Doctor's Orders (4 page)

“There is one thing about you,” he said at last. “You are a very honest girl, now I know why you've won the heart of Bill Goldsmith.”

“Won the heart of Mr Goldsmith?” queried Isabel, looking puzzled.

“Yes,” smiled Mike Blakeney, the laughter still sparkling in his grey eyes, “apparently you answered him back this morning, and he loved it. A Scottish lass with a bit of spirit, he told me!”

Isabel smiled at the memory. “To tell you the truth,” she confessed, “I was waiting for him to explode after I had blurted the words out!” She turned back to the ducks and waved the empty crisp bag at them. “Sorry,” she told them, “you'll have to go and find someone else to beg from.”

After a few moments, the mother duck led her brood off down the river, towards another group of people, hoping to beg some more titbits.

“How did you get here?” asked Mike Blakeney suddenly. “Do you have a car?”

“I walked,” said Isabel, “it was such a lovely sunny evening.”

“It isn't now,” he pointed out, “it's practically dark. I'll give you a lift back to the hospital.”

Isabel protested, but he would have none of it, and soon she was seated beside him in his glossy dark green Alfa Romeo. Glancing at him as he steered the large car out of the pub car-park, she had to concede that he was handsome, and remembered Sally's remark about never having been able to “suss him out'. Isabel grinned wryly to herself in the semi-darkness of the car. Perhaps it was just as well, she reflected, that he maintained a cold aloof manner with all the females, otherwise they'd be falling headlong over him if he gave them any encouragement.

“Do you like your room at the hospital?” he asked, his voice breaking in on her thoughts.

“It's not bad,” replied Isabel truthfully, “but I shall be looking for somewhere to rent outside the hospital, a flat of my own. I'd like to be able to leave the hospital behind when I get off duty, and my room…well,” she sighed expressively. “It's so small, you couldn't swing the proverbial cat in it.”

She could see him grinning in the half light. “I know what hospital accommodation can be like,” he sympathised. “I've suffered it myself, during my junior doctor days.”

“Where do you live now?” asked Isabel, more out of politeness than a burning desire actually to know.

“Here,” he replied briefly, swinging the car through an open five-bar gate, and into the courtyard of a large Georgian style house. “I thought perhaps you might like a coffee before I dropped you back at the hospital.”

“Well…er, thank you very much,” stammered Isabel, completely taken by surprise. Everyone had told her that Mike Blakeney was unfriendly, especially to females, and that had certainly been the opinion she had formed herself during the day. Now here he was, inviting her in for coffee!

He must have noticed her expression and mistaken it for hesitation, because he said with a slight laugh, “I don't bite, you know!” He went round to Isabel's side of the car, and courteously opened the door for her.

“I didn't think for one moment that you would,” said Isabel lightly. But for some reason she couldn't explain, she avoided his eyes. There was something in those dark grey eyes, an expression she couldn't fathom, all she knew was that it made her feel faintly uncomfortable.

“Come in,” was all he said to her as he led the way towards the white-painted front door.

Unlocking the door he ushered her in. Isabel just had time to notice that the garden looked immaculate, even though it was nearly dark. Little box hedges, neatly clipped, around tidy flower beds, and a huge lawn which curved round to the back of the house. Inside, everything was immaculate also, furnished with exquisite taste, in a Regency style, which matched the shape and architectural style of the rooms. Isabel looked around her with appreciation. It was a lovely house, everything seemed just right. It would have been very easy to have gone overboard and to have made it ostentatiously vulgar, but that mistake had been avoided.

“Did you choose all this?” asked Isabel, indicating the furniture and decorations with a wave of her hand.

“Yes,” he replied briefly, “come into the kitchen while I make some coffee.”

“It's very lovely,” she said as she followed him along a wide passage way, “I admire your taste. If I had a house, I'd like it to be just like this.”

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows in an amused fashion, “
just
like this?”

Isabel felt herself flushing again. It was that damned expression of his, his mocking gaze seemed to pierce right through her. She felt almost as if he could see things she wasn't even aware of herself, it was quite ridiculous.

“Well, perhaps slightly smaller,” she heard herself saying defensively. “This would be a little on the large side for one person.”

As soon as she had said it she realised that she had said something wrong. She had inferred, by her remark, that it was too large for one person, which of course it was, but she could see he didn't like it. A muscle in his jawline tautened and then twitched, just for a second, but Isabel noticed it with dismay.

After a moment he said with a kind of bitter finality in his voice, “I never intended to live in it alone, but…

“Things didn't work out,” Isabel finished for him.

“Yes,” he said with a lopsided grin, “things didn't work out. You were right about my unhappy ghosts. Is it because of your canny Scots' perception?”

Isabel smiled at him, her blue eyes, fringed by enormously long lashes, had a gentle expression. “I wish I could say that I
did
possess canny Scots perception,” she said, “but I'm afraid you will have to attribute it to the hospital grapevine after all—and you know what
that
is like!”

Mike Blakeney laughed, but his laughter seemed to have a harsh ring to it. “True,” he said, “how long will it be before they are gossiping about you I wonder?” His gaze searched Isabel's face quizzically.

“There is nothing for them to gossip about,” replied Isabel quickly, hoping she hadn't betrayed herself by an over-quick response. As coolly and calmly as she could, she forced herself to meet the challenge of his disturbing grey eyes. “I'm afraid my life has been much too mundane to make it worth gossiping about,” she said lightly.

“What about your love life?” he asked casually, as he plugged in the coffee machine.

Isabel drew in her breath sharply. The cheek of the man! She hadn't asked him any questions, he had volunteered the information. “There isn't one,” she retorted sharply, “and even if there was, I don't think it's anything to do with you.”

“My, my,” he remarked, quite unabashed, “you do lash out when you're roused! Quite a fiery little creature!”

“I'm
not
a fiery little
creature,”
exploded Isabel, “you make it sound as if I'm a…a”

“A wild cat?” he suggested drolly.

“No, a…oh, never mind!” continued Isabel crossly, resenting his amused tone. “I'm a woman, and I…”

“I
had
noticed you were a woman,” he cut in drily, his gaze lingering for a split second on the gentle swell of her breasts beneath her teeshirt. The look, albeit it brief, made Isabel suddenly feel intensely vulnerable, and involuntarily she untied her cardigan, which was still round her waist, and shrugged her arms into it, pulling it tightly round herself. It was a reflex action, to shield her from his probing, disturbing look.

Noticing her protective move, his mouth twisted in a wry grin, “Although if I remember rightly, you
did
have your doubts about my masculinity!” He laughed. “What was it you said? Something about me being a robot?”

“I was only joking,” muttered Isabel uncomfortably.

“You don't want me to prove it, then?” Now he
was
laughing at her discomfiture, his eyes dancing with a wicked amusement.

“I don't think that will be necessary,” answered Isabel loftily, hoping the tremor in her voice wasn't noticeable. “I'll take your word for it.” She forced a light laugh, and turned away to look out of the kitchen window. The way he was studying her was making her feel positively transparent!

“That reminds me, I'd better draw the curtains,” he remarked, and, coming across to the window, reached out for the curtains. Isabel attempted to move away, but was blocked by the large fridge which protruded from the wall. Without walking completely round the table, which would look rather silly, there was nothing she could do but stay where she was.

As he reached forward to pull the curtains together, his arm brushed against her. The physical contact of his arm touching her sent a strange tingling sensation through her and Isabel flinched away at the unexpected response. He carried on pulling the curtains, totally unconcerned, but Isabel was left feeling bewildered. How was it that this man, a man she had only met that very morning, could send strange shivers quivering through her being? It was as if there was some weird chemistry between them, and she wondered if he could sense it too.

Apparently not though, because he turned back to the coffee machine without a word, and proceeded to pour out two cups of coffee and open a packet of biscuits.

“Come and get it,” he said, without turning back to her.

Hesitantly Isabel made her way round the kitchen table, towards Mike Blakeney and the coffee. She felt peculiar, she had almost expected there to be a flash and crackle of blue flame as she approached him, so intense was the magnetism she was suddenly feeling. But as he turned towards her and handed her the coffee, the moment passed, and Isabel dismissed her fanciful notions scornfully, as nonsense.

“Let's take our coffee through to the lounge,” he said matter-of-factly, “it's much more comfortable. Then you can tell me something about yourself.”

“There's nothing to tell,” protested Isabel as she followed him. “I told you before, my life has been very mundane.”

“There must be
something
to tell,” he said when they were both seated in comfortable armchairs. “You didn't just appear on this earth as a fully qualified nurse!”

Isabel laughed, the ice was broken, and before she knew where she was, she found herself telling him about her mother and father and grandmother. Of the little village she had been brought up in, and how, now that her grandmother was dead, she felt that all her ties with the place had been broken.

“Was that why you came down to the south?” he asked.

“Partly,” answered Isabel carefully, she had no intention of telling him of her broken engagement. “I wanted a change, and I had never worked in the south of England. Everyone told me about your wonderful weather.” She laughed, “if today is anything to go by I think I made the right decision.”

“It is milder than Edinburgh,” conceded Mike, “but of course we do have our fair share of rain too.” He looked at her curiously. “Did you always intend to be a theatre nurse?”

“No,” answered Isabel honestly, “I would much prefer to be working in paediatrics, and am also trained as a paediatric nurse.” She sighed. “However, openings for paediatric nurses are few and far between, so I took the theatre job.”

“Does that mean you will desert us in theatre, the moment a paediatric post comes along?” he asked almost curtly.

“If the right job comes along,” answered Isabel coolly, looking him levelly in the eye. “Surely you wouldn't blame me?”

He didn't answer for a moment, just looked down and stirred his coffee. “Do you like children?” he asked slowly.

“Oh, yes I do,” answered Isabel quickly. It was true, she did like children, she always had. “Perhaps I shouldn't have taken the job in theatre at all,” she spoke her thoughts out loud, “perhaps I should have waited until a paediatric post came along.”

Quirking his eyebrows ironically, he laughed. “Do you mean that after one day with a crotchety old surgeon, and a robotic anaesthetist, you are already thinking of giving up?”

“I didn't say that,” retorted Isabel sharply, “it's just that you seemed to infer that I would be letting everyone down if I left the theatre team.”

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding in the slightest bit penitent. “I didn't mean it to sound like that. Of course when the right paediatric job comes along you must take it. I always believe one should take every opportunity that comes along in life. Don't you?”

“Er…yes, exactly,” replied Isabel, trying to sound convincing. She did agree of course, but she had an odd feeling that he wasn't just referring to work in particular.

“Good, I'm glad we agree,” he said smoothly. “I'm sure we shall get along famously, once we get to know each other.”

Isabel didn't reply, being unable to think of anything particularly appropriate. She just watched silently as he stretched his long, muscular frame and then got up.

“I'll take you back,” he announced. “I have an early start tomorrow. I'm off to London to a Faculty meeting.”

The drive back to the hospital only took a few minutes, and soon the car pulled up smoothly outside the residence block. “Thank you for the lift, and for the coffee,” said Isabel feeling suddenly shy as she vainly wrestled with the door handle.

“Here, let me,” he said, and leaning across flicked it open. His face was very close to hers, too close for comfort, and for a moment he surveyed her in the dim light of the car. “I'm not cold blooded,” he said in an undertone.

“No, no, I'm sure you're not,” replied Isabel hurriedly, scrambling out of the car and trying to ignore the jellylike feeling in her legs. She attempted a light laugh, which somehow didn't quite make it, sounding more like a hiccup than a laugh. “I told you before, it was only a joke.”