‘Are you an only child?’
‘No, I’ve got an older brother, he’s thirty-three and he’s married with two children, and he lives in Bristol. He’s an architect.’
‘Interesting. So—did you always want to be a nurse?’
She gave a strangled little laugh, then shook her head. ‘No. I was going to be a doctor, like you, but then…’ She faltered. Should she tell him? Explain what had happened, why she’d gone? But, no, they were playing let’s pretend, and she wouldn’t have told a stranger about it, so she carried on, choosing her words carefully, ‘Then something happened, and I met some nurses, and I realised I’d rather do that. I’d met lots of doctors, because my father’s a doctor so I’ve grown up round them, but I’d never really had anything to do with nurses before, and the more I talked to them, the more I thought it was a better direction for me.’
Sam was silent, assimilating her words. There was something missing, some gap in her story—something vital. But he didn’t know…‘What was it that happened? Was it while you were travelling?’
Oh, rats. Tell him? Or not tell him? She wanted to, but at the same time she didn’t, because she was so afraid he’d feel obliged to stand by her, just as she had all those years ago, and she didn’t want that. She wanted him for himself, and she wanted him to want her for herself, not feel saddled with her out of duty or a misplaced sense of responsibility.
So she lied—well, no, because it wasn’t really a lie, but she was flexible with the truth, and it hurt. ‘No, I wasn’t travelling at the time, but my circumstances changed and I ended up living amongst nurses.’ Well, it was true, in a way. She had, and she’d been there for ages. ‘And it changed my conception of them and what they do.’
No. She was still holding something back, still not telling him all of it. But he let it go—for now. He’d get it out of her later, make her tell him everything. For now, he’d let her tell him what she wanted, and he’d try and fill in the blanks.
‘So—why practice nurse rather than hospital nurse?’
‘For the continuity, really,’ she said, relieved to be off the sticky subject of the past and onto something she could talk about with genuine enthusiasm. ‘I love the fact that I can watch an entire family grow, from inoculating the babies and giving them advice all through childhood to routine health checks on their parents, and continuing care clinics for the grandparents—like your mother, for example, who comes in regularly for her blood pressure and cholesterol, and Ron Reynolds with his angina, and then there are the children with asthma and the mums who want to give up smoking because they’ve just found out they’re pregnant, and the drop-in contraceptive clinics to keep the youngsters out of trouble and the weight-loss clinics, and the diabetic clinics, and the travel clinics—it’s just so varied. Everyone thinks it’s just inoculations and smear tests and dressings, but it’s not. It’s fascinating, and it’s all about the people. And it’s the people who make the job.’
She looked at him again. ‘Does that answer your question?’ she asked, and he gave a slight smile.
‘Yes, I think it probably does.’ For now…
‘Can I ask you something now?’
‘Sure.’
‘Why Africa?’
He looked away, his smile vanishing. ‘Why not? God knows, there’s a need.’
‘But not everybody goes. Why you?’
‘Because I was—single? Because nobody was going to be hurt if I was?’
‘Except your mother. She was terribly upset.’ And me…
He shrugged. ‘Accidents can happen to anyone.’
‘But that wasn’t an accident, Sam. It was a booby trap laid by insurgents.’
‘Whatever. I gave the people much more back than was taken from me during the time I was there, and that’s what matters. I remember one occasion when I had to contact a colleague in London and ask for advice on a procedure I’d never done before, and the only way to contact him was by mobile phone. We had satellite phones, and he was able to text me instructions. And I saved this kid’s life because of that. Without me, without the team, without people going out there and having a go in often impossible conditions, these children and their mothers and fathers would die. And it’s the simple things—like appendicitis and not having clean water and not having basic antibiotics and antimalarials that kills them so often. And I was able to make a difference.’
‘And you don’t think you can make a difference here? What about Ron Reynolds? If you hadn’t been there in the surgery when he’d come in, he might have died.’
‘No, because Hazel would have got you, and you would have taken one look at him and called an ambulance, and got Nick back from fiddling with the barbeque arrangements and he would have been fine. But there are kids out in Africa now who are dying because I’m not there.’
‘Sam, that’s nonsense, because if you’re there, then there are children dying in India or Indonesia or South America or Birmingham or even Cornwall because you aren’t there. You can’t save the world. You can only do your bit.’
He turned and searched her face, then his eyes softened in a smile that made her breath catch. ‘You know, you’re beautiful when you get worked up about something. You come alive inside, and your skin glows and your eyes are bright and—you’re just gorgeous.’
She felt her skin warm, and she couldn’t stop the slightly embarrassed little laugh that escaped from her chest. ‘Sam…’
‘I want to kiss you,’ he said softly. ‘Will you let me?’
She nodded, speechless with need and emotion, and, leaning over, he angled his head and touched his lips to hers.
Just gently, just the lightest touch, but it struck a spark to the tinder of her withered, lonely heart and brought it to life. But all too soon he was lifting his head and moving away, his eyes still locked with hers.
‘Can I see you again?’
She nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘Tonight?’ He closed his eyes. ‘Damn, no, I can’t tonight, I promised I’d go up to the Carters’ for a drink later. You could come?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I don’t think so. I think this should just be between us.’
A shadow crossed his face. ‘Yes, of course. I was forgetting. Saturday, then? Saturday night. We could—I don’t know, we could go out of town somewhere.’
‘Or I could cook for you,’ she suggested, and then wondered if that was too much, too soon. ‘Or we could just go for a walk.’
‘We could go for a walk and then you could cook for me another time.’
She smiled. ‘That’s two dates.’
‘Mmm.’ He smiled back. ‘It is. Well?’
She nodded, still smiling. ‘Yes. Let’s go for a walk on Saturday, if it’s not raining.’
‘And if it is?’
She shrugged. ‘We could go to the cinema?’
‘And sit in the back row?’
The little bubble of laughter wouldn’t stay down. They’d done that so often when they’d first started going out together. And he’d taken full advantage of the darkness…
‘Maybe. If you promise to be good.’
‘Oh, I’ll be good,’ he vowed, and she felt her heart stutter in her chest.
She sucked in a deep breath. ‘OK. We’ll do that, then. Walk or cinema, and then on Sunday I’ll cook for you.’
He pulled a face. ‘I should probably be at home on Sunday, cooking a roast for my mother. Sunday is always a roast, or it always used to be. And if I cook it, there’s a fair chance it won’t be drowned in saturated fat and there’ll be lots of fresh vegetables.’
She cocked her head on one side. ‘That sounds very civilised.’
‘Oh, I can be—when the occasion demands it, I can be very civilised. But most of the time it’s something fast, cheap and easy.’
She laughed. ‘That sounds a little suspect,’ she teased, and he chuckled.
‘Well, if the cap fits…’ He turned back to the dog and scratched his ears. ‘Shall we go back to
Mum, little man?’
Digger jumped up, tail wagging, and Sam got stiffly to his feet, flexing his left leg which was obviously giving him trouble still.
‘Are you sure you’re OK for a walk on Saturday?’ she asked, and he shot her a curious look.
‘Yes—why?’
‘I just wondered. Your leg?’
‘My leg’s OK. I have to keep using it. It’s getting better all the time, and a walk will be just what it needs. And Digger will have a great time, won’t you, mate?’
They walked back to the house side by side, not quite touching but close enough for little electric currents to zing between them, and when he slipped his hand behind her back to usher her across the road she felt the warmth of it curl through her, right down to her toes.
‘Have you got everything?’ he asked as she stopped by her car, and she nodded.
‘Yes, I picked it all up on the way out.’
‘I’ll just put the dog in and move my car, then.’
She unlocked her car and got in, wondering if he’d kiss her again, but instead he opened his car door once the dog was safely inside, fired up the engine and moved out into the road so she could get out, and then he gave her a lazy, sexy wink and a wave as she moved off up the hill.
It was going to be a long time till Saturday…
CHAPTER SIX
FRIDAY was busy, and Gemma hardly saw Sam.
Probably just as well, she told herself, as she wasn’t sure she could control her reaction to him well enough in front of patients, but it was curious to know that he was in the room just below her. Curious and comforting, in an oddly exciting way. But then she saw him go out on his visits just before lunch, and wondered how the surgery could suddenly feel so empty.
Ridiculous.
But in her heart was a little bubble of hope, and she kept seeing that little sexy wink and the waggle of his fingers as he’d waved her off last night, and she couldn’t wait till tomorrow.
‘Right, that should be OK for a few days, but if you have any trouble, come back to me on Monday,’ she said to Mrs Jacobs as she smoothed the dressing firmly into place over her leg ulcer. It was healing well, and hopefully the dressings could come off altogether soon.
She glanced at her watch as she showed Mrs Jacobs out of the door. Ten to twelve. Time for a bit of paper-work—mostly reminders for smear tests and well-person checks, baby inoculations and so on. Necessary, but dull, and not the part of her job she liked best, by any means.
Still, she had a good clinic this afternoon, a nice mix of young and old, well and not so well. And with any luck, it would make the day whiz by and take her mind off Sam for long enough that she could do her job!
‘Sam?’
He stopped on the path of his patient’s bungalow and looked in at the intimidatingly familiar face of his old headmistress in the window next door.
She was tapping on the glass, and she beckoned him in with an imperious finger. He felt a smile curve his lips, and without ceremony he crossed the grass, tapped on the door and went in. ‘Well, hello, you,’ he said, crossing over to her and crouching down beside her chair. ‘How are you? You look well.’
‘I’m very well. Back in my home at last—have you got time for a cup of tea?’
He glanced at his watch. He did, but only if he didn’t stop for lunch at the practice—which meant not seeing Gemma. But he could live with that. It would heighten the suspense—as if that was necessary! But Gertrude Stanbury had been one of the very few people who’d believed in him, Nick being the other most significant one, and he owed old Gertie a damn sight more than the time for a cup of tea. Not that he’d get that if she heard him refer to her as Gertie!
‘That would be lovely,’ he said with genuine warmth, and he stood back and watched as she struggled to her feet and limped painfully into the kitchen.
‘You’re in pain,’ he said, and she turned and raised that autocratic brow at him as of old.
‘And just who are you to tell me that?’
He grinned. ‘Ah, well, it was a medical comment.’
‘Was it, indeed? I’ve had a knee replacement, and I need the other one done. Going to fast-track me?’
He chuckled. ‘You know I would if I could, but it wouldn’t be fair and, anyway, I’m only locuming. I have as much clout as you do, probably a damn sight less. So—how are you really?’
‘Oh, not so good, but I manage. Sam, could you put the kettle on for me? I find it hard to lift if there’s more than just a cupful in.’
‘Sure.’
He wondered how on earth she did manage, and asked.
‘Oh, I have a home help who’s marvellous, and I get by. But I’m all the better for seeing you back home. I’m sorry about your mother. I gather she’s made excellent progress.’
‘She has. Who’s your spy?’
She chuckled. ‘Lauren. She came to put me through my paces this morning. Sam, could you pass me down those cups, please?’
‘Sure. I gather you had to move out after the flood.’
‘I did, but it’s done me a huge favour. I’ve got new furniture and carpets and everywhere’s redecorated—it’s like a new house, and yet all my precious things were safe, because they were in the top of a wardrobe. And the rest…’ She shrugged and smiled. ‘Well, I won’t have to worry about replacing anything again in my lifetime. The insurance company were wonderful. So—tell me about Africa. What’s this I hear about you having an accident?’
‘Nothing passes you by, does it?’ he said gently, taking the carefully laid tray from the worktop and following her into her sitting room.
‘Not much, but I can see that you survived it, more or less. I gather young Jamie’s in trouble, though, talking of things that don’t pass me by,’ she went on. ‘You want to keep him away from Gary Lovelace. I don’t often give up on a child, as you know, but—well, some people are just plain bad, and I’m afraid he might be one of them. Keep him away from him, Sam, before something awful happens.’
He sighed. ‘I don’t know if I can. I can threaten, cajole, bribe—but it has to come from him. And I can’t find the motivator.’
‘I think it all stems from your father leaving—just as yours did. That sense of abandonment—and then you left, when he was six, and now his mother’s ill and could so easily have died—he’s just scared to love, Sam, scared to care.’
Hell, he knew that feeling so well. He was aching to be back with Gemma, but he was so afraid to trust her, and there was something she wasn’t telling him.
‘How’s it going with Gemma?’
He narrowed his eyes. What the hell did Gertie Stanbury know about Gemma? Could she read his mind? Apparently, because she went on, ‘Oh, come on, Sam! I know you loved her—and I know she loved you. And ever since she came back to Penhally, I’ve been waiting for you to come home. I knew you would. You all do, in the end.’
‘Maybe,’ he said, and then changed the subject—or at least, the subject of the subject. ‘What do you remember about Polly Searle?’
‘Oh, dear, that poor child. Little mouse. She had the most dreadful home life—awful man, her father. I was so worried what would become of her after her mother died. I thought she’d waste away at one point but she always had brains, just like you. Thank goodness she got away and she’s all right. She’ll be a marvellous doctor—a really good listener. Not enough people are, you know. Kate Althorp was wonderful to her, and I think they’re still in touch. She’s her godmother, I believe. Why do you ask?’
‘Kate was talking about her. We need a woman doctor and Kate was suggesting she might be available.’
‘Oh. Well, I don’t know if she’ll come back. It’ll take a lot of courage, but she was never short of that.’
Sam tried to remember, but his image of Polly was blurred by time and had never been a strong one. ‘Oh, well, time will tell, I suppose,’ he said, and got to his feet. ‘I need to get on. It’s lovely to see you again.’
‘You haven’t told me abo
ut your accident.’
He grinned. ‘No, that’s right, I haven’t. I’ll have to come back again.’
‘You do that, young man. You’re always welcome in my house. And good luck with Gemma.’
He opened his mouth to correct her, but then shut it again and smiled. ‘Thank you. And you take care of yourself. I’ll see you soon.’
‘Bring me good news!’ she called as she watched him down the path, and he laughed and waved her goodbye, then got back into his car and drove down to the surgery, listening to the weather forecast as he went.
Tomorrow was going to be warm and sunny, with light winds and the odd bit of high cloud. Pity, he thought with a wry smile. He’d been looking forward to the cinema…
‘Kate? It’s Rob.’
‘Oh, hi, Rob.’ Kate cradled the phone against her ear and watched Jem through the open door to the sitting room. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I was just wondering what you and Jem are doing today. I was hoping to see you to ask you last night at school, but you weren’t there.’
‘No, I’m sorry, I was working late—but we haven’t any plans today,’ she told him, wondering what he was going to suggest and discovering that she was actually looking forward to it, whatever it might turn out to be. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘A bike ride. It’s so lovely, I thought I’d take Matthew up onto Bodmin, and I wondered if you’d like to join us?’
‘Oh. That would be really nice—although I can’t remember when I last rode my bike. Jem’s is getting a bit small for him. I’m going to have to get another one soon, I think, because he’s growing like a weed. Maybe for his birthday—actually, that’s a good idea. It’s this month. Perhaps you can give me some guidance, because I really don’t know what’s good for kids or not.’
Rob chuckled. ‘No problem. So I’ll pick up the school minibus with the bike rack on the back and come and get you—what time?’
‘How about ten? Does that give you long enough? Either then or later, so it’s not too hot—and I could bring a picnic.’
Brides of Penhally Bay - Vol 4 Page 8