Doctor Knows Best (11 page)

As they walked up the moss-grown path towards the warm light streaming from the open church doorway, the frosty ground crackled beneath their feet and Megan wondered what on earth Giles would say if he knew her fanciful thoughts.

The small church was crowded with village folk, all of whom greeted Megan with friendly nods and waves before the simple service began. The simplicity of the service was matched by the simplicity of the decor of the church. Just a simple crib lit by candles in the north transept, the church dimly lit by old-fashioned gas lamps hanging in cast iron chandeliers from the stone-vaulted ceiling. The parish council had been threatening to put in electricity for years, but it had been fiercely resisted by the villagers. Megan was glad. It wouldn't seem the same with electricity, even though it did mean everyone had to carry a torch in order to read the words from the hymn book.

The service finished with the bell-ringers pulling their ropes with enthusiasm and the old bells singing out loud and clear, announcing the start of another Christmas Day to the surrounding silent countryside. Megan and Giles walked back slowly after wishing everyone outside the church a happy Christmas.

“That was lovely,” said Giles quietly, taking her arm and tucking it through his. “I really feel that Christmas has begun.”

“So do I,” answered Megan. “I never do, you know, not until I've been to the Christmas service, particularly the Christmas Eve service here. Perhaps it's because the church is so old. Seven hundred years,” she said slowly. “It's nice to think that for seven hundred years people have been walking where we are walking now, coming back from church on Christmas Eve.”

“Yes,” said Giles softly, “I wonder what all those other people were like?”

Megan smiled in the darkness. Suddenly she felt that Giles wouldn't laugh at her fanciful thoughts about the whispering voices. Perhaps one day she would tell him. “Not so very different from us, I shouldn't wonder,” she said.

Giles stopped for a moment. “You're smiling,” he said. “I can tell by your voice.” Then he sighed. “There's a lot I don't know about you, Megan Jones.”

“There's a lot I don't know about you, Giles Elliott,” rejoined Megan. “Now come on, race you back to the house. Mother will be furious if her mulled wine is spoiled.”

They ran laughing through the cold night air, and as they reached the house the first large flakes of snow began to fall softly, silently, down from the dark sky.

Megan lifted up her hands and caught some snowflakes on her fur mittens. “It's going to be a white Christmas after all,” she said delightedly, holding the snowflakes on her mittens up to the light in the porch. “Look at them,” she said to Giles. “See how they glisten!”

“Yes,” he replied, looking at the snowflakes shining in her dark hair. “I had a feeling it was going to be a perfect Christmas. Happy Christmas, Megan.” Gently he leaned forward and brushed his warm lips against hers with infinite tenderness.

“Happy Christmas, Giles,” whispered Megan, her eyes shining like stars.

Long afterwards as she lay in bed reliving that tender moment, Megan wondered whether he would have kissed her again if they had not been interrupted. Restlessly she turned in bed. No point in surmising on what might have happened, she reflected. It didn't, so just leave it at that, my girl. In fact just after that kiss the door had burst open and Joanna and Richard had dragged them in.

“We heard your footsteps running up the gravel path,” said Joanna, and then she too had exclaimed in delight at the sight of the huge snowflakes which by now were falling thickly and furiously to the ground. “Perhaps we'll be snowed up, cut off from the outside world for days and days,” she said to her father.

Giles had laughed gently. “There's no use in us indulging in wishful thinking,” he said. “Modern snow-ploughs are very efficient and Megan is due back on duty the day after Boxing Day, and we are due in London.”

Megan looked at him curiously for a moment as his eyes met hers over Joanna's head. Did he really wish that he could stay longer? There had been no time for her to reflect however, as her mother had come in from the kitchen with a huge jug of steaming mulled wine and a great oval dish of piping hot mince pies.

They settled round the brick fireplace, where the logs were burning brightly, for Richard had just replenished them, and Megan found herself sitting beside Giles. He had her father's old chair by the fire and she curled up on the rug at his feet. Her mother sat in her own chair on the opposite side of the fire and Joanna and Richard dragged up the battered old sofa after turfing off the cat, who was very indignant and stalked out into the kitchen.

“You've upset Tiddles now for the whole Christmas,” said Megan laughing as she watched the grey and white striped tail, bristling with indignation, disappear round the kitchen door.

“Don't you believe it,” said Richard. “The only reason he's gone out into the kitchen is because he thinks he might find the turkey now that we are all in here.”

They all laughed as Megan's mother said, “Well, he's going to be disappointed. I've firmly locked the larder door.”

Giles reached forward and gently pulled Megan's shoulders back. “You don't look comfortable there,” he said, “lean against me.”

So she had, and had revelled in the sheer bliss of their physical contact. He had let his hand rest lightly on her shoulder, gently caressing her neck from time to time. Megan resisted the almost uncontrollable impulse to turn her head and kiss his hand. She wanted to so much, it seemed such a natural thing to do. The mulled wine went to her head, inducing a languorous state of wellbeing and before long her head was nodding against Giles' knee, her eyelids drooping with tiredness.

“I think it's time we all of us went to bed,” observed Mrs. Jones. “Otherwise I shall be too tired to cook the turkey tomorrow.”

Megan stretched luxuriously in front of the now dying embers. “Today,” she corrected her mother. “We are well and truly into Christmas Day.” Giles clasped her hand and pulled her to her feet and for a moment their faces were very close together. His blue eyes were dark, unfathomable. Megan felt herself almost physically drawn closer to him by the power of his eyes and her gently curved lips parted in expectation.

“Shall we open our presents before we go to bed?” Joanna's voice cut through their invisible bond like a sword. “It
is
Christmas Day, after all.”

Giles released Megan's hand abruptly and turned to his daughter. “No we certainly will not,” he said firmly. “We'll open them when we get up in a few hours' time.”

When everyone else had gone upstairs Megan waited with her mother, helping her to rake the ashes down to a safe level and putting the heavy old brass fireguard in front of the fire. Then together they checked the locks on the doors and windows, her mother having one last look at the huge turkey all ready on the dish, filled with stuffing and covered with rashers of bacon ready for the oven.

“Just to make sure Tiddles hasn't managed to get at it,” said Mrs. Jones.

Megan laughed. “And what would you do if he had?” she asked.

“Cover the piece he had chewed with some extra rashers of bacon,” answered her mother. “It wouldn't be the first time I've had to do that.”

“Mum, you've never told me that before!” said Megan, her eyes wide in surprise.

“There are a great many things I haven't told you,” said her mother with a twinkle in her eye. “Goodnight, dear. Sleep tight, don't wake until morning light.”

Megan kissed her goodnight, smiling at those familiar words, her mind leaping back through time to all the past Christmases she had heard those selfsame words. Impulsively she flung her arms around her mother. “Goodnight, Mum, God bless. It's so good to be home.”

“It's good to have you home and it's lovely to have a house full of people. I'm so glad Richard invited Giles and Joanna down.”

“So am I,” Megan heard herself admitting, not noticing her mother's knowing smile. So that was how she came to be lying snugly tucked up in her warm bed, reflecting happily on everything Giles Elliott had said and done since the moment he had picked her up outside the nurses' home.

Chapter Seven

Christmas morning dawned and the bright light filtering through the heavy curtains in Megan's room told her that there must have been a substantial fall of snow during the night. Excitedly she scrambled out of bed and flung back the curtains. Yes, everything was covered in a fluffy white blanket, the clouds had rolled away with the darkness and bright sparkling sunlight reflected from a million snow crystals.

They breakfasted all together in the kitchen, just coffee and rolls while the presents were brought in from under the tree and distributed. Mrs. Jones had got up earlier than everyone else and had already put the turkey in the oven, so a delicious smell of roasting meat and bacon wafted through the warm kitchen, permeating the entire house.

Getting presents for her mother and Richard had been easy. Richard always needed clothes—he never spent his grant on frivolities, such as he considered clothes to be—and her mother liked Worth perfume; which was a luxury she couldn't afford to indulge in. However, when it had come to getting something small for Giles and Joanna she had been at a loss. In the end she had bought Joanna a very pretty pair of pink fluffy bedsocks. Joanna was delighted with them and put one on her plastered foot immediately.

“Does the colour suit me?” she asked, waving her leg about.

“You'd better put the other one on your head,” answered her father laughing, “otherwise you'll wear one out and be left with an odd one.” Playfully Joanna flipped him round the ears with the remaining pink sock.

For Giles, Megan had eventually bought a tie from the hospital shop. They had recently started selling ties with the motif of the County General embroidered on them, the outline of a rose in a castle.

“It's not very exciting,” said Megan as Giles unwrapped his present, “but I had no idea of your likes or dislikes.”

“It's lovely!” he said. “Now I feel that I really belong to the County General.” He examined it. “What an unusual motif.”

“Oh, it's some ancient design from the knights of William the Conqueror—some of them settled in the area after they had conquered the English,” said Richard. “It tells you all about it in the town guide, but I'm afraid I have forgotten all the details.”

“Anyway, Richard, we don't want a history lesson now,” interrupted Joanna. “What have you got Megan, Dad?”

“Oh yes,” said Giles, putting his hand into his pocket and bringing out a small box. “I'd almost forgotten.” He handed Megan a very small parcel indeed.

Even before she opened it Megan knew from the shape and size of the box that it must be a ring. Deliberately she didn't look at her mother, who she knew had fallen for Giles hook, line and sinker and was hoping against hope that her daughter had too. Megan hoped her mother wouldn't read too much significance into the fact that he was giving her a ring, but she was totally unprepared for the exquisite beauty of the tiny jewel that winked up at her from the box. It was in the shape of a tiny butterfly delicately wrought in a gold filigree, with vivid blue stones for the wings.

“It's beautiful,” breathed Megan, “but you shouldn't have given me something so expensive—I've only given you a tie!”

“It's the thought that counts,” said Giles, taking the ring from its box. “That's what I've always been taught. I hope you like sapphires; you don't consider them unlucky or anything do you?”

Unlucky!” echoed. Megan. “On the contrary, I consider myself very lucky indeed to be given such a lovely piece of jewellery.”

Giles took her right hand and slipped the ring on the fourth finger; it was a perfect fit. “That's good guesswork on my part,” he said. “I had to estimate the size of your fingers, not an easy task.”

Megan held out her hand to her mother and the tiny jewelled butterfly sparkled in the light. “I don't know what to say,” she murmured.

“You don't have to say anything,” he answered, “it's a thank-you for putting up with me this Christmas!” As he spoke it seemed to Megan that his eyes held a question in them.

For Megan's mother he had chosen a pair of beautifully hand-sewn sheepskin slippers and gloves. “I'm afraid I cheated a bit here,” he said as she tried them on. “Richard told me what size to get.”

Mrs. Jones walked around the kitchen in her warm slippers, waving her fur-clad hands. Then she came to Giles and flung her arms around him. “I'm so glad you came,” she said, “and it's not just because of the presents. It's absolutely lovely having an extended family, I wish it could always be like this.”

“So do I,” echoed Joanna, squeezing Richard's hand. Briefly Megan looked at Giles, but his blue eyes gave nothing away as he rose from the table and started collecting the breakfast cups and saucers. “Let's get this lot cleared away,” he said. “Otherwise we'll be sitting here chatting all day.”

They all set to and soon everything was tidied and the vegetables prepared for lunch, the Christmas pudding simmering on the stove. It was just a question of waiting for everything to be cooked.

“Do you fancy a walk through the snow?” Giles asked Megan. “I'm not going to suggest Joanna comes with us—one leg in plaster is quite enough.”

“Anyway, Richard and I are going to play Scrabble,” said Joanna as Giles and Megan were putting on their coats.

Megan's mother hustled them out, making sure first that they were both warmly clad. “Don't fuss, Mum,” protested Megan. “We are not going to the North Pole.”

They crunched their way down the path, their boots making big tracks in the thick snow. “If we don't come back you'll know we've fallen in a snowdrift,” shouted Megan as they turned the corner by the holly hedge.

“Or eloped!” she heard Joanna's voice shouting back.

Quickly Megan glanced at Giles, wondering if he had heard what his daughter had said, but he was a few steps ahead of her and appeared to have heard nothing.

Megan led the way down to the sea shore where the snow had melted a little and the marram grass of the sand dunes was poking through like a mass of hedgehog spines. The sea was calm, hardly a ripple on the water, and as the tide was out there was a large flat expanse of firm sand to walk on.

“You can walk from here right into Exmouth,” said Megan. “I always loved this walk; the view across the estuary is beautiful. It's always the same, and yet it's never the same, the colours are always changing.”

“Yes, it is lovely,” agreed Giles. “So peaceful, no one here except us and the birds.” He pulled Megan's arm through his and drew her closer to him. “I'm glad you liked the ring,” he said.

“It's lovely,” said Megan, feeling suddenly shy. “But I still think it is too expensive.”

“I'm the best judge of that,” he answered firmly as they strode along the sands.

Suddenly Megan saw the cormorant. It was drifting along in the ebb tide, plunging every now and then beneath the green water. “Look,” she said excitedly, pulling at Giles' arm, “see the cormorant there? Look at him fishing.”

Together they watched the cormorant patiently fishing until the tidal flow of water had carried him far away down the estuary and out towards the open sea. Megan turned to Giles, her eyes sparkling. “I have always loved watching them fish,” she said. “As a small girl I…” But her words were lost as his mouth came down on hers in a firm and searching kiss. As he bent his head Megan caught her breath, in a little sigh of expectation. The look in his eyes was one of mastery, and she found herself willingly submitting to his whim.

He had kissed her before, but never like this. His firm mouth moved over hers with an ardent persuasion, his arms tightened around her body, drawing her closer and closer to him, until Megan longed for him with a sensual passion that was painful. They were lost in a world of their own, fused together, moving in one accord, oblivious of the sand, sea and the wheeling gulls above their heads. Time stood still and Megan felt herself drowning, being sucked down into a whirling vortex of passion and desire. Urgently she pressed herself closer to him and eagerly her lips parted to allow his searching tongue to explore her mouth.

At last he drew back, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. Megan buried her face in his coat, afraid to show the wild emotions raging through her.

“You do something to me, Megan,” he said in a voice thick with emotion. “I don't think I should be left alone with you. I can't answer for my actions.”

Megan raised her head, her mouth curving in a tender, sensuous smile. “I'm not worried,” she teased. “You can hardly make love to me here on the beach.”

“I wouldn't count on it,” he answered roughly. “Come on, let's get going.” He started walking along the beach at a rapid speed, Megan almost having to run to keep up with him. She was puzzled and hurt. He had given her a ring, he had kissed her like a man possessed. She knew now without a shadow of doubt that he wanted her as much as she wanted him, so why had he suddenly changed?

They were brought to a sudden halt by a rush of water between the sand dunes. The tide had started to come in and any further progress along the beach was prevented by the surge of water into the deep inlet between the dunes.

Megan decided to take the bull by the horns while she still had the courage. “Why did you kiss me like that and then suddenly stop?” she demanded in a trembling voice.

“Because I couldn't help myself,” he said slowly. He took her face between his hands and looked into her eyes long and tenderly. “I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry,” he said quietly. Then his face hardened. “I'm a man, and you are a very attractive woman—I succumb to attractive women very easily.”

Megan's heart sank at his words. He was implying that there had been many women in his life. Almost as if she wanted to punish herself she had to ask, “Have there been many women in your life then?” She attempted to say the words lightly, but her voice trembled.

“More than I care to remember,” came the harsh reply. “We'd better get back now, it must be nearly lunch-time.”

“Yes,” said Megan dully, trying to ignore the cold hard lump in her heart, “we don't want the turkey to be spoiled.”

They walked back to the house, carefully keeping a foot of cold space between them. Although it might as well have been a million miles, thought Megan bitterly, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She was too proud to let Giles see that he had hurt her deeply, and kept up a non-stop chatter of light-hearted nonsense. When they arrived at the house she made the excuse to change her clothes and darted quickly to her room. Once inside she flung herself on her big soft bed, ready to let the bitter tears fall unheeded, but she was strangely cold and dry inside and she couldn't cry, although the lump in her throat threatened to choke her.

At last she got up and carefully put on some more make-up. It would never do to go down to lunch looking anything less than radiant. As she was about to leave the room the sunlight shining through the window caught the ring and sparkled on the tiny blue butterfly. Impulsively Megan took it off and put it away in its box. She didn't want to wear his ring! Damn him, she wished he could go now so that she wouldn't have to sit opposite him for lunch and supper, and lunch again tomorrow. Damn, damn the man. Why had he kissed her like that? He had made her believe she was something special to him and then he had cruelly told her he was susceptible to pretty women. Although she had to admit he had tried to be kind when he had told her, the hurt was just as bad.

Defiantly she tilted her head as she descended the wooden staircase. Well, I'm not susceptible to you, she thought angrily. Who are you kidding, came the nagging little voice at the back of her mind, you know darned well he makes you go weak at the knees!

Joanna noticed straight away as soon as they sat down at the table that Megan wasn't wearing her new ring. “Why have you taken it off?” she demanded with a young girl's frankness. “Don't you like it any more?”

“Of course I like it, silly.” Megan forced a bright laugh and avoided looking at Giles. She was pretty sure he would probably know why she had taken it off. In a fit of, what should she call it? Pique? Yes, she supposed, that was the word. When he had given it to her a few short hours ago it had seemed the promise of golden things to come, but now it seemed almost visibly tarnished to her. How many other things had he given to attractive women, she wondered cynically. Her thoughts rambled on in unhappy confusion until suddenly she was aware that Joanna was still looking at her. “I think it is far too expensive to wear every day. I shall just wear it for special occasions,” she said.

“If I like something I wear it all the time,” said Joanna positively, “until it wears out.”

“Rings don't wear out,” said Giles, looking directly at Megan. His blue eyes pierced straight through her, seeming to sear into her very soul. “They last for ever.”

“Yes,” retorted Megan sharply, “isn't it unfortunate that people don't?” Perhaps luckily for her any further discussion was precluded by the arrival of Richard and her mother bringing in the steaming hot turkey, bowls of sprouts, carrots, potatoes and chestnut stuffing.

“I wonder this old table doesn't groan out loud under the weight of all this food,” said Richard as he began to carve.

The traditional Christmas feast proceeded, everyone laughing and chattering, Megan laughing and chattering the loudest of all, but the food might just as well have been sawdust for all the taste it had in her mouth. And through it all she was careful not to address Giles directly. He seemed to avoid direct conversation with her too, and Megan wondered whether anyone other than her mother noticed. She knew she had, of course; it was impossible to keep any sort of situation from her mother's perceptive eye.

After lunch Megan helped her to wash up. Richard and Giles had both offered, but Mrs. Jones had driven them fiercely out of the kitchen, saying, “You go and put your feet up, the pair of you. Just make sure you have a glass of port ready for Megan and I when we have finished.”