Prince Charming of Harley Street. Anne Fraser
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Margaret?’
‘No, we don’t. Sally’s dad is allergic to animal fur.’
‘What about this friend? The one you met in the park?’
‘Linda? Oh, yes. She has about five cats. She loves them and is always rescuing another one.’
Rose caught Jonathan’s eye and knew he was thinking the same thing she was.
‘I think we might have found the culprit. It’s possible your daughter is allergic to cat fur. Perhaps there were cat hairs clinging to your friend and when Sally fell asleep in her arms she inhaled some of the allergens. Anyway, it’s only a possibility, but one worth thinking about and mentioning to your GP when you see him,’ he said.
Margaret refused a cup of tea, but accepted Rose’s offer to call her a taxi. Ten minutes later she was climbing into the cab, her sleeping child in her arms, still thanking Jonathan and Rose effusively.
When they had left, Rose turned to Jonathan. ‘I hope you’re all right with me bringing them in. I realise it wasn’t anything to do with your practice and if I had messed up, you could have been held liable.’
Jonathan looked at her his expression serious. ‘And if I told you that it was unforgivable, that you have never to help a passer-by again, what would you say?’
‘I would say that you need to find another temp,’ Rose replied hotly, before she noticed that corners of his mouth had lifted in a smile. ‘You’re kidding, right?’ she said, embarrassed she had jumped to the wrong conclusion so quickly.
‘Of course I’m kidding,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t dream of employing someone who would think of rules before they acted. That wouldn’t be right and…’ his smile grew wider and Rose felt the strangest feeling in the pit of her stomach “…so boring.’
He levered himself away from the wall against which he’d been leaning. ‘I think you’ve had enough excitement for the day. Why don’t you do the letters from this morning and then get away home?’
‘Letters are done, just waiting for your signature,’ Rose replied. What on earth did he think she’d being doing while he’d been out to lunch? She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s only two o’clock. I can’t possibly leave this early.’
He looked thoughtful.
‘How would you like to come on a home visit with me, then? From what I saw back there, the way you dealt with Margaret and Sally, you’d be perfect to step in for Vicki. What do you say? It’ll mean more money, of course.’
The nervous flutter in the pit of her stomach spread upwards. The look in his eyes was a heady mixture—sexy, naughty, mischievous. Rose had never felt so flustered in her life, but she was damned if she was going to let him see the effect he was having on her. She held out her hand. ‘You have a deal. And if you’re happy for me to find someone for the office, I can do that too. I’ll write down a name and number so you can check my references.’
He raised his eyebrows at her before shaking her hand. ‘Somehow I get the feeling they’re going to be first class.’
Rose tried to ignore the warmth that was spreading through her body.
‘Is it usual for you to take the office staff on a home visit?’ she asked.
‘Not really. But the visit I have down for the afternoon isn’t the easiest.’
For the first time since she’d met him, he looked uncomfortable. ‘It’s to Jessamine Goldsmith’s house.’ She was the actress, the one who had been with him in the photograph in the magazine. His girlfriend.
‘And let’s just say that it would make me feel much more comfortable having you there.’
‘Isn’t she your girlfriend?’ What on earth was Jonathan thinking? It was completely against the rules for a doctor to date a patient.
He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘What makes you say that?’
Involuntarily, Rose’s eyes slid to the magazine.
Jonathan’s eyes followed hers. He looked none too pleased when he realised what she’d seen.
‘Let’s clear one thing up,’ he said. ‘Never ever believe what you see in these magazines. Jessamine Goldsmith is not my girlfriend and never has been. She’s a patient who just happens to move in the same social circles as I do.’
‘In which case…’ Rose raised an eyebrow while hiding a smile ‘…what are we waiting for?’
As he manoeuvred the car through the thick London traffic, he flicked a switch and the rich sounds of Debussy filled the car. It was a composer Rose loved. She sat back in her seat, aware of the scent of expensive aftershave mingling with the smell of leather. It was so much better being in this car without having to drive. All she had to do now was relax.
‘How come we’re going to see Miss Goldsmith at home? Is she really unwell?’
Jonathan flicked her a smile.
‘Jessamine’s almost certainly fine, believe me. She simply prefers to have me see her at her house. A lot of the patients do. They find it less stressful.’ Again there was the smile. ‘Naturally, if they need to come to the consulting rooms for tests, then they do. Or if they’re shopping nearby. Some, however, prefer me to come to them. It’s much more discreet. Take Jessamine, for example, the press follow her everywhere, as they do many of my patients. Any visit to the doctor is viewed with curiosity and speculation. As you can imagine, most people prefer not to have that kind of conjecture in the public domain.’
‘But aren’t they equally curious about a visit from the doctor?’
At this point they had left the traffic behind and were driving through one of the more exclusive parts of London. Jonathan pulled up outside a house that could have been a hotel it was so large. The Victorian façade was the grandest she had ever seen. Two tall pillars framed a massive front door.
Jonathan turned off the ignition. ‘Except that they can never be sure whether I’m visiting as a doctor or as a friend. Most of my patients belong to the same social circle as I do. You can’t imagine how many off-the-record consultations I do at a party or at Ascot.’
All this was more and more confusing. Rose frowned.
‘That can’t be good. Surely there needs to be some distinction between the doctor and the patient?’
He jumped out of the car. ‘Nope. It works just fine, believe me.’
The door was opened, before they had a chance to knock, by a man dressed in a formal suit.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he said. ‘And miss. Miss Goldsmith is waiting for you in the drawing room. She said I was to show you straight in.’
Rose wanted to giggle. It was like being caught in a time warp. But if Jonathan found it amusing, he gave no indication of it. Instead, he stepped back to allow Rose to go through the door in front of him.
She stepped into a hall, so enormous her parents’ whole house could have easily fitted into it—possibly twice. The floor was marble, paintings hung on the wall, and sculptures and large vases holding extravagant flower arrangements were placed around the space. To one side was a fireplace and a small sofa.
‘I know my way, thank you, Robert,’ Jonathan said, and taking Rose by the elbow steered her across the hall and up a flight of stairs that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the foyer of the grandest cruise ship. Everywhere Rose looked there were ornate statues and gilt ornaments. Although someone had lavished a fortune on the interior, it wasn’t to her taste. Rose much preferred a minimalist, uncluttered look.
Inside another equally impressive room, almost hidden in the depths of a sofa, was a woman with fine features and a mass of red hair. As soon as she saw Jonathan, she jumped to her feet and came towards him, arms outstretched.
‘I’ve