by Ramsay, Anna
Dad would choose that Lament when one of his theatrical projects was a bit of a headache. The fact that Tom was playing it now said a lot about his suffering over Diana.
And to think she, Kate, had been the one to rub salt in an all too fresh wound.
In a rattle of cutlery the tray landed on Tom's desk and Kate, her hands shaking, bolted for the door.
'You eating with Bess?'
She nodded but did not turn around.
'Can you come back in half an hour?'
'Of course.'
'Good, we'll go through the diary.'
For lunch Bess produced bowls of Irish stew with crusty bread still hot from the oven. She and Kate sat down at the table together and tucked in.
'Perhaps it's just as well Tom doesn't have neighbours,' smiled Kate. 'I can still hear Amfortas down here.'
''Nobody to disturb round here, Only me and Stan up the lane in our cottage. His Granny used to tell Tom he'd go deaf,' reminisced Bess. 'Course it was pop music in those days. Him and George. Place was well alive in them days.'
Though Eleanor Galvan had brought the kitchen into the late twentieth-century, Kate could see that it would take serious money to refurbish Foxe Manor.
It was sad but true: Diana had a point. How could anyone raise a family in such an isolated spot?
'Where do you and Stan come from then, Bess.
'Village yonder. Went to the village school and so did our two girls.'
'A school? But I didn't even see a house when I drove down here.'
'Bless you, Kate dear, you came what we call the back way.' Bess threw up her hands in amusement. 'My goodness, Tom would never get to the hospital if yon was the only way out.'
'And the village?'
'Take the lane behind the barns and it's half a mile down the road. We've a shop and a post office and a lovely little church. Nice little walk for you this afternoon, maybe.'
'Have you got grandchildren, Bess?'
'Aye that we have, five between our two girls, Joan and Sal. They're both Dorset way and always on at us to retire down near them. We're not getting any younger, see. Little place in Lyme do us nicely, it would. We'll be sad to go – aye, that we will. End of an era for us. '
Poor Tom. Yet another problem for his broad shoulders.
'You won't say anything, Nurse, will you. We're biding our time, see,' she explained, lowering her voice—though Tom would have required a bionic ear to hear one word through the intensity of sound vibrating the study walls.
'We wouldn't want to worry him with what he's been through.' Bess dried her hands on a clean towel, then, on an impulse to confide, pulled her chair closer to this young nurse who was so very different from the alarming Dr Diamond. 'We reckon Diana'll get her way in the end. She'll have our him sell up and go to one of them London hospitals.' She patted Kate's arm reassuringly. 'Don't you be worrying, Nurse. Stan and me, we'll hold on till our Tom's fit and well and back at his hospital.'
Till he marries and goes to London. Kate sat brooding over this shattering news. Sell Foxe Manor. Quit St Crispin's. Marry Diana and live in London because all of this suited the TV doctor!
The prospect of St Crispin's without its hero was too awful to contemplate.
Yet by the sound of it, the plans were made and had only to be finalised. Two such busy people—just a question of agreeing on a convenient date, when Tom got his clean bill of health.
How foolish of me to imagine there could be anything wrong between such a charismatic pair, Kate chided herself.
'I'll take his coffee up for you, Bess.'
In his study she found Tom still at his desk, a red sweater slung across his shoulders, deep in thought as he gazed down into the green valley.
'Are you ready for us to go through your diary?' she asked quietly.
He snapped to attention. 'Come and sit by me, Kate.' He pulled a chair close to his, opened his big black diary and flipped through the pages to the current date.
He was still wearing shorts and those sturdily muscled brown thighs were just inches from Kate's bare knees. Her eyes fixed on his hand as if imprinting the shape of it on her memory … short very clean nails … strong fingers that did impossibly delicate work inside human brains …
Kate felt oddly dizzy. It was an effort to concentrate.
'Two-fifteen tomorrow. Meeting of my senior team, here in my study. I was wondering …'
She pulled herself together. 'Yes?'
'It would be a big help if you'd sit in and take the notes.'
Kate cleared her throat. 'Of course,' she said huskily. 'I want to be useful in any way I can.'
Tom raised an eyebrow. 'Is that a promise?' His voice was meltingly slow and deep and his eyes locked with hers.
Kate stared him out for three whole seconds, then gave in. 'Within reason,' she said, glancing up at him through her eyelashes, her lips curving in a slow provocative smile. Katie Wisdom, you're flirting with a patient. Behave yourself! scolded her horrified inner voice.
'Better wear those specs of yours and do your hair in that frigid super-nurse style. You're mine and I don't want Kingsley coming on to you.'
Kate said nothing but her eyes widened. More of his teasing: he meant 'you're my nurse'… didn't he?
'Needs a wife to go with that consultant's post he's up for. They like married candidates.
'I'd offer him Diana but she tends to scare the pants off men.'
Kate shivered. She could feel goosebumps break out on her bare arms. What had Tom just said? He surely couldn't mean that. Not if he wanted Diana for himself.
'But you aren't married!' Kate exclaimed, then lowered her eyes as if embarrassed by what she had just said.
Taking his time about it, Tom looked her over quizzically, examining the girl from under heavy speculative lids. Was it cold in his study? He could see the goosebumps on her bare arms. One handedly he took his scarlet sweater and wrapped its warmth over her shoulders, pulling the sleeves down, his fingers brushing against the buttons of her white shirt and making her go tense.
His voice broke the spell between them, making a joke of it. 'Of course the powers-that-be prefer married men! Look at the havoc I've wreaked at Crisp's. Bleeding hearts in the nurses' home, swoons in the corridors as I pass by, fumbling fingers in theatre.'
Now Kate could only laugh at his good-humoured exaggeration.
'Promise me you won't run off with Kingsley Armstrong tomorrow.'
Kate wished she could counteract his teasing with the dignified declaration that she was engaged to Dr James Mallory. But she couldn't say it because it wasn't true. 'And the next item in your diary?' she asked, cool composure now regained.
'Wednesday. A meeting at the Royal College of Surgeons. Can you drive me to the station and meet the six-thirty train? Good. I'll pay your petrol, of course. Then Saturday night we're having dinner with Professor Davy.'
Kate frowned. She didn't mind in the least ferrying Tom from A to B and she certainly wouldn't take money for the petrol. But if it meant the chauffeuse must be tolerated at Professor Davy's dinner table … 'I would really rather not.'
Tom frowned and his voice was cold. 'Frank's invitation was extended as much to you as to myself. He and Mary will be hurt and disappointed by your refusal.'
'I'm sorry.' She spoke quietly, her head held high. 'I don't mean to be ungracious but it wouldn't be appropriate for me to be there.'
Tom slammed shut his diary and struck the desk with an exasperated fist. 'We're not living in the Middle Ages, woman! You may be here under my roof but you're not my servant and I'm not your master … good god, you never showed me much deference when I was laid up in hospital so don't start now.'
Kate covered her mouth with a tactful hand, but her eyes gave her away. And this verbal skirmish ended in mutual good-natured laughter.
* * *
James telephoned that evening, interrupting the cold meat and salad supper which nurse and patient were sharing companionably in the kitchen. Tom
had been describing some interesting neuro-surgical cases when Kate's mobile rang. 'Hello James,' she said in surprise. 'I thought you were going to ring later. It's not a very good signal, I can hardly heard you.'
'It's Dr Mallory,' she explained to Tom. 'Would you mind if I take the call outside?'
When she returned, Tom found himself looking for tell-tale signs indicating the condition of Nurse Wisdom's heart. But Kate seemed her calm, uncomplicated self.
If the sound of her lover's voice made her pulses race and her heart beat faster, then it was well concealed, noted Tom with a certain wry satisfaction. His fork was chasing an awkward slice of gammon round his plate. He was fed up with having his food cut up for him like a three-year old. 'All well?'
'Oh yes, thanks. James is staying at the cottage and keeping an eye on the place while I'm working here. The only problem could be his old car refusing to start in the mornings. He's used to walking to work. His flat's up near the Cathedral and usually he just walks down the hill to Crisp's.'
Tom jabbed viciously at a slippery piece of tomato. 'So you two don't live together.'
'No,' said Kate, puzzled by his interest.
'Think what you'd save on the rent.'
Kate frowned at her plate. 'I own my cottage, I don't pay rent and I don't have a mortgage. James is welcome to move in with me, any time.'
Tom pretended he wasn't in the least interested in Kate and her pathologist boyfriend's living arrangements. 'Good for you,' he murmured vaguely, but in truth he was puzzled. Kate owned her own house. And she'd just bought herself a new car - unusual for a staff nurse to afford to do that.
With a hollow laugh he tossed back his glass of wine, topped up Kate's glass and refilled his own, recalling how Frank Davy had hinted that Wisdom suffered from—correction, had suffered from— depression …
He drained that glass too, then finished off the bottle, telling himself that with every passing day Staff Nurse Wisdom grew ever more of a conundrum.
To think, he brooded, when I first saw her that night in the car park I took her for a carefree, uncomplicated young woman! What a grandfather of a mistake.
'Are you and Dr Mallory engaged?' he asked baldly.
With a little shrug of her shoulders Kate said no, they were not. She was surprised that the words came so easily when just a short while ago she'd been so anxious to marry the solid and dependable James Mallory. Perhaps after all her pathologist wasn't Mr Right. Mr Right might be more like Tom Galvan, drawing her to him like a magnet, his teasing dark eyes and his smile arousing in her the oddest mix of emotions. Too physical and energetic and forceful ever to be safe and dependable and boring.
Mr Impossible, not Mr Right!
After supper Kate washed the dishes and tidied the kitchen. In the morning she would tell Bess she'd be happy to cook for Tom in the evenings. It would be fun, working in all this space after her tiny galley kitchen at the cottage.
She wandered in the twilight through the grounds. At her footstep there were scurrying sounds in the long grass and baby rabbits scampered across her path. A white owl flew silent-winged out of one of the barns. She explored further and inside the larger barn found a mud-splashed Range Rover. It wouldn't be long now before Tom was driving again. He hadn't mentioned replacing the Lamborghini yet but perhaps there was no hurry for that. The Range Rover was clearly well-used and often.
On her way to bed, she called goodnight round the study door. But Tom was deep in concentration and apart from a vague reply hardly seemed aware of her. Around his desk was a sea of papers covered with what looked like drawings or diagrams of some kind. Kate frowned. A good night's sleep was highly desirable for any convalescent. Did he plan to stay up half the night, working? She ought to put a stop to this, insist on a sensible bedtime for her convalescent patient. Safer though to ease herself in with the minimum of fuss. She'd let it go for tonight.
The door closed gently behind him. Tom was grinning as he reached down for the bottle of single malt whisky, patting himself on the back for concealing the evidence. Angel Kate would have whipped away the bottle and given a lecture on the effect of alcohol on stability, picturing her patient falling down the stairs on his way to bed.
A woman's imagination is a wondrous thing, mused Tom, studying his latest sketch for dividing up the house. It's a clever idea Kate's come up with, and if it works this might save Foxe Manor.
* * *
Kate slipped quietly into a chair at the back of the study, armed with pen and notepad and ready to take notes of the meeting.
Mr Armstrong, Tom's senior registrar, had arrived in a two-seater sports car with Dr Guiles, the anaesthetist. The others had followed, squashed into Sister Calloway's white Clio.
The sky was overcast and the study lamps had been switched on. They were discussing bed numbers and patient discharges, and Kingsley Armstrong was doing a lot of talking. When Tom wanted something noted down he indicated this to Kate, who sat with her eyes trained on him, trying not to let her mind veer off at a tangent.
Her bed last night had been SO comfortable. She'd feared she'd never sleep in this house, not with Tom yards away and just one small door separating the two of them. But she had slept like a top, out for the count the moment her head hit the pillow. No dreams. No nightmares. And no lying restlessly awake, wishing … no, don't let's go there, not now when I'm supposed to be working!
Surrounded by his surgical team, this was Tom in an entirely new light: no longer the injured patient, but the boss man in action. There was an atmosphere in the room and an aura about Tom: the powerful and confident aura that surrounds any professional man at the peak of his physical and intellectual powers.
As head of neuro-surgery he had built up a tremendous reputation for himself and the work of his department. Now Kate could see for herself that what people said about Mr Galvan was absolutely right: he was not into playing the surgeon-god. He was easy and affable as he approved and organised and delegated. And his surgical team responded with an energy and vigour that was exciting to witness. Clearly they were all raring to have their chief back at the helm.
'Make a note of that, please.' Tom's eyes were trained on Kate, noting how alert she was, how involved. He repeated the name of the patient whose brain scan they had been discussing. 'To be admitted for treatment with steroids to reduce swelling around the tumour.'
He turned to Kingsley. 'You'll have to get in there fast and unplug the drainage system. As soon as he's strong enough, I want to excise that tumour myself.'
Faces brightened at this confirmation that Tom Galvan's grave injuries were almost healed. And only Kate understood what it must have cost Tom to make that commitment—to a patient whose life would now depended upon a neuro-surgeon's courage. With a flicker of anxiety, she could see the inner tension sharpening the planes and contours of his sombre, handsome face. A lump rose in her throat and along with it a rush of immoderate love for this man that almost threatened to overwhelm her.
A set of X-rays was produced and the team were now discussing a spinal cord injury due for surgery. It was decided that the Senior Registrar would operate with the SHO assisting. 'How did it happen?' enquired the Theatre Sister.
'She fell out of a tree and cracked her spine.' Using a black felt-tip pen, Tom sketched a diagram of the spinal cord and marked on it the area of lesion, pointing out the nerves involved.
Glancing at her watch, Kate saw it was time to warn Bess that in ten minutes they would be ready for tea, to be served buffet-style on the refectory table of the dining hall.
Unobtrusively she slipped out to lend a hand.
Some of the group had not visited the house before and were bombarding their host with questions concerning its past history. He promised everyone a guided tour after they had made the most of Bess's spread of egg- and-cress sandwiches, farm-buttered drop scones, her rich plum cake and featherlight coffee sponge.
Sure enough, Mr Armstrong made a beeline for Kate and grasping her elbow drew her out o
f earshot and into a shadowy corner by the linenfold screen. She couldn't resist glancing back over her shoulder in search of Tom's eye: and sure enough his lazy half-smile warned she'd get her leg pulled later
Mr Armstrong was a nice-looking man, only a year or so younger than Tom but in complete physical contrast, being small and wiry with curly fair hair and shrewd blue eyes. Kate felt certain he was too preoccupied with his consultant's health to notice whether the nurse had knock knees and a squint. All the same, it sent a tingle down her spine to imagine Tom being jealous.
Good lord, how did I come to overlook this one? Kingsley Armstrong was examining Nurse Wisdom with a covert eye. Her hair was different—swept up above each pearl-studded ear with tortoiseshell combs. He thought how poised and feminine she looked in her grey silk shirt and neat dark skirt with matching shoes and tights. Fabulous legs. Bit shorter and she'd definitely have been in with a chance …
'Good to see the Boss well on the mend.'
Both turned to look at Tom, tanned and healthy and absorbed in conversation with Dr Guiles over by the huge log fire he and Kate had set light to earlier in the day.
'I feel a bit of a fraud being here, but Professor Davy was very insistent. Tom's a handful though and I worry in case he's overdoing it.'
'Really? How come?'
'Working on papers and lectures half the night. Not much I can do about that.'
Tom, eh? Kingsley was admiring those big brown eyes, innocently smiling at him, but of course he didn't believe a word of that about the boss slaving away till all hours. Though the plaster must somewhat spoil their fun … good luck to the two of them, they made a striking pair.
Mr Armstrong couldn't think of a polite term to illustrate his opinion of Diana Diamond. He polished off his fifth drop scone and to prolong this interesting conversation with the delectable Nurse Wisdom, queried, 'Presumably you're keeping on with the usual checks—and making sure he's not… um—taking any physical risks?'
'Oh, of course. Though it will be a relief when that plaster comes off and we know for sure that Tom's going to be able to operate again. He gets very frustrated at times.'
