mean to stop her moving in? For a moment her confidence failed, but then she remembered the papers she had signed.
She lifted her chin. ‘I’m afraid I do. I have a contract, legally binding on both of us. Excuse me.’
‘No.’ He took the box from her. ‘It’s heavy; you shouldn’t be lifting this on your own.’
‘Yes, well, unfortunately I don’t have the luxury of a pet gorilla to do the heavy work—and anyway, how the hell do you think it got into the van?’
The strain of the move, the upheaval and uncertainty, and then on top of it all the man’s unfriendliness were suddenly too much for her. She felt the hot sting of tears behind her lids, and turned quickly away before he could see.
She was too slow, however, and a second later his fingers snaked out and caught her chin, turning her back to face him.
‘Tsk-tsk. Not tears—really, you should have outgrown that childish little trick by now, Dr Harris. It really doesn’t work——’
‘Damn you, leave me alone!’ she gritted, and, gripping his wrist, she wrenched his hand away from her face. ‘I really don’t need any more from you in the way of criticism and condemnation. I may not have any control over the fact that I am a mere woman, but I don’t have to stand here and listen to you insulting me without any justification—’
She whirled away, furious with him and with herself for the scalding tears that splashed over and ran down her cheeks. She clamped her fingers over her mouth to trap the sob which threatened to rise and complete her humiliation, and then, quite unexpectedly, his hand came down, warm and firm and reassuring on her shoulder.
‘Catherine, I’m sorry,’ he said softly. ‘You’re right, I was way out of line and I apologise.’ He gave a rueful chuckle. ‘At the risk of sounding like a chauvinist, why don’t you go and make a cup of tea while I bring this lot up?’
She should have enjoyed her victory, but she was too tired to care. ‘The kettle’s in the van,’ she said wearily.
‘There’s one in the flat—and tea and coffee and milk. Agnes put some in this morning. Go on, you’ve obviously had enough, and I could do with a cup myself. I’m sure you’ll make it better than me.’
‘Patronising oaf,’ she muttered under her breath.
‘Stubborn, mule-headed feminist,’ he shot back. ‘Tell me this, if you hurt your back humping all this lot upstairs, who is it who’ll have to cover your sick leave?’
‘I don’t have a bad back,’ she replied with a return of her old fire, ‘and for your information I haven’t had a day off for myself in five years!’
‘Yet,’ he muttered provocatively.
She was just turning back for another go at him when Joan appeared at the top of the steps.
‘Cathy, have you—? Oh! Company—and help. How wonderful!’
She clattered delicately down the cast-iron stairs and paused just above him, her curiosity barely in check. ‘I’m Joan Harris, Cathy’s mother-in-law.’
Max juggled the box to his left arm and held out his hand. ‘Max Armstrong.’
Joan’s smile broadened into one of real warmth. She came down the last steps and shook his hand firmly. ‘Dr Armstrong—Max. I’ve heard so much about you. How kind of you to come and help. Cathy’s had so much to do, and she was working right up to last night. I don’t think she’s had a wink of sleep, but she never complains. It is good of you to offer to carry the boxes upstairs for her.’
Cathy groaned under her breath. She could almost hear the violins!
Or was it the sound of Max’s smothered laughter?
‘My pleasure, Mrs Harris,’ he said with a smile that was almost civilised.
Joan shot Cathy a keen look. ‘I’ve got an idea—why don’t you go upstairs and tell Max where to put everything, and I’ll try and sort things out logically in the van—oh, and you could make a pot of tea while you’re up there—I could just murder a cup!’ and Cathy, comprehensively outmanoeuvred by a pair of masters, grumbled up the stairs and put the kettle on.
By the time the tea was brewed the van was nearly empty, and the three bedrooms and the little sitting-room were piled high with seemingly endless boxes.
As for Max, he was almost charming, and Joan, despite her advancing years still an excellent judge of what she described as ‘horseflesh’, declared him later to be absolutely perfect.
‘I couldn’t have made him better for you myself,’ she said as Cathy and Stephen left her house the following day. ‘He’s just what the doctor ordered!’
‘In which case, it’s time the little men in white coats came and took the good doctor away,’ Cathy said laughingly, then, with an affectionate hug and kiss, she slid behind the wheel of her little car and set off for Barton-Under-Edge.
They had spent the night with Joan in Bristol having returned the van, and were going to spend the day unpacking before Stephen started school the following day, and Cathy was using her final week’s holiday to settle them in and do a bit of homemaking—the last chance she would have before she started her new job.
Delphine, the au pair, arrived on Tuesday, by which time everything was unpacked and ready.
She was a delightful girl, and Cathy, much to her relief, liked her on sight. So, more importantly, did Stephen, and as he was also settling in well at his new school it was with a light heart and in a thoroughly optimistic frame of mind that Cathy set off for work the following Monday morning.
Considering that they were living on top of each other, Max had maintained a remarkably low profile during the previous week; apart from a visit from Stan the gardener, to tell her that she and Stephen could feel free to use the area of garden beyond the stables, and Agnes the housekeeper popping in to ask if there was anything she could do, they had had no contact with their landlord, and Cathy was beginning to think that renting his flat wouldn’t be so bad as she had first feared.
Working with him, however, would be a totally different kettle of fish, she was certain. Still, she was on firm ground there, and not even he could shake her confidence in her ability as a doctor.
Her first patient, however, was less enthusiastic.
A well-dressed, athletic-looking man in his early thirties, he walked into the room, took one look at her and stopped in his tracks.
‘Oh.’
She glanced down at the notes. ‘Mr Carver? Do come in. I’m Dr Harris. Take a seat.’
He hesitated, and then with a resigned sigh he lowered himself into the chair she had positioned beside the desk, and gave her a wary smile.
‘I wasn’t expecting a woman,’ he offered.
She grinned. That’s equality for you. For years women have expected their doctors to be men. For some reason men find it uncomfortable when the boot’s on the other foot, but don’t worry, the most important thing is that I’m a doctor. Now, what can
