Nothing Left to Give

‘Right, I’ll leave you to get settled in. If there’s anything you need, just come over and shout.’

She turned towards him, her beautiful blue eyes softened by the smile, and his fingers ached to free her hair from the ponytail and spread it over her shoulders. He could almost feel the silky strands sliding through his fingers. It would be like golden rain, fanned over his pillow, cascading across his chest as she raised herself to look down on him, a teasing smile on her lips ——

He yanked himself up short. No, Pendragon. Not this one.

He bade her goodnight and turned, running quickly down the stairs and out into the blessed darkness of the night.

Gideon—Beth found it impossible to think of him as Dr Pendragon—tracked her down the following morning at the surgery.

‘All right?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘Fine, thanks. I think I can find everything I’ll need. I’m helping Julie get rid of the backlog and then I’ll start my proper routine from Monday.’

‘Good. Make sure you put in a claim for the extra hours. Oh, by the way, talking about extra hours, do you feel happy about taking over the Stop Smoking clinic? I forgot to mention it at your interview. We run it when necessary, and we had a new group scheduled to start on Monday evening.’

She shook her head. ‘No problem. I’ve run one before. Do you do much with it?’

Oh, yes, it’s a tandem effort. We’ve found it’s very cost-effective because the smokers take up so much of our time and resources, especially in the winter months. It’s just that I’ve got a man coming to see me this morning who’s been referred for bypass surgery and he’s a heavy smoker—he needs to give up, and the surgeon is being less than hopeful about his chances if he doesn’t, so I thought I’d talk him into the clinic.’

‘Good idea.’

‘Sure you don’t mind? I’m sorry I didn’t mention it yesterday.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I think I’m going to find the time hangs on my hands anyway, I’m used to being busy.’

For a moment she thought he was going to say something else, but then he nodded and turned briskly away.

Beth watched him go, the long, lazy stride eating up the ground, the supple movements of his shoulders, the swing of his arms, his movements all graceful and coordinated like a natural athlete.

She had heard gravel scrunch underfoot this morning outside the coach house and had watched as he jogged down the lane past the church and out into the square.

Half an hour later she had heard the scrunch of returning footsteps, and had forced herself to ignore them and not look, however tempted she might be by the long, sleek limbs spangled with dark hair, the breadth of those powerful shoulders over neat, narrow hips and the driving pistons of his legs. One look was enough. After all, she had her sanity to consider, and tangling with all that raw masculine energy wasn’t conducive to mental health.

She busied herself in her room, doing inoculations and well-person checks, dishing out leaflets on breast and testicle self-examination, eating for health and avoiding heart disease.

One elderly lady, Mabel Robinson, came to her for a new dressing on her leg ulcer. Plopping down into the chair with a wheeze, she smiled up at Beth.

‘Hello, dear. Just give me a second and I’ll slip my stocking off for you.’

Beth returned the smile and knelt at her feet. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll do it. You’ve got to have a dressing changed, is that right?’

‘Yes—perishing leg ulcer. I don’t know, the blessed thing doesn’t seem to want to get better.’

‘Let’s have a look shall we?’ Beth gently rolled the stocking down and slipped it off Mrs Robinson’s foot, then after washing her hands she eased the hydrocolloid dressing away from the wound. ‘Oh, yes, I see what you mean. It’s obviously being a bit naughty, isn’t it? Well, let’s give it a wash and I’ll ask Dr Pendragon to have a look at it.’

She cleaned the wound gently with saline, then rang through to Gideon’s office and asked him to drop in.

He stuck his head round the door a moment later and shot Mrs Robinson a cheeky grin.

‘Hello, Mabel—how’re you doing?’

‘Oh, you know, Doctor—up and down.’

He crouched on the floor beside Beth and bent over the ulcer, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

‘Well, I think it looks better than last time, but it certainly isn’t progressing fast. Perhaps we should try some paste in it. That might help dry it up a little.’

Beth nodded, then redressed the wound, filling the pitting in the leg with Comfeel paste before replacing the colloid dressing with a fresh one. While she worked Mrs Robinson quizzed her openly.

‘You’re new, aren’t you?’

Beth nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right. It’s my first day.’

‘Staying with Dr Pendragon, I hear.’

‘In the coach house flat,’ Beth filled in hastily. No point in letting that rumour run away with itself! But it seemed her patient was better informed than that.

‘‘Oh, I know that, dear,’ she said. ‘Wonderful now, isn’t it? Met the children yet?’

Beth shook her head. ‘No—no, I haven’t.

‘Lovely children—such a shame about the mother.’

‘Mmm.’ Beth was deliberately non-committal, not wishing to get into a discussion about Gideon with this sweet but congenitally nosy old dear—and particularly not about his wife. She had already floundered in there where angels with any sense would fear to tread. ‘How does that feel?’ she asked.

‘Better. Thank you so much, dear.’

Beth showed her out, holding the door for the fragile little woman, and as she watched her go she wondered how far the old lady had to come.

‘Mrs Robinson?’ she called, running after her. ‘Would it help you if the district nurse came to do your dressing?’

Bright eyes sparkled up at Beth. ‘Oh, no, dear—I’d miss all the gossip! Besides, I only live next door.’

Beth smiled and let her go. The exercise and change of scene was probably good for her, anyway.

David Hendry, Gideon’s smoking heart bypass patient, walked past her as she was about to go back in. She knew it was him because as he passed her he paused to speak, then raised his hand to his mouth and coughed, and Beth could hear the damage he was doing in the bronchitic rattle from his chest.

‘Nasty cough you’ve got there,’ she said conversationally. ‘Bad cold?’

‘Nah—damn fags cause that. The dreaded weed.’

She smiled sympathetically. ‘Tough giving up, isn’t it? I used to smoke myself when I was training, but I gave up when I became a staff nurse! I still remember how hard it was.’

Her patient snorted. ‘You’re telling me. I’ve tried—God knows I’ve tried, but this time it’s got to work. There’s just too much at stake.’ He met her eyes, his own pleading. ‘I gather you’re running the Stop Smoking clinic with Dr Pendragon.’

‘That’s right.’

His mouth twisted. ‘Well, I wish you luck with me. I can’t do it on my own, but I really must make it stick this time.’