The Woman He's Been Waiting For. Jennifer Taylor

she had in her repertoire of skills which would be of interest to Harry. There certainly wasn’t anything on the romance front that she could teach him—he was an acknowledged expert in that field. As for her medical skills, well, he could probably match her any day of the week.

      No, the only thing she could possibly teach him was humility, although it was a lesson the mighty Harry Shaw might not be keen to learn. When you’ve been at the top of the heap all your life, thinking that you are the same as everyone else wouldn’t come easily, although that wasn’t what Harry had claimed earlier that night. He’d described himself as a man who just wanted to help others, hadn’t he?

      Grace shivered. She couldn’t explain it, certainly couldn’t understand it, but she knew the assertion had altered the way she thought about Harry. It was as though there was suddenly something in the plus column to weigh against all those minuses that had accumulated over the years. Although she hated to admit it, Harry might not be all bad after all.

      ‘I’ve done a printout of all the clinics we hold each month. I thought it would help if you had an idea of our schedule.’

      ‘Thanks.’

      Harry took the list from Grace and glanced through it. His brows rose when he suddenly realised the extent of the work she and Miles had been doing. Nearly every single afternoon was filled with things like the mother-and-baby clinics, antenatal clinics and clinics for people who were trying to stop smoking or lose weight. Add all of those to the regular morning and evening surgeries and it seemed his life was going to be extremely full for the next few weeks.

      ‘You certainly offer a very complete service here,’ he observed, leaning back in his chair. It was just gone eight a.m. and they were in Miles’s office—the office Harry would be using while he was working there. Although it had been after midnight when he’d dropped Grace off at her house in the village, she had telephoned him before seven that morning to ask him if he would meet her at the surgery.

      Harry had agreed immediately, even though he’d been fast asleep when she’d phoned. However, it had seemed like a point of honour not to let the side down so he had dragged himself out of bed and into the shower, and, by skipping breakfast, had managed to get to the surgery a couple of minutes before she’d arrived. He could have murdered for a cup of coffee but he’d be damned if he would show any sign of weakness by suggesting they should stop for a drink. If Grace could keep up this punishing schedule then so could he.

      ‘We do our best to fulfil all our patients’ needs,’ she said briskly, taking another sheet of paper out of her file. ‘This is a list of our contacts at the local hospital. Obviously, you can request an appointment for a patient through the usual channels, but we find it speeds things up if we approach the head of each department on a personal basis.’ She shrugged. ‘A phone call is all it usually takes so it doesn’t require that much extra effort.’

      ‘It must add up, though.’ Harry frowned as he took the sheet from her. ‘I know how difficult it is to get hold of people so I doubt one phone call would do it. You must have to phone back several times.’

      ‘Miles and I tend to make any phone calls after morning surgery finishes. That way we can catch people during their lunch-break and keep to our timetable.’

      ‘I see.’ Harry didn’t say anything else as he placed the list on top of the other one. He was there to help, not to question how the practice was run. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help thinking that it was no wonder Miles was so stressed when he was cramming so much into his day. Morning surgeries, evening surgeries, clinics, phone calls—he wouldn’t have time to draw breath.

      ‘How long do you allow for each consultation?’ he asked, opting for a less controversial topic.

      ‘We allocate ten minutes per patient, more if it’s someone we know we will have to spend extra time with.’

      ‘That’s quite generous,’ he observed, recalling what other GPs had told him recently. ‘Most practices allow six minutes per patient and try to get away with less than that if they can.’

      ‘We find it’s a false economy to cut corners. If you don’t spend time getting to the root of a problem, invariably the patient ends up having to come back to see you.’

      ‘It’s a valid point, although I suppose it depends on how many patients you book in for each surgery,’ he conceded, making a note to add it to his report. If more time was spent at the initial assessment stage then a second appointment might be avoided, and that was bound to be of help to an overworked GP. ‘What’s your maximum number of appointments per session?’

      ‘We don’t have a set limit. Both morning and evening surgeries are run on an open-door basis—in other words, if someone needs to see us they just turn up on the day.’

      ‘But that’s crazy. You could have the whole village turning up and have to see them.’

      ‘I doubt it. Most people around here are too busy to waste their time by making unnecessary trips to see the doctor.’ She shrugged. ‘We find it works so I see no reason to change the routine. But if you find the pace too much for you, you only have to say so. I can deal with any patients you aren’t able to see.’

      ‘I am more than happy to do my share of the work,’ he said flatly. He knew that she was trying to goad him but he wasn’t going to fall into that trap again. No matter what Grace said or did from now on, he wasn’t going to rise to the bait.

      ‘Then we won’t have a problem, will we?’ She stood up and came around the desk, pausing as she drew level with him. ‘Is there anything else you need to know? I think I’ve covered more or less everything to do with the day-to-day routine, but if there’s anything you’re not clear about then say so.’

      ‘No, it all seems fairly straightforward.’

      He stood up as well, feeling a tremor pass through him when his arm accidentally brushed against hers as he pushed back his chair. It immediately reminded him of what had happened the night before, and he sighed.

      He still couldn’t understand why that kiss had made such an impression on him. He’d been so afraid that Grace would notice something was wrong that he’d been desperate to get away. When Penny had assumed that he was going to look for that nurse, he hadn’t bothered correcting her because it had seemed the easiest way to resolve his dilemma. Now, however, he found himself wishing that he hadn’t let Grace believe that he was interested in the young woman. Maybe it was silly to be so sensitive but he wouldn’t want her to think that he was more concerned with his love life than doing a good job here.

      ‘Look, Grace, about that nurse last night—’

      ‘Please.’ She held up her hand, her beautiful mouth curling in distaste. ‘Too much information, Harry. What you do in your free time is your business. I really don’t want to hear all the gory details.’

      She swept past him, leaving him feeling completely dumbfounded. Did she honestly think that he was crass enough to discuss his sex life with her? His spirits sank as he realised what a low opinion she must have of him. That he was more than partly to blame for it made him feel even worse. He should have put an end to their squabbling years ago.

      Grace hurried into her consulting room and closed the door. She’d been dreading seeing Harry that morning and it had turned out to be every bit as bad as she’d feared. It had been hard enough to maintain her composure when he’d seen fit to criticise the way she and Miles ran the practice, but when he’d started to tell her about his nightly exploits with that nurse…Well!

      Heat swept through her and she clutched hold of the doorknob. She didn’t want to think about Harry’s sex life but she couldn’t seem to control the images that were crowding into her head, pictures of him and that nurse curled up in bed together—only it wasn’t the nurse. She’d had blonde hair and the woman in her mind’s eye had brown hair, caramel brown, just like hers…

      Grace leapt away from the door and hurried to her desk. She must be more tired than she’d realised if she was dreaming up rubbish like that. It