Questions of Trust A Medical Romance - By Sam Archer Page 0,43

the matter on her own, off her own bat, using the limited resources available to her. One such resource was her reputation. She was becoming known and respected in the local community for her journalism. This might open doors for her which would otherwise remain closed.

First things first, though. She needed to lay the groundwork by gathering as much information as she could about the allegations, and about who had made them. That inevitably meant sounding Tom out, first of all to find out if he’d heard about the charges against him yet.

He’d be at work, so she’d have to contrive a way to get to see him. She couldn’t bring Jake along on the pretence he was ill and needed to see the doctor. That was exactly the type of underhand journalistic trick the Pember Valley News would employ, and which she detested. Wasting professionals’ time in the course of their duties wasn’t her style.

No. She’d be up front, ring him and ask for a meeting, and gauge from his reaction whether or not he knew what it was about. Her journalistic ear was fine-tuned to detect subtle nuances of speech and breathing, and she felt confident she’d be able to tell quickly if he guessed that she’d heard about the allegations.

Chloe strode up a cobbled slope to a higher point in the town centre, where the phone reception was better. She dialled Tom’s number and waited.

Chapter Nine

In the event, meeting Tom wasn’t as straightforward as Chloe had anticipated.

She’d rung him from the town centre that morning and hadn’t been surprised when his phone went to voicemail. He was, after all, in the middle of a morning surgery. She left a brief message.

‘Tom, it’s Chloe. I realise you’re busy, so I’m sorry to hassle you. Could we meet up some time today for ten minutes? I’m happy to come to the surgery. There’s something I need to talk to you about.’

She went back home, leaving Jake with the other mum who’d said she was happy to look after him until after lunch, as she had a little boy herself of Jake’s age and the two got on well together. At the cottage Chloe drove herself to a solid hour-and-a-half’s work on the article, banishing all thoughts of Tom and his predicament ruthlessly from her mind.

One o’clock came, and went. Wasn’t Tuesday one of the days Tom worked a split shift, spending four hours at the practice and then picking Kelly up from nursery to spend the afternoon with her? In which case, he must have finished his first shift and would surely have checked his phone’s voice messages by now. She chided herself almost at once. He was a busy man, and had a lot else on his plate now in addition to his work. It was egotistical of her to expect that he’d give priority to returning her call. She told herself to be patient and get on with her work. There was time for another half hour’s writing before she had to go and pick Jake up.

The afternoon passed, Chloe losing herself to some extent in first a chat over a cup of tea with the woman who’d looked after Jake, and later an extended reading session with Jake. She noticed with delight that his ability to identify letters was growing rapidly. What was more, he was fascinated by books, to the extent that she sometimes struggled to pry him away from them at meal times.

At four o’clock Chloe checked her phone, saw that nobody had called, and decided to give Tom another try. He’d be with Kelly now, and although she was reluctant to intrude on his time with his daughter, she thought there was more chance of his answering than if she waited until later when he’d be back at work for the evening surgery.

It went to voicemail, again. She left a similar message to before, hoping she didn’t sound too desperate, like some sort of stalker. It occurred to her that if Tom was aware of the allegations against him – and he surely must be, by now, she thought – he was probably hardly in the mood to respond to a woman’s invitation for a meeting. Silently Chloe cursed herself for her short-sightedness.

She’d leave it, for today. If Tom didn’t want to meet her, or speak to her, that was his decision. Perhaps she’d try again tomorrow. But badgering him wasn’t going to help him at all, and would just make her look