he? How could he act as if nothing had happened?
Maybe it was the only way to act, but some emotion which Nikki could not define was running between them, and to talk-to try for impersonal conversation-would somehow strengthen that emotion. The tension scared Nikki half to death and, by the look of it, Luke also didn’t know how to react.
Good, she thought nastily. To get the great Luke Marriott off balance…
Curiously the thought didn’t help at all. All it did was make her want to cry.
Finally the little car pulled off the road into the driveway of Whispering Palms. Nikki looked out in relief at the sight of her home-her refuge. If only she could turn to Luke Marriott and tell him it was no longer his. That he should find somewhere else-even if it did mean sleeping on a park bench!
She turned to him and found him watching her, but before she could speak he laid a finger on her lips.
‘I’m sorry, Nikki,’ he said gently. ‘I should never have kissed you.’
The great Luke Marriott apologising! Nikki could hardly believe her ears, and yet all it did was make her urge to burst into tears even greater. And then, before she could respond, before she could realise what he intended, his head came down and his lips touched hers.
It was a kiss of contrition-a feather-light kiss that should have caused no feeling. She had been kissed many times like that before. Instead Nikki felt her heart turn within her. She put a hand up to touch his face but he had already withdrawn.
‘And I’m sorry for that, too,’ he said unsteadily. ‘It won’t happen again.’
How was a girl supposed to study after that?
Heaven knew. Nikki didn’t. She showered the salt and sand from her body, donned a housecoat, rinsed her sodden dress and then went to tackle her texts. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but she had wasted so much time!
What was Luke doing? The words of the text danced before her eyes in a meaningless jumble. What on earth was she trying to study?
Hearing difficulties…problems with the ear… She had to concentrate. If she kept going like this, she’d fail.
And then what? A thin, insistent little voice started up in the back of her head. So what if you fail? There’s always next year. And your income doesn’t depend on it.
What on earth was she saying? This was work she was rejecting, and one thing Nikki Russell hadn’t done in the last five years was reject work. It was only a matter of blocking out the thought of Luke Marriott. The memory of his hands…his lips…
Damn the man. She stared down at her page and started to read aloud, forcing her tired mind back on to track. ‘Tinnitus…ringing in the ears…’ What on earth did she know about tinnitus?
‘Do you need some help?’
Nikki jumped close to a foot in the air. The house had been deathly still and she hadn’t heard Luke come up behind her. Now she nearly dropped her text as he placed his hands on the back of her chair and read over her shoulder. ‘You shouldn’t be working,’ he said conversationally. ‘But if you insist, then I’ll give you a hand.’
‘Thanks, but I don’t need it.’ It was as much as Nikki could do to get the words out.
‘What do you need, then?’ he quizzed her gently. ‘You tell me you don’t need a walk. You don’t need a swim. You don’t need help.’ He smiled down at her, his mobile eyebrows arched upwards. ‘I’m a paid employee, Dr Russell. So start employing me.’
Nikki shoved her book down on the desk with a bang and rose unsteadily to her feet. She should be wearing something more substantial than her flimsy housecoat. It was sheer cotton and not respectable in the least.
‘I’m employing you to attend to my normal medical duties,’ she said tightly. ‘And I’m…I don’t want anything else.’
He wasn’t listening. Luke had picked up the text she had just dropped. ‘OK,’ he said absently. ‘What are the three types of tinnitus?’
‘Look-’
‘What are they, Dr Russell?’
Nikki stared helplessly at him. Arguing was impossible. The man was like a bulldozer. She forced herself to focus on what he was saying.
Tinnitus. Types. What were they?
‘Low-frequency noise, like hearing the sea,’ she started hesitantly.
‘Cause?’
‘Typically impacted wax. Or maybe otosclerosis.’
‘Good,’ he approved. ‘Next type?’
‘High-frequency noise, like a cicada,’ Nikki told him. Her hand was on the back of her chair as if for support, but her mind was steadying as she focused on work. ‘Suggestive of inner ear pathology such as ototoxicity, trauma or tumour compressing the nerve.’
‘And the last?’
‘Look, you don’t have to do this.’
‘I wasted your time taking you swimming. Now I’m making amends. Next, Dr Russell.’
‘I don’t-’
‘Think, Dr Russell.’ Luke’s voice was clipped and professional, reminding Nikki of nothing so much as her old professors, grilling her until she was exhausted during final exams. She took a deep breath. She knew. She had to know.
And it was there, locked in the recess of her tired mind. She brought it out and dusted it off. ‘Pulsatile tinnitus,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Noise coinciding with the patient’s heart-rate.’
That’s the one. And cause?’
‘I don’t know.’ Then at his look of disgust she changed her mind. ‘Yes, I do. Intercranial vascular lesion, for instance jugular tumour.’
‘And if you can’t treat tinnitus, what do you do about it?’ Luke demanded, and Nikki stared.
‘I thought you were a surgeon,’ she muttered. ‘Surgeons never admit you can’t treat something.’
He smiled then, his eyes weary but acknowledging a hit. ‘This is an exam for general practitioners,’ he smiled, ‘not for surgeons. Let’s assume we’ve done our worst-all the medical possibilities are exhausted, the surgeons have sent your patient back to you with a “too hard” label on him and your patient still has ringing in his ears. What then, Dr Russell?’
‘Antidepressant?’
‘It can make the noise more tolerable,’ Luke agreed. ‘But then what? Do you leave your patient taking pills for the rest of his or her life? The examiners won’t like your answer, Dr Russell.’
Nikki flushed. ‘Well, the accepted treatment is the use of white noise,’ she said stiffly. ‘A noise simulator which produces something like the noise of a running stream, or rain on a tin roof. Most unmedical, but effective.’
‘And that’s what this exam is all about,’ Luke told her. ‘How Nikki Russell has learned to dispense medicine in the real world, and knows when to shove the prescription pad aside.’
‘It sounds as if you know it all,’ Nikki said resentfully.
‘And I’m just a surgeon.’ He flipped to the next page. ‘What next?’
Nikki moved to the door. ‘I’m going to bed.’
He shook his head. ‘You intended to work for at least a couple of hours before I appeared, didn’t you, Dr Russell?’
Nikki nodded reluctantly. ‘But I can’t now.’
‘Yes, you can.’ He moved back to block her exit from the door. ‘Dr Russell, I am here to ensure you pass this exam, come hell or high water. And it’s only come Dr Marriott. So sit down and answer questions. Now, Dr Russell!’
‘But-’
‘Sit down,’ he said quietly, but his low voice held the trace of a threat. ‘Sit or I’ll sit you down in a way you’ll find distinctly undignified.’
Nikki stared up at his face, but the humour was gone. His eyes were stern and implacable.
And she did want to pass this exam. If he could really help…
She sat.
To Nikki’s amazement the ensuing two hours were the most productive she had spent so far. What had passed
