He laughed. ‘You know you are. Don’t fight it.’ He glanced at the pile of work sitting on his desk. It would take him until late into the night. With Magda going on maternity leave, and no locum doctor recruited to fill the gap, everything was going to fall to him. He was lucky. He worked within a dynamic team of advanced nurse practitioners, practice nurses and allied health professionals. He already knew they would support him as best they could.
Life had changed completely for him once his father had died. He’d felt obligated to come back and provide a health service for the people of the island when the post couldn’t get filled. Unfortunately, Zoe, his partner, had been filled with horror at the thought of life on Arran. He hadn’t even had the chance to ask whether she thought a long-distance relationship could work. She had been repelled by the very prospect of setting foot on the island he’d previously called home and had run, not walked, in the opposite direction.
All of that had messed with his head in a way he hadn’t quite expected. He loved this place. Always had, always would. Of course, as a teenager wanting to study medicine, he’d had to leave. And that had been good for him. He’d loved his training in the Glasgow hospitals, then his time in Edinburgh, followed by a job in London, and a few months working for Doctors Without Borders, before taking up his GP training. But when things had happened and his father died suddenly? That whole journey home on the boat had been tinged with nostalgia. Coming home had felt exactly like coming home should. It had felt as if it was supposed to happen—even though the circumstances were never what he had wanted.
He moved over towards the desk and looked at Magda. ‘So, when exactly does this start? In a few months?’
There was a nervous kind of laugh. ‘Tomorrow,’ Magda said as she stared out the window. ‘Or today,’ she added with a hint of panic as her eyes fixed on the woman with blonde hair blowing frantically around her face in the stiff Firth of Clyde winds. Rhuaridh’s eyes widened and he dropped the file he’d just picked up.
‘What?’ His head turned and followed Magda’s gaze to the car park just outside his surgery window.
The woman was dressed in a thin jacket and capri pants. It was clear she was struggling with the door of her car as it buffeted off her body then slammed in the strong winds. She didn’t look particularly happy.
‘You’ve got to be joking—now? No preparation time, nothing?’
Magda gave an uncomfortable swallow, her blue eyes meeting his. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I just got caught up in other things.’
He could sense the panic emanating from her. He felt his annoyance bubble under the surface—but he’d never show it.
His brain started to whirl. He’d need to talk to patients. Set up appropriate consultations. Make sure nothing inappropriate was filmed. He wanted to run a few questions past his professional organisation. He knew there had been some other TV series that had featured docs and medical staff, and he just wanted a bit of general advice.
A piece of paper flew out of the hand of the woman outside. ‘Darn it!’ Even from inside her American accent was as clear as a bell.
Magda made a little choking sound. He turned to face her as she obviously tried to stifle her laugh. Her eyebrows rose. ‘Well, she looks like fun.’
Rhuaridh pressed his lips together to stop himself from saying what he really wanted to say. He took another breath and wagged his finger at Magda. ‘Dr Price, I think you owe me.’
She held out her hand so he could help pull her up from the chair. ‘Absolutely.’ She smiled.
* * *
Gerry seemed to be taking the wind in his stride. ‘Why did we come here first?’ she muttered as she opened the boot of the car to grab some of their equipment.
‘Best to get things started on the right foot. Let’s meet our guy, establish some ground rules, then crash.’
She gave him a sideways glance. Maybe her older colleague was more fatigued than he was admitting. She batted some of her hair out of her face. The sign outside the building read ‘Cairn Medical Practice’, with the names of the doctors underneath.
‘Roo-ah-ree.’ She practised the name on her tongue as they made their way to the main entrance. Gerry already had a camera under one arm. One thing for Gerry, he was ever hopeful.
‘Roo-ah-ree.’ She practised again, trying to pretend she wasn’t nervous. So much was riding on this. She had to make it work. She had to make it interesting and watchable. There hadn’t been background information on this doc. Apparently he’d been the last-minute replacement for someone else. And if he was anything like the majority of the people on the ferry he would be grey-haired, carry a walking stick, and be wearing a sturdy pair of boots.
The ferry. What if she still smelled of sick? She felt a tiny wave of panic and grabbed some perfume from her bag, squirting it madly around her before they went through the main entrance door.
They stepped into a large waiting area. It was empty but looked...busy. Some of the chairs were higgledy-piggledy, magazines and a few kids’ toys were scattered around the tables and floor. She could see some tread marks on the carpet. This place had a well-used feel about it.
She glanced at her watch. There was no one at the reception desk. It was after six p.m. The sign on the door said that was closing time. ‘Hello?’ she ventured.
There was the slam of a door from somewhere and a tall ruffled, dark-haired man appeared from the back of the building. He had the oddest expression on his face. It looked almost pained.
‘Hi, sorry,’ he said. ‘Just seeing my pregnant colleague out.’ His eyes seemed to run up and down the two of them. ‘You must be the TV people.’
His accent was thick, almost lilting, and it actually took her a few seconds to tune in and process his words. A frown appeared on his forehead at the delay. ‘Rhuaridh Gillespie?’ He lifted his hand and pointed to his chest.
Oh, my goodness. She was going to have to concentrate hard—and she didn’t just mean because of the accent. He was so not what she expected. Instead of an old wrinkly guy, she had a lean, muscled guy with bright blue eyes and slightly too long tousled dark hair. He was wearing a light blue shirt and dress pants. And he didn’t look entirely pleased to see them.
Something sparked in her brain and she walked forward, holding her hand out, knowing exactly how dishevelled she looked after their long journey. ‘Kristie Nelson. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Roo—’ She stumbled a little. ‘Dr Gillespie,’ she said, praying that her signature smile would start working any moment soon.
For a while, that had kind of been her trademark. With her styled blonde locks, usual
ly perfect makeup and ‘signature’ wide smile, there had been a time on local TV when she’d become almost popular. That had been the time she’d had oodles of confidence and thought her star was going to rise immensely and catapult her to fame and fortune. Instead, she’d fallen to the earth with a resounding bump.
He reached over and took her hand. It was a warm, solid grip. One that made her wonder if this guy worked out.
‘Like I said, Rhuaridh Gillespie.’ He leaned over and shook Gerry’s hand too.
‘Gerry Berkovich. Camera, lights, sounds and general dogsbody for the good-looking one.’ He nodded towards Kristie.
She slapped his arm. ‘As if!’
Dr Gillespie didn’t even crack a smile. In fact, he barely held in his sigh. He gestured towards the nearest office. ‘Come and have a seat. I’ve kind of been thrown in at the deep end here, so we’re going to have to come to an agreement about some boundaries.’
It was the edge to his tone. She shot a glance at Gerry, who raised one corner of his eyebrow just a little. This didn’t sound like the best start.
She swallowed and tried to ignore the fact she was tired, now hungry, and desperately wanted a shower and five minutes lying on a bed and staring up at a ceiling. She’d been travelling for twenty hours. She’d been in the company of other people for more than that. Sometimes she needed a bit of quiet—a bit of down time. And it didn’t look like it would happen anytime soon.
Rhuaridh showed them to seats in his office.
Kristie had dealt with lots of difficult situations over the last few years in TV and moved into autopilot mode. ‘I’m sure everything will be fine,’ she said smoothly. ‘Contracts have already been agreed—’
‘Not by me,’ he cut in sharply, ‘And not by my patients. In fact...’ he took a deep breath, lifting one hand and running it through his dark scraggy hair ‘... I’ll need to get my professional organisation to take a look at this contract to make sure no patient confidentially will be breached inadvertently.’