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to back out now, and she’d not give up the job without a fight. She bent down to pat Shona, who looked up at her with trusting brown eyes.
    ‘I’ll show him, Shona,’ she whispered. ‘He’ll not regret having me in the practice—even if I am a woman.’

CHAPTER THREE
    A DOG barking and the sound of horses’ hooves on the road woke Terry up with a start from a deep sleep. For a moment she panicked, thinking she was back in London, but there was no sound of traffic and no curtains at the window to cut off the light streaming onto her bed. She relaxed back again. Of course, she was in a little cottage on Scuola—about seven hundred miles away from her old home and quite safe. She searched for her watch on the bedside table and squinted at the face with amazed horror. It was nine-thirty—she must have slept for twelve hours.
    Gradually the previous day’s events began to unravel through her mind. It had been a day of mixed emotions, leaving her beloved London, meeting Atholl Brodie in the most dramatic of circumstances, then finding out he was the man she was going to be working with.
    She lay for a second reflecting on just what kind of a man he was—outspoken, decisive, but probably fair enough in his dealings with people. And, of course, there were his looks…deep blue eyes in a strong good-looking face swam into her mind. She sighed and swung her legs over the bed. Hadn’t she learned that drop-dead gorgeous men had too much confidence, things came too easily to them? She was certainly not about to stray into dangerous emotional territory again—especially in a working relationship. But there was a peculiar little flicker of excitement at the thought of seeing him later.
    She padded over to the open window and looked out on a brilliant day, catching her breath at the view. The sun was shining on the distant vista of a blue sea she could see over the fields, and just down by the side of the cottage there was a stream that tumbled and sparkled its way under a little bridge and towards a copse. Through the open window drifted the sweet fresh smells of early spring and the sound of the chattering water.
    ‘A far cry from London,’ she murmured, peering down to see if Atholl’s car had gone from the front of the cottage. There was no sign of it, so he must have gone to work.
    There was a scrabbling noise at the door and Shona trotted in, coming over to nuzzle Terry and then lie on her side in a patch of warm sunlight. Terry had a quick wash and threw on some clothes from her case, which Atholl had placed on the small landing. She squinted into the tiny mirror in the darkest corner of the little room as she flicked a brush through her hair. Her image looked back at her—large eyes framed by wayward short curly fair hair. Funny how a slight change in hair colour and cut could make a face look quite different, she thought. She turned to the dog looking up at her with interest.
    ‘Right, Shona, let’s see what’s for breakfast, shall we?’
    The kitchen was a tiny room with just enough space for a sink, fridge and oven. On the working top was a note. ‘If you feel rested enough to come to the surgery, please take my uncle’s car parked in the layby just down the road. Keys in drawer.’
    After a cup of black coffee and a fruitless hunt for anything more sustaining than a stale piece of bread, Terry put on a jacket and made her way to the car.
    ‘Bye, Shona,’ she called to the dog, who was watching her through the window. ‘If I don’t find my way I may be back soon!’
    In fact, it was an easy ten-minute drive to The Sycamores. The worst part was parking the car in between a builder’s lorry and Atholl’s Land Rover in the drive. The house did indeed look rundown, Terry thought, taking a more detailed look at the paintwork on the windows, the battered front door and the small neglected border covered with weeds.
    ‘I could easily make that look better when the flat’s ready,’ she murmured to herself