The Noble Doctor

by Gill Sanderson

  Simon sat by her, slid along the bench and tried to take her hand. 'Perhaps it's my fault and if so, I'm sorry,' he said. 'But I think we've got things a bit wrong.'

  She pulled her hand away, thinking that he didn't look very sorry. 'I would say we've got things just right.'

  Simon didn't know it, but he had picked the wrong time to speak to Lucy. She had been enjoying talking to Jenny, happy in her vague thoughts of what might happen in the future. With Simon came an unpleasant reality.

  'You must understand, this is a great opportunity for me—for us, in fact. You'd like working in Chicago and—'

  'I might like working in Chicago but I'm not going. Not with you. Simon, I told you, things are over between us.'

  'You just don't mean that.'

  Simon reached for the bottle of wine and started to pour himself a generous drink. When his glass was half-full Lucy reached over and took the bottle from him, set it down with a thump. 'That's not your wine,' she said. 'Neither is it mine.'

  So now, inevitably, Simon got angry again. 'Off with the old love and on with the new,' he said. 'I saw you chatting up the new French guy, you and most of the nursing staff here. Look at them fawning on him. Like flies round...'

  Lucy did glance across the lawn and Simon was right—there were rather a lot of females clustered around John and Marc. She tried to pretend to herself that it didn't irritate her a little. But perhaps her reply was unnecessarily sharp.

  'Simon, you're boring me. Looking back, I think you've always bored me. Now, go away. There's nothing more I want to say to you, just goodbye. Is that clear enough?'

  He looked at her disbelievingly. 'I think you'll be sorry you said that,' he said. 'Goodbye, Lucy.'

  He walked away from her, his back rigid with anger. Lucy sighed. He had been right. She was sorry she had been unnecessarily cruel. But then... perhaps he had deserved it.

  It was a good party. Lucy knew practically everyone there but some people she hadn't seen for a month or two and it was good to catch up on the gossip. And much of the gossip—among her nurse friends—was about the new arrival. Marc Duvallier had certainly caused a stir. And it wasn't because of his medical abilities.

  She spoke to him a couple more times. But on each occasion they were in one of the little groups that kept forming and re-forming, just as they did at all parties. She wondered, did he seem to want to speak to her in particular? It seemed that way, though he was courtesy itself to everyone who spoke to him. Were most of his questions addressed to her? She wished she had him on her own again, as she had when he had first arrived.

  But then she reminded herself that he was here for a year or so. There'd be plenty of chances for them to talk together at work. If he wanted to, that was. And she desperately wanted him to want to.

  Simon hadn't left the party. But every time he appeared to be moving towards Lucy, she walked away to another group of friends. She didn't want to talk to Simon again, it would spoil her evening. Besides, he seemed to be drinking far too much.

  Finally, it was time to go. After Jenny and Mike left, the party seemed to not have much point. And she was on earlies next day. A few seasoned drinkers were staying behind, and John still seemed to be deep in conversation with Marc. Well, if she was leaving, she could interrupt to say goodbye. Taking a breath, she went over to where the two men were sitting on one of the benches. Both stood as she approached.

  'Time to get my beauty sleep,' she said. 'Marc, good to meet you and I hope you'll be happy here with us.'

  'If I am made as welcome on the wards as I have been here tonight, I shall indeed be happy. Lucy, it was also so good to meet you.'

  His grip was gentle, his hand warm, and as his thumb stroked the back of her offered hand she wondered if the tiny caress was accidental or meant to convey a hidden message. Whatever, it made her shiver with delight.

  'Good to see you here too, John,' she said, and felt entitled to hug the older man.

  'Have to keep an eye on my charges,' John said with a grin. 'Nobody's to enjoy themselves unless I'm there as well. Goodnight, Lucy.'

  She would have liked to stay longer but there was no good reason to. One last glance at Marc and then she turned and walked away. There would be other days she could see him, she told herself. Then she frowned. What was she thinking of? She knew nothing about the man—he could be married, engaged or even not interested in her.

  But there had been that spark of recognition, that flash between the two when they had first met. She was sure she hadn't mistaken that. She smiled contentedly to herself. Suddenly her future seemed brighter than it had done in a while. There were possibilities. And then she heard Simon call her name from behind her.

  The walk from the Red Lion to the nurses' home led through a shrubbery. In the twilight Simon suddenly appeared alongside her, obviously he had been running after her.

  'We've got to get things right between us, Lucy,' he said, reaching for her arm. 'We mean too much to each other to let a little thing come between us.' His speech was slurred.

  'We mean nothing to each other.' She wriggled to evade his grasp. 'Simon, you're drunk, just go home and sleep it off.'

  'I may be drunk but I know what I want. What you want. Now, I'm going to walk you home and we'll talk and you can make me some coffee and then—'

  'I think that perhaps you misunderstand. Miss Stephens has already agreed that I would accompany her home.'

  Lucy blinked, turned to see a dark figure that had walked silently up to them. Marc Duvallier? She didn't quite know what to feel—either pleasure at seeing him or anger that he should see her having this vulgar row with Simon. And why was her heart now beating so quickly? It certainly wasn't because of the argument with Simon, she could deal with him.

  'I didn't know that! And I don't believe it either. You just—'

  Lucy walked over and took Marc's arm. 'We missed each other at the party,' she told Simon, 'but we have things to discuss. Now, if you will excuse us.'

  'But I need to—'

  'Good evening, Dr Day,' Marc said. 'Perhaps you should leave now. I understand Midwife Stephens worked a full shift today before the party, she must be tired.'

  Lucy couldn't make it out. Marc's voice had been calm, quiet. What he had said was true and had seemed to be quite unexceptionable. But both she and Simon had felt the undercurrent of menace in the words.

  She glanced from one to the other, now little more than outlines. Simon's shoulders were hunched, his arms held away from his sides and his hands tightly clenched. A man under stress. By comparison, Marc seemed completely relaxed, at ease. Such a difference!

  'Goodnight, Simon,' she said. Then she gently pressed Marc's arm and they walked on together. Simon didn't move and soon was lost in the twilight.

  'Perhaps it was wrong of me to intrude,' Marc said, 'but I saw him leave after you walked away and guessed that he might be a little... awkward. I came to see if I might be able to help.'

  'I could have dealt with him.' Lucy said honestly, 'but thank you for your help anyway. Much appreciated.'

  'It was nothing. Now, I doubt there will be any more trouble from Dr Day. You'll be quite safe. But may I escort you to your home?'

  At times there was something old-fashioned about his speech and she was reminded that he was French. And she liked it. He showed her a courtesy that was sometimes missing in the men she mixed with. He treated her like a lady, not like a colleague.

  'I'd be glad if you did walk me home,' she said. 'As you say, Dr Day won't reappear—but I'd like to chat to you.'

  'That will be pleasant.'

  There was a moment's silence and then he asked, 'Dr Day—is he a particular friend of yours?'

  She had to be honest. 'He wanted to be a particular friend and we have seen something of each other over the past few weeks. But earlier today I finished it. He made plans about our future without consulting me. I won't be taken for granted. And I don't like drunks.'

  'Neither do I,' said Marc.


  And then they paced on in apparently amiable silence for a while. But Lucy was worried, bewildered at the way things were going. She wasn't sure of what to say, apprehensive of saying the wrong thing. She liked Marc very much but there was a definite foreignness about him. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, what he expected of her. It added to his attraction but it made being with him just a little harder.

  'I like your pendant,' he said after a while. 'What does it say?'

  She fingered the gold disc that hung from a chain around her neck. 'It was a twenty-first birthday present from my parents,' she said. 'It's Latin. It says, "Amor vinc it omnia".'

  'Love conquers all,' he translated. 'And is that something you believe?'

  'Yes,' she said flatly. 'Don't you believe it?'

  'I think I do,' he said. 'But there are many kinds of love.'

  They reached the front door of the hospital accommodation and she felt almost in a panic. She didn't know what to do. If she invited him to her room, he might think it forward of her. If she didn't invite him, he might think it unfriendly. She was all right with English men but French men were an unknown quantity. Perhaps she should—

  Lucy, you're going mad, she thought.

  Then he settled the problem. 'I will wait here till I see you safely inside,' he said. 'I have enjoyed our walk and our talk and I look forward to seeing more of you. I was a little frightened of coming here; it's good to know that I have at least one friend.'

  He offered her his hand again. As he took hers, did he hold it a bit longer than was necessary? Perhaps that's what the French did.

  'Yes, a friend,' she gabbled. 'See you soon I hope. Goodnight, Marc.' And she ran inside the building.

  Once in her room she collapsed on the bed. Her first thought was simple. She had wanted him to kiss her. Her second thought was that she had to get a grip on herself. Too much had happened tonight, she would have to think about things and work out how she felt.

  All this over one man? She hadn't felt this way since she'd had a schoolgirl crush on a pop star.

  She didn't feel tired in the slightest, but knew she must be. She had been looking forward to the party, looking forward to enjoying herself. She had enjoyed herself but had not expected to come home in this state of anxiety. She'd fallen for a man. But they'd only just met and she knew nothing about him. What was to come?

  She felt restless, got undressed and showered, made herself a warm drink and still felt restless. Aimlessly, she picked up one of the pot plants on her window ledge, a miniature red rose, and started to pull off the dead leaves. And from schoolgirl days came a memory of pulling the petals off a daisy, a form of divination. 'He loves me, he loves me not,' she muttered to herself. 'He loves me, he loves me not.'

  It was unfortunate. She had pulled off all the dead leaves and it had left her with, 'He loves me not'. Lucy stared gloomily at the plant, and then pulled off a perfectly healthy leaf. She cursed and put her finger in her mouth. She'd pricked it. But, still, sometimes it was necessary to make sacrifices. Now he loved her.

  Marc walked back across the hospital grounds, his head bent. Starting a new job was usually both exhausting and exhilarating. There were people to meet, new protocols to master, a new workplace to get to know. He had been looking forward to it—in fact, he still was.

  But now there was Lucy. He'd never met a Lucy before in his life, had never met a girl who had attracted him so instantly. It wasn't just that she was calmly beautiful—though the willowy figure, the perfect face and above all those wide grey eyes had drawn the attention of all who'd seen her. Perhaps it was because she seemed so full of life. And she was happy because her friends were happy—that was good.

  And something had passed between them. Both had known it, both had felt it. The question was, what could he do about it?

  He would like to see much more of Lucy but he knew it could be difficult. He was not his own master. And he sensed that Lucy would expect—demand even—a total commitment. And that he couldn't offer. He was going to hurt her—or hurt himself.

  Marc cursed silently to himself. For the moment only his native language would do to express his feelings.

  Chapter Two

  Back to work early next morning.

  For a while Lucy had been working in the antenatal ward, she quite liked it. There were a few mums-to-be here who were just being kept in overnight, looking forward to a trouble-free birth. But mostly the patients were those having multiple births, those suffering from placenta praevia, those with pre-eclampsia, polyhydramnios, oligohydramnios. Most births took place without incident, but it was as well to be reminded that things weren't always simple.

  And Jenny had taught her that the personal touch was just as important as the medical processes. Lucy felt that an important part of her job was to reassure the anxious, fearful mums-to-be. And she knew she was good at that. She was cheerful, chatty.

  She walked into the nurses' room ready for handover. And there, dressed in scrubs, listening carefully to Melissa Spain, the nurse in charge, was Marc Duvallier.

  Lucy's first thought was that she had been right. Marc looked as attractive in scrubs as he did in a suit. Her second thought was to wonder what he was doing there. Almost automatically her hands went to her hair, now fastened in a tight, neat pleat. She smoothed the front of her uniform, wished she had put on just a touch more make-up.

  But, still, what was Marc Duvallier doing here, now dressed in scrubs, standing in the nurses' room, apparently waiting for handover? And why were all these midwives and nurses looking at him so casually—an so often?

  The room was now full, time for handover. Melissa explained. 'I'd like to introduce Dr Duvallier, one of our new SHOs. Officially he will be starting in a couple of days but John has invited him to look round for a day to get to know the work and us. I'll be talking to him for a while first and then he'll come round to see how we work.'

  Marc stood up and when he spoke Lucy felt a flutter of interest among the female staff.

  'I am looking forward to working with you all. I expect to learn from you. I have always thought that the doctor and the midwife were equally important, two sides of the same coin.'

  That's good, Lucy thought in a detached way. He knew what to say. And he seemed sincere.

  She knew that he had seen her come in but so far he hadn't acknowledged her presence. That again, she thought, was a good idea. They would have a chance to talk later. And when handover was finished and the midwives were trooping out and no one would notice, he looked up and smiled at her. It was a special smile, a smile that promised something. Lucy walked down the ward with more than the usual bounce in her stride.

  Her first job was to do the observations on a patient suffering from diabetes. Diabetes and pregnancy did not go well together. There was the constant risk of hypertension. This woman needed a close eye kept on her. But, fortunately, so far things weren't too bad.

  Just as she finished writing up her observations, the door to the sister's office opened and Melissa came out. 'Can you deal with a new admittance coming up from A and E, Lucy?' she asked. 'Doesn't sound too serious. The woman is about thirty weeks and fell in front of a car. A and E have patched her up and we'll keep her in overnight for observation.'

  'No problem,' said Lucy. 'There's a bed ready.' She smiled to herself. The speed with which A and E got rid of anything to do with childbirth was legendary. 'Are there any special problems?'

  'Apparently she doesn't speak much English.'

  Lucy sighed. This was not going to be easy.

  She was waiting by the ward door when the patient came in. It was good to welcome people, make them feel instantly at home. The double doors opened.

  A young woman in a wheelchair, she couldn't have been much older than nineteen. There was a great bruise down the side of her pale face and a row of sutures over the corner of her eye.

  'Hello,' said Lucy, 'I'm Lucy Stephens. I'm a midwife and I'm going to make you comfortable and see that th
at baby of yours is all right. What's your name?'

  'Name is... Astrid.'

  The nurse handed Lucy a set of notes. 'Astrid is French.' She moved closer to Lucy and whispered, 'We can't find out anything about her. Either she doesn't understand or she doesn't want to tell us. She just keeps quiet.'

  'We'll cope,' Lucy said brightly. 'Somehow we'll cope.' But it was hard.

  She helped Astrid into bed, fastened the monitor to her. 'This is to see how your baby is doing,' she explained.

  Astrid looked at her wide-eyed but said nothing.

  There was no wedding ring on her finger. Lucy went on, 'Can we get in touch with your partner? Or is there any family?'

  That was a word Astrid understood. 'Family... famille? No!' She shook her head and then winced, the movement making her head hurt. 'Is no famille.'

  We'll see about that, Lucy thought, but said nothing. She did the usual observations and mother and baby seemed to be fine. Then she checked Astrid's notes. Mild abrasions, cut to the head, no sign of concussion. Recommended twenty-four-hour stay for observation. If Astrid had not been pregnant, she would probably have been discharged.

  Lucy tried again, speaking slowly. 'Is there nobody we can tell that you're here?'

  Once again, the frightened look, the lack of reply. Lucy smiled and patted her hand. 'I think I know someone who can help us,' she said. 'Won't be a minute.'

  She walked down the ward and knocked on the sister's door. It was shut today, which was unusual. Melissa opened the door and didn't seem pleased to see her.

  'I need a French speaker,' said Lucy. 'I've got a patient who is French and speaks no English. And I think she's got problems.'

  'I'll come at once,' a voice behind Melissa said. 'That is, if you want me to, Midwife Stephens.'

  'I'll come, too,' Melissa said.

  Marc appeared, standing behind her. For a moment he rested a hand on Melissa's shoulder. 'No need to, Melissa,' he said. 'Three around a bed might frighten the patient. May I suggest just Midwife Stephens here and myself?'

  'Whatever you say, Marc—Dr Duvallier.'