by Ann Jennings
It was the second death on the table that Isabel had witnessed since working at the County General. First the tiny baby and now a teenage girl. Both times it seemed like a nightmare, a bad unreal dream. Death came so silently, as if it had been patiently waiting all the time in the dark shadows outside the fringe of the bright ring of theatre lights. We wasted our time, thought Isabel, fate had already decided the outcome before we started. Her heart flooded with sorrow at the thought of the young life lost, and the anguish it would cause for her family.
“Such a waste of life,” said Mike savagely, flicking the switch viciously as he turned everything off. “All because some bloody maniac was driving too damned fast.” He looked at Isabel’s pale face. “You go,” he said quietly, “you’ve been here long enough. Steve and I will see to the formalities.”
Isabel hesitated. She had had a long day, but so had he and everyone else. His face was taut and drawn, drained of emotion. He looked vulnerable and unhappy, quite different from the usual taciturn face he presented to the world. Impulsively she reached out and touched his arm. “Go on,” he snapped irritably, turning away, “the other girls have already gone.”
So she left, feeling hurt at his abrupt rejection of her impulsive gesture. Slowly she walked down the corridor, her gait exhausted and weary. When she reached the changing room, Sally and Susie were already there, flopped out in the armchairs.
“I wouldn’t like too many days like this one,” said Sally, voicing the thoughts of all of them. “Poor kid, riding her bike to University.” The three of them were silent, thinking of the nineteen-year-old whose life had been so suddenly cut short. As she showered, Isabel wondered about the girl’s parents. How awful it must be to lose a daughter. One moment a girl full of life, the next day dead. Sally and Susie were quiet, each one changing and leaving the room with a brief goodbye, none of the cheery chatter and gossip that usually took place. Isabel finished changing last, and collected the bike to ride back to her flat.
Slowly she cycled along in the warm evening air. Normally she would have enjoyed such a perfect late summer evening, the sunlight filtering through the thickly leafed trees, forging intricate patterns on the roadway, but that evening her heart was heavy. The summer beauty passed by unnoticed, the face of the dead teenager blotting out everything else. Once she was back in her flat, it was no better. She just didn’t feel in the mood to cook herself anything to eat. Half-heartedly she toyed with the idea of ringing Cliff, but then decided the sensible thing to do was to walk her depression away. After all, she reasoned, you’ve seen death before, you will see it again, it has to be kept in perspective. So, setting off determinedly, she decided to walk to the pub by the river.
Walking was a pastime Isabel had always enjoyed. As a child she used to walk over the Scottish hills, and had never minded the weather. It had not mattered whether it was sunny or raining. In fact, she remembered as she thought back to those far off days, in a way she had always preferred the rain. Perhaps that was because when she returned, her grandmother always had a kettle boiling ready for some tea, and fresh homemade scones that melted in the mouth. For the first time, Isabel suddenly felt homesick for Scotland. Now that she had seen Hugh again, and knew she had nothing to fear where he was concerned, there was nothing to stop her going back. Perhaps I ought to, she pondered, that way I need never see Dr Mike Blakeney again. Need never argue with him again, never feel that inexplicable feeling of exhilaration when he comes near me, or the sadness when he makes it quite plain he doesn’t want, or need, my sympathy.
But once she was seated comfortably by the smoothly flowing river, munching a cheese sandwich and sipping a mellow red wine, she changed her mind again. It was a lovely part of the country, and already she had made many good friends. Why leave them just because you have been stupid enough to fall for a bad-tempered, two-timing anaesthetist, she told herself firmly.
Relishing her sandwich, Isabel watched the clear water of the river slide silently past. No mother duck and ducklings now, but there were some adult ducks swimming about, hopefully eyeing her sandwich with interest. Isabel threw them some pieces of crust. Perhaps they are the babies that ate my crisps on that very first evening, she thought, watching them dabble for the crusts in the water. It seemed such a long time ago since she had sat in the very same place with Mike Blakeney, after her first day at the County General.
“I find slow flowing rivers soothing too,” Mike’s voice sliced through her thoughts.
Isabel turned, sandwich in hand to find Mike and Sarah standing behind her. “I just had to get out this evening,” she muttered lamely, wishing that Mike had been standing there alone, and not accompanied by the beautiful Sarah.
“So did Mike,” said Sarah coming to perch beside Isabel. “He was like a bear with a sore head when he came in this evening, so I demanded that he take me out.”
“We had a bad day,” said Isabel slowly, “did Mike tell you?”
“No, and I don’t want to know,” said Sarah quickly. “I can’t bear anything to do with hospitals. I had enough of that as a child. My father always used to bring his work home with him.”
Of course, Isabel suddenly remembered that Sally had mentioned that Sarah’s father was some important surgeon. It puzzled her slightly, however. If Sarah hated hospitals that much, Mike Blakeney was hardly the right man for her. She could never imagine him giving up his hospital work for anyone.
Mike made a move towards the pub to collect their drinks. “Another glass of wine for you?” he asked Isabel, smiling at her. It was a distant but friendly smile, or so it seemed to Isabel.
She found herself smiling back, echoing the friendly light flickering in his eyes as she nodded, “Thanks.”
Sarah watched him walking away. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “I know something dreadful has happened today. I always know where Mike is concerned, but I don’t want to hear about it,” she added hastily, “I’m only thinking about tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” asked Isabel politely.
“I’m flying to New York,” replied Sarah, “a modelling assignment,” she added by way of explanation.
“Oh, how I envy you,” said Isabel wistfully, wishing she could just get on a plane and fly off to an exciting city like New York the next day. Instead of laying out the anaesthetic room as usual. “Will you be gone long?”
Sarah lit a cigarette and inhaled slowly. “I don’t know,” she said quietly, and for the first time Isabel saw her really smile, a smile that reached her eyes as well as her lips. “It all depends on what Mike can arrange.”
“I see,” said Isabel politely, trying to ignore the hard lump in her throat. That was it, of course, Mike must be going to arrange a divorce for Sarah in the United States. She remembered reading somewhere that it was possible to get a divorce easily in the States, no waiting. Not like in England. Then they would be free to marry. That must be why Sarah was looking happy for the first time since she had met her. It was with difficulty that she forced herself to smile brightly, and take the drink Mike proffered when he returned. “Sarah has told me she is going to the States tomorrow,” she said.
“Yes,” he replied, but his tone of voice didn’t invite further comment.
Isabel cautiously looked first at Mike, then at Sarah. It was strange, he seemed to be on edge again, but then, I suppose that’s only natural, she told herself. After all, arranging a divorce can’t be that pleasant, especially if it involves your own brother. Purposely she tried to keep the conversation light, told Sarah of her windsurfing escapades with Cliff and his friends. “Cliff wants to get a job that rotates to Australia for a year,” she said, “that way he can combine windsurfing with surgery.”
“I suppose you might be disappearing off to Australia as well,” said Mike, his eyes regarding her sombrely over the rim of his beer glass.
Isabel shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps, who knows,” she said. “I haven
’t thought that far ahead.”
Mike seemed about to say something more but then thought better of it, as he continued sipping the remains of his beer. Sarah glanced at her watch. “Early start tomorrow, darling,” she said, “we’d better be going.”
Mike tossed her the car keys. “Let yourself in,” he said. “I need to have a quick word with Isabel.”
“Work, work, work,” grumbled Sarah, “always work.” She caught the keys deftly. “Don’t keep him talking too long,” she said to Isabel as she left.
How lovely she is, thought Isabel despondently, watching Sarah’s tall blonde figure, with her gliding modelling walk. She even ducks elegantly, she noted, as Sarah swerved to avoid the overhanging branches of the trees that swept down to the river!
“I stayed to apologise,” Mike’s voice interrupted her thoughts abruptly, “something I seem to need to do with monotonous regularity where you are concerned.” Surprised, Isabel turned to face him. “For what I said at the symposium dance,” he said, “I shouldn’t have said it.”
“Forget it,” murmured Isabel, “it doesn’t matter.”
“But it does,” he said forcefully, “I did you an injustice. I thought you were stringing Hugh along, being cruel, but before he flew back to Edinburgh he told me the true story. I’m sorry.”
Isabel laughed, her laughter tinged with bitterness. “So now you know, Dr Blakeney,” she shrugged her shoulders expressively, “I was ditched. I believe that is the correct expression.”
“Isabel, I…”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she interrupted rising from her seat with a feigned indifference. “But perhaps,” she added, “it might teach you not to jump to conclusions in the future.”
“I’m not the only one who jumps to conclusions, you…” his voice tailed away as Sarah came back, brushing aside the branches of the trees irritably.
“Mike, which key is it? I can’t unlock the darned door,” Sarah dangled the keys from an outstretched hand. She gave them back to him. “Have you finished your chat?” she asked, looking from one to the other.
“Yes thanks,” said Isabel briskly, glad of the chance to finish to conversation, “don’t let me keep you.” She fancied, that for a second, just a second, an exasperated look crossed Mike’s face, but he said nothing. Merely nodded goodbye to Isabel and followed Sarah in the direction of the car park.
Left to herself, Isabel morosely threw the remainder of her sandwich in the river. She had wanted him to know the truth, so that he wouldn’t think the worst of her, but now, contrarily, she found herself wishing that Hugh hadn’t mentioned it at all. Somehow, she didn’t want him to know that she had an Achilles heel, that she wasn’t the carefree career girl she had always taken great pains to pretend to be. She had felt sorry for him earlier in the day because he looked so vulnerable, now she felt vulnerable herself. But why it should disturb her so much she wasn’t really sure.
The mood persisted, preventing her from concentrating as she lay in bed later that night trying to read. Damn the man, she thought, not for the first time and, venting her restlessness, flung the book against the far wall. At the sound of the book crashing against the wall, the three dogs, the Royal Family, as Isabel had nicknamed them, set up a concerted barking. Grimacing, Isabel slid down in the bed and pulled the covers over her ears, hoping the other occupants of the house wouldn’t realise it had been she who had started them off!
On Tuesdays of course, Mike was never there, and the day proceeded as usual. The tragedy of the day before was not forgotten, but put away with other painful memories. The warm, friendly atmosphere of the theatre was once more restored. A new day, a new set of problems to be tackled and overcome.
Isabel worked hard as usual, and the day sped past. Once or twice she caught herself thinking of Mike and Sarah, wondering whether Sarah was on the plane for New York City, wondering what the plans were that she had spoken about. But for the most part she was happy in her work, and managed to push such thoughts, when they came, to the back of her mind.
That evening she had planned to play tennis with Sally, but the spell of fine weather broke, and it teemed with rain. “Do you mind if I see Pete instead?” asked Sally, “or would you rather we went out for a drink?”
It was nice of Sally to think of her, but Isabel declined. “I’ve plenty of things to catch up on,” she told her. So they parted at the end of the corridor, Sally going towards the mess to meet Pete, and Isabel making her way to the cycle shed.
The ride back to the flat was much worse than she had expected, the torrential rain soaking her to the skin. Charles, Andrew and Edward greeted her with their usual enthusiasm, but even they seemed put off by her wetness, and soon snuffled their way back to their own kitchen as she went upstairs. Once in her flat, she flung off her wet clothes, and climbed into a hot bath. She felt chilled and strangely depressed. It must be the black weather, she thought ruefully, it’s put me in a black mood to match. However, a warm scented bath did a great deal to restore her equilibrium and good humour, and wrapping a thin pink cotton housegown round herself, she settled down cosily with some cheese and biscuits and a glass of wine. She had just become immersed in the book she had so bad temperedly thrown at the wall the night before, when the downstairs door bell rang. Isabel ignored it, she wasn’t expecting anyone, and anyway, she knew Miss Elder would answer it.
She heard the dogs barking frantically in chorus, and Miss Elder’s voice. Then footsteps mounting the stairs towards her flat, and a knock on the door. Hastily Isabel pulled the thin robe tightly around her, wondering who on earth it could be as she went to answer the door. Opening it curiously, she found Mike Blakeney standing outside surrounded by the dogs, pressing in very closely around him, their faces raised expectantly to Isabel.
The surprise at seeing him rendered her speechless for a moment then she faltered, “What a picture you make, man and his best friends!” A nervous giggle escaped, and she wished she could have thought of something more intelligent to say.
“They’re friendly, I grant you,” said Mike, neatly sidestepping the trio into the room, and shutting the door quickly behind him, “but personally I found their welcome a little…” he grinned, “over-enthusiastic!”
Isabel found herself grinning back impulsively, until she became aware that his gaze was lingering appreciatively on the gentle curve of her body, clearly outlined against the thin cotton of her robe. “Oh…er, I,” she gasped, suddenly self conscious, “I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
“I should hope not,” he replied, a mocking note creeping into his voice.
“If…er, if you wait a moment I’ll change,” without waiting for a reply Isabel dashed into the bedroom and hurriedly scrambled into a pair of cords and a loose cotton top. Taking a deep breath, she walked as casually as possible back into the lounge, and said coolly, “now, Dr Blakeney, what can I do for you?”
“Do you really want to know?” He rose from the settee where he had seated himself in her absence. Towering above her, it suddenly seemed that the room was inadequate for both of them. His presence seemed to fill every inch, every nook and cranny of the room, dominating and intimidating the very air she breathed.
Isabel turned away, her limbs feeling stiff, as she desperately tried to keep a clear head, something she found very difficult when he was so close. What on earth had he come for? Or perhaps more to the point at that moment, what on earth could she say to break the brittle silence. “Perhaps you’d like a drink, I suppose you’ve had a tiring day!” Fool! She chastised herself crossly, now you’ve invited him to stay!
“I’ll make do with a drink for now,” he sounded amused.
Pouring wine, trying not to let her hand shake, Isabel reflected that he always managed to unnerve her, by the mere inflection in his voice.
“Aren’t you wondering why I’ve turned up like a lost dog on your doorstep?”
&n
bsp; Isabel passed him the wine, trying to suppress the prickles of fire running the entire length of her spine, and hoping she didn’t look as agitated as she felt. “I was wondering,” she returned, marvelling at the smooth composure of her voice.
“I couldn’t wait to see you again, you drive me mad with desire,” said Mike slowly, regarding her steadily over the top of his wine glass, his gaze as enigmatic as ever.
Isabel flushed uneasily. He was joking of course, but it disquieted her. With anyone else, someone like Cliff, she’d have parried with a witty reply, but witty replies seemed to be strangled at birth when Mike Blakeney was around! Anyway, the remark seemed out of character for him, although…she remembered the time he had asked her to go to bed. She felt her anger rise, surely he wasn’t making a pass at her? “You certainly don’t waste time,” she retorted sharply, setting her wine glass down with an annoyed bang. “Having just shuttled Sarah off to America, you now turn to look for other amusement, is that it?”
Mike laughed. “You bite every time,” he said grinning. “I like it, my spirited Scots lass!”
Isabel glowered angrily at him, he was right of course. Whenever he chose he could get her to rise to the bait! “Well?” she demanded crossly, “why have you come?”
“Aren’t you just a little bit disappointed that I’m not driven mad with desire?” he teased.