Saving Dr Gregory

‘Oh, Matt,’ she whispered, ‘why are we so horrible to each other?’

He handed her a tissue and stood patiently beside her while she blew her nose and pulled herself together, then he waited while she found her bag and put on her coat, and locked the surgery behind them.

‘Supper,’ he said, and with a wink, he hobbled over to his car and climbed in. ‘Can you remember the way?’

Polly nodded. ‘I’ll see you back there.’

As she followed his Volvo estate out of the car park, she thought it was typical that he would have a car like that—big, solid, reliable, safe—just like him. Husband material, she thought again, with a heavy sigh. She wondered what his wife was like.

‘She’d better damn well deserve him,’ Polly thought with a protective urge, and then laughed, a little weakly. She realised that her laugh was just a short step from tears.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_932fafaa-60ed-573b-8812-281a293e38bc)

MATT’s cottage was set back from the lane by a wide garden, filled with shrubs and trees and colourful pansies overflowing on to the edge of the path. Polly pulled on to the drive behind him, and switched off the engine, sitting for a moment to gain her composure before getting out of the car. She wasn’t sure she wanted to meet his wife, but she didn’t have a choice—or did she?

Climbing out of her little Fiesta, she eyed the cottage. It was in total darkness, and Matt was rummaging through a bunch of keys to open the front door.

Was he alone tonight? Perhaps his wife was away—oh, lord, Polly thought, he hasn’t brought me back here for some kind of extra-curricular wrestling match, has he? She immediately squashed the idea, and chided herself for her unworthy thoughts.

He needed to rest his leg, that was all. They also had to discuss Mrs Robinson, although admittedly not necessarily tonight, but Polly was lonely, and the prospect of returning to her cold and empty cottage after the harrowing session with Mrs Robinson filled her with horror.

Matt had the door open now, and she ran quickly up the drive and in through the door, smiling up at him as she crossed the threshold. Then her eye was caught by the interior of the cottage, and she gasped.

Oh, Matt, it’s lovely!’

Soft pink brick, mellow pine furniture, heavy oak beams the colour of honey, and plants—plants everywhere, flowing down off the window-sills and up the walls, living and vibrant. And it was warm—a deep core of warmth that reached down into the lonely places in Polly and comforted her unexpectedly.

He smiled at her obvious pleasure. ‘I like it. It’s been jolly hard work, and I spend all my time on it, but I’m getting there. I’ve only really finished this room and the kitchen. The bathroom’s not finished, and the two bedrooms are still pretty grim, but at least the bathroom’s upstairs now. Here, let me take your coat.’

She gave herself up to the luxury of allowing him to stand behind her and ease the coat off her shoulders, and then watched in fascination as he shrugged off his jacket, throwing both coats over the banisters before turning back and placing his warm, firm hand in the small of her back. The heat seemed to spread out from his palm and warm her all over. Curiously, it made her want to shiver. ‘Come into the kitchen. I’ve put the supper in the Aga.’

As they went through the low doorway towards the source of the warmth, a black Labrador with a snow-white muzzle lifted its head from its paws and sniffed.

‘Hello, old girl,’ Matt said softly, and crouching beside her, he scratched the dog gently behind her ears with one hand while he loosened his tie and undid the top button with the other. ‘Did you miss me, Bella?’

The dog’s tail thumped weakly on the ground, and she seemed to smile.

Matt stood up and moved to the sink. ‘Poor old girl, she’s ancient, and she’s beginning to wear out. I know I ought to take her to the vet and have her put down, but somehow I can’t bring myself to do it. In her own way I think she’s happy. When I feel she isn’t…’ He shrugged, and dried his hands before turning back to Polly.

‘It’s a hard decision to make,’ she said understandingly.

He nodded. ‘Come on, there’s a chicken casserole in here that’s going to be past its best before long.’

He opened the Aga and pulled out a heavy cast iron pot, and when he lifted the lid Polly’s mouth watered.

‘Gosh, it smells delicious!’

He laughed. ‘You don’t have to sound so surprised! Here, lay the table, could you, Pollyanna? The stuff’s in the drawer behind you.’

Pollyanna again. How did he manage to make the hated nickname sound like a caress? She fumbled in the drawer to give her time to subdue her feelings—feelings that were quite unprofessional and inappropriate towards a colleague and a married man. Especially the latter. Polly sighed.

Matt, mistaking the reason for her sigh, dumped the steaming casserole on the table and hooked the chair up behind him. ‘Come and sit down and forget about work. Mrs Robinson is nearer to being happy than she was before she came in, and all thanks to you, so you can put your feet up and relax. Have a drink.’

He pushed a glass of red wine towards her.

‘I’m driving,’ she protested.

‘Not till later. One glass with a meal won’t hurt you, and it will probably do you good. Anyway, I can’t drink on my own, it’s rude, so if you’ve got any human feelings you’ll join me!’

Polly laughed.

‘That’s better,’ he said with a smile, and handed her a steaming plateful of the casserole.

‘Ready-cook sauce?’ Polly asked mischievously.

His mouth twitched. ‘Absolutely. I’d be lost without it. This one’s called sheep’s eyes in wine vinegar. Bread?’

Polly nearly choked.

After the meal, which was in fact a delicious combination of chicken breasts, chick peas, tomatoes, onions and garlic with fresh crusty bread, they made their way through to the sitting-room and Matt sprawled on the floor, his head propped up on the edge of the settee, legs stretched out towards the wood-burning stove. Polly sat on the chair beside him, with her legs curled up under her, nursing a cup of coffee and watching him as he told her about the renovation of his cottage.

She was amazed. It had obviously taken him almost all the year he had been with the practice, and he had achieved a tremendous amount in that time.

‘Did you want to do it all yourself? she asked, curious for more information about this man who was beginning to fascinate her more and more.

‘Needs must,’ he replied with a wry grin. ‘I’m not made of money, and I had to buy into the practice, find an affordable house and get a reliable car all at once. It wasn’t easy. It isn’t easy. Sometimes I can’t afford to eat.’