wearing one before? he wondered.
Nancy allowed her hand to be firmly taken and shaken by his and tried to dampen the panicky feeling which was welling up inside her. Sucking in a deep breath, she forced herself to examine instead the man who seemed to be the cause of it.
From beneath the silky black cover of her eyelashes she allowed herself a brief but thorough scrutiny of the man with whom she would be working so closely for the next year.
Quite the most distinctive thing about him was his size, she decided immediately. He was well over six feet tall, with a powerfully muscular frame to match—more of a farmer’s physique than a physician’s, in Nancy’s opinion, with those strong, solid limbs and rugged features. He had a healthy looking energy about him that suggested a life spent mainly in the fresh air, rather than in the dark and smoky atmosphere of a nightclub.
And, although it was January, he was more tanned than last time she’d seen him. His skin was the deep, glowing colour produced by the sun on the ski-slopes, rather than the even tan of the dedicated sun-worshipper. His shoulders and arms certainly looked powerful enough to make light of the blackest of black runs, Nancy found herself thinking. Then she drew herself up, appalled at the forbidden paths her mind was taking. And she a married woman, too!
His deep voice interrupted her confused thoughts. ‘Do sit down. I’ll ring for coffee—’
‘Oh, please don’t, not just on my account,’ Nancy protested.
‘I’m not. It’s on mine. And don’t worry,’ he added, with the glimmer of a smile, ‘I won’t feel at all inhibited or put out by the fact that you don’t wish to join me—’
‘Actually, I’d love some coffee,’ said Nancy with sudden fervour, sinking into the chair he had indicated. She briefly closed her eyes and relaxed for the first time in days.
His eyes narrowed as he saw some of the tension ease out of her petite frame. Then he lifted the telephone on his desk to ask for coffee while Nancy cast her eyes quickly round his consulting room, wondering just how much she would be able to tell about Callum Hughes from his working environment.
His was a large, pale surgery with one huge window, the bottom half of which was glazed in frosted glass—presumably to allow for patient privacy, Nancy decided. The top of the window allowed a view of the still-bare branches of trees, etched like broomsticks against the bright blue of the winter sky.
An old-fashioned wooden playpen, standing on one comer, was filled with a variety of toys, and on a brightly painted shelf above it was an impressive line of story-books for all different ages.
So he was considerate with children, too, thought Nancy, and a funny little lurch in her chest made her feel momentarily rather uncomfortable...
In one corner of the room stood a large fish tank full of rainbow-coloured shapes that darted around plants which swayed in the bubbles of the illuminated green water.
Callum had been watching her slow appraisal, and he waited until she had finished before saying with some amusement, ‘And do you like my surgery, young Dr Greenwood?’
And then he wondered why he had said something as archaic as ‘young’! Not something he normally did. So, was his subconscious, he asked himself critically, simply using a word designed to create some kind of distance between them? And, if so, was that really necessary at this stage?
Nancy had raised her eyebrows at his terminology and as their eyes met—his rueful, hers questioning—she suddenly burst out laughing, the spontaneous sound surprising both of them. To his astonishment, he found himself joining in.
‘Young Dr Greenwood is fine, thank you very much,’ she told him gravely. ‘She adores your fish tank, and she’s just itching to get into that playpen!’
‘Did I sound very patronising?’ he asked her seriously.
‘No.’ Nancy shook her glossy head thoughtfully. ‘Not at all. You sounded—um—’
‘Paternal?’
No, certainly not paternal! ‘More avuncular,’ she prevaricated, looking up gratefully as the door of the surgery opened and in walked one of the receptionists with a tray of coffee.
Callum immediately took the tray from the receptionist and cleared a space for it on his desk, before introducing them. ‘Margaret, this is Nancy Greenwood, my new GP registrar.’
‘Hello, Dr Greenwood,’ said Margaret, giving Nancy a wide and friendly smile. ‘I hope you’ll be very happy during your time with us.’
‘And why wouldn’t she be?’ queried Callum teasingly. ‘We’ve a very happy practice.’
Margaret pulled an expressive he-must-be-joking sort of face, exclusively for Nancy’s benefit, and left them to it.
Callum poured their coffee. ‘How do you take it?’ he asked, glancing up.’
‘As it comes, please,’ answered Nancy.
He handed her a steaming cup of black and unsugared coffee. ‘No wonder you’re so tiny,’ he commented, as he added both cream and sugar to his own and offered her a biscuit.
And he didn’t look at all bad on cream and sugar, Nancy found herself thinking, accepting a chocolate digestive as her stomach reminded her that she had rushed out of the house without eating any breakfast. Not an ounce of surplus fat anywhere, by the look of him. ‘I’m strong for my size,’ she defended.
‘I’m sure you are.’ Callum drank his coffee, then put down his empty cup and leaned back in his chair to look at her, trying to view her simply as a colleague—and a married colleague, to boot—instead of as a very attractive young woman. And it wasn’t easy, he discovered, but he was at a loss to understand why. Not easy at all. ‘So, where do we begin, Nancy Greenwood?’ he asked gruffly.
‘At the beginning?’ she joked, wondering just what had made his green eyes grow so serious.
He nodded. ‘OK. The beginning it is. We’d better begin with the district itself. How much to you know about Purbrook and the surrounding area?’
‘Very little,’ responded Nancy truthfully. ‘We only moved into the area a month ago.’
We. The possessive word produced an inexplicably sour taste in Callum’s mouth but he hoped that his reaction didn’t show on his face. ‘Yes, of course. You’re married, aren’t you?’
For some absurd reason the question caught her off guard. ‘Yes, I am,’ she answered in a low voice.
‘And where do you live?
‘In Tenterdon,’ she answered, mentioning the picturesque market town which was approximately seven miles away.
He saw her look of bemusement and correctly interpreted it. ‘Don’t worry, Nancy,’ he remarked drily, ‘I’m not planning to turn up on your doorstep at odd times for surprise tutorials!’
‘I’m very pleased to hear it!’ Nancy blanched as she tried to imagine her husband’s reaction if he did!
‘Are you registered with a doctor in Tenterdon, or were you planning
