

  She steps in close to Cassie, height difference offset by her heels, and presses a soft kiss to her lips. It’s not exactly salacious, but it sparks something inside of Veronica. When Cassie kisses back, they lose a minute or two to the soft exploration of lips and teeth and tongues. Cassie’s fingers are firm against the back of Veronica’s neck, the skin there so responsive to touch. She moans softly into the kiss, and Cassie finally pulls away.

  “Mmm. Let’s save something for after dinner,” Cassie says.

  A lesser woman might pout, but Veronica simply sashays past Cassie with a deliberate sway in her hips. She’ll play along with this whole dating game, but nobody ever said she has to play fair.

  The quiet groan from Cassie as she follows confirms that there’s only ever going to be one winner.

  The restaurant is dark and cosy in a pleasant way, and they’re tucked away in a corner table that gives relative privacy. After their initial order of delicious bits of food on little skewers, they’re both relaxing with a drink. Cassie’s features are glowing in the soft light. It’s almost unbearable, suddenly being so attracted to someone after so long. Veronica has had her passing fancies, and she saw that Cassie was attractive from the get-go, but this is that next level where it makes her downright giddy, almost breathless.

  Veronica has the gnawing suspicion she’s going to make a fool of herself before long. After all these years of building up her strict and professional reputation a
t St Sophia’s, from the most dedicated house officer to the most responsible of senior consultants, and here she is directing soft smiles at a colleague, like a schoolgirl with a crush.

  “So how am I doing?” Cassie asks, changing tack after they’ve compared notes on the food and wine. “I can’t say I’ve arranged many dates, not under normal conditions, anyway. Do I pass muster?”

  “So far, so good.” Veronica sets her wine down and reaches for Cassie’s hand across the table. “And you? You’re not hiding some silent panic that we’re going to ruin a promising professional partnership?”

  “You have your kingdom and I have mine. Sure, we’ll cross paths in theatre, but you’d know better than me if we’re, uh, breaking the rules.”

  Veronica raises her eyebrow quite deliberately. “Because I’m such a good girl? How dull.”

  “Well, they say it’s best to know the rules before you break them.”

  “Nice save.” Veronica finishes her glass. “Smoother than I would have given you credit for, although I suppose you do better under pressure.”

  “I’m just glad no one’s choking on their dinner. Too much of a cliché to have to jump into action, and you wouldn’t even be that impressed.”

  “Interesting. You don’t think I’d jump in first?” Veronica can’t resist the tease. She has no illusions about who the macho army medic in this equation is.

  “No! Of course not, I just assumed. I mean, you could. Or you would. I just thought we were talking about… I’ve actually had to do it before, that’s all.”

  “And did it impress your date?” Veronica suspects she knows the answer, confirmed by Cassie’s blush.

  “She didn’t hate it, no. Shall we order the next round?” Cassie flags down the passing server. “More red?”

  “Always,” Veronica replies.

  They linger over dessert, crème caramel blowtorched within an inch of its life, and slightly sobering coffees, before they head out into the late evening.

  “You know,” Veronica says, once they’ve tipped out onto the pavement, unusually quiet because even London slows a little for Sundays, “since this is technically our second date, I could just invite you back for a nightcap.”

  “You could.” Cassie pulls Veronica closer by the edges of her cardigan.

  They’re comfortably back in kissing range now, and Veronica thinks it’s about time.

  “But the last remaining bit of sense in me is screaming that we shouldn’t rush this,” Cassie finishes.

  “How chivalrous.”

  “No, I just—”

  Veronica silences Cassie with a finger over her lips. “I’m inclined to agree. This doesn’t seem like something we should spoil by skipping ahead.”

  “Right, because—” Cassie jumps in as soon as Veronica moves her finger.

  “It’s just amusing that when it comes to relationships, suddenly you have self-restraint. If I were an abdominal bleed…”

  “Lucky you’re not, then,” Cassie replies, before kissing her soundly. “Walk me back to Paddington?”

  “In these heels?”

  “Taxi it is.” Cassie steps towards the kerb, arm aloft and already hailing. “Though we should probably try not to scandalise the driver too much?”

  There’s a glint in her eye that says she plans on doing exactly that. A pleasant shiver skitters down Veronica’s spine.

  With Cassie dispatched to her train with plenty of good old-fashioned necking, as Veronica would once have called it, coming home to an empty house isn’t quite so depressing.

  She makes herself a green tea, pottering around the kitchen she scrubbed within an inch of its life earlier that morning, the most immediate way of working through her nerves. Now that it’s all gone swimmingly, Veronica is determined to enjoy it. Her propensity for self-sabotage is not going to get a foothold here. She won’t allow it.

  There’s no amount of willpower that can stop her from checking her work email, though. Some old habits die hard, and she’s conditioned to click on that little blue box every time the red circles reach a number higher than ten.

  A lot of pointless circulars as usual, no matter how many she unsubscribes from. A pile of requests from weekend staff—resources drained, complaints, and other tribulations. Better to glance now than be blindsided in the morning.

  But then Cassie’s name catches her eye. Time sent: an hour ago. About when Veronica is 100 percent sure that Cassie’s hands were firmly on Veronica’s backside, and nowhere near a phone or laptop.

  She could call, of course. Make sure Cassie wasn’t sending emails behind her back or under the table. Though given that it’s a request for funding to expand the ward, a lengthy bit of text with a bunch of attachments, it seems highly improbable. There are scheduled emails, of course, but it’s all Cassie can do to stay logged into the St Sophia’s system on her best day.

  Has someone in the department sent it on Cassie’s behalf? It’s unlikely any of them would have the time or energy unless specifically asked. So who’s sending emails pretending to be Cassie? Someone with either easy access to her office and computer, or seniority enough to get into her work accounts without raising eyebrows.

  Veronica makes herself that last cup of tea for the day instead, stripping off accessories and letting down her hair. She’s ditched everything but her dress by the time she makes it upstairs.

  They’ve gotten a little sidetracked on the prospect of Travers having it in for Cassie, but he’s the most obvious answer to the nagging question. Tomorrow they’ll have to regroup, try and catch the wriggly little bastard red-handed. Her phone pings then, interrupting her train of thought.

  Desperately uncool to text so soon, but I had a wonderful time.

  C xx

  Veronica could mock that Cassie still signs a text that clearly shows up as her, but she’s too busy smiling at the little grey bubble to be mean.

  Me too x

  There. That’s effusive for one night. Swapping the dress for the nearest nightie, Veronica crawls into bed. The tea and hardback novel on the bedside table are going to go to waste. By the time her head hits the pillow, she’s already asleep.

  Chapter 24

  Normally massive train delays and missing her morning run would be enough to slap Cassie right into a foul mood, but she’s still practically skipping by the time she hits the entrance of St Sophia’s.

  Ridiculous, truly. Then she strides right into an arriving multiple trauma, and that does admittedly take the swing out of her hips, but, as ever, it only gets her heart racing in the best possible way.

  A roof collapse at a nearby hotel, of all things. Head traumas jump to the front of the queue, backboards and neck braces making patients look like restrained sumo wrestlers. There’s a lot of greyish dust on the worst injured, tapering off as they get to the walking wounded trailing in behind the last of the gurneys, looking shell-shocked without anyone to guide them.

  Cassie has to tend to the worst, her internal triage system already dismissing them with the habitual pang of guilt. Luckily they’re soon collected by passing nurses and ferried to more appropriate treatment areas. Most will be patched up in the Emergency Department; the ones needing more long-term treatment will filter through AMU.

  Two quick patching surgeries later, Cassie finds herself hoping for a borderline case that she can wheel over there and catch a glimpse of Veronica in the process. The date really did seem to go well, from the handholding to the wine choices. The kissing certainly put a tick in the ‘not a disaster’ column.

  There’s the small matter of calling the estate agents as well, to get the house-buying ball rolling. Would it be strange to ask Veronica to tag along? It’s the kind of moment that should be shared. Cassie seems quite sure of that, even if the rest of the process is murky. She’s done the preliminaries, the boring and faintly excruciating process of sitting down wit
h someone at the bank. Now there’s something to actually buy, it seems it should be straightforward.

  Unlike the arterial bleed this poor fellow has in his left thigh. Cassie knows there’ll be a kit for it, there’s a kit for everything, but it’s easier to nick the hem of a blanket with her knife and tear a strip from it. Tourniquets aren’t exactly a fix, but it does slow the blood flow long enough for a quick repair. Anything gushing this fast isn’t going to wait for its turn in theatre.

  It would be easier with diathermy, but Cassie is able to stitch up the wound in jig time. When her patient starts to rally there on the ward, she wants to punch the air at another life saved. There’s really nothing like it, and, since starting in the NHS, her loss rate has dropped tremendously. With conditions and equipment firmly on her side, she’s been able to do so much more.

  Not that the failures sting any less. Steven still weighs heavily on her, featuring briefly in her fitful dreams last night, his ready smile flickering in and out.

  Pauline bustles past in her plastic apron to drag Cassie from her funk. “I hear we’ve got trouble coming our way.”

  Sure enough, the next two men through the doors are practically brawling, even though neither can stand exactly upright. Judging by the uniform versus expensive suit, Cassie would lay money on a dedicated hotel employee having had enough of his boss when the sky literally came tumbling down. Situations like these are so often negligence, or rich men cutting corners for even bigger profits. It takes a body count for anyone to be shamed anymore. It’s downright Dickensian.

  “Enough!” Cassie shouts at them, in her best parade-ground bark. Their lizard brains hear enough of it to respond, staggering to their respective sides of the entryway. “What is going on here? Aren’t you hurt enough?”