LITMIR.BIZ

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poured her a cup from a jug on the machine, and she sipped it gratefully while they unwrapped some pre-packed sandwiches. Her application was lying on the table, a coffee-coloured ring on it, and Dr Glover flipped it across the table to his colleague.

      ‘Here, perhaps you could skim your eyes over that while we get to know each other.’ He smiled at Cathy. ‘So, Dr Harris, tell us about yourself.’

      ‘Of course.’ Lord, she hated those sorts of questions! She cleared her throat and sat up straighter. ‘Well, until recently I’ve been working part-time in an inner-city practice, but the practice has expanded due to redevelopment, and they want a full-time partner so I’ve been filling in, but I didn’t think I wanted to work there full-time permanently, so I thought I’d have a look and see if there was anything more suitable.’

      Oh, lord, I’m gabbling, she thought, and paused for breath. Dr Armstrong looked up from her application, those blue eyes sweeping her with blatant curiosity. ‘You’re thirty-five? You don’t look it.’

      She gave him a sugary smile. ‘I dye the grey.’

      ‘Amazing, it looks so—natural …’ He seemed to inspect her hair for a second, and then glanced back, his eyes sharp behind the friendly twinkle. ‘And yet, despite your—’ one eyebrow arched provocatively ‘—advanced years, you’ve only been working part-time?’

      ‘Until recently, yes,’ she confirmed.

      ‘You do know this is a full-time post?’

      ‘Yes, I do. I want full-time now.’

      ‘So why not stay on where you are? Personality problems?’

      Not until I met you, she wanted to say, but bit her tongue. ‘I don’t want to work in an inner-city practice.’

      ‘Too much for you?’ he asked, and she sensed rather than saw the sudden shift in his attitude. Gone was the friendly smile, the mild flirting, and she felt oddly threatened.

      ‘I thought the country air and the simpler lifestyle would benefit my son. He’s just started school, and frankly I’m not happy about it. I thought a country school would suit him better.’

      The atmosphere chilled even further. ‘Son?’

      ‘Dr Harris has a son of five,’ Dr Glover put in. ‘Stephen, isn’t it?’ His smile was encouraging.

      ‘That’s right.’

      ‘Just the one?’ Dr Armstrong asked, and she nodded.

      ‘Why on earth do you want to work full-time?’ he asked, his voice deceptively lazy. ‘Wouldn’t you rather be at home tweaking the curtains and patting the cushions?’

      Cathy controlled her temper with difficulty. ‘As a matter of fact I wouldn’t, but even if I would I don’t have the choice. If I want any kind of a lifestyle, I have to earn it.’

      ‘Ambitious, eh?’

      ‘No more than any other caring parent,’ she said quietly.

      He eyed her dispassionately. ‘I would have thought you’d be more than happy to allow your husband to make all the pushy career moves. How does he feel about a move to the country—or do you support him, too?’

      A long-ago sadness touched her gently. She was dimly aware of Dr Glover’s sharply indrawn breath, but she ignored it. ‘Not any more—Michael died three years ago. He had multiple sclerosis.’

      She looked down at her hands, but not before she saw the swift shock on Dr Armstong’s face.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly, and his rich, deep voice was tinged with remorse. ‘I had no idea. I haven’t really had time to study the applications.’

      She lifted her eyes to his, unwilling to use her late husband as a defence against Dr Armstrong’s blistering interview technique. ‘Please—forget it. It really doesn’t matter.’

      ‘But it does—in many ways, in fact, I think it’s even worse than if you were married,’ he argued, and she could see now there was no light-hearted twinkle or mocking humour. He was deadly serious. ‘You’ll have no back up, no emotional support—it’s a hard life, demanding, the hours are long and antisocial, they don’t coincide with school holidays—there are endless insurmountable problems.’

      ‘Not entirely insurmountable,’ she corrected quietly, ‘and believe me, I am aware of the problems.’

      ‘What about night duty? What about the times you’ll be on duty at Christmas? What will happen to your son then?’

      ‘Max, I’m sure Dr Harris has considered all these points before making her application. She is, after all, facing all those very problems at the moment and apparently successfully.’ Dr Glover leant back in his chair, peering at his colleague over the rim of his specs. ‘Her references are excellent, her current practice will be extremely sorry to lose her, and I think you’re being rather harshly judgemental. She has, after all, been working in the field for some time and has a great deal to offer.’

      ‘She’s only been working part-time.’

      ‘For six years,’ Cathy replied tightly, ‘and the last six months have been full-time.’

      ‘Why didn’t you just buy some nice little house somewhere with the insurance money and settle down to raising your son properly?’ he asked curiously.

      Cathy’s temper frayed a little further. ‘What insurance money?’ she snapped. ‘You don’t expect a young, fit man of thirty to become terminally ill! We were going to take out life policies when we bought a house—we were looking for one when he was diagnosed. One of the drawbacks of knowing you’re going to die is that you can’t very easily get life insurance!’ she finished sarcastically, and then let out her breath with a harsh sigh. It wouldn’t do to lose her temper with him, however infuriating he might be.

      She tried again. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, but I can’t help feeling this has no bearing whatsoever on my application. I have domestic arrangements which take into account my hours, and my reasons for needing or wanting to work are entirely my own, beyond satsifying you that I am dedicated to my profession. Perhaps some questions along the lines of vocational training and current techniques might be more relevant, particularly where your patients are concerned!’

      Dr Armstrong’s firm, full mouth clamped shut as if he was controlling himself with difficulty. Dr Glover, glancing between them, steepled his fingers and regarded her thoughtfully over the top.

      Oh, lord, she thought, I’ve blown it now. He’s going to tell me I’m not suitable, and that will be it, and we’ll have to stay in Bristol and Stephen will have to go to that awful school and——

      ‘What do you know about gambling?’ he asked her.

      ‘Gambling?’ The question was so unexpected that she faltered for a second, but then she recovered her poise and drew a calming breath. ‘It can become an addiction, like alcoholism or drug-taking. The gambler finds it impossible to stop, even when losing, and the lies and secrecy and the resultant financial consequences can cause havoc in the family. Why?’

      He smiled his encouragement. ‘We have a gambler on our books—I just wondered how you would deal with him.’

      ‘I’d read his notes before I did anything,’ she said, shooting a sharp glance at Dr Armstrong. ‘I don’t believe in making snap judgements; they are often unreliable.’

      ‘So you wouldn’t say you’re intuitive?’ Dr Armstrong asked, and she had the crazy feeling it was a trick question.

      ‘Not when there are other, more reliable methods of divining information—like reading the notes,’ she retorted, with a speaking glance at her application. He had the grace to flush slightly, and his lips curved in a parody of a smile.

      ‘Touché,’ he said softly.

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