Bride Required

by Alison Fraser

  She glanced at the sofa again. If Baxter Ross had slept there, there was no indication of it. Perhaps he’d just sat within arm’s reach of the complimentary champagne, which now lay open in its bucket alongside a solitary glass.

  Was he a drinker? He’d seemed sober last night, and wasn’t hung-over now, but what did that mean? Maybe hardened drinkers didn’t get drunk on a single bottle.

  ‘Anything wrong?’ He caught her troubled expression.

  Dee told herself his drinking habits weren’t her concern, and confined herself to a meaningful, ‘I see you enjoyed the champagne.’

  Baxter had to laugh. There was such an obvious sniff of disapproval in her voice.

  She rounded on him. ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘You sound like my dear old grandmother,’ he drawled, ‘about to warn me off the demon drink.’

  Dee still didn’t consider it amusing. ‘Perhaps you need warning,’ she said in repressive tones.

  He laughed again, refusing to take offence. ‘Possibly, but if it’s all the same to you I’ll find a grown-up to do it,’ was his dry comment as he crossed to the outer door and held it open for her.

  Dee understood well enough. He thought she was just a kid, but she wasn’t. She proved it to herself by limping past him, head held high.

  He fell in step beside her as they walked down the corridor, but she studiously ignored him, and shrugged off the supportive hand he tried to give her.

  ‘You’re not sulking with me, are you?’ he asked as they descended in the lift.

  ‘No,’ she bit back, ‘I’m fuming. There’s a difference.’

  ‘Right.’ Baxter knew better than to laugh this time, but it was hard to take her too seriously. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. It’s just that you seem rather young to be dispensing advice.’

  Dee gave him a superior look from her corner of the lift. ‘Everything’s relative. I’m sure I do seem young to you,’ she stressed.

  He didn’t have to be Einstein to work out the insult, but just laughed. ‘One all. I think we could call it quits, don’t you?’

  ‘I suppose.’ Dee shrugged, but still didn’t let him help her limp to the dining room. She was going to have to stand on her own two feet soon enough.

  Being the last down to breakfast, they drew interested stares from several of the other guests. Perhaps they looked an odd couple—Baxter Ross, so clean-cut and smart even in casual clothes, her in her ripped jeans, T-shirt and Doc Martens.

  It was also the kind of posh hotel where waiters looked down their noses at anyone ‘common’. The one who served them glanced briefly at Dee, then directed all his questions to Baxter Ross.

  ‘Am I invisible or something?’ she muttered, when the waiter had departed.

  Baxter Ross raised an ironic brow. ‘Actually, no. I’d say you’re probably the most visible person in this room right at the moment.’

  His eyes rested on her hedgehog style hair and the three gold earrings that adorned her left earlobe.

  Dee supposed she looked unfeminine to him, but that was the idea. Look tough and hopefully people took you for tough and didn’t mess you around.

  She caught the eye of some dress-up doll-type at a nearby table and openly stared back until the woman turned away.

  Baxter observed the little interplay, and said dryly, ‘Well, I think you managed to scare the life out of her.’

  ‘Silly cow,’ Dee muttered back, and was given a reproving frown. ‘I bet she’s just your type—all teeth, hair and helplessness.’

  ‘Not particularly,’ he denied evenly.

  ‘So what is?’ she flipped back.

  He shrugged, as if he’d never thought about it, then responded, ‘I like good-looking women. Who doesn’t? But no specific type. So long as they’re intelligent, mature and independent.’

  ‘Career women,’ Dee summed up from this list.

  He nodded. ‘Mostly.’

  She wrinkled her nose in response.

  ‘I take it that doesn’t meet with your approval?’ he concluded.

  It certainly put Dee well out of the running. Not that she’d wanted to be in it or anything.

  ‘Sounds terminal to me,’ she commented. ‘But what do I know?’

  Terminally boring, Baxter Ross was left to conclude for himself.

  ‘Quite,’ he agreed. ‘What do you know?’

  He levelled her a look that suggested she was hardly a world expert on life and how it should be lived.

  Dee was undaunted. ‘Well, you haven’t found Mrs Right yet, have you? Otherwise you wouldn’t have to pick up strange girls in underground stations so you can fulfil some old dear’s wishes.’

  ‘Really?’ Baxter wondered if it was too late for the truth. Perhaps. She seemed quite happy with the nonsense she herself had made up yesterday. He confined himself to a murmur. “‘Strange” being the operative word.’

  Dee pulled a face back at him, before musing, ‘She probably meant well. I mean she probably felt you should be married by now, being the age you are and everything, and wanted to give you an incentive to get on with it.’

  Baxter didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused by this reasoning.

  He was still deciding which to be when she added, ‘It’s still a fairly quirky thing to do—unless, of course, she already had a candidate in mind.’

  ‘Candidate?’ he echoed, trailing slightly behind this creative flow.

  ‘For the job of Mrs Baxter Ross,’ she said with an impatient edge.

  ‘Right.’ He nodded, although she wasn’t remotely right.

  ‘Did she, then?’ Dee prompted when he failed to be more forthcoming.

  ‘Possibly.’ Baxter found himself entering her fantasy rather than disillusion her. ‘There have been women, but my relationships tend to founder for logistical reasons.’

  ‘What?’ Dee asked inelegantly.

  ‘I’ve been based in Africa ten months of each year,’ he explained. ‘You can’t expect women to wait around in those circumstances.’

  Something in his voice, a certain insouciance, had Dee returning, ‘Have you ever asked one to?’

  She was quick. Baxter had to give her that.

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ he drawled back, ‘no, I haven’t.’

  Because the women had just been recreation, Dee supposed. Part of his leave, before he went back to the fray. Had the women known that?

  He seemed to read her mind, or perhaps just her critical expression, as he added, ‘I have never been dishonest about my intentions with any woman.’

  ‘Doesn’t stop them hoping, though,’ she commented. Before he imagined this was a personal observation, she added, ‘Who knows? Maybe one of them might volunteer for marriage duty.’

  ‘I doubt it.’ He smiled at the idea. ‘My last girlfriend has just become a chief medical adviser for the World Health Organization, so I imagine a marriage of convenience would have minimal appeal. And her predecessor is currently dating the heir to a Scottish earldom, as well as being heavily involved in the Edinburgh Festival. I think life has moved on for both of them.’

  He sounded wry rather than regretful. It was Dee who was left wishing she’d never started this conversation. Had she really needed to know his type was clever, talented, successful women who made her seem a complete no-hoper?

  ‘Whereas you figured I was desperate,’ she concluded for herself.

  He shrugged rather than give her a direct answer, but it was obvious. It was true, too. Given the chance, Dee suspected she might still agree to his scheme. What other options had she?

  Breakfast arrived, and she abandoned further conversation. She’d ordered the full works—sausage, bacon, egg et cetera. It was nearly two days since she’d had a proper meal; in fact, he’d bought the last one, too. She tried to eat slower this time, but it was hard not to wolf it down.

  Baxter recognised her hunger from the way she was eating. He wondered what he should do for her. He could give her money, but God alone knew
if she’d spend it wisely. He could pay for her to stay in a hotel for a couple of weeks and hope she might find work in the interim. That, of course, was assuming she wanted work.

  He asked her later, on the way to the hospital. ‘What sort of job would you like? One you could realistically get.’

  She caught his drift. ‘Besides rocket scientist and brain surgeon, you mean? I don’t know, Doc. You tell me what job I’d like and could get that doesn’t require things such as references and home addresses.’

  ‘I didn’t say it would be easy.’ Baxter wondered if she was right. Was it impossible for someone in her situation to get a job? ‘Perhaps if you tried for a more conventional appearance…’ he suggested. ‘I could buy you some clothes—a skirt suit, perhaps.’

  ‘Great idea.’ Dee rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘Then people would think you’re my sugar daddy.’

  Baxter was glad he didn’t expect gratitude from this girl.

  ‘Thanks for telling me. I hadn’t realised I’d slipped into that age category,’ he replied dryly.

  ‘It’s nothing personal. I just don’t like taking charity. Last night was enough.’

  ‘Where are you going to stay tonight? I understand your last place is about to be demolished.’

  ‘Haven’t thought about it.’ Dee didn’t want to depress herself by considering her limited options.

  ‘You don’t sound worried,’ he concluded from her tone.

  She shrugged. ‘There’s always somewhere.’

  Shop doorways. Parks. A different squat.

  ‘Here we are.’ He drew up at the casualty department of a hospital, coming round to open her door and help her out of the car. ‘You go inside. I’ll park.’

  ‘I thought you were just dropping me off.’ Dee had assumed as much.

  ‘And leave Old Faithful tied to a railing?’ A glance took in the dog, slumbering in the boot. ‘Your choice.’

  ‘No, I… I…’ Dee forced it out. ‘I’d be grateful if you could wait.’

  She didn’t like asking him for anything. Baxter understood that, but he didn’t make capital out of it.

  ‘Okay, go to the desk and give your name. Ask for Sister Sullivan,’ he told her. ‘I’ll follow you in.’

  ‘Sister Sullivan?’

  ‘Someone I used to work with. She’s Casualty Sister here.’

  Dee nodded and watched him drive away before limping through an entrance door directly into a waiting area. It was early so there were few ‘customers’ as yet.

  She gave her name at the desk, then said uncertainly, ‘I’m to ask for Sister Sullivan.’

  The receptionist frowned, and Dee half expected her to deny the existence of such a person. Instead she gave a nod, then, handing her a form to complete, told Dee to take a seat.

  Dee had only a minute or two to wait before a nurse in a sister’s uniform appeared. She was a pretty woman of about thirty, with dark hair in a French plait.

  ‘Baxter’s friend?’ she enquired with some doubt.

  ‘Sort of,’ Dee conceded. ‘He said I should ask for you. He’s just gone to park his car.’

  ‘Right, follow me.’ The woman smiled, leading Dee past Reception to a free cubicle.

  Dee was given a gown, and was changed by the time a doctor appeared. He looked at the knee briefly, then ordered a porter to wheel her down for an X-ray.

  When she returned she found Baxter sitting at the nurses’ station with Sister Sullivan. Their heads were close and they were laughing at some joke, friendship quickly reestablished. What kind of friendship? Dee wondered, a tight knot suddenly in her stomach as she was wheeled past them to wait alone in the cubicle until the duty doctor was free.

  Baxter appeared at her side only when the young medic arrived. The latter took the envelope that had been handed to her in Radiology and, slipping out her X-ray, held it to the light. He obviously knew who Baxter was as they discussed her injury.

  In fact, it was Baxter who directed a question at her. ‘Why didn’t you say you’d injured the knee previously?’

  She shrugged. ‘You didn’t ask.’

  His eyes narrowed at her flippant attitude, before he asked the junior, ‘How do you propose treating the knee?’

  ‘Drain and strap?’ he suggested with a questioning lift of his eyebrows.

  Baxter nodded in agreement. ‘Any chance of admitting her, too? Run some tests on her general state of health? At the very least, she’s anaemic.’

  ‘I doubt there’s bed space,’ the young doctor replied, ‘but I could check.’

  ‘I am not staying!’ Dee refused point-blank as the other man departed.

  ‘We’ll see,’ Baxter Ross responded. ‘Meanwhile, when and how did you damage the knee first time around?’

  ‘A year ago,’ she shrugged, and relayed succinctly, ‘I fell down some stairs.’

  He raised a brow. ‘You seem to make a habit of this. Who was chasing you that time?’

  ‘No one.’ Just her own private demons.

  ‘Well, you’ll have to start nursing that leg,’ he advised, ‘unless you want a permanent injury.’

  ‘I’m not staying in hospital,’ Dee repeated stubbornly.

  He shook his head at her refusal. ‘You’re being irrational. You have to rest that leg somehow, and that’s hardly possible if you’re dragging a dog around the London underground while you beg for a living.’

  ‘I busk,’ Dee corrected him furiously.

  ‘All right, busk,’ he sighed at her touchiness. ‘Whichever, that leg is going to limit your mobility. Even you must see that.’

  Even her? It was a telling phrase.

  ‘You think I’m stupid, don’t you?’ Her face was tight with anger.

  ‘I didn’t say that. You’re clearly not stupid. You’re just…. well, very young,’ he added, as if only just realising it.

  Concerned eyes rested on Dee, and for once she didn’t have a snappy reply. She knew she was young. She wanted to be—young, carefree, with a whole life of possibilities stretching out before her. She just didn’t feel it any more.

  ‘You’re not even eighteen, are you?’ he judged, despite the dark shadows above the hollow cheeks.

  Dee decided not to lie. ‘I am almost.’

  He shook his head, disapproval evident.

  He didn’t get a chance to express it, however, as the houseman returned with a tray of instruments and a nurse to assist him.

  Dee almost passed out when she saw the size of the drainage needle. Luckily a smaller needle was used to numb the area first.

  Then Baxter and the younger medic conferred on the best site from which to drain her knee.

  ‘Thanks.’ The houseman accepted Baxter’s advice before admitting candidly, ‘I haven’t done many of these.’

  He hadn’t done any, Dee suspected, beginning to feel like a guinea pig as he approached with the needle, and she looked away again.

  Baxter Ross appeared at the other side of the bed, saying nothing, but he took her hand and she squeezed it hard while the business was done. It helped, giving her the brief impression that she wasn’t going through the whole thing alone, but when the procedure was over they both withdrew from the contact.

  The young doctor congratulated her on keeping still, then, shaking hands with Baxter, departed with a satisfied air.

  The nurse was left to bandage up Dee’s knee while Baxter looked silently on.

  ‘That’s it.’ She straightened from the task and smiled. ‘We can get you dressed now, lovey.’

  She must have imagined Dee and Baxter were intimate because she reached round to the back of Dee’s hospital gown and began to untie the strings there.

  Slow to realise her intention, Dee was left to clutch the gown to her breasts. She was naked but for her briefs.

  Baxter had a view of her surprisingly shapely back before drawling, ‘I think I’ll make myself scarce.’

  Dee heard what could have been amusement in his voice. Perhaps that wasn’t surprising. She had no
need for modesty. In his role as a doctor, he had probably seen thousands of women’s breasts.

  Dee held onto the gown until the nurse fetched her clothes from the chair. She was pulling her T-shirt over her head when Sister Sullivan slipped through the cubicle curtains to relieve the other nurse.

  ‘I shouldn’t put on any more,’ she advised. ‘Dr Roper’s trying to find you a bed.’

  ‘Why?’ Dee knew her injury didn’t require hospitalisation. ‘I’m sure I can walk.’

  ‘Nevertheless, Doctor feels it might be wise to run some tests on your general state of health,’ the senior nurse explained.

  ‘You mean Baxter does.’ Dee guessed who had been the instigator. ‘Well, no, thanks. He just wants to make me someone else’s problem.’

  Sister Sullivan frowned at the comment, before continuing, ‘Not at all. I’m sure he has your best interests at heart, and I really think you should heed his advice.’

  Dee shook her head. ‘I can’t. I have commitments… So could someone help me on with my jeans please?’

  Her tone was insistent but the sister ignored it, saying, ‘We’ll see what the doctor says first, shall we?’ and slipping out of the cubicle.

  She didn’t go far. Dee heard her outside, talking to Baxter. She caught the words, ‘Who is this girl really?’

  And the amused rejoinder, ‘No one, just a waif and stray I’ve picked up.’

  Dee heard the woman laugh and, face aflame, she reached for her jeans and tried to drag them on herself.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Baxter barked at her when he entered the cubicle to find her dressing.

  ‘Getting out of here,’ she retorted, struggling to get the jeans material past the bulge of her bandage.

  ‘Lie back!’ He came over and half pushed her back on the trolley.

  He was oblivious to her state of undress. It was Dee who felt utterly conscious of him as he eased the jeans carefully past her damaged knee, then lifted her hips slightly to slide them under her bottom.

  ‘You really are too thin. Your hip bones are jutting out of your pelvis,’ he commented, strictly from a medical angle.