Lifting Suspicion

by Gill Sanderson

  He took off his jacket and hung it over a chair-back, unloosening his tie. He seemed at home, relaxed. ‘Is there anything I can do?’ he asked. ‘I’m quite house-trained.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m better working on my own. How hungry are you?’

  ‘I had an awful but large lunch. I wanted company as much as food, so something very simple will do.’

  ‘Cheese on brown toast, watercress salad, melon to follow?’

  ‘That sounds fantastic. Where’s the corkscrew? We’ll have a glass of wine each as you cook.’

  She’d been right in what she’d told him – she was an expert at instant meals. She lit the grill, grated cheese, sliced bread, and threw a bowl of salad together. Everything was to hand in the kitchen. She was aware of him watching her, and found it disconcerting.

  He eased the cork out of the wine bottle, poured two glasses, and pushed one over to her. ‘It is chilled,’ he said. ‘I took it out of the cold cabinet. What do you think?’

  She stopped grating and sipped. Something told her that this was a better wine than those she generally drank. ‘I like it,’ she said. ‘It’s fresh and … the taste seems to linger. Mr Firth, do you –?’

  ‘I’m your guest,’ he interrupted, ‘and thank God we’re not at work. So call me Christopher.’

  ‘Christopher,’ she said, smiling, ‘it means Christ’s bearer.’

  He looked surprised. ‘You knew?’

  ‘I remembered what you told me, and looked it up. I thought knowing the meanings of new babies’ names was a good idea. And the name suits you, I think.’ Then she ducked her head to her work, feeling she was getting too familiar.

  ‘Megan is from Margaret, meaning a pearl,’ he said. ‘Hard, white, pure, and beautiful. And that suits you.’

  Was he teasing her? ‘I’d have to think about that,’ she said carefully. ‘Here, have a bit of watercress to chew.’

  He accepted the sprig and chewed it thoughtfully. ‘You want to be a surgeon, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Why do you ask that?’

  ‘I like the way you’re preparing the meal. There’s a real economy of effort. You know where everything is, you don’t move too far or repeat actions. Like a good surgeon.’

  ‘There’s a big jump from cheese on toast to a laparotomy,’ she said, but she appreciated the compliment.

  The meal was on the table in under ten minutes. They sat and ate and talked. She found him witty, relaxing, enthusiastic, very different from the scowling, hard-voiced man she’d first seen.

  ‘I like getting to know my staff,’ he said. ‘I believe a good boss knows the strengths and weaknesses of those he works with. Of all things, my brother’s a commander in the Navy. He’s a chief weapons officer on a ship. He tells me he spends half his time learning about new technology and the other half getting to know his men.’

  ‘His men?’

  ‘Sorry! Men and women. He has women under him, too, now. He says if, God forbid, he ever does have to go to war, knowledge of people is as important as knowledge of technology.’

  So he had a brother in the Navy. That was interesting. ‘Are you like your brother? Are you both a bit … ruthless?’

  He didn’t object to the question – in fact, she saw him thinking about it. ‘Possibly, yes, we are a bit ruthless,’ he said slowly. ‘But in times of crisis a leader has to make decisions. It might be a captain on a warship or a surgeon in Theatre. If they don’t decide, there’s chaos.’

  She thought about that. It seemed to be true. Certainly, while she was training she always seemed to learn more in the departments that had a strong leader. Not that it was always pleasant.

  ‘So I want to get to know you, Megan. For a start, tell me how you came to be a doctor.’

  No question about that. ‘Work,’ she said promptly. ‘If I’m working I’m happy. I was brought up in a small town, some distance from school. I was an only child and my parents worked hard so I did, too.’

  ‘Are your parents doctors?’

  ‘Not at all. They have a small grocer’s shop. They manage to make a good living, but it means working all hours, seven days a week.’

  ‘And at university. Did your time at university make you blossom?’

  ‘I’m not a flower. At university I worked. And then I worked at the hospital and took my exams and now I work for you.’

  ‘So you do. Now, a personal question, if I may ask one. Have you any current emotional entanglement? No boyfriend, steady or casual?’

  The answer to this question was simple. ‘No, I haven’t. I think “entanglement” would be the right word. I don’t need tangling. Like I said, I’d rather work.’

  ‘Don’t you think your life is a bit narrow, concentrating on work alone? Don’t you think a doctor should have wider horizons – live a little?’

  With some asperity she said, ‘Whenever I’ve been invited to “live a little” in the past, it usually meant that some man was trying to get me as drunk as himself. No, I think patients would rather have someone who has studied than someone who has “lived a little”.’

  ‘I stand corrected.’

  Now it was her turn. ‘Anyway, fair is fair. I’ve told you about myself – I want to be nosy now. Are you entangled?’

  He grinned. ‘I’m the consultant,’ he said. ‘That makes a difference. You’re nosy, which is wrong. I’m intellectually curious, which is all right. But I’ll answer the question. I was entangled once, but not any more. When I look back, I think I was possibly a bit too like you – too ready to work at the expense of everything else.’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Megan, I really enjoyed the meal. It was a sane time in a mad day. But now I must get back and do some bookwork. I’ve got a lot of administration to catch up on. And I’m not going to be a books-only boss – I like medicine. May I help you wash up?’

  ‘Not this time,’ she said. ‘Next time, certainly.’

  ‘I hope there’ll be a next time.’ He stood and pulled on his jacket. ‘I checked the roster before I met you. You’re off on Saturday afternoon. I’m going to Ellesmere Port Boat Museum for a couple of hours. Would you like to come with me? Just a quick visit – I have to be back by five.’

  She looked at him, astonished. This was the last thing she’d expected. ‘Why are you going there? Are you interested in canal boats or what?’

  ‘I’ve never even been on a canal boat, but apparently there’s an interesting display, and it’s something new. A complete change from medicine. I’m getting to know the area, that’s all.’

  It was the kind of offer she’d never had before. ‘You’re inviting me to “live a little” in your own way, aren’t you?’

  ‘Something like that, but with no alcohol involved. And I’d like your company.’

  They were now in the hall. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I think I’d like to come.’

  ‘Excellent. I’ll pick you up here about half past twelve on Saturday, and wear something warmish. Thanks for the meal – it was great.’ And he was gone.

  Megan stood motionless in the hall for a few minutes, then she went back to the kitchen to wash up.

  Ten minutes later, just as she was finishing, her friend Jane came in. The two settled down in the kitchen to another cup of tea. Jane looked at the two sets of dishes on the draining-board and asked, ‘Has Sue just gone?’

  Megan had hoped to avoid questions but it was now too late. Staring firmly at the table, she said, ‘No, I’ve just had my new consultant round for a quick meal.’

  ‘Your new consultant! The tough new wonderkid who’s going to sort you all out? The youngest consultant in the place? And you had him to supper? This is a new Megan – you don’t usually go out with men.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that! He just asked me … he said he was tired of hospital food so I invited him home for supper. He said he just wanted a change.’

  ‘And you believed him?’ Jane asked scornfully.

  ‘We’re just colleagues. We work t
ogether. He knows nobody here. Perhaps he was a bit lonely.’

  Jane didn’t seem to think much of this answer. ‘Just one question and I’ll leave you alone. Is he fanciable?’

  ‘He’s my consultant! Besides, when would I go out with a man?’

  ‘You’re not answering the question. I asked if he was fanciable.’

  ‘You just don’t think that way about your boss,’ Megan said desperately, ‘but I like him and I think he’ll be good for the department.’

  ‘You’re still avoiding the question! Is he fanciable? All you need say is yes or no. It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘Well …’ Megan said reluctantly, ‘yes, I suppose some people might find him fanciable.’

  ‘That’s all I wanted to know,’ said Jane. ‘Shall I make some more tea?’

  Megan was definitely dressing down in her anorak, jeans, and sweater. Christopher picked her up promptly at half past twelve and he was dressed much the same. They swung over the suspension bridge and were soon speeding along the motorway towards Ellesmere Port.

  ‘There’s supposed to be a face there,’ she said, pointing to Helsby Cliffs. ‘I can’t see it myself.’

  He glanced at the rock outcrop. ‘Well, perhaps there is,’ he said judiciously, ‘if you use a bit of imagination.’

  ‘Are you saying that I’ve no imagination?’

  ‘Certainly not. But I’ll chance my luck and say that I think that you’ve a lot of qualities that haven’t been brought out yet.’

  She didn’t know what to say to that, so said nothing. She decided to change the subject. ‘I’ve lived locally for almost eight years now so I’ve often heard of this place but I’ve never been there.’

  ‘I’m always curious as to what’s over the hill. Whenever I move to a new place, I always buy a map and find out what’s worth seeing. You’d be surprised at the people who never know what’s fascinating on their own doorstep.’ He drove into a car park. ‘Come on. Let’s go and have a look round.’

  She had to admit that the Ellesmere Port Boat Museum was fascinating. They looked at a variety of narrow boats, admired the intricate painting, and marvelled at the miracle of compression in the tiny cabins. ‘People were born, lived, and died in these little homes,’ Christopher told her, ‘and think of the size of your bedroom. I bet it’s bigger than this entire cabin.’

  ‘It’s a lot more untidy,’ she told him, and then felt warm. The thought of Christopher looking into her bed-room was … odd.

  There was much else to see as they inspected workshops, saw butty boats, the ice-breaker, and the weed boats.

  ‘Just think,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘they couldn’t move faster than four miles per hour. And locks would slow you down even more. What d’you think that did to the quality of life?’

  She thought about it. ‘Either you’d have a stress-related heart attack in the first two years, or you’d live for ever,’ she said. ‘I bet your pulse rate would go right down.’

  ‘It would be quite a fascinating subject for research,’ he said, and she thought he was only half joking. She liked watching him. He had an almost childlike curiosity about what was in front of him, peering down at engines, examining pulling harnesses, trying the feel of the tiller. They moved from boat to boat, and he found something of interest in each one.

  Finally there was only one more to examine. He dropped down into the cabin as she admired the painting round the deck. Then she carefully stepped down the steep steps to join him. She wasn’t careful enough. Halfway down her foot slipped, and she pitched forward. He was facing her, and at her involuntary squeak he reached up and grabbed her. Her body slammed into his. She was conscious of her breasts pressed against his chest, their thighs jammed together. His arms were round her, steadying her. And her arms were around him.

  For a moment she was conscious of him, of his body, in a way she didn’t fully understand. Silently they stared at each other. Then, apparently reluctantly, he let her go.

  ‘This is so sudden,’ he said lightly.

  She recognised what he was doing – he was trying to re-establish normality between them. Just for that short period of time there had been an awareness of each other that she felt she couldn’t deal with. Perhaps he couldn’t either.

  He made sure her feet were firm on the floor of the cabin, before releasing her and stepping back. ‘Be careful, Megan,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t do to move too quickly.’

  It doesn’t do to move too quickly . What was he telling her? But then the moment had gone and they were just friends again.

  When they had finished looking round, and were walking towards the little cafe, he bought a couple of books on the history of the canals.

  ‘When will you get chance to read them?’ she asked.

  ‘When you don’t have time to follow an odd interest, then you’re working too hard,’ he told her. ‘You shouldn’t focus entirely on your work, Megan.’

  Perhaps he was right.

  Shortly afterwards they set off for home. As he drove she remembered being wrapped in his arms. She remembered that moment of heightened awareness, of knowledge that his body was pressed to hers. She had liked it. Then she told herself not to be ridiculous. He was her new consultant, from whom she could learn so much. He was just a friend. Unless, of course, he decided she was a cheat. She shivered at the idea.

  Megan had sent a money order to the store for the dress Dolores’s mum had purloined for her. She had enclosed a note – without name or address – saying that the dress had been taken by mistake. She knew this wasn't very believable, but at least the store got its money back. Now, fresh out of the shower, she held it against herself and wondered. No, this wasn’t the occasion for that particular dress. But someday soon she would wear it.

  There weren’t an awful lot of exciting clothes in her wardrobe, so she decided eventually that she would put on the suit she usually wore for interviews. She could always take off the jacket, and she had a white blouse to go underneath.

  For some reason she felt a bit irritated with herself. She wasn’t a student any more. She was paid a salary and she could easily afford new clothes. There just never seemed any good reason to bother. Of course, she could always borrow from Jane or Sue – the three of them borrowed non-stop – but she felt she needed a bit more of her own.

  Was this irritation Christopher Firth’s doing? Had he unsettled her with his talk of going out more, of there being more to life than just medicine? Certainly not, she decided. She was happy in her life. And what’s more, she was going out with someone, and to an expensive restaurant. She was going out with Jeremy Parks, and very much looking forward to it. Not that they were exactly going out. Jeremy was much older than her and they were just good friends.

  Should she feel guilty at Jeremy taking her to such expensive places? The first time she’d felt guilty, but he’d insisted that he could very easily afford it – he’d made a fortune – and what she could tell him was well worth the money.

  She’d met Jeremy by chance. She’d walked out of the hospital one evening to find he’d backed into her car. Her father had bought her a battered Ford Mondeo. It was old but it still ran, and she didn’t do very many miles. Jeremy had a small, light, expensive-looking sports car, and she’d wondered how he’d managed not to notice the hulk of her car. When she’d come up to her car he’d been fixing a note to her windscreen, leaving his name and telephone number.

  ‘I do apologise, it was entirely my fault,’ he said. ‘I accept all responsibility. If you’d like to get an estimate from your garage, I’ll see it’s paid at once.’

  ‘Let’s have a look at the damage.’

  In fact there was hardly any damage at all – a few extra scratches on an already rather tatty car. ‘Forget it,’ she said. ‘I suspect your car has come off worse.’

  He still tried to persuade her to go to a garage, and when she refused he insisted that she accept fifty pounds in cash. ‘If you don’t feel entitled to it, then give it to a hospit
al charity. I feel I’ve got off lightly.’

  He was a tall man, aged in his forties, very tanned, and with obviously expensive clothes. His manners were good, his voice soft. She felt confident with him. ‘Are you visiting anyone in hospital?’ she asked.

  He looked embarrassed. ‘After a fashion. I’ve been to your public relations section, but they don’t really have what I need. Bit of a wasted journey, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Perhaps I can help. What do you need?’

  He looked even more embarrassed. ‘Well, I’m a writer. That is, I want to be a writer. All my life I’ve promised myself that one day I’ll write a novel, and now I’ve started. The trouble is, a lot of the scenes are set in hospital and I just don’t know enough about what goes on. It’s not the operations and so on – I can research those. It’s little things, like the relationship between nurses and doctors and what people really think of their jobs.’

  She’d never thought about that. ‘You’re not a medical person yourself, then?’

  ‘Good Lord, no. For the last twenty-odd years I’ve been in South Africa – done quite well out there. But I’m glad to be out of it now. I found myself doing things I wasn’t happy about, but having to do them to survive. I didn’t like carrying a gun in case I got murdered in the streets. So I’ve settled in England and I’m going to write a book.’

  He pointed to a set of thick volumes in his car. ‘Medical textbooks. But they don’t give you the feel of a place. And, very properly, the authorities won’t let you wander round and ask stupid questions. But I’ll find out somehow.’

  She liked his enthusiasm. ‘I’m sure you will,’ she said.

  He took a card from his pocket and offered it to her. ‘I’m Jeremy Parks,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, but you are …?’

  ‘My name is Megan Taylor. Dr Megan Taylor.’