Hot-Shot Doc, Christmas Bride / Christmas At Rivercut Manor

by Joanna Neil / Gill Sanderson

  He grinned wryly. If the truth were told, he’d been glad to follow her to Rivercut, not having quite the same faith in his sat nav as the salesman who’d sold it to him. He’d thought about Grace quite a bit as he had driven slowly behind her. He had only seen her in the half-light, but he’d had an impression of an above-average-height woman with what he suspected was a generous figure hidden by her fleece coat. He couldn’t be sure about her hair—dark blonde, he thought, tied up in a pleat.

  It wasn’t her appearance that interested him most, though. It was her openness, her happiness with life despite having just skidded into a ditch, her apparent willingness to trust. Until right at the end, when she’d seen Bethany, and he could have sworn he’d seen a flash of something vulnerable under the cheerful, competent exterior. Had he imagined it?

  Mike came to a halt outside his father’s surgery and, as if on cue, from behind his seat there came the sound of his precious daughter waking up. Mike took a deep breath. It was time for them both to start their new life.

  ‘Are we there yet, Daddy?’ said Bethany sleepily.

  ‘Just arrived, darling. Wait a minute, I’ll come and unstrap you.’ He undid the seat belt and lifted Bethany out of the car. She already had her coat on, but Mike pulled her woollen hat tight over her ears and wrapped the red blanket around her for good measure. They both regarded the surgery—a large Victorian house with an extension built out to one side. As well as the consulting rooms and pharmacy there was his father’s flat where he and Bethany would stay until they found a place of their own. Bethany looked round, enchanted. ‘It’s been snowing,’ she said.

  The front door of the surgery flat was suddenly thrown open and a beaming James Curtis came out. ‘Who’s got a kiss for her grandfather?’ he called. Bethany wriggled out of Mike’s arms and ran through the snow towards the lit doorway. ‘Grandad! We’ve come to live with you!’

  She was growing up, Mike thought, left holding the discarded blanket. This was why they were moving up here. He looked at the delight on their faces, one young, one old. It would be all right.

  Bethany’s sleep had revived her. As Mike brought in the luggage, she ran from room to room, her dark curls bouncing, learning the layout, deciding where her toys would go and chattering nineteen to the dozen. Then she watched intently as Mike put her duvet and pillow on her new bed. She wore the same expression on her elfin face that her mother had always had when she’d been concentrating on a medical journal and, as always, it tore at Mike’s heart. Oh, Sarah.

  ‘She’s very like her, isn’t she?’ said James in a low voice as Bethany ran in front of them towards the kitchen, just to prove that she knew the way. ‘Must be a comfort.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mike. ‘Yes, it is.’

  They had planned a special tea for this first night, Bethany’s name written in alphabet spaghetti on a piece of toast. Then, of course, they had to write ‘Daddy’ and ‘Grandad’ and anything else they could think of too. Mike told his father it was a bit of a messy way of learning to spell, but he thought that it worked. Then came an even messier bath, with both Mike and Grandad ending up soaked. And last of all, after the teeth cleaning, it was her grandfather who was chosen to read her a bedtime story.

  Much later, as they each nursed a glass of single malt in front of the fire, James said, ‘It’s a big change, Mike. From the heart of London to an isolated village on the Yorkshire moors. Are you going to manage?’

  Mike shrugged. ‘I think I will. The practice in London was growing faster than I wanted it to. I was doing more administration than medicine. I was too dependent on our friends for child care and…and everywhere I go in London I see Sarah. I need to get away. And I can do without the relentless social life that seems to be a necessary part of living there.’

  ‘You might be surprised at the social life there is here,’ his father warned with a grin. ‘We don’t all spend the winter sitting by the fire and watching TV. But I suppose you’re right. It will be quieter here. And I told you there’d be fewer private patients. One or two—but not many.’

  ‘I’ll be glad to give them up. I don’t need the money. I was paid a stupidly large amount when I was in the Middle East and I saved most of it. I’ve done well out of finally selling the flat and my partnership. I want to get back to basics. I want a quiet decent life for Bethany and myself, with more medicine than paperwork.’

  ‘Seems a fair ambition. You know you’ll be taking over most of the outside calls? There are plenty of them and we cover a large area here. I used to do most of them, but since I had that fall my doctor says I mustn’t go out as much as I did.’

  ‘Your doctor is?’

  ‘Me,’ said his father smugly.

  ‘What about your partner? Can’t she do them?’

  ‘Rosemary? She’s heavily pregnant. I don’t want her going out any more than she needs to.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be happy to do as much travelling round as necessary. Provided my sat nav cooperates. Get some clean air into my lungs for a change.’

  There was silence for a moment as James filled both their glasses. Then he said, gently, ‘it’s been almost exactly a year since Sarah was killed. How are you coping with it?’

  Mike gave a short laugh. ‘Mum died over twelve years ago. You still have her picture in your bedroom and I’ll bet you think about her every night. How do you cope?’

  ‘By remembering her and telling myself that she’d want me to be happy. And I am happy, most of the time.’

  ‘Lucky you. I miss Sarah so much I ache. My friends seem to think I should be better by now, they keep trying to fix me up with suitable women. I’ve had a year dealing with a heartbroken little girl who’d lost the mother she doted on. That’s taken all the emotional energy I’ve had to spare.’

  ‘Ah, well. Grief has always had its own timetable. You might find you have more energy after you’ve spent a few months in Rivercut. Things are calmer here. Now, I’ll just nip along to the kitchen and see how the casserole is coming on.’

  Mike took another sip of his whisky, leaned back in his seat and sighed. Perhaps his father was right. Perhaps here he would find peace and contentment. Perhaps even an end to the nightmare that still came far too often—with a vision of his wife in the burnt-out wreck of her car.

  No! He was starting a new life. He reached resolutely for the leaflets and brochures his father had left on the coffee table, all with details of the property available locally. Staying with his father was all right for the moment, but he wanted a place of his own. He wanted a house with space and a garden. Somewhere Bethany could walk on her own down to school without him worrying about her as soon as she was out of sight. But as he turned page after page, his hopes fell. ‘Nothing suitable for sale at all in the village?’ he asked James when they were sitting down to lamb casserole and baked potatoes.

  James shook his head. ‘Not many people move out,’ he said. ‘And there’s hardly any building allowed because we’re in a national park. In fact, the only thing available here at the moment is Rivercut Manor. It belongs to my district nurse, Grace Fellowes.’

  Mike looked at his father in amazement. ‘Is she the only Grace in the area?’

  ‘As far as I know,’ said his father, mystified.

  ‘Dad, I met a nurse called Grace on the way up. I pulled her car out of a ditch. A tatty Land Rover. But I left her at a cottage at the end of the village, not a manor house.’

  His father sighed. ‘It’s a sad story. The wonder is that Grace keeps so cheerful all the time. Everyone feels sorry for her but she refuses to feel sorry for herself. Just keeps smiling and getting on with life.’

  Mike was intrigued. ‘So what happened?’

  His father settled himself. ‘The Fellowes family has been here for centuries. Once they owned most of Rivercut valley. Even seven years ago when Grace’s father died, they were tolerably well off. They owned several local farms, they were good landlords. When Grace’s father realised he was on his way out he sold the
farms to the tenants. Grace was in the middle of her training and he knew his wife wouldn’t be able to cope with rents and maintenance and all that. He put the money into two trust funds—one for his wife and one for Grace. Then a couple of years go by and Grace’s mother takes up with a car dealer from Birmingham. Charming chap, squired her about, did the pretty. She fell for him in a big way, married him, signed every document he put in front of her, and then last year he did a runner to Spain, leaving the manor mortgaged to the hilt, the trust fund broken and Grace’s ma without a penny to her name.’

  ‘Oh, Lord. What happened?’

  ‘Heart attack. Massive and merciful. But Grace still owes the bank a lot of money, she’s barely clearing the mortgage payments and she has to sell the house to get straight.’

  ‘And she’s the Rivercut community practitioner?’

  His father gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘Up here she’s the district nurse. She also does two or three clinics in the surgery for me. She’s a brilliant nurse, knows everybody and everything. You’ll enjoy working with her.’

  ‘I think I will.’ Mike was interested in this story. It suggested that Grace had a toughness that he had half suspected. He was looking forward to working with her.

  As it happened, Grace was working in the surgery next morning. In theory she had appointments for wound management, injections and medical support for the first half of her clinic, then contraception, sexual advice and women’s health. In practice, the receptionist fitted in people where she could. Grace enjoyed both sessions, even if the second one made her privy to rather more secrets than anyone else in the village suspected.

  She had just finished giving a set of vaccinations to a couple who were going to Cuba for a long stay. Vaccinations against hepatitis A and B, typhoid, rabies, diphtheria and tuberculosis. She had given them the necessary brochures, but went through them herself so that they knew exactly what to expect. After the couple had left her consulting room, before the next patient was due, there was a tap on the door.

  ‘Just grabbing a quick minute to introduce you to our new member of staff,’ James said cheerfully. ‘This is my son, Dr Michael Curtis, and his daughter, Bethany, who has a passion for knowing who works in which room and what goes on in all of them. I gather you’ve already met.’

  ‘We have, and I’ve cause to be grateful.’ Grace held out her hand. ‘Good to meet you formally, Dr Curtis.’

  He took her hand, shook it. ‘Please, it’s Mike. And it’s good to meet you properly too. Dad tells me he’s delegating all the home visits to me, so I expect I’ll be working with you quite a lot. I’m looking forward to it.’

  Last night had been an episode of torchlight and shadows; she’d hardly seen him clearly at all. But now was the bright light of day—and she had to admit that he was impressive. He was wearing a smart dark suit, a light blue shirt with some kind of college tie. He looked every inch the successful London doctor. Oh, dear, and yesterday she’d been covered all over in slush and mud.

  To her embarrassment, he guessed what she was thinking. With a smile, he said, ‘Bethany and I decided I should put on my interview suit because it’s my first day, but in future I’ll wear something more in line with the work I’ll have to do.’

  ‘In that case I advise clothes that are waterproof and easily cleaned,’ she joked. Then she looked at the little girl holding her father’s hand and smiled. ‘Hello, Bethany, I’m Grace. You were asleep yesterday when your daddy’s car pulled mine out of the ditch.’

  Bethany’s bright eyes darted about the room. They widened when they got to the photos on the shelf. ‘That’s a horse,’ she said, and ran over to look closer.

  Grace noticed the plastic pink horse clutched in Bethany’s hand. She grinned. Was there a little girl alive without a pony fixation? ‘She was called Sugar. She was my first pony. That’s me riding her when I was a little girl.’

  Bethany studied the photo. ‘My teacher said I could ride a horse if I moved to the country.’

  ‘I’m sure you will. There’s a riding stable just outside the village where they have special classes for new riders.’ Too late she saw Mike’s muscles tense up. ‘Once you’ve settled down, of course, and only if Daddy says you can.’ And wouldn’t the girls at the stable be all over him! Divested of last night’s bulky coat, his body was trim—broad shouldered, narrow-waisted. Hair and eyes were both dark, his mouth well curved. Dr Mike Curtis was quite something.

  ‘Yes, well, we’ve both got to find our feet first,’ he said noncommittally.

  Grace could read signals as well as the next woman and this one clearly said stay off the subject. James must have sensed it too. He suggested Bethany come and meet the receptionist and her daughter Rachel, who was off school with a sprained ankle. She’d seen the play area earlier, hadn’t she? The little girl danced off happily. Grace and Mike were left alone.

  As he looked at her she wondered if she could detect something in his eyes. Appreciation, perhaps, or even admiration? She had taken just a little extra care that morning. A little more attention to her hair, just a touch more makeup than usual. She didn’t know why. Perhaps just to show a London sophisticate that not all country people were bumpkins with straw in their hair. Or to impress him? Whatever it was, it gave her a warm feeling when he looked at her with that searching expression.

  ‘How’s the car?’ he asked.

  Grace came back to earth with a bump. Fair enough. They had only just met after all. ‘I took it into the garage first thing. Bert Machin said he’d have a look at it this afternoon.’

  ‘You’re not going to need it before tomorrow?’

  ‘If necessary, I can borrow a car from Bert. I’ve done it before.’

  He smiled. She liked his smile. It was starting to have the same effect on her that his voice did. ‘The Rivercut spirit again, eh? I’d still be happier knowing that you—’ But there was a knock on the door and a face appeared round it.

  ‘Are you ready for me, Grace? You said…Ooh, sorry. Didn’t know you had someone in here.’

  ‘Wait outside a minute, Nina,’ Grace said. ‘I’ll be right with you.’

  Nina looked assessingly at Mike and then slowly disappeared.

  ‘You’ve got work to do. I’d better go,’ Mike said. ‘I’ll see you later, Grace.’ And he too was gone.

  The minute he was out of the door, Nina Carter rushed in. She was nineteen, a pretty girl who worked in a hairdressing salon in the next village and was the number one gossip in the area. A month ago, Grace had prescribed the contraceptive pill for her. Even after explaining patient confidentiality at some length, she’d still had to swear not to tell Nina’s mother. And Nina had already said she wasn’t going to use the practice pharmacy. She’d go into Whitby for it.

  But now…‘Was that the new doctor, Grace?’

  ‘Yes, young Dr Curtis.’

  ‘He’s fit, isn’t he? Is he nice?’

  ‘He’s only just arrived. He seems to be a very practical doctor.’

  ‘Is he married? Got a girlfriend?’

  ‘Nina, I don’t talk about doctors any more than I talk about patients. Now, you’ve been on the Pill for a month. Have you managed to take it regularly?’

  ‘Yes. It’s a bit of a job keeping it from Ma, but I’ve managed.’

  ‘Have there been any unusual side effects? Headaches, mild depression?’

  ‘No, nothing like that.’

  ‘And you’re still certain you want to go on with it?’

  ‘Ooh, yes.’ Nina grinned. ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Good.’ Grace sighed. For a moment, she envied Nina her carefree attitude to relationships. It must save an awful lot of heartache. After ensuring that Nina was still practising safe sex, she dismissed her with a repeat prescription and welcomed in an older patient who was finding her unwelcome hot flushes rather hard to deal with.

  It was a normal morning’s work and she was enjoying it. But she couldn’t get Mike out of her mind. What had James said l
ast week? That his son could do with a whole new lifestyle? Mike was evidently going to be what she privately termed the ‘outside man’, doing all the driving to the outlying farms, so they would be working together quite a bit. She wondered if that would cause him any problems. She guessed he was four or five years older than her. They were both single. She could guess what conclusions the local gossips would draw. Oh, well, they’d soon find out they were wrong. Mike may be an attractive man, but the baleful memory of Peter Cox was still very much with Grace. She wasn’t making new commitments any time soon.

  Whilst talking to her patient, she rang through to James. ‘I’ve just come across something, Dr Curtis, and if you’ve got a moment I’d like your advice.’

  But it was Mike who walked in through the door, not his father. ‘He says I’m to earn my keep,’ he said with a smile.

  That was fair enough, with the extra pressure they were under due to Rosemary Watson’s unfortunate pre-eclampsia. Grace introduced Mike to Mrs Leaman, a fifty-five-year-old lady who had just started on HRT drugs to deal with her menopause. ‘So far Mrs Leaman has benefited from the drug,’ Grace said, ‘but it seems to cause her the occasional headache in the morning. She’ll put up with it because in general she’s feeling much better. But if it was possible to—’

  Mike smiled at Mrs Leaman. ‘I think HRT drugs are wonderful,’ he said. ‘They make life so much more pleasant. But let’s see if we can get rid of the headaches too.’ He looked at Grace. ‘What did you prescribe?’

  She told him and he nodded. ‘A good choice. But since Mrs Leaman’s having these headaches, how do you fancy trying something with slightly different proportions of oestrogen and progestin?’