Unlocking the Italian Doc's Heart

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Unlocking the Italian Doc's Heart Page 17

by Kate Hardy


  ‘Mhairi?’

  She nodded.

  Cameron put down her paperwork. ‘Tell me what you think you can bring to this post.’

  But at that moment there was another knock on the door and Janet was there, carefully balancing a tray with cups, saucers, a teapot and a small plate of biscuits.

  ‘Thank you, Janet.’ He dismissed her and waited for her to leave the room before turning his attention back to Bethan.

  ‘I’m punctual, committed, hard-working. I’m good with patients and I know how to build a rapport with them. I believe myself to be very efficient, and I have a good talent for hearing what people aren’t saying.’

  Is that right?

  ‘What would you say are your weaknesses?’

  She shifted in her seat. ‘I get attached. I care too much, too quickly, and don’t always control my emotions.’

  He frowned. That was a red flag. He didn’t need anyone getting attached to him! Even if it was just as a friend or a trusted colleague. He didn’t need anyone to be hurt by his passing. It was going to be bad enough for Rosie. He needed strong people around to be there for her, not crying a river for their own pain.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘It’s the human element. I find it hard to create a professional distance sometimes. Especially with people that I feel I know well. I care for them. Feel for them. When they’re hurting, so am I.’

  She leaned forward, planted her elbows on his desk.

  ‘What I mean is, if I’ve been looking after someone and then I have to deliver a shocking diagnosis that’s going to affect their lives then I’m going to feel that pain with them. It will make me cry. Not whilst I’m with them,’ she clarified. ‘I’m not that unprofessional. But sometimes it can get a little bit too much.’

  She looked at him with concern, as if she were worried she’d said too much.

  ‘Actually, I’m not sure if that is a weakness.’ She smiled. ‘I think it just makes me human, and I think people like having doctors who aren’t made of steel.’

  She jutted out her chin, but didn’t meet his gaze.

  He suspected she thought she’d blown it.

  She hadn’t. Not at all. But she didn’t know she was the only applicant, and she didn’t know just how much he needed her. He had to employ her. No matter what. His time was running out. He would just keep his distance. As much as he could.

  ‘I need someone who can take over my role completely. I’m leaving the practice for a year’s sabbatical, to spend time with my wee girl, but obviously there will be a short transition period during which I will sit in with the new doctor and observe until they feel able to fly solo. How would you feel about that? Me looking over your shoulder?’

  She nodded, smiling. ‘That sounds fine.’ Then she frowned. ‘You’re leaving? Completely?’

  Cameron smiled. ‘Completely. For a year,’ he lied.

  ‘Oh.’

  Was she using that special skill of hers right now? Trying to work out what it was that he wasn’t saying? Perhaps she was. He watched her observing him, looking for clues, trying to work out why a fully trained doctor would just leave like this, but he knew she wouldn’t find the answer.

  There were no outward signs of his death sentence. Just paleness and bags under his eyes, which lots of people had, and a slowly fading headache that she couldn’t see. No one else knew either. Except family. He’d had to tell them. But everyone else just thought he’d been sick for a while and was now over it.

  Cameron leaned forward and poured them both a cup of tea, standing up to pass her a cup and saucer.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘This practice has always worked well. There’s a good team here. How would you make sure you’d fit in?’

  She sipped from the teacup. ‘I’m a local girl who’s come home. I’m sure there will be lots of questions, which I’ll do my best to answer honestly. You can’t be a GP without having good people skills.’

  He smiled. Good. ‘Do you have any questions you’d like to ask me?’

  Surely there had to be. All good interviewees were taught to ask something at this stage. To sound interested in the post, if nothing else.

  Bethan stirred her drink and he noticed what fine hands she had. Lithe fingers, short nails with clear polish. He was struck by a sense of admiration for this woman. Her husband had died and she was a widow. A single parent like himself.

  ‘There is one.’

  ‘Aye?’ He sipped his own tea, wincing at the heat of it upon his tongue.

  ‘I’d like to know if I’d have full autonomy from day one? I know you’d be observing, but how long would you observe me for?’

  He smiled. He liked this woman. She had spirit. And enthusiasm. And that mattered to him most of all. He was going to be leaving his patients in the care of someone else. Patients he had looked after for a good few years. He needed to know they were in good hands. She seemed a steady, comforting individual. Someone who—if he hadn’t had this death sentence hanging over him—he could imagine becoming great friends with.

  And for that reason he’d have to keep her at arm’s length whilst they worked together. Keep everything brief and to the point.

  ‘You’ll have autonomy. And I’d like to observe for two weeks.’

  We won’t get close.

  ‘Two weeks...’

  ‘Two weeks of me sitting in the corner and saying nothing. Unless you need me to, of course.’

  She nodded. Smiled. ‘That’s okay by me.’

  ‘Good.’

  He decided to shock her. See how she dealt with surprises.

  ‘When would you like to start?’

  * * *

  She stood outside in the bright morning sun, a little stunned.

  I got the job!

  Her first job application after a long break away!

  Dr Brodie had seemed a very likeable man. Handsome, tall, broad-shouldered... A typical Scot, if there was one, with that beautiful head of red hair. And his eyes... Such a piercing blue against those dark shadows that lurked beneath them.

  Clearly he had not been sleeping well recently. Or he was worried about something. Was it his decision to take a year off? Was he concerned about leaving his patients with someone he didn’t know? Perhaps there was something else. Something she didn’t know yet.

  It’s none of my business.

  What was her business, though, was the fact that she could start her new job next Monday! Cameron had said that Mondays were appointment days at the surgery. Tuesdays were for home visits, Wednesday was procedure day, when they’d perform small surgeries such as skin tag removal, wound care, that sort of thing, and Thursdays were for more appointments, as were Fridays.

  Weekends and evenings were usually spent on call, but they shared the on-call with the practice over in the next village, so that they did actually get some time off on alternate weekends, and he’d said they didn’t often get lots of call-outs.

  Gilloch was a small coastal village in the Highlands. She could smell the brine in the air from wherever she stood. No more than a thousand people lived here and they were of sturdy stock. And now she would be their doctor.

  Smiling, she set off back to her nanna’s, to tell her the good news. She had no doubt at all that her grandmother would be suspicious about Cameron Brodie’s motives, but Bethan was determined not to be!

  I’m going to make this work. I’m going to make Cameron Brodie see that I am a brilliant doctor and that I will be able to care for all his patients as if he were still doing it himself! If not better!

  She needed this. Wanted this.

  And now it was in her grasp.

  Life was changing now that she was back.

  Just as she’d hoped it would.

  Copyright © 2018 by Louisa Heaton

  ISBN-13: 978
1488079795

  Unlocking the Italian Doc’s Heart

  First North American Publication 2018

  Copyright © 2018 by Pamela Brooks

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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