non-committal, not wishing to get into a discussion about Gideon with this sweet but congenitally nosy old dear—and particularly not about his wife. She had already floundered in there where angels with any sense would fear to tread. ‘How does that feel?’ she asked.
‘Better. Thank you so much, dear.’
Beth showed her out, holding the door for the fragile little woman, and as she watched her go she wondered how far the old lady had to come.
‘Mrs Robinson?’ she called, running after her. ‘Would it help you if the district nurse came to do your dressing?’
Bright eyes sparkled up at Beth. ‘Oh, no, dear—I’d miss all the gossip! Besides, I only live next door.’
Beth smiled and let her go. The exercise and change of scene was probably good for her, anyway.
David Hendry, Gideon’s smoking heart bypass patient, walked past her as she was about to go back in. She knew it was him because as he passed her he paused to speak, then raised his hand to his mouth and coughed, and Beth could hear the damage he was doing in the bronchitic rattle from his chest.
‘Nasty cough you’ve got there,’ she said conversationally. ‘Bad cold?’
‘Nah—damn fags cause that. The dreaded weed.’
She smiled sympathetically. ‘Tough giving up, isn’t it? I used to smoke myself when I was training, but I gave up when I became a staff nurse! I still remember how hard it was.’
Her patient snorted. ‘You’re telling me. I’ve tried—God knows I’ve tried, but this time it’s got to work. There’s just too much at stake.’ He met her eyes, his own pleading. ‘I gather you’re running the Stop Smoking clinic with Dr Pendragon.’
‘That’s right.’
His mouth twisted. ‘Well, I wish you luck with me. I can’t do it on my own, but I really must make it stick this time.’
She laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled. ‘We’ll get you there, Mr Hendry, don’t you worry. You’ll do it this time. I won’t let you fail.’
He met her eyes, and she could see doubt and scepticism mingled with hope in their depths.
‘I’ll see you Monday, then.’
She watched him go, a relatively young man whom lack of exercise, family history and years of self-abuse had threatened with an untimely end. Could she save him? Not alone, of course, but would her contribution make any difference to the final outcome?
She didn’t know, but one thing she was sure of— she’d have a damn good try.
Friday, and the end of the week. Beth dropped the patient records back into Reception and smiled at Molly.
‘All done?’
She nodded. ‘I hope so. I’ve got to sort some things out for the Stop Smoking clinic on Monday, but otherwise I think I’ve done everything.’
‘Good.’ Molly glanced up at her. ‘Settling in all right at the Rectory?’
‘Oh, yes—it’s lovely,’ Beth told her honestly, genuinely delighted by her accommodation. She was less sure about her boss, though. Other than strictly professional exchanges, he had been very distant since the first night—really, since she had made that remark about his wife.
How was she to know, though? The man didn’t have a brand on his forehead that proclaimed him a widower. She felt bad that she’d hurt him, even so, especially after he had bent over backwards to make her welcome.
His desperation had certainly been justified, she acknowledged. She had worked full-time these past two days to help Julie catch up with her backlog, and then from Monday would be working just the mornings and Tuesday afternoon, as planned, with the smoking cessation clinic on Monday evenings some of the time.
For someone used to working full-time, it wasn’t much. She would have to find something to fill her leisure hours. Maybe one of her elderly patients had a dog that needed walking, or perhaps she could do some shopping for one of them. She’d ask—but not now. Now, she wanted to find a shop in the square and buy something to eat tonight, and then go back and cook it and eat it in front of the television, curled up on that unbelievably comfortable sofa.
Maybe she’d take up patchwork or tapestry or something to while away the long winter evenings.
It was only September, but already the nights were drawing in and there was a chill in the air.
She said goodnight to Molly and headed for the door.
Spaghetti, perhaps, or maybe a couple of those wonderful cheeses from the specialist food shop that lurked innocently on one side of the square.
She went in and bought some dolcelatte and a slice of a sheep’s milk roulé, and then on impulse picked up a bottle of Chianti.
‘Celebrating something?’
He didn’t mean to speak to her, but it was difficult to avoid her all the time and he didn’t want to be conspicuously churlish.
She turned and smiled, the wine in her hand. ‘Not really—it just looked appealing.’
‘You shouldn’t drink alone,’ he found himself saying.
She shrugged. ‘I don’t, as a rule, but—well, I thought tonight…’
She looked suddenly wistful, and he found himself asking her to join them for supper. ‘Nothing fancy—just spaghetti bolognese, I think, tonight. It’s Will’s turn, and he always does spaghetti.’
She nearly laughed. ‘I was going to cook that for myself.’
‘So will you come?’ He found himself waiting for her reply.
‘Thank you, yes, I will. I’ll bring the cheeses—we can have them afterwards.’
Her smile brushed her eyes with gold, and he felt the ache start again, low down. Damn. Now what had he done?
‘Fine,’ he said tersely. ‘Seven o’clock?’
‘That would be lovely—if you’re sure?’
‘Quite sure,’ he lied. ‘We’ll see you then—I’ll leave the lights on.’
IN FACT it was still fairly light at seven o’clock although dusk was creeping in, but the lights made the big house seem even more welcoming as Beth scrunched up the gravel drive and rang the doorbell.
She waited for a moment, then rang it again. She could hardly hear it in the distance, over the music—at least two sorts, if not three—and the screaming of a child.
She smiled. That would be the small girl, in a paddy if she was any judge. She opened the door and walked into a scene of utter pandemonium.
