Dr Blake's Angel. Marion Lennox

      ‘That’s right.’ Nell beamed at Blake, defying him to deny it.

      But Ethel was off on the next track. ‘They’re amazing overalls you’re wearing.’

      ‘They are, aren’t they?’

      ‘They look as if they’re made from a quilt.’

      ‘Funny you should say that,’ Nell told her. ‘They are. From a king-sized quilt.’

      ‘You cut up a quilt to make overalls?’ Ethel’s voice took on a horror that said she was a patchworker from way back and Nell had just committed a crime somewhere up there with murder. ‘You’re joking!’

      ‘No.’

      ‘But why on earth?’

      ‘I needed overalls much more than I needed a king-sized quilt,’ Nell said in a tone which stated that no more questions were welcome on this score. ‘Enough of that. OK? Let’s get this prescription written and get Christmas on the road.’

      Blake left her writing her brandy-cream script and made a fast phone call. Was she really who she said she was?

      She said she’d come from Emily and Jonas but he didn’t want to ring his friends yet. He knew the surgical registrar at Sydney Central. It took five minutes to page Daniel, but he came through with the goods straight away.

      ‘Nell McKenzie? Of course I know her. She’s the best damned doctor we’ve had in Emergency for a long time and we’re going to miss her badly. There’s been pressure on her to put her baby in child care here and keep on working.’

      ‘Why doesn’t she?’

      ‘Who knows?’ Daniel hesitated. ‘But it’d be a hard job. Emergency’s relentless, and who knows how much support she has? She’s kept her private life very much to herself. She’s such a mousy little thing that—’

      ‘Mousy little thing!’ Blake sat back in his chair at that, and frowned. ‘We must have the wrong woman.’

      ‘Five four-ish high, freckles, red hair hauled back like she’s ashamed of it?’

      ‘There are similarities, but—’

      ‘Oh, she’s not mousy around patients,’ Daniel told him. ‘She’s extremely competent and decisive and very, very kind. The patients love her. But…you know…she’s sort of self-effacing. We didn’t even know she had a boyfriend or a husband, and we were stunned when she announced she was pregnant. The nurses had a running joke about immaculate conception.’

      ‘Good grief.’

      ‘But if she’s turned up at Sandy Ridge… Hell, Blake, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. If you have Nell McKenzie wanting to work with you, then you hang onto her with everything you have. She’s worth her weight in gold.’

      A real little work horse. Blake came back out to Reception as Nell waved goodbye to Ethel and gazed at her incredulously. Anything less like a work horse he had yet to meet.

      But she was here. She was another doctor and he really was overworked.

      Who was Ernest?

      It couldn’t matter.

      ‘All right,’ he managed. ‘All right.’

      ‘All right what?’

      ‘All right, you can stay.’

      Her smile flashed back into her eyes. ‘Gee, that’s nice of you—and so gracious.’

      He glowered. She had him unnerved. ‘I can cope on my own.’

      ‘I’m sure you can.’ she told him. ‘But you’ll crack eventually. You can’t go on working at this pace for ever.’

      ‘I have for two years.’

      ‘And it’s getting to you.’

      ‘It’s not getting to me.’

      ‘OK, it’s not getting to you,’ she agreed blithely, and grinned again. ‘You’re coping magnificently. All’s well with the world and I’m doomed to spend four weeks being a pest. But that’s my fate, Dr Sutherland. I know my place in life. Pest extraordinaire. So can we get on with it?’

      He was having trouble keeping up with her. ‘What—now?’

      ‘Take me to where I’m going to live,’ she told him, smiling sweetly. ‘Take me to the doctors’ quarters and then we’ll get on with me being your Christmas present.’

      The doctors’ quarters were not to Nell McKenzie’s liking. She took one step through the door and stopped short.

      ‘How long did you say you’ve been living here?’ she asked in stunned amazement, and Blake gazed around defensively.

      ‘Two years. It’s not so bad.’

      ‘It’s awful.’

      ‘Gee, thanks. If I go into your home, would you be happy if I said it was awful?’

      ‘I’d hope someone would point it out if it was this bad.’

      ‘It’s not this bad.’

      ‘It’s worse.’ She stared around the starkly furnished apartment in distaste.

      OK, it wasn’t very good, Blake admitted. The last doctor at Sandy Ridge—Chris Maitland—had lived offsite. When Blake had taken over from Chris two years ago, the doctors’ quarters had contained a stark laminex table with four vinyl chairs, a vinyl couch and a plain bedstead in each room. Oh, and one black and white television. There had been nothing more, and Blake had never had the time or the inclination to turn the place into something else.

      ‘You can’t live here all the time,’ Nell breathed, and Blake found himself getting more and more annoyed.

      ‘Of course I do. Where else would I go?’

      ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake…’ She stalked over and hauled open the bedroom doors one after the other. The only difference between his bedroom and the others was that Blake’s bed was made up and there was a pile of medical journals on the floor. ‘Very cosy,’ she retorted. She swivelled back to face him. ‘Where’s your Christmas tree?’

      ‘Why would I need a Christmas tree?’

      Why indeed? They gazed at each other, eyes locked, and her gaze was accusatory. Like he’d personally shot Santa Claus!

      This time he was saved by his beeper. He looked at the little screen and he sighed. He was needed. It was more work—of course—but his sigh was a sigh of relief.

      ‘I need to go.’

      ‘Of course you need to go,’ Nell said cordially. ‘I would too if I stayed in this dump.’

      ‘You asked to live here.’

      ‘Nobody lives here. People stay here. There’s a difference. You don’t live on torn green vinyl dining chairs and ugly grey linoleum. You exist.’

      ‘I’m leaving,’ he told her. ‘I have a patient in hospital who has heart problems, and then I have house calls to make. Make yourself comfortable.’

      ‘Comfortable? Humph! Ernest will hate this place.’

      Who the hell was Ernest? He didn’t have time to find out. ‘Well, ring Jonas and Em and complain about your working conditions,’ he said with asperity. ‘I’m sure the three of you can work it out. You’re all so good at organising.’

      ‘We are at that.’

      He cast her a last, long, dubious look. There were schemes going on behind those sea-green eyes. He could feel their vibes from where he was.

      Who was Ernest?

      ‘Don’t do anything. Just unpack.’