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'But that's awful! And you saw it happen, as you're in such a state,' he surmised.

'No, I—' Yona licked dry lips. 'I—did it.'

'You
what?'
Ted was absolutely staggered, as well he might be.

'It was me. I. Gil Salvesen had annoyed me by coming right into my consulting room without knocking and asking for a lift. We had words about that. Mike was parked next to me and gave me such a dirty look, which made me crosser than ever. Then I drove off in a tearing hurry—over his foot. Apparently.'

'What do you mean—'apparently'?' Ted asked faintly.

'Well, the car gave this awful lurch as I backed out and I thought it was the state of the ground. But when Sharon told me about it this morning, I realised it must have been h-his foot... Oh, God!' She collapsed onto the nearest chair.

'So it wasn't deliberate,' said Ted.

'Deliberate?
No!
Of course not! We don't—don't exactly like one another, but I'd never do a thing like that!'

'Are you sure about this, Yona?'

'That I ran over his foot? I must have, mustn't I? He was standing right beside my car, I backed out at speed— and next day he's got a crushed foot.'

'That's certainly how it looks,' he said heavily. 'My God, what a thing to happen! Lucky for you, Mike's not the vindictive type.'

'He's not?' Yona asked doubtfully.

'No, he's not—though it'd take a saint to overlook this and Mike's no more of a saint than the rest of us. I hope you realise what a mess you're in,' he ended.

'Only too well,' sighed Yona.

Ted scratched his chin thoughtfully. 'I have to dash off now to a board meeting and tonight Meg and I are having people in, but I'll talk to Mike tomorrow and—'

'No!' she protested violently. 'I've no intention of hiding behind you. I did it and I'll take the consequences—whatever they are. I'll see him myself.'

Ted eyed her with something like respect. 'You may be a careless driver, but you can face up to things—I have to give you that.' He reverted to the present. 'Are there any problems on the unit before I go?'

'No—none. It was all quiet when I left.'

'Just as well,' said the boss as he went off, shaking his head.

Yona couldn't face the staff canteen for lunch. Mike may or may not already have pointed the finger in her direction but, either way, she'd feel terribly guilty if she heard any talk of his accident. And—horrible thought—he might even be in the canteen himself. By all accounts, he was dedicated enough to be working that day. She bought a sandwich to eat in her room, but first she checked with Ortho to see.

'Sorry, Dr MacFarlane,' she was told, 'but Mr Preston has sustained an injury to his right foot and won't be in before Monday. Would you like to speak to his registrar?'

It was the obvious question, but Yona hadn't foreseen it. She mumbled something about it not being urgent and rang off.

She would have to go and apologise to him at home, then. But first there was the afternoon to get through.

She was down to lecture to physiotherapy students. The talk she gave she'd given several times before in Edinburgh so she was confident and it was well received. But when it came to questions afterwards she soon discovered that— like students north of the border—they were adept at putting queries that were hardly mainstream.

'Please, Dr MacFarlane, why don't animals get rheumatoid arthritis?'

'Why do people not get distemper or hardpad?' asked Yona. 'I think you'd better ask a vet that one—I'm afraid I don't know.'

Next. 'Why aren't copper bangles available on the NHS?'

That was a bit easier. 'Because only remedies which have been proven effective in clinical trials are prescribed. Now, if anybody has a question relevant to my lecture...'

As with students everywhere, that was the signal for a
general exodus and Yona was free to give her mind to the problem of Mike Preston's foot. Back in her room in Outpatients, she was trying to think how in the world she could ever apologise sufficiently when the plaster technician rang to ask if she'd remembered she was deputising for Dr Price today.

That meant two or three hours of making plaster splints for the new ward patients and it was well after six when Yona eventually parked in her place in the underground garage at Park View. The block was L-shaped and, as always, she was glad that Mike lived in the other wing, about as far as possible from her own flat.

The nearer she got to his door, the less confident she felt. This was the most difficult thing she'd ever had to do.

After two rings, and what felt like hours, Mike came to the door himself. He wore a loose, dark sweater which had seen many better days and a pair of scuffed jeans with the right leg chopped off at the knee to accommodate a bulky below-knee plaster, with a weight-bearing rubber rocker under the sole. His foot had been immobilised in slight plantar flexion and an old sock over the forefoot prevented Yona from seeing the damage to his toes, which must have been considerable.

'To what do I owe this pleasure?' he asked after an awkward few moments of charged silence.

Yona raised her anguished eyes from his foot to meet his steady stare and her heart missed a beat from sheer fright. 'I—I thought I ought to come,' she got out at last in a wobbly voice.

Mike looked puzzled. 'Because you're a neighbour, or because it's an old Scots custom?' he asked.

'I'd like to think that the English also apologise for causing serious bodily harm,' she faltered. She was doing this badly. And she'd meant to be so quiet and restrained and
dignified. No wonder he was looking as though he didn't know what on earth to make of her!

She must try harder. 'I've not come here to make excuses,' she said more steadily, despite a quivering bottom lip. 'I was careless—criminally careless—and I'm dreadfully ashamed and appalled. I hope you can accept my sincere apologies for running over your foot—but if you can't, I—I really couldn't blame you.'

There! She'd done it. Not very well, but at least it was over...

After what felt like a decade, Mike asked with surprising mildness, 'Is that it, then? No flowers or hot soup for the injured party?'

'I was afraid that if I bought a—a peace-offering, you'd think I was trying to buy you off,' she whispered.

'I'm not easily bought,' said Mike in the same mild way.

'I can believe that,' said Yona. What she couldn't believe was that he wasn't raging and swearing and calling her every kind of maniac, which was what she'd been expecting from a plain-speaking, down-to-earth Lancastrian who had disliked her from the start.

'I don't know what happens in cases of injury inflicted by a motorist on private land,' she ploughed on earnestly. 'I mean, had it been on the highway then the insurance would... would...' His calm, contained manner was proving more unnerving than any amount of rage. 'Tell me what you expect of me and I'll do my best to comply,' Yona wound up awkwardly.

'Will you, now?' he asked thoughtfully. 'Well, suppose you begin by coming in and making me an omelette or something? This foot throbs rather a lot if I stand on it for any length of time.'

'What?
Yes, well, if that's what—' But he was already limping away down the corridor so Yona went in and shut the door.

'This is the kitchen,' said Mike, turning round so abruptly that Yona very nearly knocked him down again.

'Er, right! An omelette, you said...'

'Anything you like. I'm not fussy—just hungry. There's plenty of stuff in the fridge. I'll leave you to it, shall I? This is such a small kitchen.' He turned round and limped out.

At least twice the size of mine, she was thinking when he came back to say, 'You'll be making enough for yourself, too, of course—it'll be way past dinnertime when you get home.'

Yona stared up at him, trying desperately to fathom his mood. 'Coals of fire,' she said at last.

A smile flickered at the corner of his mouth for a microsecond before he responded, 'If you like.'

He'd been right when he'd said his fridge was well stocked. Either he was an enthusiastic cook or, more likely, some devoted girlfriend did his shopping. A lot of women still went for the strong, silent type and bachelor doctors had the same attraction for women as honey pots for bees.

Something quick, thought Yona, before he comes round and starts throwing things. She made a
gratinee
of eggs Basque with pasta shells, and chopped a small ogen melon in half to be filled with some thawed-out raspberries for dessert. 'And if he's still hungry after that, he can have some cheese,' she muttered, before calling out, 'Would you like it on a tray or what?'

'In here,' he called back.

She found him in a living room which, like the kitchen, was twice the size of hers. A round, glass-topped table by a picture window was already set for two. A bottle of very good burgundy stood ready on a side table. 'I prefer red,' he said, following her glance.

'So do I,' said Yona.

'But do you think you should?' he asked slyly. 'After all, if you're planning on driving anywhere later on...'

'Please don't remind me,' she pleaded.

'I'm sorry you've forgotten, so soon.'

'I have not forgotten—of course I've not. Only with you being so...so nice about it...'

'You feel a little less guilty?'

'I suppose so—yes. But I'm still mortified and very sorry!'

'Good—but, there, it wasn't deliberate, was it?'

'Good God, no! Of course it wasn't.'

'Ted asked me that,' she said when she'd been to fetch the rest of the food and been told her cooking obviously surpassed her driving skills.

'Asked you what?' asked Mike, through his first mouthful of food.

'If I'd run over your foot deliberately.' Amazing how easy it was to say it now.

'You told
Ted?'
Mike looked and sounded absolutely horrified.

'But of course. I didn't want him to hear about it from anybody else.'

'I can't wait to hear his reaction,' he said half to himself. 'Have you, er, confessed to anybody else?' he asked.

'No—and I suppose that was rather cowardly.'

'Not at all. Rather sensible, I'd say. This egg, cheese, vegetable thing is quite wonderful,' he went on before Yona could ask why it had been sensible. 'If you get struck off for violence towards a superior, you can open a restaurant and make a fortune.'

'Thank you,' said Yona, 'but I'd rather stick to medicine.'

'I'd almost forgotten what a dedicated career-girl you are,' said Mike, sounding disapproving now.

'If that means loving my job and trying my best to be really good at it, then, yes, I suppose I am.'

'Did you know that Meg Burnley was the gold medallist of their year?' he asked with apparent irrelevance.

'No, I didn't,' said Yona, much surprised. 'I knew they'd been students together and I just assumed that Meg wasn't all that bothered about a career—especially as they married so young and started their family almost straight away.'

'Oh, Meg was keen enough on medicine—just a lot keener on Ted,' Mike said firmly. 'Anyway, she's been doing a few sessions per week in a community health centre for some years now.'

As if that was any substitute for a serious career, thought Yona, but she just said neutrally, 'That all sounds very convenient.'

'It's certainly made for harmony in their marriage,' Mike said roundly.

'When the woman makes all the sacrifices, it usually does,' murmured Yona in reply.

He fixed her with a level stare across the remains of their meal. 'That remark was very revealing,' he said slowly. 'I can think of several ways of answering—none of which you would like. So I suggest we have coffee instead.' He got up from the table and began stacking plates on the trolley.

'Here, I'll do that,' she said, getting up and rushing round the table.

'Are you still feeling guilty?' asked Mike.

Yona eyed him sideways under heir lashes. 'Why do I have this feeling that you're making fun of me?' she wondered aloud.

'I wouldn't dare,' he claimed. 'Dedicated career-women like you frighten the life out of me.'

'That's not fair!' she protested, hurt beyond reason.

'The response of the playground,' he returned, unruffled.

'Perhaps there's hope for you after all.' He steered the trolley across the room and lumbered out.

Yona followed him, frowning. She'd give a lot to know what he'd meant by that last remark. What he meant by this whole incredible evening, come to that...

In the kitchen, Mike was filling the kettle. When he opened the dishwasher Yona said, 'Here, I'll do that.'

He stood aside and watched her rinsing plates and cutlery under the cold tap. 'Surely, if they're going in the dishwasher...'

'This only takes a minute or two and it saves having to wash the filter so often,' she explained.

'You're very efficient,' he told her, making it sound more like a criticism than a compliment.

'I'd have thought that was a very good thing in a doctor,' she retorted, stung.

'You're also rather sensitive,' he said.

'For heaven's sake, stop analysing me and tell me where you keep the coffee,' she said irritably as the kettle came to the boil.

'One thing at a time,' he said in a soothing tone calculated to do the opposite. 'You've not finished loading the dishwasher yet. The pans can go in, too,' he said, taking coffee beans from a jar and putting them in a hand grinder fixed to the worktop.

'I thought your foot throbbed when you were standing up,' she reminded him.

'It also throbs when I'm sitting down, so—'

'Back to the living room,' ordered Yona, shooing him out of his own kitchen. In the living room she told him to sit on the couch, where she piled up cushions beside him. 'Now, put your leg up there,' she ordered.

'I can't imagine why I didn't think of this for myself,' he said so meekly that she suspected him of laughing at her again.

'Because, like all doctors, you haven't a clue how to look after yourself,' she suggested.

'You'd make a marvellous nurse, Doctor,' he said, folding his arms behind his head and settling down comfortably.