The Best Of The Year - Medical Romance

He gave a loose shrug. ‘I’m too busy for a relationship just now. I have other priorities.’ He waited a beat before asking, ‘Will you bring your husband?’

He’d done it again, that ever so slight stress on the word ‘husband’. Every time he did that it made me feel as if he thought I was too hideous to have landed myself a man. I know I’m not billboard stunning or anything but I’ve been told I’ve got nice brown eyes and a cute smile. Well, I know parents are always biased, but still. ‘Erm, I think he’ll be away with work,’ I said. ‘He travels … a lot.’

‘That’s a shame. I was looking forward to meeting him.’

I wrinkled my brow. ‘Why?’

His expression was impossible to read. ‘You said he was a stock analyst, right?’

‘Yes …’

‘I thought I’d ask him about some stocks I’ve had my eye on for a while.’

I shifted my weight from foot to foot. I felt a heat rash moving all over my body. It was like ants marching underneath my skin. Maybe my talent at lying was deserting me. ‘Don’t you have a financial planner?’ I said.

‘Sure, but it’s always good to get inside information, don’t you think?’

I couldn’t hold his penetrating gaze. I lowered mine and mumbled something about seeing a patient and left.

I was walking Freddy in Hyde Park in one of the dog exercise areas after work. It was freezing cold and flakes of snow were falling but I was determined to wear out the little mutt. While I’d been at work he’d chewed my favourite hippopotamus slippers Jem gave me for Christmas two years ago and one of my computer cables. I decided to let him off the lead so he could have a good run around and play with the other dogs. What I hadn’t realised was that Freddy didn’t like other dogs. Before I knew it he was at the throat of a corgi and it looked like Freddy was winning. The howls and growls and yelps and cries of ‘Help!’ from me created such a ruckus that people did what people normally do in that situation—they stopped and stared and did absolutely nothing.

Except for one man who came out of the shadows and pulled the dogs apart with his bare hands. Except his hands weren’t bare. He was wearing gloves, lovely butter-soft black leather ones that Freddy’s teeth immediately punctured. I grabbed Freddy and snapped his lead back on but the stupid mutt was straining at the leash, trying to get to the overweight corgi, who was doing the same on the end of its lead, which its owner had now refastened.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s not my dog. I didn’t realise he would … I blinked as the man’s face was suddenly illuminated by one of the park’s lights. ‘You!’

Matt Bishop gave me a rueful look. ‘It’s not my dog either. It’s my great-aunt’s.’

‘Your great-aunt isn’t the Queen, is she?’

He threw back his head and laughed. I stood transfixed at the sound. It was deep and unmistakably masculine and made something deep and tight in my belly work loose. It wasn’t just his laugh that was so captivating. It was the way his normally stern features relaxed, giving him an almost boyish look. At work with the pressures of lives in his hands he looked as if he was nudging forty. Now he looked no older than thirty but I knew he had to be at least thirty-three or -four to be as qualified as he was to head the department.

He was wearing casual clothes under a dark blue cashmere overcoat. Jeans and a sweater with the tips of his shirt collar showing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more handsome-looking man. Not in a pretty-boy way but in a totally testosterone-oozing way that made the breath catch in my throat.

His gaze went to the cup-cake beanie I was wearing. It was pink and white and had a red pom-pom on top that looked like a cherry. I was pretty proud of it, actually. I taught myself to knit, making novelty beanies. So far I’ve made a mouse, a zebra and a bee.

The dogs were still snarling at each other. I had Freddy on such a tight leash I could feel the muscles in my arm protesting at the strain. Who needed the gym when you had an unruly dog? Freddy hurt more than three sets of ten-kilogram biceps curls.

‘Quiet, Winnie,’ Matt said. The corgi slunk down into a submissive pose but not before giving Freddy another murderous look. Freddy growled like something out of a horror movie and completely ignored my command to be quiet. I guess because my voice wasn’t as deep and authoritative as Matt’s, because as soon as Matt said it to Freddy he sat and shut up. He even held up his paw for a shake.

‘Nice job,’ I said. ‘You don’t happen to be best friends with Cesar Millan, do you?’

Matt smiled and my breath caught again. ‘Dog training’s pretty simple. You just have to show them who’s pack leader.’

I’m not sure how it happened but somehow we started walking together. The dogs kept eyeing each other warily, but after a while they seemed to forget their ignominious start and got on with the job of sniffing every blade of grass … well, the ones that weren’t covered in snow, that is. A light dusting had fallen, making the park look like a winter fairyland. I love winter. I think it’s the most romantic time of the year. That’s why I wanted to be married in early December. Everyone gets married in spring or summer. I wanted to be different. But, then, sometimes you can be too different, which I’ve found to my detriment.

‘Where does your great-aunt live?’ I asked into the silence. Actually, I was quite proud of the fact I’d waited at least thirty seconds before speaking. That’s a record for me.

He named the street running parallel to mine. I was so shocked I stopped and looked up at him. ‘Really?’

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

I gave a shaky laugh. ‘Whoa, that’s spooky. I live in the next street. Number forty.’

‘Why spooky?’

‘As in weirdly coincidental,’ I said. ‘London’s a big city.’

‘True, but it’s close to the hospital and I’m only staying there until I can move back into my place once the tenants move out in a couple of weeks.’

He was living a street away from me?

‘Where is your place?’

‘Notting Hill.’

Of course, I thought. I’d had a feeling Matt came from money. He had the right accent and the well-groomed and cultured look. It had taken me years to shake off my Yorkshire vowels. Now and again when I was overtired one would slip out. I privately envied people like Matt. They hadn’t been dragged around the countryside in search of the next New Age trend, living in mud huts or tents or straw houses, not eating animal products or wearing them, not using chemicals or eating sugar or salt or processed food.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my parents. They’re good people, loving and kind and well meaning. But I couldn’t imagine Matt Bishop’s parents cavorting around a stone circle stark naked and chanting mantras. They probably wore Burberry and sipped sherry in the conservatory of their centuries-old pile in the countryside while a host of servants tended to their every whim.

‘How long have you got the dog?’ Matt asked.

‘Until the weekend after next,’ I said. ‘My neighbour is visiting her sister in Cornwall. I don’t know why she didn’t take him with her. Maybe her sister won’t let her. Can’t say I blame her. He needs to go to reform school.’

I heard him give a soft, deep chuckle and another shiver shimmied down my spine.

‘My great-aunt is visiting my parents for a few days,’ he said.

I cast him a sideways glance. ‘Your parents don’t like dogs?’

Nothing showed on his face but the tone of his voice contained a hint of something I couldn’t identify. ‘My father.’

‘Is he allergic?’

His mouth tightened for a nanosecond. ‘You could say that.’

‘Do you have siblings?’ I asked, after we’d walked a few more paces. See how good I was getting at silences? Maybe there was some hope for me after all.

‘No,’ he said after a slight pause. ‘There’s only me. You?’

‘A sister called Jem—short for Jemima. Our mum was really into Beatrix Potter, in case you hadn’t guessed. Jem’s ten months older than me.’

He flashed me a quick glance. ‘That was close.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘My parents were using natural contraceptive methods. So natural they fell pregnant straight away.’

He smiled again. ‘Are you close to your sister?’

‘Very, although we’re quite different.’

‘What does she do?’

‘She’s a teacher.’

We walked a few more metres in silence. Yes, in silence! But for some reason I didn’t feel awkward or pressured to fill it. I wondered about his parents, whether he was close to them or not. I sensed tension between him and his father but that might just be my imagination. Although a lot of men of Matt’s age had the young stag, old stag thing going on. It could be quite a competitive dynamic, especially as the father neared retirement age.

‘What does your father do?’ I asked.

‘He’s in corporate law.’

‘Does your mother have a career?’

‘She used to work as a legal secretary but she didn’t go back after she married.’ He waited a beat before adding, ‘My father likes having her at his beck and call.’

I frowned at his tone. ‘Is that what she wants?’

He shrugged the shoulder nearest me. I felt it brush against mine. ‘She seems happy enough being the trophy wife. It’s either that or get traded in for a newer model. At least he’s spared her the indignity of that.’

I was surprised—and secretly delighted—he’d revealed that to me. I wondered if he felt I was someone he could talk to about stuff. It’s hard for doctors, particularly specialists at the top of their field. Everyone comes to them to solve their problems. No one ever thinks to ask if the specialist has problems of his or her own. I suspected Matt had some frustration towards his mother for settling for a life of sherry mornings and bridge club. Did his father play around? Openly or furtively?

I thought of my parents with their easygoing lifestyle. They loved each other. No one could ever be in doubt of that, least of all Jem and I. They were open about their—thankfully occasional these days—other partners, which Jem and I still found totally weird, but they always came back to each other and would never dream of stopping each other from reaching their potential. If my mum wanted to do something, my dad would support her in it one hundred percent, and vice versa. They didn’t have secrets, or at least none Jem and I were aware of.

I decided against telling Matt about my background. He didn’t ask, which either meant he wasn’t interested or he was tired of small talk. Or maybe he regretted revealing what he had. I glanced at him covertly to find he had a frown on his forehead.

The dogs were walking to heel like star graduates from obedience school. I felt a little proud of myself, actually. Maybe I could win over Freddy by the time Margery got back. Have him eating out of my hand instead of biting it.

‘Have you checked out the venue for the ball?’ Matt asked.

‘No, I thought I’d do that once I wore out Freddy.’

He stopped and looked down at me. I couldn’t see his eyes because his face was in shadow but I could see the misty fog of his warm breath as it met the cold air. ‘How about I come with you? That is, if your husband wouldn’t mind?’

My heart gave a little stumble as I gave him one of my fixed smiles. ‘Believe me, he won’t mind at all.’

CHAPTER FOUR

MATT CAME TO pick me up in his car forty-five minutes later. I’d had just enough time to feed Freddy and wash his musty wet feathers smell off me. I spritzed myself with my neroli oil spray and brushed out my hair, which had been in a knot at the back of my head for work and then squashed flat by my beanie.

I’m not in the least bit vain but I will say one thing for myself—I have great hair. It’s thick and healthy with just enough wave in it to give it loads of body, or I can straighten it, and it’s long enough to put up or leave loose. Jem hates me for it, as hers is a riot of corkscrew blonde curls that makes her look like she’s poked her fingers into a power outlet.

I was waiting on my front step as Matt’s car double-parked. There are never any spaces in front of my house, which is usually my biggest bugbear, but tonight I was glad about it. The last thing I wanted was for Matt Bishop to park his car outside my door and invite himself in. One step inside and my charade would be blown. There wasn’t a single thing to suggest I was a recently married woman, and it wasn’t just the absence of a husband either. I had sent back all the wedding gifts … apart from the really gorgeous art deco standard lamp Jem had given me.

Before I’d taken a step off my front porch Matt got out of the car and opened the passenger door for me. His gaze ran over my hair and my outfit in a way that made me feel as if he was seeing me for the first time. I actually saw him blink a couple of times as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. I had changed into a raspberry-red knee-length dress and I’d teamed it with black leather boots—I tell my parents they’re synthetic—and I was wearing fishnet tights. I was wearing a fake-fur coat—even I am with my parents on that—but I have to admit there was a hint of high-street hooker about my get-up. But, then, I love playful clothes. Not just so people will laugh at them instead of me, but more to put my finger up at the world for making snap judgements about appearances. We are all the same naked … well, more or less.

Mind you, I was having hot flushes thinking about Matt Bishop in his birthday suit. Even though he had a tall, rangy build, his neat, conservative clothes weren’t quite able to hide the firm tone of his muscles. I could imagine how taut and toned his abdomen was, unlike mine, which was paying the price of a two-week stint of comfort eating.

I slipped into the low-slung sports car, the rich, soft leather seat cupping my body like an expensively gloved hand. I could smell Matt’s subtle aftershave and took a deep breath to take more of it in as I pulled down the seat belt and clicked it into place.

He got in behind the wheel and I covertly watched the muscles bunching in his thigh as he put his foot down on the clutch and put the car into gear. There’s something about a manual car that’s intensely masculine. Surging through all those gears, the guttural sound of all those throaty revs, the G-force as the rubber hits the road. I felt myself being pushed back further into the seat as we headed to the corner.

The hotel where the hospital ball was being held was a boutique one owned by a former patient. We were getting the use of the ballroom at a cut price. The hotel was popular with A-list celebrities because it was both intimate and luxurious. I hadn’t been there before so I felt like a Hollywood superstar walking up the runner of red carpet on the front steps leading into the polished marble foyer. Uniformed staff were behind the shiny brass and marble reception desk and there was a concierge and three porters in another section. There was a massive arrangement of flowers on a marble stand and a veritable waterfall of crystals hung from the ceiling in a gloriously decadent chandelier that tinkled musically as we walked under it.

I didn’t want to appear too kid-in-the-candy-store overwhelmed by all the glitz and glamour surrounding me, but given I hadn’t stepped into a proper hotel until I was eighteen I still had a lot of catching up to do. My parents didn’t even stay in motels or caravan parks, let alone posh five-star hotels. They camped. And before you start picturing a nicely erected tent and a crackling fire and us four sitting around it singing ‘Kumbaya’, let me tell you it was nothing like that. We didn’t have a proper tent. My parents always borrowed one that looked like it had a past life in the circus. It was huge. But that was because there were usually ten other families with us, which meant Jem and I had to hang out with a bunch of feral kids we had nothing in common with apart from having hippy parents.

It nearly always rained, and we were bitten to death by midges, or it was stinking hot and ants would get in our food, which was ironic given there was never any sugar in it.

So you can probably see why walking into the boutique hotel in Mayfair was such a big deal for me. Oh, and the fact that I was walking in with Matt Bishop was even more thrilling. We were getting looks. You know, the sort of double-take looks people give when they think they’re seeing someone important walk by.

I can tell you, I felt important. I only wished I really was with Matt, I wished his hand was holding mine or his arm was around my waist. I was a little shocked at where my thoughts were straying. I hoped he couldn’t read my mind. It was hard enough keeping my body language under control.

Matt had had the foresight to call the hotel ahead of time and make an appointment to see the ballroom. Typical me, I was just going to wing it, pop my head through the door and see what it was like. But, no, he had organised a guided tour.

The staff member left us in the ballroom while he took a call. Luckily for us the ballroom wasn’t being used. The chairs and tables were against the walls, which made the floor space seem the size of a football field. The décor was a stylishly neutral one in cream and white with a touch of taupe, which gave wonderful scope for thematic decorations.

I did a three-sixty about the room and pictured stunning colours and costumes and wonderful food and wine and fabulous music with live musicians playing. I momentarily forgot about the hospital budget, but still …

‘What do you think?’ Matt said from beside me.

‘It’s perfect,’ I said. ‘We could have helium balloon trees and a chocolate fountain and a prize for the best costume.’

‘Sounds like a plan.’

I was about to respond when the hotel staff member returned. He had an apologetic look on his face as he handed Matt a key card. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been called away to deal with a little matter in Reception. The manager asked me to give you access to our honeymoon suite. It’s the only suite that’s vacant this evening so you won’t be disturbed. A light supper will be sent up shortly, compliments of the hotel.’

‘Oh, but we couldn’t possibly—’ I began.

‘That’s very kind,’ Matt said, smiling at the staff member.

The honeymoon suite?

As we made our way to the lift my heart was skipping all around my chest cavity like a hyperactive kid on a pogo stick. I didn’t say a word as the lift zoomed up to the top floor. Not one word. I did what most people do in lifts. I stared at the numbers, then at my feet, then at the ‘In Case of Emergency’ instructions, which I studiously memorised. Anywhere but at the tall, silent man standing within arm’s reach of me. I kept my arms close to my body, clutching my purse across my belly, which was doing a series of super-fast somersaults that would have made an Olympic gymnast proud.

The lift opened and Matt led the way to the suite down the wide, velvet-soft carpeted corridor, holding the door open for me once he’d unlocked it. ‘I feel as if I should be carrying you over the threshold or something,’ he said with a deadpan expression.

I gave him a wry look. ‘The last time someone carried me they herniated a disc.’

It was true. My dad picked me up as a joke a few years ago and ended up having months of physiotherapy. Not that I’m a big girl or anything but ever since then I’ve been self-conscious about my weight. It doesn’t help that my father keeps reminding me of it every time he sees me by leaning over and groaning, ‘My poor old aching back!’

Matt closed the door, looking at me with one of those quirked-brow looks. ‘Not your husband, surely?’

I had to work hard to get myself together. ‘Erm … no. He didn’t carry me over the threshold. He’s not very … erm … traditional.’

‘Is that why you don’t wear an engagement and wedding ring?’

I mentally kicked myself. I never wear rings of any sort at work because it’s all too easy to lose them when I scrub up for a central line procedure or Theatre. But I should have thought of wearing a dress ring or something tonight. I’d given back Andy’s engagement ring … after I’d got the plumber to find it in the S bend of my bathroom basin. I curled my fingers into my palm—as if that was going to help—and gave Matt a tight smile. ‘I forgot to put them on when I got home from work. Silly me.’ I spun round to look at the suite rather than have him study me in that penetrating way. ‘Wow! Look at this place. It’s totally awesome.’

I wasn’t exaggerating. It was awesome. The suite was in four compartments separated by different levels. The décor was lavishly decadent, lots of velvet and satin, with soft lighting creating a sensual mood. The sitting-room area overlooked the Thames with views over Tower Bridge and the brightly lit London Eye. A wide flat-screen television dominated one wall. Seriously, who needed a television while on honeymoon? Mind you, I was glad I had one on mine but that’s because, well, you know, but at least I’d caught up on the complete box set of Downton Abbey. There was a well-stocked bar and a coffee table and side tables with gorgeous lamps that created an intimate atmosphere.

I caught a glimpse of the bathroom through the open door. It was bigger than my sitting room and was a luxurious affair of marble and gold with a white claw-foot bath in the centre of the room. A shower stall big enough for a hockey match was on one side and twin basins and gilt-framed mirrors above them on the other. Gorgeous fluffy towels, which looked as big as sheets, were on the gold towel rails or folded on a gold luggage rack-style holder.

On the top level of the suite there was a king-sized bed. I wondered if there was such a thing as emperor-sized—or maybe dictator-sized—as I’d never seen one as big as that before. The bedhead and sashed curtains either side of it were plush scarlet velvet, and teamed with the snow-white linen it looked not just stunning but temptingly inviting. I wasn’t tired but I had a childish desire to bounce up and down on that big bed, like Jem and I used to do when we visited our grandparents, which was rare because our parents hadn’t wanted us to be corrupted by capitalist greed. Like that worked.

There were dried rose petals artfully arranged on the bed and scatter cushions in the same rich scarlet were positioned against the bank of feather pillows. The bedside tables held twin lamps with sparkling crystal stands and the shades were the same pure white as the bed linen.

I stole a glance at Matt but he seemed totally unfazed by all the luxury. I suspected he was no stranger to five-star hotels. He was checking his phone, scrolling through messages or emails. ‘Nice view,’ I said to break the silence.

He looked up and smiled a lazy half-smile. ‘Yes.’

I could feel my face blushing like the colour of a stoplight. Something about his gaze as it held mine made me feel like a teenager discovering she was attractive to the opposite sex for the first time. I felt aware of my body in a way I hadn’t been before, all of its secret zones lighting up like a Christmas tree. Not just lighting up but fizzing with energy. I moistened my lips and watched as his gaze followed the pathway of my tongue. I saw his eyes darken as they came back to mine.

A knock on the door jolted me out of the moment. I whipped around and opened it before Matt could take a step. I knew I was acting like a gauche fool but I had never been so far out of my depth.

A hotel staff member wheeled in a trolley full of silver dome-covered dishes. There was a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two crystal flutes. The champagne had a scarlet ribbon tied around its neck the same shade as the cushions and drapes. I felt like I had stepped into a fairytale. I was suddenly a princess being served in the royal suite with a handsome suitor.

The handsome suitor discreetly tipped the hotel staff member and the door closed with a soft little click that had a hint of finality to it that was strangely disquieting. For some reason an anticipatory shiver coursed over my flesh. I sensed we had crossed a threshold, one I hadn’t crossed in a long time. Maybe ever.