Читать книгу The Best Of The Year - Medical Romance - Carol Marinelli, Amalie Berlin - Страница 30

I WAS ABOUT to leave for the day when the CEO’s secretary came to see me. Lynne Patterson was in her late fifties and had worked at St Iggy’s for thirty years in various administrative roles. I had only met her a handful of times but she was always warm and friendly. She reminded me of a mother hen. She oozed maternal warmth and was known for taking lame ducks under her wing. Not that I considered myself a lame duck or anything, but right then I wasn’t paddling quite the way I wanted to.

‘How did the wedding go?’ Lynne asked as her opening gambit. What is it with everyone and weddings? I thought. People were becoming obsessed. It wasn’t healthy.

My smile felt like it was set in plaster of Paris on my mouth. ‘Great. Fabulous. Wonderful. Awesome.’ I was going overboard with the superlatives but what else could I do? In for a penny, as they say, but now I was in for a million. I had to keep telling lies to keep the others in place. I was starting to realise what a farce this was becoming. I would have been better to be honest from the start. But now it was too late. I would look completely ridiculous if I told everyone the wedding had been cancelled. Maybe in a couple of months I could say things didn’t work out, that Andy and I had decided to separate or something. But until then I had to keep the charade going. Oh, joy.

‘Well, that’s why I thought you’d be perfect for the job,’ Lynne said with a beaming smile.

‘Erm … job?’

‘The St Valentine’s Day Ball,’ she said. ‘We hold it every year. It’s our biggest fundraising event for the hospital. But this year it’s ICU that’s going to get the funds we raise. We hope to raise enough for an intensive care training simulator.’

I’d heard about the ball but I thought it was being organised by one of the senior paediatricians. I said as much but Lynne explained the consultant had to go on leave due to illness so they needed someone to take over.

‘Besides,’ Lynne said, ‘you’re young and hip and in touch with everything. The ball was becoming a little staid and boring. Ticket sales have been slow. We thought you’d be fabulous at putting on a great party.’

‘We?’

‘Dr Bishop.’ Lynne beamed again. ‘He said you’d be perfect.’

I did the teeth-grinding thing. Silently, I hoped, but I wouldn’t have put money on it. ‘Right, well, then, I guess I can do that,’ I said, madly panicking because it was barely four weeks away. I comforted myself with the fact I didn’t have to organise the venue or catering as the consultant had already done that, according to Lynne. My job was to make the ball entertaining and fun for everyone.

As soon as I got out of the hospital I called Jem. She’s a teacher—another irony, given our parents went through a no-schooling phase. It lasted three years but then the authorities cottoned on and we were marched back into the system. Interestingly, I was a year ahead of my peers academically but well behind socially. For Jem it was the other way around. She had no trouble fitting in but she struggled to catch up in classwork. She’s never said, but I’m pretty sure that’s why she ended up a teacher. She understands how hard it is for kids who aren’t naturally academic. Mind you, she’s no dunce. Once she caught up there was no stopping her. She whizzed her way through university, landing the vice chancellor’s prize on the way through. Now she teaches at a posh girls’ school in Bath.

‘Jem, you got a minute to talk?’ I asked.

‘Sure,’ Jem said. ‘What’s up? I mean, apart from being betrayed by your fiancé with the slutty sister of your bridesmaid, and then jilted at the altar, and going on honeymoon all by yourself.’

That’s another reason I love my sister. She doesn’t sugar-coat stuff. She doesn’t just take the bull by the horns. She wrenches the darned things off. Unlike me, who tentatively pets the bull in the hope it will become my best friend and won’t gore me to death. But one thing Jem and I have in common is a love of black humour. It’s how we dealt with our wacky childhood. If we hadn’t laughed we’d have cried. ‘It’s way worse than that,’ I said, and told her about the postcard fiasco.

‘What? You mean you still haven’t told anyone? No one at all?’

‘No.’ I kept my head down against the icy cold wind as I walked along the frozen footpath. The last thing I wanted was to slip and end up in the orthopaedic ward. Although come to think of it …

‘What about your friend, what’s her name? The nurse you said was really sweet.’

‘Gracie.’

‘That’s the one. What about her?’

I sidestepped a sheet of black ice. I decided I didn’t want to break a leg. How would I explain no husband coming in to visit me? ‘I’m going to tell her … soon.’

‘It’s not that hard, Bertie,’ Jem said matter-of-factly. ‘You have nothing to be ashamed of. Andy’s a twat. You don’t have to protect him. Tell the world what a flipping jerk he is.’

I guess you can tell by now Jem is not the sort of girl to get screwed around by guys. In fact, I think she terrifies most men, which kind of explains why she hasn’t had a steady boyfriend for ages—years, actually. She dated a Sicilian guy once but it didn’t last. It was a whirlwind affair that ended badly. She’s never talked about it. Won’t talk about it. I know better than to ask.

‘I got caught off guard because of the new director at work,’ I said. ‘It was too embarrassing to go into the gory details.’ Understatement.

‘What’s he like?’

‘How do you know he’s a he?’

‘Because you wouldn’t have been caught off guard if it was a woman.’

Got to hand it to my sister. She knows me so well. ‘He’s … annoying, but kind of interesting too.’

‘Woo hoo!’ Jem crowed.

I rolled my eyes. I knew what she was thinking—the best way to heal a broken heart was to find someone else and soon. But I’d had enough trouble finding Andy. I didn’t like my chances in the dating game. Besides, I’m not sure I wanted all the drama. Maybe I was destined to be on my own. My heart sank at the thought. I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted to be with someone who loved me. I wanted a family. I wanted it all. ‘He thinks my research is dodgy,’ I said.

‘What’s he look like?’

‘Did you hear me?’ I said.

‘Is he hot?’

‘He’s okay.’

‘How okay?’ Jem said.

I blew out a breath. There was no point fighting it. Jem would get it out of me eventually. Might as well be sooner rather than later. ‘He’s six foot four and has dark hair and blue-grey eyes that change in different lights. He’s got a nice mouth but I don’t think he smiles at lot. Although he gets this little twinkle now and again that makes me wonder if he’s laughing at me.’

‘Way to go, Bertie!’

‘Like that’s going to happen,’ I said. ‘Besides, he thinks I’m married.’

‘Some men get off on having an affair with a married woman.’

‘Not him,’ I said. ‘He’s too conservative.’ Which was kind of what I liked about him, even though I was supposed to dislike him on account of him being so mocking about my project. But for all that I felt drawn to him. He intrigued me. All those shifting shadows in his eyes suggested a man with layers and secrets that were just waiting to be explored.

‘So what doesn’t he like about your research?’ Jem asked. ‘Apart from the funny title, of course.’

I almost tripped on a crack in the footpath. ‘Why didn’t you say something earlier?’

Jem laughed. ‘I thought you did it deliberately. You know how everyone is always poking fun at New Agey things. I thought it was really clever of you, actually.’

‘Yeah, well, Matt Bishop thinks it’s a big joke,’ I said. ‘It will be all round the hospital tomorrow. I just know it. Everyone will be laughing at me.’

‘You’ve been laughed at before and lived to tell the tale,’ Jem said. ‘We both have.’

I couldn’t argue with that. Sometimes when I couldn’t sleep I heard the mocking taunts from my childhood echoing in my bedroom. They were like ghosts from the past who wouldn’t leave me alone. Mean ghosts who delighted in reminding me I wasn’t part of the in-crowd. I was a misfit. A reject. A loner. Alone.

I said goodbye to Jem and walked through the park to my house a couple of streets back from Bayswater Road. I was really proud of my home. I had a shockingly high mortgage, which would take me the rest of my life to pay off, but I didn’t care. I loved my three-storey Victorian house with its quaint pocket-handkerchief front garden.

I was teaching myself how to paint and decorate, not just to save costs but because I found it therapeutic. There was something incredibly soothing about painting. I was doing a room at a time and really enjoyed seeing the transformation happen before my eyes. Cracked and peeling paint replaced by smooth fresh colour. I’d done the master bedroom and now I was working on the sitting room. I scrubbed and sanded back the woodwork and applied the first undercoat before I left for my … well, you know. Andy was going to help me finish it. Or at least that’s what he’d said. Not that he’d helped me with any of it, although I do seem to remember once he carried some old wallpaper out to the recycling bin.

My dad isn’t much help. He can barely change a light bulb, mostly because he and Mum went through a no-electricity phase, which lasted about ten years. Solar power is great when you live in a place like Australia where the sun shines just about every day. Not so good on the Yorkshire moors.

I had a bite to eat and set to work but I had barely got the undercoat lid off the paint tin when there was a knock on the door. I peeped through the spy hole. It was the neighbour who lives six houses up from Elsie. Margery Stoneham was in her mid-seventies and was our street’s neighbourhood watch. Nothing escaped her notice. She had an annoying yappy little dog called Freddy who humped my leg any chance it got. Don’t get me wrong. I love animals, dogs in particular, but Freddy was the most obnoxious little mutt I’d ever come across. He looked like a cross between a ferret and a rat and had the sort of wiry fur that felt like a pot scourer.

I felt on the back foot as soon as I opened the door. I had—inadvertently—sent Margery a postcard, along with Elsie. Who could believe three little pieces of cardboard could do so much damage? The dog was at Margery’s feet, looking up at me with a beady look not unlike hers. ‘Hi, Mrs Stoneham,’ I said, with a bright smile. ‘What a lovely surprise.’ Not.

Margery peered past my shoulder. ‘Is your hubby at home?’

‘Erm, not right now.’ Here we go again, I thought. But Margery was the last person I wanted to announce my failed wedding to. I might as well take out a billboard ad or announce it in The Times. ‘How’s that leg ulcer? Healed up now?’ Freddy had taken a nip at her, not that she admitted that to me. She told me she’d scratched it on the coffee table. I checked out the coffee table when I was over there, dressing the wound for her. As far as I could tell it didn’t have any teeth.

‘Just about.’ Margery looked past my shoulder again. ‘Are you sure I’m not intruding? You’re only just back from your honeymoon. I wouldn’t want to—’

‘It’s perfectly fine,’ I said. ‘What can I do for you?’

That’s one thing I did know for sure. Margery nearly always wanted something. She didn’t just drop in for a chat. I can’t tell you how many prescriptions I’ve written for her and I’ve only been living there just under a year.

‘I wanted to ask a little favour of you,’ she said. ‘I’m going to visit my sister in Cornwall and I need someone to mind Freddy for a few days. I’d ask Elsie but she’s not confident walking him and he does so love his walk.’

I wanted to say no. Jem would have said no but, then, she’s a lot stronger than I am. I have this annoying tendency to want to please everyone. I say yes when I really want to say no because I’m worried people won’t like me if I grow a backbone. ‘Of course I’ll mind him,’ I said. See how good I am at lying? They just slip off my tongue. ‘We’ll have a ball, won’t we, Freddy?’

I knew better than to lean down and try and pat him. He lifted one side of his mouth in a snarl that showed his yellowed teeth. Did I mention his foetid breath? Oh, and he farts. A lot.

When I got to work the next morning there was no change in Jason Ryder. He had been moved to my end room and was surrounded by his family. I spent a bit of time with them before I did a central line on a new patient. The morning was almost over before I ran into Matt Bishop. Literally. I was walking past his office with my head down, thinking about my ridiculous and steadily increasing web of lies, as he was coming out, and I cannoned straight into him. He took me by the upper arms to steady me and a shockwave went through me as if he had clamped me with live voltage. I couldn’t smother a gasp in time. ‘Oomph!’

His hands slid down my arms before he released me. I couldn’t help noticing he opened and closed his fingers once or twice as if trying to rid himself of the feel of me. ‘Sorry. Did I hurt you?’

I looked into his eyes—they were a darker shade of blue than grey as he was wearing a light blue shirt and a dark tie—and I felt like something tight and locked flowered open inside my chest. ‘No. Not at all. It was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.’

He continued to look down at me. He had to look down as I’m only five feet five and I wasn’t wearing heels. I felt like a Shetland pony standing in front of a thoroughbred. And, going with the equine theme, Matt’s nostrils gave a slight flare, as if he was picking up my scent. I hoped to God it was the dash of the neroli oil I’d put on and not the musty smell of Freddy, who’d been dropped off that morning. ‘Did Lynne Patterson speak to you about the ball?’ he said.

‘Yes. Thanks for the vote of confidence.’ I couldn’t quite remove the hint of sarcasm from my tone. ‘I hope you don’t live to regret it.’

‘I’m sure you’ll do an excellent job.’ He gave me one of his enigmatic smiles. ‘Planning a wedding can’t be too dissimilar.’

Every time the word ‘wedding’ was mentioned I felt my cheeks burn up. I was going to have to wear thick concealing make-up or something at this rate. Or maybe I could pretend I had rosacea. ‘I’m going to check out the venue after work,’ I said. ‘And I’m thinking we should make it a costume ball. What do you think?’

‘That could work.’

I angled my head at him. ‘What costume would you wear?’

The twinkle was back in his gaze. ‘Now, that would be telling. You’ll have to wait and see.’

‘Will you bring a partner?’ I’m not sure why I asked that. Actually, I did know. I wanted to know what sort of woman he dated. I bet he would be a wonderful partner. He would be polite and respectful. He would open doors for his date and walk on the road side of the footpath. I bet he could dance, too, proper dancing as in a waltz. Andy mashed my toes to a pulp on the one occasion we waltzed. And he got horribly drunk and I had to get two security guards to help me bundle him into a taxi. Talk about embarrassing.

‘No.’

‘Why not? Surely you could ask someone.’

He gave a loose shrug. ‘I’m too busy for a relationship just now. I have other priorities.’ He waited a beat before asking, ‘Will you bring your husband?’

He’d done it again, that ever so slight stress on the word ‘husband’. Every time he did that it made me feel as if he thought I was too hideous to have landed myself a man. I know I’m not billboard stunning or anything but I’ve been told I’ve got nice brown eyes and a cute smile. Well, I know parents are always biased, but still. ‘Erm, I think he’ll be away with work,’ I said. ‘He travels … a lot.’

‘That’s a shame. I was looking forward to meeting him.’

I wrinkled my brow. ‘Why?’

His expression was impossible to read. ‘You said he was a stock analyst, right?’

‘Yes …’

‘I thought I’d ask him about some stocks I’ve had my eye on for a while.’

I shifted my weight from foot to foot. I felt a heat rash moving all over my body. It was like ants marching underneath my skin. Maybe my talent at lying was deserting me. ‘Don’t you have a financial planner?’ I said.

‘Sure, but it’s always good to get inside information, don’t you think?’

I couldn’t hold his penetrating gaze. I lowered mine and mumbled something about seeing a patient and left.

I was walking Freddy in Hyde Park in one of the dog exercise areas after work. It was freezing cold and flakes of snow were falling but I was determined to wear out the little mutt. While I’d been at work he’d chewed my favourite hippopotamus slippers Jem gave me for Christmas two years ago and one of my computer cables. I decided to let him off the lead so he could have a good run around and play with the other dogs. What I hadn’t realised was that Freddy didn’t like other dogs. Before I knew it he was at the throat of a corgi and it looked like Freddy was winning. The howls and growls and yelps and cries of ‘Help!’ from me created such a ruckus that people did what people normally do in that situation—they stopped and stared and did absolutely nothing.

Except for one man who came out of the shadows and pulled the dogs apart with his bare hands. Except his hands weren’t bare. He was wearing gloves, lovely butter-soft black leather ones that Freddy’s teeth immediately punctured. I grabbed Freddy and snapped his lead back on but the stupid mutt was straining at the leash, trying to get to the overweight corgi, who was doing the same on the end of its lead, which its owner had now refastened.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s not my dog. I didn’t realise he would … I blinked as the man’s face was suddenly illuminated by one of the park’s lights. ‘You!’

Matt Bishop gave me a rueful look. ‘It’s not my dog either. It’s my great-aunt’s.’

‘Your great-aunt isn’t the Queen, is she?’

He threw back his head and laughed. I stood transfixed at the sound. It was deep and unmistakably masculine and made something deep and tight in my belly work loose. It wasn’t just his laugh that was so captivating. It was the way his normally stern features relaxed, giving him an almost boyish look. At work with the pressures of lives in his hands he looked as if he was nudging forty. Now he looked no older than thirty but I knew he had to be at least thirty-three or -four to be as qualified as he was to head the department.

He was wearing casual clothes under a dark blue cashmere overcoat. Jeans and a sweater with the tips of his shirt collar showing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more handsome-looking man. Not in a pretty-boy way but in a totally testosterone-oozing way that made the breath catch in my throat.

His gaze went to the cup-cake beanie I was wearing. It was pink and white and had a red pom-pom on top that looked like a cherry. I was pretty proud of it, actually. I taught myself to knit, making novelty beanies. So far I’ve made a mouse, a zebra and a bee.

The dogs were still snarling at each other. I had Freddy on such a tight leash I could feel the muscles in my arm protesting at the strain. Who needed the gym when you had an unruly dog? Freddy hurt more than three sets of ten-kilogram biceps curls.

‘Quiet, Winnie,’ Matt said. The corgi slunk down into a submissive pose but not before giving Freddy another murderous look. Freddy growled like something out of a horror movie and completely ignored my command to be quiet. I guess because my voice wasn’t as deep and authoritative as Matt’s, because as soon as Matt said it to Freddy he sat and shut up. He even held up his paw for a shake.

‘Nice job,’ I said. ‘You don’t happen to be best friends with Cesar Millan, do you?’

Matt smiled and my breath caught again. ‘Dog training’s pretty simple. You just have to show them who’s pack leader.’

I’m not sure how it happened but somehow we started walking together. The dogs kept eyeing each other warily, but after a while they seemed to forget their ignominious start and got on with the job of sniffing every blade of grass … well, the ones that weren’t covered in snow, that is. A light dusting had fallen, making the park look like a winter fairyland. I love winter. I think it’s the most romantic time of the year. That’s why I wanted to be married in early December. Everyone gets married in spring or summer. I wanted to be different. But, then, sometimes you can be too different, which I’ve found to my detriment.

‘Where does your great-aunt live?’ I asked into the silence. Actually, I was quite proud of the fact I’d waited at least thirty seconds before speaking. That’s a record for me.

He named the street running parallel to mine. I was so shocked I stopped and looked up at him. ‘Really?’

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

I gave a shaky laugh. ‘Whoa, that’s spooky. I live in the next street. Number forty.’

‘Why spooky?’

‘As in weirdly coincidental,’ I said. ‘London’s a big city.’

‘True, but it’s close to the hospital and I’m only staying there until I can move back into my place once the tenants move out in a couple of weeks.’

He was living a street away from me?

‘Where is your place?’

‘Notting Hill.’

Of course, I thought. I’d had a feeling Matt came from money. He had the right accent and the well-groomed and cultured look. It had taken me years to shake off my Yorkshire vowels. Now and again when I was overtired one would slip out. I privately envied people like Matt. They hadn’t been dragged around the countryside in search of the next New Age trend, living in mud huts or tents or straw houses, not eating animal products or wearing them, not using chemicals or eating sugar or salt or processed food.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my parents. They’re good people, loving and kind and well meaning. But I couldn’t imagine Matt Bishop’s parents cavorting around a stone circle stark naked and chanting mantras. They probably wore Burberry and sipped sherry in the conservatory of their centuries-old pile in the countryside while a host of servants tended to their every whim.

‘How long have you got the dog?’ Matt asked.

‘Until the weekend after next,’ I said. ‘My neighbour is visiting her sister in Cornwall. I don’t know why she didn’t take him with her. Maybe her sister won’t let her. Can’t say I blame her. He needs to go to reform school.’

I heard him give a soft, deep chuckle and another shiver shimmied down my spine.

‘My great-aunt is visiting my parents for a few days,’ he said.

I cast him a sideways glance. ‘Your parents don’t like dogs?’

Nothing showed on his face but the tone of his voice contained a hint of something I couldn’t identify. ‘My father.’

‘Is he allergic?’

His mouth tightened for a nanosecond. ‘You could say that.’

‘Do you have siblings?’ I asked, after we’d walked a few more paces. See how good I was getting at silences? Maybe there was some hope for me after all.

‘No,’ he said after a slight pause. ‘There’s only me. You?’

‘A sister called Jem—short for Jemima. Our mum was really into Beatrix Potter, in case you hadn’t guessed. Jem’s ten months older than me.’

He flashed me a quick glance. ‘That was close.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘My parents were using natural contraceptive methods. So natural they fell pregnant straight away.’

He smiled again. ‘Are you close to your sister?’

‘Very, although we’re quite different.’

‘What does she do?’

‘She’s a teacher.’

We walked a few more metres in silence. Yes, in silence! But for some reason I didn’t feel awkward or pressured to fill it. I wondered about his parents, whether he was close to them or not. I sensed tension between him and his father but that might just be my imagination. Although a lot of men of Matt’s age had the young stag, old stag thing going on. It could be quite a competitive dynamic, especially as the father neared retirement age.

‘What does your father do?’ I asked.

‘He’s in corporate law.’

‘Does your mother have a career?’

‘She used to work as a legal secretary but she didn’t go back after she married.’ He waited a beat before adding, ‘My father likes having her at his beck and call.’

I frowned at his tone. ‘Is that what she wants?’

He shrugged the shoulder nearest me. I felt it brush against mine. ‘She seems happy enough being the trophy wife. It’s either that or get traded in for a newer model. At least he’s spared her the indignity of that.’

I was surprised—and secretly delighted—he’d revealed that to me. I wondered if he felt I was someone he could talk to about stuff. It’s hard for doctors, particularly specialists at the top of their field. Everyone comes to them to solve their problems. No one ever thinks to ask if the specialist has problems of his or her own. I suspected Matt had some frustration towards his mother for settling for a life of sherry mornings and bridge club. Did his father play around? Openly or furtively?

I thought of my parents with their easygoing lifestyle. They loved each other. No one could ever be in doubt of that, least of all Jem and I. They were open about their—thankfully occasional these days—other partners, which Jem and I still found totally weird, but they always came back to each other and would never dream of stopping each other from reaching their potential. If my mum wanted to do something, my dad would support her in it one hundred percent, and vice versa. They didn’t have secrets, or at least none Jem and I were aware of.

I decided against telling Matt about my background. He didn’t ask, which either meant he wasn’t interested or he was tired of small talk. Or maybe he regretted revealing what he had. I glanced at him covertly to find he had a frown on his forehead.

The dogs were walking to heel like star graduates from obedience school. I felt a little proud of myself, actually. Maybe I could win over Freddy by the time Margery got back. Have him eating out of my hand instead of biting it.

‘Have you checked out the venue for the ball?’ Matt asked.

‘No, I thought I’d do that once I wore out Freddy.’

He stopped and looked down at me. I couldn’t see his eyes because his face was in shadow but I could see the misty fog of his warm breath as it met the cold air. ‘How about I come with you? That is, if your husband wouldn’t mind?’

My heart gave a little stumble as I gave him one of my fixed smiles. ‘Believe me, he won’t mind at all.’