The Village Nurse's Happy-Ever-After. Abigail Gordon
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nearby village of Bluebell Cove advertised on an NHS website. It had become reality from the moment that Ethan Lomax, the likeable head of the practice, had offered her the position. She’d worked there for the last few months of her pregnancy, until she’d started her maternity leave, staying with Katie and Rob.
But as they were moving up north to be near Rob’s father it had meant that she’d had to find somewhere else to live. When Ethan had suggested she rent one of the two apartments above the surgery at a nominal rate, she’d been only too eager to accept.
After the noise and bustle of London—and the hurt she’d received there, she was as happy as circumstances permitted in Bluebell Cove. It had seemed strange when she’d first moved there, but it hadn’t taken long for the peace and beauty of the place to charm her. She’d soon begun to feel a degree of contentment that she could never have expected so soon in her disrupted life. Now she no longer wept endlessly for what might have been. She was taking control of her life again as best she could, and if she had to hand Marcus over to others to be looked after while she was working, then that was how it would have to be.
As Phoebe watched, the Lomax family waved their last goodbyes and disappeared from sight. Soon the aircraft would be lifting off the runway, leaving yet another vacuum in her life. Suddenly holding back tears, Phoebe went to find her little car and drove off into the cold January afternoon.
At the end of the long flight from Australia, Harry Balfour gazed down sombrely on to the patchwork of towns, motorways and countryside that came into view as the pilot began the descent from the sky.
He was returning to the place of his birth, seeking solace and hoping to find it among the rolling green fields and magical coastline of Devon. It was where he’d always belonged, until five years ago when he’d met a feisty Australian girl. After a whirlwind romance, he’d married her and gone to live in her country with high hopes of happiness and job satisfaction.
The latter had been easy enough to find, but over recent months he’d been in a desolate kind of limbo, as if he didn’t belong anywhere or to anyone. It had been a phone call out of the blue that had brought about the decision to return to Devon.
The man who hadn’t smiled once during the flight hadn’t gone unobserved by some of the female passengers. He was an attractive member of the opposite sex. A big man with a lived-in sort of face, dark russet hair above cool hazel eyes, and a physique that lots of men would die for.
But for any of them who had smiled in his direction, or tried to chat to relieve the tedium of the flight, the verdict had been that he was an unsociable character, and Harry knew they were right. It was what he’d become, and he didn’t give a damn.
The last thing he wanted to do was make small talk to strangers. He’d already told the woman who had persuaded him to return to Bluebell Cove that he didn’t want to be met at the airport. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know where he was bound for. He’d lived there for the first thirty-two years of his life.
It was a couple of days after the Lomax family had flown to France and midnight was approaching. Marcus was asleep in his cot in the smaller of the two bedrooms of the apartment, and Phoebe was up a ladder in the sitting room, her long brown hair stuffed inside an old sun hat and wearing a pair of her brother-in-law’s cast-off dungarees.
She was painting the ceiling in an attempt to brighten up the place when she heard footsteps on the stairs that led up from the surgery. She became still, with the brush dangling loosely from her hand. Either there was an intruder in the building or…
It had only been that morning she’d discovered that the new head of the practice was going to be living across the landing from her in the second of the two apartments above the surgery. For days on end, the departure of the much-loved and respected Ethan Lomax had dominated every conversation among surgery staff and villagers alike. In contrast, the arrival of his replacement had been spoken of only rarely, so when the senior practice nurse had mentioned casually that he would be moving into the other apartment, it had come as a shock to her. She’d groaned inwardly at the thought of how embarrassing it could turn out to be.
Phoebe knew he’d been employed at The Tides Practice some years ago, so wouldn’t be a stranger to everyone, but he would be to her. Why wasn’t he moving into somewhere more salubrious? she’d thought uncomfortably. The last thing she wanted was to be coming across him every time she opened her door.
She’d asked if he was bringing a family with him and had been told that he was a widower without children. So at least there would only be just the one person living across from her, which was some slight relief. And now, if the noise on the stairs wasn’t an intruder, it would seem that he’d arrived. But she had to be sure before she called it a day and went to bed.
Putting the chain on and opening the door a crack, Phoebe peered out onto the landing. Deciding that the man in designer jeans and a smart jacket who was entering the opposite apartment fitted the role of new senior partner rather than burglar, she started to close the door quietly to avoid being observed. He turned suddenly, as if aware that he was being watched, and said, ‘Hello, there.’
She opened the door a fraction wider and said through the crack, ‘I heard you come up the stairs and was just checking who it was before I went to bed.’ Unable to step out and face him in her ghastly get-up, Phoebe closed the door and locked it in one movement. Then, leaning against it limply, she thought she hadn’t handled that very well.
But she was too tired to dwell on it—her arms ached from the painting and it had been a long day, with some of her calls way out in the countryside. She was in no mood to get excited about the new arrival, even though she had noted when peering through the crack that he was quite something as attractive men went.
But so was Darren, and ever since he’d disappeared from her life she’d agreed that the old saying ‘handsome is as handsome does’ often applied to good-looking men. Even though she’d survived the hurt he’d inflicted on her, if she never saw him again she wouldn’t complain.
They’d lived together in London, when he’d been a rising star, determined to get to the top in a big city bank. She’d always been supportive of his career ambitions but had never expected them to come before starting a family. A child to love and care for had been something she’d been looking forward to so much, and she hadn’t been prepared for his reaction when she’d fallen pregnant.
They’d discussed starting a family a few times and she’d noted that his interest had been lukewarm, but had assumed that once Darren held his child in his arms, he would be lost in wonderment.
Instead, to her horror and dismay he’d gone berserk at the news, insisting he wanted to get to the top in his profession before lumbering himself with kids. He’d then suggested that she have an abortion. That had been a step too far and, heartbroken, she’d given in her notice at the London medical practice where she’d been employed as a district nurse.
Leaving him unrepentant, she’d moved to be near her sister and brother-in-law, her only relatives, and had filed for divorce. Clearly marriage to a man whose career meant more to him than his unborn child had been a big mistake. She and Darren hadn’t spoken since and were not likely to.
She’d written to tell him he had a son when Marcus had been born but had received no response. A phone call from one of the girls at the bank had explained why. He was living with the daughter of the chairman of his bank and soon there would be wedding bells. It was to be hoped that wife number two was aware of his aversion to family life, she’d thought wryly, but was sure that a grandchild for the chairman of the bank would be much more welcome than one whose mother was just a mere nurse.
When she’d taken off the dungarees and freed her hair from under the sun hat, Phoebe went to stand by her baby’s cot. Marcus was sleeping in pink and gold perfection, and planting a butterfly kiss on his smooth cheek Phoebe knew that her ex-husband was the loser in all of this.
As he placed the large case he’d humped up the stairs inside a small hallway, and closed the door behind him, Harry thought, What or who was that?
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