Doctor And Son. Maggie Kingsley

      Two minutes would have been more than enough for him. ‘Annie—’

      ‘Would you like a cup of coffee before you go?’

      Subtle she wasn’t, but he had no intention of leaving. Not yet, at any rate. Junior doctor’s salaries weren’t exactly lavish, but surely a single woman could have afforded something better than this?

      ‘I’ll help you unpack first,’ he said firmly. ‘And, yes, I know you don’t need any help,’ he continued when she opened her mouth, patently intending to protest, ‘but just humour me, please, hmm?’

      Gideon didn’t wait for her reply. Instead, he determinedly began emptying her grocery bags, but the more packets and tins he placed on the kitchen table, the more confused he became. Spaghetti hoops, Twinkie bars, lollipops. What kind of weird diet was she on?

      ‘Far be it for me to criticise,’ he observed, reaching down into one of the bags to retrieve what looked like Beanie biscuits, ‘but if this is a sample of your eating habits, I think you badly need some nutritional advice.’

      She opened her mouth, closed it again, then seemed to come to a decision. ‘They’re not for me. They’re…they’re for my son.’

      His hand stilled. ‘I didn’t realise you were married.’

      ‘I’m not. And I’m not divorced either,’ she continued as his eyebrows rose. ‘I’m a single parent.’

      He stared at her silently. It explained so much. Answered so many questions, and yet raised a whole lot more.

      ‘Your son—he’s four, isn’t he?’

      ‘Yes, but how—?’

      ‘It didn’t require much genius to figure it out,’ he declared as she stared at him in astonishment. ‘You took four years out between finishing med school and applying for the post at the Belfield, so…’ He shrugged. ‘Was that why you were late this morning—because of your son?’

      ‘It won’t happen again,’ she said quickly. ‘He didn’t want to go to the day-care centre, you see, but I promise it won’t happen again.’

      ‘Hell’s bells, Annie, your son is your first priority, not the bloody hospital,’ he snapped, then bit his lip when she flinched. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell, but I do understand. I know the kind of pressure Helen faces with her two kids—’

      ‘I don’t want—or need—any allowances made for me.’

      But she did, he thought. Every working mother needed help sometimes. ‘Annie—’

      He came to a halt as her front doorbell rang, and when she went to answer it he stayed in the kitchen. He would have remained there, too, if the increasingly strident sound of a female voice hadn’t aroused his curiosity.

      ‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked, emerging from the kitchen in time to see a dumpy, middle-aged woman brandishing a toy truck under Annie’s nose.

      ‘It’s nothing,’ Annie said quickly. ‘Please, go back in the kitchen.’

      Not on your life, he thought, seeing the woman glance from him to Annie with a look he didn’t care for.

      ‘I’m Gideon Caldwell—a friend of Annie’s,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘And you are…?’

      The woman didn’t unbend an inch. In fact, she bristled even more.

      ‘Mrs Patterson, the landlady, and as I’ve just been telling Ms Hart, this is the fourth time I’ve found this toy lying outside my door.’

      ‘And you brought it back for her—how very kind of you,’ he said smoothly.

      ‘Kindness had nothing to do it,’ she snapped. ‘It shouldn’t have been there in the first place.’

      ‘I’ll speak to Jamie,’ Annie said hurriedly. ‘Make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

      ‘You keep saying that, and it’s not good enough,’ Mrs Patterson retorted. ‘He’s always leaving his toys lying about, and he was running up and down again this morning. Thump, thump, thump, from seven o’clock onwards. I could rent this flat to anyone, Ms Hart—’

      ‘Did you advertise this flat as being unsuitable for children?’ Gideon interrupted.

      Mrs Patterson stared at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘When you advertised this flat, did you specifically stipulate it was unsuitable for young children?’ he asked, his voice hard, cold.

      ‘No, but—’

      ‘Then so long as Dr Hart pays her rent, I think you should take yourself, and your veiled threats, elsewhere, don’t you?’

      Mrs Patterson’s mouth fell open. She turned a quite amazing shade of red, then with a fulminating look at Annie she banged out the door, leaving Annie gazing after her.

      ‘Well, I think I sorted that out, don’t you?’ Gideon smiled, but to his surprise Annie didn’t look pleased. She looked furious.

      ‘Sorted it out?’ she repeated. ‘All you’ve done is made things ten times worse!’

      ‘But—’

      ‘She’s already on my back twice a day.’

      ‘Then move out—get somewhere else.’

      Her colour changed from fiery red to white, then back to red again. ‘Do you have any idea how difficult it is for a woman with a young child to get affordable rented accommodation in Glasgow?’

      ‘No, but—’

      ‘It took me almost six months to find this place—’

      ‘You should have kept looking.’

      She clenched her hands together until her knuckles showed white. ‘OK, that does it. You waltz in here uninvited, sneer at my home—oh, yes, you did,’ she continued as he tried to protest, ‘and then you antagonise my landlady. I think you’ve more than outstayed your welcome, don’t you?’

      ‘Annie—’

      ‘Goodbye, Mr Caldwell.’

      ‘The name’s Gideon,’ he said in exasperation. ‘G-I-D-E-O-N. Good grief, it’s not that hard to pronounce.’

      ‘And the door is right behind you,’ she said pointedly.

      He wondered if he should remind her that he hadn’t had his coffee yet, but one look at her furious face told him it would be a mistake. She’d undoubtedly give it to him all right. Right over his head.

      Well, fine, he thought as he strode out the door. If she didn’t want his help, then fine. If she wanted to be intimidated by a harridan landlady, and live with her son in a depressing flat, then that was fine, too. He washed his hands of her.

      He had better things to do than worry about a girl with corn-coloured curls and large blue eyes who probably had to lug heavy shopping bags up that steep hill every week. Much better things. And if he couldn’t think of a single thing at the moment, he sure as heck soon would.