Grace looked at him curiously. Surely even in London there were places where a child could fall full length in the snow with perfect safety? How on earth did he think snow angels were made? ‘Let’s run and catch her,’ she suggested. ‘I used to love it when my parents did that.’
He cast her a swift, grateful glance and pelted one way. Grace ran the other way in a pincer movement. Bethany shrieked happily and did indeed fall full length in the snow, suffering no ill effects at all.
She let her father scoop her up. ‘What’s that?’ she said, pointing up into the branches of the nearest apple tree.
‘Mistletoe,’ said Mike knowledgeably. ‘People kiss under it.’ And he kissed his daughter on the forehead.
Bethany was charmed. ‘Grace kiss me now,’ she demanded.
So Mike put her down and Grace bent to give the little girl a hug and a kiss.
‘Now Grace and Daddy.’
There was a tiny silence. Grace straightened up. Her eyes met Mike’s.
‘Absolutely,’ said Mike. He put one hand on her upper arm and moved forward. Just the most delicate touch of lips on lips. They were cold, but a thrill passed through Grace that she had never quite felt before. She rested one hand on his body, felt the fast beating of his heart through his coat and leaned forward. He kissed her again, warmer, slightly longer, but just as soft. ‘For luck,’ he said. Then let out a breath, hoisted his daughter up to his shoulder and walked back to the car.
Chapter Five
TEA was over. Bethany was having a bedtime story read by Grandad. There was no evening surgery—and Mike was walking down Rivercut High Street to Grace’s cottage. She’d noticed some places where the tinsel trim needed to be sewn back onto the angel dress. She’d take it straight over to the school tomorrow. No need, he’d said, I’ll come down later to pick it up.
Which he was. Wondering at himself the whole way. That kiss. Just a friendly peck he’d meant it as. But the moment their lips had touched it had ceased to be a friendly gesture and had meant something. Trouble was, he didn’t know what. And with Sarah an ever-present ache in his mind, if the kiss had meant something to Grace too, he’d have to break off whatever it was. It wasn’t fair to her. But it had been lovely. And—yes, he admitted it—too short.
‘Hi,’ said Grace when he knocked at her door. She’d changed into jeans and a jumper and let her hair down. It was longer than he’d thought, and very attractive. ‘Come in—and before you say anything, yes, it is a bit of a contrast to the manor.’
Mike smiled. ‘On the contrary, you’ve made a tiny space look quite large.’
‘Thank you. Mrs Johnson up the road remembers families of eight or nine children living in these cottages. Personally I think it does just nicely for one—like a comfortable set of clothes that I put on when I enter the front door.’
‘I shouldn’t gain any weight, then,’ he said with a grin.
‘I can’t, I’m too busy. I’ve got the angel costume for you. Oh, and I found my photo albums for Bethany so she can see what the manor looked like with furniture in. You’re welcome to borrow them.’
It was a clear hint but, ‘I don’t need to rush home straight away,’ he said.
‘That’s a pity,’ said Grace.
He laughed out loud at her honesty. ‘And that’s why. I think we might need a small talk, don’t you?’
‘I suppose so. I’ll make some coffee. Sit on the couch—you won’t loom as much.’
But he didn’t sit. He wandered around the room. It wasn’t very warm. Did she not notice? Or was she really too hard up to heat it properly? He turned to see her watching him from the door to the kitchen, an anxious look on her face. ‘This is a handsome sideboard,’ he said, stroking the polished walnut surface.
‘It’s Georgian. Practically the smallest piece of furniture from the manor.’ Then she hesitated. ‘You’ve probably guessed what was stored in Mr Holroyd’s barn was the rest.’
‘I wondered.’
‘I know I need the cash, but I just couldn’t bring myself to sell everything I’d grown up with. And if I get somewhere larger to live then I’d like to keep a few more pieces.’
‘Seems a good idea. What was in the boxes you brought back today?’
She grinned. ‘Christmas decorations. I realised when Bethany told me about the snowflakes this morning that I hadn’t put mine up yet.’ She ducked back into the kitchen and reappeared with two mugs of coffee. She handed him one then sat cross-legged on a large cushion by the wall.
Mike felt the tiniest bit impatient. ‘Oh, come on, Grace. This might be a small couch, but there’s plenty of room for two.’
She waved him to sit down. ‘I sit here a lot. Good for the posture.’
‘Really? Your posture looks pretty good to me.’
‘Shows it works.’ She reached under the coffee table for a couple of albums. ‘Here,’ she said, passing them to him. ‘The manor.’
‘Grace, this is silly. Come over here and show me them properly. I don’t bite.’
‘It’s not biting I’m worried about.’
Mike’s gut clenched. ‘And that’s what we need to talk about. Grace…’
Her mobile rang, making him jump. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘The trouble with having been born in Rivercut is that people don’t always realise I have off-duty hours.’
But it wasn’t someone needing medical attention. And the moment Grace said ‘Hi, Bert. The car’s ready? That’s great! How much do I owe you?’ Mike suspected he ought to be leaving.
He downed his coffee double quick, burning his throat, grabbed the bag with the angel costume in and had nearly made it to the door when Grace put out a hand, barring his way.
‘I don’t quite understand, Bert. Why is there no charge for the tyres?’
‘I’d better go. Bethany will be—’
She toggled the mute button. ‘You’re in no hurry, remember? Yes, Bert, I understand they’re fantastic tyres and will probably outlive the car, but how much did they cost?’
Mike winced.
‘How much? Six hundred pounds? That’s three times the…Pardon? Dr Curtis said the practice would pay? Yes, wasn’t it nice of them? Yes, it was a surprise to me too. Refresh my memory, Bert. Would that be old Dr Curtis or the young one?’
She listened for a moment more and rang off.
Get in first, thought Mike. ‘No arguments, Grace. You use your vehicle to work for the practice and it just wouldn’t have been safe enough with remoulds. You are no good to us or to your patients if you break down.’
‘You pay me for using my car! I claim every inch of mileage I’m entitled to.’
‘Forty pence a mile doesn’t come anywhere near covering your usage. The cost of those tyres is worth it to me because I now know that you’re safer in bad weather than you were.’
‘I thought you said the practice paid.’
‘Me, the practice—what does it matter?’
‘It matters because I have to know who to pay back!’
‘Nobody!’ He bit out his words in frustration. ‘You weren’t safe in that car and I’m not having anybody else I care about die in cars when I can do something about it!’
He didn’t realise he had a look of anguish on his face until Grace put her hand up to his cheek. ‘Mike?’
He stumbled back to the sofa and put his head in his hands. ‘Leave me alone.’
He felt the sofa dip. ‘Not a chance.’
‘Okay, then. You’ve been warned. This isn’t pretty.’ He took an immense breath. ‘Sarah—my wife—worked with me in the practice. She was a good GP—better than me. Neither of us were supposed to be on duty that night, but Sarah got an emergency call from one of her patients and felt she had to go. It was raining, the roads were slippery, she was in the little runabout, not the Jaguar.’ He took another deep, shuddering breath, conscious of Grace’s arm around his shoulders but seeing only the slick, wet tarmac and the blazing lights of the traffic. ‘It wasn’t her fault, the inquest decided
that. A lorry coming the other way swerved to avoid a car pulling out of a side road and lost control. Sarah braked, she had lightning reflexes, but she skidded and the lorry smashed into her. It almost flattened the little car and it caught fire. She died in A and E.’
Now both her arms were around him. ‘Oh, Mike. Oh, Mike.’
He turned instinctively, buried his head in her shoulder, curling into himself with the pain of the memories. ‘I looked at the police report afterwards, got to talk to the mechanic who had examined the wreckage of the car. He told me the tyre treads were within the legal limits. But if there had been just a little more tread then she might have stopped just a few feet sooner, might not have skidded. I was the one who saw to the maintenance of the cars. I can’t forgive myself for that.’
Grace was crying too. Mike felt her tears splash against his forehead. ‘You weren’t to blame for the accident!’
‘But I’m to blame that Sarah died.’ He pulled away. ‘I’d better go.’
‘Not like that, you won’t. I’ll make some more coffee.’
He leant back against the cushions, drained. But in a strange, horrible way he felt better. He’d never said it out loud to anyone before, that he knew he was to blame for Sarah’s death. Grace returned, sat down next to him and put a warm mug between his hands.
‘Drink,’ she said. ‘It’ll do you good.’
More silence. He sipped the coffee, felt its warmth trickle into him. For want of anything better to do he opened one of the albums. ‘The manor,’ he said. ‘All dressed up for Christmas.’ To be accurate, it was the manor at night. All the windows were lit, swags of coloured lights had been fixed to the elegant facade and there were two large Christmas trees, one either side of the front door.
Grace smiled. ‘Those trees are still at the back of the hall. They’re quite a bit bigger than that now. We used to enlist the regulars at the pub each year to heft them into place. Lots of people have said it doesn’t seem the same without them this year.’
Mike turned the pages. ‘Oh, wow,’ he said at a photograph of the entrance hall set out for a party. A party in the grand style too. ‘I see what you mean about it looking splendid. You ate like this every night?’
‘Idiot,’ replied Grace.
The hall was decorated and there was a huge Christmas tree next to the fireplace with presents piled underneath. Tables had been arranged in the form of a big T and covered in white cloths. Arranged on them was a vast buffet. And frozen in time were the smiling guests. Mike could almost hear the chink of glasses and buzz of goodhumoured conversation. It could have been an old-fashioned Christmas-card scene of the squire and his guests making merry—but brought up to date.
He realised that Grace was leaning against him. She seemed to be doing it quite unconsciously, a woman who was used to touching, who wasn’t uncomfortable with herself. ‘Now do you see why I like Christmas so much?’ she said. ‘Everyone looks so happy. As if they think this can go on for ever. I wish the manor looked like that now, instead of horrid and echoing. Look, there I am! Holding my mother’s hand.’
Mike bent to look closer. Grace’s hair brushed his cheek for a moment. Yes, he could see her now. A young Grace, about ten years old. Her hair had been a lighter blonde then, but she radiated the same inner joy. ‘And with a smart long dress,’ he said, trying to sound prosaic. ‘Is that the skirt you borrowed?’
She chuckled. ‘No, it’s a real dress—sort of. I threw a tantrum because I didn’t have anything long to wear. Everyone else was in a full-length dress, why not me? So my mother fashioned that dress out of a real Indian silk scarf. Took her half an hour. I thought I was the bestdressed woman in the place.’
At which point Grace did notice that she was leaning against him. She got up hurriedly. ‘There are photos of the other rooms there too. The music room, the dining room, my father’s den. Take them to show Bethany.’
Mike stood reluctantly. It had been nice, sitting there with Grace. ‘I will. She’ll be fascinated.’
Grace moistened her lips. ‘Mike—I do need to repay you for the tyres somehow. If you’ve ever been…quite well-to-do and then find yourself quite definitely poor, then you get very edgy if you think you’re being offered charity. And before you say anything, I know at times people offer things and you should accept them in the spirit they’re meant, but it’s not so easy when you’ve only met that person three days before.’
He sighed. ‘Without boasting,’ he said, ‘a large sum of money to you is not so large to me. For various reasons I’m…well, comfortable. It pleases me that people should be able to share in my good fortune.’
‘Maybe so. But I’m not very good at being indebted.’
‘You could help us integrate with the village, if you like. You know everyone and we know no one.’
‘Except your dad, who does know everyone,’ she murmured.
‘I want Bethany to be settled here. Part of the community.’
Grace laughed. ‘She’ll do that without any help from me. I’ve never met such a friendly child.’
‘Tell me about it,’ muttered Mike. ‘Do you know how many sleepless nights that friendliness gives a father?’
‘She’ll be fine. Now she’s at school she’ll be invited to tea and to parties. She’ll go swimming and riding with the other kids. She’ll…Now what’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’ And it was nothing. He would have to get over this protectiveness. And he may as well start now. ‘There is one thing,’ he said slowly. ‘She wants to ride. Will you take her for me?’
Grace looked puzzled. ‘The beginners’ class is in the afternoon straight after school. You could take her yourself.’
‘No, I can’t,’ he ground out. ‘Horses are large and dangerous. Bethany is small and infinitely precious. If I take her, I’ll be up there on the horse’s back with her. Probably not very clever in the street-cred stakes.’
‘Mike, the instructors are trained. This is their livelihood. Why would they teach kids something dangerous?’
Suddenly he needed to be out of this small room. He needed air to breathe and space around him. ‘I have as much right to be irrational about my only daughter as the next man,’ he said. ‘But, equally, I don’t want to infect Bethany with my prejudices. Just make the arrangements and stay with her the whole time, will you? Please, Grace?’
She opened the door for him. ‘I’ll give the stable a ring. She will be safe, Mike.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Good.’ And strode up the high street through the cold, crunchy snow, feeling as if he was about to throw up.
Thursday morning. Grace did her early calls, then went to the surgery to write up her notes and get ready for her diabetes clinic. After last night’s emotional exchanges she had thought long and hard about how to behave around Mike and had decided it would be best for both of them if she adopted the same cheerful camaraderie with him as she did with his father. As for that kiss yesterday afternoon (over which she had expended even more long, hard thought), that had been so fleeting, such a nearly precious moment, that she wasn’t going to let any highly charged personal stuff get in the way. Truth to tell, she wasn’t sure yet how she felt about Mike. The pull of attraction was there—on both sides, she thought—but she didn’t think he was ready to love another woman yet, and she couldn’t see herself trusting another man with her heart for a long time to come.
Accordingly, when Mike put his head round the door and asked if she minded him sitting in on her clinic, she said, ‘Yes, I do mind. Go and play with your own patients.’
It was evidently the right tack. He moved a chair to the corner of the room, unperturbed. ‘My list this morning seems to be composed entirely of young women who have come down with mysterious colds or unidentifiable aches. I’ve shifted them to Dad and the nurse.’
Grace grinned. ‘Well, you can’t blame them. You’re novelty value.’ And great eye-candy.
‘That’s what Dad said.’
‘Okay, you may observe my c
linic with pleasure—not that it would make any difference if I did object, I suspect—but first I’ve got bad news for you. Bethany can start her riding lessons today. For now she just needs a pair of jeans, a jumper and a loose coat. I can take them home with me, get her changed at my place, and then drive her to the stables. It’s a couple of miles past the manor.’
Mike didn’t look thrilled, but said he’d get the clothes out.
Grace’s first patient was Angela Mather, a busy mum who nodded approvingly as Grace explained to Mike that Angela had had type 1 diabetes from an early age, managed it herself with insulin injections and was here for her annual check-up.
‘I saw you yesterday at school,’ she said while Grace was checking her blood pressure and taking a blood sample. ‘My Joanne was telling me all about your Bethany. Played together all lunchtime, she said. Would she like to come to tea one day? Oh, and you must bring her to the Rivercut children’s Christmas party next week. I’ll put you down for sausage rolls, shall I?’ She rolled down her sleeve, nodded when Grace said she’d be in touch about the results, and hurried off.
‘Children’s Christmas party?’ said Mike faintly.
‘In the village hall next to St Lawrence’s. I’ll do you a check-list.’
Her next patient, Mr Dobbs, told Mike at length that North Yorkshire had a 98.9 per cent record of good diabetes health care as opposed to the national average of 98 per cent. Grace didn’t dare meet Mike’s eyes as she relayed the information that Mr Dobbs was a newly diagnosed type 2 who needed regular monitoring and had never missed an appointment yet.
‘Good grief, he knew more about diabetes than I do,’ said Mike when the elderly man had left the room.
‘That’s the Internet for you—as soon as he got the diagnosis he read every leaflet I gave him and then monopolised the library PC to check that I knew what I was talking about.’
Mike stood up. ‘Well, you’ve got my vote. Can I just cast an eye over the surgery’s diabetes register?’
Grace waved him towards the PC. ‘Help yourself. It’s open on one of the windows.’
Hot-Shot Doc, Christmas Bride / Christmas At Rivercut Manor Page 21
