A Man of Honour

‘I don’t believe it,’ she said over and over again. ‘I thought he had piles. I kept telling him not to make such a fuss, and now it turns out he’s dying!’ She pressed her fist against her mouth to stifle the sobs, but to no avail. Helen put her arm round her and let her cry, and after a few minutes she tried to pull herself together. Helen gave her a cup of tea, and Mrs Church was halfway through it before the tears got the better of her again.

It was nearly five and time for Helen to hand over to her staff nurse for the evening before Mrs Church finally left, and as a consequence Helen had a mountain of paperwork to wrestle with before she could leave.

She was just coming to the end of it when Ross and Tom came in headed for the coffee-pot.

‘How’s Mr Church?’

‘Asleep—he was very dopey. Ruth’s specialling him.’

Ross nodded. ‘I’ll pop in and have a chat before I go home tonight, if he’s awake enough. Otherwise I’ll see him in the morning. What about Judy Fulcher?’

‘She’s doing well—her peritonitis is settling and she seems to be responding well to the antibiotics. Alex Carter came and saw her yesterday and confirmed a generalised gynae infection—he wants to keep an eye on her. Seems she’s got gonorrhoea, chlamydia and candida among other things.’

Tom wrinkled his nose. ‘Delightful. I thought she was married?’

‘She is,’ Helen told them. ‘Perhaps her husband brought the bugs home?’

‘How thoughtful,’ Ross commented drily. ‘Some people have all the luck.’

Tom chuckled and put his cup down. ‘Well, if it’s all the same to you I’m going to stick my nose in a book. I’ve got my viva coming up altogether too quickly.’

‘You’ll walk it,’ Ross said with a yawn. ‘Oh, God, I’m tired. Think I’ll go home to bed. Oh, before you go Tom, Lizzi and I are having a barbecue on Saturday—all very informal, just a swim and a burger in a bun. Lizzi ordered me to make sure you come. She says it’s high time she met you.’

Tom smiled slightly. ‘Thank you, that would be lovely. I’ll look forward to it.’

Ross turned to Helen. ‘What about you—any chance you can make it?’

‘Yes—super. Thanks, Ross.’

‘I tell you what—why don’t you come together? Very ecologically sound—and there won’t be so many cars on my grass!’

Tom gave a short laugh. ‘Fine—provided Helen doesn’t mind?’

She met his eyes—those strange, haunting blue eyes—and thought of spending all that time alone in a car with him. ‘No—no, I don’t mind,’ she said quickly, and her voice was slightly breathless, like an eager girl’s, she thought in disgust.

Ross shot her a keen look, but simply said, ‘Good. That’s fine. Any time after three.’

Then she was alone, with the prospect of spending Saturday afternoon and evening with Tom, and wondering what on earth she had let herself in for.

‘Wow.’

Helen glanced across at Ross’s house, sprawling down the hillside like a Spanish villa, and then at Tom, who looked faintly thunderstruck.

‘It is a bit, isn’t it? Look, park over there by those others under the trees.’

‘Lord—a cast of thousands,’ Tom said softly. He swung his Sierra off the drive on to the broad sweep of lawn that was covered in cars and pulled up beside a big dark grey Mercedes estate. ‘I’m going to lower the tone a bit in this,’ he joked, and tipped his head towards the Mercedes. ‘Oliver’s?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘He’s on call, but I guess his registrar will be doing it this afternoon.’

‘Surprise, surprise,’ Tom muttered under his breath. ‘The joys of being a registrar.’

Helen chuckled. ‘Poor old boy—you look really hard done by.’

He had the grace to laugh. ‘Yes, I’m really badly treated, aren’t I?’

‘The trouble with Ross,’ she told him as she gathered her things and climbed out of the car, ‘is that he is incapable of delegating. That’s why he’s always so tired. He flings himself whole-heartedly into his job, and insists on doing the best for his patients. If that means he does the operation, so be it.’

Tom regarded her thoughtfully over the top of the car. ‘But is it always the best for his patients? If he’s tired, will he perform well?’

‘The curse of the houseman. I think Ross perhaps hasn’t realised that he’s grown up!’

Tom chuckled. ‘No, I think he feels the rest of us haven’t—that’s why he mothers and spoon-feeds us! Where do we go?’

‘Follow the noise—and you’re wrong, you know. He’s been very complimentary about your operating—says you’re good—and from Ross, believe me, that’s high praise indeed.’

They strolled together across the grass and round the side of the house to the pool area, and Helen tried to ignore the long, lean, hair-strewn legs that ate up the ground so easily, and the snug fit of the tailored shorts that emphasised his narrow hips below the trim waist and wide, strong shoulders. She felt more than ever attracted to him, and was sure it must show in her eyes. She just wished she had the nerve to ask him if he was married or had a girlfriend, but she didn’t really want to know. She might not get the answer she wanted, after all!

They turned the corner and Tom stopped in his tracks. ‘Good God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many babies out of a maternity unit!’

Helen laughed. ‘Oh, well, they’re all at it. There’s Lizzi—come and meet her.’

They picked their way through the bodies strewn over the lawn to a slender, quietly pretty woman bent over a tiny toddler.

‘Lizzi?’

She straightened, hitching the baby up on to her hip, and her face broke into a smile.

‘Helen! I’m so glad you could come—and you must be Tom. Lovely to meet you. Welcome to the madhouse. Go and find yourselves a drink in the kitchen and come and have a chat.’

They made their way up the broad flight of steps leading to the house, and Tom shook his head slightly. ‘Wow, again. What a house. I could almost forgive it for being modern, it does it so well!’

Helen chuckled. ‘I take it you like old houses?’

‘Oh, ideally, but I’m not having a lot of joy finding anything I like. Nothing lives up to the estate agent’s blurb!’

They went into the house and found Ross in the kitchen piling burgers and sausages and chicken legs on to big plates. He was dressed only in a pair of scanty swimming-trunks, and looked disgustingly healthy and youthful.

‘Just in time,’ he told Tom with a grin, and handed him two of the plates. Take them down by the pool to the barbecue, and come back for the next lot. Right, Helen, what can I get you to drink? Hot, cold, with or without alcohol?’

‘Cold without, please.’

‘Fruit juice and fizzy water?’

‘Lovely.’

He handed her the ice-cold glass and then carried on unwrapping food.

‘Are you expecting an army?’ she asked quizzically, eyeing the mountain of burgers.