Doctor's Orders

by Ann Jennings

  “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.

  “No,” he replied grinning unashamedly, “but you can’t blame me for taking advantage. It was too good an opportunity to miss!” Gasping angrily Isabel realised she was still cradling his head in her hands, and she promptly let go smartly. His head crashed back on to the floor with a loud bang. “I’ll get concussion now,” he said pulling a face, and rubbing his head gingerly.

  “Good,” said Isabel tartly, “you…you two-timing toad, you deserve it!” Scrambling up from her knees she turned and started to mount the stairs.

  “Wait a minute…” he began, slightly plaintively.

  “Don’t speak to me,” the words were hurled back.

  “See you at seven tomorrow?” he asked, “you’ll help me?”

  “Yes,” said Isabel shortly.

  “Good girl,” he replied sounding satisfied as he levered himself to his feet. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down when I needed you.”

  “I’m not doing it for you,” Isabel shouted down the stairs, “I’m doing it for the patient!” To add to her fury, she was sure she heard a low chuckle as he let himself out through the big front door of the old house!

  Chapter Nine

  Next day, the delicate and tricky operation went smoothly, and within an hour and a half it was finished. Isabel had been too busy to even think of her encounter with Mike the night before, and he also had had his hands full with a difficult patient. As she cleared the anaesthetic room ready for the start of the actual planned day’s list, her thoughts returned to the events of the night before. She smiled reluctantly. Even though she had been furious with him for taking advantage of her, she had to admit that his kiss had still woven a magic spell.

  “Glad we got that one out of the way before Mike disappears,” said Mr Goldsmith, wandering into the anaesthetic room, watching Isabel. He often spent time chatting to her now, seeming to have taken a paternal liking to her, and she had grown used to his eccentric, volatile ways.

  But Isabel didn’t smile back at him, or tease him as she usually did. “Mike disappearing?” she questioned, a cold finger stabbing like an icicle at her heart.

  “Yes, off to the States.” Mr Goldsmith started to wander out again nonchalantly, ready to scrub up for the next case. “A question of marriage I believe.” He laughed, “You young people all lead such complicated lives these days.”

  “I don’t,” said Isabel quietly, sadness creeping into her voice, “I’m afraid I’m an old fashioned girl.”

  Mr Goldsmith paused at the door, looking at her over the top of his glasses as was his fashion, a strange light in his eyes. “I’m very glad to hear that,” he said, “very glad.” Then he pushed open the door and disappeared before Isabel had a chance to say anything else. Not that there was much she could say. She couldn’t very well ask him what he meant, although that was hardly necessary. She knew in her own mind what it meant. Mike must be going to sort out the divorce for Sarah, and then marry her himself while they were both in the States. It couldn’t possibly mean anything else. Yes, that must be it. How many times did people have quickie divorces, followed by equally quick marriages.

  Hot tears pricked at the back of her eyelids, and she blinked furiously, trying to keep them at bay. Blinded by the tears, she fumbled with a box of drug ampoules and dropped it, the contents scattering across the polished floor.

  “Here, let me,” Mike’s voice startled her. Bending down beside her he helped retrieve the ampoules which had managed to roll into every corner of the room. Ampoules back in the box, he grasped her elbow with a firm hand and drew her up. “Has the start at the crack of dawn tired you out?” he spoke quietly, studying her flushed face intently.

  “Of course not,” Isabel flashed him a glittering glance from her tear-filled blue eyes. Then hastily fishing in her skimpy theatre pocket for a tissue, she turned and blew her nose vigorously. “I think I
’ve got a cold coming,” she said. That would explain her watery eyes and flushed face.

  “Do you want the rest of the day off?” he asked, concern showing in his voice.

  Isabel turned and looked at him suspiciously. “Of course not,” she said quickly, “I’m not that ill.”

  “Then we’ll start on the next case,” he replied, pushing open the doors to the anaesthetic room to let the porters wheel the patient through. “By the way,” he added, his grey eyes crinkling above his mask, “you haven’t asked me how I am, I might be suffering agonies from my fall last night, for all you know!”

  At the mention of it, Isabel felt her cheeks begin to stain with a tell tale pink flush. “I can see you are perfectly all right,” she replied stiffly, pushing the drugs trolley nearer the anaesthetic machine.

  He said nothing, but he laughed softly and his grey eyes were smiling with amusement at her obvious discomfiture. The rest of the morning passed quickly. There were a lot of short cases, so time for conversation was minimal. Mike did attempt to make light hearted conversation several times, but his words fell on stony ground, Isabel not feeling like returning his banter. Damn you, she thought resentfully, why should I be fodder to your ego! He was obviously in a very good mood, quite unlike his usual self. Must be the prospect of marrying Sarah, thought Isabel reluctantly, realising she had never seen him in such a carefree mood before.

  At lunch time, when they were in the canteen, even Cliff remarked on it. “Old Mike must be up to something,” he commented. “When I met him last night on my way to the squash match, he even wished me luck, said he hoped I would win the tournament!”

  “It’s a wonder he knew there was a hospital tournament,” said Sally, crunching her way through a mound of lettuce; she was on a diet again. “He usually never knows what is going on, at least not where the social life of the hospital is concerned.”

  “Well, I must admit I told him that,” said Cliff. “Come to think of it,” he added, a puzzled look crossing his face, “he asked me where I was going, and when I said the squash tournament, he seemed quite pleased.”

  Isabel said nothing, but continued eating her lunch quietly. Well, she thought, at least he knows I wasn’t waiting in my nightdress for Cliff! But somehow, that was cold comfort; after all what did it matter what he thought. He would be jetting off to the USA shortly, to marry Sarah. Her mind traced the events of the evening before, and she wished that he hadn’t kissed her. Just when I was beginning to forget, she told herself. Not true, piped up the little voice, you’ve never forgotten anything about him, not from the very first time he kissed you! Sighing restlessly, she toyed with the remainder of the food on her plate, wondering why it could be that one man’s kiss could be so unforgettable. How was it that one kiss could obliterate in one swift moment all the other men in her life. Past, present and…yes, she acknowledged sadly, future too.

  “Penny for them?” Cliff’s voice roused her from her mournful reverie. “You look as if you’ve found a shilling and lost a pound, as the saying goes.”

  “I’m tired,” said Isabel hastily, “late night last night, and a very early start today.”

  “Oh,” teased Sally, “what were you up to last night?”

  “Nothing,” said Isabel, “I was just reading until late that’s all,” but as she spoke she knew her face was blushing furiously. She took a deep breath, wishing she could control her wayward thoughts, and the wretched adolescent habit she had of blushing at the slightest thing.

  “You’re blushing,” teased Sally, in a singsong voice. Then she spied a large piece of pizza Isabel had left on her plate. “Are you going to leave that?” she demanded, changing the subject rapidly.

  “Yes, do you want it?” Isabel was glad of the change of subject, and it was obvious that Sally was looking at the pizza ravenously. It did the trick. Sally grabbed the pizza and started wolfing it down, forgetting that she had been teasing Isabel, and the conversation at the table rambled from one subject to another, eventually coming back to the subject of Mike Blakeney.

  “He’s off to the States tomorrow,” said Cliff, “he told me so last night.”

  Isabel’s heart plumbed like a lead weight down into her hospital clogs. “How long for?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice sounding casual and disinterested.

  “He said it should take two or three days,” said Cliff, standing up and picking up his tray. “Must dash,” he added, “I want to get to the library before the afternoon operating session.”

  “Two or three days for what?” asked Susie Wee. She always wanted to know everything in the minutest detail.

  “I don’t know,” answered Cliff cheerfully, “for whatever it is he has to do I suppose. If you’re that interested, why don’t you ask him?”

  Susie giggled. “Oh, I couldn’t,” she said, “I’m only the theatre nurse, he doesn’t know me very well.” She turned to Isabel, her black almond eyes wide with curiosity. “But you could,” she said. “You work with him all the time.”

  “Yes, you could,” chimed in Sally. “Find out what he’s going to do in America. Perhaps it’s something to do with the lovely Sarah!” She pulled a rude face as she said the word lovely.

  “I can’t, and even if I could I certainly wouldn’t,” said Isabel sharply. “What he does is his own business, not ours.”

  “We know that,” Susie’s voice wheedled, “but you know how we thrive on juicy gossip!”

  Isabel could bear it no longer. Standing up abruptly, her chair scraping loudly on the canteen floor, she picked up her tray. “See you later,” she said and made her escape before anyone could say anything. She didn’t care what they thought of her, she just couldn’t bear to listen to them talking about Mike and Sarah any longer. If there had ever been any doubt in her mind about her feelings for Mike, it didn’t exist any longer. I’m in love with him, she thought dully, pushing her tray on to the automatic conveyor belt taking the dirty crockery away.

  “Ta, love,” shouted the kitchen lady cheerily at the other end of the conveyor belt. Isabel managed a feeble smile, then quickly made her escape from the canteen.

  Somehow or other, she contrived to put on a brittle show of good humour for the rest of the afternoon. Mike had been in a good mood in the morning, and Isabel determined to match him in the afternoon, even if it killed her! For his part, he did flash her one or two puzzled glances, as if to ask—why the sudden change of mood—but apart from that he seemed in the same sunny mood as he had been in the morning, something which did absolutely nothing for her true frame of mind. Her spirits were sinking lower and lower, by the minute. However, she did get through the afternoon, and even managed a cheery “bon voyage” as Mike left the operating theatre with the last patient for recovery.

  “Thanks,” he replied, but she could see his mind was on other things as he steadied the drip, pushing it alongside the patient’s trolley. Following to the doorway of the anaesthetic room, Isabel stood forlornly watching his back as he disappeared down the long corridor towards the recovery area. Next time I see you, you’ll probably be married, she thought miserably.

  Mr Goldsmith walked past, “Cheer up, it may never happen,” he boomed jovially. But it will, thought Isabel gloomily, it will and there is nothing you can do about it.

  She turned back into the anaesthetic room, automatically clearing everything and preparing for the next day. You’re being stupid, she told herself, after all it’s not his fault that you have been foolish enough to fall in love with him on the strength of a few kisses! In fact, she paused for a moment, stopping to analyse it, it was quite ridiculous, but she knew it wasn’t just the kisses, it was him too. Even on that very first day, when he’d been so dour, she had known she had been attracted to him in some strange way, even though she hadn’t admitted it, even to herself. The more she thought about him, the more she knew she loved him, the way he walked, the sound of his voice wh
en he was talking to patients, so gentle and understanding, his grey eyes, sometimes so cloudy and inpenetrable, at other times crinkling with dancing lights as he smiled. It was going to be very difficult working with him after he was married, she knew that. For a moment she was tempted to hand in her notice and to run away, but it was only for a moment. You can’t always run, my girl, she told herself firmly, this time you’ve got to stay and face it out. The fact that Mike had no inkling of how she felt about him, would make it easier, she told herself without much conviction.

  Two days passed, and Isabel found that every other second she wondered what Mike was doing, in spite of her resolution not to. Had he finalised everything? Was he already married to Sarah? On the third day however, the theatre complex was buzzing with excitement when she arrived to change for duty.

  “Here’s one for you too,” said Susie, who was still in the changing room. “It’s so exciting. I don’t think I can wait until next week!” She skipped gleefully out of the room, then popped her head back in, “You will be coming, won’t you?” she asked.

  Isabel laughed, “Susie, give me time to draw a breath! I don’t even know what you are talking about!” For reply, Susie pointed in the direction of the cupboard. Propped up against the cupboard door was a large white envelope, addressed to Miss Isabel McKenna. Wonderingly Isabel picked it up and slit it open. Inside was a silver encrusted card, inviting Miss Isabel McKenna to a barbeque lunch, followed by an afternoon of swimming, tennis and sailing, with a buffet supper and disco in the evening, all this to celebrate the twenty-five years of marriage between Mr William Goldsmith and his wife Mrs Rebecca Goldsmith.

  At lunch time she found that everyone had been asked to the Goldsmith’s silver wedding celebrations. “But I don’t even know Mrs Goldsmith,” said Isabel, “I’m surprised he asked me.”

  “Bill Goldsmith is that sort of man,” said Cliff, “he wouldn’t leave anyone out. Anyway you are part of the team.” He paused and grinned, “It will give me a chance to see Victoria again. I’ve always fancied her, but I’ve been afraid to make a pass at her on account of her illustrious father.”