Price of love

by Rachel Lindsay

  Price of Love By RACHEL LINDSAY

  Superb narratives and vivid characters - hallmarks of Miss Lindsay's great novels, have made her name synonymous with the best in romantic fiction. Her deserved reputation as a truly gifted story-teller is worldwide. Price of Love

  Paula MacKinnon was a dedicated doctor, whose work and whose patients would always be more important to her than her private life. Jason Scott was a rich man's son, an admitted playboy, whose idea of work, when he bothered to work at all, was to be a racing driver. A thoroughly ill-matched couple, in fact, and Paula, while not denying the tremendous physical attraction that existed between them, was convinced that marriage would be a disaster. Shouldn't she listen both to her own sense of reason and to her far more suitable colleague, Mark Edgar?

  But Jason was prepared to take a chance, and so they married — only to find the difficulties as great even as Paula had anticipated. Would they ever be able to solve their problem?

  © Rachel Lindsay 1967

  Original hard cover edition published in 1967 by Mills & Boon Limited

  S6N 373-70545-X

  Halequin Presents edition published May 1974

  All the characters In this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, ond have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They ore not oven distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the Author, ond all the incident' are pure Invention.

  The Harlequin trade mork, consisting of the word HARLEQUIN and the portrayal of a Harlequin, is registered in the United States Patent Office and In the Conodo Trade Marks Oftice.

  Printed in Canada.

  CHAPTER I

  Paula MacKinnon drained the last of her wine and glanced round the crowded restaurant with the warm satisfaction that came from knowing there was nothing to do except enjoy herself for the rest of the evening. It was so rare an event that she could not help smiling at the knowledge, and her host, seeing it, gave her a questioning look.

  'May I share the joke?' he asked.

  'It wasn't a joke. I was just feeling happy at being here. I don't often get the chance of dining among the snob elite of Marsden' Once again she looked about her, enjoying the sheen of linen and glass, the glitter of jewellery and the expensive smell of scent that mingled with the equally expensive smell of Havana cigars. ' This is such a strange world to me,' she continued. 'I don't think I'll ever feel a part of it.'

  Martin Edgar leaned forward, his brown eyes narrowing as they rested on the pale, almost angular planes of her face,. ' Does that mean you disapprove of it?' he asked.

  'At the moment, no. But if you asked me tomorrow, when I'm in the ward, I'd probably say yes'

  'I'm sure you would.' There was a measure of disapproval in his voice. 'You know, my dear, it's dangerous to make the hospital your whole world.'

  'You say that?'

  'It's different for me.'

  'Because you're a man?' She shook her head so violently that her tawny hair fell forward. Impatiently she brushed it back. 'It's no different for you than for me. I'm a doctor before I'm a woman—just as you're a surgeon before you're a man.'

  ' Maybe that's been my mistake.' There was a bitterness in his voice that surprised her and, without knowing why, she decided not to continue the conversation. It was the first time she could remember having to be wary of what she said to him, and to give herself time to think, she reached for her compact and unnecessarily powdered her nose. Could Martin Edgar—the dedicated surgeon she had worked with for the past four years—be trying to flirt with her? It was so preposterous a thought that she dismissed it. Martin was not the flirting type. But could he, perhaps, be serious in his intentions? The idea was equally incredible, for he was too set in his ways to consider changing his life now. Besides, there was no room in it for a woman—never bad been, if hospital gossip was anything to go by. Indeed, it was this fact that had resulted in his divorce several years before she had met him.

  ' When you've stopped admiring yourself,' Martin Edgar said drily,' maybe you'll put away your compact and look at me.'

  She laughed and did as he asked. ' Well, what shall we talk about?'

  ' Anything except medicine.'

  Again she felt a twinge of nervousness, and the look of warmth on his square, lined face made it difficult for her to dismiss it as easily as she bad the first time. ' Don't tell me you regret being devoted to your work?' she said, with an effort at lightness.

  ' At my age, regret is a waste of time.'

  ' Forty isn't old.'

  'Forty-one,' he corrected. 'And it's your life I'm concerned with. You've been at the Marsden General four years, Paula, and in all that time I've never known you to be anything other than an overworked, over-conscientious doctor.'

  'Is that wrong?'

  'It is, if it's stopping you from being a woman.' He looked up, the heavy brows—darker than his grey-flecked hair—

  drawn together in a frown. ' Am I making myself clear?'

  She nodded, then said warily: 'I don't see why you should have regrets for what I do.'

  ' Because I'm…' He hesitated and then went on: 'I'm fond of you, Paula, and I don't want you to make the same mistake with your life that I made with mine. Enjoy your work by all means, but not to the exclusion of everything else.'

  'It's safer to love your work than love a man.'

  'You can't mean that' he said disbelievingly. 'I thought every girl dreamed of walking down the aisle in a white dress?'

  ' My dream was walking a hospital ward in a white coat.'

  She leaned back in her chair. ' For as long as I can remember I wanted to be a doctor. It wasn't easy for me, Martin, church mice were rich compared with what my mother had.'

  'Yet you succeeded. 'It was a statement, but she answered as if it were a query.

  ' Yes, I succeeded. It meant baby-sitting and waiting at tables, working as a home help and even delivering papers, but I finally succeeded. The day I won a scholarship to medical school I promised myself that nothing would stop me from qualifying as a doctor.'

  ' And now you are one, you're determined to be nothing else—not a wife, not a mother, not even a woman.'

  ' That's unfair!' She met his gaze squarely, without embarrassment. ' Biologically I m a woman with a woman's needs. Of course I'd like to marry, but I'm not prepared to go out and look for a man. If I meet someone, fine. If not, I'm content to go on as I am.'

  ' You shouldn't be content,' he said with unexpected sharpness. 'You're scared of falling in love, aren't you?

  That's the real reason you're content.'

  She shrugged, unaware that the movement brought into play the full curve of her breasts. 'Interpret it any way you like, Martin. All I know is that I'm not sufficiently interested to go out and look for a husband.' A smile lightened the depths of eyes that mirrored the tawny sheen of her hair. ' Maybe psychiatrists would say it's got something to do with my childhood or my father, but personally I've no intention of delving back into my murky past

  ' Then let's concentrate on the present.' Martin took a cigar from his breast pocket and slowly pierced the top. '

  Are your parents still alive?'

  'Only my mother. She has a guest house in Cleathorpes.'

  ' She must be proud of you.'

  'I'm proud of her. She worked like a Trojan to help me. Sometimes I wanted to pack it all in and do nursing instead—at least I'd have earned some money while I was training—but she wouldn't hear of it. I don't think I'd have had the guts to see it through if I hadn't been determined not to let her down.' Thinking of her mother softened the firm line of Paula's mouth and relaxed the taut look about the almond-shaped eyes, giving the man in front of her a glimpse of the voluptuous and sensual magnetism she
normally controlled.

  'You're so lovely' he said suddenly. ' You shouldn't spend your life in a hospital. You should have a beautiful home, someone to care for you and'

  'Bore me to death ' she concluded. 'No, Martin, that sort of marriage is definitely out.' The humour had left her face. ' Before coming to Marsden I was offered a job in one of those swank nursing homes off Harley Street, the sort of place where I'd have met the kind of man you're thinking of, but I turned it down and took a hospital job instead.'

  'Why?'

  'I couldn't see myself clucking over appendicectomies and rich socialites with their first babies.'

  Martin grinned. ' You're an inverted snob, Paula. You refuse to see any good in the rich. If you're not careful you'll' He broke off as a waiter approached him.

  'I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Edgar, but there's a call from the hospital. If you'd like to take it from the office . . .'

  By the time Martin returned, Paula had dealt with the bill and collected their coats, and as he led the way through the drizzle of rain to his car, she was amused to see that he took it for granted she would not want to be taken home first. So much for his fine speech that women should always be women 'All it needed was an urgent call from the hospital for him to regard her as a doctor first and last.

  What's the trouble?' she asked as they drew away from the kerb. ' Car accident Some young fool in an E-type Jag.' 'Drunk or speeding, I suppose,' Paula commented with quiet disgust 'Who's on Casualty?'

  'Blake.'

  'He doesn't panic. If he sent for you, it must be serious.'

  Martin nodded without taking his eyes from the road. The rain was heavier now and even the windscreen wipers did little to help visibility. ' Multiple fractures, suspicion of a perforated lung and internal bleeding,' he murmured. 'If the X-rays confirm, we'll operate at once.'

  He turned off the main road into the familiar drive leading to the hospital. A row of lamps glittered like diamonds, turning the ground beneath them into shining pools of water. The car stopped alongside the last one, almost in front of the entrance leading to the Casualty department. Donald Blake, tall and thin, was hovering inside the doorway. ' Sorry I had to drag you out, sir' he said, as Martin ran up the steps.

  ' Never mind that. Have the X-rays come through?'

  ' They're on their way up.' The young man preceded them through the swing doors that led to a row of cubicles, 'I thought it best not to move him until you'd seen him' he said quickly. ' He's hemorrhaging badly.'

  As if to emphasize his words, a nurse emerged from the end cubicle, wheeling a trolley laden with soiled dressings. Donald Blake stepped to one side and Martin and Paula went through. A nurse was adjusting an intravenous drip connected by tubes to the injured man's arm, and Martin stepped over to glance at him before taking the chart the young doctor was holding out to him.

  ' Looks bad,' Donald murmured to Paula. 'If this one lives through the night, we're still in the age of miracles.'

  Paula bent forward and looked at the body on the narrow hospital cot She had expected to see a teenager, but the face beneath the dark blond hair was that of a man in his late twenties. Studying the patently handsome features, marked now by abrasions and streakings of dried blood, she felt more than a clinical absence of sympathy. Folly, forgivable in an adolescent, was unforgivable in someone old enough to know better.

  ' Quite a mess.' Martin broke the silence.

  ' You should see the car, sir,' Donald said. ' According to the ambulance men it's a write-off' ' He's lucky to be alive'

  Paula observed, and the coldness of her voice drew a quizzical look from Martin. 4 He won't be much longer, if we don't get to work on him,' he said, and swung round to Donald. ' Get on to Theatre Sister.'

  'I already have. She's standing by'

  ' Good. Get him up to the theatre. There's no time to lose. And hurry those X-rays I'

  Not till the cubicle was empty did Martin speak again, moving over to put his hand on Paula's arm. I'm sorry the evening had to end this way. I'll arrange for you to be taken home.'

  She smiled slightly. ' There's no need. I don't get as many opportunities as I'd like to watch you at work'

  ' You've only got one head,' he retorted. ' You can't be everywhere'

  ' More's the pity'

  They walked back down the corridor to the lift. ' Ever thought of specializing?' he asked.

  'I wouldn't like it. I'm interested in too many things'

  ' What about general practice, then?'

  ' Never. Too much dispensing of aspirin and sympathy'

  'Sometimes sympathy's very effective.'

  The lift doors slid open and they stepped through.

  ' While you're scrubbing up,' she said, 'I'll look in on Women's Surgical'

  ' One of my cases?'

  ' Yes. Mrs. Jackson—gall bladder'

  He nodded, remembering. ' Aren't I operating on her tomorrow?'

  'Yes'

  ' Do you have to see her for any special reason?'

  ' No. Nurse said she was worrying about the operation, so I thought I'd talk to her and reassure her.'

  'I'm glad to see you care about your patients.'

  It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when did, she was astonished at the hurt they invoked.

  ' Do I strike you as being so unfeeling?' she asked.

  'The feeling's there,' he replied,' but you clamp down on it so much I'm afraid you'll kill it'

  ' Just because I don't have sympathy for that young idiot who was brought in tonight'

  'Don't judge people by your own yardstick' he interrupted.

  ' Driving fast on a night like this is'

  'We don't know whether he was driving fast.'

  The lift doors opened and they stepped out on to the surgical floor. 'It seems to be home truth night for Paula MacKinnon' she said ruefully. 'If I took you seriously, Martin, I'd resign immediately and go off to work in a leper colony I'

  ' At the risk of a chch.6,I can only say I'm telling you this for your own good.' He glanced quickly round to make sure no one was in sight and then leaned close to her. '

  You've already proved you're a doctor, Paula, now concentrate on Proving I'm a woman?' Mischievously she tilted her head so that their lips were a breath apart. His eyes narrowed and she felt, rather than saw, the tremor that went through him. For a moment he looked at her, then wordlessly he drew back and walked away. She watched until his retreating figure had disappeared, then slowly walked along the corridor to the surgical ward. How stupid of Martin not to realize the effort it cost her to hide her feelings. Did he think she had no regrets for the fun she had missed as a young girl, or did not long for the emotional security of being loved and cherished?

  How much easier her life would be if she were capable of putting herself first and medicine second. She sighed and pushed open the door of the ward. What man would want to share his wife with a hospital ? Hard on the thought came a picture of Martin, his face bent towards her. No, she could not think of him in that way. Much as she liked him and respected him as a surgeon, she knew that what she felt for him could never go beyond friendship. It was fifteen minutes later before she reached the operating theatre, and as always the brilliant lights, the smell of anaesthetic and the sense of urgency redolent in the atmosphere awakened a sense of exhilaration in her. Glancing into the scrub room, she glimpsed Martin in a long green gown and a cap on his head, scrubbing his hands by one of the sinks. A nurse came through from the room beyond and behind the swinging door she saw the operating table and the arc of lights suspended above it. Quietly she washed her hands, slipped into the gown held out for her and followed Martin into the theatre. As always when she watched him at work, she experienced a sense of humility at the knowledge that here, only a few feet away from her, was a man who had achieved the greatest command of his profession. Small wonder he had preferred the loneliness of living alone to the effort of keeping up the social atmosphere which his wife—so gossip said—bad
considered essential to her happiness. A sudden change in the breathing of the patient focused her attention on the operating table. The anaesthetist increased the flow of oxygen and she held her breath until the soft rubber bag continued its rhythmic inflating and deflating, and the fluctuating needle that marked the patient's tenuous hold on life was steady again. Two hours passed before Martin finally raised his head and wearily signalled for his assistant to step forward and complete the stitching. Beneath his mask his face was lifeless, though fresh beads of perspiration glittered between the lines on his forehead.

  Resentment of the unconscious man he had left behind him flooded into her mind. Martin's skill should be used to save lives that were worthwhile, not wasted on a reckless fool who had more money than sense. Horrified that she should be thinking this way, she reminded herself that she was a doctor, not a judge to decide who was fit to live or to die. Martin's job, like hers, was to save life irrespective of the worth of its owner.

  'I'll drive you home.' Martin's voice, as calm as she had always known it, brought her back to the present.

  'I'll drive you,' she said. ' You look exhausted.'

  Together they left the hospital, and as they walked down the steps to the car the grey light of dawn was already edging the top of the laboratory wing. The rain stopped and mere was a smell of earth and leaves. She breathed deeply, feeling her tiredness fall away from her. Quickly she stepped round to the driving seat, but found Martin blocking her way.

  'I'll drive,' he said.

  ' No. You're tired.'

  ' Get in and stop being difficult I'

  She slid across the seat and left him the wheel. She knew that his determination not to let her drive was one more unusual facet of his already unusual behaviour this evening, and thoughts she had believed safely buried came again into the forefront of her mind. It was not conceit that made her believe Martin was seeing her as a prospective wife; everything he had said and done tonight spoke for it. But how did she see him? The answer came swiftly, without any thought: As a friend and as a surgeon; never as a husband.

  Ahead her bungalow loomed. It was a rented home, but until tonight she had not felt the need for more. Now, for the first time, she thought of it with displeasure. It was a home that did not belong to her and, more important still, it was one to which she did not belong.