he said economically, and thrust a mug into her hand, taking his and standing by the window.
She sat down among the tangled blankets and sighed.
‘I’m sorry you had to sleep on this; it can’t have been comfortable,’ she offered, and he shrugged.
‘I’ve known worse. Don’t think about it. You needed the bed more. I’ll put the heating on in the house today and get it aired for you. You can sleep in your own bed from tonight.’ He turned to face her, and found himself trapped again in the clear grey pools of her eyes.
‘I’m sorry about your grandfather,’ he apologised, dragging his eyes away from hers with difficulty. I didn’t realise you hadn’t got the letters. I suppose the post is a little primitive?’
Her mouth lifted in the beginnings of a smile. ‘Something like that. And the clinic is mobile, so that makes us even harder to find. We only got the Christmas cards last week!’
Sam’s shoulders sagged. ‘I’m sorry, I—I would never have told you like that.’
She lifted her hand. ‘Please, don’t worry. It really doesn’t matter. The end result would have been the same.’ She fiddled with the belt of his dressing-gown for a moment, then looked up. ‘Is his car still in the garage? I’d like to go——Is he buried——? Oh, hell!’
She fumbled in the pockets, and Sam thrust a handful of tissues into her hands and waited while she pulled herself together.
‘He was buried in the churchyard. If you can hang on until after surgery I’ll take you later, but first I have to go down to the village shop and get some food in before I can offer you breakfast.’
She nodded, and drained her tea. ‘Do you mind if I have a shower?’ she asked.
He glanced at his watch. ‘No, do it now. The water’s hot. I’ll go and sort out the heating in the house.’
He disappeared through the door on the landing, and Lydia stayed where she was for a moment, nursing the still-warm cup and trying to sort out her feelings.
He had been so foul to her last night—understandably, really, if he had thought that she had come back just to claim her inheritance. And yet today he was patient, kind, understanding … She could see now why Gramps had spoken of him in such warm words, almost as if he were the son her father had failed to be.
Which brought her to the next problem.
Sam came back into the room, and she voiced her thoughts almost unconsciously.
‘How long do you think it will take you to find another practice?’
As AN opening gambit, it was not an unqualified success.
Sam froze in his tracks, turned slowly to Lydia and glared at her with hostile disbelief.
‘Let me get one thing perfectly straight,’ he said coldly. This is my practice. Understand? Mine. Officially, legally, all signed and sealed and recognised by the relevant authorities. It is not up for grabs, I am not going anywhere, and it is not open to discussion. If you want a job I suggest you pick up a professional journal and find out what’s available—because this one isn’t.’
He ran down the stairs, and she yelled after him, ‘How dare you speak to me like that in my own house?’
He stopped halfway and ran back up, pointing at the connecting door. ‘That’s your house, Miss Moore. The heating’s on, so’s the electricity. I’m going to the village shop. I suggest you get your things moved off my property by the time I get back.’
He turned on his heel and ran back down the stairs, and a few seconds later Lydia heard the surgery door bang and then the revving of a car engine.
He shot off the drive with a spray of gravel, and the sound seemed to release her from her trance. She leapt to her feet and ran into the bedroom, wrenching off his dressing-gown as if she could distance herself further from him by doing so. Then she snatched up her things, dashing away the tears that would keep gathering on her lashes and clogging up her view.
Damn him! How dared he speak to her like that? How dared he throw her out? First thing on Monday morning she was going to see her solicitor to find out about the will, because one thing was certain—living next to him was going to be insufferable!
She dragged her cases along the floor to the landing, opened the door and half dragged, half carried them up the three steps to the main part of the house. She got them as far as the door of her bedroom, and then collapsed on the landing floor in tears.
Why was she always rejected? First her father, then her mother, then Graham; even Jim Holden had found someone to replace her. And now the one person who had always had time for her was gone, and in his place was a cruel, unfeeling career doctor, who was probably hideously efficient and hated by all her grandfather’s patients. Well, damn him!
She forgot his kindness of this morning, his caring and compassion, the way he had given up his bed for her. Gone was all memory of his arms cradling her against his chest, soothing her until her grief had run its course and she was quiet. Instead she remembered only his harsh words, and the fact that he had thrown her out.
‘Your practice, indeed! We’ll see about that!’ she yelled at the door, and, scrubbing away the last of the tears, she pulled on her clothes, ran downstairs to the hall and picked up the phone, dialling with shaking fingers.
‘Hello? Sir James? Hello, it’s Lydia Moore. I’m sorry to disturb you at home,’ she began, all ready to launch into the fray.
‘Lydia, my dear! How are you? I was so sorry to hear about your grandfather—a tragic loss to the medical profession, not to mention you … tragic loss.’
Lydia swallowed. ‘Yes, it was. I wish someone had let me know——’
‘We did try, my dear, but there was no time. The end was quite quick, I gather. And of course Dr Davenport was wonderful to him. Got a locum in at his own expense so that he could be with your grandfather till the last. Like a son—better than a son, if you’ll forgive my saying so.’
Lydia could. She had grown used to the idea that her father had been a cruel and unfeeling man, but she really didn’t want to listen to Sir James praising Sam, either!
He continued, ‘Harry was extremely fond of him, y’know. They became very close over the months, and nothing was too much trouble. I understand he’s left him the practice premises—very appropriate, don’t you think? He certainly deserves them. What are you going to do about the rest of the house?’
Lydia frowned. In the face of so much praise from the chairman of the local branch of the FHSA, she could hardly criticise Sam without sounding whining and ungrateful, so she stalled. ‘I haven’t made a decision yet, Sir James. It all depends on where I end up working——’
‘Nice little practice up near Diss needs a new partner—might consider a young woman, given the right encouragement. Want me to have a word?’
Here
