have been fair, and I think he saw that in the end.’ She sniffed and blew her nose. ‘He wants us to be friends. I said no. Do you think that was too unkind?’
‘No.’ Jo shook her head emphatically. ‘No, you can’t be friends when one of you’s in love and the other isn’t. It would be a disaster for both of you.’
Anne sighed. That’s what I thought, but I still felt awful saying it. So, how about you? How did you get on with Alex? Did he make a pass at you?’
Jo flushed and looked away. ‘Not exactly, but he made it quite clear he’d be happy to take up where we left off.’
Anne chewed her lip thoughtfully, then covered Jo’s hand with her own.
‘Why don’t you tell him?’
Jo snatched her hand away and stood up. ‘No—I—I can’t! He’ll only feel guilty, and it isn’t his fault——’
‘Any more than it’s yours.’
‘It’s my body!’
‘That doesn’t make it your fault. Are you using it as an excuse?’
‘For what? Not sleeping with him again? We’re talking about sex here, Anne!’
Her friend regarded her steadily. ‘Are we? It strikes me you’ve never got over him.’
‘Damn it, Annie, there was nothing to get over—one night!’
Anne’s face twisted with pain. ‘A great deal can happen in one night,’ she said quietly, ‘as you well know.’
Jo sagged against the table. ‘OK, OK, I never really got over him. But for him it’s just sex——’
‘Are you sure?’
Jo stood up impatiently and strode across the room. ‘Don’t be silly! He’s a man—men feel differently about these things. Anyway, it’s not a problem any more. I told him I was a career doctor——’
‘You?’
She glared at Anne. ‘Yes, me! Don’t laugh. Anyway, he wasn’t impressed. He told me I wasn’t the woman he thought I was, and walked out. I think I dented his ego, and fair’s fair—he dented mine.’
‘Are you angry with him about getting the job?’
She shrugged. ‘A bit. He watched me operate this afternoon and told me he couldn’t have done it better himself. As that was just what I’ve been trying to tell people, it was really the last thing I wanted to hear!’
Anne chuckled. ‘He’s going to have to watch himself around you, isn’t he? Poor man won’t be able to breathe without being snapped at.’
‘I’m sure the poor man will cope,’ she said bitterly.
‘You really do hate him, don’t you?’
Jo’s mouth trembled and she bit her lip. ‘No, I don’t hate him. All I’m asking is to be left alone.’ She picked up her bag, slipped on her shoes and headed for the door.
‘See you on Monday,’ she said heavily, and let herself out.
The drive home was short but she found it hard to concentrate. She kept seeing Alex’s face, and hearing his voice telling her she wasn’t the person he thought she was.
She turned into her little drive and locked her car, then let herself into the tiny semi-detached cottage that had been her home for three and a half years.
She locked up and headed straight for the stairs. She couldn’t be bothered to make herself a hot drink tonight. All she wanted was the oblivion of sleep, but it wouldn’t come.
She lay on her back in the bed and her hands slid slowly down the smooth, taut line of her abdomen and over the hollow of her pelvis.
There, running from side to side in the crease above her pubic bone, and almost hidden by the dense tangle of soft auburn curls, was the faint ridge of the scar.
It had faded in four years, but it would never go, and it would take a gynaecologist all of two seconds to assess the possible significance and start asking questions.
He must never get that close to her, and the only way she could ensure that he didn’t was to keep him severely at a distance. It seemed likely that she had achieved that aim particularly effectively, she thought with bitter irony.
But her body ached for him, and with a muffled groan she turned her face into the pillow and allowed her imagination to run riot.
Monday came far too soon. He was on the ward already when she arrived at eight, and she found him in Mary Jenkins’ room studying her charts.
He glanced up, said, ‘Good morning,’ under his breath, and continued to study the charts.
After a few seconds he returned the board to the end of her bed and left the room, beckoning Jo to follow.
‘She’s worse,’ he said briefly. ‘She’ll have to have a section now. Her BP’s still climbing, and the hydrallazine isn’t touching it. She’s not losing fluid significantly, either, and she complained of a headache this morning. I don’t think we can leave it, and, frankly, I’m not happy to induce her. I popped in last night with Owen Davie and we decided that the night staff should watch her and, if she deteriorated, they should assume she’s going to Theatre this morning, so she’s had nothing by mouth since midnight and she had her premed an hour ago when I came in.’
‘Has she signed the consent form?’
He nodded. ‘The paperwork’s been done.’ He met her eyes, his face carefully blank.
‘Your theatre’s all ready—we’ll use that. Your list will be delayed a while, I’m afraid, but it can’t be helped.’
Jo tried to control her anger. It was her list that day—and Mary Jenkins had been admitted by her. She should be in charge, but Alex was obviously making a point by taking over.
‘It could get tricky,’ he said softly. ‘Would you mind if I assist?’
So she was to perform the operation after all! He could easily have taken over, but he hadn’t, and she felt her resentment simply drain away.
‘Of course not,’ she said quietly. ‘Are you going up now?’
He nodded.
‘I have a couple of patients for my list later this morning I’d like to see first, if I’ve got time?’
‘Fine. I’ll see you up there.’
He hesitated, as if he was going to say something else, and then turned away abruptly. She watched him go with mixed feelings, and then went through into the four-bedded ward where her two pre-op patients for that morning were waiting.
The first lady, June Turner, was in for a routine Caesarean section, her fourth in six years.
Jo perched on
