I’ll send him over a copy of my CV. I’m still here tomorrow, but I’ll be heading back to Siena on Friday so I could come and see the director then if he’s still keen.’ She dictated her email address and rang off.
Before returning to the dinner table she sat for a good long while looking out across the sea towards the twinkling lights of the Tuscan mainland in the far distance. Back in war-torn Africa, when she had thought about escaping to Tuscany, this sort of job would have been beyond her wildest dreams. In so many ways, it was too good to turn down, but there was the major stumbling block of her reservations about private medicine. Presumably she would find out how she would react only when she got there, but it worried her. When she finally roused herself and returned to her now cold grilled sardines, she was still turning it over in her head.
When she got back to her room, she found an email from Virginia, whose official title turned out to be Senior Administrative Officer at the Siena Clinic. The contents of the email suddenly made Lucy’s decision a whole lot easier. The salary they were offering was over twice as much as she had been earning with MSF and that made the job much more difficult to turn down, even though deep inside she was still worried at the sort of people she would find herself treating. Would she be selling her soul to the devil if she accepted? Still, she reflected as she drifted off to sleep, on a salary like that she would be able to afford to buy herself that little house she had dreamt of for so long. And the first thing she would plant would be a rose bush by the door.
She didn’t sleep very well that night, despite being untroubled by gruesome nightmares. Instead, her subconscious had been turning this exciting new proposal over and over again in her mind. Next morning she emailed her boss at MSF in London, indicating that she had been offered another job in Italy, but specifying that she didn’t want to let anybody down. To her delight, barely three minutes later, she received a call back from Dr Brown herself. Lucy had received a couple of emails from the UK Director General since her return from the Congo, but it had been a while since she had heard her soft Scottish accent.
‘Lucy, so good to hear from you. How are you after your experiences in the DRC?’
Lucy told her that she was recovering well and didn’t burden her with an account of her bad dreams. She told her a bit more about the job offer at the Siena Clinic and Dr Brown sounded very supportive.
‘You’re free to decide to do whatever you like, Lucy. We would love to keep you on here at MSF, and the very least we can promise you would be a position somewhere well away from any form of conflict. But I would equally understand if you decided this was the time to make a change. Please choose whatever road you think will suit you best.’
Lucy felt she had to tell her what was worrying her most. ‘The thing is, I’ve always got a kick out of helping the poor and the dispossessed. I suppose I’m worried I might find such a big change distasteful. I need to be true to my principles.’
‘I know what you mean, Lucy, but remember, they’re still people who’re sick, who need your help. The fact that they can pay for it doesn’t reduce their need. From what you tell me, the position’s for a general surgeon, so you wouldn’t just be pandering to rich people’s vanity but looking after patients with real medical problems to be solved. Besides, I happen to know Michelangelo Gualtieri, the Director of the Siena Clinic, and I have nothing but respect for him as a doctor and as a man of principle. You’re a very talented surgeon, Lucy. Everybody says that, and you know there’ll always be a job with us if you change your mind. If you do decide to take the Italian job, give Michelangelo my name as a referee, and whatever you do, don’t think that you’re selling out if you choose to go into private medicine. They’re still patients in need.’
By the time she put the phone down, Lucy felt reassured that she wouldn’t be burning her bridges with MSF and a