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Gillian had flirted, too. It had been a very necessary relaxation after long hours on the wards or too many evenings spent with text-books, worrying about exams. She had acquired lots of good friends but not one lover during her years at Kit's.

She wasn't a prude but she didn't care for the idea of casual sex. She felt that she would need to love a man very much before she went to bed with him and so far she hadn't met any man who could stir her heart to real and lasting love. Like any girl, she had known her heart to race and her senses to quicken at a smile or a kiss. She had been very fond of more than one man in her life. But she had been careful not to confuse affection and physical attraction with loving. She was quite sure that she would recognise the real thing if it ever came along and she didn't want to have any regrets about lost virginity if and when it happened. Perhaps it was old-fashioned but Gillian was keeping herself for the man she was destined to love. Not necessarily for marriage, she conceded, knowing the limitations of a sensual nature. But certainly for love...

She had been very happy at Kit's. But six months of intensive theatre work had been exhausting and her resistance to infection had become so low that a touch of 'flu had turned into a severe bout of pneumonia and a spell in intensive care. It had been Gillian's first experience of life on the other side of the thermometer. It had been a very valuable experience but one she was in no hurry to repeat!

Convalescent and idly glancing through the
Nursing Mirror,
she had seen the advertisement for a surgical nurse at the Greenvale Clinic. She had been advised against returning to demanding hospital work for the time being and a friend had suggested that she should try private nursing. An interview at the clinic had led to the offer of a year's contract—and here she was. Far from home and family and all her friends but determined to enjoy a new challenge, she told herself firmly—and she wouldn't allow Mark Barlow to be the fly in the ointment!

He was operating that morning and Gillian discovered that she had been assigned to one of his patients. Mrs Maddox was middle-aged, very fat, with a history of gynaecological trouble as well as a slight heart condition and high blood pressure. She had been admitted to Greenvale some days before for rest and diet and careful observation before a hysterectomy.

Gillian was preparing her for Theatre when Mark Barlow walked into the room without ceremony to make his own final check on the condition of his patient.

She had wondered if his bedside manner would be a redeeming feature—and discovered that it was totally lacking. He was courteous but there was no trace of practised charm or any concession at all to the fact that Mrs Maddox would be presented with a very large bill for his surgical services in due course.

He had all the arrogance of a man who knew his skill and sensitivity as a surgeon and had no patience with anyone who doubted it. Fortunately Mrs Maddox appeared to have a great deal of faith in him and didn't seem to mind the lack of warmth. Oddly enough, the cool impersonality of the man's attitude was very reassuring, Gillian thought, surprised. Perhaps 4t was that undoubted confidence in himself, so irritating to her, that made his patients feel that they were in the best possible hands.

In response to a brisk request, she passed the patient's chart to him. Their fingers touched slightly and he glanced at her as though he saw her for the first time since entering the room. Until that moment, she had merely been just another nurse, she realised, unsurprised. Grey eyes narrowed and seemed to harden. Gillian looked back at him coldly, with dislike.

He scanned the chart and she saw him frown. 'When was the blood pressure last checked?'

'A few moments ago. I've just entered it.' Gillian indicated her neat figures in the column.

'Then note the time, Nurse,' he said coldly. 'I'm not a mind-reader and it happens to be a very important detail.'

She was too well-trained to make any retort. But her breast swelled with indignation that he should address her as though she was the greenest of junior nurses. She suspected it was deliberately offensive but the slight on her efficiency wasn't likely to instil confidence in the patient, she thought angrily.

She swallowed her fury. 'I'm sorry. I was about to do so when you came in.' Flustered by his unexpected and unannounced entrance, she had returned the chart to its hook without completing her notes.

'Very well. Take more care in future, please. Make a note of the time before you enter the figures and then it won't be forgotten,' he suggested as though she was a very junior nurse. He turned to his patient. 'Nurse will give you an injection very shortly, Mrs Maddox. You'll feel relaxed after it and look forward to our theatre date instead of dreading it.'

She chuckled. 'Oh, I'm not anxious, Doctor. It will be a relief to be rid of the cause of all the trouble and Mrs Foster says that you left her with a very neat scar.'

'You'll still be able to wear a bikini,' he assured her carelessly.

'A bikini! You have to be joking!' she declared, deriding her own size with a jolly laugh. 'But it would be nice, I must say,' she added wistfully.

'It could happen if you'd only follow my advice and keep to a rigid diet - and it would solve a few more of your health problems,' he said briskly. 'You're carrying far too much weight for a woman of your age.'

As the door closed on him, Mrs Maddox leaned back on her pillows with a little sigh. 'He's a dream, isn't he? The strong, silent type—and so good-looking! Doesn't he make your heart turn over, Nurse Grant? I envy you with your looks and figure and all your chances, working with a man like Mark Barlow. He wouldn't even look at a suet pudding like me if it wasn't his job!'

Gillian looked at her, astonished. How could any self-respecting woman glow so foolishly after such offhand treatment? He had been almost contemptuous. She knew that she'd have been tempted to slap his face if he'd spoken to her so—and she'd have done it too, she thought hotly, indignant on the woman's behalf as she seemed oblivious of any offence, intended or otherwise.

'I daresay you're all in love with him,' Mrs Maddox swept on teasingly. 'I did hear that he's running around with Louise Penistone again now that she's home. She's a lovely girl, isn't she? Very spoiled, of course ... the apple of Hugh Penistone's eye. I expect he's ambitious.

Men usually are, aren't they? Mark Barlow wouldn't be the first man to marry the boss's daughter, in a manner of speaking.'

Gillian turned to the door. 'It's time for your pre-med, Mrs Maddox. I'll be back in a moment.' Out in the corridor, she paused for a moment to draw a deep breath. After only two hours in her new job, she had come into contact with a thoroughly detestable man that she wouldn't touch with a barge-pole—and discovered that every other woman in the vicinity seemed to think that he was a gift from the gods! Either there was something wrong with her antennae and she was getting all the wrong vibrations or everyone else at Greenvale was quite mad!

He was still on the ward, an unmistakable figure with that proud, dark head and the lean, muscular build. She supposed he
was
good-looking if one liked dark curls and steely grey eyes and strong, sensual features in a tanned face, she admitted grudgingly. He was talking to Penny Hughes, nurse in charge, and he actually appeared to be smiling, she observed dryly. It seemed that he could be human if and when he chose.

Suddenly he turned and came towards her, tall and lithe and very impressive. Seeing her, his expression visibly hardened. Gillian again felt that there was something quite ruthless about Mark Barlow. If she didn't promptly move out of his way, he would probably trample her underfoot rather than change direction, she thought bitterly.

She remained quite still, blocking his passageway. Nearing, he raised an eyebrow but didn't check his stride. He was due in Theatre and he didn't have time to be amused by her obvious militancy. Having clashed headlong at their first encounter, she was not prepared to like him, he knew. Well, he hadn't found anything to like in her so far - and he wasn't too inclined to look further.

Gillian's chin tilted. 'Mr Barlow! May I have a word?' It was an unmistakable challenge.

Mark was forced to stop. He looked his reluctance, glancing pointedly at his wrist-watch. 'Well? What is it?'

'When you have occasion to rebuke me for an oversight kindly don't do so in front of the patient!' she snapped, eyes sparkling. 'I'm not used to that kind of thing. At St Christopher's, senior surgeons are usually the most courteous of men!'

'Don't be a fool, woman,' he said curtly, attempting to pass. 'If you make a mistake with any of my patients you may certainly expect to hear about it!'

She caught at his arm. 'We're going to have to work together, like it or not!' she fumed. 'Don't let's make it quite impossible for each other!'

He looked down at her, a glimmer of mockery in the deep-set grey eyes. 'I must say it's an original approach,' he drawled. 'But you're wasting your time—and all that passion. You're a pretty girl and I expect they went down like ninepins at Kit's when you flashed those bright eyes. But anyone will tell you that I never get involved with nurses. They can be more dangerous than female patients in my experience.' Coolly, he detached her hand from his arm and walked away.

Gillian's usually ready tongue was silenced by sheer shock—and temper. The arrogance—the conceit—the bloody nerve of the man! To suppose that she could be interested in him. To imply that she was trying to attract his notice with a pretence of hostility. To be so blind to her very real dislike and contempt. To dismiss her as a mere nothing!

She had never been so angry in her life—she had never been so insulted in her life. Certainly she had never been so lost for words ...

Nurse
first and foremost, Gillian managed to choke back her fury and hurried along the corridor to the clinical room where the drugs were kept in a locked cupboard. Mrs Maddox was due for her pre-med and if her arrival in Theatre was delayed through any fault of hers, she didn't doubt that Mark Barlow would delight in pointing it out as offensively as possible.

Penny Hughes was checking stock in the clinical room. She just nodded when Gillian asked if she would check the dosage for the pre-med injection and ticked another item off on her list.

Laying up a tray to give the injection, Gillian sensed a slight reserve in the other nurse's manner and knew that she had observed that encounter between herself and Mark Barlow and had wondered, too distant to overhear anything that was said but certainly aware that it wasn't friendly.

Penny seemed to be steeling herself to comment. Gillian waited, her slender hands busy with a hypodermic syringe and an ampoule.

'Have you known Mark Barlow long?'

It was an apparently idle question, put much too casually. A flicker of amusement touched Gillian's eyes. 'Long enough,' she returned, just as casually, seeing no reason to satisfy the other girl's obvious curiosity. Long enough to know that she didn't want to know him any better, she thought with feeling.

'I didn't know that you were a local girl?'

Gillian smiled. 'I'm not. London born and bred, as a matter of fact,' she said lightly.

Penny glanced at the silver badge of the state registered nurse that Gillian wore so proudly on the bib of her apron. Her expression cleared as if she had solved a mystery. 'I see you trained at St Christopher's. I suppose that's where you met Mark?'

Gillian was carefully checking the level in the syringe. 'No,' she said absently and with truth, rather surprised that there should be any connection between Mark Barlow and Kit's. Penny's words seemed to imply that he had qualified at the famous hospital in London. It was perfectly possible, of course. But it must have been before she began her training. He was the kind of man who wouldn't be easily forgotten, she thought dryly.

She handed the hypodermic to Penny for checking. Then, smiling her thanks, she hurried away to administer the injection to the waiting Mrs Maddox. She felt almost sorry for Penny who had obviously been aching to know all about her relationship with the surgeon. Some relationship! But she supposed it was misleading that they should have been slanging each other like old enemies when they were utter strangers.

In a way, their clashes had established an awareness of each other that might never have happened during an entire year at Greenvale, she realised with a slight shock of surprise. Dislike at first sight could be emotionally involving, after all. For she wasn't likely to forget her first day in the new job or her first encounter with Mark Barlow.

Later, she accompanied Mrs Maddox to the theatre floor. The big woman was drowsy, rather euphoric and quite untroubled by any doubts or fears as the trolley was trundled along the corridor and into the lift by a porter, Gillian leading the way.

It was her first glimpse of Theatre with its ante-rooms and recovery rooms and gleaming array of modern equipment. She was impressed. But it was surgical skill that really mattered and Mark Barlow was still an unknown quantity as far as she was concerned.

She had watched the masters in action, after all. He might have all the right qualifications but he couldn't compare with Sir Geoffrey Butler, Professor of Surgery, or with Paul Ritchie or Hamilton Mann, pioneers in their respective fields and famous for their advanced and courageous techniques.

She would have liked to watch Mark Barlow at work,, however. In fact, she would have liked to assist that morning. Gillian enjoyed theatre work and knew she was good at it, she had worked with some of the most able and demanding of surgeons during her months as a theatre sister at Kit's. She was hoping to work in the theatre at Greenvale even if it would bring her into rather closer contact with Mark Barlow than she would wish.

Steve Palmer, the anaesthetist, was waiting in an ante-room for the patient. He greeted Mrs Maddox with a few words of cheerful reassurance, hypodermic needle at the ready. Within seconds of the injection in her hand, she was fast asleep and breathing stertorously.