LITMIR.BIZ

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watched him go, the long, lazy stride eating up the ground, the supple movements of his shoulders, the swing of his arms, his movements all graceful and coordinated like a natural athlete.

      She had heard gravel scrunch underfoot this morning outside the coach house and had watched as he jogged down the lane past the church and out into the square.

      Half an hour later she had heard the scrunch of returning footsteps, and had forced herself to ignore them and not look, however tempted she might be by the long, sleek limbs spangled with dark hair, the breadth of those powerful shoulders over neat, narrow hips and the driving pistons of his legs. One look was enough. After all, she had her sanity to consider, and tangling with all that raw masculine energy wasn’t conducive to mental health.

      She busied herself in her room, doing inoculations and well-person checks, dishing out leaflets on breast and testicle self-examination, eating for health and avoiding heart disease.

      One elderly lady, Mabel Robinson, came to her for a new dressing on her leg ulcer. Plopping down into the chair with a wheeze, she smiled up at Beth.

      ‘Hello, dear. Just give me a second and I’ll slip my stocking off for you.’

      Beth returned the smile and knelt at her feet. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll do it. You’ve got to have a dressing changed, is that right?’

      ‘Yes—perishing leg ulcer. I don’t know, the blessed thing doesn’t seem to want to get better.’

      ‘Let’s have a look shall we?’ Beth gently rolled the stocking down and slipped it off Mrs Robinson’s foot, then after washing her hands she eased the hydrocolloid dressing away from the wound. ‘Oh, yes, I see what you mean. It’s obviously being a bit naughty, isn’t it? Well, let’s give it a wash and I’ll ask Dr Pendragon to have a look at it.’

      She cleaned the wound gently with saline, then rang through to Gideon’s office and asked him to drop in.

      He stuck his head round the door a moment later and shot Mrs Robinson a cheeky grin.

      ‘Hello, Mabel—how’re you doing?’

      ‘Oh, you know, Doctor—up and down.’

      He crouched on the floor beside Beth and bent over the ulcer, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

      ‘Well, I think it looks better than last time, but it certainly isn’t progressing fast. Perhaps we should try some paste in it. That might help dry it up a little.’

      Beth nodded, then redressed the wound, filling the pitting in the leg with Comfeel paste before replacing the colloid dressing with a fresh one. While she worked Mrs Robinson quizzed her openly.

      ‘You’re new, aren’t you?’

      Beth nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right. It’s my first day.’

      ‘Staying with Dr Pendragon, I hear.’

      ‘In the coach house flat,’ Beth filled in hastily. No point in letting that rumour run away with itself! But it seemed her patient was better informed than that.

      ‘‘Oh, I know that, dear,’ she said. ‘Wonderful now, isn’t it? Met the children yet?’

      Beth shook her head. ‘No—no, I haven’t.

      ‘Lovely children—such a shame about the mother.’

      ‘Mmm.’ Beth was deliberately non-committal, not wishing to get into a discussion about Gideon with this sweet but congenitally nosy old dear—and particularly not about his wife. She had already floundered in there where angels with any sense would fear to tread. ‘How does that feel?’ she asked.

      ‘Better. Thank you so much, dear.’

      Beth showed her out, holding the door for the fragile little woman, and as she watched her go she wondered how far the old lady had to come.

      ‘Mrs Robinson?’ she called, running after her. ‘Would it help you if the district nurse came to do your dressing?’

      Bright eyes sparkled up at Beth. ‘Oh, no, dear—I’d miss all the gossip! Besides, I only live next door.’

      Beth smiled and let her go. The exercise and change of scene was probably good for her, anyway.

      David Hendry, Gideon’s smoking heart bypass patient, walked past her as she was about to go back in. She knew it was him because as he passed her he paused to speak, then raised his hand to his mouth and coughed, and Beth could hear the damage he was doing in the bronchitic rattle from his chest.

      ‘Nasty cough you’ve got there,’ she said conversationally. ‘Bad cold?’

      ‘Nah—damn fags cause that. The dreaded weed.’

      She smiled sympathetically. ‘Tough giving up, isn’t it? I used to smoke myself when I was training, but I gave up when I became a staff nurse! I still remember how hard it was.’

      Her patient snorted. ‘You’re telling me. I’ve tried—God knows I’ve tried, but this time it’s got to work. There’s just too much at stake.’ He met her eyes, his own pleading. ‘I gather you’re running the Stop Smoking clinic with Dr Pendragon.’

      ‘That’s right.’

      His mouth twisted. ‘Well, I wish you luck with me. I can’t do it on my own, but I really must make it stick this time.’

      She laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled. ‘We’ll get you there, Mr Hendry, don’t you worry. You’ll do it this time. I won’t let you fail.’

      He met her eyes, and she could see doubt and scepticism mingled with hope in their depths.

      ‘I’ll see you Monday, then.’

      She watched him go, a relatively young man whom lack of exercise, family history and years of self-abuse had threatened with an untimely end. Could she save him? Not alone, of course, but would her contribution make any difference to the final outcome?

      She didn’t know, but one thing she was sure of— she’d have a damn good try.

      Friday, and the end of the week. Beth dropped the patient records back into Reception and smiled at Molly.

      ‘All done?’

      She nodded. ‘I hope so. I’ve got to sort some things out for the Stop Smoking clinic on Monday, but otherwise I think I’ve done everything.’

      ‘Good.’ Molly glanced up at her. ‘Settling in all right at the Rectory?’

      ‘Oh, yes—it’s lovely,’ Beth told her honestly, genuinely delighted by her accommodation. She was less sure about her boss, though. Other than strictly professional exchanges, he had been very distant since the first night—really, since she had made that remark about his wife.

      How was she to know, though? The man didn’t have a brand on his forehead that proclaimed him a widower. She felt bad that she’d hurt him, even so, especially after he had bent over backwards to make her welcome.

      His desperation had certainly been justified, she acknowledged. She had worked full-time these past two days to help Julie catch up with her backlog, and then from Monday would be working just the mornings and Tuesday afternoon, as planned, with the smoking cessation clinic on Monday evenings some of the time.

      For someone used to working full-time, it wasn’t much. She would have to find something to fill her leisure hours. Maybe one of her elderly patients had a dog that needed walking, or perhaps she could do some shopping for one of them. She’d ask—but not now. Now, she wanted to find a shop in the square and buy something to eat tonight, and then go back and cook it and eat it in front of the television, curled up on that unbelievably comfortable sofa.

      Maybe she’d take up patchwork or tapestry or something to while away the long winter evenings.

      It was only September, but already the nights were drawing in and there was a chill in the air.

      She

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