Emergency Doctor and Cinderella. Melanie Milburne
an hour had passed since Eamon Chapman had asked her to meet him in his office, so rather than delay the inevitable any further she trudged through the department to where his office was located. She gave the door a quick knock, secretly wishing he had been called away, but she heard his deep voice commanding her to come in.
He was sitting behind his desk but rose to his feet as she came in. ‘Have you had lunch?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Erin said, wondering if he could read her mind or hear her stomach in this instance. ‘But it can wait.’
‘No need to. Why don’t we head on down to the cafeteria and grab a sandwich now?’ he asked.
She looked at him as if he had gone mad. ‘I take it your plans to improve this hospital from top to bottom haven’t quite made it to the cafeteria?’ she said dryly.
He gave her a rueful smile. ‘That bad, huh?’
She felt her lips twitch, but forced them back into line. ‘Keep away from the salami and the chicken. We lost three staff members to a tandoori wrap three weeks ago.’
His dark brows lifted. ‘“Lost” as in…?’
‘Lost as in sick for a week with a reportable disease,’ she said. ‘A couple of us had to do double shifts to cover them.’
His lips twitched this time, making his eyes crinkle up at the corners. ‘There’s a café on the other side of the car park,’ he said. ‘Does that have any black marks against it I should know about?’
‘They do a mean salad sandwich with mung beans and alfalfa sprouts,’ she said. ‘And their coffee’s passable.’
He picked up his mobile from the desk and clipped it to his belt. ‘Let’s give it a try. I’ll just let Jan at reception know we’ll be within paging distance.’
A few minutes later, sitting opposite Eamon Chapman in the café across from the hospital, Erin wondered how long it had been since she’d shared a meal with a man, even a colleague. She hadn’t dated since medical school, and even then it had been an unmitigated disaster. In the end she’d decided she wasn’t cut out for the couples’ scene. Most of the men she knew were complicated creatures with too much baggage—not that she could talk, given the veritable road-train she had brought with her from Adelaide. But this was hardly a date, she reminded herself. She was pretty certain Eamon Chapman had other things on his mind besides chatting her up. From what she could read from his expression, she was in for a dressing down if anything.
‘So,’ he said, leaning back in his chair to study her pensive features. ‘How long have you been at Sydney Met?’
Erin was aware of his steady gaze on her as she toyed with the thick froth of her latte with a teaspoon. ‘Five years,’ she said, meeting his eyes for a brief moment. ‘I spent a year in the States before that.’
‘Travelling or working?’
‘A bit of both,’ she said.
‘Did you grow up in Sydney?’
Erin’s teaspoon gave a tiny clatter as she placed it back on the saucer. ‘No. I grew up in South Australia. I moved to Sydney when I was a teenager.’
He took a sip of his cappuccino; her gaze was suddenly mesmerised by the tiny trace of chocolate that clung to his top lip before his tongue swept over his mouth to clear it. She swallowed a little restriction in her throat and quickly dropped her gaze, picking up her teaspoon again and stirring her latte with fierce concentration.
‘So, do you have family here or back over there?’ he asked.
Erin put her spoon back down and met his gaze. ‘Look, I hate to be rude, but what’s with the twenty questions?’
His eyes bored into hers for a tense second or two. ‘I like to get a feel for the people I will be working with on a daily basis. It’s an important part of being a leader, knowing the team’s strengths and weaknesses.’
She screwed up her mouth in an embittered manner. ‘Do you trust your own judgement on that, or are you usually swayed by others’ opinions?’
He accepted her comment with an unreadable look. ‘I lean towards the “innocent until proven guilty” philosophy where possible.’
She gave a little snort and reached for her coffee again. ‘Yeah, well, I bet it didn’t take long for some members of the jury to swing your opinion.’
‘What makes you say that?’ he asked.
Erin gave her shoulders a gentle shrug. ‘Gut feeling; instinct; experience.’
‘I wanted to have a word with you about how you handled Mr Aston,’ he said after a short silence.
Erin’s gaze flicked back to his. ‘It was straight-out renal colic. He’s got a stone the size of a marble. He’s not going to pass it without surgical intervention.’
‘I’m not for a moment questioning your diagnosis, Dr Taylor,’ Eamon said. ‘But I think you could improve on your handling of accompanying relatives. Coming into A&E is stressful for both patients and relatives.’
She set her mouth into a defensive line. ‘My job is to treat the patient, not pander to their entourage.’
Eamon put his coffee cup back in its saucer, his eyes holding hers. ‘Listen, managing the relatives is part of treating the patient. Stressed relatives worsen patients’ stresses. And accompanying relatives are usually going to be the patient’s carers afterwards. One, they need to be well informed. Two, if they are stressed out and decompensate, they won’t be good carers. That means more time for patients in hospital, more hospital expense and more loss to the community. I’ve only been in the department less than twenty-four hours and I have already heard several complaints about your handling of relatives, yesterday’s threat of litigation being a case in point.’
Her slim jaw tightened. ‘Mrs Haddad’s suit will be rejected as soon as the medical council read through my notes and realise the extent of her son’s injuries.’
‘That is most certainly the case; however, the whole thing may well have been avoided if you had softened your approach.’
‘You know nothing of my approach,’ she said, shooting him a livid glare. ‘You weren’t there trying to save the boy’s life. When someone is bleeding out before your eyes, it’s not exactly the time to ask how his mother or his family are feeling, for God’s sake.’
Eamon leaned forward in his chair, his arms resting on the table. Erin moved back, folding her arms across her chest, her chin at a defiant height. ‘As you are now aware, I was in the bay next to you when you were assessing Mr Aston,’ he said. ‘His wife was clearly distressed to see her normally healthy husband in such a state. A reassuring word to her wouldn’t have gone astray, not cutting her off in mid-sentence.’
Erin rolled her eyes, and, pushing back her chair, got to her feet in one angry movement. ‘I haven’t got time for this. I’ve got patients to see.’
His green eyes hit hers. ‘Sit down, Dr Taylor.’
Erin’s hands gripped the chair-back with white-knuckled fingers. She was so tempted to shove the chair back underneath the table to drive home her point, but the steely look in his eyes forestalled her.
Several tense seconds passed before she reluctantly gave in. She sat back down, crossing her arms and legs as she sent him a querulous look. ‘You said you’d had other complaints about me,’ she said. ‘Am I allowed to know who they were from?’
He leaned back in his chair, but the hardened look hadn’t softened in his eyes. ‘That would be unprofessional of me. The complaints were made in confidence; in fact, they weren’t even official, just passing comments. No one is out to get you, Dr Taylor, far from it. Generally the staff speak very highly of you, on a professional level.’
‘So my bedside manner needs some work,’ she