He gave a rather abashed smile. ‘I’ve got the file here. I can’t have read it properly,’ he admitted. ‘It does indeed say you’re female—I’m afraid I just looked at your name, Terry Younger, and assumed they’d sent me a man.’
‘Well, they haven’t pulled the wool over your eyes, have they? Anyway, here I am!’
He blinked at her forthright attitude, and his mouth twitched with amusement. ‘You are indeed! Sit down for a moment.’ He put the file down on the desk and looked at her curiously. ‘You’ve got some excellent references and it seemed you had a good job in London. What made you want to leave?’
Terry had been expecting that question and even though she’d rehearsed her reply many times, she felt her throat constrict and to her ears her voice sounded rushed and breathless.
She swallowed, trying to let the half-lies she was telling seem light and matter-of-fact. ‘I…I felt it was time for a change. I’ve been living in London since I qualified. I love the outdoor life and it’s been a dream of mine to work in Scotland in a rural area for a long time.’
‘Can’t be easy, leaving friends and family in the South…they’ll surely miss you,’ he remarked, his clear eyes flicking over her searchingly. Her heart began to thump. Did he suspect that there’d been something amiss in her past?
She forced a smile. ‘Oh, I’ve not got much family down there now, although of course I shall miss some things,’ she said. ‘But it’s good to have a change, and I like the idea of being in a small community.’
‘A small remote community. Why choose Scuola—why not the mainland?’
‘When the agency mentioned the job and I looked the place up on the internet, it looked so beautiful—such a contrast to London. And remote sounds rather good to me.’
‘You didn’t want a permanent position?’
‘I thought it would be nice to experience a few jobs and get around a bit, having worked in the same place for a some years.’ And the fact, she thought bleakly, that she had to resist putting down roots, uneasy that the past might catch up with her some time.
He nodded, seemingly satisfied with this explanation. ‘And do you come from a medical family? Are either of your parents doctors?’
She knew the question was casual, a polite enquiry to show that he was interested in her background, but she wasn’t prepared for the tight little knot of distress that formed in her throat or the way her cheeks flamed. She’d developed a kind of protective amnesia where her father was concerned but when something jolted her into thinking about him a powerful image of that terrible day when her world had stopped leapt into her mind—and the knowledge that she could never live again in London without the fear of danger always at her shoulder.
‘No, my mother was a homemaker until she passed away while I was in my teens. And my father had nothing to do with medicine…nothing at all. He was in the financial world,’ she stumbled.
Atholl said very gently, ‘Has your father died too?’
Terry nodded and swallowed, pushing back the memories. ‘Yes…he had a heart attack a few weeks ago.’
‘I’m sorry. It must be a very difficult time for you.’
Difficult enough for her to leave her roots in London, Atholl surmised. He could imagine her background—affluent and comfortable, a girl who probably went to a private school and lived in a pleasant residential area of London. A city girl…just like Zara had been, he reflected bitterly.
He was prevented from asking further questions by the door opening and Isobel coming in bearing a tray with two mugs, a teapot and a plate with some scones, butter and jam on it.
‘Here’s your tea,’ she said brusquely, putting it down on the desk. She looked in her dour way at Terry. ‘You’re not from these parts, then?’
Terry sighed. It seemed that people wanted to know a lot about her, and she wanted to tell them as little as possible!
‘No, I’m not. But it looks a beautiful place—even when it’s pouring with rain!’
Isobel’s stern face softened slightly and she said, ‘Well, I hope you’ll be happy.’ She looked sternly at Atholl. ‘Now, make sure yon lass eats these home-made scones. I’ve heated them up and she must be starving after coming all that way from London.’
Isobel nodded curtly at them both and then went out to answer the phone that was ringing shrilly in Reception.
‘I suspect Isobel’s bark is worse than her bite,’ remarked Terry.
Atholl chuckled. ‘She’s as soft as butter inside, but she’s bullied and bossed Uncle Euan around for thirty years now—she thinks she runs the practice.’
‘And is your uncle very ill?’
‘He’s making good progress.’Atholl sighed. ‘The truth is I think he’ll retire now. He was on half-time before, winding down a bit.’
‘And that’s why you needed someone else to help? Was my predecessor here long?’
A slight tightening of the lips and Atholl’s expression changed. ‘Not very long,’ he replied briefly. He got up from his seat and went over to the table. ‘Now, let’s have this tea, and perhaps we can sort a few things out.’
He handed her a cup and the plate of scones whose lovely warm smell had been wafting tantalisingly across to Terry. Suddenly she realised how very hungry and thirsty she was—it had been many hours since she’d had anything to eat. She took a huge gulp of the hot strong liquid and its warmth surged comfortingly through her, then she bit into the warm scone covered with melting butter and thickly coated with raspberry jam. No doubt about it, Isobel was a wonderful cook.
He smiled as he watched her face. ‘Ready for that, were you?’
‘I’m starving,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t care how many calories were in it!’
The blue eyes flicked over her for a second. ‘I don’t think there’s any need for you to worry,’ he observed shortly.
She noted his brief comment wryly—it was so different from the flowery response she’d have expected from Max, who had scattered compliments about like confetti—especially when he’d wanted something. How he’d loved to flatter. It made her embarrassed to remember how taken in she’d been by his patronising and glib remarks. But she’d learned her lesson now—she’d never be duped by that kind of gushing sentiment again.
She pushed unwelcome thoughts about Max to the back of her mind and put the plate down. ‘Right,’ she said crisply. ‘You wanted to sort a few things out, so fire away!’
He leaned back and folded his arms. ‘Did you mean it when you said you liked the outdoor life? To be frank, you’d be asked to do a lot of things that you wouldn’t do in London. To start with there’s the mountain rescue team that we are part of. You could be called out day or night, winter or summer—it’s not just a hike up the hillside.’
‘Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.’ Terry looked at him challengingly. ‘The agency warned me there
