St Matthew's Passion - By Sam Archer Page 0,7

But in this case Mrs Reynolds had a reasonable request, and it all turned out fine.’

Melissa blinked, appearing lost for words for a moment. Then she sighed. ‘It just felt as if I was being belittled, that’s all.’

‘You disagree with what I just said?’ He watched her eyes carefully, aware that he was being deliberately provocative. Again she floundered for a second. Then her expression tightened and she looked defiant again.

‘Yes. I disagree. Not with the point about the patient’s needs taking priority, but about how that was applied in this case.’

‘Good.’

She looked utterly taken aback, as if she’d been preparing for his anger, his outrage that he was being challenged. ‘Good? I don’t –’

‘It’s good that you’re sticking to your guns. Being honest about how you feel. About what you believe.’

She tilted her head to one side a fraction, a smile touching her lips. ‘Then you accept I’m in the right.’

‘No,’ he said. He noticed that her smile died a little. Fin shrugged. ‘I’m right. As long as I’m in charge, as long as the ultimate responsibility for what goes on in this department falls on my shoulders, then I’m right. That’s not to say you can’t have your own opinions. As I just said, I encourage it. But my decision’s the final one. Always.’ He smiled broadly. ‘Anything else?’

‘No.’ He suspected her voice came out more quietly than she’d hoped, and she looked annoyed at herself.

‘Good. Now let’s hit those wards.’

She didn’t quite stalk off, but she made sure she was a couple of paces ahead of him on their walk down the corridor, maintaining an actual as well as a symbolic distance between them. Again Fin felt the urge to gaze at her figure beneath the shapeless white coat, and again he fought it.

It was the first time he’d seen Melissa close to anger, and the first time he’d really seen her assert herself with him. He was pleased. Standing firm was as essential with colleagues as it was when making clinical decisions. Fin was bothered, though, by Melissa’s sensitivity about the whole issue. Patients always wanted to see the consultant, it was a fact of life, and there was little point in a registrar getting worked up about the matter. There was quite enough to be stressed about in the practice of medicine, especially a field as demanding as trauma surgery, and you needed to know what genuinely to fret over and what to simply let slide.

He watched Melissa disappear through the doors of the ward ahead, letting them swing closed behind her, and he thought: you’ve got a lot to learn, Ms Havers. Not just about surgery, but about toughening up too.

***

Melissa was on her way back from a follow-up visit to one of her patients on the general medical ward when her pager exploded into a blare of noise, and although the voice was so distorted by static as to be unintelligible she knew it meant one thing.

She began to hurry.

The Accident and Emergency Department was three floors down. She bypassed the lifts with their crowds of people milling before the doors and took the fire stairs two at a time. Barging through the doors to A&E she saw the usual Saturday afternoon scene: hobbling football players with sprained ankles being supported into seats by their teammates, amateur DIY enthusiasts clutching wrapped and bleeding hands, a few early pub casualties barely able to sit upright. All deserving of attention and care, but all small fry compared with what she was about to have to deal with.

The blue strobing of the ambulance’s flasher announced the vehicle’s arrival. A minute later a wheeled stretcher came through the doors, surrounded by three paramedics. One of them recognised Melissa and nodded.

‘Definitely one for you, doc.’

She moved into step beside the trolley as they wheeled it towards the ‘majors’ room, where the urgent cases were brought. Strapped securely to its metal frame was a burly man in workman’s overalls, an oxygen mask fastened over his nose and mouth and an intravenous line extending form one arm and attached to a saline drip. His right leg was held immobile by a series of blocks providing a temporary splint. The overalls were soaked with blood from torso to legs.

‘Sunil Khan, aged forty-three,’ the paramedic recited, with the terseness of someone who was used to packing as much information as possible into the fewest words. ‘Fell approximately fifty feet when the scaffolding collapsed under him. Multiple trauma to head, chest and right