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

by Joanna Neil / Gill Sanderson

  ‘Hello, Grace,’ called another voice. It was Bethany, pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, holding hands with a new friend on each side.

  Grace was pleased. She’d rung her friend Liz, the reception class teacher, last night, but she hadn’t been sure Mike would actually take the plunge and bring Bethany down. ‘Hello, poppet. Are you having a nice time?’

  The little girl nodded enthusiastically. ‘We made snowflakes and glittered them all over. I made one for you.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll hang it up with my other decorations when I get them out. I hope you made some for Daddy and Grandad too.’

  ‘I did. And Miss Lang says I can be in the Nativity!’

  ‘That’s lovely. Off you go and play now.’

  Hmm. If Bethany was at school, Mike would be free after morning surgery. Thinking about a certain phone call she’d received earlier, Grace rang the practice.

  ‘Grace? What’s the matter? I can hear children screaming!’

  ‘It’s playtime, Mike.’

  ‘Oh, sorry.’

  Grace grinned. ‘And before you ask, Bethany is building a snowman with a whole lot of new friends.’

  ‘Has she got her coat on?’

  ‘They’ve all got their coats on. She told me she’s been decorating snowflakes and she’s going to be in the Nativity play.’

  ‘She’s been in a Nativity play. She was a king’s page. You’ve no idea how much spin I had to put on to convince her it was superior to being an angel.’

  Grace chuckled. ‘The reason I’m ringing is to ask if you could drive me up to see a patient called Edith Holroyd this afternoon. She’s a farmer’s wife and is suffering from rheumatoid arthritis. I thought she was more or less stable but she phoned this morning asking if she could have a stronger dosage of drugs because the pain was coming back. I’m just a bit concerned. I’d like another opinion before she gets a fresh prescription.’

  ‘It’s what I’m here for—as long as I’m outside those school gates at three to pick up Bethany. And talking of picking up, you might like to know Pip Lawrie phoned to say Joshua grumbled his way into the ambulance which is even now heading for the hospital.’

  ‘I know,’ said Grace. ‘I saw it coming through the village with Joshua’s daughter-in-law driving behind to stop him escaping through the rear doors and doing a runner. I’ll see you at the surgery after lunch, okay?’

  ‘I’ll be here.’

  Mike found he was looking forward to doing another visit with Grace. He got a small rush of pleasure when she tapped on his door to ask if he was ready. She looked a typical district nurse with her neat uniform, tidy hair and minimal make-up, but there was a joyous inner core to her that in Mike’s view made her a very superior community practitioner indeed.

  As she directed him out of the village and up into the hills, he said, ‘I had a look at Mrs Holroyd’s notes—has anyone ever told you you write a fine report, by the way?—and I’ve signed out what extra medication might be needed from the pharmacy. It might save her or her husband a trek to the nearest chemist.’

  ‘That’s thoughtful,’ said Grace.

  Mike felt an absurd warmth at her praise. ‘It’s not something I’d have been likely to do in London, but it seemed obvious here. There is still the possibility that surgery might be necessary. Tell me more about her. What is she like as a person?’

  ‘Sixty-three, daughter of a farmer, married another farmer who lived ten miles away. One daughter living locally, one son who emigrated to Australia and is farming a station out there that seems to be the size of Yorkshire. Never known any other life than farming and never wanted to. She can…she could…drive a tractor, shear a sheep, fork out feed. Only four years ago she could work in the fields for twelve hours and still turn out three hot meals a day for the family. Then she got rheumatoid arthritis and suddenly couldn’t work at all. It’s a tragedy! She hates just sitting around. Her husband loves her and wants her to be as comfortable as possible but he must miss the work she could do.’

  Not a story you’d hear in London, Mike thought, but said nothing.

  Grace continued. ‘She knows that, barring some miracle cure, she’s never going to get back to the person she was. She’s never complained—but it grieves her. Life isn’t fair sometimes.’

  He was amused by her vehemence. ‘Do you care for all your patients as much as this one?’

  She shrugged. ‘In this case, the family are friends. When I was a Guide my patrol used to go and sleep in their barn and Mrs Holroyd kept an eye on us. She used to accidentally cook too much dinner and need us to use it up for her.’

  ‘She sounds like a good person.’

  ‘She is. Her husband too.’

  The farm was large and well kept. Mike didn’t miss Grace’s wistful expression as she glanced at one of the barns. Did she wish she was a young girl again?

  Inside the farmhouse Fred Holroyd was on constant alert, fetching things for his wife, even though she scolded him and told him it wasn’t necessary. Mike could feel the love between them. He liked Edith Holroyd too. He could tell the disease was sapping her strength, that she hated not being able to do the things that had once been so easy. He gave her a thorough examination—and sensed Grace’s approval as she looked on—but he knew from the beginning that there was going to be no miracle cure.

  He left Grace to help Edith get dressed and went back into the parlour. Fred was trying not to appear too hopeful. Mike examined the pictures on the wall while they waited. Most of them were photographs—some obviously of children or grandchildren but others were much older. Pictures of a kind of farming that had now disappeared.

  When Grace and Edith came in, he said, ‘Mrs Holroyd, I’m going to alter your medication. It should make your life a little easier, help you to sleep better. But you know this is in no way a cure.’

  ‘I know. I’ve accepted that. There’s worse off than me.’ There was toughness in the voice but also just a thread of desperation.

  ‘What do you do to occupy your time?’

  ‘I cook still. I read. It’s nice to have the time, now I’m not in the fields any more. I like it when my grandchildren come round. Helen brings them at least once a week. And I write to my son in Australia.’

  Mike nodded, an idea forming. ‘You must have seen a lot of changes. I’ve been looking at your photographs—some of the farming scenes date back to your childhood.’

  A small smile creased Edith’s face. ‘I was helping in the yard when I was six,’ she said. ‘Not getting in the way, mind, but helping. My father paid me—he gave me a shilling and some sweets.’

  ‘Ever thought of writing down your memories? To pass them on to your children and grandchildren?’

  Mrs Holroyd looked shocked. ‘Me! I couldn’t write!’

  ‘You write to your son. Just think of it as a series of letters. Start by listing all the jobs you did in the yard. It’s a fast-disappearing way of life. People will be interested in the years to come.’

  ‘I think that’s a great idea,’ said Fred. ‘You always tell a good story, Edith.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got some memories,’ she admitted. ‘I’ll give it a go.’

  ‘You’re an odd sort of doctor,’ said Grace as they crossed the farmyard to the car. ‘I’m really impressed. That idea you gave Mrs Holroyd—that she write out her life story—that was inspired. It’ll probably do her as much good as the medicine.’

  ‘Just so long as she keeps taking the medicine! But thanks—one of the reasons I wanted to come up here to Yorkshire was that I thought there might be the chance to spend more time talking to patients. Not the ten minutes allocated to them in the surgery but an opportunity to get to know them.’

  ‘In an ideal world,’ Grace said. She opened the passenger door, then paused. ‘Can you hang on a moment? There’s something I need to collect. I won’t be long.’And she walked quickly over to the barn she had looked at before.

  Mike watched, surprised, as she pushed open the unlocked door
. She obviously knew what she was doing, but even so…

  It wasn’t a barn for agricultural use. He’d been on City Farm excursions with Bethany and this building didn’t have anything like the requisite dusty, cobwebby atmosphere. Or the smell, for that matter. As Mike stepped through the doorway his eyes took in a new concrete floor, a sound roof and solid walls. There were packing cases stacked along one wall and furniture, wrapped in thick insulating sheets, at the far end.

  Grace was rummaging through a packing case, lifting out cardboard boxes.

  ‘I assume the Holroyds don’t mind you making off with the crown jewels, do they?’

  She didn’t look round. ‘It’s not the crown jewels and they know all about it. Please, Mike, just wait in the car. I really won’t be a moment.’

  He was startled. Her voice was ragged with tension. ‘Can I help you carry anything?’

  ‘It’s fine. The boxes are very light. Please, Mike.’

  He put his hand on her arm, just for a second. ‘No hurry.’ But it was a puzzle—the first time he’d heard her sounding less than in control. It made him feel…He didn’t know how he felt. So once they were in the car heading for Rivercut again, boxes safely stowed in the back, he started talking about the government’s latest plans for reorganisation of the health service. It wasn’t exciting, but it was something that concerned them both, and on which they both had views. A sensible talk between two professionals. He was sure they both benefited from it.

  When he drew up outside Grace’s cottage, she unloaded her three cardboard boxes—they really were light, he noted with interest—looked at her watch and said, ‘Ten minutes for you to get to school. Perfect timing.’

  He glanced across at the side road leading down to the school. It wasn’t exactly solid with cars, but enough to make parking interesting. ‘I couldn’t leave the car here while I collect Bethany, could I? Save doing a turn in the road in the snow with everyone watching.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Says the man who used to drive a Jaguar in London. Yes, of course you can. Go on, you don’t want to be late.’

  ‘Thanks. Well, see you tomorrow, I expect.’

  Grace shut the door behind Mike and let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. Her gaze fell on the boxes of Christmas decorations the Holroyds had been storing for her. Ridiculous to get so upset. She gave a mighty sniff and went to put the kettle on for a comforting mug of tea.

  But the kettle had only just boiled when there was a knock on the door. On the doorstep stood Mike, a beaming Bethany—and a very, very glittery snowflake.

  ‘She made it for you,’ said Mike with a perfectly straight face. ‘So I knew you’d want it right away.’

  ‘Thank you, poppet. It’s lovely,’ said Grace. A small shower of silver transferred itself to her uniform cardigan as she took the star.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ agreed Bethany. She gave an excited skip. ‘I’m going to be an angel!’

  Some spin, thought Grace, looking at Mike.

  He looked back. ‘And, um, she has to have a costume as soon as possible. Tomorrow, for preference. I asked about hiring one. Everyone fell about laughing. The teacher thought you might be able to help.’

  Oh, did she? Grace was going to have words with Liz next time she saw her. ‘Well, all you need is a white pillowcase and a couple of lengths of tinsel, but…Wait a minute…’ She’d remembered something. ‘Actually,’ she said slowly, ‘I do have an angel costume ready made. It used to be mine. But it’s at the manor. In the attics.’ And that would mean going back there.

  ‘That would be great. Can we take you? Bethany and I? In the car?’ said Mike, and then he saw her expression. ‘But, of course, I understand if…’

  Grace shook herself. It was just a house and an attic and a box of dressing-up clothes. She smiled at Bethany. ‘I’ll fetch the keys.’

  The manor stood on rising ground just outside the village. No one had been up the drive for quite a while, so the snow lay thick along it. The afternoon sun gilded the mellow Georgian facade and there were flashes of light reflected from the icicles hanging from the eves. Grace hadn’t expected this to hurt quite so much.

  Bethany was clamouring to get out as soon as Mike stopped the car.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ he said quietly. ‘Like an illustration out of one of Bethany’s fairy stories.’

  But without the prince, thought Grace. She unlocked the double outer doors, then the inner doors. There was a film of dust everywhere—and it was cold. But that was why she’d moved out. It took too long and cost too much to heat. She simply hadn’t been able to manage it by herself.

  Mike followed her in. ‘No furniture?’ he queried.

  ‘The agent advised it. He said the corporate bods prefer to see floor space if they’re thinking of out-of-town headquarters.’ But it was horrible, hearing their echoing footsteps where once the sound would have been absorbed by sofas and bookcases and low tables and colourful rugs. She tried to see the empty hall through Mike’s eyes. An elegant oak-panelled room, built in the days when the hall had been the main room of the house. An ornate fireplace, now blocked up against the draughts from the chimney. A graceful staircase leading to an open landing.

  Bethany gave a squeal of delight and ran past them to start climbing the stairs. Grace gave a shaky smile. ‘We used to have parties in this room. You should have seen it—they were glorious. And beforehand I’d borrow one of my mother’s long skirts and walk down the stairs, holding my dress just above my ankles and feeling beautiful. Exactly like the actresses in the films Mum loved watching.’

  ‘I imagine you outshone them all. Bethany, sweetheart, be careful on the stairs.’

  ‘They’re shallow, Mike. It’s quite difficult to hurt yourself falling down them.’

  But he was hurrying up after his daughter, so Grace followed.

  On the landing, Bethany demanded to know what was in all the rooms. ‘Sorry,’ said Mike. ‘It’s a passion of hers.’

  Grace would have preferred to collect the dressing-up box and go, but she couldn’t disappoint that bright, excited little face. ‘This used to be my bedroom,’ she said.

  It wasn’t too bad, coming in here. She saw Mike look around, noting the brighter patches of wallpaper where her wardrobe, bed, chest of drawers and dressing table had stood. Bethany ran to the window to look out.

  ‘My desk was under that window. When I was tired of studying, I could stare at the moors. Probably why I love them so much.’

  ‘I’m trying to imagine you as a schoolgirl. What were you like?’

  ‘Gawky,’ she said, and Mike smiled. ‘With pigtails. That wall was covered with pictures of pop stars and horses. Dad always said the horses were better looking. You’ve got all that to come with Bethany.’

  She led them down the passage towards the attic staircase. But Bethany reached up to open the next door along. ‘Daddy!’ she gasped, looking in. ‘It’s a princess bed!’

  ‘Ah,’ said Grace. ‘That was my parents’ room. The bed was built actually in there goodness knows how many generations ago. The only way to get it out would have been in pieces, so I left it for the time being.’ Peter had talked grandly about knocking through the wall when they were married and turning her room into a palatial en suite. She wished she’d known before she’d got engaged how much of his love had had its roots in pure, unadulterated snobbery.

  ‘It’s a hit with one little girl, that’s for sure,’ said Mike. ‘Sweetheart, don’t bounce up and down on the mattress like that. It’s ever so dusty.’

  Grace was glad to be distracted from her memories. ‘Bethany’s not asthmatic, is she?’

  ‘No, I just…’ He broke off. ‘It’s a lovely light room too, with these windows on two sides. Views of the whole valley.’

  ‘Yes.’ Peter had loved that too. The fact that up here he had been lord of all he’d surveyed. Suddenly Grace wanted to retch. ‘The attic is this way,’ she said abruptly. ‘You’ll like this, Bethany. There�
��s a cupboard door—and when you open it you find a staircase instead.’

  Mike’s daughter immediately bounced off the bed and raced past Grace round the corner to open the next door. Except that wasn’t the attic staircase. Grace stood rooted to the spot, the desire to be sick even stronger.

  Mike brushed past. ‘Bethany, wait for me before you start climbing…’ He looked into the room, stood perfectly still for a second, then shut the door gently. ‘Not that one, darling. Let’s try the next. Wow! Stairs! Just as Grace said. Carefully now.’

  Feeling came back to Grace’s nerve-ends. She followed them up the enclosed staircase, smiled wanly as Bethany ran in and out of the little attic bedrooms, unlocked the end room she’d been using for storage. Then she retrieved the box with the angel costume in, and went downstairs.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Mike again. ‘She’s going to want to look everywhere on the ground floor too. I swear she’s going to be an estate agent when she grows up. It’s hurting you, isn’t it, showing someone around your home?’

  ‘I’ve had easier tasks,’ said Grace.

  ‘You don’t do it when someone is interested in buying it, do you?’

  ‘No, I leave it to the agent. I couldn’t bear to see their faces as they look at the shabby wallpaper and the old Victorian toilet fittings. Any big company would gut the place and refit it anyway.’

  ‘You love it very much.’

  ‘Of course I do. It’s my home. Mike, do you mind if I wait outside while Bethany looks at the downstairs rooms?’

  ‘We’ll be quick.’ He put his hand on her shoulder, gently. She reached up, touched his hand and then moved to the door.

  She had time to regain her equilibrium before they joined her. It was ridiculous to get so worked up. The manor had to be sold and that was an end to it. She locked the doors and turned to see that Bethany, like all children everywhere, had been unable to resist the lure of the wide sweep of untouched snow in the orchard to one side of the drive.

  ‘Not too far, sweetheart,’ called Mike, an edge to his voice. ‘It’s getting dark and I don’t know how deep it is.’