Prince Charming of Harley Street / The Heart Doctor and the Baby

by Anne Fraser / Lynne Marshall

  ‘Not too bad. He ate his breakfast and his lunch, then we did the exercises the physio showed us. He’s a bit tired now. I’ll help him to bed once we’ve had supper.’

  Rose found her father in his usual chair by the window. Her heart squeezed as she took in his useless arm and downturned mouth. The stroke had left one side of his body pretty much paralysed, as well as impairing his speech. Her father had been a vigorous man who had enjoyed going to football matches and playing cricket and golf, and now he was reduced to sitting by the window, watching the world go by. Rose knew how much he loathed needing help. If he would barely accept it from his wife, he hated taking it from his daughter. There had been a small improvement since he’d been discharged from hospital and Rose prayed with the proper treatment he’d continue to make progress.

  ‘Hey, Daddy. How’s it going? Seen any suspicious characters out there today?’ She dropped a kiss on the top of his head and he gave her his lopsided smile.

  ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he said. Although the words were indistinct, Rose knew that was what he was trying to say.

  She sat down beside him and took his hand in hers. ‘You have no idea what sort of day I’ve had, Dad.’ She told him about the chocolates, Mr Chips, the visit to Jessamine’s house, embellishing her stories to amuse him. Not that they needed much embellishment. She rubbed her stocking feet as she spoke, knowing she’d need a plaster or two before she could wear the shoes again.

  ‘What’s he like, then, this doctor you’re working for?’ Her mother appeared in the doorway, tea towel in hand. She had only very reluctantly agreed to Rose coming home to help look after her father. They had been so proud of her, the first in their family ever to get a university degree, and had wanted her to carry on building her career. In their minds, Rose knew they had her as Hospital Matron within a year or two. Rose had tried to tell them hospital matrons didn’t exist any more, but they chose not to believe her.

  Of course Rose had had to come home. She’d had to see her father for herself and she’d known the first weeks following her father’s discharge would be tough, so she’d applied for, and been granted, five weeks’ special leave. After that? She shrugged inwardly. She’d have to see. Her mother wasn’t getting any younger.

  ‘Dr Cavendish?’ Rose paused. How could she describe him? ‘Well, he’s young. Not much older than I am. About six foot and kind of lean. Apparently he’s the son of a lord.’

  ‘Well, I never. The son of a lord! What’s he doing working as a doctor, then?’

  ‘Apparently the practice belonged to his uncle who was doctor for the Queen’s household. The uncle’s retired now and Jonathan has taken over.’

  ‘Is he poor, then? That he has to work for a living?’ Rose’s mother crossed over and plumped the cushions behind her husband’s back. ‘I know not all of the aristocracy is well off.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Mum. He drives a Lotus, although I suppose that could belong to the business. I don’t really know much more about him. I can’t say I’ve ever heard of his family.’

  She closed her eyes and immediately an image of smiling green eyes and a mischievous grin flickered in front of her. How could she even begin to explain someone like Jonathan Cavendish to her parents when she could hardly explain her reaction to him to herself?

  ‘Let’s just say that I think the next few weeks are going to be interesting. Instead of acting as receptionist and medical secretary, it seems as if I’m to be nurse and chaperone.’ Rose filled her parents in about Vicki before continuing, ‘He has patients all over the country, and in Europe, and he’s asked me if I can travel with him.’ She looked at her mother. ‘It does mean I won’t be around to help as much as I’d like.’ She paused. ‘Maybe I should tell him I can’t do it. Come to think of it, I must be crazy.’

  Her father reached out and patted her on the arm. ‘Do it,’ he said. ‘I want you to. It would make me feel better knowing that I’m not holding you back.’

  Rose hugged her father, feeling his too-thin frame under her arms. Where had the strong muscular father of her teens disappeared to? He had always been there for her, now she wanted to be there for him and her mother. But he hated being dependent. And she had to make sure she didn’t make him feel worse.

  ‘By the way, Miss Fairweather phoned.’ Rose’s mother mentioned the name of the neurosurgeon Rose had seen after her father’s stroke. ‘She wants you to call her at the hospital. She wouldn’t say any more. There’s nothing wrong, is there, love?’

  Rose felt a shiver of alarm but pushed it away. Her father’s GP had recommended she see the specialist after discovering her father’s stroke had been caused by an aneurysm. He’d told Rose that the condition often ran in families and to be on the safe side she should have herself checked out. Miss Fairweather had agreed and advised Rose to have an MRI. That had been on Friday and she had refused to let herself think about it over the weekend. She had been positive that there was nothing to worry about. After all, it wasn’t as if she had any symptoms. No headaches, tingling sensations. Nothing. She dismissed the uneasy feeling that was creeping up her spine. No doubt the consultant just wanted to let her know that her results were all normal.

  ‘I’m sure she just wants to let me know everything’s okay, Mum. Don’t worry. I’ll give her a ring now.’

  But when Miss Fairweather asked Rose to make an appointment to see her as soon as possible, Rose knew it wasn’t okay. Had her results been fine, the neurosurgeon would have said so over the phone. Rose replaced the receiver, having made an appointment at the end of the week. She returned to the sitting room and her mother looked at her, alarm written all over her face.

  ‘Not bad news, love?’ she asked, the colour draining from her face.

  There was no point in worrying her parents until she knew what Miss Fairweather had to say.

  ‘No, Mum. Everything’s fine,’ Rose lied.

  The following days at Jonathan’s practice settled into a pattern. Patients would come to see Jonathan in the morning, then in the afternoon he would go out on visits, leaving Rose to type up notes if she wasn’t needed. Some of the patients Rose recognised from the newspapers or TV, some she didn’t recognise, but felt she should. Jonathan treated them all with the same easy grace and familiarity. Some afternoons she’d accompany him on his house visits, each home almost more spectacular than the last. Whenever Rose found herself thinking about her upcoming appointment with Miss Fairweather, she would push the thought away. There was no point in worrying until she knew what the neurosurgeon had to tell her.

  But at home, in the privacy of her bedroom, she spent her evenings searching the net for information about aneurysms. None of it gave her much cause for optimism.

  When Jonathan turned up for work in the morning, he’d sometimes look tired, as if he’d spent most of the night clubbing, although he never appeared hungover. And sure enough, there were photographs of him in the tabloid press, outside clubs and restaurants, with one glamorous woman after another on his arm. If it gave Rose a strangely uncomfortable feeling to see him with different women, she would dismiss the thought with a shake of her head. It was none of her business what he chose to do in his own time.

  Once there was a photograph of him playing polo and she discovered that at least two of his free afternoons were given over to the sport. In the picture, he was swiping at an object with a long stick. Dressed in a white shirt and light-coloured trousers, his hair flopping over his eyes as he concentrated on his task, he looked like someone out of a regency romance. No wonder women seemed to find him irresistible.

  She had managed to get in touch with Jenny, who had been delighted at the offer of some short-term work.

  ‘I’m going mad having nothing to do,’ Jenny had confided in Rose. ‘I’ve sent out hundreds of applications but no luck yet. A bit of actual work experience can do me no harm. Especially if Dr Cavendish likes what I do and is prepared to put a word in for me.’

  Rose had met Jenny the day she had go
ne to sign on with the agency. She was nineteen, having just finished her secretarial course, and full of boundless enthusiasm.

  ‘Could you just tone down the hair?’ Rose asked, remembering the spiky haircut. ‘And perhaps remove the piercings, especially the ones from your nose and lip? Somehow I don’t think it would be appropriate for the practice.’ Even if quite a few of the patients had tattoos and piercings themselves.

  ‘No problem,’ Jenny said. ‘I promise you you won’t recognise me when you see me next.’

  And true to her word, Jenny had turned up with hair neatly slicked into a bob, piercings removed and wearing a skirt that, while short, was just on the right side of decent.

  She had regarded the consulting rooms with undisguised glee.

  ‘This is a bit of all right,’ she said. ‘Now, where is this Honourable Dr Cavendish? And what do I call him? My Lord? Sir?’

  Rose laughed. ‘I think Dr Cavendish is just fine. Come on, I’ll take you in to meet him.’

  Happily, Jonathan seemed to take to Jenny. And the young girl, being smart and quick on the uptake, was soon ensconced behind the desk.

  ‘He’s a bit of all right,’ Jenny confided. ‘If he wasn’t so old I could go for him myself.’

  Rose laughed. ‘He’s hardly old. Twenty-seven.’

  Jenny sent her a look that suggested that anyone over twenty-five was middle-aged in her opinion. Then she scrutinised Rose. ‘But he’s the right age for you.’

  Rose smiled uncomfortably. ‘I don’t think I’m his type. Or he mine, for that matter,’ she added quickly.

  Jenny was still studying her critically. ‘You know if you lost the glasses, maybe got some contacts, got a more modern hairstyle and some decent clothes, you’d be quite pretty.’

  Rose couldn’t make up her mind whether she was insulted or flattered. Get some new clothes and haircut indeed. Jenny watched too many films. Whatever, she knew Jenny didn’t mean to be offensive.

  ‘I appreciate your…’ she searched for the right word ‘…opinion. But I’m happy the way I am. I like my clothes—they’re comfortable. And I don’t fancy poking my fingers into my eyes every morning and evening. Besides…’ she glanced behind her just in case Jonathan was within earshot ‘…I’m not looking for a boyfriend. And if I were, Dr Cavendish wouldn’t be him.’

  ‘But…’ Jenny started to protest.

  ‘No buts.’ Rose cut her off. ‘Whatever thoughts are in that head of yours, get rid of them. I’m here to do a job. That’s it.’

  But after Jenny had returned to her work, she thought about what she had said. It was true she wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, and even if she were, Jonathan wasn’t for her, or she for him. Although he made her pulse race uncomfortably, she doubted whether he took anything in life seriously. And even if he were her type or she his, she had far more important things on her mind than the dishy Jonathan Cavendish.

  One morning, towards the end of the week, a well-known footballer came to the surgery, accompanied by his wife. Rose vaguely remembered reading about their wedding in a magazine she had picked up on the train. The footballer was even better looking in real life, his wife petite next to his six-foot frame. Whereas he was dressed simply in a pair of jeans and T-shirt, his wife was dolled up to the nines.

  While Jenny organised drinks for them Jonathan called Rose into his consulting room.

  ‘Mark and Colette came to see me a couple of weeks ago as they are thinking of starting a family,’ he said. ‘The last time they were here I arranged for them to have some tests. I have the results back. And I’m afraid it’s not going to be the best news they ever heard. IVF is the only way forward for them unless they adopt. I’m going to arrange for them to have further investigations at the London Fertility Clinic, but in the meantime I think it would be helpful if you could sit in while I chat to them. If they agree.’

  Rose nodded. She often sat in with the doctors in her surgery when they were giving unwelcome news. That way she could be there if the patients telephoned later, looking for clarification. A large number of patients were unable to take in everything they were told when they first heard that there was a problem.

  The couple were happy to have Rose present. From their smiling faces, Rose knew they weren’t expecting bad news. At least until something in Jonathan’s face alerted Colette

  ‘What is it, Jonathan? Something’s wrong. I can tell from the way you’re looking at me.’ Colette’s voice shook and Mark took her hand firmly in hers.

  Jonathan pulled his seat around to the side of the table where Colette was sitting. His green eyes were full of sympathy.

  ‘The initial bloods I took from Colette the last time she came to see me suggest that her ovaries are working normally. That’s good. Although I think you should have the test repeated at the London Fertility Clinic. They will probably also suggest an ovarian scan, just to confirm the results of the blood test.’

  ‘So there isn’t a problem, then. We should just keep trying. We don’t need to be referred.’

  ‘There doesn’t seem to be a problem with Colette.’ Jonathan kept his voice steady. ‘Although that’s not a helpful way of looking at it. As if it’s a problem belonging to one of the partners. Whenever couples are having difficulty conceiving, we like to think of it as a couple thing.’

  ‘Come on, Jonathan. Stop beating around the bush. We come to you because we know we’ll get straight answers.’ Mark said.

  ‘The difficulty is on your side, I’m afraid,’ Jonathan said sympathetically. ‘The semen sample you gave last week had very few motile sperm. The clinic will want to repeat the test again, but it would seem that you are unlikely to conceive without ICSI. That’s an IVF procedure where Colette goes through IVF treatment to stimulate her production of eggs then her eggs are injected with one of your sperm. It’s very successful. If…’ He stressed the last word while looking Mark directly in the eye. ‘If they can find sperm that’s healthy enough to do the procedure.’

  Mark looked as if he’d been poleaxed. ‘Are you kidding? But I’m healthy. You won’t find anyone fitter this side of London.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mark. As I say, you’ll need to have more tests, but I’m pretty sure. That’s why it’s a good thing you came to see me sooner rather than later. The quality of your sperm is only likely to deteriorate the longer we wait.’

  The shock on the couple’s faces tore at Rose’s heart. She could see Colette making a determined effort to pull herself together.

  ‘I don’t mind, darling,’ Colette said. ‘I don’t care about having IVF as long as we can have a baby. Jonathan’s not saying we can’t have children and that’s all that matters.’

  But Mark was still looking dumbfounded. Suddenly he got to his feet and lurched out of the room. Jonathan looked at Rose, and reading the unspoken question in his eyes she nodded. ‘I’ll stay with Colette.’

  Jonathan followed Mark, leaving the two women alone.

  ‘Jonathan can’t be right,’ Colette said after a moment. ‘It’s not possible. Mark won’t accept it. We always assumed that if there was a problem it was me.’

  Rose pulled a chair closer to where Colette sat and took her small hand. Her heart went out to the woman sitting next to her. In the last few days she too had had to face the real possibility that she might never have children. If she did have an aneurysm there would never be any children. Not even with IVF. A pregnancy would be too dangerous. Rose would never be able to carry a child. As her throat tightened, she pushed the thought away. She needed to focus on her patient.

  ‘He’ll come to terms with it in time, I’m sure. It’s been a shock. And it sounds, from what Jonathan’s being saying, that a child is not out of the question. It might just take a little help, that’s all.’

  ‘We didn’t seriously think there was a problem, you know. We just came to see Jonathan because we wanted to make sure we were doing everything right for the baby from the moment it was conceived. You know, folic acid, vitamins. All that st
uff. But when he heard we’d been trying for almost a year already, he suggested doing the tests—just to be on the safe side.’

  ‘The procedure Jonathan’s talking about isn’t too awful, you know. And if you have a healthy baby at the end of it, what does it matter if you’ve needed a little help on the way?’

  Colette still looked doubtful. ‘We always assumed we were going to have a family. At least three. Maybe four.’ She smiled wanly. ‘I think he wanted to start his own five-a-side football team.’ Her voice cracked. ‘The thing is, I don’t know if he’ll agree to IVF at all. I think he might take it as a slight to his masculinity—you know how some men are. What will we do then?’

  ‘You’ll need to give him time, Colette. Once he understands exactly what’s involved, I’m sure he’ll come round.’

  ‘You don’t know that!’ Colette protested hotly. ‘You don’t have any idea how we’re feeling. To think one day that you have everything happiness, wealth, fame, only to have your dreams stripped away the next.’

  A wall of pain slammed into Rose.

  Colette had no idea that she understood only too well.

  Eventually Jonathan and Mark returned. ‘We just walked around Regent’s Park for a bit,’ Jonathan told Colette. ‘Mark’s had time to think it over, and he’s agreed that the best thing to do is have you both seen at the fertility clinic. You just tell me when it suits you and I’ll fix up an appointment. Then I’ll see you back here and we can take it from there. Okay?’

  The couple just nodded. Rose knew it would take them a little time to get their heads around what Jonathan told them and her heart went out to them. As Colette had said, what did wealth and fame matter if you couldn’t have what your heart truly desired?

  Jonathan was unusually sombre after the couple had left.

  ‘They’ll be okay, won’t they?’ Rose asked.

  He pulled a hand through his thick, dark hair. ‘I hope so. They’ve had a shock. They’re a lovely couple. Despite Mark’s fame, and despite his reputation for being a little wild on and off the field, he’s down-to-earth, kind. So is she. If ever a couple would make great parents, it would be them. And as I told them, ICSI has a very high success rate. Even higher than getting pregnant naturally. As long as the embryologists can find any motile sperm.’