hair only a shade removed from pure jet, her clear flawless skin, wide-spaced amber eyes and the mouth that was both sexy and vulnerable. One by one they nodded their agreement.
Phoebe, deeply embarrassed by the scrutiny, turned a pretty pink.
‘Miss Patterson is an excellent practice manager,’ she observed, frantically trying to steer the subject into less personal channels.
‘And a first-class cow,’ Grace supplied cheerfully.
Phoebe, who had a lot of sympathy with this view, was hard put not to echo this sentiment.
‘And she’s going to marry the boss,’ the student added.
‘Who,’ Grace asked, ‘told you that?’
‘Why, she did,’ came the bewildered response. ‘Well, not in so many words, but I got the impression she and Dr Carlyle were...’
You and me both, thought Phoebe, adding a fresh pad of prescription sheets to her bag and trying not to look as though she had anything more than a passing interest in the subject. After all these years, it was nothing to her personally if Connor chose to marry—in fact, she’d be happy for him. She’d concluded that it was just his supposed choice of bride that had been making her feel uneasy.
‘She wishes!’ Fran snorted with a dismissive laugh.
‘Well, they went on holiday together, didn’t they?’ Kate asked, puzzled.
‘There’s together and then there’s together,’ Grace explained. ‘There was a place left in the chalet that madam and her mates were renting in France and she persuaded Connor to go along. I don’t expect she bargained for him busting his knee. A bit of a passion-killer, a ruptured cruciate ligament.’
There was a group wince at the thought of the painful knee injury, feared by all sensible athletes. Not only was it excruciatingly painful when one of the main ligaments supporting the knee tore, there was also a lengthy period of recuperation after the surgical repair.
‘At least he’s had it sorted straight away. These ski resorts generally ship you back home to languish for months on our waiting list. I suppose it helps if you went to school with the surgeon,’ Fran mused cynically. ‘I get the impression our Ellen is a bit miffed because he didn’t want her to stay behind and play Flo Nightingale.’
‘I hate to play devil’s advocate,’ Grace interjected, ‘but it didn’t happen until the last day of the holiday. That gave Ellen ten days...’
‘To do what?’ The student enquired innocently.
‘Use your imagination, Kate,’ came the scornful response.
Phoebe already was, as her churning stomach could have attested.
* * *
‘Can I help you, sir?’ Sally asked the tall man who made his halting progress towards her desk. She stifled a tiny sigh of appreciation. Whilst she was deeply and madly in love with her Marty, that didn’t stop her looking, and this splendid specimen of manhood was seriously worth looking at!
Several inches above six feet, broad of shoulder and snakily slim of hip, he had the body of an athlete, albeit an injured one at present. She tried not to goggle too obviously as he approached.
‘And who might you be?’ The stranger had a distinctively deep voice with a fascinating sexy rasp.
‘I’m Sally...Miss Winter...’ The blue eyes—which, as she later explained to her best friend, seemed to be able to see right into her soul—made her even more flustered.
‘I’m here to see Dr Edwards.’
‘Do you have an appointment?’
The blond head was shaken and Sally, who had spent the previous Saturday morning and more money than she could afford having highlights put in her mousy locks, felt a surge of jealousy. The streaks in this man’s thick corn-coloured hair were obviously natural, as were his ultra-long dark eyelashes that framed his sky blue eyes. There was just no justice in the world!
‘I’m sorry but he’s fully booked up...’ She consulted the computer screen. ‘He could see you tomorrow morn—Sir, you can’t go back there... Sir...!’ Her alarmed cries as the tall figure went, as cool as a cucumber, right through the door marked PRIVATE brought Will Edwards, sandwich in hand, out of his consulting room.
‘Who’s being murdered?’ he began, then he spotted the figure swinging towards him on crutches and choked on his lettuce and bacon. ‘Good heavens! What the hell are you doing here?’
The intruder grinned and the flash of white teeth not only increased his gorgeousness factor but sent his danger factor soaring also. Sally prayed they weren’t dealing with a violent lunatic because even with those crutches she was pretty sure he’d make mincemeat of nice Dr Edwards.
‘Shall I call the police? I told him not to, but he didn’t take any notice of me,’ Sally piped up, anxious to establish her innocence from the outset.
‘Don’t worry, Sally, he rarely does,’ came the dry response. ‘Your confidence in my ability to run things is touching, Connor, really touching,’ Will sighed.
‘Then he’s—’
‘The boss, our esteemed senior partner—that’s right Sally,’ Will confirmed, without removing his critical gaze from his friend’s face. ‘A tan hides a multitude of sins, Con, but it can’t work miracles. You look awful,’ he announced frankly.
‘Always the enviable bedside manner,’ drawled Connor, who did indeed feel pretty awful after the flight from Geneva. ‘These bloody crutches,’ he growled as he knocked into a decorative bank of pot plants.
Sally ran to clear his path, feeling deeply indignant that nobody had seen fit to mention that their boss was a seriously gorgeous hunk! Her mum still drooled over Robert Redford and this bloke was a dead spit for the actor in his hey day.
‘I’m sorry I gave you a fright...Sally, is it?’
Will watched the Carlyle smile work its magic with the air of a man who wasn’t seeing the female response to this phenomenon for the first time. In less scrupulous hands that smile could have been a lethal tool, but fortunately Connor had more scruples than most—except when he got a bee in his bonnet about some injustice or other. Then he was inclined to use whatever means necessary and make everyone’s life thoroughly uncomfortable into the bargain.
‘Oh that’s all right. I’ll just...shall I, Dr Carlyle?’
‘Yes, you do that, Sally,’ Will remarked, giving the girl a gentle push in the right direction. ‘Dr Carlyle and I have a lot to talk about.’ He rounded grimly on his friend. ‘Such as why the hell aren’t you still in hospital in Geneva, Connor?’
‘The truth is, Will, I was bored out of my skull.’
His friend and partner snorted. ‘The truth is, you don’t think this place can survive without you at the helm.’
‘A man wants to pull his weight and all his friends can do is accuse him of being a control freak,’ a frustrated Connor grumbled, repressing a grin.
