Free Questions Of Trust: A Medical Romance by Sam Archer Page A

harassed doctor who was getting bogged down.
    At around eleven o’clock, as Tom was ushering a limping elderly man out with a quip and a smile, he spotted Tracy the receptionist hovering outside the door. He raised his eyebrows enquiringly. She mimed a request – can I come in? – and he stepped aside for her and closed the door.
    ‘Just thought I’d better let you know that your ex-wife rang,’ said the receptionist.
    ‘What? Did she want to speak to me?’
    ‘No, I asked. She just wanted to know if you were at work.’ Tracy looked anxious. ‘I didn’t know who she was at first. A woman phoned and asked if Dr Carlyle was at work, and when I asked who she was, she said “Rebecca Carlyle, his former wife”.’ Tracy bit a false fingernail. ‘I hope I didn’t do anything wrong.’
    ‘No, no, don’t worry, Trace,’ Tom said. ‘Thanks for letting me know.’
    When she’d gone, Tom picked up the next patient’s notes, his mind running over what the receptionist had just told him. Rebecca had probably wanted to talk to him but realised he was busy. Why then, though, hadn’t she rung him on his mobile and left a message for him to call her, as she normally did? And what she’d asked Tracy… not Is Dr Carlyle available? but Is he at work?
    Rebecca’s words from their conversation a few days earlier came back to him.
    You have no idea what I’m capable of.
    Tom closed his eyes, as a chill ran through him like a spike.
    He pulled out his mobile phone and speed-dialled the number of the nursery.
    ‘Hello, Megan?’ he said when he recognised the manager’s voice. ‘Tom Carlyle here. Is Kelly all right?’
    She sounded astonished. ‘Yes, she’s fine. Why do you ask?’
    ‘Has anyone been there trying to pick her up?’
    ‘No!’ Now she sounded appalled. ‘What’s going on, Tom?’
    ‘I need to come and get her. Don’t allow anyone else to take her, will you?’
    ‘Of course not! Tom, please tell me –’
    But he’d already rung off. He ran a hand through his hair, then stepped out into the waiting room. A sea of faces turned towards him. Children were crying, older patients groaning.
    He couldn’t leave.
    Tom held up a finger as Tracy tried to get his attention – one minute – and went back into his consulting room.
    You’re a doctor , he told himself. Doctors come up with solutions.
    And the idea occurred to him.
    Before he had a chance to start doubting it, to come up with a thousand reasons why it was a bad idea, Tom went over to his computer. A few clicks and typed words brought up Chloe Edwards’s details.
    He thumbed the number into his phone and waited.
    She answered more quickly than he’d been expecting and he caught his breath.
    ‘Chloe? It’s Tom Carlyle here.’
    ‘Hello, Dr Carlyle. Tom.’ She sounded guarded.
    ‘Look, I’m really, really sorry to do this. I have a huge favour to ask you.’
    And he let it all out, in a rush: how he needed someone to pick his daughter up from nursery but was unable to get there himself, how it needed to be someone he trusted and she was the only person he could think of. He didn’t say why Kelly needed fetching, or why the situation was so urgent; nor did he mention anything about Rebecca. All he did was assure Chloe was that Kelly was fine, and that he’d be round to Chloe’s to pick her up as soon as he could get away, which would probably be in the early afternoon.
    When he’d finished he held his breath, expecting a refusal, perhaps an indignant one. After all, he and Chloe weren’t exactly close friends, and she’d be working as well and wasn’t there just to drop everything and play babysitter. But when she spoke her voice was full of concern.
    ‘Of course, Tom. I’ll be there right away.’
    Relief flooded through Tom. ‘You’ll – ah, that’s great, Chloe. Thanks so much. I’ll let the nursery know you’re coming.’
    He rang off and closed his eyes. Then he dialled the nursery’s number once more.
    Megan snatched