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let down a colleague when taking care of his patients. ‘Are there any formalities I need to comply with, as I was called out to her, or will the hospital have done the certification? I haven’t been in this position before.’

      ‘If you like, I’ll take you down to Records and show you how our system works,’ Joe offered, and Vicky had to stifle a growl of frustration.

      Now she wasn’t going to get the chance to speak to him alone, and who knew how long it would be before they had the chance to spend any time together? She certainly wouldn’t sink to using this telephone pest as an excuse, no matter what the temptation.

      Joe ushered Grant Naismith out into the corridor but at the last second looked back over his shoulder to murmur, ‘Seven o’clock at my place, but you’ll have to bring the ingredients.’

      The couple of hours Vicky spent preparing the meal with Joe and then sharing it in the informality of the warm farmhouse kitchen were everything she could have wished.

      They had worked together as seamlessly as though they’d done the same thing dozens of times before. Even their conversation had felt comfortable, with topics ranging from music to art and books before finally degenerating to the perennial topic of the Denison Memorial.

      It’s almost as if we’re an old married couple, she thought as she began to pile their plates together. Then he passed her a handful of cutlery and when his fingers brushed hers she could have sworn that she heard the crackle of electricity in the air.

      The knives and forks fell onto the plate with a noisy clatter and she hastily grabbed them and turned towards the sink to hide her flaming cheeks.

      ‘Sorry about that. I must be getting clumsy in my old age,’ she muttered as she plunged them into the hot soapy water.

      ‘You’re probably tired. Why not leave the dishes and go home for an early night? Anyway, you did most of the cooking so I should be on clean-up duty.’

      ‘You helped with the preparation, too,’ she pointed out as she attacked the remnants of the marinara sauce with a scouring pad. ‘Besides, I don’t like leaving without finishing the job properly.’

      Finally she realised that if she was taking delight in something as mundane as sharing the washing-up with Joe, it was definitely time she was on her way.

      Even then, she couldn’t stop the little leap of pleasure when he walked her out to her car or the way he watched her driving away. It certainly satisfied that hungry place inside her that wanted nothing more than that he should…

      That he should what?

      Notice her? See past the end of his nose? Realise that she was the woman he’d been waiting for?

      ‘Right!’ she scoffed aloud. ‘He’s barely done more than wish you a polite good morning in the last six months and suddenly, on the strength of a roadside rescue and a home-cooked meal he’s going to take another look at you? Get a life!’

      Vicky was still muttering under her breath when she swung her front door open, juggling an armful of uniform brought home for washing and a bag of groceries that had developed a rapidly growing split in one side.

      The first thing she saw in the darkness as she reached out for the light switch was the winking red indicator on her answering machine.

      It was so rarely used that she was almost excited by the event, dropping her burden just inside the door to press the replay button. Because all her friends knew where she worked, they were far more likely to ring her at the hospital. In fact, very few of them knew her home number as the new directory hadn’t been updated since she’d moved into her little cottage and had the phone connected.

      The little indicator told her she had two messages, but when the first played through without a word being spoken, a shiver of dread skated up her spine.

      She reached out to stop the machine but it had already clicked to the second message and an awful fascination froze her in her tracks as she heard the same voice break the silence of her cosy home.

      ‘Victoria.’

      It was the same voice. That same hateful singsong. But this time it was worse. This time it wasn’t a call to the hospital where anyone could contact her. This time, whoever it was had discovered her private number and it felt almost as if they’d actually invaded the cottage.

      Vicky was still staring at the baleful red eye when the phone rang, the sudden sound startling her into a shriek.

      It rang again and for the first time in her life she was actually afraid to answer it. It was almost a relief when the machine switched on to answer it for her, but she cringed when the silence began to stretch out without a word being spoken.

      She was convinced that it was her tormentor again but Joe’s deep voice broke the fraught silence.

      ‘Vicky, it’s Joe. Joe Faraday. I just wanted to make sure you got home safely. Give me a call when—’

      ‘Oh, Joe, thank goodness it’s you,’ she gasped when she’d managed to grab the handset and put it to her ear. Her hand had been trembling so much she’d nearly dropped the thing.

      ‘Vicky? Are you all right?’ The concern was so clear in his voice that it actually helped her to gain a little control.

      ‘There were two messages when I got back…on my answering machine,’ she blurted disjointedly.

      ‘Not bad news, I hope. Who was it? Jack? Nick? The hospital?’

      ‘It was him, Joe,’ she said, the eerie way the man had pronounced her name echoing inside her head.

      ‘Him? You mean the voice on the phone at the hospital? How did he get your home number?’

      ‘Why don’t you ask me some questions I can answer for a change,’ she said as a hint of hysteria crept into her voice. ‘I don’t know how he got it. All I know is that there were two messages. One silent one and the other one…’ She shuddered.

      ‘Just your name, again, or something more this time?’ he prompted quietly, his voice deep and steady, something to cling to in the midst of her panic.

      ‘Just my name,’ she confirmed, ‘but why is he doing this, Joe? It was bad enough when he was phoning me at work, but this…’

      She drew in a shaky breath as she dragged trembling fingers through her hair. She’d left the blonde length loose to tumble over her shoulders this evening, hoping that Joe would notice. That had been a complete waste of time, and now seemed totally irrelevant in the face of what had been happening at home in her absence.

      ‘Joe, what if…’ The sudden thought was terrifying. ‘What if he knows where I live? Can he find out my address now that he knows my phone number?’

      ‘I honestly don’t know, Vicky,’ he admitted. ‘As for the calls, if it was just a matter of changing your phone number, it would be relatively easy. The fact that he’s being a nuisance at work isn’t quite so easy, especially as so many calls come through automatic exchanges. If it was the old-fashioned telephone operator we’d have some sort of control.’

      The way he’d slipped into saying ‘we’ instead of ‘you’ hadn’t escaped her. It was strange how much comfort she could draw from something so simple.

      ‘As for knowing where you live…’ Joe’s voice drew her back to the unpleasant speculation. ‘In a place as small as Edenthwaite, he wouldn’t have to ask very many people before he found someone who could give him directions.’

      ‘This is one of those times when it’s definitely a disadvantage to have been born locally,’ she complained. ‘All too often I have patients coming in who insist on telling me in great detail about something that happened in my childhood, or even my parents’ childhood.’

      ‘That’s one of the penalties of being in such a “public” profession. Everyone knows about the local doctors and their families.’

      ‘And

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