Doctor's Orders (12 page)

Mike followed her into the anaesthetic room and sent Steve, the SHO, off for a coffee. “Nurse McKenna and I will do the next case,” he said. Isabel's heart sank, she didn't want to be alone with him, but outwardly she maintained a cool exterior. He waited until Steve had gone and then turned to Isabel. “Hugh has gone to join the cardiac anaesthetist, in theatre fourteen. He has come down to watch some by-pass work, or did he tell you that himself?”

“No,” replied Isabel briefly, busying herself unnecessarily with the drug ampoules she had already laid out twice in the tray!

“A big disappointment for him to find out you have become involved with someone else so quickly. Especially as he has had such a hard task tracking you down!”

“I doubt that Hugh will remain disappointed for long,” rejoined Isabel drily, “he's never had any problems in the past!”

“Of course, I should have realised,” he mused, standing watching her with his arms crossed. “You looked so happy on Sunday in the boat. Positively blooming as a girl in love should,” he added, a sarcastic ring to his voice.

“I prefer not to discuss my private life,” said Isabel calmly, although cold fingers were gnawing at her heart. This was getting worse and worse, he was putting two and two together and coming up with five, but there was little she could do about it. Luckily the next patient arrived at that moment, so there was no more opportunity to continue the embarrassing discussion. It was with a distinct feeling of relief that she hastily changed at the end of the morning list, making her getaway as soon as possible and joining Sally and Susie as they made their way down to the hospital canteen.

Sally didn't waste any time. As usual she was in possession of the latest gossip and was only too anxious to impart it to all and sundry. “You remember that glamorous girl with Dr Blakeney on the yacht on Sunday?” she asked.

“As if anyone could forget,” replied Susie with an exaggerated sigh. “She was so gorgeous, like a fashion model.”

“She is,” answered Sally, “but besides that, she is Mike Blakeney's ex-fiancée, the one who ran off and married his brother.” She looked around conspiratorially as they joined the queue for the hot plate counter. “Pete has told me that apparently she and Mike's brother have quarrelled and separated, and she has flown straight back to Mike's arms.”

At her words Isabel's heart lurched sickeningly. She ought to have known. All the signs were that he was still in love with his ex-fiancée. His moodiness, the fact that he had never had another regular girlfriend, his generally antagonistic attitude towards women. What a fool I've been to fall for him, she thought bitterly, and all because he kissed me! Yes, she thought savagely, angry with herself, that was the only reason, her own stupidity. He certainly hadn't given her any other form of encouragement, she had to be honest. The only slight salve for her wounded pride was the fact that she had resisted his blatantly sexual charms.

“Isabel, are you listening to me?” Sally's voice cut across her tortured thoughts.

Isabel suddenly realised that she had reached the head of the queue and hadn't ordered. “Pie and chips,” she muttered hurriedly, ordering the first thing she could see. Later, sitting at the table, she surprised everyone by telling Sally rather abruptly that she didn't think they should gossip about Dr Blakeney.

“Why ever not?” Sally's eyes opened wide in surprise. “I thought it would be of interest to know that Sarah has moved in with him, actually moved in with her ex-fiancé,” she repeated emphasising the point.

“It may interest you, but it certainly doesn't interest me,” snapped Isabel sharply, eating her lunch quickly, although the pie and chips might just have well have been sawdust for all the taste it had in her mouth.

‘OK,” said Sally blithely, not in the least put out. “Let's change the subject. Do you know who that rather gorgeous looking dark chap was? The one who was with Mike Blakeney this morning and then went off to cardiac?”

“Yes,” said Isabel abruptly, clattering her knife and fork down on her plate as she gave up the unequal struggle with the unpalatable pie and chips. “That was Hugh Sinclair. He's an anaesthetist from Edinburgh, and he is
my
ex-fiancé!”
She paused for a moment, looking at the sea of faces around the table, all staring at her with their mouths open in astonishment. “And may I stress the ex, before you all start jumping to conclusions! Another thing,” she rose from the table, “there is absolutely no chance of
me
flying back to
his
arms.” Picking up her tray she marched away, leaving the assembled company at the table silently digesting this latest piece of information.

Leaving the canteen so abruptly had left her with twenty minutes to kill before the start of the afternoon operating list. Miserably Isabel wandered down the long corridor leading away from the canteen, pausing idly to scan the notice board. The board, as usual, was covered with cards and scraps of paper, advertising everything from a trip to the Himalayas to an old electric cleaner for sale. Half hidden beneath another postcard, Isabel suddenly saw the advert for the flat. Lounge, bedroom, bathroom and kitchen it said, rent £150 a month. Hurriedly doing some quick mental arithmetic, Isabel realised she could just about afford that. So noting down the phone number she made her way quickly towards the entrance hall of the hospital, where there were some public telephones. The flat hadn't been taken, so she made arrangements to visit it that evening. Somehow doing something positive, like trying to move out of the hospital environment, cheered her up. Plenty more pebbles on the beach, my girl, she told herself firmly. Next time, be sure not to pick an anaesthetist!

Once back in the anaesthetic room, she set about her tasks in her usual efficient way, although she couldn't help sneaking a glance at Mike's handsome profile as he bent attentively over a patient. He was a dark horse, she reflected a little resentfully, having his brother's wife move in with him. I've had a lucky escape, she told herself, he obviously hasn't got any principles! All the same, she couldn't help her skin prickling when her hand brushed against his during the afternoon. It was a kind of sweet agony to be near him, and she wondered if he too felt any of the same vitality flowing between them or whether it was all in her overactive imagination.

When the afternoon list had finished, Mike went off as usual with the patient to recovery, accompanied this time by Steve Holden, and Isabel tidied up the anaesthetic room. She glanced at her watch quickly, they had started on a second coronary artery by-pass in the theatre fourteen, so that would keep Hugh occupied for the time being at least. If she changed quickly, she could probably avoid meeting him again, at least for one day. As she dashed into the changing room, Sally and Susie were on the point of leaving. Both girls eyed her curiously and somewhat cautiously and Isabel suddenly remembered her outburst at lunch. She laughed at their apprehensive expressions, “Don't look so worried, I'm not going to bite your heads off again.”

“Oh, Isabel,” Sally came over and laid a hand sympathetically on her arm, “I'm so sorry, you know if there is anything we can do…” her voice trailed away uncertainly.

“There is, as a matter-of-fact,” replied Isabel, slinging her theatre dress into the dirty linen basket. “Can one of you lend me a bike this evening? I want to go and inspect a flat that's vacant.”

Susie volunteered hers willingly and even offered to pump up the tyres. It was agreed that she should meet Isabel in the cycle shed at six thirty, sharp.

“It's a bit of a bone-shaker,” said Susie apologetically as Isabel tried it out, “but the brakes work.”

“Which is more than they do in Cliff's car,” said Isabel as she tried them out.

“Good luck,” called Susie as Isabel wobbled precariously away from the shed, over some rough ground towards the roadway.

“I think I'll need it,” called back Isabel glancing over her shoulder with a grin, “I haven't cycled for simply ages.” Without thinking she had worn clogs, and now she realised that had been a stupid thing to do. Cycling and trying to keep her clogs on at the same time was difficult, her foot slipped and she looked down, trying to catch the pedal as it spun round.

“If you don't mind me saying so, you are an absolute menace on that thing!”

Anxiously Isabel looked up, snatching at the brake in order to avoid colliding with Mike Blakeney and his companion of the previous day. It was the glamorous blonde girl, who she now knew to be his ex-fiancée Sarah. “This isn't the road,” she said defensively, “I wasn't expecting to bump into anyone here.” As she spoke she was awkwardly aware of the difference between herself and the glamorous Sarah. Somehow she felt very sick in her outfit of frayed jeans and a teeshirt, beside the expensively tailored silk suit that Sarah was wearing.

“This is Isabel,” said Mike, waving a hand in her direction, “she…”

“Is one of his minions,” interrupted Isabel swiftly, anxious to get away, “obeying his every whim!” she added, not bothering to keep the sarcastic ring out of her voice. She felt a little stab of satisfaction when she saw the shadow cross Mike's face. It was irrational, she knew, but she wanted to hurt him. You're jealous, piped up the irritating voice at the back of her mind. Isabel tried to ignore it.

“I'm Sarah,” said the girl smiling. She was very beautiful, but when she smiled the smile didn't reach her eyes. They were lovely, fringed by exquisitely long lashes, but cold and empty. Looking at her, Isabel felt an indescribable sadness sweep over her. Whatever were the rights and wrongs of the situation, she certainly couldn't blame Mike Blakeney for being in love with such a rare beauty. Surely, thought Isabel, her eyes must smile for him, perhaps that emptiness was reserved for other women. Isabel smiled back at her uncertainly. It wasn't just emptiness; surely she must be wrong? Surely that couldn't be hostility in the other girls's eyes. There was no reason for her to be hostile and defensive, and yet somehow Isabel had the feeling that Sarah was regarding her with anything but friendliness. She glanced at Mike. He, too, seemed on edge, and the expression on his face was impossible to determine.

Shuffling her foot back securely into her old clog, Isabel climbed back on the bike. Even more conscious of her disadvantage, her mode of transport not being the most elegant. “Hi,” she said, pushing on the pedal, “sorry I can't stop, but I've got to see a man about a flat.”

“If you ever arrive anywhere in one piece,” she heard Mike call after her.

She paused for a moment, foot resting on the ground. “Don't worry about me, Dr Blakeney, I'm a born trick cyclist, even though I may be a little out of practice!” As she cycled away, wobbling over the uneven ground, she heard him laugh. Well, my girl, at least you've cheered him up, she thought, but somehow that wasn't much comfort. There she was, pedalling away on a ramshackle old bike, looking like an urchin, and there he was, standing beside a female who looked as if she had stepped straight from the pages of a fashion magazine!

However, all troubling thoughts of Mike and his relationship with the beautiful Sarah fled when she reached the address on the postcard. The house was a huge Victorian mansion set in an obviously lovingly tended garden. It had once been a vicarage. Isabel could see the old sign still on the gatepost, almost worn away but just visible. As she rang the doorbell, she wondered who looked after the garden, it was so magnificent.

A rather eccentric looking woman, with a mop of grey hair, came to the door. “I've come about the flat,” said Isabel, trying to stand upright as two large dogs of an indeterminate breed leapt at her, and a small Yorkshire terrier actively investigated her feet.

“Down, boys, down,” said the woman to the dogs in an absent-minded voice. The dogs ignored her and continued to leap, Isabel fending them off as best she could.

“They seem very affectionate,” she ventured, wiping the results of their licking from her ear.

“Yes, sweet aren't they,” the woman replied, “this way.” She led the way through a large hall, furnished with shabby Victorian furniture, up the stairs towards the back of the house.

The vacant flat was at the back of the house, the windows looking out into a kitchen garden overflowing with vegetables, all growing in neat rows. Isabel couldn't help remarking on it.

“The garden is lovely,” she said.

“I do it all myself,” replied the woman. “Come and have a cup of tea and we'll talk about the flat. Down, boys, down,” she added as an afterthought to the dogs, who were still leaping up and down as energetically as ever.

The woman, whose name was Miss Elder, was a gardening fanatic. “I hope you like fresh vegetables,” she said, handing Isabel a cup of tea. “I always sell plenty to my tenants.” She seemed to take it for granted that Isabel would take the flat, and merely said, “You can pay me one month in advance and move in tomorrow if you wish.”

Isabel was unprepared for such a sudden move, and eventually it was arranged that she should move in at the weekend. Apparently there were four other tenants, and Miss Elder lived in a ground floor apartment herself, along with Charles, Andrew and Edward, the dogs. “Named them after the Royal Family,” she said affectionately, “I'm a great monarchist, are you?” She peered at Isabel suddenly through heavy-lensed glasses.

“Oh yes, definitely,” said Isabel hastily. It wasn't a matter she had ever given a great deal of thought to, but it was obviously a subject dear to Miss Elder's heart, and she thought it prudent to be enthusiastic.

As she cycled back, she wondered if she had been right to make such a hasty decision, but once back in the minuscule hospital room, she knew she had done the right thing. Not only would she have more room, but she would be away from the hospital, away from the constant reminder of work, and the demanding man she worked with. It was only as she was climbing into bed that night, that she realised that she hadn't given Hugh Sinclair another thought. Mike Blakeney yes, but Hugh Sinclair no! He might just as well have never existed. Suddenly, she realised that her life with the feckless Hugh in Edinburgh seemed as remote as the moon.