He wrote down the name of a drug on her notepad. ‘Perhaps we could try this?’
Grace looked at the name. ‘It’s new to me.’
‘Not been out long. I can tell you more about it, though.’
They discussed the new drug with Mrs Leaman and Mike answered all her questions.
‘So what do you think?’
Grace liked the way he asked her opinion, too. ‘I think it’s a good idea. Mrs Leaman, would you like to try this?’
‘I certainly would. And thank you both.’ The woman took her prescription and left.
‘Mrs Leaman now thinks you’re a wonderful doctor,’ Grace said. ‘The news will be all over the village by the weekend.’ Which had no doubt been James’s intention. He could be a cunning soul at times.
‘Does that mean that if I get something slightly wrong, it will be all over the village just as quickly?’
‘You’re catching on. This is an instant response environment. The Internet has nothing on Rivercut.’
‘Going to have to keep on my toes,’ he muttered. ‘Actually, I’m quite looking forward to working with the same people over and over again. In London, a lot of my patients I only ever saw once or twice.’
‘London has a larger floating population.’
‘And some of them are sinking rapidly. I’m hoping that things will be a bit better up here.’
‘Don’t know about better,’ Grace said, ‘but probably different.’
‘People seem more relaxed. In London everyone is in a hurry. There are things that they have to do.’ He looked thoughtful for a moment and then added, ‘Perhaps people aren’t in a hurry here because there aren’t so many things to do.’
‘Ha! Just you wait. We don’t want any of that fancy London talk in Rivercut. You’ll be kept busy.’
It was fun talking to Mike. He had a sense of humour, wasn’t going to take unimportant things seriously. Her phone rang. She picked it up. ‘Yes, James, he’s still here,’ she said, and handed it to Mike.
Mike listened a minute, his face changing, then said, ‘But what about Bethany…? Oh, okay, I’ll be right there.’
He looked ruefully at Grace. ‘Did you say I’d be kept busy? There’s a small emergency and I’m to start work at once. I’ll see you later.’ And he was gone.
Grace had been right to think she would like working with Mike. She liked that his first thought had been for his daughter, not his own lost morning. As for anything else—and, yes, Grace admitted now that she was attracted to him—those sorts of thoughts were best banished. She’d made a huge fool of herself over Peter and she wasn’t about to let herself in for any more hurt.
As Mike hurried to his father’s room, stopping in Reception to tell Bethany he was going to be working for the rest of the morning and she was to be a good girl and play with Rachel where the other girl’s mother could keep an eye on them, part of his mind was thinking about Grace. He was being perfectly detached about it. There was the same mild pleasure in thinking of her as he might feel watching a sunset or the snow on the hills. But, he had to admit, she was gorgeous. It wasn’t just her height or figure, it wasn’t even her dark blonde hair and clear complexion. It was her smile, her beautiful mouth, the way she was so happy with the world. And yet there was an alert look in her grey eyes that told him this woman was nobody’s fool. He was going to enjoy working with her.
His first surgery. He hadn’t expected to start work on his first day. He and Bethany were supposed to be settling in gently, meeting people gradually, looking for somewhere to live. But one of his father’s long-term patients in the village had been suddenly taken ill, and James had offered to go round at once to see him. The other practice doctor being off with enforced bed-rest due to a sudden complication with her pregnancy, Mike had been volunteered to carry on with his father’s morning list. This was not the kind of flexible arrangement that Mike would have expected in London, but he could see that it worked here.
So, his first Rivercut surgery and in his father’s consulting room. A couple of suggestions that this was the room of an old-fashioned doctor—the panelled walls, the old roll-top bureau in the corner. It sat oddly with the computer on the desk and the printer under the window. Adjusting the swivel chair, Mike realised there were photographs on the wall opposite. A photo of his mother. A photo of him aged seventeen, covered in mud, racing down the pitch clutching a rugby ball. He smiled, remembering that game. And smiled more at the three photographs of Bethany. No wonder the receptionist had recognised her on sight.
Mike felt at home. He pressed the intercom to summon his first patient. Being new to the practice, he had to introduce himself to everyone, shake hands, explain that his father had been called away. And then there had to be a few words of general conversation.
He recognised what was happening after a while. He was being welcomed to the area. Yes, there was more snow here than in London. Yes, he had seen the poster inviting everyone to the Christmas carol service. Yes, his daughter would be going to the village school. No, he didn’t think he would be lonely here.
His patients came in with the usual mixture of complaints, more minor than major. Gone suddenly deaf? A quick examination, then ear drops prescribed and come in to see the nurse in a week’s time to have them syringed. A very bad cold? No, no point in antibiotics, they don’t have any effect on a viral disease. Rest, plenty of fluids and paracetamol. A mole on the cheek that seemed to have grown over the past few weeks? Probably nothing, but we’ll refer you to a consultant dermatologist at the local hospital—once he’d found out which one that was.
Then a case came in that was typical of the area. Dave Hart was clutching his back, obviously in pain. ‘I was taking some feed out to the sheep, Doctor. I was loading up the trailer and I twisted a bit and suddenly there was this great pain in my back. Never felt anything like it.’
‘OK, come and lie on this couch and I’ll examine you.’
Sometimes Mike thought that the worst designed bit of the human body was the spine. He felt Dave’s back, noticed where the pain was and observed what movement Dave had. ‘Well, the good news is that I don’t think that you’ve slipped any of the vertebrae. The bad news is you’ve strained the muscles quite badly. I’ll prescribe painkillers, but the only real cure is rest.’
‘Rest? Doctor, I’m a working farmer!’
‘If you try to lift anything heavy, you’ll only make things worse. Much worse. Isn’t there anyone you can get in for a while?’
‘I suppose so.’
Mike spent quite some time trying to make Dave see just how serious things could get if he did too much, but he had an uneasy feeling the man wouldn’t know how to rest. And that would mean he’d be back.
His last case made him think too. Pip Lawrie, another young farmer, came in with a fungal infection of his feet, probably caused by getting them wet too often. ‘The wife sent me,’ he said sheepishly. ‘Fed up with me itching all the time.’
Mike gave him advice and prescribed a spray that should clear up the condition. Then, just as he was leaving, Pip said, ‘I don’t suppose you can recommend something for a pain in the chest, can you? Just a mild pain.’
‘You’ve got a pain in the chest?’
‘Not me. Pa. He lives with us. He gets out of breath more than he used to and sometimes he complains about this pain. Says it’s just down the front of his chest. It goes away when he sits down.’
Mike had a nasty feeling about these symptoms. ‘I’d like to see him. Can he come down to the surgery?’
‘Come all this way for a bit of a pain? No chance. No way will he leave the farm. He was born there and I don’t think he’s ever been more than fifty miles away from it in his life. He’ll just carry on taking aspirin.’
‘Not always the best thing,’ Mike said cautiously.
‘He’s a tough old boy. You ask Nurse Fellowes. She used to come to the farm when he broke his arm.’
‘Right,’ said Mike.
It was lun
chtime. Mike typed the last notes onto the computer, stretched, went into Reception to collect Bethany—and found the place empty! Where was she? Terror caught hold of him without warning. He flung open the front door but there was no one in sight. Really panicking now, he tore down the passage to Grace’s room. ‘Quickly,’ he said. ‘I need to—’
Grace looked up at him with a smile. Bethany also looked up from where she’d set up an improvised gymkhana on Grace’s desk. ‘Look at Twinkle, Daddy. He can jump right over the blood pressure machine.’
‘Rachel had to go home,’ said Grace, ‘so Bethany’s been keeping me company while you finished your list. My, but that Twinkle’s an energetic little pony, isn’t he?’
Mike just stood there, hanging on to the doorframe, feeling the adrenalin draining out of his limbs.
Grace’s steady grey eyes rested on him for a moment. ‘Tea, I think,’ she murmured. ‘Sit yourself down on my squashy chair with Bethany while I make it. Go and sit on your dad’s knee, poppet.’
Bethany rushed across and threw herself into Mike’s arms. ‘Rachel goes riding,’ she said. ‘And Grace says she knows where. And—’
There was a knock at the door. James peered in. ‘Where’s the young lady who promised to have lunch with me?’
‘Grandad!’ Bethany leaped off Mike’s knee, ran openarmed across the room. James winked at Grace and Mike. ‘Just like her father used to be,’ he said. ‘Never walked when he could run.’ Then the two of them were gone.
Grace put a cup of tea by Mike’s elbow. ‘I couldn’t say I didn’t know about the stables when she asked. Sorry if I’ve put my foot in it. Have you ever ridden?’
He shook his head. ‘Once, when I was working in the desert, I was persuaded to go for a camel ride. I decided then that I was happier walking on two legs than being shaken about on four. I’ll stick to walking.’
‘Camels?’ Grace grinned. ‘I don’t see you as Lawrence of Arabia.’
‘Neither did the camel. Take a word of advice, Grace, stick to horses. They don’t spit.’
‘I’ll remember that. Horses—good, camels—bad.’
He’d been feeling better until that moment, until an echo from the past seared across his brain, so painful that he gasped.
‘Mike! Mike, are you all right? Your face has gone white. Are you going to faint?’
There was Grace in front of him, reaching out to him, her hands on his shoulders. Her smiling face was now concerned and he felt terrible for worrying her.
‘I’m all right,’ he managed to mumble. ‘A bit tired. Yesterday was a long journey and…’
‘Hush. Drink this tea, and I’m putting two spoonfuls of sugar in it. No arguments.’
He was in no condition to argue. He drank the sweet tea—which was disgusting—then felt angry at himself. He was a doctor, for goodness’ sake. What had got into him? It was over now, done, finished. It had finished at ten p.m. on a wet November night when he had known at once what the news was. The A and E consultant had come out of Theatre and his face had told it all.
He would have to say something to Grace. He owed her that much for giving her such a fright. He’d make it short. ‘My wife was killed in a car crash just over a year ago. I loved her very much but I’ve tried to put it behind me for Bethany’s sake. Every now and again something brings the hurt back and it’s…it’s hard. You just said, “Horses good—camels bad.” What could be more harmless? Except that I remember Sarah saying it to me, those exact words. And we laughed about it.’
‘Oh, poor Mike—I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.’ He saw tears in her eyes. And then she was beside him, her arms wrapped round him, rocking him as his mother had done so many years before. ‘So sorry,’ she whispered again. ‘So sorry…’
It was comforting, being held like that. He felt the tearing emptiness in his chest ease. But he was a man, not a child. He was a professional, a doctor. He didn’t make an exhibition of himself. Reluctantly, he pulled away.
‘It’s me who should be sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t usually make a fool of myself like that. I—’
‘You’re not a fool! You were in love with someone who loved you and that is to be celebrated! And if you feel pain there is no shame in showing it. Right?’
‘Right,’ he said after a moment.
‘I think that anyone who can love like that is…is wonderful. Wonderful and very lucky to have had it in their life. Would you like more tea before you go back to James and Bethany?’
‘Please. But this time without sugar.’
He sat quietly sipping it, watching as she typed up her morning’s notes. He found it comforting, he was glad he was with her. ‘Thank you,’ he said at last.
‘No problem. I’d hazard a professional guess that you’ve been working too hard to grieve and have just bottled it up. You men are all the same.’
‘Oh, that reminds me. Do you remember treating a man called Lawrie for a broken arm? About two years ago?’
Grace grinned. ‘Joshua Lawrie. Lives with his son on High Scar farm. He’s a cantankerous old so-and-so. Broke his arm in a farm accident—compound fracture, left radius—and it took twice as long to heal as it should have. He wouldn’t stop working. I caught him trying to fork up hay one-handed. Why are you interested?’
‘I’ve just had his son in. Apparently Joshua is complaining of chest pains, but he won’t come down to the surgery.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ Grace looked at Mike. ‘Are you worried about him?’
‘It doesn’t sound right. But I’m new here and don’t want to be seen to interfere.’
‘Well, I got on quite well with him in the end, so I could call in on them this afternoon and see how he’s doing. Oh. No, I can’t. My car’s in the garage.’ She bit her lip, then looked at him speculatively. ‘You could drive me up there because my car’s being fixed—then you could see him for yourself.’
‘It’s a good plan, but I promised Bethany we’d unpack this afternoon,’ said Mike. ‘I’ve neglected her all morning as it is. I wonder, though…I don’t suppose you ever do calls in the evenings, do you?’
Grace laughed. ‘Sorry. That really would put the wind up them. You’re truly worried about this, aren’t you?’
Mike shrugged. ‘Occupational hazard. How about if we just say you’re showing me the area? Bethany will be all right with Dad for the evening. I really would appreciate your assistance on this, Grace.’
She was silent for a moment. ‘All right. About half past six?’
‘That would be perfect. I’ll see you then.’
Walking down the road to her cottage after Mike had gone, Grace thought of what she had just learned. His wife had been killed just over a year ago in a car accident. She’d known that already. What she hadn’t known was that he was still in love with her. Grace was a trained nurse, she could read people, she had recognised the anguish on his face as being entirely honest.
So what did that mean to her?
Grace sighed. It meant she’d have to be careful. It meant that—whatever vague thoughts she might have been having about how nice he was, how attractive—she’d just have to give them all up. They would work together. They could even be friends. But nothing more.
Mike was in love with a ghost.
Chapter Three
GIVEN that they were never going to be any more than friends, Grace was having a surprising amount of difficulty deciding what to wear. Not her uniform, that was certain. But did she dress as someone going out on a snowy winter’s night—boots, trousers, thick sweater and anorak? Or did she dress more smartly? Like someone going out on a date?
Hmm. Mike’s car was large, luxurious and capable of dealing with the worst conditions that there could be round here. So she would dress smartly. Not overdo it, but just make a bit of an effort. She started to run herself a bath. It would take time; the boiler was old and temperamental. Meanwhile, she went to her rather chilly bedroom and laid out three dresses on the bed. Which to wear? The dark blue lacy dre
ss, the light blue wispy silky dress or the grey jersey dress with the swooping neckline?
Oh, for heaven’s sake! She was going out to see a possible patient with a man she had only met yesterday. What was the point of dressing up? They were going to be friends. There was no need to impress Mike Curtis. She hung all the dresses back in the wardrobe and took out a pair of black trousers.
But she’d still look smart. She liked to look smart on occasion. In fact, when she had bathed and washed her hair, decided on a white silk shirt and a blue bolero jacket to go with the trousers and spent half an hour on her makeup, she decided she looked quite presentable.
To finish, a pair of black court shoes. Then she sighed and put her Wellingtons in a carrier bag. There would be the inevitable muddy walk between car and front door.
Mike was exactly on time and she felt a faint flutter in her stomach when she opened the front door to him. He was now in a black leather jacket and a dark sweater. There were snowflakes on his head and shoulders. He looked distinctly male, even more so than in his formal suit. In fact, he looked decidedly sexy.
‘I’m ready,’ she said, catching up her coat. ‘Let’s get straight off.’ She didn’t give him the option of coming into the cottage. For a start there was no need. And also this was in a sense her refuge, it was geared to her. If he came in he might feel to her like an intruder and she didn’t want to think of him that way.
He didn’t seem upset by any possible rebuff. ‘Your carriage awaits you, madam,’ he said.
She waved the carrier bag in front of him. ‘Mesdames in carriages don’t carry Wellington boots with them to get through the mud.’
‘If there was mud I would happily have carried you.’
Now, that was a thought that was rather exciting. But she said, ‘We don’t go in for a lot of carrying around here. Modern women make their own way, even if it’s through mud. Come to that, they probably always did. Besides, your legs would buckle—I’m not exactly a stick-thin model.’
Hot-Shot Doc, Christmas Bride / Christmas At Rivercut Manor Page 18
