Doctor's Orders (17 page)

“Oh,” said Susie, quite unabashed. “Sorry I asked!”

Sally Mannering had said nothing, but later as they walked back to theatre together for the afternoon session, she said casually, “I wonder if Mike Blakeney will get back in time for the party next week, Mr Goldsmith is sure to have asked him.”

“I wonder,” said Isabel flatly, her tone of voice not inviting further comment, and Sally didn't pursue the point. Isabel would have died rather than admitting it, but she was wondering exactly the same thing. Would he be going, and would he be taking Sarah with him?

The rest of the week went by, and there was still no sign of Mike Blakeney returning from the States. A senior registrar was deputising for him, and Steve Holden, the SHO, was always complaining that he wasn't getting enough teaching.

“This fellow spends too much time outside on the corridor phone,” he grumbled, “I shall be glad when Dr Blakeney gets back.”

“Yes,” said Isabel, not knowing whether she would be glad or not.

The swing doors from theatre were pushed open by Mr Goldsmith's rubber boot. “Are you ready with that patient yet?” he demanded glaring at them both, “you've been damnably slow.”

“Sorry sir,” muttered Steve anxiously monitoring the unconscious patient, “she's nearly settled. I'm not as fast as Dr Blakeney, I know.”

“I don't expect you to be,” said Mr Goldsmith, his voice softening for a moment, then he added irritably, “where's the senior registrar?”

“On the phone sir,” said Isabel, “shall I…”

“Don't bother,” he sighed, “I shall just be glad when Mike Blakeney gets back.”

“When is that, sir?” asked Steve.

“Oh, I don't know,” grumbled Mr Goldsmith, walking back into theatre. “Telephoned me last night, something about family problems…” his voice faded and was cut off as the swing doors closed behind him.

I'm glad it's not all plain sailing, thought Isabel, icy fingers of jealousy clawing at her heart. Sarah had had the chance of being married to Mike once, why should it be so easy to unscramble one marriage just to embark upon another one?

Another whole week passed, with still no sign of Mike Blakeney. Susie had been on the verge of hysteria all week, even sneaking out in her battered old car to do a “recce” of Mr Goldsmith's palatial estate, as she put it. “It's a fantastic place,” she told them, “huge house, swimming pool, tennis courts, volley ball court, all surrounded by beautiful gardens that slope down to the river.”

Saturday morning, the day of the party, dawned bright and beautiful, a clear blue sky, the promise of a fine warm day. At eleven o'clock Cliff arrived at Isabel's flat to pick her up. She knew he had arrived long before he actually rang the doorbell, because the dogs started barking excitedly. They liked Cliff and showed it enthusiastically. He, on the other hand, did not entirely reciprocate their affection, so Isabel was ready for him at the front door in order to spare him their doggy greetings.

“Thanks,” he said, as she slammed the front door shut, much to the disappointment of the dogs, “I could do without being slobbered on today.” He was looking very natty in white tennis clothes. “Suit for this evening in the car,” he said by way of explanation. “Have you got everything?”

Isabel waved her small holdall at him, “I've brought a swim suit and one of those crushable dresses for this evening.”

“I'll be interested to see which you wear!” he grinned.

“The dress, you idiot,” Isabel swung the bag at him but missed, “the swim suit is for this afternoon.”

Cliff's cheerful banter kept her amused as they drove along, the warm wind blowing her loose dark hair out in a stream behind her. Soon they had arrived, crunching their way down the long gravel drive to the huge parking area. Isabel tried not to stare at the yellow Rolls Royce parked in the huge garage, a Bentley and Daimler standing on either side like guardians.

Cliff
did
stare, with undisguised envy. “He certainly can't make all his money from surgery,” he observed wryly. “I have heard tell that he plays the stock market pretty shrewdly, as does Mike Blakeney.”

“Mike?” Isabel turned her head sharply, “I didn't think he had a lot of money!”

“Heaps,” said Cliff cheerfully and without malice, “I suppose he doesn't splash it around because he hasn't got a family to spend it on.”

“Yes,” muttered Isabel under her breath, as she struggled to extricate herself from Cliff's car, the bucket seat proving as difficult as ever. That would explain why he thought nothing of jetting off to America, and also the immaculate house and garden he possessed. All waiting to be claimed by Sarah when they returned. The thought cast a cloud over her previously sunny mood, a cloud she resolutely tried to shake off. You forgot Hugh Sinclair, she told herself fiercely, so you can certainly forget Mike Blakeney. After all, he only kissed you
three
times! So what exactly have you got to remember!

She followed Cliff down through the terraced gardens to the swimming pool, where there was a pool-side bar and the barbeque. The charcoal on the barbeque was already alight and glowing, rows of chickens sizzling on spits slowly rotating. Bill Goldsmith was there with his wife, a large, plump, homely looking woman, who was obviously enjoying herself. He was dressed in rather long shorts and a violently coloured pink shirt, with huge palm trees printed all over it.

“Bit of an improvement on theatre greens, eh?” he said to Isabel, who was privately thinking that the pink clashed dreadfully with his red hair. Then he pointed to some cabins screened by a flowering hedge. “Changing rooms for the pool over there,” he boomed, “have a dip before the barbeque.”

Isabel made her way to the cabins, to find Sue and Sally already there. “There's an awful lot of posh people here,” said Susie in an awed tone of voice.

“They may be posh, as you say, but we're as good as they are. There's only one difference,” replied Isabel firmly. She had also noticed the preponderance of well heeled beautiful people, and was busy trying not to be overawed herself.

“What's that?” asked Susie.

Isabel laughed, “They're rich, we're poor! Come on.” Changing into her tiny bikini, she led the way to the pool and dived in, Susie and Sally following closely behind her.

As she slowly surfaced through the clear blue water she saw Mike. He was standing by the side of the pool clad in a pair of brief black trunks. At the sight of him, Isabel's heart did a triple somersault. She had thought him attractive before, but now, the sight of his glistening bronzed skin, the muscles rippling fluidly as he moved, made her catch her breath in her throat. Gazing at him through water-spangled lashes, she allowed herself the luxury of imagining herself being held in those strong arms, of his bronzed head bending to meet her lips…

“One, two, three,” Cliff put his hands on the top of her head and playfully pushed her under the water.

Totally unprepared, Isabel had her mouth open, and consequently managed to swallow a large amount of water as she went down. She bobbed back to the surface, coughing and spluttering, trying desperately to catch her breath. For a few seconds she was really frightened, panic engulfed her as she gasped, trying to gulp air into her lungs.

“Crikey, sorry,” said Cliff, suddenly realising what he'd done. Solicitously he helped Isabel to the side of the pool, and held her up, while she feebly grasped the rail, choking and wheezing.

A pair of strong arms reached down and hauled her up out of the water. “I think, perhaps, you are safer on dry land.” It was Mike.

Isabel was incapable of reply, managing only to gasp and vainly hold her chest while she tried to control her breathing. She had wanted to be held in his arms, but not like this! Puce in the face from choking, and incapable of uttering a word.

“Take your time,” said Mike firmly, holding on to her arm, “try not to breathe so quickly.” Cliff had jumped out of the pool by this time, and joined them looking very contrite. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but an icy glance from Mike quelled him into silence.

At last she was able to breathe more easily, although she felt exhausted. “Thanks,” she said to Mike, then she turned to Cliff, “as for you…you…”

“Idiot?” said Cliff meekly, a question mark in his voice.

“Idiot,” said Mike firmly. “Now I'm going to take Isabel off somewhere to sit peacefully in the sun and recover.”

As he spoke, Isabel suddenly saw Sarah moving across the lawn towards a group of people. She was dressed in a stunning one-piece costume, slit sexily up the sides. The icy fingers of frustrated jealousy clawed at her heart again. “Thank you, that's a kind thought,” she said stiffly, “but it won't be necessary.”

“It may not be necessary, but we're going to,” he replied.

“I'm sure Sarah would prefer you to do something else,” said Isabel, attempting a light laugh which misfired.

It emerged from her throat sounding more like a gurgle than a laugh!

Mike frowned. “Sarah?” he said.

“Yes, Sarah,” answered Isabel in an exasperated voice. “The girl you flew off to America to be with. Are you two married yet?”

Swiftly, Mike turned his head, looking at Isabel with a mixture of amazement, mingled with irritation in his eyes. “What did you say?” he demanded, his voice hard edged.

“Are you married yet?” repeated Isabel, “although why I should ask I don't know, because it isn't any business of mine.”

“And you're not interested anyway,” he interrupted, curling his lips in amusement, “go on, tell me that.”

“That's true,” retorted Isabel defensively, “why should I be interested?”

“Because you find me irresistible,” said Mike smoothly, taking her arm firmly.

Angrily, Isabel snatched her arm out of his grasp.
He
might be joking, but
she
couldn't take a joke like that. He had struck a chord that really hurt, even though he was unaware of it. “I'm going back in for a swim,” she muttered defiantly.

“Oh, no you're not, young lady, you're coming with me.”

“I see,” said Isabel sarcastically. “Doctor's orders!”

“Just what the doctor ordered,” he replied, a grim line of determination settling on his mouth. Isabel had seen that expression before, it meant that he had made up his mind and no one, or nothing on earth would make him change it. Short of having a physical fight with him, in front of the assembled guests, there was little she could do but walk away with him as he had ordered.

Taking her hand very firmly in his, Mike led the way to a sheltered garden hammock, set a little way back from the pool, screened by giant rhododendron bushes. Unceremoniously he plonked her down on to the hammock. “Now,” he said.

Uneasily Isabel shifted along the edge of the seat of the hammock, his presence intimidating her. A warm breeze drifted up from the river, gently stirring the thick leaves of the bushes. Suddenly she became aware that they were far more isolated from the rest of the guests than she had at first realised. “Now what?” she faltered.

“Now
this,”
he said firmly, taking her into his arms and kissing her. For a second or so Isabel pushed against him, but then she gave herself up to the sheer bliss of the magic of his kiss. Even the thought of Sarah couldn't spoil the way she felt when Mike's arms were around her, when his mouth was on hers.

But as soon as he stopped, drawing back to look at her lazily, through half closed eyes that glinted with undisguised passion, the memory of Sarah came back. In Isabel's imagination it seemed that she was there, a solid form between them. “You shouldn't kiss me,” she whispered, her voice breaking with the emotion she was so desperately trying to hide. “You should think of Sarah.”

“Ah yes,
Sarah,”
said Mike smiling.

“How can you smile,” burst out Isabel, “when you…”

“The first time I met you, I considered you to be a woman of intelligence,” said Mike seriously. “It's a pity you've turned out to be such an idiot. Never mind, I love you just the same!”

“I…you, what?” Isabel couldn't believe her ears. What on earth was he talking about? “You
did
go to America to help Sarah with her divorce,” she said. It was painful to have to say it, but she knew she just had to hear the words from his very own lips. “You
are
going to marry Sarah when she's free, in fact I'm surprised that you're not married already. Don't think you can fool me!”

Mike threw back his bronzed head, the normally stern lines of his face breaking as he roared with laughter, a laughter that flooded his face, his eyes, his mouth. “Now I
know
you are an idiot,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “Whatever made you think such a ridiculous thing?”

“Everybody said that Sarah was living with you, and that she had left her husband,” began Isabel, “and now she is here with you.”

“Separated from her husband, true, living with me
not
true. Staying with me as a sister-in-law and nearly driving me mad into the bargain!”

“But why did you go to America?”

He sighed. “I went to bully my brother to meet Sarah, so that I could bang their silly, proud, spoilt heads together. They were both too stubborn to admit that they were wrong. My brother works in the States for a computer company, he couldn't come here, so it was a case of—if the mountain won't come to Mohammed, then Mohammed must go to the mountain!”

“Yes, but…” Isabel was still not entirely convinced.

“Sarah is here with her husband, my brother. Thanks to my efforts they are reconciled.” He looked at her slowly. “Whatever happened between Sarah and I was finished a long time ago. It took the arrival of another girl in my life to help me realise that. Now I can concentrate on getting the girl I want, and have wanted for a long time.
You.”