London Blue

Chapter 2. Women.

Author's Note: Please be aware that I'm English and therefore some words are spelt differently to American spelling. Like 'flavour' is the way we spell it (in the UK, Canada, Australia, N Zealand, S Africa). Also our dialogue is started and ended with one ' at each end. In America you use two '' at each end.

Three mornings every week, Scott held a National Health Service clinic in one of the largest hospitals in London. He could see the line of waiting patients through his open door. 'Any emergencies?' he asked while looking at the NHS clipboard in his hand.

The head nurse stood at his right shoulder. Her no-nonsense voice demanded attention. 'Mrs Marison needs seeing first, she's not really holding it together; I think she hates hospitals. The other patients can be seen in the order on the list.'

'We have too many for one morning. I need to be in theatre at two.' He felt annoyed at the way the free National Health Service didn't seem to have enough surgeons on duty to see the patients coming in for a consultation.

'It's a big hospital,' the nurse said.

'It's over-stretched. The public get free access to their local doctor, and when the doctor refers the patient to my clinic, they get that free as well. Therefore I need an assistant surgeon, a registrar.'

'I'll have a word with management.'

'Make it plain to them upstairs in their smart offices, the public deserve to be seen in reasonable time and not have to wait for months to get an appointment.'

The nurse nodded. 'Them upstairs want you to speed up the time spent with each patient.'

'I won't do that. I need to assess each person properly. I've told them already.' He paused. 'By the way, any cosmetic referrals?'

'Yes sir. I've glanced at the files. This one on the list, number nine.' She pointed with her pen.

'Right. I'll see her first and then Mrs Marison, followed by the rest.' He noticed himself in the wall mirror. The smart suit and tie were the regulation dress code for all consultant surgeons except when they were in the operating theatre. Sometimes the head of management hinted Scott's dark straight hair was too long; it overlapped his ears and touched the back of his collar which gave a non-conformist image; an image of a beach boy rather than a highly paid surgeon.

Scott went to sit behind the desk, a large set of files on the side. He could get this case load done by one o'clock, from there a quick lunch, followed by surgery, and he should be finished by four. Which meant he would be back at his private clinic in Harley Street by five o'clock to see his first round of fee-paying patients.

As the first patient was shown in, a young woman, he stood up and came round his desk to shake hands. She sat in the visitor's chair.

'I've read the referral from your doctor.' He looked again at the notes. 'In a nutshell, you want an operation to enlarge your breasts to give you more confidence.'

'Yes. I'm flat-chested and I don't think it's attractive.'

'There is nothing physically wrong with you. You're not ill or injured. Nor do you have a psychological problem. Which means enlarging your breasts is not necessary from a medical point of view. The NHS won't do cosmetic surgery.'

Before she left he was able to persuade the woman to reconsider carefully, but if she still wanted the operation, she would have to pay to have it done privately.

The morning appointments went quickly. Later, he was in surgery performing a plastic operation for a patient with burns under the glare of the lights overhead. He couldn't wish for a better medical team around him. The anaesthetist, David, had become a close friend and worked with Scott on many of the private patients at Harley Street. Both men found working exclusively for the state run NHS wouldn't give them the level of income they wanted. Private work fitted in around the NHS schedule and at the age of thirty, Scott had already built up an enviable reputation as a cosmetic surgeon.

Scott worked on the patient on the operating table. 'How's married life?' In spite of asking the question, he kept his concentration on the patient. Since the anaesthetist was the only married person in the room the other two nurses knew who Scott was talking to.

'Domestic bliss. How's your love life, Scott?'

'I enjoy my independence. Nick keeps me occupied with the girls he brings along. It's fun up to a point, but when it gets too serious I back off.'

'A wife can have your slippers ready and a glass of scotch.'

He knew David was joking. Scott kept his eyes on the patient. 'The day I fall for a woman I'll buy you a bottle of best whisky.' He felt sure in his mind this wasn't going to happen for many years.

'I'll hold you to that.'

After surgery, Scott took a break in the relaxation area with the other theatre nurses. Conversation turned to who might be the best at doing a cartwheel. The nurses challenged each other.

He got his iPad and stood ready to take a photograph. 'Okay?' he called. 'Ready, go.' The first nurse did a cartwheel across the room and nearly collided with two chairs to everyone's amusement. Scott took the photo. 'Got it.' He laughed with the other nurses. 'Next.'

He remained always at the heart of the high jinks, which he deemed as essential to keep the surgical team motivated. They all worked long hours and deserved their play time. 'Who's next?' he said, as he positioned himself ready.

The youngest nurse jumped forward. Her uniform consisting of a light blue dress with white trim on the collar and cuffs, black tights with black shoes was not the most flattering set of clothes. The nurse kicked off her clumpy black shoes. Balanced and poised, she did the most graceful cartwheel, slower than the previous girl, as she landed on both feet in complete control. They all clapped and gathered round him. He held his tablet for everyone to see as he ran through the photos. The last photo revealed the youngest nurse didn't wear tights. Gravity meant her skirt fell down at precisely the point at which she became upside down, legs in the air, to reveal stockings. Everyone gasped, giggled and clapped to the embarrassment of the nurse.

As he flicked through the images, he felt a hand behind him slide up his back before caressing down to cup his bum. Not that he minded. Not that he wanted to know who it was. If he put his mind to it, he reckoned he could date any one of the nurses. He also knew a sexual relationship between doctor and nurse could lead to a ''them and us'' situation which he wanted to avoid.

The above scene was left out of the published book.