The Village Nurse's Happy-Ever-After

They’d discussed starting a family a few times and she’d noted that his interest had been lukewarm, but had assumed that once Darren held his child in his arms, he would be lost in wonderment.

Instead, to her horror and dismay he’d gone berserk at the news, insisting he wanted to get to the top in his profession before lumbering himself with kids. He’d then suggested that she have an abortion. That had been a step too far and, heartbroken, she’d given in her notice at the London medical practice where she’d been employed as a district nurse.

Leaving him unrepentant, she’d moved to be near her sister and brother-in-law, her only relatives, and had filed for divorce. Clearly marriage to a man whose career meant more to him than his unborn child had been a big mistake. She and Darren hadn’t spoken since and were not likely to.

She’d written to tell him he had a son when Marcus had been born but had received no response. A phone call from one of the girls at the bank had explained why. He was living with the daughter of the chairman of his bank and soon there would be wedding bells. It was to be hoped that wife number two was aware of his aversion to family life, she’d thought wryly, but was sure that a grandchild for the chairman of the bank would be much more welcome than one whose mother was just a mere nurse.

When she’d taken off the dungarees and freed her hair from under the sun hat, Phoebe went to stand by her baby’s cot. Marcus was sleeping in pink and gold perfection, and planting a butterfly kiss on his smooth cheek Phoebe knew that her ex-husband was the loser in all of this.

As he placed the large case he’d humped up the stairs inside a small hallway, and closed the door behind him, Harry thought, What or who was that?

The voice had been that of a woman, so had the big brown eyes observing him warily through the narrow opening. But there had been no hair visible, and he’d caught a glimpse of what looked like paint-splashed dungarees.

Not a very good beginning, Harry, he thought. His aunt had abided by his wishes that there should be no fuss on his arrival, but clearly hadn’t thought to inform him that he was going to have a strange neighbour.

He’d let himself into the surgery building, which he’d last seen five years ago, with one thought in mind—to get some sleep. The last thing he wanted was to still be under the covers the next morning when he was due to make his first appearance in the practice.

Putting from his mind how the privacy of his arrival had been butted into by some cautious, brown-eyed gremlin, he went to check out the kitchen before having a shower and then going to bed.

There was food in the fridge and the kitchen cupboards—fresh bread, scones, milk, cheese, bacon, eggs, and in pride of place a large carton of the clotted cream so famous in Devon and Cornwall.

He smiled for the first time in hours. His aunt, Barbara Balfour, who had instigated his return to Bluebell Cove, might be less of the woman she had once been, but she would definitely be behind all this, he thought.

Then he explored the bedroom, and came upon the welcome sight of a big double bed made up with fresh linen. When he crossed over to the bedroom window, a winter moon was shining above the village. In the distance, the lights of the house on the headland where his aunt and uncle lived glistened and flickered in the fresh breeze that had been the first thing he’d been aware of as he’d paid off the taxi that had brought him from the airport. As he’d breathed it in, it had been like wine after the dry heat of the country he’d just left.

The next morning, the travel alarm that Harry had brought with him fulfilled its function and he was down in the surgery before eight o’clock, just as the cleaner was leaving. By the time he’d introduced himself to the rosy-cheeked, middle-aged woman called Sarah, who informed him smilingly that her next task was to see her young ones safely off to school, and had renewed his acquaintance with the familiar layout of the surgery, the other staff were arriving.

Dr Leo Fenchurch, his second in command, was the first to arrive, followed by three practice nurses, three receptionists, a practice manager and the local midwife, who was based at the surgery.

As half past eight was approaching, and the surgery would soon be open to the public, Harry called them all together to have a brief chat and introduce himself. Picking up on the atmosphere, which was slightly lukewarm, he thought that Ethan Lomax was going to be a hard act to follow.

The two men had been friends and colleagues in the past, working at The Tides Medical Practice after qualifying. At that time the formidable Barbara Balfour, his aunt, had been senior partner, and no doubt would still have held that position if her health hadn’t started to fail.

He had severed his connection with the place when he’d married Cassie, but Ethan had stayed on until recently when he’d given in to his wife’s wishes and the family had moved to France.

Following in Ethan’s footsteps didn’t daunt him. He had no qualms about the job—he knew his own strengths when it came to that. More challenging were the other reasons behind his return. It was a case of hoping that somehow, in Bluebell Cove, he would find some ease from the grief that had been dragging him down during the last six months.

Harry looked over his new staff keenly—after all, they were the nucleus of the practice, so named because of the stretch of golden sand below the cliffs and the surging sea that came and went endlessly into the cove.

As it was his first morning, he was not aware that there was someone missing.

But while he’d been chatting to the cleaner, Phoebe had come down the back staircase that led to the apartments with Marcus in her arms, and had driven off to the nursery where he would be cared for until she’d finished her calls.

His baby buggy was in the boot, where it had been left the day before. In the short time that it took to unload it and pass her little one into the arms of Beth Dryden, who was in charge of Tiny Toes Nursery, Phoebe was acutely aware that she was running late. Marcus, who was teething, hadn’t wanted his breakfast or been his usual contented little self while she’d been dressing him, all of which had been time consuming.

But he was smiling now, she thought thankfully. After explaining his earlier teething fretfulness to Beth and receiving her reassurance that she would give him some breakfast and would keep an eye on him, she drove back to the surgery where an explanation for her lateness was due to the new senior partner. After last night’s uncomfortable few moments of meeting, she wasn’t looking forward to it.

If it had been Ethan she wouldn’t have needed to explain. He’d been kindness itself to her ever since she’d joined the practice—even while she’d been on leave after Marcus’s birth he’d still kept in touch. Harry Balfour, however, was an unknown quantity.

When she hurried into the surgery he was standing by Reception on the phone. Lucy, the senior practice nurse, said in a low voice, ‘Harry’s talking to Ethan. What kept you Phoebe, baby’s teeth?’

‘Yes, he was really fretful this morning, today of all days.’

The elderly nurse nodded and looking towards the newcomer said, ‘He’s very sombre, not the guy he used to be. Harry was always happy and carefree but, then, he has just lost his wife in tragic circumstances. Why don’t you go and sort out your calls while he’s on the phone and introduce yourself to him afterwards?’

‘Harry, it’s Ethan here,’ the voice at the other end of the line had said when the receptionist handed him the phone. ‘Clearly you’ve arrived safely and are already on the job, so every good wish from all of us here! It gives me a good feeling to know that you are taking up where I left off.’

‘It’s kind of you to say so,’ Harry told him. ‘I’d forgotten how lovely it is here. With regard to the practice, I’ve gathered all the staff together and introduced myself. I’m also very happy with the apartment, it’s really smart. Am I right in thinking that my aunt has been involved in the make-over?’

‘Yes, you are,’ was the reply. ‘Have you spoken to Barbara yet?’

‘No. I intend to go to Four Winds House this evening if she and Keith don’t show up before then.’

‘Fine, but prepare yourself for a shock when you see her. Barbara’s mobility is very limited and her heart isn’t good. She’s being treated for that by her new son-in-law, my friend Lucas Devereux, who is a heart surgeon. He and your cousin Jenna were married a year ago and have a baby girl called Lily.’

They’d continued the conversation for a little while longer and by the time Harry was replacing the receiver Phoebe was almost ready to set off on her home visits. First, however, she needed to make herself known to him in a proper manner after the strangeness of their first meeting, if it could be described as that.

He’d turned away from the Reception desk and as she moved towards him, the first thing he observed about her was the pale perfection of her skin. After spending years in a country where women were often very tanned by the sun, it was breathtaking.

Trimly dressed in the dark blue dress of her calling, Phoebe had taken her hair off her face into a neat coil held back by a comb. It wasn’t until his gaze met hers that Harry thought there couldn’t be two pairs of big brown eyes like that on the surgery premises. But that was the only similarity to the ragamuffin who’d been watching him unlock the door of his new home the night before. He put out a feeler.

‘I think we’ve already met,’ he said dryly, before she could explain why she was late. ‘Am I right?’

‘Yes, you are,’ she told him, holding out a smooth, ringless hand for him to shake. ‘I’m Phoebe Howard, the district nurse attached to the practice. Last night you caught me in the middle of painting the ceiling—I’m afraid when I heard you coming up the stairs I had to check as it’s been rather spooky with just the two of us up there.’

And what was that supposed to mean? he wondered. If she was living with a husband or partner one might expect that they would do the decorating. Yet a vision of Cassie came to mind. She’d been good at that sort of thing, said it kept her occupied when he was working long hours at the hospital where he’d been employed for most of his time in Australia.

She used to have a go at anything, had often been reckless, but it had seemed as if she’d had a charmed life. Until one Saturday morning, when they’d had words because he hadn’t been free to do what she’d wanted which was to try out her new car.

He’d been on duty at the hospital, and as far as he’d been concerned, his patients had come first, so Cassie had set off in a huff and while driving along a remote road in the outback, the driver of a large oncoming truck had swerved into her path. The consequences had been disastrous—he’d lost his wife in a matter of seconds.

The accident had been six months ago and coming to terms with it had been grim. Thankfully they’d had no children to be left motherless. They’d both been of a like mind, that there had been plenty of time for that, though for very different reasons.

On Cassie’s part, it had been because she hadn’t been quite ready to give up what she’d seen as her freedom. But on Harry’s part, it had been because he’d had a baby brother who had died from a genetic illness when he had been just a child himself. Yet, he’d been old enough to experience the frightening feeling of loss, and growing up as the remaining child of grief-stricken parents, the fear of bringing a child into the world and then losing it always lurked in the recesses of his mind.

He’d seen his mother weeping and his father’s permanently sad expression, and had thought that it was better not to have babies if the angels were going to take them up to heaven.

‘I’m sorry I was late arriving,’ the young nurse beside him was saying apologetically, and bringing his thoughts back to bear on why he was standing there, Harry said briskly, ‘That’s OK, just as long as it isn’t a habit.’

Hoping that in days to come the new senior partner wouldn’t feel that unavoidable came into the same category as a habit, Phoebe managed a strained smile. Then picking up the case that held what she needed for her patients, she went quickly out through the main door of the surgery.

Her first call of the day was to the home of a man who had just been diagnosed with insulin-dependent diabetes. Frank Atkinson was a newly retired forestry worker and she’d explained the procedure of injecting himself the previous day. Now she was on her way to check if he was having any problems.

Always a frightening ordeal at first, most people soon got into a routine and accepted the inevitability of it. Sure enough, when she arrived at a pretty thatched cottage on the coast road she found that he had coped and was less agitated than on the day before.

As was often the case, there was hospitality on offer. His wife Betty, who knew something of the circumstances of the young district nurse, had coffee and shortbread waiting when Phoebe had finished dealing with her husband.

‘I won’t say no,’ she said thankfully. ‘My little one is teething and was really out of sorts this morning, so I didn’t have time to have any breakfast. I mustn’t linger, though. We have a new doctor in charge of the practice and I’ve already made a poor start by being late, so don’t want to transgress any further! He has the look of a man who doesn’t suffer fools gladly.’