A Doctor Worth Waiting For Read online

  Fred’s blue eyes were troubled. ‘Both, I suppose. Kate hasn’t spoken to me—and she doesn’t know James has told me more than he said he would,’ he admitted, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

  ‘But—’

  ‘All we need to know is that Kate’s not incompetent or in any kind of trouble.’

  ‘I never thought she was incompetent.’

  Conor’s frowned deepened. He could never imagine Kate doing anything wrong, let alone being negligent. After her initial hesitancy he had seen how natural and thorough and caring she was, but she was definitely in trouble, if not professionally then in some other part of her life. He knew it. What he didn’t know was the nature of the problem. Yet. With or without Fred’s help, though, he intended to find out.

  ‘Has Kate been ill?’ he asked, remembering his initial concern about her pallor.

  ‘She’s a good doctor, Conor,’ Fred insisted. ‘Better than good. We are lucky to have her.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘She needs some time.’

  Which told him precisely nothing. ‘But—’

  ‘If Kate wants to talk, she will. Stop pushing, OK?’

  Conor wasn’t satisfied that it was OK. Kate was hurting. Anyone could see that. And it wasn’t in his nature to stand by and do nothing.

  ‘Leave her alone, Conor.’ Fred’s voice was uncharacteristically stern. ‘Kate’s not someone for you to play with.’

  Irritated, Conor rose to his feet. ‘I’m not playing, Fred. Far from it.’

  ‘Then give the woman some space.’

  Kate was soon taking her own surgeries and settled into the new routine, grateful for the friendliness of staff and patients. Sometimes she struggled with an accent or unfamiliar phrase but misunderstandings were laughingly overcome. If only the minor incidents with language were her only problem. Even though Fred was back, she still found herself accompanying Conor on home visits and, much to her chagrin, it was becoming harder to maintain her resolve and her resistance. She tried to avoid him but he seemed intent on hanging around, driving her to distraction. She was novelty value, she reassured herself. It would soon wear off. What about his busy social life? How did he fit all the women in when he seemed to work such long hours? It was none of her business. Thankfully he had refrained from asking any more awkward questions, although she sensed that his curiosity simmered under the outward charm.

  ‘If you have any thoughts about Charlie, I’d be pleased to hear them,’ Conor said, interrupting her reverie as they headed back to the surgery on a grey, wet Friday afternoon.

  Their last visit had been to a man in his early sixties, physically healthy but suffering from depression. Conor had explained how Charlie had spent his life farming, building up a reputation for a prize herd of Ayrshire cattle, only to lose everything when the area had been hit by an outbreak of foot and mouth disease. With his stock culled, his life’s work decimated, his farm silent and lifeless, Charlie had given up. Increasingly lethargic, he refused to take an interest in anything, rarely speaking and not eating properly. He had no family but his loyal friends were worried. So, Kate knew, was Conor.

  ‘It’s horribly sad.’ She imagined how different Charlie must have been when full of vigour and enthusiasm compared with the shell of the man she had just met. ‘Losing everything that way, his whole purpose for being.’

  ‘I know. I don’t want to impose something drastic on him at this stage and risk alienating him. At the moment he’ll let me in, take his medication, but he won’t consider seeing our visiting counsellor, Sarah Baxter. The situation has worsened since Christmas.’

  ‘What happened at Christmas?’

  ‘His dog died.’ Conor sighed. ‘Max had been keeping Charlie going. After losing him, he just sat down and became even more uncommunicative.’

  Having come to know more about Conor as a doctor in the last few days, she could tell how frustrated he was, feeling he had been unable to help Charlie through this difficult time. ‘I’ll give it some thought,’ she promised as they arrived back at the surgery, pondering on the problem as she preceded him inside. They heard a fearful screaming echoing down the corridor from the direction of the nurses’ treatment room.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re back,’ a harassed Aileen greeted them. ‘Conor, can you do anything?’

  ‘What’s the problem?’ he asked, handing over the patient notes for filing.

  ‘Little Callie McIntosh.’ The practice manager grimaced. ‘She’s cut her arm and it needs stitching but she won’t let anyone near her. Fred has tried, so have Dorothy and the other nurses, Kristen and Sandra.’

  Kate went with Conor to the treatment room but hesitated in the doorway, the young girl’s distress stirring unwanted memories and making her feel panicky. About three, the child was red-faced from screaming, a mix of fear and fury in her wide blue eyes, a bloodstained dressing roughly wrapped round one arm. Callie’s mother was frazzled, while nurse practitioner Dorothy’s look of relief when she saw Conor was comical. Feeling more in control as she forced herself to concentrate on the present, thankful Conor had not noticed her momentary lapse, Kate watched as he took charge. Talking to calm Callie, he knelt down beside her, smiled and turned his attention to the child’s well-loved teddy bear, which was clutched tightly in the hand of her un-injured arm.

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘B-Bear,’ she whispered.

  ‘It looks like Bear needs a little help.’ Conor pointed to a split in the seam of one leg where the filling was poking through. ‘Shall I make him better?’

  Wide-eyed, Callie nodded. ‘Can you?’

  ‘Sure I can. A few quick stitches and he’ll be as good as new.’

  Amazed, Kate looked on as Conor pretended to give the teddy a local anaesthetic and then swiftly put a few stitches in the furry leg. She knew how pushed he was for time, and yet he gave of himself to this troubled child. It was a side of him she had never anticipated but was now coming to know so well.

  ‘There!’ He smiled when he was done. ‘That wasn’t difficult, was it? And Bear was so brave. Do you think you can be as clever as him and let me make you better, too?’

  ‘S’pose.’

  ‘Good girl.’

  There were a few more tears but Conor talked to Callie, working gently but swiftly, and the job was soon finished. The little girl even had a smile on her tear-stained face as Conor proudly stuck a colourful sticker on her T-shirt for being so brave and gave her a sugar-free lollipop.

  ‘What a star,’ he praised, ruffling the blonde curls.

  Unsettled, Kate left Conor talking over Callie’s follow-up care with her mother and Dorothy, slipping away to the staff-room to help herself to a quick mug of hot chocolate before her first afternoon appointment arrived. For once the room was empty and, while the kettle boiled, she browsed the huge pinboard stuffed with photos of the staff from holidays and various activities which she had not had the chance to look at before. Her attention caught, she paused to examine one photo more closely, her eyes widening in surprise. Unless she was mistaken it was of Conor, completely bald, posing with a young girl wearing a headscarf.

  ‘We tease Conor about that,’ Aileen informed, startling her. ‘But we were very proud of him. He has a special way with people.’

  ‘What happened?’ Kate asked, interested despite her determination not to get involved.

  ‘About four years ago Conor was caring for Lucy, a thirteen-year-old with cancer. She was terrified about the treatment, tearful about her looks and losing her hair, so Conor did a deal with her—said he’d shave his head in support to keep her company.’

  Unwanted emotion welled inside her at yet more evidence of Conor’s caring. She didn’t know many doctors who would go to those lengths for someone.

  ‘We always say Conor should be available on the NHS by prescription!’ Aileen joked. ‘He’s wonderful at making people feel better about themselves. You wouldn’t believe the number of patients who have benefite
d from Conor giving them some time, be it a game of golf, a trip out somewhere or just a chat at home.’

  Kate wondered if some of the teasing about ‘dates’ referred to this and not to romantic entanglements at all. She had discovered firsthand how special time with Conor could make a person feel, having been on the receiving end of some of that one-to-one attention herself that week. She didn’t want to admit that the intimate smiles and warm looks made her insides throb with desire and made her wish for things that were out of bounds.

  ‘I’m surprised he doesn’t have a family of his own, given how good he is with children,’ Kate ventured, annoyed with herself for fishing.

  ‘There’d be many a lady applying for that job!’ Aileen laughed. ‘Conor’s not serious about any of his dates so I can’t see that happening.’

  After Aileen had gone, Kate made her drink, cradling her mug in her hands, a frown on her face. What had she expected? She had heard enough about Conor to confirm her opinion of him as a womaniser who was shy of commitment. Not that it mattered to her. The way he ran his life was none of her business, but it was warning enough, if any more was needed, to redouble her guard against his easy charm.

  Her frown deepening, she returned to the photos, her gaze straying to another one of Conor, this time with two other gorgeous-looking men, walking out on the hills. Her gaze moved on, lingering on a photo of someone in a protective body suit and helmet, holding some kind of tray-like object, taken at a winter sports centre.

  ‘What on earth is that?’ she murmured to herself, leaning in for a closer inspection.

  ‘Hi.’

  She jumped, nearly dropping her mug as Conor’s husky voice sounded in her ear, so close his breath fanned her cheek. She stepped away, horribly aware of him, his earthy fragrance teasing her senses, her pulse racing. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘Sorry.’ His teasing smile belied his apology. ‘Fancy having a go with me?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  His smile widened at her wary suspicion and he pointed to the photo she had been looking at, then the one next to it of the figure sledging down an ice chute.

  ‘That’s you?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘You flung yourself head first down an ice track on a teatray?’ Kate gasped in amazement.

  ‘It’s not a teatray!’ Laughing, he stepped up close behind her, looking over her shoulder. Her body tingled in response. ‘It’s an expensive, high-tech piece of equipment called a skeleton bob, and it’s fun.’

  ‘It’s barking mad crazy is what it is. And “skeleton” is an accurate description of what you’d be if you did it. Why don’t you play football or golf like a normal person?’

  He laughed again and she could feel the rumble of it against her back. ‘I do those, too…I love sport. I go curling, mountain-biking, walking, all sorts.’

  No wonder he was so fit, his body so superbly athletic. Anxious at the way she was reacting to the proximity of that body, scared she would weaken and forget the many reasons why she had to resist him, she slid to the side and put more space between them, her heart hammering as she concentrated on washing up her mug, keeping her gaze averted.

  ‘Kate,’ he murmured, his voice huskily intimate. ‘I wanted to ask you—’

  ‘There you both are!’ Jenny announced, appearing in the doorway, and Kate breathed sigh of relief at the reprieve.

  Conor sounded anything but relieved, frustration ringing in his tone. ‘What’s the problem, Jenny?’

  ‘There’s no problem.’ The young receptionist smiled, oblivious of the charged atmosphere. ‘Kate, Fred wants to see you in his room before you begin your consultations.’

  ‘Thanks, Jenny. I’m finished here.’

  She dried her hands, refusing to look at Conor, and headed for the door, hearing Jenny’s eager invitation behind her.

  ‘Conor, some of us are getting together for a drink after work. Will you come?’

  ‘I’m sorry but I already have plans tonight. Another time, though, I promise.’

  ‘It’s OK if you have a date. Which lucky lady has drawn the winning ticket this time?’ Jenny teased, although disappointment underlaid the joking.

  Conor murmured something Kate couldn’t catch then added, ‘I can’t let her down, Jenny.’

  She walked on, thankful to hear no more of the conversation. Professionally he was an incredible doctor but privately he was a player, a natural flirt, and the last thing she needed was another one of those in her life. Squaring her shoulders, determined to push thoughts of Conor from her mind, she knocked on Fred’s door and stepped inside.

  ‘Kate’s here now, James. Yes, we’re delighted,’ Fred said enthusiastically over the phone. ‘I’ll pass you over and give you some time to talk.’ Putting his hand over the mouthpiece, he stood up and smiled. ‘James would like a word with you, my dear. Take your time. I’ll go and get myself a cup of tea before surgery and give you some privacy.’

  ‘Thank you, Fred.’

  She waited until the door closed then picked up the phone, moving to stare out of the window at the view down a side road towards the sea.

  ‘Kate?’ a familiar voice barked in her ear.

  ‘I’m here, James. How are you?’

  ‘Busy. I phoned to hear how your first week has been,’ he said without preamble. ‘How have you been coping?’

  ‘Things haven’t been as bad as I anticipated…so far.’

  ‘Kate, nothing is going to change what happened but you can change how you react to it. You’re a wonderful doctor and Glentown-on-Firth is the perfect place for you to ease back into work and find some peace with yourself.’

  ‘I guess time will tell,’ she allowed, wishing she could feel as confident about herself and her abilities as the prof and her father did.

  ‘The circumstances were extraordinary, Kate, you can’t blame yourself,’ the prof chastised for the umpteenth time. ‘Anyone would have been traumatised by what happened. Most would never have lasted as long as you did, kept their heads and saved so many lives.’

  Kate bit her lip. It was easy for other people to tell her what she should and shouldn’t have done, how she should and shouldn’t feel, but they hadn’t been there. No one else knew what it had been like. She had been back in the UK for two months and she still had nightmares, still doubted her decisions…still grieved. Grieved for Wesley, her brother, for the colleagues and patients she felt she had failed. She may have healed physically but she hadn’t come close to dealing with the memories and self-doubt.

  ‘I don’t have all day, Kate.’ His impatient voice snapped her from her thoughts. ‘I’m due in Theatre in an hour. An interesting case, multiple fractures. A shame you aren’t here, I could use you.’

  A cold shiver ran along her spine. ‘You know I can’t do that. I’ll never do surgery again.’

  ‘I think you’re wrong but I accept that’s your choice. Now, how are you finding everyone up there?’

  ‘Fred’s lovely.’ She smiled, already fond of the paternal doctor. ‘The other staff have been very welcoming.’

  ‘Including Conor Anderson?’ he queried, amusement in his gravelly voice.

  ‘You knew about him, didn’t you?’ A hint of accusation laced her tone. ‘Conor is like Darren all over again.’

  ‘Don’t talk such bloody rubbish.’ The prof seldom minced his words and Kate couldn’t prevent a smile as she imagined his fierce blue eyes, the bushy grey brows knotted together in annoyance. She remembered how terrified she had been when she had first met Professor James Fielding-Smythe during her training, a man whose reputation, not only as a peerless surgeon but as a taskmaster able to reduce the toughest of junior doctors to a trembling wreck with one withering glance or cutting word, was legendary. Since then he had become a trusted adviser. ‘Conor Anderson is as far from Darren as it is possible to be. He’s a special doctor, Kate. He could be good for you.’

  ‘I gather Conor’s a little too good to all the women around
here,’ she riposted with asperity.

  ‘I doubt the man’s a monk but that doesn’t make him the kind of unscrupulous, cheating bastard Darren proved to be. Sacking him was the best decision I made—and the most satisfying,’ he added with a ruthless chuckle. Kate winced as she recalled the terrible scene. ‘My worst decision was letting you leave my team to return to general practice and then back your yen to join the aid agency. I should have fought to keep you. You had the makings of a first-class surgeon.’

  Kate swallowed. Sometimes she wished the professor wasn’t quite so blunt. ‘James—’

  ‘I’ve known Fred Murdoch nearly forty years, we trained together, fulfilled the best-man role for each other when we married our respective wives,’ he informed her, his voice turning reminiscent as he moved the conversation in a fresh direction, giving her little time to adjust her thoughts. ‘I may have told you that Cordelia and I visit Glentown-on-Firth every year. Fred and I have a week or two salmon fishing. Our wives enjoyed shopping trips to Edinburgh or Glasgow—until Fred’s wife, Annette, died two years ago. Cancer. Very quick. Conor was a tremendous support to Fred when Annette was ill. And afterwards. Give him a chance. More importantly, give yourself a chance.’

  ‘I’m trying to. I’m not sure I still have what it takes to be a doctor.’

  ‘You must find that out for yourself. Being a GP was always your original goal but you were sidetracked by Darren and his ambitions. Make the most of this fresh start, Kate.’

  The professor hung up with customary abruptness after instructing her to send regular email reports on her progress. Kate stared at the phone feeling unsettled and confused, James’s wise if impatient advice ringing in her ears. A tap on the door announced Fred’s return and she looked up as he came back into the room. She had not known about his wife and a wave of compassion washed over her as she studied him, seeing an underlying tiredness, noticing the way his suit hung on him as if he had shrunk from the person he had once been.

  ‘All right, my dear? Jenny told me the call was finished.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she fibbed. ‘Thank you.’