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If lies sent you to hell then there was a little demon stoking up the fires right now, and getting a pitchfork primed with Polly Fletcher’s name inscribed on it.
Reluctantly, she unlocked her cubicle and came out to survey the damage in the mirror.
Judith glanced at her as they both washed their hands. Polly got a paper towel and dabbed cold water on the V of still-mottled flesh above the top button of her blouse.
“I think they’ve turned the heating up. Either that or I’m in premature menopause,” she grumbled.
“You’re twenty-eight,” Judith pointed out.
“It can happen.”
“Not to you. You’re too fecund. Don’t you think fecund is a lovely word?” Judith mused. “I wish I were more fecund. Maybe Mark would propose if I were fecund like you. Do you want some of my foundation? Our skin tones are about the same.”
Polly hesitated. Her strict no make-up policy ensured that if she bumped into an ex-patient on one of her after-dark forays, the possibility of recognition would be remote.
Except now, it seemed, the situation was much, much worse. Her new doctor colleague had intimately examined her and she was going to have to play all professional, sit next to him in meetings and patient assessments, maybe even, heaven forbid, be in a group therapy situation together. Worse, she’d have to resist morning cake in the staffroom while those silver eyes surveyed her every move across the table.
At least this would make her new diet a complete breeze. With those eyes on her lips, her salivary glands would dry up. No need to start the lemon diet she’d been researching. The sudden image of Solo’s gorgeous mouth sinking into a cream doughnut, his tongue licking those long fingers, had the blotchiness threatening to re-emerge with a vengeance.
She grabbed the foundation from Judith and plastered a layer around her neck and dabbed two blobs onto her cheeks. Countering was her best bet, she decided.
“So, how are you and Mark?”
“Oh, you know, much the same. Chugging along.” Mark was Judith’s childhood sweetheart. He worked as the manager of a packaging company and was terminally boring. Honestly, Judith with her coltish legs, truly lovely smile and seriously warm heart could do better than a guy whose idea of being a bit daring was watching two episodes ofOrange is the New Blackin the same evening.
Give me a chance, sweet Judith, thought Polly.I’d do for you what I did for Alice. Find you your Mr Perfect.She was so darn good at matchmaking. Strictly reserved forotherpeople, of course.
With a last look in the mirror, Polly hitched back her shoulders and gave her now-evened-up complexion a final pat.
There. Utterly professional, cool, calm, and collected.And that, Dr Solo Jakoby, is all you are ever going to see of Polly Fletcher from now on, she told herself as she marched out with her head held high.
So why, as she followed Judith, trying not to let her eyes flick wildly around the ward for a sighting of hunky suited shoulders and thick cropped dark hair, did a small part of her want to throw a holy fucking tantrum?
Fecundity. That’s what it did to you. All those freakin’ hormones.
But when she walked into the nurses’ station a few minutes later, Polly’s professional façade almost crumbled. Her breath hitched at the sight of Solo, his head on one side, brows pensive, deep in conversation with Ben Tan. Brooding and sexy. Freakin’ forget the psychiatrist’s couch. He was the kind of shrink whose lap you’d jump right into.
As for Ben, he had the look he got when he was buttering someone up: pleasant, eager, interested. The perfect psychologist putting you at ease, bum hitched on the edge of the desk, one leg swinging casually.
Oh yes, he was up to something for sure.
Polly watched Solo’s silver eyes narrow in response. He looked less than enthusiastic about whatever Ben was suggesting
As Solo gave a final nod and turned away, Ben stood up and spotted her. His face lit up. “Here she is!” He grinned. “Polly, I think I’ve found our fill-in therapist for while I’m on leave.”
Shite. The PTSD group.
Ben. Europe.
Double shite.
Not Solo.
Not her co-facilitator.
Oh,no way.
* * *
