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"Perhaps she was. I don't suppose, in your Olympian wisdom, you've ever considered that?" The belligerent voice was Dayborough's. None of them had noticed that he'd risen from his seat.

Sandy Williams spluttered and Morrison concentrated hard on slapping him vehemently on the back. Dayborough was coming towards them. It was Lesley he was looking at.

"I suppose we'll all have to pull up our socks now that the textbook-thumping genius from the big city has arrived." He tried to chuck her under the chin, but Lesley drew back. "Chilly as well?" His tone was derisive. He swaggered on past their table and out of the dining-room. There was a moment's silence while the others studiously avoided meeting Lesley's eyes.

"There was something funny about the so-called feud," Morrison broke it at last. "I've never been convinced that it had anything to do with the digitalis. After all, the exact dose was a matter of judgment, and according to all reports, the patient was
in extremis
when she was admitted. Probably nothing would have saved her. It's my considered opinion that, until then, Sir Charles hadn't realised that seniors here didn't always take their own ward's calls. The row was really about the rota, not about the drug. And I will give him this - he doesn't mind if you do bring him out himself at night, even though chiefs aren't obliged to take night calls."

"I don't think he realises yet that Dr. Brown's unit intends to go on operating the old system." Sandy was unexpectedly serious. "Probably thought all he had to do was to crack the big whip and everyone here would jump through the hoop just as they do at St. Kentigern's."

"If you want my view," said Janet Blair, "these peripheral wards are all right in theory. It's a different story in practice. A chief who's elsewhere for most of the day doesn't see enough of the by-play. Personally, I'll be glad to be shot of the place. As for that unit, I wouldn't touch it with a bargepole."

"A chief who's away all day and a registrar who's always under the weather." Pete Morrison tried to make light of it.

"That's one way of putting it, I suppose." Sandy Williams got up and went out with his white coat flying.

He turned in the doorway and scribbled something on the notice-board. "Don't forget to put your name on the list, fellows. It's the staff nurses' dance tomorrow night."

Lesley
could hear Sister Bishop before she could see her. The high-pitched voice was haranguing a ward maid.

"I don't care what you do in your own home. While you're in my ward you'll do it my way." And a moment later, "Nurse, tell that woman to put her paper away!"

The shrill bird-like tones matched the quick patter of feet which darted into the duty room. Lesley turned from the window. She saw now that she had come too soon. In her eagerness to get off to a good start she had reached the ward at half past eight. Staff Nurse Bell's attitude had left her in no doubt that doctors - especially women - were unwelcome in her ward before nine o'clock. Lesley had been hanging about the duty room now for over ten minutes, feeling more and more awkward in this early morning bustle.

"So you're the new resident." Sister Bishop stopped short in her tracks. "I see you've got the red hair." She eyed Lesley up and down. "Well, if you just remember that I've got the temper that usually goes with it, you and I should get along fine." She held out her hand. The grip was as brisk and uncompromising as her appearance. The freshly starched pinafore rustled as she took her seat behind the tidy duty-room desk.

"Sir Charles won't be here for another fifty minutes." She kept Lesley standing. "He likes the blood pressures done before he arrives. No doubt Dr. Dayborough will put you in the picture. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have my day book to attend to." She turned to the ledger in front of her and perched a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles far forward on her nose.

Lesley found it difficult to put an age to her. She might be anywhere between thirty and forty. It was a pretty wide range. She looked as though she would be a powerful ally if you won her over - but a deadly enemy if crossed. Lesley put the matter out of her head and took a step towards the window ledge. She had just spotted the rack of case histories. Reluctant to ask any questions, she was about to find out for herself. She felt rather than saw the bright eyes observing her over the spectacle frames.

"Nurse will put round the case sheets when you're ready." Sister Bishop touched a bell at her side. "But if I were you I'd report first for my medical. Dr. Dayborough doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"Medical?"

"There's a notice on your dining-room wall. All members of staff have a medical examination before they start work in the wards."

"Oh," Lesley felt it was a reprimand. "I'm sorry, I didn't know." She hesitated. "Where do I go?"

"The admin block. You can't miss it." Sister Bishop still seemed to be weighing her up.

"Thank you, Sister. I'll go now, then."

Once in the corridor she found she'd been holding her breath. She let out a deep sigh almost of relief as she carefully closed the door of the duty room behind her.

"Have you ever had any big illnesses? Anything that took you to bed for a while?"

Lesley looked at this man who was making no efforts to disguise his hostility. "I don't think so, Dr. Dayborough," she said uncertainly.

"Have you or haven't you? he barked. Her very presence seemed to be an affront to him this morning.

"Only measles and chickenpox in childhood, I think." What on earth could she have done to make him sound so vicious? After all, she hadn't even met him till that brief encounter last night.

"All right. Take your things off." He nodded briefly towards the screen in the corner.

Lesley was somewhat taken aback. She hadn't quite bargained for the M.O. being one of her own unit and she'd half expected a nurse to be present. She shook herself mentally. She was just being silly. No use behaving like a bashful school
girl. After all, they were both doctors. She began to undo her blouse.

"O.K. Let's get it over with." She was startled by his sudden appearance.

"Is this all right?" She turned towards him. Now that he was so close she was aware of his heavy breathing. There was unmasked antagonism in his eyes. She felt a prick of fear. But that was too foolish. What could he do here in broad daylight so near to the Senior Nursing Officer's office? She composed herself for his stethoscope, knowing that he was being altogether too familiar.

"He's banking on the fact that I'm a doctor," she thought with surprise. "He knows I won't tell."

He picked up his opthalmoscope and leaned forward to peer into her left eye. Without warning his arm was about her and he was pressing her painfully to him. His eyes were mocking her, challenging her to do something about it. In the eddies of her mind she was momentarily surprised at his strength. Push as she would, she could not break free. "Let me go," she whispered urgently. But he only laughed and clasped her more tightly. Her hand groped out to the table to steady herself. The other clenched. She struggled that arm free and with all her remaining strength drove her fist down into his chest.

He swore violently and fell backwards, setting the table crashing against the wall. Trembling, she stumbled towards her things, the stethoscope tumbling from the pocket of her white coat as she grabbed it and made for the door. She was outside the SNO's office before she realised that her blouse was still undone. It was later, much later, before she got round to wondering why no one had come when they heard the noise.

She didn't see Sister Staines, the Night Superintendent, let herself gently into the Assistant Nursing Officer's office further down the corridor.

"I see Casanova is up to his old tricks."

"You must admit it's some time since he tried." Joan Todd,
the ANO, went on calmly writing the report on which she was engaged.

"I tell you, Joan, I'm just waiting for a chance to nail him. I watch him like a hawk at nights. One foot wrong with one of our nurses and I'll take him the whole way."

"He's never reckless enough for that." Joan Todd screwed up her eyes against the curl of her cigarette smoke. "He reserves it for the ones who can't hit back. Though, by the sound of things, he got more than he bargained for in there this morning."

"It's not as if he's even serious. He just does it for devilment - to see how they'll react."

"And to embarrass them. The man's a vulgarian - a natural bully. I can't think what Angela ever saw in him."

"Don't you think it's time someone had a word with the Super about him?"

"A policy of non-intervention - that's my motto. As long as he leaves our nurses alone I'm not sticking my neck out, or messing up my chances of promotion, over Harry Dayborough and a resident. If they want to enter a man's world they can get on with it - and cope with the consequences." Joan Todd was fifty-eight and already by-passed for everything but her pension.

"I'm well aware, Dr. Leigh, that there are efficient haematology and biochemistry units in this hospital. There will be all too many occasions on which you will need their help. Other wards may use them for routine blood work as well - I have nothing to say about that." Sir Charles Hope-Moncrieff was in full flight. The ward round was over and it was just as the boys had said it would be. He was lecturing her on ward procedure. "Personally, I prefer the haemoglobin estimations, as well as the red and white cell counts, done on capillary - not venous - blood. That means you have to take your samples fresh at the bedside and do your own calculations in the side room. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Lesley felt mildly deflated. Surely there was no need for him to talk to her as though she'd never been inside a ward before.

"Have you ever had a venepuncture, Doctor?" He was looking at her as though he could see that she had reservations about it.

"Once. In the physiology lab."

"Then you know what it feels like. It isn't exactly pleasant." His voice was kind enough. "Patients in medical wards are usually fairly ill. That may seem rather obvious, but I sometimes think we're in danger of forgetting it. They have more than enough to put up with already, submitting to our exhaustive clinical tests, without having additional and unnecessary strains imposed on them just to save the resident's time." One eyebrow was raised quizzically. "There's a big difference between a prick in the finger with a hagedorn needle and a stab in an arm vein with a wide-bored syringe. Do I make myself clear?

"Yes, sir." Lesley shifted uneasily.

"Besides, you'll learn less from sending specimens to the lab than you will by carrying out the tests for yourself. Anaemias and heart cases need a full blood examination once a week. Those requiring blood sedimentation rates are indicated on the ward chart. I expect all the previous day's admissions written up before I arrive in the morning." He turned. "Have you my specimen case sheet, Sister?"

Angela Bishop carefully unlocked the top right-hand drawer of her desk and produced the form.

"This way I can see the main points at a glance. Get into the habit of adopting a standard procedure for eliciting each patient's symptoms and signs. That way you won't miss anything even when you're tired." He handed the form to Lesley and she recognised the large, bold handwriting, its down strokes uniformly firm and even. It had often adorned her examination scripts in the old days.

"You will be responsible for taking my notes and adding them to the case sheets after each visit," he continued. "I've done them myself today so that you can see how I like them entered. From now on I'll dictate them to you at the bedside as I examine the patients. When you've mastered the form, return it to Sister."

He smiled, and Lesley felt ashamed of her earlier irritation. After all, she'd always known he was difficult to please. He worked his staff hard, but no harder than he worked himself. And he had been extraordinarily painstaking with her this morning, spending much longer than he need have done presenting the details of each patient and explaining why he wanted the various clinical tests carried out. At first a bit of her mind had been on the alert for Dayborough's arrival, not sure how he would react when he joined them. After a time she'd become so engrossed in the work that she'd forgotten to wonder why he'd failed to put in an appearance at all.

Sir Charles was rising and Sister bustled for his coat. Lesley could see the Forsyth label as the beautifully soft Orkney tweed was held out to him.

"It'll take a few days for you to settle into the routine, Doctor. I'll let you know of any other points as we go along." He took his scarf from the wall rack. "You'd better do a paracentesis on Mrs. Brent this afternoon. I don't think we should leave it much longer. She's now in considerable discomfort."

Lesley's heart missed a beat. A paracentesis! After treating her all morning as though she'd never learned anything he now seemed to take it for granted that she'd know what to do. The trouble was she'd never seen a paracentesis, let alone done one on her own before. She pulled herself together. She'd cross that bridge when she came to it.

He was holding the door for Sister to precede him. They walked in state to the end of the ward corridor. As befitted her status as resident, Lesley brought up the rear. Not for the first time she found herself thinking that a woman doctor in a short white coat was no match in femininity for a nursing Sister in a flowing white gown with a wisp of broderie anglaise on her hair.

Where the ward unit ended he stopped and shook hands with Sister, formally thanking her and saying good morning. He walked on quickly. In spite of the limp Lesley was forced to quicken her step to catch up with him. Hospital protocol demanded that a houseman saw the Chief to his car.

There was a moment of confusion when they reached the outer door. She was about to open it, but he forestalled her.

"Don't bother to come out, Doctor. It's cold for the time of year. Till tomorrow, then. Good morning."