‘You were one of the unlucky ones?’
‘Yes.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘I didn’t work for a year. I already knew—before Mick confirmed it—that, even fully recovered, I would never be a top rank surgeon again. The pressure on me would be too intense. So I came here to train for my third year as a GP registrar. And now I’m a fully-fledged general practitioner who is also registered on the local health authority’s minor surgery list.’
The car had fugged up. It was as if they were in a place separate from day-to-day living. Zoe could feel Connor’s pain, could almost taste the crumbling of his dreams. ‘That’s the bravest thing I’ve ever heard,’ she said, humbled.
His head whipped round, his dark blue eyes astonished. ‘Brave?’
She held his gaze. ‘Going from the top of your tree to a little way up the trunk of another one. Changing direction instead of throwing things around the room and screaming. Yes, I think that’s brave.’ Neil wouldn’t have done it. Neil would have picked up a bottle and settled down with it for the rest of his life. But Connor wasn’t Neil.
Connor scrubbed jerkily at the condensation on the windows. ‘There was—actually—quite a lot of screaming,’ he muttered.
And Zoe would have bet the last pound in her purse that no one had heard it. As the traffic started moving again she reflected that there was a considerable amount more to Dr Connor Maitland than met the eye. The question was, even if he’d let her, did she want to compromise her own no-intimacy status by probing deeper?
It had, thought Zoe, been another good day. Connor had introduced her to the manager of the maternity unit, established her credentials, got her signed in to the system. Then he’d done his patient visits while she was shown around and inducted. He’d been a bit quiet on the way back—she had the feeling one of his patients was troubling him—but they had stuck to medical matters and she’d thanked him for the lift and they’d gone to their respective clinics. And now the potatoes and hard-boiled eggs were cooling down ready for a nice salad and she’d taken her laptop outside to look up Lyme disease in the sunshine while Jamie rode his bike up and down the path.
‘Hi,’ called Connor’s voice. ‘Am I disturbing you?’
Zoe hastily shut the machine down. ‘No. Is something wrong? Is Jamie being too noisy?’
He was standing on his path looking uncomfortable again. ‘Not at all. I just wondered…What you said about swings in the park…’
Jamie came to a halt by the gate and looked at Connor hopefully.
Connor took a deep breath and opened the gate. ‘I’ll start again. First, I thought Jamie might like to ride along my path now and again, because it’s longer and he won’t have to keep turning round. And second…Well, it’s pure guilt, really. Come along here and I’ll show you.’
Jamie shifted his hopeful gaze to Zoe. ‘Can we, Mum?’
Zoe stood up, tugging down the hem of her shorts and feeling flustered. At least she was wearing a slightly less revealing T-shirt today. Mind you, looking at Connor’s own T-shirt and chinos, she wondered why she was bothered. Thin material outlined the muscles of his thighs and arms as he ushered them through the gate. The plain lines emphasised the broadness of his shoulders. The absence of a belt showed his flat belly. Why was this man not spoken for? Connor Maitland was so something else.
Jamie’s trainer wheel caught on the gatepost. She bent down to free it just as Connor said, ‘Backwards a bit, then forwards again, lad.’
She hurriedly jerked away before Jamie ran over her fingers. As she straightened up, Connor met her eyes.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Too many cooks. Didn’t mean to interfere.’
‘No, yours…’ She forced herself to say it. ‘Yours was the better suggestion. Mothers are inclined to fix things out of habit rather than get kids to solve problems for themselves.’ It was true and she meant it—it was just odd, somebody else doing it for her son.
‘That’s magnanimous of you.’ Zoe saw Connor’s gaze travel down over her T-shirt, her shorts, her legs. He looked away almost immediately, but she thought he’d liked what he’d seen. It made her feel strangely shaky.
‘Mummy!’ Jamie had come to a dead stop where the path divided to go either up to Connor’s house or down to a small wooded area. His eyes were huge in his face. ‘Oh, Mummy, come and see! There’s swings, Mummy! And a slide and a little house!’
In his excitement he’d forgotten how to turn the bike. His sandals were getting tangled up with the pedals. Connor loped forward, laughing.
‘Steady, lad. There you go.’
He lifted him off and Jamie ran into the little copse. By the time Zoe reached the abandoned bike he had scrambled onto a swing and was energetically pumping himself backwards and forwards.
Zoe looked around in wonder. It was a perfect pocket play area. There were two swings, a climbing frame with a slide attachment and a child-sized plastic cottage with a sandpit for a garden. Forest bark—obviously freshly laid—was spread thickly over the ground. The sharp, pungent smell stung her nostrils. ‘Connor, what is this?’
‘It was all left by the previous owner. My nieces and nephews adore it. They all come for a week’s holiday every summer.’
‘That must make it crowded.’
‘I move into the coach house. Alone.’
Zoe looked at him in amazement. He didn’t stay to be with them? But he was great with children!
‘Anyway,’ he said gruffly, ‘after what you said in the car, I gave my gardener a ring and asked him to renew the bark. If Jamie would like to, he can play here any time.’
Zoe didn’t know what to say. It was an incredibly generous gesture from a man who had bought an entire coach house because he hadn’t wanted neighbours. ‘Thank you. Of course he’d love it. I’d…I’d have to be with him, mind.’
‘You’re more than welcome.’ He indicated the curved wooden benches around the edge of the enclosure. ‘Do you want to sit?’
She did. ‘Connor, this is really nice of you.’ She’d be welcome? What did he mean?
‘I have my nice moments. Is that your phone?’
She blinked and realised that her pocket was vibrating. It was part of her job—calls could come any time, day or night. She focused on the display. Jo’s number, so it could be either business or pleasure.
He made to stand up, move away so she could take her call in privacy. She put her hand on his arm, indicating that he should stay. It would have been incredibly rude to drive him out of his own garden. And again there was a definite thrill as her palm met his skin.
Jo sounded strangely unconfident. ‘Are you doing anything tonight, Zoe?’
Only looking up Lyme disease and staving off inappropriate thoughts. ‘Nothing special. Why?’
‘I need to visit someone and I’d like to take an impartial friend along who just happens to be a midwife. Can you come over?’
‘Sure. But what about Jamie? How long are we going to be?’
‘I don’t know. Possibly quite a while. Bring him here. Sam can look after him with ours. We’ve got a spare bed.’
‘Okay. I’ll be there in half an hour or so.’ She rang off, gnawing her lip. Of course she had to help Jo where she could but she didn’t like the idea of uprooting Jamie, even just for a night, when he was trying to settle into their new home.
Connor watched Zoe’s face change. ‘Problem?’ he asked when she finished.
‘Sort of. I’ve got a call-out and I’m to take Jamie over to Jo’s. He gets on all right with her girls but he hasn’t even had his tea yet and he’s only just used to settling in his new bedroom here and…’ She stood up. ‘Oh, well. No point dithering over what can’t be helped.’
‘Wait.’ Blast. Connor had a short wrestle with himself, wondering why all good deeds backfired. He didn’t want this. He’d extended the invitation to the play dell purely because he had it and they didn’t, and because there wasn’t enough room for the kid to work off his energy at home. He didn’t want to do what he
was about to offer. He was a landlord, not a childminder! But how could he not when Jamie was so obviously happy, beaming at them as if life could hold no more as he threw himself backwards and forwards on the swing? ‘I’m not on call this evening,’ he heard himself say. ‘It seems a shame to interrupt Jamie’s routine. Would you like me to babysit? He could play here for a bit longer, then I could feed him, put him to bed, read him a bedtime story. I’ve done it on occasion for my nieces and nephews. I’m quite reliable.’
Zoe looked at him, open-mouthed and astounded. Connor wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t have made his offer sound more reluctant if he’d tried. He attempted a grin. ‘Just this once,’ he added, as if that might make it better.
She gave a wary smile. ‘Thanks, but I couldn’t possibly impose. Jamie, we’ve got to—’
It had only been a small smile on Connor’s face, but as Zoe started to refuse his offer she saw it disappear, to be replaced by the bleak expression she had seen too often. Suddenly and unexpectedly, her heart flipped and she changed her mind. Deep inside, she knew she could trust him with Jamie. ‘Oh, dear, look at him,’ she said. ‘Happy as a lark. If you really don’t mind, I would be ever so grateful if you’d babysit. Jamie’s been a bit…unused to people for a while but he’s really taken to you. I don’t think he’ll give you any trouble.’
To her relief, Connor’s face relaxed. ‘That’s settled, then. I need to grab a couple of things. Do you want to come and have a quick look at the house? Check me out?’
Zoe called Jamie and they walked up with him. Connor offering to babysit was the last thing she had expected. He hardly knew them, she was renting the house that he’d wanted to keep to himself, and the first thing Jamie had done was to break his gate! And yet…and yet, deep down, she knew perfectly well that there could easily be something between them if they let it start, let it grow. She tripped and he took her arm. Even though her mind was in turmoil, she was aware of the warmth of his hand on her bare skin. In another life she might have wanted that warmth to spread all over her body. But she wasn’t in another life. She was right here, right now and, however her body felt about his, could she really trust her son to a man she’d only met a few days ago? A man who’d been uneasy about offering this favour.
Things are happening too quickly, she thought, hurrying with him. It was as if she was being taken on a journey without knowing where the end would be. She hated that. It had happened too many times before. But at least Connor was being purposeful, where Neil had been mercurial. There was a difference.
Connor’s house was big. It was built in the same grey stone as the coach house and she guessed it was about a hundred years old.
They entered the house through French windows and walked quickly through what was obviously his living room. Zoe couldn’t help slowing as she looked round. You could tell a lot about a person from their choice of furnishings. What did this room tell her about Connor?
It was a very spare room, a very male room. The pictures on the white walls were photographs of mountain scenes, of rivers, of climbers, all grinning for the camera even though they were only perilously attached to sheer rock-faces. There was a rich red Persian carpet on the polished floor but not much furniture—and what there was, was modern. She thought that the large mahogany fireplace, beautifully polished, was crying out for a set of family photographs. Or anything, really. This room desperately needed a woman’s touch. And the room felt unused.
Stop it. Stop thinking like that. No more relationships. Not ever. I don’t trust them and I don’t trust the feelings they raise in me.
He realised she’d stopped following and came back. ‘Don’t tell me. You’re thinking this room needs flowers and ornaments and scatter cushions.’
The tone was deadpan, but the astonishing thought that he might be teasing her was beguiling. ‘It’s very rude to read a person’s mind like that,’ she said reprovingly.
‘The house is mostly self-defence. Too cosy and the family would be over more often.’
He was leading her through an equally minimalist hall and together they entered what was obviously Connor’s study. Zoe could see at a glance that this was where he really lived. It was a room for working, reading, listening to music or just sitting. It was a comfortable room, lived in, slightly untidy. Two walls were covered with bookshelves. Against a third wall was a roll-top desk with a computer station to one side. Large windows looked out onto the garden and in the centre of the room was a massive easy chair with a stool to rest your feet on. A room made for masculine comfort. One man’s masculine comfort. There wasn’t a place for anyone extra. The only out of place touch was a defiantly girly pin-board crowded with children’s photos and homemade birthday cards.
‘Present?’ said Zoe with a grin.
‘How did you guess?’
Jamie was looking at the cards. ‘To Uncle Connor with lots of love. Is that you?’
‘Yes. My niece Arabella likes drawing pictures, just like you.’ Connor picked up a file and a sweater from the back of his chair. Then he murmured, ‘Zoe, shouldn’t you ask Jamie first?’
‘I doubt it’s necessary. Jamie, I’ve got to go out so would you like to have Dr Maitland look after you and put you to bed?’
Jamie beamed. ‘Does that mean I can go on the swings again?’
Zoe smiled. ‘If you ask nicely.’
‘Hooray.’ He grabbed Connor’s hand. ‘Come on, Uncle Connor.’
Uncle Connor? Zoe followed, startled. She wasn’t sure she was quite ready for that!
Chapter Four
‘SORRY to drag you out like this,’ said Jo as Zoe got out of the car. She opened the rear door. ‘We’ll just get Jamie settled and then…Where is he?’
Zoe straightened her uniform unnecessarily. ‘Connor was showing us his play area when you rang, so he offered to babysit.’
A wide smile appeared on Jo’s lips. ‘Fabulous.’
Zoe ignored her. It wasn’t fabulous at all. Distinctly unsettling was more like it. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To see a friend of mine. We’ll go in my car. Lock your bag in the boot of yours, then no one can accuse us of interfering.’
‘Are you meddling again, Jo?’
‘Visiting a poorly friend isn’t meddling. Get in; I’ll tell you as we go. Barbara Reagan used to be one of our receptionists, worked for us straight from school. Lovely girl. Quiet, but always helpful. Anyway, she married Roy, who she’d known for years.’ Jo hesitated, choosing her words. ‘He’s good-looking, bit of a Jack-the-lad, and was brought up in a family where the man’s always the boss.’
‘Go on,’ said Zoe. She’d come across that sort of chap before.
‘Roy came to the surgery one day in a very belligerent mood demanding a sick note. Sam wouldn’t give it to him. Said there was nothing wrong with him that doing without beer for a day or two wouldn’t cure. Roy went ballistic, told Barbara she was leaving right there and then, and hustled her out.’
‘Poor woman,’ murmured Zoe. She knew what it was like being at the whim of a more dominant partner.
‘A week later she resigned. Said she loved Roy and she knew he loved her, so she was doing the harmonious thing and getting a job at his firm instead. It must have worked, because she was pregnant soon after. She was still registered with us, but Roy always came with her to the appointments and picked fights incessantly with the midwife, telling her all the advice was rubbish.’
‘I know the style. Don’t tell me—his mother had fourteen kids and worked until she dropped each one and none of this namby-pamby vitamins and bed-rest.’
Jo grinned. ‘That’s the sort of thing. The birth was difficult. Roy objected to the follow-up care—said it wasn’t necessary—and signed them both on with another practice.’ Jo sniffed. ‘I’m not being unprofessional when I say we’re picking up a lot of their patients. Anyway, Barbara was pregnant again after three months. Last thing she needed. Fortunately, it was an easier birth this time.’
Zoe lo
oked at her friend’s profile as she pulled up outside a pleasant terraced house. ‘Jo, she’s with another practice. We can’t go in there.’
Jo’s lips were set in a line. ‘She was one of ours! Part of the team. I’ve kept in touch and when I spoke to her this evening she sounded at the end of her tether. Said she couldn’t cope with the babies, her doctor didn’t care and all Roy wanted was his tea on the table at six o’clock and to go out to the pub with his mates every night. I know what I think the matter is—I want a friendly second opinion.’
Zoe sighed. Only too often medical and social work were mixed up. It was a case of doing what you could and hoping other professionals were suitably caring. ‘As a friend, then,’ she said.
The front door wasn’t locked. Jo walked straight in, shouting, ‘Barbara! It’s me, Jo Summers. I’ve got a friend with me.’
There was no answer, just the crying of a very young child.
Zoe followed Jo. The living room showed that it had been decorated by someone with an eye for colour and line. There were glass vases with silk flowers in them, photographs of a smiling couple. But the place was a mess. Papers and baby clothes on the floor, a general air of neglect. Zoe wasn’t surprised. The first few months after having a baby were tiring. And two babies, so close together, would be hard indeed.
Barbara was slumped in a chair, the crying infant on her lap. The older child was lying in a cot, wailing in sympathy. As they entered, Barbara looked up but neither smiled nor spoke.
It was a situation Zoe recognised at once. ‘Baby blues,’ she murmured. ‘How much time have we got?’
Jo grinned broadly. ‘I knew it. And I was hoping you’d suggest that deep-relaxation technique of yours. We’ve got time. I’ll put the kids to bed. You work on Barbara.’
‘Ahem. I’m not working, remember? I’m talking to her as a nice new relaxing friend.’
Barbara showed no objection to handing over her child. Zoe knelt by her chair, considering her white face, the eyes puffy with tears. ‘First we have to calm you down,’ she said. ‘Lie back, shut your eyes, rest your hands on your knees. Now breathe in through your nose, as deeply as you can.’ Zoe put her hand on Barbara’s abdomen. ‘I want you to feel the air here—not in your chest but here, lower down. Okay?’ A moment later she felt the swell that indicated that Barbara was doing as she was told. ‘Now hold it a minute…now breathe out as quickly as you can, through both mouth and nose.’ Again, Barbara was obedient. ‘Good. Now do exactly the same again. In through the nose, as deeply as you can, feel your belly swell…good.’
Village Midwife, Blushing Bride Page 5