Читать книгу Hired: GP and Wife - Judy Campbell - Страница 8

‘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.’