Doctor Knows Best Read online

  At last she got up and carefully put on some more make-up. It would never do to go down to lunch looking anything less than radiant. As she was about to leave the room the sunlight shining through the window caught the ring and sparkled on the tiny blue butterfly. Impulsively Megan took it off and put it away in its box. She didn’t want to wear his ring! Damn him, she wished he could go now so that she wouldn’t have to sit opposite him for lunch and supper, and lunch again tomorrow. Damn, damn the man. Why had he kissed her like that? He had made her believe she was something special to him and then he had cruelly told her he was susceptible to pretty women. Although she had to admit he had tried to be kind when he had told her, the hurt was just as bad.

  Defiantly she tilted her head as she descended the wooden staircase. Well, I’m not susceptible to you, she thought angrily. Who are you kidding, came the nagging little voice at the back of her mind, you know darned well he makes you go weak at the knees!

  Joanna noticed straight away as soon as they sat down at the table that Megan wasn’t wearing her new ring. “Why have you taken it off?” she demanded with a young girl’s frankness. “Don’t you like it any more?”

  “Of course I like it, silly.” Megan forced a bright laugh and avoided looking at Giles. She was pretty sure he would probably know why she had taken it off. In a fit of, what should she call it? Pique? Yes, she supposed, that was the word. When he had given it to her a few short hours ago it had seemed the promise of golden things to come, but now it seemed almost visibly tarnished to her. How many other things had he given to attractive women, she wondered cynically. Her thoughts rambled on in unhappy confusion until suddenly she was aware that Joanna was still looking at her. “I think it is far too expensive to wear every day. I shall just wear it for special occasions,” she said.

  “If I like something I wear it all the time,” said Joanna positively, “until it wears out.”

  “Rings don’t wear out,” said Giles, looking directly at Megan. His blue eyes pierced straight through her, seeming to sear into her very soul. “They last for ever.”

  “Yes,” retorted Megan sharply, “isn’t it unfortunate that people don’t?” Perhaps luckily for her any further discussion was precluded by the arrival of Richard and her mother bringing in the steaming hot turkey, bowls of sprouts, carrots, potatoes and chestnut stuffing.

  “I wonder this old table doesn’t groan out loud under the weight of all this food,” said Richard as he began to carve.

  The traditional Christmas feast proceeded, everyone laughing and chattering, Megan laughing and chattering the loudest of all, but the food might just as well have been sawdust for all the taste it had in her mouth. And through it all she was careful not to address Giles directly. He seemed to avoid direct conversation with her too, and Megan wondered whether anyone other than her mother noticed. She knew she had, of course; it was impossible to keep any sort of situation from her mother’s perceptive eye.

  After lunch Megan helped her to wash up. Richard and Giles had both offered, but Mrs. Jones had driven them fiercely out of the kitchen, saying, “You go and put your feet up, the pair of you. Just make sure you have a glass of port ready for Megan and I when we have finished.”

  They had protested a little, but it had been a half-hearted gesture, and then they beat a hasty retreat into the lounge to sit in front of the fire.

  The kitchen was large and old-fashioned and had a huge double sink and drainers. Mrs. Jones washed, her arms immersed in frothy bubbles up to the elbows and Megan rinsed and dried.

  “Have you and Giles had an argument?” asked her mother, coming straight to the point.

  “No,” said Megan stiffly.

  “Well?” asked her mother.

  “Well what?” countered Megan.

  “Well, what has happened between you two? Don’t tell me nothing has, because when you went out this morning I could see that you were wrapped up in each other, but when you returned,” she paused and looked at her daughter quizzically, “well, that was a different matter.”

  “There was nothing different,” answered Megan guardedly. “I think you have imagined something that was never there in the first place. I admit I like him,” she added hastily, knowing that it would be impossible to fool her mother completely, “but he is a very attractive man, and lots of women like him. Women with a lot more to offer than I have. And anyway, I don’t know much about him really.”

  “I think he is lonely,” said her mother, sloshing the soap suds around in the sink. “He was divorced just before Joanna’s mother died—of some rare liver complaint, I gather. Joanna was about four when she died, I know,” she added as Megan raised her eyebrows at all this acquired knowledge, “because she told me. Her father has looked after her ever since and her aunt, who lives in America, has Joanna regularly to stay with her—something to do with her mother’s will.”

  “That doesn’t mean to say that he hasn’t got some other special woman,” said Megan practically. “After twelve years I should imagine he must have. He’s quite a sexy sort of man, you know.”

  The moment she had let the words out she could have kicked herself. An almost triumphant look crossed her mother’s face, and she knew she had let her feelings out of the bag.

  “Very sexy,” said Mrs. Jones, “and of course one can’t expect him to have led a celibate life—men aren’t made that way. But I dare say the time will come when he will want to settle down with one woman again. If I was twenty years younger I’d go after him myself.”

  “Well you’re not, thank God,” said Megan sharply, “and for goodness’ sake don’t let him hear you talking such rubbish about settling down with one woman again. Even if he did, or ever does, it won’t be with me! I don’t want the man in my life to be shop-soiled and second-hand!”

  Her mother gasped and stood with her soapy hands on her hips, oblivious of the water trickling down her apron. “Megan Jones, I never knew yow were such a prig,” she exclaimed. “Any man worth his salt has to have a bit of history behind him—you can’t blame him for that.”

  “Since when have you become an expert on men?” Megan demanded angrily. “How many women had Dad practised on before you met him?” As the hurt look flashed across her mother’s face Megan could have bitten out her tongue. “Oh, Mum, forgive me,” she said, flinging her arms around her neck and bursting into tears. “I should never have said that.”

  Her mother held her tightly, stroking Megan’s hair with her still damp hands. When Megan’s sobs had subsided she held her gently away and looked into her face. “I should say sorry too,” she said quietly. “I was prying into your affairs too deeply, and I know I drove you to that remark.”

  “It’s no excuse though,” sniffed Megan, wiping her eyes on the corner of her striped apron. “I suppose I might as well confess to you, though, that I do love that damned man. At least I think I do, but I also know he’s a womaniser. He has told me as much. To him I’m just one more reasonably attractive woman, and he has a weakness for them, he told me so himself. That’s probably why his wife divorced him.” She sniffed again and her mother proffered her a large white handkerchief from the pocket of her apron. Gratefully Megan accepted it and blew her nose.

  Mrs. Jones returned to the washing-up. “I won’t ask any more questions,” she said, “but just remember the old saying, don’t judge a book by its cover.”

  Megan smiled as she too returned to the dishes. Trust her mother, she always looked for good in everyone, and the strange thing was that she always seemed to find it. Wishing she could be as charitable as that, Megan continued with the pots and pans.

  After lunch they all snoozed in front of the fire. Megan had explained her red eyes by saying there must be something in the kitchen that she was allergic to. Later on Joanna and Richard got out the cards and insisted that everyone play Snap. The game progressed fast and furiously, and Megan’s unhappiness began to
evaporate a little as she entered into the noisy spirit of the game. She was quick off the mark to shout and snatch the cards from the centre of the table when she had turned up a matching card—so much so that Richard accused her of cheating.

  “Stop arguing, you two,” remonstrated their mother. “Anyone would think you were children again!”

  “Snap!” shouted Megan again, but this time simultaneously as Giles also called snap. Their hands moved over the centre of the table towards the pile of cards, coming down with only a split second between them. Megan felt her hand enveloped by Giles’ large warm one and the warmth seemed to spread like liquid fire from his fingertips, running through her veins, setting her heart on fire. Against her will she felt her eyes irrevocably drawn to his and as she looked his blue eyes darkened with an enigmatic expression, locking her gaze to them.

  For a split second the room seemed empty, just the two of them, and then Joanna’s voice broke in. “You’ll have to split the cards between you,” she said. “Hurry up, we are waiting!”

  As the cards were split by Richard, Megan mused over the strange effect Giles had on her, the effect of making her feel quite isolated with him, just the two of them. If only it could be like that for him too, she thought, dragging her attention reluctantly back to the game.

  Their revelry was interrupted by the strident ringing of the telephone in the hall. Giles stood up immediately. “I think that will be for me,” he said. “I took the liberty of telling Fiona to ring Joanna and me here at this time. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Fiona ringing here from Los Angeles, thought Megan, totally unprepared for the odious pangs of jealousy that were overwhelming her. Don’t be ridiculous she told herself sharply, it’s not as if you mean anything to him anyway, and it is his family, even if she is his sister-in-law. But she couldn’t help but notice the almost eager way he had stood up quickly when the telephone had rung. Yes, her instincts about Fiona were right, she was sure; she did mean something to him.

  Joanna jumped up too to speak to her aunt and they could hear her telling her excitedly and in minute detail of every single thing they had done and eaten over the Christmas so far. When Giles spoke it was only for a few moments and his conversation consisted of monosyllabic replies. You’re not giving much away thought Megan bitterly.

  When they recommenced the card game it soon became obvious that Giles’ heart had gone out of it. Perhaps he’s wishing he was with Fiona, thought Megan, torturing herself with visions of a beautiful woman with a face like a film star. She wondered whether Fiona was like her sister, Giles’ dead ex-wife. She decided that if Joanna was anything to go by, her mother must have been a blonde as Joanna was so fair and Giles so dark. Perhaps that was the reason he had never remarried; perhaps that was the reason he was susceptible to attractive women; it was all a vain effort to blot out the memory of his ex-wife, a woman he was still in love with even though she no longer existed. Perhaps Fiona had now taken her place in his heart because of her similarity to her dead sister. Megan began to feel more and more miserable as her thoughts raced on chaotically. The obvious thing, she deduced, is that he probably never really wanted a divorce, but his wife died before they could be reconciled.

  Common sense told her that all these thoughts were totally irrational and that she had nothing concrete to go on, but nevertheless, having once got them into her head it was very difficult to dislodge them.

  “Megan, are you playing or not?” demanded Richard. “That’s the second call you’ve missed.”

  “Sorry,” muttered Megan hastily, “I think the overindulgence in food and wine is catching up on me, making me sluggish to say the least.” Her voice sounded hollow in her ears.

  “I agree,” said Giles. “If it wasn’t for the fact that it’s dark, I would suggest that we all went out for a short walk.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” said Richard, jumping up excitedly. “We’ve got that old sledge in the shed. Joanna could ride on that and we could take her for a brisk pull down the lane to the sea and back.”

  “But it’s dark, as Giles has just said,” pointed out his mother.

  “So what?” said Richard as he made his way through the door. “There won’t be any traffic coming up our lane now, not on Christmas evening. A brisk three-quarters of an hour walk will do us all good and we can take torches with us. The exercise will make us ready for the Christmas cake and mince pies later on.”

  His mother groaned. “All you think about is food,” she grumbled.

  In no time at all Richard had got them organised and even Mrs. Jones agreed to come, much to Megan’s surprise. Joanna was seated in happy anticipation, clutching a lantern, on the sledge as they started off down the drive, Richard pulling the rope. Giles held on to Mrs. Jones’ arm as the snow was fairly deep and the wind had caused it to drift in places, but it was easy to see where they were going as the sky was clear and there was a bright moon.

  “I think Joanna and I will have quite a difficult journey back tomorrow,” Giles remarked as they trudged along in the snow. “That road along the Dorset coastline is quite exposed and I should imagine there could be drifting there.”

  Megan turned her head in sharp surprise. They were leaving tomorrow? She had been sure that the plan had been for Giles and Joanna to leave the day after Boxing Day.

  Joanna obviously thought so too because she said, “Oh Dad, I thought we could stay all day tomorrow and go the day after?”

  “I’m afraid not, young lady,” came the brisk reply. “We’ve imposed on these good people long enough and we have to get the house in London ready for our New Year visitors.”

  Joanna pouted rebelliously. “I don’t see why we can’t stay tomorrow,” she said, “then we can give Megan a lift back to the hospital.”

  “Megan will need to have her own car,” Giles said dispassionately. Richard, of course, had driven down with Joanna in it.

  “Richard can bring it back for her,” said Joanna quickly, “after he has visited us in London.”

  “I see, the plot thickens,” said Giles. Megan found it impossible from his tone of voice to know whether he was annoyed or not. She had forgotten that Richard was going to join them in London for the New Year celebrations as he had only mentioned it to her briefly.

  She turned directly to Giles. “I don’t want to be a nuisance to you,” she said. “If dropping me off at the hospital is out of your way, Richard can always make his own way to London.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t be a nuisance.” His voice was tinged with a slight note of annoyance. “I have to go back to the hospital to pick up a few belongings anyway.”

  “Then that’s settled,” announced Joanna positively. “We’ll leave the day after Boxing Day and give Megan a lift back.”

  “I was counting on you staying tomorrow,” affirmed Mrs. Jones looking at Giles. “I’d planned to do a huge old-fashioned pot roast for lunch tomorrow.”

  Giles laughed. “It doesn’t seem that I have a great deal of choice,” he said. “How can I withstand all this pressure from the fairer sex?”

  Easily, if you want to, thought Megan sourly. She knew well enough why Joanna wanted to stay—she wanted to be with Richard for as long as possible. She was also pretty certain in her own mind why Giles had wanted to go; he wanted to get away from her. Well, you needn’t worry, thought Megan angrily, I’m not going to pester you and I’m certainly not going to be an addition to your long line of females!

  It was in that more than slightly aggressive mood that she marched ahead of the group through the deep snow, and it was because her head was held high defiantly that she didn’t notice the indentation in the snow. If she had, she would have known that it signified the presence of a deep hole, but as she didn’t notice it she put her foot directly into it and immediately fell headlong.

  She wasn’t hurt, but her pride certainly was as she was hauled up unceremoniousl
y, coughing and spitting out the lumps of icy snow that were in her mouth and that covered her from head to toe.

  As he dragged her to her feet Giles remarked, “I seem to make a habit of picking you up.”

  “I don’t need picking up,” said Megan ungraciously. “I can manage very well on my own.” She wrenched her arm from Giles’ grasp and began to brush off the snow vigorously. He attempted to help but she twisted away out of his reach. “I can manage,” she muttered in a low tone only audible to his ears.

  “Perhaps we should leave tomorrow after all,” he said, also in a low tone of voice meant only for her ears.

  “Do as you please,” hissed Megan, “only don’t just think of yourself, think of Joanna, Richard and my mother.”

  “I was thinking of you,” came the reply.

  Megan couldn’t look up, even though she desperately wanted to. “Don’t bother,” she said coldly. “I don’t care either way.” It was a lie, but the words came tumbling out before she could stop them.

  Richard drew the sledge up by the side of them. “You OK, Megan?” he asked.

  “Yes,” snapped Megan, feeling as if her nerves were being stretched to screaming point as Giles casually put an arm round her shoulders, sending shivering icicles of agitation prickling up and down her spine.

  “Apart from her temper, she’s all in one piece,” he said. Megan rewarded him with a glower that would have quenched the spirit of any lesser man, but Giles only laughed. “You’ve got a blob of snow on the top of your head,” he said infuriatingly as they started walking again.

  It seemed to Megan that as much as she was determined to have as little to do with Giles as possible, he on the other hand seemed equally determined to be as friendly as possible. Was it because Joanna had twisted his arm and he had to stay? Whatever the reason, Megan felt it wasn’t good enough for him to blow hot and cold whenever he felt like it. She knew where she stood, and she was determined she was going to stand well back. You are dangerous, Giles Elliott, she said under her breath. A girl could get badly burned by you. You already have, taunted the little nagging voice from the deep recess of her mind, but Megan firmly quashed any such notion. She was an independent woman, she had never been twisted around any man’s finger yet, and she was in no mood to be manipulated now!