I take your car and drive Vicki home?’ Rose offered. ‘My insurance allows me to drive any car. That way you could see Lord Bletchley on time. It does mean there wouldn’t be anyone to cover reception, but seeing as it’s only the one patient we’re expecting, that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. You can man the desk, whereas I’m not too sure he’d like to be seen by me.’
Jonathan smiled and Rose’s heart gave a little blip. No man should have a smile like that, she thought. It just wasn’t fair on women.
‘Despite what anyone may have told you, I’m perfectly capable of answering the door.’ He dug in his pocket. ‘If you’re sure you don’t mind? My car’s parked outside. Vicki knows which one it is.’ He tossed a set of keys to Rose. ‘It has satellite navigation so you should be able to find your way to Vicki’s house and back okay.’
Ignoring Vicki’s protests that really she could manage by herself, Rose retrieved a sick bowl from the treatment room and ushered her out the door.
‘Okay, which one is his?’
Vicki pointed at a low-slung sports car. Rose felt the colour drain from her face. Although she knew relatively little about cars, she knew enough to know that the car must have cost at least as much as her parents’ house. For a second, she was tempted to go back inside and tell Jonathan she had changed her mind. But one look at Vicki told her that she needed to be at home and in bed as soon as possible. If she put a scratch on the car, Little Lord Fauntleroy would just have to live with it.
Thankfully, Vicki knew how to work the sat nav and soon Rose was threading her way through the London traffic.
‘You don’t have to hold the steering-wheel as if it’s a wild animal about to attack you,’ Vicki said with a smile.
She was right. A child on a three-wheeler would move faster. Rose forced herself to relax her grip. Now if only she could unclench her teeth, perhaps she could talk as well as drive.
But it seemed as if Vicki was no more capable of chatting than she was. The nurse leaned back against her seat and closed her eyes. Rose followed the instructions of the disembodied voice from the computer and by some miracle managed to find her way to Vicki’s house without any disasters. Now all she had to do was make it back in one piece.
‘Is there anyone at home to look after you?’ she asked Vicki as they drew up in front of a small Victorian terrace.
‘My husband,’ Vicki replied. ‘He’s a police officer. He’s on night duty so he’ll be sleeping like the dead, but I’m sure he won’t mind me waking him if I need anything. Our daughter is in nursery school.’
‘I’ll just see you safely in,’ Rose said, and before Vicki could protest, she was out of the car and around the other side, helping her out.
Vicki smiled at her. ‘Are you always this capable?’ she said.
Rose smiled back. ‘I can’t help it. I was always the Guide who finished her badges long before anyone else did. The one who got the campfire going even when it was raining. It’s social occasions that get to me. Doing is better than talking, if you know what I mean? Although I’m getting better at that. Needs must. In my other life I’m a nurse.’
Vicki frowned. ‘Why are you covering for Tiggy as the receptionist? Oops, I mean personal assistant. That’s how Tiggy prefers to be referred to. She’s a sweetheart, but she thinks it’s important everyone knows their place. Titles are important to her. And not just work ones either.’
‘The job I was offered was as receptionist. I used to work as a medical secretary before I did my nurse training. I was happy to do either since I just wanted something short term.’
Vicki pulled a bunch of keys from her bag and opened her front door. ‘I can manage from here,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry that you’ve had all this dumped on you on your first day. I hope we haven’t scared you off. Johnny will need help. Would you be a sweetheart and phone the nursing agency and find out about a replacement for me?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out. You get to bed and I’ll see you whenever you come back to work.’
Vicki grimaced. ‘God knows when that’ll be. Jonathan made me promise not to come back until I’ve stopped being sick. If it follows the same pattern as last time, it could be months.’
‘I’ll speak to him about finding someone to cover for you as soon as I get back to the office.’ Rose made her voice stern. ‘Now, inside and off you go to bed.’
By the time Rose, with an enormous sigh of relief, returned to the surgery, it seemed as if Lord Bletchley had been and gone. Jonathan was back at her desk with his feet up, flicking through the magazine Rose had skimmed through earlier. He was scowling.
‘Bloody paparazzi,’ he muttered. ‘Can never get their facts right.’ He flung the magazine aside and got to his feet. ‘How is Vicki?’
‘She was going to go straight to bed. Her husband’s on night duty, so he’ll keep an eye on her.’
Jonathan pulled his hand through his thick dark hair. ‘I can’t see her being back for at least a month. If then. Would you mind getting onto the nursing agencies? You’ll find the number of the one we use regularly in the diary. Ask if there’s anyone who could cover on a day-to-day basis for the next four weeks at a minimum.’
An idea was beginning to form in Rose’s head, but she liked to think things through before she spoke. Jonathan looked at his watch. ‘I’ll be in my room if you need me. I’ve a couple of phone calls to make.’
Could she? Should she? Rose rolled the idea around in her head. It would be the perfect solution. She was a trained nurse and there really wasn’t that much to keep her busy at the desk. Mrs Smythe Jones had told her that she hoped to be back in a week or two. Rose could combine both roles for a short time. She’d much prefer to be kept busy. And if they needed someone to man the desk while she was in with a patient, she thought she had a solution to that too.
The ringing of the door interrupted her musings. She pressed the door release and watched bemused as a teenage boy with a resentful expression was almost dragged inside by an irate-looking woman.
‘Come on, Richard,’ the woman was saying. ‘We might as well see the doctor now we’re here.’
The boy looked at Rose through long hair that almost covered his face and Rose bit down the stab of sympathy that swept over her. He had the worst case of acne she had seen outside a textbook. His face was covered with angry raised bumps and he looked utterly miserable. Underneath the bad skin, Rose could see that he could be a good-looking boy, if it weren’t for the surly expression and terrible acne. It brought back memories of her own teenage years, when she had felt as self-conscious with her height as this boy clearly did with his skin.
She smiled at the boy, knowing how embarrassed he would be feeling.
‘You must be Richard Pearson,’ she said. ‘If you want to take a seat with your mother, I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.’
All Rose got in reply was a grunt. Nevertheless he sat down, dipping his head so his hair covered his face.
His mother looked at him with a mixture of frustration and love. ‘I apologise for my son’s rudeness,’ she said. ‘He didn’t want to come.’
