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own we sometimes don't see him till very late. I mean midnight late. He might be busy with paperwork. If you don't want to go up there you could try bleeping Mm.'
    But Merrin was reluctant to do that—it seemed too intrusive. 'I'll check his office,' she declared. 'It's up above here, isn't it?'
    'Level eight,' the nurse confirmed. 'If he's not there, he might be across in the medical school. He's got a proper laboratory there for his research and another office.'
    The corridor housing the surgical offices was dark but she found Professor McAlister's easily enough because it was the only room with light shining under the door. She knocked quietly, waited a few seconds, then knocked again more firmly.
    'Yes?'
    Taking a deep breath, she twisted the handle and pushed open the door. 'Professor McAlister...?' But her words trailed off and her mouth dried.
    His chair was swivelled away from his paper-strewn desk and he'd tipped himself back in it and had his feet crossed up on the window-sill behind the desk, as if he'd been studying the view rather than his work. His hair, despite its brevity, was tousled, as if he'd been running his hands through it. But it was the darkened shadows around his eyes and the heavy-lidded bleakness of his regard that drew her attention.
    He looked like a man in pain. Her heart went out to him.
    'Prof, I didn't mean to disturb you,' she said huskily. 'I was just wondering if you were going to do a round tonight, but... Do you want me to get you a coffee?'
    'Coffee?' He frowned at her, his regard distracted, and she realised he was having trouble making sense of her being there. 'Er...?'
    'Merrin,' she told him. 'It's Merrin. I'm your new house officer. Prof—'
    'I know, Merrin. I know who you are.' Shaking his head slightly, he let the chair fall back into place and swung around, his expression losing a little of its distraction as he came around to face her. 'Coffee, no. Thank you but no.'
    'What about a burger?' she suggested. 'It's getting late. I could run downstairs to McDonald's and get you one. You must be hungry.'
    'I'm not.' If he thought there was anything strange about his house officer questioning him about his eating habits, he didn't say anything, and he rose to his feet. 'I don't expect you to wait after a weekend on call. Didn't the others tell you?'
    'They told me but I wanted to stay,' she explained. 'Prof, you don't look very well. Shall I get you anything? Have you got a headache? Do you want some paracetamol? Is there anything you need?'
    'No. Nothing.' He shook his head slightly, as if trying to clear his thoughts again, and she looked up at him, still concerned about the difference in him now compared with the dynamic man she'd met that morning, but he merely collected a white coat from the rack by the desk and hauled it on as he came towards her. 'We'll go round now so you can get away,' he told her, his voice firming. 'Are there any problems you know about?'
    'Not on the wards,' she said, still watching him, relieved to see the energy slowly returning to his expression.
    They took the stairs down to Orange and by the time they arrived on the ward she saw that he was almost back to normal. The round went quickly again, although with less of the frenetic haste of the morning one and more time spent actually chatting With patients rather than ordering tests and inspecting wounds,. He spent several minutes with each of his pre-op patients who'd been admitted for surgery the following day, and she saw that he took care that they had no unanswered questions before he moved on.
    'I went to ICU earlier,' he told her when they'd finished on the surgical wards. 'And there's only one child and I'll check him later myself, so that's it. Thanks, Merrin. Go home and get some sleep.'
    'What about you?' She spoke involuntarily, too distressed by the memory of how he'd looked earlier to pay any attention to the appropriateness of her talking to him like this. 'Are you going home?'
    'Am