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He laughed, soft and mocking. Gillian looked at him with dislike. He put a hand on her arm to check her as a car's tyres scrunched on the gravel behind them, turning into the car park. She shook it off fiercely. He didn't seem to notice the rebuff.

Pausing at the sleek Mercedes, gleaming in the afternoon sun, Gillian glanced across at her own little Mini doubtfully. She loved it but it was beginning to look very battered after years of competing with the heavy London traffic and it did need a respray. She wished she could afford it.

'What about my car?' she asked.

He didn't even look at it. 'It'll be fine. Don't worry about it,' he said dismissively, producing his car keys. 'Anyone who went off with it would only be doing you a favour.'

'It suits me,' she said defensively. 'I shall miss it in the morning.'

He opened the passenger door, helped her into the seat with careless courtesy. 'No, you won't. I'll call for you. It's on my way.' He closed the door, walked round to the other side of the car and slid behind the wheel.

Gillian was puzzled. 'How can it be?' she demanded. 'Aren't you a resident? Like Steve?'

'Only occasionally.' He turned on the ignition and the car responded immediately. 'I was on call last night, for instance. That's how I was able to oblige Steve when he wanted a lift to your place and back. But I have a house of my own, you know, on the other side of town.'

She lapsed into silence. She would have liked to ask a thousand questions but he was not the kind of man to welcome them, she felt. She sat stiffly by his side while, he drove towards the town, her head carefully turned to watch the passing scenery, determined not to be impressed by the comfort, the elegance and the opulence of the Mercedes, such a contrast to her shabby and none too reliable Mini.

He didn't seem aware of her silence, her refusal to relax. He reached for a cassette and slotted it into the player, switched on. Music filled the car, sweet and low, the kind of music she particularly liked. She glanced at him. He kept his attention on the road, hands light but capable on the wheel as the car steadily consumed the miles.

With a little shock of guilt, Gillian saw the marks of her fingers on his lean, bronzed cheek. Faint but unmistakably the result of a slap. The weals had been flaming just after she had hit him, still very much in evidence when he went off to talk to Mary Kenny. She wondered if the woman had noticed, commented—and how he had explained them away!

Somehow, she didn't think that he was the kind of man to give explanations for anything to anyone. He probably didn't give much away at all, in fact. He seemed so cold, so reserved, so remote—and he was the most arrogant man she had ever known.

He ran a hand through his dark hair as they paused at traffic lights. Gillian noticed the tight black curls on the nape of his neck and suspected that they were brushed out of existence each morning only to leap back to life during the day. Unruly curls didn't go with the smooth, controlled good looks of a Mark Barlow, after all, she thought dryly. He
was
good-looking. Physically, he was a very attractive man. Tall, lean but muscular, there was an animal magnetism about him that was very
potent ...

He turned his head suddenly. Gillian realised that she was staring. She looked away, a hint of colour creeping into her small face. Her slender hands suddenly locked in her lap with the apprehensive conviction that he had known just what she was thinking and just where those thoughts were leading her.

The car moved forward smoothly. Within moments, it had turned into the narrow street and drawn up to the kerb outside the dilapidated Victorian villa that housed her flat.

Mark turned to Gillian.

'I won't come in ...'

'Don't bother to come in ...'

They spoke in unison, Gillian slightly flustered, Mark coolly casual. His mouth tightened at the obvious distrust of her manner. She smiled with quick and obligatory gratitude.

'I'll be fine now,' she said, although he didn't give the impression of caring one way or the other.

'Get some rest,' he advised indifferently.

'Yes ... yes, I will.' She reached for her bag.

'Sleeping properly?'

Gillian hesitated. 'Not too well.'

'Have you any tablets?'

'No—and I don't want them. There isn't anything wrong. It's just—oh, nervousness, I think.' She smiled ruefully. 'Being alone in the flat. I know it sounds silly but I'm not used to it. Since I left home, I've always shared with someone.'

He studied her thoughtfully, wondering if the 'someone' had been a man, wondering what brought a girl like this to a small country town, miles from all her friends and everything she knew. She had latched on to Steve so quickly that she might be looking for a replacement for a lost lover. She was a pretty girl and just the type to appeal to Steve. But she wouldn't find him any more reliable than the last one, he thought dryly.

'I expect you'll soon find someone to share with you again,' he said coolly. 'In the meantime, I don't think you need to be nervous. We're a very law-abiding lot in this part of the world.'

As the car drew away, Gillian looked after it, wondering why she had been prompted to confide in someone so obviously indifferent to her anxieties or problems. He was the most unfeeling man she had ever met!

The
telephone rang while Gillian was in the bath. She snatched a thick towel, wrapped it about her slender body and stepped out of the steaming, fragrant water, hurrying to answer the shrill summons before the caller rang off. She wondered if it might be Mark. He had driven away earlier without arranging a time to call for her the next morning.

It was Steve.

'Steve!' she said, pleased but surprised. 'I didn't think you knew the number.'

'Mary Kenny obliged. How are you? I gather that you collapsed in Mark's arms this afternoon?'

'Is that the story?' Her tone was dry. 'It wasn't quite like that.'

'Are you all right?'

'Yes, of course. It was just a faint. Nothing to worry about.'
Don't ask if I'm pregnant or even hint at it,
she pleaded silently, fervently.

He didn't. 'Is there anything I can do? Would you like me to come over? Officially, I'm on call but I can probably twist Jeff's arm. He owes me a favour.'

'I'm fine. Really.' Gillian was reassuring.

'I don't like to think of you on your own, love.'

She was touched by the warmth of his concern, by the hint of affection in the casual endearment. 'I'm going to climb into bed with a book. Don't worry,' she said firmly.

He gave a gusty sigh. 'What a terrible waste of your youth. You ought to be climbing into bed with a good-looking man—preferably me!'

Gillian chuckled. 'Mark Barlow brought me home. Did you know?' she said on a sudden impulse.

There was a moment's silence. Then he said carefully: 'Is there a connection?'

She was puzzled. Then, 'Oh, I see what you mean! No, of course not. I just thought I'd mention it.' She was glad that he couldn't see the heat in her face as she realised the implication of his words.

'It isn't news. Everyone knows. You seem to have made quite an impression on our Mark,' he said lightly.

Gillian knew she had been naive not to realise that Greenvale had a grapevine that was just as busy as the one that carried all the intimate details of everyone's affairs at Kit's. She wondered dryly what everyone was making of an affair that just didn't exist. But she had certainly given the gossips plenty to talk about by quarrelling openly with Mark Barlow and then driving off with him in his sleek Mercedes. Even
she
found it difficult to believe that she had never met the man until yesterday, she thought dryly.

'I think he meant to be kind,' she said, rather stiffly.

'And who could blame him? You're a lovely girl,' Steve told her warmly. 'But nurses aren't much in his line, as a rule. He's more of a high-flyer. His women usually have a touch of class.'

'And nurses haven't?' There was a sudden edge to her voice.

'Ouch!' he said ruefully.

She could almost see the grin that lit up his pleasant face and blue eyes. She liked him too much to take offence at a moment's thoughtlessness, she decided. She relaxed. 'It's all right. I know what you mean,' she said tolerantly.

She thought of Louise Penistone. A casual comment to Penny had elicited a description that matched the girl she had seen with Mark Barlow. A touch of class indeed, she thought now. Everything about the girl had shouted money—looks, clothes, manner. Gillian didn't doubt that she was just the kind of woman to attract an ambitious and successful surgeon who didn't bother with mere nurses ...

'Me ...
I
like
nurses,' Steve announced generously.

Gillian laughed. 'I'm glad to hear it.'

'I like you, Gillian.' It was low, tender.

She didn't know what to say. She didn't want him turning serious ... not yet, perhaps not at all.

'I was in the bath,' she said uncertainly.

'Then you're getting chilled! Sorry, love. I'll ring off.'

'I'm glad you phoned, Steve.'

She didn't go back to the bath although she had planned a long, lazy soak. She was warmed by Steve's call yet vaguely troubled by it. He seemed to be getting very involved, she thought unhappily. She liked him so much. She would hate having to hurt him.

It didn't occur to her that she might become equally involved given time, and that then there would be no question of hurting him, disappointing his obvious hopes. For some reason, she knew instinctively that Steve just wasn't her destiny ...

Mark didn't telephone.

She was ready and waiting when he called at the flat the next morning. She had been feeling anxious,
wondering if he had meant the careless words and how she would get to the clinic if he didn't turn up.

'You're here!' she exclaimed, a trifle foolishly, as she opened the door in answer to the ring at the bell.

He raised an eyebrow. 'In the flesh.'

'I mean ... I didn't know—I wasn't sure ...' She floundered.

'I said I'd call for you.'

'It was a bit vague.'

'It was quite definite, I thought.' His tone was uncompromising.

She realised that he was annoyed. She had implied that he was unreliable, perhaps. She hadn't meant it that way.

'Yes. But you didn't mention times ...' She tried to explain.

'You won't be late. It only takes fifteen minutes, allowing for traffic.' He looked her over. 'How are you?'

It sounded like an afterthought. But Gillian admitted fairly that he had no reason to care about her health. Considering that they weren't friends and never could be, it had been kind of him to bring her home and it was even kinder that he had kept his promise to call for her that morning.

'Fine... I'm fine,' she said stoutly.

Mark tilted her chin with strong fingers to examine the small, delicately pretty face. He saw that there was colour in the cheeks and less of a shadow beneath the eyes. He saw that she stiffened, too. He saw the dark blue eyes flash with sudden dislike at his touch. He frowned.

She moved away from him. 'I know you're a doctor. But you're not
my
doctor,' she said sharply. 'I'm perfectly well, I tell you.' She picked up bag and keys. 'And I'm ready. Shall we go?'

His touch had been impersonal. Like too many women, she had immediately assumed an interest that just didn't exist, he thought impatiently, following her to the car ...

Gillian knew that she had snapped unfairly. But she hadn't been prepared for that hand beneath her chin— or for what his touch did to her, she thought wryly. She marvelled that her body could react so swiftly to a man she hated, heart and soul. But the quivering little flame that had shot through her seemed to have no connection with liking or respect or friendship or anything but an out-and-out wanting that was entirely physical. She had known a fierce throb of excitement at the thought of his arms about her and his powerful body urgent against her own—and rejected it with all her might.

She sat as far from him in the car as she could, not risking even the casual brushing of his hand across her sleeve. She was so afraid that he might sense the sudden and alarming arousal which had shocked her virgin body into a new awareness of sexual attraction.

She took refuge in talking about the clinic, about Kit's. 'It's where you qualified, isn't it?' He nodded. 'When? I mean—I don't remember you at all.'

'I'm flattered that you should suppose I'd be particularly memorable,' he said dryly. 'Kit's turns out doctors by the score.'

Gillian flushed. He made it very difficult for her to warm to him, she thought resentfully. 'Am I prying? Sorry.' She was stiff.

'It's over five years since I last worked at Kit's. I was senior registrar on John Harcourt's team,' he said, referring to a well known gynaecological surgeon.

'I was a first-year five years ago. We just missed each other,' she said without regret.

'Just as well, don't you think? Kit's doesn't approve of junior nurses who assault surgeons.' He rubbed his cheek reminiscently as he spoke. .

'And I expect you were just as insufferable in those days,' she agreed sweetly, with spirit.

Mark glanced at her with a glimmer of laughter in his eyes. 'I daresay you'd have thought so. You make up your mind about people very quickly, don't you?'

Gillian missed the laughter, heard only the censure. 'And I'm never wrong!' she declared proudly, sure that he was referring to her instant friendship with Steve.

'Then you're fortunate. I find that I'm constantly having to adjust my thinking about people,' he drawled. 'In my experience, first impressions can be not only unreliable but dangerous.'

Gillian fancied that he was warning her again, about trusting Steve. She bridled. She liked Steve and she was sure that she could safely follow her instincts where he was concerned—and it was none of Mark Barlow's business if she was mistaken.