The Real Fantasy

by Caroline Anderson

  She picked up two smaller cases and stood waiting while he gathered his wits, picked up the case and headed for the door.

  ‘Follow me,’ he said unnecessarily, and all but ran up the stairs to the attic. He took the case straight into the bedroom, put it on the wide, solid bed and turned—straight into Linsey’s soft, incredibly inviting chest. His hands came up to steady her, grabbing her shoulders and hauling her even tighter against him, and as he did so her mouth parted on a little gasp of surprise and he fell headlong into a boiling maelstrom of lust and forbidden fantasy.

  Good grief, his eyes! Talk about hot and bothered. It was a wonder she hadn’t melted clean away! Linsey dropped the cases and Matthew dropped her, stepping sharply backwards with a muttered oath and crashing into the wardrobe.

  ‘Damn.’ He wiggled his foot experimentally. ‘What have you got in that case?’

  ‘Books. I’m sorry. Are you all right?’

  He swore softly again and rubbed the back of his head. ‘I’ll live.’

  She felt a pang of guilt. ‘Look, I can manage the rest. Why don’t you give me the keys, show me the alarm and then you can go back to your wife and family?’

  He stared at her. ‘I don’t have a wife and family.’

  ‘Oh.’ She blinked. ‘I thought you were engaged.’

  ‘I was—about a hundred years ago. Come and see the rest of the flat,’ he muttered, and shot out through the door.

  Linsey was rooted to the spot. Land’s sakes! Well, she’d wondered about his wife. Now she knew.

  A tiny, very feminine smile played around her lips as she followed him out of the bedroom and back onto the large, airy landing that formed her entrance.

  It was decorated simply but tastefully, and as she looked in turn at the sitting room, with its squashy chairs and pretty chintz, the squeaky-clean kitchen with modern units and appliances and even a washer-dryer for clothes, and the bathroom, also squeaky-clean with a white suite, gleaming chrome taps and fresh, pretty floral curtains, she knew that she was going to be very much at home here. She was pleased to see the shower over the bath. Just as soon as he went, she would take advantage of it.

  She went back into the sitting room, crossed to the window, and there, if she craned her neck, was the sea view that Rhys had promised. She turned to Matthew with a smile.

  ‘It’s lovely. How much will it cost me a month?’

  He looked startled. ‘Nothing. It’s part of the deal.’

  ‘Oh, but that’s silly!’

  He shrugged. ‘We have our reasons. It helps us to have someone on the premises for security purposes, to act as a deterrent. We use it sometimes for locums, as well. Anyway, it stands empty, and we can’t let it because it has access to the practice.’

  She looked around the sitting room again. ‘It’s beautifully furnished just for the odd trainee or locum.’

  His mouth quirked. ‘I used to live here. I’ve got a cottage now three miles away on the outskirts of Sway, so I don’t need it any more. Anyway, I have to confess the suite isn’t that comfortable!’ His mouth twitched again, and Linsey let herself return the almost-smile.

  Heavens, he was practically unbending! Wonders would never cease.

  ‘So, when do I start?’ she asked him.

  ‘The first of August is on Tuesday. I should spend tomorrow and Monday getting to know the place—the roads, the practice. Poke around and look for things, and familiarise yourself with everything. Then on Tuesday I suggest you spend the day with me, shadowing me so you know what my day consists of. In fact the whole of this first week probably wouldn’t be too long to do that, but I anticipate we can have you working almost independently in surgery hours after a couple of days.’

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘Why so long? In hospital you go in on the first day and take over from your predecessor. There’s no induction time.’

  He smiled wryly. ‘Because I need to know you’re able to do the job, and the best way for me to find that out is to let you work beside me at first.’

  She arched a brow at him. ‘Don’t you trust me, Dr Jarvis?’ she said pertly.

  His reply was blunt. ‘No, Dr Wheeler, I don’t. Not until I’ve seen you working.’

  That took the wind out of her sails. So, even more, did his next words.

  ‘Why don’t you go ahead and have that shower you were promising yourself? And I’ll bring in the rest of your things out of the car and make you a cup of tea.’

  Without waiting for a reply he turned and ran lightly down the stairs, and left her on the landing, mouth hanging open slightly. Shower? With him running in and out?

  She shrugged. She was too hot to care. If he thought she should have a shower now, who was she to argue? She opened the case with her wash things in it, scooped up all the bathroom bits and pieces and went out of the bedroom, just as he came back in.

  This collision was just as spectacular. Her toiletries leapt out of her arms, tampons spraying across the landing as the box fell, and with a chuckle she sagged back against the wall and grinned at him.

  ‘If I didn’t know better I’d think you kept running into me on purpose,’ she teased.

  He looked up from the floor where he was busily cramming tampons back into the box, and she was fascinated to see the warm tide of colour creep over his skin.

  My God, he’s delectable, she thought. She bent down and took them out of his hands. ‘Did you come back for anything in particular?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Car keys,’ he mumbled. He straightened and stepped back, and the toothpaste tube ruptured and squirted across the landing, splattering the white wall with minty green.

  He swore, comprehensively and not really very quietly, and glared at the dollops of toothpaste as they began to run slowly down the wall.

  It was too much for Linsey. Folding up on the floor in a heap, she laughed until she cried, her sides aching and begging for mercy, her eyes streaming.

  Around her Matthew stomped about, gathering up the remains of her wash things and dumping them in the basin in the bathroom, then going into the kitchen for a cloth to wipe the wall, all the while muttering under his breath.

  When she could breathe again she looked up at him. ‘Did you say something?’ she wheezed, and giggled again as he glared at her. It was too much. The laughter bubbled up and over again, and she folded herself over her knees and sobbed with hilarity.

  ‘I’m glad you’re so damned amused,’ he growled, almost stepping on her fingers as he wiped the wall for the third time.

  She snatched them away to safety. ‘At least the wall won’t get dental decay,’ she said brightly, and his scowl set her off again.

  At last she straightened and sat back on her heels. ‘Oh, come on. Can’t you see the funny side?’ she pleaded.

  He tried hard, but finally, to her enormous relief, his face cracked and he smiled, albeit rather ruefully. ‘Keys?’ he said softly.

  She knelt up and delved in her jeans pocket. ‘Here. There isn’t much. I’ll have that shower now, if you think you can manage not to knock me over this time.’

  His eyes seemed to darken, or perhaps it was just a trick of the light. Anyway, with a mumbled comment about keeping out of her way he turned and was gone, leaving her kneeling in the middle of the landing surrounded by the lingering aroma of toothpaste and wondering if she’d imagined that look in his eyes.

  ‘This is your consulting room. It’s next to mine on purpose so that if you want to confer with me you can do so easily. I imagine we’ll work closely together for some time.’

  So he can’t delegate. We’ll see about that, she thought. ‘Is it really necessary?’ she asked.

  He looked at her candidly. ‘I don’t know. We’ll find out, won’t we? Come and see the little theatre where we do our minor surgery.’

  She followed him. ‘Who does it?’

  ‘Me or Rhys. No one else is qualified. You’ll meet Tim this week, and Rosie, but she’s leaving in a couple of months and she’s only p
art-time.’

  ‘Is that why you offered me the job? Because a woman’s leaving and you had to have the statutory woman doctor?’

  She had stopped in her tracks and he turned and looked back at her, irritation etched on his face. ‘We didn’t have to have a woman. We felt it would be a good idea. Many women prefer to see another woman for gynae problems. Obstetrics, for some reason, is different. They don’t mind when it’s babies, but when it’s periods and the menopause and discharges they get coy.’

  ‘Naturally. Men, on the other hand, are always coy unless they’re trying to jump your bones. Then they all but hand you a tape-measure.’

  He couldn’t stop the stunned cough of laughter that erupted from his lips. Oh, good, she thought, he does have a sense of humour, after all.

  ‘Lady, you are wicked,’ he informed her, but his eyes twinkled and she found herself unexpectedly drawn to him again.

  Maybe her fantasy hero did exist, after all. Not only that, he was single. She had the distinct feeling it was going to be an interesting year...

  CHAPTER THREE

  MATTHEW was going crazy.

  Every time he turned around Linsey was there, asking him questions, watching what he did, poking about in the files, running through the computer data, questioning everything—and it was still only Monday! God knows what it would be like once they started working together properly. He had never before come across anyone with a mind as enquiring and convoluted as hers, and he found it exhausting.

  Lack of sleep didn’t help either. Every time he closed his eyes she was there, singing in the shower, her voice slightly off-key, her body glistening as she slicked soap over that fabulous peach-bloom skin. Whose idea had it been to put frosted glass in the top of the bathroom door anyway? That one diffuse glimpse of her upraised arms had been enough to wreck his sleep pattern in perpetuity.

  Hell.

  He signed the last repeat prescription and then turned to the pile of letters awaiting signature. Just as he checked the first there was a tap on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ he growled.

  Linsey popped her head round. ‘Just thought I’d check the arrangements for tomorrow,’ she told him.

  ‘Eight-fifteen, in here,’ he reiterated. ‘I’ll introduce you to my patients, and then conduct the consultations as normal.’

  ‘And what do I do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said firmly. ‘Absolutely nothing whatsoever except watch and listen and answer questions if I ask them.’

  ‘What if I disagree?’

  He sighed inwardly. ‘You won’t.’

  Her brows arched expressively, and he glared at her.

  ‘It isn’t me we’re supposed to be checking up on,’ he reminded her stiffly.

  ‘But if I do disagree? If, for instance, I would have treated something differently? Surely we should discuss it?’

  ‘Later. When the patient leaves.’

  She nodded, and he had visions of five-minute consultations followed by ten-minute wrangles over the efficacy of his chosen course of treatment. He sighed again, this time audibly, and she caught her teeth in her lip. Self-doubt, or trying to hide a smile? He didn’t care to consider it too closely.

  ‘Doesn’t anybody ever question anything you do?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. The patients do it all the time. I can reason with them, though,’ he finished drily. He looked pointedly at his watch. ‘Was there anything else?’

  She pulled a face. ‘Well, excuse me,’ she said cheekily, and with a sniff she turned and went out, banging the door oh, so softly behind her.

  He smiled. He didn’t mean to, but the thing sort of snuck up on him. Damn, but she was going to be a feisty little handful.

  That was a bad choice of words. His hands longed for the soft, heavy feel of her breasts. He could still feel their imprint on his chest after their first collision on Saturday.

  He swore softly, dragged his mind back to the letters and forced himself to concentrate, just long enough to finish them. Then he took himself home for the night and prayed for oblivion. God knows, he thought, I’ll need a decent night’s sleep to deal with that aggravating witch tomorrow.

  Linsey stood in bra, pants and tights and glared at the contents of her wardrobe. For heaven’s sake, it didn’t matter what she wore! She was dressing for work, not for Matthew!

  Irritated beyond belief by her own stupidity, she snatched out the first thing she came across, only to stop as she was tugging it over her head. A wool mix? In a heatwave? Good grief. She put the dress back, removed instead a cotton skirt and matching sleeveless vest-top. It was going to be a scorcher today. In fact, her tights were a mistake. She wriggled out of them, pulled on the skirt and top and slid her feet into cool, strappy sandals. There.

  Now, if she could just persuade her hair to stay up in a professional-looking bun instead of slithering down her back as usual, she would be fine.

  She headed for the stairs. Would Matthew be in a grouch this morning, or would she see another side of him? She laid odds on the grouch, and wasn’t disappointed.

  He greeted her with a reserved smile and a reminder that she was there to observe, and so she watched him as he checked his post, ripped open an envelope and scanned the contents, scribbled a note for Suzanne and took another swig of coffee.

  ‘Riveting stuff,’ she said drily after about ten minutes.

  He glanced up, shook his head and apologised. ‘Sorry. I’m a bit pushed this morning—I had a couple of calls to make on the way here. I normally get this out of the way by eight. Grab a coffee; I’ll be with you in a minute.’

  She went out to the kitchen and encountered a stranger. She studied him for a second—slight, dark, late twenties—and smiled. ‘You must be Tim Wilson.’

  He nodded. ‘And you’re Linsey. Wonderful. I can have a day off at last.’

  She chuckled. ‘I shouldn’t bank on it. So far I’m not even allowed to sharpen a pencil.’

  Tim grinned. ‘He’ll unbend. He likes his trainees to know their place.’

  ‘I like my trainees to know the job,’ Matthew corrected him mildly from behind Linsey. ‘That way I know I can rely on them. How did you get on with Mrs James?’

  ‘Oh, OK. She’s stable. I wondered if we might have to transfer her to Lymington, but I think she’ll be all right in Milhaven, at least for now. I’ll go and see her again later.’

  Matthew nodded. ‘Fine. Right, Linsey, when you’re ready...’

  She was every bit as difficult as he had anticipated. She sat there, cool and delectable and good enough to eat, her bare, satiny legs tormenting him every time she moved, and she said nothing.

  Her face, however, was far from silent. Not a poker player, he thought; and after each patient came the barrage of questions.

  ‘Why did you tell her to come back in a week if it’s no better? You know it’ll be better.’

  ‘Because she’s a worrier and she likes support.’

  ‘Why did you give him a prescription? Why not just tell him he had a virus and didn’t need anything?’

  ‘Because he would just come back again and again until he had a prescription. He always does.’

  This went on all morning, until at eleven-fifteen the surgery finally ground to a halt. They went into the kitchen for coffee and she started again.

  ‘None of your reasons are medical. None of these treatments I’ve queried have been suggested on medical grounds!’

  ‘No,’ he replied mildly. ‘But I’m treating the patient and not the condition. That’s general practice—that’s what your precious continuity of care gives you, Linsey: an opportunity to know your patient so well you can out-psych him or her.’

  ‘But I can’t do that yet! I would have told Mrs Bates to go home and that she’d be fine, and I would have sent Mr Dean off without a prescription for antibiotics, with an explanation of his condition. Does that make me a better doctor, or a worse one?’

  ‘Neither. Just different. Anyway, his prescripti
on wasn’t for antibiotics,’ Matthew told her with what felt to him suspiciously like childish glee. ‘It was for a paracetamol-based painkiller. They’ll reduce his symptoms, he’ll get better anyway, and he won’t come back and waste our time.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Why not just tell him to take paracetamol and have done with it?’

  Matthew smiled. ‘Because he’d say it wouldn’t work. He’s just a big baby, Linsey. He likes to be mollycoddled. He’s happy, and that means I’m happy. What have I done that’s so wrong?’

  ‘You’re sneaky,’ she said huffily, and he wanted to hug her.

  Instead he drained his coffee and stood up. ‘Come on; visits now.’

  ‘More of the same?’ she said wryly.

  He grinned. ‘Probably.’

  It wasn’t, though. One of the patients was elderly and had been suffering ‘a spot of indigestion’. By the time they arrived he was in severe pain, breathless, cyanosed and obviously having a major heart attack. While Matthew arranged his admission to Lymington Hospital with its twenty-four-hour medical presence, rather than Milhaven which only had GP call-out cover, Linsey gave him an intravenous injection of diamorphine to kill the pain, and gradually his face relaxed. However, his colour was still bad and while they waited Matthew rigged up the portable oxygen cylinder he carried in his car and Linsey sat and talked to him, calming him with her quiet words.

  Damn it, she was good with him, Matthew acknowledged. Perhaps her references were believable, after all. He watched, one eye on the window for the ambulance, and moments later it arrived and whisked the old boy off to Lymington.

  Matthew scribbled in the notes, then pocketed his pen. ‘I’ll just tell his neighbour—she’s got a key, so she can come in and feed the cat and keep an eye on the place. I expect she’ll visit him. She’s been a treasure since his wife died six months ago.’

  There was no reply, and Matthew looked up to find that Linsey was standing holding a faded picture of a young couple on their wedding day. ‘Is this them?’ she asked, her voice a little scratchy.