Briony needed to be told that any involvement between Blair and herself had been more than willingly agreed to on his part, and if he did have an arrangement with the widow of his friend, so be it. But she was damned if she was going to let herself be judged by a stranger who knew nothing about her.
‘As you surmise, my pregnancy is the result of a one-night stand,’ she said coolly, ‘but it is no business of yours whatsoever. If you are so keen to know my child’s parentage, I suggest that you ask Blair himself instead of intruding into my life.’
She got to her feet. ‘And now you must excuse me. As I said before, I’ve had a long and busy day.’ And with her head held high and anger still churning inside her, she made her way to the checkout.
The outrage was still there when Imogen got to the practice the next morning, and when Blair saw her set expression he said mildly, ‘So who’s rubbed you up the wrong way, Dr Rossiter?’
‘You do well to ask, Dr Nesbitt,’ she told him snappily.
‘I presume that I’m supposed to know what you mean by that, but I’m afraid I don’t,’ he retaliated with a questioning smile.
‘Does the name Briony Matthews ring a bell?’
‘Yes. Of course it does. You know very well she’s a friend of mine. Or at least her husband was. But I’m afraid that you’ve still got me guessing. What about her?’
‘She waylaid me in the supermarket last night and interrogated me about who the father of my child is. You’ve certainly got a champion there. That woman sees you as the victim of an unscrupulous one-night stand with someone who’s out to trawl you into her net. I’ve never been so insulted in the whole of my life. Especially as the truth of the matter is the exact opposite.
‘It’s clear that she wants you on any terms. She said that the two of you have an understanding and hinted that she would be willing to forgive you for whatever you’ve been up to with me. Can you believe it?’
‘And what did you tell her?’ he asked with deadly calm.
‘I told her to ask you if she wanted to know who fathered my child. I didn’t know what else to say. I would have preferred to tell her the truth, but thought it might get back to this place and then everyone would know we’d been deliberately misleading them.’
‘I see.’
Imogen glared at him.
‘Is that all you’ve got to say? What about an explanation as to why that woman thinks she has a claim on you…and why she thinks she has the right to question me? She hasn’t got those ideas from nowhere.’
‘So you think she’s got them from me?’
‘Well! Has she?’
‘Look, Imogen,’ he said heavily, ‘I’m sorry about what happened. Briony has been in a very emotional state ever since she lost her husband and—’
‘I don’t know about her being emotional,’ Imogen butted in angrily. ‘Predatory might be a better word to describe her. She accused me of entrapment. Me! The one who let you off the hook with regard to the wedding!’
‘Let me off the hook!’ he said with the dangerous calm upon him once more. ‘I don’t know which is worse—being likened to a fish, squirming to get back into the water again, or being fought over like some prize in a raffle. If Briony is predatory, you, Imogen Rossiter, are ungrateful. And now, if it isn’t too much trouble, perhaps you’d like to start morning surgery.’
‘My pleasure,’ she snapped back, ‘and tell your lady friend to keep away from me in future…and the same applies to you.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
AS SOON as the words were out Imogen wished she could take them back. Briony to stay away from her, yes, but not Blair, never him.
She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything, but the moment she began to hope that there was life after pregnancy for them both something always got in the way. This time in the form of another woman who seemed to think that he belonged to her.
One thing she did know about Blair was that there was no deceit in him. If he was involved with Briony and hadn’t felt the necessity to tell her about it, it would be because she wasn’t all that important to him. And if that was the case, what was she going to do about it? Nothing?
He was turning away and she reached out to him, but he shrugged off her detaining hand and, closing the door of his consulting room behind him with a decisive click, left her to her regrets.
When surgery was over she tried to waylay him in the passage outside their rooms but he was reluctant to talk. With a smile that had a trace of weariness in it he said, ‘Leave it, Imogen. I think you’ve said all that needs to be said.’
‘That’s just it!’ she protested. ‘I haven’t. I didn’t…’
His jawline tightened.
‘I said forget it. I’ve a list of calls as long as my arm and so have you.’
‘So you’re not going to tell me what’s going on between Briony and yourself.’
‘Would you believe me if I did?’
‘Try me.’
‘Listen, you aggravating woman,’ he growled. ‘We have work to do. Stop pestering me about things that you know nothing about.’
‘That’s exactly it! I don’t know and I should.’
‘By whose authority?’
‘Mine! Because I’m in love with you…head over heels. And don’t tell me that because I’m carrying another man’s child I’m not entitled to feel like that.’
His face had whitened and Imogen thought dismally that he wasn’t exactly bubbling over with joy at the news, but he wouldn’t be, would he? Not if he had something going with Briony…and not when he considered what marrying her would entail. He might have been thinking along those lines once, but it hadn’t been mentioned since.
‘Would you have time to see Mrs Cathcart before you go on your rounds, Dr Rossiter?’ one of the receptionists was asking. ‘She’s asked to see a woman doctor.’
‘Has she got an appointment?’ Imogen asked edgily.
Morning surgery was supposed to be over and she was desperate to talk to Blair. The receptionist shook her head.
‘No. She’s just arrived and seems very agitated.’
‘Of course Dr Rossiter will see her,’ Blair said smoothly, as if unaware how desperate she was to talk and picking up his bag he went.
‘So what’s the problem?’ she asked a few minutes later, smiling reassuringly, as a chalky-faced, thirty-plus housewife seated herself opposite.
The moment Jackie Cathcart had presented herself Imogen had felt guilty about her reluctance to see her but now she was ready to put her own problems to one side and listen to someone else’s.
‘I’m pregnant, Doctor.’
‘And is that a problem?’ Imogen asked carefully, taking note of the way the patient was twisting a small cotton handkerchief between her fingers.
‘Yes. It is. My husband has multiple sclerosis and is confined to a wheelchair. The baby isn’t his. I’ve been having an affair.’
‘I see,’ Imogen said slowly.
‘I doubt it,’ she said tearfully. ‘I was lonely and feeling unloved and was stupid enough to think that a man who was fit and strong could make up for what my husband can’t give me.’
‘Does your husband know?’
She shuddered.
‘No. He’s bitter enough already. It would finish him off completely.’
‘So what is it that you want, Mrs Cathcart?’ Imogen asked, as if she didn’t know.
‘I want an abortion.’
‘Have you any other children?’
‘No. Nigel became ill shortly after we were married and babies just weren’t on the agenda then. Now we couldn’t have one if we wanted to.’
‘And your husband wouldn’t want to bring up another man’s child?’ she asked with the feeling that this scenario had familiar overtones.
‘That’s just it. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. He’s too ill.’
‘We don’t advise anyone to rush into a termination,’ she told her gently. ‘How far along are you?’
�
��I’ve missed two periods.’
‘I’d like to examine you. Sometimes when a woman is under great stress she doesn’t menstruate for that reason.’
Jackie eyed her bleakly.
‘I’ve done the home pregnancy test and it was positive.’
‘Let’s just be sure, though, shall we?’
When she’d done the internal examination Imogen nodded. ‘I wish I could have told you otherwise, but I’m afraid that you are pregnant.’
‘So let’s get the abortion sorted,’ Jackie pleaded.
‘Time is getting short,’ Imogen agreed, ‘but you must give yourself a few more days to think it over. I could arrange for counselling if you wish. You know there are other choices you could consider, such as adoption.’
‘It’s all right for the likes of you,’ the other woman said wearily. ‘You’ve got someone to support you in your pregnancy. I believe that you and Dr Nesbitt are a couple.’
I wish! Imogen thought, and hedged. ‘Er…yes…we are to a degree, but that doesn’t mean that we will stay that way. But getting back to your problem, Jackie, let me know what you decide and if you still want to go ahead I’ll recommend you for the termination.’
‘All right,’ the woman agreed reluctantly, ‘but I can’t see how I can change my mind. I just can’t bring any more misery into Nigel’s life.’
‘And what about the baby’s father?’ Imogen asked. ‘What does he have to say.’
‘He’s long gone. It was a stupid mad fling that only lasted a matter of days and I should have known better.’
That makes two of us, Imogen thought. Since she’d met Blair, she’d discovered what a real man was like, and he certainly put the rest of them in the shade as far as she was concerned.
She was a fool to have let her annoyance with his predatory blonde friend cause a rift between them. But there were worse things to worry about than that. Supposing that he did care for the woman. Life with Briony would be more tranquil than taking someone like herself for his soul mate.
As Blair did his rounds he was ruminating on what had gone on with Imogen back at the practice. He understood her annoyance at being cross-examined by Briony, but instead of offering reassurance he’d been tense and angry…but not with her. Not with the captivating witch who had him constantly bemused.
He should have made it clear to Briony long ago how they stood. But she had clung to him in her grief and he’d held back from explaining that he was merely there to help her through a bad patch. Now it was too late. She’d made her move.
He’d been expecting it, but not with Imogen as piggy in the middle. He felt that Briony had a cheek, accosting Imogen in the supermarket of all places, but it was done and the first chance he got she was going to be told that she’d presumed too much.
His mouth twisted at the memory of Imogen’s outburst. She’d said she loved him…or thought she did more likely. She was in a very vulnerable state at the moment and her meeting with Briony hadn’t helped. But it wasn’t the time for protestations of love.
Her thoughts should be on other things at this time. Facing up to giving birth without the child’s father present. Getting ready to adjust to the new routines of motherhood so that she could hold onto the job and care for her child at the same time.
Blair hoped that her father was going to shape up soon. She needed all the help she could get and that old tartar was backward at coming forward to say the least.
Bringing the chief constable to mind brought forth recollections of the dead man in the cells. He’d heard no further on that matter, but felt that he might be asked to appear at any inquiry that was set up by the police authority.
Yet there would be little he could tell them. It was always on the cards that someone hopelessly drunk might choke on vomit and it had been a clear-cut instance of that very thing.
Other memories of that particular day were far more pleasant. Imogen in rounded nakedness begging him not to look, when he could no more have turned away than flown to the moon.
She’d invited him to feel the child moving inside her and he’d ached for it to be his. He asked himself sometimes why he was such a glutton for punishment. Why couldn’t he have been attracted to a woman less provoking, less complicated…less pregnant? In other words…Briony Matthews.
When Blair got back Imogen was missing and Lauren said, ‘Dr Rossiter was called out on police business. She doesn’t expect to be away long.’
He sighed. At bordering on eight months pregnant Imogen could have passed it on to him, but remembering her mood of earlier he supposed that was the last thing she would have considered doing.
‘What was it? Do you know?’
Lauren nodded.
‘A man was taken ill as he was being transported to the police station. He was so violent when a young WPC tried to arrest him that she used CS gas to restrain him and he was badly affected.’
She was observing his grim expression.
‘I suggested to Imogen that she pass it on to you, but she said that she was concerned in case the suspect took a turn for the worse and there was a delay in one of you getting there.’
‘They should have taken him right to hospital,’ he said tightly, and knew he was letting his anxiety over Imogen get the better of him. But was it ever going to be any different?
Once she’d given birth she would be free to go where she wanted. To be with who she wanted. To work where she wanted. And where would that leave him? Certainly not in the role of prospective bridegroom.
She’d changed her mind about marrying him faster than the speed of light, so obviously she had no hankerings in that direction. Yet today she’d said she loved him. What was she trying to do? Rattle him? Get him to make a move? And then what—turn him down again?
At that moment Imogen came breezing in and he said tightly, ‘I could have done that.’
‘Yes, I know you could,’ she agreed levelly with the frost of their earlier disagreement still upon her, ‘but I was the one they sent for—needlessly as it turned out. The fellow was all right when I got there.
‘I called in at my father’s office while I was on that side of the city. Celia phoned last night to say that he hasn’t been well and would I drop in on him on the pretext that I was passing by.’
‘And?’
‘He said he was all right. Wouldn’t let me examine him, but he’s promised to come to see you later this afternoon. Typically, he wouldn’t want to be treated by an underling, even if it was his own daughter.’
Blair’s smile was tinged with irony. ‘I’ll tell Reception to get out the red carpet, then.’
He’d only seen the chief constable once since allowing him to think he was the father of Imogen’s child and wasn’t looking forward to meeting him again, but he was a patient and, as such, must be treated.
High colour, breathlessness, lack of energy. Part of the aging heart syndrome, Blair thought as he told the older man he could put his shirt back on.
‘You’re going to have to take some time off,’ he told Imogen’s father. ‘I presume you have private health care?’ The other man nodded. ‘Right. I’m sending you to see a cardiologist.’
‘Fair enough,’ Brian agreed. ‘But I don’t intend taking time off. I need to have my finger on the pulse where the police force is concerned.’
‘I’ve just had my finger on your pulse,’ Blair told him levelly, ‘and as with your breathlessness and general weakness, it tells me that here is a man who has to slow down. You do want to live to see this grandchild of yours, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course I do,’ Brian said irritably.
‘So let’s make sure that you do. I picked up a heart murmur when I listened to your chest. It could be caused by various things but I suspect a valve problem, which is often due to a narrowing of the arteries that comes with age. The consultant will request that your chest be X-rayed and that an ECG be done. He will almost certainly also ask for echocardiography to be performed.’
‘And w
hat might that be?’
‘It is a harmless and pain-free process. A transducer, an instrument that picks up and sends out signals, is placed upon the chest in such a way that it allows sound waves to reach the part of the heart under investigation. The echoes it picks up are then amplified and displayed on a screen for the cardiologist to make his interpretation of how the heart valves are working. The most common problems found in that area are aortic or pulmonary stenosis.’
‘So if I do have a valve problem, what’s the score?’ the chief constable asked.
‘It would depend on the seriousness of the defect. Sometimes surgery is used to widen the narrowed area. In more urgent situations a new metal valve is inserted to replace the faulty one.’
‘I see. So with a bit of luck I might be around for a while longer.’
Blair smiled.
‘I’m sure you will. Your wife needs you and so does Imogen…and then there’s the first of the new generation of Rossiters that will shortly be arriving.’
‘Aye. I wish it was under different circumstances, though.’
Don’t we all? Blair thought ruefully, but he wasn’t going to explain to Imogen’s father what his feelings were on the matter.
‘Is Imogen around?’ the other man asked as he got to his feet.
‘She’s taking the antenatal clinic. I can take over for her if you want to have a word.’
Brian shook his head.
‘No, don’t disturb her. You must both come to dine with us soon. She won’t have much time once the er…er…child…is born.’
‘Imogen needs you. You do know that, don’t you?’ Blair told him. ‘She’s very vulnerable at the moment, which is not surprising, and needs all the support she can get. These are times when families have to stick together.’
‘Are you lecturing me, Nesbitt?’ the other man asked curtly as the mantle of police chief settled back onto his shoulders. ‘Because, if you are, there’s no need. I know my responsibilities.
‘But I have to say, why the devil did you let Imogen call off the wedding? You must have some feelings for her or you wouldn’t have asked her to marry you. I would have been delighted to have you for a son-in-law.’
The Pregnant Police Surgeon Page 12