A Nurse to Trust Read online

  ‘I considered that, but when I saw the advertisement it seemed almost like an omen, an interesting job turning up on the doorstep just like that. Anyway, the interview went off like a dream and, although there was plenty of opposition, Dr Davis, who’s running the show, accepted me on the spot. The mobile surgery was his brainchild so I think he had the deciding vote.’

  ‘What is he like?’ asked her mother. ‘Do you think that you’ll be able to get on with him?’

  ‘I’m sure that I will. He’s got kind eyes and a firm mouth and chin and is in his late thirties, I should think. He’s got thick, shiny brown hair like a chestnut. He’s rather stocky, with big shoulders. I imagine he’s been a rugby player.’

  Her father, on the extension, chuckled. ‘Any distinguishing marks?’ he asked in a dry voice.

  Clare frowned. ‘What do you mean, Dad?’

  Her mother said, and Clare could see her smiling as she spoke, ‘You know your father and his sense of humour. I think what he means is that you’ve given us an accurate passport sort of picture of your Dr Davis.’

  Clare laughed. ‘Dad and his sense of humour. And what do you think the doctor sounds like, Mum?’

  ‘Cheerful and dependable,’ replied Dilley Summers, ‘but with a certain toughness beneath the pleasant exterior. I think you’ll do well together. I’ve got a good feeling about this.’

  ‘You and your feelings,’ teased her husband, Patrick. ‘Anyway, all the best, Clare, love. Hope that we’ll be seeing a little more of you in the future.’

  ‘I’ll make sure you will,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll certainly be able to pop over to the Island between leaving London and starting work in Trewellyn.’

  ‘Wherever you live or work, Clare, you know you’ll always be welcome here at any time,’ her mother said.

  Clare felt a little catch in the back of her throat. ‘I know, Mum,’ she said simply.

  Her friends and colleagues at the busy central London health centre gave her a terrific send-off. Although she had only been at the centre a year, everyone seemed sorry to see her go, and Clare was touched by their sincerity.

  A year should have been enough time to forget, she mused, but it hadn’t been. She was sorry that her godmother had died, but would always be grateful to her for leaving her the house in Trewellyn and giving her the chance to move out of London with all its painful memories.

  Eating her way through mushroom tartlets and sausage rolls, Kate Knight, the manager of the centre, with whom Clare had formed a firm friendship over the year, told Clare that she admired her for going off into the wilds of Somerset.

  ‘I couldn’t do it,’ she said with a shudder. ‘The countryside is so eerie, especially at night. The noises are scary. I’m a born and bred city girl. I get withdrawal symptoms if I can’t breathe in petrol fumes.’

  Clare laughed. ‘I’ve heard other people say that,’ she said. ‘I was brought up in the country on the Isle of Wight. My parents run a small country hotel there, and some of the guests say that when they first arrive. But it doesn’t take them long to get used to it. And although I’m going to be working in the remoter areas of Somerset and Devon, I’ll be living in Trewellyn, which is a busy market town and very civilised and noisy with cars and buses and traffic jams. So you’ve no excuse for not visiting me when I get settled.’

  Kate looked doubtful. ‘This cottage of yours doesn’t have a thatched roof full of creepy crawlies, does it?’ she asked.

  ‘No, it doesn’t. In fact, it’s not really a cottage at all. It’s a two-up, two-down terraced house nearly in the middle of town, not far from the supermarket and several fashion chain stores, and—’

  ‘OK, I believe you! It’s not quite the back of beyond.’

  But she’ll probably think it is, Clare decided the morning after she moved into number three, Church Cottages. What she had told Kate was true in that the house was only a few minutes from the centre of Trewellyn. But it was divided from the main road by a narrow lane and the ancient churchyard round St Steven’s church, from which the terrace drew its name.

  The terrace had once been almshouses belonging to the church. There were a few trees bordering the churchyard, which Kate would probably view as a forest, so that even the constant buzz of traffic was reduced to a faint hum.

  Clare stood in her tiny front garden and lifted her arms to the early morning sunshine. She closed her eyes and felt the sun heating the skin of her bare arms and midriff where her skimpy top had separated from her jeans.

  ‘Bliss,’ she murmured out loud. ‘Mum was right, I’m a country girl at heart. I’ve wasted all those years in London, quite apart from…’ Don’t look back, she warned herself silently. You’re going forward from here on!

  A car cruised quietly up the lane from the direction of the town and halted outside the next door cottage. Clare wasn’t good on cars. She knew her own, a neat little Fiat, and her father’s, a rugged Range Rover, but this one simply registered as being large, silver grey and rather elegant.

  For a moment her usual calm deserted her. She couldn’t make up her mind whether to step back through the front door or duck down and examine the narrow border full of old-fashioned pinks that flowered early in this part of the world. Then she reminded herself that this wasn’t London where you avoided contact with your neighbours, but a small country town in the heart of Somerset where you were allowed to be friendly. So she stood her ground and waited for the driver to get out of the car.

  But she had to find something to do with her hands—she couldn’t just stand and stare. Fortunately there were heavenly scented early sweet peas twining up the trellis on the low wall dividing her garden from the house next door, so she busied herself picking a handful of blooms.

  The car door slammed, the next-door gate squeaked open and a man’s footsteps made short work of the cobbled path.

  Clare called brightly, ‘Good morning. Lovely, isn’t it?’ She peered between the blooms…

  Dr Daniel Davis peered back at her. He seemed not the least surprised to see her. He smiled, but it was a tired smile and his face bore a fine stubble. ‘Beautiful morning. Settling in all right?’ Even as he spoke he lifted the brass knocker on the front door of number four. He nodded toward the door. ‘Old Mrs Hopkinson,’ he said. ‘Dicey heart, has had a bit of a “turn”, as her husband put it. She’s not been well for the last few days and I’ve been popping in to see her.’

  For a moment Clare was speechless. How was it that he seemed unsurprised by finding her at number three? Then it dawned on her that the terrace had a grapevine of its own, like the small village where her parents had their hotel. Put that together with the fact that he would know her address from the records—if he’d cared to look—and that was the answer. It was a relief to come up with a rational explanation.

  She said feelingly, ‘Oh, the poor old thing. She sent Arthur round with tea and cakes yesterday when I was moving in. I had no idea she wasn’t well…If there’s anything I can do?’

  ‘I’ll tell them that you’ve offered,’ he said as the door opened.

  Before he could disappear inside, Clare said almost without thinking, ‘You’ve been on call and up half the night, the tell-tale signs are there. When you’ve finished, come in for a coffee and something to eat.’

  Another tired smile creased his face. ‘Thanks, I’d like that.’

  Clare slipped inside her door and leaned with her back against it. She buried her face, which felt hot with embarrassment, in the fragrant blooms she’d gathered. ‘Oh, you fool,’ she muttered. ‘The poor man’s probably dying to get back to his wife and family and only accepted not to hurt your feelings. Oh, well, now that I’ve asked him…’

  She put coffee on to percolate, checked the cereals and other foodstuffs that she’d brought with her from her London flat, and decided that she could give him an omelette or scrambled eggs on toast. Or perhaps the rather tired mushrooms that should be used up would be tasty fried in butter? Just as long as the toaste
r was working—it had been on the blink last night.

  At least the coffee made everywhere smell good, and now that she’d asked the man, she wanted him to enjoy her impetuous hospitality. She threw a gingham cloth, which together with most of the furniture she had inherited from Aunt Marjory, over the kitchen-cum-dining-room table, stuffed the sweet peas unceremoniously into a jug and plonked it in the middle.

  The good-natured sweet peas settled themselves into a natural bouquet. She found matching gingham napkins to the tablecloth in one of the kitchen drawers and cutlery in the drawer beside it, and blessed her godmother for being a meticulous and orderly housekeeper.

  In a few minutes everything looked welcoming in an old-fashioned way.

  There was a knock at the front door and Clare hurried to open it. ‘Do come in,’ she said, smiling and opening the door wide. In the narrow hallway she had to press herself back against the wall to leave room for the doctor to pass. She was conscious of her T-shirt stretching across her breasts as she tucked in her buttocks and pulled in her already flat stomach.

  He glanced down at her cotton-covered bosom as he slid past her. ‘These cottages aren’t exactly built for guys like me, are they?’ he commented, his eyes gleaming wickedly.

  ‘Not exactly,’ Clare admitted, trying not to blush as his tired but amused gaze glanced over her. ‘Please, go straight through.’

  ‘Thank you. My word, the coffee smells good.’ He waved a hand at the table. ‘And how nice it all looks. Miss Jessop would have approved.’

  ‘You knew my godmother?’

  ‘Yes, she was my patient. A marvellous, old-fashioned lady, though, of course, I didn’t know of the connection between you and her when you applied for the job. She had on occasion mentioned that she had a god-daughter nursing in London.’

  Clare realised that they were still standing and indicated a chair. ‘Please, sit down and have coffee while I see to breakfast.’ She hesitated. ‘Unless you’ve got to rush home?’

  ‘No, no rush.’ He looked at his watch. ‘And I’m off call now.’

  Clare moved over to the sturdy old Rayburn which still worked like a dream. ‘I don’t really remember her—Aunt Marjory, I mean. I was quite small when I last saw her. She lived abroad for many years, and when she returned to live here she cut herself off from the family, though no one knows why. I wanted to visit, but she refused to see me. It was a huge shock when I heard from her solicitor that she had died and left me this house. It’s so sad. I could have looked after her if I’d known that she was ill.’

  The doctor shook his head. ‘She wouldn’t have allowed it. She was something of a recluse and anyway she was only seriously ill for a couple of days. She had a fall in the garden. There were no bones broken, but she was badly bruised and shaken. I gave her an injection for the pain and stayed with her for a bit, then sent the district nurse around to dress a bad gash on her knee. But she died the following day. The coroner put it down to delayed shock precipitating a coronary.’

  ‘I’m so sorry that I didn’t get to know her before she died. Was anyone with her when it happened?’

  ‘Yes, I was. I’d just dropped in to see how she was doing when she collapsed. I did everything I could while waiting for the ambulance to arrive, but it was too late. In a way I don’t really feel sorry. She went quickly without too much distress. She was such a dignified person that I think hospitalisation would have killed her anyway.’

  ‘I’m glad you were with her.’ Clare took a deep breath. ‘Now, enough of this maundering. Scrambled eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes OK?’

  ‘Very OK.’ He smiled, and took a large sip of coffee.

  It was good to see him polish off his breakfast with enthusiasm, and then munch his way through a pile of toast and marmalade. They talked a lot, but about nothing personal, neither giving away anything about their private lives. Their conversation was all about how they would work together on the mobile surgery.

  ‘You must come and see it directly when it arrives,’ he said eagerly. ‘It should be delivered any day now. It really is a miracle of design and engineering, the way it opens up to include the various work areas we’ll need. And, of course, you must meet George. He’s the ex-police driver with the HGV licence appointed to watch over us. A kind of minder. Anyway, I’ll let you know as soon as it arrives.’

  He left a little while later, wishing her goodbye and thanking her for the breakfast as they stood on the doorstep. ‘You must come and have a good look round the centre as well, of course. It’ll be your base when we aren’t on the road. Drop in as soon as you’re sorted here.’

  ‘Thank you Doctor—’

  ‘Dan,’ he interrupted. ‘Let’s dispense with formalities.’

  Clare didn’t have time to arrange a proper visit to the centre because Dan rang the next day.

  ‘It’s ready,’ he said, his voice bubbling over with excitement. ‘The mobile surgery. It was delivered a little while ago. When can you get down here to see it?’

  ‘Right now,’ replied Clare, her voice high and as excited as his. ‘I’m out of the door already.’

  ‘I’m finishing off a clinic, but I shouldn’t be long. I’ll join you a.s.a.p. Ask Jane to take you out to where it’s parked. George is already there.’

  Jane Smart, the manager of the Trewellyn Health Centre, met Clare in Reception when she arrived there a short time later.

  ‘Dan told me that he’d phoned you. He’s with a patient at the moment, but he’ll be finished soon. He’s dying to show off his new baby. He’s like a schoolboy with a football trophy, and I must say it’s worth seeing. We’ve all worked our butts off to achieve this. It took some doing to get several different health authorities to agree to fund something jointly. Come on, I’ll take you out to meet George. He’s already polishing the monster.’

  Did she sound suddenly sniffy and disapproving?

  The monster was a huge customised vehicle and stood in the walled parking area behind the health centre. As Jane had predicted, George was already polishing the windows, which already seemed quite clean enough to Clare’s eye.

  Jane introduced him to Clare.

  ‘George, here is Sister Summers,’ she said briskly. ‘Now I must leave you to it—stacks to do.’ She whisked back into the centre whilst they were still shaking hands. George scowled after her.

  ‘It’s Clare,’ said Clare, instinct telling her that first names would go down well with this big beefy man, with whom she would be working so closely.

  His grin told her that her instinct was right.

  ‘She’s a bit of a hoity-toity piece,’ George growled in the local Somerset accent. ‘Good at her work, though, but she’s had her nose put out of joint because I got this job and she’d had it lined up for someone else. But there, now, the top bods wanted me because I used to be in the force, what with all those drugs there are going to be on board.’

  ‘Dr Davis did mention that you were an ex-policeman and will be with us as a kind of minder.’

  George grinned. ‘That’s me, so you’ll be safe enough, love.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’ Clare laughed. She walked slowly round the vehicle, a monster box on wheels, running her hands along the gleaming sides. ‘She’s a beauty,’ she exclaimed. ‘I can’t wait to see her opened up.’

  ‘The doc said that we’d do that when you got here and he’d finished his clinic.’

  Daniel joined them a few minutes later. It was then that she realised that although he was solid and broad-shouldered, he was almost dwarfed by George, who was inches taller than he.

  But although George outstripped him in sheer bulk, he had a very strong presence. An aura of strength and decisiveness emanated from him. And also, she mused with a small inward smile as they stood side by side, he has a nice line in cologne. Without a doubt, he was the boss.

  They both wanted to show her the intricacies of the surgery on wheels. George started up the engine while Dan pressed buttons on a control box. Hydraulics hissed an
d the main bodywork split and miraculously unfolded like a cubist flower. In a couple of minutes it was as though a health centre in miniature had grown in the car park, complete with divided areas forming the surgery, office and waiting room. A flight of steps had even unfolded itself leading up to the main entrance. They climbed aboard.

  The pharmacy on the other side of the vehicle was double-doored and had a grilled window. There was even a small cloakroom with a corner basin between Daniel’s office and hers.

  Everything that could be done had been done to make the venture safe and efficient. And when it was opened up, because it was so cleverly designed and lit to seem light and airy, it actually appeared quite spacious.

  The tiny office interested Clare. A lot of her work would circulate round here, she thought, calling up notes and adding data to each patient’s file. She would also, she realised, have to use this limited space to do dressings and give injections, since there was no separate treatment room. She wasn’t sure this could be managed.

  ‘Could we screen off a little of the waiting area?’ suggested Daniel, when she voiced her doubts about doing nursing procedures in the office.

  ‘A few feet is all I need,’ Clare told him. ‘Enough for a reclining chair or couch and a footstool, and room for me to move around. I really need to get to both sides of a patient. But it must be proper screening, curtains won’t do. There’s a question of patient privacy.’

  ‘Yes, I should have anticipated this. Of course you need more room and privacy. But don’t worry about it. There are extra partition panels that can be clipped into slots on the floor and ceiling…see there? I’ll have some sent over from the manufacturers. Should only take a couple of days to sort out.’

  George, who had disappeared for a few moments while they were talking, reappeared. ‘Doc, don’t like to interrupt you, but do you realise what the time is? Don’t worry about this lot.’ He patted the side of the vehicle as he had earlier. ‘I’ll keep an eye on her.’