An Unexpected Proposal

She made a supreme effort to drag her eyes away from his mouth and concentrate on the conversation.

‘Yes. Secondly…’ she cleared her throat, her chin jutting determinedly ‘…it will be a cold day in hell before I will allow you to practise this…quackery, this medieval…mumbo-jumbo, right next door to our practice. My partners and I will not legitimise this hocus-pocus by allowing you premises next to ours.’

Marcus stared intently at Madeline Harrington, listening carefully as she laid down the law. Two red spots of colour stained her cheeks and there was a breathy quality, almost a tremble, making her voice husky. He wondered what it would be like to have her breath trembling against his skin. His loins stirred again and he had to remind himself she was not on the market.

‘And just how do you propose to stop me, Maddy?’

She opened her mouth to lay down exactly how she intended to stop him and stopped abruptly at his casual familiarity. No one, but no one had called her that since Abby. Sorrow and pain lanced through her as an image of her younger sister formed in her mind. Why did it still have the power to take her breath away?

‘The name is Madeline,’ she snapped.

‘Maybe. But I think I’ll call you Maddy anyway,’he stated, and enjoyed the glitter he caused in her emerald depths.

‘You won’t be getting the chance, Dr Hunt. You’re being evicted first thing Monday.’

‘I have a lease, Maddy.’

Madeline laughed coldly even as her insides melted at the way he said her name. Almost a sigh. A purr. ‘My partners and I own this building, Dr Hunt. Once they discover that a quack has set up shop next door, you won’t last five minutes. Not even your magic wand will be able to help you. Why not leave graciously now? Go perform your witchcraft elsewhere.’

Madeline glowed triumphantly, having placed her trump card on the table. He smiled back at her, obviously unconcerned.

‘Why stop at eviction, Maddy? Why not just burn me at the stake and be done with it?’ he enquired softly.

‘Don’t tempt me.’

Oh, she tempted him all right. ‘What are you afraid of? Have you forgotten that Hippocrates was a homoeopath? Surely this world is big enough for both conventional and alternative medicine?’

‘Not in this street it isn’t.’ Madeline turned on her heel, head high, and made for the door.

He chuckled. ‘See you, Maddy.’

She shivered despite the blast of invading heat.

‘Count on it,’ she muttered, and stepped into the street.

Madeline breathed in great refreshing gulps as she walked the short distance next door to the GP surgery. She was quaking inside at the confrontation with Marcus Hunt and confused at the nagging sense of longing still crashing around inside her from when she had first spied him on his skateboard.

She let herself through the front gate of the inner-city terrace house that had been given a recent facelift, as had all the terraces in the area. The practice had been here for almost all of Madeline’s life, her father having bought the row of five terraces before she’d been born and setting up with two other partners. The practice now took up two of the terraces, then there was the soon-to-be-empty-again one next door and the last two were leased by solicitors.

She looked at the gold lettering on the wooden door—Dr Blakely, Dr Baxter, Dr Harrington and Dr Wishart. Strangely, today she didn’t feel the pride seeing her name in gold lettering usually engendered. She felt…disconnected. Unfulfilled.

She shook her head to clear the vague feeling of disquiet. Madeline had never wanted to do anything else. Most of the people that she’d been through med school with had been horrified at her lack of ambition. They’d been keen to specialise in the more glamorous areas of medicine. But she had grown up seeing the difference a good general practitioner could make to their patients’ lives and had never considered anything else. And after her father’s death she had grown even more determined to continue his legacy.

She pushed the door open. There was twenty minutes before closing.

‘Madeline! Oh, my God,’ squealed an excited Veronica from behind the front desk. The receptionist jumped from her chair and enveloped Madeline in an enthusiastic hug.

Veronica was one of the changes that Madeline had made since starting at the practice. Reasons for dwindling patient numbers had been multi-factorial, the new twenty-four-hour health centre in the next block being one but an aging reception staff not helping either. Veronica was twenty-five and a total godsend. She was bright and perky with a sparkly personality. The patients adored her.

‘Fine,’ Madeline responded distractedly. Not even Veronica’s enthusiasm could curb her indefinable restlessness. ‘Who’s on today? George, Andrew or Tom?’ Madeline asked, looking around at the empty waiting room.

‘George. He’s at a house call.’

George Blakely had been her father’s partner since the dawn of the practice. He and his wife Mary had also taken Madeline and Abby under their wing when their parents had died within a year of each other in Madeline’s final year of high school.

Andrew Baxter had also been one of the founding partners. Thomas Wishart was a newer edition, a thirty-three-year-old father of four, brought in by Madeline a year ago. He was an excellent practitioner who Madeline had first met at med school. They had desperately needed new blood to bring in new clients and Thomas, who lived locally, had been perfect.

Both George and Andrew would be retiring in the next five years so it was important to put strategies in place for that eventuality. Thomas had been an excellent start. The practice was building back up again and Madeline hoped that it would be thriving when George and Andrew hung up their stethoscopes.

‘Quiet day?’ Madeline asked.

‘Forget that!’ said Veronica, her blue eyes sparkling merrily, ‘tell me all the gossip. I want to know everything!’

‘I went to an international general practitioners’ symposium, Veronica. No gossip to tell.’

Veronica rolled her eyes. ‘In London, Madeline, London! Don’t tell me you didn’t take my advice?’

Madeline smiled. ‘About the rebound sex?’

Veronica nodded her head vigorously. ‘Those English lads love Aussie girls.’

‘Ah, it’s not really me, Veronica.’

‘Well, of course it’s not,’ she said exasperatedly. ‘That’s the point. Simon dumps you just before a six-week overseas working holiday. It’s perfect for rebound sex. Anonymity. Perfect.’

Madeline smiled at Veronica’s grab-life-by-the-balls attitude and envied the younger woman. She herself was more tiptoe through life cautiously. One-night stands, rebound sex…she’d been with one guy for ten years. And, besides, their split was just temporary.

‘I didn’t really fancy anyone,’ she said lamely as Veronica continued to look at her expectantly. Now, if Marcus Hunt had been there…

‘Madeline,’ Veronica sighed.

‘Hey, no one offered either,’ she said defensively.

‘I don’t reckon that helped,’ said Veronica, tapping Madeline’s ring with the end of her pen.

Madeline looked down at the two-carat diamond. It had been part of her hand for four years, and even if it was really over between them, she wasn’t ready to take it off yet. And truth was, it did keep men away. If she counted Simon, that was four people she’d loved and lost, and she wasn’t sure she would be capable of ever loving again. She felt emotionally frigid. Her heart buried in a block of ice.

She glanced at her watch. It was five. ‘Why don’t you go home? It’s time. I’m going to do a bit of catching up, I’ll lock up on my way out.’

‘OK, I get it, I get it. Mind my own business,’ Veronica grumbled good-naturedly as she gathered her stuff. She gave Madeline a quick peck on the cheek and left.

Alone, Madeline walked around the surgery, absently re-familiarising herself with the tastefully decorated waiting area. She checked the appointment book and whistled out loud, recognising quite a few of her regulars. It was going to be a busy Tuesday! Her colleagues had insisted she didn’t start work again until then, to fully recover from her jet lag.

Madeline felt the odd restlessness again and found it difficult to concentrate on the book. She yawned—she was tired but it was still too early for bed. She wandered into her office and sat in her chair. She picked up the various drug company ‘toys’ she kept on her desk to amuse children and opened her drawers, checking she had plenty of prescription pads and stationery.

The checks done, she sat back in her ergonomically designed black leather swivel chair and her tired mind drifted to Marcus Hunt. She saw the flecks of paint in his hair and heard his wicked laugh, and her nipples hardened at the image of his sheer masculine beauty. She’d never met a man who’d had such an instantaneous effect on her. Marcus Hunt was potent. Marcus Hunt was lethal.

Madeline’s gaze fell on the framed photo of Simon. Something else she hadn’t been able to bring herself to dispose of just yet. She remembered Veronica’s pursed disapproving lips. It was all right for her. She’d spent her teens and twenties having a good time, experimenting with men and life, secure in the arms of a loving family. Madeline had spent them reeling from one tragedy to another while trying to study hard and be there for Abby, too. Simon had stuck by her side through all of it.