Partners By Contract. Kim Lawrence

the locum, who I will not hear a word against,’ Will warned sternly. ‘She’s the answer to a harassed GP’s prayers.’

      Connor’s darkish, well-defined eyebrows rose quizzically. ‘That good?’ He propped his crutches against the desk and prepared to lower himself cautiously into a convenient chair.

      ‘Better. I rather hoped she might consider staying on. The authorities are still making loud noises about us taking on another partner.’

      They’d been thinking about taking on another pair of hands for some time. The practice had grown to the point where it was too large for the partners and their junior Alan Field to cope with, but they hadn’t got around to doing anything about it.

      ‘I sounded her out, making it clear the offer would be dependent on your approval.’

      ‘Of course.’ Connor responded dryly.

      ‘But...’

      ‘No go?’

      ‘’Fraid not, which is a shame because she fits in so well. Everyone likes her—well, almost everyone.’

      Before Connor could plead for a bit of clarification on this last point Will grinned widely at some point over Connor’s shoulder.

      ‘And speaking of the angel,’ Will began, raising his voice, ‘here she is. Phoebe, come along and meet our senior partner!’ he called out to the group of women who were making their way down the carpeted corridor.

      His words were greeted with an assorted selection of astonished squeals, cries and a gentle stampede.

      ‘Connor, back!’

      ‘The man can’t keep away from us.’

      The babble around Connor became a distant irritating buzz. He must have responded and said the right things because people carried on smiling and laughing. He probably did, too, though inside shock had his guts in a frozen fist.

      Phoebe’s case slid in slow motion from her nerveless fingers and, without her being aware of it, she grabbed hold of the radiator beside her, the heat making no impact on her icily cold hand. In fact, nothing made much impact at all but those electric blue eyes—more intense than any laser and just as precision-focused—which were fixed unblinkingly on her face.

      She didn’t know how long it took for the thundering in her ears to become a gentle roar or her vocal chords to thaw.

      She cleared her throat and willed her lips to form a casual smile.

      ‘Hello, Con.’ No needy tremor—thank goodness—just a slight huskiness.

      He didn’t respond and, very conscious of the watching eyes, Phoebe moved forward with a firm, confident tread that belied her inner turmoil. She thought about extending her hand, but had second thoughts. It would be too embarrassing if he refused to accept the gesture of friendship. She thrust it instead into the pocket of her fitted trousers.

      She forced herself to look directly at him, the experience about as soothing as plugging herself directly into the national grid.

      What changes there had been were subtle—a more pronounced suggestion of muscularity about his broad shoulders and chest, and possibly the fine lines that radiated from spectacular eyes and bracketed his firm sensual mouth were more deeply engrained than they had been four years ago—but essentially he was still the same Con that Phoebe recalled.

      Not a person prone to self-deception, Phoebe didn’t have the luxury of pretending even to herself that it was only shock that had sent her nervous system spiralling out of control. She’d often wondered how she’d cope if she saw him again. Now she knew—she wouldn’t! This wasn’t information she felt any desire to share.

      ‘You two know one another...?’ Will looked from one to the other, a perplexed expression on his pleasant face.

      ‘You could say that. We lived together for three years.’ This casual bombshell was delivered totally straight-faced. Not unnaturally, it caused jaws to drop. ‘How are you, Phoebe?’

      If that had been a deliberate attempt to unsettle her, he needn’t have bothered—she was already semi-catatonic. Against a backdrop of thunderous heart-pounding Phoebe gave a brittle smile.

      ‘I’m fine...just fine.’ She prayed she wouldn’t prove herself a liar by falling in a heap on the floor. ‘Such a surprise...’ she gulped. No lie this time!

      She’d spent the last four years filling the gap this man had left in her life. Now she knew how spectacularly unsuccessful she’d been.

      ‘For me, too.’ Their gazes meshed. Phoebe flinched. Connor’s expression didn’t suggest that the surprise had been a pleasant one. She’d anticipated some residual hostility, maybe even a dollop of cringing embarrassment if and when they eventually met up again, but not this level of cold, savage fury.

      ‘We shared a flat as students, though Con was a couple of years ahead of me.’

      If Con wasn’t going to go into details, neither was she. Their audience heard her hasty explanation with a disappointed air.

      ‘This is quite a coincidence, Con.’

      ‘Is that what it is?’

      Her chin went up. ‘You always were the sharp one,’ she responded tensely. ‘The truth is out, folks,’ she announced flippantly. ‘I’ve been stalking the man for years—on account of his magnetic personality and startling good looks, you understand.’

      Her words were greeted with general laughter. Phoebe hoped that the person her words had been aimed at had received the message. All she needed now was for Con to run away with the idea she had in some way contrived this situation.

      ‘That’s our leader all right,’ Grace agreed, blowing a kiss in his direction before heading off with her student in tow. Connor’s eyes stayed on Phoebe’s face as Fran hugged him, then his gaze drifted reluctantly away.

      ‘You should have said you knew Con, Phoebe,’ Will said, a puzzled frown knitting his brow.

      ‘Oh, we lost touch years ago.’ She glanced at her watch and murmured a realistic-sounding squeal of horror. ‘Is that the time already?’

      ‘I expect she didn’t think I’d recognise her,’ Connor drawled.

      How could he joke about it? Talk about bad taste! Phoebe shot him a reproachful look and discovered that his expression wasn’t nearly as careless as his tone. His brooding examination sent an electrical surge through her tense frame.

      ‘Heavens, I’m running late! I must dash,’ she babbled. No longer caring if Will thought her behaviour odd, she did just that, as fast as her long legs would carry her.

      Her heart was thumping, only not from the burst of speed, by the time she inserted the key shakily in the lock of the car door. This is all my fault, she thought. Why didn’t I turn and run the moment I realised that Connor worked here? Oh, she’d spent plenty of time rationalising the decision, but the bottom line was that she’d known all along it had been crazy and self-indulgent to stay.

      She stood still for a few moments, waiting for waves of nausea to pass. When they did she hastily slid into the driver’s seat, glancing nervously over her shoulder as she did so. A showdown was inevitable but she wanted to choose the time and place. She was about to drive away when Will thumped the roof of her car. She let out a cry and jumped a mile.

      ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,’ Will said as the window slid down.

      ‘Well you did!’ she barked. ‘Sorry, Will, I’m just...I hate being late,’ she ended lamely.

      Easygoing Will brushed aside her stumbling apology. ‘I was wondering, Phoebe, are you calling in on Rob Marlow this morning?’

      ‘I thought I would, yes.’

      Phoebe was relieved the conversation had turned to more professional matters. Here at least she felt