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She turned from him abruptly and marched into the sitting room. Clay strode after her, wondering whether she was going to undress for him, a last-ditch effort.

'So now you want marriage, is that it?' Clay asked, feeling very sober, very cynical. 'And you fancied being married to the chief?'

'Yes, as a matter of fact, that is it,' she almost spat out.

'But now I'm not going to be Chief, you wouldn't want it, not with me? Right? And I'm second choice to Jerry?' he said.

Dawn's frustrated silence, the expression on her face, confirmed the answer. It made him feel slightly sick.

'You could still take back your decision to withdraw,' she said stubbornly, the expression on her face almost one of hatred. 'Only Jerry knows of it so far, and he's disappointed, to put it mildly.'

'And have you make trouble for me by insisting on marriage?' Clay said incredulously.

'I consider it my due,' she said.

Clay looked at her consideringly, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. How could he have not seen this coming? 'I don't suppose you'd settle for being my personal assistant?' He added the last comment with bitter humour. 'I'm sure you're a great secretary.'

'You bastard,' she said.

'I was wondering when you would come out with that,' he said. 'This is almost comic. What you've given me, Dawn, was evidently calculated. That's the classic bitch routine, I think.'

'Shut up!'

'I can't say that I haven't enjoyed being with you,' he went on relentlessly, 'I have—very much—but I think we both understood that marriage wasn't an issue. I assumed that you just wanted a good time, an escort, and sex. In fact, you said as much. I assumed that if I gave you those things, plus holidays, jewellery, presents, theatre, good restaurants, and so on, with no strings attached—in other words, give and take—you would be contented.'

'You assumed wrong,' she said coldly. 'I deserve that position. I've worked for Jerry for five years. I could be a great asset to you.'

'You want the position,' he confirmed cynically. 'You don't want me.'

In reply, Dawn stared back at him with defiant bravado, appearing to see no irony in her position.

'You fooled me,' he said. 'I don't want to marry you, or anyone else right now. And since I'm not going to be Chief, I would be no good to you.'

Dawn merely looked at him contemptuously, her fists clenched at her sides. Clay sighed and ran a hand through his hair. So this was the way it was going to end, on this sour, cynical note. He'd often wondered. Evidently the time was ripe and right.

'Tell me, why give it up when it was practically in the bag?' she said at last.

Clay began to pace restlessly. 'To be honest,' he said, 'I don't fully understand it myself. I lead a hectic life, and I just didn't see how I could stretch myself even further... Maybe that was it. One day I just woke up to the realization that maybe the job isn't for me right now.'

'You're an idiot,' she said, the unflattering words ringing the death knell for anything that might have been salvaged between them for future tolerance.

'Maybe,' he said stiffly, standing in front of her. 'I can scarcely find the time to sleep, let alone take on more work. I'm not ready for that. Maybe it was totally unrealistic of me to entertain the idea when, what I really want to be is a practising surgeon, seeing patients, not sitting behind a desk, dealing with administrative problems.'

'I suppose you want that OR nurse,' she said jeeringly, 'the one with the child. I'm well aware that you've been seeing her.'

'None of this has anything to do with her. I haven't gone to bed with her, if that's what you mean,' he said, making a supreme effort to contain his annoyance while feeling himself gearing up for the grand finale.

'I suppose she's the type who holds out until you propose marriage,' she jeered again. 'There are still some of those about.'

'I wouldn't know,' he said coldly, his growing distaste for her goading him on to make a quick end to this scene. 'It's finished, Dawn. I don't want to see you again except in a very formal, professional capacity— and then not unless I have to. What I can do for you is introduce you to Jeff Willoughby, the next most likely candidate. Now, there's a man who would very definitely benefit from the party seduction scene and the fur coat routine. The sooner you get onto it the better, before there's a line-up of would-be wives.'

'You cynical bastard,' she hissed.

'Yes, I guess I'm that all right,' he said. 'Goodbye, Dawn.'

She left him then, walking swiftly away, and a moment later the front door slammed viciously. Clay went out into the hall to make sure that she'd actually gone. Only then did he let out the breath he'd been holding. He felt drained, chastened, relieved.

Feeling the urge to do something physical, he heaved his several heavy bags into the bedroom and began unpacking from his holiday, throwing dirty laundry into a large hamper. He didn't stop until the job was finished, only taking a few minutes' break to go to the sitting room and pour himself a drink, well watered down. When all signs of his trip had been cleared away, he took the laundry hamper into the small laundry room off the kitchen and began filling the washing machine. His housekeeper usually did his laundry, but the activity was a soporific for him, badly needed.

He had been naive with Dawn, he could see that now. He, who sometimes prided himself on understanding women, hadn't understood her. Or maybe it was just that he'd chosen not to see the signs.

In the bathroom he began to shave away two days of stubble. From the mirror his face stared back at him, giving no hint of the shock and distaste he'd just experienced, apart from a certain rigidity of expression. His skin was tanned, his hair longish, curling round from behind his ears, and he'd lost that tired, haunted look that came from chronic overwork. Then he had a shower and changed into clean, casual clothes—light linen trousers and a tobacco-coloured checked shirt.

Impulsively he picked up the telephone and dialled Sophie's number. Perhaps she was free and could meet him for a drink at the Pied Merlin. The need to see her now was overwhelming, not having seen her for four weeks. Although he would no doubt see her in the operating room on Monday, he didn't think he could wait through the remainder of this day and then Sunday.

Also, he wanted her opinion on what had taken place between himself and Dawn. Maybe it wasn't entirely wise to talk about one woman to another, but he badly needed her insights. And if he were to become more involved with Sophie, as he found himself hoping now that he would, she would have to know what had happened to Dawn. For the first time in his adult life he felt confused about his relationships with women, which added to the seriousness of his decision to withdraw his application for the chiefs position.

'Hello.' Her soft voice answered after six rings, just when he was thinking that she wasn't home and feeling a sharp disappointment.

'Hello, Sophie,' he said, his pleasure evident in his voice. 'It's Clay. I just got back to town and felt like calling you.'

'Oh, Clay!' She sounded delighted. 'It's nice to hear you. I've missed you. It's been a long time. Sorry to take so long to answer the phone. I was out in the garden, actually reading and relaxing a bit.'

'That's what I like to hear,' he said, smiling. 'Especially that you've missed me. I've missed you, too, Sophie.'

'Are you at home?'

'Yes. I was wondering if you'd like to come out for a drink, if you're not child-minding?'

'Mandy's at my parents' place for the weekend,' she said, 'to give me a break. My social life has been nil since I got back from holiday so, yes, I would like to go for a drink, very much.'

'I must confess to an ulterior motive,' he said.

'Oh? Sounds ominous.'

'I want your input on something... I need someone to talk to,' he said, deciding to be as upfront as possible with her.

'Well,' she said, 'I'm used to that. I like to think I'm a good listener. You remember, I expect, that I work as a volunteer at a distress centre?'

'It had momentarily slipped my mind,' he said. 'I hope this won't seem too much like work.'

'I like what I do, Clay,' she said. 'Shall we make it the Pied Merlin? It may be quiet there today because a lot of people are still away on holiday. I can be there in about twenty minutes.'

'Great,' he said. 'See you there. What would you like to drink? If I get there first I'll get us both a drink.'

'Just beer, please. Lager.'

Clay did get there first and the place was almost empty. Just as well. It meant they could talk.

As he was carrying the drinks to a table for two near a wall, away from the bar, Sophie came in, and he stared at her appreciatively. 'Hi.' He smiled. 'It's nice to see you out of uniform. I don't think I asked you how you were.'

She looked fresh and lovely, dressed in a simple linen skirt in a pale blue colour, topped with a short-sleeved linen blouse in lime green, with her hair loose. A light summer tan completed the picture of health.

'I'm well, thank you.' She smiled.

'How was your holiday?' he asked when they were seated. What he really wanted to do was take her in his arms and bury his face in her exuberant hair.

'It was wonderful,' she said. 'We really needed to get away. And you?'

Clay nodded. 'The same,' he said.

For a while they made small talk, about holidays and work. Then she leaned forward and put her hand on his. 'What is it you really want to talk about, Clay? Something has happened, hasn't it? I guess it goes against the grain with you to ask someone to listen to you,' she said perceptively, 'but that's really the best thing.'

'You're right on both counts,' he said, smiling wryly. 'It's the macho thing. I hesitate to lumber you with what is really very private... I know you're discreet, that you won't repeat what I tell you, but it's a question of whether it's fair to you.'

'A lot of people don't have anyone to talk to,' Sophie said. 'Here I am. I can keep a professional distance, I hope, without being impersonal. Just listening to someone is a great help to them.'

Clay told her everything, almost word for word what Dawn and he had said to each other during that last verbal exchange, then about how they'd met. For the most part, Sophie just looked at him and listened.

'That's it,' he said at last, 'the whole sorry story— at least, from my point of view. She would, no doubt, have a different slant. Have I been a real bastard, as she said?' He took a welcome swallow of beer.

Sophie twisted her tall beer glass round and round on the table, taking her time about answering. 'It seems to me,' she said thoughtfully, 'that you were pretty honest with her from the beginning, and assumed that she would be the same. But she wanted marriage, to someone who was likely to have a prestigious position in the hospital, which is her world. That was her hidden agenda, Clay.

'You've been a little naive, I think. You thought that honesty about your intentions was enough, and she thought she could work on you to change your mind— that's how I read it, Clay. You were operating at cross-purposes.'

'Yes...' he murmured.

'Before you get in deeply with someone, Clay, it's better to find out, if you can, what their agenda is. Not always easy.'

'Mmm...'

'I...don't want to preach.'

'No... Go on.'

'You know, I used to think of you as a conceited man, but I've changed my mind over the past few months,' she said, looking at him with lowered head. 'I can see that you would take a woman at face value, perhaps because you're so focused on work. I find that so many men are focused on themselves, on their work, then one day they sort of wake up and find that their personal relationships are on the rocks or non-existent.'

'Go on,' he said again. 'I'm listening.'

'You're great at what you do. You helped me so much when Mandy was ill. You have empathy and compassion...but maybe you have a few blind spots, Clay, in personal relationships. We all have them. We see what we want to see.'

'Yes.'

'There are some women,' she said, 'who are willing to sell themselves to the highest bidder in a very calculated way, because their chief assets are youth, beauty, a willingness to mould themselves to what they think a particular man wants—that is, the man who will give them the sort of life they want. Usually they don't love him...because to love is to be vulnerable...and these women are hard and calculating. They are also very aware that their assets are ephemeral.'

'Mmm.'

'The last thing they want is to be vulnerable. In return they offer glamour, beauty. They're good hostesses, good organizers in the cause of their personal coupledom on a grand scale. They're quite a common breed, Clay. And if the going gets tough—if the man loses his money for some reason, or develops a chronic illness—they leave the scene at once.'

'I guess it's not politically correct to say so.'

'No, it isn't,' Sophie said quietly. 'I'm sure you really know all this. You just want someone else to say it for you.'

'I suspect you're right,' Clay admitted. 'It's not easy on one's ego to admit calculation on someone else's part.'

'What she had going, Clay, was a game, the old transactional thing, and she evidently thought that you were playing the same game—that once you were the chief you would snap her up, all ready and waiting, to be your mate.'

'Like the trophy wife?'

'Yes, sort of. But that usually applies to an older man and a much younger woman, doesn't it? In your case, she saw herself that way...and you would have been a trophy for her, too.'

Clay leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head tiredly. 'How come you know all this, Sophie?' he said.

'When I see behaviour in other women that I would never indulge in myself, I recognize it usually for what it is, I think. There's been a lot of man-bashing over the past few decades, but there's also predatory behaviour in women, which isn't talked about much by other women,' she said. 'I guess it's as old as time. They are in the minority, I think, compared with men. Having said that, most women are the ordinary vulnerable types, like me.'