Читать книгу Hearts Of Gold - Meredith Webber - Страница 7

‘YOU know something, Henry,’ Annie said, pouring milk over the cereal she’d piled in both their bowls, ‘I hate the idea of starting this new job.’

Henry, far more interested in the preparation of his breakfast than in Annie’s conversation, said nothing, prompting Annie to explain.

‘I know I was excited about it back when it was first offered to me. Really excited. Well, all right, I was over the moon—but that was before I realised Dan Petersen was leaving. I thought Dan would be my boss.’

She lifted Henry’s bowl and put it in front of him.

‘Now I’ve got a new job and a new boss! And there’s something dodgy about it, I know there is. I’ve been invited for little chats with just about every hospital executive, which, even when you consider it’s a new unit, seems strange. And there’ve been looks between those pencil-pushers, and conversations that stop when I walk near them. Definitely dodgy.’

Henry gave a derisive huff, as if he didn’t believe a word she was saying.

‘Then there’s the man himself—the new boss,’ Annie continued, refusing to be put off by his lack of support. ‘You know I don’t listen to gossip—’

Henry’s look of disbelief forced her to add, ‘Well, I do listen, it’s the lifeblood of the hospital, but I don’t repeat it, except to you. And even if I didn’t listen I couldn’t have helped but hear the stories about him—they’re legion. He may be a surgical genius but he’s a tyrant both in Theatre and in the ward, and the words they use about him. “Ruthless” seems to come up most often. Now ruthless, as you and I both know, usually implies a person who’ll do anything to get ahead, so why’s a ruthless top US surgeon with an international reputation coming here, to Jimmie’s, to work? Working here, even setting up a new unit, isn’t going to put four stars on his CV—not even one star, to tell the truth—so why? That’s what I want to know.’

Soft brown eyes looked into hers, but Henry offered no comment. Instead, he turned away, scoffed his breakfast then, realising she hadn’t started hers, looked hopefully at her.

‘You’re not getting it,’ she told him, ‘so don’t sit there drooling all over the floor. Go outside and chase a cat. Bark at something. Wake the neighbours.’

He gave her a look that acknowledged her contrary mood but made no move to offer comfort by bumping his big head against her legs. You’ve only yourself to blame, he was telling her. Or maybe she was telling herself, only it seemed more definitive coming from Henry.

‘That dog doesn’t understand a word you say.’ Her father propelled his wheelchair into the kitchen. ‘They go on tone of voice. Listen.’

In the sweetest, kindest voice a gruff and unemotional man could muster, he called Henry all the harshest names under the sun, berating him without mercy, while the dog fawned at his feet—bumping his head against her father’s knees in utter adoration.

‘We all know that trick, Dad,’ Annie grumbled, picking up her handbag and looping the strap over her shoulder. ‘I’ll leave you two here, bound in mutual admiration, and go to work to earn some money to keep us all.’

Her father grinned at her, while his hand, twisted and gnarled by the rheumatoid arthritis which had also crippled his body, fondled Henry’s head.

‘Someone’s got to do it,’ he said, ‘and Henry’s got a full-time job taking care of me.’

Annie dropped a kiss on his head, patted the dog and left the pair of them in the sunny kitchen. Her going out to work to keep them all was an old joke between them, her father being well enough off to afford to pay for whatever care he might need and to keep her and Henry in relative comfort. But her father knew how much her work meant to her, so had encouraged her to continue her career.

‘Or how much work used to mean to me,’ she muttered to herself as she strode along the tree-lined street towards the hospital. ‘Back when getting back to work was part of feeling normal, and having responsibilities in a job gave me a sense of being in control. Maybe it’s the control thing that’s making me edgy about the new position. Maybe I’m afraid this man will take that away from me. Maybe I’m not ready to lose control again…’

Two schoolboys steered a wide path around her, no doubt taking her for a nutter because she was talking to herself.

‘A lot of people talk to themselves,’ she said, turning to address the words to their departing backs.

The body she slammed into was solid enough to not only keep its balance but to stop her falling as well.

‘Yes, but most of them look where they’re going as they do it,’ a male voice, enhanced by a rich British accent, said, and she looked up into the amused blue eyes of a handsome, well-built man, clad in an impeccable three-piece suit.

‘Not necessarily,’ she felt constrained to point out, backing hastily away from the suited chest. ‘A lot of the ones around here keep their heads right down and mutter, mutter, mutter into their beards. If they have beards.’

She wasn’t sure why she was arguing with a stranger over such a trivial matter.

Or talking to him at all!

She had to get to work. Start the new job. Meet the new boss.

‘Being new around here, I wouldn’t know,’ he said, the blue eyes still smiling into hers in a disconcerting manner—a flirtatious manner.

‘I’ve got to get to work,’ she said, resorting to a mutter once again. Then she added ‘Now!’ because her feet hadn’t started moving in that direction.

‘Me, too,’ blue eyes said cheerfully. ‘I’m heading for the hospital, and you seem to be going in that general direction. Shall we walk together?’

She could hardly say no. He’d come out of a house only four doors up from hers—a house that had been on the market for so long she’d stopped looking at the sign, so had missed the ‘Sold’ banner she now saw slapped across it. That made him a neighbour and to say no would be downright unneighbourly.

‘I guess so.’ Still muttering, though this time it was ungraciously. Now she had a new job, new boss and a new neighbour, and she hated change.

They were walking together now, and she knew it was time for introductions, but couldn’t bring herself to take the initiative, feeling that if she didn’t know his name, she needn’t count him as a neighbour. She’d make idle conversation instead.

‘You’re going to the hospital? Visiting someone?’

It was early but the place allowed relatives in at just about any time.

‘Going to work,’ he said, surprising her, as she’d put him down as a lawyer.

‘At the hospital?’

‘I’m a doctor—a lot of us work at hospitals.’

She knew the eyes would be twinkling but refused to look as he turned sideways towards her and held out his hand.

‘Phil Park. My father wanted to call me Albert or Centennial, but fortunately my mother’s common sense prevailed.’

He dropped his hand when Annie failed to take it, and she could sense he was disappointed his little joke—which he’d probably told a million times—had fallen flat, but Annie was too busy absorbing his name to be smiling at weak jokes.

Phillip Park. His name was on the list of new staff—one of the doctors who had come along in the new boss’s train. Paediatric surgery fellow? Anaesthetist? No, Annie was pretty sure the anaesthetist was a woman—Maggie Walsh.

Annie had personnel files of all the new appointees on her desk, but she’d purposely not read through them, deciding to meet the new staff without any preconceived ideas. Now she was sorry she hadn’t checked. She’d known Alexander Attwood was American, but had assumed the other staff would be Australians from Melbourne, where Dr Attwood had been working for six months.

‘And you are?’ Phil was saying politely.

‘Annie Talbot, former sister in charge of the neonatal special care unit at St James’s Hospital and, from today, manager of the new paediatric surgical unit. Great way to start a working relationship—running headlong into you.’

Phil Park’s hand clasped hers, warm fingers engulfing her palm, holding her hand just a fraction too long.

She withdrew hers carefully and moved a little further away from him, guessing he was a toucher, and not wanting to be the touchee.

‘But that’s great!’ he said. ‘We’ll be working together, and neighbours as well for a while. At least I assume we’ll be neighbours—or are you a health nut, and had covered several kilometres before you bumped into me?’

‘No, we’ll be neighbours,’ Annie told him, though she didn’t share his enthusiasm. Because, with the smiling eyes and hand held too long, she was sure he was flirting with her?

Or because the smiling eyes and hand held too long reminded her of Dennis?

‘Manager of the new surgical unit, eh?’ he asked, not in the least put out by her lack of enthusiasm. ‘How do you feel about that—coming from hands-on nursing in the PICU? That is what your special care unit is, isn’t it? A paediatric intensive care unit? And don’t most unit managers come from a secretarial or management background rather than a nursing one?’

Annie breathed easier. He might rattle on but she’d followed his thoughts and talking work was much better than considering flirtatious new neighbours.

Or Dennis.

‘I’ve mixed feelings about the shift from nursing,’ she told him, ‘but the new job’s a challenge. The new unit is a challenge—I imagine that’s why someone like your boss has come on board. Shifting to Jimmie’s isn’t like taking up a post at one of the renowned children’s hospitals. We’re just starting up. Neurologists and cardiologists—all the specialists, in fact—are still going to refer patients to the bigger hospitals.’

‘Not for paediatric cardiac surgery—not with Alexander the Great on board,’ he said.

‘You call Dr Attwood Alexander the Great?’ Annie was awed by such daring. Everything she’d heard or read about the man had instilled her with enormous respect for him.

Not to mention apprehension about the ‘ruthless’ part.

‘Not to his face.’ Phil retreated. ‘But all of us—Maggie, Kurt, Rachel—use the title when we’re talking about him. He’s come here because of the opportunity to start a small specialised unit that he hopes will be used as a model for other small units. Other hospitals have paediatric surgical units, but they’re not specialised to the extent we’d like to be. They do some congenital heart defects, which is our specialty, but they also do other congenital defects and things like brain tumours, gut obstructions, kidney and liver transplants—the lot.’

He glanced at her as if to see if she was listening, and as she was—and was fascinated as well—she encouraged him with a smile and a quiet, ‘Go on.’

‘Well, Alex hopes that if a small cardiac surgical unit can be made to work, physically, medically and financially, he’ll have a model to set up similar units in city hospitals across the US. At the moment, over there, they have places like Boston Children’s and Cleveland Clinic, maybe ten large hospitals with elite paediatric surgery units, but that means seriously ill babies, often newborn, with complex heart problems requiring surgery, have to travel huge distances for treatment, which not only puts extra stress on them but also disrupts family life and support systems.’

Annie took it all in—even felt a skip of excitement for the vision in her own heart—but at the same time his words puzzled her.

‘Does anyone else know of this plan of Dr Attwood’s? Is the hospital CEO on side? Does the board know? The government? After all, most of our funds come from them.’

She glanced towards Phil and for the first time saw his smile replaced by a frown. She hurried to dispel it.

‘I’m only asking because, as unit manager, I hadn’t heard any of this,’ she explained. ‘I thought we were going to be just another paediatric surgical unit like the ones you’ve mentioned.’

Her voice trailed away as she wondered if she’d missed something in the job description and in the interviews that had followed her application. Although that might explain the ‘little talks’ and her feeling that something ‘dodgy’ was going on!

‘A number of people know,’ Phil said, then he must have realised he’d spoken abruptly, for he found his smile again and favoured her with a particularly warm and teasing version of it. ‘Though I’ve just committed the cardinal sin in Alex’s book and blabbed about it to a virtual stranger before he’s held his briefing.’

A pause, then he grasped her arm and added, ‘You won’t give me away, will you? You’ll look suitably surprised and then delighted when he tells everyone at the staff meeting?’

They were walking through the hospital gates and up the paved path towards the main staff entrance as Phil made this plea. Annie studied him for a moment, wondering why an attractive, self-assured man should be worrying over such a minor indiscretion as telling a colleague something she’d hear very shortly anyway.

The word ‘ruthless’ echoed in her head. Was the gossip even half-right? Was the new boss tyrannical enough to cause his colleague such alarm?

She patted Phil’s hand, still resting on her arm, to reassure him and led the way through the doors, nodding at other staff arriving early for their shift.

‘Trust you to find a beautiful woman before you’ve even entered the hospital,’ a deep voice said, and Annie turned to see another immaculate three-piece suit standing just inside the entrance. Inside it was a tall, rangy man, with a craggy face and the coolest, clearest grey eyes she’d ever seen.

Her heart stopped beating, stuttered back to life, then raced out of control. It couldn’t be…

Yet she knew it was.

Had known it was from the moment she’d heard his voice…

‘Do I know you?’ He reached out a hand towards her as he asked the question, and Annie stepped back.

He sounded perplexed and when she glanced at him again she saw the untidy brows drawn together in a frown as if perplexed wasn’t an emotion he enjoyed.

‘No!’ she said, far too loudly in the small space, then wondered if something less definite—a vague I don’t think so—might have been more believable.

‘This is Annie Talbot,’ Phil said to the suit. ‘She’s our neighbour and our new unit manager. She bumped into me—literally—outside our gate. Your gate. Annie, this is Alex Attwood.’

This cannot be happening. That was Annie’s first thought.

But it is, was her second.

The third suggested it wouldn’t matter. Might not matter. Especially if she stuck to her denial. She’d just go through to her office, sit down and think things through.

After which she could find out about jobs in Botswana or Tibet or somewhere.

Except she didn’t have a passport—not a real one…

‘Dr Attwood,’ she said coolly, gaining some control over her panic and finally responding to Philip’s introduction. ‘Welcome to St James’s. Phil, I’ll see you later.’

She strode away.

Alex watched her long slim legs eating up the yards down the corridor, saw her head move as she acknowledged colleagues and her hand lift to give a slight wave to others.

It was her. He would swear it was. The hair was different—but women were always changing their hair. He knew it was her from the way she moved. He’d watched her stride away from him once before.

And from her voice—low register, somewhat husky…

But he would also swear there’d been no Annie Talbot on the list he’d kept for the last five years. The most likely name, he’d eventually decided, after three days of detective work and straight-out gossip at the congress, had been Rowena Drake, wife of an Australian cardiologist called Dennis Drake. The fact that she was married should have stopped him thinking about her right then and there but, like the prince with the glass slipper, he’d wanted to know for certain who his mystery woman was.

Since coming to Australia six months ago, Alex had tried to find Dennis Drake, but though records of his training existed it appeared he was no longer practicing in Australia. Probably still working in the US, where he’d been five years ago, Alex had decided, and he’d put the matter to rest once again.

Now here she was!

Alex shook his head. He didn’t know that. And she’d said they hadn’t met. The odds of Annie Talbot being Rowena Drake—being his mystery woman—were a million to one, probably even higher than that, given the population of the country and the percentage of women in the figure.

Yet he’d felt that connection, and he would swear she’d felt it, too.

‘Are you listening to me?’

Phil’s question made Alex realise how deeply he’d lost himself in his memories of the past.

‘Not really,’ he told Phil, certain all he’d been delivering had been gossip about their colleague. Although learning more about her might help him…

‘I was saying Maggie phoned just after you left the house. She wanted to know when you hoped to start operating. A colleague has asked her to stand in with him in a liver transplant later tomorrow, but she doesn’t want to say yes until she’s spoken to you.’

‘We won’t be starting tomorrow,’ Alex replied, feeling better now he could focus back on work. ‘I kept the week clear for checking equipment, staff training, talking to local cardiologists, reviewing files of possible patients and generally settling in. I’ll be seeing Maggie at the meeting, we can talk about it then.’

He’d be seeing Annie Talbot at the meeting, too. Seeing a lot of her, in fact. But if it was her, and she’d lied about meeting him before, what kind of base was that for a working relationship?

‘Who are you waiting for?’ Phil had broken the silence again.

‘Waiting for?’

‘We’re standing here in the staff entranceway, which, in case you haven’t noticed, is becoming increasingly congested. You were standing here when I arrived. I assumed you were waiting for someone.’

‘Oh! No! Well, I might have been waiting for you. Actually, I came in, then wondered about exits and entrances—not knowing the hospital—and went back outside to look around. I’d just come back in and was looking at the fire evacuation plan on the wall when you walked in.’

‘You were checking out the fire exit plan?’

Phil’s disbelief was evident and Alex wasn’t surprised but, having seen the plan on the wall, it had seemed like a good excuse. He could hardly admit he’d seen Phil come through the gates with the woman, and something about her—the way she’d moved—the way her hair had swung to her shoulders, though it was dark, not fair as moonlight—had caused a hitch in his breathing and held him rooted to the spot.

‘Let’s go,’ he said, refusing to be drawn any further into a totally pointless conversation. ‘There’s a small lecture room included in the space the hospital has allotted us. It’s not ideal for staff meetings as I’d rather we were all on one level, but with space at a premium in all hospitals we were lucky to get it. Nine o’clock, we’re on show. That’s if your pretty woman has organised things for us.’

‘She is pretty, isn’t she? And she struck me as an efficient type—power suit and all. Though she told me she was head of the PICU before she took this job. Did you know that? Do you know of many hands-on nurses who’ve gone into admin positions?’

Alex felt his forehead tightening and realised he was frowning, though he tried hard to control this facial expression, knowing it made him look especially grim and therefore intimidating to the families of his patients.

‘No, I didn’t know, but I don’t think it matters as long as she’s efficient at her job. I did ask to be involved in choosing the manager—after all, she’ll be acting as my personal assistant as well—but I was told in no uncertain terms they already had someone for the job.’

‘You didn’t do too badly, getting to bring your own fellow, anaesthetist, perfusionist and head theatre nurse.’

‘It was a condition of my employment,’ Alex said briefly, his mind, now they’d reached the fourth floor where the unit would be situated, on what lay ahead. He may have brought key figures with him, people who’d worked with him during his time in Melbourne, but for the unit to succeed it had to be a team effort. An image of Annie Talbot flashed through his mind. She would be both the handson team leader and his liaison with the powers that be within the hospital. The second element was as important as the first—in fact, it could be the key to success.

So he had to get over his reaction to her. Even if she was the woman on the terrace, she didn’t want to remember it. Didn’t want him to remember it.

Well, he’d tried darned hard not to, yet for five years his subconscious had measured all women against her.

Against a ghost.

A wraith.

A woman he didn’t know!

Annie slumped down at her desk and buried her face in her hands. This couldn’t be happening.

It was!

OK, so did it matter?

She took a deep breath and thought about that one.

In some ways yes, because it had physically hurt her to deny they’d met before, when it had been that night—that small experience of dancing with that man and kissing him—which had freed her from her living hell.

Kissing Alex Attwood, although she’d had no idea at the time who he was, had shattered the chain that had bound her to Dennis. Kissing Alex Attwood had made her turn away from the hotel room where her husband had slept, knocked out by a drug he’d been given for seafood poisoning, and keep walking until she’d reached the nearest town, where she’d gone into the police station and asked the sleepy man on duty if she could phone Australia.

Heavens! She should be down on her knees kissing Alex’s feet, not denying she’d ever met him, but the denial had been instinctive, and now, she knew, on so many levels, it had been the right thing to do.

And, given that cardiologists and cardiac surgeons, even in a place the size of the US, moved in the same small world, it was also the only safe thing to do.

Having sorted that out, she raised her head and looked at the clock. Five minutes to the staff meeting and she hadn’t checked the room. Hadn’t done anything but panic since she’d seen him.

Again she felt the jolt of recognition that had shaken her body when she’d looked at the man. Could one body know another so instinctively?

After so short a time?

After one dance?

One kiss?

She shook her head. Forget it. Get moving. You’re here to work, and you’re Annie Talbot, not Rowena Drake.

Dragging air into her lungs, willing the deep breaths to calm her nerves, she entered the small lecture room, crossing to the table on the raised dais, checking there was a jug of water and sufficient glasses for those who would be sitting there—her new acquaintance, Phil; the big boss and the rest of his retinue; Col Bennett, hospital CEO; and herself. Col would introduce the newcomers, then hand over to her to introduce the staff members who would be fixtures in the unit—the unit secretary, two paediatric special care sisters, two sisters from the paediatric surgical ward and two theatre sisters. Other staff would be rostered through the unit once operations were under way.

She was using efficiency to block off any other thoughts. If Phil was right about Alex’s plans for the unit, she’d need to focus completely on what lay ahead workwise.

‘All ready?’

She recognised the voice and turned to see Alex Attwood, frowning grimly, apparently at her. Then, as if he’d suddenly become aware of his fierce expression, he adjusted his features into a smile. The expression shifted the planes of his craggy face so he looked not exactly handsome but very close to it.

Though it wasn’t just the look, but a kind of power she felt emanating from him as he came towards her, that made her realise he was an attractive man. Not conventionally good-looking as Phil was, but attractive nonetheless.

Not that she’d considered attractiveness five years ago when he’d asked her to dance. She’d been too caught up in the music and in an illicit feeling of freedom to take much notice of him as anything more than a dance partner.

Until he’d kissed her…

And by then he’d been too close for her to really see much of him.

‘I think so,’ she said, wishing she could press her hands to her overheated cheeks but knowing that would just draw attention to them.

He was looking at the table on the dais, as if checking off who would sit where. Maybe he hadn’t noticed her scarlet cheeks.

‘I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to get together before today,’ he said. ‘I’d intended getting over on Friday, but a friend asked me to assist at the Children’s Hospital—an emergency admission. Three-month-old brought in from the country with an undiagnosed PDA.’

Mentally, Annie translated the initials into patent ductus arteriosis. The foetal duct between the pulmonary artery and the aorta hadn’t closed, so oxygen-rich blood was still flowing from the aorta back into the pulmonary artery and the lungs. It occurred more often in premmie babies and usually closed spontaneously, but if it didn’t, it could lead to a number of problems for the infant or growing child.

It was a relatively common operation now, with good success rates. The best ever achieved in Australia had been during the time Alex Attwood had been in Melbourne.

‘The baby OK?’ she asked, and saw her new boss smile again—though this time with a warmth that had been absent when he’d used a smile to reassure her earlier.

‘Doing great,’ he said, still smiling. ‘Just great.’

Annie heard genuine satisfaction in his voice and some of her apprehension faded. She had enormous respect for doctors who cared deeply about their patients. So with respect, and with admiration for his ability as a surgeon, she could shut that tiny moment in time when their paths had crossed back where it belonged, in a far corner of her memory, and get on with the job she’d been appointed to do. She was so pleased with this discovery she forgot her promise to Phil.

‘Phil was saying you’re hoping to make this unit a specialised paediatric cardiac surgery unit—a model for small units that could work in other hospitals across the world. Does everyone know this? I mean, the hospital CEO, the board. I’m only asking because no one mentioned it to me…’

Too late, the echo of the words she’d used to Phil reminded her she wasn’t supposed to know, and the return of the frown to Alex’s face suggested he was less than pleased with both her and his offsider.

‘Quite a number of people know.’

The voice she remembered, even with the memory tucked away, hardened.

‘And a high percentage of them are influential in both medical and government circles, but—what are you? Thirty-one? Thirty-two?—you must know how political medicine is. Hospitals have to fight each other for the best funding deals, fight for corporate sponsorship. If news of this unit had leaked out, there’d have been a furore about funds being diverted from other places. We needed it to be a fait accompli before making any announcement.’

He strode across the dais then propped his elbows on the lectern and turned to look back at her, as if prepared to lecture his audience of one.

‘You’ll hear all of this very shortly—and after that the word will spread and the fun and fighting will begin. But believe me, Annie Talbot, this unit will not only come into being, it will eventually be the best in the country. And the model that I want it to be.’

Annie, at first affronted by his quite accurate guess at her age, heard the fire of dedication in his voice. It made her study him more closely—the craggy face, with a straight sharp nose, firm chin, untidy eyebrows over stern grey eyes—and what she saw—and sensed in him—stirred a feeling of true elation. Forget jolts of recognition and kisses in the past! If what he was saying was true, then this was going to be the job of her dreams, not just, as she’d thought when she’d applied for it, a stepping stone to something special. This was going to be the something special she’d always hoped was out there for her. The something special to which she could dedicate her life!

Alex watched a whole array of expressions flash across his companion’s face. Used to reading faces—how else could babies tell you how they felt?—he saw puzzlement, then surprise, then something that looked very like excitement. Whatever it was, it brought a glow to her pale skin, making the brush of freckles—a familiar brush of freckles, he was sure—across her nose and cheeks appear luminous. Then clear hazel eyes lifted to meet his, and her smile lit up the dreary lecture room.

‘This, Dr Alex Attwood, is what I’ve been waiting for for ever, it seems. Yes, I know about hospital fighting and it won’t only be hospital against hospital, there’ll be in-house battles as well as other departments fighting to keep money or claim money they feel is being siphoned off to your unit.’

‘Our unit,’ he corrected, but he doubted she’d heard him, so intent was she on what lay ahead of both of them.

‘But we’ll fight and we’ll win,’ she continued, as if driven by some inner force. ‘Because you’re good—the best, most people say—at what you do, and because I’ll be the best damn unit manager ever put on earth.’

She smiled at him again, triumph already shining in her eyes.

‘You have no idea just how much this means to me,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

Then, almost under her breath, he thought he heard her add, ‘Again.’

Puzzled by the strength of her reaction, he forgot the puzzle of ‘again’ and considered where they stood. He was pleased to hear the commitment in her words and voice, but to be thanking him?

Did she not realise just how hard and dirty the fight ahead of them was likely to be? Didn’t she realise she should be running for her life, not thanking him with such delight?

And why would any woman so obviously welcome the challenge the unit would provide? Most women he knew would back away—say thanks but, no, thanks.

Maybe she saw only the glory at the end—the image of herself as manager of an elite unit. But she looked far too sensible—and if she’d managed the PICU she was far too experienced—not to know how dirty hospital fights could get.

‘To the best of our ability we’ll ignore the politics,’ she said—not ‘we should’ but ‘we will’! ‘We’ll make our name on results. Of course, to get results you need the best staff, and that usually requires money, but if we have to work with what we have, then we’ve got to make them the best.’

‘Hey, we haven’t had the staff briefing yet, and already you’re into staff training.’

She swung her head to look at him again, and the way her hair moved reminded him of moonlight on a lake, al-though her hair was dark and shiny, not pale as the silk he’d spun off silkworm cocoons when he was a child.

‘Aren’t you?’ she challenged, and it took him a moment to think what they’d been talking about.

Of course he was. He’d thought of nothing else for weeks. Every free moment had been given over to working out how he could bring the unit staff to the level of expertise he’d require from them. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to admit that to this woman just yet.

In fact, he felt a little put out—as if she’d taken some of his dream away from him, as if she was already sharing it.

Which was good, he reminded himself. The entire staff needed to share the dream—to be committed to it. And it wasn’t that he wasn’t ready to share, he just hadn’t expected anyone to take it on board so wholeheartedly—so immediately.

Noises outside suggested other staff were arriving.

He glared at Phil as he wandered in, greeting Annie as if they’d been friends for years, putting his arm around her waist to draw her forward so he could introduce her to Maggie and Kurt and Rachel.

For one brief, irrational moment Alex was sorry he’d brought Phil to St James, then he remembered that Phil, for all his flirtatious ways and womanising, was one of the best surgeons he’d ever worked with. He needed Phil here—the unit needed him.

Besides, Annie Talbot had drawn away from his arm, positioning herself out of touching distance of Phil.