Hired: GP and Wife
Judy Campbell
Hired: GP and Wife
Judy Campbell
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u61d356cc-c3f9-54bc-8310-58d6ed2be18d)
Title Page (#u0c79f507-f4f7-58ea-b4dd-5ea63d56a2e2)
About the Author (#u75d64094-defe-5f06-a4f2-9b4e160a3078)
Dedication (#u555384f6-4572-5dc7-a1b1-fa2c2c26daf4)
Chapter One (#u5f3c3359-85c5-5d78-8912-7e616dfa6bbd)
Chapter Two (#u6126846f-a0a6-568c-b3d6-248b6919bc9d)
Chapter Three (#uf4feec35-b9d2-54da-bff2-eff56c857377)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Judy Campbell is from Cheshire. As a teenager she spent a great year at high school in Oregon, USA, as an exchange student. She has worked in a variety of jobs, including teaching young children, being a secretary and running a small family business. Her husband comes from a medical family, and one of their three grown-up children is a GP. Any spare time—when she’s not writing romantic fiction—is spent playing golf, especially in the Highlands of Scotland.
To Grace, Megan, Louis, George and Joseph With Love
CHAPTER ONE
THE little ferry edged towards the dock and the deckhand expertly threw the rope round the bollard and tightened it. The gangway slapped down between the land and the boat and everyone began to disembark. Terry Younger stopped for a second and looked around the little bay with the seagulls mewing above the brightly painted cottages across the road and their backdrop of wooded hills.
She took a deep breath of the tangy fresh air and it hit her throat like champagne, invigorating and bracing. The cool wind whipped her short fair hair across her eyes and she brushed it away impatiently, and stepped ashore. Then, hoisting her rucksack more securely on her back, she tugged her case behind her over the rough terrain, a frisson of excitement mixed with apprehension shivering through her for a second. She stopped and looked across the quayside: steep hills rose quickly behind the little village of shops and cottages fringing the bay and beyond them the vague purple outline of mountains. The Isle of Scuola on the west coast of Scotland couldn’t be more different to the leafy suburbs of London that she’d left behind—this was it, then, a fresh start, a future that was hers to make of what she would, and find a measure of the peace she craved after the turmoil of a terrible year.
Dumping her baggage by the wall of the dock, Terry looked around at the small group of people waiting to meet the passengers from the ferry. She’d been informed that her new colleague, Dr Brodie, senior partner in the Scuola medical practice, would be picking her up—according to the woman in the medical agency, he was a large, elderly man with white hair. There didn’t seem to be anyone of that description here yet—he must be running late, but, no matter, she would sit on her case until he arrived.
After five minutes the ferry had turned round and begun to chug back to the mainland and there was no one left by the quayside except a man in biking leathers sitting astride a motorbike and talking on a mobile. Terry stood up impatiently—she liked to be punctual herself and the later Dr Brodie was the more nervous she was becoming about her new job.
Another ten minutes went by and the man who’d been on the bike was now pacing irritably up and down the quay and looking at his watch. His leathers gave him a tough streetwise appearance and emphasised his tall muscular figure as he strode impatiently in front of Terry. For a second she was cruelly reminded of Max—damn his memory. Wasn’t there a hint in the appearance of this man on the quayside of the bad-boy image Max had liked to project? She shut her eyes as if trying to block out a picture of Max swaggering towards her—sexy, arrogant, sure of her love and supremely selfish. She shuddered—she wanted nothing more to do with that sort of man. She snapped open her eyes again and set her mouth grimly. She hadn’t come to Scuola to remember him or anything that had happened to her because of him…she had to push all that to the back of her mind.
The biker stopped for a moment in front of her to pull off his helmet, revealing ruffled dark hair, and gazed dourly back at the mainland. Terry flicked a closer look at him—he was quite a striking man, and someone with rather a short fuse, she guessed, full of pent-up energy. As he turned to resume his frustrated pacing, a pen dropped out of his pocket and Terry bent down to pick it up.
‘We both seem to have been left in the lurch,’ she said, handing it to him.
He turned, looking at her with startling blue eyes, as blue as sapphires, Terry thought suddenly—and of course she realised that he was nothing like Max at all. Max’s eyes, although sexy, had often been calculating, as if assessing just what he could gain from you. This man’s face had an engaging, open look. His eyes swept over her, taking in her petite figure and resting for an intense moment on her face. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled with a sudden flash of self-consciousness under his scrutiny.
‘Ah, thank you,’ he said, taking the pen from her, then he added brusquely, ‘I think the person I’m meeting must be on the next ferry—if he isn’t on this one I’ll have to go. Damn nuisance but I can’t wait.’ He had an attractive voice, fairly deep and with a definite Scottish lilt. He leant against a stone wall that jutted out onto the jetty, long legs crossed in front of him. ‘You’ve been stood up too?’ he enquired.
His thick dark hair was a little too long at the front and flopped over onto his forehead—it made him look rather boyish, but there was something tough and determined in his demeanour. He wouldn’t suffer fools gladly, thought Terry. She smiled to herself. When it came to men, she couldn’t trust herself to interpret character through appearances—her track record was pretty poor on that!
‘The man meeting me has either forgotten or had an accident,’ she said. ‘I’d better get a taxi.’
‘Maybe he thinks you’ll be on the next ferry too and is coming to meet this one—I can see it in the distance now,’ suggested the biker. He pushed himself away from the wall and went to the water’s edge, staring across the bay at the approaching vessel.
Terry wondered if he was a tourist who’d come to the island for the fishing or walking. She could well imagine him striding over the hill paths, getting rid of some of his angst with exercise, or roaring over the mountain roads on his motorbike.
They both watched the ferry draw up and disgorge its next lot of passengers, but it was soon apparent that the man’s friend had not appeared, and there was still no sign of Dr Brodie. The two of them waited as the three cars on the ferry made their way slowly after the foot passengers down the ramp to shore. The last one was a small two-door car, which stalled and then rolled back onto the ship, and the driver, a young woman, looked anxiously out of the window.
‘Give it more stick, miss,’ advised the deckhand in charge of the vehicles. ‘You need to accelerate to get over the humps on the ramp.’
The girl nodded and tried again, revving the engine hard, and this time the car shot forward and skidded over the ramp. It took half a second for Terry to realise with horror that it was arrowing straight across the space between them like a missile fixed on a target. Her feet seemed to be paralysed, be stuck in thick clay—she could see the car careering for them but she couldn’t move her body or even cry out. Then, at the last moment when the car seemed almost on top of her, two arms flung themselves tightly round her and she felt herself being lifted away from the danger and dropped not too gently on the ground, underneath her rescuer.
For a second she was winded—unable to breathe or speak—but she was aware that in the background there was the nasty sound of a heavy crash, metal being crushed and breaking glass, then a shocked silence. The body on top of hers scrambled off, allowing her to see the car embedded in the wall of the dock.
‘Bloody hell,’ said a voice over her head. ‘That was a bit too close for comfort!’
She blinked in a dazed way, and found herself gazing into the intensely bright blue eyes she’d just been looking at a few minutes before.
‘You OK?’ asked the biker. A large graze covered with grit on his chin oozed blood and his thick hair was plastered on his forehead. ‘Here, let me help you up.’
‘Yes…yes, I’m fine,’ she replied, using the strong grip of his hand to get up slowly and shakily to her feet. Her trousers and parka were covered with dirt, but she was alive—thanks to the man.
He looked at her closely then nodded. ‘Good. Then I’ll see what’s happened to the driver.’
Terry watched, stunned, as he sprinted over to the car and peered through the driver’s window then tried to pull open the door. She couldn’t believe how rapid his reactions had been as the car had hurtled towards them, or how quickly he’d recovered himself to think of the other people involved.
She scrambled up from the ground herself and ran after him to the car, where he was already trying to force the driver’s door open. It was a horrific sight, the front stoved in and as crumpled as a piece of crushed foil. The girl in the driving seat turned towards them, looking utterly shocked. An egg-shaped bruise on her forehead was rapidly enlarging and a gash above her eye was pouring blood. She put a shaking hand up to her forehead and started to whimper.
‘Wh-what happened there? I…I just touched the accelerator and it took off…’
The biker pushed his hand through the door and turned off the ignition. ‘Sometimes these automatic gear changes are quite fierce,’ he said gently. He tilted her chin towards the light and examined her forehead as he talked to her. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Maisie…Maisie Lockart,’ the girl whispered. Then her eyes widened as she remembered something and she started to scream, trying to turn round in the seat to look at the back. ‘Oh, my God…the baby…Amy…she’s in the back. Is she all right? Get her out please…get her out!’
Terry looked aghast at the concertinaed front of the car and the way the passenger seat was pushed back right against the rear. There wasn’t going to be much room for even a child sitting in the back. She heard the man swear as he gave a desperate tug on the driver’s door again and managed to open it another precious half-foot. He peered in the back then gave a little whoop of relief.
‘Yes! She’s OK. You won’t believe this, but she appears to be smiling at me!’ He pulled back and said gently to the girl, ‘Don’t worry—she looks fine, kicking her legs. From here everything looks in working order.’
The girl closed her eyes and put her head back against the back of the seat. ‘Thank God,’ she whispered. ‘Can you get hold of her?’
Terry tapped the man’s back. ‘Perhaps I could help?’ she said. ‘I’m a doctor.’
The biker whipped his head round and looked at her with raised brows of surprise. ‘Well, well, that’s a bit of a coincidence—I’m a doctor too! I must say it’s nice to have some support.’ He turned back to the girl in the car and commented with gentle humour, ‘Funny, isn’t it? You can wait all day for a doctor and then two come along at once!’
The girl gave a watery smile. ‘We’re in good hands, then, aren’t we?’
The man turned to Terry and said in a low voice, ‘As you can see, she’s had a terrific crack to her head and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s not got a whiplash injury to her neck. I think you’ll agree she needs a check-up and an X-ray. I’ll ring for an ambulance if you take over here for a second. Better not to move her at this stage.’
‘What about the baby?’ said Terry, peering into the back of the vehicle. ‘We can’t leave her on the back seat. On the other hand, I agree it’s risky to move Maisie. We could disturb a fractured vertebrae or a subluxation.’
‘Yep. We’ve got to be cautious if she’s displaced a joint,’ he agreed.
For a second they looked at each other, trying to weigh up the pros and cons of the problem, then Terry said with decision, ‘The little one does seem reasonably happy. I’ll watch them and try and stop this bleed above Maisie’s eye while you get help.’
‘OK. It should only be a matter of minutes…’
Terry scrabbled in her rucksack until she found a packet of tissues, which she pressed firmly against the wound. Maisie had started to shake and tears rolled down her cheeks.
‘I’m sorry…I don’t mean to make a fuss, but I can’t go to hospital—I’ve got papers to deliver. And what about the baby?’
Terry laid her hand reassuringly over Maisie’s, recognising the signs of shock in the girl. ‘Don’t worry about the papers—they’ll get sorted. Just tell me the baby’s name.’
‘Amy—she’s only four months. And…and she’ll need a bottle soon.’
‘Look, Maisie, you both must go and be checked over and however well Amy looks it’s best to make sure she has no hidden injury. They’ll want to observe her for a few hours and if she needs feeding, the hospital will make sure she’s looked after. And I’ll see the papers are delivered if you’ll tell me where they’re to go to.’
‘Thank you,’ whispered the girl. ‘They go to the newsagent’s, Mathesons, just across the road from here.’ She sighed bleakly, ‘I don’t know how I’ll tell my boyfriend. It’s his car and he’ll be furious I’ve crashed it.’
‘He’ll just be glad you’re both OK,’ reassured Terry.
Terry’s eyes followed the doctor pacing about the car park as he spoke on his mobile. She might have guessed he’d be a doctor, a policeman or a fireman—someone who was used to dealing with emergencies. He had the confidence of knowing what he was doing, and it showed—he was someone you could trust, she thought wistfully. Then she shrugged irritably, cross with herself for thinking that. Just because he was a doctor, it didn’t mean he’d be any more reliable than anyone else. Didn’t she know only too well that even the most credible of people could let you down and ruin your life?
The biker doctor came back, stuffing his mobile in his pocket.
‘It’ll be here very soon…’ He halted, his expression suddenly changing to one of alarm as he sniffed the air. ‘Hell! We’ve got to get them out, pronto,’ he yelled. ‘Can’t you smell the petrol? There must be a leak. The damn thing could go up in flames any second. Let me undo that safety belt.’
He turned to the small crowd of onlookers gathered a short distance from them. ‘We need a man here to help us,’ he shouted.
Two or three men ran forward. ‘Tell us what you want us to do,’ said one of them.
‘Help me slide Maisie out and lift her carefully, supporting her neck, and if two others could take her legs. Then we need to get that baby out of the back.’
For a moment Terry felt herself back in Casualty, forming part of a team in an emergency where splitsecond decisions had to be taken. This man was right, of course. The risk of fire was imminent, and they had no choice but to get the people out as quickly as possible. She helped to hold Maisie’s back as they edged her out, her neck being supported by the doctor, who shouted out instructions to the others, then they laid her on Terry’s jacket which she’d put on the ground.
Terry squeezed Maisie’s hand comfortingly. It was vital that the girl, already in shock, was kept as calm as possible. ‘Now it’s Amy’s turn,’ she said.
The aperture to the back of the car was very small, constrained by the buckling of the car’s chassis. No way could a large man get through it.
‘I’m doing this,’ said Terry firmly. ‘I can get through that space.’
‘Oh, no, you won’t.’ The biker tried to push in front of her. ‘It’s up to me—it’s too damn dangerous.’
‘And you’re too damn big to get through,’ retorted Terry angrily. ‘I thought you said there’s no time to waste. Don’t let’s argue about it.’
Their eyes sparked across at each other aggressively for a second then reluctantly he gave way, allowing her to push herself into the small opening.
‘You win,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll try and force this door a bit more.’
By squeezing herself sideways, she managed to wriggle her body to the squashed rear of the car. Stretching forward with every sinew, she reached the baby and fumbled with the child’s safety harness. It seemed terribly difficult to undo but behind her she could hear the distinctive deep voice of the biker.
‘You’re doing well. Press the button in the middle of the harness firmly and squeeze the two sides together…sometimes they’re quite stiff.’
There was something reassuring about that measured voice and when Amy began to scream as this unfamiliar person tried to extricate her from her seat, Terry concentrated on what the biker was telling her and did her best to ignore the smell of petrol that seemed to get stronger every second.
‘It’s all right, darling—don’t cry. You’ll soon be with your mummy,’ she murmured in her most soothing tones whilst still struggling desperately with the catch on the harness. Suddenly the spring release worked and the belt came apart.
‘Ah…gotcha!’ she said triumphantly.
She pulled the child towards her, hugging her to her chest and backing out as quickly as she could. Waiting hands took the crying baby to the side of the car park near to where her mother was lying, and Terry toppled back as someone’s arms caught her and prevented her falling to the ground.
‘Well done,’ said the biker’s familiar voice gruffly. ‘You did a good job there.’ His arms held her close to him as he helped her across to the side of the car park. ‘Come on, now—let’s get you away from this vehicle.’
Her legs felt like jelly but he took her weight easily, almost carrying her to one of the benches by the dock railings. He took off his leather jacket and put it round Terry’s shoulders and she gave a shaky laugh. ‘You seem to make a habit of helping me.’
He leaned forward and brushed away a piece of mud that was on her cheek. ‘Sure you’re OK?’ he asked, smiling at her, his face so close to hers that she could see the beginnings of evening stubble on his chin and the dark flecks in his extraordinarily blue eyes.
His breath was on her cheek as he looked at her and unexpectedly she felt a funny little shock of attraction ripple through her body. She took a sharp intake of breath and got up hastily from the bench, stepping back from him unsteadily. What the hell was happening? Not so long ago her life had been ruined by a man and she’d vowed it would be a long time before she’d look at the opposite sex again. Here she was only fifteen minutes into her new life and behaving like a schoolgirl who’d just seen a pop star! Her goal when she came to Scuola was to devote her life to medicine and put romance behind her—and that was what she was going to do!
‘I…I’m perfectly fine,’ she said in a measured tone.
His eyes held hers for a second, his expression contrite. ‘I’m afraid I was a bit abrupt with you back then. I just didn’t want you putting yourself in danger.’
‘We both had cross words—all in the line of duty,’ she replied. Quickly she went to kneel beside Maisie and her baby, who was in the arms of one of the men who had been helping, and pushed this hunky guy to the back of her thoughts.
‘You’ll soon be in good hands,’ she comforted the young girl. ‘And little Amy looks very lively.’
‘Thank you,’ whispered Maisie. ‘Thank you for getting Amy out. I thought she’d be trapped.’
A few minutes later a police car sped into the car park, followed by an old-fashioned ambulance.
‘That car reeks of petrol,’ the biker doctor said to the officer who got out of the car. ‘I’ve turned off the ignition, but I’m frightened it might ignite.’
Without a word the officer pulled a fire extinguisher out of his car and started to douse the back of the crashed vehicle with foam, then he shouted to the onlookers, ‘Can you clear this area please? This car’s not safe to be near and we need room for the ambulance.’
Two paramedics jumped out of the ambulance, one with a medical bag, and the doctor went up to them and explained in his concise and brisk manner the circumstances of the accident. Terry kept up a comforting commentary to Maisie until they came over, noting how she had begun to relax slightly now she was out of the vehicle and her baby was safe.
The paramedics swiftly assessed Maisie’s condition, then put a brace round her neck and lifted her onto a board to support her back before placing her on a carrying stretcher. Then she was put in the ambulance with Amy, and Terry and the biker watched as it disappeared up the hill.
Terry sat down on the bench and leaned back, closing her eyes, a mixture of relief and tiredness flooding through her.
The doctor chuckled. ‘What you need is a wee dram—that’ll put new life in you!’
She opened her eyes to see the doctor bending down beside her, a grin on his mud-bespattered face, blood still oozing from his chin.
Terry shook her head and smiled. ‘I’m fine, thanks. In fact, it’s quite exhilarating when you get a good result after a bit of drama.’ She felt in the front pocket of her knapsack and pulled out a compact, grimacing at her reflection in the mirror. ‘What a wreck I look,’ she murmured to herself.
‘Just a bit mud-spattered,’ he said. ‘Nothing a good wash won’t remove!’
Terry watched as the man picked up his helmet and searched in his pockets for the key to his bike. She realised just what she owed to this stranger, and reflected that her little flicker of attraction to him a few seconds before was probably because of the emotional rebound that often happened after a traumatic event.
‘I have such a lot to thank you for. If you hadn’t had such lightning reactions I wouldn’t be here now,’ she said to him. ‘I was paralysed when I saw the car coming towards me—I couldn’t move. You saved my life, no doubt.’
‘Think nothing of it. You didn’t do so badly yourself, getting that baby out. The whole thing could have gone up in flames any second.’
Terry shivered. ‘It was the same for you getting Maisie out—a nightmare scenario,’ she murmured. She looked at the cut on his chin. ‘You know, you ought to have that graze cleaned—it’s quite deep and got a lot of dirt in it.’
‘Oh, I’ll see to it when I get back,’ he said carelessly, then looked at her with interest. ‘Is this your first visit to Scuola?’
‘Yes…not quite the start I wanted,’ admitted Terry. She glanced at the smashed car. ‘I did promise Maisie that I’d get the papers in her car delivered to that newsagent’s over the road.’
‘No problem. I’ll do that afterwards.’
‘Thank you.’ She started to take off the leather jacket he’d put over her in the car park. ‘You’d better have this back.’
He looked at his watch. ‘No, you hang onto it for a while, it’s getting very cold. Perhaps I could give you a lift now,’ he offered. ‘I can’t hang around here any longer and it seems as if your chap’s forgotten to come and mine must have missed some connection.’
Terry looked nervously at the large machine he was proposing to give her a lift on—not her favourite form of transport. ‘Er…that’s very kind of you. The trouble is, I’ve got no helmet.’
Amused eyes twinkled at her as if he guessed her anxiety. ‘Don’t worry—I bought a spare with me. Where are you going?’
‘Not very far. A place called The Sycamores—it’s the medical centre on the island, and I believe it’s off the main street.’
The man straightened up suddenly from getting out the spare helmet from the bike’s holdall and stared at her in surprise. ‘You’re going to the medical centre?’
‘I’m going to start a new job there,’ explained Terry simply.
The man pushed his fingers through his hair so that it stood up in ruffled spikes round his forehead. ‘So you’re not on holiday, then? I thought you were a tourist.’
Terry shook her head. ‘Far from it.’
‘Who were you expecting to meet you?’ he said slowly.
‘Dr Euan Brodie. Do you know him?’
He gave a short laugh. ‘I ought to—he’s my uncle. I’m Atholl Brodie and I’ve come to meet a Terry Younger who’s taking over from a locum at our practice. Unfortunately my uncle had a major heart attack three days ago and is in hospital on the mainland. I’m sorry I didn’t get round to telling the agency that it would be me meeting you and not Uncle Euan. I’m his partner in the practice.’
Terry felt a funny thrill of excitement—could this really be the guy she was going to work with? ‘We…we’ve found each other, then. I’m Terry Younger.’ She held out her hand and he shook it rather abstractedly.
‘So I gather,’ he replied with a wry smile. ‘I have to admit this is, er…rather a surprise.’
‘Oh? Why is that?’
‘Because I thought you’d be a man,’ he said simply. ‘It didn’t occur to me that Terry could be a girl’s name as well.’
‘Well, I hope it’s not too much of a let-down,’ Terry said.
‘No…no, of course not. But do you know that on top of GP duties to cover the two islands here, we at the practice help a friend of mine doing an outward bound course for four deprived teenagers from Glasgow for a few weeks? I was hoping that the new doctor—’
‘Would be six foot four and sixteen stone,’ finished Terry impishly. ‘As a matter of fact, I did know your requirements,’ she added, smiling. ‘The agency told me you wanted help with the course.’
Atholl’s eyes swept over her slight five-foot-four-inch frame and he shook his head dismissively. ‘These lads are large, rough and aggressive. I need someone who’s physically tough and can abseil down cliffs, lead hikes on mountain trails, keep discipline—ideally someone who’s had a course in Outward Bound activities…’
‘And why shouldn’t I be able to fulfil all those criteria?’ demanded Terry. Suddenly his looks seemed to diminish—he was a more unreasonable man than she’d thought, obviously dismissing females as pathetic creatures who couldn’t do anything physically demanding.
She added firmly, ‘It so happens I have done a threeday course in hiking and kayaking—the only thing I’ve not done is abseiling. Anyway, if you think I’m getting back on that ferry today you’ve got another think coming. I’ve been offered a job here and I’ve accepted it, and it’s taken since the crack of dawn to get here.’
A cold wind had blown up suddenly and a stinging rain was starting to drive in from the hills. Terry pulled the helmet over her head and stared at him stubbornly. The man may have just saved her life, but she was damned if she’d go meekly trotting back to London just because he’d been expecting a man. Not, she thought wanly, that returning would be an option anyway—she could never return to London.
Atholl shrugged and then picked up Terry’s case and rucksack.
‘I guess we’ll sort it all out later,’ he said. ‘We’ll leave your case at the ferry office and I’ll come back for it shortly, after we’ve talked at the surgery.’ He looked down at her with a sudden laugh that made his strong face look younger, softer. ‘And I thought Terry was a man’s name…is it short for something?’
‘No,’ said Terry with deliberate emphasis. ‘It’s just Terry.’
She clambered on the back of his motorbike, and bit her lip. It wasn’t just her name—that was who she’d become now, Terry Younger, looking different and feeling different from a few days ago, cut off from the family and friends of her old life, with a whole new persona.
She was on her own, and it was vitally important to her that her job worked out here. She was as far away from London as she could reasonably get and still be in the British Isles—she wasn’t about to go anywhere else in a hurry.
CHAPTER TWO
‘PUT your arms round me,’ shouted Atholl through the wind, ‘and lean with the bike!’
He was one powerfully built man—muscles like steel bars, thought Terry as she clung to him nervously, wrapping her arms round him like a vice. She gave a surprised giggle. What girl wouldn’t choose to be in her situation? Hugging a man who looked as if he did a daily workout in the gym as close to her body as she could!
Then she closed her eyes in fright as he roared along the winding road out of the little bay and up the hill beyond the colourful cottages on the seafront, the bike leaning frighteningly at an angle when they turned corners. There was probably no need to worry about the job, she decided resignedly. She’d be killed on this bike before she got to the surgery.
They pulled up sharply in the drive of a graciouslooking stone-built house covered with scaffolding. Terry dismounted carefully, wondering if Atholl had deliberately driven the blessed machine at the speed of light to test her nerve or if it just seemed that way.
‘You OK?’ he asked.
‘Of course. I found it exhilarating,’ Terry retorted as she removed her helmet. She was damned if she’d let him believe she was a wimp!
She turned to look around at the view—or as much as she could see in the driving rain. It was spectacular, dramatic and gloomy with black clouds looming over the Sound of Scuola. The mainland over the water was just a dark line on the horizon at the moment.
‘When the sky’s clear and there’s sunshine it’s a completely different picture—the sea is as blue as a periwinkle. And believe me,’ he added with a grin, ‘it does stop raining sometimes! Now, come in and get dry and perhaps we can discuss arrangements over coffee and some biscuits.’
It was warm inside—the large hall did duty as a waiting room, and another room with half the wall cut out formed the reception area, with a severe-looking grey-haired woman behind the desk. She looked up as they came in.
‘You’ve taken your time, Atholl,’ she remarked sternly. ‘You’ve several calls to do before we finish tonight.’ She peered at his face. ‘And what have you done to your chin—fallen off your bike? I told you that machine was lethal…and your uncle hates you riding it.’
‘Nothing to do with the bike—just a fall, Isobel,’ he said lightly.
‘And what about this Dr Younger—where is he? You said you were going to meet him.’
He put his hand behind Terry’s shoulder and drew her forward, saying drily, ‘This is Dr Younger—she just travelled up from London today. Terry, this is Isobel Nash, one of our receptionists.’
Isobel stared back at Terry with surprise, taking in her bedraggled appearance wearing a leather jacket several sizes too big for her, and said bluntly, ‘But she’s a woman. We thought from the name that they were sending a man.’
Terry sighed and looked from Atholl to Isobel. There seemed to be a general prejudice against females here!
Atholl saw her expression and explained, ‘Apart from having to deal with the teenage lads I told you about, I thought a man might fit more easily into this job for, er, various reasons.’
His glance flicked across to Isobel, who looked grimmer than ever and pursed her lips, saying, ‘It’s not only that—where’s the poor lass to sleep?’
Terry put down her dripping rucksack. ‘Look, I’m sorry I’m not who you both thought I was, but do you mind if I get dry while you discuss this?’
‘Ah, yes, of course…’ Atholl’s expression was faintly embarrassed, as if he realised how rude he’d been. ‘Isobel, can you rustle up some tea and biscuits for us? We’ll go into my room, Terry, and you can dry out a bit. I’ll take the leather jacket.’
Terry followed him feeling slightly deflated, her excitement in coming to the island rather dashed by the mixed welcome she’d received. It had been a long day’s journey from London and coupled with the drama at the quayside she felt emotionally drained and now worried that she’d come all this way for nothing. How easy would it be to work with someone who had been expecting to engage a man? She gave an inward shrug. She’d just have to show him that she was as good if not better than anyone else would have been.
She took off the damp cardigan she’d been wearing under the borrowed coat, and handed it to Atholl, who draped it over a radiator. She rubbed her hair with the towel he offered and while she was drying herself he walked over to a filing cabinet, took out a file and started to read it. Terry looked at him covertly through the folds of the towel. He really had the rugged good looks and powerful physique of a man used to the outdoors—and she had reason to be grateful that he was pretty strong, she reflected, strong enough to lift her bodily off the ground with seconds to spare when a car was heading towards them.
She suspected that his brisk manner indicated he was the type of person who liked things done his way and was fairly outspoken when put out about something—like getting a woman as a locum when he expected a man! It was such an old-fashioned attitude, she thought irritably. He was probably married to a little mousy woman who wouldn’t say boo to a goose.
Atholl glanced up when he’d perused the file and flicked an assessing eye over her as she finished rubbing her hair dry, running her fingers through her short curls so that they formed a crisp halo round her face. He wasn’t at all sure that she was the right sort of person to take on this particular job. He would always be worried about her ability to cope with some of the tearaways that he and Pete had taken on—but even more to the point, and most importantly, his experience with the last locum had convinced him that there were too many pitfalls where women colleagues in a small practice were concerned. Especially, he thought with sudden awareness, when the woman was as attractive as Terry Younger! Not, of course, from his point of view—he was damn well finished with women and relationships for a long, long time—more from the aspect of his patients and friends who were all longing to fix him up with the next single woman who came into his orbit.
He sighed and sat down in the chair, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. If they were going to work together, he ought to find out more about her.
‘So you’ve come up from London today—that’s quite a long journey.’
‘That’s right. I started at the crack of dawn. The agency sent all my particulars a few days ago, except obviously to state that I was a woman,’ Terry said drily.
He gave a rather abashed smile. ‘I’ve got the file here. I can’t have read it properly,’ he admitted. ‘It does indeed say you’re female—I’m afraid I just looked at your name, Terry Younger, and assumed they’d sent me a man.’
‘Well, they haven’t pulled the wool over your eyes, have they? Anyway, here I am!’
He blinked at her forthright attitude, and his mouth twitched with amusement. ‘You are indeed! Sit down for a moment.’ He put the file down on the desk and looked at her curiously. ‘You’ve got some excellent references and it seemed you had a good job in London. What made you want to leave?’
Terry had been expecting that question and even though she’d rehearsed her reply many times, she felt her throat constrict and to her ears her voice sounded rushed and breathless.
She swallowed, trying to let the half-lies she was telling seem light and matter-of-fact. ‘I…I felt it was time for a change. I’ve been living in London since I qualified. I love the outdoor life and it’s been a dream of mine to work in Scotland in a rural area for a long time.’
‘Can’t be easy, leaving friends and family in the South…they’ll surely miss you,’ he remarked, his clear eyes flicking over her searchingly. Her heart began to thump. Did he suspect that there’d been something amiss in her past?
She forced a smile. ‘Oh, I’ve not got much family down there now, although of course I shall miss some things,’ she said. ‘But it’s good to have a change, and I like the idea of being in a small community.’
‘A small remote community. Why choose Scuola—why not the mainland?’
‘When the agency mentioned the job and I looked the place up on the internet, it looked so beautiful—such a contrast to London. And remote sounds rather good to me.’
‘You didn’t want a permanent position?’
‘I thought it would be nice to experience a few jobs and get around a bit, having worked in the same place for a some years.’ And the fact, she thought bleakly, that she had to resist putting down roots, uneasy that the past might catch up with her some time.
He nodded, seemingly satisfied with this explanation. ‘And do you come from a medical family? Are either of your parents doctors?’
She knew the question was casual, a polite enquiry to show that he was interested in her background, but she wasn’t prepared for the tight little knot of distress that formed in her throat or the way her cheeks flamed. She’d developed a kind of protective amnesia where her father was concerned but when something jolted her into thinking about him a powerful image of that terrible day when her world had stopped leapt into her mind—and the knowledge that she could never live again in London without the fear of danger always at her shoulder.
‘No, my mother was a homemaker until she passed away while I was in my teens. And my father had nothing to do with medicine…nothing at all. He was in the financial world,’ she stumbled.
Atholl said very gently, ‘Has your father died too?’
Terry nodded and swallowed, pushing back the memories. ‘Yes…he had a heart attack a few weeks ago.’
‘I’m sorry. It must be a very difficult time for you.’
Difficult enough for her to leave her roots in London, Atholl surmised. He could imagine her background—affluent and comfortable, a girl who probably went to a private school and lived in a pleasant residential area of London. A city girl…just like Zara had been, he reflected bitterly.
He was prevented from asking further questions by the door opening and Isobel coming in bearing a tray with two mugs, a teapot and a plate with some scones, butter and jam on it.
‘Here’s your tea,’ she said brusquely, putting it down on the desk. She looked in her dour way at Terry. ‘You’re not from these parts, then?’
Terry sighed. It seemed that people wanted to know a lot about her, and she wanted to tell them as little as possible!
‘No, I’m not. But it looks a beautiful place—even when it’s pouring with rain!’
Isobel’s stern face softened slightly and she said, ‘Well, I hope you’ll be happy.’ She looked sternly at Atholl. ‘Now, make sure yon lass eats these home-made scones. I’ve heated them up and she must be starving after coming all that way from London.’
Isobel nodded curtly at them both and then went out to answer the phone that was ringing shrilly in Reception.
‘I suspect Isobel’s bark is worse than her bite,’ remarked Terry.
Atholl chuckled. ‘She’s as soft as butter inside, but she’s bullied and bossed Uncle Euan around for thirty years now—she thinks she runs the practice.’
‘And is your uncle very ill?’
‘He’s making good progress.’Atholl sighed. ‘The truth is I think he’ll retire now. He was on half-time before, winding down a bit.’
‘And that’s why you needed someone else to help? Was my predecessor here long?’
A slight tightening of the lips and Atholl’s expression changed. ‘Not very long,’ he replied briefly. He got up from his seat and went over to the table. ‘Now, let’s have this tea, and perhaps we can sort a few things out.’
He handed her a cup and the plate of scones whose lovely warm smell had been wafting tantalisingly across to Terry. Suddenly she realised how very hungry and thirsty she was—it had been many hours since she’d had anything to eat. She took a huge gulp of the hot strong liquid and its warmth surged comfortingly through her, then she bit into the warm scone covered with melting butter and thickly coated with raspberry jam. No doubt about it, Isobel was a wonderful cook.
He smiled as he watched her face. ‘Ready for that, were you?’
‘I’m starving,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t care how many calories were in it!’
The blue eyes flicked over her for a second. ‘I don’t think there’s any need for you to worry,’ he observed shortly.
She noted his brief comment wryly—it was so different from the flowery response she’d have expected from Max, who had scattered compliments about like confetti—especially when he’d wanted something. How he’d loved to flatter. It made her embarrassed to remember how taken in she’d been by his patronising and glib remarks. But she’d learned her lesson now—she’d never be duped by that kind of gushing sentiment again.
She pushed unwelcome thoughts about Max to the back of her mind and put the plate down. ‘Right,’ she said crisply. ‘You wanted to sort a few things out, so fire away!’
He leaned back and folded his arms. ‘Did you mean it when you said you liked the outdoor life? To be frank, you’d be asked to do a lot of things that you wouldn’t do in London. To start with there’s the mountain rescue team that we are part of. You could be called out day or night, winter or summer—it’s not just a hike up the hillside.’
‘Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.’ Terry looked at him challengingly. ‘The agency warned me there would be outside duties and I’m prepared for that—it sounds interesting. Anyway, I bet I wouldn’t be the only woman on that team. Surely they aren’t all men?’
‘As a matter of fact they are,’ he said. ‘And we can’t afford to have a weak link in the chain.’
A flash of irritation whipped through her and she sprang up from her chair. ‘Look, I wouldn’t let you down but, hey, if you can’t face working with a woman here please tell me now and I’ll take the next ferry back to the mainland and find a job somewhere else. Let’s not waste each other’s time.’
He looked slightly taken aback at her petite, feisty figure standing rather pugnaciously opposite him, then his face relaxed and he hid a broad grin behind his hand as he stroked his chin reflectively. Terry Younger didn’t mind saying what she felt, although he had a gut feeling that there was more to her story about the real reason she’d left London. She’d seemed vaguely uncomfortable when answering some of his questions.
He knew only too well from his own experience that it was often a seismic event in one’s life that made one up sticks and move to a another location. But it took guts to come up all this way north without knowing anyone and leaving one’s friends behind, and hadn’t she just proved she was no slouch in an emergency? Perhaps, he pondered, she wouldn’t be such a bad choice after all—and where was he going to get another doctor at short notice, just as the tourist season on Scuola was starting? He couldn’t afford to be too choosy, and he’d just have to put up with having a woman to work with, however wary he was after his experience with Zara Grahame, his previous locum.
He twiddled a pencil in his fingers thoughtfully for a second, then, making a sudden decision, stood up abruptly. ‘I don’t think you’d let anyone down, Terry. After all, I’ve just had evidence of it half an hour ago at the accident by the dockside. If you think you can hack it here, I’ll be pleased to welcome you aboard!’
He held out his hand, his bright blue eyes smiling into hers, and she almost laughed with relief that he sounded quite happy to work with her after all. An extraordinary tremor of excitement and something else she couldn’t quite define crackled through her as they shook hands. The thought of working with Atholl Brodie was promising an unknown, perhaps dangerous but exciting flight into the future.
She took a deep breath and grinned at him. ‘Thank you, Atholl—and I’ll make sure you never have any complaints that I’m not up to the job, even though I’m a woman!’
‘I won’t ever hold that against you, I promise.’ He smiled. ‘Have you any questions to ask me?’
‘Isobel mentioned something about accommodation difficulties, but the agency said there was a small flat that went with the job?’
‘There’s a flat in the building,’ he admitted. ‘But perhaps you noticed the scaffolding on the side of the house? I’m afraid my uncle let the place go a little, to say the least, and there’s a lot of damp and mould. Your flat’s not fit to live in at the moment.’
‘So where do you suggest I sleep?’ asked Terry lightly. ‘Perhaps a bed and breakfast?’
‘Might be difficult over the next few days—there’s a folk festival on this weekend and the place is booked solid. My suggestion is that you come to my place…’ He hesitated a moment. ‘I’m afraid it’s a bit ramshackle and rather basic—we’re in the process of doing it up. To be frank, I didn’t think it would matter if a man was taking the job, but seeing…’
‘I’m a woman?’ finished off Terry wryly. ‘For goodness’ sake, if there’s a bed and a shower somewhere in the building I’ll be perfectly happy.’ She frowned slightly. ‘You said “we” are doing it up. I don’t want to be any bother to your wife…’
‘I was referring to the friend who’s running this outward bound course for boys,’ Atholl said. ‘He’s helping me with a bit of building work and decorating—and the boys are involved too, which keeps them busy.’
‘So do they all live there as well? It must be rather crowded.’
Atholl laughed. ‘Certainly not. I share the house with Shona…she’s a darling and keeps an eye on the place when I’m not there. I don’t know where I’d be without her.’
‘Oh…I see. Are you sure there’ll be room, then, and that Shona won’t mind?’
His eyes danced. ‘Plenty of room, and Shona will be ecstatic, I know.’
Was Shona his girlfriend or some dear old housekeeper? wondered Terry, feeling oddly deflated. Perhaps it was the fact that there would be another person living close to her who would want to know all about her, another person to convince that there was nothing untoward about her coming to Scuola. It would have been nice, she thought wistfully, to have had a place to herself so that she could relax after work and not bother about anyone else or their probing questions into her background. Still, perhaps this arrangement would not last too long.
‘I suggest I take you there now,’ Atholl said. ‘You can have a hot bath and help yourself to whatever you want to eat—at least,’ he corrected himself with a grin, ‘whatever there might be in the fridge. You must be starving.’
‘Won’t Shona mind me rooting around in the kitchen?’
‘Shona will probably join you in whatever you dig out.’ He grinned. ‘We’ll call in at the harbour master’s office for your case—and, don’t worry, we’ll take the Land Rover this time. Even I don’t fancy the thought of balancing a case on the bike.
‘I’m taking Terry to the cottage,’ he told Isobel as they crossed the hall. ‘Forward any calls to me on my mobile. I’ll do all my visits after that.’
Isobel nodded rather dourly. ‘I hope you’ve got some food in.’
Atholl looked at his receptionist rather defiantly. ‘And you’ll be pleased to know that Terry’s going to be joining us in the practice.’
Even though I’m a girl, thought Terry wryly.
Isobel pursed her lips. ‘I hope it works out…’
Terry looked up at him questioningly as they walked out of the house. ‘She sounds very dubious about me working here,’ she remarked.
He shrugged. ‘She a bit of a pessimist where I’m concerned,’ he said enigmatically.
The weather had changed in the time they’d been inside. The dark clouds had been blown away and now an eggshell-blue sky was spreading from the west and lighting up the tops of the hills with pale sunshine. Suddenly the place looked far less forbidding and the hedges and trees that arched across the road as they drove along had a fresh green newly washed quality about them. Atholl pointed out various landmarks and told Terry more about the practice on the journey.
‘You might think that the practice is only big enough for one doctor,’ he remarked. ‘But we look after two islands here—there’s a little ferry that goes over to the smaller island of Hersa. I do a clinic there once a week but, of course, if there’s a real emergency we have a helicopter, which is part of the air sea rescue team.’
‘It sounds very varied. How do you get around on Hersa?’
He laughed. ‘That’s where the motorbike comes in useful. I take it with me on the ferry. There are a lot of patients who live in remote places, not just on Hersa but here as well—it’s useful when they can’t get to see us. And we’re just into the tourist season so the population almost doubles.’
‘What do the tourists do?’
He laughed. ‘Besides fishing, walking, golf and deer stalking? There’s two distilleries to visit and the big hotel has tennis courts and a swimming pool. And then there’s climbing on the mountains you see over there—a very good source of patients,’ he said grimly. ‘It’s amazing the number of naive people who try to get to the top totally without equipment or experience.’
What a contrast to her patch in London, thought Terry. It was almost too much to take in, and she was gradually becoming aware that it wasn’t going to be the sort of quiet country practice she’d imagined.
‘I’ll need to get some transport,’ she said. ‘And I’d rather not borrow your motorbike!’
‘Don’t worry about that—you can use Uncle Euan’s little car. The main thing is to take a map and your mobile—it’s easy to get lost in the hills out there.’
‘It’s all very beautiful.’ Terry peered through the car window at the changing scene in front of them. ‘There must be some wonderful walks—I can’t wait to explore.’
Atholl smiled. ‘There’s so many different walks along the shore and back through the woods and the hills I never tire of them.’ He glanced at her and said in an offhand way, ‘You’d be welcome to come with a small group of us who walk together sometimes if you like.’
Funny how much that suggestion pleased her—she’d been sad for so long that the slightest lifting of her spirits felt almost alien. It was as if a curtain had been drawn apart a little and a small beam of sunlight had filtered through.
‘I’d enjoy that very much,’ she said. ‘Were you born here?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I only came here in the school holidays. I was born and raised in Glasgow.’
‘I believe it’s a lovely city.’
‘I lived in a very deprived area,’ he explained. ‘There’s still a lot of poverty in parts of Glasgow, and my family lived—still do really—in a pretty poor way. Not many advantages to life in the area I was brought up in.’
He’d obviously been glad to leave, thought Terry, whereas she had been so very happy with her life in London until…until it had all crumbled around about her ears and she’d been forced to depart. She sighed and leaned back in her seat, trying to blank out that last vision she’d had of her father as he’d lain dying in her arms and her frantic efforts to save him.
She bit her lip, telling herself firmly that she’d just got to put that episode in her life behind her. All that was finished and done with now.
‘So you won’t go back to live there, then,’ she commented.
He shrugged, a wry smile touching his lips. ‘My family think I should be back with them. They think I’ve let them down—sort of leaving the sinking ship kind of thing and coming to a better area when I could be of much more use where they live.’ He gave a humourless laugh. ‘They imagine I’m hobnobbing with lairds and big landowners—well above my station in life!’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ cried Terry. ‘You’re helping your uncle out—and you’re needed here as well!’
He laughed at her response. ‘Nevertheless, perhaps they have a point. The fact is, though, that I needed to get more experience—have a wider take on life. I’d lived and trained there all my life, and I was longing to spread my wings. And once I’d started working here, I fell in love with the place.’
He changed gear and slowed as they turned a corner and drew up in front of a square stone cottage surrounded by a little copse and protected from the road by a small front garden.
‘Here we are—rough and ready perhaps, but it’s home to me,’ he remarked.
The cottage wasn’t very big, but was most attractive, with a Virginia creeper running rampant over the walls and an untidy rose scrambling round the front door. Terry descended from the Land Rover rather wearily and followed Atholl as he went to the front door and opened it.
He whistled as he went into the little hallway, and there was a joyful bark and a large golden retriever came bounding out of the back regions and flung itself at Atholl.
‘Allow me to introduce you,’ he said. ‘This is Shona—she rules the house, I’m afraid!’
Terry looked up at Atholl and laughed, throwing back her head in amusement. ‘And I thought Shona was your girlfriend…’
The sun was streaming through the open door and fell on her raised face, catching the gold light in her hair and emphasising her large amber eyes sparkling up at him with amusement, her lips slightly parted. Looking down at her, Atholl felt slightly stunned. He’d realised she was attractive when he’d first seen her. Now he was suddenly conscious that she wasn’t just attractive—she was damned beautiful, her eyes like golden sherry set in a sweet heartshaped face. It unsettled him, made him nervous, thinking again of tattling tongues in the village, trying to matchmake. He’d had enough of that, thank you. He wasn’t lonely and he didn’t need a relationship with anyone he worked with—not after the last catastrophe.
He flicked a quick look at Terry’s bent head as she ruffled the dog’s head—the nape of her neck looked slim and vulnerable, her hair curling softly into it. And for a mad moment he imagined bending down and kissing the soft curve of her cheek. He could almost feel the velvety touch of her skin…
He started suddenly, realising that Terry was smiling at him, waiting for him to say something.
‘You’ll find your room upstairs on the right,’ he said gruffly. ‘It’s a bit basic, but you can dump your things there, freshen up and then do what you like here while I do my visits.’
‘Sure,’ Terry said. ‘But if you’d like me to come with you I’m very happy to.’
‘No, that won’t be necessary today. Tomorrow will be soon enough to start work,’ he said tersely. ‘I’ll be off, then. See you later.’
He strode out abruptly and leapt into the Land Rover, revving it up and accelerating out of the little drive with a spurt of pebbles. What the hell was he thinking about, allowing himself to even notice what Terry Younger looked like, let alone visualise himself touching her—and more? How much easier it would have been if the agency had sent a man, or even a much older woman to take the job—anyone but a knockout like Terry Younger.
He pictured her elfin face with those large expressive eyes like liquid gold and the crisp fair hair framing her face. The trouble was, he thought, gripping the steeringwheel tightly, he’d been taken unawares when Terry had come along, imagining that she would be a man. He scowled out at the landscape as he drove along. Just because he’d led a monastic life for the past few months, the last thing he needed was the distraction of sexual attraction with a colleague. Then he smiled grimly to himself. A city girl like her would probably not last long in the remote world of Scuola—after all, it hadn’t taken Zara long to find the place was not to her liking.
Terry stood in the doorway, staring after Atholl with a puzzled frown. He seemed to have suddenly become tense, uneasy about something. Was he perhaps regretting offering her the job? She shrugged. It was too late to back out now, and she’d not give up the job without a fight. She bent down to pat Shona, who looked up at her with trusting brown eyes.
‘I’ll show him, Shona,’ she whispered. ‘He’ll not regret having me in the practice—even if I am a woman.’
CHAPTER THREE
A DOG barking and the sound of horses’ hooves on the road woke Terry up with a start from a deep sleep. For a moment she panicked, thinking she was back in London, but there was no sound of traffic and no curtains at the window to cut off the light streaming onto her bed. She relaxed back again. Of course, she was in a little cottage on Scuola—about seven hundred miles away from her old home and quite safe. She searched for her watch on the bedside table and squinted at the face with amazed horror. It was nine-thirty—she must have slept for twelve hours.
Gradually the previous day’s events began to unravel through her mind. It had been a day of mixed emotions, leaving her beloved London, meeting Atholl Brodie in the most dramatic of circumstances, then finding out he was the man she was going to be working with.
She lay for a second reflecting on just what kind of a man he was—outspoken, decisive, but probably fair enough in his dealings with people. And, of course, there were his looks…deep blue eyes in a strong good-looking face swam into her mind. She sighed and swung her legs over the bed. Hadn’t she learned that drop-dead gorgeous men had too much confidence, things came too easily to them? She was certainly not about to stray into dangerous emotional territory again—especially in a working relationship. But there was a peculiar little flicker of excitement at the thought of seeing him later.
She padded over to the open window and looked out on a brilliant day, catching her breath at the view. The sun was shining on the distant vista of a blue sea she could see over the fields, and just down by the side of the cottage there was a stream that tumbled and sparkled its way under a little bridge and towards a copse. Through the open window drifted the sweet fresh smells of early spring and the sound of the chattering water.
‘A far cry from London,’ she murmured, peering down to see if Atholl’s car had gone from the front of the cottage. There was no sign of it, so he must have gone to work.
There was a scrabbling noise at the door and Shona trotted in, coming over to nuzzle Terry and then lie on her side in a patch of warm sunlight. Terry had a quick wash and threw on some clothes from her case, which Atholl had placed on the small landing. She squinted into the tiny mirror in the darkest corner of the little room as she flicked a brush through her hair. Her image looked back at her—large eyes framed by wayward short curly fair hair. Funny how a slight change in hair colour and cut could make a face look quite different, she thought. She turned to the dog looking up at her with interest.
‘Right, Shona, let’s see what’s for breakfast, shall we?’
The kitchen was a tiny room with just enough space for a sink, fridge and oven. On the working top was a note. ‘If you feel rested enough to come to the surgery, please take my uncle’s car parked in the layby just down the road. Keys in drawer.’
After a cup of black coffee and a fruitless hunt for anything more sustaining than a stale piece of bread, Terry put on a jacket and made her way to the car.
‘Bye, Shona,’ she called to the dog, who was watching her through the window. ‘If I don’t find my way I may be back soon!’
In fact, it was an easy ten-minute drive to The Sycamores. The worst part was parking the car in between a builder’s lorry and Atholl’s Land Rover in the drive. The house did indeed look rundown, Terry thought, taking a more detailed look at the paintwork on the windows, the battered front door and the small neglected border covered with weeds.
‘I could easily make that look better when the flat’s ready,’ she murmured to herself as she went into the hall.
The waiting room was crowded and there was no one at Reception.
‘The doctor’s running late—you’ll have to wait a wee while,’ said an elderly man helpfully, by the door.
‘I’m here to work, actually.’ Terry smiled, making her way through the room. A battery of eyes watched her go behind the reception counter while she waited for Isobel to materialise. She looked at the disparate crowd of people who gazed curiously back at her. Hopefully soon she would get to know them, and start to feel part of another community.
‘Ah, we wondered when you’d make an appearance!’ said Isobel, coming into the room with an armful of post.
Terry was getting used to Isobel’s forthright manner and pulled a rueful face. ‘Sorry I’m late. I had the best sleep I’ve had in ages, though. Now I’m ready, willing and able…’
Isobel nodded. ‘Aye, well, you had reason to be tired, didn’t you? Atholl told me about the accident you were involved in yesterday—quite a baptism of fire in your new home!’ She pursed her lips. ‘And talking of home, did you find anything for breakfast in that fridge of his?’
‘Not a lot.’ Terry laughed. ‘But I’m fine. Fortunately there was plenty of coffee.’
Isobel made a tutting sound. ‘I’ll get you something soon. No one can work on an empty stomach—any doctor should know that. Now, Atholl says would you use the room at the end of the passage—he’ll be through directly to show you how the programme on the computer works and then I’ll send your first patient through.’
Terry looked around her new surgery. It was quite a large room with an examining couch at one side, a washbasin and two enormous cupboards on the other, and a window with a crooked blind over it at the end. A bookcase filled with weighty medical tomes and magazines was squeezed near the door. Probably it was normally Euan’s room, she surmised. There were a few yellowing photographs on the wall of groups of students, and surely one of Euan himself, a stern white-haired gentleman glaring into the room, looking very like Atholl might do in years to come. She opened a drawer in the desk and smiled when she saw the contents—a lipstick and eyeliner wasn’t anything Uncle Euan would have use for. The last locum must have been a woman!
There was a tap at the door and Atholl entered. He looked much smarter than yesterday in a dark suit and tie, his white shirt emphasising his tanned face. From a purely objective point of view, Terry told herself, he certainly was one eye-catching guy.
Atholl’s eyes flicked over her, completed a quick survey of her navy trouser suit and the pink silk shirt she was wearing under the jacket. She looked delectable, he thought wryly. He’d had time to reflect in the last twelve hours on what a fool he’d been yesterday, rushing off rudely like a madman just because he was frightened of a rerun of the situation he’d had with Zara. It wasn’t Terry’s fault that she was so damned attractive and the poor girl hadn’t had a very welcoming reception. If they were going to work well together it was imperative that he maintain a cordial working relationship with her. From now on he’d try and behave sensibly—but keep his distance.
‘You slept all right, then?’ he asked. ‘You’d gone to bed by the time I got back.’
He sounded more relaxed than he had the day before when he’d roared off after depositing her at the cottage, Terry thought with relief.
‘Yes, I slept like a log. I’m sorry I was so late. I’d no idea it was halfway through the morning when I woke up.’
He shook his head dismissively. ‘It doesn’t matter—you were tired.’ He gave a rueful grin. ‘I’m sorry about the lack of food. Isobel’s just been giving me a hard time about that. I’d no time to shop as I was up at the crack of dawn meeting some man from the local health authority who wants us to provide a room for some alternative medicine clinic.’
Terry gathered from his tone that he was totally against that request. She smiled. ‘You can buy me a sandwich at lunchtime if you like.’
‘I’ll do better than that. I’ve got to take some gear over to the outward bound place before lunch. If you come with me you can meet Pete, his wife and the boys. I’ll bring some food and we’ll have it on the way back. The quicker you get to know the area the better.’
‘Sounds great.’
He bent forward to switch on the computer and said, ‘Before I show you the ropes as far as the software we use is concerned, there’s a reporter here to speak to you.’
Terry looked surprised. ‘Whatever for? What can I have to say to him?’
Atholl smiled. ‘It’s about your sterling work yesterday in the car accident. It’ll make good copy. “New young doctor on Scuola saves baby in car accident.”’
‘It certainly wasn’t just me involved—you were as well. What paper is this?’
‘The Scuola Recorder—it’s just a weekly newssheet about local happenings.’
‘I…I don’t know if I really want to be featured,’ Terry said doubtfully.
He shrugged. ‘I know it’s a bit of a bore, but they don’t have much to talk about here and that’s a happy storyline.’
‘I suppose…if people are interested.’
‘I can assure you that a heart-warming article about a new doctor ensures the patients will be very keen to be seen by you! They’re normally a very conservative lot and don’t like change.’
Let’s hope the story won’t spread much further than Scuola, thought Terry. Then shook herself mentally. She’d nothing to fear now, had she? She just had to relax and enjoy her new life.
A few seconds later Atholl ushered in a young gangling lad with red hair and freckles and an eager manner, like a young puppy. He strode towards Terry with his hand held out.
‘Hello, there! Ian Brown, Scuola Recorder. I just wanted a few moments of your time to get the lowdown on the accident yesterday. I believe you were the heroine of the hour, rescuing a baby from a car?’
Terry flicked a look of embarrassment at Atholl, who was watching the interview leaning against the wall with his long legs crossed. ‘There was nothing heroic about it—and, of course, Dr Brodie was very much involved.’
‘It was very dangerous, though. The car could have exploded at any second, isn’t that right?’ persisted Ian.
‘Fortunately all was well.’ Terry smiled. ‘There really isn’t much more to tell. The main thing was that Maisie and little Amy weren’t hurt despite the car being badly crushed.’
‘Of course, of course…but could I just get a little background info? Where you come from, why you’re here…you know the sort of thing?’
Terry smiled brightly. ‘Well, I’m from the South of England.’ She kept it vague. ‘I wanted a change of scene away from the city, somewhere more remote, and Scuola is a beautiful place.’
‘So you you’ve never been here before?’
‘No, but it sounded just perfect.’
Ian’s cheery face raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Bit of a risk isn’t it? Coming to live here without viewing the place first? Jumping into untested waters, as it were…’
‘I’m sure it will work out,’ said Terry firmly. She didn’t want to answer any more probing questions, because they seemed to bring back with startling clarity the reasons that had forced her to come up to Scotland. She sat down behind her desk. ‘Look, I’m afraid I really must get on now. I’m already late for my first day and I know Dr Brodie’s very busy.’
The young man looked disappointed. ‘Well, at least let me take a photo of you both, perhaps with Dr Brodie welcoming his new colleague to the practice…you know the sort of thing.’
Reluctantly Terry allowed Ian to manoeuvre her beside Atholl, and he took several photos of them shaking hands and looking rather self-consciously towards the mobile phone on which he’d taken the pictures.
‘Good!’ he said with satisfaction. ‘You’re very photogenic, Dr Younger—they seem to get smashing-looking lady doctors here! That Dr Grahame who was here before was one bonny lass!’
Atholl scowled, not remarking on Ian’s observations, and snapped, ‘Have you finished, then?’
Terry flicked a glance at Atholl, noting his abrupt change of mood. It had probably been brought on by the cheeky attitude of the young reporter.
‘Would you like to see the photo?’ enquired Ian, holding up his mobile to her. ‘Look, you have to agree, you make a really handsome couple!’
Atholl’s expression became even more surly. ‘For God’s sake, don’t start making things up now,’ he warned him tersely.
Ian Brown grinned, completely unfazed by Atholl’s irritation. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll send you a copy of the article—it’ll be a lovely human-interest story! “Doctors to the rescue!” Sounds good, doesn’t it?’
Atholl and Terry looked at each other dubiously as Ian gave them a cheery wave and went out of the room.
‘Let’s hope he doesn’t allow his imagination to run away with him,’ growled Atholl drily. ‘Give the folk round here a little information and they’ll have us engaged! It doesn’t take much for them to leap to the wrong conclusion.’
‘Rumours can fly around on practically no evidence,’ agreed Terry. ‘It must be hard to keep one’s private life to oneself in a small community, I imagine.’
Êîíåö îçíàêîìèòåëüíîãî ôðàãìåíòà.
Òåêñò ïðåäîñòàâëåí ÎÎÎ «ËèòÐåñ».
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