Playing the Joker

‘Child. Beth. She’s six and a half.’

He waited patiently, while all the theatre staff milled around them, and she chewed her lip and doubted the intelligence she was born with.

‘I’m vegetarian,’ she warned him.

He shrugged. ‘I can live with that.’

Her heart thumped at the thought of living with this disturbing man.

‘OK. Meet me there at eight.’ She scribbled the address on a pad and ripped off the sheet. ‘Here. It’s easy to find—Reception will direct you; they’re hospital houses.’

‘Chinese or Indian?’

‘Either. I must go.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll see you later.’

As she went through to Recovery to check on her patients, she thought she must finally have lost her marbles.

Beth met her at the door, a bright-eyed, lively little girl with coltish limbs and a delicate face surrounded by thick dark brown tresses.

‘Hi, Auntie Jo!’

‘Hi, sweetheart. Is Mummy ready yet?’

‘Nearly. Come and see what I did at my babysitter’s today!’

Jo allowed herself to be dragged into the dingy little sitting-room at the back of the house and sat on the old sofa while Beth proudly showed her a mutilated piece of paper with coloured splodges on it. Stuck to the splodges were lumps of raw pasta.

‘It’s a pasta picture,’ Beth told her unnecessarily.

‘I can see that,’ Jo said. ‘Tell me about it.’

‘It’s meant to be ducks in the park. Mummy said it looked like a fight in an Italian restaurant. Sometimes she’s mean.’

Jo suppressed the urge to laugh. ‘I’m sure she was only teasing you, darling.’

Beth’s lip wobbled. ‘I didn’t want to be teased,’ she said unsteadily.

Jo sighed and ruffled Beth’s soft hair. ‘She didn’t mean to upset you, treasure. I think she’s very tired, Beth, and just needs time to herself sometimes. She works awfully hard, you know, darling.’

‘I know.’ Beth’s little face was resigned. ‘Can I have a cuddle, Auntie Jo?’

Jo hugged her quickly. ‘In a minute. I just want to tell Mummy something. Why don’t you find a nice book for me to read you?’

Leaving the child sorting through the bookcase in the sitting-room, Jo ran lightly up the stairs and tapped on the door of the larger bedroom.

‘Come in!’

She pushed open the door and went in, sighing at the chaos. Anne was sitting at the dressing-table, carefully concealing the dark shadows under her eyes. Clothes were strewn all over the bed.

‘Heavy date?’ she asked with irony.

‘Oh, don’t! I don’t know what to say to him, Jo. I wish he hadn’t proposed—I was just getting all ready to end it and he went and popped the question!’

‘He’ was Colin Bradley, a charming and delightful solicitor, widowed, with two young daughters a little older than Beth, and his interest in Anne was so blatantly as a mother substitute that they had found his declaration of love almost laughable. Laughable, that was, until Anne had realised that he meant it.

‘He’s a dear man, but——’ Anne shuddered slightly. ‘Jo, I could never sleep with him! Not after … I just couldn’t.’

Jo shoved the clothes out of the way and sat on the end of the bed.

‘Are you quite sure you’ve considered all the benefits of marriage to him sufficiently? OK, so you don’t find him all that attractive, but there’s not that much wrong with him, and he’d be a good father to Beth. And God knows you could do with a little company. Is having to sleep with him such a huge price to pay?’

Anne turned to face her friend. ‘I’ve known you for twelve years, Jo. Could you do it?’

Jo thought of Alex, of the searing ecstasy of that one night in his arms, and then thought of spending the rest of her life going through a pale imitation of that night with another man.

‘No—no, I couldn’t,’ she said softly. ‘You’re right—and both you and Beth deserve far more than that. I think Colin does, too. Yes, you’re right—tell him this evening.’

Anne sighed. ‘He’ll be here in a minute. Oh, life’s always so complicated!’

Jo thought again of Alex.

‘Annie, I have a confession. Someone’s coming round to keep me company this evening. I hope you don’t mind.’

Her friend paused in the act of hanging up the clothes again. ‘A man?’

Jo nodded.

‘Great—about time. Anyone I know?’

She nodded again. ‘Our new consultant.’

Anne whistled. ‘Blimey, that was quick!’

‘Not really. Our last date was four years ago.’ Anne dropped the dress she was holding, and stared at Jo in horror. ‘What …?’

Jo nodded slowly.

‘My God. And I thought I had problems.’

CHAPTER TWO

BY EIGHT o’clock, Jo’s nerves were stretched tighter than a bow-string. Anne had gone with Colin, her nerves nearly as taut, and Beth, intuitive as always, had picked up on the tension and had been unusually awkward about going to bed.

Now, at almost exactly eight o’clock, Jo was alone. Beth was finally asleep, the sitting-room was still dingy but the toys were put away and the cushions patted into shape, and she had washed up Beth’s supper dishes and tidied the kitchen.

There were plates warming, the rickety table in the kitchen was laid, and there was nothing left to do but count her remaining marbles and wonder what on earth she’d let herself in for.

She hadn’t changed—apart from anything else she didn’t want him to think she was making an effort to impress him, and dressing down wouldn’t have fooled him either. So she was still in the dark green linen dress with the red belt and the high-heeled shoes to match. Her feet ached, but after the events of the day she was unwilling to lose even the slight advantage of height to him.

At eight o’clock precisely a big Rover pulled up smoothly outside and Alex got out and locked it. Jo stood at the kitchen window and watched as he walked towards the door, his easy stride bringing him closer with horrifying speed.

He saw her and lifted his hand, and she walked slowly out into the hall, her heart pounding. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep, calming breath and then opened the door.

He looked wonderful. He had abandoned the suit jacket and tie, and was wearing a soft blue cotton sweater over his shirt. One side of his mouth almost smiled, and her own mouth curved in response.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’ he teased softly.

She flushed. ‘I’m sorry—of course—come in.’ Whatever was the matter with her? She was behaving like a lovesick teenager!

She led the way into the kitchen and he put the bag he was holding on the worktop.

‘I got Indian—mainly because it was the first take-away I found. Is that OK?’

‘Fine. I’m starving.’

‘Me too. It was a long time ago that you didn’t eat your lunch.’

She laughed, a deep, husky chuckle that relieved the tension in the air between them.

They dished up the meal and ate it ravenously, and when they had finished Jo pushed away her plate with a satisfied groan.

‘Wow!’

Alex’s eyes flickered briefly over her and returned to her face.

‘My sentiments exactly.’

Which brought the tension slamming back and clogged the breath in her throat and pooled the heat low down in her body. She stood up abruptly and made her trembling legs take her over to the sink. Perhaps she should have dressed down—to the shapeless garments he had talked about earlier?

‘Coffee?’ she asked over her shoulder.

Thank you, that would be lovely.’

She ran the water into the kettle, plugged it in and reached up to get down the coffee.

She hadn’t heard him move but he must have done, because suddenly his hand closed over hers and he turned her gently into his arms.

‘Jo,’ he whispered against her hair, and her traitorous body sagged against him, revelling in the sleek hardness of his legs, the solid depth of his chest, the shift of warm supple muscles beneath her palms as her hands crept round his waist and came to rest each side of his spine.

She had kicked off her shoes under the table and her eyes were on a level with his mouth. She could see the dark shadow on his jaw, and the slight sheen of his skin where he had just recently shaved. His lips were full and firm, and any second——

‘Alex, no,’ she moaned softly as his mouth closed over hers with infinite gentleness.

He withdrew fractionally, but only to run his tongue lightly over the edge of her lips, then he drew the lower lip into his mouth and nibbled with tiny biting kisses, easing away again to soothe it with his tongue.

Jo started to shake, her hands winding up around his neck to pull his head down, and then the kiss spiralled out of control and they clung to each other as the passion mounted in them, driving them with its frenzied zeal.

She twisted against him and with a groan he pressed her back against the cupboards, imprinting his body on hers with a wild savagery that made her whimper with need.

Eventually they broke apart, gasping for breath, and in his eyes Jo could see white-hot desire tinged with remorse.

‘Dear God, Alex,’ she whispered, shaken by the depth of her response. ‘Why did you have to do that?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said raggedly, ‘but it’s been so damn long …’

He let her go and she sagged back against the worktop, her legs like jelly.

He turned away, and she noticed his breathing was still uneven. He was also still unmistakably aroused, and she had to grip the worktop hard to stop herself from running across the kitchen after him and throwing herself into his arms.

‘Why don’t you wait in the sitting-room and I’ll bring the coffee through in a minute?’ she suggested unsteadily, and with a brief nod he complied.

Once alone, she dropped her face into her hands and stood motionless for a moment, willing her unruly body to submit to discipline. Then she gathered up the wreckage of their meal, threw it in the dustbin, put the plates in hot soapy water and scrubbed down the table before turning her attention back to the coffee.

By the time she took it through to the little sitting-room, Alex was sitting in one of the chairs with one leg crossed over the other knee and his hands lying relaxed along the threadbare arms.

He watched her thoughtfully, and she avoided his eye, unable to look at him for fear of betraying herself.

She set his cup down beside him and retreated to the other chair, drawing up her long legs and curling them underneath her defensively. She knew she was doing it, but she also knew that if she didn’t sit on her feet the wretched things were quite likely to carry her over and dump her in his lap, and she couldn’t afford that sort of complication.

She nursed her cup of tea and waited for him to speak. After a few minutes of tortured silence, he heaved a sigh and picked up his coffee.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said heavily. ‘I didn’t mean that to happen. I really just wanted to talk to you about the last four years—find out how you were, what you’d been doing, if you were married yet—all that sort of thing. I certainly didn’t mean to fall on you like a sex-starved teenager and grope you at the first opportunity.’

She laughed reluctantly. ‘I wasn’t aware that you did grope me.’

‘Thank God for little miracles,’ he said drily, ‘because I certainly wanted to.’

She met his eyes then, and saw regret and a gentle tenderness there that nearly undid her resolve.

She looked quickly away.

‘Alex, I’m not interested,’ she said as firmly as she could manage. ‘I’ve got my career all mapped out, and I know exactly where I’m going. OK, I didn’t get this job, but I’ll get the next one that comes along, or the one after that—I’m determined to succeed, and I can’t afford the luxury of anything that could get in the way of that ambition.’

He was watching her, and she kept her eyes averted in case he read the miserable truth.

That doesn’t sound like you,’ he said at last. ‘OK, you dress the part, and you act the part to a certain extent, and I don’t doubt that you’re a damn fine doctor, but there’s more to you than that, Jo. You’re lonely, and, whatever you might say to the contrary, you’re interested. At least be honest with me.’

Oh, God, she thought, honest is the last thing I can be with you. She fought off the wave of sadness and made herself meet his eye.

‘All right, Alex, I’ll be honest with you,’ she lied. ‘Yes, I’m interested—physically. Sexually we’re great together, and I’m interested in you as a person. That doesn’t mean that I want to try and establish a relationship with you—especially not one that’s going to interfere with my career progression. And yes, I’m lonely, but it’s what I’ve chosen, Alex. Look at me!’ She spread her arms wide. ‘I know how I look—I’m not a fool. If I wanted a man I could have one, but I don’t. If you weren’t my boss, then I dare say we could have a great affair, but as things stand it’s out of the question, and, the sooner you realise that, the better for both of us.’

He was silent for a long while, and she risked a quick glance at him. His mouth was tight, his chin propped on his steepled fingers, and his eyes as they met hers were cold. She realised she had hurt him with her deliberately crude and harsh assessment of their relationship, and somehow that was worse than anything else. Then he rose to his feet and walked over to the window. His hands were rammed in his pockets and the tension was pouring off him.

‘So that’s it, is it? Your final word?’

‘That’s right. It’s the way it has to be, Alex. I’m sorry.’

He snorted. ‘Spare me the platitudes.’ He swivelled round to face her, his eyes hard and unyielding.

‘Either you’re lying, or you really are a hard-bitten career doctor with a hyperactive sex drive. Either way, you’re not the woman I thought you were.’

Shock held her rigid. She stared at the spot where his feet had been, and listened as he walked down the hall and let himself quietly out of the front door.

So that was the end of that. At least she had stopped him in his tracks, but it hurt her that she had had to lose his respect in order to do so.

Jo got wearily to her feet and cleared away the cups, then washed the dishes in the sink and tidied up the kitchen.

She was just putting the last few things away when Anne came home.

‘Hi,’ she said with forced cheer. ‘Thanks for tidying up—how’s Beth been?’

‘Fine—how did it go?’

Jo took one look at her friend’s ravaged face and held out her arms.

‘Oh, Annie …’

Anne collapsed into her arms and sobbed out her misery while Jo soothed and patted and held her until she was finished, then she handed her a wodge of tissues and steered her to the kitchen table.

‘Tell,’ she said firmly.

‘Oh, he was very upset, and I cried, and it was awful, but I couldn’t have married him. It wouldn’t 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 the end of her bed and smiled.

‘Hello, June. How are you?’

‘Marvellous! Mike’s coming in soon ready for the big event—oh, here he is now! Hello, darling!’

The stocky young man bent and kissed his wife, and smiled confidently at Jo. ‘Morning, Dr Harding. All ready for off?’

‘Yes, she’s all ready, but we may have a minor delay. I’m glad you’re here, though, because I wanted to talk to you again about sterilisation——’

‘No!’ they said in unison.

Jo sighed. ‘You know, having so many pregnancies with a scarred uterus is just asking for trouble; you’ve got three lovely children, and this baby—don’t you think you’re being just a little rash?’

June smiled. ‘Why don’t you let us worry about that? We know the risks—we’re intelligent and educated, and we’ve talked about it at great length. Don’t worry, Dr Harding, we don’t intend to have any more, but neither of us is happy with the idea of losing our choice. We won’t have an accident.’

Jo laughed. ‘How many times have I heard that? OK, I’ll leave it for now, but I thought I’d just check to see if you’d changed your minds before we take you up to Theatre. When I see the scar and how it’s standing up, I’ll discuss it with you at the time. You don’t have to decide now.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll see you both later.’

With a smile, she left the Turners and moved on to the next room.

The woman lying there was very still, and Jo sat beside her and watched her for a second before touching her hand.

‘Mrs Price? Sally?’

The woman turned her head towards Jo and smiled wearily. ‘Hi.’

‘How are you feeling?’

She shrugged. ‘I’m just wondering if there’s any point. I’m bound to lose it anyway, and in the circumstances perhaps it would be the best thing——’

She turned away, and Jo squeezed her hand.

‘Be positive, Sally. Your husband wouldn’t want to see you so sad.’

‘We’ve tried for so long—so many miscarriages. For him to die now, when I’ve got to this stage——’

Jo felt helpless as she watched the woman’s shoulders shaking gently with grief. She had been widowed in a senseless accident two months before, and was in to have a cervical suture put in to try and prevent the loss of this most precious baby, the last in a long line of tragic attempts to carry a baby to term.

Owen had refused to give her a cervical suture with the last, maintaining that there was little chance of it working anyway and she was young, so there was plenty of time, but this time was quite literally her last chance to have her husband’s child, and Jo had fought tooth and nail. In the end Owen had agreed.

‘I’m sorry,’ Mrs Price said quietly now. ‘I know I’ll feel differently about it later, but it’s just that I can’t bear the thought of any more pain—you know, it’s a real bereavement. I didn’t realise until Tony died that I had felt the same way every time I lost a baby. Each time you build up such hope, and each time—it’s just too much, after a while. I almost wish it would just happen and then it would be over.’

Jo was more determined than ever that this woman would carry her baby to term and know the joy of motherhood.