Her Knight Under The Mistletoe. Annie O'NeilЧитать онлайн книгу.
MATTHEW KNEW HE was making a poor job of hiding his frustration. Maybe he should have succumbed to the frivolities of the season and worn one of those ridiculous holiday jumpers to counterbalance his grim expression and biting tone.
When no answer to his earlier question was forthcoming he repeated, “You said the job was mine.”
From the look on Dr. Menzies’s face he might as well have said Santa wasn’t real.
Ho-ho-ho. Merry Un-Christmas.
His mentor shifted uncomfortably in his chair, ultimately breaking eye contact to throw a look over Matthew’s shoulder toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The usual buzz and whirr of the inner city A&E unit was still humming along, as if the rug hadn’t just been yanked out from under his feet. Both his and Dr. Menzies’s feet, from the looks of things. The hospital’s Director of Medicine and Surgery seemed to be taking as little pleasure in the change of events as he was. Or perhaps Dr. Menzies was monitoring the progress of the Christmas decorations going up to mark the advent of the holiday season.
Tinsel, wreaths, super-sized glittering baubles and a surplus of mistletoe... The hospital’s volunteer “Yule Squad” was in turbo drive. Perhaps their powers extended to the weather. The day was cold enough for snow. But the only cloud in the sky had followed Matthew indoors and was hanging directly over his head.
Matthew remained motionless. One of his trademarks when his stress levels hit the roof. It was the only way to ensure that whoever was on the receiving end of his million-miles-away stare was none the wiser.
“As you know, Dr. Chase, these things are often more...” Dr. Menzies searched for the right word “...fluid than initially presented.”
“Fluid.”
Statement, not a question. How could the A&E job he’d been promised suddenly not be his?
“We know you have been incredibly generous—”
Matthew cut him off with a growl and a hand-swipe. He hadn’t donated money for the new wing to buy himself the position.
“I’ve earned this job. The Support our Soldiers unit has nothing to do with me.”
“On the contrary, Matthew, it has everything to do with you. You founded the ruddy charity. Think of the lives that have already been saved by your clinic in Sussex. And if you don’t mind me saying—”
“I do.” Matthew stopped him.
He knew the statistics better than anyone. Veteran suicide had outstripped soldiers dying in combat years ago. Over in the US more than a dozen soldiers were taking their lives a day. A day! He wasn’t about to let the UK match those statistics. Not on his watch.
He knew the toll one of those deaths had taken on a person firsthand.
“With respect, Donald, it doesn’t matter how many times the board ask me to run the unit. I am not your guy. I’m better out there.” He pointed to the A&E and hoped his solid stance would draw a line under the issue.
The anonymity of the A&E was what he was after. Proximity to the SoS unit was merely...useful.
His eye snagged on a couple of orderlies wrestling with a Christmas tree, attempting to set it up haphazardly in a corner of the waiting room. He scowled. Christmas seemed to come round sooner and sooner each year. Bah, humbug, to it. And to the carolers who were virtually blocking the entrance. And to New Year’s as well, while he was at it.
Every day was the beginning of a new year. Just not one highlighted up on the calendar with pictures of adorable rabbits or firemen.
“Dr. Chase, I think there were concerns regarding—”
“Don’t you dare tell me this has anything to do with—” Matthew cut in, then stopped himself.
He couldn’t go there. Not yet anyway. Maybe never. But at this time of year, with all of the Christmas lights, the opulently decorated trees and hordes of shoppers wrestling their gifts home everywhere he walked, it was hard not to have his nuclear family spring to mind.
Nuclear explosion, more like. Implosion? Whatever...
Either way, what was left of his family had fallen apart years ago, and a stack of plum puddings that reached to the moon and back wouldn’t come close to bringing them back together.
As hard as it was, Matthew uncurled his hands from the fists they were forming. Frustration—not fury—had balled them into tight knots of steel and sinew. Okay, flesh and bone—but right now the walls around him were officially being warned. One of them would be getting a new hole if the hospital board didn’t change their minds.
Dr. Menzies waved away his interruption. “There were concerns regarding your history of signing up for repeat tours...”
“What about it? I was doing my duty.”
Avoiding his life, more like.
“Matthew, I know if you say you’re going to do a job, you’ll do it. I have absolute confidence in your ability. But—”
“But what? I’m used to working with mortars pounding around my medical tent. You think I can’t handle an A&E in the center of London?”
Dr. Menzies gave his chin a scrub. “It’s actually nothing to do with that. It’s more a question of...commitment. Whether you’ll want to go and work for SoS—”
“I already told you. I am one hundred percent behind the soldiers’ PTSD unit. I just don’t want to work there. It’s not my forté. Trauma is.”
Physical trauma he could deal with. Emotional...? Not so much. Besides, who would want a daily reminder of the brother he hadn’t saved? The brother he had sworn to look after.
“Dr. Chase, you know I’ll fight your corner until my knuckles bleed, but in this case they’re bleeding and the decision has been made. The board has been clear. A monthlong job share with the other top applicant is the working plan at this point. A decision will be made as to who gets the post in the New Year. It’s nothing to do with your ability. Just the usual politics.”
“Politics.”
The word hung between them like a noose.
Unbelievable. He’d put in the hours, the graft, the blood and the sweat. Maybe not the tears, but if he was going to come back to London for good this job and this hospital were the only reasons why.
Again his gaze drifted to the busy A&E. His pulse elevated just looking at the packed waiting room. He’d far rather be out there doing a fourteen-hour shift than standing in here talking about a job share.
Maybe “they” had a point. The management post he was trying to snag involved a lot of paperwork. And even more politics.
Something in him softened. This couldn’t be easy for Dr. Menzies. He narrowed his gaze, acutely aware that his mentor had aged considerably since they’d last worked together some ten years ago. Right before his first deployment.
Matthew looked him in the eye. “Since when are we back to Dr. Chase?”
The question had the desired effect. The tension in the room went down a few notches and the atmosphere became not exactly friendly, but closer to how they’d been way back in the good ol’ days at the teaching hospital. When learning had been learning, work had been work, and when your boss offered you a job you got it. Not had it swung in front of you like a carrot, only to have it given to another rabbit.
“So...is this how I should look forward to things working here at Bankside? Fluidly?”
To his credit, Dr. Menzies chuckled. The man had been more of a mentor to Matthew than his father ever had. A sting of remorse shot through him. Not that he could blame his father.