Isobel stared back at Terry with surprise, taking in her bedraggled appearance wearing a leather jacket several sizes too big for her, and said bluntly, ‘But she’s a woman. We thought from the name that they were sending a man.’
Terry sighed and looked from Atholl to Isobel. There seemed to be a general prejudice against females here!
Atholl saw her expression and explained, ‘Apart from having to deal with the teenage lads I told you about, I thought a man might fit more easily into this job for, er, various reasons.’
His glance flicked across to Isobel, who looked grimmer than ever and pursed her lips, saying, ‘It’s not only that—where’s the poor lass to sleep?’
Terry put down her dripping rucksack. ‘Look, I’m sorry I’m not who you both thought I was, but do you mind if I get dry while you discuss this?’
‘Ah, yes, of course…’ Atholl’s expression was faintly embarrassed, as if he realised how rude he’d been. ‘Isobel, can you rustle up some tea and biscuits for us? We’ll go into my room, Terry, and you can dry out a bit. I’ll take the leather jacket.’
Terry followed him feeling slightly deflated, her excitement in coming to the island rather dashed by the mixed welcome she’d received. It had been a long day’s journey from London and coupled with the drama at the quayside she felt emotionally drained and now worried that she’d come all this way for nothing. How easy would it be to work with someone who had been expecting to engage a man? She gave an inward shrug. She’d just have to show him that she was as good if not better than anyone else would have been.
She took off the damp cardigan she’d been wearing under the borrowed coat, and handed it to Atholl, who draped it over a radiator. She rubbed her hair with the towel he offered and while she was drying herself he walked over to a filing cabinet, took out a file and started to read it. Terry looked at him covertly through the folds of the towel. He really had the rugged good looks and powerful physique of a man used to the outdoors—and she had reason to be grateful that he was pretty strong, she reflected, strong enough to lift her bodily off the ground with seconds to spare when a car was heading towards them.
She suspected that his brisk manner indicated he was the type of person who liked things done his way and was fairly outspoken when put out about something—like getting a woman as a locum when he expected a man! It was such an old-fashioned attitude, she thought irritably. He was probably married to a little mousy woman who wouldn’t say boo to a goose.
Atholl glanced up when he’d perused the file and flicked an assessing eye over her as she finished rubbing her hair dry, running her fingers through her short curls so that they formed a crisp halo round her face. He wasn’t at all sure that she was the right sort of person to take on this particular job. He would always be worried about her ability to cope with some of the tearaways that he and Pete had taken on—but even more to the point, and most importantly, his experience with the last locum had convinced him that there were too many pitfalls where women colleagues in a small practice were concerned. Especially, he thought with sudden awareness, when the woman was as attractive as Terry Younger! Not, of course, from his point of view—he was damn well finished with women and relationships for a long, long time—more from the aspect of his patients and friends who were all longing to fix him up with the next single woman who came into his orbit.
He sighed and sat down in the chair, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. If they were going to work together, he ought to find out more about her.
‘So you’ve come up from London today—that’s quite a long journey.’
‘That’s right. I started at the crack of dawn. The agency sent all my particulars a few days ago, except obviously to state that I was a woman,’ Terry said drily.
He gave a rather abashed smile. ‘I’ve got the file here. I can’t have read it properly,’ he admitted. ‘It does indeed say you’re female—I’m afraid I just looked at your name, Terry Younger, and assumed they’d sent me a man.’
‘Well, they haven’t pulled the wool over your eyes, have they? Anyway, here I am!’
He blinked at her forthright attitude, and his mouth twitched with amusement. ‘You are indeed! Sit down for a moment.’ He put the file down on the desk and looked at her curiously. ‘You’ve got some excellent references and it seemed you had a good job in London. What made you want to leave?’
Terry had been expecting that question and even though she’d rehearsed her reply many times, she felt her throat constrict and to her ears her voice sounded rushed and breathless.
She swallowed, trying to let the half-lies she was telling seem light and matter-of-fact. ‘I…I felt it was time for a change. I’ve been living in London since I qualified. I love the outdoor life and it’s been a dream of mine to work in Scotland in a rural area for a long time.’
‘Can’t be easy, leaving friends and family in the South…they’ll surely miss you,’ he remarked, his clear eyes flicking over her searchingly. Her heart began to thump. Did he suspect that there’d been something amiss in her past?
She forced a smile. ‘Oh, I’ve not got much family down there now, although of course I shall miss some things,’ she said. ‘But it’s good to have a change, and I like the idea of being in a small community.’
‘A small remote community. Why choose Scuola—why not the mainland?’
‘When the agency mentioned the job and I looked the place up on the internet, it looked so beautiful—such a contrast to London. And remote sounds rather good to me.’
‘You didn’t want a permanent position?’
‘I thought it would be nice to experience a few jobs and get around a bit, having worked in the same place for a some years.’ And the fact, she thought bleakly, that she had to resist putting down roots, uneasy that the past might catch up with her some time.
He nodded, seemingly satisfied with this explanation. ‘And do you come from a medical family? Are either of your parents doctors?’
She knew the question was casual, a polite enquiry to show that he was interested in her background, but she wasn’t prepared for the tight little knot of distress that formed in her throat or the way her cheeks flamed. She’d developed a kind of protective amnesia where her father was concerned but when something jolted her into thinking about him a powerful image of that terrible day when her world had stopped leapt into her mind—and the knowledge that she could never live again in London without the fear of danger always at her shoulder.
‘No, my mother was a homemaker until she passed away while I was in my teens. And my father had nothing to do with medicine…nothing at all. He was in the financial world,’ she stumbled.
Atholl said very gently, ‘Has your father died too?’
Terry nodded and swallowed, pushing back the memories. ‘Yes…he had a heart attack a few weeks ago.’
‘I’m sorry. It must be a very difficult time for you.’
Difficult enough for her to leave her roots in London, Atholl surmised. He could imagine her background—affluent and comfortable, a girl who probably went to a private school and lived in a pleasant residential area of London. A city girl…just like Zara had been, he reflected bitterly.
He was prevented from asking further questions by the door opening and Isobel coming in bearing a tray with two mugs, a teapot and a plate with some scones, butter and jam on it.
‘Here’s your tea,’ she said brusquely, putting it down on the desk. She looked in her dour way at Terry. ‘You’re not from these parts, then?’
Terry sighed. It seemed that people wanted to know a lot about her, and she wanted to tell them as little as possible!
‘No, I’m not. But it looks a beautiful place—even when it’s pouring with rain!’