The Village Nurse's Happy-Ever-After. Abigail Gordon

reluctant smile was back and she thought if he kept it up, he might actually manage a laugh one day. To her amazement he replied, ‘It was good to have you assisting me, Nurse Howard.’ And then he was gone to face the sighs and fidgets of those awaiting his presence in the surgery.

      

      Having dealt with George’s dressing and left him in the charge of the farm’s housekeeper, Phoebe continued her home visits. When she arrived back at the surgery late in the afternoon, keen to see if the rapport between herself and Harry was still there or just a momentary thing, she found him closeted with one patient after another and it was still so when she left to pick Marcus up at the nursery.

      With the tooth now through, he was back to his usual state of contentment, greeting her with a big smile and a happy gurgle, and in that moment the other part of her life took over. He was all she had, and if that was how it was always going to be, she wasn’t going to complain. She’d made her choice when she split up with Darren and had no regrets about that.

      Chapter Three

      WHILE Phoebe was feeding and bathing Marcus before settling him down for sleep, it was the same as the night before—she was listening for footsteps on the stairs to let her know that Harry’s day at the practice was also over. This time she didn’t have long to wait.

      She heard him come up just as her baby’s eyelids were closing, his dark lashes sweeping downwards and his small chest rising and falling steadily. Ridiculously, this time she wanted Harry to knock on her door so that she could see if the time they’d spent together with Pamela Enderby had really been as satisfying for him as it had been for her. His unexpected presence last night had also shown her another side to him that she wanted to see again.

      Disappointed when she heard his door close behind him, she began to clear up after bathtime and was debating whether to get out the paint cans and brushes once more when the sound she’d been hoping for finally came.

      

      While he’d been putting a ready meal in the oven to heat up, Harry had been debating whether it would be pushing it too far if he called on Phoebe again. Yet he felt he had to. It was going to be a frosty night and while her apartment had been warm enough the night before, it definitely was not as warm as his, and there was a spare mobile heater in his hall that he wanted to give her just in case. He wouldn’t be able to settle if he hadn’t offered it to her on such a cold night.

      The last thing he’d expected when he’d told Ethan he’d like to move into one of the apartments had been the presence of a young single mother and child only a few feet away. The solitude that he’d sought wasn’t materialising, but for some reason he didn’t mind as much as he’d anticipated. As he crossed the landing with the heater, to his enormous surprise he even found himself hoping that he might get a glimpse of the smallest of the other apartment’s occupants.

      When Phoebe opened the door to him she was smiling, and it hit him again how unusually beautiful she was, with her clear, pale skin and wide hazel gaze that was observing him questioningly.

      ‘Come in,’ she said, stepping back while he humped the heavy appliance into her hall. As he straightened up to face her, she asked, ‘What is that?’

      ‘It’s a heater,’ he said in the brisk manner he used when not sure of himself. ‘It is going to be a very cold night and I thought it might be welcome.’ ‘Where has it come from?’

      ‘My place. I don’t need it as my heating is excellent, and I noticed last night that yours is not so good. It just needs to be plugged into the electricity. So can I leave it with you?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said slowly, completely taken aback that her new boss should take the trouble to make sure that she and Marcus were warm enough on a bitter winter night. There was a lump in her throat and for an awful moment she felt she was going to weep in front of him, but she fought back the tears.

      He wasn’t to know that his small act of kindness had broken through the armour of self-sufficiency that she wore to protect herself from any more of the hurts that life might have in store for her.

      ‘So where do you want it?’ he was asking, observing her curiously.

      ‘Here in the hall, I think,’ she told him, desperately scrabbling for some composure. ‘When I go to bed I’ll leave all the doors open so that the extra heat can circulate.’ Hoping that her surprise wasn’t making her appear short on gratitude, she asked, ‘Can I offer you a drink while you’re here Dr Balfour? A glass of wine, perhaps, or something hot?’

      ‘A glass of wine would be nice,’ he said smoothly, much preferring a beer but feeling that it wouldn’t be quite as suitable to the occasion. ‘But I can’t stay long. I have a meal in the oven.’

      She nodded understandingly as she produced a bottle of white from the fridge, and as she was pouring it asked, ‘Have we had any news on Pamela Enderby?’

      ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I rang the farm just before I came up and George said that she’s in Theatre, having a huge haematoma drained. So far she’s coping with it, but it is a serious situation and sadly I feel she will be lucky to come through it.’