again,’ he said, his warm toffee voice touched with humour. He was wearing a light grey suit and tortoiseshell specs, and looked even more like the boy next door.
What a nice smile, Polly thought, and returned it with interest. ‘Hello. I’m glad you decided to take my advice. If you can hang on a minute, I’ll see who can fit you in.’
‘Actually, it’s you I wanted to see——’
‘Oh, no,’ Polly replied, ‘you really ought to be seen by a doctor——’
His lips twitched. ‘Nonsense. All I need is a tetanus booster, as you so thoughtfully pointed out when you were tactfully trying to discover if I had AIDS——’
‘I did no such thing! You brought that up! I would never dream——’
‘You should, Pollyanna. You can’t be too careful.’
Polly pretended to scowl at him. ‘Don’t be absurd. Look at you! Unless you’ve had a contaminated blood transfusion——’
‘I could be a haemophiliac’
Polly shook her head firmly. ‘No. I’ve seen your legs. No haemophiliac has knees like that, with straight, strong joints—and anyway, you would have bled to death on my kitchen floor.’
‘There could be worse fates,’ he joked.
‘Not for my kitchen floor!’ Polly replied laughingly. ‘Now come on, out of here, please. If you go round to the window I’ll get the receptionist to make you an appointment with one of the doctors. Who do you usually see?’
‘I have more to do with Gregory than the others,’ he replied, still lounging in the doorway, an engaging smile playing around his nicely sculptured lips, his blue eyes behind his tortoiseshell specs twinkling merrily.
Polly was at a loss. How could she get him out of the reception area into the waiting-room? Short of picking him up—and he was much too big for that? probably a shade under six feet, but she knew from her contact with him that morning that every inch of him was solid bone and muscle, and at five feet three in her shoes she didn’t stand a snow-flake’s … sighing, she turned away to the desk.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘but Dr Gregory has been away on holiday and he’s rather booked up this morning.’
‘But I only want to see you, Pollyanna——’
‘The name’s Nurse Barnes, and please don’t call me Pollyanna,’ she almost snapped, turning round as she did so to find that her nose was in line with the middle of his tie, and so close that she could see the fine silk weave. She swallowed.
‘Patients really aren’t allowed in here. Please go into the waiting area, Mr—er…’
‘Ah, Polly, I see you’ve met Dr Gregory. Good, good.’ The senior partner swept in, clapped Polly’s intruder on the back and grinned at them both. ‘Good to have you back, old chap. Matt, this is our new nurse, Polly Barnes. She’s a real breath of spring.’
He smiled apologetically. ‘I know. She has the hands of an angel, as well.’ He laughed at Dr Haynes’ puzzled frown. ‘I fell in her hedge this morning, and she tended me, very sympathetically.’
Polly felt the heat rising from her toes—whether from her own humiliation or from his praise, she wasn’t sure. Scarlet, she muttered something about having to get on and excused herself hastily.
‘I’ll see you later for that tetanus jab, Polly,’ Matt called after her.
Polly smiled grimly. That could be a mistake. The way she was feeling, it could provide her with a wonderful means of revenge! ‘You do that,’ she called back, and stomped into her little room, mortified. He could have said something—anything! Rat. Low-down, sneaky, devious rat! So much for trusting him!
She was giving vent to her feelings when he stuck his head round the door and grinned. ‘Your notes,’ he said, and limped off down the corridor, whistling jauntily.
Polly wondered if he realised how close he was to having a hypodermic in the back of his neck.
The day was the usual hectic scrabble, with a mish-mash of inoculations interwoven with various other routine checks, like Mrs Major, the young diabetic who was having her three-monthly check-up.
Polly weighed her, took her blood pressure and a blood sample for the hypotest. ‘Your blood sugar’s a little on the low side, Mrs Major,’ Polly told her.
‘Oh, I’m not surprised. I couldn’t eat this morning—I tried, but—to tell you the truth, I’ve been off my food for a couple of days.’
Polly frowned. ‘I’ll get you a cup of tea and a biscuit in a minute. Your blood pressure’s down a bit, too. I don’t suppose you could be pregnant?’
Mrs Major laughed. Oh, no, Nurse. No chance. We’re always very careful—we don’t want a family yet, and James always—no, I couldn’t be.’
Polly persisted. ‘When is your next period due?’
The woman shrugged. ‘Any time now, I think. Why? You don’t seriously think I could be pregnant, do you? I’m sure—although, come to think of it——’
She flushed.
‘Yes?’ Polly prompted gently.
‘There might have been one occasion—but surely…?’
Polly smiled. ‘It only takes once, Mrs Major. Let me see if your doctor can fit you in now, just to be on the safe side. Who is your GP?’
‘Dr Gregory,’ she replied, and Polly almost ground her teeth in frustration.
‘Fine,’ she said with a forced smile, and asking Mrs Major to hang on, she went along the corridor to Dr Gregory’s room and tapped on the door, popping her head round.
He had an elderly man with him whom Polly had seen the previous week to dress an ulcer on his leg, and she smiled at him in genuine pleasure. ‘Hello, Mr Grey. How are you doing?’ she asked warmly.
Oh, not so bad, my dear. I’ll be along to see you directly,’ he told her with a twinkle.
‘Jolly good. I’ll look forward to it——’
‘Did you want something, Nurse Barnes, or is this merely a social call?’ Matt asked a trifle abruptly, and Polly straightened up like a naughty girl.
‘I’ve got a lady I’d like you to have a look at when you’ve got a minute, Dr Gregory.’
‘Fine. Hang on to her; Mr Grey and I have almost finished, I think.’
‘Fine,’ Polly gulped and shot out of his room, pulling the door to behind herself and sagging against it with a sigh. Why did he always seem to catch her at a disadvantage?
She went back into her little surgery, and continued with Mrs Major’s check-up, examining her eyes and feet for any sign of the deterioration that diabetes could cause. Everything was fine, except that she was beginning
