The Temptation Test
Autor
Meredith Webber
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Irresistible! When Jena arrived in Kareela, three weeks before Christmas, she had one goal: to convince her boss to put her on his new TV survival series. But first she had to survive primitive accommodation, filming a documentary about Kareela's bush hospital, and the ever-so-tempting Dr. Noah Blacklock. A relationship was no part of her agenda and, as a man still technically engaged, it wasn't part of Noah's, either. But oh, Jena was so beautiful. They failed the Temptation Test repeatedly, but neither was going to turn a wonderful affair into something altogether more memorable!
CHAPTER ONE
NOAH BLACKLOCK was cursing all women as he drove along the narrow, deeply rutted sand track from his bush retreat towards the main road to town. Quite how he could pin his lateness this particular morning on the universal female conspiracy to drive him completely insane he wasnât sure, but he knew it had to be a womanâs doing.
The powerful Jeep engine growled in low gear as it churned the wheels through the soft sand. Not far now! Around the bend, down the hill, and heâd be on the gravel road to townâthe main highway only a few hundred metres beyond the little settlement. Heâd make that appointment yet.
He took the bend too fast, and the Jeep slid sideways before the tyres gripped again and he regained control.
Then slammed on the brakes as the rear of an old Toyota LandCruiser came closerâŠand closerâŠandâ
The Jeep stopped inches from the obstruction, and Noah leapt out, a mouthful of colourful words ready for the driver stupid enough to stop on the blind corner.
A woman, of course!
And blonde as well.
One of those curvy, long-legged, white-blonde blondesâthe prototype for blonde jokes.
She was standing, jack in one hand and a metal stabilising plate in the other, staring at the sand-encrusted front nearside tyre on her wreck of a vehicle.
He bit back the words he wanted to yell at her, grabbed the plate and the jack, slid them into place beneath the front chassis and was about to lift the front of the vehicle when he remembered the first rule of tyre-changing. Loosen the nuts while the wheelâs on the ground.
Heâd noticed the tool kit lying on the sand.
âIââ she began, in a soft, slightly husky voice.
âJust donât talk. Donât say a word!â he growled at this latest member of the female species fate had flung in his path to anger and frustrate him. His body might be registering the flowery perfume she was wearing, but recent events meant his brain was very much in control.
âButââ
He held up his hand to cut off her protest, and scowled another warning at her, then grabbed the wheel brace and began to loosen the nuts. The cause of this morningâs problems stepped back, as if to admire his skill, and folded her arms beneath breasts he couldnât help but notice. The male ego he tried to control immediately went into show-off mode, increasing the speed with which he worked.
He jacked up the car, whipped off the nuts, wrestled the wheel from the spokes and turned to the woman.
âWhereâs your spare?â
She smiled at him, and he realised she was more than just a woman, she was a beautiful woman.
Not that he would allow such an incidental observation to distract him.
âWell?â
The smile grew wider, showing even white teeth. It glimmered in eyes as blue as the evening sky, and pressed a dimple deep into her right cheek.
âThatâs it.â She pointed a slim, pink-tipped finger towards the tyre he held balanced between his hands.
âYou mean you havenât got a decent tyre to replace this one?â The anger heâd held in check earlier came roaring forth, like flames from a flamethrower. âAnd youâre out here, alone, on an isolated road? Women!â
He flung up his arms in disgust and the tyre fell over, clipping his shin and sending him off balance so he stumbled and had to reach out for support.
The womanâs hand caught his arm and steadied him, but the noises coming from her were more like chuckles of delight than soothing murmurs or placating apologies.
âThat is the spare,â she managed to gasp between gales of unseemly laughter. âThe flat oneâs in the back. Iâd just finished changing it when you came along and, being a man, you had to charge in and do your macho thing!â
âWhy didnât you stop me? Tell me?â He knew he was yelling because his voice was echoing back to him from the sandhills over by the lake.
She stepped away from him and shrugged, the movement lifting her breasts so he was torn between wanting to kill her and an urge to get a better look at the soft protuberances.
âAfter youâd told me to shut up? And scowled so ferociously I was all aquiver? A poor defenceless woman like myself all alone out here in the bush?â
Strangling would be good. Heâd take his time about it! Have her beggingâŠ
âWell, are you going to put it back on for me so I can get to work, or do I have to do it myself?â
He reined in wayward thoughts of the beauty begging for something very different to murder and tried to concentrate on the current situation.
âPut it back on?â he muttered, wondering what on earth theyâd been talking about.
âThe tyre,â she said helpfully. âNow Iâve done a practice run Iâll even give you a hand.â
She bent over, tipped the tyre up on its tread and proceeded to roll it towards the car. By the time she was ready to lift it onto the wheel studs, he realised he should be helping, not watching the length of leg revealed by her bending over in a very short skirt.
âLet me!â he grumbled, taking command againâof the tyre and hopefully his thoughts.
He heaved the heavy beast up and turned it until he could slide it into place, aware that the woman was taking some of the weightâbut more aware of her as a woman.
Itâs a woman who got you stuck out here in the first place, mate, his head reminded his rebellious body. A blonde, remember?
He picked up the nuts and began to fit them.
âYou must be lost if youâre on this road,â he said, aiming for a little normality in this bizarre situation.
âNo. Iâm staying down there a little way,â she said, waving her hand towards the track down which heâd just travelled.
âExactly where down there?â he demanded. There was nowhere âdown thereâ but his place.
She passed him the wheel brace.
âSuspicious cuss, arenât you?â she teased, blue eyes again alight with laughter. âAt Matt Ryanâs place, if you must know.â
Now disappointment warred with disbelief. He went with the second reaction as the first didnât bear thinking about.
âThe old Ryan place? Itâs falling down. Whatâs happened? Matt gone feral, has he? Decided to give up the high life and start living the way he pretends to in his documentaries? I can just see that!â
The cutting edge of sarcasm forced Jena to defend her employer.
âMatt lives those documentaries! He takes on those challenges!â
âYeah, right!â the stranger growled, releasing the pressure on the jack so the tyre slapped back onto the ground with a jolting thud. âHim and his make-up person, and his hairstylistânot to mention a ten-man support crew. Some challenge!â
He was mocking her dream to be the first woman to take on the type of adventure challenges Matt faced, and Jena, whoâd already had a particularly tiresome morning, felt the heat of anger burning in her chest.
âHe travels alone on his challenges. OK, thereâs a camera crew but theyâre not with him in his vehicle, and the rest of the crew go on aheadââ
âTo erect the tents, set up his comfortable bed, cook his meal, cool his wine. Wave the bloody fans above his perspiring head, most probably! Yes, maâam! Thatâs a real challenge!â
âWell, it is,â she fumed, snatching the jack out of his hand and storming to the back of the vehicle to fling it in. âAnd his documentaries are sold worldwide, watched by millions of peopleââ
âWho all end up with the misguided idea that life in Australia is one long bout of wrestling crocodiles, trekking through snake-infested jungles or clinging precariously to precipitous rocks. The man stages his challenges then acts like a hero for carrying them out.â
He paused for breath and Jena, who should have interrupted at that stage, found herself admiring how his chest expanded as it filled with air. He was a tall, solid man, well put together. Dark haired, and with the kind of craggy face which shouldnât have been handsome but was. She realised sheâd missed her opportunity when his harangue continued.
âFinding a cure for cancerâthatâs a challenge. Fixing the problems of homeless youth! Even learning to live on the same planet as women! Take your choice, but letâs not get too carried away about Matt bloody Ryanâs television show. Thatâs entertainment, Blondie, not a challenge!â
âDonât call me Blondie!â Shamed by her inattention earlier, she snapped the words at him then regretted her outburst when she caught a gleam of satisfaction in his pale eyes.
Grey or pale green?
Unusual whichever they were. With a glint like the sheen of highly polished metalâ
âimagine what Mattâs doing out at the old place.â
âWhat Mattâs doing there?â she said, frowning at him as she tried to recall the words sheâd missed while debating his eye colour. âWhy would Matt be there?â
The eyesâgrey, she decidedâscanned down her body, then back up again, answering her question with silent insolence.
Jena clenched her hands into fists to stop herself hitting him.
She spun away before the temptation proved too great. Being late for work on the first day of her own personal âchallengeâ was hardly the way to prove herself to Matt.
âIf heâs not there, whoâs with you?â
The stranger had followed her and reached out to hold the door open as she clambered up into the driverâs seat, regretting her decision to cling to her normal âworkâ clothes as the skirt rode up to reveal even more leg than usual.
âNo one! Iâm staying there on my own.â Dumb, dumb, dumb! âOf course, Iâll have friends coming out. Visiting. Staying over.â
âOf course,â he agreed smoothly. âNo doubt any number of people all dying to keep you company in a ruin of a shack on the edge of nowhere. As my grandmother would say, Iâm not as green as Iâm cabbage-looking, Blondie.â
She was going to protest about the name again when he leaned across her, peering into the cab.
âI assume you have a mobile. Here, Iâll give you my number. Although you canât see my place from where you are itâs only about a hundred yards away. If you need anythingâŠâ
He drew back and she took a breath, though why a stranger leaning close to her should affect her breathing, she had no idea.
Perhaps because he was a stranger!
He handed her a card and she held the stiff white rectangle between her fingers and squinted at the black marks. Sheâd have given her second-best pair of shoes to know his name but no way was she going to reach over for her handbag and scrabble through it for her reading glasses.
âDo you know the emergency services number?â he continued in his overbearing way. âIt might be a good idea to phone the exchange and get the local police station number as well. Let someone know youâre staying out there. The lads in town would love an opportunity to rescue a damsel in distress. Or even check on you occasionally.â
Again his gaze did its scanning thing, but before she could protest heâd shut the door and walked away, leaving Jena with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Murderers donât suggest you check in with the local cops, she told herself as she drove off.
The uneasiness persisted.
More to do with the man than being murdered?
OK, heâd been arresting, in a dark, saturnine kind of way. Not cabbage-looking at all, in fact. But sheâd been in the company of attractive men so often that good looks no longer impressed her. It was the inner man that countedâand, as far as she could tell, the strangerâs inner man was a dark and angry being.
Not attractive at all.
Noah memorised the number plate as he followed the LandCruiser down the track. What was Matt thinking to let a woman like thatâany woman, in factâstay out at his tumbledown old shack on her own? The place had no power, no phone and probably no water, if the rust holes heâd seen in the tank last time heâd walked past were any indication.
Not that it was any of his business, he reminded himself. In fact, the policy heâd adopted in his childhood to keep out of Matt Ryanâs way still held. It had been bad enough having Matt held up to him as the ideal of boyhood all through his youth, but these days Noahâs mother spoke Mattâs name with something approaching aweâobviously more impressed by television stars than hard-working doctors.
Then there was his determination to avoid all women for a considerable period of time. Especially blondes, given the disastrous way theyâd featured in his life latelyâlike some recurring nightmareâand even more especially, one of Matt Ryanâs blondes!
He had avoided Matt assiduously for years, but no one could have avoided hearing of his exploits. The man got better press coverage than all but the most vital of sports games, more publicity than the entire government. And rarely did he appear, in the press or on TV, without a blonde draped across him like a fashion accessory.
According to the tabloids, they were bimbos, every one of them.
Airheads.
Actually, when you considered it, nature might have got it right. Having endowed the woman like the one driving steadfastly down the road in front of him with more than her share of physical beauty, adding brains would have been overkill.
Sexist! his better self muttered, while his more basic side remembered the length of leg Blondie had revealed as sheâd stepped up into the cab of the decrepit old vehicle.
And the flash of anger in her eyes as sheâd reacted to the name.
Hmm, his baser self whispered. Might be fun having one of Mattâs blondes as a neighbour for a while. Hadnât Matt stolen Bridget Somerton from him? Back when they were teenagers and the surge of adolescent testosterone had combined with long summer days and hot summer nights to make the group whoâd holidayed at the lake as randy as young stallions.
No way! he told himself.
No women!
And especially, no blondes.
If this time apart didnât resolve things between Lucy and himself, then when he was ready for another close relationshipâwhich might not be for twenty or so yearsâhe would choose a cool brunette. A career woman. Possibly a lawyerâor perhaps a business executive.
Nuclear physicist? the base self mocked, flashing images of the leggy blonde on an inner screen in his brain.
Jena drove slowly past the shop and three houses which made up the closest habitation to Mattâs old shack, then accelerated when she reached the highway. Hard to believe a place as seemingly isolated as Lake Caratha was only fifteen minutesâ drive from a bustling town. Kareela served as a regional centre for the tourist areas along the coast, as well as the thriving market gardens which covered the fertile, gently rolling hills behind the coastal strip.
She lifted one hand from the steering wheel to press it against the nerves fluttering in her stomach. Stupid to be nervous. Sheâd worked as an assistant on similar productions to this, been the general dogsbody whoâd caught the blame for everything that had gone wrong, from the star being sick to an untimely thunderstorm. Being a liaison person should be a piece of cake.
Maybe the flutters were a reaction to the angry man. She grinned to herself. Tall, dark and angry: a perfect description of him. Although the more usual âhandsomeâ would also have fittedâif you liked looks which went beyond the conventional standards of good looks. She slowed as she entered the townâs lower speed zone.
The hospital was on a hill overlooking the townâthird turn on the left if the map she had was accurate.
She looked around her with interest, not having seen much the previous day when sheâd driven through. It was less than a month until Christmas, and the local council had already begun to install street decorations. Pregnant-bellied bells were tied to lampposts and workers were stringing coloured lights across the street.
By Christmas sheâd be out of hereâhopefully, with a guarantee from Matt that sheâd be part of the new challenge series he was planning.
Though sheâd have to succeed with the job at the hospital, as well as stick out the three weeks in his terrible old shack.
Before making the turn, she glanced in her rear-view mirror and saw the Jeep, its indicator light blinking as if he intended following her.
So he could yell at her again?
She battled the heavy steering, negotiating the turn and heading up the hill.
If he called her Blondie again, sheâd yell a little herself. In fact, yelling at him might be good. It might release a little of the tension she was feeling over this job.
Another glance in the rear-view mirror again, and she realised thereâd be no yelling by or at anyone. The Jeep had disappeared. Presumably down one of the side streetsâalthough heâd appeared so suddenly he might have the ability to materialise and dematerialise.
She drew into the hospital parking lot and stopped, her eyes taking in the gracious old building. It was a solid brick and stone structure, rising two storeys in its central core, but with the lower storey spread wider, like a skirt, around it.
A shiver of what could have been either excitement or apprehension skittered through her, but she decided not to analyse it. Better to spend the time tidying her hair.
âIs he here yet?â Noah asked as he stalked through the big room which housed a receptionist and the hospitalâs two general office staff.
Peta Clarke, the more senior of the two secretaries, shook her head.
âMr Finchâs in, though, if you want to see him.â
Noah resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. No sense in embroiling the secretarial staff in personal battles. He should probably be trying to appease the hospitalâs chief executive officer rather than fighting with him, but the man had no gutsâno willingness to go beyond the bounds and try something new, even if it wasnât in the âhow to run a hospitalâ manual.
It was frustration that was making him angryâfirst the delay in getting the kids settled in their house, then Jeff Finchâs insistence that any plan must be submitted to the Health Department for approval, following âcorrect procedureâ.
He opened the door to his office, then turned back to have another look at the three women.
Grinned at them.
âSunday best, although this is only the preliminary skirmish?â
Peta chuckled, and dusted an imaginary thread off her navy skirt.
âStupid, isnât it? I mean, weâve already been told filming wonât start for another week, but here we are, all dolled up to the nines.â She grinned as she waved a hand towards her colleagues. âWeâve already had a laugh about it.â
Noah returned her smile, and felt slightly better for the momentâs amusement, although he doubted whether thereâd be much to amuse him during the next few weeks. The first thing heâd have to do would be to explain to this liaison person that Kareela was still a working hospital and no way would he tolerate any interruption to patient services or interference in the staffâs performance of their duties. Heâd lay down some ground rules.
He checked his watch. And if the man wasnât on time, heâd do a ward round. Thatâd show him!
The phone buzzed as he was justifying this decision to himself. Patsy, the receptionist, advised him that the representative of the production company was here.
âHave Peta show him in,â he said, deciding it might be advantageous to be sitting behind his desk, looking desperately busy, so that this liaison fellow would know from the beginning that Noah had no time to waste on frivolities.
He settled into his worn leather chair, put on his glasses and pulled a pile of papers towards him. Looking busy wasnât hard for a man who hated paperwork as much as he did.
He heard the door open, then Petaâs voice murmuring a name and the door closing again. Judging that his pretence had gone on long enough, he sighed and raised his head, reaching up to remove his reading glasses as he did so.
The image was blurred, but readily identifiable, though the cascade of silvery hair was now swept up on top of her head in some kind of simple but very elegant knot.
âBlondie? What the hell do you want? Going to sue me for changing your car tyre?â
One wing of the glasses hooked behind his ear, so he was now peering lopsidedly in her direction and trying to maintain a modicum of aplomb while feeling like a total idiot.
Which didnât faze his visitor one jot! She stepped calmly forward, held out her hand, and said, âPerhaps we should have introduced ourselves earlier. Iâm Jena Carpenter, liaison person for Showcase Productions.â
She paused and he managed to detach the glasses from his ear. He stretched out his own hand and somehow sent the pile of papers heâd pulled forward sliding across the desk and cascading in a flurry of white towards the floor.
He bent to retrieve them, but Blondieâs voice pulled him upright again.
âAnd you may call me, Jena, or Miss Carpenter, or even âhey, youâ,â she added, taking the hand which now hovered uncertainly above the desk and allowing a very perfunctory skin contact between their fingers before dropping it cold. âBut if you call me Blondie again Iâll sue you for workplace harassment.â
The steely resolution in her indigo eyes told him she meant precisely what sheâd said, and he found himself looking away, peering at his hand as if the cool, slim fingers might have stung him.
He looked up at her again.
âMatt Ryanâs idea, I assume?â he muttered. âDid he really think sending a good-looking woman would magically smooth the way for his underlings to do exactly as they please in my hospital?â
âYour hospital?â Blondie murmured. What had she said her name wasâJena?
âIâm the senior medical officer,â Noah growled, âand the patientsâ comfort and general well-being are my responsibility. And my primary concern. I thought Iâd explained all this to the first underling Matt sent along.â
Jena took a deep breath, then mentally squared up to the man she was supposed to be appeasing.
âLetâs begin again, shall we?â she suggested. âTo start with, although Showcase Productions is a division of the company owned by Matt and his associates, he has no day-to-day control over the running of it, nor does he interfere in the production of the Showcase television programmes. He had nothing to do with the choice of Kareela as a location, or with my appointment as liaison person.â
She wasnât entirely sure the last statement was true and could see the doctorâs disbelief in his face, even before he countered with, âAnd you staying out at his old place is pure coincidence?â
âMe staying out at his place has nothing to do with this production,â Jena retorted. Which was the truth as far as it went. Though the necessity of living in or near the town for the three weeks had provided her with a fortuitous opportunity to prove a point to Matt.
Her thoughts were brought up short by a scoffing laugh, and a derisive, âI bet!â
Jena scowled at him.
âWhere I live is none of your business, Dr Blacklock,â she snapped. âSo do you think we could get past it, and whatever old history you have with Matt Ryan which makes you so defensive, and discuss the filming?â
He returned her scowl, but added more ferocity, while Jena debated whether Matt had influenced the decision to appoint her as liaison. If so, the idea had backfired spectacularly.
Thinking of this reminded her why a liaison person had been appointed. She could score a point here.
âParticularly as it was you who insisted on having one person to deal with throughout the filming,â she added. âI was appointed because I was the only person within the company who had both production and nursing experience.â
âYouâre a nurse?â
Noah regretted the words the instant they were out of his mouth, but the blondeâJenaâmust have heard such incredulity before. She shrugged her dismissal of the words.
âIf youâd read the information package we sent you some weeks ago, youâd know Iâm not a nurse but did two years nursing studies with some practical work, which at least qualifies me to tell a bedpan from a thermometer. And as my job here doesnât entail actual nursing, my level of experience isnât important. I think the first priority is to lay down some ground rules.â
He frowned at her, irrationally irritated because sheâd used the expression first. He should have said âExactly!â and launched into his prepared speech, but she sat down at that moment and her skirt slid up, revealing a not unseemly amount of lightly tanned thigh, enough to make him wonder how celibates managed their libidos.
He also wondered where in the muddle of papers on his deskâand on the floorâthe information package was. As sheâd said, thereâd be background information on her in it somewhere, and it would be interestingâŠ
âI understand that this is a working hospital and although emergency cases are transferred to Brisbane, you still have patients requiring ongoing care. Thatâs why Kareela was chosen. Showcase specialises in âreal-lifeâ television which is very popular at the moment. Iâm here to see the film crew causes the least possible disruption to the running of the hospital.â
Noah again refrained from rolling his eyes, but when his gaze wandered back towards the legs he was distracted.
âFat chance!â he muttered, then shook his head and reminded himself of his sisterâs favourite warningâa closed mouth gathers no foot!
Maybe Blondie hadnât heardâŠ
From the fine pleating of her brow, he saw she had.
âYou can either help us be as unobtrusive as possible, Dr Blacklock, or you can hinder the process by being obstructive. I understand you didnât want the documentary filmed here, but were won over by an increase in the financial inducement.â
She paused and looked him straight in the eye.
âWeâre not only paying to be here, but weâre paying top dollar, and I believe part of the money is to go to some pet project youâre running in the town so, whether you like it or not, youâre expected to cooperate. Today, I need to get to know the layout of the place and organise the crew. From tomorrow, youâre stuck with me. A shadow, however unwelcome.â
Jena watched the silvery grey eyes narrow and guessed he was contemplating another yell. Inwardly, she was regretting the foolish whim that had urged her to allow him to change the car tyre. Heâd already been angry, and sheâd made him angrier. Not the best of possible starts for someone who had hoped to win him overâor, at least, gain his cooperation.
Though how was she to know the doctor whoâd been so against the filming would live at the end of nowhere?
Or be so good-looking?
Mentally scolding herself for the momentary distraction, she launched into her prepared speech.
âAs the contract explained, this office isnât suitable so weâll be building a similar set-upâpurely for the shots of you doing paperworkâin the space upstairs. Also a mock-up of the operating theatre, again for long shots.â
âAnd this is âreal-lifeâ television?â
She ignored his sniping comment, remembering instead the question that had puzzled her since the location scouts had come up with a list of five possible hospitals within a dayâs drive of the city. All with space to build, if necessary, some extra sets.
âWhy have hospitals shrunk so much you have an entire floor unoccupied? Are fewer people getting sick?â
If he was startled by the conversational switch he didnât show it, merely studying her for an instant before replying, âRegional hospitals have altered their focus from primary care to providing a wider spread of services to more of the population, but they offer less specialised services.â
He paused, his fingers reaching for a pen which he then flipped from hand to hand as he continued, âWhich means that, as well as the trauma emergencies, cancer and major surgery patients also go to the city. Many of the surgery patients return here for post-surgical nursing, and we provide the facilities for follow-up testing for the cancer patients.â
Jena was mesmerised by his long fingers, carelessly playing with the pen. Better than being mesmerised by gleaming grey eyes, she decided, then reminded herself to listen to what he was saying. After all, sheâd asked the question.
âTo fully understand the changes in demographics, you have to realise that hospital stays are also much shorter these days,â he continued, his velvety voice making the words sound less like a lecture, the edge of anger sheâd heard earlier fading as he talked about something heâd obviously considered himself.
âFifty years ago, when hospitals like this were built, a patient lay in bed for three weeks after an appendix operation. Today a person is mobile within twenty-four hours and usually discharged from hospital within a couple of days. A hip injury which might have required three months in traction is now pinned or plated, perhaps both, and the patient can be weight-bearing within a few days, walking on a frame within a week.â
Despite a surprising fascination with lean fingers and a velvety voice, Jena absorbed what he was saying, but also recalled what sheâd read in Noah Blacklockâs biographical information, put together by someone in the research department.
âThen why would someone like yourself, with all your experience in emergency care, take a job in a country town where the medical needs of the patients are more of a nursing nature? Did you suffer burn-out in the city?â
He frowned, making her regret the question. And why should she care anyway? Her job was to establish a good working relationship with the man, and do a preliminary plan for the filming, not analyse him.
âI doubt thatâs your concern,â he said, and in case sheâd missed the frown he underlined the words with a grimness she couldnât mistake. âYou were saying youâll only be using the top floor for your mock office and theatre, but your crew will need access to it, so unless they can levitate, theyâll be passing through the foyer and up the stairs. Can I ask them to use the back entrance, and not make too much noise as they come and go?â
Jena had felt her muscles tighten at the sarcasm in his âlevitateâ remark, but hoped her reaction hadnât shown. This was not a man to whom one could safely reveal any weakness.
The puzzle of why heâd come to Kareela remained, though that was, as heâd succinctly told her, none of her business.
âOur staff will all be briefed on moving quietly and not chattering on the stairs, minimising noise as much as possible,â she assured him. âThe set designer and carpenters will check out the top floor later today. Iâll speak to them as soon as they arrive. Itâs possible that any heavy equipment and the bulk of the props theyâll need can be hoisted up and lifted through windows rather than carried up the stairs.â
He didnât exactly look pleasedâperhaps he didnât have a pleased look he could useâbut he nodded, which was as close as she was likely to get to acceptance.
She was about to explain the other measures sheâd put in place to ensure minimum disruption to the hospital when there was a brisk tap on the door, and it opened to admit a trim young man and an anorexic-looking but gym-toned blonde.
