‘You’re good with children,’ she said into the silence. ‘Is that personal experience?’
For a moment it seemed as if a dark shadow passed across his face. His answer was curt. ‘In a way. Not my own, but I have several nieces and nephews. I like children. They’re…honest. Not like adults. Children say what they think and mean. It’s refreshing.’
‘Refreshing is one way of putting it,’ muttered Zoe. ‘Embarrassing is another.’
‘That sounded heartfelt,’ he said, then looked as if he could kick himself for prolonging the conversation.
‘It was. We don’t see much of my family,’ she explained, feeling disloyal. ‘They live in Jersey and don’t often leave the island. But one time they were in London for a reunion dinner and Jamie said—very loudly—of my mother, “I don’t like Grandma.”’
‘Oh, dear. And is she likeable?’
‘She’s all right. She’s just not used to small children.’
‘She had you,’ pointed out Connor.
‘I was a late baby and an only child. I’m not sure they quite knew what to do with me. We were happy enough, but then Dad was killed with his regiment and Mum went to pieces. For a long time she treated me more like an adult companion than a daughter.’ So much so that Zoe hadn’t realised until much later that her mother had been suffocating her.
‘That must have been hard.’
Zoe shrugged off his concern, even though it warmed her. ‘I didn’t know any different,’ she said lightly. ‘Anyway, she’s remarried now, one of Dad’s fellow officers. He was a widower.’ And Mum was back to her brisk, army wife self. It was a relief in a lot of ways.
Connor had finished his scone. His eyes were flicking around the kitchen. Zoe was uneasily aware that she hadn’t unpacked everything yet. ‘How many nephews and nieces have you got?’ she asked.
‘Nine at the last count. I come from a large family.’
And yet he wasn’t married himself. Zoe’s curiosity grew. ‘Are they local?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m from Newcastle originally. Both my sisters have stayed in that area. My brother lives in Australia—my parents are out visiting him now. We keep in touch but they all have young families and I’m busy and…’ He shrugged.
‘I’m jealous,’ said Zoe. And she was, more than he could guess. She could think of nothing better than to have a large supportive family. A noise suggestive of disaster from the living room recalled her. ‘Jamie, what are you…?’
He followed her. ‘I should be getting back to the Centre. Thanks for…You’ve changed things!’
Jamie had upended a box of toys. Small cars, plastic give-aways and a dismantled Lego set were scattered on the carpet. Zoe groaned. What would Connor think? ‘Yes,’ she said distractedly. ‘I had to shift the chairs to get my sofa and table in. I’ve put the little table that was here upstairs in my bedroom.’ She looked up and saw his austere expression. Oh, help. Wasn’t she supposed to have moved things? ‘Look, I’m sorry, I…’
But he was going. ‘Thanks for the scone. It was very nice. You be careful, young man, don’t stand on the gate again until it’s mended.’
‘All right,’ said Jamie absently.
At the patio door, Connor turned. Just for a moment he stood silent, looking at her. She saw his eyes flick a glance at her legs, rest on the curve of her breasts, then look at her face. She couldn’t read his expression. Annoyance? Desire, maybe? But not lust. She got the impression that he was irritated by their intrusion into his life, but he was also aware of her body—and its potential. She felt herself colouring, and with that came the urge to fight back. He was arousing thoughts in her that she neither liked nor wanted. She needed to make him aware that she was a person in her own right. That she had her own feelings, which might not be the same as his. Whatever his feelings might be.
‘I won’t shake hands,’ she said. ‘Too much wooden furniture in this house for sparks jumping around.’
‘That was simple physics,’ he said. ‘The conditions are different now. Goodbye, Zoe.’
Zoe watched him go. It really did look as though he was fighting the attraction just as much as she was. Good. So why, in the name of all stupid things, did that leave her feeling very unsatisfied indeed?
Chapter Two
CONNOR strode furiously back to his house. She’d changed the living room! She’d filled it with clutter. She’d moved his favourite armchair—all right, maybe it was a bit tatty, that was why his sisters had banished it to the coach house—from where he could relax and watch the sunset, over to the far corner of the room where he wouldn’t be able to see anything! The fact that he’d rented the place to her so he wouldn’t be doing any sunset-watching for a while was irrelevant.
And she’d taken the little Regency table upstairs! Did she know how valuable that was? What if she’d damaged the legs getting it up the narrow staircase? So thoughtless!
Connor had another spurt of rage as he remembered the half-unpacked boxes lying everywhere. Where were her risk-assessment skills? The little boy could easily catch himself on one and sustain an injury. And what a thing to wear—Ask me: I might—what sort of signal did that give to a child? Blasted T-shirt didn’t even fit properly.
As he entered his study he saw a light flashing on his computer; he had mail. A brief message from his sister. Arabella has chicken pox and wants to talk to Uncle Connor. Skype her!
Connor sighed. He wasn’t in the mood to be a jolly uncle. Why couldn’t they understand? He was fine on his own, fine until they forced him to remember what it was like being part of an affectionate family, reminding him of everything he’d sworn off for his own peace of mind. He typed, Sorry, too busy to Skype. Will be in touch when things are easier. But, on the point of hitting the send button, he reluctantly cancelled the email. He was a doctor and his niece was ill, so…
‘Hello, Arabella,’ he said, after dealing with the connections. ‘Urgh! You’ve got the pox!’
His niece’s spotty, mournful face broke into a gap-toothed grin as she looked out at him from the screen. ‘We have! Micky’s covered in them. And Mummy says she’s sick of house arrest so we’re coming to stay with you and play in your garden until they scab over.’
‘You can’t,’ said Connor, horrified at the idea. ‘I’ve…I’ve got tenants in the coach house. They’ve only just moved. It wouldn’t be fair to give them chicken pox.’
Arabella’s lower lip wobbled. ‘Mummy,’ she wailed, ‘Uncle Connor is being horrible.’
‘I heard,’ said his sister’s voice. The screen blurred as she sat down and lifted Arabella onto her lap. Her face was sceptical as she said, ‘Tenants, Connor? Really?’
‘Really,’ he said, blessing Jo for the first time since she’d mooted the idea. ‘The new midwife at the practice and her little boy. Jo arranged it. Zoe is an old friend of hers.’ Zoe. Why should speaking her name aloud unsettle him?
‘Zoe? Pretty name. Pretty face, too?’
‘Helen, please stop trying to pair me up with every stray female who wanders across your radar. I’ve told you before that I’m fine on my own.’
‘And I’ve told you that you aren’t.’
Connor ground his teeth. This was why he rarely made contact unless he had to. ‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘Apart from anything else, Zoe’s husband died in a car crash not long ago.’ Even if anyone looking less like a grieving widow he had yet to meet. The memory of her in those brief shorts, spilling out of her T-shirt as she cradled Jamie…
‘Connor?’ Helen leaned forward and gave her screen a sharp tap. ‘Wretched computer made you look really weird for a moment. Honestly, if this dies as well as having chicken pox in the house, I’ll go mad. It’s the only thing keeping Arabella amused.’
Connor found his voice. ‘One game of battleships, pet, and then I must get to evening surgery.’ And he would turn the webcam off before he stood up. Much as he wanted to ignore his new tenant, the unexpectedly erotic memory of Zoe in shorts and a T-shirt had
had a very unfortunate effect on his body.
Midwifery in the Derbyshire countryside was vastly different from midwifery in London. When making a home visit in the city, Zoe wouldn’t dream of leaving her car unlocked or without checking that the windows were firmly closed. In certain areas she parked a quarter of a mile from the place she was visiting in case the locals wondered if midwives kept drugs in their vehicles.
High Peak Farm was different. Three days into her new life, she parked in a cobbled yard, stepped out of the car and for a minute took a deep breath and looked at the view. Woods and fields, not row after row of roofs. She left the car windows half open, knowing everything would be safe. Oh, she could learn to love it here.
Towards her came a smiling farmer, hand outstretched. ‘Hi, I’m Luke Beskin. You must be the new midwife. You’ve moved up here from London.’
Jo had warned her that there was none of the anonymity of the city here. Everyone knew everyone else’s business—and felt entitled to.
Zoe shook hands. ‘Yes, I’m Zoe Hilton. Isn’t this a lovely view?’
The farm was perched on the top of a hill. They could see fields in the valley below, and beyond that was the darker heather of the moors.
Luke nodded. ‘I was born here. I look out every morning and think how good it is. Mind you, this is summer. Just wait till winter. Visit in snow time and I’ll have to fetch you up the lane in the tractor.’
Zoe laughed. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’ And she meant it.
She was visiting Paula, Luke’s wife, who was thirty-one weeks pregnant and had asked if possible to have a home delivery. Jo had told her it was practice policy to go along with home deliveries—even for first babies—if there was no apparent danger.
Zoe had checked her notes, had found that the previous midwife had thought it quite possible, and that so far there were no contra-indications. But she still needed to see Paula and her environs for herself.
Paula Beskin was waiting in a ground floor room that had been turned into a bedroom. She was a pleasant and obviously sensible girl, resting on top of the bed. She cradled her bump with that expression Zoe had seen so often on a primigravida’s face—a mixture of happiness, anticipation and slight anxiety. Her skin had the rich tone that often came with pregnancy. Zoe noticed a door to an en suite shower room. Good. All satisfactory so far.
She introduced herself and sat by the bed to have a chat. Medical stuff could come in a minute. It was important to get to know Paula as a person before treating her as a patient.
‘I’ve been coming to High Peak Farm since I was little,’ Paula told her. ‘Luke and I were childhood sweethearts but it’s a standing joke that I only married him so I could live here.’ She smiled, to show she was kidding. ‘Now I want to have my baby here. I don’t want any of our children born in some anonymous city hospital ward with buildings and traffic all around us. I want to nurse them where we can look out and see the farmlands and the valley.’
Zoe couldn’t help smiling at her enthusiasm. She suspected when the time came Paula wouldn’t much care where the birth was as long as it was over with quickly and safely. ‘We’ll arrange it if it’s possible,’ she said diplomatically. ‘But you do understand…?’
‘If there’s a medical reason why you want me in hospital, I’ll be there as fast as Luke can drive. The baby comes first.’
‘Good,’ said Zoe, relieved. ‘Lie flat and let’s have a look at you.’
It was a routine inspection. Questions about how Paula felt her baby moving. Blood pressure, pulse, urine test for leucocytes, protein and glucose. Then a physical inspection to feel the size, position, presentation and engagement of the baby. A listen to the baby’s heart. All was well.
‘So far you’ve been the perfect mum-to-be,’ Zoe told her. ‘Now, the EDD is another eight weeks, but babies have a habit of coming into the world in their own time. What do you need to look out for?’
‘The first sign will probably be painful contractions which are regular, become more frequent and more painful,’ recited Paula with a grin. ‘They are not to be mistaken for Braxton Hicks contractions, which are irregular and not too painful. Phone the midwife when the interval is twenty minutes. If the waters break, phone the midwife at once. Oh, and don’t panic.’
Zoe laughed. ‘All right, you’ve done your homework. Just let me know in plenty of time. You’ve got my mobile number. Any time, day or night.’
‘Right.’ Shyly, Paula went on, ‘I’m glad you’re going to be my midwife. But I hear you’ve got a little boy. What happens if I ring in the middle of the night?’
The country grapevine again. How had Paula found out about Jamie so quickly? It was almost scary. ‘Don’t worry about it. Jo Summers, the practice manager, has organised things. She’ll come over straight away, and then the school assistant in charge of the babysitting rota will start ringing round.’
‘Shelley,’ said Paula with a nod. ‘I went to school with her. Bring your little boy to look round the farm after school one day if you like. Luke needs to get used to children. Though he’s looking forward to having his own.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be a wonderful father. Now, any problem—just ring me. And I’ll see you again in a couple of weeks.’
Zoe’s first countryside home visit was over and she had enjoyed every minute of it. If they could all be like this, midwifery would be wonderful! She laughed at herself as she thought of the assorted cantankerous, ill-mannered or monosyllabic mums-to-be she had dealt with in her time. One brilliant visit and you forgot them all! Perhaps she would be all right in the country.
She stepped into the sunshine and reassured Luke that everything was going well. He handed her a box. ‘Here’s a dozen eggs, farmyard fresh. They’ll make your little lad a big lad in no time.’
Zoe was impressed.
Another visit on her way home, then afternoon clinic before collecting Jamie from school. As she walked purposefully along the passage to her room, she saw Connor coming towards her. She felt her heart beat slightly faster, thought she detected an awkwardness in the way his step faltered for a second.
‘Getting on all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I’ve just been to High Peak Farm and Buckley Netherton without getting lost,’ she said with happy pride. ‘I even avoided the collie who wanted to attack my tyres.’
His face broke into a surprising smile. ‘It’s an experience, isn’t it? A few more weeks and you’ll have forgotten how to work traffic lights or what a box junction looks like.’
‘That’s right! You were a city boy too! What made you move?’
Immediately the moment of intimacy was as if it had never been. ‘Reasons,’ he said curtly.
Zoe didn’t stop to think. She put a hand on his arm. Anything to banish that bleak pain in his eyes. ‘Would you go back? I’m curious.’
There was an eon of time when she wondered what had possessed her and when she belatedly realised that he was in a short-sleeved shirt and the skin of his forearm was warm and solid under her palm.
He took a deep breath. ‘No. No, I wouldn’t.’
‘Me neither,’ she said. ‘Mind you, it has only been three days, and it is the height of summer…’
He laughed and the tension was broken. Zoe lifted her hand. ‘My clinic calls.’ Inside her room she sat down at her desk, her legs absurdly weak. ‘Work,’ she told herself sternly.
‘Linda Brown?’
The wiry, short-haired woman standing in the doorway nodded, her eyes unfriendly. ‘Am I going to have the same trouble with you as I did with the other midwife?’ she demanded.
Zoe remained calm. ‘Come and take a seat, Linda. Let me see; by your dates you are sixteen weeks pregnant.’
Another terse nod.
‘And it’s been two months since your last appointment. Have you been keeping well?’
‘Fine. No thanks to her.’
‘If you have a complaint, you should talk to the practice manager,’ said Zoe peaceably. �
�I’m just here to look after your well-being and the well-being of your baby.’
‘She told me I couldn’t run,’ burst out Linda. ‘I have to run. I have to stay fit. Otherwise I’ll lose my place in the team!’
Zoe’s eyes flicked to Linda’s records, though she already knew what they said. An athlete, a national level runner. One who didn’t want to take a break, by the sound of it. ‘Well, now, I don’t like being at outs with my mums-to-be. What does your coach advise?’
‘She moved away. We haven’t got one at the moment. I do about a hundred miles a week. I can’t just stop!’
Zoe swiftly ran through the options in her head. Fretting would be just as bad for Linda as too much exercise. They needed an expert here. ‘Bear with me,’ she said, dialling Jo’s internal number. ‘I’m new and I don’t know all the doctors’ specialities. Hi, Jo, sorry to bother you—who would be the best doctor to advise a pregnant athlete, please?’
Jo chuckled in her ear. ‘I’ll send someone along.’
While they waited, Zoe carried out her routine examination, frowning when she saw the woman’s weight was well down. There was a knock, followed immediately by the door opening. Zoe looked around with a smile—and felt her mouth drop open. Connor! What made him an expert on athletes? And why should seeing him unexpectedly cause her heart to suddenly pound much too hard?
But he was introducing himself courteously and asking Zoe how he might help. Zoe took refuge in protocol and explained. Linda Brown looked as if Christmas had come early when Connor said straight away that yes, she must most certainly carry on regular training, although she might have to modify her routine. He then went on to ask about her current regime, her general health, her day job, whether she had family support.
Village Midwife, Blushing Bride Page 3