A Nurse to Trust Page 5

  ‘Do you think it’s the husband’s attitude that’s at the root of the trouble?’ asked Clare as she tidied the couch and disposed of soiled swabs.

  ‘It certainly sounds as if he might be one of those arrogant men who only value sons. It makes you sick, doesn’t it? But I also think her GP was incredibly negligent. There must have been any number of signs and symptoms pointing out that things weren’t going well. She’s a real mess inside, poor woman, and needs a lot more done to tidy her up. But I think it’s obvious that most of her problems are emotional at this moment.’

  He looked grim, his lips pressed together, his square chin jutting forward, his usually kind eyes hard.

  ‘What I would like to do,’ he grated, ‘is to have a word with both Mr Kemp and that poor woman’s GP. I’m not letting this one go, even if he is a fellow medic.’

  Fortunately Dan was able to put Susan Kemp’s problems out of his mind by the time he showered and changed that evening in preparation for his supper date with Clare. He’d been apprehensive, but he hadn’t mentioned the solicitor’s letter at all that day so it obviously couldn’t be troubling her that much.

  He arrived on Clare’s doorstep carrying a bottle of good red wine and a box of expensive hand-made chocolates from the confectioner’s in town.

  Clare was looking cool and curvaceous when she opened the door to him. She was wearing a shift dress of some blue silky material which reminded Dan of her interview suit.

  ‘Isn’t it a lovely evening?’ she said, not asking him in at once but stepping out to join him on the path. ‘All blue and gold, a perfect June evening.’

  She’s all blue and gold too, thought Dan, in that dress and with her hair shining like a halo. He felt large and clumsy and tongue-tied but, dragging his eyes away from her and looking up at the sky, managed a hoarse, ‘Perfect. Lovely evening!’

  Clare slid him a sideways glance, obviously wondering why he looked anxious and sounded so gruff.

  ‘I hope that you’re hungry,’ she said, waving him in front of her though the door. ‘I’ve been following one of Aunt Marjory’s recipes, but I think I’ve cooked far too much food.’

  Dan pulled himself together. He couldn’t go through the whole evening behaving like a star-struck boy. Anyway, he wasn’t star-struck, just a bit out of touch, wining and dining an attractive woman who was shortly to be his colleague. And obviously she didn’t mind too much about the bequest or she wouldn’t have greeted him so warmly.

  ‘It smells out of this world,’ he said, his voice, to his relief, coming out sounding quite normal. ‘When did you find the time? You’ve been at the centre most of the day.’

  ‘I was able to prepare some of it this morning. I can manage work and socialising, you know.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure I will be doing an Oliver Twist, and asking for more.’

  Suddenly feeling more at ease, he handed Clare the bottle and box of chocs with a broad grin. ‘Please, don’t say that you’ll have to go on a death-defying diet if you even nibble one of these,’ he pleaded.

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ Clare took his offerings from him. ‘My grandfather calls me “a good trencherman”, and it’s true. I love my food and I’m lucky enough to burn up the calories before they have a chance to settle anywhere conspicuous.’ She looked down at herself and grimaced. ‘I’m not fashionably reed thin, but I’ve long got over the need to blindly follow fashion. I feel comfortable as I am.’ She gave Dan a dazzling smile that rocked him on his feet.

  Dan looked at her silently for a moment, digesting what she’d said. Then he murmured softly, tilting his head back and squinting at her through half-closed eyes, ‘You sound almost too good to be true, Miss Clare Summers. A woman at peace with the world. How refreshing.’

  Clare raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you teasing, Dr Davis, or being a touch sarcastic? While you’re considering your answer, will you, please, open this?’ She handed him the bottle of wine and fished in a drawer for a corkscrew.

  ‘I’m neither teasing nor being sarcastic,’ Dan replied, ‘just genuinely surprised. I haven’t met many women who are satisfied with their lot.’ His voice was suddenly hard. ‘Most married women seem to be hell-bent on changing their husbands while pushing them up the career ladder. Or they’re unhappily married to arrogant thugs who want to control them…’

  ‘Like Susan Kemp?’ Clare suggested. He nodded. ‘And women who aren’t married?’ Clare continued, surprised at the bitter note in his voice. ‘How do you rate them?’

  His frown pulled his eyebrows together and his kind hazel eyes went bleak. ‘I find it hard to quantify them,’ he replied. ‘I admire many of them, fighting to get the top jobs away from men. Not easy even in these days of supposed equality. But I do wonder if it makes some of them happy. Having got there, they have to go on struggling to stay ahead, often leaving broken relationships behind them.’

  Was he speaking from personal experience? Clare wondered. She still knew very little about him, except from the Hopkinsons that he was divorced. They would have told her more but, bearing in mind that he was soon to be her boss, she had discouraged them. It smacked of disloyalty to be in possession of information that he would have told her himself had he wanted her to know.

  But whatever problems his life contained or had contained, he seemed very mixed up in his approach to women. Having seen him in action, she was sure that he was a caring doctor. He had to be to have thought up the idea of the mobile surgery and fought for it for so long. And the way he had spoken about taking medical care to those who couldn’t make it to the health centre was touchingly sensible.

  ‘We’ll be able to save some of them days of pain and discomfort,’ he’d said when they’d lunched at the Golden Fleece.

  ‘If they can’t get to the surgery, they often don’t like to ask for a visit until it is almost too late. They’d rather suffer in silence, which is just not on. Hopefully, taking the surgery to them will help put matters right.’

  Clare suddenly became aware that whilst she’d been letting her mind ramble Dan had been quietly watching her, the uncorked bottle of wine in one hand and the corkscrew and cork in the other. She was also conscious of the deep silence that had descended on the room.

  Her cheeks flushed slightly. ‘I’m so sorry, how rude of me. I was…’

  ‘Mulling things over?’ he suggested, his mouth widening into a smile.

  ‘Something like that.’ Returning the smile, Clare took the bottle and corkscrew from him and placed them on the sideboard. ‘We’ll give it a few minutes to breathe. It’ll be perfect with Aunt Marjorie’s meat dish,’ she added. ‘But what about a drink before we eat? I’ve got bottled beer in the fridge, or a G and T or—’

  ‘A cold beer would be fine, thanks.’

  She took a frosted bottle from the freezer compartment and handed it to him.

  ‘My word, I’ve never had it this cold.’ He laughed, passing it from hand to hand.

  ‘Trick of the hotel trade, learned from my parents.’ Clare chuckled. ‘Wet the outside of the bottle and stick it in the freezer for a short while. Bingo, a bottle that is not only cold but looks cold.’ She took out another bottle, tall glasses and a bottle opener from the sideboard. ‘I thought we’d sit in the garden while we’re waiting for dinner to finish cooking. It’ll be about twenty minutes.’

  Her calm and relaxed air was catching, thought Dan as he followed her into the garden. He needn’t have been uptight about spending the evening with her. They’d already talked easily together, and there’d still been no mention of his bequest from her aunt.

  They seated themselves in the deckchairs by the pool, cocooned in the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine. Dan said, waving his hand at the dainty, almost lifelike statue of Alice, ‘I don’t intend taking her away, you know, she belongs here. But since your aunt has given her to me, I would appreciate a glimpse of her from time to time.’

  Clare stopped in the middle of pouring her beer into a tall glass. ‘I’m sorry,
I’m not with you, I don’t understand.’ She looked bewildered. ‘My aunt has bequeathed you what?’

  It was Dan’s turn to stare. ‘You haven’t read the letter from your solicitor yet, have you?’ He sounded astonished and slightly accusing. ‘It’s the reason that I’m here, remember?’

  ‘Oh!’ Clare put down the half-empty bottle and pressed the cold glass to her lips. ‘I forgot all about it. What with being so long at the hospital yesterday and—’

  ‘The hospital?’ Dan interjected explosively.

  ‘I accompanied Cath when she went for her X-ray. Arthur wasn’t up to it. As you thought, there’s no fracture.’

  ‘I know—they phoned and told me. I also warned the ambulance people that they would be collecting two old people, and they promised to see them there and back. So how come you ended up by going? Did Arthur chicken out?’

  ‘Not exactly. I rather think that Cath was more worried about him after his scare. He’s still a bit wobbly.’

  Dan took a large swallow of his drink. ‘Those two. They’re so protective of each other. You’d think that they were newly-weds.’

  ‘I know, it’s wonderful. They were actually at school together. All that devotion—it’s hard to imagine, isn’t it? Eighty years together.’

  She sounded rather wistful, Dan thought. Had there been, or was there, a man in her life with whom she would like to have ended her days?

  ‘Well, I’d better read my letter before I get sidetracked once again,’ Clare said.

  She came back into the garden a minute later with the open letter in her hand. The relevant passage was repeated within.

  ‘To my good friend and doctor, Daniel Davis, I bequeath to his care the garden statue which we call Alice, and which I know he much admires. A small token of gratitude for all that he has done for me.’

  Clare felt a pang of disappointment at the thought of losing Alice. She had already grown very attached to the pretty little figure that graced the pond.

  Her thoughts must have shown on her face, for Daniel said softly, ‘But I’m not taking Alice away. She belongs here, she would be most unhappy in my little flat. I’ll be quite happy as long as I can visit her occasionally.’

  She smiled. ‘If you’re sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘Then, of course, you can visit her any time you like. And thank you.’

  They smiled and both drank some beer, then Clare looked at her watch. ‘Dinner will soon be ready. You can tell me more about Aunt Marjory while we eat. My parents know little about her last few years, and I know even less. But you must have built up a rapport with her for her to leave you Alice. Clearly it was a much-loved possession.’

  Dan took in a deep breath and Clare watched his broad chest expand and stretch the material of his silk shirt.

  ‘Well, the codicil says it all really. She wanted me to have Alice because I’d always admired her and she knew that I would take care of her. You see, although she wanted her property to remain in the family—and as her god-daughter, she thought that you were the most appropriate person to inherit—she did say on one occasion that she didn’t know if you would value Alice, and she knew that I would.’

  He finished the last of his beer and stood up.

  ‘I don’t know its full history, only that she had this strong attachment to it. I felt that it had something to do with a past lover who was very special to her.’

  Clare smiled as she stood up herself. ‘Now, that sounds very mysterious and romantic. What a pity we’ll probably never know the whole story.’

  The dinner passed off perfectly.

  Aunt Marjory’s recipes lived up to their promise. Clare and Dan talked more and more easily. They both admitted how much they were looking forward to going on the road the next day. It was really shop talk, yet it didn’t feel like that. The evening began to cocoon them in a warm rosy glow of contentment that came from sharing hopes and dreams. They left the dinner table and sank into the comfort of deep armchairs, feeling well fed and quite at ease.

  Perhaps it was the wine she had drunk on top of the earlier beer, but Clare suddenly found herself saying with a giggle, ‘Well, did I pass your test today?’

  Dan smiled at her curiously. ‘What test?’

  ‘You weren’t actually short-staffed. You wanted to see me work at firsthand to make sure I didn’t go wobbly again as I did when I was treating Cath…’

  Her voice trailed off as she saw the expression on his face hardening. Suddenly she felt very sober.

  ‘I’m sorry…I just thought that’s what it might be. Obviously I was wrong.’

  ‘I wouldn’t play that sort of trick on anyone,’ Dan said stiffly, ‘especially where work is concerned. You assured me you were all right yesterday, and I took you at your word. That was all there was to it.’

  ‘My mistake,’ Clare said lamely.

  ‘That’s all right,’ Dan said.

  But the companionable mood was shattered and they both knew it. Dan finished his drink in silence, looked at his watch and said flatly, ‘Well, I must be going now. Thank you for a lovely dinner, Clare.’

  And in a minute he was gone.

  Clare sank her head against the inside of the front door as she closed it after him. Every time she had anything to do with Dan away from work it seemed that this sort of thing happened. How could she keep saying the wrong things like that? Was she coming down with chronic foot-in-mouth disease or something?

  For another two minutes she continued to curse herself before her spirit rebelled.

  No, why should she take all the blame? How was she to know he’d react like that? It wasn’t as though she’d accused him of anything so terrible. But the suggestion had hurt him, she could see that. Well, she didn’t know what sort of private emotional minefield surrounded Dan Davis. He was obviously unusually touchy about some things, but unless he chose to confide in her this sort of misunderstanding was going to keep on happening. The sensible thing would be to keep well clear of him.

  Except that was completely impossible.

  They would be spending all day tomorrow working together for the first time in the close confines of the mobile surgery.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JANE SMART called to Clare the moment she walked into the health centre foyer the next morning.

  ‘Better hurry up. The ceremony starts in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Clare asked, bemused.

  ‘The send-off for the mobile surgery. They’re making a show of it. There’s the chairman of the combined authorities committee, the local paper and TV people—’

  ‘What? When was this arranged?’

  ‘A couple of days ago. Sorry, didn’t anyone tell you? I did put a notice up.’

  Clare sighed. ‘I must have missed it. I’ve been rather busy the last couple of days.’

  ‘Well, tidy yourself up, dear. Your public awaits.’

  Despite the early hour, quite a little crowd had gathered in the car park. There were staff and friends, and some long term-patients and supporters of the centre and the mobile surgery project.

  Clare saw Dan already in their midst before she had a chance to speak to him privately. A look of unspoken understanding flashed between them. This was work, it said, and they had to put on the right professional public face. We’ll keep everything else for later.

  They were all interviewed and photographed, and the authority chairman made a speech, which acknowledged that the original suggestion had come from Dan Davis. ‘And we are indebted to him,’ he concluded, ‘for all the hard work he and other health centre staff have done to get this new and innovative project off the ground.’

  And only then, finally, were they allowed to start off on their real work.

  ‘Can I have a word about Mrs Hutchinson?’ Dan said that afternoon, as he stood filling the doorway of her minuscule office. ‘I’ve put her in your treatment room. She’s very bronchitic and her legs are like tree stumps—filled with fluid, taut, red,
hot and painful to touch. I don’t know how she’s managing to walk on them.’

  ‘Sounds like cellulitis,’ said Clare, looking up from her keyboard. ‘I suppose she’s another of our stoics.’

  ‘Yep. Typical of the older generation, with a distrust of what they consider charity and a fear of being a nuisance to her neighbours. She admits that they would have probably run her in to Trewellyn, but she didn’t like to ask for help. She’s on my list, but I hadn’t realised how long it has been since I last saw her.’

  He slumped against the doorjamb and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I knew that the mobile surgery was needed, but not just how vitally. We’re lucky to have had only one Mary Miller incident. To think that this is being reflected all over the country with so many bus services having been axed.’

  ‘Well, we’re doing something about it now. What’s the treatment for Mrs Hutchinson?’

  ‘Give her legs a light massage with some appropriate cream or lotion that might reduce the skin tension, and then make up these meds, please.’ He handed Clare a couple of prescription sheets. ‘As you see, I’ve put her on frusemide. I’ve warned her that it’s a powerful diuretic and she’ll be going to the loo a lot, but you might need to emphasise that. I’ve also told her that if the Co-Dydramol doesn’t take care of the pain, she must phone the surgery and I’ll give her something stronger.’

  ‘OK. Uh, I see that you’ve written her up for a mild antibiotic. I’d have thought a stronger one might be more appropriate to deal with the cellulitis.’

  She’d already found out in the few hours they’d been working together that Daniel didn’t in the least mind her making suggestions about diagnosis or medication.

  ‘I’m afraid something stronger might affect her bowels adversely, and I feel that she has enough problems to cope with at present.’

  And that, thought Clare a few minutes later as she gently spread witch hazel gel on Mrs Hutchinson’s grossly swollen legs, was what made him a good doctor—despite any other hang-ups he might have. He had a talent for getting onto a patient’s wavelength.