Hot-Shot Doc, Christmas Bride / Christmas At Rivercut Manor

by Joanna Neil / Gill Sanderson

  She blinked back tears and concentrated on the road—and realised with a spasm of alarm that she’d automatically chosen the shorter cross-country route home from the farm instead of the gritted main road. Oh, heck, she’d really need her wits about her now. Still, she’d driven along part of it earlier and it had been okay. She’d just have to be extra-careful.

  She was miles from the nearest farm when the accident happened. She was taking a right-angle bend, not at all too fast, when the rear wheels broke away and slid sideways. She couldn’t believe it! She did everything correctly, didn’t over-steer, braked very gently and steered into the direction of the skid. All to no avail. She was coming off the road.

  At quite a slow speed the Land Rover slid backwards. There was just a moment when Grace felt completely helpless, then a jerk as the back wheels dropped into a ditch and her head whiplashed forward. The engine cut out. The car was still. Oh, no, she thought.

  For a minute she simply sat there stupidly, her headlights pointing upwards at an odd angle. Shock, diagnosed a detached, professional part of her brain, and with that she clicked back into being Grace Fellowes, District Nurse, again. No part of her was injured, that was good. She was facing the right direction, also good. She had four-wheel drive. With any luck she’d simply be able to drive out.

  She took a deep breath and started the engine again. The car lurched forward a couple of feet and then slowly slid backwards. She could hear the whirring of the wheels skidding in the slush of the ditch. Grip, she told them, grip. Then she remembered that at her last MOT the mechanic had told her the tyres were only just within the legal limit and had nothing like the traction that they should have. Buying new tyres had been a luxury she had been putting off.

  She was not going to panic. She turned the lights off to save the battery, took out her mobile to call the garage, remembered—irrationally—that she’d once seen an adder slither out of one of these ditches and cross in front of her and decided she’d get a much better signal on the road. So she clambered out of the car, not thinking about snakes, and took a large step up the side of the ditch.

  Under the snow it was more slippery than she’d expected. She lost her footing, fell on her knees then pitched forward. Her phone flew out of her hand into the slush and the mud. No! Grace scrabbled frantically for it, but when she eventually closed her fingers around its solid, comforting form it was obvious that no way would it work.

  It was as much as she could do to bite back a sob. She felt bewildered. All this had happened so quickly, so easily, that she was having difficulty in comprehending it. Not ten minutes ago she had been happily driving through the snow-covered landscape, looking forward to getting home. And now she was stranded on a lonely country road, she was covered in mud, the light was failing, she had no means of calling anyone and it was at least three miles to the nearest farmhouse. What had happened to her good day?

  Another deep breath. This was simply shock. Think positive. She had a torch, she knew exactly where she was and there were worse things in life than an early-evening walk in the snow.

  But before she could take a single step she saw lights in the dusk ahead. Oh, thank goodness. What a stroke of luck! A car was coming this way. She stood on the side of the road and shone her torch across it, preparing to wave the driver down.

  The car was travelling quite slowly, its engine a muted mutter. She waved vigorously. The car’s lights flashed, telling her she’d been seen. Then it drew up to her and stopped.

  She recognised the make of car, a top-of-the-range Range Rover, just the kind of vehicle she would love for herself. Hard on that came a momentary touch of apprehension. She knew most of the people around there and none of them had a car like this. The car was driven by a stranger.

  A man got out. ‘Are you all right?’ he called.

  ‘Yes,’ Grace called back, ‘but I’ve slid the road.’

  ‘Just a moment.’ The man opened one of his rear doors and a minute or so later fetched out a powerful torch. He walked towards her, snowflakes falling through the beam of light playing on the ground.

  ‘You’ve had an accident?’ he said. ‘Are you hurt? I’m a doctor.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’m a nurse myself. I’m not hurt, just annoyed and feeling a bit stupid. Not only have I skidded into a ditch, I also dropped my mobile into the slush and it’s stopped working.’

  ‘Ah. Then you’d better be careful. Accidents always seem to happen in threes. Think carefully, what else could go wrong?’

  He had a gorgeous voice, deep and comforting. And now he knew no one was hurt, it held a touch of humour too. She felt as if she could listen to it for ever. He was probably a consultant, Grace judged, by the expensive car and the fact that he must surely be on his way to join some country party at a big house or a hotel. ‘Nothing more will go wrong,’ she told him firmly, feeling more cheerful by the moment. ‘It’s nearly Christmas and I won’t allow it. But if I could just borrow your mobile to ring the garage…?’

  He chuckled. ‘What’s the number? Are you cold? Would you like to wait in my car while we contact them?’

  ‘I’m fine, really. Oh, damn.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The number of the garage is in my phone.’

  ‘Ah, that would be the phone that doesn’t work?’

  ‘Yes.’ She took a breath. This was perhaps a bit much to ask but he could always refuse. ‘Could you give me a lift to the nearest farm? It’s only three miles down the road.’

  ‘Certainly I can, but won’t they mind?’ He sounded startled.

  Grace stared at him in the dimness. This was definitely no local. ‘No, of course not! They’ll either ring Bert Machin for me or start up the tractor and haul me out of the ditch themselves.’

  ‘Goodness. Well, hop in.’

  But as she approached the large, powerful Range Rover, an idea occurred to her. ‘Or we could maybe get the towrope out of my boot and use your car to pull mine out. That would be even quicker.’

  He seemed startled again. Grace was reminded once more that he wasn’t from around there.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘You’re on your way somewhere. A lift to the farm would be lovely, if you really don’t mind.’

  ‘It’s not that.’ He looked towards his car as if undecided, then the dark head nodded. ‘Yes. If yours isn’t damaged, that sounds like a good idea. Just wait there a minute.’ He strode along the edge of the ditch, shining the torch at the Land Rover’s back wheels. ‘Seems possible to pull it out,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll have a quick look at the front.’

  He rejoined her, having apparently been able to carry out his inspection without getting anything like as muddy as her. ‘I think we should be able to manage it,’ he said. ‘Sorry I didn’t suggest it straight away. I’m not used to owning something this practical yet—even though that was the reason I bought it.’

  It seemed a bit extreme, buying a Range Rover just for a trip across the moors, but that was consultants for you. ‘That’s very kind,’ said Grace. ‘I’ll get the rope. Hopefully this won’t hold you up for too long.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I bought a rope along with the car. There’s even a section in the manual about pulling vehicles out of ditches.’ He was hurrying back, peering through the window and reaching around vast quantities of luggage to get shiny new tools out as he spoke. Grace couldn’t escape the thought that he probably imagined her tow-rope was as elderly as the Land Rover. ‘I’m Mike, by the way.’

  ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Grace. If you give me the rope I’ll fix it to my—’

  ‘Certainly not. This is a new experience and I want to see the whole thing through myself.’

  With a touch of laughter in her voice, Grace asked, ‘Not because I’m a woman and you’re a man?’

  ‘Ah, very possibly. I can on occasion be a slightly unreconstructed male.’

  ‘I’ve met my share of unreconstructed males, Mike. I don’t think you’re one of them.’

&nbs
p; Had just a touch of bitterness crept into her voice then? She hoped not. She had meant to copy his light-hearted tone. She felt, rather than saw, his sudden assessing glance.

  ‘Perhaps I’ve been reconstructed just a bit,’ he said. ‘Tell you what. You can hold the torch and tell me if I’m doing it right.’

  His hands, though they must be as cold as her own, were deft and sure. Grace was amused at the way he kept glancing up at his car, just to check it was still there. In a very few minutes they were both behind their respective steering-wheels. ‘I’m starting to pull now,’ he shouted through the window. ‘Try your engine as well.’

  She did. Slowly, her car moved forward a foot or so then stopped. She heard her wheels skidding but then her car seemed to jerk forward, throwing her against the seat, and then bounced back onto the road. They had done it! She braked, got out of the car, and in the darkness made out him getting out of his.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said with real gratitude. ‘That was very kind of you.’

  He undid the tow-rope and smiled. ‘I’m sure you’d have done the same for me.’ Then he glanced at the nearest of her tyres and frowned. ‘You do know these treads are very shallow?’

  Of course she knew. But did he know how much four new tyres would cost? ‘Yes, I’ll be replacing them soon,’ she said. She would have to. She didn’t want any more shocks like today. She just wasn’t sure where she was going to find the money.

  ‘Wait a minute. You’d better not go until we’ve tested your steering and your brakes. You don’t know what damage might have been done.’

  ‘It’s fine. The road from now on is straight and flat. I’ll check both along there. Then I’ll—’

  ‘No arguments,’ he said. ‘I’m not that unreconstructed. Why don’t I follow behind you just in case? Come on, would you leave me if the situation was reversed?’

  Well, no, of course she wouldn’t. And he had thought about it first, so he was a considerate man as well as a helpful one. ‘Probably not,’ she said, ‘but I’m going all the way to Rivercut village. It’ll take you miles out of your way.’

  He laughed. ‘It won’t, you know. I’m headed there too.’

  Grace stared. ‘Then what are you doing on this road instead of the main route?’

  ‘Funnily enough, I was asking myself that very question just before I came across you. My sat nav,’ Mike added dryly, ‘has a mind of its own.’

  ‘Then I’m very grateful to it,’ said Grace, recovering.

  And, in fact, all did seem to be well. Her car steered without a problem, the brakes were good. She drove slowly, Mike following thirty or so yards behind. She suspected that if he thought she was going too fast, he wouldn’t hesitate to let her know. He seemed to be a man who was perfectly polite, but who always made his point. Who on earth could he be visiting if he was heading for Rivercut?

  The journey took perhaps half an hour and then they were in the outskirts of the village. Grace felt a rush of gladness, seeing the snow-capped roofs, the streetlights and the Christmas lights in the windows. As always, though, there was a pang as she passed the manor. She remembered previous Christmases with two great illuminated fir trees on either side of the front door and decorations in all the downstairs rooms. As a child she had found it wonderful. And she had thought it would last for ever.

  Stop it, she told herself. You need to sell it, and you need to do it soon. You’re living on fresh air once the mortgage has been paid every month as it is. Maybe a family would buy it, then it would have light filling it again. Light and love.

  Fifty yards down from the manor entrance she drew up outside the small cottage that was now her home. Mike pulled in behind her. She stepped down from her car, grinning at the contrast between her old Land Rover and Mike’s magnificent new machine. Ancient and modern!

  Mike got out of his car too. With a smile she said to him, ‘Thanks for the help. I hope I don’t ever have to do the same for you. I’m not sure my vehicle would manage it.’

  ‘Glad to be of service. There is one thing that occurred to me on the way. You had an accident as well as your car. You should really get yourself checked over. Now, I am a doctor…’

  ‘Certainly not!’ The very idea horrified her. ‘I am a nurse,’ she pointed out. ‘I can tell whether I’m injured or not.’

  ‘If you’re sure. Sometimes injuries aren’t obvious at first.’

  She knew that, but…She looked distractedly past him. And gasped. ‘Something moved,’ she whispered. ‘Inside your car.’

  Instantly Mike whirled away from her. She hurried after him as he opened the rear door and caught her breath again. There, safely cocooned in the back seat, was a child of about five or six years of age, just stirring into wakefulness. It was the last thing Grace had expected.

  ‘It’s all right, sweetheart,’ said Mike softly, tucking the child’s arm back under a cosy scarlet blanket. ‘We’re nearly at Grandad’s house.’ He glanced at Grace. ‘My daughter, Bethany. It’s not far to James Curtis’s place from here is it?’

  Grace knew her mouth was hanging open. Mike. Of course. She’d completely forgotten. Dr Curtis had said his son Michael was moving up here to join the practice. ‘No, no, it’s just along the main street and left by the green. I’m so sorry—I didn’t realise who you were. No wonder you’ve got so much luggage in the back.’ She was babbling. Get a grip, Grace. And yet…She’d seen the front of his car quite clearly in her rear-view mirror. There hadn’t been anyone in his passenger seat. She couldn’t help looking again to make sure.

  And his voice changed so suddenly that it shocked her. ‘Correct. No wife, just my daughter.’

  Had he read her mind? ‘Well, you’d better get yourself and Bethany to Dr Curtis’s house. He’ll be waiting for you. I expect I’ll see you at the surgery once you’ve settled in.’

  ‘Not before you have your car checked over,’ he said, unsmiling.

  ‘Sure. Thanks again. Without you I’d have been properly stuck.’

  As he got in his car, the light shone fully on his face. An unexpected thrill ran down Grace’s spine. Dr Mike Curtis was a very handsome man. She didn’t meet too many of them in the village.

  Chapter Two

  THE cottage was cold. Grace hurried to turn on the gas fire before pulling the curtains. Then she went into the little adjoining kitchen and put on the kettle. She needed tea! She took off her coat, replaced her Wellingtons with furry slippers, and when the tea was made sank thankfully into her armchair in front of the fire. What she should be thinking about was how she was going to afford four new tyres. What she was actually thinking about was a deep, comforting voice and a thoughtful, considering presence. Mike.

  How extraordinary that the man who had pulled her out of that wretched ditch had been the new doctor at Rivercut Practice! She tried to remember what she knew about him, but it was woefully little. James Curtis—her boss—was an open book himself, but reticent about his family. Mike had already been at medical school when James had moved to Rivercut. He’d visited his father a couple of times. Now Grace came to think of it, she even remembered a wife and a baby at one point. And then—a year ago, had it been?—James had suddenly dropped everything and gone to London for his daughter-in-law’s funeral. Everyone at the surgery had been shocked. They’d expressed inadequate sympathy when James had come back and said they hoped his son and the little girl were okay. Grace remembered James had said Mike was taking it hard.

  She groaned. No wonder he’d sounded so bitter when she’d glanced at the empty passenger seat. Grace sipped her tea. They hadn’t spoken much, but Mike had otherwise been friendly and good-humoured. It was part of a doctor’s stock-in-trade to be approachable, of course, but even so Grace thought they’d be able to work together as colleagues without any of the awkwardness that sometimes took a while to settle down. And what’s more, he’d fit in just fine in Rivercut. That lovely voice would have all the female patients eating out of his hand in no time.

  Grace’s to
es were starting to thaw. She wriggled them, thinking how she really ought to keep a pair of winter socks in the car now that the weather had set fast. Even without today’s accident, she’d been cold. And if Mike hadn’t happened along, she’d have been frozen for sure, walking to the farm for help.

  She smiled, remembering Mike’s little girl snuggled up cosily in the back of his car. No wonder he’d kept glancing at it—not anxiety about the vehicle, as she’d thought, but concern for his daughter. Lucky Bethany to have such a caring father.

  Grace sighed. Peter had been just as protective of her when she’d fallen pregnant. God save her, she’d been as foolish as her mother to be flattered by pretty words, chocolates and flowers. But Peter Cox’s professions of undying love hadn’t lasted beyond the moment when he’d caught sight of the probate papers and realised there was no money to go with the heavily mortgaged manor, and then her world had fallen apart yet again…

  Mostly Grace was all right. She had her job, she had her friends, she had Rivercut. It was just that now and again—like when she saw a man tucking his small daughter’s arm inside a cosy blanket—she missed her lost baby more than she would have believed possible.

  It had been a long journey from London but, absurdly, Mike found himself slowing as he drove along the main street of Rivercut village from the church of St Lawrence, with its illuminated crib, to the green. It seemed like a festival of light. Every shop was decorated. Every house and cottage boasted at least one Christmas tree. Everyone here was making an effort. There was obviously a lot of local pride.

  He’d seen very little of the village, only making a few short visits in the twelve years his father had worked here. With his busy lifestyle it had been simpler for his father to come to London. So there was no sense of coming home. Rather, a feeling of curiosity. What would it be like, living in a moderate-sized village rather than in London? Peaceful, he hoped. Certainly different. Dad had said there was a good community spirit in Rivercut, and Mike’s brief encounter with Grace had definitely been an eye-opener. She’d shown no qualms at all at the prospect of knocking up the nearest farmhouse and asking for help. He still wasn’t sure why he hadn’t let her do just that, except that his masculine pride would have been stung—and she’d been right about that too.