A Nurse to Trust Read online

  ‘It’s all part of the job,’ he’d said, with one of his special smiles. ‘I consider myself lucky to have you most of the time.’

  ‘And you won’t forget to—’

  ‘To fill in the drugs records book in the pharmacy—every aspirin will be noted. Now, stop worrying and make the most of your day off.’

  Later she learned that he had persuaded his colleagues and, more importantly the centre manager, to agree that as part of her job as the mobile surgery nurse she would occasionally act as a patient escort. On account of this she was given paid leave of absence for the day. It was all part of the goodwill and camaraderie that infused the spirit of Trewellyn Health Centre.

  The evident relief and gratitude in Phylippa’s voice when she phoned to tell her that she would accompany her to Exeter was an additional reward. Hearing that, Clare knew that she wouldn’t have chosen any differently even if she had lost a day’s pay. She was doing something that counted and helping make somebody’s life a little easier. When you came down to it, that was all that really mattered.

  The day of the trip arrived and Clare found herself humming cheerfully as she drove over to Middle on the Moor. The village was even prettier than when she’d last seen it shrouded with rain. It was drenched in early morning sunshine and looking delightful.

  Phylippa was flatteringly pleased to see her when she pulled up outside her cottage.

  ‘I haven’t seen anyone over the weekend,’ she said by way of explanation, leading the way from the front door to the sun-filled sitting room. ‘I’d no idea this place could be so dead at times. Have we got time for a coffee?’

  ‘I should think so. It’ll only take an hour and a half or so to get to Exeter. The only big town en route is Tiverton and that’s got a bypass. The only other hazard is sheep, they can slow you down. I thought if I got here early we could take our time. Then if you had any questions about what’s going to happen when you see Mr Mustard we could talk them over.’

  Phylippa smiled, a funny tight smile that stretched the taut skin of her moon face.

  ‘What you mean is that you guessed that I’d been lonely and, being the sort of angel you are, you decided to come early to keep me company.’

  Clare frowned. ‘Do I come over as too much of a do-gooder?’ she asked.

  ‘No way! You come over as just what you are—friendly and genuinely concerned. And I could do with a lot of that sort of thing right now. Don’t ever stop being you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Clare said simply, touched by the sincerity in Phylippa’s voice.

  The aroma of coffee drifted in from the kitchen and the scent of warm bread accompanied it.

  Phylippa poured mugs of coffee in the kitchen and brought them through to the sitting room, together with a plateful of warm rolls, butter and honey.

  ‘I cheat a bit,’ she admitted. ‘I bought the rolls part-cooked from The Tea Parlour and finished them in the Aga.’ She pushed the plate toward Clare. ‘It’s a funny thing. I’ve never been in the least interested in things domestic but now suddenly I want to cook, although I’m so damned tired much of the time.’

  She shrugged and began buttering a crisp roll. ‘The funny thing is I had a big circle of friends and work-mates in Manchester who would never have believed I would ever put on a pinny, but would have happily stuffed themselves full of anything that I produced. Now I’m here and there’s no one to cook for.’

  Clare chuckled. ‘It must be the air down here. I had no domestic talents either until I moved to Trewellyn and inherited my godmother’s recipes, as well as her house. Tell you what,’ she said impulsively. ‘Let’s exchange recipes and prepare a meal for each other once in a while. When you get back the nerve to drive again, you can come over to my place easily enough.’

  Phylippa’s tired, distorted face lit up. ‘Well, if ever I needed an incentive to drive again, that’s it,’ she said.

  Which was, thought Clare, feeling pleased with herself, exactly what she wanted to achieve. Quite apart from boosting her self-confidence to help her medical condition, she liked Phylippa and wanted to be friends.

  They had several things in common. They were of a similar age and had both lived and worked in big cities until recently, and both of them had sought out the countryside as a place of refuge. In both their cases, a man had been instrumental in the move to some degree. It suddenly struck her that if Larry hadn’t taken off to pursue his missionary work, she would have probably sold number three Church Cottages. Then she wouldn’t have found this job or met Daniel…

  ‘Penny for your thoughts’ said Phylippa. ‘You’ve gone all dreamy.’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Clare apologised, coming to with a jerk. ‘I was just thinking about how I came here.’

  For ten minutes they talked about inheriting number three, Trewellyn, the mobile surgery and, briefly, Daniel.

  ‘He’s one of the men you can trust,’ said Clare firmly.

  ‘What, one of the nought point one per cent?’ replied Phylippa with a show of disbelief.

  ‘Really. Don’t doubt it,’ Clare confirmed, slightly surprised at her own certainty.

  Phylippa’s appointment was for twelve o’clock, and they arrived in Exeter at eleven-thirty. As always it was the last bit of the journey that was the most difficult. Dodging the city traffic and then finding a parking place meant that it was five to twelve before they reported to Outpatients.

  ‘Well, at least I haven’t had time to get worked up,’ said Phylippa as she sank down onto a chair in the waiting area. ‘I just hope that we don’t have to wait too long now.’

  They didn’t. Ten minutes later a nurse came out of one of the rooms leading off the corridor and called for her.

  Phylippa stood up. ‘Come with me,’ she said, grabbing Clare’s hand.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive. And if you think of anything that I haven’t asked, please, remind me.’

  ‘OK,’ said Clare.

  Mr Mustard inspired trust from the word go. He, too, thought Clare, was one of the nought point one per cent. Tall and lanky with thick salt-and-pepper hair, he stood up and shook hands with them both when they entered his office.

  With a smile, he waved them to chairs. ‘Now, tell me, Miss Jordan, when did you start to feel unwell and why? What triggered it, or wasn’t there an obvious trigger? Did it just creep up on you? Take your time and answer in any order you want.’

  There was something about him that made it easy to talk.

  ‘First it was feeling depressed,’ Phylippa said. ‘I had a slight but constant headache. That started about six or seven months ago.’

  ‘Did anything happen at the time that might have contributed to the headaches?’

  Phylippa looked momentarily confused. ‘Well…I did split up from my partner at about that time. But I don’t see that that had anything to do with it.’

  ‘That’s very traumatic, isn’t it?’ he said softly, as if he knew what it was like at firsthand. ‘Where is the headache located?’

  ‘Mostly on the top of my head. I feel at times as if it might blow off. I thought at first that it must be eye strain, I do a lot of close work. I went to see an optician and he recommended specs for when I was working.’

  ‘And did they help?’

  ‘For a while. But then the headaches returned and I began to feel sick and feel bloated. I put on weight, except for my arms and legs which seemed thinner by the day. But the worst thing is this desperate tiredness. Then just recently I realised that I hadn’t had a period for months, and I began to think that the menopause had started early. But I didn’t have any of the other symptoms that menopausal women complain of.’

  She stopped talking for a moment and leaned forward to rest her arms on the desk.

  ‘I even wondered if I might be pregnant, though it was some months since I’d had sex. But the doctor I saw dismissed that. He thought I might have an underactive thyroid and gave me a blood test, but it came through as all clear. And then
I moved house and came to live down here, and a few weeks ago this…’ Phylippa touched her face ‘…began to happen. So I went to see Dr Davis, and he sent me to see you, so here I am.’

  Mr Mustard smiled. ‘Here indeed you are. Well, let’s see what we can do. First, if you’ll pop behind the curtains over there and get undressed, I’ll examine you.’

  They were a long time behind the heavy curtains and there was a constant murmur of voices, but only occasional words reached Clare clearly. She heard the doctor mention blood pressure and remark that it was rather high, but that didn’t surprise her. She knew that Phylippa’s blood pressure had been dangerously high when Dan had examined her at the surgery. The medication he’d put her on to reduce the hypertension had evidently brought it down to a less frightening level.

  Mr Mustard slipped round the curtain a few minutes later, telling Phylippa over his shoulder not to rush. He sat down at his desk and smiled at Clare.

  ‘Phylippa tells me that it was your idea to accompany her here. Are you here in an official capacity or as a friend?’

  ‘A bit of both, I suppose. Daniel was rather concerned that there might be some difficulty getting an ambulance for the usual reasons. In any case, we both thought that it was a bit much for Phylippa to be on her own. She’s only lived here for a short while and hasn’t had time to get to know anybody.’

  When Phylippa appeared from behind the curtains a few moments later, Mr Mustard said cheerfully, ‘I was getting the low-down on you from Clare. You’re lucky to have made a friend like her. Here, now, come and sit down—you look a bit wobbly.’

  He sprang quickly to his feet and took Phylippa by the elbow and steered her to a chair. ‘I’m sorry the examination took so long. You must have found it tiring.’

  ‘Shattering!’ agreed Phylippa, but she managed a smile.

  He returned to his desk and spread his hands on the top. ‘Right,’ he said quietly, his eyes on Phylippa, ‘cards on the table. From my examination, I’m pretty sure that you have Cushing’s disease which, as has been explained to you, is triggered by pressure on part of the brain, usually by a tumour. Next we have to discover which part is affected and which glands are involved.’

  ‘And how do you do that?’

  ‘By doing brain scans. There are a number of different scans that we can do, and we might end up doing them all until we get an answer.’

  Phylippa’s eyebrows rose. ‘It sounds as if I’m going to be making umpteen trips backwards and forwards to Exeter.’

  ‘No, I don’t want you to do that,’ said the doctor. ‘I want to admit you to my ward in the hospital so that we can fit you in for scans when we need them, or for any other tests. You need a lot of rest and we must reduce this hypertension. The way it is at the moment we wouldn’t be able to operate even if it were indicated.’

  ‘Oh, hell. I didn’t dream that I might have to go into hospital. I mean, not unless I needed an operation.’ Her hands were trembling. Phylippa’s hands were still lovely although they were so thin, Clare noticed, and her flushed face grew a darker red. Tears sprang into her beautiful eyes. She tried to scrub them away with her fingers. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t usually go to pieces like this, it’s just that it’s rather a shock, and…’

  ‘Of course it is,’ Ted Mustard’s voice was infinitely gentle. ‘But would you really prefer to make several trips a week, exhausted as you already are, for what will be tiring tests? I doubt that Clare would be able to escort you every time.’

  Clare shook her head. ‘No, I’m afraid that wouldn’t be possible. I’m working every day.’ She touched Phylippa’s arm. ‘But if you come into hospital, as Mr Mustard suggests, I’ll be able to visit you. And it will be better than being on your own. You really need company you know. Think how lonely you were this last weekend.’

  Ted Mustard grinned reassuringly. ‘Give us a try,’ he said. ‘We’re not really so bad here.’

  There was another faint smile from Phylippa. ‘I’m sure that you’re not. When do you want me in?’

  ‘As soon as possible. I’ll get my secretary to sort something out with Admissions and let you know, but I hope it will only be a matter of days.’

  ‘I thought,’ said Phylippa, as they drove back home later that afternoon, ‘that it took ages to get someone into hospital. I thought that all hospitals had huge waiting lists. But Mr Mustard is talking days.’ Then she added, her face brightening, ‘He’s a nice bloke, isn’t he?’

  Clare glanced sideways at her companion with interest. Phylippa was staring straight ahead into the middle distance.

  ‘You mean it’s nice of him to get you admitted so quickly?’ Clare said. She herself had been a bit surprised at the speed with which he had acted.

  ‘Something like that,’ Phylippa murmured.

  Clare realised that she hadn’t meant that at all, but something more personal. I believe she’s attracted to him! Please, don’t let there be any more complications. Patients do fall for their doctors, and I suppose sometimes it is returned. But this would be a record time. And was her attraction reciprocated? And what about professional standards of detachment?

  Clare cleared her throat and said diplomatically, ‘Well, not all departments are under the same pressures. Maybe endocrinology is one of them. Mr Mustard obviously sees you as a priority, and the sooner he can start treatment, the better.’

  ‘Is that a kind way of telling me that I am at death’s door?’ asked Phylippa dryly, suddenly sharp and incisive as she must have been before her illness.

  Clare took a deep breath. ‘No, but the sooner he finds out if you have a tumour, and if it is malignant or not, the better.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ replied Phylippa, her eyes bleak once more.

  Her mood swings are staggering, thought Clare, but, then, that’s all part of this beastly condition.

  Phylippa was speaking again, her voice little more than a whisper.

  ‘But I’m glad it’s Mr Mustard who’s going to be looking after me. I think I can trust him…’

  Her lids drooped, and she was suddenly asleep.

  Phylippa slept for the rest of the journey home, leaving Clare to worry over what the future had in store for her.

  Phylippa seemed very much alone as none of her friends were close by. She had mentioned that her parents, both teachers, lived and worked abroad, as did her brother. So far Phylippa hadn’t informed them that she was ill because she didn’t want to worry them prematurely.

  She should tell them she’s going into hospital, Clare thought as a shiver of apprehension swept over her. They have a right to know and they’ll want to be with her if they’re any sort of family. I know Mum and Dad would if I were ill.

  Clare’s phone was ringing when at last she arrived home. She hurried through to the kitchen and picked up the receiver.

  ‘At last,’ breathed Daniel’s voice in her ear. ‘Where on earth have you been? It’s half past ten.’

  A whole tide of strange feelings hit her. Pleasure because he sounded so relieved and had obviously been worrying about her, then resentment that he should doubt her ability to look after herself. For heaven’s sake, she had lived in London since she was seventeen. Who was he to question her comings and goings? She didn’t like the idea that he was keeping tabs on her. It was way past duty time…

  Suddenly she dissolved into laughter. Not exactly hysterical, that wasn’t her style. This was laughter that was a release from pent up emotions rather than a joyful, spontaneous laugh.

  Daniel latched on at once. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  Tempted to reply, “Nothing”, instead she heard herself say, ‘Quite a bit. Poor Phylippa, I think—’

  ‘I’m coming over,’ said Daniel. ‘See you in a few minutes.’

  It was good to see him. He was wearing one of his cheerful colourful shirts and faded jeans with a white sweater tied loosely round his neck. He brought in a plastic carrier bag that smelt heavenly.

  Clare took a deep breath.
‘Fish and chips,’ she breathed,

  ‘With vinegar and salt and pickled onions, just as you like it.’

  As he spoke she smelt vinegar on his breath. She laughed, this time without reservation. ‘You’ve pinched some,’ she accused him.

  ‘Only one,’ he said, his eyes twinkling. ‘Scout’s honour. Now, get those plates warm and let’s get stuck in.’

  The relief of having him there, so at ease in her little cottage, was the tonic she needed after the emotional ups and downs of the day. She put the plates and the pack of fish and chips in the Aga to keep warm.

  ‘The onions will get hot,’ he protested.

  ‘So what’s a hot onion between friends?’ She chuckled.

  ‘A good omen,’ he said softly. ‘May I get myself a frosty beer, and do you want one?’

  ‘Please. Frosty beer and hot onions are made for each other.’

  Daniel opened the freezer compartment. There was something reassuring about him knowing exactly where to look.

  ‘One cold beer coming up,’ he said, opening the bottles and pouring the clear gold liquid into tall glasses. He clicked his heels together. ‘For you, madam, a golden drink for a golden lady.’

  She curtsied and smiled and took the glass from him.

  ‘Thank you, kind sir,’ she murmured, clinking her glass to his and swallowing a mouthful.

  When this nonsense was done he looked at her closely. ‘I’ve missed you so much today, even though the stand-in did a first-class job. Some of our regulars also asked after you.’

  ‘I missed being with the surgery,’ she admitted, ‘but I’m glad that I went. It turned out that Phylippa really did need the company.’ She sat down heavily on a chair at the table and drank some more beer. ‘I think,’ she murmured, ‘we had better eat before I tell you what happened. I feel quite light-headed.’

  ‘Shall I serve?’ Dan asked. Again that easy slipping into the role of host which made his presence so reassuring.

  ‘Please.’