Survival Guide to Dating Your Boss. Fiona McArthur

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СКАЧАТЬ the open bedroom window as Marcus towelled his shoulders. As he turned away from the streaky mirror he caught a glimpse of the purple bruises on the backs of his legs.

      At least he wasn’t limping today, no thanks to the red-headed witch next door. He hadn’t gone for a run today just to give his legs a chance to heal. But he could have done with one to rid himself of the snatches of nightmares that had included dear Matilda. He didn’t know why she’d made such an impression on him—apart from the physical imprint of assault.

      He hung the towel evenly on the rail and walked naked into the bedroom. His aunt had been twinkling at him most of last night because it was all so-o-o funny. And he’d heard enough about Matilda with the legendary handywoman skills to make him dislike her even without the gnome.

      But he wasn’t wasting thought on annoyances because today was a big day. His mobile phone beeped twice, an appointment reminder that he had an hour until work, and as usual he was on time.

      He’d worked hard for this. Not just the early stuff, sweating over a restaurant stove between uni classes, extra shifts right through his internship, and the study he’d put in for his O&G exams—it was the effort put in to give him the right to make policy changes.

      To have a say.

      To protect women and babies from idiots and poor out comes and poor practitioners. An oath he’d sworn as a heartbroken child.

      Now finally to be the consultant in charge of an obstetric unit, a small one by city standards but one with a brilliant reputation, and he knew exactly how he wanted it run. His mothers and babies would be the safest in Australia.

      A snatch of song, a woman’s voice drifting up from the garden below with a soft Irish melody that made the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. He lifted his head. The tune was pure and incredibly seductive and Marcus slung the towel around his hips and leaned out of the window.

      His head whipped back in when he saw who it was. St Matilda in a bikini top with a towel around her waist. Long red hair crinkled wet from the sea like a siren’s.

      She was like a gnat, buzzing outside his conscious decision not to think about her, and he wanted to swat her. And that delicious backside of hers.

      Whoa! Where had that come from? Heat descended to his groin and he backed farther away from the win dow.

      He’d been working so hard these past few years he hadn’t had time for anything but brief flings. It was obviously just a physical need he should think about addressing again. Maybe he’d have time soon but certainly not in that neighbourly direction.

      Plus she was too young for him. Though he had to admit just then he’d felt younger than he had in a while. He grinned then his leg twinged as he reached for his clothes and he thought of the gnome. Best to avoid the pain.

      Two hours later Marcus surveyed his two residents, his registrar, and the MUM, Midwifery Unit Manager, in his new office as he outlined his plans. And it felt good.

      They’d had a ward round on each floor, the gynae floor on top and antenatal beds next down with the antenatal clinic. Then the neonatal nursery floor and on the ground the birthing units and theatres.

      He’d done a double take when Gina, the midwife in charge, had proudly pointed out the new large baths in the labour ward for pain relief in labour. Apparently they’d been put in from fundraising by one of the new graduate midwives but he hadn’t commented as yet on that. No doubt she’d noticed her announcement hadn’t been greeted with shouts of joy.

      ‘Diligent observation with strict documentation, a medical officer for each birth if possible, though I do understand sometimes babies come in a rush. But I’d like admission foetal monitoring on all women until the baby’s wellbeing has been proved. Risk assessment on every woman will be an area I’ll scrutinise thoroughly.’

      The medical officers all nodded, though Gina didn’t look impressed. Well, tough. The buck stopped with him. ‘Any questions?’

      Gina spoke up. ‘This isn’t a training hospital for midwives. My girls are all qualified and very observant, up to date and extremely diligent already.’

      ‘I’m sure they are.’ But … ‘Not all midwives have the same level of experience.’

      Gina wasn’t finished. ‘I thought the studies said admission foetal monitoring increased a woman’s risk of unnecessary intervention?’

      He’d heard it before. ‘I’m glad you asked that.’ He knew what could go wrong. ‘I’ve seen the studies but I’m not convinced. I’ll leave some less publicised clinical trials for you to look at.’

      When Tilly walked in for the afternoon shift handover there seemed an unusual quietness over the ward. There were a few gloomy faces from the students, the senior midwives were in a huddle with the MUM, and the other new grad, her friend Zoe, who’d almost finished her shift, drifted across.

      ‘Why so glum?’ Tilly looked at her with raised eyebrows.

      ‘Dream’s gone,’ Zoe said sadly. ‘Our new broom has arrived and we’re not happy, Tilly. Ward meeting in five.’

      Tilly frowned. At least she’d hear the worst instead of imagining it. They’d been so excited about the new consultant, too. With a younger man appointed to the post there’d been great hopes of a shift away from the medical model of over-monitoring and early intervention. How come the basic concept that women were designed to have babies had been lost somewhere in the teaching of new doctors?

      Their previous consultant had been old school and a bit dithery, so you could almost understand his reluctance to change, but now it looked like they were worse off.

      She followed Zoe into the meeting room. ‘So he’s not young and modern?’

      Zoe pulled a face. ‘He’s young, majorly good-looking in a serious way, but not much of a sense of humour.’

      Sounded like someone she’d met recently but this was not the time to think of social disasters. This was work and the thought of going backwards into a more medical mode of midwifery sucked big time.

      Gina called them together and outlined the new directives. ‘Full electronic monitoring of babies on admission for the moment, please, where possible. And he doesn’t like the idea of the baths, but will tolerate them for pain relief as long as no babies are born in there, until we’ve reassessed the policy.’

      Tilly couldn’t believe it. ‘After all our work? What’s to assess? New South Wales Health said, “Make pain relief in water an option.”’

      Gina sighed. ‘I hear you, Tilly. Just make sure your women have been well informed, have signed consent, and agree to a land birth before they get in. We don’t want that option of pain relief taken away until we can change his mind about the actual birth.’

      That double-sucked. The last thing most women about to give birth wanted was to move, especially out of a warm, buoyant bath into a cool room and a hard bed.

      Tilly chewed her lip and as the meeting broke up Gina drew her aside. ‘This probably affects you most, Tilly. I know you put a lot of work into the fundraising. You have the same passion and instincts as your mother and all I can say is go slow.’

      Tilly sighed and accepted she’d have to pull back. СКАЧАТЬ