He squeezed her hand again. They paced on for a few more steps and then he said, 'I guess I feel the same way. And I wouldn't want it any other way, although it's frightening. We ought to be just a couple of medical people who have met, like each other and are seeing each other, wondering what will develop. But it's more than that, isn't it?'
'I suppose it is.' She thought about their last meeting, when they had been on their way to have dinner. She wanted to stay as they were, happy in each other's company. But there was something that was worrying her. 'Last time we met you said there were things that we had to talk about. What things?'
He sighed. 'Perhaps so. If I am to be honourable, there are things that you should know about me. Things that might affect your view of me.'
Honourable? She didn't like the word. All sorts of unpleasant possibilities swirled in her mind. One above all.
'So there is another woman?'
He laughed, shook his head. 'Nothing at all like that. I will explain. But first, are you hungry?'
It had never crossed her mind. But now that he had asked, she realised that she had eaten nothing for eight hours but two bars of chocolate washed down by several cups of coffee.
'Yes, I'm hungry,' she said.
'Then would you like to come to my flat for a meal? Nothing exciting: perhaps an omelette and salad, and a glass of wine.'
'Sounds perfect. Are you a good cook?'
'I have learned to cope. I can even cook English chips—medical students cannot exist without chips. I'm afraid my flat is as dingy as ever, I am still hoping to take you up on your offer to help me turn it into a home. But, for tonight, you being there will light it up. And then we'll talk.'
He squeezed her hand yet again. 'I do like being with you, Lucy. And I have missed you so much.'
A quick remark, but how it made her heart beat!
So she sat in the corner of his tiny kitchen and watched the deft way he cooked—lighting the oven to finish the half-cooked rolls, tearing the salad, mixing the dressing, beating the eggs.
It was good to watch his movements. He became absorbed in what he was doing, trying to get everything just right.
'Have you ever thought of training to be a surgeon?' she asked.
He smiled at her. 'No. Why?'
'You work with such speed and precision. I can do everything you've done but it would take me twice as long.'
'I doubt that. A midwife needs speed and precision too. Look how small and slippery newborn babies are.'
She laughed. 'Perhaps so. But you'd be a good surgeon.'
For some reason his face became blank. 'I'm going to be a generalist, a GP,' he said. 'Though if I had my own way I would like to specialise in obs and gynae.'
Before she could ask him more about this, why he couldn't have his own way, he said, 'But now I think we are ready. Shall we dine?'
Carrying a tray, he led her into the living room. He unfolded a small table, set it quickly and arranged two chairs. Then he fetched glasses and a bottle of wine from the fridge.
Lucy had thought they might eat off their knees in the living room. That's what she would have done in the nurses' home. But sitting formally at the table was infinitely preferable. It turned the meal into an occasion. And she was enjoying herself—especially when she tasted the white wine he had poured her. If there were troubles to deal with, they could wait.
'So how was the course in London?' she asked.
'Very hard work but very impressive. I'll be a better doctor because of it. I must thank John for sending me on it.'
'So was going on it worth missing our dinner date?' she asked with a smile.
'If I were asked which would give me greater pleasure, then no contest, it would be dinner with you. But life isn't always about pleasure. Now, more wine?'
It was a simple but superb meal. And when he was finished he said he would fetch coffee. Perhaps she would like a liqueur?
'That would be wonderful,' she said. She looked at his face again, saw the fatigue there. 'But on one condition. You let me wash up.'
'Lucy, there is no need. I—'
'Or I'll go now,' she threatened.
So she washed the few dishes while he percolated the coffee, fetched a green bottle and two tiny glasses out of a cupboard. Then they went back to the living room, and this time sat companionably on the couch.
She sipped the green liqueur in the tiny glass and turned to him, her eyebrows raised in shock. 'Marc! What is this?'
'It's a liqueur that is native to the countryside where I live. More than sixty local herbs go to make that drink and the alcohol level is very high. My countrymen believe that it is a restorative.'
'It's certainly restoring me. Now, Marc, what do you have to tell me? What's so important that you hinted about?'
He didn't answer quite at once. Instead he said, 'I did enjoy being with your sisters and your family on Saturday. You are obviously all very close.'
'They're my life,' she said.
'So I see. I understand and I envy you. I have no brothers or sisters—not now.'
She was about to ask about why when he rose to his feet and fetched a letter from a small desk.
'You ask what I have to tell you that is so important,' he said. 'I will give you an indication. My mother writes to me at least once a week, we have to keep in touch. I will translate some of her letter; it might give you an idea of her character.'
Lucy thought it an odd thing to do, to read his mother's letter to show what was important. But whatever he thought fit.
'"Melanie d'Ancourt came to dinner last night with her parents, and asked carefully after you. She is now a lawyer, doing very well. She asked if you would call on her next time you are home. In fact, I will invite her to dinner. It is time you were married and settled down, and Melanie would be very suitable."'
'Is she suitable?' asked Lucy.
'Very suitable. A man could be proud of a wife like that. She knows or is related to every notable family in the valley.' He grinned. 'And I can't stand her. She is the kind of woman who wouldn't let you kiss her if she had just put her lipstick on.'
Lucy laughed—slightly because of relief. Then she asked, 'Does your mother try to organise your life? And you put up with it?'
'Things—especially in our rather old-fashioned bit of France—tend to be different from this country.'
'I'm fascinated. But I can't quite make out why you're telling me this.'
'It is hard to describe. There is a saying in my valley: "Every man marries two women—his wife and his land". And eventually I will have to go home, to my land, my second marriage. It is my duty.'
'So what are you saying? That anything between us will only end in sending Christmas cards?'
'No! I wish to... I look forward to... to seeing you, getting to know you. You are the most surprising, the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. But I must warn you. I am not a free man. In time I will go back to Montreval. And I know you would not be happy there. Whatever happens, when I go back, things between us must end.'
He had said it. As simply and as brutally as that.
She had never done anything quite as forward. She leaned forward, gently put her hand over his mouth. 'Marc, you have one big fault!'
He looked confused. 'I have?'
'Yes. You're talking too much. You're worrying too much. All we have to do now is just get on with our jobs and, if we want, see each other. We'll wait and see how our lives go—live in the present, not the future.'
He frowned. 'Is it that simple?'
'It's that simple. And you could start living in the present by kissing me again.'
Perhaps there had been too much talk of emotion as the kiss turned out to be a friendly one. They sat side by side on the couch, their arms around each other and kissed. In time more would come, that was understood. But for the moment this was bliss.
'That was very nice,' she murmured, and pulled his head onto her shoulder. And two minutes later he was asleep.<
br />
'Didn't think that sleeping with him would be quite like this,' she muttered, but it was so comfortable there that she also closed her eyes. Just for a moment, she thought. But when she opened them it was one o'clock in the morning.
Something had disturbed her. Marc had said something. And then, in his sleep, he spoke again.
'Simone,' he muttered, 'Simone.'
Simone was a girl's name. Why was he calling out a girl's name in his sleep?
Carefully, she tried to disentangle herself but he woke anyway.
'Lucy? I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep.'
'It doesn't matter. I have to go home now anyway.'
Even though he had just woken up, he was alert. 'Lucy, your voice has changed. Something has upset you? What is wrong?'
'You were talking in your sleep. Who is Simone?'
She did not get the reaction she had expected. He laughed.
'And you wondered who she was, what she was to me? Simone is a young, very attractive French girl. She is also my cousin and has been a problem to me and to the rest of my family since she was born. She's just come to England, my mother wrote about her in her letter. Would you like me to read—?'
'No! Marc, I'm so sorry, you must think me... But I still think I ought to be going home now.'
He looked at her, his eyes still sleepy. 'You could always stay and...'
She shook her head. 'Some time perhaps. Not yet.'
'Perhaps so. Now, I shall walk you back home.'
'You're tired, there's no need and it's only five minutes' walk.'
He stood, offered his hands to help her to stand too. 'You know I'm going to walk you home, don't you?' he asked. 'And I'm doing it because I want to.'
So they walked to the hospital accommodation, holding hands. Outside, he kissed her again. 'You know I'm looking forward to living in our present,' he said. 'Our present, not our future.'
'Our present, not our future,' she said. 'I'll hold you to that.'
It was only ten minutes before Lucy was in bed. But before she went to sleep she thought of what Marc had told her. He had been honourable. He had said that in time he would have to return to his home and that he did not think she would be happy there. That when that time came, things between them must end.
Well, they would see. This was a battle between her and a tiny place in the south-east of France. And it was a battle she intended to win.
Chapter Four
The next day both were working normal shifts and they had agreed to meet in the evening. So she was surprised—though pleased—when he came onto her ward just after the nurses had finished serving tea.
'The registrar asked me if I'd come to have a quick word with Astrid Duplessis,' he explained. 'More a social visit than a medical one. I gather she hasn't discharged her yet.'
'He's a bit worried about her being lonely and looking after herself in a bedsit,' Lucy said. 'And we still don't know much about her. He's informed Social Services.'
'I may have some news for her. Lucy, may we talk in private for a moment? I think I need your opinion.'
Good to be asked, Lucy thought as she led him to the now empty doctor's room.
'France isn't like England,' he said when they were sitting together. 'In most towns the mayor has far more power than could be dreamed of by an English mayor. And he tends to know many of his townspeople.'
'Go on,' said Lucy. 'Marc, I've a nasty suspicion you've been cutting corners.'
'Possibly. I phoned the mayor of Astrid's home town. Obviously I am French, I explained that I was a doctor in England and that I was interested in a young Englishman who had stayed in a hostel in the town a few months ago. I said we needed to trace his whereabouts but I couldn't say why. The mayor said that he would make enquiries. He rang me back two hours later with the address of a Kevin Connolly, in this town. It was on record in the gendarmerie.'
'Why couldn't Astrid get his address that way?'
Marc shrugged. 'Because she was an eighteen-year-old girl and not a doctor. Or perhaps she just didn't think.'
'So what have you done with this address?'
'I don't know whether to give it to. Social Services or to Astrid or to go and see Kevin myself. If he's still there.'
'You can't just give it to Astrid,' Lucy said. 'She's in no fit state to handle any more disappointment.'
'Why should there necessarily be disappointment?'
Lucy looked at him, a wry smile on her lips. 'Come on, Marc! A quick holiday romance that happened months ago? What man is going to want to discover that he's going to be a father?'
'Perhaps they were—or are—genuinely in love. Perhaps Kevin will be pleased to be reunited with Astrid.'
Lucy shook her head and sighed. 'Marc, I thought I was bad but it's you who is one of the world's great romantics. And you need to be a realist. Now, go and chat to Astrid for ten minutes but don't tell her what you've found out. And when we've finished work we'll go together to see this Kevin.'
'An admirable idea,' he said.
Three hours later they were standing outside the door of a neat semi on the outskirts of the city. They had driven in Lucy's car, it was handiest. Now she turned to look at him.
'Still think this is a good idea?'
'What's written on that chain round your neck, Lucy?'
She fingered the gold chain, the present from her parents. 'I told you once,' she said. 'It's Latin for love conquers all.'
'Let's hope that is true.' He knocked at the door.
The door was opened by a pleasant looking young man, wearing a blue and white striped apron.
'Mr Kevin Connolly?' Marc asked.
'The very same. Sorry for the messy outfit, I'm doing a bit of cooking. And I'm afraid my parents are out. How can I help you?'
It was Lucy's turn to speak. 'Do you know an Astrid Duplessis?'
There was shock and then a great smile spread over the lad's face. 'Astrid! Do you know where she is? Does she want to see me?'
'You might say that,' said Lucy. 'May we come in?'
It was dark by the time they drove back into the hospital grounds. Lucy pulled into her parking slot and turned to look at Marc. 'Are we pleased with our evening's work?' she asked. 'Have we done right?'
He moved his hands in an expressive, entirely French gesture. 'I do not know. Astrid is our patient, her interests must come first. Perhaps reuniting her with Kevin is a good thing. I think so. He seemed so pleased to hear that she had not abandoned him, that she still loved him.'
'He looked horrified when he heard he was about to become a father.'
'That is true. Though he accepted the idea.' He mused a moment. 'Sometimes, when things happen to you, to your family... it is necessary to grow up quickly. And it can hurt.'
Lucy wondered what he meant by that but decided not to ask him—-not yet. She said, 'I'd rather Astrid was reunited with her parents than with Kevin. Even though I liked the lad. Her parents will be more use to her than Kevin will.'
'Lucy! The boy is in love with her! He'll do everything he can for her.'
'He might now. We'll see what happens in the future.'
'I thought Kevin showed something nearly as important as love. He showed a sense of duty, of responsibility. After the first shock he showed resilience, I would trust him with Astrid.'
'I really hope you're right,' Lucy said.
They climbed out of the car. 'I am not ready to go to bed,' he said, 'I'm too wound up. For a few minutes I'd like to walk through the grounds. Will you accompany me?'
'Of course,' she said. 'You know what, Marc? It's good to have time to ourselves.'
'Midwives, nurses, doctors—they're always needed by other people,' he said. 'That's both the disadvantage and the advantage of the job.'
'Very true.'
So they walked slowly through the dark grounds. It was still warm, the night smelt of earth, of plants. He took her hand, squeezed it. 'This is relaxing, so pleasant,' he said.
She was enjoying jus
t being with him, talking casually of nothing very much. And after twenty minutes they were outside the hospital accommodation. She was enjoying being with him but still she yawned.
They slowed, stood facing each other. They were in the shadow of a great lime tree; the night was filled with the scent of it. He put his arms around her to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her properly. Half fearfully, she expected it. A true kiss was something special. It was a declaration. And when his arms slid around her she sighed.
They were so close together, their bodies touching at thigh and hip, her breasts pressed against the muscles of his chest. He held her gently but she could sense the latent power in his arms. Though the cotton of her T-shirt she felt his fingertips caress her back.
And he kissed her. She had never felt like this before. She lost all sense of time and place, knew only that he was kissing her and that she could stay here for ever with him. She felt his body, warm, excited and exciting. And her own body felt pliant, as if whatever he wanted he could have. And this just from one kiss!
In time he released her from whatever it was that had been gripping her, put his hands on her shoulders and gently shook her. She opened her eyes and gave a tiny disappointed cry.
'You should go,' he said. 'You are tired.'
She could tell from his voice that this was as hard for him as it was for her.
She couldn't help herself. She whispered, 'I don't want to go.'
Quickly, he kissed her again. 'But you must. Don't worry, we will meet again soon.'
He eased her away from him and she pulled his head down and snatched one last kiss.
'You're so good to me,' she said, knowing how feeble that sounded. 'Goodnight, Marc.'
She turned to walk quickly to the front door. If she moved slowly she might think again, perhaps turn back and invite him in for a nightcap. Better move quickly. At the door she turned again, she knew that he would wait until she was inside. He raised a hand to say goodbye, she waved back. Then she went inside.
Her body was still tired but now her thoughts were in turmoil. She undressed, showered, made the ritual mug of cocoa and sat on the bed. Perhaps if she was sensible for a minute or two and considered things rationally, she'd be able to sleep. What about Marc Duvallier?
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