The Surgeon's Convenient Fiancée (Medical Romance) (8 page)

‘Hello, Mollykins,’ she crooned to the cat, who came forward quickly to brush against her legs, as though she had been waiting in the hall, knowing the exact moment when Deirdre would come. Deirdre squatted down amongst the letters that had been put through the letter-box and were on the hall mat to stroke the purring Mollykins. No doubt the cat missed her parents as much as she did.

Then she went through the letters, gratified to see that there were two from her parents.

She opened the back door to let the cat out, then opened up the cat flap. What another momentous day it had been, starting with the words she had had with Granny McGregor, then the interesting interlude at the Stanton Memorial. Now she found herself somewhat flustered, not knowing what to do first, her mind filled with the image of Shay. In her own mind she was beginning to accept that she could refer to him by his first name, yet she dared not presume that there would be a relationship between them. The kiss he had given her on the cheek had been a kiss of commiseration at her predicament, she felt sure. Even so, it was a relief that he was not married. That didn’t mean that he had no other women in his life, though.

She flung her coat on a chair in the hall and went into the kitchen to make tea, going through the motions to calm her thoughts, which seemed to be all over the place. Sipping tea a few moments later, she was standing in the middle of the kitchen and staring out through the window at the rain-sodden
late autumn garden when the main telephone rang.

‘Hi, Dee. Just calling to find out where you are,’ Mungo’s voice announced when she picked up the kitchen extension. ‘Are we having supper at your place tonight?’ Deirdre knew him well enough to recognize a certain timbre of anxiety in his tone, and her heart softened with love for him. Maybe he needed to reassure himself that she was still in his life and would remain there. He was very masculine, yet gentle at the same time, not feeling the need to be aggressive to prove that he was one hundred per cent male, as so many boys and men did. Some men never outgrew that need to prove themselves, it seemed to her, and it could be tedious for those who had to deal with them.

‘Would you like to?’ she said. ‘I thought maybe we would. I’ve got food here.’

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’d like to sleep over there, too. I need to get away from Jerry for a bit.’

‘That’s fine with me. Will you tell Fleur?’

‘Sure. Be there about the usual time,’ he said, his voice brightening, as though a load had been lifted off his shoulders.

Mungo went to a high school within easy walking distance of the house, and Fleur’s school, the middle school, was fortunately on the same campus. Mungo and Fleur came home together, having a designated spot where they met up each day. Sometimes Deirdre drove them, when her ancient car was in good working order, and if Mungo was sick, she always came and went to school with Fleur. She never took any chances with their safety.

Deirdre was left with the task of letting Jerry know that they would be spending the night at her house, something which he didn’t generally mind about, as it meant zero responsibility for him, and she suspected that he had a woman there, discreetly, when no one else was there. For most of the time he wanted to present himself as a grieving widower—at least he was contesting Moira’s last wishes. It was a relief that he did not answer the phone, so that she could leave a voicemail message.

When the telephone shrilled again a few moments later she thought it might be him,
angry at her again for some reason, so she answered warily.

‘Hello, Deirdre.’ It was Shay. ‘I thought I would give you a call to see if you had had time to get to the human resources department. If not, maybe I could go there for you.’

‘That’s kind of you,’ she said, glad that he could not see her flush of pleasure, although no doubt he could hear that pleasure in her voice. She had given him the telephone numbers of the two houses, as well as her mobile phone number. ‘But I did manage to get one. I thought I would wait a while before actually applying…to sort things out first. Thank you again for your time today.’

‘My pleasure,’ he said. ‘Let me know if I can be of any further help.’ Deirdre wondered whether he felt sorry for her, could see that she desperately needed help. Somehow it didn’t matter so long as she could sustain some sort of contact with him. There was a pause, as though he didn’t want to hang up, and she didn’t know what to say next. Then the thought came to her that perhaps this was his way of saying goodbye, having salved his
conscience by being of some help to her—even though he had asked her out to dinner.

‘If you’re not doing anything this evening, Dr Melburne,’ she said in a rush, ‘perhaps you would like to come over here to eat with me and the two children, about seven, or earlier?’ She gave him the address hurriedly, before she lost her nerve.

‘I’ll come on one condition,’ he said, amusement in his voice, ‘that you stop calling me Dr Melburne.’

‘All right…Shay,’ she said.

‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can, after I’ve done rounds. If I’m going to be more than a few minutes late, I’ll call you.’

‘All right. See you then,’ she said, thinking it would be interesting to see if he was really late, if he were still ‘the twenty-four-seven man’ that this former wife had accused him of being. Deirdre tried to picture her face, the mysterious Antonia, and failed. The name sounded glamorous to her and she was curious to know what sort of woman had captivated the very attractive and sophisticated Shay Melburne.

There was a lot to be done. She rushed around tidying the house, which was already perfectly clean but had that unlived-in air. They could have a seafood stir-fry for supper, with fresh vegetables, so she took out some frozen prawns and scallops from the freezer to thaw under cold water. Quickly she set the table in the small dining room near the kitchen, then put on the gas heater in that room. It looked like an old-fashioned cast-iron wood stove, with real flames. By candlelight it looked good at this time of the year. In the sitting room she did the same, putting on lamps. Although the house was small, somewhat humble and unpretentious, she often thought, it was nicely and tastefully furnished.

In the bathroom she brushed her hair and put on a little make-up, contemplating her pale face and somewhat haunted eyes, which had dark shadows under them. She could not really call herself pretty, or beautiful, yet she had an interesting face, with regular features; a man she had liked a lot had once called her face ‘arresting’. Thinking of that now, she smiled at her reflection as she smeared a
little green eye shadow on her lids. ‘Vanity, thy name is woman,’ she said aloud to her reflection. ‘One of the lesser vices.’

The beds for Fleur and Mungo were already made up in the small, single-storey-plus-basement house, which had three bedrooms. They kept some of their clothes and other personal belongings there, too. She changed into a wool skirt and a lightweight sweater.

Mungo and Fleur came first, as she knew they would, lugging their knapsacks of homework books.

‘We’re eating in the dining room,’ she announced, ‘because Dr Melburne’s coming to supper. And in case you’re wondering, he’s divorced. He told me that himself today.’

‘Well, that’s better than if he was married,’ Mungo said, ever practical, ‘if you really like him, Dee.’

‘I do like him,’ she said. ‘But really we don’t know each other that well…’

‘Ooh, that’s nice,’ Fleur said, standing in the doorway of the dining room, looking in. ‘It’s really warm and cosy.’

‘Great!’ Mungo chipped in, as they both lugged their heavy bags into the living room.
‘Can we watch television for a bit, Dee?’ Their favourite programme was on.

‘OK,’ she said, ‘but then you have to help me serve the supper, and then get on with your homework. I don’t suppose Dr Melburne will stay long, he’s a busy man.’

‘I really like him,’ Fleur said. ‘Are you going to marry him, Dee?’

‘Goodness, no!’ she said, knowing that she was protesting too much and repeating herself. ‘I’ve only known him for…well, a relatively short time.’

‘So long as he doesn’t take you away from us,’ Mungo said. They were both very astute, and could probably tell a lot from her flushed face. ‘Is there any juice, Dee?’

‘Yes, help yourself.’

When Shay came she was in a state of nerves, especially as he was fifteen minutes later than she had expected. The food, which had been easy to cook, was ready. She had decided not to open a bottle of wine, not wanting him to think that she was making a special effort for him. She let Mungo go to the door to let him in while she lit candles in the cosy small dining room where the flames
from the lighted gas in the simulated log fire flickered enticingly. The three of them often ate their supper in the dining room instead of at the kitchen table, and always when Granny McGregor joined them or any other guests.

‘Let me take your coat,’ Fleur said to Shay politely.

‘Thank you.’

When Deirdre came out into the hall, he handed her a small bunch of flowers. ‘Winter pansies,’ he said. ‘I’m a little late, so I hope you’re not starving.’

‘They’re lovely,’ she said, looking at the velvety flowers, some of deep purple, some yellow. ‘We’re just about to serve the food. You won’t mind if we eat right away? There’s homework to be done.’

‘No, that’s great.’

‘I’ll just put the flowers in water. Mungo, please, show Dr Melburne where he can wash his hands, then the dining room. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.’

He looked pale and tired, she thought, the way she used to look after a day in the operating suite sometimes. He was wearing the
black turtleneck sweater under his overcoat, simple and sophisticated.

As she put the pansies into a vase, then put them on a small table in the front hall, she found that her hands were shaking. Quickly she went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. It was suddenly very important that Shay should like her, but the last thing she wanted was for it to be obvious, either to him or to the children.

When she brought the food into the dining room, she found the three of them sitting at the table, with Mungo playing the part of host, rather as though he were in a play, one of the parts he liked to play in the school drama class. Deirdre stifled a smile. She always tried hard to give the children certain social graces that would be useful to them now and in later life. Mainly, she included them in everything and made them contribute their share to whatever event was taking place in the home. She thought she was succeeding. For the most part, they were well mannered, polite and reasonably competent in all social situations.

In short order, she was seated with them
at the table, with serving dishes of steaming food in front of them. There was jasmine rice to go with the seafood and vegetables.

‘This is great,’ Shay said. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’

Deirdre began to pass the dishes around. ‘There’s a fruit salad for dessert,’ she said, happiness rising in her like a tide. It was a rare occurrence these days for her to have a guest to dinner. Most of the time she cooked for Jerry’s guests, but did not join them for the meal. Here, in her own home, she was in charge. Very quickly they were chatting, laughing and eating as though they had known Shay for a long time.

‘Where is your son tonight?’ Mungo said boldly, after a while, to Shay. ‘We could have invited him, too. Or is he at boarding school?’

Shay hesitated, his knife and fork poised over his plate, and Deirdre was conscious of holding her breath, looking down at her plate. ‘He’s not at boarding school, but he is away at the moment for a week or two. Normally he lives with me and I’m sure he would enjoy a meal like this. Next time, perhaps, if there
is a next time…if you’re good enough to invite me again.’

‘What school does he go to?’ Mungo asked.

‘St Andrew’s College,’ Shay replied, naming a prestigious private boys’ school in Prospect Bay.

‘We play soccer sometimes against them,’ Mungo said eagerly. ‘I really like soccer.’

‘Maybe you’ve met, then,’ Shay said. ‘Mark plays soccer.’

There were vibes that she could not understand, and Deirdre covered up quickly. ‘We’ll make sure there is a next time for supper,’ she said lightly. ‘You’ll have to let us know when it would be a good time.’

‘I will,’ he said quietly, looking at her over the tops of the two flickering candles, down the length of the small dining table where they sat opposite each other.

Deirdre smiled at him, knowing that they had common ground there in the care of children. If his son was sick and he wanted her to know about it, he would tell her in his own time.

Music was playing softly from the radio in the kitchen and the atmosphere became
very relaxed as they talked about films they had seen and concerts they had been to. Shay knew exactly what would interest the children. It was sad that his marriage hadn’t lasted but, then, if it had, he would not be here with her…

When they had finished eating, Fleur and Mungo went into the sitting room to tackle their homework, spreading their books out on the coffee-table, the sofa and the floor, while Deirdre and Shay cleared the table.

‘I expect you have to hurry away,’ she said shyly as they stood in the kitchen, having carried out the last of the dishes and plates.

‘Soon,’ he said, glancing at the kitchen clock. ‘That was a great meal, Deirdre. Thank you.’

‘I’m glad you could come,’ she said, her spirits soaring. Yes, it had been a good meal.

‘I must have sounded rather secretive about my son,’ he said slowly, keeping his voice low. ‘Well…he’s been in a rehabilitation hospital for a week. He inadvertently took an overdose of a drug. For some time he’s had a drug problem…which started with smoking pot. It’s been a bit of a nightmare for both
of us, not least for me because I feel guilty about the divorce, to say the least. He’s desperate to get out of it now, but he’ll be in the hospital for at least another week.’

Deirdre stopped what she was doing, her hands hovering over the dirty dishes. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ she said quietly. ‘He didn’t…um… try…?’