I read that paper, too. Never put much stock in it.”
“Humor me.” She tried a fetching smile and didn’t point out that it had been far more than a single paper promulgating that finding. “Come on.” She tugged again.
“For a bonny lass, anything.”
Maggie would have rolled her eyes, but things were going well, and she didn’t want to rock the boat. As they walked to the physicians’ lounge, she asked, “What’s your suicide rate here?”
“Very few. Less than half a dozen each year.”
“No wonder Berta was so upset.” Maggie went through the door into the lounge and straight to the teapot. She poured herself a cup. “Would you like one?”
He nodded. They took their tea and settled across from one another in the rather spartan lounge. Medical reference books lined one wall. The floor was linoleum and the walls an industrial green. The ever-present scent of antiseptic was just as strong in here as it was in the wards.
“Were you the one on duty last night when he was found?” Maggie asked.
“Aye, and I’ve talked with his two sisters. They can’t handle him at home. Oh, they say he’s fine enough if he’s sober. Problem is he’s rarely that way anymore.”
“I see.” Maggie sensed a fait accompli and trod lightly. “What did you work out with them?”
“There’s an establishment not far from their community in Fort William that caters to men with bipolar disorder and drinking problems. Everyone is in agreement—”
“Except me. I’m his attending, and I didn’t know.” Maggie couldn’t help herself. Outrage flooded her.
“Dr. Hibbins.”
Oh-oh. Maggie recognized that tone. It was the I’ve-been-a-doctor-for-longer-than-you’ve-been-alive one. “Yes, sir.” She dropped her gaze, so she wouldn’t seem too argumentative.
“Better,” he snapped. “You might want to take a few days off. I’m certain you’ll be feeling more…rational once you’ve had a chance to rest up. I took a look at your timesheets. You haven’t taken as much as a long weekend off since you came to work for us.”
“Really? I wasn’t aware of that. It’s just there’s so much to learn and I—”
“Americans,” he cut in, his tone making it clear just what he thought of people from the States. “Always so driven. You need perspective, Dr. Hibbins.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she murmured. “I’ll just check in with the nurses because I promised, and then I’ll take the rest of the week off.”
“Perfect.” He beamed, ill-humor apparently forgotten. “I knew you’d come to your senses. You’re just tired. It’s why you’re wound so tight. My dear,” he leaned forward and laid a hand on her knee, “I know just the antidote to physician burnout. Have dinner with me tonight.”
Crap! Just what I need, a middle-aged lothario. But I can’t piss him off, either. “Thanks for caring about me, Doctor—” She moved his hand off her leg.
“Frank, call me Frank.”
Maggie dredged a smile from somewhere. “Sure, Frank. I think I caught a bit of food poisoning yesterday. I was up most of the night, and I’m still feeling a bit under the weather. I’d planned to stop by here, catch a few hours’ sleep, and then drive to Glasgow. My grandmother is arriving on an early morning flight.”
“Excellent. You have family coming to visit. Another perfectly despicable American trait—estrangement from blood kin. Maybe once you bring her to Inverness, you could be my guests for supper.”
“Let’s give her a chance to get over jet lag, first.” Maggie stood. “If there’s nothing else, I’d like to stop by and see the nurses.”
“Go on, Maggie. Enjoy your time away.”
“Thank you, sir, er, Frank.” She scuttled out of the doctors’ lounge, so anxious to get away from Frank MacDuff, she could almost taste the relief once she escaped. She’d thought he had designs on her, but thank Christ he’d kept them under wraps. Until now.
Look, she spoke sternly to herself
“Humor me.” She tried a fetching smile and didn’t point out that it had been far more than a single paper promulgating that finding. “Come on.” She tugged again.
“For a bonny lass, anything.”
Maggie would have rolled her eyes, but things were going well, and she didn’t want to rock the boat. As they walked to the physicians’ lounge, she asked, “What’s your suicide rate here?”
“Very few. Less than half a dozen each year.”
“No wonder Berta was so upset.” Maggie went through the door into the lounge and straight to the teapot. She poured herself a cup. “Would you like one?”
He nodded. They took their tea and settled across from one another in the rather spartan lounge. Medical reference books lined one wall. The floor was linoleum and the walls an industrial green. The ever-present scent of antiseptic was just as strong in here as it was in the wards.
“Were you the one on duty last night when he was found?” Maggie asked.
“Aye, and I’ve talked with his two sisters. They can’t handle him at home. Oh, they say he’s fine enough if he’s sober. Problem is he’s rarely that way anymore.”
“I see.” Maggie sensed a fait accompli and trod lightly. “What did you work out with them?”
“There’s an establishment not far from their community in Fort William that caters to men with bipolar disorder and drinking problems. Everyone is in agreement—”
“Except me. I’m his attending, and I didn’t know.” Maggie couldn’t help herself. Outrage flooded her.
“Dr. Hibbins.”
Oh-oh. Maggie recognized that tone. It was the I’ve-been-a-doctor-for-longer-than-you’ve-been-alive one. “Yes, sir.” She dropped her gaze, so she wouldn’t seem too argumentative.
“Better,” he snapped. “You might want to take a few days off. I’m certain you’ll be feeling more…rational once you’ve had a chance to rest up. I took a look at your timesheets. You haven’t taken as much as a long weekend off since you came to work for us.”
“Really? I wasn’t aware of that. It’s just there’s so much to learn and I—”
“Americans,” he cut in, his tone making it clear just what he thought of people from the States. “Always so driven. You need perspective, Dr. Hibbins.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she murmured. “I’ll just check in with the nurses because I promised, and then I’ll take the rest of the week off.”
“Perfect.” He beamed, ill-humor apparently forgotten. “I knew you’d come to your senses. You’re just tired. It’s why you’re wound so tight. My dear,” he leaned forward and laid a hand on her knee, “I know just the antidote to physician burnout. Have dinner with me tonight.”
Crap! Just what I need, a middle-aged lothario. But I can’t piss him off, either. “Thanks for caring about me, Doctor—” She moved his hand off her leg.
“Frank, call me Frank.”
Maggie dredged a smile from somewhere. “Sure, Frank. I think I caught a bit of food poisoning yesterday. I was up most of the night, and I’m still feeling a bit under the weather. I’d planned to stop by here, catch a few hours’ sleep, and then drive to Glasgow. My grandmother is arriving on an early morning flight.”
“Excellent. You have family coming to visit. Another perfectly despicable American trait—estrangement from blood kin. Maybe once you bring her to Inverness, you could be my guests for supper.”
“Let’s give her a chance to get over jet lag, first.” Maggie stood. “If there’s nothing else, I’d like to stop by and see the nurses.”
“Go on, Maggie. Enjoy your time away.”
“Thank you, sir, er, Frank.” She scuttled out of the doctors’ lounge, so anxious to get away from Frank MacDuff, she could almost taste the relief once she escaped. She’d thought he had designs on her, but thank Christ he’d kept them under wraps. Until now.
Look, she spoke sternly to herself
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