‘You found your old clothes, then,’ he said, and—slam. A door flew shut in her head and she sank onto the soft cream carpet.
The next thing she knew she was lying on a strange bed, wearing a beautiful green silk wrap she didn’t recognise, and a complete stranger was leaning over her.
Youngish, good-looking. ‘Hi.’ He smiled pleasantly when he saw she was looking at him. ‘Beautiful eyes. I’m glad you opened them.’
‘Where am I?’ she mumbled hazily. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m a doctor.’ He smiled again. ‘The name is Jonathan Miles, though people I really like are allowed to call me Jack.’
It was only then that she realised he was lightly clasping one of her wrists, where the pulse was throbbing dully beneath his fingers.
‘Now, stay still for a moment while I get close and intimate by looking deep into those beautiful eyes with this torch…’
Obediently she did as instructed. ‘What happened?’ she asked as he began flashing the torch into one of her eyes.
‘You blacked out,’ he explained, moving onto the other eye. ‘André was worried, so he called me in to check you over.’
André. At last the mist clouding her brain began to clear.
‘Do you know where you are?’ he asked her quietly.
‘Yes,’ she mumbled.
‘Can you tell me the last thing you remember before you blacked out?’
‘I woke up. I knew who I was. Realised it and blacked out,’ she replied with quiet economy.
He began to frown. ‘What made you realise?’
Him, she wanted to spit. I hate him. I don’t ever want to set eyes on him again. And, acting on that thought, she let her eyes drift shut again. ‘I prefer not to talk about it,’ she said.
The doctor sat back with a dissatisfied sigh. ‘Too upsetting or too—private?’ he quizzed.
Both, she thought and refused to answer. The silence dragged. Somewhere else in the room a body shifted tensely. The doctor’s fingers lightly touched the fine scar at her temple. Her eyes flicked back open, hard green, sparking with warning.
‘Nice job.’ He smiled that pleasant smile again. ‘A superficial laceration that should disappear completely given time,’ he said in diagnosis. ‘What about the knee?’
‘The knee is fine,’ she answered tightly. ‘Like everything that’s wrong with me, it just needs time.’
The doctor studied her angry, pale, defensive face for a few moments, then nodded. ‘Point taken,’ he conceded. ‘Bearing that in mind, I suppose you won’t agree to a head X-ray, just to check that there is nothing—’
‘No,’ she interrupted firmly.
‘Yes,’ another voice chipped in. ‘If you feel its necessary, Jack, then she’ll do it.’
The moment André made his presence truly felt, Samantha covered her eyes with a hand.
‘This isn’t your decision, André,’ she heard the doctor say with a flat-voiced firmness that quietly impressed her. And if she’d been watching she would have seen him flash a warning look at the other man, which had him swinging away in grim frustration.
She would have also seen the doctor pick up her two packs of tablets from the bedside cabinet where, unbeknown to her, André had fished them out of her handbag and placed them. Jack Miles read the two pharmacy labels, grimaced, then opened one and flipped out a small white pill before deftly pocketing the rest and reaching for a glass of water.
‘Here, take this,’ he instructed.
The hand slid away. She frowned at the pill, recognised it and obediently took it from him, drank it down with the water then closed her eyes to wait for the mild tranquilliser to soothe away everything.
She felt the bed shift as the doctor stood up, then his hand gently resting on one of hers for a moment. ‘André knows where I am if you need me, Samantha.’
‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’ And was just glad he was going.