The Poison Morality by Stacey Kathleen Page B

was the lie he could see, her answer was somewhere in between.  “I’ve never been.”
    Oliver almost choked on his tea, “Never?  London has some of the finest.” 
    “No, never.  There are lots of things I haven’t done.”  Sophie mumbled under her breath, averting his stare.
    Sensing her nervousness he answered, “Perhaps we can get through breakfast first.  I’ll give you some supplies, you need to keep your wound clean and dry as possible,” noticing the pain in her face.  “Tuck in,” he sat opposite her.  She started to pick up a piece of toast with her fingers and noticed he used knife and fork so she did the same as he started eating.  “And then I’ll take you home before going to hospital.”
    Panic swept through her, she sat upright in the chair, “That’s not necessary, I can get home on the tube, really its fine,” she sipped the tea, crinkling her nose.
    “I have to make sure you make it home alright or I’ll worry about you until I hear from you again.”
    “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she reached for three sugar cubes, dropped them carefully into the tea and stirred.  Oliver took note of her sweet tooth.
    “Never the less, I’m escorting you to your door,” he said it with conviction and she knew by his tone he was done discussing it and she was not fit enough to argue, concentrating on the contents of her plate.
    “No I mean hearing from me again,” she did not look up instead struggling with cutting her toast without it sliding all over the plate.
    “Oh,” his smile faded and he put his fork down, disappointed, watching her struggle with her breakfast but not making an attempt to assist.  Sophie was confused, could he really be that interested in her.  If she admitted the truth, she found his presence comforting or was it the real food that she was eating, picking up the bacon and chewing on it. 
    “I hope you change your mind again, obviously.  You have my number in your mobile.”
    “Do I,” she put her mug down and looking around, forgetting yet again about her side and biting her lip to keep from crying out.  The mobile still sat on the table by the sofa.
    “Yes and I have yours,” he said slowly, “I took the liberty of doing so, to check up on you,” he said when she looked at him accusingly.  Looking at his watch, he said “We better be going, I have to be at work soon, although I would rather stay here talking to you.” Oliver started to touch her hand but she withdrew it quickly, noticing the scratches on his hand.
    “Did I do that?”
    “Oh yeah, you were like a scared cat,” he smiled, she looked away.
    “Sorry. I guess I was.”
    “It seems to me that you weren’t so much scared as startled.”
    “What’s the difference?”
    “Startled is more like something throwing you off for a bit and then you recover quickly but fear,” he hesitated, thinking, “fear of something is more deep rooted I think.  If you were afraid of that man, you would have crumbled in that alley.  I think you’re more afraid I might know something about you, something you don’t want me to know.”
    Sophie glared at him.  Oliver knew he shouldn’t have said it out loud, trying to make light of it, he shrugged, “Never mind, stings a bit but they’ll be gone by tomorrow, yours is much worse.”  He busied cleaning up instead of seeing the look of disapproval on her face.  Sometimes he had the habit of saying too much.  Part of being a doctor by telling the way things are without beating around the bush.
    With a sideways look, Sophie stared at him again, he didn’t seem like a stranger but he was.  The statement he made hung in the air and she thought she should feel threatened but she didn’t.  The comfort of putting trust in people of certain professions, she supposed but there was something very palliative about him.  He must be very good at putting his patients at ease.  She roamed over to the window, looking out at the cloudy sky,