Caroline Anderson - Nothing Left to Give

Oh, well, look on the bright side, she thought; by the time you get back to London the rush-hour will be over.

She heard his voice first, low, deep, a reassuring rumble in the corridor.

There was a muttered expletive, then firm footsteps striding towards the door.

‘Miss Turner? I do apologise.’

She stood up. He was big. It wasn’t just height, although he was certainly tall enough, but there was a solidity, a substance about him that was more than physical. It was deeper than that, something that shouted dependability and inner strength, reliability and utter trustworthiness.

He thrust out his hand—large, square, of a piece with the man himself.

‘I’m sorry to keep you—Gideon Pendragon.’

She placed her hand in his and felt it engulfed in a warm and reassuring grip.

‘Beth Turner,’ she replied, and looked up into his face.

Her smile faltered. It was a striking face, an older version of the boy in the photograph, but it was his eyes that stopped her in her tracks.

Grey-green in colour, they were beautiful, bracketed by wickedly long black lashes. They were also the oldest, most world-weary eyes she had ever seen. Her soft heart reached out to him.

‘Problems?’ she said gently.

‘You could say that.’ He gave a short laugh and thrust strong fingers through the unruly strands of his straight, black hair. ‘People never die at a convenient time, do they?’

If she hadn’t seen the eyes, she might have dismissed him as callous. As it was she gave him time to pull himself back into the present and pick up her file. He flicked through it and tossed it back on the desk, dropping into the chair and leaning back, his hands locked behind his head.

‘So, what did Julie say? She’s usually pretty direct.’

Beth’s mouth twitched. ‘She said she’d tell you to rubber-stamp it.’

He smiled then, and his harsh features softened, bringing life to those tired eyes. ‘Good. I only had one real question.’

‘Why a part-time temporary job in the middle of nowhere?’

He grinned. ‘You were expecting it.’

‘Sort of.’ She returned the grin. ‘Because I need to work, but not necessarily flat out for a while. Because I could do with a breathing-space, time to find out what I really want from my career. Because I was ready for a change, and there didn’t seem to be a full-time permanent job that said, “Take me,” written all over it.’

He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Why did you need a breathing space?’

She looked away. He saw too much with those eyes. ‘Let’s just say there was a conflict of interests.’

‘A man?’

‘Yes.’ She didn’t enlarge on it. The details were sordid and irrelevant.

‘So, you’re running away.’

‘No.’ She met his eyes again, determined to get the general principle straight, if not the fine print. ‘I don’t run away, Dr Pendragon. Not from anything. I simply decided it was time to move on.’

He chuckled. ‘Touché. So, you’re looking for a bolt-hole to lick your wounds while you decide what you want from life. Well, I won’t pretend we aren’t glad to have you, Miss Turner. Stephanie, our part-timer, has had to stop work rather earlier in her pregnancy than she’d planned, and we’re up a gum tree. You’re like a gift from the gods, frankly, and we aren’t in a position to be choosy about people’s reasons for wanting to take the job. Nurses of your calibre simply aren’t interested, so whatever your motives, welcome.’

That was it. She had the job. Stunned, she reached over the desk and took his outstretched hand. A slow smile touched his lips. ‘When can you start?’

She gave an expressive little shrug. ‘Whenever—Monday?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow?’ She hesitated, totally taken aback. ‘Well, I suppose I could—I haven’t got anywhere to live, and I’ve got nothing here. I’d have to go back to London tonight and get some things to tide me over till the weekend, but I suppose I could put up in a hotel or something.’

‘I’ve got a flat—over the old coach house. It’s just one room and a bathroom. The idea was that William would have it once he goes away to college next year so it wouldn’t be for very long, but as the job’s only temporary I don’t suppose that would matter. It’s got heating and everything—do you want to have a look?’

She nodded, swept along by the current.

‘Yes—why not? It sounds ideal.’

‘Good—shall we?’

He held the door for her, then led her down the corridor to Reception. ‘I’m just taking Miss Turner home to show her the flat—I won’t be long. Oh, and stick her on the payroll, Molly—she’s starting tomorrow.’

And that was it. Bemused, Beth followed him out of the side door and round into the street. The surgery was just off the market square that dominated the centre of the little town, and they walked along one side of the square and down a narrow little lane that cut through between the houses. They passed the church, built of brick and flint, solid and homely, and then beyond the church they came to a large Georgian house, the mellow cream of old Suffolk bricks, standing four-square in a neatly tended lawn.

‘What a lovely house,’ Beth remarked. ‘Very des-res.’

He laughed softly. ‘I’m glad you like it—sometimes I forget how lucky I am.’

‘It’s yours? I thought it was the vicarage.’

‘It was—until about twenty years ago. The present incumbent lives over there, much more economically!’

He pointed to a very pleasant modern house, much more modest than the sprawling Georgian building Beth had admired. She looked back at Gideon’s house, large and imposing. It suited him.

He turned in through a pair of tall gates and paused by a big brick building, itself larger than the present vicarage. Huge white-painted doors were set in the lower half, and the upper storey had tall arched windows set in the gables and dormers along the roofline. There you are—that’s the coach house. We use the bottom as a garage. When the kids were younger they used to play in the flat, but they’ve outgrown that sort of thing now.’

He sounded regretful, as if their childhood had been a thing of delight for him, and she felt herself warming to him even more. What a lovely, solid, dependable family man he was—such a contrast to the fickle and faithless Matthew.

She dragged her mind back to her surroundings, refusing to waste her mental energy on such a worthless topic.

He was opening a door at the side of the coach house, and she followed him in. There was a hall which reached the full height, and above she could see the old beams stretching across the vaulted ceiling. A black cast-iron spiral staircase led upwards, its lacy treads ringing under her feet as she ran lightly up to the top.

It was wonderful—huge, light and airy, the arched windows at each end looking out over the garden on one side and fields on the other. The crop hadn’t yet been harvested and the tall stalks whispered as the light breeze flowed over them. Nearer to hand she could hear the rustling of the leaves on the trees which edged the garden, and in one of the trees a bird sang, the notes pure and clear. Beth closed her eyes, speechless.

‘I know the furniture’s a bit old-fashioned, but it’s solid and everything’s quite clean. If you wanted we could get something else, I suppose—the mattress is new.’

She opened her eyes and looked around, taking in the contents of the room instead of just its atmosphere.

The walls were white, the carpet a soft, faded brick colour, and everything else blended—the warm old pine of the table and chairs, the heavily carved bed-ends, the natural oak of the beams that spanned the ceiling, and on the comfy old sofa a faded chintz cover in soft peaches and greens. At the far end was a small run of handbuilt pine units housing a little oven, a fridge and a sink unit, and on the other side a door led presumably to the bathroom.