Dr Mathieson's Daughter. Maggie Kingsley

not a complete pushover. You’re going to do your full share of taking care of your daughter, or my name isn’t Jane Halden.

      Determinedly she extricated her hands from his. ‘I’d better go—’

      ‘Did you remember to arrange with one of the night staff to start a little earlier tonight so you can come out to the airport with me?’ he interrupted.

      She nodded, though she still thought Nicole would probably have preferred him to meet her alone.

      ‘I thought we’d take her out to dinner,’ he continued. ‘A sort of welcome-to-London treat. I know this fabulous restaurant in town which not only does the most amazing lobsters but also the best prawns this side of the Channel.’

      He had to be joking. One look at his face told her he wasn’t.

      ‘Don’t you think fish fingers and chips at home would be a much better idea?’ she said quickly.

      ‘Jane, she’s French—’

      ‘And she’s six years old, Elliot. Look, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she’s exhausted and a bit weepy when she arrives,’ she continued as he opened his mouth, clearly intending to argue with her, ‘so I really do think fish fingers and chips in your flat would suit her much better than dinner out at a fancy restaurant.’

      He frowned uncertainly. ‘If you say so. I don’t think I’ve got any fish fingers in my freezer but I could easily buy some.’

      Frankly she’d have been amazed if he’d had fish fingers in his freezer. Pâté de foie gras, quail and partridge eggs for sure, but not fish fingers and chips.

      In fact, when she’d dropped off her clothes at his flat this morning her heart had quite sunk when she’d seen where he lived. Oh, his home was beautiful—all gleaming modern furniture and immaculate white walls—but not by any stretch of the imagination could it have been described as child-friendly. Indeed, its pristine elegance had intimidated her, so who knew what it would do to Nicole?

      Flowers might soften the look, she thought suddenly, make it seem more homely, and she’d just opened her mouth to suggest it when two paramedics appeared, their faces taut, grim.

      ‘Twenty-three-year-old mum with bad burns to her face, arms and upper torso. Apparently she was frying some chips for her kids’ tea when the pan caught fire. She threw some water on it—’

      ‘And the whole thing went up like a torch,’ Elliot groaned as the paramedics wheeled the mother into cubicle 1. ‘Didn’t she know that oil and water don’t mix?’

      ‘Do you want me to page the burns unit?’ Jane asked, beckoning to Floella to assist him.

      ‘Please. You’d better alert IC as well. And, Jane…’ She turned, her eyebrows raised questioningly. ‘Make it fast, eh?’

      She nodded. Shock was always the biggest hazard in cases like this. Shock and the danger of infection, and the sooner they could get the young mother stabilised and transferred to specialist care, the better.

      And the sooner Richard Connery lost his high-and-mighty attitude the happier she’d be, too, she decided when she put down the phone to see the junior doctor snapping his fingers imperiously at her.

      No wonder Floella’s temper was close to breaking point, she thought as she walked towards him. Her own was getting pretty wafer-thin as well, and it was getting harder and harder for her to continue believing that Richard’s high-handed manner was due to him finding the work in A and E a lot more stressful than he’d expected.

      ‘How can I help you, Doctor?’ she asked, determinedly bright as she joined him in cubicle 8.

      ‘Being here considerably earlier would have been a start,’ he declared irritably. ‘I’ve been waiting ten minutes for nursing assistance.’

      ‘We’re very busy this afternoon, Dr Connery—’

      ‘And I don’t have time to listen to excuses,’ he interrupted. ‘My patient is suffering from acute appendicitis and I need liver, pancreatic and guiac tests to confirm it before I send him up to Theatre.’

      It wasn’t the only thing he needed, she thought grimly, but she managed to keep her tongue between her teeth and quickly took the samples he wanted.

      ‘Well, is it a ruptured appendix, as I said?’ he declared when she returned later with the results.

      She cleared her throat awkwardly. ‘Could I have a word with you in private Dr Connery?’

      ‘I don’t have time for a chat, Sister,’ he retorted. ‘All I want is a simple answer to a simple question. Is it a ruptured appendix or not?’

      Well, he’d asked for it, she thought, and as he’d asked for it he was going to get it. ‘I’m afraid it isn’t, Dr Connery. Your patient has gallstones.’

      ‘Gallstones?’ Richard’s normally pale face turned an interesting shade of pink, and he snatched the sheet of papers from her fingers. ‘Let me see those results!’

      ‘It can be very easy to confuse the two,’ she murmured for the benefit of the young man who was lying on the trolley, glancing from her to Richard with clear concern. ‘The symptoms—pain, nausea and sickness—’

      ‘Are you presuming to give me lessons in diagnosis, Sister Halden?’ Richard interrupted, his face now almost puce.

      Of course I’m not, you big ninny, she thought. I’m simply trying to get you out of a jam. You should never have told your patient what was wrong with him until you were a hundred per cent sure, and making a diagnosis without having the results of your tests was just plain stupid.

      But she didn’t say any of that. Instead, she said as calmly as she could, ‘Would you like me to make arrangements for your patient to be taken up to Men’s Surgical, Dr Connery?’

      From his expression Richard looked as though he’d far rather have thrown her under the nearest bus, but he managed to nod.

      But he wasn’t finished. The minute the young man on the trolley was wheeled out of the treatment room, he rounded on her furiously.

      ‘I do not appreciate being made to look a fool, Sister Halden! That man was my patient—in my care—and you deliberately undermined his confidence in me!’

      ‘I did no such thing,’ she protested. ‘I didn’t want to give you those results. I asked if I could discuss them with you in private, but you insisted on having them.’

      He had, and he knew it. He was also plainly acutely and deeply mortified, and despite her anger she couldn’t help feeling a certain sympathy for him.

      ‘Dr Connery…Richard…Look, it’s no big deal,’ she said gently. ‘OK, so your initial diagnosis wasn’t correct, but you were sensible enough to order all the necessary tests—’

      ‘I am not a child so stop humouring me!’ he interrupted. ‘I am the doctor here, Sister Halden, and I suggest you don’t forget it!’

      He stormed away before she could answer him, but to her dismay her troubles weren’t over. As she turned to go back into the cubicle to remove the paper sheet from the examination trolley and replace it with a fresh one, Elliot suddenly appeared and it was clear from his grim face that he’d heard every word.

      ‘Does he always talk to you like that?’ he demanded. ‘He does—doesn’t he?’ he continued, seeing the betraying flush of colour on her cheeks. ‘Right. It’s obviously high time I had a chat with that young man.’

      ‘Oh, Elliot, don’t,’ she said quickly, dreading the inevitable friction that such a course of action would create. ‘He knows he was wrong, but he’s very young, still finding his feet—’

      ‘And using them to walk all over you by the sound of it,’ he snapped. ‘Jane, it’s not on. There’s such a thing as staff courtesy, not to mention the fact that even a first-year