Dr Cavendish is my last hope. I heard from a friend that he helped her daughter.’ She glanced behind her again. Richard was engrossed with his mobile; either playing a game or texting.
‘I’m sure Dr Cavendish will do everything he can. I’ll just let him know you’re here.’ Rose certainly hoped he could help. Nothing so far had given her any confidence in his medical ability. Oh, he was certainly charming. The way he had been with Lady Hilton had made that evident, but no amount of charm was going to help this poor unhappy boy. At the very least surely he would refer him to a dermatologist?
She buzzed through. ‘I have Richard Pearson to see you,’ she said.
‘I’ll be right out.’ He really did have a lovely voice. Deep with just a hint of a Scottish accent.
As before, he was out of his room almost before she had a chance to put the phone down. He went over to the boy and held out his hand. ‘I’m Dr Cavendish. But you can call me Jonathan, if you like. Why don’t you come into my room and we can have a chat?’
Richard reluctantly got to his feet, and scowled at his mother.
Something in his expression must have caught Jonathan’s attention. ‘Why don’t you stay here, Mrs Pearson?’ he said, his voice as smooth as silk. ‘And have a cup of tea while I talk to your son on his own for a bit. Then if you have any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them.’
‘I’d like to come in with my son,’ Mrs Pearson said stubbornly.
Richard looked at his feet and shuffled them uncomfortably.
‘Richard? What would you like? I see from your notes that you’re seventeen so I’m happy to see you on your own. However, if you’d prefer your mother to come in with you, that’s perfectly all right too.’
‘On my own,’ Richard mumbled with an apologetic look at his mother. ‘I’ll be okay, Mum. As the doctor says, I’m almost eighteen.’
Mrs Pearson seemed unconvinced. Rose touched her gently on the elbow.
‘Why don’t I get us both a cup of tea?’
Mrs Pearson watched Jonathan lead her son away, but then let Rose guide her over to one of the armchairs and sit her down.
‘I don’t really want any tea,’ she said. ‘I just want to get my son helped. This time last year he was popular and outgoing, and he seemed so happy. But ever since the problem with his skin, he’s become so withdrawn and miserable. I keep telling him that it’ll get better in time, but he says he doesn’t care. It’s now that matters.’ She drew a shaky breath. ‘I’m so scared he’ll do something silly.’
Rose sat down next to the distraught mother. ‘There are medicines that can help. It’s often just a case of finding the right one. As soon as he knows we can improve his skin, he’ll be happier. It’s too cruel that he’s been hit with this just at a time when his hormones are already all over the place.’
‘I hope you’re right.’ The woman sniffed and then looked at Rose, puzzled. ‘I guess you pick up all sorts of information working in a doctor’s practice.’
‘I guess you do.’ Rose smiled. There was no point in telling her that she had spent the last four years studying nursing, and dermatology had been one of the last modules before she’d qualified. And as for understanding teenage angst, it hadn’t been that long since she’d been through it herself. She remembered only too well how awful it felt to be the odd one out. Somehow at that age you could never accept that others had the same feelings of inadequacy and that they were just better at hiding it. Not that she could imagine Dr Jonathan Cavendish going through anything like it. She doubted that he’d had a moment’s uncertainty about his looks in his life.
She chatted with Richard’s mother until almost half an hour had passed. Eventually, Richard emerged with Jonathan. To her relief the teenager seemed much happier. He almost managed a smile for his mother.
‘So take the tablets for a week and come back and see me. If things haven’t improved substantially, we’ll think of what to do next. One way or another, we’ll get on top of this.’
Richard’s mother looked uncomfortable for a moment. Rose guessed instantly that she might be worrying about the cost of the consultation and medication.
‘Oh, and by the way, the follow-up consultations are included in the price of this appointment. I’ve also given Richard a letter to take to his GP, who’ll be happy to give him the prescription on the NHS. I hope that’s okay.’
There was no disguising Mrs Pearson’s relief. Rose warmed to Jonathan. He had done that so gracefully she doubted Mrs Pearson or her son suspected for a moment that he was lying about the cost of the consultations. It was all there in the brochure she had read that morning. Thankfully, Mrs Smythe Jones had said on her detailed list that she’d catch up with the billing on her return. So many of their patients had different arrangements for payment that it would be far too complicated for a temp to work out who was to be billed what and when.
As soon as mother and son had left, Rose turned to Jonathan.
‘What did you prescribe?’
He looked at her baffled. ‘Amoxicillin. Why do you want to know?’
Rose felt her cheeks grow warm. She hadn’t decided whether to tell him she was a nurse, but now it seemed as if she had no choice.
‘I’m a trained nurse,’ she admitted finally. ‘A practice nurse, and I not too long ago completed a course on dermatology, so I kind of wondered what you thought you could do for him. I know topical retinoids can help when antibiotics don’t.’
His frown deepened. ‘A nurse? Why are you working as a…?’ He stopped in mid-sentence.
Rose had to smile at his obvious discomfort. ‘I’m on leave from my job for a few weeks for personal reasons. I was a medical secretary until five years ago, so I’m also qualified to do this job. When I was working as a medical secretary, I realised as I typed up the notes for the doctors that what I was reading really fascinated me and I wanted to know more.’
Oops. What was she doing? There was something in the way he was looking at her with those steady curious green eyes that was making her babble. And she was usually so reticent when it came to talking about herself.
He did look genuinely interested, although Rose had the strong suspicion that was just part of his practised charm. In which case, why on earth was she telling him? But she could hardly stop now. ‘Anyway, my boss encouraged me to study for my A levels in my spare time and then apply to university, and they accepted me.’ Try as she would, she couldn’t quite prevent the note of pride creeping into her voice. She was the first person in her family who had gone to university and her parents had almost burst with pride.
‘So why are you here?’ He sounded puzzled. ‘Why didn’t you take a nursing job? God knows, this city is desperate for trained nurses.’ His eyes were casually moving up and down her body, as if he were a cat and she the cream. She should have been annoyed, but she knew it couldn’t be because he found her attractive. Not this man. Suddenly she regretted wearing her old interview suit and primly buttoned-up blouse. Nevertheless, there was something deliciously unexpected about the way it made her feel. For a second she almost forgot the question.
‘Rose?’ he prompted.
Now
