The Police Surgeon's Rescue. Abigail Gordon

enteropathy as it’s sometimes known. The type of biopsy they gave you at the hospital shows that you have a gluten problem. A failure to absorb the nutrients from wheat, rye, and other cereals.

      ‘All the unpleasant things that have been happening to you are the result of the illness. The anaemia, skin problems, poor bowel functioning and the rest should gradually disappear once you’re on a gluten-free diet.

      ‘With all other foods you should have no problem, but it will be essential to keep off wheat products. Other tests will follow to make sure that the diet is working, but I think that very soon you’re going to feel much better.’

      ‘So I’m not going to die?’ she breathed, with the beginning of a smile.

      ‘No, you’re not,’ he said gently. ‘You’ve had a worrying and distressing time but we’re going to put you on the right track. The nurse will give you diet sheets and will answer any questions you might have regarding food.’

      She was getting to her feet and as he observed her pallor and weight loss Blake thought, poor girl. She was so frail. Hopefully by the next time he saw her she might have filled out a little and have some colour in her cheeks.

      * * *

      As Helena hesitated beside Reception at twelve o’clock, a cool voice said from behind her, ‘And you are?’

      When she swung round the woman who’d called at Blake’s house the other night was observing her as if she were something best seen under a microscope.

      ‘I’m Helena Harris,’ she said levelly. ‘Dr Pemberton is expecting me. He’s offered me the position of practice nurse and invited me to come in to meet the staff.’

      ‘Really. Well, he must have forgotten as Dr Pemberton is not on the premises.’

      ‘Has he been called out perhaps?’ Helena asked in the same even tone.

      ‘I’m sure I don’t know. You’ll have to come back some other time,’ she was told.

      ‘Yes. I can do that,’ she agreed equably. ‘Time is something that I have in abundance at the moment.’

      ‘I think there’s been a mistake, Dr Fielding,’ another voice said at that moment, and Helena saw a fair-haired man, younger than Blake, eyeing her appreciatively from the doorway.

      ‘Dr Pemberton received a call from the police station just as surgery was finishing,’ he said with a winning smile that showed a lot of white teeth. ‘He left a message to say that he would be back as soon as possible and for you to make yourself at home while you’re waiting. My name is Darren Scott. I’m the junior partner here and I volunteered to look after you until he gets back.’

      ‘And in the meantime everything goes to pot, does it?’ the unwelcoming Maxine said.

      ‘Surely, not with you around, Dr Fielding,’ he said, and Helena knew what Blake had meant when he’d said that these two weren’t the best of friends.

      ‘There is no need for you to look after me,’ she told him. ‘As Dr Fielding has suggested, I can come back another time.’

      She was beginning to wish she hadn’t come at all. The last thing she’d expected was that Blake wouldn’t be there. Obviously it had been unavoidable, but five minutes with Maxine Fielding had damped her enthusiasm somewhat.

      ‘Dr Pemberton wouldn’t like that,’ Darren insisted. ‘He was most emphatic that you were made welcome. If you’d like to come this way I’ll introduce you to Jane Benyon, the other practice nurse. She’s been here for years and will be only too happy to show you the ropes. She’s the person you’ll be working with most. Then there’s the practice manager, Beverley, who keeps us all in order and tells us off if we prescribe drugs that are too expensive.’

      This was better, Helena thought as she met the rest of the staff. Jane Benyon looked as if she was climbing up to retiring age. She had a kind smile and twinkly blue eyes. Beverley Martin, in her late forties, was a smart type in a suit, with dark hair in a short stylish cut and a brisk manner that indicated a person who got things done. The three receptionists were all friendly and by the time they’d done the rounds Maxine’s hostility was fading.

      * * *

      When the call had come through from the police Blake had given an exasperated sigh. It had been the worst possible moment. Helena had been due to arrive any time, but he hadn’t been able to refuse.

      A prisoner had been brought into the station with facial cuts and bruises and showing signs of concussion. There was some concern as to how his injuries had occurred, but that was for the authorities to sort out. They needed him there to determine the seriousness of his condition and to advise if hospital treatment was required.

      On examining the man, he decided that it was. He was confused. His pupils were dilated and his head was beginning to swell. It seemed that he had attacked someone in the street and had either got more than he’d bargained for or had received rough handling from those who’d arrested him.

      Blake was impatient to get back to the practice and when the ambulance had taken the injured man to Accident and Emergency he avoided the chat that the station sergeant would have liked to have had by excusing himself with the explanation that he had someone waiting to see him.

      As he drove back to the practice he was hoping that he wasn’t being too presumptuous, that Helena wouldn’t have been offended by his absence and would be there, waiting.