was Finn reducing her to tears of disappointment and confusion. What a weapon!
No way was she handing him that on a plate. She was polite, courteous, but distant—and out of a room whenever he entered it.
It worked—to a point. By eleven-thirty, however, he’d had enough, and came and tracked her down in her room where she had just finished with the last patient.
‘All done?’ she asked brightly.
‘No, I’ve got to put some stitches in a nasty leg wound—one of our visitors slipped on a hill path this morning on the dewy grass and cut his leg on a bit of old rusty iron sticking out of the ground. I wondered if you could give me a hand?’
She nodded. ‘Of course.’ At least with the patient between them things couldn’t get too personal, she reasoned.
She had reckoned without her response to his presence. It was enough that Finn was in the room. He didn’t have to look at her or talk to her or touch her—all of which he did, of course, while he was working. Nothing personal, all strictly professional, but it was enough to drive her to distraction.
Finally they were finished, and Mr Gibbs was asked to come back on Wednesday to have the stitches checked and the dressing changed.
Janna quickly cleared up, then headed back to her room, leaving Finn organising a prescription to be delivered that afternoon from the dispensary at the main surgery in Craigmore.
She was about to escape when he reappeared in her doorway, lounging comfortably against it and cutting off her retreat.
‘What now?’ she asked, a little shortly.
His eyebrows rose. ‘Sorry, am I holding you up on your visits? I just wanted a word about Betty Buchan. She seems to be getting more and more confused.’
‘She is,’ Janna agreed. ‘Her neighbours worry about her, but they keep tabs on her and let me know if they think anything’s wrong. She reports to them daily on the phone.’
‘If she could remember what time of day it was,’ Finn said drily. ‘I gather she woke the shop in the middle of the night again to order her groceries.’
Janna had heard about that. It was getting more difficult to see the funny side of Mrs Buchan’s confusion now, and Janna was increasingly worried about the elderly lady’s safety.
‘I’ll go and see her again,’ she told Finn quietly. ‘I think it’s maybe time she went into some sort of care. I’ll see if I can persuade her.’
‘Won’t her family mind if you interfere?’
‘What family?’ Janna scoffed. ‘They don’t give a damn. Someone has to take responsibility, and her family won’t.’
‘Or can’t?’
‘Won’t,’ Janna said firmly. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘Yes—Janna, have I got something contagious?’
Her smile faded. ‘Contagious?’ she said in mock innocence. ‘You tell me.’
‘Janna, stop it. We need to talk.’
‘No, Finn,’ she corrected, ‘you need to talk. What I need is to get on with my rounds. Please lock the door on your way out.’
And with that she walked away from him for the third time. She wondered how many more times she would get away with it.
Not many, she suspected—not unless he had changed even more than she imagined.
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