A Very Precious Gift Page 13

  ‘You’re not going to divert me from this conversation with images of wild young women, Nick. I’m serious. We had a lot of fun together—but I had reason to be living in the present, without thought for a future I couldn’t always face. You, on the other hand, are getting too old for the love ’em and leave ’em game. It’s time to think ahead—to settle down.’

  Nick studied him, wondering whether they were so closely attuned to each other that Peter had read some of his troubled thoughts.

  He wanted to reject Peter’s words, to say, I’ve plenty of time. But that would have been too cruel a reminder of Peter’s lack of time—for both of them.

  ‘Why this sudden burst of philosophy?’ he asked instead. ‘Has Mum been visiting you?’

  Peter smiled and shook his head.

  ‘Maybe I feel it’s time for both of us to move on. I’ve enjoyed the vicarious experience of your mating-dating game, so what about the next stage? What about letting me in on a little secondhand insight into the real stuff? I know you’ve got all these hang-ups about marriage because of your mum, but surely you’re old enough now to get over that. Old enough to try the “courtship, marriage, child” idea. How good’s your predicting ability? Your prognosticating? Have I got time for you to have a baby? A godchild for me? Perhaps a Peter or a Petra?’

  Nick swallowed the huge lump which had grown in his throat—presumably as the result of eating a stale sandwich.

  He peered at his friend and decided flippancy was the only way to respond. ‘Gee whiz, mate, you’re not asking much! There’s only a nine months’ lead time for the baby thing, and you’ve got heaps of time for that, but courting? Holy cow! I could be twelve months just getting over the shock, then another twelve learning the moves.’

  He leaned forward, pretending to give it serious consideration, while his stomach churned with panic.

  ‘Then a twelve month engagement during which time whoever I’ve found would probably discover enough about me to run a mile, and I’d have to start over again. Can you hang around for another five years? Maybe ten? Damn! I’ll have to put some heat under that research department. We’ve got to come up with something better in the way of treatment—and fast. Maybe if we can cure you, you can do the baby thing yourself. Save me the hassle.’

  Peter chuckled at his performance, but Nick knew his friend would read it as just that—a show. If Peter had another two years, they’d both be lucky.

  ‘So you’ll have to fast-track the programme, won’t you?’ Peter said, seemingly attuned to Nick’s mind again. ‘I mean with the courtship scenario, not the research.’

  He lay back against his pillows, a signal he was tired and needed to sleep.

  Nick touched his hand and left the room, his mind now churning as rebelliously as his stomach.

  Marriage…

  With regular work finished for the day, Phoebe sat at her desk, hunched over Phil’s patient file. The lad had come, as directed, to the clinic and Charles had fitted him in before their regular patients.

  And had booked him for surgery tomorrow.

  She thought of the young man she’d met on the beach and felt a wave of sympathy wash through her. The urgency of the surgery told her all she needed to know—except why Charles had chosen to admit Phil to hospital for the surgery rather than do it in Day Surgery.

  ‘Is that Phil’s file?’

  Nick’s voice made her turn and she saw that he and Charles had both walked into the room.

  Phoebe nodded and handed him the slim folder, then, more to divert her mind and body from lustful thoughts than anything else, she asked Charles the question which had been puzzling her.

  ‘We’re going to try to identify the sentinel node—the lymph node that’s the main one draining the tumour site,’ he explained.

  Phoebe felt a lurch of excitement.

  ‘I’ve read some of the papers coming out of America about this technique,’ she said, smiling warmly at Charles. Possibly too warmly if Nick’s frown was anything to go on. ‘In fact, about all the exciting options nuclear medicine is offering to cancer patients. It might sound fearsome, the word “nuclear”, but fancy being able to use radioactive material to target just the bad cells of a tumour, rather than destroying surrounding tissue and good cells. Who’s doing it? You?’

  Charles nodded and crossed the room, dragging Sheree’s office chair with him and sitting down next to Phoebe.

  ‘I was tempted to excise it and take all the lymph nodes as well, but the kid’s so young that if we can track the disease this way, he’ll have far less pain and scarring.’

  Nick joined the conversation, reminding Charles that if the first node proved positive they’d have to take the lot anyway, but Charles had seen the boy and was confident the melanoma hadn’t spread.

  ‘You inject a special substance around the site, is that right?’ Phoebe said, hoping to divert an argument which seemed to be building.

  ‘Yes—or around the biopsy scar if it’s already been excised,’ Charles told her. ‘Better by far to do it before operating on the malignancy. Once the dye’s injected, the patient is transferred to the nuclear medicine suite where a gamma camera and a hand-held gamma probe will show up a “hot spot” where the injected material gathers. This is our sentinel node, and all we have to do is mark the spot then, in Theatre, make a small incision and, again checking with a gamma probe, remove the single lymph node.’

  ‘We’ll also remove the melanoma,’ Nick said dryly.

  Something in his tone made Phoebe turn towards him, and she met eyes that were studying her with a perplexed look she’d never seen before.

  Probably wondering if she was still angry with him, which she was when she remembered the revelations of the weekend—not to mention breaking into her house.

  Though she was partly to blame for all her problems, she admitted to herself when Charles stood up and moved away, asking Nick a question and diverting the man’s attention from her.

  Nick might have had his own reasons for seeking her out and initiating the charade, but at least he had been playing for slightly higher and definitely more noble stakes as he’d had the financial stability of the clinic in mind.

  For her, there was no excuse. She should never have stooped to such a pathetic and immature ruse as attempting to make Charles jealous.

  And definitely not continued with it after experiencing The Kiss.

  She was still musing on all of this when the sound of the office door closing made her look up. It must have been Charles who’d departed, for Nick remained, standing in the middle of the room and looking down at her with a slightly startled expression on his face.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to marry me?’ he said, which, she guessed, left both of them looking startled.

  ‘Soon?’ he added, although his gloomy tone suggested he expected a negative reply.

  Or that the idea had all the appeal of eating bad seafood.

  ‘You’re obviously mad!’ Phoebe told him, when she’d gathered enough brain cells back together to string words into a sentence. ‘First you plot with my father about my career, then you break into my house, and now you’re asking me to marry you? I don’t even like you, Nick David.’

  ‘I didn’t think you would,’ he muttered.

  She was watching him as she spoke and had to admit, if only to herself, that he did the woebegone look quite well. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have been almost tempted to believe he was disappointed.

  But she did know better, so she leaned forward and dragged her handbag out of the filing cabinet, then stood up, tilted her chin and strode across the room, determined to put as much space between herself and this man as she possibly could.

  Unfortunately it wasn’t much, for he caught her arm as she whisked past, effectively stopping her regal progress.

  ‘You can’t go home,’ he said, almost stuttering over the words in his haste to get them said. ‘Well, not alone. Not without me.’

  Phoebe gave hi
m what she hoped was an icy glare, then shook his hand off her arm.

  ‘If you think you’re coming home with me, you’ve got another think coming, buster!’ she fumed, forgetting momentarily she was speaking to her boss. ‘It’s bad enough I’m contracted to work with you for another six months, without having you intruding into my private life. Marry you indeed!’

  She stormed away, but didn’t get far.

  ‘Phoebe,’ he said, as he caught hold of her yet again, ‘I’ll admit the marriage thing was a mistake. I’d been brooding over something Peter said and it just popped out. Now, come down off your high horse for just one minute and listen to me.’ He turned her so he was looking down into her face. ‘I know I’m not making much sense. Believe me, it’s not making much sense to me either but, all that aside, there’s a physical reason you can’t go home. Well, not without a key. When we broke in, the lock was ruined. I changed it, of course. It was the least I could do. But you need a new key. That’s why I left you a note.’

  She heard the words but their meaning wasn’t all that clear because her mind was busy telling her body it didn’t want to lean towards Nick’s and telling her lips there was no way she was going to kiss him. She was far, far too angry with him.

  He was speaking again, something about the key being at his apartment. She raised her eyes from alluring lips to questing eyes, and felt her heart falter at the intensity of his gaze.

  He was talking about her front door key, for heaven’s sake. Seduction was the furthest thing from his mind. Even that ridiculous proposal had been generated, for some reason, by his visit to his friend.

  She must have nodded as she scolded herself, or in some way indicated agreement to something, for now he’d taken her arm and was ushering her out of the office—out of the clinic.

  Should she pretend she knew exactly where they were going, or should she ask?

  Given her current state of total confusion, asking was definitely the only way out.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  He stopped abruptly, frowning fiercely, then his expression softened as he looked into her face and his fingers gently touched her temple where the slight wound from the accident had scabbed over.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right? No headache? Blurred vision?’

  Standing so close, her body began thinking kisses once again—and her mouth felt dry with anticipation. She shook her head to answer his question, wondering if men felt the same plucking at their nerves she was experiencing at that moment.

  If this man felt it…

  ‘Then are you listening this time?’ he asked sternly, and she nodded.

  ‘I left the key to your new lock at home. I suggested you might like to come home with me for dinner as it’s the least I can do by way of apology after causing that fuss yesterday, then I’ll drop you back here at your car when I come in to visit Peter later.’

  This time Phoebe heard the words—and was amazed.

  ‘You said all of that?’ she demanded.

  ‘More, in fact—that was just a summary,’ Nick said, a wry grin moving the distracting lips. ‘I must be prattling on too much during our work time together if you can tune out so successfully.’

  ‘No! No! Not at all!’ Phoebe protested. ‘I was thinking of something else, that’s all.’

  She crossed her fingers behind her back—hoping for sufficient luck to stop him asking what had occupied her mind.

  ‘So what’s the answer? You did nod, which seemed like agreement, but as you didn’t know the question…’

  If she hadn’t known him better, she’d have thought he sounded uncertain. Although it might have been embarrassment. If she’d organised for the police to break down someone’s door, she’d be embarrassed.

  ‘It isn’t rocket science, Phoebe!’ he muttered, more irritated than uncertain now. ‘Not something that needs great mental effort. Do you want a bite to eat at my place or not? That’s all you have to decide.’

  ‘Not,’ she told him. Put like that, the decision was easy. She’d have opted out of any similar danger—like running across a street in front of a bus, or leaping into the lion’s cage at the zoo. ‘I’ll follow you home to collect the key. You don’t owe me anything for breaking in. In fact, I should be grateful to you for your concern.’

  Nick bit back the growl of frustration that tried to issue forth from his lips and strode towards the car park. Damn the woman! Let her keep up if she could. She was tying him in knots. It was Peter’s fault. Mentioning this marriage thing.

  Suddenly, relieving his physical attraction by getting Phoebe into bed had seemed possible—not a love ’em and leave ’em scenario after all. He could marry her, and kill two birds with one stone.

  Then he’d stupidly blurted out a lacklustre proposal the first moment he’d been alone with her and had brought well-deserved scorn down on his head.

  He shook his head, and turned to see her climbing in behind the wheel of her own car. Should he try again when she followed him home? Perhaps suggest dinner somewhere else?

  ‘No, thank you,’ she said calmly, when he mooted this idea. She was standing on the pavement outside his apartment block, her car parked in the loading zone but with the engine running in case he didn’t get the message that her presence was only temporary. ‘If you could just get the key I’ll be on my way.’

  He wanted to explain, to tell her about Peter’s request tilting his world sideways, but something told him he’d only make things worse.

  ‘I’ll get the key,’ he agreed, and walked away.

  CHAPTER TEN

  AFTER the cool, calm and collected approach had worked so well for Phoebe on Monday evening, she decided to stick with it at work. Greeting Nick with politeness but keeping a good dose of reserve between them. Phil’s surgery on the Tuesday went well, with no sign of the malignancy showing up in the sentinel lymph node.

  The good news gave everyone in the unit a special zest so the working days passed swiftly and a sense of optimism permeated the air. Jess was confident she could put together a programme for Mr Abrams, approval had come through for treating Jackie with the new protocols and even Peter seemed a little better, his stubborn tumours slowly responding to his body’s newly triggered defence mechanisms.

  ‘What are you wearing to the ball?’ Jess asked, when she and Phoebe met up in the canteen at lunchtime on Thursday.

  ‘I’m not going,’ Phoebe told her, and hid the ache that saying the words out loud had caused.

  ‘Of course you are,’ Jess said sternly. ‘Nick was talking about our table and counted you in, and Charles has been complaining for a week about you dumping him out of your car just so you could buy a new dress.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t seeing Charles,’ Phoebe said, hoping to divert Jess from the ball topic.

  Jess smiled dreamily.

  ‘We’ve worked it out,’ she said, then added, ‘Boy! Have we ever worked it out!’

  The words were so heavily laden with sexual undertones that Phoebe felt embarrassed, but a dull ache in her body suggested envy was involved as well.

  Jess, eyes sparkling with love, began to talk about the resumption of her relationship with Charles, and as she prattled happily on, Phoebe’s ache became a sharper pain. Added to the sense of loss and loneliness she’d been experiencing lately, it made her a less than ideal companion, but Jess didn’t appear to notice.

  Although some of Phoebe’s side of the conversation must have stayed with Jess, a fact which became obvious much later that afternoon.

  ‘What’s this nonsense Jess tells me about you not coming to the ball?’ Nick demanded.

  They were up on the ward, Phoebe coming out of Jackie Stubbings’s room and Nick emerging from Peter’s.

  ‘You only asked me because of the Charles business, and as it’s now patently obvious even to an idiot like me that he never had much interest in me in the first place, there’s no point.’

  ‘But you’ve bought a dress,’ Nick reminded her, and Ph
oebe wondered just how much tooth enamel she would lose if she gave in to a desire to grind them. Hard!

  ‘I buy dresses quite often!’ she informed Nick, her lofty tones in keeping with The New Plan. ‘I really don’t see why the occasion should be of such interest to half the staff of this hospital.’

  He seemed disconcerted, which was good, but soon rallied—which was bad.

  ‘Listen, Phoebe,’ he began, ‘aren’t you being just a little pig-headed about this? It’s a once-a-year social occasion which staff from all over the hospital attend—many of them simply as friends and colleagues. Drive yourself, if you like, or get a cab. I can understand if you don’t want people thinking we’re together but, on the other hand, I wouldn’t want anyone thinking there’s disharmony in the unit. You’ll come? Please?’

  Phoebe studied him. He sounded genuine enough. The clinic boss wanting all his staff together. One big happy family. Showing the flag and nothing more!

  This realisation caused such pain she had to bite back a whimper of disappointment. Ridiculous to think he’d want you there for his sake, she told herself.

  And if you don’t go after he’s put it that way, you’ll seem petty.

  ‘I suppose I’ll come,’ she grouched, and Nick frowned at her.

  ‘Well, don’t force yourself,’ he snapped, and stalked off, running slap-bang into the trolley pushed by a woman who was collecting the patients’ dinner dishes.

  The noise was unbelievable as plates, cutlery and aluminium plate-covers crashed and clattered to the ground.

  Phoebe darted forward, extricating the woman first, checking that she was uninjured, hearing Nick’s curses as he wiped broccoli from the lapels of his suit. Nurses and orderlies appeared from all directions.

  ‘Come on!’ Nick said to her, snatching broken pieces of crockery from her hands and setting them down on the trolley. ‘There are enough people cleaning up. Let’s get out of here before you cause any more problems.’

  ‘M-me cause problems?’ Phoebe stammered, grabbing a paper towel to wipe debris from her fingers as she followed him out of the ward into the corridor. ‘I didn’t run into that woman!’