The Village Nurse's Happy-Ever-After (2 page)

Harry looked over his new staff keenly—after all, they were the nucleus of the practice, so named because of the stretch of golden sand below the cliffs and the surging sea that came and went endlessly into the cove.

As it was his first morning, he was not aware that there was someone missing.

But while he'd been chatting to the cleaner, Phoebe had come down the back staircase that led to the apartments with Marcus in her arms, and had driven off to the nursery where he would be cared for until she'd finished her calls.

His baby buggy was in the boot, where it had been left the day before. In the short time that it took to unload it and pass her little one into the arms of Beth Dryden, who was in charge of Tiny Toes Nursery, Phoebe was acutely aware that she was running late. Marcus, who was teething, hadn't wanted his breakfast or been his usual contented little self while she'd been dressing him, all of which had been time consuming.

But he was smiling now, she thought thankfully. After explaining his earlier teething fretfulness to Beth and receiving her reassurance that she would give him some breakfast and would keep an eye on him, she drove back to the surgery where an explanation for her lateness was due to the new senior partner. After last night's uncomfortable few moments of meeting, she wasn't looking forward to it.

If it had been Ethan she wouldn't have needed to explain. He'd been kindness itself to her ever since she'd joined the practice—even while she'd been on leave after Marcus's birth he'd still kept in touch. Harry Balfour, however, was an unknown quantity.

When she hurried into the surgery he was standing by Reception on the phone. Lucy, the senior practice nurse, said in a low voice, ‘Harry's talking to Ethan. What kept you Phoebe, baby's teeth?'

‘Yes, he was really fretful this morning, today of all days.'

The elderly nurse nodded and looking towards the newcomer said, ‘He's very sombre, not the guy he used to be. Harry was always happy and carefree but, then, he
has
just lost his wife in tragic circumstances. Why
don't you go and sort out your calls while he's on the phone and introduce yourself to him afterwards?'

 

‘Harry, it's Ethan here,' the voice at the other end of the line had said when the receptionist handed him the phone. ‘Clearly you've arrived safely and are already on the job, so every good wish from all of us here! It gives me a good feeling to know that you are taking up where I left off.'

‘It's kind of you to say so,' Harry told him. ‘I'd forgotten how lovely it is here. With regard to the practice, I've gathered all the staff together and introduced myself. I'm also very happy with the apartment, it's really smart. Am I right in thinking that my aunt has been involved in the make-over?'

‘Yes, you are,' was the reply. ‘Have you spoken to Barbara yet?'

‘No. I intend to go to Four Winds House this evening if she and Keith don't show up before then.'

‘Fine, but prepare yourself for a shock when you see her. Barbara's mobility is very limited and her heart isn't good. She's being treated for that by her new son-in-law, my friend Lucas Devereux, who is a heart surgeon. He and your cousin Jenna were married a year ago and have a baby girl called Lily.'

They'd continued the conversation for a little while longer and by the time Harry was replacing the receiver Phoebe was almost ready to set off on her home visits. First, however, she needed to make herself known to him in a proper manner after the strangeness of their first meeting, if it could be described as that.

He'd turned away from the Reception desk and as she moved towards him, the first thing he observed about her was the pale perfection of her skin. After spending years in a country where women were often very tanned by the sun, it was breathtaking.

Trimly dressed in the dark blue dress of her calling, Phoebe had taken her hair off her face into a neat coil held back by a comb. It wasn't until his gaze met hers that Harry thought there couldn't be two pairs of big brown eyes like that on the surgery premises. But that was the only similarity to the ragamuffin who'd been watching him unlock the door of his new home the night before. He put out a feeler.

‘I think we've already met,' he said dryly, before she could explain why she was late. ‘Am I right?'

‘Yes, you are,' she told him, holding out a smooth, ringless hand for him to shake. ‘I'm Phoebe Howard, the district nurse attached to the practice. Last night you caught me in the middle of painting the ceiling—I'm afraid when I heard you coming up the stairs I had to check as it's been rather spooky with just the two of us up there.'

And what was that supposed to mean? he wondered. If she was living with a husband or partner one might expect that they would do the decorating. Yet a vision of Cassie came to mind. She'd been good at that sort of thing, said it kept her occupied when he was working long hours at the hospital where he'd been employed for most of his time in Australia.

She used to have a go at anything, had often been reckless, but it had seemed as if she'd had a charmed
life. Until one Saturday morning, when they'd had words because he hadn't been free to do what she'd wanted which was to try out her new car.

He'd been on duty at the hospital, and as far as he'd been concerned, his patients had come first, so Cassie had set off in a huff and while driving along a remote road in the outback, the driver of a large oncoming truck had swerved into her path. The consequences had been disastrous—he'd lost his wife in a matter of seconds.

The accident had been six months ago and coming to terms with it had been grim. Thankfully they'd had no children to be left motherless. They'd both been of a like mind, that there had been plenty of time for that, though for very different reasons.

On Cassie's part, it had been because she hadn't been quite ready to give up what she'd seen as her freedom. But on Harry's part, it had been because he'd had a baby brother who had died from a genetic illness when he had been just a child himself. Yet, he'd been old enough to experience the frightening feeling of loss, and growing up as the remaining child of grief-stricken parents, the fear of bringing a child into the world and then losing it always lurked in the recesses of his mind.

He'd seen his mother weeping and his father's permanently sad expression, and had thought that it was better not to have babies if the angels were going to take them up to heaven.

‘I'm sorry I was late arriving,' the young nurse beside him was saying apologetically, and bringing his thoughts back to bear on why he was standing there, Harry said briskly, ‘That's OK, just as long as it isn't a habit.'

Hoping that in days to come the new senior partner wouldn't feel that unavoidable came into the same category as a habit, Phoebe managed a strained smile. Then picking up the case that held what she needed for her patients, she went quickly out through the main door of the surgery.

 

Her first call of the day was to the home of a man who had just been diagnosed with insulin-dependent diabetes. Frank Atkinson was a newly retired forestry worker and she'd explained the procedure of injecting himself the previous day. Now she was on her way to check if he was having any problems.

Always a frightening ordeal at first, most people soon got into a routine and accepted the inevitability of it. Sure enough, when she arrived at a pretty thatched cottage on the coast road she found that he had coped and was less agitated than on the day before.

As was often the case, there was hospitality on offer. His wife Betty, who knew something of the circumstances of the young district nurse, had coffee and shortbread waiting when Phoebe had finished dealing with her husband.

‘I won't say no,' she said thankfully. ‘My little one is teething and was really out of sorts this morning, so I didn't have time to have any breakfast. I mustn't linger, though. We have a new doctor in charge of the practice and I've already made a poor start by being late, so don't want to transgress any further! He has the look of a man who doesn't suffer fools gladly.'

‘Surely he will make allowances for you being a single mother,' Betty protested.

‘I suppose he might if he knew, but we only met last night. He doesn't yet know I have a child, and when he does I won't be expecting any favours. It wouldn't be fair to the rest of the staff.'

When she was ready to go, Betty walked to the bottom of the garden path with her. Wistfully she said, ‘Under any other circumstances, Frank would have been holding forth about trees this morning—they're his favourite subject—but not any more. I used to weary of it sometimes, but now I'd give anything to hear about the oaks and the elms and the sycamores.'

‘I'm sure that you will be hearing about them again soon, Betty,' Phoebe told her consolingly. As she left, she said reassuringly, ‘I'll call again tomorrow and for as long as it takes for Frank to be completely confident when injecting the insulin.'

 

There was another new patient on her list of calls, and as she pulled up in front of a shop across from the harbour that sold fishing tackle, it was clear that its owner had been on the lookout for her. The moment she stepped out of the car, a young blonde guy with a beard came striding out and without wasting a second said, 'I'm Jake Stephenson and the patient is my young nephew Rory. He's staying with me for a while as both his parents are in hospital after a car crash.

‘Rory was hurt too, but to a lesser degree. However, he has a nasty leg wound that I've been told he mustn't put any weight on for the time being. The hospital
phoned the surgery to ask for a district nurse to come and dress the wound, and keep an eye on it.'

He was leading the way back into the shop and Phoebe followed, not having been able to get a word in so far. But she was used to anxiety creating a non-stop spate of words, and had listened carefully to what he had been saying.

‘Here he is,' he said, opening the door of a sitting room at the back of the shop. A young teenage boy, with a bandaged leg resting on a stool in front of him, looked up from the computer game he was playing for a moment and then went back to it.

‘Switch that off for a moment, Rory,' the harassed uncle ordered, and the boy obeyed reluctantly.

‘Hello, there,' Phoebe said. ‘I've come to have a look at your leg, Rory.'

He nodded sullenly but didn't speak, and kneeling beside him she gently removed the dressing.

When the injury was revealed she saw that a deep gash had been stitched, most likely from when he'd first been taken to A and E after the crash. However, the skin around it over quite a large area had been scraped off and was looking sore and weepy, so she hesitated before using more of the cream he'd been given by the hospital.

‘It's my dad's fault,' the youngster grumbled as he looked down at his leg. ‘He always drives too fast. I hate him. Supposing I can't play footie again!'

‘Shush,' she said gently. ‘It would have to be much worse than this for that to happen. I'm going to ask one of the doctors from the surgery to come and look at your
leg.' Signalling to Jake to go back into the shop so they could talk, she smiled at Rory reassuringly and followed his uncle as he led the way out of the room.

‘If only Rory wasn't so difficult,' he said when they were out of his hearing. ‘He isn't usually like this.'

‘He's feeling frightened and insecure,' she told him. ‘The poor boy has been involved in a car crash, which must have been terrifying. Even though from the sound of it his parents were the ones most seriously hurt, all he can see at the moment is what it did to him.'

She was reaching for her mobile phone. ‘I'm going to see if Dr Fenchurch is back from his rounds. I need a second opinion before I treat the leg again with the same procedure as before.'

‘I'm afraid Leo isn't here,' Millie on Reception told her when she answered the phone. ‘His car broke down as he was leaving his last house call, and he's out there waiting for the breakdown services to show up. But Dr Balfour is here, and if you give us the address, he says he'll be right with you.'

Phoebe almost groaned out loud. Since he'd arrived back on his home ground, she'd met the abrupt man twice in the space of twenty-four hours. And each time she
hadn't
come out of it as the epitome of efficiency.

He was bound to think that she should be able to deal with this sort of problem with her eyes shut, she thought rebelliously. But Rory was an injured youngster who was frightened and hurting because of his family's carelessness, and if he couldn't rely on his father to do the right thing by him, he could rely on her. She knew he needed
a second opinion on that leg of his so grudgingly, she gave the address.

When Harry Balfour came striding into the cluttered shop premises ten minutes later, he found Phoebe drinking the coffee that a grateful Jake Stephenson had insisted on offering her, and he frowned. It didn't look much like an emergency at first glance, he thought. But she put the cup down immediately and took him into the sitting room where Rory was, and he had to change his assumption.

As soon as he saw the boy's leg, he knew that the district nurse had been right to send for a doctor.

‘How long is it since they sent Rory home from the hospital?' he asked as he scrutinised the wound.

‘Last night,' Jake told him.

‘How long since the accident?

‘A couple of days before. His parents are still in there, both with concussion, broken legs and pelvic injuries. Once they'd seen to Rory's leg, the doctors decided that he would be better out of hospital and sent him to me, his uncle, for the time being.'

So far Phoebe hadn't spoken. Harry Balfour had that effect on her, making her clam up when she should be showing him that she was no pushover. When he turned to her after he'd finished examining the leg, he found himself looking into her wide brown gaze and seeing a defiant kind of wariness there.