A Nurse to Trust Page 9

  They ate in silence for a few minutes, then Daniel said casually, ‘Teddy phoned me after you and Phylippa had left the hospital.’

  Clare held back a forkful of chips halfway to her mouth. ‘Bad news?’

  ‘He thinks, from the time involved and other signs and symptoms, that she has a well-advanced tumour. That’s why he wants to get her in so quickly. I see no reason to doubt him, he’s got a reputation for being a top-class diagnostician. Of course, he’ll need to do scans to confirm it, but I think they’re pretty academic.’ He took another swallow of beer, then asked unexpectedly, ‘What do you think of him as a man?’

  Clare was startled. ‘As a man?’ she said slowly. ‘That’s not easy to answer. I only met him for about an hour. Why do you want to know? Is it relevant to Phylippa and her treatment?’

  Even more slowly, Daniel said, ‘I’ve known Teddy for years. He’s a good doctor and cares about his patients. But I have never heard him sound quite so concerned for one of them as he seems to be for Phylippa Jordan. It’s almost as if—’

  ‘He’s attracted to her?’ she finished for him, recalling the tenderness in the doctor’s face as he’d tried to reassure Phylippa, and had helped her to sit down.

  ‘Yes,’ said Daniel.

  ‘I think it’s possible. I’m pretty sure that it’s reciprocated. She talked about him a lot this evening. I suppose it’s possible to fall for someone like that, at the drop of a hat. A genuine example of love at first sight.’

  ‘Does such a thing exist, or is it just a beast of myth and legend?’ Dan said wryly.

  Clare’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘It exists. I’ve been daft enough to do it myself. Now I suppose that you’re going to tell me that he has a devoted wife and family.’

  Daniel shook his head. ‘No. Well, he has a grown-up son and daughter. But his wife died at about the same time that my wife and I split up. We rather consoled each other. It would be the best news in the world that he’d found someone to love again. Well, if it’s mutual and the real thing, I just hope it works out for them.’

  Two things struck Clare as he spoke. One, that his concern for his friend did him credit. Two, that for the first time the bleak expression hadn’t appeared in his eyes when speaking about the break-up of his marriage. He had mentioned it in a very matter-of-fact way. Suddenly that fact seemed very significant to her.

  ‘It seems that there’s hope for all of us, then,’ she said quietly.

  ‘It looks like it,’ he agreed. ‘One hell of a time to choose to fall in love, though.’

  ‘I don’t think we can choose these things,’ Clare said.

  ‘No, I suppose we can’t…’ He trailed off. His gaze seemed to fix on the far wall, as though this was suddenly the safest thing in the room to look at.

  Clare stood up quickly, gathering up her almost empty plate. ‘Finished?’ she asked, reaching out for Dan’s.

  For a second their eyes met and they held each other’s gaze. The second seemed to stretch to an impossible length. They each knew what the other was thinking—it was impossible not to share such thoughts after what had been said between them. The implications and possibilities were too big to be ignored. But perhaps they were also too big for them to handle at this moment. An unspoken understanding passed between them—not now, but maybe soon. Then time snapped back to normal and the moment passed as though it had never been.

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ Dan said slowly. ‘I’ve finished.’

  He straightened up and walked into the hall. ‘Goodnight, Clare. Sorry to leave you with the washing-up, but I really must be going. See you tomorrow.’ He opened the front door, passed through and was gone.

  Clare tidied away the remains of their supper, then took the dirty plates and glasses through to the old-fashioned scullery. In a very distracted state she washed and dried them, then stacked them neatly away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT WAS a couple of weeks later that Daniel took Clare out for a meal and to see a play at a small theatre near Minehead. The theatre, with a restaurant attached, only held a couple of hundred people, but it was in a superb setting on a small hill in the shadows of ancient castle ruins.

  Daniel pointed to the castle as they got out of the car. ‘That was one of the last Royalist strongholds in the West Country. As you can see, it was pretty well shot to pieces and then left to crumble away.’

  ‘The ruins look incredibly romantic against the mellow evening sunshine,’ said Clare. ‘It was my favourite period in history when I was at school.’ She touched the velvet sleeve of Daniel’s black evening jacket, which he was wearing over a colourful waistcoat and a tangerine-coloured silk shirt. ‘What side would you have been on, had you been caught up in the Civil War?’

  ‘The Royalists, of course. I always fancied being a Cavalier,’ he said with a broad smile. ‘I’d have loved to have had a wide-brimmed hat with a socking great big feather in the hatband, to doff to the ladies.’ He sketched a parody of a bow, bending double in front her, pointing a toe and mimicking flourishing a large hat.

  No wonder he was dressed rather flamboyantly. ‘You would have looked gorgeous in knee breeches,’ said Clare with a laugh, ‘with a nicely turned ankle and buckled shoes. And as a matter of fact, you look pretty good tonight. Very chic,’ she added.

  ‘Here, aren’t I supposed to be saying all this to you? A gentleman must compliment his escort, but you’re not giving me the chance.’

  His hazel eyes danced with fun. An easy relationship had grown between them over the weeks which now allowed for this sort of banter off duty. Not that there had been much off-duty contact between them. Gratifyingly it had worked better like that. The mobile surgery gave them a common bond, and anything else was happening gradually. Their private pasts still remained largely unexplored and looked likely to remain that way for an indefinite period to come. But at least their earlier differences and misunderstandings now seemed a long way off.

  ‘You said it all when you came to collect me,’ Clare replied, blushing happily as she recalled the look in his eyes and the way they had lingered on her. ‘“Stunning,” I believe you said. And also, “That blue thing suits you. It matches your eyes.”’

  That blue thing, she’d thought, smiling inwardly, had cost an arm and a leg in a little boutique she’d discovered in Taunton. It was made of pure, heavy silk and clung to her breasts from a scooped-out neckline, then moulded itself to her waist and hips, finishing an inch or so above her knees. Even at thirty-four she knew that her legs could take it. They were smooth and golden brown.

  She would have liked to have worn high-heeled strappy sandals with the dress, but had decided that as Daniel was only a few inches taller than she, blue soft suede pumps with a modest heel would look better. And the fringed cotton shawl, a mosaic of soft colours which her mother had worn in the 1950s, together with silver earrings and a choker necklace, added the finishing touches. She felt good, and knew that she looked good and smelt good, floating in a cloud of her favourite perfume.

  We both look good, she thought. It was nice to get out of uniform and know you could still be appreciated.

  They let the magic of the golden evening and the unreal setting enfold them. Beneath the romantic ruins, surrounded by the historical feel of the place, the warmth of their two bodies reached across the small space between them and drew them together.

  The car park was filling up.

  Daniel took a deep breath. ‘We’d better make a move to the restaurant,’ he said, taking Clare’s arm and leading her toward the long, low buildings that housed the restaurant and the theatre. His fingers curled round her elbow, made her tingle with pleasure.

  There was an air of excitement over everything, as couples and groups made their way across the golden gravel. It was obviously a dressy occasion, with the air of a first night swirling around. It wasn’t actually a first night, but the end of a week of Noël Coward plays. Tonight, the company was putting on Blythe Spirit.

  Clar
e tried to imagine the sophisticated comedy being played with Somerset accents, and failed. Not that it mattered what it was like, the happy atmosphere of the evening was already established. If Daniel, who was shrewd and sensitive beneath the sometimes bluff exterior, thought the production worth seeing, then no doubt it was.

  They had a leisurely dinner. ‘Plenty of time before the curtain goes up,’ Daniel said, as they sat down at their table in the restaurant.

  The restaurant, converted from an old barn, was furnished for comfort rather than elegance. The tables were covered in snowy white damask with large crisp napkins in rings beside each place setting. The floor was thickly carpeted and there were padded armchairs at the tables, not straight-backed gilt dining chairs which Clare had rather expected.

  ‘How original,’ she said. ‘Armchairs at the table. I’d like Mum and Dad to see this. They might pinch the idea for our restaurant.’

  Daniel smiled happily. ‘You must invite them over some time soon, and we’ll bring them here. You don’t have to see a show to use the restaurant, and I’d very much like to meet them.’

  It was a nice, warm gesture of friendship. But not surprising. One thing she had learned over the weeks they had worked together was that, despite his failed marriage, he was very very family-orientated. She liked the way he had said, ‘We’ll bring them here.’ It had a nice ring to it.

  She smiled across at him. ‘It’s a lovely idea,’ she said, ‘but we’ll have to wait till the busy season is over. They just don’t go anywhere in high summer. Nothing will drag them away from the hotel. And although they are dying to see my house, they won’t come over till the autumn when things have quietened down.’

  ‘Sounds as if they are as dedicated to their work, as we are to ours,’ he said.

  Clare nodded. ‘You’d better believe it.’

  Dinner was delicious.

  ‘They specialise in simple, well-cooked food,’ Daniel told her as a waiter handed her a menu. ‘I usually go for the chef’s choice.’

  ‘Then I’ll have that as well.’

  The chef’s choice was pineapple marinated in sherry for starters. The main course was duck, bathed in dry cider and orange juice, a sharp counterpoint to the rich fowl, with small new peas and roast potatoes. For pudding there was sorbet and fresh fruit salad and cream, finishing with a local cheese and biscuits. They resisted a liqueur with their coffee, both confessing that they would go to sleep during the performance if they succumbed.

  There was no question of dozing off during the performance. It was electric and very polished. Only the medium, Madam Arcarti, the part that Margaret Rutherford had made famous in the film version, had a pronounced Somerset accent, which actually enriched the role of the eccentric character.

  During the interval whilst Daniel was fetching their drinks—the bar was too small to cater for everyone—Clare studied the programme. When he came back she stabbed her finger at the producer/director’s name.

  ‘Is that the Oliver Porter, who retired from the London scene some years ago following a breakdown or something?’

  Daniel grinned. ‘The same.’

  ‘No wonder you knew that it was going to be a first-class performance.’

  ‘There are also a couple of retired elderly supporting actresses in the company. Not famous, but they know their stuff. I’ll introduce them to you one day, and to Oliver. They’re all great fun. But not tonight because they’ll be inundated with well-wishers.’

  ‘You know them personally?’

  ‘Yep. Were the centre a bit nearer to Minehead I would have joined the company, even if it had only been in a behind-the-scenes capacity.’

  ‘You are a dark horse,’ said Clare, sipping her dry Martini. ‘I do believe that you are a frustrated Thespian.’

  ‘Like half the medical profession,’ laughed Daniel. ‘We’re great show-offs, don’t you find? Especially surgeons. After all, think of an operating theatre; the cast all dressed up in blue or green and masked so that only their eyes are visible. What a fantastic costume. You couldn’t do better if you were playing Dick Turpin and wearing a handkerchief across your nose.’

  He shifted in his seat and stared down into his glass of fruit juice. ‘And the spotlight is focused on the face or hands of the surgeon, the chief player, and his—or her—co-star, the inert body, who is silent throughout.’

  His mouth quirked into a sardonic smile and Clare thought that she detected a slight edge in his voice.

  ‘A dream of a part for any actor to play,’ he added.

  ‘A part that you would have liked to play?’

  ‘Never,’ he said firmly. ‘A GP is all that I ever wanted to be.’

  A bell rang to signify that the interval was about to end. Daniel collected their glasses and joined the queue to return them to the bar.

  The second part of the performance was as good as the first. At the end of the show they stood with everyone else in the auditorium to applaud several curtain calls.

  The drive home across the moors in the almost purple twilight of the moonlit night was as magical as the rest of the evening. As happened a lot these days, Clare found herself overwhelmed by her good fortune at finding herself living in this glorious part of the world.

  After they had been driving for some minutes, she said impulsively, ‘Thank you for taking me to the theatre, Daniel. I think that this has been one of the most contented evenings of my life, especially in recent years. I feel totally relaxed. Does that sound too fulsome, too fanciful? Anyway, I just felt that I had to say it.’

  Daniel glanced over at her.

  ‘Perhaps we don’t often enough say what we truly feel. Maybe life would be a happier, less complicated place if we did,’ he said softly. ‘We are quick enough to grumble, but not so good at scattering a little happiness around. I’m glad that you said it. I wanted it to be an occasion for you. I wanted to show off what we have to offer in our little bit of Somerset. I want you to be happy here, not hankering after the big city or your old friends.’

  Clare turned her head sharply. ‘But I thought that I’d reassured you on that point a while ago.’

  He returned his hand to the wheel. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘you did. But for the last few days you’ve seemed a little—for want of a better word—distraite at times. As if you’ve something on your mind, as if you’ve found a snag. I hoped that this evening might dispel that.’

  Distraite! Good old-fashioned word that she knew in this instant was exactly right. She had been distraite. Distracted at times. Briefly, but obviously noticeably, or he wouldn’t have remarked it. But it wasn’t for the reason that he had suspected. She hoped that he was entirely satisfied she was content here. And in truth she did have everything she wanted, except—

  No! She musn’t think about that. Not now. Nothing must spoil the ambience of this evening, which had broken the pattern as Daniel had hoped.

  ‘Please, don’t let’s spoil everything,’ she pleaded. ‘It’s been so perfect. Let’s end it that way. When we get to Trewellyn, you leave your car at your place and come back to mine for a drink by the pool. We can keep Alice company.’

  ‘You think of the nicest things to do,’ he said, and she knew that he was touched by the reference to Alice.

  Half an hour later, they were sitting by the pool, brandy glasses glinting in the moonlight. They talked in low voices so as not to disturb the stillness or wake Cath and Arthur, whose bedroom windows were wide open.

  They relived the play and the meal, enjoying it all over again.

  ‘I can’t wait for my parents to come over to see our mobile surgery,’ Clare said. ‘I’ve told them so much about it. And now there’ll be the theatre for them to see as well.’ She sipped her brandy and looked thoughtful. ‘It’s funny. They visited London a few times over the years when I was working there, mostly on special occasions. To see me collect my registration certificate and medal, obviously, and a few other times. But they never stayed for long.’

  Her nos
e wrinkled in disgust. ‘The awful thing is, I don’t think that I particularly wanted them to, well, not in the early years anyway. Isn’t that a shocking confession to have to make?’

  Daniel shook his head. ‘Not really,’ he said, his voice kind. ‘I was the same. Like most young people, I couldn’t wait to get away from home—first to university and then to practices all over the country. But eventually I homed in on Somerset and the West Country where I belong. And here I intend to stay. Being near my family is a great big plus.’

  Still basking in the gentle afterglow of the evening, it seemed the right time to exchange confidences. She said softly, ‘Tell me about your family, Daniel. I’ve told you something of mine.’

  They had both let small pieces of information drop over the weeks that they’d worked together. She knew that his parents were still alive, and that his father had officially retired but occasionally did a bit of locum work. And she knew that he had a brother and a sister, but she wanted the gaps filled in.

  He sipped his brandy and rolled it round on his tongue before swallowing it.

  She watched as the golden liquid slid down his throat and past his Adam’s apple. Not a pronounced Adam’s apple, she thought, and was glad that it wasn’t. It was just a neat little swelling in his strong muscular neck. A nice neck, she thought, some men had such scrawny necks. There was a cluster of silky, chestnut brown hairs at the base of his throat…

  Daniel became conscious of her eyes upon him. His eyebrows lifted. ‘What?’ he queried, and smiled. She saw that his lips glistened where the brandy had touched them. Why on earth had she noticed that?

  Clare hoped that the rosiness in her cheeks didn’t show. She could hardly tell him that she had been admiring his Adam’s apple.

  ‘Dad would have appreciated the way you tasted the brandy,’ she invented quickly and truthfully. ‘He’s quite a connoisseur of wines and spirits, he hates to see people just swallow without tasting. He’s got a wonderful wine cellar at the hotel, which he looks after himself.’

  Daniel’s eyes shone. ‘Ah, a man after my own heart. I can’t wait to be invited to view it.’