“We really feel this program works well,” said Juan. “We’re desperately trying not to lose you. You must see that.”

He handed her a leaflet with pictures of lovely rolling green fields on it, sun going down behind some cows.

“What’s this?” said Lissa sullenly.

“Just . . . about your options. We do swaps with rural practitioners who want to broaden their skills. Like a student exchange.”

“I’m not a student!”

“We’ve found the program mutually beneficial,” said Juan.

“Lissa,” said Valerie quite firmly, “I’d highly recommend you give it some very serious thought.”

Chapter 14

Islay’s recovery was going well, and Cormac called the London hospital to update them. Transplants happened in total secrecy and Cormac knew better than to ask. But what accident involving a fifteen-year-old could be anything other than a dreadful tragedy?

Instead he conveyed as soberly as possible that patient B had come through the operation and was currently in intensive care; that the prognosis was good, maybe even extremely good; and that everything was proceeding as usefully as possible.

The voice at the other end of the phone paused. “And you’re the NPL?” he said, looking something up on his computer.

“Uh-huh,” said Cormac.

“Cormac MacPherson?”

“Aye.”

“Because I’m looking at your HR form here.”

“Are you now,” said Cormac, instantly wary.

“You haven’t always been an NPL, have you?”

Cormac hesitated. He hadn’t been expecting this at all. “No. I was an army medic. Why?”

“Have you heard of the exchange program?”

“The what?”

“The three-month exchange program. You could move up a grade. We have a place opening up here.”

“I’m not moving to London!”

“The idea is to bolster the skills of people in different areas. So if you’ve always worked in a rural district, you might benefit from some more acute specialization, that kind of thing. And vice versa.”

“You mean you’re looking for somewhere to dump your burnouts,” said Cormac tartly. He might live in a village, but he wasn’t its idiot.

There was a wry chuckle at the other end of the line. “I think you’d be good down here,” came the voice. “Let me send you the brochure.”

“Aye, whatever,” said Cormac, who then hung up and thought no more about it.

He headed home and had a long shower. He found himself missing having someone to talk to, the black-humored camaraderie of the army. He wondered if the London front lines were like that. Probably.

He went out into the village to pick up some of the good local butter they did up at Lennox’s farm. Lennox wasn’t much of a talker, but the farm produce was spot-on. He picked up some local bacon too. It would make quite the sandwich.