St Matthew's Passion: A Medical Romance (8 page)

‘A colleague of mine,’ said Fin.

Melissa appeared between the curtains, and Fin caught his breath. First thing in the morning, in the standard-issue white coat, her hair pulled back into a practical ponytail as she always wore it at work, she was still a vision of loveliness.

‘This is Mr Harrow,’ said Fin. ‘Take a look at this. Fishing hook injury.’

Melissa peered at the wound, betraying no reaction. ‘Plastics?’

‘I thought you might do it.’

Her eyes flashed at him – astonished, and excited – but she kept her tone nonchalant. ‘Of course.’

‘I’ll assist, if you don’t mind.’

The fishermen were muttering to each other. At least, Fin thought, it meant they weren’t staring at Melissa any longer.

Harrow said, ‘No offence, Doc, but you’re the boss, aren’t you? I’d prefer it if you did it.’

Fin could understand. Everyone wanted to be treated by the most senior, most experienced doctor available. It was natural. On the other hand, if the trainees never learned by experience, they’d never themselves become experts. It was one of the trade-offs for coming to a teaching hospital for treatment.

‘Ms Havers is one of our top surgeons,’ said Fin. ‘She’ll do a fine job.’

‘It’s just that she’s – well, you know.’ Harrow gestured vaguely.

One of his friends said, ‘Hey, George. You’re better off with a lady. She’ll be good at stitching and sewing.’ They erupted into sniggers.

Melissa didn’t falter, didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. She looked neither flustered nor annoyed, even though Fin thought she must have been seething inside at the chauvinism of the men. Fin thought she was handling it terrifically.

George Harrow seemed to realise things had gone too far because he shook his head at his friend, grimacing again. A nurse took them through to the suturing area and began to prepare a sterile field.

Melissa looked up at Fin and said, ‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t let me down.’

He wasn’t worried, and his confidence in her turned out to be well-placed. Fin said nothing during the entire procedure, handing her swabs and wielding the small selection of retractors according to her instructions. He marvelled at the delicacy of her suturing technique, the flair with which she stitched the elaborately tricky tear within the man’s mouth and, later, the laceration as it extended across his outer cheek, ensuring the edges of the wound were as closely opposed as possible to minimise the scarring. There had been no damage to the facial nerve so with any luck, and assuming they could head off any infection, Harrow’s face should look almost as good as new within a few weeks.

Although Fin watched Melissa’s hands intently, aware of his responsibility to the patient, he glanced from time to time as surreptitiously as he could at her face. Often all he could see was the smooth curve of her forehead leading to the delicate arches of her pale eyebrows and, beyond, her long, thick lashes. It was all he could do to keep himself from reaching out and tracing a forefinger across her brow, down the bridge of her small nose to her lips.

When at last she’d snipped the final suture and dabbed the wound dry, watching for tiny bleeding vessels, Melissa sat arrow up and brought him a mirror. He turned his head this way and that, peering at the thin pink line which looked like nothing more than a nasty paper cut.

‘Thanks, Doc,’ he nodded at her.

Outside the suture room, a dressing freshly applied, Harrow met his friends.

‘You look like a princess, my darling,’ one of them said.

‘Sling your hook,’ Harrow retorted, and they departed in gales of laughter.

Fin watched Melissa help the nurse tidy up. ‘Another satisfied customer,’ he said.

She tried to look noncommittal but couldn’t keep up the pretence, and her face broke into a beaming grin.

‘Not bad, was I?’

Without any trace of irony, he said, ‘You were sensational.’

She darted a quick look at him, a demure look from beneath lowered lashes. He felt his stomach do a slow somersault. Glancing at the nurse who was separating out the various pieces of waste into different containers, he thought:
I’m glad we’ve got a chaperone
.

‘I’m serious,’ he said. ‘That was a top-notch job. We won’t know fully how it turns out until it’s healed a little, of course, but… I haven’t seen skill like that for a long time.’ He raised his eyebrows ruefully. ‘I only hope we don’t lose you to a career in plastic surgery.’

‘No chance. Trauma’s where I belong.’ Melissa finished drying her hands, and turned to face him fully. ‘But thank you again, Fin. For the opportunity, and for the praise.’

Her head was thrown back a little, her breasts thrust forward almost imperceptibly. Almost unconsciously he responded, shifting so that he faced her square-on and pushed his hips slightly forwards.

Watch yourself, Fin. Remember where you are.

And then:
remember what you’ve done
.

Before he could spoil the mood once again, a casualty officer poked his head round the door. Mr Finmore-Gage? RTA coming in, blue-light. Three casualties.’

A road traffic accident. The first of the morning, and it wouldn’t be the last.

He shrugged, tilted his head towards the door.

‘Shall we dance?’

Melissa grinned and followed him out into the maelstrom.

***

Melissa wasn’t a Londoner by birth or upbringing, but as a child growing up in Sussex her parents used to bring her to London for a day’s shopping before Christmas each year. She’d loved the anticipation: the excitement the night before, the early start and the train journey, the thrill as they pulled into Victoria Station and caught the Underground to Oxford Circus where they’d alight into the bright, crazily bustling carnival of Oxford Street. As an adult Melissa had tried to keep the tradition alive, treating herself to a West End shopping day at least once every Christmas. And of course, this year it would be easy as she actually lived in the city.

She picked a Saturday, the busiest shopping day of the year as it was the one before Christmas, and, efficient as ever, did her shopping for other people – her parents, her brother, a few odds and ends for the Trauma department staff – first, so that she could relax and indulge herself. Melissa made a meal of her day: tea at Fortnum & Mason’s, clothes shopping at Selfridges and a Bond Street boutique or two, followed by a browse around John Lewis’s flagship department store on Oxford Street.

All the while, she found her thoughts returning to Fin. She saw him in billboard advertisements for gentlemen’s clothes, in the men whom she passed in the jostling crowds on the street, even, Lord help her, in the male mannequins in the shop windows. His behaviour was starting to infuriate her once again. He’d definitely warmed to her, there was no doubt about that, and was far freer with his praise than he’d once been. But every time she thought they were getting close to a replay of a situation like the one outside her flat that night, every time the attractive force between them was so blatantly obvious that the air seemed to crackle with it, Fin would pull back, draw into himself, physically and emotionally, and she’d be left feeling drained and bewildered.

Was there another woman in his life? Possibly, but she didn’t think so. She’d been in his office and there were no pictures of anyone else. In that case, did he feel awkward because she was his trainee? Or was he perhaps wary of office romances of any sort? Well, she could understand both of those points of view. Maybe she should be more careful, more aware of the damage an affair with the boss could do to her career. She was already at a disadvantage, as a woman in what had traditionally been a man’s field. She really didn’t people whispering that she’d got where she had by sleeping her way to the top.

Forget about all that today
, she told herself as she descended the escalator in the department store to the floor which held the perfume and jewellery.
You’ve come out here to enjoy yourself just for the day. To have a bit of frivolous fun
.

Melissa wandered the glittering aisles, inhaling deeply of the varied aromas, not stopping to buy but basking in the simple sensual luxury of smell. She accepted a free sample spritz from a girl armed with a new scent, but didn’t like it: too floral. As she swept her gaze across the floor of the enormous shop, wondering where to drift off to next, her eyes caught on someone.

There, over at the jewellery counters.

His back was to her, and perhaps he was just another tall, dark-haired man. But he turned a fraction and she caught his face on one-quarter view.

There was no mistaking him. It was Fin.

Well, what are the odds
, Melissa thought. She began to sidle towards him down the aisles, intending to surprise him. But as she drew nearer, she saw the girl behind the counter lift something glittering – a necklace, it looked like – into a box.

Melissa stopped and watched.

The girl’s hands were moving, out of sight, and Melissa guessed she was wrapping the box. She handed it to Fin with a smile and he slipped it into the pocket of his Burberry overcoat.

Melissa took a step back, almost colliding with a portly lady who glared at her. All of a sudden it was vital that Fin not see her.

Melissa stumbled away, muttering her apologies to people, heading towards the exit. Outside the cold air hit her in a blast. Her vision blurred, but not because of the wind.

Fin had been buying jewellery. Gift-wrapped jewellery, as a present.

For a woman. So there was someone else in his life.

How could she have been so stupid?

Melissa hurried through the darkening streets, the magic of the setting and the season destroyed for her. Now all she felt was the raw cold. She was a child, a naïve little girl with an adolescent crush on her handsome, powerful, charismatic boss. She despaired of such characters in romantic comedies. Why couldn’t she have seen that she was exactly the same? A silly stereotype?

Fin felt nothing for her. She’d been projecting her own desires on him, seeing evidence of his interest in her where there’d been none. Deborah had been right all along. She –

Melissa faltered in mid-stride.

Deborah?

Was she the one Fin was buying the necklace for?

It made sense. Deborah had been warning her off almost from the word go. More recently, the nurse had sensed something developing between Melissa and Fin and had probably decided to show her hand. To confess her feelings for Fin to him. And he’d responded in kind.

Or was Melissa spinning fantasies of another kind now? Were her anguished, tumultuous feelings overriding her reason once again?

Feeling miserable to the point of wretchedness, Melissa allowed herself to be swept along by the crowd, down into the darkness of the Underground station.

***

‘Ms Havers, could I bother you for a minute?’

Melissa blinked, looked round. She was on the post-op ward, it was eight in the morning, and she’d just come off a night shift. It had been a punishing one, an almost non-stop flow of injuries of every kind: stab wounds, head and torso damage from the inevitable car crashes, even a gunshot injury, which was relatively rare in Britain. Melissa had been in theatre virtually continuously from nine in the evening until five this morning, and she was staving off the tidal wave of sleep that threatened to engulf her by keeping on her feet and downing cup after cup of coffee interspersed with the odd can of diet cola for variety.

The aftermath of a busy night in theatre always involved ward rounds to make sure the patients on whom the surgeon had operated were stable enough to be handed over to the day shift, and Melissa was coming to the end of her rounds, a fresh-faced nurse at her side. Despite the industrial quantities of caffeine she’d consumed, she realised she’d drifted off on her feet while studying a patient’s chart. 

Deborah was holding a prescription pad. ‘I know it’s not really your job, but Dr Nelson is on the other ward at the moment, and I wondered if you could write up this patient’s discharge medications.’

Dr Nelson was the junior doctor in the team and was normally tasked with the mundane duties like discharge prescriptions, but Melissa didn’t believe in being precious. The department ran only if everyone mucked in where necessary, and sometimes it was quicker to get a job sorted out even if it was strictly speaking someone else’s responsibility.

‘Sure. No problem,’ she said, taking the prescription.

A week had passed since her encounter with Deborah in the locker room. Whatever the nurse’s opinion of her, and despite Melissa’s growing suspicion that Fin and Deborah were a secret item, Melissa had to admit that Deborah never let any of that stuff get in the way of their working relationship. She was cool towards Melissa, but she wasn’t spiteful.

Perhaps she’s more emotionally stable than me...
Melissa shook the thought away. This wasn’t the time or the place to get maudlin. She was too tired, her defences were too weakened, for her to dare to let such poisonous considerations to creep in. They’d take hold, and would disrupt the sleep she desperately needed later.