The Doctor's Christmas Gift

‘I…um…coffee would be nice,’ she said, hoping that she had guessed correctly what he’d been saying. It seemed that she had because he smiled at her once more. He really did have the most wonderful smile, she thought. It was so warm and friendly that it must make people long to confide in him.

Catherine took a quick breath when she realised her thoughts were wandering again. It was a relief when Matthew turned to lead the way out of the room. She kept her eyes locked on his back as she followed him into the corridor, hoping it would help if she concentrated on something tangible. She must be nervous. It was the only explanation that made any sense.

He had to be well over six feet tall, she decided, her gaze sweeping up the solid length of his muscular back. He moved with the easy grace of a trained athlete, his long legs striding purposefully along the corridor so that she had to quicken her pace to keep up. Her brown eyes skimmed over the neat hips and trim waist, the wide shoulders, before moving up to his well-shaped head.

His hair was a rich, sandyblond colour, very thick and crisp-looking. He wore it cut very short, probably because it had a tendency to curl if he allowed it to grow any longer. Catherine sighed wistfully as she thought how typical it was that a man should be blessed with that kind of hair. Her own hair was so straight that she’d long since given up any hope of making it curl. Now she rarely bothered to do anything different with it, preferring to wear it the way she wore it that night—neatly coiled into a heavy, nut-brown knot at the nape of her neck.

Someone—a man who had hoped to become rather more than a friend—had told her once that she should let her hair down both physically and metaphorically speaking. However, it was a piece of advice she had never heeded. She preferred to keep all aspects of her life strictly under control.

‘I hope you don’t mind if we use the kitchen.’ Matthew Fielding paused and looked back at her, a hint of amusement making his blue eyes sparkle. ‘I know it isn’t usual to conduct an interview around the kitchen table but I haven’t eaten all day. I’m sure you would prefer not to have to give a practical demonstration of your skills, Catherine, if I passed out from lack of sustenance!’

Catherine felt a frisson run under her skin when he addressed her by her first name. It was odd how disturbing it was to have him call her that, as though they had crossed some unseen boundary. She gave a small shrug, not wanting him to guess there was anything wrong.

‘Wherever is most convenient for you, Dr Fielding. I really don’t mind.’

‘Make that Matthew. Or better still, Matt. That’s what most people call me, or at least those I class as friends.’ He opened the door then stepped back to let her precede him.

Catherine smiled politely as she went into the room although she took care neither to agree nor disagree with his suggestion. She had no qualms about calling him Matthew once their relationship was established, but as for using the diminutive…

She shivered, wondering why the thought of being classed as one of his friends bothered her so much. She had a wide circle of friends, all of them people like her who understood exactly what constituted friendship. They followed the rules and accepted there were limits to what a friend could be called upon to do. There should be no exchanges of confidences, no unannounced visits, no demands other than the brief sharing of time at various social events. That Matthew Fielding would view friendship as something entirely different went without question although Catherine had no idea how she could possibly have known that.

It was yet another niggling little worry, another uncertainty, and her mouth pursed. How did she know that Matthew Fielding would expect a lot more from someone he classed as his friend?

‘Sugar? Milk?’ Matthew had plugged in the kettle and was now taking mugs out of a cupboard. Catherine forced her mind back on track again. Maybe this was a rather strange place to hold an interview but she mustn’t allow it to upset her.

‘Just milk please,’ she replied evenly, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the big pine table. She glanced round the kitchen and realised immediately that it wasn’t just somewhere the staff made themselves a drink during the day. It was a real family kitchen, from the bright yellow Aga to the childish drawings fixed to the refrigerator door by a selection of colourful magnets. She frowned uncertainly, wondering what the arrangements were within the practice.

‘I live here in the main part of the house. There’s just the kitchen on the ground floor, though, because the rest of the space is needed for the surgery,’ Matthew informed her. He opened the fridge and took out a bottle of milk. He splashed some into a mug then brought it over to the table for her.

‘Thank you.’ Catherine smiled politely but she couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t surprised by what she’d learned. She hadn’t realised that the surgery was essentially part of Matthew’s home although she had no idea what difference it made.

‘You’re welcome.’

Once again she was treated to one of those wonderful smiles before he went back to the refrigerator and dug around inside it for a moment. He had a head of lettuce and a couple of tomatoes in his hands this time when he slammed the door.

‘As I was saying, the main part of the house is also my home, which makes it very handy for getting to work of a morning. No such thing as traffic jams to contend with…well, not vehicular ones, anyway.’

He grinned as he plonked the lettuce on a chopping board and set to work. Catherine watched as he expertly shredded it then set about slicing the tomatoes. It was obvious that he was used to doing such tasks because his hands never faltered when he carried on speaking.

‘When Glenda and I decided to open the practice we realised that one of us would have to live over the shop so to speak. It was a question of economics. Property in the city is horrendously expensive, as you know, so there was no way that we could afford to buy or even lease suitable premises.’

‘I see. So you decided to combine the two and make your home here?’

‘That’s right. I was married by then and Ruth, my wife, was expecting our first child. The plan was that we would live here until the practice got on its feet and then we would move out of the city. However, after Ruth died it made more sense to continue living here. It means that I don’t have to waste time travelling to and from work and can be home with the children as soon as I finish.’ He put down his knife and went back to the fridge.

Catherine frowned as she tried to absorb what he had told her. She’d had no idea that Matthew Fielding was a widower although there was no reason why she should have known, of course. His domestic arrangements had little to do with her except where they overlapped into his work. She waited until he had found what he needed in the fridge, which turned out to be a bowl of large brown eggs this time, before she set about clarifying the situation.

‘And Glenda—who I assume is your partner in the practice—is quite happy with the arrangement?’

‘Oh, yes. And, yes, again, Glenda is indeed my partner. Sorry. I should have explained that at the beginning.’ He grinned at her. ‘Just because I know so much about you, it doesn’t mean that you know anything about me, or this practice for that matter. Feel free to fire away and ask me anything you want.’

Catherine smiled coolly but it was just a cover for the fact that she couldn’t think of a single question to ask him at that moment. Maybe it was because the interview wasn’t following the usual pattern which had thrown her off course, she reasoned. Whenever she had been interviewed in the past there had been all the usual questions about her educational achievements, her experience and future plans, but Matthew Fielding hadn’t touched on any of those points so far.

All of a sudden, she found herself willing him to get back on track. Silly though it sounded, but she knew it would be easier to cope if she was on familiar ground. However, it seemed that he had no intention of fitting in with her preconceived ideas about how to conduct an interview.

‘Don’t tell me you’re too shy to ask me any questions, Catherine.’ He looked expectantly at her and she was mortified to feel herself blushing.

Matthew shook his head, a rueful expression crossing his face. ‘Me and my big mouth, eh? Of course you’re shy. You only met me five minutes ago and you’re probably on your best behaviour and don’t want to appear pushy. It’s a long time since I went for an interview so you’ll have to forgive me.’

‘I…um…There’s nothing to forgive.’

The situation was rapidly deteriorating and Catherine knew that she had to do something before it got any worse. Matthew had made her sound like some delicate little soul who was afraid to say boo to the proverbial goose rather than a mature woman of thirty-two who was more than capable of running her own life! She sat up straighter, a touch of hauteur about the look she gave him.

‘I assure you that I am not shy, Dr Fielding. However, you were right to say that I know very little about this practice apart from what you told me over the phone.’

She took a deep breath, pleased to hear how composed she sounded. It gave her the confidence to continue although she would have preferred it if Matthew had sat down rather than carried on with what he was doing. Her tone sharpened as she watched him breaking eggs into a bowl.

‘So Glenda is Dr Williams, and there are just the two of you in practice here at Brookdale Surgery?’

‘That’s right.’ He picked up a fork and began beating the eggs. ‘We have been toying with the idea of finding a third partner as the practice is expanding so fast. You may have heard that this area is becoming one of the most sought-after in London.’

His tone was dry when he said that and Catherine frowned. It hadn’t sounded as though the idea pleased him although surely it should? A thriving population would bring many rewards to the practice. With more patients on his list, Matthew could apply for extra funding. He could even take on private patients if he wanted to because there were always people willing to pay if it meant they could avoid the NHS queues. It was all very puzzling but she decided that it might be best not to question him. It really wasn’t her business how he felt.

‘So I believe. However, the job you advertised wasn’t for a third partner,’ she stated coolly.

‘No. We’ve put that idea on hold for now. We have a far more pressing problem to deal with at the moment.’

He opened a cupboard and took out a heavy iron pan. Setting it on the Aga, he scooped a knob of butter from the dish and dropped it into the pan. As soon as it began to sizzle he added the egg mixture to the pan then turned to look at her.

‘Glenda has just found out that she’s pregnant. Naturally, she’s thrilled because she and her husband have been trying for a baby for ages. However, she’s had a couple of miscarriages in the past so her obstetrician has advised her that she should stop work immediately to give herself the best chance possible of carrying this baby to term.

‘I’ve arranged locum cover to tide us over for a few weeks but Glenda and I both agreed that we need something more permanent. And that’s where you come in, Catherine.’

Once again she felt that ripple under her skin when he called her by her first name. Catherine steadfastly ignored it, choosing instead to concentrate on the professional aspects of this strange interview, although it wasn’t easy in the circumstances. Holding an interview in a kitchen really wasn’t her idea of how things should be done.

Matthew had returned his attention to his cooking and was now lifting the omelette from the pan. He smiled at her, one sandy brow rising a fraction. ‘If you want half, just say the word.’

She shook her head, wishing he would concentrate on what they were there for. Silly though it sounded, the sooner this was over the happier she would feel. There was something a little too familiar about the thought of them sitting around the kitchen table sharing a meal. It troubled her. ‘Thank you but I’ve already eaten.’

It wasn’t a lie because she’d had a cup of coffee and a sandwich on her way there that night. There hadn’t been time for anything more substantial after she’d finished the early evening surgery which she had been rostered for that day. However, she couldn’t stop her stomach from suddenly rumbling when her nostrils caught the tantalising aroma which wafted across the kitchen.

Matthew laughed as he took a second plate off the shelf and deftly slid half the omelette onto it. ‘Stop being so polite! Here you go.’

Before Catherine could protest he had put the plate in front of her and gone to fetch another set of cutlery. He sat down, offering her the bowl of salad so that she had no option but to take some.

‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly, cutting a sliver off the omelette and popping it into her mouth. It tasted wonderful, she realised. Light and fluffy and a world better than her own miserable efforts.

‘You’re welcome.’ Matthew tucked into his meal with unselfconscious relish. He forked a mouthful of salad into his mouth and quickly chewed it. ‘Anyway, I’ve read your references and everything, and there’s no problem there. You’re more than qualified for this post from what I’ve seen so far.’