‘Hi,’ he said, when she opened the door. ‘I wondered if you fancied a drink at the pub?’
‘Last time we had a drink at the pub we ended up in bed.’ She looked normal, she sounded normal, but she wasn’t quite. If she’d been a patient, Mike would have said she was hiding something. ‘And that was bad?’ he asked, probing lightly.
‘No, it was very good indeed, as well you know. But I don’t want to be a habit, Mike. I don’t want to be a convenience.’
‘You weren’t!’ he said, stung by the injustice. ‘Can I come inside? I think we need to talk about this.’
Grace moved to let him in. ‘You haven’t mentioned that evening,’ she muttered.
‘Neither have you.’ He sat down on the sofa. ‘If you must know, when I got back Bethany was—’
Grace’s phone shrilled, interrupting him. She answered it. ‘Hi, Robert! No, I haven’t forgotten your offer…Yes, well, you know Natalie. I just hope her credit card’s made of stern stuff.’ She listened a moment more. ‘I’ll let you know. Have a good Christmas. Thanks for ringing.’
‘An offer?’ said Mike, before he could stop himself. What was the matter with him? Why did he feel so aggressive all of a sudden?
After a moment’s hesitation she perched next to him. ‘Robert Ross is an old friend from my training days. He’s setting up a back-to-basics teaching department for handson nurses. He was trying to convince me I should move to Manchester.’
Alarm, rage, something swept over Mike. ‘You can’t. You’re needed here. You belong here!’
She blinked. ‘I’m only the district nurse. I’m easily replaceable.’
‘Any other district nurse might be—not you. You’re special. Who else is going to turn out to patients at unsocial hours because they can’t work the childproof cap on their tablets?’ He was trying desperately to hold on to his sense of humour, but he was filled with such horror at the thought of her leaving Rivercut that he was having difficulty stringing a sentence together.
She was looking at him oddly again. ‘Relax, I’m not going. Or I don’t think I am.’
Oh, thank goodness. He reached for her in relief, drew her towards him. Their lips met in a clash of urgency and need.
A brief, sweet moment and then she drew back. ‘Mike, I can’t do this tonight. I don’t know what I want, and I don’t think you know what you want, either.’
He wanted her, that’s what he wanted. But dimly, through his frustration, he recognised that telling her so would probably be counter-productive.
She was talking again. ‘Can you give me a few days? I’m sorry, Mike, but I really need to think something through.’
What could he say? No matter that all he felt like doing right now was dragging her to the nearest cave and barricading the pair of them inside.
‘Sure,’ he said, getting up. ‘I’ll go and have that pint.’ At least the temperature outside was as good as a cold shower.
By Thursday afternoon, Grace was feeling thoroughly frustrated. Mike had taken her at her word and not raised the subject of their relationship again. He appeared to be settling into the district well and was finding his way about. A bit too well, actually. Grace dropped in at Holroyd Farm to see Edith and was surprised to see his Range Rover coming the other way out of the farmyard. Just checking on those new tablets, she was told when she asked. Grace was niggled—Mrs Holroyd was supposed to be her patient.
Still, it was now Bethany’s last riding lesson before Christmas and Grace had picked her up from school and was helping her change. She happened to know that Mike had bought his daughter a complete riding outfit for Christmas—Grace wished she could see the little girl’s face when she opened the present on Christmas Day. In fact, she wished…
No. She must stop thinking that way. Mike was still in love with his dead wife. She and Mike might be attracted to each other, but a relationship based on physical needs and her own neediness would be doomed to disaster.
At the previous lesson, Bethany had graduated to going around the ring without needing to be led, so Grace leant on the rail and watched her. It was so sweet, all the ponies had tinsel twined into their tack and the children had been promised the treat of feeding their mounts a Christmas carrot each at the end of the lesson. It reminded her of years ago when she too had started learning to ride.
A low, furious voice broke in on Grace’s thoughts. ‘Why the hell aren’t you in the ring with her?’
Grace jumped, startled. ‘Mike, she told you last week when we got home that she could ride by herself.’
‘I didn’t realise she meant all the time! She’s far too small and inexperienced. What if the horse bolts?’
‘She’s coming on really well and these ponies are so old and staid they wouldn’t know how to bolt. Calm down.’
‘Easy for you to say, she’s not your…Oh, no, that’s too fast…’
The circle of children had increased to a trot. Grace smiled at the look of delight on Bethany’s face. The little girl saw Mike and beamed, then blinked and slid off the pony’s side. Mike instantly made to vault over the rail, but Grace hung on to him. The circle had slowed and one of the riding instructors was already there, picking Bethany up.
‘Oh, well done! You fell beautifully. Just as we told you, no feet tangled in stirrups, no hanging on to the reins, nothing. What a clever girl you are. Up we get again.’
Mike was incandescent, trying to pull away from Grace’s restraining grip. ‘That does it, she’s never riding again ever.’
‘She’s already back on the pony. Does she seem worried?’
‘She’s too young to know the danger!’
‘Mike, you can’t keep her wrapped in cotton wool for ever.’
‘I lost her mother. I’m not going to lose her as well. Let me go!’
‘No. You’re going to stay here and watch and smile and be proud. If you leave, she’s going to think you were disappointed when she fell off. If you take her away, she’s going to think she’s done something bad and be upset.’
He looked at her, his eyes blazing. ‘You don’t know what you’re asking me.’
Inside, Grace cried. Outside, she remained calm. ‘I do! This is important, Mike. Your dad is always saying how like you Bethany is in temperament. “Never walked when he could run,” remember? You have to let Bethany push her own boundaries. How else is she going to grow? Did James ever stop you climbing trees, even though you might fall out of them? Did he forbid you to jump in the deep end of the swimming pool? Riding is only dangerous if you haven’t been taught properly. Bethany is being taught properly.’
Mike didn’t say a word, just shook her off and stared ahead at the ring in silence, his whole body rigid. After five minutes, he rasped, ‘Have I watched for long enough now? May I go?’ He waved to his daughter, turned and left.
After the lesson was over, the carrots duly given to the ponies and Christmas wishes exchanged all round, Grace strapped Bethany into her car. No Lorna this week—that was good. She was still shaking with reaction after the exchange with Mike; any more unkind words would probably finish her off. She hated telling people home truths, but at least doing it in the line of work meant she had proven medical research to back it up. Why should Mike believe her about Bethany? Especially after the trauma he’d been through. He had every right to hate her for telling him to loosen up with his daughter.
Drearily, Grace drove back. She automatically glanced up the drive of the manor as they passed. Mike’s car was there. Her heart twisted.
‘There’s Daddy!’ squealed Bethany.
Grace took a deep breath and turned in between the new-old gates. Her headlights illuminated a solitary figure swinging an axe at a log pile.
‘Daddy,’ said Bethany excitedly as soon as he opened her door. ‘I gived Foxtrot a carrot!’
‘That’s lovely, darling.’
He looked so, so tired. Grace ached for him. She cleared her throat. ‘Is the kitchen still working?’ she asked. ‘I could kill for a cup of tea.’
<
br /> Her voice sounded strange. Hopefully Mike would accept the olive branch.
It was touch and go for a moment, then, ‘I think we could run to that.’ He unfastened Bethany and lifted her out. ‘Foxtrot’s the horse that’s ten feet tall with a mouth full of teeth, I take it?’
Grace’s heart banged painfully. ‘Oh, more like twenty feet tall. With a dreadful temper and a trigger-happy kick.’
Mike gave a lopsided smile. ‘Grace, I’m sorry. I overreacted.’
She laid a hand on his arm. ‘You had reason. Goodness, haven’t you made the hall look bright?’
‘Scrubs up nicely, doesn’t it?’
It did. The panelling had been cleaned, the floor polished and the ceiling whitewashed. She only now appreciated how careworn it had got.
‘Come and see my bedroom,’ shouted Bethany, tugging her towards the stairs.
Oh, no. No, Grace wasn’t at all ready for that. Another little girl in her room. Someone else’s decor in the sanctuary she had known all her life. Different curtains framing ‘her’ view of the moors.
‘Go on,’ murmured Mike. ‘Be brave.’
She supposed she deserved that. She girded up her courage and followed Bethany. And was astonished beyond measure when the little girl danced along the passageway to what had been Grace’s parents’ room.
‘It had the princess bed in,’ explained Mike. ‘Would your mother have approved?’
Grace looked dazedly around the freshly decorated corner room. The bed canopy was now pale pink. The wallpaper had unicorns, fairies, rainbows, hearts and butterflies on a pink background. ‘Definitely,’ she said. ‘A fairy bower. Mum didn’t live in the real world either.’
She was shown the rest of the rooms on the way back down to the kitchen. The nursery she had designed with so much love was untouched. She didn’t know whether to be pleased or unsettled. The other rooms looked much as she remembered them, though there was something different, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It wasn’t until she had finished her mug of tea and was preparing to leave that she realised what it was.
‘Mike! The upstairs rooms! The paintwork…the papering…They look exactly the same as when I left, only brand-new! Why would you re-create the house as it was?’
He looked just a tiny bit disconcerted. ‘I suppose I liked the way it was,’ he said evasively. ‘It was easier to restore it rather than dream up something new. The architect I asked to check the building out was enthralled. He said he’d never seen a small manor house like this one with so much apparently original work. He’s got some excellent suggestions for how to modernise the plumbing and heating without it being intrusive.’
‘I see. It’s going to be lovely.’
‘I hope so.’ He glanced at her. ‘So do you think you can bear to come to the party?’
Grace frowned. What party?
‘Bethany! Didn’t you give Grace the invitation?’
‘Oops.’ Bethany giggled. ‘I forgot. Sorry.’ She raced down the remaining stairs, peered into her school backpack and pulled out a rather crumpled envelope. ‘Here you are! I helped Daddy write it and I signed it and he says it’s my party as well as his and I can have a new dress that’s long just like you.’ She thrust the envelope into Grace’s hand and added, ‘I drawed the holly. It’s good, isn’t it?’
‘Very good.’ Grace opened the letter—an invitation from Miss Bethany Curtis and Dr Michael Curtis to a celebratory party at the manor on Christmas Eve. She swallowed. There had always been a Christmas Eve party at the manor. But her family had organised it. It would be different going as a guest.
‘You can come?’ Bethany pleaded.
‘Of course I can come. Nothing would keep me away. I shall write you a proper reply this evening.’
‘You’ve got to. That’s what RSVP means. It’s so Daddy doesn’t buy too many packets of crisps.’
‘And you’re going to have a long dress. That’s exciting.’
‘She’s been looking at your old photographs,’ said Mike. ‘I’ll ask one of Sarah’s friends to send something up. They’ve been bombarding me with emails for a fortnight, wanting to know what to send us from civilisation.’
Grace lowered her voice and leant towards his ear. ‘If it’s any help, I bought one for her in Manchester as a Christmas present.’
It was lovely, being this close to him. But all he said was, ‘Grace, that’s fantastic. Do you want to give it her before Christmas Day? She’ll be over the moon.’
After Bethany was in bed, Mike sat with his father, watching television.
‘You all right, lad?’ asked James.
Mike sighed. ‘Just thinking.’
James cleared his throat. ‘I know we haven’t been close these past few years, and neither of us are good at saying what we feel—but I do want you to be happy. I got the feeling that you and Grace might…’
‘Dad, it’s complicated.’
There was a small silence. James sipped his whisky. ‘Sarah wouldn’t have wanted you to mourn for ever.’
But when was the right time to stop? Grace was lovely—her dark blonde hair, her wide smile, the way she wanted to eradicate all suffering everywhere. The truth was that Mike wanted to be with her all the time. He’d refreshed the manor because of her distress at the changes. He couldn’t care less what it looked like as long as she was happy. Her honesty this afternoon at the stables had been devastating—but she’d been right, reluctant though he was to admit it.
But how could he betray Sarah’s memory by even contemplating sharing his and Bethany’s lives with another woman? Was he quite sure it wasn’t just his bodily needs that were driving him? At the thought of Grace’s body an exquisite cramp gripped him. He wondered what his father would say if he went down there now, tonight. Come to that, he wondered what Grace would say. He needed to know her better. He would ask her to have lunch with them again tomorrow. He would talk to her—really talk. Show her he’d heeded her advice. Find out about her, her hopes and dreams and aspirations. And, meanwhile, he would carry on with his plans for the party.
The next day, however, fate seemed determined to thwart him. It had snowed again overnight and when Mike put his head around Grace’s door he found no one there. So many patients had cancelled that Grace was doing house visits instead, the receptionist told him cheerfully. He rang her mobile at once.
‘Hi, Mike.’
‘Grace, what do you think you are doing?’
She chuckled. ‘My rounds.’
It was unfair of him to feel cross at a perfectly good answer, but he’d wanted to see her—how much he hadn’t realised until this minute—and a crackly phone call was no substitute. ‘Did it not occur to you that if the weather conditions are too bad for your patients to come to you, they are also too bad for you to go to them?’
‘My patients are old and frail, so it’s not the same thing at all. And the roads aren’t too bad—don’t forget that we are used to the snow up here, not like you Londoners.’
That hurt. ‘So used to it that you needed me to pull you out of that ditch the first time we met!’
‘Now you’re being petty. And I need to concentrate and my battery’s low. Bye, Mike.’
He exhaled irritably and called for his first patient. An hour later he decided maybe he had been petty. He tried to ring Grace again but got voicemail. Please leave your message after the tone. Mike was flummoxed. What did he want to say? ‘I, er…Just drive carefully. No heroics. Don’t go and see anyone who doesn’t need it. Call me when you get back.’
He returned to his own list, even more disgruntled. There was nothing from her by the time he had to collect Bethany. Everyone at Rivercut Primary was hugely excited by it being the end of term. They raced around the playground, scraping together snowballs and skidding in the slush. Their parents stamped feet to keep warm, balancing bags of this term’s artwork and exchanging last-minute Christmas cards. Mike smiled and wished people all the joy of the season, but his mind was on an e
lderly Land Rover somewhere up in the tops of the hills. He held Bethany’s hand tightly.
The sky was leaden and grey now. Thick flakes of snow fell on them on the way home, that morning’s footprints filling fast. Grace’s cottage was lifeless, her car nowhere to be seen.
Mike knew it was probably just because he wasn’t used to conditions on the North Yorkshire moors, but he was really uneasy. He checked his phone—nothing. He called Grace and got voicemail again. James hadn’t heard anything either but, then—as he pointed out—he wouldn’t have expected to. ‘District nurses are autonomous. They don’t have to account to us for all their comings and goings.’
‘Well, that’s going to change for a start,’ said Mike grumpily. He left James and Bethany making pancakes—an exercise they both enjoyed—and opened the connecting door to the surgery for a last prowl around.
There was a note on his desk. Grace must have rung while he’d been at school. She was all right. Thank goodness. Then he frowned. The receptionist had written that the road from Kender Downfall was blocked so Grace would put up at the pub on the main road for the night.
Mike stared at it. Where on earth was Kender Downfall? Which pub would it be? So many things he didn’t know! His eyes fell on his computer. Grimly he switched it on and pulled up Grace’s diary, laboriously tracking her route around the high moors. A couple of questions to James and he had the name of the pub. He phoned it—ready to blast her for her stupidity in going out to such inhospitable places in appalling weather.
A few moments later he was back in the kitchen doorway.
‘Found her?’ said James, pouring batter into the frying pan. Then he turned and looked at Mike’s face. ‘What’s up?’
‘The pub is full of people but she’s not one of them.’ His heart was thudding against his chest. ‘Can you look after Bethany? All night if need be?’
‘Of course, but shouldn’t you leave it to the rescue people? Dusk’s falling. You don’t know your way about these hills yet.’
Mike gave a strained smile. ‘No, but my sat nav thinks it does. Time to see if it can put its money where its mouth is.’
Hot-Shot Doc, Christmas Bride / Christmas At Rivercut Manor Page 29