Joanna Neil - Her Consultant Boss

‘Maybe.’ Jenny tried a weak smile and then made an effort to pull herself together, starting to pile crockery into the sink.

Megan blinked at the clatter and glanced at her watch. ‘Heavens, I must get a move on. I have no idea what this new boss is going to be like, but he won’t think very much of me if I arrive half an hour after everyone else.’

‘Good luck, Megan,’ Jenny said. ‘I hope everything goes well for you.’

‘Thanks.’ With a sudden quiver of uncertainty, she asked, ‘Do I look all right? Will I do?’

Jenny gave her a swift, appraising look. ‘You look wonderful. I like your hair done up like that. I just wish I had your figure and your sense of style. Whatever you wear looks good on you, and I’ve always thought that colour suited you. It’s a lovely soft peach, and the skirt fits you like a glove.’

Megan absently brushed a hand over her skirt. She hoped the length was about right. It just skimmed her knees, and she worried a little in case it showed off too much of her long legs. Still, she did feel good in this colour, it was gentle and cheerful, and the skirt, she thought, teamed well with the soft cashmere sweater.

She pulled in a quick breath. ‘I’d better go.’

She bent down to kiss Ben and received a jammy hug from Josh, and then she waved a quick goodbye to Jenny. ‘I’ll see you later. Give me a ring if you change your mind about lunch.’

‘I shan’t. I’ll take the children to the park. Off you go, and stop worrying about me. I’ll be just fine.’

Megan doubted that, but she went out and started up her car. It was a ten-minute or so drive to the hospital in the centre of town, provided that there were no traffic problems.

She tried to relax and drink in the scenery of rolling green hills and distant mountains along the way. Jenny lived in a pretty little fishing village fairly close to a small harbour, a peaceful and picturesque landscape that added to her feeling that it had been a good move, coming to work in this place.

Megan arrived at the hospital a few minutes later and parked the car in the nearest available spot in the car park. Looking up at the sprawling red-brick building, she pulled in a deep breath to calm herself in preparation for the day ahead, then walked in through the main entrance.

She had been here just once before, on the day of her interview, and now, as then, she was overwhelmed by the alarming wealth of passageways and the confusing maze of clinical buildings and wards and operating theatres and administrative offices. She floundered for a while, taking a couple of wrong turnings, before she finally found her way to the annexe where she was to be working for the next few months.

The unit was housed on the third floor of the building, an impressively clean and bright part of the hospital where patients were welcomed into a room furnished cheerfully with attractively upholstered seating, and low tables filled with magazines and decorated with the occasional potted plant. There was a television in the corner of the room and one or two patients were watching an episode of a talk show as they waited to see a doctor. At the far side of the room there was a fish tank, carefully set out with coloured gravel, a diving bell and an assortment of rocks and green underwater ferns.

She looked around her, wondering where to go next. A corridor led away from the waiting room, and there were half a dozen doors, which presumably opened up into surgeries along the way.

‘Are you new around here?’ A young man—DR WILL SANDERSON, REGISTRAR, she gathered from the label on his white coat—was looking at her quizzically. ‘I guess you’re not a patient, or you would have gone to Reception.’ He glanced over at the desk where nurses and clerks were talking amiably.

‘No, you’re quite right,’ she said. ‘I’m looking for Dr Sam Benedict’s room. I’m supposed to be at a meeting, but I got lost.’

‘Ah.’ Dr Sanderson smiled knowingly. ‘You must be one of the new members of his team. You’ll find him along the corridor, just straight ahead. You can’t miss it—his name’s on the door.’

‘Thank you.’ Megan gave him a grateful smile and sped along the corridor.

Pausing to get herself together, she knocked briefly on the door and heard a murmured voice telling her to come in.

Pushing open the door, she looked into the room. Four people were in there—three men and a woman—seated around a table. They all turned to look at her as she walked in, the woman, an attractive blonde, assessing her with cool green eyes.

It was one of the men who held Megan’s attention, though. Even seated, as he was, she guessed that he would be tall. He was at least a head higher than the others, with broad shoulders outlined by the expensive cut of his grey suit. His jet-black hair was cut short to frame a face that was strong-boned, and his features were well defined, his nose straight, the jaw firm and his mouth pleasingly moulded.

His glance flicked over her, taking in her appearance from head to toe.

She couldn’t tell whether he approved or not. He said in a deep, gravelly voice, ‘You must be Dr Llewellyn.’

Megan nodded, all too conscious of several pairs of eyes watching her. ‘That’s right. I’m so sorry that I’m late, but I got a little lost.’

The slant of his mouth didn’t soften by a fraction. ‘I’m relieved that you managed to join us in the end.’

He waved a hand to one side of the table. ‘Take a seat. We’ve already made a start, so I’ll update you when the meeting finishes.’

She attempted a weak smile, but said nothing, fearful of disturbing the proceedings any further. She edged her way into the vacant chair.

Dr Benedict continued as if there had been no disruption. ‘You will each have your own quota of patients,’ he told them, ‘and you will report back to me at some point during each day. If there are any queries that you want to raise at that time, just let me know and we’ll discuss any problems that you have.’

‘How will the patients be allocated?’ the blonde woman doctor enquired in a lilting voice. ‘Are we allowed to choose which ones will be on our list?’

‘To some extent,’ Dr Benedict agreed. ‘For the moment, though, I think it might work out for the best if you start with patients that I have chosen for you. After a week or so you’ll have some say in which cases you want to handle, although I may decide that certain patients would benefit from being with a particular doctor. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave that to my judgement for the time being.’

The woman gave him a beautiful smile. ‘Of course.’

Megan watched as Dr Benedict responded with a brief curve of his mouth. His whole face changed, lightened. He was a very good-looking man, and younger than she had expected. She guessed he was in his mid-thirties, and if that was the case, he had done very well to reach the position of consultant at such an early age.

He clearly got on well with the young woman seated next to him. From what she had observed so far, he listened to her and appeared to respect her point of view.

It wasn’t very likely that he would give her the same treatment, Megan mused dully. His manner had been polite enough on the surface, but there had been a hint of censure in his tone and she had the unhappy feeling that she had well and truly blotted her copybook. Turning up late, albeit only by a few minutes, had definitely been a bad move.

The meeting continued, with Sam Benedict outlining the way the psychiatric unit operated. Patients were referred here by their GPs for initial assessment, and the team, working with Dr Benedict, would decide what treatment would help them best.

‘We deal with people who might sometimes have what appear to be obscure symptoms,’ he said, ‘but it’s vital that you always take a full medical history—and try to remember that one of your best diagnostic tools is simply to listen.’