Doctor's Orders (15 page)

Isabel cautiously looked first at Mike, then at Sarah. It was strange, he seemed to be on edge again, but then, I suppose that's only natural, she told herself. After all, arranging a divorce can't be that pleasant, especially if it involves your own brother. Purposely she tried to keep the conversation light, told Sarah of her windsurfing escapades with Cliff and his friends. “Cliff wants to get a job that rotates to Australia for a year,” she said, “that way he can combine windsurfing with surgery.”

“I suppose you might be disappearing off to Australia as well,” said Mike, his eyes regarding her sombrely over the rim of his beer glass.

Isabel shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps, who knows,” she said. “I haven't thought that far ahead.”

Mike seemed about to say something more but then thought better of it, as he continued sipping the remains of his beer. Sarah glanced at her watch. “Early start tomorrow, darling,” she said, “we'd better be going.”

Mike tossed her the car keys. “Let yourself in,” he said. “I need to have a quick word with Isabel.”

“Work, work, work,” grumbled Sarah, “always work.” She caught the keys deftly. “Don't keep him talking too long,” she said to Isabel as she left.

How lovely she is, thought Isabel despondently, watching Sarah's tall blonde figure, with her gliding modelling walk. She even ducks elegantly, she noted, as Sarah swerved to avoid the overhanging branches of the trees that swept down to the river!

“I stayed to apologise,” Mike's voice interrupted her thoughts abruptly, “something I seem to need to do with monotonous regularity where you are concerned.” Surprised, Isabel turned to face him. “For what I said at the symposium dance,” he said, “I shouldn't have said it.”

“Forget it,” murmured Isabel, “it doesn't matter.”

“But it does,” he said forcefully, “I did you an injustice. I thought you were stringing Hugh along, being cruel, but before he flew back to Edinburgh he told me the true story. I'm sorry.”

Isabel laughed, her laughter tinged with bitterness. “So now you know, Dr Blakeney,” she shrugged her shoulders expressively, “I was ditched. I believe that is the correct expression.”

“Isabel, I…”

“I don't want to talk about it,” she interrupted rising from her seat with a feigned indifference. “But perhaps,” she added, “it might teach you not to jump to conclusions in the future.”

“I'm not the only one who jumps to conclusions, you…” his voice tailed away as Sarah came back, brushing aside the branches of the trees irritably.

“Mike, which key is it? I can't unlock the darned door,” Sarah dangled the keys from an outstretched hand. She gave them back to him. “Have you finished your chat?” she asked, looking from one to the other.

“Yes thanks,” said Isabel briskly, glad of the chance to finish to conversation, “don't let me keep you.” She fancied, that for a second, just a second, an exasperated look crossed Mike's face, but he said nothing. Merely nodded goodbye to Isabel and followed Sarah in the direction of the car park.

Left to herself, Isabel morosely threw the remainder of her sandwich in the river. She had wanted him to know the truth, so that he wouldn't think the worst of her, but now, contrarily, she found herself wishing that Hugh hadn't mentioned it at all. Somehow, she didn't want him to know that she had an Achilles heel, that she wasn't the carefree career girl she had always taken great pains to pretend to be. She had felt sorry for him earlier in the day because he looked so vulnerable, now she felt vulnerable herself. But why it should disturb her so much she wasn't really sure.

The mood persisted, preventing her from concentrating as she lay in bed later that night trying to read. Damn the man, she thought, not for the first time and, venting her restlessness, flung the book against the far wall. At the sound of the book crashing against the wall, the three dogs, the Royal Family, as Isabel had nicknamed them, set up a concerted barking. Grimacing, Isabel slid down in the bed and pulled the covers over her ears, hoping the other occupants of the house wouldn't realise it had been she who had started them off!

On Tuesdays of course, Mike was never there, and the day proceeded as usual. The tragedy of the day before was not forgotten, but put away with other painful memories. The warm, friendly atmosphere of the theatre was once more restored. A new day, a new set of problems to be tackled and overcome.

Isabel worked hard as usual, and the day sped past. Once or twice she caught herself thinking of Mike and Sarah, wondering whether Sarah was on the plane for New York City, wondering what the plans were that she had spoken about. But for the most part she was happy in her work, and managed to push such thoughts, when they came, to the back of her mind.

That evening she had planned to play tennis with Sally, but the spell of fine weather broke, and it teemed with rain. “Do you mind if I see Pete instead?” asked Sally, “or would you rather we went out for a drink?”

It was nice of Sally to think of her, but Isabel declined. “I've plenty of things to catch up on,” she told her. So they parted at the end of the corridor, Sally going towards the mess to meet Pete, and Isabel making her way to the cycle shed.

The ride back to the flat was much worse than she had expected, the torrential rain soaking her to the skin. Charles, Andrew and Edward greeted her with their usual enthusiasm, but even they seemed put off by her wetness, and soon snuffled their way back to their own kitchen as she went upstairs. Once in her flat, she flung off her wet clothes, and climbed into a hot bath. She felt chilled and strangely depressed. It must be the black weather, she thought ruefully, it's put me in a black mood to match. However, a warm scented bath did a great deal to restore her equilibrium and good humour, and wrapping a thin pink cotton housegown round herself, she settled down cosily with some cheese and biscuits and a glass of wine. She had just become immersed in the book she had so bad temperedly thrown at the wall the night before, when the downstairs door bell rang. Isabel ignored it, she wasn't expecting anyone, and anyway, she knew Miss Elder would answer it.

She heard the dogs barking frantically in chorus, and Miss Elder's voice. Then footsteps mounting the stairs towards her flat, and a knock on the door. Hastily Isabel pulled the thin robe tightly around her, wondering who on earth it could be as she went to answer the door. Opening it curiously, she found Mike Blakeney standing outside surrounded by the dogs, pressing in very closely around him, their faces raised expectantly to Isabel.

The surprise at seeing him rendered her speechless for a moment then she faltered, “What a picture you make, man and his best friends!” A nervous giggle escaped, and she wished she could have thought of something more intelligent to say.

“They're friendly, I grant you,” said Mike, neatly sidestepping the trio into the room, and shutting the door quickly behind him, “but personally I found their welcome a little…” he grinned, “over-enthusiastic!”

Isabel found herself grinning back impulsively, until she became aware that his gaze was lingering appreciatively on the gentle curve of her body, clearly outlined against the thin cotton of her robe. “Oh…er, I,” she gasped, suddenly self conscious, “I wasn't expecting visitors.”

“I should hope not,” he replied, a mocking note creeping into his voice.

“If…er, if you wait a moment I'll change,” without waiting for a reply Isabel dashed into the bedroom and hurriedly scrambled into a pair of cords and a loose cotton top. Taking a deep breath, she walked as casually as possible back into the lounge, and said coolly, “now, Dr Blakeney, what can I do for you?”

“Do you really want to know?” He rose from the settee where he had seated himself in her absence. Towering above her, it suddenly seemed that the room was inadequate for both of them. His presence seemed to fill every inch, every nook and cranny of the room, dominating and intimidating the very air she breathed.

Isabel turned away, her limbs feeling stiff, as she desperately tried to keep a clear head, something she found very difficult when he was so close. What on earth had he come for? Or perhaps more to the point at that moment, what on earth could she say to break the brittle silence. “Perhaps you'd like a drink, I suppose you've had a tiring day!” Fool! She chastised herself crossly, now you've invited him to stay!

“I'll make do with a drink for now,” he sounded amused.

Pouring wine, trying not to let her hand shake, Isabel reflected that he always managed to unnerve her, by the mere inflection in his voice.

“Aren't you wondering why I've turned up like a lost dog on your doorstep?”

Isabel passed him the wine, trying to suppress the prickles of fire running the entire length of her spine, and hoping she didn't look as agitated as she felt. “I was wondering,” she returned, marvelling at the smooth composure of her voice.

“I couldn't wait to see you again, you drive me mad with desire,” said Mike slowly, regarding her steadily over the top of his wine glass, his gaze as enigmatic as ever.

Isabel flushed uneasily. He was joking of course, but it disquieted her. With anyone else, someone like Cliff, she'd have parried with a witty reply, but witty replies seemed to be strangled at birth when Mike Blakeney was around! Anyway, the remark seemed out of character for him, although…she remembered the time he had asked her to go to bed. She felt her anger rise, surely he wasn't making a pass at her? “You certainly don't waste time,” she retorted sharply, setting her wine glass down with an annoyed bang. “Having just shuttled Sarah off to America, you now turn to look for other amusement, is that it?”

Mike laughed. “You bite
every
time,” he said grinning. “I like it, my spirited Scots lass!”

Isabel glowered angrily at him, he was right of course. Whenever he chose he could get her to rise to the bait! “Well?” she demanded crossly, “why have you come?”

“Aren't you just a little bit disappointed that I'm
not
driven mad with desire?” he teased.

“No I'm
not.
I'm tired, and I don't feel like playing silly games.” Isabel snapped the words out, staccato, like bullets out of a machine gun.

He heaved an exaggerated sigh. “You're a hard woman to please, Isabel McKenna,” he said, “but I'll get to the point.” He then proceeded to explain that Mr Goldsmith wanted to do a pancreatectomy on a very sick young man at seven-thirty the next morning. As the theatre lists were full for the day, it was the only time it could be fitted in. “I'm not happy to have the emergency team assisting me,” said Mike, “for one thing, they will be tired after the night's operating, and the other thing is that you know me very well. You always seem to be able to anticipate what I want, and in this case that will be invaluable.”

“Of course, I'll do it,” said Isabel, rising from her chair. She walked across to the door and opened it, “I'll be in the anaesthetic room at seven o'clock, see you then.” She gestured with her hand, an overt indication for him to leave which, contrarily, she wished he hadn't taken so quickly.

As it was, he got up immediately, and crossed the room to the door, walking with his long, loping stride. Once through the door, he paused and turned back to her. “You may anticipate my needs in theatre, but at other times…” his words were drowned as the royal doggy trio came charging up the stairs, each vying with the other as they leaped frantically, trying to lick his face. “Can't you control these wretched dogs,” he growled.

Isabel laughed, “Funny you should say that, Cliff said exactly the same thing when he came.”

At the mention of Cliff's name, a black cloud seemed almost visibly to settle over Mike's face. “If you start having Cliff as a regular visitor people will talk,” he said pointedly, trying to fend off the dogs.

“People will talk,”
echoed Isabel indignantly, and more than a little angrily. “Just because
you
have a nasty mind, doesn't mean to say that everyone else has!”

“Now I come to think of it, it was obviously Cliff you were expecting when I called,” Mike's voice had a distinctly unpleasant ring to it, which as far as Isabel was concerned was tantamount to lighting the blue touch paper!

“Get out,” she spat angrily, “before I…I…”

“Push me downstairs?” enquired Mike sarcastically. “Don't worry, I'm going, you can change back into your provocative nightwear and wait for Cliff Peterson!”

Clenching her fists in suppressed rage, Isabel took a step towards him, wanting to slap his sarcastically smiling face, but that satisfaction was denied her as he started down the stairs. What happened next she was never quite sure. Afterwards, she thought it had probably been Edward, he
did
have an uncanny knack for always being where he shouldn't have been. The upshot of it was, that Mike tripped and fell. The stairs weren't too steep, but to Isabel, standing at the top watching, it seemed like a precipice, as everything happened in slow motion. A mass of bodies, Mike falling, tangled up with the three dogs, furry legs everywhere and Mike's voice cursing loudly! Then silence, as the four of them lay winded, in an untidy heap at the bottom of the stairs.

“Mike, Mike,” screamed Isabel, nearly falling down the stairs herself, in her haste to get there. “Are you all right?” There was no answer from his still figure. The dogs appeared to be none the worse for the tumble, as they picked themselves up and slunk guiltily away in the direction of their own kitchen. Gently Isabel cradled his head in her hands. “Mike,” she half whispered, half sobbed, “speak to me, please tell me you're all right.” Tenderly she stroked his head, taking the weight in her hand, as she reached to feel for his pulse, an automatic reaction for a nurse. Suddenly a strong pair of arms clasped her, and Mike drew her face down to his in one swift movement. Startled, there was no escaping as his mouth unerringly sought out hers, claiming her lips with a slow, sure deliberation. There was almost, or so it seemed to Isabel in her confusion, an air of triumph about his kiss. For a moment she almost succumbed to the temptation of his lips, then furiously she tore herself free, “You're
not
hurt!” she said accusingly.