Doctor's Orders (11 page)

“Some millionaire, I suppose,” said Sally enviously. “I really ought to ditch Pete, and find one for myself.”

“What, a millionaire or a yacht?” asked Isabel mischievously.

“Both if possible,” answered Sally firmly. Then she added, “Hang on a minute…well, I'll be damned!”

“What, what…what is it? I can't see!” Susie Wee peered shortsightedly into the dusk.

“Oh, do shut up a minute, you sound like Winnie the Pooh!” hissed Sally as she too peered intently into the gathering gloom of night. Then she added in a low voice, “I do believe it's our very own eminent anaesthetist, Dr Blakeney!”

Isabel looked harder. She'd only given the couple a passing glance before, but now her heart somersaulted crazily as she suddenly realised that it
was
Mike Blakeney, and that he was looking down at their battered little boat from the majestic height of the yacht, whose smooth white painted sides stretched gleaming above them. With a sinking feeling she realised what an abject, scruffy sight she must look. Especially if compared to the elegant, polished looking girl by his side. Also the fact that he was regarding the disreputable looking boatload beneath him with a disapproving stare, did nothing for her morale.

Cliff Peterson came up front and joined the four girls. “It's Mike Blakeney,” said Sally indicating the towering yacht.

Cliff waved cheerfully, nothing ever seemed to bother him. Isabel couldn't imagine him being nonplussed by any sort of situation. Even the fact that Mike Blakeney waved a distinctly disdainful hand in their direction didn't ruffle his calm.

Although it did bother Isabel, he looked so snooty and disapproving.

Without stopping to think she waved her beer mug at him. “Cheer up, it may never happen!” she shouted sarcastically. Her words drifted out on the still evening air, easily reaching above the chug, chug, chug of the engine, and she knew he must have heard, because a tight smile flickered across his face.

“If he's not careful, he'll crack his face,” she muttered crossly to Cliff. “Bad-tempered looking man.”

Cliff laughed and slipped his arm casually around her shoulders. “You've got to make allowances,” he said in mock reproof, “after all, he doesn't have the charming company I'm blessed with!”

“Idiot,” retorted Isabel. However, in spite of herself not wanting too, telling herself she wasn't interested, she couldn't help casting a wistful glance back at the two figures silhouetted against the sunset, as they stood side by side at the yacht rail.

“Wonder who the girl is?” said Cliff idly, following her gaze.

“Perhaps it's the famous Sarah,” said Sally echoing Isabel's unspoken thoughts. “She's certainly expensive looking, whoever she is.” A fact with which Isabel unhappily concurred.

Chapter Six

By mid-Monday morning, the weekend had receded into a distant memory. A pleasant blur of people, places, sun, sea and sand, but it annoyed Isabel intensely to find that the incident that stood out sharply in her memory, was the image of the two figures in evening dress, leaning on the rail of the magnificent sleek yacht lying at anchor.

Mike Blakeney had been his usual, curt, somewhat unfriendly self during the morning. Not for the first time, Isabel wondered whether he would even notice if she dropped dead at his feet! Probably just step over me, she concluded realistically! The silence in the anaesthetic room was broken only by his words to the senior house officer he had with him. The new senior house officer's name was Steve, and Isabel gathered that he had already done six months' anaesthesia before coming to the County General. She noticed that the senior anaesthetist was equally curt with him, the snapped commands not being reserved for her alone. I suppose I should be grateful he hasn't singled me out exclusively to lash with his merciless tongue, she thought rebelliously, passing a laryngoscope to Steve on Mike's instructions. The junior anaesthetist struggled to insert the blade of the laryngoscope. He's taking a long time, thought Isabel, anxiously glancing at her watch. She knew time was of vital importance once the patient had been paralysed with suxamethonium.

Suddenly Steve gasped, “He's got his false teeth in!”

Involuntarily she took a horrified step towards the patient, only to be elbowed roughly out of the way by Mike. “Damn!” he swore softly, pushing Steve aside too. Then reaching into the patient's mouth he deftly extracted the offending teeth and expertly inserted the laryngoscope, thus safely intubating the patient. An audible sigh of relief echoed round the anaesthetic room from the three of them as the machine took over the patient's breathing, the comforting click, click of the bellows reassuring them that all was well.

Isabel helped them through with the now deeply unconscious patient into theatre, where the patient was due to undergo cholecystectomy. Once everything was settled she went back into the anaesthetic room to tidy up ready for the next admission. The unfortunate patient's teeth, incredibly still intact, were lying on the floor. Isabel bent to retrieve them.

“Sorry I pushed you so roughly.”

Teeth in her hand, Isabel spun round abruptly and cannoned straight into Mike. He put a protective arm around her to steady her and Isabel cursed her taut senses as a prickling, shivering delight at the contact with him swam mistily through her. “I understand,” she muttered, moving to turn away.

“I wonder…” he started to say, but his words were interrupted by the swing doors to the anaesthetic room being pushed open.

An agitated looking Sister Clarke stood in the doorway. “I've just had a message from the ward,” she said breathlessly, “Mr Jones, the cholecystectomy…”

“Had his teeth left in,” finished Mike for her.

“Yes,” she looked relieved, “thank goodness there wasn't an accident.”

“There very nearly was,” snapped Mike grimly. “When I've finished here, I'm coming up to the ward and I'm going to have someone's guts for garters!”

“Oh…er,” quavered Sister Clarke, “I'll tell them to expect you.” She backed out of the anaesthetic room.

“You do that,” Mike's voice followed her.

“Don't be too hard on the nurse concerned,” said Isabel quietly, “anybody can make a mistake.”

“Mistakes cost lives,” he replied grimly, “you should know that.”

“Of course I do, but frightening someone by shouting won't do much good,” replied Isabel smoothly, “and you can be quite frightening sometimes, you know.”

“I'm not doing a particularly good job where you're concerned,” he observed, flashing her a quizzical glance. “Unless you happen to count that evening at my house!”

Isabel glanced up swiftly, her eyes flashing angrily as she pulled up her mask, trying to hide the hot red stain creeping across her cheeks. He was purposely trying to bait her, trying to embarrass her. “I don't recall being afraid,” she answered coldly; “just angry at your presumption.”

“Oh yes, I forgot. You're the girl who is purer than the driven snow!” His tone was sharp edged with sarcasm. “Although I have noticed you appear to have fallen in easily with a particular surgeon.”

“I don't know what you mean by that remark,” Isabel shot back at him in a hiss. She wanted to shout, but the presence of the entire operating team in the next room prevented that. “Just because I enjoy Cliffs company doesn't mean…”

“It usually does where Cliff Peterson is concerned,” he interrupted, his dark brows twisting ironically above his mask.

Angrily Isabel opened her mouth to answer, but the words died in her throat, as the door from the main corridor to the anaesthetic room swung open, and a capped and gowned figure strode in, his face mask hanging untidily around his neck. Ignoring Isabel, the man reached out his hand to Mike. “Hi,” he said, “I bet I'm a surprise!”

Weakly Isabel reached out for the edge of the bench behind her, her blood coursing icily through her veins. The surprise was intended for Mike Blakeney, but for her it was a
bombshell!

Through an alarmed haze she heard Mike reply, “Hugh, what the devil are you doing here?”

Hastily she turned away, towards the swing doors into the operating theatre. There was no real escape, but absurdly she felt that in the operating theatre she would be safe. Safe from her ex-fiancé who was standing in the anaesthetic room, greeting Mike Blakeney like the long lost friend he so obviously was.

“Isabel,” Mike's voice halted her in her tracks.

“I'd like you to meet an anaesthetist friend of mine, Hugh Sinclair.”

How she forced herself to turn calmly back Isabel never knew. Her feet and legs felt as if they were made of wood, stiff and uncoordinated, but turn back she did, saying with admirable aplomb, “Actually, we've already met.” The understatement of the year, she couldn't help thinking as she uttered the insignificant words!

She heard Hugh's sharp intake of breath, as in one swift stride he was across the room. “Isabel!” there was incredulous disbelief in his voice. “This is the last place in the world I expected to find you.”

“Snap,” she returned drily, then added hastily before he could speak again, “I must return to the operating theatre now.”

At that moment Sister Clarke popped her head through the anaesthetic room doors. To Isabel, she seemed like an angel straight from heaven. “Would you and your visitor like a cup of coffee, Dr Blakeney?” she enquired.

“Good idea,” said Mike, ushering Hugh out through the swing doors, at the same time flashing Isabel a puzzled glance. Hugh, for his part, looked completely nonplussed, and Isabel couldn't help a little inward grin of smug satisfaction. Partly because Hugh looked so uncomfortable and partly because she hadn't felt the tearing at her heart strings she had expected to feel if she ever saw him again. Then there was Mike Blakeney too, looking so puzzled. Yes, now you'll know I've got a past too, she thought grimly, although I've never flaunted mine around, and
I've
never made anyone suffer by my bad moods!

Back in theatre, Steve Holden, the SHO, was quite chatty without Mike Blakeney to inhibit him. “I've got my primary FFA coming up soon,” he confided, adjusting the flow on the anaesthetic machine. “Although I'm way behind in my revision of physics. In fact, at the moment, you could say my knowledge is zero.”

Isabel smiled behind her mask. “I'm sure you're being too modest,” she whispered, casting an anxious glance at Mr Goldsmith concentrating on his surgery. “I bet you know something.”

“Sure, ‘There was a young lady named Bright, whose speed was far faster than light; she set out one day, in a relative way, and returned home the previous night!'”

His recitation and Susie Wee's muffled giggles were brought to an abrupt close by Mr Goldsmith's loud cough. He glowered frostily over the top of his spectacles at the now frozen Steve. “Dr Holden, would you like us to take a natural, or should I say unnatural break, while you entertain us with pearls of scientific wisdom.” His voice was heavily laced with sarcasm. “Or am I to be allowed to remove this gall-bladder in peace?” There was no answer from the now terrified junior anaesthetist. “Well?” he bellowed as he waited, scalpel poised.

“Sorry, sir,” muttered Steve, “I'll be quiet.”

“Huh!” snorted Mr Goldsmith and, shooting a malevolent glare in the unfortunate Steve's direction, he bent once more over the patient and proceeded to cut, while Steve twiddled vigorously, and totally unnecessarily, with the knobs on the anaesthetic machine!

When surgery was nearly finished and it was time to reverse the patient, Steve nodded at Isabel. “Get Dr Blakeney for me, will you please? I don't want to make any more mistakes!”

Isabel nodded and left the operating theatre. Poor Steve, he was a bag of nerves. A bit like myself, she thought, as she made her way to the surgeons' room. She worried, wondering whether Hugh had enlightened Mike on their former relationship. Perhaps he hasn't, she comforted herself, perhaps he's maintained a discreet silence. Anyway, common sense told her, what did it matter whether or not Mike Blakeney knew about her past, she was being totally illogical. Her common sense didn't convince her, however, because whether she liked it or not, she
did
care what Mike Blakeney thought, it
did
matter.

The moment she walked into the surgeons' room to call Mike back to theatre, she knew Hugh had told him. At the sight of her he stood up. “Patient ready to come off the table?” he asked. Isabel nodded and turned to walk back towards theatre, but Mike stopped her, catching at her wrist in his strong hand, and drawing her back into the surgeons' room. “Steve and I can manage. You stay here and talk to Hugh. You two must have quite a lot to catch up on!”

“No, I don't think…” began Isabel. The very last thing she wanted him to think was that she wanted to have a heart-to-heart with Hugh.

“Don't forget, I too have had experience of these disastrous affairs of the heart!” he said in a mocking tone, which rang painfully in Isabel's ears. “Stay and talk.” These last words were issued as a command rather than an invitation, and gave Isabel no alternative but to stay, particularly as he abruptly shoved a cup of coffee into her hand and plonked her down in one of the chairs before striding back to theatre.

Isabel sipped her coffee uncomfortably, regarding Hugh's face over the rim of the cup. He was darkly handsome, an aristocratic face with a fine bone structure, but Isabel wondered suddenly how it was that she had never noticed the weakness in his mouth before. The little-boy-lost look he had when he smiled, instead of melting her heart the way it used too, merely served to make her feel slightly annoyed. “How are you?” she asked. Her voice was firm and clipped, her very official nurse-type voice, the one she used for difficult patients.

Hugh noticed her tone of voice. “No need to speak to me as if I'm a naughty boy,” he said with a disarming grin. “Although I know I have been.”

“Have you?” asked Isabel distantly, feeling strangely disinterested.

“Of course I have. Chucking you over like that. How can you ever forgive me?”

Isabel stared at him. Was he trying to make up to her? “I forgave you a long time ago,” she said coldly. “It's all history now. It was probably a good thing for both of us, we weren't suited.”

Hugh pulled his chair closer to Isabel and, to her consternation, took her hand. “It's not all over,” he said, “I realised when you disappeared, and no one would tell me where you had gone, that I needed you.”

Isabel tried to pull her hand away. “What about the other girl,” she said coldly, “the one you were so passionately in love with. One of the many,” she couldn't resist adding, “who was not
frigid
like me!”

“Oh, Isabel,” he said in a pleading tone, “I know I was rotten to you. Let's start again.”

“No,” she said abruptly, snatching her hand away. Putting her coffee cup down with a clatter, she backed out of the room. “I meant it when I said it was history. It is. As far as I am concerned it's over and done with.”

Hugh followed her to the doorway. “Is there someone else then?” he asked.

Isabel hesitated for a moment. At his words the very thing she had been trying to deny to herself ever since Mike Blakeney had kissed her hit her like a thunderbolt between the eyes. It was Mike she had fallen in love with, that dour, taciturn, unpredictable man who certainly didn't love her, although he would have been quite willing to take her to bed. She sighed, a soft sigh as a whisper. “Yes, there is someone else,” she answered slowly, “someone I have fallen head over heels in love with.”

“Someone here?” persisted Hugh.

“Yes,” Isabel replied abruptly, not prepared to give anything more away, knowing that she had said too much already! Quickly she turned on her heel to walk back into theatre, only to cannon straight into the muscular form of Mike Blakeney who had come back, unheard by her, and was standing immediately behind her. With a slight gasp she hastily tied her mask back on, hoping that it would disguise the telltale colour flooding her cheeks, praying that he hadn't overheard her last words.

“I always thought Cliff Peterson was a fast worker,” he said in a low voice, audible to her ears only as she passed him, “now I know!”

Horrified, Isabel stared at him. The stern expression on his face was doing nothing to help her composure. It was bad enough that he had overheard, but even worse that he should have jumped so readily to the wrong conclusion. What could she do? The answer, of course, was absolutely nothing. If she denied it was Cliff Peterson, he might guess the true identity of the man to whom she had lost her heart, and that would be even worse. There was nothing for it but to put a brave face on it and brazen it out. So flashing him a defiant mind-your-own-business look, she stalked past him into the anaesthetic room, and proceeded to lay up the room ready for the next patient, going about her tasks with a grim determination.