his muscular physique. Matthew was in his prime and many men his age—and younger—would be delighted to be in such excellent shape.
She looked away when she realised where her mind was wandering again. She could hardly believe it had happened a second time. ‘On the surface, then, they seem to be a couple who have everything going for them,’ she observed, deciding it was safer to stick to work.
‘On the surface, yes. But you know as well as I do that it’s impossible to judge by appearances.’ Matthew frowned. ‘I remember Glenda saying one time after Lauren had been to see her that she felt that there was something the woman wasn’t telling her.’
‘I got that impression, too. How strange. I had this feeling that she wanted to tell me what was wrong but that she was…well, afraid to do so.’ Catherine sighed. ‘I shouldn’t have let her rush off like that, should I?’
‘You couldn’t have stopped her,’ he protested, then stopped as Margaret, one of the receptionists, popped her head round the door.
‘I hate to disturb you, Matt, but there’s a queue outside.’ She shot a pointed look at her watch. ‘Your eleven o’clock appointment has arrived and your eleven-fifteen…’
‘OK. I can take a hint!’ Matthew laughed as he got up. ‘Anyway, you can blame Catherine this time, not me. She’s the culprit.’
‘Me?’ Catherine echoed in astonishment.
‘Uh-huh. I was so fascinated by our conversation that I didn’t realise so much time had elapsed. Ergo, it’s all your fault!’
He gave her a decidedly wicked smile then sauntered out of the room. Catherine hurried to explain when she saw the speculation on Margaret’s face. It was obvious the other woman had completely misunderstood Matt’s remark.
‘Matt…Dr Fielding…meant he was fascinated by a case we’ve been discussing,’ she gabbled, her tongue tripping over itself in her haste to set matters straight.
‘Of course, Dr Lewis.’
Margaret’s tone was so bland that the words conveyed exactly the opposite meaning they should have done. Catherine felt heat suffuse her when she realised that the receptionist didn’t believe a word she’d said. Did Margaret think that Matt had been wasting his time chatting her up instead of seeing to his patients?
It was on the tip of her tongue to assure Margaret that wasn’t the case when she suddenly thought better of it. Wasn’t there a saying about protesting too much?
‘I’ll send in your next patient, then, shall I, Dr Lewis?’ Margaret asked in the same bland tone.
Catherine nodded because it seemed an awful lot safer. No protestations would pass her lips, no explanations, nothing. She wasn’t going to give the staff at the surgery anything to gossip about!
‘Has she gone?’ Matt glanced furtively along the corridor as he sidled back into her room. He treated Catherine to a conspiratorial smile. ‘I should have warned you that Margaret is a real termagant when it comes to her beloved appointment system. You dice with death if you mess it up! Anyway, I daren’t risk getting in her bad books again so I’ll see you after surgery. In the kitchen around twelve-thirty. OK?’
‘I…um. Why? I mean, what do you need to see me about?’ she demanded, her voice rising by at least an octave. She cleared her throat, striving hard to achieve her usual even tone. ‘There isn’t much we can do unless Lauren is prepared to tell us what is really wrong with her.’
‘There isn’t. However, it wasn’t Lauren I wanted to talk to you about.’
Matthew cast another wary glance over his shoulder when the door leading from the waiting room opened. ‘I need to ask your advice this time, Catherine. The old two heads theory and all that. So, I’ll see you in the kitchen later. And don’t let Margaret know that I’ve been in here again or she’ll have me shot for dereliction of duty!’
He disappeared and a moment later Catherine heard him greeting his patient with some quip or other. The sound of their laughter was abruptly cut off as his consulting-room door closed.
She took a deep breath, added another for good measure, then went for the hat trick. It didn’t work. Maybe Matthew’s invitation to meet him in the kitchen hadn’t had quite the same ring to it as Meet me under the clock and I’ll wear a red rose, but it had certainly had an effect on her equilibrium. Making a date…any kind of a date…with Matthew Fielding made her feel very vulnerable indeed!
‘HI, THERE! I’ve made coffee and there’s some sandwiches if you’re hungry.’
It was twelve thirty-two, precisely. Catherine had checked her watch enough times to know that without having to check it again. The whole time she had been working through the rest of her morning list she had been conscious of the minutes ticking away and bringing the moment for her meeting with Matt ever closer. Maybe it was ridiculous to have got herself so worked up, but she hadn’t been able to help it. It certainly didn’t settle her mind to see the coffee-mugs and plates of sandwiches arranged on the table either. Was this really a work-related meeting, as he’d claimed?
‘Sit yourself down. It’s just milk, isn’t it? You don’t take sugar?’ Matthew picked up the coffee-pot and brought it over to the table. He put it down on a mat and frowned when he realised she was still standing in the doorway. ‘Catherine?’
‘I…um. No.’ She saw his brows arch and hurriedly tried to get a grip on herself. She wasn’t helping the situation by acting like a halfwit.
‘No, I don’t take sugar,’ she explained as much for her own benefit as for his. Keep things simple, Catherine! she chided herself. Stick to the rules. Rule number one was to always maintain her composure. Rule number two was never to mix work with pleasure. Rule number three…
She sighed because there was no point going any further. Rule number three—always to be on her guard—was proving as difficult to adhere to as numbers one and two. Matthew seemed to have a particular knack of sliding past her defences!
She pulled out a chair while Matt filled the mugs with coffee. He shoved the plate of sandwiches towards her then sat down opposite her. ‘Try one of these. You won’t be disappointed, I promise you. Mum makes the best sandwiches ever.’
Catherine took a sandwich simply because it was easier to comply than refuse. She bit into the moist brown bread and gave a little sigh of pleasure as the flavour of perfectly cooked roast beef and grainy mustard rioted around her taste buds.
‘Told you, didn’t I?’
The smugness in his voice made her smile despite herself.
‘Yes, you did, so you can stop crowing. I don’t suppose your mother would like a job? My cooking leaves an awful lot to be desired!’
‘No way! You are not poaching her off me. Oh, I might agree to share her on the odd occasion but I saw her first, so hands off.’ He took a swallow of his coffee then looked enquiringly at her. ‘Anyway, haven’t you a mother of your own who will take pity on you?’
‘No.’ Catherine picked up her mug and drank a little
