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She accompanied the patient a short time later to CT Scanning and once the scans were done Ben came in to look at them. He stood at Georgie’s shoulder as he inspected each one, now a
nd again brushing against her with his arm as he lifted it to place another scan on the X-ray board. She could smell his lemony aftershave and her gaze drifted to his tanned forearm, the sleeves of his shirt rolled back casually, the dusting of black hair making her skin lift in a tiny shiver as she thought about those arms touching her flesh.
‘What do you think the scans show?’ he asked as the last one was illuminated.
Georgie moistened her lips and began, ‘Um … she’s got a depressed left skull fracture and still some extradural clot despite the burr-hole … And there’s underlying cerebral contusion.’
‘Yeah, I agree. So where do we go from here?’
She stared at the scan until it blurred in front of her eyes. ‘She needs the rest of that clot evacuated,’ she said.
She waited for him to respond but when she sent her gaze towards him he was looking at the first scan again, a frown drawing his dark brows together.
‘Was this the driver?’ he asked.
‘No, the husband was.’
He looked down at her, still frowning. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive,’ she answered. ‘It’s in the notes.’
He looked back at the scan and rubbed at his chin for a moment. ‘What sort of car was it?’ he asked. ‘Modern? Fitted with airbags, do you know?’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ she said. ‘Why? Do you think there’s something fishy about this?’
He turned to look at her again, the frown now smoothed out. ‘If there is, no doubt the police will sort it out. But I would prefer it if you didn’t mention this to anyone until we have the accident investigation angle on things. Let’s get her down to Theatre and clean out that clot.’
After they had scrubbed Ben assisted Georgie through the procedure, raising a temporo-parietal flap, sucking out the residual haematoma and inserting an intracranial pressure monitor.
Even though she was incredibly nervous, Georgie could see why Ben had a reputation for being calm and in control during surgery. He stood by her side, speaking only when necessary and in an encouraging tone in spite of how they had left each other’s company the previous evening.
Whenever she met his gaze she felt again the incredible intimacy of working with him in Theatre. The only part of his face she could see was his dark blue eyes, their silent message of reassurance one that made her anger towards him soften around the edges.
He was clearly far too professional to bring petty personal issues into Theatre where patients relied on his skill and dedication. The patient came first and always would, which was something she wouldn’t dream of arguing with.
Finally the last staple was in and the patient was transferred to neurosurgical ICU for post-operative monitoring.
‘Good job, Georgie,’ Ben said as he stripped off his gloves and tossed them in the bin. ‘Do you fancy a quick coffee before you hit the ward?’
Georgie searched his face to see if he was mocking her but as far as she could tell his offer seemed genuine. She couldn’t, however, help the slip of her gaze to his pelvis, for the first time wondering if the hot liquid had burned him. She decided against asking him in front of the theatre staff, who were cleaning up behind them, and instead moved through to the female change rooms after telling him she would meet him in his office in five minutes.
She pushed open the doors of the change room and came face to face with a woman in her early forties who was dressed in theatre gear.
‘Hello, Georgiana,’ the woman said. ‘I’m Madeleine Brothers, Associate Professor of Neurosurgery. I’ve been waiting for you to come to my office and introduce yourself to me.’
Georgie did her best to ignore the hint of censure in the woman’s tone and offered her hand. ‘Hello, Professor Brothers. I’m sorry but I’ve had a bit of a hectic start to my term. You were next on my list.’
Madeleine briefly shook her hand and gave her a smile that Georgie couldn’t help feeling was a little forced. ‘How are you getting along with Ben Blackwood?’ she asked.
Georgie’s tiny hesitation in replying was obviously noted by the older woman, who arched one thin brow speculatively.
‘Fine. He’s seems … er … very competent.’
‘He is,’ Madeleine said. ‘But, then, he was trained by one of the best—your father.’
‘You worked with my father?’ Georgie asked.
Madeleine nodded. ‘Before I came here I worked at one of the private hospitals your father operated at twice weekly. How is he enjoying being a man of leisure?’
