Doctor Knows Best Read online

  Thank goodness I don’t have to go to rehearsal tonight, she thought. Not many free nights left before Christmas; the revue starts next week, and then it’s Christmas week. She was off duty for Christmas and was looking forward to snatching a few days with Richard and her mother. She and Richard had planned to drive down to Devon together.

  It was only after she had showered and washed her hair that it suddenly dawned on her that she still hadn’t explained to Giles Elliott the reason for her presence in the Woodpecker the previous night. Oh well, she thought, heaving a sigh of resignation, it doesn’t matter anyway—he’ll be seeing his darling at the weekend!

  The telephone in her room rang, the double ring of an internal call. Probably Susan, thought Megan, picking it up. “Hello,” she said, expecting to hear Susan’s voice.

  “Is that you, Megan?” a deep familiar voice came down the line. Megan’s heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be—not Giles Elliott, surely? “Megan?” he said again, a questioning note in his voice.

  “Yes, it’s me.” Megan’s voice was hesitant. “Who is it speaking?” Although even as she asked she knew.

  “It’s Giles here. I wondered if you were doing anything this evening. Do you have another rehearsal?”

  “No, I don’t,” replied Megan. Then she added, for the sake of something to say, “I’ve just washed my hair.”

  A deep chuckle came down the line. “At least you can’t give me the excuse of saying you’ve got to wash your hair!”

  “Excuse?” echoed Megan.

  “Yes, excuse,” he said firmly. “Is there any other reason you can think of that will prevent us from going out and having a meal together tonight?”

  Megan paused, conflicting thoughts and emotions racing one after the other through her head. “No,” she said finally.

  “Good,” he replied. “I’ll pick you up outside the nurses’ block in an hour’s time.” Then the phone clicked. He had put down the receiver without waiting for her reply.

  Megan sat still, transfixed, holding the dead phone in her hand. Half of her was pleased that he still wanted to take her out for a meal, the other half annoyed at his imperious assumption that she would acquiesce!

  However, she scurried round and got herself ready. She chose one of the dresses she liked best, a jade green woollen dress that clung to the youthful curves of her slim figure and swirled out in graceful folds from the hips. The colour suited her delicate colouring and brought out the hint of red in her dark tresses. Brushing her hair vigorously she wondered whether to wear it down loose or whether she ought to put it up in a chignon. Deciding that a chignon would be more elegant and make her look more sophisticated, she carefully pinned it up.

  Putting on her one and only winter coat, a dark brown velvet, Megan picked up her handbag and gloves and left the flat.

  She was ready and waiting on the pavement of the perimeter road when Giles’ car drew up smoothly beside her. “I hope you haven’t been waiting out here in the cold long,” he remarked, opening the door for her.

  “No, I’ve only just come out,” replied Megan, suddenly feeling shy and self-conscious in his presence.

  He laughed. “I think you are too polite. You would have said that even if you had been standing in that freezing wind for ten minutes,” he said.

  “That’s where you are wrong,” retorted Megan. “I should have waited five minutes, then I would have gone back inside.” She thought for a moment; now seemed a good opportunity to explain her apparent rudeness the night before. She cleared her throat in embarrassment. “I know you think I didn’t have a rehearsal last night, even though I said I did because…”

  “The rehearsal finished early and you went to the pub,” he interrupted her.

  Megan turned her head sharply to look at him. In the darkness of the car she could just make out the shadow of a smile lurking about his lips. “How on earth do you know that?” she demanded.

  “Jamie Green told me today, when we went to London,” he replied smoothly. “He also told me that the young man you have lunch with, and who is the leading light of the revue, is your brother.”

  “Well, yes he is,” began Megan. “Why else do you think…?” Her voice trailed away. So that was why he had asked her how old she was! She burst out laughing. “You thought I was cradle-snatching, and that he was my boyfriend!” she said between gasps.

  “I did.” His voice sounded almost annoyed. “You look so ridiculously young yourself, it would be natural for you to attract younger men.”

  “Thanks for the back-handed compliment,” said Megan drily, “most women want to look younger than they are, but not ridiculously young!”

  “Sorry,” he said. “That was a tactless thing to say.” He turned his head briefly towards her in the darkness. “Anyway, if it’s any consolation, you look very elegant tonight, and every inch your twenty-six years.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t need any consolation,” snapped Megan, wondering how on earth he knew she was twenty-six—or was it just an educated guess on his part? Unless she asked she would never know, but although she was dying to know whether he had actually taken the trouble to find out, she was damned if she was going to question him. Instead she contented herself with asking, “How did you know where I lived?”

  “Easy,” he laughed. “If one wants to know anything, just ask the hospital switchboard, the fount of all knowledge where anything in the hospital is concerned.”

  Megan smiled; that was true. The switchboard operators had fantastic memories, they seemed to be able to remember everything about everyone.

  “I’m living in hospital accommodation at the moment, which I must say I find rather oppressive, until I find somewhere suitable down here to buy.”

  “Will you sell your house in Cheyne Walk?” asked Megan.

  “No, I don’t think so,” he replied, swinging the car into the car park of an Italian restaurant. “It can stay as the family house, which we can all use whenever any of us are in London.”

  At his words something froze up inside Megan. The mention of family, and the word “us” indicated beyond doubt that he must be married. Why then was he asking her out, and why had he kissed her? Did he think she was the type to go out with married men?

  Almost as if he had read her thoughts he turned suddenly and said, “I hope you don’t mind me asking you out again on the spur of the moment, but I know very few people down here and, as I said, my hospital accommodation is rather oppressive.”

  “Of course I’m not offended,” answered Megan smoothly. “I’m pleased to be able to help. Once you are settled here you’ll soon get to know lots of interesting people, and in the meantime I’m not averse myself to getting out of my little flat. I find it oppressive too.” She paused. “Perhaps one day, if I’m careful with my money, I’ll be able to buy a house of my own to live in.”

  “Your reply sounds very formal, Sister Jones!” His voice had a teasing note to it which Megan made herself resist.

  “It was meant to,” she replied, opening the car door and getting out.

  “Anyway, you won’t have to buy yourself a house,” he said carrying on the conversation as he locked the car doors. “You’ll get married, and your husband will buy you a beautiful house.”

  “Not at the rate I’m going,” said Megan practically. “Mr. Right never seems to come along.” She said the words lightly, but her heart was strangely heavy. It had never bothered her before, but now suddenly she felt that her Mr. Right never would come, because he was right there beside her. The only trouble was that he already had a family—he had just said so.

  “Perhaps you are too choosy,” he said, taking her arm and leading her into the restaurant.

  “Perhaps,” answered Megan wistfully, suddenly wishing she had never agreed to go with him for a meal.

  Very carefully she kept the conversation light and inform
al during dinner, determined not to let it get on to a personal level. Soon she had him laughing with her anecdotes of the various characters who worked in the County General.

  “I can see it is not only the switchboard that is the fount of all knowledge,” he said, smiling at her, his vivid blue eyes sparkling.

  Megan steeled her heart to look at him without going weak at the knees, something she found increasingly difficult to do. Why, oh why did he have to be married, her heart cried out, because by now she was convinced that he was.

  “You forget I’ve been at the County General ever since I started nursing. I did my training here and I’ve stayed here ever since.”

  “Have you never thought of moving on?” he asked. “Most girls seem to get itchy feet once they have qualified.”

  Megan sighed and before she knew it she was explaining to him the reasons she had decided to stay put. Her father had been a doctor in general practice in Devon, and had died very young of leukaemia, leaving her mother with an inadequate pension and two young children to bring up.

  “The house, our family home, still isn’t paid for,” she told Giles, “and I feel morally bound to help my mother with the mortgage as she went without so much herself in order to give Richard and me a good education.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said gently, reaching across the table and enclosing her small hand warmly within his large one. “It must have been very hard for you all.”

  Megan smiled. “Yes, it was, but at least we’ve got the happy memories. My father was such a happy-go-lucky man. Even when he knew he was dying he refused to get depressed, not even at the end. The only thing that did worry him was the fact that he had not taken out a good insurance, and he knew my mother would have a financial struggle when he was gone.”

  She sighed again, thinking of those dark days. Then she brightened. “But my mother is a remarkable woman too; she always used to say to him, ‘Who needs money? We have our love, that’s enough.’”

  “She was right of course,” said Giles sombrely. “No amount of money is a substitute for love. So, you see, you have been rich really, having a happy childhood, having loving memories to look back on.”

  He sounded strangely envious. Megan laughed. “You know all about me,” she said, “but I know very little about you. All I know is that you have a house in Cheyne Walk.”

  For a moment he hesitated, then he said slowly, “My childhood was not happy. My parents eventually split up after many terrible rows, and my mother left the country. My sister and I stayed behind in London with my father and had a succession of housekeepers—some good, some bad and some distinctly indifferent.” He smiled at Megan. “So you can see I envy you your background, even if it was cruelly shattered by your father’s death. As you say, you still have happy memories of your mother and father together. Mine, I’m afraid, are only bitter, and they say history always repeats itself.”

  With that cryptic remark he changed the subject, leaving Megan more than a little puzzled by his last few words. However, he adroitly steered the conversation on to lighter subjects and soon had Megan laughing with his hilarious accounts of incidents that had occurred at his previous hospitals.

  The meal was delicious too. Megan had never been to that particular Italian restaurant before, it was much too pricey for her, but she had certainly heard of its reputation. They started off with antipasto, Parma ham and figs, a combination Megan had never tried before.

  “Do you like it?” enquired Giles, anxiously watching Megan’s face as she tasted the dish for the first time.

  “It’s delicious, and so simple to make. I must remember to do it myself sometime,” replied Megan.

  They followed this with a plate of gnocchi in a cheesy cream sauce, then duck with orange and sage followed by blackcurrant sorbet drenched in some kind of liqueur. By the time they had finished Megan felt in a distinctly mellow mood, a state brought on by the good food and wine they had consumed, plus the pleasure of being in Giles’ company.

  “It’s just as well I don’t come here very often,” she remarked jokingly. “I think I would soon put on weight.”

  Giles looked across the table, his eyes lighting for a brief second on the curves of her slender figure outlined by the jade green dress. “I agree,” he said. “You don’t want to put on weight, your figure is perfect the way it is.”

  Megan blushed self-consciously and he laughed. “You look very pretty when you blush,” he said.

  “It’s a habit I wish I could grow out of,” muttered Megan.

  “Why?” he asked. “I think it is a charming habit.”

  Megan didn’t answer—she lowered her eyes and drained her coffee-cup, aware all the time that his gaze was lingering appreciatively on her. Damn it, she thought nervously, they had managed to keep things fairly impersonal during the whole meal, and now by one chance remark she was suddenly aware again of the crackling undercurrent of electricity between them.

  Giles paid the bill and Megan slipped into her brown velvet coat, assisted by an attentive waiter. Then they both walked out of the warm restaurant into the cold night air outside.

  “It’s so cold I think we might have snow,” remarked Giles, taking her arm as they walked over the crisply frosted ground in the silent car park towards his bar.

  The touch of his hand on her elbow sent delicious prickles of fiery flame along her veins, spreading throughout her whole being. Stop being ridiculous, Megan told herself in panic. He is only politely holding your arm!

  She heard her own voice answering him so matter-of-factly it sounded to her as if it was somebody else’s voice, echoing from far away. “I do hope it doesn’t snow—Richard and I are planning to drive down to Devon for Christmas.”

  “I shouldn’t worry about it,” came his reassuring reply.

  Once seated in the car, Megan assiduously tried to manoeuvre herself as far away from him as possible. She had the ridiculous feeling that if she brushed against him visible blue sparks would fly!

  Giles said nothing; he seemed suddenly strangely silent and remote, almost as if his mind was on other things. Although it was obvious to Megan that he wasn’t paying any attention to her, she was still painfully aware of him. The faint odour of his aftershave permeated the car, reminding her of the moment when he had kissed her in the store cupboard.

  As they drove along in silence she stole a furtive look at his profile. Even just looking at him caused her heart to somersault. There was a strength in his profile, and yet a tenderness too she thought, looking at his strong jawline with its firmly moulded lips.

  All too soon for Megan he drew the car to a gentle halt outside the block of nurses’ flats. The time had come now to say goodnight and he turned towards her.

  “Thank you for a lovely meal,” murmured Megan hesitantly. “I enjoyed this evening, thank you.”

  “Have you, Megan?” His voice was soft and low. “I’ve enjoyed it too. Thank you for rescuing me from a lonely evening.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Megan forced herself to keep her voice light and carefree. But the words died in her throat as he slowly and deliberately reached forward and pulled her head slightly towards him. “I’ve told you before that I like your hair better down,” he said softly as he deftly removed the pins holding it up in the sophisticated chignon. Free of the pins, her hair fell down in a loose, fragrant cloud, and as it did so he ran his long fingers through it, gently kneading the back of her neck.

  Megan’s heart beat with a loud uneven thud as she sat, mesmerised by the sensual movements of his fingers. Then slowly, so slowly, he pulled her towards him. Their lips met and fused in a moment of indescribable sweetness, his mouth clinging to hers for a magical moment before he drew his head back.

  It seemed to Megan an eternity that he held her like that, his eyes looking searchingly into hers through the dim light of the car. Then his lips brushed the tip of her nose
in farewell.

  “Goodnight, Sister Jones,” he said. “Be good,” and with a deft flick of his wrist he opened the car door for her and Megan climbed out without a word.

  Numbly she half raised her hand in a salute as he pulled away, but he didn’t look back. Watching the red rearlights of the large car as it sped away into the darkness, Megan felt deflated and confused.

  He had been so gentle, so tender… The expression on his face had led her almost to believe that he cared, but then suddenly it was as if it had been wiped off by some invisible hand. The expression that replaced it had been careful and guarded. Suddenly he had become the consultant again as he had formally said, “Goodnight, Sister Jones.”

  Later that night, as she tossed and turned sleeplessly in bed, Megan realised that she had told him almost everything about herself, but that she still knew very little about him.

  “Why don’t you just tell me you are married and have done with it?” she said out loud, thumping the pillow viciously. “Why don’t you just admit you want a brief flirtation with the little Sister in the casualty department, just to stop yourself from becoming too bored! And what if that is exactly what he does want?” she whispered to herself. “What are you going to do, my girl?”

  She didn’t really have to tell herself—she knew the answer. She was not the flirtatious type. She was…what was it he had said? Too choosy, yes, that was it. She smiled miserably to herself in the darkness of her room. A leopard can’t change his spots, she thought, and neither can I.

  Chapter Four

  The weekend came and went in a flurry of last-minute activity concerning the revue, so many things needed to be done before the curtain went up. Megan found herself roped in for more and more jobs, finding an article for the props team, photocopying extra music for the orchestra, even down to hastily stitching costumes on the opening night.

  “Thanks, Sis, you’re a brick,” said Richard, dashing past as she sat huddled in a corner sewing and blowing her a kiss.