Questions of Trust A Medical Romance - By Sam Archer Page 0,44

foolish.

And it was with that thought that Chloe’s instincts took over. Fortune favours the bold. She’d promised herself to offer Tom her full support, and that was what she was going to do. Propriety be damned. She scooped up Jake, who was excited when she told him they were going out for a drive, and set off in the Astra.

Chloe parked across the street from the surgery. One or two people were lingering outside, waiting for it to open its doors for the evening session. She checked the dashboard clock. A quarter to five.

She spotted Tom’s Ford turning into the street and pulling into one of the parking spaces reserved for staff at the side of the surgery.

Drawing a deep breath, Chloe climbed out, lifted Jake from his seat in the back and crossed the road. The staff car park was round the corner from where the patients were waiting, so they wouldn’t see her approach Tom.

He saw her as he was stepping out of his car, and Chloe was appalled by the expression that appeared on his face for an instant. He flinched, visibly, fear flaring in his features. A second later the expression was gone, to be replaced by one of wary politeness.

‘Hello, Chloe. Hi, Jake.’ He managed to waggle his eyebrows, something that never failed to send the boy into peals of laughter.

Chloe kept a respectful distance. She plunged right in: ‘Tom, I’m really sorry to ambush you like this. It’ll just take a second. But you haven’t been answering my calls. Not that you’re obliged to, of course, but I have to speak to you.’

He stood watching her carefully, still holding the car door open. Something changed in his features, as if he’d read something in hers that eased his wariness.

‘So you’ve heard, then,’ he said quietly.

‘Oh, Tom.’ She’d prepared a set speech, but for a moment Chloe was at a loss.

‘It isn’t true,’ he said.

‘I know it isn’t.’ She risked a step closer to him. ‘That’s why I wanted to speak to you. Tom, this is terrible. You must feel awful. Who’d do something like this?’

He seemed about to speak, but shut his mouth, still gazing at her.

‘I know it’s a clichéd thing to say, but – if there’s anything I can do, anything at all, please ask.’ She was dispirited at how trite she was sounding, how the bold, no-nonsense approach she’d intended was withering in the face of the utter anguish she could see was holding him in its grip.

The memory of the expression on his face when she’d first accosted him – the fear – caught up with her suddenly, and a shock of understanding came to her. ‘Tom… you didn’t think… I was the one who made the accusation, did you?’

He was silent for only a fraction of a second too long, but it answered her question. Of course; it made sense to Chloe now. His avoidance of her phone calls. His wariness around her now. He thought she’d taken offence after their kiss a week ago and was trying now to destroy his career and his life.

‘I didn’t know what to think, Chloe,’ he murmured.

She wanted to step closer to him, to embrace him (however awkward that would be, not least because she was holding Jake in her arms), to tell him she was sorry; sorry that she’d run away that evening last week and not been back in contact, sorry that she’d been so aloof with him over the last weeks and months, more or less spurning his offers of friendship; sorry that he was in the nightmarish predicament he found himself in. And she wanted to assure him that he wasn’t alone, that she’d help him in whatever way he could to fight this thing, clear his name.

But she didn’t, of course. She just stood and stared at him, helpless.

‘Tom, talk to me,’ she said. ‘Who’s been making these allegations? All I’ve heard so far is rumours, vague hints. I don’t know what’s going on.’

‘I don’t, either,’ he said, closing the car door as if he’d just remembered it. He had his jacket draped over a forearm, his briefcase in his hand. ‘I’ve no idea who’s been making the accusations. None whatsoever. But I’ll be able to read all about it in tomorrow’s paper. As will you, and every other living soul in this town.’

‘Which paper? Not the Gazette?’ Surely they weren’t ready to run a story yet, especially not after letting Tom have a chance to defend