The Consultant's Adopted Son. Jennifer Taylor

isn’t like him. That guy is the epitome of cool normally. Isn’t that right, Suzie?’

      ‘Isn’t what right? And don’t call me Suzie. You know I don’t like it.’

      ‘I know how you feel.’ Rose smiled as the other registrar joined them. ‘I hate it when people call me Rosie.’

      Suzanne grimaced. ‘Then my advice to you is to make sure that certain members of this staff are fully acquainted with your views.’ She shot a speaking look at Rob, who tried to look hurt.

      ‘Do you mean me?’

      ‘If the cap fits…’ Suzanne sniffed loftily and walked away.

      Rose chuckled. ‘That put you in your place, didn’t it?’

      ‘She loves me really,’ Rob assured her, grinning. ‘So, I know that your name is Rose but I don’t know much else. How about filling me in over a cup of coffee after we finish up here?’

      ‘Sorry, but I think I’d better stick to what I’m getting paid for.’

      Rose smiled to take the sting out of her refusal, but nowadays she made a point of not getting involved with the male members of staff wherever she was sent to work. The few times she’d been out with a man in the past it had usually ended badly—her date had expected more from her than she’d been prepared to give. But she had made up her mind after Daniel had been adopted that she would never put herself in the position of being hurt like that again. It was much easier if she kept things on a strictly friendly footing.

      ‘That makes a change,’ Rob declared, unfazed by her refusal. ‘Most of the agency staff seem to think they’re here to socialise. Angie—that’s the charge nurse—keeps threatening to padlock the staffroom door. Usually they spend more time in there drinking coffee than doing any work!’

      ‘You must have been using the wrong agency,’ she said lightly, not wanting to be drawn into a discussion about the merits—or pitfalls—of employing agency nurses. There was enough ill feeling as it was, without her encouraging people to think badly of all agency staff.

      The porters arrived just then, to take the motorcyclist up to Theatre. Rose checked that his notes were up to date and handed him over, then went to help with the patient who’d been brought in. It was Michelle Robinson, the daughter of the woman who had suffered the heart attack, and she was in a very bad way.

      Owen reappeared, and he and the team did all they could for her, but it was a losing battle from the outset. The young woman’s injuries were just too extensive and she died thirty minutes later. Rose nodded when Angie asked her to remove all the leads and tubes before her family came to identify her. It would be distressing enough for them without them having to see all the unpleasant details.

      Another couple of patients were brought into Resus, but Rose was asked to work the cubicles and didn’t deal with them. She was glad of the change because dealing with the most severely injured was always harrowing. As she went to report to the triage nurse, she found herself remembering what Rob had said about Owen Gallagher’s mood that day and sighed.

      It didn’t take a genius to work out why he was out of sorts. Seeing her there must have been as big a shock for him as it had been for her. All she could hope was that it wouldn’t make a difficult situation any worse. No matter what he believed, she only had Daniel’s best interests at heart, and if getting in touch with her would help Daniel then she most certainly wasn’t going to refuse to see him.

      The day wore on, the usual mix of high drama and the mundane. Overcrowded GP surgeries meant that a lot of people who came to the department didn’t actually need to be treated there. Rose dealt with half a dozen minor injuries ranging from a deeply embedded splinter to a sore throat then, at Angie’s behest, went for a break.

      There were a couple of other nurses in the staffroom when she went in and she tried not to take it personally when they ignored her. She never stayed in one place long enough to make friends, so she was used to being ignored. She made herself a cup of coffee and had just sat down to drink it when the door opened and Owen Gallagher appeared.

      She had managed to keep out of his way since she’d left Resus. With her working the cubicles, it hadn’t been that difficult to avoid him and she’d been glad of the respite. Knowing that she was an object of loathing in his eyes wasn’t the most pleasant experience she’d ever had. Now she stiffened as his gaze skimmed over the other nurses and landed on her. Even from that distance she could see the chill in his grey eyes. He strode towards her and his face was like thunder when he stopped in front of her.

      ‘There is a waiting-room full of people out there. I suggest you attend to what you’re being paid for, Ms Tremayne. And, to my knowledge, that doesn’t include sitting here, drinking coffee.’

      His tone was icy with contempt and Rose flushed. She didn’t say a word as she got up, took her mug to the sink and emptied the coffee down the drain. Nobody said anything as she left the staffroom but she could feel the other nurses watching her and it was galling to know what they must be thinking.

      They probably thought she wasn’t pulling her weight after what Owen Gallagher had said, and the unfairness of being labelled as lazy was very hard to take. She did a good job wherever she worked and put one hundred per cent effort into it, too. That was why she’d been offered so many permanent posts—every hospital she’d worked at had asked her if she would like to join their staff, but she’d had to refuse.

      It wasn’t that she didn’t like the idea of working in one place, because she would have loved to do so. It was the fact that she wouldn’t earn her current salary that stopped her. As her father had sunk deeper into the grip of Alzheimer’s disease she’d had to move him into a nursing-home, and the fees were extortionate. Agency work paid far more than she could earn by working for the NHS, plus she could top up her income by working nights if the nursing-home’s fees increased. Maybe she should have explained all that to Owen—only what would have been the point? He wasn’t interested in her problems, he was only interested in keeping her away from Daniel.

      Rose went back to the unit and took a fresh file out of the tray, determined that she wouldn’t give him the opportunity to accuse her of wasting time again. The waiting-room was packed and she had to shout to make herself heard above the din.

      ‘Vicky Smith.’

      A girl in her twenties stood up, clutching her left hand. Rose grimaced when she saw the state of her ring finger. ‘That looks very nasty,’ she said, leading the young woman to a cubicle. ‘How did it happen?’

      ‘I was bringing my horse in from the field when he tried to bolt. The lead rope must have got wrapped around my finger somehow because I heard it make this horrible popping sound.’ Vicky sat down on the bed, looking very pale as she studied her swollen hand. ‘Do you think it’s broken?’

      ‘It could be, but I’ll have to get one of the doctors to take a look at it before we can be sure.’ Rose smiled at her. ‘It will probably need X-raying so there’ll be a bit of wait. Did you come here on your own or did someone bring you?’

      ‘I came on my own.’ Vicky looked close to tears. ‘I was going to phone my boyfriend but Oliver—that’s my horse—trampled on my mobile phone and broke it.’

      ‘I can phone him for you,’ Rose assured her. She jotted down the boyfriend’s phone number then went to find Suzanne and asked her to take a look at the girl’s hand. As she had predicted, Suzanne wanted X-rays to be done so Rose ushered the young woman to the radiology unit and left her there while she made the telephone call. Angie was using the phone on the desk, so rather than waste time waiting until it was free Rose found some change in her pocket and used the public phone in the foyer. She was just hanging up after telling Vicky’s boyfriend what had happened when Owen Gallagher came out of the department and he stopped dead when he saw her.

      ‘I’ve warned you once today about getting on with your work, Ms Tremayne, and I don’t intend to warn you again about flagrantly wasting time. You’re paid to work, not to organise your social life.’