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Nothing Left to Give
Caroline Anderson
A BLESSING IN DISGUISEPractice Nurse Beth Turner is desperate for a change of scenery, and a part-time post at Suffolk General will allow her just the breathing space she needs. Handsome widower Dr Gideon Pendragon even offers Beth a coach-house flat in his rambling grounds! However, it turns out to be something of a mixed blessing… Gideon’s three gorgeous children remind her of the one thing she’s never known—a family. But when Gideon asks for her help, how can Beth refuse? Even if helping brings her closer to the one man who surely has nothing left to give…and with whom she’s falling hopelessly in love!
Nothing Left to Give
Caroline Anderson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#ub2cad217-a799-5985-a918-85fd22ee43dc)
Title Page (#u804b3135-28b1-57c9-b4e9-c8112831f010)
Chapter One (#u3dcd552c-9f2c-5901-8b10-20a42a662688)
Chapter Two (#u410508f0-090b-57e1-bd5d-24e1693915e7)
Chapter Three (#ud71c0839-4a39-5c44-afb3-9eac9e34ebf8)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_b3da00a1-0de0-5feb-9441-1e77831c3104)
THE surgery was modern, purpose-built and a huge improvement on her last place of work. Instead of a tatty, litter-strewn pavement and a door straight off the street, the path from the car park to the entrance led through a landscaped garden filled with carefully tended roses, and the air was heavy with their scent.
In the distance Beth could hear farm machinery—haymaking? Probably not; it was the middle of September. Harvesting, then? She didn’t even know that much about the countryside, and yet here she was, in Barnham Market in Suffolk, about to be interviewed for a part-time temporary job that she wasn’t even sure she wanted.
She stifled a disbelieving laugh. She didn’t really know what she was doing there at all—except that she had no job now, and this would at least give her the chance to find out if she liked living in the country, by no means a foregone conclusion since she had never done it before.
In fact her total contact with the country consisted of a few picnics in the company of a load of townies who knew no more about it than she did!
She sighed and locked the car. Oh, well, she was here now; she might as well have the interview.
The interior of the practice was light, airy and filled with plants, a far cry from the last place with its dreary rooms and scuffed lino floors. Here, rich blue-grey carpet tiles covered the floor in the reception area, and the chairs looked comfortable, grouped around a big table stacked neatly with magazines from Country Living to Farmer’s Weekly. There were two women sitting in the waiting-room, both obviously pregnant, and a toddler under a table chattering happily to a big yellow teapot. There was probably an ante-natal clinic going on.
She went up to the glass hatch into the reception office and smiled at the pretty middle-aged receptionist. ‘Hello, I’m Beth Turner—I’ve got an interview at three with Dr Pendragon.’
Oh, yes—take a seat, would you? Dr Pendragon will be back in a minute—he’s just had to go out on a call. He shouldn’t be long. The nurse’ll be free soon.’
She went obediently and sat down, among the pregnant women and the scattered toys, and pondered her fate.
Could be worse, she thought as she eyed the child. London had been, after all. Nothing, but nothing could be worse than that—the incessant traffic, the noise, the smell—really, she thought, you’d imagine you’d get used to it after all these years, but no. Not her, at any rate. She still loathed the noises, and as for the traffic fumes ——
‘Read.’
She blinked. The toddler pushed the book into her hand, climbed on to her lap and waited expectantly, his grubby cherub’s face turned up to hers. A familiar pang shot through her, but she ruthlessly ignored it.
‘No, darling—–’
She turned to the mother. ‘It’s all right—really. I don’t mind.’
‘Are you sure?’
She nodded, and the little boy pushed the book at her again. ‘Read!’
‘Say please.’
‘Peese.’
She dredged up a smile and opened the book. ‘Once upon a time, there was a little boy called Thomas —’
Me Thomas.’
She looked at him. ‘Are you? Isn’t that funny, both of you called Thomas!’
He plopped his thumb in his mouth and nodded, snuggling back down against her, and she turned back to the text again. She was barely started when a nurse appeared at her elbow.
‘Miss Turner? I’m Julie Rudd, the practice nurse. Would you like to come through to my room and we can have a chat?’
Beth slid the reluctant Thomas to the floor, handed him the book and followed her through the big double doors into the corridor outside the surgeries. ‘Sorry Dr Pendragon’s still out—he’s usually very reliable, but things don’t always go according to plan.’
Beth nearly laughed. If things had gone according to plan, she wouldn’t be here now. She smiled her understanding.
‘Cup of tea?’
‘Thank you, that would be lovely.’
‘We may as well go in Gideon’s office—he’ll be back any time now, I expect. Never mind, perhaps we can get started without him. Here, take a seat for a second, I’ve put the kettle on.’
While she waited for Julie to return, Beth looked round. You could tell a lot about a man from his office, she’d discovered, and Gideon Pendragon was no exception. For one thing he didn’t try and hide his family, she thought with a little twist of almost-forgotten pain. There were pictures on the desk—a boy in his late teens, dark, strikingly good-looking; a girl of about twelve, with the same fine dark looks and superb bone-structure; and a little girl, only three or so, with a moppet of fluffy blonde curls and brilliant blue eyes above a cherub’s smile.
‘Lovely kids.’
Beth jumped and turned. She had been miles away, in London with Matthew and the family he had denied.
‘Yes—yes, they are.’
She took the cup of tea and sat back in the chair, preparing to be grilled. It didn’t happen. Julie asked a few very general questions, flicked through her application and smiled.
‘I can’t think why you want to work here, but as far as I’m concerned you’re heaven-sent,’ she told Beth. ‘Since Stephanie left last week I’ve been rushed off my feet, and you’re available now, aren’t you?’
Beth nodded. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘Good. That’s brilliant. When Gideon comes in I’ll tell him to rubber-stamp you.’ She laughed and stood up. ‘Will you excuse me? I’ve got an asthma clinic at four and I really ought to go and prepare some worksheets for the group. He won’t be long—help yourself to more tea.’
She went, pulling the door to behind her, and left Beth alone in the surgery. She didn’t have more tea. For some reason she discovered she was nervous, and another cup would have sat heavily on her butterflies. Perhaps I should, she thought with a soft laugh. Maybe it would drown them.
She looked at the photos again, picking up the one of the baby and tracing the froth of curls thoughtfully with a neat, pink-tipped finger.
Gideon, she thought, rolling the name round on her tongue, tasting it. Gideon Pendragon. Unusual name. A mixture of old Cornish and American mid-west, hard, reliable, yet with a dash of excitement.
She gave a snort of laughter. He was probably short, fat and balding!
He was also late.
She put the photo down and paced across to the window. She was getting irritated. Couldn’t someone else have gone out on the call for him? It really wasn’t good enough. It was nearly four o’clock already!
Oh, well, look on the bright side, she thought; by the time you get back to London the rush-hour will be over.
She heard his voice first, low, deep, a reassuring rumble in the corridor.
There was a muttered expletive, then firm footsteps striding towards the door.
‘Miss Turner? I do apologise.’
She stood up. He was big. It wasn’t just height, although he was certainly tall enough, but there was a solidity, a substance about him that was more than physical. It was deeper than that, something that shouted dependability and inner strength, reliability and utter trustworthiness.
He thrust out his hand—large, square, of a piece with the man himself.
‘I’m sorry to keep you—Gideon Pendragon.’
She placed her hand in his and felt it engulfed in a warm and reassuring grip.
‘Beth Turner,’ she replied, and looked up into his face.
Her smile faltered. It was a striking face, an older version of the boy in the photograph, but it was his eyes that stopped her in her tracks.
Grey-green in colour, they were beautiful, bracketed by wickedly long black lashes. They were also the oldest, most world-weary eyes she had ever seen. Her soft heart reached out to him.
‘Problems?’ she said gently.
‘You could say that.’ He gave a short laugh and thrust strong fingers through the unruly strands of his straight, black hair. ‘People never die at a convenient time, do they?’
If she hadn’t seen the eyes, she might have dismissed him as callous. As it was she gave him time to pull himself back into the present and pick up her file. He flicked through it and tossed it back on the desk, dropping into the chair and leaning back, his hands locked behind his head.
‘So, what did Julie say? She’s usually pretty direct.’
Beth’s mouth twitched. ‘She said she’d tell you to rubber-stamp it.’
He smiled then, and his harsh features softened, bringing life to those tired eyes. ‘Good. I only had one real question.’
‘Why a part-time temporary job in the middle of nowhere?’
He grinned. ‘You were expecting it.’
‘Sort of.’ She returned the grin. ‘Because I need to work, but not necessarily flat out for a while. Because I could do with a breathing-space, time to find out what I really want from my career. Because I was ready for a change, and there didn’t seem to be a full-time permanent job that said, “Take me,” written all over it.’
He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Why did you need a breathing space?’
She looked away. He saw too much with those eyes. ‘Let’s just say there was a conflict of interests.’
‘A man?’
‘Yes.’ She didn’t enlarge on it. The details were sordid and irrelevant.
‘So, you’re running away.’
‘No.’ She met his eyes again, determined to get the general principle straight, if not the fine print. ‘I don’t run away, Dr Pendragon. Not from anything. I simply decided it was time to move on.’
He chuckled. ‘Touché. So, you’re looking for a bolt-hole to lick your wounds while you decide what you want from life. Well, I won’t pretend we aren’t glad to have you, Miss Turner. Stephanie, our part-timer, has had to stop work rather earlier in her pregnancy than she’d planned, and we’re up a gum tree. You’re like a gift from the gods, frankly, and we aren’t in a position to be choosy about people’s reasons for wanting to take the job. Nurses of your calibre simply aren’t interested, so whatever your motives, welcome.’
That was it. She had the job. Stunned, she reached over the desk and took his outstretched hand. A slow smile touched his lips. ‘When can you start?’
She gave an expressive little shrug. ‘Whenever—Monday?’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow?’ She hesitated, totally taken aback. ‘Well, I suppose I could—I haven’t got anywhere to live, and I’ve got nothing here. I’d have to go back to London tonight and get some things to tide me over till the weekend, but I suppose I could put up in a hotel or something.’
‘I’ve got a flat—over the old coach house. It’s just one room and a bathroom. The idea was that William would have it once he goes away to college next year so it wouldn’t be for very long, but as the job’s only temporary I don’t suppose that would matter. It’s got heating and everything—do you want to have a look?’
She nodded, swept along by the current.
‘Yes—why not? It sounds ideal.’
‘Good—shall we?’
He held the door for her, then led her down the corridor to Reception. ‘I’m just taking Miss Turner home to show her the flat—I won’t be long. Oh, and stick her on the payroll, Molly—she’s starting tomorrow.’
And that was it. Bemused, Beth followed him out of the side door and round into the street. The surgery was just off the market square that dominated the centre of the little town, and they walked along one side of the square and down a narrow little lane that cut through between the houses. They passed the church, built of brick and flint, solid and homely, and then beyond the church they came to a large Georgian house, the mellow cream of old Suffolk bricks, standing four-square in a neatly tended lawn.
