by Ann Jennings
In fact, there was only one little thing that bothered her, and that was the fact that Mike Blakeney’s face kept popping into her mind, for no reason at all. It was disturbing, and she didn’t like it, but try as she might she seemed to have no control over her wayward thoughts. When that little demon in her mind decided she should think of Mike Blakeney, the tall, rather dour, man with the disturbing grey eyes, then lo and behold, there he was! He appeared in her mind as if by magic, like a genie from a bottle, she reflected ruefully.
“What are you dreaming about?” Cliff’s voice broke into her wandering thoughts.
“I…er, nothing,” stammered Isabel guiltily, taken by surprise. She wondered what Cliff would think if she had told him the truth.
“For someone who is thinking of nothing, you are blushing rather a lot,” he remarked shrewdly, looking at her curiously.
“It’s the heat in here,” answered Isabel defensively, “all that Greek dancing has made me feel very hot.”
He laughed. “All right, I’ll believe you!” But she was pretty certain that he didn’t.
It was some time past midnight before they eventually left the restaurant, a noisy laughing crowd, and made their way to their various cars. Cliff’s car was a very noisy, red sports car, dropping to pieces, and very difficult to get into. Isabel squeezed herself into the passenger seat with difficulty. “This thing is like a sardine tin,” she complained, “why don’t you get a more comfortable car?”
“I can’t afford a flashy Alfa Romeo like Mike Blakeney,” replied Cliff, “besides this pulls the birds!”
“It doesn’t pull this bird,” said Isabel glancing at his laughing face. The remark about the Alfa Romeo had made her feel uneasy. She wondered suddenly if he had seen her being driven back to the hospital the night before in Mike’s car, and nearly asked him, but then decided that discretion was the better part of valour and said nothing. She hoped he hadn’t seen her. She knew what hospitals were like, a hotbed of gossip, usually with everybody jumping to the wrong conclusions.
When they arrived outside the residence block, Cliff pulled the car jerkily to a halt. “Sorry about that,” he said blithely, “the brakes need relining.”
Isabel struggled, trying to prize herself out of the contraption. “You’re a menace,” she laughed, “you should get them fixed. For your passengers’ sakes, if not your own!”
“I will,” he said, “if you promise to come out with me again.”
“I’m not promising anything,” said Isabel still struggling. “In fact, I think I’m stuck here for life!”
“Here, let me help,” said Cliff, bending down and putting an arm round her. One quick pull and she was out of the car. In fact, she almost fell out, he pulled so hard. Once she was out of the car and on the pavement, he didn’t release her, but stood holding her tightly, wrapping his other arm around her as well.
Isabel tried to push him gently away, but not very successfully, as he just laughed and tightened his hold. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the figure of a man approaching.
“Someone’s coming,” she whispered, “let go of me.”
“Why?” he demanded, still laughing, “we’re not doing anything illegal!”
The figure came closer, and as he approached he was suddenly illuminated by the street lamp that stood in the roadway near to the car. Isabel saw that it was Mike Blakeney, and she could also see that he had seen them. A feeling akin to panic rose up inside her, she desperately hoped that he wouldn’t see that it was her in Cliff Peterson’s arms. Even though logic told her that there was no reason to feel panicky; after all, what difference did it make? Anyway, if she had struggled and tried to push Cliff away, that would make them both look ridiculous and foolish, so she stayed where she was, hoping against hope that, as her face was in shadow, he wouldn’t notice her.
It was obvious he was going back into the hospital for some reason, perhaps he has been called back for an emergency, she thought, turning her head away as he approached. Cliff had seen him as well, and to her horror she heard him say, “Bad luck, going back in for an emergency case?”
‘Yes,” replied Mike Blakeney briefly, then he paused for a moment beside them. “Good night, Nurse McKenna,” he said, in a voice with a ring of steel to it.
As she turned, the ice-cold expression in his eyes struck her like a physical blow; it was a cold blade going right through her. She had no alternative but to stay where she was, within the circle of Cliff’s arms. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but no sound came out. He didn’t wait for a reply anyway, but walked on quickly by with his long athletic stride, and disappeared towards the brightly lit entrance of the hospital.
“Do you know,” said Cliff lightly, “just for a moment there, I could have sworn Mike Blakeney was jealous!” He laughed, “But you are much better off with someone like me, a hot-blooded surgeon is better than a cold-hearted anaesthetist!”
Isabel looked up; suddenly cross. She had been put at a disadvantage with Mike Blakeney, and it perturbed her. “I don’t want you or Dr Blakeney to get any silly ideas,” she said firmly. “Good night, Cliff, thank you for a lovely evening. I want to go in now,” she added, as he made no movement to release her.
He laughed, “Good night, Isabel,” he said, and bending his head down kissed her suddenly full on the lips. It was so quick that Isabel was taken by surprise, and although his kiss was pleasant, it left her completely unmoved.
“Good night,” she said and, giving him a firm push this time, managed to extricate herself from his arms. As she did so she involuntarily glanced back towards the entrance of the hospital and was uneasily aware of Mike Blakeney standing there. He had seen that kiss she knew, and was probably thinking she was a fast worker. Only two days at the County General and already she was kissing the surgical registrar. A man she had only met the day before!
Waving a brief farewell to Cliff, she ran up the path leading to the front door of the residence block, surreptitiously looking round as she inserted her key into the front door. But Mike Blakeney had disappeared into the vastness of the brightly lit hospital.
As she lay in the hot bath water before going to bed, restlessly swishing the bubbles around, she gave herself a severe lecture. Don’t be stupid, she told herself, he certainly hasn’t given you another thought, why should he? He hardly knows you exist, apart from spending a couple of hours in your company out of politeness. And you most certainly don’t know him. “If you are not careful,” she said to herself out loud, “you will be getting quite obsessive about him. Just remember what everyone has told you about him, he’s a cold fish!” She washed her hair too, for good measure, and shampooed it with far more vigour than was necessary, but it had the desired effect and washed Dr Mike Blakeney out of her system, for the time being at least!
She made sure she arrived early in theatre the next day. Although she didn’t admit it, even to herself, she wanted everything to be perfect before Dr Blakeney’s arrival. She worked hard, with a ruthless, sober efficiency and when the anaesthetist finally strode into the anaesthetic room with the arrival of the first patient, not a needle or ampoule was out of place. To her disappointment however, he didn’t appear to notice, in fact he hardly seemed even to notice that she was there! So we’re back to robotic-type working, thought Isabel rebelliously. She was tempted to try walking about stiffly, and to answer him in a “dalek” type voice, maybe he’d notice her then! But even the faint glimmer of humour she had managed to muster soon disappeared as, without ever glancing in her direction, he barked orders at her until her nerves were raw.
The orthopaedic surgeon seemed a pleasant enough man, but Mike Blakeney didn’t speak to him unless it was absolutely necessary. The surgeon made one or two attempts at conversation, but soon gave up after meeting Mike’s blank wall of cold hostility. Hostility to the point of rudeness thought Isabel irritably, someone should teach
you some manners, Dr Michael Blakeney! In fact, at one point the surgeon casually remarked, “There seems to be quite a blood loss, is the pressure OK?” A routine thing for a surgeon to say to an anaesthetist, as the anaesthetist was responsible for the patient’s fluid balance before, during and after the operation.
Isabel knew that, and she also knew that sometimes the surgeon would wait while the anaesthetist transfused a patient if he considered it necessary. So she was quite unprepared for Mike Blakeney’s snappy reply.
“If you’d like to come up this end and gas the patient, I’ll come down that end and stop the bleeding!” It was very rude of him, and his face was as black as thunder as he uttered the words.
Isabel waited and wondered if there were going to be fireworks, but luckily for everyone concerned, the surgeon was a placid fellow. “I just thought I’d mention it, Mike,” he said quietly as he continued with his surgery.
“There’s no need, I’m perfectly aware of what the blood loss is,” came Mike Blakeney’s acid reply.
Over on the other side of the operating table, Isabel could see Susie Wee’s black almond eyes expressively raised heavenwards and had difficulty in restraining a smile. Yes, Susie Wee had been right, he was a cold fish! She glanced down at the anaesthetist, who was busy with his machine and charts, checking and monitoring the patient. What a pity, she thought, that he has to be so bad tempered. But perhaps it’s just as well, common-sense told her, now you know it’s stupid to harbour any romantic notions where he is concerned!
The morning’s operating list finished late because the last case took twice as long as anticipated. As Mike Blakeney started to leave to take the patient to recovery, Isabel heaved a sigh of relief and glanced at her watch. At least she’d get a break now, even though it would mean the afternoon session starting late.
Her feeling of relief was jarred out of existence however, at Mike Blakeney’s next words. “Get the anaesthetic room ready for the ENT list this afternoon, we’ll be starting in twenty minutes.”
Thank you, thought Isabel indignantly, glaring after his retreating back. That means no break for me! As the consultant anaesthetist he could easily have put off the afternoon list for ten minutes, if he had wished, that would have at least given her time for a bun and a cup of coffee. But no, the afternoon list had to start on time! So that meant no break for Isabel. Of course, she could have complained to the theatre sister, but she was damned if Mike Blakeney would have any cause to criticise her! Somehow, her instinct told her that he was purposely pushing her to her limits. Well, I’ll show him, she thought defiantly. There was no limit beyond which she could be pushed, she could take anything he handed out and hopefully make him feel guilty about it by the end of the day!
It was a vain hope however; she realised that as the afternoon list dragged on and on. The consultant ENT surgeon was teaching a junior, so everything took twice as long as it should have done, and the list finished one and a half hours later than the scheduled time. By this time, everyone in theatre was distinctly frayed at the edges, and Isabel was no exception. Not, of course, that anyone let it affect their professionalism, but it was evident in the grim determined way they all went about their tasks.
When, at last, they eventually finished, Isabel was feeling quite faint. All she had eaten that day had been a frugal breakfast, and one snatched cup of black coffee at lunch time. Automatically she started clearing up the anaesthetic room, preparing to get it ready for the next day. Tiredness overwhelmed her, her brain was functioning on autopilot, and she just hoped she hadn’t made any mistakes.
On arriving in the changing room she was too tired even to shower immediately. Instead she flung herself into the battered armchair standing in the corner of the room, eventually dragging her tired, aching body into the shower some five minutes later. The cold water revived her a little, but the face that looked back at her from the mirror in the changing room was wan and pale, with dark circles under the eyes. The strain of the day showed in her face, and to make matters worse she had worn a pale blue dress that day, as it was so hot. She pulled a grimace at herself in the mirror, as she brushed her long dark hair. Even that seemed to have lost its bounce, like me, she thought! Then she grinned; talk about looking washed out, she looked positively wrung out!
Putting one weary foot determinedly in front of the other, she walked out of the changing room not looking where she was going, and cannoned straight into Mike Blakeney. For a moment she felt faint vibes as his arms held her to steady her, but with a faint shrug of irritation she pulled herself away. He was the cause of her tiredness.
“It’s been a long day,” he said.
“Yes,” said Isabel briefly. She didn’t feel like making polite conversation, particularly not with him, of all people.
“A difficult day,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You haven’t got much to say for yourself,” he continued.
“No,” said Isabel shortly, attempting to push open the heavy swing doors. But she was so tired she just couldn’t manage it.
Swiftly Mike Blakeney reached his long arm over her head and pushed open the doors for her. “I should have thought a bright, sparkling girl like you would have had plenty to say,” he said. “Where are you going tonight? To a party, I suppose.”
Flashing him an indignant glance from her vivid blue eyes, Isabel ignored his last remark. He could think what he damned well liked! She was too tired to care anyway. A feeling of nausea was overwhelming her, and she knew she just had to get back to her room and lie down. Suddenly Mike Blakeney gripped her elbow tightly, studying her face with concern.
“Are you all right?” he demanded.
Isabel looked at him, but his tanned lean face swam before her eyes. “I’m tired, Dr Blakeney,” she said. “I am so tired, I think I shall fall down if I don’t get back to my room soon.” She made to turn away, but his grip on her elbow tightened, and she vaguely heard him mutter something beneath his breath.
Before she was aware of what was happening, she was sitting in his car and being driven back to his large house. She made a feeble protestation, which he ignored, and soon she was sitting in his lounge with a hot cup of tea in her hand and some biscuits.
“Have that,” he ordered peremptorily, “at least it will stop you fainting on me.”
Obediently Isabel sipped the tea and ate the biscuits. It was true the food and drink did make her feel better; at least she didn’t feel sick and giddy any more. When she had finished she put down the cup. “Thanks,” she said, “I do feel better. I’ll go back to my room now.”
Mike Blakeney stood looking down at her, his grey eyes dark and clouded. “I’m not taking you anywhere until you’ve had dinner,” he said. “I know I was in a bloody-minded mood today and it’s my fault you missed lunch. The least I can do is cook you dinner.”
Isabel smiled tiredly, “There’s no need for that…” she began.
“I want to,” he interrupted, “it’s the least I can do.”
Without waiting for her to reply he disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
Left to her own devices Isabel curled up on the settee. She was so tired, and the idea of having dinner cooked for her was tempting to say the least, and the idea of spending the evening with Mike Blakeney was tempting too. Even though he had been thoroughly objectionable all day! As she relaxed, sleep drifted over her, her long dark hair fell like a soft, silky curtain across her face. She was unaware that Mike Blakeney had come in from the kitchen, and had stood looking down at her, studying her intently for some moments before he went back to the task of preparing the meal.
“It’s ready,” a gentle hand on her shoulder awoke Isabel. Startled, she sat up. For a few moments she was unsure of her surroundings. Then she found herself looking into a pair of grey eyes, this time not cold and unfriendly, but dark and, although still unfathomable, she could swear there was a h
int of warmth lurking there.
Smiling, she pushed the dark curling tendrils of hair from her face. “It smells delicious,” she said.
“I hope you think it tastes equally so,” he replied seriously, smiling back at her. “I’m not the world’s best cook, but I’ve tried my best.” Taking her by the hand he led her across to the dining table, which was set out with places laid for two, a candle flickering in the centre of the table.
Chapter Four
It was a simple meal, but beautifully prepared. Consommé with croutons to begin with, followed by steaks and salad, cheese and biscuits, washed down with a good, full-bodied claret. Isabel found she was much hungrier than she had expected, and did full justice to the meal.
His stern face seemed softened by the flickering candle light as he smiled at her across the table. “For a very slim girl, you certainly eat well,” he said. “I like that. There is nothing that infuriates me more than someone who picks at their food.”
Isabel raised her eyebrows. “I have been on my feet all day,” she reminded him, “apart from the short time I feel asleep on your settee. Although,” she added, “I don’t eat like this all the time. If I’d been alone, I would probably only have had a small salad.”
“Just as well you are not alone then,” he said, raising his glass to her. “Otherwise you might have faded away altogether.” He sipped the dark red wine, and studied her intently. “In that blue dress you looked so frail and tired when I met you in the corridor, I was afraid a puff of wind might blow you away!”
Isabel laughed at such a ridiculous notion. “It would take more than a puff of wind to blow me away,” she said categorically, “and more than a difficult day’s operating to beat me.” She added the last words defiantly, knowing that he knew very well what she meant.
“I suppose I was a bit difficult,” he admitted, “but I was feeling in a particularly bad mood.”
