A Medical Liaison. Sharon Kendrick
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overcome the natural abhorrence she felt at living in such close quarters to a man again. And not just any man. This man! But it would simply remove any dignity she had to get into an argument with him about it. He was right, it could all be sorted out in the morning.
‘Don’t worry, Dr Forrester,’ she said haughtily. ‘I find the situation as unappealing as you obviously do. But no doubt I can tolerate it for one night.’
‘I suppose so,’ he grunted. His eyes swept over her assessingly again, as they had done in the car park, and there was something about the look which made her feel totally exposed and vulnerable.
She met his eyes defiantly, determined that he should not see how much his presence disturbed her.
‘I usually take a shower around ten. So you’d better scurry back to your room by then. Unless——’ he grinned for the first time, a roguish grin which left her in no doubt whatsoever as to his thoughts ’—unless,’ he continued, ‘you’d care to appreciate the delights of my naked body?’
She knew that his words were mocking, but she flushed scarlet, mentally trying to block out the images which came rushing into her mind at his words.
‘Not if I want my stomach to retain its contents!’ she snapped, hoping that the sharp words would detract from her discomposure.
She made as if to leave, but he caught her arm, the turquoise-blue eyes boring holes into her. ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he whispered, emphasising each word as if to impress its meaning on her. ‘I never play this close to home.’
He released her arm. ‘By the way—do you realise that I still don’t even know your name?’
She angrily pushed a thick wave of chestnut hair back from her face. ‘And you don’t need to either. After tonight, Dr Forrester—I hope I never set eyes on you again!’
She would have loved to have stabbed the heel of her neat black court shoe into his ankle, but she contented herself with a final glower before walking back to her room and slamming the door shut very loudly behind her.
LOUISA stood in the centre of the room, still breathing heavily in anger, looking at the surroundings which such a short time ago had been her ‘home’, but which she would now almost certainly be moving out of.
What a start! And what a man! She remembered how tranquil her thoughts had been in the car this afternoon, on the long drive up from London, anticipating her first job as a qualified doctor. And now this. Not the most auspicious of beginnings.
She walked over to her desk and tapped her fingers restlessly over a medical textbook. What was it the Dean had said about her as he had handed her the coveted Bailey prize for biochemistry in her third year? That she was calm, and unflappable, and dedicated. Oh, and ambitious. She mustn’t forget the bit about ambition—Mike would certainly be disappointed if she left that bit out. It was a quality which was lauded if possessed by a man, yet seemed to be greatly despised in a woman.
Men. They stood in your way and they got under your skin with their demands for more time, more meals, more of everything, until you had precious little left for yourself.
She had come to St Dunstan’s to forget men and to begin a new life in her chosen field of medicine. She had set herself various goals, and one of them was to start work for her MRCP examination as soon as she possibly could. Membership of the Royal College of Physicians was essential if one planned to make a career in hospital medicine. It was a tough exam, and the pass rate was low, but Louisa was determined to pass first time.
She switched on the Anglepoise lamp and sat down at the desk. She was going to have to work very hard indeed to get on—women in medicine didn’t have to be as good as their male counterparts, they had to be better. She had heard from older women doctors that even when you did land a good job, there were often the snide comments, that you’d fluttered your eyelashes in the right direction, flirted with the boss. Prejudice was alive and well in the 1990s!
She opened up the textbook, chuckling gently to herself as she did so. She could just imagine the smouldering resentment which must have led a group of her peers to campaign for sexual equality in the matter of accommodation—what a brave lot they must have been! Not that she had anything personally to thank them for—they were partly responsible for her having blushed for the first time in years.
Never mind, even if he had noticed her pink cheeks, it would be of little account in the morning. He could think what he jolly well liked.
Opening up the colossal tome which lay before her, she found the page on ‘Cardiological disorders in young adults’, and after a few moments was thinking of nothing else.
She came to with a start and, glancing down at her watch, realised that she had been reading for almost two and a half hours. Almost a quarter to nine. She was willing to bet that the canteen would have shut by now and she hadn’t brought any provisions with her.
As if in protest at her thoughts, her stomach gave a loud rumble. Lunch had been a hurried sandwich and a coffee in a motorway service station. Naturally slim, never having to diet, she could not, however, imagine surviving without anything more to eat until the morning.
So she had but two options—she could either wander around this unfamiliar hospital in the dark in search of a meal which she could not even guarantee being able to get at this time of night. Or she could be sensible and* ask Adam Forrester to loan her something until the morning.
So why did she recoil from the most sensible option? Was it because Dr Forrester had already had the most strange effect on her normally unruffable composure?
She stood up, stretching slowly. It was of no matter—she would do the most practical thing and go and ask him.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror as she clicked off the desk lamp. She had stupidly sat down to study in her grey suit, and the narrow skirt looked crumpled. It would need pressing before she could wear it for work.
She pulled the jacket and the skirt off, and the white silky shirt which she wore underneath—and pulled a pair of old jeans from out of the drawer. Some colours were difficult to wear with her pale skin, but the jade-green angora sweater she pulled over the dark red hair suited her perfectly, while the casual clothes had the effect of making her appear even younger, and much softer.
She let herself quietly out of her room, listening out for him, but the sitting-room and the kitchen were empty. She could see light shining from the crack underneath his door and so, rather reluctantly, she raised her fist and tapped twice.
There was no reply and it occurred to her that he might actually be ignoring her—but surely he wouldn’t be so childish? She raised her hand to knock for the last time when the door was flung open and he stood there, staring down at her with what looked like his habitual impatient expression.
He too had changed into jeans, and had removed the thick jumper he’d been wearing—instead he had on a thin shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and showing a great deal of very dark hair on his chest. And his feet were bare. She found herself staring at them.
‘Yes? What is it?’ he demanded perfunctorily.
There was nothing of his earlier manner about him now, his attitude was brisk and businesslike, almost as if they had never spoken before.
‘I’m afraid I’ve been working and didn’t realise it had got so late,’ she began, attempting to give him a pleasant smile.
‘Get to the point, will you?’
She bit back an angry retort to his rudeness—she was, after all, asking him a favour!
‘I’m very hungry, and think I must have missed the canteen—and wondered if you’d lend me something to eat? I could repay you tomorrow.’
There was something so very un-English about asking for favours, particularly