Sold to the Surgeon (8 page)

She was determined not to be a single minute late back on the ward after her luncheon date; the very last thing she wanted was for Greg to be able to find any fault with her. So she was back at least five minutes earlier than necessary, and took over the nursing station from Sister Collins, who was grateful for the extra minutes it added on to her lunch break.

She was sitting at her desk, sifting through notes, when she caught a glimpse of the surgeon out of the corner of her eye; he was striding along the gleaming polished floor of the wide corridor, making straight for the nursing station. Abigail bent her head studiously, without indicating that she had seen him, and started laboriously filling in some pathology reports.

“Nice lunch?” he enquired, stopping in front of the desk.

“Yes, thank you,” said Abigail, not looking up.

“You don't look over the moon, if you don't mind my saying so,” he observed.

“I
do
mind you saying so.” Her head jerked up sharply. “I choose not to wear my heart on my sleeve, that's all.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, wishing he would move away from the desk. “It's part of my typically English reserve,” she added, tilting her oval chin at him defiantly.

Greg laughed, and Abigail bent her head low again to avoid his dark quizzical gaze. She sifted assiduously through the pathology reports, very conscious of the sparkling diamond ring on her finger.

“Quite a rock!” remarked Greg, picking up her hand to inspect the ring closer. Then he dropped her hand abruptly, saying, “You really are old-fashioned, you obviously believe diamonds are a girl's best friend.”

Drawing in her breath sharply, Abigail opened her mouth to make a tart reply, but the opportunity was lost, as he turned on his heel and without a backward glance strode off down the corridor. She stared resentfully at his retreating back. How dared he insinuate that she was a gold-digger!

Of course it wasn't long before both Penelope and Sue noticed the cluster of diamonds sparkling on Abigail's finger.

“That must have cost the earth,” said Penelope, a note of envy in her voice. “You are lucky. Rupert is not only good-looking, he's got breeding
and
money.”

“I thought you preferred Americans,” Abigail just couldn't resist a little dig.

“Only on a temporary basis, until something better comes along,” replied Penelope airily. She looked at the ring again. “Why have you never worn it before?”

“I don't know,” Abigail answered truthfully. “But now we've fixed a date, the end of September, Rupert thought I should wear it.”

“I see…the end of September,” was Penelope's only comment, then she appeared to lose interest.

Sue Parkins, however, was all of a twitter. “I only hope I can find someone like your Rupert,” she said, her eyes as big as saucers. “It's so romantic!” She sighed dramatically. “I don't think I'll be able to concentrate on anything for the rest of the afternoon.”

“So what's new?” Abigail teased her.

Greg Lincoln came back on to the ward mid-afternoon, a string of medical students in tow. “No need to worry, Sister,” he said, noting Sister's alarmed expression. “This is not a ward round, just an informal visit with some second-year students.”

“Do you want a nurse to assist you—Nurse Pointer could do it?” asked Sister Collins, sounding relieved.

“Isn't Nurse Orchard free?” asked Greg, not looking in Abigail's direction, “I thought she could help me today.”

After the entourage had disappeared down the corridor, Sister looked at Abigail, a surprised expression on her face. “That's strange,” she said, “he usually makes a point of asking for you.”

“Do you think perhaps there's a romance going on there?” asked Sue Parkins, leaning on Sister's desk and swinging one leg excitedly.

A sharp glance from Sister's beady eyes made her stand up straight, and pull her ruffled uniform smooth. “I really don't know, and I'm not the slightest bit interested in anyone's life outside of this ward,” Sister Collins retorted sharply.

“She didn't even notice your ring,” whispered Sue to Abigail later. “You'd think she'd be interested.” Then she added thoughtfully, “I wonder what her life is like when she's off duty.”

Abigail smiled. “I don't know, but I have the feeling she's rather lonely. Perhaps that's why she's not more cheerful.”

She was surprised, therefore, when Sister Collins came up to her that evening, just as she was about to leave.

“I hear you're to be married in September,” she said gruffly.

“Er…yes,” replied Abigail, feeling suddenly awkward. She twisted the ring nervously on her finger. “You don't mind me wearing it?”

“Of course not, I hope you'll be very happy.” Sister replied. Then her expression softened. “It's very sensible of you, my dear—get married soon, and grasp happiness while you can. It can disappear all too quickly.”

Abigail looked at her, seeing a woman different from the one she usually saw. “Yes, Sister,” she said.

The older woman paused a moment, smiling reflectively. “I wasn't always a crusty old spinster,” she said. “I was engaged once, but I was young and I wanted to wait until we had enough money for a house. It was a mistake, the house wasn't important.” She paused again, then continued quietly, “He was a pilot. He flew on the last bombing mission of the war, and never came back…there isn't even a grave I can visit. Sometimes it seems as if it was all a figment of my imagination.”

Impulsively Abigail reached out and touched her arm. “Oh, Sister Collins,” she said, her heart going out to her, “I'm so sorry.”

Sister Collins sighed and patted Abigail's hand. “Thank you, but it's all a long, long time ago, although the feeling of emptiness is still there. So that's why I say to you, when the right man comes along, grab him while you can.” With that, she walked briskly from the changing room, almost as if she was already regretting her confidence.

Abigail looked down at the ring winking back at her from her finger. When the right man comes along, grab him, she reflected. It was good advice, and she had got the right man. She smiled happily. Yes, Rupert was the perfect man, there was nothing to worry about.

Still smiling, she stepped into the corridor, only to bump into Greg as he made his way back to the ward. Yes, she thought again, Rupert is the right man, not like you, Mr. Lincoln, who'll be going back to America at the end of the year, no doubt leaving a trail of broken hearts behind you!

He had one of his black moody expressions on his face, but undeterred, Abigail smiled sweetly. “Goodnight, Mr. Lincoln,” she said gaily, resisting the sudden impulse to wave her diamonds defiantly under his nose.

“Why the Mr. Lincoln bit?” he asked, still looking bad-tempered.

“I'm feeling formal,” said Abigail, adding cheekily, “I
am
English, you know!”

“
Don't
I know!” replied Greg sarcastically.

It was Abigail's turn to glower at his retreating back. He's had the last word as usual!

Chapter Six

“Cover for me, will you?” Penelope whispered to Abigail, looking furtively up and down the corridor to see if Sister Collins was in sight. “I've just got to nip down to Theatre, something urgent I must do.” Without waiting for Abigail's reply, she was off down the corridor. For once in her life she was actually hurrying.

Abigail suppressed a smile at the unusual sight of Penelope moving at something other than a leisurely pace. Sister Collins can even instill fear into you! she mused.

“Honestly, Staff, I don't know why you bothered to do anything for her,” hissed Sue Parkins, who had overheard. “She's a rotten, selfish…”

“Ah, ah, ah!” reprimanded Abigail, wagging her finger in admonition at Sue. “You mustn't call people names!”

“Well, she is,” replied Sue unrepentantly, “and I know where she's gone.”

“Oh?” said Abigail absentmindedly, glancing down at the watch hanging from her uniform; it was almost time for the patients' morning coffee. “Where has she gone, that's so important?”

“To see Greg Lincoln, of course,” said Sue. “If you ask me, I don't think he's that keen, but she's using Daddy's influence to get him interested.” She sniffed disdainfully. “Sir Jason is holding his annual ‘At Home' at the end of this week; she's just gone down to give Mr. Lincoln his invitation.”

“It's coffee time,” snapped Abigail, with an unexpected rush of irritability. “Come on, I haven't got time to stand here gossiping, and neither have you.”

She started to walk quickly towards the ward kitchen, trying to ignore the irrational stab of resentment she had felt when Sue had imparted the gossip about Penelope. Why should you care? she asked herself, trying to be reasonable. Whatever Penelope Orchard and Greg Lincoln do is their business, not yours'?

The resolution not to even allow herself to think of them caused her to nag Sue into moving a little faster. “Let's try to get the coffee round finished on time for once,” she said.

Sue shot her a few curious glances, thinking how unlike Abigail it was to be bad-tempered, but she said nothing. As a student nurse, and one who was always getting into scrapes, she knew better than to question her elders when they had forbidding expressions on their faces!

Penelope rejoined the ward just as they had finished, with her usual perfect timing; meeting them as they pushed the trolley laden with dirty cups, down the long corridor towards the ward kitchen.

“Oh, have I missed the coffee round?” she asked innocently, eyes wide.

“Yes,” snapped Abigail.

“You managed to time that just right,” said Sue cheekily, not surprisingly to be rewarded with a withering look from Penelope.

“I had no idea of the time,” drawled Penelope, still fixing Sue with a steely gaze, “otherwise,
of course
, I would have come back to help. I know it's difficult for you two to manage,” she added with poisonous sweetness.

It was with great difficulty that Abigail refrained from picking up one of the wooden trays and hitting Penelope over the head. Instead she had to content herself with saying, “Now that you're back, Penelope, perhaps you could help Sue give Mr. Knott a blanket bath. He's in room three.”

Penelope sighed heavily, at the mere thought of work, but started off down the corridor. “Get everything together, Parkins,” she said loftily, “then we'll do him, although I must say I hate nursing that particular man. He will keep trying to talk, and I can never understand a thing he says.”

Sue flung the last tray down with a clatter on the kitchen worktop. “Get everything together, Parkins!” she mimicked Penelope's “plum in the mouth” accent. Then she turned to Abigail, her fresh face screwed up and pink with anger. “Sometimes I
hate
her!”

“Sue,” Abigail sighed, “you must get used to working with people you don't always like. I'm afraid you'll meet quite a few more Penelopes in this world.”

Sue nodded. “I know, but that doesn't mean I have to like them.” She left the kitchen and started off towards the utility room, then suddenly backtracked and popped her head round the kitchen door. “And
I
shall talk to Mr. Knott, even if she doesn't. I think he's marvellous—lots of people give up after a laryngectomy, but he hasn't. I just know he's going to be able to talk properly one day.”

Abigail smiled at Sue's figure, as she bustled from the kitchen bristling with indignation. In spite of all her faults, she would make a good nurse one day, because she really cared about people. People like Mr. Knott, struggling to learn to speak again after a laryngectomy for carcinoma. Yes, she reflected, Sue Parkins had compassion, something Penelope completely lacked.

The rest of the morning passed quickly. New admissions for Friday's operating list kept Abigail and Dr Singh, their new senior house officer, busy. It was almost time for Abigail to take her lunch hour when the telephone on the desk rang.

Sister Collins picked it up. “Yes, yes, she's here.” She passed the phone to Abigail. “It's for you—a personal call. Please keep it brief.” Her voice was abrupt, signalling her displeasure; she hated nurses taking personal calls on the ward.

Abigail was surprised to hear Rupert's voice at the other end of the line, he had never rung her before at the hospital. “What's wrong?” she asked immediately, thinking something awful must have happened.

“Nothing,” replied Rupert, “in fact everything is perfect.”

“In that case,” began Abigail, “why…?”

“Because today is Wednesday and I'm not seeing you until Friday,” said Rupert, anticipating her question. “And that's the night of Sir Jason's ‘At Home'.”

“What on earth has that got to do with anything?” asked Abigail.

“I've been invited,” said Rupert, “with you, of course, as you're my fiancée.” He sounded pleased. “I've been angling after this for a long time, meeting up with Penelope has turned out to be a boon. I can probably land a very important commission with Sir Jason's influence. So it's important that we go.”

“Important for you to go,” said Abigail, pulling a face at the thought of the sort of social function she hated, “but not surely for me? Anyway, you know that sort of thing isn't really my scene.”

“If it's important for me, then it should be for you. As my wife you'll have to get used to these sorts of things. Big business deals are usually hatched at such events.” Abigail felt a guilty pang as she heard the note of irritation in Rupert's voice. He was right, of course—he usually was. He carried on, not waiting for her reply, “I rang you now so that you can get your wardrobe organised. Wear something special, something glamorous.”

“Perhaps you've already decided what I should wear?” she enquired mildly but pointedly.

“Abigail darling, of course not!” Rupert sounded anxious. “It's just that it's very important for me, and I wanted to give you plenty of notice.” He paused. “You will come, won't you?”

Abigail smiled into the phone. Of course Rupert was just being considerate—what was the matter with her? As Rupert's fiancée she had to go. “I'll choose something flattering, don't worry,” she said. “See you on Friday evening.”

She put the phone down slowly, knowing she would be the envy of most of the other girls if they knew she had been invited to one of Sir Jason's “At Homes”. She ought to be excited, but an uneasy feeling of apprehension had settled over her like a mantle. She was being irrational again, she knew that, but something inside her was telling her she ought not to go.

Friday evening duly arrived, almost before she knew it. The ward had been so busy that she hadn't much time to indulge in any worries about the forthcoming event. It had been arranged that Rupert would pick her up at seven-thirty, and as she started to change and shower, her thoughts turned to the evening ahead. Idly she wondered what the much-talked-of affair was really like. Everyone who'd ever been to one had returned in raptures—fabulous, they all said.

For Rupert's sake, she took a lot of time and trouble with her appearance. All for Rupert's sake, she told herself firmly; the fact that Greg Lincoln would be there had nothing whatsoever to do with it. Although she did go so far as to admit to herself that she was glad he would be seeing her in a more glamorous light for once, and not scruffy as she had been at the barbecue.

Her hair was shampooed and brushed dry until it shone like spun gold, then she slipped into a pure silk coral-coloured trouser suit. The material clung subtly to her softly tanned skin; it was expensive, and opulence seemed to flow from every pleat and tuck in the material. The suit had been a present from her father, one of the many things he had brought back for her after one of his business trips to Hong Kong.

It was daring and exotic, and Abigail had never worn it before. She looked sideways at herself in the long bedroom mirror. It suits me, she thought, but…At the thought of the evening ahead, butterflies began to flutter in her stomach. The outfit was stunningly daring, but looking at herself Abigail knew that no one would ever guess that the girl inside it was feeling nervous. The pants were slightly baggy, coming in very tightly to a band at the ankles, and the soft jacket knotted under her breasts, leaving an enticing expanse of bare midriff; on her feet she wore a pair of strappy gold sandals.

A second glance in the mirror almost panicked her into changing into something plainer, more ordinary. But no, she glowered back at her nervous reflection in the mirror, no, for once she would look as glamorous as Penelope. Have courage, my girl, she told herself firmly—after all, your father bought it for you, it's about time you wore it.

Almost defiantly, she liberally sprayed herself with a musky perfume, and then spent the last half hour before Rupert's arrival hastily painting her nails and toenails a delicate coral colour to match the outfit.

Rupert's mouth literally dropped open with astonishment when she answered his knock on the cottage door. “Abigail,” he breathed, “you look absolutely gorgeous! I shall be the envy of every man in the place!” He put his arms round her and kissed her.

Abigail kissed him back, wanting to feel something more than a comfortable sensation. But no electrifying prickles quivered their way along her spine, her body remained stubbornly unresponsive.

But her kiss satisfied Rupert, who squeezed her affectionately, and said, “Come on, we don't want to be late.”

The house of Sir Jason and Lady Orchard was in the next village from Abigail's cottage, about fifteen minutes by road, and soon they were being ushered into the sumptuous house.

Privately, Abigail thought the green and gold marble floor, and the potted palms and statues in the entrance hall, a bit ostentatious and overwhelming. Rupert liked it, however. “This is what it's like to have
real
money,” he enthused, looking around.

Champagne was flowing freely, and they were caught and drawn into a swirl of laughing, talking people, like two leaves floating on water. But Abigail found, in spite of her previous misgivings, that she began to enjoy herself. Rupert was relaxed and happy, and she found she was never short of someone interesting to talk to. There was no sign of Greg Lincoln, or Penelope for that matter, but then, as she looked around, she realised that was hardly surprising; the house was very large, and crammed with people.

Feeling distinctly mellow after several glasses of champagne, Abigail was standing talking to one of Rupert's legal colleagues, when she became aware of a group of people bearing down upon them. Turning her head, she saw it was Penelope, Sir Jason and Lady Orchard, with Greg Lincoln at the rear.

“Hello, we just
had
to come over,” said Penelope archly. “We've been socialising—one must, you know. But at last we've got to
you
, Abigail.”

She laughed, a tinkling little laugh which never failed to grate on Abigail. It always sounded so false. Penelope carried on blithely. “I said to Daddy, we simply
must
go and find Abigail, she must be feeling so out of it!” She looked around for Rupert. “And even your fiancé seems to have deserted you.”

“Don't worry about me, Penelope,” said Abigail politely, fixing a determined smile on her face, “I've had a fascinating evening; and Rupert hasn't deserted me, he's over there.” She waved a hand in the direction of Rupert.

“I'm so glad you're enjoying yourself, my dear,” said Lady Orchard. “I do so want everyone to enjoy the evening.”

“I am,” Abigail was able to assure her, as the introductions were made, and she shook hands with her host and hostess.

Sir Jason snapped his fingers imperiously at a passing waiter. “A tray of the best champagne,” he ordered in his rich plummy voice.

Abigail didn't like him, she never had; he was an arrogant man. She had only worked with him once, in an outpatient clinic, and had noticed that he talked to all his patients as if they were imbeciles. However, there was nothing for it but to smile and make polite conversation. He was the host, and Rupert wanted to impress him, she reminded herself.

She couldn't help noticing Penelope eyeing her outfit, and allowed herself just the teeniest feeling of smug satisfaction, secure in the knowledge that every inch of her looked glamorous—quite a change from the neat, trim staff nurse usually seen on the ENT ward. She could also see Greg's dark eyes lingering in surprise, taking in every facet of her revealing trouser suit; she flashed him a suitably haughty look.

Rupert joined them, and immediately he and Sir Jason starting talking business. From the snippets of the conversation she overheard, Abigail gathered that Sir Jason had Rupert in mind for some legal transaction abroad, although what it was she had no idea.

A small orchestra started playing on the crowded terrace, and Penelope immediately dragged Greg away to dance. Abigail made polite, if somewhat stilted, conversation to Lady Orchard, who turned out to be really rather nice. Not at all like her daughter or husband, thought Abigail in surprise.