‘I’m glad you’re not,’ he said, and she had to blush. But after she’d locked the door she didn’t object when he took her arm to walk her through the snow.
Being driven in his Range Rover was infinitely preferable to driving her faithful old vehicle. It didn’t rattle, it didn’t smell of diesel, it didn’t hesitate before climbing a hill. And the seats were so comfortable!
‘I like your car,’ she said.
‘I think it’s right for the job. The equivalent of my London Jaguar. I’m going to enjoy driving around here. I’m already getting used to the novelty of not stopping for traffic lights every hundred yards. Incidentally, what’s the word on your car?’
‘Very good. Nothing bent or broken. Bert’s retuned the engine and done something incomprehensible with the carburetor. And he’s getting me a set of re-moulds as soon as possible.’
‘Re-moulds?’ Mike’s voice was sharp. ‘Why not new tyres? You need them.’
‘Bert says re-moulds will do the job.’
‘They might do a job but not the best.’
Grace sighed. ‘I can’t afford new tyres. Re-moulds will be fine. It’s hardly as if I’m going to do any racing. Getting from A to B is all I ask.’
‘Point taken,’ he said. He drove in silence for a moment. ‘Just one thing—if this weather gets worse and you have to make a trip out to somewhere that’s going to be really hard to get to, I’d like you to borrow this car.’
‘What! Are you mad? This Range Rover costs something like double my annual salary!’
‘It’s insured. Tell me, Grace, if there was trouble and if I needed to borrow your car, you’d lend it to me, wouldn’t you?’
‘It’s not the same.’
‘How is it different?’
‘It just is. You need to take the left fork here and keep going up. The road’s a bit precipitous.’ She pointed to a rack of CDs just below the dashboard. ‘Shall I pick some soothing music?’
‘Soothe away,’ he said.
She needed to stop talking for a while. Mike was unsettling her. His offer to lend her his car—she could imagine some men making it solely to impress her. But she didn’t think Mike was like that. It was a genuine, helpful offer and it only added to his attractiveness. Which, given the way he still felt about his dead wife, could be a real problem. Putting some music on would mean they didn’t have to talk. It would keep things impersonal.
What was the last thing he had been listening to? She ejected the CD, looked at the title in the dim light from the dashboard and laughed out loud. ‘Nursery Rhymes To Sing Along To?’
He slanted a look at her. ‘When we’re bored with driving, Bethany and I sing duets. We’re very good. Would you like to join me in a rendition of “Ba Ba Black Sheep”?’
‘I think I’ll pass.’
‘We sing Christmas songs too. There’s a CD of them in the rack. With finishing for the holidays so early, Bethany’s been practising non-stop for her school Nativity since halfterm, so we’re pretty hot on carols.’
‘That’s handy. You’ll be a big asset at the carol service. Talking of school…’
‘She’s booked into Rivercut Primary for January. I want her to grow up in the village.’
‘That’s good, but it wasn’t what I was going to say. It occurred to me that the school here has still got a couple of weeks until the end of term. The reception teacher is a pal of mine—I’m sure she’d let Bethany start now if you wanted.’
‘Well…’
‘You know, Christmas is a great time for a kiddie to settle into a new class. It’s all glitter and paper chains and snowflakes. And with you taking over Rosemary’s list, it would mean Bethany is safe and occupied and happy while you’re working.’
There was a silence as Mike negotiated two hairpin bends in succession. Grace held her breath. Had she said too much? Would he accuse her of interfering? ‘You’re right,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll take her down there tomorrow and introduce ourselves.’
Phew, he hadn’t taken her suggestion the wrong way. Grace riffled through the CDs with a feeling of relief. A lot were Bethany’s but those he had picked for himself were a wide-ranging selection.
‘You’ve got an interesting taste in music,’ she commented.
‘I have to give the non-musical answer. I know what I like.’
Grace slipped in a disc, but turned it down low. ‘I like this,’ she said. ‘It’s cheerful.’
Ten minutes later they drove into the courtyard of High Scar Farm. ‘We were just passing,’ said Mike with little regard for the truth. ‘Nurse Fellowes is showing me the area and I thought we’d drop in. Mr Lawrie, this morning your son said that you’d been having some pains in your chest?’
‘Indigestion,’ growled Joshua Lawrie.
‘Right. We can fix that—if it is indigestion. How have you been getting about in general?’
‘All right.’
‘No you haven’t, Pa,’ said his daughter-in-law. ‘You’ve slowed right down and you know it. You can’t get to the top of the stairs without catching your breath. And then these pains have started. Why indigestion now? You’re eating the same food as you have for the past fifty years.’
‘It’s the sort of thing you expect when you get older.’
Grace looked at Joshua thoughtfully. She’d not seen him for quite a while, and it struck her that he had aged. He didn’t move as smartly as he had done, his back was more bowed.
‘Are you still forking the hay into the top loft, Mr Lawrie?’ she asked. ‘I remember how strong you were. You did it with just one arm.’
‘Takes him all his time with two now,’ said Pip. He got a malevolent look.
‘Why don’t we go into your bedroom and let me have a quick look at you?’ Mike suggested. ‘It’ll only take a couple of minutes.’
‘I don’t see any point—’
His son interrupted. ‘Go on, Pa. Doctor’s come all this way to see you. It’s only polite.’ Evidently Pip didn’t believe the story about the two of them just passing.
‘All right, then.’ It took quite an effort for Joshua to get up from his seat.
Mike followed him as they went upstairs. When they came down again, Grace could see that something had changed. Mike’s expression was stern. Joshua looked half upset, half obstinate.
Mike stood in front of the fire. ‘I’ve examined Mr Lawrie. What he’s suffering from is not indigestion but angina pectoris. I think his blood vessels have narrowed, meaning his heart isn’t getting enough blood. And this cold weather is only making things worse. I’d like him to go to hospital—and I’d like him to go now.’
‘I’m not going to hospital! Not at this hour of night!’
‘Pa! You’ve got to do what the doctor tells you. He’s the expert.’
‘I would like you in hospital tonight, Mr Lawrie. If you stay here, I know you’ll go out in that farmyard tomorrow morning and the cold could kill you.’
‘I was born here. I can die here.’
‘No, Mr Lawrie.’ All of them were silent. Mike’s words had been said quietly but with considerable force. After a while he went on. ‘Tell you what, I’ll meet you halfway. You go to bed now, you stay in your own bed tonight, you wait indoors in the warm tomorrow morning until the ambulance comes for you. Okay?’
‘I think that’s very fair of the doctor,’ Pip put in.
Seeing that everyone was ganging up on the old man, Grace added that the sooner he was in hospital, the quicker he’d be out. ‘You might have an angioplasty or perhaps even a bypass operation, but it can be done in a day and afterwards you’ll be well on the way back to the man you used to be.’
‘All right,’ growled Joshua, after a silence just long enough to indicate that he wasn’t going to be a pushover. ‘I’ll be ready tomorrow.’
‘Good,’ said Mike. ‘This is your chance to be both fitter and happier.’
The old man looked at Mike, then nodded imperceptibly. ‘I’ll go to bed now, then.’
&n
bsp; They watched as he left the room. ‘Nobody in the past fifteen years has been able to change his mind, Doctor,’ said Pip. ‘You’re a miracle worker.’
‘They’ll work miracles for him in hospital,’ said Mike.
‘You achieved a miracle there,’ Grace said as they travelled back down the snowy lanes. ‘You managed to change his mind.’
‘I knew if I insisted that he go to hospital tonight, and he didn’t go, then he’d feel that he’d won a bit of a victory. He was entitled to that.’
‘That’s sneaky. You can be as persuasive as your father sometimes, can’t you?’
‘Perhaps.’
There was silence for a while. ‘I’m starving,’ he said suddenly. ‘Have you eaten yet?’
‘Cup of tea and a biscuit when I got in from work.’
‘That’s not enough. Is there a pub nearby where I could buy you a meal? We’re both looking smart this evening and I think we deserve a treat after our successful visit.’
She looked at him assessingly. ‘Just as colleagues?’
‘Just that.’
‘Then I’d love to,’ she said lightly. Even so, she wouldn’t choose anywhere too expensive. That would send out exactly the signal she wanted to avoid. ‘I know the perfect place—providing you’re prepared to be a little more flexible with your arteries than you are with Mr Lawrie’s?’
‘You’re the navigator—direct away.’
‘Well,’ she said with a grin, ‘the place is called The Hilltop for a reason…’
It was an excellent meal. They had a table in the woodenbeamed parlour, by the window so they could see the snow swirling around the moors outside. They had a bottle of good white wine. Fish fresh that morning from Whitby and the hotel’s famous—or infamous—speciality: chips guaranteed deep-fried in pure beef dripping.
‘I see what you meant about arteries,’ said Mike. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever eat another chip cooked in oil again. These are just heaven.’
For dessert, equally wonderful, they had rhubarb crumble and thick, home-made custard.
And then a cafetière of coffee. As she smelled the rich Brazilian coffee beans, Grace closed her eyes and smiled. ‘Thank you, Mike. That was the best meal I’ve had in ages.’
‘Likewise. We must come again. Soon.’
She opened her eyes in surprise. What did he mean, soon? She’d only known him for…was it really only twenty-four hours? But she reflected that in London he probably ate out with colleagues a lot. Networking. His offer wouldn’t mean anything.
‘So tell me about you,’ he continued diffidently. ‘My father told me you were having to sell the family home. Does it hurt to talk about it?’
His voice was gentle. Grace felt he genuinely cared. ‘It all hurts, but it’s something that has to be done. The mortgage payments are crippling. Did James tell you why?’
‘He said your stepfather cheated your mother.’
‘Cheated, but did it quite legally. There’s no hope ever of getting the money back. Most of it has been lost in poor investments, from what I gather. I can’t blame Mum. She was horribly lonely—and the man was a real charmer. I was happy for her—can you believe that? I hate men like him.’
‘Not all men are the same.’
‘So I thought. Until I found the man of my own dreams and it turned out that I was as big a fool as my mother. He was even more worthless than my stepfather.’ She sighed. ‘But I don’t want to talk about Peter right now. I enjoyed the meal—and the evening—too much to want to be made angry.’
He reached across the table for a moment and gripped her hand. The physical contact warmed her, showed he understood. Grace was a tactile person. She understood how important touch was when used for comfort or silent sympathy. Mike’s brief grip was judged just right and she appreciated it. But when he’d let go and was signalling to the waitress for the bill, she wished it could have gone on a bit longer.
As they walked down the hallway he paused by the illuminated Christmas tree. ‘That’s nice. I promised Bethany we could have a real tree this Christmas. Where do I buy a good one? The Forestry Commission?’
Grace shook her head. ‘There’s a plantation called Kilham’s out on the Penthwaite road, it’s not too far away. If you’ve got somewhere to plant it, get a tree in a special pot that you can put in the ground. Then you can keep it from year to year. But order one quickly, they soon disappear.’
‘I’ll do that.’
They walked out of the warmth of the pub into a moonlit wilderness. The snow had stopped, there was only the blanket of white over the peaks around them. Grace felt an uplifting excitement at the sheer beauty of it.
‘Now, that’s something you don’t see in London,’ said Mike softly. ‘Truly magnificent.’
‘I love it,’ said Grace. ‘It’s so pure, so wonderful. It makes me think that everything just has to be all right really. Christmas will be white. Every child will get their favourite toy. People will laugh and be happy and…’
‘You’re an idealist, Grace.’
She grinned at him. ‘Someone has to be.’
He cupped her elbow to steer her to the car. Did his hand take that bit longer to fall away?
As Mike started the Range Rover, feeling replete, he was shaken by a giant yawn.
Grace glanced across. ‘Are you all right? Do you want to go back inside and have another coffee?’
He was touched at her quick concern. ‘I’ll be fine. It’s been a long day, that’s all.’ It had too. He let out the clutch and started back down the swooping road, mulling over the events. Beginning work two weeks before he was expecting to. The sense that the patients were comparing him with his father. The successful visit tonight. The hearty meal. No wonder he was tired.
‘Yes, of course,’ murmured Grace. She bent her head to search through the CDs and with a jump Mike knew she was thinking of his fright over Bethany’s apparent disappearance that morning and that horrible, searing moment when he’d been reminded so vividly of Sarah.
‘Don’t you ever get furious?’ he suddenly burst out. ‘You lost your mother to a heart attack that could have been avoided. You were let down badly by someone you trusted. How can you be so calm all the time? So certain that the world is a good place? It isn’t!’
Grace’s head came up. ‘Pull over,’ she said.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m driving you home.’
‘Pull over,’ she repeated. ‘I want to show you something.’
There was a stopping place just ahead. Mike did as she asked.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘You can’t see it properly from here.’
See what? But Mike followed her out of the car and across the road to where a bare-leafed tree stood sentinel on the wide verge of the ridge. The snow squeaked under their feet. ‘Careful,’ he muttered, taking her arm. She didn’t pull away.
‘What do you see?’ she asked, nodding across the valley.
Mike looked. The village lay below the ridge: a crescent of snow-covered roofs and stained-glass curtains, all lit by the moon. ‘I see Rivercut,’ he said.
‘Exactly. I did my training in Leeds. I enjoyed it—it’s a nice city. But it’s a city, Mike. When you look out of a top-floor window at night there are lights all around you—as far as the eye can see.’
Her breath made clouds in the frosty air. ‘Meaning?’ he asked, his breath mingling with hers.
She gestured below them. ‘Look—it’s like an illustration from one of those annuals I used to get every Christmas. I can see every house, every window. I can see the decorations. I can guess what’s on the children’s lists for Santa. It’s…It’s enclosed—and it’s mine. I know them, Mike. I know every family. I look after them. And they look after me. It’s what makes a person whole. It’s what makes life good.’ She looked up at him, her grey eyes clear in the moonlight. ‘You’re not convinced, are you?’
He was still holding her arm. Through the sleeve of her coat he could feel her warm, vital strength. ‘I�
�d like to be,’ he said. He sighed and tipped his head backwards, gazing up through a tracery of bare, snow-lined branches at the great silver disc of the full moon. Was Sarah up there? Watching over him now? Telling him to make a go of this new life?
Grace was still looking at the village. ‘The Carters have put up even more lights. I’d hate to have their electricity bill.’ But her face was gentle, not condemning. ‘I do love Christmas,’ she murmured. ‘I know it’s over-commercialised, but underneath there’s still that hope, isn’t there?’ She glanced up. ‘Oh! I can see a star in the east!’ Then laughed. ‘Except it’s moving too fast and it’s flashing.’
Mike laughed too. ‘These aeroplanes get everywhere.’ He continued to track the plane as it passed behind the tree. He frowned. There was a strange collection of twigs attached to one of the branches. ‘What kind of bird makes a nest like that?’ he said.
Grace turned her head to see. ‘It isn’t a nest. It’s mistletoe.’
Mistletoe. Instantly there was a silence between them. He was aware of her breath on the night air, of her arm under his hand. The tension in her muscles told him she was just as aware of him.
He hesitated just a moment too long before he said, ‘Mistletoe? I’ve never seen it growing wild like that.’
And Grace hesitated just a moment too long before she said, ‘Well, there you go. You’re in the countryside now.’
And neither of them looked at the mistletoe again as they headed back for the car.
Chapter Four
IN THE morning Grace had a number of calls to make in the village. Where it hadn’t been swept, last night’s new snow crunched under her feet as she walked from one house to another. The sun was shining, the snow sparkled and Christmas was most definitely in the air.
She came level with the school playground just as a barrage of shrieks announced the arrival of playtime.
‘Hello, Grace!’ shouted several of the children, tearing across with their coats open and their scarves flying. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m off to see a patient.’ She smiled.
Hot-Shot Doc, Christmas Bride / Christmas At Rivercut Manor Page 19
