The Village Nurse's Happy-Ever-After (4 page)

 

Breakfast and getting Marcus to the nursery went smoothly the next morning, and Phoebe was at the surgery in good time, although with an uncomfortable feeling inside whenever she thought about her nocturnal meeting with Harry.

She shuddered to think what she must have looked like in a crumpled cotton nightdress with an old robe over it and her hair all over the place, yet it didn't really matter. He'd been in her apartment for just one thing and there'd been nothing sensual about it. He'd come to assist in the hope of bringing back the peace that had prevailed before Marcus had begun his tantrum, and she'd do well to remember that!

Leo Fenchurch, the other doctor in the practice, had been out on an early call and appeared while she was making the usual big pot of tea for the staff before the day commenced. He brought a blast of cold air in with him and while warming his hands around a mug of the welcoming brew he said, ‘So, what do you think of the new guy, Phoebe?'

He was a fair-haired six-footer with a charm that appealed to most women, but not to her she thought. He was an excellent doctor but a bit lightweight for her to succumb to his charms.

‘I'm not sure,' she said in answer to his question. ‘I feel that he isn't going to be an easy person to get to know, that he is very much his own man. Yet I'm sure he will be good for the practice, even if he can be somewhat unpredictable on occasion.'
And of that I have on-the-spot experience
, she thought.

‘But, Leo, we have to remember that Harry has lost his wife in tragic circumstances. I'm not sure how, but it was an accident of some kind, and for a marriage to end like that must have been horrendous.

‘Mine fell apart because of a huge divide in our priorities, but we at least we had a choice, not like Harry.'

‘Wow!' he exclaimed. ‘That summing-up comes after him having spent just a short time among us? You must have seen more of him than we have.'

She wasn't going to enlighten him on that and almost dropped the mug she was holding when Harry's voice said from behind her in the passage, ‘Is there any tea on offer, Nurse Howard?'

As she reached for the teapot, Phoebe was praying that he hadn't heard her discussing him with Leo. It would be just too embarrassing if he had, but his expression was serene enough, and once she'd poured him the tea, he returned to his room without further comment. As the rest of the staff were appearing in varying degrees of haste for their early brew, she tried to put the incident out of her mind.

She wouldn't have been able to if she'd seen Harry's expression as he sat gazing into space behind his desk with the tea untouched. It would seem that little Baby Bunting's mother had him well and truly catalogued, he thought dryly.

Thankfully his visit to her apartment in the middle of the night hadn't been mentioned—it would have gone around the surgery like wildfire! Noting that it was almost time for the day to start, he went out into Reception to have a word with Phoebe before she left.

She was halfway through the main door when he called her back. He saw her shoulders stiffen and almost smiled. What did she think he wanted her for, to tell her that he'd heard what she'd said to Leo?

‘Did you manage to get some sleep after I left?' he asked in a low voice.

‘Er…yes,' she replied, looking around her quickly to make sure no one was near enough to jump to any wrong conclusions. ‘Marcus was fine this morning. It seems as if the tooth might have come through.'

He was smiling and she thought how different he looked when he did, but a second later he was the man in charge as he said, ‘You've got young Rory down for a visit, I hope.'

‘He's top of my list, Dr Balfour,' she said stiffly. ‘If I am still concerned about his leg I will be asking for your presence or that of Dr Fenchurch.'

‘Good,' he said briskly, as if he hadn't picked up on the drop in temperature. ‘Hope you have a good day after a not-so-good night. I see that the waiting room is filling up so must go.' And off he went, wishing that he hadn't come over as quite so bossy with Phoebe. He wouldn't be surprised if she had him labelled as a control freak!

 

Conversely, as Phoebe drove the short distance to the fishing-tackle shop she was thinking that the man was only doing his job. So why had she let him get to her like that? He'd been kind and supportive in the middle of the night, even though she could tell that he wasn't used to babies. It was ungrateful of her to take offence at what, to Harry, would just be part of the job.

The infection around the sutures on Rory's leg had improved overnight, and with it the boy's mood. As she changed the dressing, with his uncle looking on anxiously, Phoebe told him, ‘Make sure that he takes all the antibiotics he was given when he left the hospital, Jake.
That and the different kind of ointment we're using now should do the trick.'

He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘The last thing I would want to tell my sister is that her boy isn't well, so that's good news, Nurse.'

‘How are his parents progressing?' she questioned.

‘Not bad, but they have a way to go yet before Hunter's Hill will be ready to send them home. So it's just the two of us for a while, isn't it, Rory?' he said to his nephew, who was still in his pyjamas.

‘Yes, Uncle Jake,' he chirped. ‘And don't forget, as soon as my leg is all right, we're going out in your boat.'

‘There's no chance of me forgetting,' was the teasing reply. ‘You won't let me!'

Jake turned to Phoebe. ‘How about a coffee before you go, Nurse?'

She shook her head. ‘No, thanks just the same, I've got a rather long list of patients to see and must be on my way.'

He was smiling. ‘If I can't make you a drink, how about letting me take you for a sail when this young fellow is well enough to come along?'

‘I don't think so,' she told him gently. ‘You wouldn't want a young baby on the boat.'

‘So you're married,' he said disappointedly.

‘No. I'm a single mother,' she explained, and could tell from his expression that a possible relationship had just gone down the drain. Yet who could blame him? She couldn't help but think it would take a lot for a man to
be willing to fill the gap of a father in the life of another man's child, however nice he was.

She'd also only met Jake for the first time the day before. It would take longer than that for her to want to know him better or introduce him to her son. But as a vision of Harry Balfour awkwardly holding Marcus safe and secure in his arms came to mind, she thought that she'd only known
him
for a similar length of time, yet she would trust him with her child.

 

When she arrived at her next call, pulling up in front of the biggest farmhouse in the area, Phoebe was amazed to see the man who had been in her thoughts getting out of the brand-new red convertible he'd had delivered to the surgery that morning. The question was immediately there in her mind—was he checking up on her?

It seemed that he wasn't. Harry was already ringing the bell and called across to her, ‘Well timed. We have an emergency.'

She was out of her car in a flash and hurried to the door, wondering what could be wrong at Wheatlands Farm.

She visited the place every week to put a fresh dressing on a varicose ulcer that was plaguing old George Enderby, the patriarch of the family. As far as she was aware, that was the only thing wrong with the cheerful old guy, but if what Harry was saying was correct…

‘Is it George that you're here about?' she asked as footsteps pounded towards them from inside the house.

He shook his head. ‘No. A call came through to the
surgery to say his daughter-in-law Pamela had fallen downstairs early this morning and almost knocked herself senseless with a crack to her head. She was soon back working on the farm, until a few minutes ago when suddenly she didn't seem to know where she was.'

The door was being wrenched open as he spoke and George's son Ian was there, his face taut with anxiety.

‘Thanks for coming so quickly, Harry,' he said urgently. ‘I wasn't expecting us to be renewing our acquaintance so soon. Pamela is upstairs resting with a huge bump on her head and isn't very coherent.'

‘So let's have a look, then,' he said briskly, adding to Phoebe, ‘Come along, Nurse, you can see to your patient when we've sorted Mrs Enderby out.'

The swelling on Pamela Enderby's head was huge and soft to the touch and her eyes weren't functioning properly. Neither was her mind as Harry gently tried to get her to answer a few simple questions rationally.

Turning to her husband, he said in a low voice, ‘There is almost certainly bleeding inside the skull.' He turned to Phoebe. ‘Phone for an ambulance, Nurse, and stress the urgency, while I check the patient's heartbeat and pulse.'

She was about to confirm that the emergency services were hastening on their way when he said tightly, ‘Pamela's gone into a coma.' He placed his stethoscope against her chest. ‘There's no heartbeat! Get ready to resuscitate!'

Together they worked on the patient until the ambulance arrived and paramedics stepped in with a defibril
lator and then a faint rising and falling of the injured woman's chest indicated that she was back with them.

Her husband had watched their efforts with tears streaming down his face and as the ambulance was leaving, with him by her side and a paramedic monitoring her heartbeat, he said raggedly, ‘Whatever the outcome of this, I will never forget what the two of you did back there.'

Before they could reply, he was gone with flashing lights and sirens wailing to warn other road users that the vehicle was carrying someone seriously ill or injured.

‘That was good teamwork, Phoebe,' Harry said with one of his rare smiles when it had disappeared from sight.

It registered that he'd actually said her name, but there was no time for further thought as elderly George, the patient she'd originally come to see, appeared beside them looking distraught and decidedly unsteady on his feet.

‘I've kept out of the way,' he said breathing heavily. ‘At my age I'm no good in a crisis. So what's the verdict, Harry?'

‘Not too good at this moment, George,' the doctor told him gently. ‘They will have to operate to control a brain haemorrhage. But she is still with us, so why don't you let me make you a cup of tea while Nurse Howard changes the dressing on your leg? Or would you prefer a brandy under the circumstances?'

‘Yes, I would,' he replied. ‘My heart isn't too good and the last thing my son needs is me cracking up at
a time like this.' He was gazing out at the immaculate farm buildings and the land that belonged to them stretching as far as the eye could see. ‘All of this is great, Harry,' he said brokenly, ‘but it means nothing when a life is at stake.'

Harry nodded understandingly. The Enderbys were obviously very wealthy, but the old guy had his priorities right.

‘Can I leave you to see to George?' he asked Phoebe. ‘I left patients waiting to see me when I dashed over here.'

‘Yes, of course,' she told him, adding as he turned to go, ‘It was great working with you.'

The reluctant smile was back and she thought if he kept it up, he might actually manage a laugh one day. To her amazement he replied, ‘It was good to have you assisting me, Nurse Howard.' And then he was gone to face the sighs and fidgets of those awaiting his presence in the surgery.

 

Having dealt with George's dressing and left him in the charge of the farm's housekeeper, Phoebe continued her home visits. When she arrived back at the surgery late in the afternoon, keen to see if the rapport between herself and Harry was still there or just a momentary thing, she found him closeted with one patient after another and it was still so when she left to pick Marcus up at the nursery.

With the tooth now through, he was back to his usual state of contentment, greeting her with a big smile and a happy gurgle, and in that moment the other part of her
life took over. He was all she had, and if that was how it was always going to be, she wasn't going to complain. She'd made her choice when she split up with Darren and had no regrets about
that
.

W
HILE
Phoebe was feeding and bathing Marcus before settling him down for sleep, it was the same as the night before—she was listening for footsteps on the stairs to let her know that Harry's day at the practice was also over. This time she didn't have long to wait.

She heard him come up just as her baby's eyelids were closing, his dark lashes sweeping downwards and his small chest rising and falling steadily. Ridiculously, this time she
wanted
Harry to knock on her door so that she could see if the time they'd spent together with Pamela Enderby had really been as satisfying for him as it had been for her. His unexpected presence last night had also shown her another side to him that she wanted to see again.

Disappointed when she heard his door close behind him, she began to clear up after bathtime and was debating whether to get out the paint cans and brushes once more when the sound she'd been hoping for finally came.

 

While he'd been putting a ready meal in the oven to heat up, Harry had been debating whether it would be
pushing it too far if he called on Phoebe again. Yet he felt he had to. It was going to be a frosty night and while her apartment had been warm enough the night before, it definitely was not as warm as his, and there was a spare mobile heater in his hall that he wanted to give her just in case. He wouldn't be able to settle if he hadn't offered it to her on such a cold night.

The last thing he'd expected when he'd told Ethan he'd like to move into one of the apartments had been the presence of a young single mother and child only a few feet away. The solitude that he'd sought wasn't materialising, but for some reason he didn't mind as much as he'd anticipated. As he crossed the landing with the heater, to his enormous surprise he even found himself hoping that he might get a glimpse of the smallest of the other apartment's occupants.

When Phoebe opened the door to him she was smiling, and it hit him again how unusually beautiful she was, with her clear, pale skin and wide hazel gaze that was observing him questioningly.

‘Come in,' she said, stepping back while he humped the heavy appliance into her hall. As he straightened up to face her, she asked, ‘What is that?'

‘It's a heater,' he said in the brisk manner he used when not sure of himself. ‘It is going to be a very cold night and I thought it might be welcome.'

‘Where has it come from?'

‘My place. I don't need it as my heating is excellent, and I noticed last night that yours is not so good. It just needs to be plugged into the electricity. So can I leave it with you?'

‘Yes,' she said slowly, completely taken aback that her new boss should take the trouble to make sure that she and Marcus were warm enough on a bitter winter night. There was a lump in her throat and for an awful moment she felt she was going to weep in front of him, but she fought back the tears.

He wasn't to know that his small act of kindness had broken through the armour of self-sufficiency that she wore to protect herself from any more of the hurts that life might have in store for her.

‘So where do you want it?' he was asking, observing her curiously.

‘Here in the hall, I think,' she told him, desperately scrabbling for some composure. ‘When I go to bed I'll leave all the doors open so that the extra heat can circulate.' Hoping that her surprise wasn't making her appear short on gratitude, she asked, ‘Can I offer you a drink while you're here Dr Balfour? A glass of wine, perhaps, or something hot?'

‘A glass of wine would be nice,' he said smoothly, much preferring a beer but feeling that it wouldn't be quite as suitable to the occasion. ‘But I can't stay long. I have a meal in the oven.'

She nodded understandingly as she produced a bottle of white from the fridge, and as she was pouring it asked, ‘Have we had any news on Pamela Enderby?'

‘Yes,' he said. ‘I rang the farm just before I came up and George said that she's in Theatre, having a huge haematoma drained. So far she's coping with it, but it is a serious situation and sadly I feel she will be lucky to come through it.'

Silence fell between them as they drank the wine, both lost in their own thoughts as they contemplated the strain that the Enderby family would be under tonight. In what seemed like no time at all he was getting to his feet and saying, ‘I must go, Phoebe. And by the way, when we're not in the surgery it's Harry, OK?'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘I'll remember. And thanks again for the loan of the heater…er…Harry.'

Her obvious discomfort broke through the sadder thoughts about Pamela, and Harry found himself actually laughing. ‘It will become easier as you keep saying it,' he promised. Then, on the point of leaving, he casually asked, ‘Is Baby Bunting asleep?'

It was her turn to laugh. ‘Need you ask?' she said, and added, amazing herself, ‘Do you want to see for yourself?'

‘Er…yes,' he replied hesitantly, ‘just as long as you don't think it will disturb him.' Phoebe mentally kicked herself. Clearly he didn't want a repetition of last night, or maybe just a repetition of Marcus in general.

‘No. Marcus never wakes up during the first few hours after going to sleep,' she informed him stiffly. ‘It's in the middle of the night when he sometimes makes his presence felt, and that's only when he's teething. But the tooth that was bothering him is through now, so you should be spared any further nightly disturbances for a while.'

‘What a beautiful child,' he said slowly as he turned away from the cherub in the cot, then almost as if he was speaking to himself, ‘But they come with a lifetime's responsibility of caring, don't they? Always there is the
fear in the mind of the loving parent that they might lose their child to illness or accident.'

 

Phoebe was observing him in surprise, shocked by his words and the desolation with which he'd uttered them. ‘That's a rather downbeat way of looking at family life, isn't it?' she exclaimed. ‘Surely you can't be speaking from experience?'

‘No, of course not,' he said flatly. ‘I was just expressing a point of view that I'm sure you don't agree with.'

His bitterness sparked off Phoebe's anger. ‘You're right. I don't. There are always risks in loving someone, whoever it might be. It can end in pain and despair, or it can be the most joyful thing in one's life, giving it a magical sense of purpose. And that is exactly what Marcus has given me.'

She gentled her tone, wondering how to explain to him that love was always worth the risk, no matter how scarred he felt by his past. ‘I imagine that you are still hurting at the loss of your wife, Harry, and I can't tell you how sorry I was to hear about her death. But while you may think it's easy for me to talk, I really do believe what I've just said, and I'm sad for you that you don't feel the same.'

‘Maybe we could discuss it another time.' he said abruptly. ‘I'd better go. I can smell my meal burning from here. Goodnight, Phoebe.' And before she could reply he'd gone.

 

As he ate his solitary meal Harry was thinking that the woman across the landing must think him pathetic,
hovering around her like Social Services and burbling on about the downside of family life.

His marriage to Cassie had been good in parts, but something of a roller-coaster ride. She'd been an extrovert, a risk-taker who'd thrived on excitement. Motherhood had never been high on her agenda, just as fatherhood had been low on his.

Maybe he should make it clear to Phoebe that his concern on her behalf was simply neighbourly, that he would have done the same for anyone he felt the heater would benefit. The fact that she had a child in her not-so-warm apartment had just made it seem the sensible thing to do.

But he'd come back to Bluebell Cove like a wounded animal to its lair, not to fraternise with the locals, and a staff member at that. So maybe he should play it cool with Phoebe from now on, and make sure he avoided bringing up such topics as love and family, which they clearly had wildly different opinions about.

 

Harry was nice under that brusque exterior, Phoebe thought as she felt the boost that the heater was giving to her very average central heating system. And her heart bled for the grief he'd suffered, and was clearly still struggling with.

Suddenly, instead of wishing that the other apartment was still unoccupied, she felt she was going to enjoy having Harry for a neighbour, but there was no way she would want him to think she saw him as anything other than that.

The responsibility of becoming a single mother had
been frightening while she'd been carrying Marcus and even more so during the first weeks after his birth. But with the help of Katie and Rob, who had been fantastic, and her own determination not to falter in the life she had chosen for herself, she was coping.

Every time she looked at the baby asleep in the next room, she knew she'd done the right thing. If it had been up to Darren, their child wouldn't have existed. The mere thought of that always brought her up with a jolt, especially when she was tired or discouraged at the end of a long day faced with a never-ending list of chores to do once Marcus was asleep.

But she wasn't so wrapped up in her restricted ‘mother and child only' existence that she didn't recognise an attractive man when she saw one, and Harry was certainly that!

 

When she stepped onto the landing the next morning with Marcus in her arms, his door opened simultaneously and with a friendly smile she said, ‘We stayed beautifully warm through the night, Harry. Thank you so much.'

There was no answering smile coming her way and she felt the colour rise beneath the smooth pale skin of her face as he said flatly, ‘It was there, hanging about doing nothing, so don't feel indebted.'

Chastened, she increased her hold on Marcus and prepared to descend the stairs. In the same flat tone he said, ‘Watch your step.'

She'd thought he might offer to carry Marcus down for her, or have a pleasant reply to her greeting, but
instead it felt as if she'd entered some sort of cold zone and she didn't know why.

Unaware of his musings of the night before, she thought bleakly that it must be a double-edged warning—to watch her step on the stairs, and at the same time watch her step in her dealings with him, especially if she thought that the offer of the heater the night before had been an invitation to be all chummy. Was Sir Galahad going to turn out to be a Dr-Jekyll–Mr-Hyde sort of person just when she was warming to him?

Automatically reacting to his remote manner she said coolly, ‘I've managed to do that so far without mishap,' and began to descend the steep staircase carefully with Marcus gazing around, wide eyed.

Once at the bottom she didn't linger for further downbeat comments. As soon as Marcus was strapped into her car's baby seat, she drove the short distance to the nursery. Handing him over reluctantly to the excellent Beth, she then returned to the surgery complex to sort out her calls for the day.

As usual, she found the staff gathered in the kitchen with their mugs of tea, except for Harry who apparently had taken his into his consulting room. Crossly, she hoped he would stay there until she'd set off on her rounds.

He did, and as she drove along the coast road to the shop by the harbour to check on Rory's injured leg once again, she couldn't help thinking how typical it was. The first man she'd had any social contact with in ages had the kind of looks and the background that appealed to her, but clearly he also had a dual personality!

He'd given her the heater of his own free will. It wasn't as if she'd asked him for it. She wanted favours from no one, was her own woman, and intended to stay that way. Nevertheless, it had given her a nice feeling inside to know that he'd tuned into her needs twice in two days.

So hang onto the memory of it, she warned herself. It isn't going to happen again, and if by some strange chance it should, don't go all gooey-eyed, just be pleasant but aloof.

She had to pass a side turning to the Enderbys' farm on her way to the harbour and stopped off to enquire how Pamela was progressing.

George was there by himself again and informed her that his daughter-in-law had come through the surgery, and had been taken to the high-dependency unit.

‘It was a miracle the way you and Harry Balfour saved her life,' the old man said huskily. ‘We are fortunate to have him with us again as I'm told that he was doing greater things in Australia than running a village practice.

‘But his Aunt Barbara is a great one for getting people to do what she wants and it was she that persuaded him to come home. Though I don't think he needed much coaxing after what happened to him out there. That Cassie was a fiery madam, but it seems as if she took on more than she could handle when she tried to overtake a big truck without warning.

‘It's a pity he didn't come back to us in the spring when the bluebells out in their glory, the skies so blue
and the sea a joy to behold, instead of on a grey day in January.'

‘It won't be long before that happens,' she consoled. ‘This month is almost out, then February is the shortest one on the calendar, and when it is gone, Easter won't be far away.' Feeling that she needed to be on her way, and reeling slightly from discovering the awful manner in which Harry's wife had died, she said goodbye to George and drove off in the direction of the fishing-tackle shop.

Rory's leg was definitely on the mend and when she'd changed the dressing once more, Jake said, ‘We're going to see his Mum and Dad this afternoon. Knowing that the leg is clear of the infection will be one thing less for them to worry about, thanks to you, Nurse.'

‘I'm just doing my job.' she told him as she prepared to leave uncle and nephew to their own devices. Then, given his reaction of the previous day to discovering she was a single mum, she was surprised when Jake said, ‘We're going out in the boat on Saturday and the invitation is still there if you can manage to come.'