Major Surgery

by Lola Keeley

  Pauline moves towards the man in uniform, but he’s already lunging back at his boss. Cassie won’t risk anyone else getting hurt, and the manager is closer to her, less injured to boot. She jerks him out of harm’s way, even as he raises his hands to defend himself.

  “You.” Cassie puts herself bodily between the two men. “Name. Now,” she demands of the fellow in hotel uniform. With men it’s always easier to be the bossy headmistress or whatever stern matriarchal figure brings back boyhood shame.

  “I’m Robert, Bob really, and he—”

  “Bob. You’re injured. I need you to walk over there with my nurses and promise me—promise me, Bob—that you won’t raise your hands again while you’re here. St Sophia’s has a zero tolerance—”

  “Yes, tell him,” the boss chimes in, causing Cassie to round on him just as savagely.

  “You can shut it.” She backs him against the wall, aware of security bustling in to her right. “Bleeding from anywhere? Short of breath?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Then my colleagues here are going to walk you back to the Emergency department, where you should have gone in the first place. Hope you like hard plastic chairs. You’ll be sitting on one for a while.”

  “Now, listen here, you smug bitch—”

  Cassie doesn’t let him finish. She’s been assessing him the whole time, the head laceration and the ankle injury the only obvious damage. So when she shoots him an unimpressed glare and he comes at her, there’s little remorse in the way she grabs and restrains him, arm twisted up his back.

  “We treat the patient in front of us, but I can easily put you out on the pavement where you won’t be in front of the nurses and doctors you clearly need right now. So what’s it going to be?”

  “Ms Taylor?” Oh, fucking perfect. Travers. Cassie’s rising temper doesn’t need this.

  “All in hand, Mr Travers. Security, if you could step in?”

  They bustle across, muttering no doubt about how she’s trying to put them out of a job.

  “Ms Taylor—”

  “Mr Travers, I’m in the middle of a multiple trauma here. I’m sure this can wait?”

  “Afraid not,” he says in that posh-boy drawl Cassie has hated from her superior officers for half her life. “Bit of a mix-up, I’m afraid. Girls in my office are lovely sorts, but it seems they forgot to notify you about your conference.”

  “My what?” Cassie is really gripping on to the happiness behind her adrenaline, but it’s receding like an early evening tide. “I really do have to check on the next lot of patients.”

  “Well, your train is later this afternoon, you see,” Mr Travers persists, actually following her behind the nurses’ station. “Paediatric Trauma, up in Liverpool. Leaving tomorrow would be cutting it much too fine.”

  Cassie snaps her head up from the admissions list at mention of the conference. “I thought that was next month. I put in for it, like you told me to, but I’m not remotely prepared—”

  “We have cover enough to let you go; that much was organised at least. I appreciate it’s short notice, but I’m sure you can get home and pack for a few days up North, and still make your train? The details are all in your email now, thankfully.”

  “I—”

  “It would be so important to the Trust, Ms Taylor. Exactly the kind of impact we were hoping for when we hired you. And your speech isn’t until Thursday, so there’s still plenty of time to get that ready.”

  Speech? Christ, this really is going from bad to worse.

  “Well, I can always be late,” Cassie decides. “I’m sure the train company will be flexible.”

  “The meet and greet is this evening. You’ve been earmarked for the VIP table; some former colleague of yours insisted. I’d hate to see St Sophia’s looking unprofessional.”

  “You really have enough cover?” Cassie knows she’s conceding, and she does it with a sigh. There goes her hope of a cheeky coffee with Veronica later to compare post-trauma notes and maybe even set another date. Pulling up the email on her phone, she sees a few replies to something she doesn’t recognise, no doubt another reply-all chain run amok, something the NHS excels in.

  “Leave that to me, yes,” Travers insists. “We do have a car service to speed up the process for you. Just head for the west entrance; they’ll get you home, packed, and back for your train in no time at all. Do us proud, please Cassandra. I’m quite sure you will.”

  His grip on her arm is trying for vicelike, but he lacks the upper body strength. Cassie easily shakes him off, adding the same warning glare as she just gave her misbehaving patients.

  “Fine, I’ll go. It’s too important a conference to miss. The speakers alone… Still, I can run my department remotely. Just can’t carry my surgical load.” It pains her, this new life of meetings and conferences. The sacrifices weren’t supposed to come quite so soon. “So if there’s anything—”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  Travers retreats, no doubt slinking back to his lair.

  Cassie sighs, flagging Pauline down as she returns from getting rid of one of the troublemakers. “It appears, Sister, that you’re going to have to do without me for a few days.”

  “Without our fearless leader? However will we cope?” Pauline replies, dry as ever. “Everything okay?”

  “Date mix-up with a conference,” Cassie says. “That happen a lot round here?”

  “Almost never.” Pauline picks up the next chart, scanning their admissions, every bed occupied. “Usually it takes half a year to get the tickets and the time off. Still, never say never. Off somewhere nice? I quite fancy Barbados. My sister moved out there.”

  “Barbados?” Cassie snorts. “Not a place many have mistaken for Liverpool, that.”

  “Your accent gets stronger just saying that, you know.” Pauline might be teasing, but she holds her poker face perfectly. “You’ll be back singing the Beatles before we know it.”

  “They never really were my sort of thing.” Cassie pulls her phone from the pocket of her scrubs. It’s not as though she has to check in with Veronica, but suddenly disappearing to another county might not look great. The thought of explaining it all makes Cassie weary, and she decides it can be kept for the long, dull journey ahead. “If Ver— If Ms Mallick pops over later, will you let her know I’m off to conference?”

  “Why would she be looking for you?”

  “Oh, well, I skipped the surgical meeting to handle this, didn’t I?”

  Pauline raises an eyebrow. “The meeting was cancelled, since everyone was pulled in. But sure, I’ll let her know.”

  “Much appreciated.”

  Still, a short drive to Euston with someone else at the wheel won’t be terrible. It gives her time to pack better and organise herself, pick up a proper little suitcase somewhere along the way. Moving off at short notice is familiar at least, and she ducks into her office to sign some waiting paperwork and gather up her bags. At least she doesn’t have to go home and pack—she has all that clothes shopping at work and never leaves home without the essentials. It’s a bit ridiculous to be striding out in the middle of day in her civvies, laden down with the weekend’s wardrobe update, but it’s fairly well-timed. She hasn’t been to many conferences, but nobody ever showed up in scrubs.

  Since she doesn’t have to detour via Swindon, something she could never have managed in the allotted time, Cassie decides to throw caution to the wind and exit via the AMU. No sign of Veronica out on the ward, so she heads directly to the office.

  “Looking for Ms Mallick?” a nurse asks. Lea, that’s it. They had a nice chat last week about the Philippines, since Cassie spent a few weeks there helping with natural disaster planning, running drills for typhoons and earthquakes. “She’s in surgery.”

  “Is she really?” Cassie can’t help asking. “Whatever happened to it not being on
the roster on a Monday?”

  “General’s short-handed,” Lea answers. “Although I thought that was partly because you’re not supposed to be here.”

  “I’m just leaving, actually.” Cassie knows she’s drawing attention by being here. Absolute rookie mistake. “Liverpool. Conference. Going now!”

  Lea smirks as Cassie turns to leave.

  That could definitely have gone smoother.

  Chapter 25

  Veronica has barely tossed her surgical gloves in the waste bin when her phone vibrates against her thigh. It can wait. Everything can wait today. She’s already been summoned into theatre because general was suddenly short-handed. Which has the added bonus of getting her out of the tedious regular meeting. As Mondays go, this is an exquisitely pleasant one. Less so for the injured folks, but Veronica has long since detangled her guilt over enjoying the ability to heal them.

  She’s back on her ward before long, intent on checking when the surgical meeting has been rescheduled for. It’s a little like bunking off school to have missed it, only to find out the teacher had been off sick after the fact. A waste of perfectly good skiving, if dealing with a gallbladder could be classed as that.

  “There you are!” Lea calls out, quite cheerful despite her arms full of blood bags. “You’re never more popular than when you go away.”

  “That sounds terribly wise,” Veronica agrees. “Though I suspect it just means people want to annoy me. Who came calling?”

  “The good major from Trauma.”

  Veronica painfully, carefully, forces herself not to react. Not a millimetre of raised eyebrow, not even the faintest quirk of a lip.

  “Was she really? Trying to steal our gauze pads again? I’ve told her where stores are.”

  “No, looking for you. Didn’t leave a message, though. Just said something about a conference in Liverpool and ran away.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t run, Lea.”

  “Oh, she runs. Some of us cut through the park in the morning now just to get a look. Great legs, don’t you think?”

  Veronica pretends to be fascinated by the blank face of her phone. She needs to charge the damn thing. Perhaps within the messages an explanation will lurk. “Hmm? Oh, I’ve never really noticed her legs. We all look the same in scrubs, eh?”

  Lea doesn’t look as convinced as Veronica would like.

  “I’ll be in my office.”

  It seems like an age before her phone is alive again, but Veronica stabs at Cassie’s name in her contacts before she can second guess herself.

  “I heard you were looking for me?” It’ll do in lieu of a proper greeting.

  Cassie fumbles into the silence. There’s a muffled announcement somewhere in the background.

  “Yes. Yes well, no. Not looking for you as such, just…”

  “Major, where are you?” Okay, so there’s a little thrill in using the title.

  “On a train. To Liverpool.”

  Veronica frowns at the news. “And you didn’t think to mention this yesterday? Not that it’s my business where you go; I just thought it might have come up in conversation.”

  “I just found out myself. Our good friend Mr Travers sprung it on me. Something about the girls in the office messing up.”

  “Nonsense. Those two women run this hospital. Does this have anything to do with your email?”

  “What email?” Cassie sounds as baffled as Veronica expected. Which isn’t exactly great news.

  “The email you sent—allegedly—while we were out last night.”

  “But I—”

  “I know you didn’t. Which means someone else sent it from your account, signing off on the preliminary budget.”

  Cassie goes silent, hopefully working out for herself what that might mean.

  “Bloody hell, he really is up to something isn’t he?”

  “’Fraid so,” Veronica says.

  “What has he got against me?”

  “I’ve got no idea. It might be a wrong place, wrong time sort of thing. Or maybe he fell madly in love at first sight and he’s secretly trying to advance your career?”

  That silence is a pointed one.

  Veronica tries another tack. “How long are you away? I could do some discreet digging, find out what he might be trying to put you in the frame for. It must be something serious with money if he’s so obsessed about budgets.”

  “You’re obsessed with budgets,” Cassie points out, not unreasonably. “Are you out to get me?”

  “Not like that, no. So how long will you be hiding from me up there? Revisiting your roots while you’re at it? Taking in an Everton game, maybe?”

  “There’s no need to insult me, you know. And I don’t even know if Liverpool are playing at home. I haven’t been to a game since I was about twelve.”

  There’s a knock on Veronica’s office door. “Ah, better go. No rest for the wicked.”

  “Let me know how the snooping goes?” Cassie asks.

  “Of course. I’ll, uh, check in. Coming!” She adds for her impatient visitor.

  By the time Veronica has answered three obvious questions for one of the juniors and stopped an arterial bleed caused by weak stitching, she almost forgets about her phone. When she takes it off the charger a while later, with freshly sanitised hands of course, she sees the messages from Cassie.

  I’m not running anywhere, just so you know. Second date when I get back?

  Veronica smiles. Right to the point, this one. She reads Cassie’s next text.

  You might be too busy of course. No pressure.

  And her own worst enemy. She types a reply.

  Only if I get to choose the venue this time. Speak soon.

  There. Not entirely desperate. A pile of work awaits her, but Veronica feels the thrum in her veins of a puzzle unsolved. It’s time to do a little digging on Wesley Travers.

  “You’re late, for the second time in our entire relationship.” That’s how Edie greets her for lunch on Thursday.

  “You can say friendship, you know,” Veronica tells her. “You just think it sounds more dramatic your way.”

  “Try listening to neurotic housewives all morning and see how much drama you need in your life. Sliced and diced anything interesting?”

  “Not so far, no. How’s Peter settling in at the Kensington? He did drop me an email, but it was about as enlightening as a solar-powered torch. I gather everything is ‘Fine. Good stuff. Good people’?”

  “Don’t let him fool you, he’s missing you desperately. Nobody knows anything, not compared to the almighty Ms Mallick.” Edie flags down their waiter. “Bottle of Chablis, darling. Don’t give me that face; I can’t drink red this early in the day.”

  “You’ve gone soft since you had that second child,” Veronica accuses. “I’ve been busy trying to sniff out a bit of a scandal, if you must know. I think Peter might have dodged a bullet not getting the Trauma job.”

  Edie eyes her over the top of her glass of water as she takes a sip. “Do tell.”

  “You met our dear Wesley, didn’t you?”

  “Oh yes, back when GI Jane swept in to steal the Trauma post, I remember.”

  Veronica must blush at the mention—damn her skin for being not quite dark enough to hide the reaction.

  Edie lights up like November fireworks, tossing long red hair back over her shoulder as though preparing to dive in. “Well, isn’t that an interesting series of micro expressions,” she says.

  “I knew having lunch with a therapist was a bad idea.” Veronica can’t really grumble. “We are not talking about Cassie right now. Yet, anyway.”

  “Oh, Cassie. Of course. Close personal friend and all that. Silly me.”

  “Do you want the gossip or not?”

  Edie holds her hands up in surrender, and Veronica pauses as their wine come
s, two generous glasses poured after she tastes it with barely a wince. It’s certainly not terrible, as whites go.

  “So come on, tell all. Especially if it’s about the dashing major.”

  Veronica allows herself a brief, withering sigh, before launching into her tale.

  “Fucking hell,” is Edie’s considered verdict when the details are unloaded.

  It’s taken three days of asking questions, talking to people she barely knows, and having a good snoop around online. “Quite.”

  “I am glad Pete’s out of the picture if all this is going on. I had Travers pegged for a narcissist at first glance, and it’s not hard to see he has something of a coke problem. Wish we could say that’s entirely rare in the profession. Selling off everything but his flat and possibly even re-mortgaging that suggests a man desperate for cash. It has to be gambling, if he’s desperate enough to start cooking the hospital books.”

  “I just don’t understand why he’d want to pin any of the mess on a woman he’s barely met,” Veronica picks up her thread. “Especially one who’s served her country. He’s your typical military history nut, with the grandad’s medals on the shelf bit, you know the sorts.”

  “A lot of patriotic sorts get less nostalgic when there’s serious money involved. But how much trouble would he have to be in, to risk robbing the hospital, though? I mean, we have our jokes about the NHS bureaucracy, but the accountants know where every penny is.”

  “Maybe he’s picked Cassie, returning war hero, because it would make for worse headlines. He’s hoping for a cover up?” Veronica hasn’t settled on any logic that particularly makes sense to her, but that has something about it.

  Edie glances at the menu.

  Good idea. They’d probably better eat something to soak up the wine.

  “Yes, Cassie,” Edie says. “You know, you were hard to get hold of at the weekend. Up to anything in particular?”

  “Oh, just a spot of house-hunting. You remember that estate agent Angela and I used?”

  “You’re moving?” Edie’s eyes widen. It’s not easy to shock her. “But you love your house.”