by Amy Andrews
Because she was out of bounds. Way, way out of bounds.
The digital clock read five minutes to five when Madeline woke up. She felt slightly disorientated in the darkened room and rolled onto her back, sighing loudly.
Marcus came into her line of vision. He was sitting silently in one of the chairs from the lounge room, deeply engrossed in a book. His head snapped up at her movement.
‘Marcus?’ she asked, momentarily puzzled by his presence. Her migraine had gone but the all-too-familiar after-effects had taken its place. Her brain felt fuzzy, all her thought processes seemed jumbled and she felt totally sapped.
‘Good evening, Maddy. Feeling better?’
His chirpy mood grated on her recovering nerves. Memories of the massage and her body’s reaction to it swamped her. ‘I feel fine, thank you. There was no need for you to stay,’ she said. ‘You may as well go now.’
She went to sit up and then remembered she was naked except for her knickers. She could feel a blush steal up her face and hoped that Marcus couldn’t see it through the gloom. Now she was awake and the memories were flooding back, she was acutely embarrassed by the rather intimate nature of their afternoon.
‘So I’m dismissed, am I?’ he enquired, one black eyebrow rising slightly, an amused smile playing on his lips.
He made her sound churlish and she felt herself go redder still. ‘I’m grateful,’ she said, forcing the tremor from her voice. ‘Really I am. But I don’t need to be babysat.’
It was weird, talking to a fully clothed Marcus as the sheets slid seductively across her bare flesh, grazing her nipples and making her acutely aware of her state of undress. He was two metres away. In her bedroom. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do or say.
‘I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re going to be OK. Get up. Have a shower. I’ll rustle us up something to eat.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ she said automatically, even though she was starving. She just wanted him as far away from her as possible.
‘You need to eat something,’ he said, and his voice was firm. ‘And I think you at least owe me a meal.’
He was right. He’d arrived at her place expecting to have an afternoon on the town and instead had spent his time ministering to her. She opened her mouth to agree but he’d already left the room and she could hear him opening cupboards in the kitchen.
Marcus looked up when he heard Madeline shuffle into the kitchen ten minutes later. His welcoming smile slipped slightly as he took in her appearance. Baggy trackpants, baggy sweatshirt, fluffy pink slippers, hair tied back into a neat plait.
No shape. About as asexual as she could get. Marcus almost laughed out loud. He knew what she was trying to achieve but he didn’t have to see it to know that underneath all that thick padding was a fantastic body. Not that long ago he’d had his hands all over it! She would look sexy in sack-cloth.
‘Going for a jog?’ he queried sardonically.
She ignored him. She felt back in control of her body and the situation again. ‘Hmm, that smells wonderful. What is it?’
‘Omelette,’ he said, ‘And it’s ready. Let’s eat.’
He had made himself at home in her kitchen, judging by the beautifully set table. Marcus placed a huge plate of steaming eggs in front of her, followed closely by a mound of buttered toast. Madeline’s stomach growled ferociously as the odours made her mouth water.
They ate in silence. Madeline savoured the rich, mouth-watering flavour of the omelette. Marcus savoured her animated appreciation of his cooking. The shower had obviously done her the world of good, he thought. It had brought the colour back to her cheeks. She looked much better.
Marcus finished and pushed his plate away. He sat, arms folded, regarding her, expression blank. Madeline stopped, egg-laden fork paused halfway between the plate and her mouth. His stare was very unsettling.
Their gazes locked. Madeline’s ears filled with the pounding of her heart. A slight vibration of the fork betrayed the frantic beat.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Just watching.’
Madeline tried not to be self-conscious as she ate but found it too unnerving. ‘Must you?’ she asked impatiently, putting down her fork.
Marcus chuckled, a low deep noise, and Madeline breathed easier when he got up from the table. He prowled around the dining room, inspecting her framed photographs.
‘This the ring-giver?’ he asked.
Madeline looked up and saw him with Simon’s photo. Her first instinct was to admit they were no longer engaged, but if looking at a photo of Simon served as a reminder to Marcus that she was spoken for, even if it was temporarily untrue, then she wasn’t going to disabuse him. ‘That’s my fiancé, yes,’ she said, hoping that a huge lightning bolt wouldn’t crack open the ceiling and fry her where she sat.
Marcus stared at the other man for a while. ‘So why isn’t he here, looking after you?’
‘He’s a busy surgical registrar at the hospital. It’s difficult to synchronise our schedules.’ She shrugged, irritated by his subtle criticism. ‘He has a lot on his plate.’
‘Surely some things are more important,’ Marcus said.
Madeline couldn’t believe he was forcing her to defend a man who had dumped her! ‘His shifts suck and he’s got exams coming up. I’m not a child. I can look after myself.’
Yes, but sometimes it was nice to be looked after. Marcus shook his head at the framed photo. What an idiot, he thought, and thanked God he’d not been lured into the crazy world of speciality medicine! Who would choose their work over Maddy? Did the man not realise that she might not be there when he was finished forging a career? Beautiful women like Maddy needed to be appreciated and adored—not neglected!
‘What?’ she asked defensively, noticing Marcus’s disparaging look. It seemed strange that another man was in her house, making himself at home, touching her stuff, looking at her pictures.
‘Nothing,’ he said, and put the frame down.
‘No. There was something,’ she insisted.
‘Look, I’ve never met him and I’m sure he’s doing a great job but…the guy is an idiot, Maddy.’
She blinked a few times, not quite believing that he had just said what he’d said. ‘I beg your pardon? He finished top of the class. He won the university medal. He’s no idiot.’
Marcus shook his head instead of following his first instinct, which was to shake her. ‘Oh, I’m sure he’s brilliant, Maddy. But, trust me, any man that can neglect you can’t be all that smart.’
Madeline wanted to leap in and object, defend Simon, but Marcus’s compliment stopped her in her tracks. She blushed and found herself wondering for a moment how it would feel to have someone so into you they couldn’t even bear to leave your side.
He put the photo down, deciding that he’d never understand men like that or why Maddy thought it was acceptable.
‘Your parents?’ he asked, pointing at another picture. She nodded and he continued, ‘I’m sorry. George said they’re both dead.’
Madeline nodded again, touched by the genuine warmth and sympathy in his voice. He held her gaze for a moment before turning back to the photos.
‘Who’s this?’ he asked.
He was holding a small silver frame displaying a picture of Abby and Madeline shortly before her sister’s death. It was Madeline’s favourite. They had spent the day out shopping together and had caught a movie. They’d been laughing about the light-hearted comedy when Simon had snapped the candid shot.
She felt the familiar sadness encroach. ‘My sister.’
Oh, George hadn’t mentioned a sister. They certainly didn’t look alike. The younger woman was smaller and blonde. ‘Does she live in Brisbane?’ he asked.
‘Not any more. She’s dead,’ Madeline said quietly, rising to take the photo away from him.
Marcus felt as if she had just socked him between the eyes as he passed it back. He reached out to put his hands on her shoulders as a gesture of comfor
t, but she flinched and stepped out of his reach.
‘How long ago?’
‘Five years.’
Ah. Now that explained a lot, especially the headaches. Until she had resolved all her grief Marcus suspected they would continue to plague her. ‘What happened?’
‘One of your lot killed her.’
The quiet statement exploded into the silence around them. She traced her sister’s face with her index finger and Marcus shut his eyes against her anguish for a few moments and prepared himself for what he knew was going to be a really horrible story about some fly-by-night who had taken a young woman’s life through his quackery.
‘Let me guess, a snake-oil salesman from Chinatown? A voodoo priestess?’
Marcus knew all about the seedier side of his chosen field and the unqualified people out there who pedalled cures for a fast buck.
‘Psychic surgeon.’
‘Oh, Maddy,’ he whispered. He wanted to draw her into the circle of his arms and comfort her but she was standing stiffly, every body language cue she possessed telling him to back off. ‘They’re not holistic therapists. They’re—’
‘Quacks? Charlatans? Witches?’ she said, feeling cold inside again as the same hopeless despair she had felt when her deathly ill sister had landed on her doorstep revisited. It had been too late to help her and she’d been unable to do anything as the life-force had slowly ebbed from her sister.
Marcus heard her pain and better understood her vehemence that first day. ‘I’m not responsible for the entire industry, Maddy. There are unscrupulous practitioners on both sides of the fence.’
She held her sister’s photo up to him. ‘Save it,’ she said.
The girl in the picture looked about twenty. ‘Maddy—’
She held up her hand, indicating for him to stop. ‘Look, I know I was harsh the other day and you’re right—there are incompetents everywhere. But I’m a doctor. By my very nature I’m sceptical. However, as you’ve just cured my migraine, which even I have to admit is quite an amazing feat, I have to give you kudos for that. I’m not completely shut off to different ideas, Marcus, but I need to see the science. Show me the literature, the evidence, the replicated double-blind studies.’
‘I agree, this is an area where my field of medicine is lacking. But I want to assure you that any practice I employ is evidence-based. Any time you want to see the literature, just ask.’
‘Oh, I will,’ she said, and sighed wearily, replacing the frame. ‘You can count on it.’
He laughed and saw a small smile flit across her lips. She yawned and he realised how done in she looked. He knew how much migraines sapped energy levels so he shelved any further conversation.
‘I’m going to go and leave you get back to bed,’ he said, priding himself on how calm he sounded when the thought of her in bed set his heart pumping loudly.
Madeline nodded as a shiver prickled her skin. She daren’t look at him in case he could read her very unladylike thoughts.
‘Here,’ he said, and held out a small tin.
She looked at the offering in his hand but made no effort to take it. ‘What is it?’ she asked sceptically.
He picked up her hand, opened her palm and placed the tin in it. ‘Feverfew leaves,’ he said. ‘I know you’re not a believer and I understand you have more reason than most to be suspicious of what I do, but if you take it regularly, as an infusion, it’s great for migraine prophylaxis.’
She stared at the tin for a few seconds and looked up just in time to see him heading out the front door. She opened the lid and then slowly brought it up to her nose to sniff it. It didn’t smell hideous—in fact, it was quite pleasant. It probably wouldn’t hurt to give it a try.
Still, she suspected not seeing him ever again would be the best prophylaxis of all.
CHAPTER FOUR
MADELINE felt wonderful the next morning. The usual hangover she’d normally wake up with after a migraine was non-existent and she knew she had Marcus and his magic touch to thank for that. Even though it had been that touch responsible for the vivid erotic dreams that had weaved their way through the haze of her subconscious all night. She’d woken aroused, the spark now a furnace licking heat deep inside her, and she had to make a conscious effort to get her butt out of bed.
Luckily her first day back at work passed fairly quickly, for which she was grateful. The more work the less time she had to think about Marcus and how his touch had awoken a slumbering nymph. Quite how she was going to handle that she wasn’t sure…
She was fully booked, her regulars more than pleased to see her. Madeline knew that if patients were ill enough, it hardly mattered who they saw, but it took a while to build up a relationship and a rapport with a doctor, and it was only natural to feel more comfortable around your own GP.
There wasn’t anything too taxing for her first day. Just the usual array of aches and pains, mole checks, grizzly babies, requests for repeat scripts, several referrals, a couple of vaccinations and a few pap smears.
Since Madeline had joined the practice the previous year she had introduced a lot of changes, particularly in the area of women’s health. And it was paying dividends. They were attracting an increasing female clientele. Even a lot of the older ladies who didn’t believe in female doctors now preferred Madeline to look after their ‘women’s business’.
She was immensely proud of this. She was pleased that the female clients of the practice, both old and new, had confidence in her. And that George and Andrew did, too. It hadn’t been easy at times and they had made her work damn hard to prove herself, but she’d enjoyed the challenge and had reaped the rewards.
One of the reasons she had gone to the UK, apart from the symposium, had been to look at ways of incorporating a well women’s clinic in the practice, something that focussed on proactive instead of reactive, and she dearly wanted to get a local support group for the growing numbers of teenage mothers up and running. Some of the UK models she had seen were very impressive.
She had lots of ideas and she was lucky that her father’s old partners were open to suggestions. She had known them all her life and both were very dear to Madeline. It had been a dream come true that they had made room for her in the practice and she had nothing less than a full partnership in her sights.
But first she had to earn it. That took hard work and determination and fortunately she was blessed with an abundance of both. Her innovations were helping to rebuild a client base which had been dwindling, and Madeline was determined to forge a bright future for her father’s beloved practice.
At about three o’clock, Constance Fullbright entered her office. Madeline had been dreading this visit all day. Although fifty-year-old Connie was a nice woman, she was the resident hypochondriac. She had been a patient of Andrew’s for thirty years but he had eagerly passed her on to Madeline when Connie had decided that perhaps a female doctor was a better idea.
‘Hello, Connie,’ said Madeline.
‘Oh, Dr Harrington! So good to have you back. This has been the longest six weeks of my life! Promise you’ll never leave me like that again.’
Madeline smiled. ‘I have to have a holiday some time.’ She laughed.
‘Oh, yes, I suppose,’ the other woman said, lowering her hefty frame into the chair opposite Madeline. ‘But, well, it’s just not the same, seeing anyone else,’ she complained. ‘Andrew is a dear soul and he was my doctor for a long time but, well…it’s just not the same as you, my dear.’
‘Well, thank you, Connie. I’ll take that as a compliment. What can I help you with today?’ Madeline knew from experience that if you didn’t keep Constance on track, the consultation would last for ever. She was lonely and loved a good gossip. But there was just never the time for that and particularly not today with still a good twenty patients left to see.
Madeline listened to her patient describe her latest medical problem. She wrote occasional notes in Connie’s very thick chart. Madeline would have seen Connie at least o
nce a week for the last two years. Sometimes twice. Over that time Madeline had investigated Connie for all number of things, including insomnia, heavy periods, mood swings, aching joints, diplopia, headaches, sore throats, fever and forgetfulness.
Connie had become a human pincushion but nothing had shown up on any of her tests other than what Madeline had always suspected, which was falling oestrogen levels, indicating Connie was going through menopause. As well as this there was Connie’s obesity and lack of exercise. Madeline could see another Mrs Sanders waiting to happen. Or at least a case of diabetes. Maybe even a stroke.
Today, Connie was describing prolonged fatigue. Again, a classic change-of-life symptom. There were so many things that Madeline had spoken to Connie about to help her through a period in her life that a lot of women found daunting. From diet and exercise tips through to menopause support groups. But it had all fallen on deaf ears
Connie wasn’t big on effort. She wanted a magic pill that could cure all her ills, real and imagined, and didn’t involve too much of a demand on her. Unfortunately, Madeline knew that there was only so much modern medicine could do for menopause symptoms and the rest was up to the patient.
‘I’m thinking I might see if a naturopath has any answers. What do you think, dear?’
Madeline prepared herself for her standard talk she usually gave patients who were thinking of dabbling in the alternative health field. She never said don’t, even though every part of her wanted to. It was her job to guide her clients, give them the correct information and let them make up their own minds. But this was just one of those subjects she found hard to be objective about.
As Connie rabbited on and on and she waited for an appropriate place to get a word in, Madeline started to formulate a plan.Yes, she’d said she’d never refer to Marcus but…if the patient wanted a referral then…why not? Marcus had said she should give it a chance, and if Marcus could cure Connie, well, she’d definitely need to rethink the whole alternative medicine field. A migraine would be a snap compared to Connie and her multiple problems. If he could make headway with her, she’d have to start believing in miracles!!
