Doctor's Orders (9 page)

“That's a strange thing to say,” said Cliff pouncing on her words. “You won't
have
to move on. Anyone who is as good as you are in the anaesthetic room, will always be welcome to stay.”

Isabel laughed lightly. “I should have used the word ‘want' not ‘have,'” she said. But she knew when she had said the words that it could easily turn out to be the truth. She was finding Mike Blakeney's presence disturbing, even at a distance. Already she was beginning to wish heartily that she had never met him. Or, at the very least, that she had never gone back to his house for dinner the night before. Then he would never have kissed her. She sighed, yes, that was the crux of the matter, how she wished he had never kissed her. Talk about stirring up a hornets' nest, she thought ruefully!

Cliff didn't try to persuade her to change her mind about that evening, and for that Isabel was glad. All she wanted at that moment was to get through what she was sure was going to be a difficult afternoon, and have the evening to herself. Apart from anything else, she had a lot of letter writing to do. All her friends in Edinburgh would be wanting to know what life in the balmy south of England was like.

The afternoon passed uneventfully, much to Isabel's relief. It was another general surgical list, but with another surgeon, one who Isabel hadn't seen before. Susie Wee told her that he only did two lists a week at the County General, preferring to spend the rest of his time in a small, but busy, district general hospital in a nearby market town. He was a jolly Welshman, very, very talkative! It was with surprise that Isabel observed that he even got Mike Blakeney talking about rugby. For the first time that day he looked alive, as he sparred with the surgeon on the merits of various rugby teams. He
is
human after all, she thought grimly, not joining in the conversation, but just watching and listening. She had begun to think that he could switch off his feelings and emotions when he liked, as if he'd been programmed! But the jolly little Welsh surgeon got him to respond in no uncertain manner, rugby obviously being a subject dear to the hearts of both of them. At least I wasn't wrong in my very first impression, mused Isabel, but unfortunately she had to admit she was probably right in all the other conclusions she had drawn. An attractive man, out to use any woman who happened to suit his whim! Yes, that sums it up, she thought, passing him a syringe almost fiercely.

In fact, she shoved it into his hand with such force, that he turned and looked at her with surprise. “Thank you,” he said, sounding faintly startled.

Isabel opened her mouth, she was very tempted to remark on the unexpected thank you, but thought better of it. No point in inviting a snapped rebuff, she thought, as she rewarded him with a watery smile before turning away to pick up another drug ampoule.

Now and then, when their eyes met briefly over unconscious patients, his expression was always as cool and inscrutable as ever, and Isabel found it as infuriating as ever! What was going on in that handsome head, she wondered. His bronzed hair was covered by the unflattering theatre cap, but one or two stray curling strands had escaped at the nape of his neck, adding to the feeling of physical power that emanated from his muscular form. Isabel looked at them, mesmerised by those curls, then guiltily she tore her straying thoughts away from Mike Blakeney, and concentrated on the activity in the operating theatre. Don't waste your time, she told herself crossly, you can bet your bottom dollar
he
hasn't given
you
a
second glance! At long last the afternoon was over, the surgeon finishing on time, a feat for which everyone was grateful. That night Isabel found she was changing with the rest of the girls. “Are you later, or am I earlier?” she asked. “Usually you've all disappeared by the time I get here.”

“You're earlier,” said Susie, “are you sure you haven't forgotten something vital in the anaesthetic room? We don't want you incurring the eminent Dr Blakeney's wrath in the morning!”

Isabel pulled a rude face. “Don't worry, I've done everything,” she assured Susie, “I don't want to incur his wrath any more than anyone else!” She laughed bitterly, “Although it seems pretty easy to annoy him, and he doesn't forget it.” Of course, the other girls didn't know, but Isabel wasn't thinking about theatre at all, she was thinking back to the moment she had refused his advances in the kitchen. He hadn't forgiven her for that, she was certain.

Sally Mannering chipped in, putting her hand on Isabel's shoulder. “Don't worry about him, and don't let him get you down. Didn't we all tell you he was a cold fish? Although after what Pete has told me I'm not surprised.”

“What?” Susie turned swiftly, always eager for a titbit of gossip, her black eyes open wide in anticipation.

Sally hesitated, “Well,” she said, “I don't suppose it matters if I tell you.”

“Go on, tell us, we won't say anything,” said Susie quickly.

“Apparently,” said Sally, lowering her voice confidentially, “Pete thinks that the reason Mike is so moody is that he was jilted literally at the altar. Well,” she paused, looking round at her attentive audience dramatically, “not quite at the altar actually, half an hour before!”

Isabel pricked up her ears but said nothing as she continued to change. She knew what it was like to be jilted, but at least Hugh hadn't waited until the actual day of the wedding, she did have that to be thankful for.

“She was the daughter of a consultant surgeon in London, a photographic model I believe,” continued Sally, “and Mike Blakeney's brother was best man.”

“Go on,” said Susie interrupting impatiently, “we don't want the family history, give us the facts.”

“That
is the whole point,” said Sally, “she ran off with Mike Blakeney's brother only half an hour before they were due to go to the church. Can you imagine it? Everyone there, a posh London wedding, top hats and tails, a huge reception planned at Claridges, and then a bombshell like that!”

“I wonder what they did with all the presents?” said Susie practically. Then she sighed dramatically, “Poor, poor Dr Blakeney. I forgive him everything!” She turned to Isabel. “You'll have to be nice to him, Isabel,” she said, “cheer him up.”

“I'll be nice to him, if he is nice to me,” said Isabel firmly. “I'm sorry for him, of course, but it does happen to other people too, you know. You can't go around carrying your sorrows on your back in a big sack, sideswiping everyone with them every now and then, just because you feel like it!”

She saw Susie and Sally staring at her, obviously surprised at her hard-hearted attitude. “Haven't you got
any
sympathy for him?” demanded Susie.

“I've just said I have,” snapped Isabel feeling irritable. All this concern over Mike Blakeney, they didn't know what he was like on the loose! She pulled up the zipper on her jeans viciously and firmly buttoned the top button. “If he was a little more pleasant, he might find himself another girlfriend, then life would be more fun for him,
and
for everyone else!” she said firmly.

“Perhaps he has a broken heart,” suggested Susie.

“Rubbish, there is no such thing as a broken heart,” said Isabel matter-of-factly as she walked out of the door. Pausing in the doorway, she looked back. Sally and Susie were standing staring at her, open mouthed. “
Women
sometimes
do
break their hearts as you say, Susie, but men!” she shrugged expressively, “all
they
want to do is to get you into bed as quickly as possible. Their hearts never break! And as for Dr Blakeney, I sincerely doubt if he has a heart anyway!”

Flinging the last remark over her shoulder she started to march off purposefully down the corridor, only to become uncomfortably aware that the man in question had emerged from the changing room opposite. To her annoyance she felt herself colouring guiltily. I hope he didn't overhear that last remark, she found herself thinking, her conscience pricking, but then in the next moment thinking, well, what does it matter if he did! Flashing him what she hoped was a nonchalant, but withering glance she stalked on her way. That'll give him something to think about she told herself defiantly!

Later that evening she sat down to write her letter, the one she had been promising herself to write ever since she had arrived from Edinburgh. But time and time again her thoughts strayed back to Mike Blakeney. In spite of her remarks to the other girls, she did feel sorry for him. “But not sorry enough to go to bed with you, Dr Blakeney,” she half murmured out loud. “I'm not going to become available just to take your mind off the girl you lost!”

Her letter didn't get written, and she realised irritably she had wasted most of the evening on fruitless dreaming. Now it was time to go to bed, to be ready for another early start next morning. Sighing, she packed her writing materials together and shoved them in a drawer. Then suddenly the telephone rang. It was an outside call, she knew that because of the single ring, but couldn't think who would be calling her at that time of night. It was with shaky surprise she heard Mike Blakeney's voice on the other end of the line.

“I rang to apologise,” he said coming straight to the point in a disconcerting manner.

“Apologise!” echoed Isabel warily, hardly able to believe her ears.

“Yes, about last night,” he said. “It was presumptuous of me, and I'm sorry!”

“Oh…” stammered Isabel, completely stunned by this new, penitent sounding Mike Blakeney at the other end of the line.

There was a pause. I wonder if this would be termed a “pregnant pause” Isabel found herself thinking irrationally. “Perhaps we could get to know each other better,” he said, interrupting her irreverent thoughts.

“Perhaps,” answered Isabel non-committally, not certain whether or not it was a very good idea.

“I promise to behave myself,” he said quickly, adding with a laugh, “although you might be safer if you wore glasses.”

“What?” Isabel answered slowly, her brain seemed to have gone quite numb, she couldn't think of anything intelligent to say, and what was he talking about anyway?

He laughed again before he answered her bemused “what.” “Because they tell me, men never make passes at girls who wear glasses! Now, will you accept my apology?” he asked suddenly serious.

Isabel found her tongue, “Yes, of course, but I'm not certain whether it's a good idea to…”

“See me?” he finished for her with a questioning note in his voice.

“Well, actually yes,” Isabel admitted.

“Oh come on,” his voice was softly persuasive, “we've got to work together. We might as well call a truce. Let's have a drink tomorrow night, I'm not on call.”

“Thank you, but no,” replied Isabel hastily. Feverishly searching in her mind for a plausible excuse. “I've already arranged to go out.” It wasn't true, it was the only thing she could invent on the spur of the moment. A sixth sense was urging her to stay well clear of another potentially dangerous anaesthetist! Although she knew “potentially” was hardly the right word, when it came to thinking of Mike Blakeney, “definitely” was more like it! “I accept your offer of a truce though.”

“Ah, good,” he said slowly, then he added, “some other time then?”

“Definitely,” replied Isabel with more conviction than she felt. “Good night, Dr Blakeney.”

“Mike,” he corrected.

“Mike,” she repeated after him obediently, replacing the receiver in its cradle.

Chapter Five

Long after she had replaced the receiver Isabel sat staring into space. Had she done the right thing? The answer was, she didn't know. Half of her wanted to accept his invitation, but the other half, the sensible half, urged her to be careful! “Once bitten twice shy”—the old saying kept drumming through her head. Common sense was telling her that he probably wanted a female to fill a gap in his life. A temporary gap surely! Someone like Dr Mike Blakeney wouldn't be wanting for female company for long and when he did have permanent company it was likely to be another society girl, not a ordinary little Scottish nurse!

Trying to relax, she treated herself to a luxurious bubble bath before eventually retiring to bed. She wished that she could sweep away the intrusive thoughts of Mike Blakeney as easily as she could swish the bubbles down the plug hole!

Next day was a busy paediatric list, and at first everything went smoothly. The surgeon was Sally Mannering's boyfriend, Pete Rosen, an extremely quick and proficient surgeon.

Mike Blakeney was coolly friendly, and made no mention of the previous evening's phone call. Glancing at him quickly as they worked alongside each other, Isabel was struck by the unreality of the situation. Last night on the phone seemed light years away, everything in theatre superseded life outside. We've all got split personalities she conceded. She enjoyed herself, though, with the children, as usual. Especially with the small babies. Even the unfathomable Dr Blakeney seemed to unbend and relax noticeably when he was with the children. He had no difficulty at all in coaxing and cajoling the little ones into doing what he wanted before he put them off to sleep. Suddenly, however, the quietly ordered routine of the morning was broken by the message that a very sick, two-day-old baby was being rushed by ambulance from a small country hospital nearby.

“An oesophageal fistula coming in,” said Pete Rosen, speaking to Mike quietly. “Should have been transferred here as soon as it was born, why the hell they left it two days I don't know!”

“Let's hope we can retrieve the situation,” replied Mike grimly, “when is the baby due to arrive?”

‘In about half an hour,” replied the surgeon looking at his watch. “I'll do the next circumcision, that won't take long, then we'll wait for the arrival of the baby. OK with you?”

Mike nodded. “OK by me,” he affirmed as Isabel went over and altered the theatre list hanging on the wall, so that the porters would know not to bring the next patient from the ward.

In fact, as it worked out, they achieved perfect timing. The small boy having the circumcision had been comfortably settled in recovery, giving Isabel time to quickly prepare everything in the anaesthetic room, when the baby arrived. Mike had asked her for some extra drugs as it would be a complicated case. Isabel suppressed the feelings of apprehension rumbling like butterflies round the pit of her stomach. Now was not the time to get nervous, but she had never seen an oesophageal fistula before, and prayed that everything would be all right.

As soon as the pitiful scrap of humanity was wheeled into the anaesthetic room, however, she knew that everything was going to be far from all right. The baby was almost dead, and only the quick skillful hands of Mike Blakeney managed to prepare the tiny girl and resuscitate her long enough for surgery.

Once in theatre everyone worked with a grim, silent dedication, the silence broken only by the snapped commands of the surgeon, and the quiet voice of Mike Blakeney as he asked for another ampoule to be drawn up. Isabel paused for a split second between her tasks, looking at the operating team perspiring under the intense theatre lights, everyone concentrating on the desperately ill baby, perilously clinging on to life as it lay on the operating table. But it was no use. The monitors suddenly showed that the small, fragile heart had stopped. The resuscitation procedure swung smoothly into action, but there was nothing they could do.

“We've lost her,” Mike said briefly, his voice heavy and deflated.

Isabel looked away. She always hated it when the comforting blip of the heartbeat on the monitor changed to a continuous whistle, as the thin green line stretched ominously across the oscilloscope. Hot tears pricked behind her eyelids, despair and defeat filled the operating room, each member of the team felling the loss in their own special way. It was a sad, helpless moment.

Pete Rosen, the surgeon, broke the silence, peeling off his rubber gloves and throwing them disconsolately on the floor. “I suppose I'd better go and tell the parents,” he said grimly, “I understand they came in the ambulance with their baby.”

Isabel watched his retreating back as he pushed through the swing doors of theatre into the corridor outside. “Thank goodness I haven't got to do that,” muttered Mike, pushing aside the anaesthetic machine.

“Yes it must be hard,” agreed Isabel, “but I suppose you get used to it.”

“You
never
get used to it,” he replied grimly, “it's one of those things that never gets any easier.”

Isabel looked at him. He had pulled down his face mask and had started on the task of writing the history on the anaesthetic sheet. The rugged lines of his lean face looked drawn and haggard, sorrow showed in the taut lines of his firm mouth. We've all been wrong about you, thought Isabel suddenly. Whatever else you may be, you are certainly not a cold fish. In that moment, she saw, what she already knew in her heart, that in spite of the hard front he showed to other people, he really did care. Sorrow touched his heart just as deeply as everyone else.

Isabel felt herself warming towards him. If he could care so much for a tiny baby, he must be capable of caring for a woman too. Perhaps being stood up on his wedding day had wounded him more deeply than she had given him credit for. Perhaps that was why he seemed to have such a bad opinion of women; he probably doesn't trust them, she thought with a sudden flash of insight.

The gloom caused by the death of the baby permeated through the theatre team for the rest of the day. Even at lunch time the usually lively crowd was strangely subdued. Isabel was glad when the last case was being wheeled back to recovery safely. At least it was Friday; she was not on duty and the whole weekend stretched ahead of her. However, it stretched ahead emptily; she had nothing special to do. Suddenly she found herself wishing she had accepted the invitation Mike Blakeney had extended. Too late to change your mind now my girl, she told herself, think positive, do some letter writing! Somehow the positive thinking didn't do much good, and the idea of letter writing didn't exactly fill her with enthusiasm.

Clearing up the anaesthetic room slowly, with no need to lay anything out as the theatre was scheduled for cleaning over the weekend, Isabel felt depressed. As she carefully packed everything away ready for the team of cleaners to come in, she wished her friends from Edinburgh were nearer. At least there she was never lonely, there had always been a girlfriend to out with, but here! She sighed, perhaps she had been too rash, but it was too late now, she had burnt her boats behind her, and anyway pride forbade her to go rushing back.

There was no sign of anyone when at last she had finished and made her way along to the changing room. As usual she was the last to reach there, everyone else had obviously finished and gone. But that day she was glad to be able to shower and change in peace, without Susie and Sally's chatter. Still feeling depressed over the death of the baby, she didn't feel in the least like frivolous chatter.

Making her way from the changing room along the shiny, polished corridor Isabel had to pass the theatre phone, clipped neatly to the wall, a notice board beside it for writing urgent messages. To her surprise it rang just as she was passing. She glanced at her watch. Strange, she thought, switchboard should know this theatre isn't on emergency take, apart from me there's no one here! Nevertheless she picked up the phone and said “theatres” in her crisp clear Scottish voice.

“I want to speak to Dr Blakeney.” It was a girl's voice on the other end of the line, and she sounded a little petulant. “I've been waiting for simply ages,” she added.

“I'm sorry, Dr Blakeney isn't here,” said Isabel smoothly, “operating has finished and everyone has gone.”

“He
is
there,” said the girl imperiously, “please go and get him.”

Isabel narrowed her lips in annoyance, the girl was really very rude. However, she answered pleasantly, keeping her rebellious thoughts to herself, “I'll go and check, but I think Dr Blakeney has gone.”

“I can assure you he hasn't,” snapped the girl, “please be quick about it.”

Putting the phone down and restraining the impulse to snap back, Isabel made her way to the surgeons' room. She had said she would check, and she would, but she was quite certain Mike Blakeney had gone. The door to the room was closed, and so certain was she that no one was there that Isabel only briefly knocked before she opened it. Mike Blakeney was sitting there, his head immersed in a medical text book. He looked up quickly, a smile of pleasure crossing his face at the sight of Isabel.

The warmth of his smile made her falter for a second, can he really be so pleased to see me? The thought raced through her mind, then she remembered what she had come for. “There's a phone call for you,” she told him, “I told the young lady I would see if you were still here.”

Giving her another big grin he leapt to his feet. “Good, I've been waiting for that call,” he said, courteously holding the door open for Isabel.

As she walked past him Isabel felt her heart slump back down. It had been foolish of her to suppose that smile had been meant for her. He had obviously been pleased to know that the call he had been waiting for, from the unknown girl, had arrived. So much for your overactive imagination she told herself severely. “Good night Dr…Mike,” she corrected herself, walking down the corridor swiftly. She tried to walk quickly, not wanting to overhear his conversation, but it was impossible not to.

“Hello, darling,” she heard him greet the girl, “of course I'm not angry. You know I'll always do whatever I can to help you, now…”

Isabel turned the corner and pushed her way through the swing doors leading into the adjacent corridor, glad to get out of earshot. Her instinctive feeling that he wouldn't be without female company for long, had obviously proved to be right!

Once back in her flat she paced its confines like a restless tiger, feeling depressed and unsettled. The drama of the morning flashed before her mind's eye, adding to the feeling of depression. So when there was a knock on her door, she went eagerly to open it. Any visitor would be welcome.

Cliff Peterson stood outside, his cheerful face wreathed in a great big smile. “Surprised to see me?” he asked.

“Surprised, but glad,” said Isabel truthfully. The mere sight of his sparkling, infectious grin gladdened her heart.

“There's a mess party tonight,” said Cliff, coming straight to the point in his usual forthright fashion. “A drug company is sponsoring it, so there'll be lashings of food and booze and I thought you might like to come.” He paused, looking at her questioningly with raised eyebrows, “that is, unless you have something enormously exciting to do with someone else!”

Isabel laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “Idiot,” she said affectionately, “as if I should be so lucky!”

“Come on then,” was his reply as he looked at his watch, “we're late already, if we're not careful the rest of that greedy lot will have eaten all the nosh.” Isabel followed him, glad to get away from her poky room. A mess party was just the antidote she needed after a harrowing day.

Cliff linked his arm through hers as they strode up the slight incline towards the hospital. “Everyone except Bill Goldsmith will be there,” he said, “all the operating team.”

“Not Mike Blakeney surely?” Isabel couldn't resist asking, knowing what the answer would be. Drug company parties would hardly be his scene, and anyway he had asked her out for a quiet drink. Which you stupidly refused, piped up the annoying little voice at the back of her mind. Just as well, she reminded herself, thinking about the imperious girl on the phone who he'd been so pleased to speak to, and who he had called “darling.” The mere thought of his voice saying the word “darling,” stabbed painfully at her heart, but she tried to put the thoughts from her mind and concentrate on Cliff's inconsequential chatter.

The mess party turned out to be fun. After watching the obligatory film shown by the sponsoring drug company, everybody soon got down to the serious business of the evening, namely eating and drinking. The disco, organised by one of the orthopaedic surgical registrars, blared the music out at the decibel pitch of Concorde taking off, the rhythmic beat making the walls of the mess shake. Isabel forgot about Mike Blakeney as she began to enjoy herself.

As an attractive new nurse and with so many new people to meet, she was never short of partners. In fact Cliff complained. “I brought you,” he grumbled good naturedly, “it's about time you danced with me.”

“Excuse me,” with a smile, Isabel politely disengaged herself from the senior registrar in geriatrics who had proved to be an almighty bore. Being a kind hearted girl, she hadn't wanted to hurt his feelings, even though she found his topic of conversation, the current treatment of psychogeriatrics, anything but a party topic! Cliff, turning up, had presented her with the opportunity she had been looking for, and she was heartily thankful.

“How ever did you manage to get involved with him?” asked Cliff curiously, as they started dancing together. “He's renowned for being the hospital bore, with a capital B.”

“I know that now,” said Isabel pulling a face, “the problem was, nobody warned me. I got hooked before I knew it, and then I couldn't get away from him.” She smiled at Cliff, “Somebody ought to tell the poor fellow, he'll never get a girlfriend if he doesn't leave his work behind him.”