‘So far you don’t seem to have irritated the dowagers or killed off their grandchildren so, yes, at the moment it’s good. You might blow it yet, of course, once you start doing a few more surgeries.’
He laughed. ‘Quite probably.’ He propped his lean hips against the worktop and looked hopefully at the kettle. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’
Sue scooted through the door. ‘I’m off on my visits. Jo’ll make you tea—she’s the resident mummy.’
He quirked a brow. ‘Resident mummy?’
Jo laughed a little awkwardly and flicked the button on the kettle. ‘I make them look after themselves and eat properly, and I nag a bit.’
‘You sound like an asset to the practice.’
She laughed again. ‘They hate it, mostly—except when I’m dishing out tea and coffee. Then they usually form an orderly queue.’
He chuckled and reached for two mugs from the rack, handing them to her. ‘Is it just us?’
‘At the moment. Were you looking for me, or just the kettle?’
‘You, actually.’ He lounged against the worktop again, looking sexier than he had any right to. ‘I wanted to go over the routine—you know I’m taking over all the obstetrics for the practice?’
‘Yes, I did. Not a problem—we can sit down with our tea and go through it all. It’s quite straightforward.’
‘Have you got time?’
‘Just about. I’m on call but it’s quiet at the moment. How about you?’
He chuckled. ‘I’m on half-timetable this week, just while I settle in. They wanted me to have a nice gentle introduction so I didn’t get the screaming ab-dabs and run off into the sunset before I’d had time to get used to the place. It’s quite a luxury, really, after doing locum work for six months and my GP training and obstetrics before that, but I must confess to being a bit bored.’
‘It won’t last,’ she assured him drily. ‘With this flu epidemic and the worst part of the winter lined up, you can be sure it’ll deteriorate very soon.’
‘I’m so glad. I was beginning to wonder if I’d have enough to do or if it was all a big mistake.’
Jo gave an astonished laugh. ‘Just make the most of it,’ she advised him with a grin. ‘How do you take your tea?’
‘White, no sugar—thanks.’ His fingers brushed hers as he took the mug, and a shiver of something elemental and thoroughly silly ran up her arm and curdled her brain.
What was it about him? He was just an ordinary man—wasn’t he? So he was good-looking—so were lots of men. She pulled out one of the chairs from under the table and sat down, giving her tea very much more attention than it really merited while she waited for her head to clear. He didn’t help matters. He flipped the chair round, straddling it and resting his forearms on the back, the mug dangling from long, strong fingers.
Ridiculous. Even his fingers drove her crazy!
‘So, tell me about how the obstetrics is arranged,’ he said suddenly, dragging her back to earth. ‘How many of our mums have their babies here and how many in the Audley?’
She latched onto the professional conversation like a lifeline and launched into a barrage of statistics. ‘More and more are having them either here or at home—recently I’ve had one or two who’ve given birth at the Audley and gone into the GP unit for a postnatal period of two or three days, just to get a rest.’
‘Yes, that’s one of the problems of sending them all home so soon—I often wonder if they don’t need more rest, but busy hospitals certainly don’t seem to be the place to get it.’
She set her mug on the table, folding her arms to keep her fingers still. ‘Most of the postnatal cases are mums with other children and just need a break, or their partners aren’t able to take time off, but whatever their reasons we encourage them to use the unit, of course, because otherwise we can’t justify its existence and it’ll be closed.’
‘Is that likely?’
She shrugged and pulled a face. ‘Maybe. Several units in the Suffolk area have closed over the last ten to twenty years, and others are under threat. We use it for obs and gynae post-op as well as just a straightforward delivery unit to maximise the use of the beds, but it’s certainly used to capacity most of the time one way and another and we try and keep it that way.’
He nodded thoughtfully, sipping his tea and gazing absently over the rim of his mug. ‘So how many babies are delivered in the community every year?’ he asked next, trapping her with his eyes.
Were they grey or blue? Hard to tell in this light…
‘In our immediate area about eighty, either in the unit or at home. We refer whenever we feel it’s necessary, and we never take chances. We’ve got fairly strict criteria for the GP unit, although if they don’t comply with the criteria I might still let them have a home birth, but we watch them like hawks. We’re too far from the specialist unit to be able to take risks.’
His eyes searched hers. ‘Does that undermine your confidence?’
She smiled. ‘It used to. Not any more. I think experience counts for a lot. I’m much more willing to let mums have a go now than I used to be.’
‘Are you happy to rely on your professional judgement, or would you like tighter guidelines?’
‘No. I like to be able to take each case on its merits. I rely on instinct as well.’ She waited for the criticism, but to her surprise it wasn’t forthcoming.
‘So do I,’ he admitted, ‘although I’m not sure I always trust my instincts yet. Maybe when I’ve got more experience in general practice. In the meantime, I’d rather check with a colleague. I’m not afraid to admit I don’t know all the answers.’
‘So you won’t mind when I keep you in order?’ she said with a hesitant smile.
He chuckled. ‘I’ll be relying on it.’
She nodded, relieved that they agreed about something so important. Not that she’d meant to be so unsubtle about it, but there you go, she thought, not everyone’s born to be a diplomat.
Her bleeper warbled, and she popped through to Reception, then came back. ‘Got to fly,’ she told him, ‘one of my imminent mums. In fact, are you busy? I’ll need an accomplice—this one’s a home birth. You could gain a bit of that experience you were talking about.’
‘Sure.’ He drained his tea, flipped the chair back under the table and stood, ready and waiting. ‘Your car or mine, or both?’
‘I’ll take mine because it’s got my stuff in—you’re welcome to hitch a ride or take yours, whatever, but I’ll ring her first.’
She went into the office and rang through to Julie Brown, half her attention still on the man lounging on the wall behind her. ‘Julie? Hi—Jo Halliday. How’s things?’
‘Oh, you know—I had a twinge so I finished feeding the sheep and came in, and once I stopped moving I realised things were getting on a bit. I don’t think it’ll be long.’
‘Hang on, then. Is anyone with you?’
‘No. Tim’s down at the other farm and the kids are with Mum.’
‘Right, unlock the back door, shut the dog up and go up to your room. Then lie down and rest!’
Julie chuckled. ‘Yes, Sergeant-Major, sir!’
‘Just do it. I’ll be ten minutes.’
She cradled the phone. ‘Farmer’s wife,’ she said to Ed. ‘She says it won’t be long. She’s had two—I believe her. Are