The Pregnant Police Surgeon

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The Pregnant Police Surgeon Page 6

by Abigail Gordon


  Imogen’s place in his life had changed in the space of a few hours. She was still the desirable woman who had made his pulses race as they’d never done before. Still the enchantress who had lit up his life from the moment of meeting.

  But he’d discovered that she was carrying another man’s child. Everything had changed, even though the Sean person was dead. And what state did that leave him in?

  He was jealous, for one thing. Wished that the child was his.

  Angry? Only to the extent that she’d kept it from him when he would rather have known.

  Hurting? Oh, yes! Because he didn’t spread his affections around carelessly. Yet how could Imogen have known what his feelings for her were before tonight? She did now, though. In the space of minutes she’d discovered that he was attracted to her and then had had to watch that attraction wiped out by disbelief.

  When Simon’s car pulled up beside his an eternity later, his young brother came across and knocked on the window. As Blair wound it down he said, ‘What are you doing out here? Dreaming about Imogen? I saw the two of you in the restaurant. You’re the crafty one, aren’t you? Letting me come on to her when you had designs on her yourself.’

  Blair sighed.

  ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Simon. I’ll tell you about it some time.’

  So that was that, Imogen thought dismally as she lay sleepless between the sheets. It had ended as she’d known it would, with Blair angry at being kept in the dark and the magical thing that had been happening between them shattered into a thousand pieces.

  But as the moments passed pride resurfaced. If Blair’s opinion of her had dropped to zero, so be it. If she had hurt him emotionally and made working together difficult then first thing in the morning she would hand in her notice.

  She supposed that now her secret was out of the bag she might as well tell her father and have done with it. He wouldn’t be able to make her feel any worse than Blair had. At least she wouldn’t have to concern herself about her changing shape once he had also been put in the picture.

  Blair was already at his desk when Imogen arrived for morning surgery the next day and, like a patient wanting to get down a dose of nasty medicine as quickly as possible, she went straight into his office.

  ‘I’m handing in my notice,’ she said with flat brevity. ‘I’m sure that’s what you’d like me to do.’

  ‘And since when have you thought yourself able to read my mind?’ he asked with a quick glance at the shadows beneath her eyes.

  ‘Since last night when I told you I was pregnant and you made your thoughts on the matter crystal clear,’ she retorted.

  He pointed to the chair that was normally occupied by his patients. ‘Sit down, Imogen, before you fall down. I don’t want your notice.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I want you to stay. I said things last night that I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry.’

  She was observing him with amazed hazel eyes.

  ‘So you’re not condemning me?’

  ‘Of course not. My anger last night was because you hadn’t been straight with me, but, as I’ve just said, I can understand why.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘With regard to what happened between us before that, it would never have occurred if I’d known the circumstances. Obviously it won’t happen again.’

  Her heart sank. So that was to be it. He’d accepted her pregnancy but it had put her out of bounds as far as he was concerned on a personal level.

  Well, she supposed that she should be grateful for that. She would still see him each day at the practice if nowhere else.

  ‘So, are you going to take off your jacket and let us both get the day under way?’ he suggested, and she smiled.

  ‘Yes, I’ll do that.’ She flashed him a smile. ‘I’m going to tell my dad now that you know and get all my confessions out of the way.’

  As she turned to go he said, ‘One last thing, and then the subject is closed. How did your child’s father die?’

  ‘He was killed in a freak storm on Everest…not knowing he’d made me pregnant.’

  ‘That must have been dreadful.’

  ‘Yes, it was,’ she told him levelly.

  There was no point in informing him that it had also been the first and last time she’d made love with Sean, and that she doubted if she would have wanted to marry him if he’d still been around.

  Blair wouldn’t want to hear that after what he’d said earlier. And could she blame him? Few men would want a relationship with a woman who was pregnant with another man’s child.

  If she’d had any doubts on that score, what Blair had to say later in the morning would have dispensed with them.

  Surgery was over and Imogen was on the phone to the maternity wing of the city’s biggest hospital, enquiring about the patient that she’d sent in the previous day with dangerously high blood pressure.

  She wouldn’t normally have followed up a referral to hospital but, being pregnant herself and knowing how much the couple wanted the child that they were expecting late in life, she’d felt bound to enquire about the condition of the mother-to-be.

  It was as she’d expected. The blood pressure was coming down with bed rest and medication, but her patient would be kept in hospital until it was time for the birth.

  As she replaced the phone Blair came in and closed the door behind him.

  ‘Do you mind if I tell Simon about your pregnancy?’ he asked.

  ‘Er…no. But why?’

  ‘He saw us last night at the Belvedere and jumped to his own conclusions. When he came home I explained that there wasn’t going to be anything between us, and it has occurred to me since that he might see that as a signal to follow up the play he made for you yesterday…which could be embarrassing for you both.’

  She supposed his thinking was logical enough, but for some reason Imogen was angry. Perhaps it was because of the bland way that he was making sure she knew he’d given up on her.

  ‘Maybe I could carry a bell and cry, “Leper”,’ she said tartly. ‘Would that be sufficient to keep men away? Or will my spreading waistline be enough?’

  Blair’s face had straightened.

  ‘I thought you might still be mourning the death of your child’s father, and as I’ve already unwittingly intruded into that part of your life, I wouldn’t want Simon to do the same.’

  Imogen sighed.

  ‘Tell him, Blair. Tell who you like. It doesn’t matter. Only leave me to tell my father. It will be bad enough coming from me, but if he heard it from anyone else I shudder to think what might happen.’

  ‘I’ll come with you if you like,’ he offered.

  ‘What? I couldn’t let you do that. I’m not a child.’

  ‘I know that, but someone has to look after you, Imogen,’ he said gently.

  It was the gentleness that did it. Suddenly she was weeping. Tears for Sean, the baby and for what might have been between herself and Blair.

  ‘Come here,’ he said in the same soft tone, and as he held out his arms she went into them like a hurt animal.

  ‘I’m going with you when you go to see your father, whether you want me to or not,’ he said as she sobbed out all the pent-up misery. ‘The chief constable is someone I wouldn’t like to have to put in his place, but I will if I have to.’

  That brought a smile amongst the tears.

  ‘That would be a first. No one puts a foot wrong with my dad.’

  ‘Yes, well, we’ll have to wait and see what he says, won’t we?’ he said with an answering smile.

  At that moment there were footsteps in the passage outside and Andrew called, ‘Are you there, Blair? I need a quick word.’

  Blair moved quickly towards the door. ‘Stay there until you feel better,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I’ll head Andrew off.’

  Imogen’s first house visit of the day was to the home of an elderly couple. The wife had rung in the lunch-hour to say that she thought her eighty-year-old husband was having a mini-stroke
.

  ‘He’s not talking sense,’ she said agitatedly when Imogen arrived, ‘and he keeps dribbling from the mouth.’

  The young doctor nodded when she saw him. ‘Yes. It would appear that your husband has had a minor stroke. As is the case when this happens, depending on which side of the brain is affected, the patient either loses the power of speech or is left with restricted movement. I’m going to test his blood pressure first and put him on some immediate medication.’

  The man’s speech improved while his blood pressure was being checked, and his wife gave a sigh of relief.

  It was high, but not dangerously so, and Imogen told her, ‘It would appear that there was a temporary blockage in an artery, but I can’t guarantee that it won’t happen again. Send for me immediately if he has another attack, and in the meantime I’ll give you a prescription that has a similar effect to aspirin but without the risk of abdominal upset.’

  When she arrived back at the practice she rang her father’s house and Celia answered.

  ‘Imogen!’ she cried. ‘When are you coming to see us?’

  ‘One night this week if it’s convenient,’ she informed her stepmother.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Celia said immediately. ‘We’ve no engagements, so whenever it suits you will be fine by us.’

  ‘Tomorrow, then?’

  ‘Yes. You must eat with us.’

  ‘Is it all right if I bring someone with me?’

  ‘Of course. Can I ask who?’ Celia probed.

  ‘Blair Nesbitt.’

  ‘Oh! Really! Your father will be pleased about that.’

  ‘Don’t get any wrong ideas, Celia,’ she said quickly. ‘Blair is just a friend.’

  And there was nothing truer than that, she thought glumly as the practice nurse appeared in a state of some agitation to say that one of the receptionists was being harassed by a patient.

  ‘Where are Blair and Andrew?’ Imogen asked as she hurried towards Reception.

  ‘I don’t know,’ the nurse said. ‘They were here a moment ago.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Imogen asked coolly of the man who was shouting abuse at the receptionist.

  ‘She won’t give me an appointment to see a doctor,’ he bellowed, ‘and I’m not going until she does!’

  The receptionist was Lauren. Trying to make herself heard above his shouting, she said, ‘He’s drunk, Imogen. I’ve told him to come back when he’s sober.’

  ‘You heard what the receptionist said,’ she told him. ‘Do as she says.’

  His attention had turned to herself now and he lunged towards her, sending her flying with his forearm.

  She staggered back against the desk but fortunately didn’t lose her balance, and as she stood swaying from the force of the blow the man was gripped from behind by an enraged Blair.

  ‘Look after Dr Rossiter,’ he told Lauren as he pinned the man up against the wall. Addressing Andrew, who was dithering nearby, he said, ‘Call the police, Andrew. This guy needs locking up until the beer’s stopped talking.’

  The police had been and taken the offender away. The nurse had bathed Imogen’s face and made her a cup of hot sweet tea and now she was insisting that she was all right.

  It was the first day of the rest of his life without Imogen and already he’d held her sobbing in his arms, offered his moral support when she went to face her father and been consumed by blind rage when he’d seen that fellow’s arm come out to hit her. So much for keeping at a distance, Blair thought.

  The chief constable’s daughter was many things. Vulnerable, independent, reckless, clever…and achingly beautiful. And he was going to have to stand by and watch while she had another man’s child.

  How much had he meant to her? he wondered. This fellow who’d died on Everest? Had he been the love of her life?

  As Imogen wandered restlessly around the apartment that night she couldn’t stop thinking about the strange day that was drawing to a close.

  It had begun with Blair telling her he wanted her to stay in the practice. An amazing thing in itself after his reaction of the previous night. Then he had dumbfounded her by offering to be present when she told her father about the baby and, immediately on top of that, she’d found herself in his arms sobbing her heart out.

  And if all that hadn’t been strange enough, there’d been his fury at the way the drunken man had hit her. She knew he would have been outraged to see any member of his staff being treated like that, but it had been almost as if she belonged to him.

  She wished she did. She wished that she’d never met Sean. But the die had been cast in the form of an innocent baby that hadn’t asked to be conceived.

  Every caring thing Blair had done or said during the day had made her realise even more what a mess she’d made of her life. Imogen was beginning to feel it would be easier to bear if he’d stayed angry with her.

  But one thing wasn’t going to change. He was seeing her in a different light now. She’d become someone that he wasn’t going to be able to rely on completely during the coming months with regard to the practice, and away from it he would see her as a woman with a function to fulfil that was going to keep them apart.

  So what was she going to do? She was going to get on with her life, she thought rebelliously.

  Her father was actually smiling when Imogen and Blair arrived at his house the following evening, and she read his mind immediately. He was thinking that for once she was doing the sensible thing if she’d taken up with Blair.

  Her spirits sank even lower than they already were as he gave her a peck on the cheek and shook hands cordially with her companion.

  When her father discovered that Blair was only there to give her support, the fat really would be in the fire. But as yet he didn’t know the reason for the visit and, not wanting to take away his appetite, she wasn’t going to say anything until after they’d eaten.

  The conversation during dinner was pleasant enough, with Blair and her father chatting about their affairs and Celia and herself enjoying their own conversation, but when they were settled with coffee in the sitting room afterwards Imogen knew she must wait no longer.

  ‘I have something to tell you both,’ she said, trying to sound cool.

  Her father smiled and with a glance at Blair sitting beside her said, ‘I hope it’s what I think it is.’

  ‘I’m afraid that you’re in for a disappointment,’ she told him. ‘I’m pregnant.’

  As she watched, the smile disappeared and the look she knew so well took its place. Disapproval, exasperation, annoyance were all there as he said, ‘Couldn’t you have waited until you married?’ He turned to Blair. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Nesbitt. Making my daughter pregnant without a wedding ring on her finger!’

  Imogen was eyeing him in slow horror. She hadn’t been wrong. He was jumping to conclusions. Her father was taking it for granted that because Blair was with her he was the father. She wanted to crawl into the nearest hole and hide herself away.

  But she wasn’t going to be able to do that. She had to put him right. Blair would just love having his good name dragged through the mire!

  As she moistened dry lips to say her piece, the chief constable growled, ‘I hope that you’re going to do the honourable thing, Nesbitt.’

  The situation was developing into a farce, she thought hysterically as Blair replied, ‘I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t…sir.’

  He didn’t meet her eyes as she swung round to face him and as if from somewhere far away she heard her father’s voice saying in a more placatory tone, ‘Well, I suppose that’s something. Er…how far into the pregnancy are you, Imogen?’

  ‘Not far,’ she croaked, ‘but you don’t understand…I have to explain.’

  ‘There’s no need, Imogen,’ Blair said smoothly. ‘I’m sure that your father will be happy to leave it to us to sort things out.’

  She swallowed hard. Was he crazy?

  ‘Yes, and without delay if you don’t mind,’ her parent said. �
��Let’s have a wedding to give some degree of respectability to it.’

  ‘I only told Blair that I was pregnant a couple of days ago,’ she told him protestingly, conscious that if nothing else was what it seemed, that at least was true.

  ‘That’s typical of you, Imogen,’ he snapped, but before he could berate her further Celia butted in.

  ‘It’s wonderful news, Imogen, dear,’ she said gently, and turned to Blair. ‘She’s a lovely girl, this stepdaughter of mine. You’re a lucky man, Blair. Congratulations to you both.’

  Linking her arm in her husband’s, she looked up at the tall unrelenting figure and told him, ‘Rejoice, my dear. You’re going to be a grandfather.’ And for the first time since he’d heard about his daughter’s pregnancy Brian Rossiter smiled.

  ‘So how about that for taking the wind out of the old tyrant’s sails?’ Blair said when they’d said their goodbyes later in the evening and were driving back to Imogen’s apartment.

  She’d been silent since leaving her father’s house, speechless for once at the way the evening had turned out, but now she found her tongue.

  ‘What about me?’ she cried. ‘How do you think I felt when you said what you did? I thought that by now it would be over. My dad would know I was pregnant and would have to accept it. But you’ve made things ten times more complicated, Blair. What’s he going to say when he finds out that you’re not the baby’s father?’

  ‘He’s not going to. Not from me anyway.’

  ‘I…don’t…understand,’ she said slowly. ‘Do you realise what you’re saying?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re going to let everyone think the baby’s yours.’

  ‘If it will make your life easier…yes.’

  ‘It won’t!’ she cried. ‘I’ll know that it’s not true and I’ll feel guilty all the time because you’re saddling yourself with me and my child for some crazy, chivalrous idea of your own.’

  ‘Will you please calm down?’ he said, stopping the car by the side of the road. ‘I said what I did on impulse. Your father misunderstood why I was with you and, as I’m fancy-free and couldn’t stand by and let him make mincemeat out of you, the opportunity was there to get him off your back and I took it.’

 

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