in her thirties with a welcoming smile and a friendly manner came out and asked how she could help. She had a name badge on that said she was Sue Faulkner, Receptionist, and Fran returned her smile.
‘Hi. I’m Fran Williams—I’ve got an interview with Dr Giraud when he’s finished his surgery,’ she said, and the woman’s smile widened.
‘Ah, you’re the nurse! Come on in. I’m afraid he’s still got patients, but I’ll make you a cup of coffee while you wait. I could have warned you not to bother to be early, he’s always running late. He likes to give the patients a thorough hearing, so he always has too many because they all want him, and he always overruns. Still, it’ll give you a chance to meet the rest of us. I gather you were here last Friday?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Fran told her. ‘I didn’t see you then.’
‘No, you wouldn’t, I don’t work on Fridays. Still, I’ve met you now. Angie’s here, the full-time practice nurse, so she can show you round, I’m sure, and tell you a bit more. Come on through.’
While she was talking she lifted up a flap in the counter and opened the gate under it, and Fran followed her into the back of the reception area and through to the office.
It was a hive of activity, but nevertheless everyone turned and smiled a welcome, and the practice nurse put down the pile of supplies she was carrying and came over, her hand extended.
‘Hi, again. Everybody, this is Francesca Williams—our new team member, with any luck.’
‘Fran,’ she said with a laugh, ‘and I’m not counting my chickens.’
‘Oh, nonsense. You haven’t run screaming yet, that’s better than the others. Come and see the room you’ll be working in, and then we’ll have a coffee. Xavier’ll be ages, I expect.’
She followed Angie out through the waiting room and down a corridor, her words echoing in her head. Run screaming? From what? She felt a quiver of doubt and wondered what on earth Jackie had let her in for.
‘Why should they run screaming?’ she asked, but Angie just laughed and shut the door of the treatment room behind them.
‘Oh, you know—mention kids and people either love them or hate them. So far everybody’s either hated them or had their own after-school commitments. Most people who want to work part time in the morning have kids of their own, or else they just want to dabble. Nobody wants to take on a disabled kid, and hardly anybody wants to live in, or at least not for the right reasons.’
Fran shrugged, wondering if being homeless was a good enough reason. ‘I haven’t got anywhere to live at the moment, so it suits me, at least on a temporary basis. I’ve only just moved back to the area.’ Very only just, she added to herself—about twelve hours ago, to be exact, but Angie didn’t need to know that.
The other woman cocked her head on one side and studied Fran thoughtfully. ‘You do know it’s a permanent job, don’t you?’
Fran nodded. ‘Yes—but I was told he needed someone now regardless and would take me on a temporary basis if necessary.’
Angie sighed and nodded. ‘Well, that’s certainly true. He’s run ragged, trying to cope with work and the children, and we’re certainly at full stretch here. I’m sorry, I can’t remember what Xavier said about you. Have you worked as a practice nurse before?’
‘No,’ Fran confessed. ‘I was an A and E sister until ten days ago.’
‘Oh, gosh, well, you’re going to be bored to death here, then,’ Angie said with a humourless laugh. ‘I’m afraid we can’t offer you drama and excitement.’
‘Good. I’ve had enough drama and excitement to last me a lifetime.’ She could see a question forming in Angie’s eyes, and cut it off deftly. ‘Will I need to train for this job?’
‘Yes—but I can do it as you go along. It’s not a problem. It’s just a pain having to keep retraining new people every few weeks, but it can’t be avoided and at least you’re up to speed with current treatment.’
‘Well, I’m good with first aid.’ Fran chuckled. ‘But I don’t suppose I know the first thing about leg ulcers.’
‘Easy. I’ll make sure you get lots of help. I’m always here in the mornings, so you won’t have to struggle. So, this is the room. Nothing flashy like you’re used to, I don’t suppose. Where did you work, Ipswich?’
‘No—London,’ Fran said, looking round and being deliberately uncommunicative. She didn’t want to go into her reasons with the delightful but very open Angie, at least not until she’d spoken to Dr Giraud again and knew she was at least going to be offered the job.
‘Tell me about the equipment you use,’ she said, deliberately focusing on the here and now, and for a few minutes they chatted about procedures while Angie showed her some of the more sophisticated kit at their disposal.
Then the door opened, and Fran turned to see who had come in and her heart skidded to a halt.
‘Ah, Xavier, I was just showing Fran the room,’ Angie was saying, but she was hardly aware of the other woman’s voice. Instead she was transfixed once again by the haunting quality of those smoke-grey eyes that seemed to be searching deep into her soul. A smile creased their corners, and she thought she’d never seen a kinder pair of eyes in her life.
‘Miss Williams, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. It was just one of those days. In fact, they’re all one of those days,’ he confessed with a wry smile, and held out his hand. ‘It’s good to meet you once more.’
That voice again—and she’d forgotten what a physical presence he had. He was tall, a shade over six feet, perhaps, with thick, springy hair and shoulders wide enough to lean on. His mouth was full and chiselled, his jaw strong, and there was enough character in his face for ten men.
‘It’s good to see you, too,’ she said, placing her hand in his. His fingers curled around the back of hers, warm and firm and confident, yet gentle at the same time, and she felt an inexplicable sense of homecoming.
‘Come on through to my consulting room—we can have a chat in peace. Have they offered you coffee?’
‘I was about to make it,’ Angie said, and he smiled at her.
‘You couldn’t make two and bring them through for us, could you? I’ve only got a few minutes, I’ve got a call to go out on—it’s not that urgent, I don’t think, but I want to be sure.’
‘OK, two it is.’
Fran followed him through the corridor and he ushered her through a door into his consulting room. It was bright and modern and well equipped, and there were pictures on the wall behind his desk which she hadn’t noticed on Friday.
His family, of course. A boy and a girl, and a woman, probably his wife, small and dainty and much more chic than Fran could ever be.
So what? she thought unconvincingly. You aren’t trying to compete with her.
He opened his mouth to speak and the phone rang. He gave a barely audible sigh and excused himself, then lifted the receiver.
It was obvious from the conversation that his patient was deteriorating, and he glanced at his watch and sighed again, ramming a hand through his hair. A tousled strand fell over his forehead and he pushed it back impatiently.
‘OK. Tell Mrs Donaldson I’ll come now and see him, and ask Stuart to take my other calls, please,’ he said, and turned to Fran with an apology in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he began, but she shrugged.
‘That’s the way it is. Why don’t I come with you, and we can talk while you drive?’
Relief washed over his face. ‘Would you?’ he said, and she wondered if he was afraid to let her go without her signing on the dotted line, if what Angie had said about the other candidates was true.
‘Of