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Well, looking at it wasn’t going to improve things, she decided, straightening her spine, and she needed something to take her mind off Gramps.
She found his car keys on the pegboard by the back door, and let herself out. Mercifully the old Rover started first time, and she drove into Ipswich and found a DIY store. There she bought paint, brushes, wallpaper paste, a job-lot of sale wallpaper, a hot-air stripper and a wallpaper steam stripper.
Three hours later she was standing at the kitchen sink cleaning up the steam stripper and wondering what she’d started. The sitting-room was now reduced to chaos, and as for Lydia, she was covered in peeling paint and strips of soggy wallpaper, her jeans were caked with paste, lumps of gooey paper were stuck to her knees and she looked a fright.
She was not, therefore, terribly pleased to see Sam darken the kitchen doorway.
‘What do you want?’ she snapped, shoving an escaping tendril of hair out of the way with the back of her paste-covered hands, and jutting her little chin out in an unconsciously endearing gesture.
‘I just wanted to apologise——’
‘Good. Fine. Accepted. Now please go, I’m busy.”
‘I brought you some food. I don’t suppose you have any.’
Her stomach growled in response, but she would rather have starved than admit it.
‘I’m going out later, thank you,’ she said stiffly.
‘Really?’ He dumped the heavy box down on the worktop and dusted off his hands. ‘Well, now you won’t need to.’
‘Since you’ve already bought the things, I suppose you may as well leave them. You must tell me what I owe you,’ she muttered ungraciously, and he gave a small, humourless smile.
‘The receipt’s in the top of the box. Don’t lose it—I can appreciate that you would hate to be beholden to me!’
‘Oh!’ She glared crossly at him, and he turned on his heel and left, his mouth twitching.
She tried to remind herself that her grandfather had been a good judge of character and that Sam must, really, be a decent person, but she failed miserably.
‘Everyone’s entitled to one mistake,’ she said aloud. ‘Sam Davenport was obviously yours, Gramps.’
She screwed the tap off with unnecessary vigour, and screamed as the fitting came away in her hand and a fountain of water shot up and splattered all over the ceiling.
‘Dear God, Lydia, what the hell are you up to now?’
Sam barged her out of the way, dived under the sink and rummaged among the pots and pans for the stopcock. Seconds later the fountain slowed to a steady well, and then stopped altogether.
He emerged, dripping, from under the sink. ‘Pretending it was my neck?’ he asked with a wry grin, and her sense of humour, never far away, bubbled up and over. Giggling weakly, she sagged back against the worktop and gave in to her mirth. Sam joined in with a low chuckle, propping his lean hip against the front of the fridge and thrusting his wet hair out of his eyes.
‘You’re drenched,’ she said weakly when she could speak, and he looked down at himself, and then at her.
‘So are you,’ he said softly. Then their eyes met, and the laughter died away as he moved closer and brushed a drop of water from her cheek with the tip of his finger. He traced its path down her cheek, and then with his finger he tipped up her chin and looked down into her eyes.
‘Thank you for rescuing me,’ Lydia murmured breathlessly, and watched in fascination as his head lowered towards hers.
‘You’re welcome,’ he breathed against her mouth, and then his lips touched hers, shifting slightly against them before settling gently but firmly in place. His hands came up to cup the back of her head, and with a sigh she relaxed against him, giving in to the waves of warmth that lapped around her.
But the sigh was her undoing, because he deepened the kiss, and the warmth turned to a raging heat that swept up from nowhere and threatened to engulf them.
His lips left hers and tracked in hot open-mouthed kisses down her throat, lapping the water from her skin and sending shivers down her spine. She gave a wordless little cry, and he brought his mouth back to hers, cradling her willing body against his and drinking deeply from her lips.
Then he lifted his head slowly, laying feather-light kisses on her eyelids, and, placing his hands on her shoulders, he eased her gently away from him.
‘I’m really very sorry,’ he said gruffly.
Lydia shook her head. She couldn’t for the life of her see why he needed to apologise for kissing her so tenderly and beautifully. ‘Don’t be sorry. It was—just one of those things. Anyway, I liked it——’
‘Not the kiss. The awful things I said to you, the way I spoke to you. I hurt you, and I’m sorry. I never meant to. Can we start again?’
She was having difficulty thinking of anything but the feel of his lips on hers, the urgent need of his body pressed so close against her own, and his thumbs were tracing circles on her shoulders, turning her bones to water. She dragged her mind into focus. Maybe all was not yet lost.
‘Does that mean you’ll consider finding another practice?’ she asked quietly.
His hands fell abruptly to his sides, and he stepped back sharply, his face twisted with disdain. ‘I might have known,’ he said bitterly. ‘Women always use sex as a pawn, one way or another.’
She was stunned, hurt beyond belief that he could think that of her, so she snapped, ‘I could just as easily accuse you of doing that!’
‘Why should I?’
‘Why should you?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Because we both want the practice, and you’re trying to persuade me to give in!’
He gave a tired, humourless little laugh. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ he asked wearily. ‘I already have the practice. And possession, as they say, is nine-tenths of the law. In fact, the way things stand, you don’t even have a tenth in your favour.’
Lydia watched open-mouthed as he turned on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen, then she snapped her jaws shut so hard that she nearly broke her teeth.
She mopped and blotted until her rage had subsided, then she sagged against the cupboards and closed her eyes.
Oh, Gramps,’ she whispered, ‘I can see why you were taken in. He’s very convincing, and so, so smooth! Just like a diamond—hard as rock, and when the light’s right you can see straight through him.’
She called a plumber, cleaned out the fridge and put away the food, and then wrote out a cheque for Sam, dropping it through the surgery letter-box.
As she turned away he opened the door and emerged.
Did you want me?’ he asked, and she felt a hot tide rise up her throat and flood her face.
Of course not,’ she said abruptly, and he paused for a second, and then laughed softly.
‘Funny, I was sure you did,’ he teased, and the flush deepened.
‘You flatter yourself,’ she muttered crossly, and turned away, but not before she saw his face crease into a smile.
‘Are you going to be in?’ he asked a second later, and she shrugged.
‘Maybe. Why?’
‘I’m going out on a call. Maggie Ryder’s in labour and may need me before I’m back, and I’m supposed to be covering for George Hastings as well. The answer-phone’s on, and it gives them the cell-phone number to contact, but it can be useful having someone here.’
To act as receptionist? Sorry, Dr Davenport, if you want a receptionist you’ll have to pay one. I’m afraid I have rather too much to do.’
She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him tight-lipped on the drive.
‘Forget it,’ he called after her. ‘I thought perhaps I could appeal to your compassionate nature, but I was obviously wrong.’
She turned back to face him, hands on hips. ‘And what,’ she asked icily, ‘gives you the impression that I feel compassionate towards you?’
One eyebrow quirked mockingly at her. ‘Who said anything about me? I meant the patients. Why should you feel anything towards me?’
‘Apart from dislike? Search me!’
His lips twitched. ‘Later, if you don’t mind. I’m a bit busy at the moment.’
He ignored her outraged gasp and swung himself behind the wheel of his car, a new BMW.
‘I might have known he’d have a flash set of wheels,’ she grumbled to herself, and marched back to the house, head held high, back ramrod-straight.
He roared round behind her, and tooted the horn just as he pulled level with her, making her jump nearly out of her skin.
His laugh rippled back down the drive as he roared away, and it just served to fuel the temper that had been building all day.
“I’ll fix you!’ she muttered, and, going round to the back garden, she found the old wheelbarrow and filled it with bricks from the crumbling shed at the end.
Slowly, systematically, she constructed a barrier that divided her half of the in-and-out drive from his, so that it was no longer possible for him to drive across the front of the house. Then she found some whitewash and slopped it on the makeshift wall so that he would see it, and stood back to examine her efforts. A bit crooked, but it would serve its purpose.
‘Well, if it’s not young Lydia!’ she heard from behind her, and, turning, she recognised Mrs Pritchard from the village shop.
Oh! Hello, Mrs P. Just building a wall,’ she said lamely. Suddenly feeling rather foolish, she rubbed her hands down the sides of her jeans and attempted to explain that, since the surgery was no longer part of the house, it was sensible to separate it completely to avoid any problems over maintenance of the drive.
‘Seem a bit daft to me, dear. Never mind, I expect you young things know best, but I hope that nice Dr Davenport doesn’t mind.’
‘Hmm,’ she mumbled. She was actually hoping that he would mind very much indeed—in fact, she was counting on it!
She eventually excused herself on the grounds that the phone was ringing and, having gone in, despite her refusal to Sam, she felt obliged to answer it.
The caller was a young woman whom Lydia remembered from her childhood, who was going frantic because her baby wouldn’t stop crying.
‘Lydia, I don’t know what to do! He just won’t stop—it’s been going on for six hours! I must be doing something awfully wrong——’
‘How old is he?’ she asked, and established through careful questioning that the baby was four weeks old, had no history of colic, was apparently quite well, not suffering from constipation or diarrhoea, and had a normal temperature.
‘Where are you, Lucy?’ she asked, and when she found out that the woman was only three or four hundred yards down the road she suggested that Lucy put the baby in the pram and bring him up to the surgery. ‘Dr Davenport’s out at the moment, and I can’t leave the house because I’m waiting for the plumber, but if you like I can have a look at the baby just to make sure there’s nothing drastically wrong, and the break will probably do you good—me too. It’ll be nice to see you again. I’ll put the kettle on,’ she added, and it was only after she had hung up that she remembered she had no water.
Shrugging, she ran up to Sam’s flat with her kettle and filled it from his tap, then took it back to her kitchen through the communicating door in the hall and put it on to heat while she changed her clothes and dragged a comb through her hair.
Lucy arrived a short time later, with baby Michael still screaming lustily in his pram. After tracking down her grandfather’s medical bag Lydia examined Michael carefully, checking his ears and throat particularly for any sign of infection, and taking his temperature and listening to his chest.
‘He seems fine. Lucy, I think it’s one of two things. Either he’s eaten something which has disagreed with him, in which case he’ll probably get diarrhoea very shortly, or else he’s just having a paddy! Let’s see if we can distract him.’
Picking up the screaming child, she tucked him in the crook of her left arm and rocked him against her, crooning softly.
Almost immediately his eyes fell shut and he dropped off to sleep, much to Lucy’s evident relief. However, he woke screaming again as soon as Lydia tried to put him down, so she laughingly picked him up again and carried him through to the kitchen.
Tea?’ she asked over her shoulder, and made a pot one-handed while Lucy slumped down at the table and nodded.
‘Please. I feel exhausted! I had no idea babies were so tiring.’
Lydia smiled. ‘You’re at the worst stage. The euphoria has worn off, he’s not sleeping through the night yet, and the lack of unbroken sleep is just getting to you. It’s nothing to worry about. Provided you can get through it, you’ll be fine. Thank your lucky stars you aren’t out planting rice every day with him tied to your back!’
They chatted over tea, catching up on the years since they had last seen each other, and Michael slept through it all without a murmur.
‘You see, I told you it was just a paddy!’ Lydia joked. ‘I should think you were all wound up and communicating your tension to him. Babies arc usually very tough little things, you know. They’re awfully good at getting their own way—look at this! He’s been cuddled for nearly an hour, and he’s had a terrific time! You ought to buy a baby-sling and carry him next to you. That way you can get on, and he can be near you all the time. Where did you have him?’
Lucy pulled a face. ‘Hospital. Daniel insisted. I would have liked to have him at home, but perhaps it isn’t really sensible for the first one. What do you think?’
Lydia thought of the little Indian babies she had delivered in appallingly primitive conditions in some of the villages they had visited, and stifled a laugh. ‘If the facilities exist it would seem to make sense to use them,’ she said cautiously. God forbid that she should be seen to be giving Lucy medical advice!
‘What would you do?’ Lucy persisted.
‘Me?’ Lydia laughed. ‘It’s unlikely to affect me as I’m not about to have any children.’
‘But if you did?’ Lucy persisted.
‘I’d go for a home delivery—but hopefully I’d be married to a doctor!’ A sudden image of Sam sprang to mind, and she dismissed it hastily. ‘Anyway, I’m the wrong person to ask because I hate hospitals—that’s why I’m a GP!’
Just then the plumber arrived, and so Lucy left, with the now calm Michael sleeping peacefully in his pram.
After the tap was repaired the plumber departed, amid dire threats about the use of brute force and the unlikelihood of the system surviving another winter. Lydia really didn’t think she wanted to know.
The phone was quiet, there was no sign of Sam and so she decided to go for a walk through the fields down by the old gravel pits, to stretch her legs and get away from the house.
Her grief, still very fresh, was catching up with her and hour by hour was sinking further in. Always a bit of a loner, she suddenly felt the need to be miles away from everyone so that she could come to terms with all the sudden and drastic changes in her life. Regretting her petty gesture with the wall but lacking the energy to take it down, and unable to face another confrontation with Sam today, she dug out her old waxed cotton jacket and wellies from the boot-room and bundled herself up in them.
There was a lane that ran behind the house, and she followed it for half a mile before branching off across the fields towards the copse. Stark against the skyline there was an old wind-pump which had been used in times gone by to pump water from the bottom of the gravel pit, but it was long abandoned and the rusty old sails now creaked forbiddingly in the gusting winds.
Lydia snuggled further down in her coat and tried to ignore the shiver of apprehension that ran down her spine at the eerie noise. There were some children running around near the edge of the copse, and she could hear their shrieks as they played. She hoped they would have the good sense to be careful.
Then she noticed the pitch of their screams, and she started to run, feet slipping and sliding on the wet ground, and as she got nearer the children’s cries became more audible.
‘What’s happened?’ she called.
‘David’s fallen in the water!’ the nearest child screamed, and the shiver of apprehension turned into a full-scale chill of horror.
By the time she’d reached them her lungs were bursting and she could hardly stand, but somehow her legs dragged her on to the edge of the old workings.
Down in the pit, some thirty feet below her down a ragged, broken bank, was a pool formed by rainwater collecting in the bottom of the gravel pit, and floating face-down in the black water she could see the colourful figure of a small child.
She quickly dispatched the two oldest to run for help and call an ambulance, and scrambled headlong down the bank, examining the situation in escalating dismay.
There was only one way to get to him, and she did it before she had time to talk herself out of it. Ripping off her outer clothes, she plunged into the icy water and struck out for the child. The cold knocked all the breath from her lungs, and for a moment she thought she would go under, but then her chest started to work again and she dragged in some air and forced her frozen limbs to work.
