Anderson? That’s easy.’ The girl smiled, her eyes fixed on his face in a kind of trance. ‘Same as you. Strong and black.’
‘Ah.’ His new partner was obviously a woman of taste. ‘And what does she eat?’
The girl continued to gaze at him and then seemed to shake herself. ‘Eat? Actually, I’ve never seen her eat anything.’ She shrugged. ‘Between the tourists and the locals, we probably keep her too busy to give her time to eat. Or maybe she isn’t that interested in food.’
Gio winced and hoped it was the former. He couldn’t imagine developing a good working partnership with someone who wasn’t interested in food. ‘In that case, I’ll play it safe and take her a large Americano.’ Time enough to persuade her of the benefits of eating. ‘So the next thing you can do is direct me to the surgery. Or maybe Dr Anderson won’t be there yet.’
It wasn’t even eight o’clock.
Perhaps she slept late, or maybe—
‘Follow the street right down to the harbour and it’s straight in front of you. Blue door. And she’ll be there.’ The girl pressed a cap onto the coffee-cup. ‘She was up half the night with the Bennetts’ six-year-old. Asthma attack.’
Gio lifted an eyebrow. ‘You know that?’
The girl shrugged and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. ‘Around here, everyone knows everything.’ She handed him the coffee and his change. ‘Word gets around.’
‘So maybe she’s having a lie-in.’
The girl looked at the clock. ‘I doubt it. Dr Anderson doesn’t sleep much and, anyway, surgery starts soon.’
Gio digested that piece of information with interest. If she worked that hard, no wonder she took her coffee strong and black.
With a parting smile at the girl he left the bakery and followed her instructions, enjoying the brief walk down the steep cobbled street, glancing into shop windows as he passed.
The harbour was bigger than he’d expected, crowded with boats that bobbed and danced under the soft seduction of the sea. Tall masts clinked in the soft breeze and across the harbour he saw a row of shops and a blue door with a brass nameplate. The surgery.
A few minutes later he pushed open the surgery door and blinked in surprise. What had promised to be a small, cramped building proved to be light, airy and spacious. Somehow he’d expected something entirely different—somewhere dark and tired, like some of the surgeries he’d visited in London. What he hadn’t expected was this bright, calming environment designed to soothe and relax.
Above his head glass panels threw light across a neat waiting room and on the far side of the room a children’s corner overflowed with an abundance of toys in bright primary colours. A table in a glaring, cheerful red was laid with pens and sheets of paper to occupy busy hands.
On the walls posters encouraged patients to give up smoking and have their blood pressure checked and there were leaflets on first aid and adverts for various local clinics.
It seemed that nothing had been forgotten.
Gio was just studying a poster in greater depth when he noticed the receptionist.
She was bent over the curved desk, half-hidden from view as she sifted through a pile of results. Her honey blonde hair fell to her shoulders and her skin was creamy smooth and untouched by sun. She was impossibly slim, wore no make-up and the shadows under her eyes suggested that she worked harder than she should. She looked fragile, tired and very young.
Gio’s eyes narrowed in an instinctively masculine assessment.
She was beautiful, he decided, and as English as scones and cream. His eyes rested on her cheekbones and then dropped to her perfectly shaped, soft mouth. He found himself thinking of summer fruit—strawberries, raspberries, redcurrants…
Something flickered to life inside him.
The girl was so absorbed in what she was reading that she hadn’t even noticed him and he was just about to step forward and introduce himself when the surgery door swung open again and a group of teenage boys stumbled in, swearing and laughing.
They didn’t notice him. In fact, they seemed incapable of noticing anyone, they were so drunk.
Gio stood still, sensing trouble. His dark eyes were suddenly watchful and he set the coffee down on the nearest table just in case he was going to need his hands.
One of them swore fluently as he crashed into a low table and sent magazines flying across the floor. ‘Where the hell’s the doctor in this place? Matt’s bleeding.’
The friend in question lurched forward, blood streaming from a cut on his head. His chest was bare and he wore a pair of surf shorts, damp from the sea and bloodstained. ‘Went surfing.’ He gave a hiccup and tried to stand up without support but failed. Instead he slumped against his friend with a groan, his eyes closed. ‘Feel sick.’
‘Surfing when you’re drunk is never the best idea.’ The girl behind the desk straightened and looked them over with weary acceptance. Clearly it wasn’t the first time she’d had drunks in the surgery. ‘Sit him down over there and I’ll take a look at it.’
‘You?’ The third teenager swaggered across the room, fingers tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He gave a suggestive wink. ‘I’m Jack. How about taking a look at me while you’re at it?’ He leaned across the desk, leering. ‘There are bits of me you might be interested in. You a nurse? You ever wear one of those blue outfits with a short skirt and stockings?’
‘I’m the doctor.’ The girl’s eyes were cool as she pulled on a pair of disposable gloves and walked round the desk without giving Jack a second glance. ‘Sit your friend down before he falls down and does himself more damage. I’ll take a quick look at him before I start surgery.’
Gio didn’t know who was more surprised—him or the teenagers.
She was the doctor?
She was Alice Anderson?
He ran a hand over the back of his neck and wondered why David had omitted to mention that his new partner was stunning. He tried to match up David’s description of a serious, academic woman with this slender, delicate beauty standing in front of him, and failed dismally. He realised suddenly that he’d taken ‘single’ to mean ‘mature’. And ‘academic’ to mean ‘dowdy’.
‘You’re the doctor?’ Jack lurched towards her, his gait so unsteady that he could barely stand. ‘Well, that’s good news. I love a woman with brains and looks. You and I could make a perfect team, babe.’
She didn’t spare him a glance, refusing to respond to the banter. ‘Sit your friend down.’ Her tone was firm and the injured boy collapsed onto the nearest chair with a groan.
‘I’ll sit myself down. Oh, man, my head is killing me.’
‘That’s what happens when you drink all night and then bang your head.’ Efficient and businesslike, she pushed up the sleeves of her plain blue top, tilted his head and took a look at the cut. She parted the boy’s hair gently and probed with her fingers. Her mouth tightened. ‘Well,
