Doctor Knows Best Read online

  “His wife is dead,” replied Megan, “but before you go getting any more ridiculous ideas, let me tell you that he seems to be very involved with his wife’s sister on the other side of the Atlantic.”

  “Oh,” said Susan, her eyes growing bigger with curiosity. “Of course, there might not be anything in that, you know. He might be desperately searching for another mate.”

  “And he might not,” said Megan practically. “He certainly doesn’t give the impression that he is. Now, come on, let’s go over and join Johnny.”

  “Honestly, Megan, I just don’t understand how you can be so disinterested,” said Susan, following her. “If it was me I’d have found out everything there was to know about him by now.”

  “But I’m not you,” pointed out Megan and adroitly changed the subject. However, although she successfully diverted Susan’s interest it didn’t help her much. She couldn’t help wondering and thinking about Giles Elliott and his sister-in-law in Los Angeles. He had given no hint at all about his feelings, other than the fact that they kept in regular touch. She wondered whether or not he might tell her more about himself over the Christmas when they were at her home.

  Just after midnight Megan decided she really must go. She was feeling tired anyway and it had been a long day with the extra duty she had done tacked on to her own. Johnny and Susan appeared to be getting along famously, dancing cheek to cheek to a smoochy number being played on the hi-fi.

  Megan grabbed Jamie Green as he passed by, laden down with four pints of beer balanced precariously on a small tray. “Will you tell Johnny and Susan that I’ve gone on because I’ve got an early start tomorrow?” she asked.

  Jamie glanced over in their direction. He grinned. “Sure,” he said, “although somehow I don’t think they are going to notice your absence!”

  Megan laughed. “I think you’re right,” she agreed and made her departure. But as she walked down the hospital road back towards the nurses’ home, she suddenly felt a tremendous sense of being alone. Almost everyone at the party had teamed up with someone of the opposite sex, and yet she had no one special in her life. True, she had lots of friends, but there was no one she could run to, no one in whose loving arms she could bury herself. She remembered Giles Elliott’s strong, comforting arms that afternoon, holding her when she had been so upset.

  Without warning her eyes filled with tears and she brushed a hand across them. How stupid to cry at a memory. Sensible young women like Sister Jones of the casualty department didn’t do that!

  Chapter Six

  At a quarter to ten the telephone in Megan’s room rang. It was Giles. “Are you up?” he asked.

  “Of course I’m up,” answered Megan. “I’ve been up for simply ages and I’m all ready.”

  “Good,” he replied, “I’ll be waiting outside the nurses’ home in ten minutes. If we make an early start we can stop for a leisurely lunch on the way down. That is, if you would like to,” he added.

  “That would be lovely,” said Megan, half of her wanting to have an intimate lunch with him in some little country pub, the other half warning her that the more time she spent alone with him the more likely she was to go on falling more and more hopelessly in love with him. You must remember he has another life that you know nothing of outside the hospital, she told herself as she staggered into the lift laden down with Christmas packages.

  Soon they were speeding through the countryside towards Devon. The threatened snow still hadn’t come and only the light sprinkling of the previous fall remained, giving the countryside a frosted sugar-icing effect. It was a beautiful day, freezing cold and crisp. Brilliant sunshine streamed down from a clear blue sky.

  “Enjoy the party last night?” asked Giles casually, not looking at Megan.

  Startled she turned to look at him. His handsome profile was a mask of indifference, giving nothing away. “How did you know I went to the party?” she asked. “I didn’t intend to go. I only made up my mind at the last minute.”

  “I rang your room and there was no answer, so I put two and two together,” he answered.

  “Well, just make sure your answer is four and not five,” snapped Megan, feeling slightly annoyed.

  “I’m usually pretty good at arithmetic,” came the imperturbable reply. “What time did Johnny take you back? Not too late I hope.”

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you that your arithmetic is wrong,” answered Megan, settling herself more comfortably into the deep seat in the front of his Mercedes. She left it at that. Damned if I’m going to satisfy his curiosity she thought—serves him right for jumping to conclusions!

  Quickly Giles glanced at her, a cold glint of annoyance in his blue eyes. Megan stared back at him defiantly, challenging him to ask her what she meant. However, he didn’t and a distinctly frosty silence reigned between them for the next few miles. The atmosphere inside this car isn’t much different from that outside, thought Megan wryly, watching the fields and hedges speed by.

  “You’re quiet,” remarked Giles after about twenty minutes.

  “I’m thinking,” answered Megan, which was true. She was thinking about the next two and a half days and how she was going to get through them. His presence was unnerving; the mere fact that she was sitting beside him sent delicious tingles through her, but at the same time warning bells were ringing in her head. Watch out, watch out, they said. He is a man you know very little about… She wondered whether an opportunity would present itself to ask him more about his family and sighed inwardly to herself when she thought about it. At least, she imagined the sigh had been an inward one, but evidently not, for Giles noticed.

  “That’s a sad sigh,” he said. “Were you thinking about Johnny? I’m sorry you’ve been landed with me for Christmas. You’d be better off with Johnny, at least he’s young and lively.”

  Megan stared at him in surprise. “I wasn’t thinking of Johnny at all,” she said, “and I didn’t give a sad sigh. You are imagining things.”

  “Sorry,” said Giles gently, “it’s just that you’ve been so quiet I thought you were missing your young friends from the hospital.”

  Angrily Megan shifted in her seat so that she could look at him more easily. “I do wish you wouldn’t keep on about me being young. I’m not a young girl, I’m a mature woman. And another thing,” the words came tumbling out angrily as she got into her stride, “I’m not the slightest bit interested in Johnny Cox. He’s a friend and always has been, but that is it, nothing more.” She drew her breath in sharply. “So stop treating me as if I’m a recalcitrant teenager, and also stop behaving as if you are Old Father Time!” she added as an afterthought.

  Giles threw back his dark head and roared with laughter. “All right, Megan, I’m sorry,” he said. “I asked for that, didn’t I? I’ll treat you as a mature woman and you can treat me as a…”

  “Friend,” interrupted Megan swiftly, afraid of what he might have been going to say.

  If Giles was surprised at her speedy interjection he gave no sign of it. He just laughed lightly and said, “It’s a deal.”

  They were well into the patchwork of the Dorset countryside when he pulled up outside a quiet country pub. It was a long, low, thatched building and the first sight that greeted them as they walked in was a great roaring log fire in an inglenook fireplace at the far end of the ancient beamed room.

  “That looks like a cosy place to sit for a pre-luncheon drink,” said Giles, leading the way.

  Megan agreed and sat on one of the polished shiny wooden seats beside the fireplace. A large, ancient golden labrador, grey at the muzzle and broad in the beam, lay stretched out in front of the fire.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to push him out of the way, Miss,” remarked the landlord, “if you want to get near the fire.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of pushing him out of the way,” said Megan. “He looks far too comfortable, and anyw
ay it is his fireplace!”

  The landlord laughed. “Reckon he thinks that too,” he agreed.

  Giles brought them both a small dry sherry and they sat together on the wooden seat looking at the menu. Megan tried hard not to notice the closeness of Giles, but try as she might she was very conscious of the pressure of his muscled thigh against hers. She wondered if her proximity had any effect on him, and stole a sideways glance at him from underneath her long brown lashes. No, she had to admit to herself, all he seemed to be interested in was studying the menu and deciding what he was going to have to eat.

  Eventually he chose country fare for them. Homemade pâté, followed by squab pie and duchesse potatoes, with half a carafe of light rosé wine to go with the meal.

  Giles raised his glass to Megan. “Here’s to the next two days,” he said.

  Megan raised her glass to his and touched it. “Yes, here’s to the next two days, to Christmas.” Then she added the doubt that had been lurking at the back of her mind. “I only hope you won’t find it all too boring. We never do anything very exciting.”

  Giles smiled at her, the intense blue of his eyes mellowing into a darker hue. “I’m not looking for excitement,” he said, “I’m too old for that.”

  Megan laughed and raised a reproachful finger at him. “What did I say, Old Father Time!” she teased.

  He gave a wry grin and sipped his wine. “Point taken,” he said. “I’d forgotten our pact already—the old grey matter isn’t working too well, evidently.”

  Impulsively Megan leaned forward and put her fingers on his lips as he mentioned the word “old” again. “You are not old,” she said firmly. “In fact, at the risk of letting such praise go to your head, I’ll tell you that one of our pupil nurses thinks you are absolutely dishy, to coin her phrase exactly!”

  “You must tell me which one,” murmured Giles gently, taking Megan’s hand and pressing it against his lips in a gentle caress.

  Megan’s heart thumped against her rib cage, like an imprisoned bird trying to escape. The touch of his warm lips sent a golden glow throbbing throughout her being. For a few moments they seemed in a magic world of their own, encircled by the flickering light emitted from the dancing flames of the log fire.

  The voice of the landlord broke the moment of enchantment. “Is everything to your liking?” he asked as he cleared some glasses from a nearby table.

  “Yes, everything is to our liking,” answered Giles, his blue eyes never leaving Megan’s face. Megan lowered her eyes, her long lashes fluttering in charming confusion against her delicate cheekbones. Yes, everything was to her liking too. Suddenly she viewed the prospect of the next two days with something approaching elation.

  The meal was delicious, the pâté just right, not too rich, and the squab pie was, as Giles said, “Something out of this world.”

  “Although I’m from the West Country, do you know I’ve never eaten it before,” confessed Megan as she tucked into the delicate fluffed pastry filled with tender pieces of pigeon and apple, subtley flavoured with spice.

  “Shame on you,” said Giles with mock severity. “I would have thought you’d have known how to make it.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve not done much cooking,” admitted Megan shamefacedly. “My mother is such a good cook and she always encouraged me to study and not to waste time in the kitchen.”

  “Do you think it is a waste of time for a woman to cook?” asked Giles, raising his eyebrows.

  “Oh no, I certainly don’t,” answered Megan vehemently. “I’d love to have more time to cook, and to have a kitchen of my own, but,” she shrugged her shoulders, “things just haven’t worked out that way.”

  “You’ll get married to some handsome young man soon, I’m sure,” said Giles smoothly, “and have the kitchen of your dreams.”

  Megan chose not to answer but took a sip of her wine instead. “I suppose we mustn’t take too long over lunch,” she said, looking at her watch. “It gets dark awfully early now, and Mother will worry if we are late.”

  “You are right, of course,” answered Giles. “The last thing we want is for your mother to be worrying on Christmas Eve, of all nights.”

  By the time they arrived at the tiny hamlet set in the rolling Devon countryside of the Exe estuary it was well and truly dark. Even so, Megan’s heart leaped joyfully as each familiar landmark loomed up in the car’s headlights out of the darkness; it seemed such a long time since she had been home.

  Her mother, Richard and Joanna hobbling in her plaster cast, crowded into the hall to greet them. The old house looked festive, bedecked everywhere with dark green holly encrusted with glistening red berries. A huge Christmas tree stood in one corner of the lounge, decorated with traditional corn dollies and white stars.

  Megan exclaimed at the tree. “It’s lovely, Mum. I’ve never seen the tree decorated so beautifully before!”

  “You’ve got Joanna to thank for that,” answered her mother, taking the Christmas packages from Megan and piling them up beneath the branches. “She insisted on buying all those lovely decorations and spent hours tying them on.”

  “After she had nearly killed me by dragging me around the plantation near Dartmoor! I think we inspected every tree on the place before she eventually chose this one!” The affectionate look Richard gave Joanna belied the grumbling tone of his voice.

  “I don’t know what you are grumbling about,” laughed Joanna. “I’m the one in plaster, not you.”

  “It doesn’t seem to have affected you at all,” remarked Giles.

  Joanna kissed her father warmly on the cheek. “No, it hasn’t. I’m absolutely fine, Dad, and I just know this is going to be the best Christmas we’ve had for years and years.” She tugged at his arm. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room, if that’s all right, Mrs. Jones,” she added.

  Megan’s mother laughed. “Of course it is, off you go—and for goodness’ sake be careful of that leg of yours as you go upstairs.”

  Later, as she sat on the bed in Megan’s room watching her unpack, she said, “How long have you known Giles Elliott and his daughter?”

  “Only since he came to the County General as the new consultant,” said Megan, carefully folding the clothes she was putting away in the chest of drawers.

  “You seem to have got very friendly with him in a short space of time,” observed her mother.

  “Not that friendly, Mother,” said Megan sharply. The last thing she wanted was her mother jumping to conclusions, especially as she was so uncertain about Giles’ feelings for her. “Richard seems to have taken a fancy to young Joanna, so you can blame him for landing them on us for this Christmas.”

  “I’m not blaming anyone,” said her mother quietly, watching Megan thoughtfully. “I’m very pleased they came. Joanna seems rather lonely and I gather she doesn’t see a lot of her father as she is away at school.”

  “Well, you know more than I do then,” said Megan, slamming the drawer shut with a finality that matched the tone of her voice. “Giles Elliott and I are really only casual acquaintances through our work, and I haven’t had the opportunity, nor would I dream,” she added firmly, “of asking him any personal questions.”

  “Quite right,” said her mother, taking the hint and answering equally firmly. “Now, come downstairs and we’ll have a cold supper. I’ve some lovely honey roast ham and some home-made pickles. I take it you will be going to midnight mass as usual?”

  “Yes,” said Megan, linking her arm through her mother’s, regretting that she had snapped her head off. “You know, I always love the Christmas Eve service. Are you coming?”

  “Well, if you don’t mind, dear, I think I’ll stay at home. My rheumatism has been playing me up lately, and you know how cold that old church is.” She squeezed Megan’s arm. “I’ll watch the TV in the warm and have some mulled wine and hot mince pies ready for you all when you
come in.”

  Megan laughed. “Mmmm, mulled wine and hot mince pies, that sounds delicious. Very well then, I shall allow you to miss the service this year!”

  In the event only Megan and Giles went to the midnight service. Joanna had said her toes would freeze and drop off from out of her plaster, and Megan had to admit she had a point there. So Richard elected to stay at home and keep his mother and Joanna company.

  Giles and Megan walked to the little ancient grey stone church set amid dark, rustling yew trees at the far end of the village near to the sea. Megan had always loved it there because of the ever-present whispering of the trees and the distant sound of the sea on the rocks. No matter how still the air, summer or winter, the rippling sighs of the trees and the muffled roar of the sea could always be heard. As a child she had always fancied they were the voices of the village people from centuries past, friendly voices, comforting, a constant link with the past.

  As they walked up the moss-grown path towards the warm light streaming from the open church doorway, the frosty ground crackled beneath their feet and Megan wondered what on earth Giles would say if he knew her fanciful thoughts.

  The small church was crowded with village folk, all of whom greeted Megan with friendly nods and waves before the simple service began. The simplicity of the service was matched by the simplicity of the decor of the church. Just a simple crib lit by candles in the north transept, the church dimly lit by old-fashioned gas lamps hanging in cast iron chandeliers from the stone-vaulted ceiling. The parish council had been threatening to put in electricity for years, but it had been fiercely resisted by the villagers. Megan was glad. It wouldn’t seem the same with electricity, even though it did mean everyone had to carry a torch in order to read the words from the hymn book.

  The service finished with the bell-ringers pulling their ropes with enthusiasm and the old bells singing out loud and clear, announcing the start of another Christmas Day to the surrounding silent countryside. Megan and Giles walked back slowly after wishing everyone outside the church a happy Christmas.