The Village Nurse's Happy-Ever-After. Abigail Gordon

years of his life.

      

      It was a couple of days after the Lomax family had flown to France and midnight was approaching. Marcus was asleep in his cot in the smaller of the two bedrooms of the apartment, and Phoebe was up a ladder in the sitting room, her long brown hair stuffed inside an old sun hat and wearing a pair of her brother-in-law’s cast-off dungarees.

      She was painting the ceiling in an attempt to brighten up the place when she heard footsteps on the stairs that led up from the surgery. She became still, with the brush dangling loosely from her hand. Either there was an intruder in the building or…

      It had only been that morning she’d discovered that the new head of the practice was going to be living across the landing from her in the second of the two apartments above the surgery. For days on end, the departure of the much-loved and respected Ethan Lomax had dominated every conversation among surgery staff and villagers alike. In contrast, the arrival of his replacement had been spoken of only rarely, so when the senior practice nurse had mentioned casually that he would be moving into the other apartment, it had come as a shock to her. She’d groaned inwardly at the thought of how embarrassing it could turn out to be.

      Phoebe knew he’d been employed at The Tides Practice some years ago, so wouldn’t be a stranger to everyone, but he would be to her. Why wasn’t he moving into somewhere more salubrious? she’d thought uncomfortably. The last thing she wanted was to be coming across him every time she opened her door.

      She’d asked if he was bringing a family with him and had been told that he was a widower without children. So at least there would only be just the one person living across from her, which was some slight relief. And now, if the noise on the stairs wasn’t an intruder, it would seem that he’d arrived. But she had to be sure before she called it a day and went to bed.

      Putting the chain on and opening the door a crack, Phoebe peered out onto the landing. Deciding that the man in designer jeans and a smart jacket who was entering the opposite apartment fitted the role of new senior partner rather than burglar, she started to close the door quietly to avoid being observed. He turned suddenly, as if aware that he was being watched, and said, ‘Hello, there.’

      She opened the door a fraction wider and said through the crack, ‘I heard you come up the stairs and was just checking who it was before I went to bed.’ Unable to step out and face him in her ghastly get-up, Phoebe closed the door and locked it in one movement. Then, leaning against it limply, she thought she hadn’t handled that very well.

      But she was too tired to dwell on it—her arms ached from the painting and it had been a long day, with some of her calls way out in the countryside. She was in no mood to get excited about the new arrival, even though she had noted when peering through the crack that he was quite something as attractive men went.

      But so was Darren, and ever since he’d disappeared from her life she’d agreed that the old saying ‘handsome is as handsome does’ often applied to good-looking men. Even though she’d survived the hurt he’d inflicted on her, if she never saw him again she wouldn’t complain.

      They’d lived together in London, when he’d been a rising star, determined to get to the top in a big city bank. She’d always been supportive of his career ambitions but had never expected them to come before starting a family. A child to love and care for had been something she’d been looking forward to so much, and she hadn’t been prepared for his reaction when she’d fallen pregnant.

      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,