Hired: GP and Wife. Judy Campbell
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Zara had been, he reflected bitterly.
He was prevented from asking further questions by the door opening and Isobel coming in bearing a tray with two mugs, a teapot and a plate with some scones, butter and jam on it.
‘Here’s your tea,’ she said brusquely, putting it down on the desk. She looked in her dour way at Terry. ‘You’re not from these parts, then?’
Terry sighed. It seemed that people wanted to know a lot about her, and she wanted to tell them as little as possible!
‘No, I’m not. But it looks a beautiful place—even when it’s pouring with rain!’
Isobel’s stern face softened slightly and she said, ‘Well, I hope you’ll be happy.’ She looked sternly at Atholl. ‘Now, make sure yon lass eats these home-made scones. I’ve heated them up and she must be starving after coming all that way from London.’
Isobel nodded curtly at them both and then went out to answer the phone that was ringing shrilly in Reception.
‘I suspect Isobel’s bark is worse than her bite,’ remarked Terry.
Atholl chuckled. ‘She’s as soft as butter inside, but she’s bullied and bossed Uncle Euan around for thirty years now—she thinks she runs the practice.’
‘And is your uncle very ill?’
‘He’s making good progress.’Atholl sighed. ‘The truth is I think he’ll retire now. He was on half-time before, winding down a bit.’
‘And that’s why you needed someone else to help? Was my predecessor here long?’
A slight tightening of the lips and Atholl’s expression changed. ‘Not very long,’ he replied briefly. He got up from his seat and went over to the table. ‘Now, let’s have this tea, and perhaps we can sort a few things out.’
He handed her a cup and the plate of scones whose lovely warm smell had been wafting tantalisingly across to Terry. Suddenly she realised how very hungry and thirsty she was—it had been many hours since she’d had anything to eat. She took a huge gulp of the hot strong liquid and its warmth surged comfortingly through her, then she bit into the warm scone covered with melting butter and thickly coated with raspberry jam. No doubt about it, Isobel was a wonderful cook.
He smiled as he watched her face. ‘Ready for that, were you?’
‘I’m starving,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t care how many calories were in it!’
The blue eyes flicked over her for a second. ‘I don’t think there’s any need for you to worry,’ he observed shortly.
She noted his brief comment wryly—it was so different from the flowery response she’d have expected from Max, who had scattered compliments about like confetti—especially when he’d wanted something. How he’d loved to flatter. It made her embarrassed to remember how taken in she’d been by his patronising and glib remarks. But she’d learned her lesson now—she’d never be duped by that kind of gushing sentiment again.
She pushed unwelcome thoughts about Max to the back of her mind and put the plate down. ‘Right,’ she said crisply. ‘You wanted to sort a few things out, so fire away!’
He leaned back and folded his arms. ‘Did you mean it when you said you liked the outdoor life? To be frank, you’d be asked to do a lot of things that you wouldn’t do in London. To start with there’s the mountain rescue team that we are part of. You could be called out day or night, winter or summer—it’s not just a hike up the hillside.’
‘Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.’ Terry looked at him challengingly. ‘The agency warned me there would be outside duties and I’m prepared for that—it sounds interesting. Anyway, I bet I wouldn’t be the only woman on that team. Surely they aren’t all men?’
‘As a matter of fact they are,’ he said. ‘And we can’t afford to have a weak link in the chain.’
A flash of irritation whipped through her and she sprang up from her chair. ‘Look, I wouldn’t let you down but, hey, if you can’t face working with a woman here please tell me now and I’ll take the next ferry back to the mainland and find a job somewhere else. Let’s not waste each other’s time.’
He looked slightly taken aback at her petite, feisty figure standing rather pugnaciously opposite him, then his face relaxed and he hid a broad grin behind his hand as he stroked his chin reflectively. Terry Younger didn’t mind saying what she felt, although he had a gut feeling that there was more to her story about the real reason she’d left London. She’d seemed vaguely uncomfortable when answering some of his questions.
He knew only too well from his own experience that it was often a seismic event in one’s life that made one up sticks and move to a another location. But it took guts to come up all this way north without knowing anyone and leaving one’s friends behind, and hadn’t she just proved she was no slouch in an emergency? Perhaps, he pondered, she wouldn’t be such a bad choice after all—and where was he going to get another doctor at short notice, just as the tourist season on Scuola was starting? He couldn’t afford to be too choosy, and he’d just have to put up with having a woman to work with, however wary he was after his experience with Zara Grahame, his previous locum.
He twiddled a pencil in his fingers thoughtfully for a second, then, making a sudden decision, stood up abruptly. ‘I don’t think you’d let anyone down, Terry. After all, I’ve just had evidence of it half an hour ago at the accident by the dockside. If you think you can hack it here, I’ll be pleased to welcome you aboard!’
He held out his hand, his bright blue eyes smiling into hers, and she almost laughed with relief that he sounded quite happy to work with her after all. An extraordinary tremor of excitement and something else she couldn’t quite define crackled through her as they shook hands. The thought of working with Atholl Brodie was promising an unknown, perhaps dangerous but exciting flight into the future.
She took a deep breath and grinned at him. ‘Thank you, Atholl—and I’ll make sure you never have any complaints that I’m not up to the job, even though I’m a woman!’
‘I won’t ever hold that against you, I promise.’ He smiled. ‘Have you any questions to ask me?’
‘Isobel mentioned something about accommodation difficulties, but the agency said there was a small flat that went with the job?’
‘There’s a flat in the building,’ he admitted. ‘But perhaps you noticed the scaffolding on the side of the house? I’m afraid my uncle let the place go a little, to say the least, and there’s a lot of damp and mould. Your flat’s not fit to live in at the moment.’
‘So where do you suggest I sleep?’ asked Terry lightly. ‘Perhaps a bed and breakfast?’
‘Might be difficult over the next few days—there’s a folk festival on this weekend and the place is booked solid. My suggestion is that you come to my place…’ He hesitated a moment. ‘I’m afraid it’s a bit ramshackle and rather basic—we’re in the process of doing it up. To be frank, I didn’t think it would matter if a man was taking the job, but seeing…’
‘I’m a woman?’ finished off Terry wryly. ‘For goodness’ sake, if there’s a bed and a shower somewhere in the building I’ll be perfectly happy.’ She frowned slightly. ‘You said “we” are doing it up. I don’t want to be any bother to your wife…’
‘I was referring to the friend who’s running this outward bound course for boys,’ Atholl said. ‘He’s helping me with a bit of building work and decorating—and the boys are involved too, which keeps them busy.’
‘So do they all live there as well? It must be rather crowded.’
Atholl laughed. ‘Certainly not. I share the house with Shona…she’s a darling and keeps an eye on the place when I’m not there. I don’t know where I’d be without her.’
‘Oh…I