She didn't. She sat instead with the nurses, and Dick, the anaesthetist, came and chatted to him about his previous experience and preferred methods of working. It should have interested him, but he found his ears tuned to every word Annie said.
Impatient with himself, he went into Recovery and checked their last patient, then scrubbed for the next case. A simple hernia, something he could have done with one hand behind his back, and Annie certainly didn't need him breathing down her neck. He assisted without a word, and she managed perfectly.
The next case, however, was different. Their patient had a history of grumbling pain and intermittent symptoms of obstruction, but there was no pattern that pointed to anything particularly and he doubted that they would see anything with this investigation that the plethora of other tests and investigations hadn't revealed.
While the operating room was being cleaned and prepared, he went through the notes, checking the re-suits of the bloods and all the less invasive tests that had been done.
Nothing. Not a hint, not a clue. That was bad news. He didn't have a single idea what they were looking for. Lots of possibilities, but most of them could be dismissed by the lack of evidence to support them. It could be anything or nothing, and they wouldn't know until they had a look inside.
Still, at least it would make him concentrate, unlike the last case where he'd had nothing to do but look at Annie's hands and imagine them on his body...
She was glad Max was there. The tiny spot of endometrial tissue on the woman's bowel wall was so small she would have missed it, especially as she wasn't looking for a gynaecological cause for the pain.
'I think that's our problem,' he murmured, pointing it out on the monitor screen, and with a simple touch of the laser he zapped it into a puff of smoke and straightened up, flexing his shoulders.
She stared at them, fascinated. They were broad and solid, and she could remember the feel of them under her hands.
'I wouldn't have found that,' she said honestly, dragging her mind back to their patient.
'Yes, you would, if you'd kept an open mind. You just have to think, What hurts? Endometriosis hurts, often without an obvious menstrual pattern, particularly if the periods are irregular. Did anyone check for that?'
She shrugged. 'I don't know. I wasn't involved with her case,' she confessed. 'Will you refer her to Gynae for follow-up?'
'Maybe. She might not need it. We'll see how she is in a few weeks. Fancy closing?'
She didn't. She wanted to watch his strong, capable hands, but that was stupid.
'Sure,' she murmured, and took over from him. He left the room, and she felt the tension drain out of her body.
Only two more to go and she could escape, she told herself, and then remembered she was having lunch with him.
Working lunch, she reminded herself, but a little frisson of something that could have been anticipation danced over her skin. You're an idiot, she scolded herself as she stitched her patient. He's your boss.
Whatever he'd been before—and she still didn't really know what he had been, apart from incredibly disturbing to her peace of mind, and a long-cherished memory—he was now her boss, and she had to keep her relationship with him impersonal and professional.
She had to, there was no choice. There was too much at stake, and she couldn't afford to play games, however tempting.
Always assuming, of course, that he even wanted to play games with her. Maybe he regretted their little fling—gracious, had it even been long-lived enough to be called a fling? Maybe he had put it behind him.
If so, she envied him. She'd found it impossibly difficult to forget him, and hadn't even tried. It was only the thought of him that had kept her going over the past incredibly difficult months, a constantly running loop of memory—his touch, his laughter, the tenderness in his eyes, the heat of his kiss.
She straightened up from the patient and handed her back to the anaesthetist with a strained smile. 'She's all yours, Dick,' she said, and left the room. With any luck Max would have taken himself off for a while, or be in Recovery, she thought, but luck was against her.
He was there, standing by the coffee-machine with a thoughtful look on his face, and as he turned his head and met her eyes, it was just like it had been the first time...
CHAPTER TWO
It was a glorious May evening, but Annie was filled with a restless tension. She and Peter had spent the day walking the fells, following a carefully planned route with Peter referring to the map every other minute with almost religious fervour.
'It looks lovely up there,' she'd said at one point, but he'd dismissed it.
'But we're not going that way,' he'd said, and had headed off on a different path towards his chosen objective. And, of course, it had been probably just as lovely when they'd got there, but it hadn't been spontaneous, and Annie longed, just once, to do something spontaneous and unplanned.
And then, when they'd almost got back at the car, he'd stumbled on a loose rock and had turned his ankle, and they'd had to sit by the path for a few minutes until the pain had subsided. Eventually he'd limped back down to the road, aided by the stout support of his walking boots and her shoulder to lean on, and she'd run on ahead and brought the car to him to save him the extra hundred yards or so.
Now they were sitting on the hotel terrace overlooking the lake, basking in the warmth of the evening sun, and Peter had his foot propped up on another chair and was staring at it morosely.
'Do you want to go to A and E?' Annie asked him for the fourth time, but he shook his head.
'For heaven's sake, Anne, stop fussing. I'm a doctor. I know what's wrong with it. I've strained the darned thing, that's all. It'll be fine by the morning.'
She didn't agree, but there was no reasoning with him, so she gave up and sipped her gin and tonic and let the beauty of the evening soak into her. She closed her eyes and turned her face up to the sun, and gradually the tension and frustration seeped away.
The air was awash with sounds—Peter's newspaper rattling, the whisper of the wind in the trees, the song of the birds. A car drove into the car park, and she listened idly to the voices in the distance and the crunch of gravel underfoot as they approached.
'I am never doing that again,' a woman's voice said with a touch of petulance. 'I hurt from end to end, my feet are raw, my legs ache—I need a drink. This had better be a good hotel.'
'It's an excellent hotel,' a deep, rich voice assured her, and Annie opened her eyes and looked across the terrace.
It was the man in his well-worn jeans and battered boots that caught her eye first. He was tall and broad, with the lithe, athletic grace of a natural sportsman, and he moved easily, making nothing of the weight of the big cases. Limping beside him in stark contrast was a slim blonde in designer jeans and brand-new boots that seemed to be giving her hell, and she was passing it all on to her unfortunate companion. She was clearly as mad as a wet hen, and Annie suppressed a smile.
They disappeared inside and she closed her eyes again, resting back against the seat and idly sipping her drink.
'I don't think walking's her thing,' she murmured to Peter, and he grunted.
'Not used to it, obviously. Bit silly to try, really, when you aren't lit enough.' He grunted again, this time with pain, and she opened her eyes and looked at him.
He was flexing his ankle, and he looked pale. She opened her mouth, met his eyes and shut it. He was a doctor. If he wanted to go to A and E, he'd say so. Always the worst patients, she told herself, and drained her glass.
'Fancy another drink?'
He shook his head. 'No. I'm saving myself for the wine with dinner, but you go ahead if you want.' He managed to make her sound like a lush, but in truth she didn't like the sort of wine that he enjoyed, the heavy, smoky reds flavoured with oak. She preferred light, fruity wines, but he dismissed them and tried to educate her, and she put up with it because it was easier than arguing with him.
It was always easier to give i
n and pretend, but tonight she didn't feel like giving in. 'I want one,' she said with a touch of defiance, and stood up, scooping up her glass from the table and heading through the door.
It opened as she reached it, and the man with the disgruntled companion paused on the threshold and held it for her.
She looked up to thank him, and her breath jammed in her throat. What amazing eyes! Pale grey-blue, with navy rims, shot through with sparks of gold and cobalt. Astonishing eyes, beautiful eyes, rimmed with dark lashes and creased at the corners from laughter.
He smiled now, the crow's-feet crinkling, and her heart crashed against her ribs. 'Thank you,' she murmured, and stepped through the doorway beside him. He glanced towards Peter, who was prodding his ankle and frowning.
'Has he hurt himself?'
She looked back over her shoulder and sighed. 'Yes—he's twisted his ankle. He won't go to A and E.'
'Want me to look at it? I'm a doctor—I could save you a journey, maybe.'
'Thanks for the offer, but you can relax. We're both doctors, too. He won't let you look at it. He won't let me look at it, and I'm his wife!' She held out her hand and smiled. 'I'm Annie, by the way.'
'Max.' He took her hand, and heat engulfed her body. Was it her imagination, or did he hold her hand just a second too long? Whatever, it seemed to last for ever and be over much too soon.
Releasing her, he straightened up and slanted her a crooked, mischievous grin. 'Better go. Fiona's waiting for her suitcase, and she's cross enough as it is. We'll see you later, maybe—and if you want me to have a look at that foot, just holler. You never know, a stranger and all that.'
She smiled back, wondering a little wildly if he could hear her heart beating against her ribs. 'Thank you,' she managed, and he went out, the door closing softly behind him.
She stood there for a moment gathering her scattered thoughts, then went through to the bar and ordered another gin and tonic and a few ice cubes in a sandwich bag for Peter's ankle.
'Would you like the menu outside, or are you coming in?' the waitress asked with a smile.
'Oh—thanks, I'll take it out.'
A door clicked, and the hairs shivered on the back of her neck. She knew without turning round that Max had just crossed the hallway and gone upstairs to Fiona the Furious.
His wife? Lucky woman, she thought idly, and checked herself. Peter was a good husband—if a trifle dull and set in his ways. At least he wasn't out running round playing the field like so many men these days. She couldn't abide that. There was no excuse for infidelity.
She went back out to him, her safe, predictable, regimented husband, and gave him the menu. 'Looks good tonight,' she commented, reading it over his shoulder.
The waitress, Vicky, arrived at her side. 'Any thoughts?'
Peter shut the menu. 'Yes. We'll both have the starter, then the sorbet instead of the soup, and then the lamb, I think: It'll go nicely with that red we didn't finish last night. We might have another bottle—although there was an interesting little Rioja—'
'Count me out,' Annie said hastily. 'I'll have a glass of whatever white Hans recommends—I fancy the salmon in the filo parcel.'
Peter looked at her as if she'd lost it. 'You aren't having the lamb? You like lamb.'
'Mmm. I like salmon, too.' And I don't like red wine, she added silently to herself.
'One lamb, one salmon and a glass of whatever Hans suggests. Righty-ho.' Vicky scooped up the menu, put a little plate of canapés down in front of them and disappeared back inside, leaving them alone in a slightly shocked silence.
Annie waved the sandwich bag at Peter before he could start. 'I brought you some ice, by the way, for your ankle, and you know that couple who arrived a minute ago? He's a doctor. He offered to have a look at it for you.'
'I hope you told him it wouldn't be necessary,' Peter said with a touch of asperity, and she sighed to herself.
'I told him we were doctors, too,' she conceded, and laid the ice carefully over the swollen joint. 'It looks puffier.'
'It's fine.'
She gave up. She wasn't his mother, after all. She sat down again, staring out over the lake and sighing with contentment. 'It's beautiful here.'
He looked at the lake consideringly. 'Yes.' He sounded almost surprised, as if beauty in the Lake District was an afterthought. His gaze dropped to his foot. 'I wonder what this is going to be like in the morning? I don't suppose it'll be up to climbing, but maybe with a boot on it'll feel different. We were going to do the walk up from Wasdale Head, but I think that might be a bit of a challenge for it. We might need to rethink.'
He sounded shocked at the thought, and she smothered a smile. 'Why don't we think about it tomorrow?' she suggested soothingly. 'There's no hurry.'
'Well, I suppose...'
She heard the crunch of gravel and glanced up, straight into those amazing eyes. 'Max,' she said with a spontaneous smile, and turned to Peter. 'This is the doctor I was telling you about. We met briefly in the doorway—and you must be Fiona. I'm Annie, and this is my husband, Peter.'
Fiona smiled graciously enough, but her smile had a chilling quality, a sort of icy dismissal that absurdly made Annie cross. 'How nice to meet you,' she said, but her words were shallow platitudes.
'Excuse me if I don't get up,' Peter said with a grimace at his foot. 'I've done something stupid.'
Max nodded. 'Yes, I gathered, from Annie. Well, if you'd like me to look at it, I'm more than happy—'
'That won't be necessary, but thank you anyway,' Peter told him a little shortly. Then, perhaps conscious of his less than friendly tone, he invited them to pull up a chair.
'Thanks, we will,' Max agreed with alacrity, and Annie wondered if he didn't want to be alone with his cross fiancée and her sore feet. 'So, where were you walking when this happened?' Max asked conversationally, settling into a chair and waving his glass at Peter's foot.
'Oh, round the back of Blencathra. Silly accident, really. It was all my own fault. Had a good day yourselves?'
Fiona snorted quietly, and Max pulled a wry face. 'Fiona and I don't see eye to eye about hill walking,' he said with what was evidently masterly understatement.
'I just don't see the point in going up all that way to see a view when you can walk into a shop in Keswick or Windermere and buy a postcard!' Fiona said with a thread of irritation still touching her well-modulated voice. 'Or buy a book, if you really want to lash out. I'm sure there are tons of them.'
'I'm sure there are, but it's cheating,' Max said. 'And anyway, photos don't smell of peat and heather and salt from the sea, and you can't feel the tug of the wind and the moisture in the air and the sun on your back—it's just not the same.'
'No, it doesn't hurt, and you don't get sheep's muck on your bottom when you sit down!' Fiona retorted. 'And as for that lunatic drive over that pass—well!'
Max rolled his eyes and leant back in his chair with a chuckle. 'I give up,' he said, and turned to Peter. 'I gather we're in the same line of business,' he said, changing the subject.
'So I understand. I'm a consultant physician in Bristol.'
Max wrinkled his nose. 'I don't have the patience for that, I like quicker results. I'm a surgeon—I'm working in London at the moment.' He turned to Annie and smiled, and her heart thumped for some ridiculous reason. 'And you? Are you still practising, or are you a lady of leisure like Fiona?'
She laughed a little ruefully, 'No such luck. I'm just finishing off a gynae rotation, for the next few weeks at least, and then I've got a job as a surgical registrar. I feel the same as you—I like to go in and sort things out, not fiddle around with drugs and wait three months to see that there hasn't been any change and try again!'
'I can't imagine why any of you want to poke around in other people's bodies! I think It's all a bit odd, really,' Fiona said with a delicate shudder. 'Still, I suppose when you're in Harley Street, darling, it won't be so bad.'
Max arched a brow expressively, his mouth twitching. '
What, because they'll be rich bodies? And anyway, as I keep telling you, I don't want to work in Harley Street.'
Another well-worn argument, Annie thought, and wondered what he saw in her. Maybe in London their differences were less exaggerated, but certainly here, in the raw beauty of the Lakes, they seemed like chalk and cheese.
Rather like her and Peter, she thought in astonishment, seeing their relationship clearly for perhaps the first time. He was talking to Fiona, drawing her out with extraordinary ease, and Annie guessed it was because she was on her favourite subject—herself. Max caught her eye and winked, and she smiled slightly, wondering why her heart should hiccup like an adolescent's every time he looked at her.
And then Vicky came and rescued her, escorting them slowly to their table with Peter wincing every step of the way. Max and Fiona were shown in a few minutes later, but their table was on the other side of the room and Annie couldn't see them without turning her head.
She was aware of Max, though, curiously aware, every murmur of his voice finding its way to her ears. Once he laughed, a low, soft sound that sent shivers down her spine, and she totally lost the thread of her conversation with Peter.
They didn't stay downstairs for coffee. Peter's foot was troubling him, and so they decided to have an early night. The following morning his ankle was more swollen, to his great disgust, and he had to abandon his plans for the walk.
They went down for breakfast, and met Max and Fiona in the dining room. She was protesting, yet again, at the prospect of having to walk so much as another step, and she turned to Annie and Peter as they went in, latching onto them like a lifeline.
'Look, Peter obviously can't go either, so why don't you and Annie go for a walk somewhere and Peter and I'll just sit here and have coffee and chat? How about it, Peter?'
'What a good idea,' he agreed before Annie could intervene. 'We'll be fine here, and it seems a shame for you to have to abandon your plans to walk just because of my stupid ankle, Anne. Max, what do you think?'
Accidental Seduction Page 2
