Runaway Sister (7 page)

“Yes,” agreed Jennie, “I'd forgotten about her because he seemed to be so anxious about you. Unfortunately she's still around—I saw her only the other day when I was in town. Honestly, she's the sort of woman who makes you want to spit! It was pouring with rain and I looked and felt thoroughly bedraggled, but there she was under an umbrella, managing to look as gorgeous as ever.”

“She's the sort that will always look gorgeous, no matter what,” said Samantha, “so I suggest you forget all about that silly idea of Adam Shaw being interested in me.”

“Well, yes,” Jennie agreed, “it is being a bit silly. But I do know that he thinks you're the best midwife on the Unit, because I heard him telling the Nursing Officer so.”

Samantha smiled wanly. Although common sense told her that Adam couldn't possibly be interested in her as a woman, her hopes had been raised by Jennie's revelation that he had been visiting her every day.
Although he hasn't been today,
she thought sadly,
now that I'm on the mend properly. I suppose he just wanted to see when I'd be back to work on the Unit.

She turned her wandering thoughts back to Jennie, who was saying enthusiastically, “It's a feather in your cap, you know, to be considered the best midwife on the Unit by someone like Adam Shaw. He doesn't dish out praise lightly.”

“He just wants me back to work as soon as possible,” said Samantha sarcastically. “You can be sure Adam Shaw is only thinking of one thing and that is to have things running the way he likes them.”

“Samantha,” said Jennie reproachfully, “I do think you're being a bit hard on him. I think he was genuinely concerned for your welfare.”

“I don't think he cares two hoots,” replied Samantha. “I think…” She halted in midsentence as Adam Shaw's tall frame strode through the doorway into her room.

“Am I interrupting anything?” he asked, looking from one girl's face to the other. They were both wearing slightly guilty expressions at having been caught talking about him.

“Oh, no. Absolutely not,” said Jennie, hastily getting up. “I was leaving, as a matter of fact, because I'm due on duty in five minutes.”

“You'd better get your skates on, then,” said Adam pointedly, looking at his watch.

“Oh, Miss MacKenzie isn't that strict,” said Samantha, “she won't mind if Jennie is a little bit late.”

“But I do,” replied Adam grimly. “While you've been ill I've had some very serious discussions with Miss MacKenzie, and I intend to see that all the procedures are tightened up considerably. I think there's far too much complacency and slackness in that Maternity Unit, and I intend to eradicate it.”

“Goodbye, Samantha,” whispered Jennie hurriedly, scurrying quickly out of the room.

Samantha scowled angrily at Adam. “You had no reason to say that in front of Jennie,” she told him. “She's one of the most conscientious people I know.”

“I wasn't suggesting that only Jennie was to blame. The whole place is rather slack, and as I've just said, I intend to see that things are tightened up.”

“I can hardly wait to get back,” said Samantha sarcastically.

“Yes, that's another point,” he continued. “I thought you should be able to…”

She began to see red.
Bossy, officious, overbearing man!
she thought furiously. “You may rest assured that I shall be back on duty just as soon as my surgeon says I'm able to work. I shall not take a single minute of time off that's not absolutely necessary.”

She slid down in the bed angrily and pulled the sheets up to her chin. “You can go away now, because I want to go to sleep. So that I can get back to your precious Maternity Unit as soon as possible,” she added.

“Oh, for goodness' sake,” Adam exploded, “stop behaving like a spoilt child, just because I've pointed out a few home truths about that Mat Unit! Things that you…”

Samantha interrupted him again. “I'm not behaving like a spoilt child, you're behaving like an overbearing schoolmaster, and I don't have to listen to you. Get out!” She shouted the last two words loudly. His dark brows knitted together ominously, but before he could reply she turned abruptly on her side and pulling the sheets up over her head, buried her face in the pillow. She heard his footsteps as he walked back towards the door; there was no doubt that he had left as he slammed the door shut noisily behind him.

Samantha felt near to tears, but willed herself not to give in. If ever she needed proof that Adam regarded her just as a willing workhorse and not as a woman, she had it now.
Serves you right,
she told herself fiercely,
for reading something into a meaningless kiss that he's never even given a second thought to. You're a fool,
she told herself,
to have ever taken any notice of anything he said. He may have liked you fleetingly, but not now, when he has Sophie in tow.
She knew she hadn't misread the sensual interest in his eyes when they had first met, but that was before Sophie had come on the scene. Now she had been relegated to her proper place, she told herself bitterly, an efficient midwife, not a woman at all.

Chapter Four

After that little episode Samantha didn't see Adam Shaw again. She had half hoped that he would come back to see her, but he didn't. Jennie came every day, and at last she couldn't keep silent but had to ask Samantha what she and Adam Shaw had quarreled about.

“We didn't quarrel,” said Samantha stiffly. “He was criticizing the Mat Unit and I said he was like an overbearing schoolmaster.”

Jennie giggled, “Oh, you didn't! No wonder he's been in such a foul mood lately! He's so prickly everyone is afraid to go near him. The only people he's at all decent to are the patients.”

“Well, I suppose that's one thing to be thankful for,” remarked Samantha sarcastically.

“And what did he say to you?” persisted Jennie, anxious not to miss anything.

“If you must know, he said I was like a spoilt child.”

Jennie rocked back in her chair incredulously. “Really!” she exclaimed, her eyes open wide, memorizing every detail. “Oh, what a lovely row it must have been! I should have loved to have been a fly on the wall.”

“It was not a lovely row,” said Samantha crossly. “I don't enjoy rowing with anyone. I don't care who it is.” Suddenly, before she could stop herself, a big tear squeezed itself from under her eyelid and rolled slowly down her cheek.

Jennie looked at her aghast. “Oh, Samantha,” she said, reaching out for her hand and squeezing it, “don't get upset. I was only joking.”

“I'm not upset,” protested Samantha, sniffling, “I'm a bit low, that's all. That damned Adam Shaw!” she added fiercely. “I wish he'd stayed in America and never come back here!”

“Well,” replied Jennie slowly, looking at her friend carefully, “I've got to give him his due. Things were a bit slack in the Mat Unit, not where people like you were concerned, but some of the others, and especially the night staff.” She gave Samantha's hand another squeeze. “Don't let him upset you, I'm sure he didn't mean to. Tell you what,” she added, “he comes in practically every night now, and I can tell you he's really keeping the night staff on their toes.”

“What about the glamorous Greek woman, then?” Samantha couldn't resist asking. “What's she doing if he's spending all his time in the Unit?”

“I don't know,” said Jennie. “The junior doctors think she's gone, because she never answers the phone now.”

“There you are, then,” said Samantha dully, “that explains his foul temper—he's lost his lady love. It has nothing to do with that silly row he had with me.”

“Yes, you're probably right,” agreed Jennie, not looking at all convinced. Then she said, “Samantha, you are all right? You're not a bit like your old self.”

Samantha forced a grin. “Of course I'm not,” she said. “I'm minus my appendix, aren't I? It's bound to make a difference.”

Jenny gave a relieved smile. “That's a bit more like the Samantha I know,” she said. “You had me worried there for a moment.”

Samantha smiled at her; it would never do to let her or anyone else know that she was feeling weepy over that wretched man Adam Shaw.

“To tell the truth,” she said, “I'm getting rather bored now and I hope that perhaps I'll be let out of this place the day after tomorrow, and then with any luck back to work in another ten days' time.”

“Well, I think you ought to wait and see how you feel,” said Jennie. “There's no point in rushing it, you really have been quite ill, you know.”

“I'll do as my doctors tell me, I promise,” said Samantha, grinning. Jennie looked so serious, and as she was speaking she was tucking in the bedclothes around Samantha like a mother hen.

“I can see you're going to be a terribly fussy mother,” teased Samantha. “By the way, have you and John set the date yet?”

Jennie blushed becomingly. “Yes, in the autumn,” she replied. “It's the best time for both families, and John has so many relations coming from overseas that it wouldn't be fair to spring it on them.” She laughed excitedly. “I wanted a quiet wedding, but my mother is insisting on the works—church, reception, dance afterwards. She says I'm her only daughter and she wants to launch me in style.”

“Well, I can understand that sentiment,” said Samantha. “I wish I had a mother like yours.”

Jennie looked suddenly serious. “Do you ever hear from your mother?” she asked. “And did you tell her that you've been ill?”

“I have written and told her that I've just had my appendix out and that I'm fine,” replied Samantha. “But I haven't heard from her for ages and I don't really expect to. She's always so busy, and being on the other side of the world makes it difficult.”

“I know,” exclaimed Jennie, “why don't you take a holiday as a convalescence, and go over to the States and visit your mother? That way you could kill two birds with one stone. You could have a holiday and you could see your mother at the same time.”

Samantha smiled sadly. “You haven't met my mother,” she said. “She just doesn't have time to spare. Being a high-powered American TV executive doesn't leave her much time for entertaining a daughter. I'd be more lonely there than I would be here, and to make matters worse she's always arranging blind dates for me with the most objectionable men.”

“Why doesn't she choose nice men?” asked Jennie, mystified.

“She thinks they are nice,” replied Samantha patiently, “because her ideals and mine are completely different. If a man has money and is good-looking, then to her he's nice and suitable. The fact that he hasn't got a brain in his head, or is a lecherous devil, is unimportant!”

“Is your mother rich?” asked Jennie. “I know it's a cheek asking, but I've always wondered and never liked to ask before.”

“Yes, I suppose she is,” said Samantha slowly. “It's something I never think about. I just hate the way she lives, but she likes it, so I suppose that's all that matters. Ever since my father died when I was very small she's been a career woman—that was why I was brought up by my grandmother in Kent. My mother never had time for me.”

“I should never leave my children,” said Jennie with conviction.

Samantha laughed. “Oh, children, is it?” she teased. “How many, then?”

“At least three,” said Jennie firmly, “possibly more. Both John and I agree that we want a large family.”

“Yes,” smiled Samantha, “you'll make a lovely motherly mum, even if you will overfuss.”

Jennie looked at her watch. “Good heavens, is it that late? I'm due on duty in about three minutes, I'll have to run all the way to make it on time. Say a little prayer for me, and hope that Adam Shaw isn't prowling around!” Jennie turned and fled, leaving the door open as she dashed out.

From the open door Samantha could see down the corridor to the day room at the end of the ward. The sun was shining through the side windows and the little day ward looked quite inviting. So far she had only been up and about in her room and hadn't been on a long walk at all, at least not unless she counted walking to the bathroom. She decided it was about time she started to get some exercise. The sooner she got moving properly, the sooner she would be able to get back to work.

Climbing slowly out of bed, she put on her cotton lawn dressing gown; it was a delicate shell pink and beautifully made. She had been saving it for her bottom drawer, she reflected as she slipped it on, but there was no point now in saving anything. She had always been very slender, and now after her illness her waist was so narrow that it could have been spanned by a man's hands. She pulled the belt around her gown, and it clung to her slender figure, hanging in graceful folds around her, making her look as delicate and fragile as a pink winter rose.

Slowly she made her way down the corridor towards the room. She was surprised to find that it was farther than she had anticipated, and that she was feeling much more tired than she would have thought possible.

“Are my eyes deceiving me?” a deep voice behind her startled her and nearly made her stumble. Turning quickly, she came face-to-face with Adam Shaw.

“I'm just going for a short walk,” she said faintly.

“How right you are,” he replied. “It is going to be a short walk, because I'm going to carry you right back to your room.”

“But you can't!” protested Samantha. “What will people think if they see you carrying me?”

Ignoring her protests, he gathered her up in his arms. Samantha was unable to ignore the rock-hard firmness and strength of his frame, and that faint masculine aroma of his aftershave that clung to his presence. She tried to stiffen her body and hold herself away from him, reluctant to admit that even mere contact with him was having an effect on her, but his strong arms pulled her in close against him. She gave herself up to the short-lived bliss of the unexpected contact with him, thinking how strange it was that this one man, just by his mere presence, sent alarm bells ringing in her head and delicious prickles up and down her spine.

He smiled down at her, his grey eyes glinting with amusement. “Still worried?” he asked.

“I'm not worried,” said Samantha, resisting the overwhelming impulse she had to reach out and touch the firm line of his jaw. “It's just that…well, you know how people talk.”

“I've never cared about what people say,” replied Adam firmly, “and I'm certainly not going to start worrying now at my age.”

Reaching her room, he carried her in and set her down gently among the pillows on the bed. Was it her imagination, or did his arms linger about her for a few moments longer than was strictly necessary? She couldn't be sure, afterwards she thought it was probably wishful thinking on her part.

“Thank you,” she murmured, lowering her long lashes to mask the confusion his presence wrought in her. She was disconcerted too by the long unwavering look he was giving her; her heart was beating rapidly and it had nothing to do with the fact that she had just taken a little walk!

Adam stood silently before her for a moment, then turned away abruptly, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his crisp white coat.

“I've come to apologize for calling you a spoilt child,” he said, standing with his back to her, staring out of the window.

Samantha raised her eyes to look at his broad back in surprise. An apology—that was the last thing she had expected! Impulsively she leaned over from the bed and touched his arm. “That's all right. I was pretty rude too, if I remember correctly.”

Turning back to her, he grinned, and his whole face lit up, his eyes filled with dancing lights. “Yes, you were,” he agreed, “but I deserved it. Do you know, you're the first person, other than members of my own family, who's had the courage to stand up to me! I know I can be a little overbearing at times, as you so rightly told me!”

He sat on the edge of the bed and took her slender hands between his large capable ones. Samantha noticed his long sensitive fingers, the hands of a surgeon. For a fleeting second she wondered what it would be like to have those sensitive hands caressing the contours of her body.

“Then we're friends again?” he asked, looking at her seriously, but the glint in his eyes belied the serious tone of voice and the solemn look on his face.

“Of course,” replied Samantha, smiling. “I'd never given it a second thought anyway.”
Liar,
she thought, even as she was uttering the words,
you've hardly been thinking about anything else!

Adam's gaze never left her face; for a crazy moment she thought he was going to kiss her again. She found her body crying out to be held by him.
I want him,
she acknowledged to herself, but the expression in his dark grey eyes was unfathomable. Samantha found herself gazing back at him silently, hypnotized by the glinting light in the depths of his dark eyes.

Suddenly he released her hands and stood up; it was as if he had purposely broken the spell. The magic moment was broken, the tension suddenly eased.

“I'd better be going,” he said. “I'm looking forward to you coming back to the Unit, but don't rush—and that's an order,” he added.

Samantha smiled shyly at him; there was something absolutely irresistible about him. “Thank you for coming to see me,” she replied.

“It was on my way anyway,” said Adam, walking across to the door. “I've got to dash out now to get some extra food and wine in. Sophie's coming back to stay, before she returns to Greece.”

At his words Samantha's heart plummeted straight to the bottom of her pretty pink slippers. “Oh, that's nice for you,” she said flatly, trying to ignore the murderous pangs of jealousy gnawing at her heart.

Adam laughed. “Yes, when Sophie comes, I have to have the best of everything, food, wine, etc. She's not used to anything second class.”

Samantha smiled ruefully. “She's a very lucky lady then, that's all I can say. However, I don't mind being a second-class citizen!” She made this last remark a trifle defiantly, her small oval chin tilted to emphasize her point.

Adam came back and leaning forward caught hold of her chin between his forefinger and thumb. “I didn't mean that you or anyone else was second class, idiot,” he said. “I just meant that she likes everything that's very expensive!”

Then he was gone, leaving Samantha feeling confused, to say the least. Somehow he had managed to make the word “idiot” sound like an endearment, and yet at the same time he was quite open about the fact that Sophie was coming to stay with him. She just didn't know what to make of it. Although he had said to her not long before that he had never cared about what people thought or said.
Perhaps he's just very—what's the word I want?
she thought, puzzling over his attitude.
Is it liberated, or bohemian, or casual?
She sighed. Whatever it was, she knew she could never be like that; she was old-fashioned, one man at a time, and preferably one man for the rest of her life.
So you might as well wipe the slate clean again,
she told herself,
and forget about Adam Shaw, because whatever your feelings about him you are quite obviously completely unimportant to him. At least as far as being a woman goes.