by Ramsay, Anna
Kate spooned portions of fresh orange jelly and dolloped thick yoghurt on top.
'I will. I promise. I'll take a fortnight, go and stay with Olwen.' See Ben, she thought with a leap of her heart. 'Did I tell you, Olwen's singing at the Ladywell Festival's summer season. She's the star, of course. It's The Merry Widow and she's Madame Glavari.'
'Not very appropriate I'd have thought.'
'Well,' said Kate sadly, 'it has been nearly four years.'
'Do you think she'll marry again?'
'Well,' said Kate slowly, 'I'd like to think so. Olwen's so lovely and she's such a sweet woman. Dad wouldn't want her to waste her life grieving.'
James's appetite was coming back. He helped himself to more lasagne and salad while Kate topped up their wine glasses.
'I've heard Ladywell House is stunning. Very grand and with a huge deer park. Olwen says it's terribly romantic.'
I should offer to take Kate, mused James. Sounds like the perfect place to propose. But it would mean sitting through this Widow thing and I'm tone deaf. My idea of torture and that's a fact.
Besides, she's quite ambitious is Kate. Won't want to think about getting married till she's been made a ward Sister. Wouldn't be fair to ask her…
James changed the subject. 'Will that old couple water the garden for you? You've spent a fortune on plants.'
Kate propped her chin in her hands. 'Diana Diamond kind of steamrollered me. I just haven't had a minute to think about the practicalities.' She'd bought roses and clematis, and then there was the vegetable bed. All would need watering …
An hour later when James drove back to his flat, it was all arranged. He would stay and caretake while Kate was away. He even offered the use of his car because he couldn't see how she would manage without. He'd use her bicycle to get to work.
That night in bed Kate couldn't get to sleep. Her mind was whirring. Going to Foxe Manor with Tom would get them both out of the charged and claustrophobic atmosphere of Room 27. But it wouldn't put a stop to those increasingly vivid dreams that were growing way out of control every night. Some mornings when she went into her patient's room for the first time, she had to steel herself not to blush when she saw him face to face. It was quite ridiculous for a woman of mature years. She'd be twenty-six in December. And she'd never blushed as a teenager so why was it threatening her now?
Because even the Chief Nursing Officer would dream in her sleep if she had to nurse Tom Galvan for weeks on end! Kate giggled into her pillow and felt much better for the vision of a lovesick Mrs Harris making sheep's eyes at the neuro-surgeon over her bifocals.
Even with the window flung wide, the room felt stuffy, her throat tickly and dry. She went to the bathroom and gulped down cold water. In the mirror over the washbasin she stared at her lustrous-eyed reflection. How pink her cheeks looked tonight, all rosy and healthy. Back in bed her head seemed to be floating six inches above the pale blue pillowslip.
All will come right at Foxe Manor, she reassured herself drowsily. Our relationship will lose its intensity in all that lovely space. Tom and I won't be shut up together any more. It will lessen the impact of finally having to say goodbye to my patient and go back to being just another face in the hospital corridors …
Chapter Nine
'Mr Galvan was discharged two weeks ago.'
'Which nurse went home with him?' asked Kate, her voice cracking with dismay.
'Now please don't feel you let your patient down, nurse. Everything has worked out for the best.'
'I – I see,' Kate managed faintly. Her eyes were glistening. She did hope Sister Carter wouldn't notice.
'Dr Diamond changed her schedule and got the use of a friend's place in Provence. She and Mr Galvan are down there enjoying lots of glorious sunshine and vitamin D. Do him the world of good, that will.'
Kate mumbled something and stared at her polished black shoes.
'But the job's still open – if you feel sure you want to take it. The question is, Wisdom, are you fit?'
Kate's head jerked up so fast she almost ricked her neck.
'It was only 'flu, Sister Carter!' Kate was fighting to keep a big broad grin off her face. Her happy heart was doing the butterfly stroke inside her chest.
'And a particularly nasty virus, so Dr Mallory told me. Fortunately only you and Tanya Bird succumbed.'
'Oh poor Waz! I mean Tanya.'
'Thank goodness Dr Diamond took control of the situation and whisked our Tom away to convalesce in France. You could have heard my sigh of relief all over St Crispin's. Mrs Harris's too.'
But Kate was puzzled. 'I wonder why she changed her mind? I got the impression Dr Diamond's mega busy.'
'Certainly didn't race here to visit him,' Judy Carter commented drily. The telephone on her desk shrilled. 'Yes? Yes, indeed. She's right here in my office. Nine-thirty? It's almost that now. Okay. Will do.'
She beamed at Kate. 'Mrs Harris would like to see you. Trot along right away. But remember I'm expecting you up here with me for the rest of the day, so don't let her go sending you back to Casualty.'
* * *
Kate pulled into the verge and studied Tom's drawing. Don't rely on sat-nav, he'd warned. Follow my directions.
She must be somewhere near the left-hand turn. Half a mile, perhaps? She pulled down the driving mirror. Do I look as tense as I feel? she wondered, sweeping rosey lipgloss over her full mouth and blotting with a tissue till just a gentle sheen of colour remained.
She wanted to look nice for Tom, though didn't want to think about why. Because if she did think about why, she shouldn't be taking this job.
On the crest of a low hill where a line of larches stood sentinel was the open gateway marked on the pencilled sketch-map. The private lane leading down to the Galvan lair.
Nervousness formed a dry lump in her throat. Nursing Tom Galvan in his own home was going to be very different from having him safe on Maynard with the back-up of an entire medical team.
'Any problems—you phone me,' the amiable Professor Davy had reassured her. 'No need to be afraid. Any time, day or night, I'll come galloping down like the Fifth Cavalry.'
'That's very good of you, sir.'
'Should be plain sailing now, though. Mrs Harris tells me you two have been getting on like a house on fire.'
Kate's eyebrows shot to her hairline but her surprise went unnoticed. 'Smashing place, Foxe Manor, beamed the prof. 'Needs a fortune spent on it, of course, but you'll love it all the same. Get Tom out of his study and take him for some bracing country walks. Make him use an orthopaedic walking stick for balance. Tell him I said it's a must. I'll get one sent down for you from Occupational Therapy.'
The stick was in the back of the car. Kate knew it would cause trouble.
Now the lane was spiralling down and all concentration was needed, watching out for what lay around the next corner. The lanes frothed with the white starry flowers of Queen Anne's Lace. A few late primroses gleamed like pale stars from amongst the dark ivy wreathing the steep banks. The hazel hedgerows were a tender glowing green. For a city girl it was another world.
How on earth, marvelled Kate, foot hovering over the brake, does Tom get out of this place in an emergency?
Then all of a sudden the vista opened out and the caretaker's slate-roofed cottage came into view, set against a backdrop of low green hills.
And behind the cottage, nestling snug into the hollow, lay the spread of a small medieval manor house with its later Tudor wing forming an L-shape. Kate idled the engine on the rutted track and stared at Tom's home.
How could a neuro-surgeon afford this?
Gentle May sunshine bathed the ancient stone with a glowing golden wash. Not a soul was to be seen, but in a corner an empty milk crate and several black plastic dustbins brought the twentieth century to this timeless place.
Several tumbledown farm buildings lay at the end of the pot-holed lane, and she could see an orchard that was one pink and white sea of appleblossom.
Kate pulled in a
t a spot where her car wouldn't be anyone's way, switched off the engine and got out. Everything was so green. So fresh. Who would have thought there were so many shades of green or that green could be as beautiful as a flower garden.
The smell of freshly-cut grass hung on the air and now she could see a man with a scythe working under the apple trees. Birdsong was everywhere like a surround-sound … and was that a cuckoo?
For several seconds she stood with her eyes closed, inhaling the sweet refreshing air, her head thrown back to face the sun, almost dizzy with the assault upon her senses and the feeling she would open her eyes and find herself back in the fourteenth century.
Could the infuriating, high-energy, workaholic Mr Galvan really live here? And where was he?
Tom, in his study above the Tudor front door, was finding it hard to concentrate. Shouldn't Kate be here by now? He had offered to pay for a taxi but she said if he sent her a map she would drive herself.
Looking out for her approaching car Tom stared down at the valley road. Yes, he'd definitely heard the faint noise of a car engine. He slipped his arm back into its sling, grinning to himself. If Kate saw him trying to use both hands he'd be in big trouble.
'Mr Tom! Mr Tom! The nurse is here!' called Bess.
Tom ran a hand through his shorn hair. A French barber had given him a French cut and it felt great in the heat. 'Okay Bess, I'm on my way.'
Deep mullioned windows stared down at Kate. She imagined eyes up there watching her, ghosts from the past curiously examining this stranger with her little silver Smart car.
She opened the car boot and lifted out her wheelie case, shielding her eyes from the sun and waiting for her pounding heart to settle down.
In just a few minutes she would see him again. And how would he be? Irritable? Difficult? Resenting her intrusion into his home, this nurse they were inflicting on him …
Tom strode out into the sunlight, excited as a small boy at the prospect of seeing Kate again and welcoming her into his home. Those two weeks with Diana had been all indulgence. They'd got on fine, just as they always did. And the sex was okay. Just that, okay. Maybe it was because he was hors de combat. Maybe because he was wishing he was with someone else …
My god, it was good to be back here in his own home. And with gentle Kate. Who could be really fierce when she felt he was putting himself at risk.
And there she was, waiting uncertainly by that quirky little car. Mermaid hair loose over her shoulders, flowery cotton dress with little sleeves and a scoop neckline. Long bare legs on view almost to mid-thigh.
What a vision, thought Tom. What a sight for a man's eyes!
Dazzled by the sun, Kate pulled her sunglasses from their perch on her hair and settled them on her neat nose.
Now she saw him. Now she saw Tom!
There he stood in the shadow of that arched porch. Her breath caught in her throat as he stepped out of the gloom and came to greet her. Tom in rumpled cargo shorts, his strong legs tanned to a deep brown, blue linen shirt faded by the Provençal sun.
Tom, with his hair cropped and the beginnings of a dark beard with just a few strands of silver, his teeth gleaming white against his smiling bronzed face.
You could be George Clooney's younger brother! she thought, her knees turning weak at the sight of him.
'Gertie!'
That broad grin told Kate she was welcome. His right arm swung as he strode towards her, the injured one cradled in a sling of yellow-print Provençal cotton, made by Diana from a tablecloth she'd ripped in half, the empty sleeve of his shirt pinned up to keep it out of the way.
'Hello Tom, I'm pleased to see you looking so well,' she said, trying to sound businesslike rather than heart-on-sleeve happy. 'How do you like my new friend Lottie?' she asked, pulling off her sunglasses and waving them at her car.
'New, is it? Very cute,' he said, 'you two make a lovely pair.'
Kate expected him to shake her hand, keep a suitable distance for a patient greeting his nurse, ask her how the drive went which would give her the chance to tell him his map was … But Tom had other ideas and she found herself grabbed and almost lifted off her feet as his good arm circled her waist and she was pulled hard against his chest. His head came down to hers and he kissed her on both cheeks – longing to kiss her mouth but knowing that would just frighten her away.
Kate gasped and smiled and clung to him, quite forgetting she had come there for strictly professional reasons, her face rubbed pink from his soft beard.
From the kitchen window Bess goggled at the two of them, the master of the house – and the nurse! 'This is going to be interesting,' she twinkled. 'Just wait till I tell my Stan.'
Tom was feasting his eyes on this rare sight - his mermaid girl in a thigh-high flowery dress with her long brown hair picking up coppery-gold highlights in the rays of the sun.
He knew it now. There was no doubt about it. He loved Katie Wisdom and could not have made a more impossible choice of lover. As if choice had anything to do with it!
'Gertie -' he began.
Kate pouted up at him, her mouth tempting, her body pliant and yielding.
'No more Gertie,' she scolded breathlessly, with a tilt of her head and a teasing glance from under her long lashes. 'If you call me Gertie I won't answer! I'm Kate or Katie. Let's start as we mean to go on.'
'Excellent idea,' murmured Tom, reluctant to release her. This was a most desirable start and one he was more than happy to continue.
But he knew he must go gently, not frighten her away in her funny little car. 'I hear,' he murmured, 'that you've been quite ill. No, don't try to deny it.'
Kate was silently shaking her head, her sweet-smelling hair tickling his chin.
'I've had my holiday. Now it's my turn to look after you.'
'What!' Kate came to her senses and pulled out of his grasp – only to find her legs seemed made of cottonwool. She hadn't been here five minutes and already things were spiralling out of control! Obviously Tom had decided he needed any professional help. He planned to turn her stay into a kind of holiday. This was not the kind of start she'd envisaged – no, not at all. She had let herself down professionally. She must take back control.
'Come and meet Bess, my housekeeper. Bess and Stan live up there in the cottage. They're worth their weight in gold. Without their help I wouldn't be able to keep this place going.'
Kate banged shut her car door and grabbed her wheelie case, only to have it lifted from her grasp.
'My word, you do travel light,' he commented, swinging up her case as if it were light as a feather. 'Follow me.'
Her eyes darted here and there, drinking it all in as Tom led her into Foxe Manor where dappled patches of light from the mullioned windows cast patterns on grey stone flags worn smooth by the passage of hundreds of years of feet. Tom went on ahead, opening doors and ushering her through with proud courtesy. They crossed a dining hall with an oak refectory table and an enormous fireplace blackened by the smoke of centuries and stepped out into the main entrance hall with its great oak door which stood open so that Kate could the wide drive through the valley beyond. Tom must have been expecting she'd come via that route. How could she have missed it?
'Now we're in the Tudor part of the building,' explained Tom. And down this short flight of steps is the kitchen.' He ushered her in as if she were a VIP guest. 'Kate this is Bess. Bess, here's my special nurse, Kate Wisdom.'
The kitchen was a surprise - large, warm and light, with creamy walls and a big red Aga. Ivory cupboards and dressers looked freshly painted even though they had obviously been there for many years. Open shelves displayed china and from a rail hung gleaming stainless steel pans.
The floors were slate flags, with faded old rugs by the sink and the Aga range. The scrubbed-pine table was surrounded by an assortment of wheelback chairs and working at the table was Bess, kneading bread on a big floured board.
Stretching and folding, kneading and stretching, so sure of what she was doing that h
er hands continued their work while with curious eyes she examined the woman she'd just seen Tom cuddling out there in the sunshine. Bess had thought nurses wore blue uniform dresses, sensible shoes, black tights and a frilly cap. And here was a tall skinny girl with long loose hair, wearing a cotton slip of a dress and red sandals, milk-pale and pretty beside her big healthy patient.
Who's going to be looking after who? thought Bess wryly. Don't look nothing much wrong with Tom nowadays, and once that arm of his gets going he'll be back doing them operations me and Stan just marvel at. If only his Gran could see him now …she'd be so proud of him and George! What good lads they've turned into.
'Can't shake hands, Kate. Pleased to meet you m'dear. You like a coffee? Tom love, make the nurse a coffee, there's a good 'un.'
'May I have a drink of tap water? I can help myself.'
'Course you can, me dearie-o. There's glasses on the draining board.'
Tom was there before her. 'The water's good – comes from our own spring.'
'And one for yourself,' Bess heard the nurse say. 'I hope you're drinking plenty.'
Bess grinned to herself. She could just picture the grimace on his lordship's face. Doctors – bless'em.
Kate came and stood next to her, watching closely. 'Will you teach me to make bread, Bess? Mine turns out a bit heavy.'
'We'll make an expert of you,' chuckled the older woman, her body small and lean under her big white apron. 'Tom showed you your room yet?'
'Just about to do that,' he said, putting his good arm across Kate's back and steering her out of the kitchen. 'Bess, dear, I'll have my lunch on a tray in the study. It'll give you two a chance to gossip.
When they were gone, Bess pummelled the dough with new vigour. She wouldn't see seventy again and her energy wasn't what it used to be. Sometimes she thought it might be time to get one of them there machines to mix the bread. But that girl had filled her with ideas and while her hands moved automatically her thoughts were flying ahead…
Now that's the kind of girl suit our Tom, she told herself. Diana don't like this place and if you ask me she's not the marrying kind. They've been together what … five years? Had their bit of fun. Now they ought go their own ways, so they ought.