as they met the challenge in his. ‘I have a logical brain. I don’t believe in being swept off my feet.’
He stared at her for a long moment. ‘No. Which is why it’s likely to happen. Love strikes when you’re not looking for it.’
‘That’s measles,’ Alice said dryly, reaching for a pile of results that needed her attention. ‘Talking of which, little Fiona Ellis has been terribly poorly since her bout of measles last winter. I’m going to check up on her today. See if there’s anything else we can do. And I’m going to speak to Gina, the health visitor, about our MMR rates.’
‘They dipped slightly after the last newspaper scare but I thought they were up again. The hospital has been keeping an eye on Fiona’s hearing,’ David observed, and Alice nodded.
‘Yes, and I gather there’s been some improvement. All the same, the family need support and we need to make sure that no one else in our practice suffers unnecessarily.’ She rose to her feet and smiled at her partner. ‘And that’s what we give in a small community. Support and individual care. Don’t you think you’ll miss that? In London you’ll end up working in one of those huge health centres with thousands of doctors and you probably won’t get to see the same patient twice. You won’t know them and they won’t know you. It will be completely impersonal. Like seeing medical cases on a production line.’
She knew all the arguments, of course. She understood that a large group of GPs working together could afford a wider variety of services for their patients—psychologists, chiropodists—but she still believed that a good family doctor who knew his patients intimately was able to provide a superior level of care.
‘You’ll like Gio,’ David said, strolling towards the door. ‘Women always do.’
‘As long as he does his job,’ Alice said crisply, ‘I’ll like him.’
‘He’s generally considered a heartthrob.’ There was a speculative look on his face as he glanced towards her. ‘Women go weak at the knees when he walks into a room.’
Great. The last thing she needed was a Romeo who was distracted by everything female.
‘Some women are foolish like that.’ Alice stood up and reached for her jacket. ‘Just as long as he doesn’t break more hearts than he heals, then I really don’t mind what he does when he isn’t working here.’
‘There’s more to life than work, Alice.’
‘Then go out there and enjoy it,’ she advised, a smile on her face. ‘And leave me to enjoy mine.’
GIOVANNI MORETTI stood at the top of the narrow cobbled street, flexed his broad shoulders to try and ease the tension from the journey and breathed in the fresh, clean sea air. Above him, seagulls shrieked and swooped in the hope of benefiting from the early morning catch.
Sounds of the sea.
He paused for a moment, his fingers tucked into the pockets of his faded jeans, his dark eyes slightly narrowed as he scanned the pretty painted cottages that led down to the busy harbour. Window-boxes and terracotta pots were crammed full with brightly coloured geraniums and tumbling lobelia and a smile touched his handsome face. Before today he’d thought that places like this existed only in the imagination of artists. It was as far from the dusty, traffic-clogged streets of Milan as it was possible to be, and he felt a welcome feeling of calm wash over him.
He’d been right to agree to take this job, he mused silently, remembering all the arguments he’d been presented with. Right to choose this moment to slow the pace of his life and leave Italy.
It was early in the morning but warm, tempting smells of baking flavoured the air and already the street seemed alive with activity.
A few people in flip-flops and shorts, who he took to be tourists, meandered down towards the harbour in search of early morning entertainment while others jostled each other in their eagerness to join the queue in the bakery and emerged clutching bags of hot, fragrant croissants and rolls.
His own stomach rumbled and he reminded himself that he hadn’t eaten anything since he’d left Milan the night before. Fast food had never interested him. He preferred to wait for the real thing. And the bakery looked like the real thing.
He needed a shower and a shave but there was no chance of that until he’d picked up the key to his accommodation and he doubted his new partner was even in the surgery yet. He glanced at his watch and decided that he just about had time to eat something and still time his arrival to see her just before she started work.
He strolled into the bakery and smiled at the pretty girl behind the counter. ‘Buongiorno—good morning.’
She glanced up and caught the smile. Her blue eyes widened in feminine appreciation. ‘Hello. What can I offer you?’
It was obvious from the look in those eyes that she was prepared to offer him the moon but Gio ignored the mute invitation he saw in her eyes and studied the pastries on offer, accustomed to keeping women at a polite distance. He’d always been choosy when it came to women. Too choosy, some might say. ‘What’s good?’
‘Oh—well…’ The girl lifted a hand to her face, her cheeks suddenly pink. ‘The pain au chocolat is my favourite but the almond croissant is our biggest seller. Take away or eat in?’
For the first time Gio noticed the small round tables covered in cheerful blue gingham, positioned by the window at the back of the shop. ‘Eat in.’ It was still so early he doubted that his partner had even reached the surgery yet. ‘I’ll take an almond croissant and a double espresso. Grazie.’
He selected the table with the best view over the harbour. The coffee turned out to be exceptionally good, the croissant wickedly sweet, and by the time he’d finished the last of his breakfast he’d decided that spending the summer in this quaint little village was going to be no hardship at all.
‘Are you on holiday?’ The girl on the till was putting croissants into bags faster than the chef could take them from the oven and still the queue didn’t seem to diminish.
Gio dug his hand into his pocket and paid the bill. ‘Not on holiday.’ Although a holiday would have been welcome, he mused, his eyes still on the boats bobbing in the harbour. ‘I’m working.’
‘Working?’ She handed him change. ‘Where?’
‘Here. I’m a doctor. A GP, to be precise.’ It still felt strange to him to call himself that. For years he’d been a surgeon and he still considered himself to be a surgeon. But fate had decreed otherwise.
‘You’re our new doctor?’
He nodded, aware that after driving through the night he didn’t exactly look the part. He could have been evasive, of course, but his new role in the community was hardly likely to remain a secret for long in a place this small. And, anyway, he didn’t believe in being evasive. What was the harm in announcing himself? ‘Having told you that, I might as well take advantage of your local knowledge. How does Dr Anderson take her coffee?’
All that he knew about his new partner was what David had shared in their brief phone conversation. He knew that she was married to her
