Hugh Scott doesn’t even realise you’re a woman, her mind pointed out, and she let out a shuddering sigh. To him, she was simply a colleague, someone who made him laugh, and it was better that way. It really was, because she couldn’t stay here. Her life, her decision, and yet…
‘Alex, Hugh says are you coming to the post-surgery debriefing any time soon?’ Chrissie declared as she stuck her head round her consulting-room door, and Alex smiled ruefully.
‘Tell him I’m on my way,’ she said, lifting her notebook. ‘And tell him I’m sorry.’
She was, too, she realised as the receptionist disappeared. Sorry for a lot of things, but regrets never got anyone anywhere, and with an effort she pasted her everything’s-wonderful-in-my-world expression onto her face, and headed for Hugh’s consulting room.
‘So, any worries or concerns about any of the patients you saw this afternoon?’ Hugh declared, leaning back in his seat, cradling his coffee in his hands.
‘One concern, one worry,’ Alex replied. ‘I had a biker in who’s camping with friends out by Inverannan. He’d forgotten to bring his tranquillisers on holiday with him, and he wasn’t very happy when I said I would have to contact his GP before I could give him a prescription, so I was wondering if I was a bit overcautious?’
‘Not at all. Visitors—holidaymakers—often turn up at the surgery having forgotten to pack their medication, and if it’s something run-of-the-mill I generally make out a prescription for them, but if it’s for narcotics or tranquillisers I always contact their GP. Was that the concern or the worry?’
‘The concern,’ Alex said. ‘Ellie Dickson’s my worry. She came in to have her BP checked, and I noticed on her file that she developed pre-eclampsia when she was expecting her first baby. She’s now almost six and a half months pregnant with her second child, but it’s two months since her last check-up, and when I mentioned it to her she simply said she’d been busy.’
‘Ellie would say that,’ Hugh said grimly. ‘How was her BP?’
‘Perfect,’ Alex replied. ‘I just don’t like the idea of her not coming back for another couple of months.’
‘Neither do I,’ Hugh said. ‘I’ll have a word with her husband, Geordie, on the quiet, see if he can make her see sense.’
‘I saw Donna Ferguson going into your consulting room,’ Alex declared, and Hugh’s expression grew even grimmer.
‘She’s feeling constantly tired all the time now, Alex. The lab tests revealed that she has slightly higher than normal blood sugar levels which would suggest Type II diabetes, but her symptoms…’ He shook his head. ‘There’s something else. I know it, feel it.’
‘If she does have late onset diabetes, it’s certainly easy to treat,’ Alex said encouragingly. ‘She would simply need to adjust her diet, making sure she eats regularly, and watches her carbohydrate intake.’
‘If she has Type II diabetes.’
She nodded. ‘If.’
He looked worried and depressed. She supposed it was inevitable he should become personally involved with patients as he’d been in the area for so long, but she didn’t like to see him looking down, and he suddenly looked very down.
‘What can you tell me about Frank and Irene Nolan?’ she said, deliberately changing the subject.
He frowned, clearly trying to place the names.
‘Married couple in their mid-forties, bought Heatherlea croft four months ago,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve seen him out and about occasionally, but not her. They haven’t signed on with the practice yet, so I haven’t met either of them professionally.’
‘That’s a bit odd, don’t you think?’ Alex said. ‘Not having signed on with a doctor when they’ve been here for four months?’
‘A lot of people like to get settled in first,’ Hugh replied, ‘and if both of the Nolans are in good health, signing on with a doctor probably doesn’t seem a top priority.’ A frown appeared on Alex’s forehead, and he gazed at her quizzically. ‘You think there’s a problem?’
‘I don’t know,’ Alex admitted. ‘I met them yesterday when I was on my way back from my home visits. I’d stopped on the road to take a breather, and they were out walking. I said hello, and then I noticed Mrs Nolan had a bad cut on her forehead so I told her she should come down to the surgery to have it dressed.’
‘And?’
Alex smiled ruefully. ‘She told me to mind my own business.’
Hugh sat back in his seat. ‘Country people can be difficult, Alex. Sometimes you have to bully them into getting medical treatment, sometimes you have to coax them. How bad was her cut?’
‘It’ll heal up OK, if she doesn’t get dirt in it, but she had some bruises on her face as well as the cut,’ Alex continued. ‘Older bruises, as though she either falls a lot or…’
‘You’re thinking her husband hits her?’ Hugh asked, and Alex bit her lip.
‘She didn’t seem cowed, and he was actually incredibly solicitous towards her, but you know how in the country people will normally talk you to death until they find out everything they can about you? I got the distinct impression the Nolans wanted rid of me.’
‘Alex, we can’t force people to come in for treatment,’ Hugh observed, ‘particularly if they’re not a patient. I can certainly drop in on them when I’m next in the area, introduce myself, check out the situation, but if Irene Nolan doesn’t want to come and see us—’
‘Who doesn’t want to come and see us?’ Malcolm interrupted, looking tired and grumpy as he walked into Hugh’s consulting room.
‘Irene Nolan,’ Hugh replied, and Malcolm shook his head.
‘Never heard of her,’ he said.
‘Probably because we haven’t seen her in a professional capacity,’ Hugh said. ‘She and her husband bought Heatherlea farm about four months ago. Alex thinks there’s something odd about them.’
‘And Hugh thinks I’m overreacting,’ Alex declared, getting to her feet. ‘And on that note I’m going back to my room to finish writing up my notes and then I’m going home for dinner.’
Malcolm waited until the door had safely closed behind Alex, then he turned suspiciously to Hugh.
‘Have you two had a row?’
‘Of course we haven’t,’ Hugh exclaimed. ‘Alex thinks the Nolans are strange, and I suspect they simply don’t welcome strangers. How was Lady Soutar?’
Malcolm rolled his eyes. ‘Lady Soutar was…Lady Soutar.’
Hugh grinned. ‘Maybe we should send Alex out to see her next time. That would be an interesting consultation.’
‘It would certainly be explosive.’ Malcolm bounced for a second on the balls of his feet. ‘Have you seen the poster re-advertising the slimming and exercise club?’
‘Alex told me she was restarting the classes next week,’ Hugh replied. ‘I hope some women turn up for it—and I mean that. I remember the problems Jenny had at the beginning—’
‘I don’t think Alex is going to have difficulty getting women to turn up,’ Malcolm broke in. ‘In fact, I think it’s going to be more a case of how she is going to fit everybody in. Chrissie’s going, so is Mrs Allen, Peggie Fraser, Ellie Dickson, Sybil Gordon—’
‘Oh, God, has she resurfaced?’ Hugh groaned. ‘What’s the betting her next ailment is repetitive strain syndrome from all the bending and stretching?’
Malcolm cleared his throat. ‘I take it you haven’t seen the poster in the waiting room?’
‘Malcolm, I don’t have time to stare at posters in the waiting room,’ Hugh said irritably. ‘Is there a problem with Alex’s class?’
Malcolm opened his mouth, then closed it again.
‘I think maybe you should take a look at the poster.’
Hugh stared at the poster on the waiting room wall for a long moment, then turned to Malcolm.
‘She’s got to be kidding.’
‘I suppose it is exercising…’
‘But belly dancing?’ Hugh exclaimed. ‘Malcolm, this is Kilbreckan, not Cairo. The women in the area are crofte
r and fishermen’s wives, and the thought of them belly dancing…The mind boggles.’
‘Mine certainly does when I picture Sybil Gordon doing it.’
‘Oh, Jeez, yes,’ Hugh gasped, then started to laugh. ‘She’s insane—absolutely insane.’
‘Who is?’
Malcolm and Hugh turned to see Alex standing behind them, and Malcolm crimsoned.
‘Nobody you know. Hugh and I—We were—I mean—’
‘We were talking about you, Alex,’ Hugh said, coming to his partner’s rescue. ‘These classes you’re starting next week. I’m not saying they’re a bad idea,’ he continued hurriedly, seeing Alex’s eyes narrow. ‘Any kind of exercise is bound to be good—but belly dancing…For a start, Sybil Gordon is fifty-eight and very overweight.’
‘Belly dancing is for all ages, shapes and fitness levels,’ Alex replied firmly. ‘It doesn’t put any more stress on your body than a brisk walk, so if Sybil Gordon is fit enough to walk, and to wiggle her bottom in front of her bathroom mirror, she’s fit enough to take a class.’
‘OK, but won’t the women who come to the class need to buy…’ Hugh desperately tried to blot out a mental image of Sybil Gordon wearing a glittery bra and harem pants, and wiggling her bottom anywhere. ‘Particular clothes. There’s not a lot of money in the area.’
‘Nobody has to buy anything special—I’ve emphasised that on the poster,’ she exclaimed. ‘The women who turn up only need to bring a scarf they can tie round their hips so they can see their own hip movements.’
‘But what about Ellie Dickson?’ Hugh said, all too aware that he was losing this argument, but determined to make a stand nevertheless. ‘Should she be doing any sort of dancing at her stage in pregnancy?’
‘Pregnancy isn’t a disease,’ Alex protested, ‘and belly dancing was actually used as prenatal conditioning for women in ancient times because it helped strengthen the pelvic muscles.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Hugh, I’ve been taking belly dancing classes for almost four years,’ Alex insisted, ‘and I know there are some movements that should be avoided if you’re pregnant. No way will I let Ellie attempt the belly ripple, the pelvic tilt or any shimmies, but she’ll be perfectly safe with the lulling, calming movements and, in fact, they could actually give her an easier birth when her time comes.’
‘I’m sorry, but you lost me after the words “belly ripple”,’ he said, and Alex thrust the folders she was carrying into Malcolm’s arms.
‘This is a belly ripple,’she said. ‘Keeping your back almost straight, you make a “wave” backward and forward with your pelvis like this so you get an undulating, rippling effect. Obviously you’d see the effect better if I was in costume,’ she added, taking her folders back from Malcolm who was gazing at her with a slightly bemused expression, ‘but you get the general picture.’
Hugh didn’t. Maybe the movement had lost some of its impact because Alex was wearing her customary baggy sweatshirt and jeans, but he’d always thought belly dancing was supposed to be sexy, but either he was dead from the neck down, or it was vastly overrated, because, to him, what Alex had done simply looked weird.
‘Alex—’
‘Look, if you’re worried about the safety aspect,’ she interrupted, ‘why don’t you drop in on the first class, check it out for yourself?’
Wild horses wouldn’t have dragged Hugh in to watch Sybil Gordon attempting to perform a belly ripple, or circle, or whatever it was that Alex had called it, but he had no intention of saying so.
‘It depends on how busy I am,’ he said vaguely, and before Alex could pin him down to a definite yes, he added, ‘And now I’m off home. I’m on call tonight, and I’d like to get something to eat before the phone starts ringing.’
Belly dancing, Hugh thought ruefully as he poured himself a whisky, then walked over to his sofa, slipping off his jacket as he went. How in the world had Alex ever come up with that idea? Jenny would never have suggested it in a million years, but then Jenny had always been such a calm, practical person, whereas Alex…He chuckled as he sipped his drink. He never knew what she was going to do next. It was like standing next to a firecracker, wondering which direction it was going to go off, but Jenny would have liked her.
He did, too. He liked her ready wit, her can-do attitude. He was even getting used to her hair, though he still thought it would have looked nicer if it hadn’t been quite so short.
She has beautiful eyes, his mind whispered as he finished his drink, and she did. They were so very green, like sparkling emeralds, but he’d also occasionally seen dark shadows lurking in them. Shadows he recognised because they’d been in his own eyes after Jenny died. Something, or someone, had hurt Alex badly in the past, and he didn’t like to think of her being hurt, or being in trouble, he thought as he heard a tentative knock on his sitting-room door and knew it could only be one person.
‘I’m really sorry to bother you,’ Alex said, looking awkward and uncomfortable when he opened the door. ‘I know it’s an imposition—you don’t like being disturbed—and I wouldn’t have come, except—’
‘It’s OK—really—you didn’t disturb me,’ he insisted, remembering all too forcefully what he’d said to her on her first night in Kilbreckan. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’ve no water.’
‘Water?’ he repeated blankly and she nodded.
‘Liquid stuff, H20, normally comes out of taps, or in my case it doesn’t—isn’t—or at least not out of the hot-water tap.’
‘Sounds like you could have an air lock,’ he said, going to the cupboard in his hall and pulling out a box of tools.
‘And you know how to fix it?’ she said with clear surprise.
‘If you’ve lived in the country as long as I have,’ he declared as he began to climb the stairs, ‘you very quickly learn—if you want to survive—how to become proficient in minor household tasks.’
‘This should be interesting,’ she said as she followed him into her flat, and he shook his head at her over his shoulder.
‘Oh, ye of little faith. Look, if this doesn’t work,’ he continued, pulling a small length of hose out of his box, and sliding one end over each tap, then securing them with metal clips, ‘I promise I’ll get Rory Murray round here with bribery if necessary, although he’s so smitten with you I doubt he’d need bribing.’
Quickly he turned on the cold water, there was a whooshing, gurgling noise, then he turned off the cold water, removed the hose from the taps, and, when he turned both taps on again, water flowed out of both.
‘I’m impressed,’ Alex said. ‘No, seriously, I am,’ she continued as his left eyebrow rose, ‘and best of all you saved me from Rory Murray.’
‘You need saving from Rory Murray?’ he said, and she gave him a hard stare.
‘What do you think?’ she said, and Hugh laughed.
‘I think if Rory tried anything on, you’d wrap a piece of hosepipe round his neck, and stuff washers up his nose.’
‘Too darn right,’ she said with a gurgle of laughter. ‘Look, I was just about to eat when I discovered I had no hot water. Do you want to join me, by way of a thank you? It’s nothing fancy, just some salad and cold chicken.’
‘It’s not Rupert, is it?’ he said, his grey eyes dancing.
‘No, it’s not Rupert,’ she said reprovingly. ‘Please stay. There’s more than enough for two.’
‘I’d like that,’ he said, and she smiled.
‘It will be ready in about five minutes, so why don’t you make yourself at home in the sitting room?’
He would, he thought, if the sitting room hadn’t been quite so depressing. Funny how he’d never noticed that before when the other locums had been staying here, but he noticed it now.
The only sign that this was a home was the framed photograph on the mantelpiece and curiously he picked it up, then his lips curved. He would have recognised the girl in the picture anywhere. She was younger—maybe about twenty-four or twenty-five—a
nd her red hair was long—right past her shoulders—but it was indisputably Alex, flanked by a woman with short red hair and a man with grey hair.
‘Is this your mum and dad?’ he said when Alex came back into the sitting room carrying two heavily laden plates, and she nodded.
‘It was taken five years ago, and it’s my favourite picture of them. My dad…He had a stroke and died a month after the photo was taken.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It was rough at the time,’ she said, setting down the plates and some cutlery on the small dining table. ‘He was a great dad, and I loved him very much.’
‘You had your hair long then,’ he said.
She took the photograph from him, and put it back on the mantelpiece.
‘It became a nuisance,’ she said abruptly, ‘so I had it cut short about four years ago.’
He wished she hadn’t, but it hardly seemed polite to say so.
‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’ he said instead, and she shook her head.
‘I’m an only child. In fact, my mother had all but given up hope of ever becoming pregnant when I came along.’
‘So she spoilt you rotten,’ he observed.
She tilted her head quizzically. ‘I don’t know. Do you reckon she did?’
He didn’t think she was spoilt. A bit headstrong, perhaps, a little stubborn, but he didn’t think she was spoilt.
‘Your silence is pretty telling,’ she pointed out and his lips quirked.
‘Well, if the cap fits…’
‘I think we should eat,’ she said, and he grinned.
‘This looks good,’ he said as he sat down at the dining table.
‘It’s easy, and I’m very much a fan of easy when it comes to cooking.’
‘But not when it comes to slimming classes,’ he observed, lifting his knife and fork. ‘What in the world made you decide that belly dancing was what Kilbreckan needed?’
‘Dieting and exercising are boring, Hugh,’ she exclaimed. ‘So I thought how can I make this fun, and belly dancing seemed to fit the bill.’
‘Malcolm says the interest has been phenomenal,’ he observed, ‘but I can’t understand why you ever learned. You don’t need to lose weight. In fact, I’d say you could do with putting some weight on.’
A Wife Worth Waiting For Page 6