‘Out on the end of the sea wall?’ she suggested, eyes twinkling, and he chuckled.
‘Nice one. Not very practical, though. Do you have a spare room?’
She laughed wryly. ‘Not so as you’d notice. In an ideal world, as Kate says, it would all be on the ground floor, but down in the old town like this it’s difficult. The sides of the cove are so steep, so all the houses are small and on top of one another. The only way around it would be to build it up out of the town, and that’s not where it’s needed.’
‘Unless you sited it up near the church, halfway between the old town and the beach. Handier for the tourists and all the people staying in the caravan park, and no harder for the people you serve who don’t live right in the centre and have to come by car anyway.’
‘Except that when we tried to sound them out we couldn’t get planning permission and, anyway, any site up there which they’d allow development on would have such stunning sea views it would be worth shedloads and we couldn’t afford it, so it’s academic. This is what we have, Ben. And there’s room to extend at the back—behind the stairwell there’s an area of garden which isn’t used for anything except sneaking out in breaks and having a quiet sit down out of earshot of the locals. And we’re so busy that that isn’t really an option in the summer, and in the winter—well, frankly it’s not very appealing, so really it’s dead space.’
‘Can I see?’
‘Sure.’
She led him downstairs, snagging her coat from the staffroom on the way, and they went out the front and round the side, between the boatyard and chandlery and the end of the surgery building. ‘Here,’ she said, pointing to an area that was behind the waiting room and stairs.
He nodded approval, running his eyes over it and measuring it by guesswork. ‘It’s ideal. It’s big enough to make a proper treatment area for suspected fractures and house the X-ray facilities, and you could put further accommodation on top—a plaster room, for instance, and somewhere for people to rest under observation. And you’d still have the existing room upstairs which you could use for other injuries, cuts and such like, jellyfish stings, weaver fish—you name it. Or you could relocate one of the consulting rooms currently downstairs upstairs to that area and use more of the downstairs space for those things, so you’ve got all your injuries together. And weren’t you talking about physio? That probably needs to be downstairs…’
She started to laugh, and he broke off and scrubbed a hand through his hair ruefully. ‘OK, so it’s not big enough for all that, and it’s robbing Peter to pay Paul, but I don’t see what else you can do. If you want to do this properly, you’ll have to compromise. And you’ll have to sell it to the people who’ll be compromised.’
‘Except my father doesn’t want me involved, because I’m going to be on maternity leave. He thinks he should be doing it, but it’s not his area of expertise, and I really wanted to oversee it, to make sure it works,’ she said softly, the smile fading from her eyes and leaving a deep sadness in its place.
And Ben felt guilty—hugely, massively guilty—because all he’d done by taking Lucy back to his house and making love to her had been to cause her even more grief to add to the emotional minefield that was her life. ‘It’ll work, Lucy. I’m sure it will—and by the time you come back to work it’ll be ready for you to commission.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ she said, but she didn’t sound it.
She shivered, and he frowned and turned up her coat collar, tugging it closer round her. ‘You’re cold. Come on, let’s go back inside and jot some of this down, do a few doodles…’
‘I’ve done some. I’ll show you. And we can have tea.’
The universal panacea. He smiled. ‘That would be good. Come on.’
She led him back inside, shivering again and realising that she’d let herself get chilled. It wasn’t cold—in fact, it was incredibly mild overall—but the wind was blustery today and cut right through her.
‘Kate, is it OK to use your room still?’ she asked, leaning over the counter and smiling a greeting at the receptionist, Sue.
Kate put her hand over the receiver and nodded. ‘Sure. Go on up. Oh, and Dragan’s on his way in—he’s bringing Melinda. She’s been bitten by a dog. That’s why he’s been held up. He asked if you could see her. I think she needs suturing.’
‘Oh. Right. Can’t Dad see her, or Marco?’
‘No. Your father’s gone over to the house to meet the agent, and Marco’s got a clinic, so if you wouldn’t mind fitting her in?’
‘No, sure. Send them up. I’ll use the treatment room upstairs,’ she said, and felt the tension draining out of her at the news that her father had gone out and wasn’t about to pop out of the woodwork at any moment and cause a scene.
She headed for the stairs, still thinking about her father and not really conscious of the extra effort it took to mount them now that she was pregnant, but evidently Ben noticed because as she arrived at the door of the staffroom he asked, ‘How long are you planning to work?’
His voice had a firm edge to it and she looked up at him questioningly.
‘Today? Till six-thirty.’
‘In your pregnancy.’
‘Oh.’ So he was doing the proprietorial father bit, was he? ‘Till I have the baby,’ she said defiantly, and then, before he could argue, qualified it with, ‘Well, as long as I can, really. I’ll cut out house calls soon, especially if the weather gets bad, and I’ve already stopped doing night calls. That’s one of the advantages of being a pregnant woman in a practice of three single men—they’re so busy fussing over me and taking work off me I have to fight them for every last patient!’
His mouth twitched, and he gave a soft laugh. ‘And I bet you do.’
‘Absolutely. I don’t need to be pandered to,’ she told him firmly. ‘I’m pregnant, Ben, not sick.’ She filled the kettle and switched it on, made them two mugs of tea and picked them up. ‘Can you get the doors, please?’ she said, and he dutifully led her through into Kate’s room and shut the door behind them.
She plonked the mugs down on Kate’s desk, took the plans of the surgery from the drawer in the filing cabinet and smoothed them out, then laid her tracing-paper alterations over the top. ‘Right, this is what I’d thought could be done,’ she said, and launched into her explanation.
He couldn’t fault it.
She knew just what she wanted and, apart from a very few suggestions, there was nothing she’d planned he wouldn’t have been more than happy with in their situation.
He told her so, pointed out the few changes he’d make, and they did some little scribbles on the tracing paper, then she sat back and rubbed her tummy and winced.
‘Braxton Hicks?’ he guessed, and she nodded.
‘Yes. It’s beginning to drive me mad. Every time I sit still for any length of time I get them, over and over again. I swear I don’t need any more practise contractions. My uterus is going to be so toned up by the time I give birth it’s ridiculous.’
‘I suppose you’re sure of your dates?’ he said, and then immediately regretted it because she glared at him as if he’d lost his mind.
‘As there was only the one occasion,’ she snapped, ‘it would be hard to miscalculate.’
‘Three, if I remember correctly,’ he murmured.
‘Three?’
‘Occasions,’ he said, and she coloured and turned away with a little sound of frustration.
‘That’s irrelevant.’
‘Not to me,’ he said. Her colour deepened and she stood up and walked over to the window, rubbing her back. He got up and followed her, standing by her side and drawing her against him, putting the heel of his hand into the small of her back and massaging it firmly while he held her steady against his chest.
Silly girl. She needed him, and he wasn’t going to let her get away with this independent nonsense a minute longer.
For a moment she stood stiffly, then with a ragged little sigh she leant into him, dropp
ed her head forward and gave herself up to the comfort of his touch. It just felt so good to have him hold her, and she’d missed that so much, having someone to hug her and hold her. Her mother had always hugged her, and her father used to, but her mother was gone and her father had shut down and now there was no one.
Except Ben, and his hand was moving slowly, rhythmically round on her back, easing out the kinks in her muscles and soothing the tension. And she would have stood there for ever, but she heard footsteps outside and a tap on the door, and she stepped away from Ben just as Dragan put his head round the door and smiled.
‘Hi. Sorry I’m late. I’ve got Melinda here—Kate said you’d look at her?’
‘Sure. Hi, Melinda,’ she said, greeting the young vet who was fast becoming a treasured part of their community. ‘I gather you’ve been bitten?’
‘Yes—stupid,’ she said, her slight Italian accent at odds with the gorgeous golden blonde of her hair. She tossed it back over her shoulder out of the way and it slid forward again, obviously irritating her. ‘It was my own fault. The dog was injured—we found her on the road near the pub. We’d been for lunch to the Smugglers’ and we were on the way down when we saw her. She was in pain, she didn’t know me—it was just one of those things.’
‘Is she OK?’
‘She is now,’ Dragan said drily. ‘We had to follow her, of course, and catch her, and then take her to the surgery and put her in a cage to rest. I had to drag Melinda here.’
‘I could have cleaned it up myself—’
‘It’s bleeding much too fast. You need serious attention, the right antibiotics—’
‘You think I don’t have antibiotics suitable for dog bites?’ she said mildly, but she held out her left arm to Lucy, her right hand holding down a blood-soaked swab on the inside of her forearm. ‘He’s right. It is bleeding heavily. I think she’s nicked one of the vessels.’
‘Let’s go into the treatment room and have a look. Oh, by the way, sorry, Dragan Lovak, Melinda Fortesque, Ben Carter,’ she said economically, getting the introductions over and ushering her into the treatment room where they did their minor surgery. ‘Let’s have a look at it,’ she suggested. Easing off the pad of gauze, she winced at the bloody mess and pressed the pad quickly back in place over the briskly bleeding vein.
‘Ouch.’ Ben leant over her shoulder. ‘May I take a closer look in a moment?’
‘Of course,’ Melinda said.
‘Nasty bite. We need to clean it thoroughly,’ Lucy said as Ben joined her at the basin and started scrubbing.
‘That vein needs suturing,’ he murmured. ‘Are you happy to do that or do you want me to have a go? Assuming it’s something we can tackle here?’
She shrugged uncertainly. ‘Well, I can have a go,’ she said.
‘Have you got any fine suture material?’
‘I believe so. I don’t suppose, since you’re here…? We might as well take advantage of the head honcho—you’re bound to be better than me, your skills are more up to date than mine.’
He chuckled. ‘I doubt if that’s true, but if you’re happy for me to do it to save sending her to St Piran?’
‘Of course I am. It’s not my arm, of course, but I’m sure Melinda doesn’t want to go to St Piran either.’
‘No, I don’t,’ she said promptly from behind them. ‘I have to get back to the dog, and I don’t care which of you does it so long as one of you does.’
‘Right, let’s take a look at it before we make any rash promises,’ Ben said. Snapping on gloves, he settled down on a stool next to the couch and studied the wound, blotting it frequently with a gauze swab to keep the field clear of blood. ‘Looks sore.’
‘It is sore. Some local wouldn’t hurt before you go poking it.’
He chuckled and met her eyes with a smile that made Lucy feel instantly, absurdly jealous. Dragan, too, unless she was much mistaken, and she wondered what the situation was between them. Something, otherwise he would have done this himself, but what?
Lovers? Friends? Two strangers in a strange land? Dragan was Croatian, and he’d been living in England since his teens. He didn’t talk about his past, but there were shadows in his eyes, and as for Melinda, although Lucy knew little about her past there was an air of quiet dignity about her that hinted at breeding. Yet even so, she was open and friendly and down-to-earth, and anyone more lacking in airs and graces she could hardly imagine.
She looked up at Dragan to say something, and found him watching her, his brooding eyes thoughtful. Then his eyes dropped to Ben, and back to her, and she thought, Good grief, is it so obvious? Do I have a sign on my bump that says, Child of Ben Carter on it?
Or was she just reading something that didn’t exist into his expression?
‘Lucy, can we put a cuff on the arm to cut off this blood supply? And can I have some saline to irrigate this, please?’ Ben asked, and she stopped worrying about Dragan and what he was thinking and concentrated on doing her job—or rather helping Ben do his, which she had to admit he was doing beautifully.
He numbed the area and sutured the vessel so neatly Lucy could only watch in awe, then he cleaned the wound thoroughly and released the cuff to check his suturing had worked. ‘Good,’ he murmured, and trimmed away the little flaps of skin that had lost their blood supply and drew the edges of the wound together with Steristrips. The whole thing had only taken him a few minutes.
‘There,’ he said, flexing his shoulders and nodding in satisfaction. ‘That should sort you out. I can’t suture the skin because of the high risk of infection, but the tape should hold it together well enough. Keep it dry, though—and I think you should have a broad-spectrum antibiotic. They’ve discovered bugs in dog bites that they didn’t know infected humans, so I like to provide a broader cover than a simple penicillin type. Lucy, could I have a sterile non-adherent dressing, please?’
‘Sure.’ She handed him the pack, found the tape and helped him dress the wound.
‘OK,’ he said, sitting back with a smile. ‘Hopefully it’ll heal fast, but I’m afraid you might end up with a scar.’
Melinda shrugged and smiled. ‘It won’t be the first—occupational hazard. Thank you, Ben. Now I can get back to my patient.’
‘How’s your tetanus?’ Lucy asked, and she laughed.
‘Well and truly up to date. I got bitten last year. You’d think I’d learn but apparently not.’
Ben chuckled. ‘Right, Lucy had better give you your prescription—and you’ll need painkillers. Something with codeine, probably, and a non-steroidal. And look out for reddening, fever, swelling, shivering and anything else unusual in the next week. OK?’
‘OK. And thank you so much. Right, now I must get back to this dog.’
‘You should get someone else to do it,’ Dragan said, frowning, but she brushed his suggestion aside.
‘No. She’s frightened, that’s all. She’s only young, and she was hurt. She’s not vicious. I’ll get a nurse to help me, we’ll be fine.’
He muttered something unintelligible and foreign under his breath. ‘I should be here, we’re meant to be having a meeting, but you haven’t got your car,’ he said to Melinda, and Lucy shook her head and handed over the prescription.
‘Don’t worry, Dragan, you give her a lift back. We’ve talked it all through and, anyway, I’ve got a surgery starting in a few minutes. We’ll catch up tomorrow and I’ll fill you in, and we’ll schedule another meeting in a week or two.’
He nodded and, shaking Ben’s hand and thanking him, he ushered Melinda out, leaving them alone.
She was about to offer him more tea when Ben glanced at his watch. ‘Right, I suppose I ought to shoot off. I’ll pick you up tonight—from here? Six-thirty?’
She shook her head. The last thing she wanted was him picking her up from the surgery when her father was likely to be lurking around. ‘I’ll meet you somewhere at seven. Your house?’
He nodded. ‘Fine. Do you still know the way?’
Kn
ow it? She’d almost worn out the road, toing and froing, desperate to see him and yet unable to bring herself to ring the bell and tell him she’d made a mistake about them not being together. And then she’d found out she was pregnant, and she had been wearing out the road for another reason, trying to screw up the courage to tell him that.
‘Yes, I know the way,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you there. And make it eight. That’ll give me time to get home and eat something.’
‘No. I’ll feed you.’
‘Seven-thirty, then,’ she agreed, because for some perverse reason she wanted to go home after her surgery, shower and change into something—well, something else. Something pretty. Something that didn’t make her feel like a heffalump.
She walked him back down to Reception, sent him on his way and went into her consulting room, watching him through the window as he got into his BMW and drove away.
It was nearly five. The lights were on in the village, twinkling all around the harbour and giving it a cosy feel, and she could imagine how it must be to enter the harbour mouth and see the lights of home ahead of you.
Safe. Reassuring.
And unaccountably she thought of Ben. Her eyes tracked to his car, following the lights out of the village, along Harbour Road, up Bridge Street and past her front door, out of sight.
Two and a half hours, she told herself, and felt a little shiver of something she hadn’t felt for a very long time.
‘Kate?’
The knock on the door came again, and Kate opened it to find Nick standing there, hands rammed deep into his pockets, a brooding look on his face. She frowned in concern.
‘Nick—hi. What can I do for you?’
‘Oh, I was just—I’ve been clearing the last of the things out of the house. It seems so odd—end of an era. The agent’s expecting a good turn-out at the auction, but I’ve told him to lower the reserve. He was putting a high one on with a view to marketing it in the spring if it doesn’t go, but I told him no. I just want it gone.’
Caroline Anderson, Sara Morgan, Josie Metcalfe, Jennifer Taylor Page 5