Doctor Knows Best by Ann Jennings Page A

interrupted her.
    Megan turned her head sharply to look at him. In the darkness of the car she could just make out the shadow of a smile lurking about his lips. “How on earth do you know that?” she demanded.
    â€œJamie Green told me today, when we went to London,” he replied smoothly. “He also told me that the young man you have lunch with, and who is the leading light of the revue, is your brother.”
    â€œWell, yes he is,” began Megan. “Why else do you think…?” Her voice trailed away. So that was why he had asked her how old she was! She burst out laughing. “You thought I was cradle-snatching, and that he was my boyfriend!” she said between gasps.
    â€œI did.” His voice sounded almost annoyed. “You look so ridiculously young yourself, it would be natural for you to attract younger men.”
    â€œThanks for the back-handed compliment,” said Megan drily, “most women want to look younger than they are, but not ridiculously young!”
    â€œSorry,” he said. “That was a tactless thing to say.” He turned his head briefly towards her in the darkness. “Anyway, if it’s any consolation, you look very elegant tonight, and every inch your twenty-six years.”
    â€œThank you, but I don’t need any consolation,” snapped Megan, wondering how on earth he knew she was twenty-six—or was it just an educated guess on his part? Unless she asked she would never know, but although she was dying to know whether he had actually taken the trouble to find out, she was damned if she was going to question him. Instead she contented herself with asking, “How did you know where I lived?”
    â€œEasy,” he laughed. “If one wants to know anything, just ask the hospital switchboard, the fount of all knowledge where anything in the hospital is concerned.”
    Megan smiled; that was true. The switchboard operators had fantastic memories, they seemed to be able to remember everything about everyone.
    â€œI’m living in hospital accommodation at the moment, which I must say I find rather oppressive, until I find somewhere suitable down here to buy.”
    â€œWill you sell your house in Cheyne Walk?” asked Megan.
    â€œNo, I don’t think so,” he replied, swinging the car into the car park of an Italian restaurant. “It can stay as the family house, which we can all use whenever any of us are in London.”
    At his words something froze up inside Megan. The mention of family, and the word “us” indicated beyond doubt that he must be married. Why then was he asking her out, and why had he kissed her? Did he think she was the type to go out with married men?
    Almost as if he had read her thoughts he turned suddenly and said, “I hope you don’t mind me asking you out again on the spur of the moment, but I know very few people down here and, as I said, my hospital accommodation is rather oppressive.”
    â€œOf course I’m not offended,” answered Megan smoothly. “I’m pleased to be able to help. Once you are settled here you’ll soon get to know lots of interesting people, and in the meantime I’m not averse myself to getting out of my little flat. I find it oppressive too.” She paused. “Perhaps one day, if I’m careful with my money, I’ll be able to buy a house of my own to live in.”
    â€œYour reply sounds very formal, Sister Jones!” His voice had a teasing note to it which Megan made herself resist.
    â€œIt was meant to,” she replied, opening the car door and getting out.
    â€œAnyway, you won’t have to buy yourself a house,” he said carrying on the conversation as he locked the car doors. “You’ll get married, and your husband will buy you a beautiful house.”
    â€œNot at the rate I’m going,” said Megan practically. “Mr. Right never seems to come along.” She