'You were lucky.' Miranda was holding the happily gurgling Kylie on her lap, gently bouncing her up and down. 'And I'm glad for you.'
'I'm glad myself.' Danielle looked at Miranda thoughtfully. 'You like babies, don't you? I can tell. When are you going to have one of your own?'
Miranda tried to keep her face calm. 'Plenty of time yet,' she said. 'I've got to find the right man first.'
'Mr Sinclair isn't married, is he? Could you marry him?'
Miranda laughed, though it sounded a little shrill even to herself. 'He'd have to ask me. But we just work together.'
'Didn't look that way when you called last time,' said Danielle. 'You couldn't keep your eyes off him. Fancy another cup of tea?'
'Love one. Where's Derek tonight?' Miranda wanted to change the conversation.
She left a few minutes later. Danielle had obviously been pleased to see her and Miranda gave her her mobile number. She'd call again. As she walked back to her car she felt much better. It was good to see an obviously content Danielle in her spotless little home. There were some good results. And if Danielle's problems could be solved, why not her own?
Then the week was nearly over. On the Thursday night he phoned her at home. 'Tomorrow night,' he said. 'I'm likely to be working very late, but I expect to be finished at about nine. Would you meet me at the Red Lion? I'll be bushed but I'll be in the mood for a tiny celebration. The hard week will be over.'
'I'll see you there,' she said. 'Look forward to it.'
As the Red Lion was the hospital's local pub, she was quite happy to go there on her own and knew that was why Jack had suggested it. It would be full of people she knew.
She got there quite early, bought herself a glass of red wine and then stood, chatting casually to people she knew. She didn't want to sit down, to join a group. When Jack came, she wanted him on her own.
And then there was a hand on her arm and a voice murmured behind her, 'I've bought you another glass of red wine. And over there are two seats where we can sit together and not be disturbed.'
She turned. It was Jack. He was wearing his usual smart black trousers and highly polished shoes. But he was also wearing a very sharp designer sweater, in a very un-Jack colour. She couldn't help it. She squeaked, 'Where did you get that sweater from?'
He looked abashed. 'Five minutes ago I told Toby I was coming down here to meet you,' he said. 'And Toby said, "Not dressed like that, you aren't", and made me borrow this sweater.'
'I like Toby. And you look really good in his sweater. Sexy.'
'Thanks. And Toby has his good points.' Jack took her arm and guided her to the vacant table.
She was aware of assorted curious glances, knew that they would be the gossip of the hospital next day. No matter, she didn't mind. And he had taken the decision to meet her here knowingly. He must have known what would happen. Now they were a couple. She was pleased that he had taken the decision.
They sat facing each other, sipping their red wine. 'You look tired,' she said, 'I can tell you've had a hard week.'
Jack shrugged. 'You get a hard week and then an easy one,' he said. 'It's part of my life and I like it. But I've missed seeing you. I feel that something had been started between us but we didn't have chance to carry on with it.'
'I've missed seeing you, too, but I'm a bit frightened of what might happen. Last year my emotions...they took a bit of a battering. It's not easy when the man you think you might marry is killed while sitting next to you.'
He took her hand, stroked her palm. 'I can imagine.
But still, your life must go on.' He grinned. 'And you have re-invented yourself.'
'Sort of re-invented,' she suggested.
'Sort of re-invented, then. Now, I think we've got to know each other quite well, but it's all been a bit casual and work-related. Time for the next step. How would you like to go out with me tomorrow evening? I'd love you to come.'
'Go out with you? You mean, like as on a date?'
'A date?' He winced. 'That would be the last expression I'd use. But I guess that's what I have in mind.'
'Jack, I'd love to go out with you! Where are you taking me?'
He looked smug. 'That is to remain a secret. Shall I pick you up about six?'
He phoned her late the following morning. 'I've just been schooled by my younger man-about-town brother,' he said. 'Not an easy experience. He says I have to tell you not what to wear but the kind of thing to wear. Tonight, he suggests, we are smart casual—whatever that means. He says you'll know.'
'I know,' she said. 'Are you going to be smart casual, too?'
'That depends on whether Toby manages to overcome my long-established prejudices. Is it proper for a consultant to borrow the clothes of an SHO?'
'I think that it's OK if it's in the family,' she said. 'You're not going to give me a hint where we're going?'
'A bit of mystery is good for the soul,' he said. 'Remember, six o'clock.'
Miranda had arranged to go to a trendy hairstylist in town to have her hair streaked and given a simple but sexy style. Then she and Annie set to and looked through both their wardrobes. Smart casual. Something that people would notice and perhaps remember, but also something that appeared to have been put together without much thought. In the end she wore her smart black trouser suit with a rather revealing scarlet silk blouse borrowed from Annie. 'You'll be all right in that.' Annie nodded. 'Just don't bend forward too much. You're a bigger girl than me.'
'Right.'
Now all she had to do was wait for him to call. She'd had her hair done, showered carefully to avoid messing it up and massaged lots of expensive moisturiser into her skin to make it even more silky. She'd dressed and done her make-up. And it was only five o'clock. An hour to wait! Well, she could read.
It was a terrible thing to admit, even to herself, but once again, from half past five onwards she found herself glancing out of the window, waiting for the black sports car to appear at the end of their little cul-de-sac. She felt anxious, excited as a teenager on her first date. Where were they going? What would they do afterwards? Should she invite him back here or would he take her to his flat?
The black car appeared. She flew to the front door— then made herself walk back into the living room. The last thing she wanted was for him to know just how desperately she had been waiting.
The doorbell rang. She walked calmly to answer it. And blinked at the vision that was waiting for her.
'Now, aren't you a lovely sight for a lady's eyes?' she said.
'This is all my brother's work,' he said glumly. 'In fact, it's his suit and shirt. I think he's trying to get his own back for the times I've made him work extra hours.'
'But, Jack, you look wonderful!' She thought for a moment and then added, 'But I must admit—you look different.'
He was wearing a light fawn linen suit, creased to just the right amount, and underneath it a dark blue silk shirt. No tie. And he did look wonderful. She knew that wherever they went that evening, people would be looking at him.
'Something's wrong,' he said. 'I'm dressed for a day by the seaside—and you're in the formal black suit that I usually wear.'
'There are a few differences.'
'There are indeed.' He looked at her scarlet blouse and she resisted the temptation to pull at the collar, ease it upwards. She'd spent half an hour judging precisely the amount of décolletage she should show. 'If I look wonderful, you look magnificent.'
'Shall we go?' she asked. 'I'm feeling excited already.'
They parked in the centre of town; he took her hand and led her through the Saturday evening crowds. The shoppers had gone, now people were out for pleasure.
And she was right. Jack did attract a number of admiring glances.
He took her first to a hotel that specialised in early evening meals for people who were going on afterwards to the theatre, a show or a concert. They had steak and salad—and debated whether it was better to have red wine or champagne with steak. On this night, champagne won. Sh
e felt elated, excited. And she was filled with anticipation. In spite of her entreaties, he wouldn't tell her where they were going. She was surprised to learn that Jack could be a bit of a tease.
Then it was time to go. He led her past the market and... 'I still want to know where we're going, what you've—Jack, you haven't got tickets!'
They stood outside the city's largest theatre.
'I have. It took some doing, I had to call in a couple of favours. But we have seats. In fact, we have a box.'
'How did you know that I—?'
'When I was looking through your CDs I noticed that you had more by this fellow than anyone. And he's here for just one night. A quick tour of the provinces, a week in London and then back to America.'
'Jack, you're marvellous! You couldn't have picked anything better for me.' She reached up, kissed him quickly on the cheek. 'Come on, I don't want to miss a second of this.'
Her favourite singer. A man who had been singing for thirty years, and had never yet fallen out of favour. A man who sang about love—as if he had experienced every feeling that it might bring. This was going to be an evening to remember!
It was. Their little box was practically on the stage—she could see him as clearly as if he had been in her living room. She smiled when he sang about the joys of young love, felt the lump in her throat when he sang about love that was unrequited, or undeserved. She let go of Jack's hand just long enough to clap. With the rest of the audience, she stood and cheered. And when the performance finally ended, after three generous encores, she felt overwhelmed with happiness.
'Jack, that was one of the best evenings of my life,' she said. 'Thank you so much for taking me.'
'It was one of the best evenings of my life, too,' he said. 'Because I was with you. Now, after all the emotion, are you hungry again? Or would you like a drink? You told me once that you wanted to try big-city life. This is your chance.'
She couldn't resist the chance of a little dig. 'Are you trying to treat me like one of your women?'
'Certainly not. You're nothing like them. And that's good.'
'That's OK, then.' She thought for a moment. 'Jack, I don't want to go to a club or anything like that. It's not cold—can we go down by the river? I love it at night.'
'Whatever you want. We'll drive down, park by the Albert Dock.'
So they parked, he took her hand and they walked alongside the black flowing river. 'This is peaceful. It's calming,' she said. 'I can see that ship out there, just a row of lights with a dark shadow around them. It's slipping downriver and out of my life. The people on board know nothing of us and our problems. They have their own lives. And it makes any problems we might have seem unimportant.'
'Do we have problems?'
'There's my life so far.' Her voice was reflective. 'I lost the man I was going to marry, nearly died in a car crash and spent months in hospital. In retrospect, all the choices I made were wrong. Who's to say I'm not making wrong choices again?'
'Do you think you are? Making wrong choices, that is?'
'No,' she said after a while, 'but I'm still a bit frightened. I came here intending to start a new life. For a year or two I was going to keep men at a distance. Get more sure of myself. And then I met you.'
'So, on the whole, are you glad or sorry you met me?'
'Oh, glad. No doubt about it—glad, glad, glad. But I can still worry a bit can't I?'
'Just for a while,' he said. 'But not for too long.'
She made up her mind. 'I think I'm getting a bit cold,' she said. 'I'd like to go home now. Would you like to come in for coffee?'
'I'd love to.'
She made him coffee. Annie was out, both of them knew that she was working a night shift. Whatever happened, they would not be disturbed.
While Jack waited in the living room, Miranda went to her bedroom and changed again, into shirt and jeans. When she returned he had taken off his jacket and there was a CD playing quietly. It was a song she had heard not two hours before. But now it seemed to have an extra resonance. Last time she had heard it, she had seen the singer in person, and she had been holding Jack's hand. It made things different.
She put the coffee-tray on the table, sat by his side on the couch. 'Thank you for a lovely evening,' she said. 'I've enjoyed it so much.'
'So have I. But the evening's not over yet.'
'No, it's not,' she said. 'And I'm so glad.' Would he take that as an invitation? Did she mean it as an invitation? Whatever, there was no hurry. They sat side by side and drank their coffee.
It was so pleasant to be there. The memory of the show and the meal, the lights now low and the music playing. Jack by her side. How could things get better?
He put his arm round her and kissed her. She had been wanting him to, expecting him to, but it was still wonderful when he did. She closed her eyes, felt the strength of his arms around her and surrendered herself to the sheer delight of what they were doing.
At first his lips were firm on hers. Then the tip of his tongue, gently probing, and she parted her lips so he could—she could—more fully enjoy what they were doing.
But it wasn't too comfortable, sitting side by side. And she'd had a long day. So she felt herself sliding down, stretching herself out on the couch, pulling him so he was lying by her side.
It felt so good to be there with him. They were both fully clothed, of course, but she could feel the full length of his body against hers. Through his shirt she felt the swift beating of his heart. His thigh crossed hers and she could feel the hardness of his arousal, and that made her more excited than ever. This was so good! She felt that life was a dream; wonderful things were happening to her without her asking or deserving them.
He leaned back a little, laid her comfortably on her back. Then, one by one, he unfastened the buttons on her shirt. With delicate fingers he pushed the fabric aside, and somehow managed to unfasten her bra at the same time. She was glad she had put on her most dainty underwear.
Now her breasts were naked. His head bent, his lips fastened on one hard peak and then the other—and she gasped with the sheer pleasure of it. There was nothing she had to do now but be herself, be happy. He would make all the decisions. Wherever he wanted to take her, she would gladly go.
So when his hand trailed down the soft roundness of her stomach, under her waistband, below the sheer silk fabric of her knickers, she was happy. He was leading, she would follow.
But then... Perhaps it was a sign of his innate sensitivity. Both of them knew that if he went further there would be no chance of turning back. And so he asked her, 'Miranda...sweetheart, are you sure?'
And for a moment she tried to think instead of feel.
'Jack,' she whispered. Her voice was thick, it was as if she didn't want to say the words. 'This is so good, you're making me so happy, you're taking me to places where I don't know where I am. But this is more than sex, isn't it?'
His voice was breathless. 'Yes. It's much, much more.'
It was the hardest thing she had ever done. But she pushed his hand aside, somehow managed to sit up. With a weary hand she brushed her hair back. 'I could live with just sex,' she said. 'And I want to. But if this is going to mean any more to you, then we need to stop. Ultimately I would only make you miserable. Jack, you'd better go home.'
He said nothing. For a while he stared at her, and she worried that he hadn't understood, didn't realise that she was doing this for him, not her. Then still without speaking he stood, walked to her bathroom. She heard the running of water.
When he came back his face was still wet. 'Cold water,' he said. 'It's supposed to chill a man's ardour. It didn't work with me. Goodnight, Miranda.
He left and she was desolate.
He drove home, went straight to the bathroom and showered. Very, very faintly he could smell Miranda on him or on his clothes—a combination of her scent and her own bodily warmth. He wanted to get rid of the smell. It was tormenting him with the sense of what might have been. Miranda w
as tormenting him. He put on his dressing-gown, poured himself a whisky and sat in his darkened living room to think.
He had never felt this way about a woman before. The feelings he was having he had tried to dismiss as adolescent—a belief that only she could make him happy, a desperation for her presence, a longing for her that stopped him from sleeping. This wasn't the usual cool Jack Sinclair!
What was he to do about her? No way would she become just one of the women with whom he had had a casual love affair—something that was pleasant but would be soon over without any great regrets. And she was nothing like Veronica—he knew that. For the first time he was genuinely in love. This was a woman he thought he might be able to share his life with. And the thought frightened him. Now, what was keeping them apart? He tried to think about it coolly, dispassionately, the way he had taught himself to think. But he couldn't. An hour before he had glimpsed a happiness that was beyond belief. If he had made love to Miranda—no, if they had made love to each other—then he knew that both of them would have made that final commitment. It might take time but there would be no doubt of the final outcome. They were meant to be together. But she had held back. Holding back had hurt her, he knew this, could feel it. Why? He just couldn't work it out.
He stood, stretched his arms above his head, tautened his body until the muscles ached and the sinews cracked. He was Jack Sinclair, neonatal surgeon, confident and proud of his skills. Problems were there to be solved. He didn't know what the problem was between him and Miranda, but he would find out and they would solve it.
He just couldn't imagine a life without her.
CHAPTER SIX
On Monday morning Miranda was working an early shift. Just before lunchtime Jenny Donovan came in with a message for her.
'I've had a request from Mr Sinclair. He's got a long list. He'll be operating all day. He knows you have the afternoon off so if you're free, he'd like you to observe just one operation, at about three. Scrub up half an hour before.'
'Great!' said Miranda. 'I'm doing nothing that I can't cancel this afternoon.'
A Surgeon, A Midwife - A Family Page 8
