by Ann Jennings
I’ve taken enough rebuffs for one day, thought Isabel, and made her way cautiously down on the right-hand side of the garden so that he shouldn’t see her. Although she doubted that he would have noticed her, even if she had walked right underneath his very nose!
Isabel settled herself comfortably on a rustic wooden bench, right by the edge of the water, and in no time at all she was joined by a mother duck with her brood of six fluffy ducklings all anxious to help her eat her potato crisps. Isabel crumbled up the crisps for the little ducklings, who soon lost their timidness and scrambled up from the river, slipping in their haste on the muddy bank, so that they could scurry round her feet, pecking at every little crumb they could find.
“You look as if you’ve made some friends,” a deep voice said beside her.
Even as she looked up, Isabel knew it was Mike Blakeney, although the tone of his voice was quite different from the one he used in theatre.
“May I?” he indicated the space on the seat beside her.
“Er…yes, please do,” faltered Isabel at a loss for words, and more than a little surprised that he had chosen to come over.
“I saw you sitting alone, and thought you might like some company,” he said by way of explanation.
“Thank you, but I don’t mind being alone,” said Isabel politely, “I’m quite used to it.” That wasn’t strictly true of course, not long ago she had been wishing she had been with her friends in Edinburgh. But the very last thing she wanted, was for Dr Mike Blakeney to come and sit with her out of pity!
“Oh!” He sounded faintly put out, although the expression in his dark grey eyes gave nothing away. “If you would prefer me to leave, then of course I will.”
“No, I didn’t mean…oh dear, I’m afraid I sounded rather rude,” said Isabel hastily. “What I meant was, if you’d prefer to be alone, please don’t feel you have to sit with me, don’t feel sorry for me just because I’m alone.”
“I didn’t feel sorry for you,” came the enigmatic reply, “how could I? You are surrounded by a horde of admiring ducks!”
Isabel laughed, and looked down at the ducklings scrabbling about at her feet. “Yes,” she agreed, “but I’m afraid they will turn out to be fickle admirers. As soon as the crisps are finished they will swim away to somebody else who has something to give them.”
“Yes,” he said quietly, “a bit like women.”
Isabel turned to him with a frown, “it isn’t only women who are fickle,” she snapped.
He looked at her curiously, raising his eyebrows, “The voice of experience?” he quizzed. Isabel ignored him as he continued, “No, you’re right, it was an unjust remark.”
Abruptly Isabel turned her head away, away from his inquisitive gaze, afraid that her remark might betray the true reason she had come to the south of England to work. Self-consciously she concentrated on feeding the baby ducklings, gently remonstrating with the mother duck, who seemed to have no maternal instinct whatsoever when it came to food, greedily snatching the crumbs away from her own babies.
Mike Blakeney reached into the pocket of his jacket. “Here,” he said, “take these. I bought them when I first came in and had forgotten all about them. You can keep your admirers for a little longer.” He held out a packet of crisps.
Isabel took them from him, looking at him guardedly from beneath her long dark lashes. He, in turn, scrutinised her coolly, and to her dismay she felt herself colouring inexplicably beneath his searching gaze. Quickly she turned away again, and went back to feeding the ducks.
“Do you come here often?” she asked casually. It was the only thing she could think of to say, but even as she uttered the words she felt ridiculous.
To her annoyance he laughed, “In films, it’s the man who usually says that! You know, in the boy meets girl situation!”
“We’re not in a film, this is real life,” retorted Isabel, slightly frostily. She was going to point out that it was hardly a “boy meets girl situation” either, but he interrupted her before she could continue.
“Yes,” he said slowly, almost as if he was speaking his thoughts out loud. “This is real life, and in real life you never know how things are going to turn out.”
“Life would be a terrible bore if it was always predictable,” said Isabel, her Scottish practicality coming to the fore. “That’s what makes life exciting, you never know what is going to happen.”
“That’s a very philosophical outlook to have,” he said quietly.
Isabel laughed, “Yes, isn’t it,” she agreed. “But I have to confess that I’ve only just thought of it!” She laughed infectiously, thinking how stupidly downhearted she had been herself earlier in the evening. By nature she was an impulsive, happy girl, it was just that her unhappy love affair with Hugh Sinclair had temporarily knocked the stuffing out of her. Already, sitting there with a man she had only just met that morning, and who she didn’t even particularly like, she was surprised to find that she felt much better.
It certainly wasn’t because of the charming company of Mike Blakeney, because although he was a little more friendly, he didn’t seem much happier than he had done all day. No, she decided, it was because she was somewhere different, it was a lovely summer’s evening, and she was in a beautiful place. And it was quite true, she didn’t know who she was going to meet, or what course her life was going to take, and suddenly it did seem exciting.
She turned and smiled impulsively at Mike Blakeney, “I don’t know what unhappy ghosts are haunting your thoughts,” she said, “but my advice is to bury them, and start looking around you. There’s a whole world waiting to be discovered.”
He raised his dark eyebrows sardonically, “Quite a little psychologist aren’t you,” he remarked, “you’ll be prescribing something for me before you know it!”
Isabel flushed angrily at his sarcastic tone of voice, “It was meant as a friendly remark,” she said abruptly, and turned back to the ducks, who were clamouring for more crisps. She felt annoyed, and regretted her friendly impulse.
“I know that,” he said quickly. “Sorry I bit off your head.” Isabel ignored him and continued to feed the ducks. “Anyway,” he continued, “what made you think I had any unhappy ghosts to lay? What have they been saying about me at the hospital?”
“Nothing,” lied Isabel. “I just thought you looked rather miserable, that’s all. I noticed you when I came in.”
“I see,” he said slowly, “but you didn’t do the decent thing and come over to cheer me up!”
Isabel glanced at him quickly. Was he teasing her? His voice had a faintly bantering tone to it, but she wasn’t sure. Anyway, in her usual customary fashion, she answered honestly. “After putting up with your bad temper all day in theatre, I didn’t particularly want to endure it during the evening as well,” she said firmly.
A great roar of laughter echoed round the garden, as he threw back his head and laughed. For a moment Isabel was taken aback, by his laughter and by the way his whole face changed. She was stunned to see how attractive he looked when he laughed, his grey eyes sparkled, and his even white teeth gleamed against the rugged tan of his skin. In fact, he looked astoundingly attractive, and her heart gave an uncomfortable little lurch in her breast. Almost irritably, she very firmly and quickly suppressed it.
“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.
