‘Ten children?’ he exclaimed.
‘No. Eight children and my parents. Eight in nine years. I’m the oldest.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘That I’m the oldest?’
His smile was fleeting and tentative. ‘No, that I overreacted. It’s just been fairly bloody for the past two years, and I don’t cope well, I know that.’
‘I think you cope very well. Your children are fit and well and clean and polite, you’re holding down your job—what more could you ask?’
His head tipped back and he looked up at her, his eyes fathoms deep. The smile came back again, even more fleeting and touched with sadness. ‘Time off for good behaviour?’ he said wryly. He sighed and stood up again. ‘Girls, come on, we have to take Dr Page over to the surgery now.’
He walked up to the fence and leant on it, exchanging a few words with the neighbour about Mark, and then he strapped the girls into the back of his car and slid behind the wheel.
‘Follow me; it’s not far.’
Tricia knew exactly where the surgery was, but she followed anyway. She’d had enough goes at his ego today already. It wouldn’t hurt to pander to it just this once.
CHAPTER TWO
THE flat was lovely—light and airy, yet cosy. It was the very top floor of the Edwardian semi-detached house that contained the practice premises, and the rooms were quaint and atticky, with sloping ceilings and dormer windows. Linsey had lived there for a while when she had first started in the practice, but Tricia had never been in it before and was thrilled with it.
The sitting room had a comfy-looking sofa and chair that she vowed to try out the moment she’d unpacked, the kitchen was modern and efficient, the bathroom spotless, and the bedroom—well, she and Rhys and the children didn’t even try and fit into it, but she was sure it would be quite adequate. She glanced through the door, saw the double bed and turned smartly round, almost bumping into Rhys, who must have been right behind her.
‘The bedroom’s not very big,’ he offered, gesturing at it.
‘Nor am I,’ she said with a strained smile. ‘It’s perfect.’ She had to tip her head back to look into his eyes, and she surprised a flash of heat—a smouldering, simmering furnace banked down but, she sensed, easily fanned. By her?
Yes.
Lord, it was warm! She went into the sitting room and pushed the window open, breathing deeply and drawing the sea air into her lungs.
‘You can see the sea if you stretch,’ he told her.
She laughed softly. ‘I doubt it. I’ll have to stand on a stool.’
His body was close behind her again, and for a ridiculous moment she thought that he was going to lift her up. She imagined those big hands round her waist, and her legs felt as if someone had yanked a plug out of them and the bones had drained away.
She turned and gave him a polite but dismissive smile—she hoped. ‘Thank you for your help. I can manage now.’
His eyes brushed hers, the heat still there, smouldering quietly. ‘Sure. Come on, kids; let’s leave Dr Page in peace.’ He shepherded them both towards the landing and the stairs that led down to the practice premises on the lower floors, and she followed them down. At the bottom he turned to Tricia.
‘Thank you again for looking after the children while I took Emma to the hospital—and I’m sorry I behaved like a grizzly in a fit.’
Her mouth tipped. ‘And I thought it was just my imagination,’ she said with the first genuine smile in ages.
His answering smile was rueful. ‘I really am sorry. You just hit a nerve. Any problems, ring me. You’ve got my number?’
She nodded, opened the door for them and watched them go out into the staff car park at the back where his big estate car was parked beside her own little hatchback. Finally the children were both buckled in and he backed out and drove away with a wave.
She lifted her hand, then let it fall slowly. So, he could be nice. Very nice. Helpful, friendly, thoroughly decent.
What kind of a woman had turned him into the bitter and angry man she had seen earlier? Tricia wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
Humming thoughtfully, she ran upstairs, unpacked her things and put them away, then went downstairs and made herself familiar with the surgery.
Linsey’s room, she assumed, would become hers. It was next to Matthew’s, close to the kitchen and the back stairs to her flat, and not far from Reception. She sat behind the desk for a moment, getting used to the very Linsey-ish feel of the room, and vowed to tidy it up—but slowly, bit by bit. She didn’t want Linsey going into orbit the way Rhys had! Perhaps she could just straighten the tatty posters and replace them one at a time. she opened the top drawer of the desk and found a pile of old pens, a broken rubber and the wrapper off a bar of chocolate, and rolled her eyes. ‘Pack-rat,’ she said affectionately, and shut the drawer.
Curiosity led her out into the corridor again and up the stairs. Ahead of her a door was labelled ‘Dr R J Williams’, and without hesitation she turned the handle and let herself in, fully expecting chaos.
She was stunned. It was immaculate, the health-care posters clean, fresh and straight, the desk tidy, the books on the bookshelf all in order of size—everything was in its place.
She risked a peek into the top drawer and found neat rows of pens, a stethoscope, an auriscope in its box—and no mess. No chocolate wrappers, old newspapers, forgotten cups of coffee—nothing to indicate that this room belonged to the man whose kitchen she had blitzed earlier.
On the way out she checked the name again, just to be sure it hadn’t been Tim Wilson’s room. No. It was Rhys’s, and just added to the puzzle.
Clearly his professional life was still well under control. It was only his personal life that was in a shambles. If he were suffering from depression there would be signs here too, she was sure, but there weren’t. No, in all probability he was just hopelessly undomesticated. Lots of men were—that was why they got married.
It was quite refreshing that he was so anti-women!
She went back up to the flat, made herself a cup of tea, picked up the phone and dialled.
‘Hi, Lins.’
‘You’re alive!’ her friend said, only half-jokingly.
‘Of course I’m alive,’ Tricia said with scorn. ‘He’s just a grump. He’s hardly dangerous! Look, I wanted to invite you and Matthew over for a meal tomorrow night.’
Linsey laughed. ‘I was just giving you time to settle in before doing the same thing. Why don’t you come to us?’
‘Because I’m not pregnant. Go on—I’d love to have you. Warm the flat up, as it were.’
Linsey reluctantly agreed, and Tricia put the receiver back in its cradle, picked up her tea and snuggled down into the big armchair. It swallowed her whole, and for some absurd reason she pictured Rhys sprawled in it, dozing as he had been this afternoon, his big body relaxed in sleep.
Then her mind, ever her worst enemy, transplanted the scene to the room next door and sprawled him in her bed, his shoulders naked above the line of the quilt, eyes sleepily open, and smouldering with that latent heat she had detected earlier. She wondered what his skin would feel like, and if his chest was bare or strewn with a thick mat of that dark, glossy hair. It would arrow down, of course—
She stood up abruptly, slopping tea on her leg, and marched into the kitchen.
She was mad. Of all the people to fantasise about! He hated women—which meant she was safe. She bit her lip. Was that what this was all about? Safety? Could she allow herself to imagine an intimate situation with him because she knew it would never happen?
She sat down on a kitchen chair with a bump. She was a bit of an anachronism in this day and age, she knew. Twenty-eight and still a virgin? Unheard of. And it wasn’t for lack of opportunity. It was simply that none of the invitations had appealed to her at all. At first she had been able to dismiss her fussiness as ‘saving herself’—something her mother would no doubt have found admirable.
Now even he
r mother was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with her. Was she just too darned fussy for her own good? She shook her head. No. Sex for the sake of it held no appeal, and although she sometimes wondered if she would ever find out firsthand what it was like to make love with a man who really cherished her she wasn’t going to jump into bed with some opportunist just for the sake of shedding her virginity!
But as for safety—she thought of the look in Rhys’s eyes. OK, so he didn’t want her washing up his dishes, but there was more to marriage than the washing-up. Perhaps he was missing a regular sex life, and she was there, reasonably attractive and single, dangled under his nose. What healthy man wouldn’t react that way?
It was probably not the slightest bit personal—and that made him an opportunist by anybody’s reckoning, and so, off limits.
Even so, she found her mind straying to him again and again as she locked up the practice and found a supermarket so that she could stock her kitchen, then later went for a walk along the sea front in the dusk.
Lights twinkled on the sea, and in several of the boats moored at the pontoons she could see lights on. Laughter drifted over the darkening water—a little squeal, a masculine chuckle, then silence.
Tricia thought again of Rhys, of how it would feel to have him beside her now in the gathering gloom, walking arm in arm, or perhaps with his arm around her shoulders, holding her against his side. She’d fit easily under his arm, snuggled in against his warmth, the beat of his heart against her ear.
Suddenly, inexplicably, the space beside her seemed terribly empty.
She shook herself a little. She was being ridiculous. How could she do this to herself? He was going to be a colleague for several months. The last thing she needed was to talk herself into a full-blown infatuation!
She turned back towards her car, walking briskly now, and went back to the practice, made herself a cheese sandwich and went to bed.
To her extreme irritation she dreamt of him, and her dreams were wild and passionate and left her restless and aching with emptiness.
Was she really so lonely that any half-respectable man could do this to her? What a depressing thought.
She thumped her pillow and forced her mind away from Rhys and her loneliness. She thought instead of Matthew and Linsey and their new baby due so soon, and for some crazy reason her eyes began to water.
‘Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself!’ she ordered, and thumped the pillow again.
She should never have had that cheese sandwich.
She started work in the practice alongside Linsey on Monday morning, just unofficially until she knew the ropes. She helped with the surgery, took some of the antenatal patients and went out on visits with Linsey to acquaint herself with the local geography.
Linsey gave her a map of the area, and she found that she actually came to know Milhaven and the surrounding area very quickly.
One of the duties of the practice was at the little cottage hospital, which ran a small casualty unit staffed by the local GPs. They also shared night cover and rotated day cover for emergencies, in addition to carrying responsibility for their own patients.
There was a gastro-intestinal screening unit too, Linsey explained as they drew up outside, and that was funded by a group of local GPs who wanted to have more instant answers in certain conditions.
‘Do you do much here?’ Tricia asked her.
‘A bit—it’s Rhys’s baby really. He does all our practice screening, and some for one of the other practices in town. A couple of my patients are waiting for their appointments with him—early next week I think they’re scheduled for. I’ll give you all the information and Rhys will go over the cases with you.
‘Right, now we’re here to see Mrs Ludd,’ Linsey went on as they entered the hospital. ‘She’s had a fall and broken her hip, and she’s had an op in Lymington and been moved here for convalescence as she lives alone. She’s due to go home any day with physio.’
They found the elderly lady in the day room, happily watching a blaring television with a couple of other patients. When she saw Linsey her eyes lit up, and Tricia was treated firsthand to a display of affection that she hoped one day she might earn.
‘Dr Wheeler! How lovely to see you! Aren’t you looking grand?’ She got carefully to her feet, leaning heavily on her walking frame, and came towards them, eyeing Linsey’s abdomen with frank interest. ‘Oh, my, how that baby’s grown—won’t be long now, will you?’
Linsey smiled. ‘No. Actually, I’m off soon on maternity leave so I’ve come with Dr Page who’s taking over from me and will be looking after you until I come back to work.’
Mrs Ludd tutted. ‘You should be at home with your baby,’ she scolded gently, ‘not looking after washed-up old has-beens like me.’
Linsey chuckled. ‘Washed-up? You? I think not. Come on, then, Mabel, let’s see what you can do.’
‘Everything. It’s marvellous. I’ll tell you what—’ she leaned closer and peered around to make sure the coast was clear ‘—it’s better than it’s been for years!’
‘A happy accident, eh? I’m glad you were so easy to please!’
Tricia joined in the laughter, liking the woman immediately. If Mrs Ludd was a typical example of the type of patient she could expect, she was in for a pleasant interlude—workwise at least.
They walked back to the ward together, and although Linsey was chatting and laughing with her patient Tricia could see that she was studying her as they went. Her examination was brief but thorough, and when it was completed she told Mrs Ludd that she could go home the following day, if she felt ready to do so.
‘Oh, I am—I’m finding it all a bit much here, to tell you the truth. I’ve enjoyed the company, but I’ve grown rather used to the quiet at home and, you know, I miss it.’
Linsey smiled her understanding. ‘I’m sure you do. Well, you can go back to it tomorrow if the physio’s happy about it, and the occupational therapist will come in and make sure you can manage all the tasks you have to do without any special tools or equipment.’
‘Special equipment?’
‘Yes—a gadget to raise the level of the loo seat, a high enough chair—that sort of thing. We can’t have you overbending and popping that hip joint out before it’s properly settled.’
They left her in the ward, and on the way out Linsey told Tricia about her fall.
‘She was lying in the sitting room for nearly eight hours before she was found, and that was only because the postman couldn’t get a reply and worried about her. Poor old thing had been there all night.’
‘She was lucky to survive.’
‘She nearly didn’t. She had thrombosis problems at first, and then a minor heart attack. She looks OK, but she’s a bit of a worry really.’
Tricia eyed her friend, noting the teeth gnawing her lip, the little frown marring her brow, and sighed.
‘You aren’t going to find handing it all over easy, are you?’
‘Me?’ Linsey chuckled. ‘Matthew says he can’t believe I’m going to stop, except when I’m actually in labour. He says I’m going to be a damn nuisance.’
‘And are you?’
‘Probably.’
They laughed, but Tricia did wonder if taking over from her friend would be as easy as she had imagined.
All Linsey’s patients would become Tricia’s, and it was clearly Linsey’s aim to hand over to Tricia as smoothly as possible.
That evening in the flat Tricia brought the subject up again.
‘Are you going to be able to let go?’ she asked, having endured for the rest of the afternoon Linsey’s protective mother-hen attitude with her patients, all of whom seemed to be firm favourites.
‘Of course. I just want to make sure you’ve got all the information you need. I had to take over from Rhys without any warning at all when Judy walked out on him,’ she told Tricia, ‘and, believe me, it wasn’t easy. I just want to make sure you’re happy with everything before I go and put my feet u
p.’
Tricia grinned. ‘What’s the matter—don’t you trust me not to foul up and kill off your precious old dears?’
Linsey chuckled and stretched her legs out, resting her hands on her bump. ‘Of course I trust you,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘Why do you think you’re here?’
Tricia lost her grin. ‘Why, indeed? I’ve been meaning to ask you that.’
Linsey, Tricia was fascinated to note, looked distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Because I needed someone I could trust—’
‘Hogwash. Come clean.’
Linsey all but squirmed under Tricia’s piercing look. Finally she threw up her hands. ‘OK. I confess, I did have a moment’s romantic illusion that you and Rhys might hit it off.’
Tricia gave a loud and very unladylike snort. ‘Just a moment’s? Yes, it must have been, because if you’d thought about it for longer you would have realised it was garbage.’
Linsey looked wounded. ‘Why garbage? I would have thought you were the ideal choice for him.’
‘Me?’ Tricia chuckled. ‘Come on, Lins. I’m a woman.’
Her friend sighed and shook her head. ‘Yes—I think even Rhys might have noticed that. It was just which aspect made the most impression.’
‘The bossy, domineering, compulsive tidier, of course,’ she said.
‘Or the loving, generous, loyal friend? The beautiful, sensuous woman?’
Tricia felt colour mount her cheeks. ‘Hardly.’
It was Linsey’s turn to snort. ‘You haven’t got the slightest idea, have you? How on earth have you remained unscathed so long, Tricia? There are men out there who would give ten years for a night alone with you—real, live, hot-blooded men. Men like Rhys.’
The colour climbed higher. ‘If Rhys fancies me at all, it’s as a quick lay—and I don’t happen to be a chicken.’
‘No, not a chicken—just chicken.’
Tricia closed her eyes. ‘I’m not chicken. I just won’t demean myself by allowing a man to use me.’
‘So how about using a man yourself?’ Linsey said softly. ‘How about a mutual scratching of itches?’
The Ideal Choice Page 3