Josie Metcalfe – Sheikh Surgeon Claims His Bride (страница 8)

‘But your job!’ she exclaimed breathlessly. ‘If he’s gone away, does this mean that you’re going to have to move away? Oh, Emily! And you’ve only just moved back, and I was so enjoying being able to see you each day…’

‘Hush, Beabea, it’s not a problem,’ she soothed, squeezing her grandmother’s hand gently, almost afraid that she might shatter the delicate bones. ‘Before he left, Mr Breyley organised another job for me in the interim, until he comes back.’

‘What sort of job? There can’t be two posts for the same work, surely?’ She was still fretting.

‘Not exactly the same, no,’ Emily conceded. ‘But I’ve certainly fallen on my feet with the new post. It’s paediatric orthopaedics and I went into Theatre this morning and the consultant actually let me assist.’

‘On your first day in the job?’ Beabea was understandably amazed. She’d had to listen patiently at the beginning of Emily’s time on Mr Breyley’s firm while she had moaned about wanting to do more than observe and do endless paperwork and legwork.

‘On my very first day,’ she agreed with a triumphant grin. ‘It was an operation on a little boy. The bones of his skull had fused too soon and we had to—’

‘Don’t tell me any of the gory stuff,’ Beabea warned with a grimace. ‘I don’t like thinking about it when it’s happening to little ones. It’s bad enough when it’s adults. At least they can understand what’s happening and why.’

‘Softy,’ Emily teased. ‘But I know what you mean. I hate the idea that they’ll be in pain so I always double- check their medication.’

‘But you say this new man let you assist. Does that mean passing the tools or instruments or whatever they’re called, or—’

‘No. There’s a member of theatre staff who does that. I was allowed to irrigate the incision—’

‘Irrigate? That sounds like something I’d do in the garden,’ Beabea teased, and Emily’s heart lifted that she was in good enough spirits to joke.

‘Then I stitched everything up and put the dressings on before he was transferred to Intensive Care.’

‘And what did the consultant think of your work?’ Beabea quizzed, and Emily felt the swift tide of heat flood into her cheeks. She was so grateful that there was a knock at the door before she could find an answer that wouldn’t reveal her own thoughts about the consultant.

‘Am I intruding?’ said an unexpected male voice, and a greying head appeared round the edge of the door.

‘Dr Tremayne!’ Beabea exclaimed, and Emily was amused that her grandmother sounded almost flustered. Well, for an older man he wasn’t bad looking, she supposed, and for a woman of her grandmother’s generation, the idea of a good-looking younger man seeing her in her bed was probably plenty of reason for embarrassment.

‘I was just visiting a couple of patients and thought I’d call in on one of my favourite ladies—unless it’s inconvenient. I can always come back another time.’

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