The Italian's Touch

‘Someone’s got to run the place.’ He gestured to the desk around him. ‘The fairies don’t come in at night.’

‘That never stopped you before. You were always out there helping out.’

‘I’ll have a word with Felicity,’ he said, effectively ending the discussion. ‘And I’ll tell Mario to go a bit easy on her. Anyway, he’s off for the rest of the week at some medical conference so you don’t have to worry about him for a while.’

Fleur stood up. ‘Speak to Felicity, but as for Mario I’d like to deal with him myself.’

Danny looked up to where she stood by the door. ‘It might come better from you, given that you were there. Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘I don’t mind at all,’ Fleur said darkly. ‘In fact, it will be my pleasure.’

Infuriatingly, now she was actually ready for a confrontation Mario was nowhere in sight. After checking the cubicles and Resus, Fleur thought she’d try her luck in the obs ward. He wasn’t there, of course, but the rather raucous laughter coming from the staffroom soon ended her search.

How did he do it? The doctors he’d been shouting at only fifteen minutes ago were now sharing a coffee and a joke with him, even Felicity had forgiven him and was joining in the laughter.

‘Mr Ruffini?’ Every eye turned to her as she stood primly in the doorway. ‘I’d like a word, please.’

‘Sure,’ he said amicably, though not moving an inch. ‘How can I help you?’

‘Perhaps this might be better done in private.’ Her voice left no room for doubt that she wasn’t happy. Not remotely fazed, Mario gave a nonchalant shrug as he replaced his mug on the table.

‘Excuse me, guys, I think I am being summoned.’ He followed Fleur out of the room. ‘Would my office be private enough for you, Sister?’

She gave a small nod of approval and followed him the short distance.

The sight of his office took the wind out of her sails. Danny’s was a mess but this was an absolute bombsite! Open-mouthed, she stared at the mountains of paper, the opened books, numerous coffee-cups.

‘You wanted to speak with me?’

Dragging her eyes from his desk, Fleur remembered why she was here.

‘I do. You may also have noticed that I asked to speak with you in private.’

‘Yes.’ He gave her a quizzical look, before his face broke into a grin. ‘Do you want me to check for bugs?’

‘Don’t be so flippant!’ Fleur checked herself instantly. This was a consultant she was talking to after all, not Alex—though his office did somehow resemble her son’s bedroom when left unchecked!

‘The reason I asked to speak to you in private is because I believe that when someone has a grievance, while I agree it should be aired, there is a correct way of going about it.’

‘I am sorry, Sister, I really don’t understand what you are talking about.’ He gestured to his chair. ‘May I sit for this?’

His question was unnecessary and curiously insolent, and Fleur stood rigid as he calmly made his way around the desk.

‘You screaming at the staff in Resus is not only rude, it is ineffective. In the time you spent shouting at Felicity you could have shown her how to work the machine. I don’t know how they do it in Italy, but it certainly doesn’t wash here.’

‘Doesn’t wash?’ He screwed up his forehead.

‘You know exactly what I mean.’

‘No, Sister, I don’t. In fact, since you bring it up, I will tell you how things are done in Italy. The staff there are qualified and competent. I do not have to ask three times for a drug, I do not have to stop bagging an unconscious patient and deprive them of oxygen so that I can show the nurse how the machine works. Now do you understand why I shout? And contrary to what you say, I happen to find my methods extremely effective. I got the drug, didn’t I? I got a nurse who could operate the equipment!’

‘There are better ways of going about things,’ Fleur said, though with rather less conviction.

‘On that we can agree.’ He gave her a smile but it did little to reassure her—Mario had definitely not finished proving his point! ‘For example, a better way might be to have the associate charge nurse, which I’ve been told you are, in Resus instead of down in Section B, doing the stuff that is taught to Girl Guides. Who knows? If the nurse unit manager put in an occasional appearance now and then, we might even have a semblance of a well-run emergency department.’

‘You don’t know all the circumstances,’ Fleur replied hotly.

‘So enlighten me.’

She was good and mad now and in no position to pour out her heart to this insufferable man. Turning smartly on her heel, she wrenched the door open.

‘Running off again, Sister? You really don’t like to be where the action is, do you?’

Fleur turned, her eyes blazing. ‘After hearing so many reports about how wonderful you were, Mr Ruffini, I thought we might be able to discuss this. I was obviously wrong. But as you yourself pointed out, I am an associate charge nurse, so next time you have a problem with one of my staff, please, have the common courtesy to allow me to deal with it before you lose your temper.’

‘I don’t doubt that there will be a next time, but I will certainly bear it in mind. Oh, and, Sister?’

Her hand tightened on the doorhandle but she forced herself to answer evenly. ‘Yes, Mr Ruffini.’

‘Would you mind fetching my coffee? I think I left it in the staffroom.’

She didn’t slam the door, that would have been childless and pointless. She didn’t even come up with a smart reply. But the salt cellar was so achingly close to his mug on the coffee-table and she was so blinded with unvented fury that Fleur did what was probably the one reckless thing she had ever done in her life.

And that was that.

War had been declared.

CHAPTER THREE

FLEUR let out an involuntary cry of anguish as she watched Alex leap to grab the football, only to be knocked sideways to the ground by the opposing team. Resisting the urge to run onto the footy pitch, she stood there nervously chewing on her bottom lip as Alex picked himself up, covered in mud but apparently none the worse for wear. Casting an anxious look in his mother’s direction, he gave her a thumbs-up sign before joining his team-mates in yet another mad dash for the oval ball.

‘The more I see of the game, the less I understand.’ A deep, heavily accented voice that could only belong to one person broke her concentration. Blushing furiously, Fleur gave a small nod of agreement. What on earth was Mario Ruffini doing at Auskick?

‘They call it football, and yet they handball, run with the ball, throw the ball. It isn’t even a proper football—it looks like a rugby ball to me. And it’s such a rough game.’

‘You’re not wrong there,’ Fleur muttered, wishing he would be quiet so she could pay attention to the game or, more to the point, Alex.

‘In my country we play real football, or soccer as you call it here. Now, that I understand. But I am slowly starting to learn this game of yours.’ He spoke as if Australian Rules football was a game she’d invented personally. ‘I brought my nephew along today, he loves it with a passion. I’m hoping to get to see a few real matches while I’m here. You know, follow it properly.’

Fleur shrugged, staring pointedly ahead. ‘Oh, well, when in Rome and all that.’

‘Not for a while yet. I’m here for a year.’

‘Pardon?’ Turning for the first time, she was somewhat taken back when she saw Mario. Out of a suit and dressed in black jeans and black crew-neck jumper, he was definitely worth a second look! Sporting a heavy few days of growth on his chin and his dark hair for once unkempt, Mario looked rather more Mexican than Italian. As if he should be in a dusty bar, drinking tequila with a bandanna on his head, not standing in the middle of a muddy footy field in the bayside suburbs of Melbourne.

‘You asked me when I went back to Rome. I was explaining I was in Australia for a year.’

Fleur gave him a bemused look. ‘Oh, no.’ She laughed as she realised what had happened. ‘I meant, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. It’s a proverb.’