Nothing Left to Give

She laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled. ‘We’ll get you there, Mr Hendry, don’t you worry. You’ll do it this time. I won’t let you fail.’

He met her eyes, and she could see doubt and scepticism mingled with hope in their depths.

‘I’ll see you Monday, then.’

She watched him go, a relatively young man whom lack of exercise, family history and years of self-abuse had threatened with an untimely end. Could she save him? Not alone, of course, but would her contribution make any difference to the final outcome?

She didn’t know, but one thing she was sure of— she’d have a damn good try.

Friday, and the end of the week. Beth dropped the patient records back into Reception and smiled at Molly.

‘All done?’

She nodded. ‘I hope so. I’ve got to sort some things out for the Stop Smoking clinic on Monday, but otherwise I think I’ve done everything.’

‘Good.’ Molly glanced up at her. ‘Settling in all right at the Rectory?’

‘Oh, yes—it’s lovely,’ Beth told her honestly, genuinely delighted by her accommodation. She was less sure about her boss, though. Other than strictly professional exchanges, he had been very distant since the first night—really, since she had made that remark about his wife.

How was she to know, though? The man didn’t have a brand on his forehead that proclaimed him a widower. She felt bad that she’d hurt him, even so, especially after he had bent over backwards to make her welcome.

His desperation had certainly been justified, she acknowledged. She had worked full-time these past two days to help Julie catch up with her backlog, and then from Monday would be working just the mornings and Tuesday afternoon, as planned, with the smoking cessation clinic on Monday evenings some of the time.

For someone used to working full-time, it wasn’t much. She would have to find something to fill her leisure hours. Maybe one of her elderly patients had a dog that needed walking, or perhaps she could do some shopping for one of them. She’d ask—but not now. Now, she wanted to find a shop in the square and buy something to eat tonight, and then go back and cook it and eat it in front of the television, curled up on that unbelievably comfortable sofa.

Maybe she’d take up patchwork or tapestry or something to while away the long winter evenings.

It was only September, but already the nights were drawing in and there was a chill in the air.

She said goodnight to Molly and headed for the door.

Spaghetti, perhaps, or maybe a couple of those wonderful cheeses from the specialist food shop that lurked innocently on one side of the square.

She went in and bought some dolcelatte and a slice of a sheep’s milk roulé, and then on impulse picked up a bottle of Chianti.

‘Celebrating something?’

He didn’t mean to speak to her, but it was difficult to avoid her all the time and he didn’t want to be conspicuously churlish.

She turned and smiled, the wine in her hand. ‘Not really—it just looked appealing.’

‘You shouldn’t drink alone,’ he found himself saying.

She shrugged. ‘I don’t, as a rule, but—well, I thought tonight…’

She looked suddenly wistful, and he found himself asking her to join them for supper. ‘Nothing fancy—just spaghetti bolognese, I think, tonight. It’s Will’s turn, and he always does spaghetti.’

She nearly laughed. ‘I was going to cook that for myself.’

‘So will you come?’ He found himself waiting for her reply.

‘Thank you, yes, I will. I’ll bring the cheeses—we can have them afterwards.’

Her smile brushed her eyes with gold, and he felt the ache start again, low down. Damn. Now what had he done?

‘Fine,’ he said tersely. ‘Seven o’clock?’

‘That would be lovely—if you’re sure?’

‘Quite sure,’ he lied. ‘We’ll see you then—I’ll leave the lights on.’

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_5fd99723-6571-5352-9b7e-e3b9cfc6f6ae)

IN FACT it was still fairly light at seven o’clock although dusk was creeping in, but the lights made the big house seem even more welcoming as Beth scrunched up the gravel drive and rang the doorbell.

She waited for a moment, then rang it again. She could hardly hear it in the distance, over the music—at least two sorts, if not three—and the screaming of a child.

She smiled. That would be the small girl, in a paddy if she was any judge. She opened the door and walked into a scene of utter pandemonium.

The little girl was lying on the floor screaming, there was steam billowing out of the kitchen, and from the depths of the steam something with a heavy bass-line throbbed and wailed at full blast. The television was blaring forth from another room, and something else filtered down from upstairs.

She closed her eyes and tried not to laugh. Poor man, no wonder he hadn’t heard the doorbell!

She went into the kitchen and found it empty except for a pan of boiling water and the music. Both needed switching off—she went for the music first. Then she found the TV in the breakfast-room next door and switched that off.

The silence was shattering. Even the little girl stopped screaming to listen to it.

She went back out into the hall, now quiet except for the music emanating from an upstairs room.

‘Hello,’ she said to the child, and she sat up and eyed Beth warily.

‘‘I?.’

‘I’m Beth.’

‘I’m Sophie.’

She sat on the floor beside the child. ‘What’s wrong, Sophie?’

‘Nothing,’ she mumbled mutinously. ‘I can’t find Daddy. I called him.’

Beth shot a glance at the kitchen. ‘I don’t suppose he could hear you. Shall we see if we can find him?’

‘Who turned that off?’ a voice yelled over the banisters, and a youth vaulted over the top rail on to the middle of the first flight and bounded down to the hall.

‘I did.’

‘Ah.’ He skidded to a halt at her feet and peered down at her. ‘Um—is Sophie all right?’