Caroline Anderson - Just What the Doctor Ordered

She forced a smile. ‘I see you—you’re wonderful. I’m delighted things are going so well for you, but my priorities have to be with Stephen at the moment. He’s all I’ve got, Joan, and I’m afraid my love life comes a long way down the list of what matters right now.’

Just then the focus of her affection streaked back into the room, arms flailing, and dive-bombed her lap.

‘I’m a helicopter gunship—ack-ack-ack-ack—’

‘Hello, darling,’ she said with a smile. ‘Do helicopters like chocolate cake?’

‘Ye-eah! Can I have a big bit?’

The letter came a week later, when Cathy had all but given up hope. She was scanning a professional journal for the vacancies when the postman came, and she stuffed the letter in her bag, sure it was a polite but firm rejection.

She opened it during a snatched coffee-break midway through her morning surgery, and almost shrieked aloud.

So Max Armstrong had been right—John Glover had overruled him, and offered her the job. The thing was, knowing who she would be working with, did she still want it?

Yes, her heart told her. It was a fresh start, away from all the memories of Michael and the heartache of his illness and subsequent death, away from the dirt and oppression of the inner city, away from the muggings and the rapes and the stabbings—but away, too, from Joan, who had been such a tremendous support through the difficult years, and away also from all her friends.

Even so, it was the right thing for them, and she rang John Glover before she could change her mind and told him she would take the post and would be confirming her decision in writing that day.

‘Excellent,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You’re just what this practice needs, my dear, and I’m delighted you’ve decided to join us. If there’s anything we can do to help with the move, give us a yell.’

‘In fact there is,’ she told him. ‘I’ll need somewhere to live—you don’t have any ideas, do you?’

‘Leave it with me,’ he said instantly. ‘I’ll put the word around.’

She thanked him, and then went and told her own senior partner that she would be leaving.

‘Good,’ he said without prevarication. ‘You’re like a plant grown under artificial light—you look as if you need a bit of fresh air and sunshine to brighten up your foliage!’

She smiled. ‘I’ll miss you all.’

‘We’ll miss you, too, Cathy, but it’s the right thing for you—and for Stephen.’

It was just what she needed to hear. In her lunch-break she contacted the headmaster of the little school in Barton-Under-Edge, and he confirmed that he would have a place for Stephen as soon as they moved.

Now all she needed was an au pair. She contacted her cousin in Paris, discovered that she had a friend whose daughter had just left school and was looking for a job in England but didn’t want to work in a town, and that evening she spoke to the young lady in question on the phone.

Delphine’s English was sketchy but adequate, and she sounded charming and very sensible. Immensely reassured, Cathy phoned her mother-in-law and broke the news.

‘Fantastic. I knew you’d get it. Now all you have to do is charm that lovely man with the come-to-bed eyes—’

‘I can’t tell you anything,’ Cathy said with a laugh, but secretly she was worrying about Max’s attitude towards her.

Would his prejudices make him impossible to work with? Oh, well, she thought with a shrug, all she had to do was prove him wrong. That shouldn’t be so difficult.

The one remaining problem was accommodation, and that was solved almost immediately as well.

She had a phone call the following day, from the only estate agent in the town, to say he had a charming little place to rent in Barton-Under-Edge, a three-bedroomed stable flat attached to Barton Manor, the impressive seventeenth-century stone-built house she had noticed on the outskirts of the town.

It sounded delightful, the rent seemed extremely reasonable, and she made arrangements to view it at the weekend.

The agent showed her round as the owner was unavailable, and it was, as she had supposed, absolutely charming. Attached to the side of the house, it was over the original stable block, now converted to a workshop and garage, and was accessed by a lovely old cast-iron staircase up the outside. A magnificent climbing rose was trained against the wall and reached almost to the eaves, and huge trusses of heavily scented apricot blooms cascaded over the doorway, drenching her with their exquisite fragrance.

The view over the rolling hills from the top of the steps was breathtaking, and, if that alone wasn’t enough to convince her, the flat itself, comfortably furnished and homely, was absolutely perfect for their requirements. Her natural prudence made her check all the terms, and, that done to her satisfaction, she agreed to take it and the agent said he would send her a contract to sign.

So it was that, two weeks later and a week before she was due to start her new job, she and Stephen packed up their things, rented a van and uprooted themselves from Bristol. As she closed the front door of their old flat behind her, it was as if she had closed a door on that part of her life. Her emotions ambivalent, but hope predominating, she bolstered herself with the memory of their new home. Surely there, in those wonderful surroundings, things would start to look up.

Joan came with them to help unload, because although there was no furniture there was still a phenomenal number of boxes, and she was glad of the other woman’s company.

They collected the key from the agent and Cathy drove up to the side of the house, parking at the foot of the steps.

‘What a beautiful house!’ Joan breathed, clearly awed.

‘Isn’t it? Come and see the flat. You’ll love it. Stephen, come with us, please.’

‘Oh, Mummy, do I have to? There’s a duck with her babies!’

And there was, waddling across the grass beside the stable block, head held proudly erect, followed by an untidy line of fluffy little ducklings.

Cathy relented. ‘All right, but don’t go anywhere else. I don’t want you wandering off!’

She led Joan up to the flat and they let themselves in, to find the place freshly polished and gleaming, a bowl of the apricot roses set in the middle of the dining table.

‘Oh, Cathy, how delightful!’ Joan exclaimed. ‘Oh, I just know you’ll be happy here!’

She hugged her mother-in-law and friend. ‘I hope so—oh, Joan, I hope so. I’ll find Stephen—I want to show him his bedroom. I’ll have to ask the owner if we can have an area for him to play in. He’ll love that. He’s hated not having a garden in Bristol.’

Her heart singing, she ran lightly down the cast-iron steps—and slap into a solid and very masculine chest.

‘You!’ the man exclaimed, and, with a sinking feeling, Cathy looked up into the astonished blue eyes of Max Armstrong.

CATHY stepped back, snatched a calming breath and dredged up a smile. ‘Dr Armstrong! What a surprise.’

Goodness, she had forgotten how blue those eyes were. They glittered like sapphires—especially when, like now, they were clearly angry!

‘Is this young man anything to do with you?’

Belatedly Cathy noticed Stephen, lurking uncomfortably behind Max. ‘Yes—I wondered where he’d got to. He was watching the ducks—’

‘Well, you should keep a closer eye on him. I nearly had to fish him out of the pond!’

‘I was just following the baby ducks,’ he mumbled miserably.

‘Oh, Stephen! I told you not to go anywhere. You can’t just do what you want, it isn’t our garden. Wait until I’ve sorted something out, OK?’

He scuffed his toe against the gravel and nodded, evidently subdued. Apparently he had already been given a severe talking-to. She glanced up, and her attention was snagged again by the glittering sapphire chips of Max Armstrong’s eyes.