Challenging Dr. Blake

by Rebecca Lang

  ‘This is Sal.’

  ‘Hi.’

  The tea was wonderful, drunk between mouthfuls of sustaining sandwiches.

  Dan came into the room with Max. Moments later, two other doctors, identifiable by their white lab coats, followed them in. One was a woman, strikingly attractive, with thick, curly black hair tied behind with a ribbon. The hair contrasted dramatically with a pale, creamy skin, and her eyes were dark also.

  ‘That’s her,’ Sal hissed, nudging Signy’s arm so that the cup of tea she was holding slopped some of its contents onto the table. They felt as though they really had known each other for years, having had a baptism of fire, so to speak. ‘That’s the Marianne Crowley I was talking to you about.’

  ‘I didn’t suppose there was more than one of them,’ Signy said sardonically.

  ‘Eh? Oh, you English! I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s regretting giving up on him. Look at her!’ Sal said, frankly staring, while Connie caught Signy’s eye and grinned slightly, raising her glance heavenward. So this was small-town intrigue, her glance said.

  ‘Please, don’t nudge me again, Sal,’ Signy said, mop-ping up spilled tea with a paper napkin.

  ‘Eh? Look!’ Sal gripped Signy’s arm, slopping more tea.

  Discreetly, Signy looked towards where Dan was standing, to see the dark, dramatic-looking woman kiss him on the cheek. He kissed her back. They were smiling at each other while Max stood by.

  ‘I’m really not interested,’ Signy said, feeling an odd irritation at having to be a party to this public display of affection, as well as the gossip.

  ‘What? You off your rocker, too?’ Sal said, incredulous. ‘Everyone here’s interested in Dan Blake. There’s a shortage of great guys, unless you want a logger—that sort of thing.’

  ‘I don’t want anyone,’ Signy said tartly. ‘I’m only here for four months. Anyway, he’s not my type. Assuming, of course, that he would be the slightest bit interested in me.’

  Sal looked at her uncomprehendingly. ‘I don’t think he knows I exist as a woman,’ she said wistfully.

  ‘That nose…’ Signy began.

  ‘I love that nose,’ Sal whispered dreamily.

  ‘What about Max?’ Connie said to Sal, a subtle glint in her eye.

  ‘He’s great, too,’ Sal said. ‘He just hasn’t got much staying power. You know, he knows he’s in great demand, so he runs off in all directions, spreading himself around.’

  Moments later, Terri and Pearl came into the dining room, and there was a general reunion, as though they hadn’t seen each other for ages. Attention was diverted away from the small group of doctors as the nurses chatted and drank tea.

  ‘Was someone else looking for a room?’ a voice interrupted them. Maggie from Reception was standing there.

  ‘Oh, I am,’ Signy said. ‘I suppose we’re not going back tonight to the island?’

  ‘No,’ Terri said. ‘I think I got the last room, if you can call it a room. More like a cupboard with a window. You can bunk on the floor if you have to.’

  ‘She’s right, there’s no other room in the hospital. I’m sorry,’ Maggie said. ‘We’ve had a run on rooms for various reasons, and we don’t have many spare to begin with. We’ll think of something.’

  ‘It’s all right, Maggie,’ a masculine voice interrupted, ‘I’ll deal with it.’ Dan had come over to their table. ‘She can stay with me at Heron Cottage. I’ve two spare rooms.’

  ‘OK, Dr Blake,’ Maggie said, retreating.

  ‘If that’s all right with you, Signy,’ Dan said, fixing her with his astute gaze, his expression unreadable. He was still wearing the green scrub suit that he had worn in the operating room, which revealed arms that were muscular and tanned, in spite of his leanness.

  Out of the corner of her eye Signy could see that Sal’s jaw had dropped, and that an expression of open-mouthed stupefaction did not become her. Neither did the avid shifting of her eyes from face to face, from Signy to Dan and back again, as though she were watching a television soap-opera and that she herself were invisible. The continuing saga of…Signy thought. Now there should be a roll of drums or something. Perhaps this sort of thing—the romantic relationships, and rumours of relationships—grabbed the attention in a small place, perhaps to counteract the cruel drama of such things as cougar attacks. Well, count me out.

  Signy cleared her throat as she looked up at Dan, feeling herself grow a little hot under the intense scrutiny of Sal, who appeared to be waiting for the next revelation. ‘That’s very kind of you, Dr Blake,’ she said evenly. ‘It looks as though I might have to take you up on that.’

  ‘She could stay with me—’ Sal had found her voice ‘—except that I live in cougar country when I’m not on call here, and she being English and all, that wouldn’t be fair. Why, I’m even scared myself.’

  ‘Quite,’ Dan said dryly. ‘There’s something for you to pass around on the internal telegraph. I’ll see you in the lobby, Signy, in about three-quarters of an hour, if that’s all right. I still have a few things to do here.’

  She nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  When Dan had joined his MD colleagues, the uncrushable Sal leaned forward across the table. ‘I’d give my eye teeth to be in your position,’ she said excitedly, unfazed by Dan’s last remark.

  ‘What position is that?’ Signy queried.

  ‘Obviously not the one she has in mind,’ Connie chipped in.

  Pearl and Terri were wide-eyed.

  ‘If you need me to spell it out for you, you want your head examined,’ Sal said incredulously. ‘You should have seen the way that Dr Crowley was looking at him when he was talking to you. If you ask me, she still has something going for him. It was her fault that they split up, and now I get the impression that he’s gone off her.’

  ‘You must have eyes in the back of your head, then,’ Connie said, ‘since she’s behind you.’

  ‘I took a look.’

  ‘Maybe he has gone off her, maybe not,’ Connie said. ‘It’s no business of yours.’

  ‘And what about the old West Indian saying in relation to past affairs,’ Signy said, getting into the spirit of the discussion, ‘which says, “It don’t take much for the old fire stick to ketch back up”.’

  There was a second or two of silence from the other four at the table, then a burst of laughter, causing other people in the room to look at them.

  ‘Bingo!’ Connie said.

  ‘Well,’ Signy said, standing up, ‘time to get out of this gear and into normal clothing. Is there any place in the OR where we can get a shower?’

  ‘Sure,’ Sal said. ‘Hey, wait a minute. How will I know what happened?’

  ‘You won’t.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Come on, Signy.’ Connie rose to her feet also. ‘Let’s find that shower.’

  It was great to be clean and fresh again and to have a change of clothing. They had each been asked to bring a small overnight bag for just this eventuality. Signy ran a hand through her newly washed hair, which was still damp, while she waited for Dan. Now that the excitement was over, she desperately wanted to sleep.

  ‘Hi!’ Suddenly he was there behind her, ready to leave, dressed in casual outdoor clothing, his hair also damp. He had that chronically exhausted expression that she had come to recognize so well. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Oh…um…yes,’ she said hesitantly, flooded with doubt now that he was there and the two of them were alone. Negative feelings about him were coming to the fore again. The helpful Maggie had departed from her post and there was no one else about.

  Seeing something amiss in her expression, he stood looking at her sardonically for a few seconds. ‘Changed your mind?’

  ‘Um, no,’ she said quickly. ‘I appreciate your invitation. It’s very kind.’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ he said, with that wry twist to his mouth that was becoming familiar to her. ‘It’s expedient. Come on.’

  Then they were outside in the fresh, cool air. Now that
evening was approaching, the temperature had dropped. Just beyond the entrance doors Dan stopped and took her arm, detaining her. ‘I’m not looking for any sort of involvement, you know. That’s the last thing on my mind.’

  The way he said it sounded like an insult to her. With a supreme effort she prevented herself from flushing. ‘I…didn’t assume you were,’ she said.

  ‘You make it only too clear what you think of me,’ he said tersely. ‘Perhaps you’d keep it to yourself, so that any negative vibes don’t get through to my colleagues here, with whom I have to work permanently after all you temporary people have gone.’

  ‘I…I’m sorry,’ she said, taken aback by the sudden vehemence in him. ‘I didn’t mean…’

  Dan walked on, and she followed, going towards the car that had been parked nearby. ‘And as for that guy you mentioned, Dominic Fraser, I don’t actually remember him personally, but I do recall, vaguely, that he did some rather stupid things, and I intend to check up on the records to find out the details,’ he said, his face tense.

  Signy said nothing, not wanting to get into any sort of argument, sensing that he was as exhausted as she was. In silence they got into the car. ‘Please,’ she said, her voice small, ‘could we just forget about it for now?’

  ‘Sure. But I intend to get to the bottom of it,’ he said as he did up his seat belt with quick, decisive movements that hinted at exasperation. ‘By the way, to give credit where credit is due, thank you for your help with that case. I wouldn’t have wanted to do it without a scrub nurse.’

  His sudden change of tack left her nonplussed. ‘I’m glad I could be of help. I didn’t really have a choice, did I? So it wasn’t as though I was doing you a favour.’

  ‘Like me offering you a room,’ he said. ‘Now we’re even, I guess. So you can quit patronizing me.’

  ‘Patronizing?’ she said, incredulous and angry. ‘I wouldn’t know how to be patronizing.’

  To that, he said nothing. They drove in silence the short distance to the small wooden house, Heron Cottage, that was really no more than a pretty, sturdy shack with an attic. Stiffly Signy got out and, without looking directly at him, followed him to the door.

  ‘I’ll show you around,’ he said when they were inside, his voice tight and controlled. ‘You can get yourself something to eat when you feel like it—there’s plenty of food in the kitchen. I have to go out again to do a few things. The guest room is on the ground floor, with its own bathroom, over here. You do whatever you like—sleep, or whatever.’

  Signy nodded dumbly, not trusting her voice as he showed her the small, sparsely furnished room that was cosy and comfortable at the same time. At that moment she felt like crying, a complete contrast to the mood of hilarity she had shared with the other nurses in the staff dining room.

  ‘I’ll show you the kitchen,’ Dan said.

  Apart from the guest bedroom, the kitchen and a small study, the ground floor was taken up with a large sitting room that had a huge open fireplace piled with logs waiting to be set alight, kindling and crumpled newspapers around them. Her eyes lingered on the fireplace, as she thought how nice it would be to sit by such a log fire now that the temperature had dropped. Side stairs led up to the upper level, where Dan must have his room, she thought.

  Dan opened cupboard doors in the kitchen, then the door of a very large refrigerator. ‘Help yourself to anything here,’ he said.

  Again she nodded, thanking him in a voice that was barely audible, wondering if he would accuse her of being patronizing again by her thanks.

  When they were out in the sitting room again and he was preparing to take his leave, she found the courage to say what was on her mind. ‘You know, Dr Blake, you don’t have to have me here if you would rather not. I can quite easily share a room with Terri Carpenter. She offered.’

  Tiredly he looked at her, his eyes narrowing as an expression almost of hauteur crossed his face. ‘I don’t think you would want to sleep on the floor…and I wouldn’t want you to do that. Make yourself comfortable. Better not go outside—there’s a fair amount of wildlife out here after dark. I expect I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Wait! What have I done to make you so…irritable with me?’ she blurted out.

  ‘I don’t like being made the butt of gossip,’ he said. ‘Most of the time I take it in my stride, but once in a while I get a little sick of it.’

  ‘But that wasn’t me,’ she said. ‘I don’t know anything about you.’ At the time she hadn’t considered that he might have heard something of Sal’s confidences. Tact wasn’t something the other nurse possessed in any great measure, it seemed. What she, Signy, did know about Dan, she corrected herself mentally, had nothing to do with his love life.

  He looked at her consideringly, then shrugged. Then he was gone, the door locking itself behind him, leaving her standing in the sitting room, surrounded by comfortable chairs and two long sofas.

  When he had driven away, Signy was left in complete silence. Not even a clock ticked in the house. There was no sound of wind, or any other sound of nature, or of man. Slowly she went into the bedroom and shut the door. Having had tea at the hospital, she wasn’t hungry. Perhaps later she would cook something.

  She eased off her shoes, took off her outer clothing and got into the bed, turning her face to the wall. What she needed now was sleep, more than anything else, she told herself. First and foremost, you had to look after yourself, otherwise you wouldn’t be any good to anyone and could be a liability. That much she had learned from the job she was doing. Images of the man mauled by the cougar were imposed on her inner vision. She still felt like crying, and as she lay there with eyes closed, tears began to seep from beneath her lids and run down her cheeks.

  Dominic was coming towards her in brilliant sunlight, his eyes squinting against it; he was wearing the Australian bush hat that he liked, the khaki shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, the long cotton trousers. Behind him was the dried brown grass of the plain, reaching into the distance, the few stunted trees.

  ‘Dom! Dom!’ Her lips framed his name as she watched him approaching. He seemed to be taking a long time to get to her.

  Then she was on the motorbike, the ramshackle vehicle that had seen better days, which miraculously kept on going, bumping and bouncing over rough tracks that had never been intended for anything as civilized as a motorized vehicle. It was her hands that were on the handlebars, controlling the machine with effort, wet with sweat on the rubber grips. The whole thing was low to the ground with her weight and that of the injured man behind her, his leg with the bloody bandage held stiffly at the side as they bounced and swayed sickeningly.

  She could see the brown-red rust on the handlebars, the vegetation on the path dried up from lack of water, could feel the sun burning through the burnoose and turban that she had over her head and shoulders, half covering her face below the tinted goggles that she wore, could feel the heat on her shoulders and back that she had protected with layers of cotton.

  Then the machine was tipping to one side as they hit a stone and she was struggling to prevent it from falling over, wrestling with it as though it were a live thing, instinctively trying to stop it from tipping over onto the side where the man, her rescuer, had the injured leg. That would have been no way to repay him. Close to the ground as they were, she slowed and flung out an arm and a leg to stop the fall. There was a crash, the sound of breaking…

  Signy sat up in bed. A faint light from somewhere outside penetrated the darkness of the room, and there was a sound of wind in tree branches. In her head was the African sunlight, harsh and burning; here was a velvety darkness, closing around her like a cloak, a coolness.

  Beside the bed on the floor was the lamp that had been on a table at her side. The shade had come away from the base, while the ceramic base lay broken beside it, neatly split into several large pieces which showed white in the half-light.

  She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, knelt down on the floor and
picked up the pieces, holding them gently in her hands. They looked like pieces of the moon fallen to the ground. Vaguely she recalled the lamp, intact, on the table. Superimposed on that image was the face of Dominic.

  A light clicked on in the room but she didn’t look up. On her bare thighs her hands rested, limp, holding the broken pieces. An inertia had come over her. Warm tears dropped from her eyes. She supposed they came from her; she didn’t know, because she felt distanced from what was around her, as though her mind were split in two, part of it a long way away, with people and places that no longer existed as she had known them. Where the makeshift medical station had stood there would now be only charred remains, blowing away in the relentless hot wind, the people she had known long gone. For a long time, it seemed, she knelt, hunched over as though in prayer.

  ‘Signy,’ a voice said, and at last she looked up.

  Dan stood in the doorway of her room, looking at her. She saw that he wore a dressing-gown, that his feet were bare, that his hair was untidy from sleep, that his tired, angular face showed concern. Slowly, dazedly, her eyes moved over him. The twisted nose gave his face a somehow reassuring familiarity, and she sighed involuntarily.

  It came back to her then by slow increments that she was a guest in his house, that she had somehow broken his lamp, that she had just experienced one of the vivid dreams, in brilliant colour and in great detail, that had haunted her for months since she had left Africa. It was a healing process, she believed, a way for the mind to sort out during sleep the happenings that at the time had come too fast and furiously to fully comprehend…nature’s way of helping one make sense of them, if there was any sense to be made.

  There was no point in trying to stop the tears—they would stop of their own accord, eventually.

  ‘Signy,’ he said again softly, still standing there.

  Then she became aware that she was almost naked, that she’d slept from the time she’d got into bed late the previous afternoon, that she hadn’t risen again to cook herself supper or put on the nightclothes she’d brought with her. When she looked down at herself she saw the black silk bra that had small yellow roses printed on it, the edging of her panties having the same pattern. Like a scene in a tableau, she knelt there, vulnerable, holding the broken lamp as though in supplication, her shoulders hunched.