She pressed her lips together. She hadn’t seen a single coffee shop she recognised, or any big department stores. What did people do around here? Her grip tightened on the wheel as the rain changed from a few splats to torrential within a few seconds. Her hand flicked the lever up and then down to quicken the windscreen-wiper speed. It was almost as if a black cloud had just drifted over the top of them. She leaned forward and tried to peer upwards. ‘What is this? Five minutes ago the sun was shining.’
She knew she sounded cranky. But she was tired. She was jet-lagged. She wanted some decent coffee and some hotel room service. She didn’t even know what time zone she was in any more.
A sign flashed past. ‘What did that say?’ she snapped.
‘Go left,’ said Gerry smoothly.
She flicked the indicator and pulled into the busy parking lot in front of her. There was a white building to their right, set next to the sea.
The rain battered off the windscreen and the trees edging the parking lot seemed to be lolling to one side in the strong winds.
Gerry let out a low laugh at her horrified face. ‘Welcome to Scotland, Kristie.’
* * *
‘Tell me you’re joking.’ He stared across the room at his colleague Magda, who had her feet up on a nearby stool and was rubbing her very pregnant belly. She sighed. ‘I signed the contract ten months ago. Before, you know, I knew about this.’
‘You signed a contract for filming in our practice without discussing it with me?’
She shot him an apologetic look. ‘I did discuss it with you.’ She leaned forward to her laptop and scrolled. ‘There.’ She pointed to her screen. ‘Or maybe not quite discussed, but I sent you the email. I forwarded the details and the contracts. So much has happened since then.’ She let her voice slow for a second.
He knew what she meant. In the last year he’d gone from helping out at the practice as a locum to taking over from his dad when he’d died. This had been his father’s GP practice, and Rhuaridh had been left in the lurch when his father had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died in the space of a few weeks. Due to the difficulties in failing to recruit to such a rural post, he’d spent the last ten months, giving up his own practice in one of the cities in Scotland, packing up his father’s house and selling his own, and trying to learn the intricacies of his new role. It was no wonder this piece of crucial information hadn’t really stuck.
He ran his hand through his thick hair. ‘But what on earth does this mean?’
Magda held up her hands. ‘I’m sorry. I meant to talk to you last week when I sent them your details instead of mine—but I had that scare and just didn’t get a chance.’
Rhuaridh swallowed and took a look at Magda’s slightly swollen ankles. This was a much-wanted baby after seven years of infertility. Last week Magda had had a small fall and started bleeding. It had been panic stations all round, even from the team of completely competent staff in this practice and at the nearby cottage hospital. It seemed that practically the whole island was waiting for the safe delivery of this baby. There was no way he was going to put his colleague under any strain.
He sighed and sat down in the chair in front of her as he ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Tell me again about this.’
The edges of her lips quirked upwards. They both knew he was conceding that she hadn’t really told him properly at all.
‘It’s a TV show. A Year in the Life of...’ She held out her hands. ‘This one, obviously, is a doctor. It’s an American company and they specifically wanted a doctor from Scotland who worked on one of the islands.’
He narrowed his gaze. ‘I didn’t know you wanted to be a reality TV star.’ He was curious, this didn’t seem like Magda at all.
She laughed and shook her head. ‘Reality TV? No way. What I wanted, and what we’ll get—’ she emphasised the words carefully ‘—is a brand-new X-ray machine for the cottage hospital, with enough funds for a service contract.’
‘What?’ He straightened in the chair.
She nodded. ‘It’s part of the deal.’
Rhuaridh frowned. How had he managed to miss this? The X-ray machine in their cottage hospital was old and overused. Even though the staff had applied to the local health board every year for an upgrade and new facilities, NHS funding was limited. While their machine still worked—even though it was temperamental—it was unlikely to be replaced. A new machine could mean better imaging, which would lead to fewer referrals to the mainland for potential surgeries. Fractures could be notoriously hard to see. As could some chest complaints. A better machine would mean more accurate diagnosis for patients and less work all round.
He looked at Magda again with newfound admiration. ‘This is the reason you applied in the first place, isn’t it?’
She grinned and patted her belly again. ‘Give a little, get a little. You know I hate reporting on dusky X-rays. We’ll have a brand-new digital system where we can enlarge things, and ping them on to a specialist colleague if we need to.’ She shrugged, ‘Just think of all those ferry journeys that won’t need to happen.’
He nodded. Being on an island always made things tougher. Their cottage hospital only had a few available beds, which were inevitably full of some of the older local residents with chronic conditions. They had a small A and E department and a fully equipped theatre for emergencies but it was rarely used. Occasionally a visiting surgeon would appear to carry out operations on a couple of patients at a time, but they weren’t equipped to carry out any kind of major surgery and any visiting consultant had to bring their whole team.
Whilst their facilities were probably adequate for their population of five thousand, every year the influx of holiday tourists during the summer months took their numbers to over twenty thousand. Slips, trips and falls made the X-ray machine invaluable. Rhuaridh had lost count of the number of times he’d had to send someone with a questionable X-ray over on the ferry to the mainland for further assessment.
‘Sometimes I think I love you, Magda,’ he said as he shook his head.
She wagged her finger. ‘Don’t tell David you said that, and just remember that while I tell you the rest.’ He smiled. He’d known Magda’s husband for the last ten years. He’d watched his friend battle to win the heart of the woman in front of him.
‘What’s the rest?’ he asked as he stood up and stretched his back.
Magda bit her bottom lip. ‘The filming happens for three days every month. You don’t have to do anything special. They just follow you about on your normal duties. They take care of patient consent for filming. You just have to be you.’
The words were said with throwaway confidence but from the look on Magda’s face she knew what was coming.
‘Three days every month?’
She nodded. ‘That’s all.’
He pressed his lips together. It didn’t sound like That’s all to him. It sounded like three days of someone following him around and annoying him constantly with questions. It sounded like three days of having to explain to every single patient that someone was filming around him. He could kiss goodbye to the ten-minute consultation system that kept the GP practice running smoothly. He could wave a fond farewell to his speedy ward rounds in the community hospital where he knew the medical history of most of the patients without even looking at their notes.
‘Three days?’ He couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. He’d spent his life guarding his privacy carefully. Magda knew this. They’d trained together for six years, then jokingly followed each other across Scotland for a variety of jobs. It had been Rhuaridh who had introduced Magda to the isle of Arran off the west coast of Scotland—a place she’d fallen instantly in love with. It had been Rhuaridh who had introduced Magda to his best friend David, and his father Joe, who’d looked after the cottage hospital and GP practice on the island for thirty years. She knew him better than most. She knew
exactly how uncomfortable this would make him.
She put her feet on the floor and leaned forward as best as she could with her swollen stomach. ‘I know it’s bad timing. I never thought this would happen.’ Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. ‘I always meant for it to be me that did the filming. I thought it might even be fun. Some of our oldies will love getting a moment on TV.’
He could hear the hopeful edge in her voice. He knew she was trying to make it sound better for him.
He shook his head. ‘It...it’ll be fine, Magda. Don’t worry. You know I’ll do it.’ He could say the words out loud but he couldn’t ignore the hollow feeling in his chest. Three days’ filming every month for the next year. It was his equivalent of signing up for the ultimate torture. This was so not his comfort zone.
He took a deep breath. ‘Okay, it’s fine. You concentrate on baby Bruce. Don’t worry about anything. We both know you should currently be at home, not here. Leave this with me.’
She gave a half-scowl. ‘I am not calling my baby Bruce.’
It was a standing joke. David’s family had a tradition of calling the firstborn in their family Bruce. David had missed out. He was the secondborn. Once Magda had got past the three-month mark both David and Rhuaridh had started teasing her about the family name.
He laughed. ‘You know you are. Don’t fight it.’ He glanced at the pile of work sitting on his desk. It would take him until late into the night. With Magda going on maternity leave, and no locum doctor recruited to fill the gap, everything was going to fall to him. He was lucky. He worked within a dynamic team of advanced nurse practitioners, practice nurses and allied health professionals. He already knew they would support him as best they could.
Life had changed completely for him once his father had died. He’d felt obligated to come back and provide a health service for the people of the island when the post couldn’t get filled. Unfortunately, Zoe, his partner, had been filled with horror at the thought of life on Arran. He hadn’t even had the chance to ask whether she thought a long-distance relationship could work. She had been repelled by the very prospect of setting foot on the island he’d previously called home and had run, not walked, in the opposite direction.
All of that had messed with his head in a way he hadn’t quite expected. He loved this place. Always had, always would. Of course, as a teenager wanting to study medicine, he’d had to leave. And that had been good for him. He’d loved his training in the Glasgow hospitals, then his time in Edinburgh, followed by a job in London, and a few months working for Doctors Without Borders, before taking up his GP training. But when things had happened and his father died suddenly? That whole journey home on the boat had been tinged with nostalgia. Coming home had felt exactly like coming home should. It had felt as if it was supposed to happen—even though the circumstances were never what he had wanted.
He moved over towards the desk and looked at Magda. ‘So, when exactly does this start? In a few months?’
There was a nervous kind of laugh. ‘Tomorrow,’ Magda said as she stared out the window. ‘Or today,’ she added with a hint of panic as her eyes fixed on the woman with blonde hair blowing frantically around her face in the stiff Firth of Clyde winds. Rhuaridh’s eyes widened and he dropped the file he’d just picked up.
‘What?’ His head turned and followed Magda’s gaze to the car park just outside his surgery window.
The woman was dressed in a thin jacket and capri pants. It was clear she was struggling with the door of her car as it buffeted off her body then slammed in the strong winds. She didn’t look particularly happy.
‘You’ve got to be joking—now? No preparation time, nothing?’
Magda gave an uncomfortable swallow, her blue eyes meeting his. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I just got caught up in other things.’
He could sense the panic emanating from her. He felt his annoyance bubble under the surface—but he’d never show it.
His brain started to whirl. He’d need to talk to patients. Set up appropriate consultations. Make sure nothing inappropriate was filmed. He wanted to run a few questions past his professional organisation. He knew there had been some other TV series that had featured docs and medical staff, and he just wanted a bit of general advice.
A piece of paper flew out of the hand of the woman outside. ‘Darn it!’ Even from inside her American accent was as clear as a bell.
Magda made a little choking sound. He turned to face her as she obviously tried to stifle her laugh. Her eyebrows rose. ‘Well, she looks like fun.’
Rhuaridh pressed his lips together to stop himself from saying what he really wanted to say. He took another breath and wagged his finger at Magda. ‘Dr Price, I think you owe me.’
She held out her hand so he could help pull her up from the chair. ‘Absolutely.’ She smiled.
* * *
Gerry seemed to be taking the wind in his stride. ‘Why did we come here first?’ she muttered as she opened the boot of the car to grab some of their equipment.
‘Best to get things started on the right foot. Let’s meet our guy, establish some ground rules, then crash.’
She gave him a sideways glance. Maybe her older colleague was more fatigued than he was admitting. She batted some of her hair out of her face. The sign outside the building read ‘Cairn Medical Practice’, with the names of the doctors underneath.
‘Roo-ah-ree.’ She practised the name on her tongue as they made their way to the main entrance. Gerry already had a camera under one arm. One thing for Gerry, he was ever hopeful.
‘Roo-ah-ree.’ She practised again, trying to pretend she wasn’t nervous. So much was riding on this. She had to make it work. She had to make it interesting and watchable. There hadn’t been background information on this doc. Apparently he’d been the last-minute replacement for someone else. And if he was anything like the majority of the people on the ferry he would be grey-haired, carry a walking stick, and be wearing a sturdy pair of boots.
The ferry. What if she still smelled of sick? She felt a tiny wave of panic and grabbed some perfume from her bag, squirting it madly around her before they went through the main entrance door.
They stepped into a large waiting area. It was empty but looked...busy. Some of the chairs were higgledy-piggledy, magazines and a few kids’ toys were scattered around the tables and floor. She could see some tread marks on the carpet. This place had a well-used feel about it.
She glanced at her watch. There was no one at the reception desk. It was after six p.m. The sign on the door said that was closing time. ‘Hello?’ she ventured.
There was the slam of a door from somewhere and a tall ruffled, dark-haired man appeared from the back of the building. He had the oddest expression on his face. It looked almost pained.
‘Hi, sorry,’ he said. ‘Just seeing my pregnant colleague out.’ His eyes seemed to run up and down the two of them. ‘You must be the TV people.’
His accent was thick, almost lilting, and it actually took her a few seconds to tune in and process his words. A frown appeared on his forehead at the delay. ‘Rhuaridh Gillespie?’ He lifted his hand and pointed to his chest.
Oh, my goodness. She was going to have to concentrate hard—and she didn’t just mean because of the accent. He was so not what she expected. Instead of an old wrinkly guy, she had a lean, muscled guy with bright blue eyes and slightly too long tousled dark hair. He was wearing a light blue shirt and dress pants. And he didn’t look entirely pleased to see them.
Something sparked in her brain and she walked forward, holding her hand out, knowing exactly how dishevelled she looked after their long journey. ‘Kristie Nelson. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Roo—’ She stumbled a little. ‘Dr Gillespie,’ she said, praying that her signature smile would start working any moment soon.
For a while, that had kind of been her trademark. With her styled blonde locks, usual
ly perfect makeup and ‘signature’ wide smile, there had been a time on local TV when she’d become almost popular. That had been the time she’d had oodles of confidence and thought her star was going to rise immensely and catapult her to fame and fortune. Instead, she’d fallen to the earth with a resounding bump.
He reached over and took her hand. It was a warm, solid grip. One that made her wonder if this guy worked out.
‘Like I said, Rhuaridh Gillespie.’ He leaned over and shook Gerry’s hand too.
‘Gerry Berkovich. Camera, lights, sounds and general dogsbody for the good-looking one.’ He nodded towards Kristie.
She slapped his arm. ‘As if!’
Dr Gillespie didn’t even crack a smile. In fact, he barely held in his sigh. He gestured towards the nearest office. ‘Come and have a seat. I’ve kind of been thrown in at the deep end here, so we’re going to have to come to an agreement about some boundaries.’
It was the edge to his tone. She shot a glance at Gerry, who raised one corner of his eyebrow just a little. This didn’t sound like the best start.
She swallowed and tried to ignore the fact she was tired, now hungry, and desperately wanted a shower and five minutes lying on a bed and staring up at a ceiling. She’d been travelling for twenty hours. She’d been in the company of other people for more than that. Sometimes she needed a bit of quiet—a bit of down time. And it didn’t look like it would happen anytime soon.
Rhuaridh showed them to seats in his office.
Kristie had dealt with lots of difficult situations over the last few years in TV and moved into autopilot mode. ‘I’m sure everything will be fine,’ she said smoothly. ‘Contracts have already been agreed—’
‘Not by me,’ he cut in sharply, ‘And not by my patients. In fact...’ he took a deep breath, lifting one hand and running it through his dark scraggy hair ‘... I’ll need to get my professional organisation to take a look at this contract to make sure no patient confidentially will be breached inadvertently.’
Tempted by the Hot Highland Doc Page 2
