Doctor's Orders

by Ann Jennings

  “Good luck,” called Susie as Isabel wobbled precariously away from the shed, over some rough ground towards the roadway.

  “I think I’ll need it,” called back Isabel glancing over her shoulder with a grin, “I haven’t cycled for simply ages.” Without thinking she had worn clogs, and now she realised that had been a stupid thing to do. Cycling and trying to keep her clogs on at the same time was difficult, her foot slipped and she looked down, trying to catch the pedal as it spun round.

  “If you don’t mind me saying so, you are an absolute menace on that thing!”

  Anxiously Isabel looked up, snatching at the brake in order to avoid colliding with Mike Blakeney and his companion of the previous day. It was the glamorous blonde girl, who she now knew to be his ex-fiancée Sarah. “This isn’t the road,” she said defensively, “I wasn’t expecting to bump into anyone here.” As she spoke she was awkwardly aware of the difference between herself and the glamorous Sarah. Somehow she felt very sick in her outfit of frayed jeans and a teeshirt, beside the expensively tailored silk suit that Sarah was wearing.

  “This is Isabel,” said Mike, waving a hand in her direction, “she…”

  “Is one of his minions,” interrupted Isabel swiftly, anxious to get away, “obeying his every whim!” she added, not bothering to keep the sarcastic ring out of her voice. She felt a little stab of satisfaction when she saw the shadow cross Mike’s face. It was irrational, she knew, but she wanted to hurt him. You’re jealous, piped up the irritating voice at the back of her mind. Isabel tried to ignore it.

  “I’m Sarah,” said the girl smiling. She was very beautiful, but when she smiled the smile didn’t reach her eyes. They were lovely, fringed by exquisitely long lashes, but cold and empty. Looking at her, Isabel felt an indescribable sadness sweep over her. Whatever were the rights and wrongs of the situation, she certainly couldn’t blame Mike Blakeney for being in love with such a rare beauty. Surely, thought Isabel, her eyes must smile for him, perhaps that emptiness was reserved for other women. Isabel smiled back at her uncertainly. It wasn’t just emptiness; surely she must be wrong? Surely that couldn’t be hostility in the other girls’s eyes. There was no reason for her to be hostile and defensive, and yet somehow Isabel had the feeling that Sarah was regarding her with anything but friendliness. She glanced at Mike. He, too, seemed on edge, and the expression on his face was impossible to determine.

  Shuffling her foot back securely into her old clog, Isabel climbed back on the bike. Even more conscious of her disadvantage, her mode of transport not being the most elegant. “Hi,” she said, pushing on the pedal, “sorry I can’t stop, but I’ve got to see a man about a flat.”

  “If you ever arrive anywhere in one piece,” she heard Mike call after her.

  She paused for a moment, foot resting on the ground. “Don’t worry about me, Dr Blakeney, I’m a born trick cyclist, even though I may be a little out of practice!” As she cycled away, wobbling over the uneven ground, she heard him laugh. Well, my girl, at least you’ve cheered him up, she thought, but somehow that wasn’t much comfort. There she was, pedalling away on a ramshackle old bike, looking like an urchin, and there he was, standing beside a female who looked as if she had stepped straight from the pages of a fashion magazine!

  However, all troubling thoughts of Mike and his relationship with the beautiful Sarah fled when she reached the address on the postcard. The house was a huge Victorian mansion set in an obviously lovingly tended garden. It had once been a vicarage. Isabel could see the old sign still on the gatepost, almost worn away but just visible. As she rang the doorbell, she wondered who looked after the garden, it was so magnificent.

  A rather eccentric looking woman, with a mop of grey hair, came to the door. “I’ve come about the flat,” said Isabel, trying to stand upright as two large dogs of an indeterminate breed leapt at her, and a small Yorkshire terrier actively investigated her feet.

  “Down, boys, down,” said the woman to the dogs in an absent-minded voice. The dogs ignored her and continued to leap, Isabel fending them off as best she could.

  “They seem very affectionate,” she ventured, wiping the results of their licking from her ear.

  “Yes, sweet aren’t they,” the woman replied, “this way.” She led the way through a large hall, furnished with shabby Victorian furniture, up the stairs towards the back of the house.

  The vacant flat was at the back of the house, the windows looking out into a kitchen garden overflowing with vegetables, all growing in neat rows. Isabel couldn’t help remarking on it.

  “The garden is lovely,” she said.

  “I do it all myself,” replied the woman. “Come and have a cup of tea and we’ll talk about the flat. Down, boys, down,” she added as an afterthought to the dogs, who were still leaping up and down as energetically as ever.

  The woman, whose name was Miss Elder, was a gardening fanatic. “I hope you like fresh vegetables,” she said, handing Isabel a cup of tea. “I always sell plenty to my tenants.” She seemed to take it for granted that Isabel would take the flat, and merely said, “You can pay me one month in advance and move in tomorrow if you wish.”

  Isabel was unprepared for such a sudden move, and eventually it was arranged that she should move in at the weekend. Apparently there were four other tenants, and Miss Elder lived in a ground floor apartment herself, along with Charles, Andrew and Edward, the dogs. “Named them after the Royal Family,” she said affectionately, “I’m a great monarchist, are you?” She peered at Isabel suddenly through heavy-lensed glasses.

  “Oh yes, definitely,” said Isabel hastily. It wasn’t a matter she had ever given a great deal of thought to, but it was obviously a subject dear to Miss Elder’s heart, and she thought it prudent to be enthusiastic.

  As she cycled back, she wondered if she had been right to make such a hasty decision, but once back in the minuscule hospital room, she knew she had done the right thing. Not only would she have more room, but she would be away from the hospital, away from the constant reminder of work, and the demanding man she worked with. It was only as she was climbing into bed that night, that she realised that she hadn’t given Hugh Sinclair another thought. Mike Blakeney yes, but Hugh Sinclair no! He might just as well have never existed. Suddenly, she realised that her life with the feckless Hugh in Edinburgh seemed as remote as the moon.

  The rest of the week passed by quickly and uneventfully. When she was not working, Isabel was busy packing her belongings together. To begin with she had thought it wouldn’t take her long, but she seemed to have acquired quite a few bits and pieces since she moved down south, and it took much longer than she thought. Cliff had agreed to help her move on the Saturday and was borrowing Pete Rosen’s dormobile for the job. All this had been hastily arranged on the phone, as she hadn’t seen much of Cliff, and nothing at all of Mike Blakeney or Hugh. Mike’s place in the anaesthetic room had been taken by a senior registrar. Apparently there was a symposium at the hospital which they were all attending, Cliff included. Although he did make a point of popping in at the end of one day to say hello to Isabel, and confirm the arrangements for Saturday. It was difficult, therefore, when he mentioned the dinner dance to be held on the Saturday night.

  He accurately read her thoughts. “You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to. Although I don’t have a partner and you’d be doing me a favour. I’ve got to go and I always find these things boring.”

  “I shan’t know anyone…” began Isabel.

  “Yes, you will,” said Cliff. “Sally will be there, and there’ll be Mike Blakeney, he’s one of the after dinner speakers, and then there’s Hugh Sinclair…” his voice trailed away as he realised his faux pas. “Oh, I’m sorry, you’d probably rather not see him.”

  “I don’t mind in the slightest,” Isabel assured him, which was true. What she didn’t say was that she wasn’t quite so certain about Mike Blakeney and wond
ered whether he’d be accompanied by the glamorous Sarah. Thought you weren’t going to think about him, taunted the little voice she was always trying to ignore. That decided her. I can’t just avoid functions because Mike Blakeney might be there, she told herself, I’ve got to get used to seeing him with Sarah. “Yes, Cliff,” she said after just a moment’s hesitation, “yes, I’d love to come, fill me in on all the details.”

  Eagerly Cliff gave her all the details, but his words floated over her head, as Isabel miserably acknowledged that the only reason she had said yes was because it was a chance to see Mike again, maybe even dance with him if she was lucky! Have some pride, she chided herself fiercely, don’t be like a begging dog, hoping to pick up scraps. Anyway, Sarah didn’t look like the kind of girl who would leave any scraps, and Mike Blakeney could hardly be described as a scrap! She pulled a mental face. She was being ridiculous as usual, it was always the same where Mike Blakeney was concerned! Damn the man!

  Chapter Seven

  Saturday was a hectic rush. Cliff helped Isabel move into her newly acquired flat, which was a different maneouvre as Charles, Andrew and Edward bounded up and down the stairs, joyfully accompanying their every step. Somehow they always seemed to manage to get in between Cliff’s legs as he struggled to carry Isabel’s belongings in from the dormobile.

  “Can’t you control these damned dogs,” he muttered in exasperation, as he nearly broke his neck on Edward.

  “Down, boys, down,” said Isabel, and giggled as Charles made a determined leap and licked Cliff from ear to ear. She shooed the dogs out into the garden, and shut the door.

  “Rather you than me where those dogs are concerned,” he said when they had finished, flopping down exhausted into an armchair in her lounge. “As far as I can see, they’re the only drawback to this place.”

  “They’ve got used to me already,” said Isabel. “They seem to accept me as part of the furniture, I’ve obviously been given the seal of approval.”

  “The lick of approval, more like it,” said Cliff with a grin. “Anyway, I suppose they are good guard dogs, any unwelcome visitors would be flattened by that lot!”

  After a quick cup of tea, Cliff left, and Isabel rushed around putting a few things out, just enough to make herself feel that she really had moved in and made her mark on the place. Then it was time to get ready for the symposium dinner dance. There was no time for her previous qualms to surface; time was too precious. As it was, she barely managed to shower, do her hair and slip into a plain white evening dress. It was the only evening dress she possessed, and she had had it a long time. Isabel had never had that many occasions on which to wear such clothes; so she had never thought it worthwhile to splash out a lot of money on more evening dresses. This one always suited any occasion, being plain and simple, discreetly low cut and sleeveless, the most daring part being the slit up the side, which showed an attractive expanse of leg when she walked.

  Looking at her reflection critically in the mirror, Isabel was surprised to see how much her tan showed against the white of the dress. The result of Sunday’s windsurfing, she thought, feeling pleased. Knowing that she looked good helped to make her feel good, and Cliff’s low whistle of appreciation did her morale a power of good. Happily she accompanied him to the University, where the symposium dinner dance was being held.

  On arrival, Cliff lost no time in seeking out Pete Rosen and Sally Mannering. “Can’t stand these functions at the best of times,” he muttered, elbowing his way through the crowd. “They are only made more bearable by being with friends.”

  Isabel laughed. Cliff might not like it, but for her it was a welcome change. A chance to dress up, and mix with different people. She didn’t really see the point of staying with Sally and Pete, who they saw almost every day. She soon found herself talking animatedly with a man standing next to her at the table laden with glasses of pre-dinner sherry. She learnt that he had flown in that day from the States, where he was doing research into ischaemic heart disease. “I’ll be quite glad to get back to clinical medicine though,” he confessed.

  “Are you a cardiologist?” asked Isabel, linking the research with the obvious specialty.

  The man, whose name was John, laughed. “Not on your life,” he said, “I’m an anaesthetist. What are you?”

  “A theatre nurse, working with the anaesthetist,” said Isabel smiling. “I can’t seem to get away from anaesthetists.”

  “Too right,” he replied, “here comes another one. Hello Hugh, you old dog, how are you?”

  Before Isabel could back away Hugh had descended upon them. “Don’t introduce me,” he said, looking at Isabel, “we know each other, don’t we.” He slipped an arm casually round her shoulders.

  “Yes,” said Isabel briefly, looking over her shoulder for Cliff, trying at the same time to surreptitiously wriggle free from Hugh’s unwelcome embrace. He sensed her slight movement however, and tightened his hold, and as she turned her head trying to find Cliff, she became aware of someone looking at her from across the room. It was as if she was mesmerised. Against her will, she felt her eyes drawn across the crowded, smoke-filled room, until her gaze was locked with Mike Blakeney’s. He was standing with Sarah by his side. How tall he was; the thought flickered idly across her bemused mind, and how distinguished he looked in his evening suit.

  Oh, why couldn’t I have worked with a short, fat, ugly bald man, she thought wryly, then I wouldn’t have fallen for him! Sarah was looking ravishing as usual, dressed in the latest fashion. A black, voluptuous, body skimming chiffon dress, her feet clad in superlative black velvet shoes. Isabel glanced down briefly at her own simple dress and wished she had been a little more adventurous. Although anything I could afford would still look as if I’d bought it at a jumble sale compared to that, she admitted to herself morosely.

  Her attention was jerked back into the circle of conversation by Cliff joining them. “Time to go in for dinner,” he said, looking pointedly at Hugh’s arm still draped around Isabel’s shoulders.

  Hugh laughed in his usual disarming way, Isabel noticed. “Force of habit, old man,” he said easily.

  “Is there still something between you two?” asked Cliff curiously as they caught up with Sally and Pete walking towards the dining room, where the orchestra was already playing muted music.

  “Absolutely nothing,” said Isabel firmly. “Don’t take any notice of Hugh, it never means anything with him.”

  “Talking about meaning anything, I wonder if that means anything,” remarked Cliff, nodding towards the top table where Mike and Sarah were sitting with the other dignitaries for the evening.

  “I’m not the slightest bit interested,” snapped Isabel, “I do wish we could go somewhere without everybody talking about Mike Blakeney and his on-off affair!”

  “Sorry!” said Cliff raising an eyebrow. “We’d all like to see him happily settled, make life easier for everyone, especially in theatre!”

  “I can work with him, whatever mood he’s in,” replied Isabel wishing Cliff would shut up. “As far as I’m concerned, work is work, and people’s personal lives are their own. The two shouldn’t be mixed!”

  “Yes miss,” said Cliff, making a penitent face. “I promise I won’t mention it again.”

  “Me neither,” Sally chimed in. She had been listening. “Come on, let’s forget wretched Dr Blakeney and enjoy ourselves.”

  “Amen to that!” said Isabel with feeling. She failed to notice Sally’s perceptive glance, as she bent her head to study the menu card.

  Once dinner was finished, the tables were swiftly cleared and the room made ready for the evening’s dancing. In spite of the presence of Mike with Sarah, Isabel soon found she was enjoying herself. Cliff was a good dancer, whirling her round the room with practised ease, although he did complain that she was dancing with too many other men. “Always the same,” he grumbled, “you’re too attractive!”
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  When Hugh, who was unaccompanied, came over and asked Isabel to dance, Cliff placed a protective hand on her arm, as if to say, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. For a split second Isabel hesitated, then, deciding it would be churlish to refuse, she accepted. No point in drawing attention to myself she thought, as somewhat reluctantly she allowed herself to be drawn on to the dance floor by Hugh.

  The music was a slow waltz and it was only as they progressed round the room that Isabel realised that Hugh was drunk. Not noticeably so, at least not to others, but to her it was painfully obvious. He leaned on her, rather than held her, and when he spoke his speech was slightly slurred.

  “You look lovely tonight,” he mumbled, leaning his cheek against hers.

  “Thank you, Hugh,” said Isabel coldly, turning her head, trying to avoid his attempt at an embrace. He merely tightened his hold, however, and leaned more heavily than ever. A rising tide of panic engulfed her. It was a very public place, the middle of a dance floor. Not the place to make a spectacle of oneself! Especially as they were surrounded by half the staff of the hospital. “I’m rather tired, Hugh,” she said firmly, “I think I’d rather sit this one out, if you don’t mind.”

  “But I do mind,” his voice wavered and rose indignantly, “I want to dance with you.”

  “My turn I think, old chap,” a smooth, firm voice with a familiar ring came from behind. “This is an excuse me.” It was Mike’s voice, on the surface friendly and casual, but with unmistakable overtones of authority which penetrated even Hugh’s dazed state.

  “Sure,” he muttered releasing Isabel. “I’ll get another drink.” Then turning back he said, “She’s tired anyway, wants to sit down!”

  “I’d make that drink an orange juice, Hugh,” said Mike firmly in a dismissive tone. Hugh departed abruptly, looking bad tempered.

  “Thanks for rescuing me,” said Isabel as they started dancing, “but you needn’t have bothered. I was about to get him to sit down.”