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Cameron was already there, checking the files off against a list. He looked up when he saw her and she was struck by how pale he looked today. He was pale anyway—the standard complexion for someone with such beautiful red hair—but today that paleness had an ashen quality to it. And the shadows beneath his eyes looked darker than they had before.
Had he had a bad night’s sleep? Was he still recovering from that bout of flu?
‘Morning, Dr Brodie.’
‘Cam, please.’ He smiled. ‘We’ve got time for a brief cuppa before we head out. Can I make you one?’
‘Oh, thank you. That would be lovely.’
She’d managed to make a cup of tea first thing that morning, but she’d only had a couple of sips, in her rush to get Grace ready for school, and then her nanna had asked her to help bring down some wool skeins from the spare room she used as a dye room—she needed to get them off in the post. She’d spent so much time running around her tea had gone cold and there hadn’t been time to make a fresh one.
She sighed with delight as he passed her a hot, steaming mug. ‘Perfect.’
‘We’ve got twelve house calls to make today—which doesn’t sound much, but a lot of these patients can talk for ever, so we’ll need to keep an eye on the time.’
‘All right. Anything in particular I should know about?’
He raised an eyebrow and looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, one of the patients is my grandfather, Angus Brodie. He can be a bit of a...a curmudgeon.’
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