The Temptation Test Page 2

  The hospital was on a hill overlooking the town—third turn on the left if the map she had was accurate.

  She looked around her with interest, not having seen much the previous day when she’d driven through. It was less than a month until Christmas, and the local council had already begun to install street decorations. Pregnant-bellied bells were tied to lampposts and workers were stringing coloured lights across the street.

  By Christmas she’d be out of here—hopefully, with a guarantee from Matt that she’d be part of the new challenge series he was planning.

  Though she’d have to succeed with the job at the hospital, as well as stick out the three weeks in his terrible old shack.

  Before making the turn, she glanced in her rear-view mirror and saw the Jeep, its indicator light blinking as if he intended following her.

  So he could yell at her again?

  She battled the heavy steering, negotiating the turn and heading up the hill.

  If he called her Blondie again, she’d yell a little herself. In fact, yelling at him might be good. It might release a little of the tension she was feeling over this job.

  Another glance in the rear-view mirror again, and she realised there’d be no yelling by or at anyone. The Jeep had disappeared. Presumably down one of the side streets—although he’d appeared so suddenly he might have the ability to materialise and dematerialise.

  She drew into the hospital parking lot and stopped, her eyes taking in the gracious old building. It was a solid brick and stone structure, rising two storeys in its central core, but with the lower storey spread wider, like a skirt, around it.

  A shiver of what could have been either excitement or apprehension skittered through her, but she decided not to analyse it. Better to spend the time tidying her hair.

  ‘Is he here yet?’ Noah asked as he stalked through the big room which housed a receptionist and the hospital’s two general office staff.

  Peta Clarke, the more senior of the two secretaries, shook her head.

  ‘Mr Finch’s in, though, if you want to see him.’

  Noah resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. No sense in embroiling the secretarial staff in personal battles. He should probably be trying to appease the hospital’s chief executive officer rather than fighting with him, but the man had no guts—no willingness to go beyond the bounds and try something new, even if it wasn’t in the ‘how to run a hospital’ manual.

  It was frustration that was making him angry—first the delay in getting the kids settled in their house, then Jeff Finch’s insistence that any plan must be submitted to the Health Department for approval, following ‘correct procedure’.

  He opened the door to his office, then turned back to have another look at the three women.

  Grinned at them.

  ‘Sunday best, although this is only the preliminary skirmish?’

  Peta chuckled, and dusted an imaginary thread off her navy skirt.

  ‘Stupid, isn’t it? I mean, we’ve already been told filming won’t start for another week, but here we are, all dolled up to the nines.’ She grinned as she waved a hand towards her colleagues. ‘We’ve already had a laugh about it.’

  Noah returned her smile, and felt slightly better for the moment’s amusement, although he doubted whether there’d be much to amuse him during the next few weeks. The first thing he’d have to do would be to explain to this liaison person that Kareela was still a working hospital and no way would he tolerate any interruption to patient services or interference in the staff’s performance of their duties. He’d lay down some ground rules.

  He checked his watch. And if the man wasn’t on time, he’d do a ward round. That’d show him!

  The phone buzzed as he was justifying this decision to himself. Patsy, the receptionist, advised him that the representative of the production company was here.

  ‘Have Peta show him in,’ he said, deciding it might be advantageous to be sitting behind his desk, looking desperately busy, so that this liaison fellow would know from the beginning that Noah had no time to waste on frivolities.

  He settled into his worn leather chair, put on his glasses and pulled a pile of papers towards him. Looking busy wasn’t hard for a man who hated paperwork as much as he did.

  He heard the door open, then Peta’s voice murmuring a name and the door closing again. Judging that his pretence had gone on long enough, he sighed and raised his head, reaching up to remove his reading glasses as he did so.

  The image was blurred, but readily identifiable, though the cascade of silvery hair was now swept up on top of her head in some kind of simple but very elegant knot.

  ‘Blondie? What the hell do you want? Going to sue me for changing your car tyre?’

  One wing of the glasses hooked behind his ear, so he was now peering lopsidedly in her direction and trying to maintain a modicum of aplomb while feeling like a total idiot.

  Which didn’t faze his visitor one jot! She stepped calmly forward, held out her hand, and said, ‘Perhaps we should have introduced ourselves earlier. I’m Jena Carpenter, liaison person for Showcase Productions.’

  She paused and he managed to detach the glasses from his ear. He stretched out his own hand and somehow sent the pile of papers he’d pulled forward sliding across the desk and cascading in a flurry of white towards the floor.

  He bent to retrieve them, but Blondie’s voice pulled him upright again.

  ‘And you may call me, Jena, or Miss Carpenter, or even “hey, you”,’ she added, taking the hand which now hovered uncertainly above the desk and allowing a very perfunctory skin contact between their fingers before dropping it cold. ‘But if you call me Blondie again I’ll sue you for workplace harassment.’

  The steely resolution in her indigo eyes told him she meant precisely what she’d said, and he found himself looking away, peering at his hand as if the cool, slim fingers might have stung him.

  He looked up at her again.

  ‘Matt Ryan’s idea, I assume?’ he muttered. ‘Did he really think sending a good-looking woman would magically smooth the way for his underlings to do exactly as they please in my hospital?’

  ‘Your hospital?’ Blondie murmured. What had she said her name was—Jena?

  ‘I’m the senior medical officer,’ Noah growled, ‘and the patients’ comfort and general well-being are my responsibility. And my primary concern. I thought I’d explained all this to the first underling Matt sent along.’

  Jena took a deep breath, then mentally squared up to the man she was supposed to be appeasing.

  ‘Let’s begin again, shall we?’ she suggested. ‘To start with, although Showcase Productions is a division of the company owned by Matt and his associates, he has no day-to-day control over the running of it, nor does he interfere in the production of the Showcase television programmes. He had nothing to do with the choice of Kareela as a location, or with my appointment as liaison person.’

  She wasn’t entirely sure the last statement was true and could see the doctor’s disbelief in his face, even before he countered with, ‘And you staying out at his old place is pure coincidence?’

  ‘Me staying out at his place has nothing to do with this production,’ Jena retorted. Which was the truth as far as it went. Though the necessity of living in or near the town for the three weeks had provided her with a fortuitous opportunity to prove a point to Matt.

  Her thoughts were brought up short by a scoffing laugh, and a derisive, ‘I bet!’

  Jena scowled at him.

  ‘Where I live is none of your business, Dr Blacklock,’ she snapped. ‘So do you think we could get past it, and whatever old history you have with Matt Ryan which makes you so defensive, and discuss the filming?’

  He returned her scowl, but added more ferocity, while Jena debated whether Matt had influenced the decision to appoint her as liaison. If so, the idea had backfired spectacularly.

  Thinking of this reminded her why a liaison person had been appointed. She could score a po
int here.

  ‘Particularly as it was you who insisted on having one person to deal with throughout the filming,’ she added. ‘I was appointed because I was the only person within the company who had both production and nursing experience.’

  ‘You’re a nurse?’

  Noah regretted the words the instant they were out of his mouth, but the blonde—Jena—must have heard such incredulity before. She shrugged her dismissal of the words.

  ‘If you’d read the information package we sent you some weeks ago, you’d know I’m not a nurse but did two years nursing studies with some practical work, which at least qualifies me to tell a bedpan from a thermometer. And as my job here doesn’t entail actual nursing, my level of experience isn’t important. I think the first priority is to lay down some ground rules.’

  He frowned at her, irrationally irritated because she’d used the expression first. He should have said ‘Exactly!’ and launched into his prepared speech, but she sat down at that moment and her skirt slid up, revealing a not unseemly amount of lightly tanned thigh, enough to make him wonder how celibates managed their libidos.

  He also wondered where in the muddle of papers on his desk—and on the floor—the information package was. As she’d said, there’d be background information on her in it somewhere, and it would be interesting…

  ‘I understand that this is a working hospital and although emergency cases are transferred to Brisbane, you still have patients requiring ongoing care. That’s why Kareela was chosen. Showcase specialises in “real-life” television which is very popular at the moment. I’m here to see the film crew causes the least possible disruption to the running of the hospital.’

  Noah again refrained from rolling his eyes, but when his gaze wandered back towards the legs he was distracted.

  ‘Fat chance!’ he muttered, then shook his head and reminded himself of his sister’s favourite warning—a closed mouth gathers no foot!

  Maybe Blondie hadn’t heard…

  From the fine pleating of her brow, he saw she had.

  ‘You can either help us be as unobtrusive as possible, Dr Blacklock, or you can hinder the process by being obstructive. I understand you didn’t want the documentary filmed here, but were won over by an increase in the financial inducement.’

  She paused and looked him straight in the eye.

  ‘We’re not only paying to be here, but we’re paying top dollar, and I believe part of the money is to go to some pet project you’re running in the town so, whether you like it or not, you’re expected to cooperate. Today, I need to get to know the layout of the place and organise the crew. From tomorrow, you’re stuck with me. A shadow, however unwelcome.’

  Jena watched the silvery grey eyes narrow and guessed he was contemplating another yell. Inwardly, she was regretting the foolish whim that had urged her to allow him to change the car tyre. He’d already been angry, and she’d made him angrier. Not the best of possible starts for someone who had hoped to win him over—or, at least, gain his cooperation.

  Though how was she to know the doctor who’d been so against the filming would live at the end of nowhere?

  Or be so good-looking?

  Mentally scolding herself for the momentary distraction, she launched into her prepared speech.

  ‘As the contract explained, this office isn’t suitable so we’ll be building a similar set-up—purely for the shots of you doing paperwork—in the space upstairs. Also a mock-up of the operating theatre, again for long shots.’

  ‘And this is “real-life” television?’

  She ignored his sniping comment, remembering instead the question that had puzzled her since the location scouts had come up with a list of five possible hospitals within a day’s drive of the city. All with space to build, if necessary, some extra sets.

  ‘Why have hospitals shrunk so much you have an entire floor unoccupied? Are fewer people getting sick?’

  If he was startled by the conversational switch he didn’t show it, merely studying her for an instant before replying, ‘Regional hospitals have altered their focus from primary care to providing a wider spread of services to more of the population, but they offer less specialised services.’

  He paused, his fingers reaching for a pen which he then flipped from hand to hand as he continued, ‘Which means that, as well as the trauma emergencies, cancer and major surgery patients also go to the city. Many of the surgery patients return here for post-surgical nursing, and we provide the facilities for follow-up testing for the cancer patients.’

  Jena was mesmerised by his long fingers, carelessly playing with the pen. Better than being mesmerised by gleaming grey eyes, she decided, then reminded herself to listen to what he was saying. After all, she’d asked the question.

  ‘To fully understand the changes in demographics, you have to realise that hospital stays are also much shorter these days,’ he continued, his velvety voice making the words sound less like a lecture, the edge of anger she’d heard earlier fading as he talked about something he’d obviously considered himself.

  ‘Fifty years ago, when hospitals like this were built, a patient lay in bed for three weeks after an appendix operation. Today a person is mobile within twenty-four hours and usually discharged from hospital within a couple of days. A hip injury which might have required three months in traction is now pinned or plated, perhaps both, and the patient can be weight-bearing within a few days, walking on a frame within a week.’

  Despite a surprising fascination with lean fingers and a velvety voice, Jena absorbed what he was saying, but also recalled what she’d read in Noah Blacklock’s biographical information, put together by someone in the research department.

  ‘Then why would someone like yourself, with all your experience in emergency care, take a job in a country town where the medical needs of the patients are more of a nursing nature? Did you suffer burn-out in the city?’

  He frowned, making her regret the question. And why should she care anyway? Her job was to establish a good working relationship with the man, and do a preliminary plan for the filming, not analyse him.

  ‘I doubt that’s your concern,’ he said, and in case she’d missed the frown he underlined the words with a grimness she couldn’t mistake. ‘You were saying you’ll only be using the top floor for your mock office and theatre, but your crew will need access to it, so unless they can levitate, they’ll be passing through the foyer and up the stairs. Can I ask them to use the back entrance, and not make too much noise as they come and go?’

  Jena had felt her muscles tighten at the sarcasm in his ‘levitate’ remark, but hoped her reaction hadn’t shown. This was not a man to whom one could safely reveal any weakness.

  The puzzle of why he’d come to Kareela remained, though that was, as he’d succinctly told her, none of her business.

  ‘Our staff will all be briefed on moving quietly and not chattering on the stairs, minimising noise as much as possible,’ she assured him. ‘The set designer and carpenters will check out the top floor later today. I’ll speak to them as soon as they arrive. It’s possible that any heavy equipment and the bulk of the props they’ll need can be hoisted up and lifted through windows rather than carried up the stairs.’

  He didn’t exactly look pleased—perhaps he didn’t have a pleased look he could use—but he nodded, which was as close as she was likely to get to acceptance.

  She was about to explain the other measures she’d put in place to ensure minimum disruption to the hospital when there was a brisk tap on the door, and it opened to admit a trim young man and an anorexic-looking but gym-toned blonde.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JENA caught the pained look on the doctor’s face and wondered which of the newcomers had caused it. The blonde? Did all women upset him?

  ‘I understood we were to sit in on the meeting with Miss Carpenter,’ the man said stiffly. He propped himself against the desk and glared at Noah Blacklock.

  Two angry men!

  ‘And
I understood the whole point of having a liaison was so that I only had to deal with one person during this circus—not a whole tribe of hangers-on.’

  The woman sighed and shook her head.

  ‘It’s not your hospital, Noah,’ she said, in a voice that suggested the words had been used a dozen times before.

  Hadn’t Jena herself used them earlier?

  So why did she feel sorry for the doctor?

  She glanced his way, saw thinned lips with a whiteness around them which suggested simple anger might have turned to rage.

  ‘It really is much easier if I deal with one person,’ Jena said, hoping to divert another explosion of wrath. ‘Though, naturally, I’ll be available for consultation with any of the staff. In fact, Dr Blacklock was about to take me around and introduce me to them.’

  She stood up and held out her hand, first to the woman.

  ‘Jena Carpenter,’ she said, introducing herself while the doctor extricated himself from the clutter of papers that had fallen off his desk earlier.

  ‘I’m Linda Carthew,’ the blonde said, ignoring the hand and glaring at Jena as if she’d brought the plague.

  Great! Another local who hates my guts! And if the glares continue, I’ll have to start wearing sunglasses indoors.

  The weak joke calmed her slightly.

  ‘I’m Jeff Finch,’ the man said. He grabbed the hand Linda Carthew had rejected and pumped it far too enthusiastically. ‘I’m the administrative officer at the hospital—in charge of the overall running of the place—so anything you want, just ask. Linda is the most active member of our hospital board and was instrumental in gaining the board’s approval for the filming to take place here.’

  So the glare wasn’t connected to the film crew, Jena thought, eyeing the woman to see if maybe she’d been wrong about the apparent animosity. Then Noah Blacklock reached her side, a kind of growling noise emanating from low down in his throat. Jena forgot Linda Carthew to concentrate on the immediate danger.