The Village Nurse's Happy-Ever-After (8 page)

It had been on the following morning when they'd met officially and he'd seen how beautiful she really was that he'd become entranced. From that moment, he'd gradually come to realise that he wanted Phoebe more than anything he'd ever wanted in his life.

But always there was the downside of his yearning for her—did he want the same things that she wanted, when a happy family for herself and Marcus was at the top of her list?

 

The thing uppermost in Phoebe's mind as the week drew to a close was the Valentine's Ball—was Harry still going to take her, and if he was, did she want him to? After all, it was only a few days away, and she still hadn't decided what to wear.

The items of evening wear she'd taken with her when she'd left Darren to his climbing of the ladder of success were all attractive—they'd had to be as the wife of the chairman's protégé. Needless to say, none of them had seen the light of day since, so she supposed there was no harm in giving one of them an airing if she did end up going to the ball.

It was to be held at the Enderbys' luxurious farmhouse, as all special events in Bluebell Cove were, because they had a very large reception room that was just right for those sorts of things. Although Pamela hadn't been home from hospital long after the fall and its consequences, she had insisted that it must still go ahead as the outside caterers that they always used were all geared up to run the whole thing, along with a popular local band.

‘I shall just sit at the side and watch,' she'd said to the committee who organised the yearly event, and to her elderly father-in-law George. ‘You'll keep me company, won't you, Dad?'

‘I will indeed,' he'd replied. ‘Neither of us will be getting out our dancing shoes this year, eh, Pammy?'

As one of the members of the events committee, Lucy had been there at the time, and when she'd reported back that conversation, Phoebe had thought that at least Pamela and George had their night mapped out,
restricted though it may be. She wished she could say the same for hers.

There'd been little personal contact between Harry and her in the last few days, though they'd been pleasant enough towards each other when they had met. But Phoebe felt like it was the lull before a storm and kept putting off the moment of clearing the air regarding the ball.

If he was going to back out, she was quite prepared to go on her own, but if he didn't say something soon, it was too bad, because she wasn't going to bring up the subject.

‘So am I still taking you to the Valentine Ball after upsetting you the other night?' he asked the morning before the event.

‘If you still want to,' she said evenly, ‘I have every intention of going, so it's up to you what you do.'

‘What time shall I call for you?' he asked, as if there was nothing further to discuss.

‘About half past eight. I'll be taking Marcus across to Jenna's house as soon as he's asleep, so I should be ready by then.'

‘Do you want me to carry him across for you?'

‘No, I can manage, I usually do.'

‘Fine,' he said levelly, as if the comment hadn't registered. ‘So eight-thirty it is. I'm looking forward to it. Are you?'

‘Yes, I suppose so.' she said, aware that a truthful reply would be more along the lines of
I was, but now I'm not so sure
.

 

When he knocked on her door at exactly half past eight, Harry took a step back when she opened it to him. The dress that had graced a few cocktail parties in its time was of apricot silk and fitted her like a glove.

She'd taken her hair up and piled it in shining brown braids, revealing the slender stem of her neck and the smooth lines of her shoulders. She would be the most beautiful woman there, he thought achingly.

He wasn't the only one to be taken aback. As she took in the vision he presented in the doorway, Phoebe thought that some men looked good in a dinner jacket and black tie, some average, and the appearance of a few was heart-stopping. The man observing her with a cool hazel gaze was one of those and she couldn't believe that he had come to take her to the ball.

‘I thought you had nothing to wear,' he teased as she stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind her. ‘The dress is amazing and so are you.'

‘It belongs to another age, a time that I don't want to be reminded of,' she replied. ‘A time of wine and poses.'

‘I'm not with you,' Harry said over his shoulder as he preceded her down the stairs.

‘It means wining, dining, pretending—things that to some are as natural as breathing, but not me. When the chance came I got out of it, gave birth to my son in a place where he was well away from all of that and safe from psuedos. I'm happy in this new life I've chosen in Bluebell Cove, and hope that you will be too.'

He was holding out his hand to help her down the last step and when they were both on the same level he
said, ‘I'm working on it. For instance, it is ages since I've been anywhere socially.'

He would have preferred them to have stayed upstairs in her apartment, to give him the chance to hear anything further that Phoebe might want to tell him about her life before Bluebell Cove. But, as he'd just said, it was a social occasion, and
he
wasn't ready to tell her about
his
past, which might be what she would expect in return.

Still holding her hand, he said, ‘So let's go, Phoebe. Let's head for Wheatlands Farm and the Valentine Ball.' She nodded and lifted the hem of her dress so that she wouldn't trip over it in the dark, and, with the high heels of her strappy gold sandals clicking on the hard surface of the practice forecourt, they walked hand in hand to where Harry's car was parked.

 

When they arrived at the farm, Pamela Enderby and her husband were waiting to welcome the partygoers in the spacious panelled hallway of the farmhouse. As they approached, they saw that she had a bouquet of beautiful flowers laid across her knee and Ian was holding a magnum of champagne.

When they stopped in front of them, Pamela presented Phoebe with the flowers and said, ‘These are to say thank you for helping to save my life, Phoebe.'

‘And our deepest gratitude to you, Harry,' Ian said, passing over the champagne. ‘If it hadn't been for the two of you, Pamela might not have been here tonight. We shall always remember what you did for her.'

‘We were only doing what we are employed to do,
Ian,' Harry said. ‘So much of helping patients is being there at the right time, but thanks for your kind words…' he smiled in Phoebe's direction ‘…and for the champagne and the flowers.

‘My aunt and uncle are here,' Harry said when they'd left the Enderbys greeting the next lot of guests. ‘Do you mind if we have a word with them before we start enjoying ourselves?'

‘No, not at all,' she told him, hoping that the stories she'd heard about battle-axe Barbara Balfour, as she'd been called in years past when she'd been in charge of the practice, weren't true. Her patients had been her life and the hospital had always jumped to her tune when she had been on the line or visited it in person.

She recalled how Francine, the French wife of Ethan Lomax, had come under her scrutiny, even though Barbara no longer had any say in the running of the practice. When the man that she'd loved like a son had been stressed and very unhappy, it had been Barbara who had brought Harry home from Australia to save Ethan's marriage.

Barbara was normally to be found in a wheelchair due to advanced rheumatoid arthritis, and tonight was no different when the two of them presented themselves to her.

At a first glance Phoebe took an immediate liking to Barbara's husband, but observed Harry's Aunt Barbara warily as she asked him, ‘So who is this that you have brought to meet us, Harry?'

He smiled. The days were long gone when Aunt Barbara ruled the roost. ‘Phoebe is the district nurse
I told you about, who is based at the surgery,' he explained.

‘Ah!' she said, and he thought she had only to hear someone refer to the practice and she was tuned in.

‘And so where do you live?' she asked, and listened with raised brows as Phoebe told her, ‘I live in the opposite apartment to Harry.'

‘And do you have family?' was the next question.

‘I have a child, yes.'

‘Are you married?'

‘No. I'm divorced.'

Phoebe would have been annoyed at the woman's impertinence if it hadn't been for Harry's desperate expression. He was listening tight-lipped, eyes rolling heavenwards, and taking her arm, was ready to move on to the dance floor with a brief goodbye to his relations.

‘I'm so sorry about that,' he said as he took her in his arms. ‘I'd forgotten just how much my aunt thinks she owns Bluebell Cove.'

‘Don't be,' she said. ‘She is only looking after your interests, protecting you from the husband-hunting part of the local community—clearly she thinks I might be one of them!'

‘And are you?' he asked quizzically, with his good humour restored.

‘That's for me to know and you to find out,' she said laughingly, and with the heady excitement of being dressed up and out for the evening with the man that she so easily could fall in love with making her heart beat faster, she gave herself up to the moment.

There was a buffet in the interval decorated with red
hearts and ribbons and a red rose for every lady present. As they were about to eat, Ian Enderby said he had an announcement to make.

When they heard what it was there was much cheering and laughter among those assembled there. It seemed that a young man at the ball had taken the opportunity on such an appropriate occasion to propose to his girlfriend, and she'd accepted. Soon waiters were bringing round glasses of champagne, courtesy of their host, for those present to drink a toast to them.

Phoebe was smiling as she raised her glass, but Harry's expression was sombre and she wondered what was in his mind.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough. They spent some time chatting to Maria, the youngest of the practice nurses, and her boyfriend, and shared a table with Jenna, and her husband Lucas, who was clearly head over heels in love with his bubbly blonde wife. But Phoebe couldn't help feeling that the magic had gone ever since they'd toasted the St Valentine's Day lovers.

‘What's wrong?' she asked, as Harry drove them home in the dark night. ‘You were enjoying yourself until we drank the toast to the young couple.'

He nodded. ‘Yes, I know. I'm sorry for being such poor company. It just hit me that they were so sure, so ready to commit to each other, with no idea of what fate might have in store for them.

‘That was how it was with my parents—fate had something dreadful in store for them that they never came to terms with, and I suffered greatly as a result.

‘We were all happy and content until they lost my baby brother to a serious illness, and after that I was left out in the cold while they grieved for him evermore.

‘So you can see why I'm wary of playing at happy families. I would never do that to a child of mine, and one way of making sure is to stay clear of that kind of thing,' he concluded flatly, gazing straight ahead with his hands tight on the steering-wheel.

‘You are wrong to think like that,' she said gravely. ‘You would make a wonderful father if you would put those sorts of thoughts out of your mind. Don't let your parents' inability to cope with their grief blight
your
life, Harry.'

He gave a dry laugh. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I'm not ready for playing mothers and fathers yet.'

The practice building was in sight. It was time to pick Marcus up from Jenna's house, hopefully still sleeping, but she didn't want to leave Harry in this sombre frame of mind. Her spirits lifted when he said, ‘Let me carry him across this time, Phoebe.'

Was there hope that Harry might change his mind one day because of the protective affection he was beginning to feel for Marcus?

M
ARCUS
was still asleep as Harry picked him up and cradled him in his arms. Phoebe wrapped him in a blanket while Lucy looked on approvingly and said, ‘I haven't heard a sound out of your little one, but Lily has made up for him! She's been the one exercising her lungs tonight.

‘Jenna has just phoned to say that they're on their way and then Lucas will take me home. So, how was the ball? Was it up to the usual standard of a combined Enderby and events committee occasion?'

‘It was wonderful,' Phoebe told her with her glance on Harry, who didn't respond, and she thought it was incredible that they had disrupted the foundations of each other's lives with their totally different viewpoints.

When Marcus had been tucked up in his own cot once again, Phoebe plucked up her courage to reach out to the clearly still-hurting Harry in the only way she could think of. Taking a deep breath, she said, ‘You shouldn't be on your own tonight, Harry, not after that painful reminder of the past. Stay here with me.'

He'd been about to depart, but stopped and asked, ‘In what capacity?'

She met his gaze steadily, for once not trying to hide the feelings for him that shone in her eyes. ‘Whatever you want it to be.'

Harry dragged in a swift breath then exhaled slowly. ‘No, thanks just the same, Phoebe.' He gave her a self-deprecating smile that took the sting out of his gentle rejection. ‘I'll be fine if you'll just forgive me for ruining your evening.'

‘You didn't. So don't concern yourself about that,' she replied. But she couldn't let him walk out of her door without trying to express her affection and support for him. As he turned to go a second time she caught his arm and pulled him round to face her, cupping his face between her hands. As his arms went around her, she was reminded of the gentle way he held her son, and his heart-breaking childhood loss of his baby brother. She said softly, ‘You like holding Marcus, don't you?'

He was smiling. ‘Oh, so you've noticed? How could I not? He is delightful, and do you know what, Phoebe? I like holding you too.' Bending, he planted a butterfly kiss on her lips and then with the smile still there said, ‘I'm going before I give in to temptation and accept your offer to stay the night.' Closing the door quietly behind him so as not to disturb the sleeping child, he went.

In the silence that followed Phoebe decided that after their bleak conversation in the car on the way home she understood him better, and would expect nothing from him until he was ready to let the past go.

If that never happened, at least she would have known him, admired and respected him, and above all else loved him for being the man he was.

 

After the highs and lows of Friday night, the weekend felt like a non-event. Harry didn't appear, though she imagined he was there behind the old oak door. So keeping to her usual routine Phoebe did some chores, put the washer on, and in the early afternoon of Sunday took Marcus out in his baby buggy for some fresh air.

The days were lengthening. The next event in the village would be Easter and she'd heard rumours of an Easter Bonnet Parade, which sounded interesting. But spring had yet to wrap itself around Bluebell Cove, when it did the whole village would come alive. There would be families down on the beach, the cafés and restaurants would raise their shutters, and the farmers would rejoice to see another winter gone. Already there were newborn lambs in the fields, staying close to their mothers, and each time one came near them Marcus squealed with delight.

A turn in the path brought them to the gates of Glades Manor, which Harry had viewed some time ago. She stopped to admire the lovely old house that must have caught his imagination or else he wouldn't have gone there. Yet as far as she was aware, he had made no further ventures into the property market so might have changed his mind.

She'd seen no one on the leafy lane where the manor house stood, so turned quickly when she heard a twig snap behind her. She was taken aback to see Harry there, observing her in surprise and asking, ‘So what has brought
you
here?'

‘I saw the house advertised in the estate agent's
window,' she told him, improvising quickly. ‘That's
my
excuse for dreaming. What's yours?'

He didn't reply. Marcus had seen him and was straining against the harness that was strapping him into the buggy and crowing with excitement. As Harry bent over him, he was struck by how much the little one had grown in the short time he'd known him. A worrying thought suddenly occurred to him. ‘He's going to be walking soon, Phoebe, and the apartment above the surgery won't be a safe place for an active toddler. He'll be down the stairs to where cars are arriving on the surgery forecourt if you're not careful, or even darting into the road.'

‘I'll have to acquire a gate for the top of the stairs to prevent that, won't I?' she said equably. ‘The thought of Marcus being in any kind of danger is not to be contemplated. I know what you say is right, but I am doing my best for him under the circumstances, Harry. I'm sorry that you don't think it is good enough.'

‘I don't think anything of the kind,' he protested. ‘But the fact remains that Marcus needs to be out of that sort of situation. This would be a fantastic place for a child to grow up in. I could buy it, I suppose, and turn some of the rooms into an apartment for you and him.'

She was observing him as if she hadn't heard right. ‘What do you mean?'

‘I was thinking it would give him a more stable background.'

‘Which is something you don't think I'm capable of,' she said slowly, stunned to discover how far apart their dreams were. Harry would be happy to have her in
his life as a tenant, but not as anything more. So it was still there, the backwash from an unloved childhood. He wanted the best of both worlds—she and Marcus in his life but only on the fringe of it, not taking the risk to open his heart to them fully and consider how perfect they might be as a little family.

Bending, she released the brake of the buggy, and when he took hold of her arm in a restraining grip she shrugged it off in fury. With a look that dared him to follow her, Phoebe stalked off into the winter afternoon.

Watching her depart, he couldn't believe that she could have thought there was criticism in what he'd said, when his comments about Marcus's safety had only been prompted by genuine worry. Since meeting Phoebe, he was getting a whole new slant on care and caring. She was the best, the brightest, and coped brilliantly in an undeniably difficult situation. He'd let himself get carried away at the sudden thought of the three of them living in the manor house, but had skirted around the real issue—his deepening affection for her—by babbling on about an apartment for her and Marcus as if he didn't want them to be a real family.

It had been totally tactless, but the idea of buying Glades Manor wasn't going to go away. As he looked around him at the spacious grounds and elegant stone structure of the place, he knew that was what he was going to do. But he would ask the estate agent to keep the sale under wraps until he was ready to move in…if ever.

By the time Phoebe arrived back at the apartment,
she'd cooled down and was admitting to herself that Harry's comments had been right. Pretty soon, the apartment
would
be unsuitable for Marcus, but nothing was going to take away the bitter taste of the insultingly patronising way he'd suggested that she might want to be
his
tenant, as if living on the surgery premises was wilfully putting her precious baby's life in danger.

So much for her dream that one day he would realise what he was missing in the lonely existence he'd committed himself to, but if that was his choice, it wasn't for her to interfere.

Yet it didn't stop her from dreaming about Glades Manor and its surroundings that night, and Phoebe's first thought on waking up next morning was that, on the fringe of her life or not, Harry had been ahead of her in pointing out the dangers that would be present when Marcus became mobile.

As the days went by, she decided sombrely that she'd got avoiding Harry down to a fine art. If she heard him go down the stairs first in the morning, she kept to her usual routine, driving straight to the nursery with Marcus and staying there longer than usual, until it was almost time for the first surgery of the day. That way, she knew he would be occupied by the time she got to the practice. If she was first down the stairs, she left Marcus in the car while she sorted out her calls and then set off for Tiny Toes just as Harry appeared. Afterwards, she went straight onto the district and didn't return until the two doctors were involved with the second surgery of the day. Then it was a matter of inputting her patient
reports on the computer and at four o'clock driving off to the nursery again.

Once she returned it was a matter of going straight upstairs and shutting the door behind her. As Harry made no attempt to communicate during the evenings, it seemed as if he was getting the message. If she did have any doubts about it, the sardonic gleam in his eye on the few occasions when they did come face to face was answer enough.

 

Easter had arrived, and with it the uplifting feeling that winter had finally gone.

There
was
to be an Easter Bonnet Parade through the village on the Monday of the holiday weekend with a prize for the best entry, followed by the traditional cream tea in the village hall.

All the female staff at the surgery had been persuaded to take part by the vicar's wife and, in the week before the event were searching around for something exciting to wear on their heads. Phoebe was among them and wishing she wasn't.

There was so little time to prepare, she thought in frustration. Her evenings were taken up with Marcus, meals and what seemed like endless chores, and since the scales had fallen from her eyes with regard to Harry it was hard to work up any enthusiasm for anything except her child.

But when she went up to her apartment in the late afternoon of the day before Good Friday, there were two carrier bags outside her door. When she investigated their contents her eyes widened.

In the smaller of the two there was a cuddly Easter bunny and a chocolate egg with his name piped across it in icing for Marcus. In the bigger bag was a similar egg with
her
name on it, and incredibly, underneath it, wrapped in folds of soft tissue, was a brightly coloured pillbox hat decorated with a plume of feathers and a dress from the same 1950s period with a nipped-in waist and swing skirt.

The card with them said:

A lump had come up into her throat at the unexpected thoughtfulness of Harry's gesture, and she cringed to think how petty her behaviour must have seemed since the episode outside Glades Manor.

At the bottom of what he'd written was a P.S. that gave some indication of
his
feelings regarding that. It said:

The surgery closed at six-thirty, but it was almost seven o'clock when she heard him coming up the stairs. When
he reached the landing she flung open her door and came out to face him wearing the dress and hat.

If he hadn't already been conscious of her enticing curves, he was now as the dress fitted perfectly, and the hat, perched on top of the shining swathe of her hair, completed the picture. In a moment the stresses of his working day were wiped away by the vision she presented.

‘Wow!' he breathed. ‘You look fantastic! You don't do things by halves, do you?'

She was pirouetting in front of him and smiling. ‘No, I don't. I just wanted to say that I would be honoured to wear your mother's lovely clothes, and thank you so much for thinking of me. There must have been some bright days in her life. Did she buy them for a special occasion?'

‘I don't know,' he replied, ‘but while running the stables my parents mixed with some of the wealthiest folk in Bluebell Cove. I suppose they had to be part of the social round to find their customers.'

‘Yes, that would seem possible,' she agreed. ‘And now that you've had a viewing, will you step inside for a moment and help me with the zip of the dress? I think that it's caught in the fabric somehow.'

‘Yes, of course,' he replied, and followed her into her sitting room. As he bent to free the zip his hands brushed against the smooth skin of her back. He became still as the desire that had risen in him when he'd seen her in the dress and the hat spiralled.

When she swivelled round to face him questioningly, he gave one last pull at the zip and the dress fell to the
floor, revealing silky underwear that did little to cover her gently curved figure. Phoebe could feel it again, the heat, the pull of the attraction he had for her, and she for him.

‘Where's Marcus?' he asked in a low, strained voice.

‘Asleep,' was the breathless answer.

‘That's all right, then,' and with a thankful smile, Harry took her face between his hands and kissed her hard on the lips. Then his mouth was caressing her neck and the rise and fall of her breasts in the flimsy underwear.

‘Can I take them off?' he murmured.

‘Mmm. Yes, please.'

‘And the hat?'

‘What? Oh, yes, of course, by all means,' she said laughingly, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Then everything else was forgotten—the hurt of what he'd said outside the manor house, the way he'd taken the joy from another occasion like this by calling halt at the height of their desire. For now that same passion was back again, stronger than before.