Free Questions Of Trust: A Medical Romance by Sam Archer

as two eligible, unattached people of a similar age, speculation which Chloe sensed was still rife in town despite her protest about it to Margaret McFarland. Chloe wouldn’t have to worry that every casual conversation between her and Tom on the playground or in the supermarket would be misinterpreted as evidence of attraction or a growing attachment between them.
    Her musings continued after she’d gathered up Jake and returned to their own cottage, and they resumed later once he was tucked up in bed after supper and Chloe was at her laptop, writing up notes from her interview that afternoon with the residents of the estate. In Chloe’s experience, when she couldn’t let go of a topic it was usually because she’d made a mistake somewhere along the line, a mistake in her reasoning. Deciding she wasn’t going to be able to concentrate on her work while she was thus preoccupied, Chloe shut her laptop and closed her eyes.
    And in a moment she had it. The mistake she’d made was that she’d been dishonest. Not dishonest with anyone else, but with herself.
    She knew the name of the emotion she’d been experiencing after hearing about Rebecca Carlyle’s return. Had in fact been experiencing since she’d seen this glamorous woman walking up to Tom’s door.
    The emotion was called jealousy.

Chapter Five
     
    Since Tom had started working as a fully fledged general practitioner five years earlier, he’d come to realise that there were three types of working day. There were the busy days. There were the days on which you were so run off your feet you barely had time to draw breath.
    And then there were days like today.
    He’d arrived at work at eight, after dropping Kelly at nursery, to find his first patient, a young woman in the late stages of her first pregnancy, pale and distressed in the waiting room and complaining of pain in her upper abdomen. With difficulty and with the assistance of her distraught husband he’d manoeuvred her into his consulting room, where he’d conducted a speedy examination. Her blood pressure was sky high at 170 over 120, and there was protein in her urine. These signs, together with the swollen, pitted appearance of her ankles, pointed to one thing. Pre-eclampsia, a condition that potentially threatened the lives of both his patient and her unborn baby.
    Calmly but briskly Tom made the arrangements, asking the receptionist to call for an ambulance and phoning the consultant obstetrician at the local hospital himself, all the while keeping his eye on the patient on his examination couch in case she showed incipient signs of a seizure. He’d consoled her and her husband as best he could, staying with them until the paramedics arrived to take her away.
    By the time she was off to hospital, Tom had a backlog of six patients in the waiting room. He ran an eye over their notes. Two were entirely new, so he’d need to take time to get to know them. The other four had an assortment of longstanding conditions that wouldn’t be resolvable quickly: rheumatoid arthritis, congestive heart failure, psoriasis and recurrent depression.
    And then the call came in from Tom’s colleague, Dr Ben Okoro. He’d been in a minor car accident on the way to work. He was unhurt, but the man who’d hit him had jumped a red light and the police were taking statements. Ben was going be a couple of hours late. Could he, Tom, cover Ben’s patients in the mean time?
    His workload suddenly doubled, Tom went into overdrive. It was an experience he’d been through before as a junior doctor, as though some sort of microchip in his head kicked in and took over, enabling him to do what would normally be humanly impossible. He worked like a machine, seeing patient after patient, spending enough time with each one that they left apparently satisfied that they’d been listened to, and not rushed out of his consulting room, yet maintaining a steady rhythm so that he gave the impression of brisk efficiency rather than a