by Ann Jennings
Sighing softly, she wondered why it was that life couldn’t be simple and easy. Why can’t things be black and white, she thought irritably, why does life have to be filled with grey shadows. Mike Blakeney was one of her shadows, always there, never far away, and yet…and yet. She sighed again.
Cliff carried on gossiping as they danced, oblivious to Isabel’s tortured thoughts, the crowd on the floor moving them inexorably nearer and nearer to the doorway. Suddenly Cliff saw Mike Blakeney too. “Look who’s over there,” he said. “I’ve never seen him at one of these parties before.” He laughed, “I must say he doesn’t look as if he’s enjoying it much either!”
That was true. His face was certainly not the picture of geniality. If anything, rather the reverse. In fact, he looked positively disapproving of the scene in front of him. “I wonder what brought him here?” mused Cliff, in a puzzled voice, “I don’t remember seeing him here earlier in the evening, do you?”
Isabel shook her head. She knew very well he hadn’t been in the room earlier in the evening. If he had been, she knew some sixth sense would have told her. Why she thought that, she didn’t know, she just knew that she would have sensed it. When he appeared she felt his presence, and in the time she had been at the County General, every day it had grown stronger. It was as if there was some sort of telepathic link between them, she almost expected to see it in some physical form, a tangible thread. Wonderingly she glanced quickly across to him, did he sense it too?
They were getting very near the doorway and Cliff opened his mouth to hail the tall anaesthetist, when suddenly he disappeared. “Well, how do you like that?” demanded Cliff. “I’m sure he saw us, but he just shot off, without so much as a friendly hallo!”
“He didn’t look as if he was feeling very friendly,” observed Isabel, suddenly feeling inexplicably sad. Mike had looked strangely lonely standing there in the doorway. Her immediate instinct had been to go to him and draw him into the crowd, but as she was dancing with Cliff, that was impossible. Probably just as well, she thought resignedly, I’d have only been rebuffed for my trouble.
The evening ended soon after that, everyone going their separate ways, and no more was seen of Mike Blakeney. Cliff and his friends were making plans for the weekend, and wanted Isabel to join them.
“We’re going down to the coast windsurfing,” Cliff told her, “come on, I’ll teach you.” It was a much more interesting prospect than spending the weekend alone, so Isabel accepted the invitation with alacrity, suppressing the fleeting stab of regret that she had turned down Mike Blakeney’s offer of a drink, which could have perhaps led to an invitation for another get together at the weekend! It was only a fleeting thought, because almost immediately the imperious sounding voice of the mysterious girl on the phone echoed in her ears. He’ll be with her, you fool, she told herself.
Cliff’s pleased voice broke into her turbulent, racing thoughts. “That’ll be great, pick you up at ten o’clock.” He waited while she unlocked the front door into the residence block. “Bring a sleeping bag, Pete Rosen has got a beach chalet.” He gave her a quick peck on the side of her cheek. “It’ll be different when I am the passion of your life!” he said cheekily.
Isabel grinned back at him, it was impossible not to like him, his cheerful camaraderie washed over her like a warm, frothy wave. He was fun to be with, and she liked him a lot, but not in the way he obviously wanted. I’ll have to be careful, she thought a little uneasily, I don’t want to hurt him. Maybe if she had never met Dr Blakeney, she reflected, she would have been only too happy to fall comfortably in love with easy-going Cliff. But she had met Mike Blakeney, and he had kissed her, and with no effort at all he had turned her world upside down.
Much later that night, Isabel was still puzzling over life’s adversities. Instead of thinking about the day ahead, she was still thinking about Mike Blakeney. She had fled Edinburgh from one anaesthetist, only to lie awake in a different hospital room, over eight hundred miles away, thinking of another one! She wondered again why he had come to the mess party, could it possibly have been that he was looking for her? Turning over, she punched her pillow in exasperation, telling herself that was a ridiculous thing to think, to hope for. After all, why should he be interested in her, any more than anyone else! The fact that he kissed you, doesn’t mean anything she told herself fiercely, turning over in bed and willing herself to sleep.
Eventually she did drift off to sleep, but it was a restless fitful sleep, haunted by the memory of powerful arms holding her close to a rock hard body. A memory too, of a softly sensual, persuasive mouth on hers, demanding a response which she yearned to give. Several times she woke up, feeling deliciously warm, but almost immediately the feeling was dissipated by the echo of Mike Blakeney’s voice saying, “Darling, you know I’ll do anything for you…” It seemed her conscious self was determined to keep her subconscious self well under control!
Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny. Isabel hurled herself about her tiny room, tidying up with breakneck speed. Then, flinging a few belongings in a hold all and humping her sleeping bag along with her, she joined Cliff, who was waiting outside for her. She squeezed herself and her belongings into the contraption he affectionately called a car.
“Perfect weather for windsurfing,” Cliff informed her as he shoved the car into gear and they roared off, out of the hospital grounds and away into the countryside.
With the sun streaming down on them, and the warm wind whipping her dark hair about her face, Isabel felt happy. Carefree. Today, she vowed, I am not even going to let myself think for one second about any anaesthetist, past or present! Cliff drove fast, but carefully, and soon they pulled up in a sandy lane, the banks a tangle of blackberry bushes, behind which was a large wooden chalet perched on stilts, right on the beach. Judging by the number of cars parked in the lane, Isabel guessed that most of the others had already arrived.
She was right. Sally and Susie and a crowd of others from the hospital were there, as well as about half a dozen new faces. Cliff introduced her quickly, then the whole party made their way down the sandy beach to the waterline to begin the day’s windsurfing. It was a marvellous day as far as Isabel was concerned, as she soon got the hang of wind-surfing. It gave her a wonderful sense of freedom. As she skimmed across the waves, she wished she could go on for ever flying before the wind, leaving all her heartaches behind her. But by late afternoon she was exhausted and her arms felt leaden, as if they were literally hanging out from their sockets.
“It always gets you like that on the first day,” said Sally sympathetically as Isabel confessed to feeling shattered. “I’m tired too, let’s catch the last of the sun and work up a tan.”
Isabel laughed. “Work up a tan! You’ve already got one. No wonder you lot all look so healthy, if this is what you do every weekend.” They stretched out together side by side, in the warm sand of the dunes.
“I hear Mike Blakeney’s got a problem,” said Sally sleepily, her eyes closed against the strong sunlight.
“A problem?” Isabel levered herself up on one elbow to look at Sally, “what do you mean?”
“I suppose it might be only gossip,” said Sally, “but I’ve heard that Sarah’s been seen around recently. Of course, Daddy has a yacht down here somewhere on the south coast, so I suppose that might account for it.”
“Account for what?” echoed Isabel, nagging suspicious thoughts tugging at her heart.
“For Sarah being down here, at the County General in fact,” said Sally matter-of-factly.
“But who is Sarah?” asked Isabel.
Sally rolled over on her stomach, and regarded Isabel through narrowed eyes. “Of course, I forgot. You wouldn’t know. Sarah was his intended, to use an old-fashioned phrase. Although I’ve never seen her,” she admitted.
“I thought she married his brother,” said Isabel, trying to control the ice cold feeling sweeping over he
r. “Surely he wouldn’t be seeing her now?”
“Probably only gossip,” said Sally, dismissing the subject. “I’m going to concentrate on sunbathing for the next half hour.”
The subject was closed as far as Sally was concerned, and although Isabel was dying to ask more questions she couldn’t. She didn’t mention either the phone call to theatre, from the girl Mike called “darling.” Now she was certain in her own mind that it must have been the Sarah, his ex-fiancée, the girl Sally had just been talking about.
Sliding back down on to the warm sand she tried to put thoughts of Mike Blakeney and Sarah right out of her mind, but his face kept floating past, his grey eyes looking deep into her soul, or so it seemed in her imagination. Unwillingly she admitted it to herself, Dr Mike Blakeney held a kind of fascination for her, rather like that of a snake for a rabbit she thought grimly! It was stupid of her, she knew, to be even the slightest bit interested in such a moody and unpredictable man, even more so now that the mysterious Sarah was apparently back in the picture. He’s ruthless anyway she told herself, reminiscing about the night he had asked her to go to bed with him. There had been nothing slightly romantic about that episode, and he hadn’t been particularly nice when she had said no!
“Come on, you two, you can’t stay lazing about there for ever,” Cliff’s voice intruded abruptly into her tormented thoughts. “All change, everybody, then it’s off up river to find some nosh.” Reaching down he yanked a protesting Isabel to her feet, and gave her a heavy sail to carry over to the car, while he pulled the board along.
“Where did you say we’re going?” puffed Isabel, struggling to keep up with him.
“Up river,” he replied, pointing to the sheltered lagoon behind them. “Past all those anchored gin palaces and on up to a little pub we know.” He fastened the board and sail on to the car, securing them for the night. “It does fantastic food.”
“Sounds idyllic,” said Isabel, “but I’m hardly dressed to go out.”
Cliff grinned, waving to Sally and Pete who appeared also dragging a sailboard between them. “Everyone will look pretty scruffy,” he informed her cheerfully, “don’t worry about it.”
Scruffy was the right adjective for the assembled crowd who crammed on to the rather battered fishing boat, as it chugged its way past the splendid anchored yachts towards the head of the river. Isabel sat on the prow, with Sally, Susie and another girl called Meg. The four of them dangled their bare legs in the cool green water that frothed past the bows, sipping beer from chipped tin mugs, cheerfully oblivious of their sunburned, ragamuffin appearance. The boat steered its way between the silent anchored yachts. Most of them seemed to be deserted, bobbing about on the smooth green water like a multitude of Mary Celestes. But one had an awning on the aft deck, and was bright with lights and the chatter of conversation. As they approached, Isabel could see the silhouette of a man and a girl leaning against the rail, watching the progress of their battered fishing smack. It was almost dark by now, but it was possible to see that the couple were in evening dress, the girl’s dress of gold lamé standing out brilliantly as it glittered and shone from the reflected light of the lanterns on board the luxurious yacht.
“Some millionaire, I suppose,” said Sally enviously. “I really ought to ditch Pete, and find one for myself.”
“What, a millionaire or a yacht?” asked Isabel mischievously.
“Both if possible,” answered Sally firmly. Then she added, “Hang on a minute…well, I’ll be damned!”
“What, what…what is it? I can’t see!” Susie Wee peered shortsightedly into the dusk.
“Oh, do shut up a minute, you sound like Winnie the Pooh!” hissed Sally as she too peered intently into the gathering gloom of night. Then she added in a low voice, “I do believe it’s our very own eminent anaesthetist, Dr Blakeney!”
Isabel looked harder. She’d only given the couple a passing glance before, but now her heart somersaulted crazily as she suddenly realised that it was Mike Blakeney, and that he was looking down at their battered little boat from the majestic height of the yacht, whose smooth white painted sides stretched gleaming above them. With a sinking feeling she realised what an abject, scruffy sight she must look. Especially if compared to the elegant, polished looking girl by his side. Also the fact that he was regarding the disreputable looking boatload beneath him with a disapproving stare, did nothing for her morale.
Cliff Peterson came up front and joined the four girls. “It’s Mike Blakeney,” said Sally indicating the towering yacht.
Cliff waved cheerfully, nothing ever seemed to bother him. Isabel couldn’t imagine him being nonplussed by any sort of situation. Even the fact that Mike Blakeney waved a distinctly disdainful hand in their direction didn’t ruffle his calm.
Although it did bother Isabel, he looked so snooty and disapproving.
Without stopping to think she waved her beer mug at him. “Cheer up, it may never happen!” she shouted sarcastically. Her words drifted out on the still evening air, easily reaching above the chug, chug, chug of the engine, and she knew he must have heard, because a tight smile flickered across his face.
“If he’s not careful, he’ll crack his face,” she muttered crossly to Cliff. “Bad-tempered looking man.”
Cliff laughed and slipped his arm casually around her shoulders. “You’ve got to make allowances,” he said in mock reproof, “after all, he doesn’t have the charming company I’m blessed with!”
“Idiot,” retorted Isabel. However, in spite of herself not wanting too, telling herself she wasn’t interested, she couldn’t help casting a wistful glance back at the two figures silhouetted against the sunset, as they stood side by side at the yacht rail.
“Wonder who the girl is?” said Cliff idly, following her gaze.
“Perhaps it’s the famous Sarah,” said Sally echoing Isabel’s unspoken thoughts. “She’s certainly expensive looking, whoever she is.” A fact with which Isabel unhappily concurred.
Chapter Six
By mid-Monday morning, the weekend had receded into a distant memory. A pleasant blur of people, places, sun, sea and sand, but it annoyed Isabel intensely to find that the incident that stood out sharply in her memory, was the image of the two figures in evening dress, leaning on the rail of the magnificent sleek yacht lying at anchor.
Mike Blakeney had been his usual, curt, somewhat unfriendly self during the morning. Not for the first time, Isabel wondered whether he would even notice if she dropped dead at his feet! Probably just step over me, she concluded realistically! The silence in the anaesthetic room was broken only by his words to the senior house officer he had with him. The new senior house officer’s name was Steve, and Isabel gathered that he had already done six months’ anaesthesia before coming to the County General. She noticed that the senior anaesthetist was equally curt with him, the snapped commands not being reserved for her alone. I suppose I should be grateful he hasn’t singled me out exclusively to lash with his merciless tongue, she thought rebelliously, passing a laryngoscope to Steve on Mike’s instructions. The junior anaesthetist struggled to insert the blade of the laryngoscope. He’s taking a long time, thought Isabel, anxiously glancing at her watch. She knew time was of vital importance once the patient had been paralysed with suxamethonium.
Suddenly Steve gasped, “He’s got his false teeth in!”
Involuntarily she took a horrified step towards the patient, only to be elbowed roughly out of the way by Mike. “Damn!” he swore softly, pushing Steve aside too. Then reaching into the patient’s mouth he deftly extracted the offending teeth and expertly inserted the laryngoscope, thus safely intubating the patient. An audible sigh of relief echoed round the anaesthetic room from the three of them as the machine took over the patient’s breathing, the comforting click, click of the bellows reassuring them that all was well.
Isabel helped them through with the now deeply unconsciou
s patient into theatre, where the patient was due to undergo cholecystectomy. Once everything was settled she went back into the anaesthetic room to tidy up ready for the next admission. The unfortunate patient’s teeth, incredibly still intact, were lying on the floor. Isabel bent to retrieve them.
“Sorry I pushed you so roughly.”
Teeth in her hand, Isabel spun round abruptly and cannoned straight into Mike. He put a protective arm around her to steady her and Isabel cursed her taut senses as a prickling, shivering delight at the contact with him swam mistily through her. “I understand,” she muttered, moving to turn away.
“I wonder…” he started to say, but his words were interrupted by the swing doors to the anaesthetic room being pushed open.
An agitated looking Sister Clarke stood in the doorway. “I’ve just had a message from the ward,” she said breathlessly, “Mr Jones, the cholecystectomy…”
“Had his teeth left in,” finished Mike for her.
“Yes,” she looked relieved, “thank goodness there wasn’t an accident.”
“There very nearly was,” snapped Mike grimly. “When I’ve finished here, I’m coming up to the ward and I’m going to have someone’s guts for garters!”
“Oh…er,” quavered Sister Clarke, “I’ll tell them to expect you.” She backed out of the anaesthetic room.
“You do that,” Mike’s voice followed her.
“Don’t be too hard on the nurse concerned,” said Isabel quietly, “anybody can make a mistake.”
“Mistakes cost lives,” he replied grimly, “you should know that.”
“Of course I do, but frightening someone by shouting won’t do much good,” replied Isabel smoothly, “and you can be quite frightening sometimes, you know.”
“I’m not doing a particularly good job where you’re concerned,” he observed, flashing her a quizzical glance. “Unless you happen to count that evening at my house!”