Doctor's Orders (13 page)

The rest of the week passed by quickly and uneventfully. When she was not working, Isabel was busy packing her belongings together. To begin with she had thought it wouldn't take her long, but she seemed to have acquired quite a few bits and pieces since she moved down south, and it took much longer than she thought. Cliff had agreed to help her move on the Saturday and was borrowing Pete Rosen's dormobile for the job. All this had been hastily arranged on the phone, as she hadn't seen much of Cliff, and nothing at all of Mike Blakeney or Hugh. Mike's place in the anaesthetic room had been taken by a senior registrar. Apparently there was a symposium at the hospital which they were all attending, Cliff included. Although he did make a point of popping in at the end of one day to say hello to Isabel, and confirm the arrangements for Saturday. It was difficult, therefore, when he mentioned the dinner dance to be held on the Saturday night.

He accurately read her thoughts. “You don't have to say yes if you don't want to. Although I don't have a partner and you'd be doing me a favour. I've got to go and I always find these things boring.”

“I shan't know anyone…” began Isabel.

“Yes, you will,” said Cliff. “Sally will be there, and there'll be Mike Blakeney, he's one of the after dinner speakers, and then there's Hugh Sinclair…” his voice trailed away as he realised his faux pas. “Oh, I'm sorry, you'd probably rather not see him.”

“I don't mind in the slightest,” Isabel assured him, which was true. What she didn't say was that she wasn't quite so certain about Mike Blakeney and wondered whether he'd be accompanied by the glamorous Sarah. Thought you weren't going to think about him, taunted the little voice she was always trying to ignore. That decided her. I can't just avoid functions because Mike Blakeney might be there, she told herself, I've got to get used to seeing him with Sarah. “Yes, Cliff,” she said after just a moment's hesitation, “yes, I'd love to come, fill me in on all the details.”

Eagerly Cliff gave her all the details, but his words floated over her head, as Isabel miserably acknowledged that the only reason she had said yes was because it was a chance to see Mike again, maybe even dance with him if she was lucky! Have some pride, she chided herself fiercely, don't be like a begging dog, hoping to pick up scraps. Anyway, Sarah didn't look like the kind of girl who would leave any scraps, and Mike Blakeney could hardly be described as a scrap! She pulled a mental face. She was being ridiculous as usual, it was always the same where Mike Blakeney was concerned! Damn the man!

Chapter Seven

Saturday was a hectic rush. Cliff helped Isabel move into her newly acquired flat, which was a different maneouvre as Charles, Andrew and Edward bounded up and down the stairs, joyfully accompanying their every step. Somehow they always seemed to manage to get in between Cliff's legs as he struggled to carry Isabel's belongings in from the dormobile.

“Can't you control these damned dogs,” he muttered in exasperation, as he nearly broke his neck on Edward.

“Down, boys, down,” said Isabel, and giggled as Charles made a determined leap and licked Cliff from ear to ear. She shooed the dogs out into the garden, and shut the door.

“Rather you than me where those dogs are concerned,” he said when they had finished, flopping down exhausted into an armchair in her lounge. “As far as I can see, they're the only drawback to this place.”

“They've got used to me already,” said Isabel. “They seem to accept me as part of the furniture, I've obviously been given the seal of approval.”

“The lick of approval, more like it,” said Cliff with a grin. “Anyway, I suppose they are good guard dogs, any unwelcome visitors would be flattened by that lot!”

After a quick cup of tea, Cliff left, and Isabel rushed around putting a few things out, just enough to make herself feel that she really had moved in and made her mark on the place. Then it was time to get ready for the symposium dinner dance. There was no time for her previous qualms to surface; time was too precious. As it was, she barely managed to shower, do her hair and slip into a plain white evening dress. It was the only evening dress she possessed, and she had had it a long time. Isabel had never had that many occasions on which to wear such clothes; so she had never thought it worthwhile to splash out a lot of money on more evening dresses. This one always suited any occasion, being plain and simple, discreetly low cut and sleeveless, the most daring part being the slit up the side, which showed an attractive expanse of leg when she walked.

Looking at her reflection critically in the mirror, Isabel was surprised to see how much her tan showed against the white of the dress. The result of Sunday's windsurfing, she thought, feeling pleased. Knowing that she looked good helped to make her feel good, and Cliff's low whistle of appreciation did her morale a power of good. Happily she accompanied him to the University, where the symposium dinner dance was being held.

On arrival, Cliff lost no time in seeking out Pete Rosen and Sally Mannering. “Can't stand these functions at the best of times,” he muttered, elbowing his way through the crowd. “They are only made more bearable by being with friends.”

Isabel laughed. Cliff might not like it, but for her it was a welcome change. A chance to dress up, and mix with different people. She didn't really see the point of staying with Sally and Pete, who they saw almost every day. She soon found herself talking animatedly with a man standing next to her at the table laden with glasses of pre-dinner sherry. She learnt that he had flown in that day from the States, where he was doing research into ischaemic heart disease. “I'll be quite glad to get back to clinical medicine though,” he confessed.

“Are you a cardiologist?” asked Isabel, linking the research with the obvious specialty.

The man, whose name was John, laughed. “Not on your life,” he said, “I'm an anaesthetist. What are you?”

“A theatre nurse, working with the anaesthetist,” said Isabel smiling. “I can't seem to get away from anaesthetists.”

“Too right,” he replied, “here comes another one. Hello Hugh, you old dog, how are you?”

Before Isabel could back away Hugh had descended upon them. “Don't introduce me,” he said, looking at Isabel, “we know each other, don't we.” He slipped an arm casually round her shoulders.

“Yes,” said Isabel briefly, looking over her shoulder for Cliff, trying at the same time to surreptitiously wriggle free from Hugh's unwelcome embrace. He sensed her slight movement however, and tightened his hold, and as she turned her head trying to find Cliff, she became aware of someone looking at her from across the room. It was as if she was mesmerised. Against her will, she felt her eyes drawn across the crowded, smoke-filled room, until her gaze was locked with Mike Blakeney's. He was standing with Sarah by his side. How tall he was; the thought flickered idly across her bemused mind, and how distinguished he looked in his evening suit.

Oh, why couldn't I have worked with a short, fat, ugly bald man, she thought wryly, then I wouldn't have fallen for him! Sarah was looking ravishing as usual, dressed in the latest fashion. A black, voluptuous, body skimming chiffon dress, her feet clad in superlative black velvet shoes. Isabel glanced down briefly at her own simple dress and wished she had been a little more adventurous. Although anything I could afford would still look as if I'd bought it at a jumble sale compared to that, she admitted to herself morosely.

Her attention was jerked back into the circle of conversation by Cliff joining them. “Time to go in for dinner,” he said, looking pointedly at Hugh's arm still draped around Isabel's shoulders.

Hugh laughed in his usual disarming way, Isabel noticed. “Force of habit, old man,” he said easily.

“Is there still something between you two?” asked Cliff curiously as they caught up with Sally and Pete walking towards the dining room, where the orchestra was already playing muted music.

“Absolutely nothing,” said Isabel firmly. “Don't take any notice of Hugh, it never means anything with him.”

“Talking about meaning anything, I wonder if
that
means anything,” remarked Cliff, nodding towards the top table where Mike and Sarah were sitting with the other dignitaries for the evening.

“I'm not the slightest bit interested,” snapped Isabel, “I do wish we could go somewhere without everybody talking about Mike Blakeney and his on-off affair!”

“Sorry!” said Cliff raising an eyebrow. “We'd all like to see him happily settled, make life easier for everyone, especially in theatre!”

“I can work with him, whatever mood he's in,” replied Isabel wishing Cliff would shut up. “As far as I'm concerned, work is work, and people's personal lives are their own. The two shouldn't be mixed!”

“Yes miss,” said Cliff, making a penitent face. “I promise I won't mention it again.”

“Me neither,” Sally chimed in. She had been listening. “Come on, let's forget wretched Dr Blakeney and enjoy ourselves.”

“Amen to that!” said Isabel with feeling. She failed to notice Sally's perceptive glance, as she bent her head to study the menu card.

Once dinner was finished, the tables were swiftly cleared and the room made ready for the evening's dancing. In spite of the presence of Mike with Sarah, Isabel soon found she was enjoying herself. Cliff was a good dancer, whirling her round the room with practised ease, although he did complain that she was dancing with too many other men. “Always the same,” he grumbled, “you're too attractive!”

When Hugh, who was unaccompanied, came over and asked Isabel to dance, Cliff placed a protective hand on her arm, as if to say, you don't have to if you don't want to. For a split second Isabel hesitated, then, deciding it would be churlish to refuse, she accepted. No point in drawing attention to myself she thought, as somewhat reluctantly she allowed herself to be drawn on to the dance floor by Hugh.

The music was a slow waltz and it was only as they progressed round the room that Isabel realised that Hugh was drunk. Not noticeably so, at least not to others, but to her it was painfully obvious. He leaned on her, rather than held her, and when he spoke his speech was slightly slurred.

“You look lovely tonight,” he mumbled, leaning his cheek against hers.

“Thank you, Hugh,” said Isabel coldly, turning her head, trying to avoid his attempt at an embrace. He merely tightened his hold, however, and leaned more heavily than ever. A rising tide of panic engulfed her. It was a very public place, the middle of a dance floor. Not the place to make a spectacle of oneself! Especially as they were surrounded by half the staff of the hospital. “I'm rather tired, Hugh,” she said firmly, “I think I'd rather sit this one out, if you don't mind.”

“But I
do
mind,” his voice wavered and rose indignantly, “I want to dance with you.”

“My turn I think, old chap,” a smooth, firm voice with a familiar ring came from behind. “This
is
an excuse me.” It was Mike's voice, on the surface friendly and casual, but with unmistakable overtones of authority which penetrated even Hugh's dazed state.

“Sure,” he muttered releasing Isabel. “I'll get another drink.” Then turning back he said, “She's tired anyway, wants to sit down!”

“I'd make that drink an orange juice, Hugh,” said Mike firmly in a dismissive tone. Hugh departed abruptly, looking bad tempered.

“Thanks for rescuing me,” said Isabel as they started dancing, “but you needn't have bothered. I was about to get him to sit down.”

“I don't think you would have had much success,” observed Mike shrewdly, “I know Hugh of old.”

“So do I, remember?” said Isabel pointedly. “So you see, I don't need your help,” she added ungratefully. The words were out before she could stop them. She immediately regretted them, but there was something about his superior attitude that annoyed her. He seemed to imply that she was incapable of dealing with Hugh.

“Ungrateful little wretch,” he commented, his mouth twisting with a wry grin. “Anyway, it wasn't completely altruistic on my part.”

Puzzled, Isabel looked up. “It wasn't?” she enquired.

He grinned suddenly, and folded his long arms tightly around her. “Of course not,” he replied lightly, looking down at her with an odd expression which Isabel found impossible to understand. “I wanted to dance with you. I am entitled to dance with the girl I work with, aren't I?”

“Well…of course, yes,” murmured Isabel, trying to keep her wayward thoughts in order. She tried to remind herself that he was still in love with Sarah, and that Sarah was living with him. It was foolish to allow herself to enjoy the magic of his arms, the tender feeling as if her bones were melting. But the longing engulfed her, to be held forever in his arms. After all, life was for living wasn't it? Why shouldn't she enjoy this snatched moment? Even if it
was
to be only a few fleeting seconds of her life. As she relaxed against him, she was sure that she felt his lips brush against her temple, in the faintest whisper of a kiss.

Then a laugh shattered the precious moment, “This
is
an excuse me, isn't it?” It was Cliff's voice.

Abruptly Mike dropped his arms to his side, releasing Isabel. “You seem to be in great demand,” he said, “I mustn't stand in the way of true love!”

Pain clouded Isabel's eyes. She wished she could tell him how mistaken he was. But how could she say,
you
are my true love! She could just imagine his horrified reaction! So, masking her chaotic thoughts, she smiled a cool composed smile, thanked him for the dance, and moved smoothly into Cliffs arms as they continued with the dance.

“What on earth did he mean? Standing in the way of true love?” asked Cliff as soon as Mike was out of earshot.

Isabel blushed, she had thought Cliff hadn't overheard. “He seems to have some mistaken notion where you and I are concerned,” she admitted, looking embarrassed.

Cliff laughed. “Don't look so worried. I know exactly where I stand in your affections.” He pulled a rueful face. “Just good friends, that's us, isn't it?”

“Oh Cliff, I don't deserve to have a friend like you,” said Isabel impulsively. Then she remembered Mike's insinuations about Cliff, “But I understand that your relationships aren't usually so platonic!”

It was Cliff's turn to look embarrassed. “Must be old age,” he said, “I'm losing my touch! Come on,” he led the way back to the table where Sally and Pete were already sitting, another round of drinks ready and waiting.

“Who's driving?” asked Isabel a little anxiously, as the drinks were handed round.

“Don't worry,” said Sally with a giggle, “we're leaving the car here, we've booked a taxi back.”

“But…” Isabel began.

“I'll pick up the car tomorrow,” said Pete. “Stop worrying.”

The words were hardly out of his mouth before Mike and Sarah came across. “May we join you?” asked Mike. He looked down at the table top, littered with glasses. To Isabel's annoyance she thought she saw a disapproving look flit momentarily across his face, and his mouth tighten. None of his damned business, she thought irritably. If we all get dead drunk and collapse in a heap, it's still none of his business!

“We're taking a taxi back,” she couldn't resist saying defiantly, indicating the glasses with a wave of her hand.

“I'm sure you have things perfectly under control,” he said silkily, pulling a chair out for Sarah, “you usually have!”

“Which is more than can be said for you, darling,” said Sarah.

Isabel looked at her out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to appear rude and stare. Sarah's voice had more than a hint of bitterness and despair in it. Sally had noticed too, but she wasn't as discreet as Isabel, and was staring curiously in an open fashion.

“Mike might be a good doctor,” Sarah continued, turning to Isabel, “but as far as sorting other things out, well…he's turning out to be hopeless!”

“Oh…” Isabel was at a loss for words, there was really no answer to a statement like that.

Mike said nothing, but his face was as black as thunder. An uneasy silence fell around the table. Even Sally was quiet for once. Isabel sipped her drink and covertly studied Mike. What was it between him and Sarah? For someone in love, someone who had come running back, Sarah seemed positively…What was the word, she puzzled. Angry and unhappy, yes, that was it. They've probably had a lover's tiff, she thought, suddenly feeling sorry for them both. It was a little like she and Hugh had been when they were engaged; somehow they had always seemed to row in very public places, so she knew the feeling well.