Doctor's Orders Read Free Page A

Peterson,” she said, “he’s the surgical registrar who was in theatre this morning. He’s always good for a laugh. Susie Wee and Jim Smith, another anaesthetist, are with him.”
    â€œNot like the remote Dr Blakeney I hope,” said Isabel pulling a face.
    â€œNot in the least like Mike Blakeney,” laughed Sally. “Quite the reverse in fact. Very chatty, great fun and nice. He and Mike Blakeney are quite friendly though, but I can never understand why!”
    She led the way across to the table, Isabel following, squeezing in between the crowded noisy tables until they reached their destination.
    Cliff Peterson stood up courteously when they reached the table. “Hi,” he said to both of them, and then to Isabel, “you’re new here aren’t you?” He made room for Isabel to sit beside him, and took her tray from her.
    â€œI’m from Edinburgh,” she answered with a smile, squeezing in beside him.
    â€œThat’s a long way to come,” he remarked, “any special reason for coming to the County General?”
    Isabel shrugged her shoulders non-committally. “I just felt like a change,” she said. “The south coast seemed quite a change from Edinburgh.”
    Cliff laughed. “I’m glad you’re not fleeing with a broken heart,” he said, “working with one in theatre is quite enough!”
    Isabel raised her finely shaped dark eyebrows expressively in a questioning look, at the same time making a mental note never to tell anyone that in fact she had done precisely that.
    When Hugh Sinclair, a senior registrar in anaesthetics, had thrown her over after an eighteen-month engagement for a student nurse he had only just met, she had been broken-hearted. However, her pride had prevented her from showing it. Pride combined with a true Scottish grit. She had been very dignified, and had let Hugh think she had taken it well. Just handing in her notice and getting herself another job. Although, on reflection, she realised that working as an anaesthetist’s assistant in theatre had perhaps not been the wisest move. It would be difficult to forget Hugh when she would be working with anaesthetists all the time.
    Cliff carried on with his conversation in answer to her questioning gaze. “I was referring of course,” he said, “to our esteemed consultant anaesthetist, Dr Mike Blakeney. He is suffering from a broken heart, or so the gossip goes.”
    â€œSally did mention something to me,” said Isabel. Cliff paused between forkfuls of steak and kidney pie, “Trust Sally not to waste a moment in starting the gossip! Anyway,” he continued, “perhaps you are just what the doctor ordered. A new face, a new girl. Perhaps you can cheer him up for us.”
    â€œForget it,” said Isabel briefly. “I don’t regard my role in life as that of an agony aunt! If he wants to cheer up, he could start off by at least being polite! I’ve never worked with anyone before who managed to get through the whole morning without saying please or thank you once!”
    â€œIt sounds as if he annoyed you,” remarked Sally from the opposite side of the table. “At least he doesn’t shout like Mr Goldsmith.”
    â€œAt least you know Mr Goldsmith is human,” retorted Isabel pulling a face, “I’m not so sure about Dr Blakeney. Underneath that theatre gown I wouldn’t be surprised to find a robot!”
    â€œIf you’d like to come into the mens’ changing room, I’d be only too happy to set your mind at rest!” A steely voice echoed in Isabel’s ear.
    Her face colouring violently Isabel swung round. It was Michael Blakeney standing right behind her, a tray in his hand. She was struck by his rugged good looks. His hair was a dark bronzed colour, faintly waving, and in dramatic contrast to his dark brows. His grey eyes, however, seemed colder and more