‘You certainly offer a very complete service here,’ he observed, leaning back in his chair. It was just gone eight a.m. and they were in Miles’s office—the office Harry would be using while he was working there. Although it had been after midnight when he’d dropped Grace off at her house in the village, she had telephoned him before seven that morning to ask him if he would meet her at the surgery.
Harry had agreed immediately, even though he’d been fast asleep when she’d phoned. However, it had seemed like a point of honour not to let the side down so he had dragged himself out of bed and into the shower, and, by skipping breakfast, had managed to get to the surgery a couple of minutes before she’d arrived. He could have murdered for a cup of coffee but he’d be damned if he would show any sign of weakness by suggesting they should stop for a drink. If Grace could keep up this punishing schedule then so could he.
‘We do our best to fulfil all our patients’ needs,’ she said briskly, taking another sheet of paper out of her file. ‘This is a list of our contacts at the local hospital. Obviously, you can request an appointment for a patient through the usual channels, but we find it speeds things up if we approach the head of each department on a personal basis.’ She shrugged. ‘A phone call is all it usually takes so it doesn’t require that much extra effort.’
‘It must add up, though.’ Harry frowned as he took the sheet from her. ‘I know how difficult it is to get hold of people so I doubt one phone call would do it. You must have to phone back several times.’
‘Miles and I tend to make any phone calls after morning surgery finishes. That way we can catch people during their lunch-break and keep to our timetable.’
‘I see.’ Harry didn’t say anything else as he placed the list on top of the other one. He was there to help, not to question how the practice was run. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help thinking that it was no wonder Miles was so stressed when he was cramming so much into his day. Morning surgeries, evening surgeries, clinics, phone calls—he wouldn’t have time to draw breath.
‘How long do you allow for each consultation?’ he asked, opting for a less controversial topic.
‘We allocate ten minutes per patient, more if it’s someone we know we will have to spend extra time with.’
‘That’s quite generous,’ he observed, recalling what other GPs had told him recently. ‘Most practices allow six minutes per patient and try to get away with less than that if they can.’
‘We find it’s a false economy to cut corners. If you don’t spend time getting to the root of a problem, invariably the patient ends up having to come back to see you.’
‘It’s a valid point, although I suppose it depends on how many patients you book in for each surgery,’ he conceded, making a note to add it to his report. If more time was spent at the initial assessment stage then a second appointment might be avoided, and that was bound to be of help to an overworked GP. ‘What’s your maximum number of appointments per session?’
‘We don’t have a set limit. Both morning and evening surgeries are run on an open-door basis—in other words, if someone needs to see us they just turn up on the day.’
‘But that’s crazy. You could have the whole village turning up and have to see them.’
‘I doubt it. Most people around here are too busy to waste their time by making unnecessary trips to see the doctor.’ She shrugged. ‘We find it works so I see no reason to change the routine. But if you find the pace too much for you, you only have to say so. I can deal with any patients you aren’t able to see.’
‘I am more than happy to do my share of the work,’ he said flatly. He knew that she was trying to goad him but he wasn’t going to fall into that trap again. No matter what Grace said or did from now on, he wasn’t going to rise to the bait.
‘Then we won’t have a problem, will we?’ She stood up and came around the desk, pausing as she drew level with him. ‘Is there anything else you need to know? I think I’ve covered more or less everything to do with the day-to-day routine, but if there’s anything you’re not clear about then say so.’
‘No, it all seems fairly straightforward.’
He stood up as well, feeling a tremor pass through him when his arm accidentally brushed against hers as he pushed back his chair. It immediately reminded him of what had happened the night before, and he sighed.
He still couldn’t understand why that kiss had made such an impression on him. He’d been so afraid that Grace would notice something was wrong that he’d been desperate to get away. When Penny had assumed that he was going to look for that nurse, he hadn’t bothered correcting her because it had seemed the easiest way to resolve his dilemma. Now, however, he found himself wishing that he hadn’t let Grace believe that he was interested in the young woman. Maybe it was silly to be so sensitive but he wouldn’t want her to think that he was more concerned with his love life than doing a good job here.
‘Look, Grace, about that nurse last night—’
‘Please.’ She held up her hand, her beautiful mouth curling in distaste. ‘Too much information, Harry. What you do in your free time is your business. I really don’t want to hear all the gory details.’
She swept past him, leaving him feeling completely dumbfounded. Did she honestly think that he was crass enough to discuss his sex life with her? His spirits sank as he realised what a low opinion she must have of him. That he was more than partly to blame for it made him feel even worse. He should have put an end to their squabbling years ago.
Grace hurried into her consulting room and closed the door. She’d been dreading seeing Harry that morning and it had turned out to be every bit as bad as she’d feared. It had been hard enough to maintain her composure when he’d seen fit to criticise the way she and Miles ran the practice, but when he’d started to tell her about his nightly exploits with that nurse…Well!
Heat swept through her and she clutched hold of the doorknob. She didn’t want to think about Harry’s sex life but she couldn’t seem to control the images that were crowding into her head, pictures of him and that nurse curled up in bed together—only it wasn’t the nurse. She’d had blonde hair and the woman in her mind’s eye had brown hair, caramel brown, just like hers…
Grace leapt away from the door and hurried to her desk. She must be more tired than she’d realised if she was dreaming up rubbish like that. It would be a cold day in hell before Harry Shaw got her into his bed.
She’d just switched on her computer when Janet, their receptionist, popped her head round the door to ask if she wanted a cup of coffee. Grace smiled gratefully. ‘Yes, please. I didn’t have time to make myself a drink before I left home this morning.’
Janet shook her head. ‘You should eat a proper breakfast before you come into work. You need to keep your strength up. Why did you have to be here so early, anyway? I saw you drive past my house when I was fetching in the milk and it wasn’t even eight o’clock at the time.’
Grace sighed as she realised that Janet had no idea what had happened to Miles. She quickly explained the situation to her, stressing the fact that Miles should make a full recovery when she saw how upset the receptionist was. Everyone in the village loved Miles and she knew that a lot of people would be upset when they heard the news.
‘So what are you going to do?’ Janet asked, wiping away a tear. ‘I mean, you can’t manage all on your own. There’s far too much work for just one person.’
‘Which is why we’ve enlisted one of our friends to help until Miles is feeling better.’
Grace drummed up a smile, knowing that she couldn’t let anyone suspect that she had doubts about working with Harry. If the patients had any inkling of how uneasy she felt about this alliance, they would have no confidence in Harry. ‘Dr Shaw has offered to cover until Miles is feeling better, and I have to say that I think we’re very lucky to have him. He’s a superb physician and I know that our patients are going to receive the best possible care.’
She glanced up when a moveme
nt outside the door caught her attention, and blushed when she saw Harry was standing there, listening to what she was saying. He grinned at her as he came into the room, his blue eyes full of laughter and something else, something that made her feel all hot and shivery, as though she was running a fever. Having Harry look at her as though he was genuinely delighted by her comments was the last thing she’d expected. She wanted to run over to him and tell him that every word had been true, but how could she when she knew what he was really like?
Harry Shaw was a womanising Lothario. He didn’t do anything unless it furthered his own career and brought him personal glory.
Grace made herself recite all the reasons why she disliked Harry but they no longer seemed to have the impact they’d had in the past. It all sounded very airy-fairy now, as though they were excuses, not genuine reasons. Did she truly believe that was all there was to Harry, or was she desperately trying to hold onto her old prejudices because she was afraid to face the truth? That Harry was a damned fine doctor who had worked incredibly hard to reach his present exalted position.
She didn’t want to admit that she might have been wrong about him, but nothing seemed certain any more. The boundaries that had been drawn when they’d been students seemed to be breaking down, and Harry was no longer on one side and she on the other. For the next few weeks they would be working together as a team and, quite frankly, Grace didn’t know how she was going to cope. She had a feeling that once Harry crossed that final boundary, her life would be changed for ever.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘IF YOU would pop Bethany on the couch and take off her top and pants, I can examine her. I see from her notes that she was complaining of pains in her legs when you brought her in to see Dr Farrington at the beginning of December. How is she now?’
Harry pulled back the screen and waited while Mrs Clarke settled her daughter on the examination couch. Five-year-old Bethany looked very pale and listless as her mother undressed her.
‘Much the same. She still keeps saying that her legs are sore. Dr Farrington said it was probably a virus because there were a lot of kiddies ill at the time with some bug or other. But it should have cleared up by now, I would have thought.’
‘These things can take time to work themselves out of the system,’ Harry explained, although it was unusual for a child to be ill for this length of time if it was only a viral infection. ‘Can you just explain how it all started? I’ve read Bethany’s notes but it’s better to have a first-hand account, I find.’
‘Well, it’s like I said, Beth kept telling me her legs were hurting. I just assumed she’d hurt them when she’d been climbing the trees in our back garden so I didn’t take that much notice at first.’ Mrs Clarke sighed. ‘She has three older brothers, you see, and she’s always trying to copy them and getting into mischief.’
‘A real little tomboy, are you, young lady?’ Harry smiled at the little girl, although he had to admit that there didn’t seem much sign of any mischief that day. Bethany appeared far too listless to cause any trouble. Bending down, he examined her legs, frowning when he saw that they were covered in bruises.
‘How did she get all these bruises?’ he asked, glancing at the mother.
‘I’ve no idea. I only spotted them at the weekend. If she’d been playing outside, I would have assumed she’d fallen over and hurt herself, but she’s not wanted to leave the house since Christmas.’ Mrs Clarke stroked her daughter’s hair. ‘She keeps saying that she’s too tired to play and it’s just not like her. That’s why I decided to bring her to the surgery again today. It’s not natural for a child this age to be complaining that she’s tired all the time, is it, Doctor?’
‘Not if she’s getting the right amount of sleep at night,’ Harry agreed, moving to the top of the couch. He gently felt around Bethany’s neck and under her arms, hiding his dismay when he discovered how enlarged the lymph nodes were in those areas. Although he would have expected to find some sign of enlargement if Bethany’s body was fighting off an infection, this degree of swelling was unusual. It could be a sign that there was something seriously wrong with the child, although he didn’t intend to rush to any conclusions. He would spend an extra few minutes checking the facts, as Grace had advised him to do.
The thought of Grace sent a rush of heat along his veins. He had to make a determined effort to ignore it as he carried on with his examination. ‘Has Bethany complained of pain anywhere else, or have you noticed anything unusual happening recently?’ he asked, trying not to dwell on how good it had felt to hear Grace praise him like that. He knew that in all likelihood it had been necessity that had prompted those comments: she’d wanted the receptionist to think that she was happy to work with him so it wouldn’t cause any unrest within the practice. However, he couldn’t deny that it had been a boost to his ego to hear her say something good about him for a change.
‘Not really. It’s been her legs mainly that she’s been complaining about.’
‘And there’s been nothing else bothering her?’ he insisted gently, sensing that the mother was holding something back.
‘Well, it’s probably nothing. I told her dad about it but he just said I was fussing so I wasn’t going to mention it, but her gums have been bleeding. It’s not just when she cleans her teeth either, which is why I thought it was a bit odd.’
Harry bit back a sigh. If he had a pound for every time a patient had thought it not worth mentioning a problem, he could have retired. ‘I’m glad you told me, Mrs Clarke. It’s important to have all the facts to hand when you’re trying to diagnose what’s wrong with a patient. Even something apparently trivial can help enormously.’
‘I shall tell Brian that when I get home.’
Mrs Clarke looked pleased at having her concerns vindicated. She smiled at Harry, obviously expecting him to tell her what was wrong with her daughter and how he intended to put it right. Harry wished with all his heart it was that simple but, from what he had seen and heard so far, this problem wasn’t going be resolved by writing out a prescription.
‘I’d like to take a blood sample from Bethany, if you wouldn’t mind, Mrs Clarke. I’ll send it off to the lab this morning and with a bit of luck we should have the results back before the end of the week.’
‘A blood sample. Why ever do you need to do that? Dr Farrington never suggested it.’
‘Dr Farrington didn’t suggest it because at the time he didn’t think it was necessary,’ Harry said patiently. ‘He assumed that Bethany’s illness would clear up of its own accord, as most virus-related illnesses usually do. However, the fact that she is still complaining of feeling tired and that her legs hurt, and that there are other symptoms now, like the bruises and the bleeding from her gums, means that we need to investigate further. A blood test will help to point us in the right direction.’
‘Well, I suppose it’s all right if you think it’s really necessary,’ Mrs Clarke conceded, albeit reluctantly.
‘I do.’ He smiled encouragingly at her, hoping that his fears would prove to be groundless when the test results came back, although he doubted it. From what he had seen, this was one very sick little girl.
He quickly took the blood sample, praising the child when she didn’t make a fuss about having the needle poked into her arm. He labelled the vial with her details then showed Mrs Clarke to the door.
‘I’ll get Janet to phone you when the results come back so we can arrange for you to call in and see me.’
‘Right. Thank you, Doctor.’
The woman looked extremely troubled as she led her daughter down the corridor and Harry sighed. He hated to think that she was going to spend the next few days worrying herself to death, but it would have been remiss of him to voice his fears before he’d received confirmation that he was on the right track. Breaking bad news to a patient or a relative was never easy, and he realised all of sudden that he would welcome Grace’s advice. After all, she knew the family and would have a better idea of how they would co
pe if his diagnosis proved to be correct.
He waited until surgery ended before he tapped on her consulting-room door. She looked up with a smile that faded when she saw him. Her voice was decidedly cool as she invited him in and, despite himself, Harry couldn’t deny that it stung to have her treat him that way. She had the gift of making him feel like a pariah and it wasn’t a pleasant experience.
‘I just wanted a word with you about one of the patients,’ he explained, opting for his most urbane tone, the one that made people think that nothing ever bothered him. It was a trick he’d learned early on in his life, and it had stood him in good stead over the years. With a bit of luck it would work like a charm now, too.
‘My, my, I’m flattered, Harry. You’re actually asking for my advice. Wow, that must be a first.’
She sat back in her seat, smiling up at him with eyes that were as warm as Arctic ice. Harry knew that he was more than partly to blame. He was the first to admit that he’d never done anything to improve the image she had of him. However, he couldn’t help comparing her present response to what he’d overheard her saying earlier. If only Grace had meant all those lovely comments.
‘They say there’s a first time for everything,’ he replied, chasing away that ridiculous idea. Hell would freeze over before Grace thought kindly of him.
‘Indeed they do. So what can I do for you?’ She glanced at her watch then arched a brow. ‘I don’t want to rush you, Harry, but I have a list of house calls to get through this afternoon.’
‘Ah, the busy life you GPs lead,’ he observed flippantly, knowing the remark was guaranteed to annoy her. He bit back a sigh when he saw her expression darken. It was stupid of him to behave this way when he needed her help.
The Woman He's Been Waiting For Page 4