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When they broke apart, there were moments of silence while they strove for composure. 'You no doubt want to get home,' he said at last.

'How can you be here with me like this,' Sophie said, 'when you have Dr Claibourne's secretary? I understand that she's your lover.'

Clay turned to her sharply. 'How do you know that?'

'It's common knowledge,' she said.

He digested that. 'Oh, is it?' he said.

'Mmm.'

'I don't claim to be monogamous,' he said. 'Dawn knows that...we have an understanding. That's what she wants.' There was a tenseness between them now, the burden of much left unsaid.

'And you expect me to sleep with you?' she said.

'I would like to—but I don't expect you to,' he said truthfully. 'You must have...reservations...because of the past. I mean your husband...'

There was a silence that became fraught with the added tension of acute sexual attraction. 'We'd better go,' she said.

'I'm sorry I mentioned it. It wasn't fair,' he said.

'It's all right...really,' she said.

'As I remember saying to you once before, can we at least be friends?' he said.

'We're colleagues,' she said. 'Let's leave it at that. I enjoyed working with you today.'

When he stopped in front of her home, Sophie leaned over quickly and kissed him on the cheek, much as he'd done to her the last time. 'Thank you very much for the ride, Dr Sotheby,' she said, her hand on the doorhandle. 'You're a very attractive man and, yes, I would like to make love to you...but I'm not going to because I think you would take me entirely for granted, and that would probably upset me. I suspect that getting women has been too easy for you. Also, I don't like to be with a man when he already has someone else.'

'Why can't I have the same effect on you as Rick does?' he asked, both gratified and chagrined at the same time. 'That easy chat that you have with him.'

She considered. 'It's because the stakes would be higher with you,' she said. 'Rick is sweet and jokey, as well as upfront. I know where I am with him.'

'I thought I was pretty upfront, Sophie,' he said.

'You are with your own needs, Dr Sotheby,' she said, opening the door. 'It's not the same thing. Goodnight.'

This time she didn't wait on the doorstep. In a moment she was lost to his view. Clay sat in the car and pounded his fist on the steering-wheel. 'Damn, damn, damn!' he said.

There
was a lot of pressure these days on surgeons from the administration to discharge patients early from hospital to save money, to get as rapid a turnover as possible. These were the thoughts that occupied Clay as he arrived, early as usual, at the hospital.

He parked his car in the multi-storey parking lot opposite the hospital and took an elevator to street level, his mind occupied with the day ahead. In what had remained of the night, he'd slept rather restlessly. Over the years he'd trained himself to sleep whenever he had the chance, but this time he'd woken periodically with images of Sophie in his mind.

Having been awake at the usual time that his alarm went off, he'd decided to get up anyway and go in to the surgical rounds, in spite of being more than ordinarily tired.

There would be coffee at the rounds, which would wake him up. Then he would go to see Mike Dolby and his other patients. There was no way, in spite of rabid cost-cutting, that he was going to discharge him from hospital until he could be sure that there was no residual or recurring inflammation of the bowel, or any infection starting up. He also wanted to make sure that his patient could cope with his ileostomy at home, even though a community-based nurse would be going in to see him at
home.

On the topic of Sophie, in the cold light of early morning he could see that he had, indeed, been some what premature with her, and he wondered what the hell had got into him. He excused himself by dwelling on the fact that they'd known each other, and had worked together, for well over a year.

Yet she was quite right that they hardly knew each other from a purely personal point of view. All that time he'd certainly been aware of her, he mused. He'd certainly noticed her when she'd first arrived in the surgical service to work. It was only since the dance that he'd become more acutely aware of her, so that it had begun to intrude on his thoughts. Somehow in the past she'd always seemed to slide away from him whenever he'd tried to step outside their professional relationship in his conversations with her.

There were other people already gathered in the lecture theatre when he got there. As he headed for the coffee-urn, he was suddenly very glad that he'd come. Since he wasn't presenting any cases himself, it would be a social occasion of sorts for him.

'Hi, Clay!' Several people greeted him.

As they were about to start, Jason Ritt came in, looking pale and tired.

'Hey, Jason,' Clay greeted him, and motioned him over to the chair next to his. 'How's the aneurysm guy?'

Jason slid into the seat beside him. 'He survived the night, and he seems to be doing OK,' he said. 'I want to keep him in the intensive care unit as long as possible. They kept him in the recovery room overnight, which I was glad about.'

'Did you get any sleep? It doesn't look like it.' Clay chuckled, eyeing his colleague who had obviously shaved rather hastily.

'Oh, I got a bit of shut-eye in one of the on-call rooms.'

As the rounds got under way, Clay found his mind wandering, as were his eyes. He was looking over the small crowd to see any likely candidates who could perhaps take his place on this blind date thing that was coming up. Really, he should have told the woman from the fund-raising office there was no way he could possibly do it, but somehow he'd let that opportunity slip by. Now his only hope of getting out of it was to find someone to take his place, otherwise a hapless female could be sitting alone in a restaurant.

Looking around him at his medical colleagues and the few nurses in the room, he could see that most of the men were either married or living with a woman, as far as he knew. The ones who weren't connected in that way were either what he would call of the neuter gender, or too old, or were those he wouldn't wish on any woman under any circumstances—guys who had been divorced more than once, or those the luscious Suzie would call slimeballs, or worse.

Clay rubbed his chin and sighed, his glance coming back to Jason at his side. No, Jason was very married, although right now Clay couldn't understand what his wife saw in him, apart from the fact that he was sort of a normal guy and a very good surgeon.

It was in his office in the Medical Arts Building that afternoon that he got another call from the woman.

'Ah, Dr Sotheby,' she enthused, 'it's all set up, your blind date. Isn't it exciting? So it's Friday of next week, seven-thirty, at Guido's. Don't be late, please, because you know how embarrassing it is for a woman to be waiting for a man who's late showing up.'

He decided to take the bull by the horns. 'Look,' he said, 'I really would rather not do this. Is there some way—?'

'No,' the faceless woman said firmly, a shocked note in her voice. 'You can't possibly back off now—it's all arranged. It's understandable that you'll be nervous. It's quite normal, you know. Just don't worry about it. Go out and enjoy yourself.'

'Is that an order?' he said tartly.

She gave a trilling laugh. 'You could take it that way,' she said, 'although I don't suppose the hospital would terminate your employment if you disobeyed.' She laughed. It was obvious that she didn't take his objection seriously.

'Well, goodbye,' he said, and hung up.

The following week went by in a blur of hectic activity, with both routine work as usual and emergencies for which he was called in twice over the weekend. Dawn called several times on the weekend, and he found himself reluctant to see her, not wanting to examine the reason too closely. Pleading work was always an acceptable reason, as well as an excuse, for a doctor. After all, who could quibble about someone who was going out to save lives?

Nonetheless, he felt guilty as he got into an elevator on the Thursday afternoon to go to his office, having had a quick lunch with Dawn in the cafeteria. Since the beginning of their relationship, which he supposed could be called an affair, even though it was on and off, she had been very accommodating with him. Apart from her obvious delight in their romantic and physical encounters, he couldn't honestly see what she got out of the relationship.

'Hello, Clay! How are you?' The only other occupant of the elevator, a woman, addressed him as he was preoccupied with his thoughts.

Looking at her closely, he saw that it was Laura Claibourne, Jerry's wife. They had met a few times at cocktail parties at the Claibournes' house and at formal staff dinners. Laura was a beautiful, mature woman who devoted herself to their four children, making no apologies for wanting to do that, and couldn't have coped with Jerry, a large family and a career of her own, although she was also an MD.

'Laura!' Clay said with delight. 'It's so good to see you. I didn't recognize you.'

'I've dyed my hair,' -she said, laughing. 'I hear from Jerry that you're going to apply for his position.'

'I'm thinking of it,' he said.

'Rather you than Jerry,' she said. 'I can't wait for him to give it up so that we can have some semblance of a normal life again. It's really more suited to an unmarried man like you. Maybe I shouldn't be saying that to you, Clay, but I'm sure you know what you'll be getting into.'

'I have a pretty good idea,' he admitted.

'Well, I wish you luck, Clay,' Laura said. 'This is where I get out—I'm just visiting a friend. No doubt we'll see each other at Jerry's farewell party, if not sooner.'

Her departure left Clay in a very thoughtful mood, the heartfelt expression 'rather you than Jerry' echoing in his ears. There was no doubt that the job would leave little free time.

In his office he got another call from the woman in the fund-raising office to remind him of his date the following evening.

'You make me feel as though I'm being reminded of a dental appointment,' he said ruefully. 'You're about as persistent as my dentist's receptionist.'

'Oh, Dr Sotheby,' he was admonished, 'how could you possibly put this in the same category as a dental appointment? This is going to b
e fun!
Now, don't you go trying to find a substitute for yourself because a substitute will not have been vetted by us and that's against the rules. It might not be safe for the woman involved.'

'OK,' he said, 'you've got me trapped. I'm prepared to have fun.'

Friday dawned blustery and wet, not typical for June. When Clay left the hospital in the late afternoon, the weather had got worse, if anything, matching his sombre mood. During the day's operating list, two of his patients had had their diagnoses of cancer confirmed, serious cases. He hadn't told them in the immediate post-op period what their diagnoses were—he preferred to go to the hospital on the Saturday, when they'd had a chance to recover from the major operations he'd performed and could actually take in what he had to say, and when a family member could also be present. He wasn't looking forward to it.

Maybe what he needed right now, after all, he told himself ruefully, was a blind date, something else to think about. Funnily enough, he might actually enjoy it.

He was a few minutes late when he managed to find a convenient parking spot, in the pouring rain, just after seven-thirty outside Guido's bistro. Inside, the ambience of the place hit him with a pleasant jolt. It had an intimate, cosy atmosphere, alive with conversation, redolent with odours of good food well cooked, an understated sort of place. Soft music added to the pleasing background noise.

'Ah, you must be Dr Sotheby!' Instantly he was greeted by a man in an immaculate white chef's apron over formal clothes, handsome in a way that only an Italian man could be. Guido himself?

'Yes,' he said, feeling something of the oddity of his position.

'Let me take your umbrella, sir.'

Clay caught sight of himself in a full-length smoky mirror attached to the wall, looking much more nonchalant than he felt, his formal grey pants tempered somewhat by his striped shirt, the loose tie, and the jacket he'd slung casually over one shoulder. His hair could use a trim. It was curling a bit below his ears in an unintentionally rakish way.

'Well, Doctor, we guarantee that you'll enjoy your evening,' Guido said, flashing very white teeth. 'Your young lady is here. We have arranged this before with the hospital several times. It has always worked out well.'

Clay forbore to ask Guido what he'd meant exactly by that last statement as he followed the proprietor towards the back of the restaurant to a cosy, private area that overlooked a small patio at the back of the property. Through a window Clay could see that the patio was now lashed by rain.

'Here we are, sir,' Guido said. 'Table ten.'

Clay felt his jaw dropping, and felt as though his feet were rooted to the spot beside the table, as Guido stepped aside to reveal the woman seated there, menu in hand.

'My God!' she said. 'You!'

Guido pulled out a chair for Clay. 'A typical response, sir,' he said, smiling. 'Enjoy your meal.'

Like an automaton, Clay sank down into the chair, having some difficulty in getting his long legs under the small table. Sitting opposite him, with what he could only describe as an expression of muted horror on her face, was Sophie Dunhill.

In stunned surprise, he managed to register in those first few seconds that she looked exceptionally beautiful, with her hair loose, fluffed becomingly around her delicately made-up face. Her eyes looked large and mysterious, the lashes thick and long, while her lips were moist and enticingly red. She wore a dress in a sophisticated bluey-purple colour with long sleeves, accentuating the richness of her glowing hair.

'Dunhill,' Clay said, forgetting the niceties demanded by the situation, 'what the hell are you doing here?'