Just What the Doctor Ordered

Cathy disagreed, but she had the sense to do so silently. She had met the coldly efficient practice manager that morning, and had taken an instant dislike to her—a dislike that was apparently mutual.

‘So, how did it go?’ Dr Glover asked, settling himself down with a cup of coffee and dunking a chocolate biscuit in it.

She looked away. She couldn’t afford the luxury of biscuits. She had enough trouble with her figure without eating between meals.

‘OK. I had a patient this morning who thinks he’s got testicular cancer, and I have to say I think he’s probably right. He’s the right age—early thirties—and all his symptoms fit.’

‘Did you examine him?’

‘Yes—there’s no doubt, he’s definitely got a little lump.’

‘Who was it?’ Max asked, idly stirring his coffee.

‘Samuel Carver—’

‘Sam? You’re kidding!’ He shot upright, slopping his coffee on the table. ‘I played squash with him on Friday night, and he didn’t say anything then.’

‘He didn’t know then. It started to hurt after he played, so he checked himself yesterday. He got the leaflet from the practice nurse a few months ago and he’s been doing it regularly.’

‘Bloody hell.’ Max sank back against the chair, his face pale, and drew patterns absently in the pool of coffee. ‘So what did you tell him? Perhaps I’d better give him a ring and put his mind at rest about the treatment.’

‘I’ve done that. He knows exactly what will happen to him and what to expect,’ she informed him a trifle tartly. How dared he imply that she would have sent a patient away without sufficient information and reassurance?

‘I think I’ll ring him anyway. Was he frightened?’

She eyed him closely. ‘No more than you would be.’

He laughed without humour. ‘Don’t worry, I’d be petrified. I know it’s illogical, but it’s the Big C, isn’t it? We’re all afraid of it, even though we ought to know better, and even though it kills far fewer people than heart disease, for instance. And that, in its own way, is much more insidious. Poor old Sam. Do you want me to ring the urologist?’

‘I think I can manage,’ she told him drily. ‘Perhaps you could give me the name of the man I want?’

‘Sure. Andrea’ll give you the number. It’s a guy called Hart.’ He unravelled his legs and stood up, stretching lazily like a big cat. ‘I’ll catch you both later. I’m going out on my calls now.’

She watched him leave, her temper still severely provoked by his implications.

‘Ignore him,’ John Glover said quietly. ‘He’s only baiting you. Your predecessor didn’t make herself over-popular, and I’m afraid you’re being judged in the same jaundiced light.’

‘I thought there was something,’ Cathy said wryly. ‘What did she do—apart from being born a woman?’

He grinned. ‘Pauline joined as a single woman in her late thirties, moved in with a friend of Max’s and promptly got pregnant. Far from doing the decent thing and leaving, she had the cheek to take maternity leave and come back, very much on her own terms, and she nearly drove Max insane. Every time the baby had a cold, she took the day off. Her mind was never on the job, she didn’t follow up properly—oh, she was just generally sloppy. In Max’s eyes that’s totally unforgivable. When she got pregnant for the second time, I thought he was going to leave, but in the end her partner got moved to another part of the country and she went with him. Good riddance, too, but she was one on her own. A blind man on a galloping horse can see you’re an entirely different kettle of fish, but it’ll be an uphill struggle to convince Max of that. Of course, the worst thing is he blames himself because he introduced them to each other!’

John Glover’s pleasant, homely face creased with unholy laughter. ‘I don’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for that mistake!’

Cathy smiled. ‘Well, you don’t have to worry about me, Dr Glover. My days of romance are over. I’ve settled into middle age with a sigh of relief, and all I want to do is raise my son and get on with my job.’

Her remark was greeted by a snort of derision. Glancing up, her eyes collided with the brilliant blue of Max’s sardonic scrutiny.

‘Commendable but unlikely,’ he said drily. ‘But in order to aid you in your ambition, I thought this map might help you find your way round when you go out on call.’

He dropped a folded map of the town and surrounding area on the table and left again, radiating contempt.

Dr Glover’s eyebrows shot up. ‘He’s really got a burr under the saddle over you, hasn’t he? How’s the flat working out? Seen much of each other?’

‘None—thankfully. I think you could fairly say that we’re avoiding each other.’

He sighed. ‘I’m sorry you don’t get on. I was hoping that once you got to know each other—I know he seems a bit of a bigot, but he’s a good bloke really. Filthy rich, of course—old money, as they say. Lovely house.’

‘Yes—yes, it is. Which reminds me, when you said you’d find out about accommodation for me, did you know that estate agent had Max’s flat on his books?’

Dr Glover’s eyes twinkled. ‘Rumbled, am I? The estate agent happens to be a friend of mine. I told him to let the other properties slip from his mind if you asked.’

Cathy was astonished. ‘But why?’

He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. ‘He’s lonely, you’re a pretty girl—I know you make all these noises about middle age, but you’re still a young woman, Cathy. A little light-hearted romance would do you both the world of good.’

She glared at him. ‘I don’t believe it! I thought Max was exaggerating, but let me assure you, Dr Glover, I neither want nor need a little light-hearted romance! And if I did, the very last person I would choose would be Max Armstrong!’

She leapt to her feet and marched out of the door—slap into Max’s chest.

Hot colour flooded her cheeks, and she glared at him. ‘Did you hear?’

‘I did—and I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear it. It circumvents all manner of problems.’

She remembered the last thing she had said, and her colour rose again. ‘Not that—he fixed the estate agent!’

‘I told you he had something to do with it. Why do you think he appointed you? He acts like a bloody fairy godmother—but don’t worry, Catherine. You’re safe. I have no intention of breaching your defences, although your assertion about middle age is patently absurd. You’re a very attractive woman. If you were single and unencumbered, I confess I’d be extremely tempted, but, as it is, thanks but no, thanks. Now if you would let go of my clothes, I’d like to get on.’

She looked down, stunned to discover that her hands had wound into the soft cotton of his shirt. The warmth of his hard chest seemed suddenly scorching, and she released him abruptly, stepping back as if to distance herself from such unwarranted intimacy.

His eyes were laughing at her, and as he strode away she could have sworn that she heard a soft chuckle.

Well, damn him. Who needed his friendship anyway? She marched into her office, got the number of the hospital from Andrea the Android and phoned Mr Hart about Sam Carver.

She was just clearing the table after their evening meal when there was a clatter on the stairs and someone pounded on her front door.

‘Coming,’ she called, and, handing the plates to Delphine to wash, she went to the door.

It was Max, towering over her, looking bigger than ever and obviously hopping mad.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked with forced politeness.

‘Yes,’ he gritted, his voice icy with control. ‘You can ask your au pair to keep her clothes on in the garden. I’ve had my handyman bending my ear for the past half-hour, giving me a rundown on the state of youth today, and it’s not an experience I’m in a hurry to repeat!’

Cathy blinked. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about——’

‘Well, then, I suggest you ask her. He couldn’t get any work done today because he was unable to get to the workshop. I gather she was lying out here on the grass virtually naked for four hours—apart from the danger to herself of skin cancer, she practically gave Stan a stroke!’

Cathy couldn’t help herself. The giggle rose up and bubbled out, and after a second’s struggle, Max chuckled.