Doctor Knows Best (8 page)

“As you were walking along?” asked her father incredulously.

“Yes,” whispered Joanna in a small voice.

Megan glanced at him; his face was as black as thunder. Suddenly she felt sorry for the young girl. It had been a silly thing to do and now she was paying the price. Impulsively she reached out and touched Joanna's shoulder.

“All's well that ends well,” she said. Then she laughed, trying to bring a smile to Joanna's rather worried-looking face. “I think we can safely tell your father that you won't be doing it again.”

“You bet,” said Joanna gratefully, thankful for Megan's intervention. “In fact, if you like, Dad, you can sell them. You can put the money towards that hi-fi I've been wanting,” she added cheekily, seeing her father smile.

“I'm sorry I doubted your word for a moment,” he said slowly to Megan, adding, “One is always protective towards one's children, you know.”

“I wouldn't know,” replied Megan a trifle sharply. “I haven't got any!”

Before Giles Elliott had an opportunity to reply, her brother Richard joined them. He took one look at Joanna and it was quite obvious he liked what he saw. “Can I help you across to the refreshment table?” he asked her.

Joanna glanced questioningly at her father, who smiled and nodded in reply. “Yes, that would be lovely,” she responded and off they went, a crutch supporting her on one side and Richard on the other.

“Can I get you any refreshments?” Giles asked Megan.

“No thanks,” said Megan shortly. She didn't feel like socialising, least of all with Giles Elliott who had not only turned out to be married, but who had also doubted her word into the bargain.

“Oh, come on,” he said in a soft, persuasive tone of voice that caused Megan's heart to churn with bitter anguish. “Do have a sausage roll at the very least.”

“It isn't even Christmas yet, and already I feel that if I see another sausage roll I shall scream!” said Megan ungraciously.

Giles Elliott chuckled. “My goodness, if it wasn't so late at night I'd say you had got out of bed the wrong side!”

Megan felt a little ashamed; there was no need to be so churlish with him. After all, he had probably assumed that she had realised he was married all along and he didn't know what romantic fantasies she had been weaving around him. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I know I seem bad-tempered. I'm tired, that's all.”

“Come with mc,” he said, grasping her arm firmly and steering her across the room. “I know the Dean has some rather more exciting bottles than those which are out here, reserved for consultants and wives only.”

“But I'm not your wife,” protested Megan.

“No, but you're my friend, and that's good enough,” he replied. So Megan found herself squashed into a small side room with a large balloon glass of brandy in her hand. Giles clinked his glass with hers. “Better?” he asked.

Megan stared down at the golden brown liquid eddying around the glass. Was it better or not? She wasn't sure. Why, oh why does he have to be married, nagged the voice at the back of her mind. The brown eyes she raised to his were troubled, but her lips smiled as she stifled the thoughts and said, “Yes, much better thanks.” She touched her glass merrily against his and took a huge gulp of the fiery liquid.

The Dean, Professor Smithson, came across. “Pleased to meet you, my dear,” he said to Megan. Then he winked. “I envied this chap here, I can tell you,” he nodded at Giles. “But I was pleased to see that our newest consultant joined in the spirit of things.”

Megan blushed at the embarrassing memory. “I don't know how I ever let myself be talked into doing that sketch,” she said.

“I'm very glad you did,” said Giles, his blue eyes dancing. “It isn't every day I get the chance to lay my hands on attractive young women!”

“Quite, quite,” said the Dean, absent-mindedly pouring himself another brandy and then wandering off clutching the bottle to his ample front.

“I think that's the last you've seen of the brandy,” said Megan, glad of an excuse to change the subject.

“I'm sure you're right,” replied Giles with a rueful smile. “Come on, let's go and find out what the rest of the party is doing, and I'll see if I can find you something more exciting than a sausage roll. Maybe there is some caviar.”

“And maybe there isn't,” replied Megan, laughing at such a notion.

The party was in full swing, the disco blasting out music at an ear-splitting level. They found Richard and Joanna sitting in a corner chatting, Joanna with her leg resting on two chairs.

“Daddy,” she exclaimed when she saw them coming, “Richard has invited us down to Devon for Christmas. He has rung his mother, and she says she would be delighted. I've said yes—is that all right?”

Megan stared with amazement and horror at her brother. What ever could have got into Richard? Fancy inviting Giles Elliott, his wife and daughter to their home for Christmas! Whatever must he be thinking of?

“But what about your mother? She must be asked,” she said to Joanna, voicing her thoughts aloud.

“Well, what about her?” replied Joanna looking surprised. “She won't be coming.” Then, seeing Megan's obviously puzzled look, she laughed. “Sorry, I thought you knew. Daddy and I are quite alone this Christmas, nobody at the house in London and a horrible hospital flat here. I've been moaning about it to Richard and he said you lived in a big house by the sea.”

“We do,” replied Megan, wondering where on earth Joanna's mother, Giles Elliott's wife, was. “But we shall only be having a very quiet Christmas, rather an old-fashioned one.”

Joanna clapped her hands with glee. “That's just perfect,” she said, “I've never had an old-fashioned English Christmas.”

“Perhaps Megan would prefer Christmas with just her own family,” interrupted Giles. “Just because you are enthusiastic, my dear, you mustn't forget other people's feelings.”

Joanna's faced dropped a mile. “Oh no,” she said. “I hadn't thought of that. It was silly of me, I'm sorry.”

“Of course I don't mind,” said Megan quickly, not really knowing what else she could say, “and I know my mother will be absolutely delighted. She likes nothing better than cooking. It will be the perfect excuse for her to cook mountains of food.” Acutely aware of Giles Elliott's questioning gaze on her, she forced a bright, if somewhat brittle laugh. “The only thing is, you will have to promise to eat every single thing she cooks.”

“I will,” said Joanna, her eyes shining, “and Richard has said he may take me up on to Dartmoor to see the meet of the hunt on Boxing Day.”

“So that's settled then,” said Richard with satisfaction. “All we've got to do now is to organise the travelling arrangements. I was going with Sis, I mean Megan,” continued Richard turning to Giles, “but if you are coming too perhaps I could take Joanna down a couple of days before, as I shall be free then, and you could bring Megan when you both get off duty on Christmas Eve.”

“Richard,” interrupted Megan sharply, “I'm sure Mr. Elliott has got plenty of things planned to do before Christmas. He is a very busy man.”

“Nonsense, I'm not that busy,” answered Giles, “and for goodness' sake don't call me Mr. Elliott! Joanna, I know, would love to start her holiday early.” He raised his eyebrows quizzically at Megan. “Unless, of course, you have any objection to driving down with me? I can assure you I'm quite a safe driver.”

“No, I don't have any objection,” Megan was forced to admit, “it's just that…”

“Then it's agreed,” interrupted Giles, raising his glass in a salute to her. “Let's all drink to our Christmas together.”

Dumbly Megan raised her glass in a toast. There was nothing she could do; it was a
fait
accompli
and that was that. It would have looked very bad-tempered and ungracious to have tried to protest. So it was agreed that Richard would drive Joanna down the following Wednesday in Megan's little car, and Giles would bring Megan down on the Friday afternoon, which was Christmas Eve.

Richard, with Joanna hobbling at his side, went off to the students' bar, leaving Giles and Megan alone.

“Do you mind?” he asked, coming straight to the point. “I know you were rather bulldozed into the arrangement.”

Megan lowered her expressive eyes uncomfortably. Did she mind? How could she say to him that if he wasn't married she wouldn't mind at all—in fact she'd be over the moon? But no, she thought wryly, you certainly can't tell him that! So she said instead, “No, of course I don't mind. Why should I?”

“I just thought you didn't seem overenthusiastic, that's all,” came the reply.

“I…I was surprised,” said Megan quickly. “I thought you would have something more interesting to do at Christmas.”

Giles smiled and put an arm lightly around Megan's shoulders. “You're a funny little thing, Megan Jones,” he said. “I never know what is going on inside that pretty head of yours.”

At his touch Megan stiffened; every fibre of her being prickled with awareness of him. “I just thought you would be spending Christmas with exciting, glamorous friends in London, or with your wife,” she said at last, making herself mention the word wife.

“My wife is dead, and we usually spend Christmas with her sister Fiona,” he said casually, “but not this year—the first time for ten years. That is why Joanna is so excited at the prospect of a real English Christmas.”

“Oh,” was all Megan was able to manage, unable to think of anything else intelligent to say. She was dying to ask when his wife had died, and why did he always spend Christmas with her sister. The unspoken questions fell over one another in her mind, but her lips remained silent. Giles for his part didn't elaborate any further, and the opportunity to continue the conversation passed by as Richard and Joanna made their way back towards them.

“I think Joanna's getting tired now, sir,” said Richard to Giles respectfully.

“Yes, I am, Dad,” chimed in Joanna, “and my leg is aching a bit.”

“Can't say I'm exactly surprised,” said her father with scant sympathy. “You should be grateful that all you've got is a leg in plaster and a bit of an ache.”

“Oh I am! Don't be cross,” said Joanna, hanging on to his arm.

Giles smiled down at his daughter, the tender look belying his words. He loves her a lot, though Megan, a dull ache in her heart as she wondered what else there was in his life that she didn't know about. Unhappily she thought about his sister-in-law. She instinctively felt that there was a strong link between Fiona and Giles, but why she should feel that way she didn't know. There was no logical reason, nothing he had said apart from the fact that they always spent their Christmases there; it was just an intuitive feeling she had.

After Giles Elliott and his daughter had left the party, Richard was so full of Joanna this and Joanna that, that Megan didn't have the heart to grumble at him. She did, however, have a word of warning for him. “I can see you've taken a fancy to Joanna,” she began.

“You can say that again,” said Richard dreamily. “Hasn't he got lovely hair—and those eyes!”

“She is only fifteen,” Megan reminded him, “and the daughter of the Casualty Consultant. You are nearly twenty-one and that is a lot older.”

“Rubbish,” answered Richard indignantly. “She's nearly sixteen, anyway.”

Megan sighed. Who was she to be telling her brother who to fall for? She hadn't been very sensible herself, but thank goodness nobody knew how she felt. “I'd better ring Mum,” was all she said, “to see if there is anything extra in the way of shopping she would like me to take down.”

“Oh, Giles is going to do that,” said Richard. “I gave him the telephone number; he said he wanted to speak to Mum because he doesn't intend to come empty-handed.”

“We don't need charity, Richard,” interrupted Megan crossly. “If you invite people, you invite them—you don't ask them to bring things.”

“For goodness' sake, Sis,” Richard exploded, “you're so touchy lately! If I didn't know you better I'd say you were in love! I didn't ask him for anything, he insisted. He wants to take something for Mum.”

Megan sighed again. Of course Richard was right, she could just imagine Giles Elliott insisting. But, brother Richard, you don't know how near you are to the truth, she thought ruefully. “Sorry,” she said, “I am a bit snappy, I know. Put it down to old age!”

Richard laughed. “Old age?” he said, “You look ridiculously young, especially in those old jeans and without any make-up. When you and Joanna were standing by the side of Giles Elliott you could have been sisters.”

It was Megan's turn to laugh now. “That's silly, Richard,” she said. “But now you mention it, Giles Elliott told me the other day that I looked ridiculously young and I didn't take it as a compliment.”

Richard laughed. “He probably meant it as one,” he said. Then he added, “I wonder how old he is? He's probably aged prematurely because of all his problems.”

“Aged prematurely?” said Megan. “Richard, just because the man has a few silver hairs at his temples does not mean to say he is in his dotage! Anyway, what problems?” she asked, trying not to sound too curious.

“Well, I don't know exactly,” replied Richard, “but Joanna hinted that there were still problems between her mother's family and her father. Even though her mother has been dead for years and her aunt has lived in America for some time.”

“Ten years at least,” said Megan. “He told me they always spent Christmas there.”

“Poor kid,” said Richard with feeling. “No wonder he feels lonely. She didn't tell me very much, just enough for me to know that she is unhappy. Giles Elliott and her mother were divorced, you know, before her death.”