by T A Williams
In the end, as her anxiety continued to grow, it was almost a relief when she found him sitting over a coffee in the very swish staff canteen. As she walked in, he raised his head and a smile spread across his face. He looked just the same, as if the events of Lesbos had only happened yesterday. He jumped to his feet and hurried across to her, arms open wide. Bruno was at Lucy’s side and she felt him tense. As for herself, she didn’t know what to feel. Here was the man who had meant so much to her, but who had then betrayed her so callously. She took a deep breath and held out her hand.
‘Bonjour, Charles.’ He was French after all.
He pulled up a foot or two from her and she saw his eyes drop to her outstretched hand.
‘Bonjour, ma chérie.’
As much for Bruno’s sake as for her own convenience she switched to English, which Charles spoke fluently. ‘It’s just Lucy now, Charles. No more ma chérie. Okay?’ She was delighted to hear her voice sounding firm. ‘How are you?’
She saw his face fall as he took her outstretched hand and shook it formally. ‘I’m fine, thanks… Lucy.’ He hesitated, lost for words, and she suddenly realised that he had probably been dreading this encounter as much as she had. This bolstered her resolve and she even managed a little smile as she responded.
‘Fancy meeting up with you here! It’s a very small world, isn’t it?’ Without giving him a chance to reply, she glanced over at Bruno alongside her. ‘It’s all right, Bruno. I’m not going to scratch his eyes out.’
She saw him relax and smile back at her.
‘Good to hear. Physical violence between staff members is never a terribly good idea.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Well, I’ve got to do my rounds. Why don’t I leave you two to get reacquainted and I’ll be back in half an hour to talk you through this week’s schedule.’
As he went off, Lucy went over to the very complicated-looking coffee machine and studied it. As she did so, Charles came up alongside her.
‘It takes a bit of getting used to, but it makes good coffee. Can I help?’ As if anticipating her refusal, he hurried on. ‘It’s all right. I don’t expect you to say thank you.’
She stepped aside and let him point out where to position the cup and which buttons to press in order to obtain a perfect caffè macchiato freddo. This had always been her preferred coffee and she couldn’t miss the fact that he had remembered, even after four years. As the process finished and she picked up her little cup, she turned towards him.
‘Thank you, Charles.’
She saw just a hint of a smile on his face. ‘You’re welcome. Would you like to come and sit with me? Maybe we could talk?’
She had never seen him so humble, so hesitant. Maybe this was a sign of positive personal development. Much as she had no wish to rake up all the heartache of four years ago, she knew it would be better to get things out in the open, so they could then get on with their lives and work together without friction. So she said yes.
As she sipped her coffee, he began speaking. She listened intently but gave no response as he did his best to convince her that the girl on the beach in Lesbos had been a one-time thing, an aberration. She had meant nothing to him. He had been stupid, selfish, a thoughtless moron. The only woman for him was and always would be Lucy who, by the way, was looking gorgeous. He was remarkably articulate, apparently sincere, and he sounded genuinely remorseful.
But she wasn’t buying it.
She felt quite sure that this particular leopard’s spots would never change – not least after what Bruno had told her about Charles and the nurses here at the clinic. Satisfying as it might have been to pour all her scorn onto him in one big cathartic outburst, possibly accompanied by a kick to the groin or a cup of coffee in the face, she was acutely conscious that he and she would once again be working closely side by side, so she swallowed her anger and did her best to keep things civil.
‘Thank you for trying to explain, Charles, but we both know that anything we had is dead and long gone. There’s no way I could possibly trust you again after what happened. I’m over it now and I want to forget about it. That’s all in the past and we’ve both moved on since then.’
‘So does that mean you’ve found somebody else?’
The simple truth was that she hadn’t, but that was no business of his. ‘It means it’s all over. You and I were together and now we aren’t, and that’s the way it’s going to stay.’ As she spoke, she did in fact feel a sense of release, of closure, and she drew strength from this realisation. ‘We’re both going to be working here and that’s all. We’re colleagues and whatever I may think of your behaviour towards me in the past, I have a lot of respect for you as a doctor. Let’s keep it like that. Okay? Compris?’
‘Compris.’ He shook his head sadly but then looked up again, a brighter expression on his face. ‘Still, it’ll be good to work with you again. You’re a great surgeon and I respect you a lot too.’ He sat back and visibly relaxed. ‘So tell me all about Africa.’
That afternoon Lucy found herself repairing a hernia and removing a gall bladder. She didn’t recognise the glamorous owner of the gall bladder, but from the length of the woman’s finger nails, this was somebody who didn’t go in for manual labour. Mind you, she reminded herself, she was now in the realm of the rich and famous – or infamous. The operation went well and she felt sure the patient would feel a lot better as a result and that, she told herself, was all that counted. The hernia patient was a more famous face, this time a Jamaican athlete. When he came round from his anaesthetic she sat with him for some time, telling him that all had gone well and reassuring him he would only be out of his sport for a matter of weeks. He was very pleasant and very grateful and she reflected that if all the patients here were like him she wouldn’t complain.
Thoughts of famous sportsmen took her up to the physio department at the end of the afternoon where she found Louisa and, with her, David Lorenzo. Considering how grumpy he had been the last time she had seen him, she found herself questioning why she should have chosen to visit him again. His wounds would be well healed by now. She was still trying to come to a conclusion when her eyes alighted upon him and, to her annoyance, that same little spark of attraction stirred within her. She did her best to suppress it as she studied him.
The tennis player was stretched out, face-down, with weights strapped around his ankles, engaged in a series of leg and knee exercises. Lucy smiled at Louisa and then waited until he had finished his set before speaking to him.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Lorenzo. How’s it going?’
He rolled over onto his good side and looked up. ‘Doctor Young. I’m doing good, thanks.’ As ever, his tone was detached, but at least he was being a bit more polite than the last time she had seen him.
He was wearing a T-shirt and shorts which meant that she couldn’t see his scars this time. She was just wondering whether to ask if she could take a look when he reached down and pulled the T-shirt up, exposing his muscular abdomen and lower back.
‘I suppose you want to check things out?’
She bent lower and was very pleased to see both scars now almost fully healed. She gave him an encouraging smile. ‘That’s great. It looks as though you’re back to normal.’
A cloud spread across his face. ‘My side, maybe. Just not the rest.’
All Lucy could do was to offer support. ‘Well, if the side’s anything to go by, you heal quickly. You’ll get there, I’m sure.’
He caught her eye for a second or two, during which she read the depth of his despair, but then he rolled back down onto his front and started the knee exercises once more. Lucy exchanged shrugs with Louisa, bade them both farewell and left, determined to take a look at his records, just to see how hopeless his case really was.
As she walked off down the corridor, she found herself wondering whether the degree of closure she felt she had gained with regard to Charles might be responsible for the growing attraction she felt for this man. Whatever it was, she told herself i
t was just as well he was an out-patient so she wouldn’t see him too often. Apart from being far too rich and privileged, he was a patient and she a doctor and that was that. Nevertheless, as his attitude towards her showed signs of mellowing, she had to accept that she rather liked this troubled man.
Chapter 10
The next weeks passed quickly and she found herself dealing with a fascinating mix of cases and, refreshingly, not a single one of them involved snakebites, parasites, or bullet or machete wounds.
She did her best to readjust to the luxurious surroundings, the magnificent state-of-the-art equipment and the many wealthy patients, but it still felt surreal to her. The fact that her whole operating theatre back in Mabenta, where she had carried out often life-saving surgery, would have fitted inside just one of the guest bedrooms was hard to believe and she often found herself reflecting upon the injustice of a world where money was in the hands of the very few.
She was relieved to find that most of her patients were, as her former boss at MSF had said, just normal people who needed her help, and she found herself warming to most of them, irrespective of the fact that they chose to pay for private treatment. From time to time she came across less salubrious characters who ranged from a South American dictator to a disgraced financier, but they were the exception to the rule. Apart from the patients, she enjoyed bonding with other members of staff, from the world-renowned Egyptian head of orthopaedic surgery – who it transpired had also spent several years working in Africa – to Ahmed, the Syrian night porter that she often met at the end of his shift as she arrived to start work in the early morning. So, all in all she began to settle in and did her best to reassure her conscience that she was doing the right thing.
Her personal life also settled down. She quickly formed a happy working relationship with Bruno, though Virginia herself was maybe a bit on the cool side. Lucy soon worked out that she was a bit snappy and a bit distant towards everybody for some reason. As for Charles, she saw him regularly and even had coffee with him on a few occasions. She still wasn’t even close to forgiving him, but he behaved impeccably as far as she was concerned and she felt sure they would be able to carry on as work colleagues without it feeling too weird. Certainly, her desire to strangle him had diminished by now and she slowly began to settle into a routine, increasingly confident that he wasn’t going to make her position here awkward.
As the days went by, she got to know many of the patients well. Some were only in for a day or two, while others were there long-term and some were regular outpatients like David Lorenzo. As far as the tennis player was concerned, she settled down one afternoon to review his notes and check out the results of his numerous scans. Sadly, she found that she had to concur with the orthopaedic surgeon’s verdict that recovery – at least to the sort of stress levels of a professional athlete – was highly unlikely. Not having any good news to give him and wary that her feelings towards him might risk straying towards the unprofessional, she decided it might be better to steer clear of him, but she hoped his regular physio sessions would gradually manage to bring a smile back to his face. She noted that he was also receiving counselling from Franz and felt sure that would help.
Dr Franz Berlin, the resident psychiatrist, wasn’t your stereotypical psychiatrist. He looked as different from Sigmund Freud as a person could get. He was probably little older than Lucy herself; tall, athletic and good-looking, with piercing blue eyes and blond hair. In spite of his name, it turned out he was Italian. He told her he came from the far north-east of the country, high up in the Alps, where people still spoke German as a first language alongside Italian. He smiled a lot and was very approachable, and Lucy often sat down and chatted with him when she saw him. Also, unlike many psychiatrists she had known, he was remarkably sane.
One of the first things he did was to point out to her that maybe she was drinking too much coffee and he introduced her to ginseng. Remarkably, this was available among the list of options in the all-singing and all-dancing coffee machine in the staff canteen and she soon developed a taste for it. It looked just like a little espresso but tasted strangely, but not unpleasantly, sweeter. She took Franz’s advice and reduced her intake of caffeine and slept better as a result of this, but also as a result of her talks with him.
She found herself starting to tell him about her experiences in Mabenta and the fraught final days in particular, and he encouraged her to open up to him. His laid-back supportive manner encouraged her to confess just how terrified she had been as the advancing forces had been drawing ever closer. She also spoke to him about the horrors she had seen first-hand, talking about things she hadn’t revealed to anybody, not even her parents, and after each session with him – even as brief as a few minutes – she emerged feeling liberated and restored. She was intelligent enough to realise that these chats were acting as a very valid form of therapy and were exactly what she needed in order to gain some kind of closure. There was no doubt about it: he was very good at his job, even when he was theoretically off duty. She felt a deep debt of gratitude towards him and, with it, considerable affection.
As she started sleeping better the memories of the Congo gradually faded away and she settled down in her new home. Speaking with Geneviève and Nicole, she was pleased to hear that they didn’t appear to be suffering too many long-term stress issues either. In fact, Nicole was already planning her wedding for a Saturday in September and she told Lucy to save the date.
Most evenings after work Lucy called in to see Daniela or just went for a walk by herself in the fields behind her house. The rain had been swallowed up by the parched earth in a matter of days and it was now once again tinder dry. There was no sign of Boris the Labrador, and she rather missed him. They had always had a dog at home and she knew it would have been nice to have a dog of her own. The fact was, however, that she worked full-time five days a week – with a week of night duty once a month – and it wouldn’t have been fair on the dog to leave him alone so much. Even without a dog, she enjoyed her walks in the hills and slept soundly afterwards.
All in all, her new life was working out fine, barring her concerns that a career looking after the rich and privileged was maybe not what she wanted in the long term. Still, she told herself, after her experiences in the Congo, she felt she had earned a bit of repose with so much less stress.
* * *
One July night she was invited to a party. It was Franz’s thirty-ninth birthday and he was having people round to his apartment in Siena. Lucy accepted readily, delighted to be able to see more of the psychiatrist who had been helping her so much. The more she got to know him, the more she liked him, so as it was a very warm evening, she chose a smart summer dress she had bought in the market in Siena and even put her hair up. When she checked herself out in the mirror prior to going out, she reckoned she looked pretty good.
It was just as well she had no amorous intentions as her efforts would have been wasted on Franz.
She was met at the door of his top-floor flat by an equally handsome man who introduced himself as Franz’s partner, Antonio, and the scales fell from her eyes. She gave him a big smile and pushed her way into the crowded flat to look for the birthday boy. She found him by the drinks table talking to, of all people, Charles. Her heart sank at the sight of her ex. She gave Franz a bottle of wine and he gave her a warm hug and pressed a glass of cold Prosecco into her hand. She thanked him and kissed warmly him on the cheeks.
‘Happy birthday, Franz. I love your apartment.’ She caught his eye. ‘And thanks for being such a good friend.’
He grinned back at her. ‘Any time, Lucy. I’m delighted to see you looking so relaxed. Sleeping well?’
‘Sleeping just fine, thanks to you.’
In fact, with Charles so close-by, she wasn’t feeling as relaxed as she might have been, but she managed to smile anyway and transferred her attention to her surroundings – deliberately turning her back on Charles. It really was a charming flat, perched on the rooftops o
f Siena, with a wonderful big terrace outside where she could see more people mingling. No doubt the view from out there would be lovely. Inside, it had been decorated with exquisite taste and when Franz explained that Antonio was an interior designer, it all fell into place.
She took a big mouthful of wine and reluctantly turned back towards Charles, noticing for the first time a diminutive, but very attractive, dark-haired girl hanging onto his arm. As her eyes landed on the girl’s face, Lucy was unsurprised to see she was one of the junior nurses at the clinic and was probably at least ten years younger than Charles. Lucy nodded sagely to herself; the leopard was following its usual modus operandi. She steeled herself and gave them both a sweet, but totally insincere smile.
‘Good evening.’ She kept her tone studiously neutral.
He made no attempt to kiss her, which was just as well seeing as her glass was still almost full and this little scene had filled her head with a host of unpleasant memories. Something in her expression must have made him realise he was on thin ice as he took an uncertain step back and pointed vaguely across the room.
‘Good evening, Lucy. Do excuse me. I have to…’ And he disappeared into the crowd with his latest conquest in tow, much to Lucy’s relief.
She took another sip of wine and wandered round the room, stopping to chat to a number of familiar faces from the hospital. After a bit she made her way over to the French window leading out onto the terrace. The view out there was as delightful as she had expected. The temperature was still high, but there was a hint of a breeze up here and she breathed deeply. The flat was situated just outside the centro storico and she found herself looking out over the roofs of the old heart of the town towards the unmistakable arrow shape of the Torre del Mangia, rising up vertically into the night sky. As she was standing there, taking it all in, she heard her name.
