Patrick didn’t mind at all. Patrick was flattered. He was also wondering if he’d ever get a chance to share the chocolates with Connie, and thought it was probably quite unlikely.
He showed his patient out, put the chocolates in the desk drawer until the end of surgery and carried on.
His next patient also had a baby with a problem, this time a club foot which had been splinted at birth to start the process of correction, and she had come to see him for her six-week check.
He’d never met her before because her antenatal care had been handled by the consultant and the community midwife, but as the consultation proceeded and he talked to her he thought she seemed a little flat.
Because the baby had been born with a slight problem, Patrick wondered if that had pushed her into postnatal depression. He talked to her, and she revealed that she was tired and listless, couldn’t find any energy, couldn’t be bothered to do anything.
‘I just want to take a blood test to make sure you’re all right,’ he said, and withdrew enough for a whole battery of tests. There might be something clinically wrong with her, and it would be foolish, he thought, to overlook that and just assume that she was depressed because of the baby’s foot.
‘Julie, I’m going to ask the health visitor to come and see you a bit more often,’ he told her, covering his bases. ‘I think, with this problem with the baby, you could probably do with a bit more support, and she can answer questions that crop up from day to day.’
And report back to me, he thought, if she’s concerned and we turn up nothing. There was nothing in her notes to indicate a predisposition to postnatal depression, but so many cases went undiagnosed, with women suffering needlessly from loneliness and defeat in the early weeks and months of their children’s lives.
Sometimes, he knew, it could go on for years before anything was done, and he wanted to make sure that that didn’t happen to Julie. At least he knew he’d be here to follow her up, and the knowledge gave him a great sense of satisfaction.
At six, just as he finished, Dr Wright put his head round the door. ‘Patrick, are you done?’ he asked.
‘Yes. There aren’t any calls. Why?’
‘Connie,’ he said flatly, and came in and sat down—on the patient’s chair this time. ‘I just rang her a few minutes ago—I’ve been trying all day without success, and I finally got her. Anyway, it seems the scan wasn’t much help. There’s nothing they can do.’
He hesitated. ‘She sounds—well, rather depressed, to be honest. She was very brief on the phone—said there was someone there, but I think she just didn’t want to talk about it.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ Patrick asked, dreading the answer and yet hoping for it.
‘Go and see her. I’m too close, and she may not want to disappoint me or worry me. She’s more likely to tell you the truth, I think.’
Jan put her head round the corner of the door. ‘I’ve got someone called Marina on the phone for you, Dr Durrant. Says it’s personal.’
He sighed. ‘Could you hang on a moment?’ he said to Dr Wright. ‘This won’t take long.’
He picked up the receiver. ‘Marina. How was Antigua?’
‘Lovely. Bit windy. We had a hurricane, it was frightfully exciting. How’s the little monster?’
Monster, indeed. ‘Very well. Very happy. Very settled,’ he said firmly. ‘Don’t get any ideas about having him back or visitation rights or custody battles.’
Her tinkling laugh grated on his nerves. ‘Oh, Patrick, you’re welcome. I still love the little squirt but—you know me—I’m no mother. I just wondered when you were going to collect his stuff. He’s got all sorts of things here.’
‘I’ll do it tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘Have it all ready by nine o’clock.’
‘Will you bring him?’
‘No.’
His reply was so unhesitating it shocked even him. ‘No, sorry, Marina, he’s settled down well with the child-minder. He’ll be better here. You can see him by arrangement under supervision in a little while.’
‘Fine. Whatever. I’ll see you at nine,’ she said, and rang off.
Patrick looked up at Connie’s father, watching him curiously. ‘Will you cover the morning surgery for me tomorrow?’ he asked without preamble. ‘I’ll go down to Connie tonight, talk to her, pick up Edward’s stuff tomorrow and come back by lunchtime. I’ll see if Penny can have Edward overnight.’
‘Don’t worry, he’s fine here with us. He’s a delight. You just go, and give Connie our love. Tell her you’re taking over the practice. I didn’t get a chance, and it’s better done in person.’
Patrick nodded. ‘OK. I’ll go now.’
‘Supper first?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I’ll get Edward, explain that I have to go to London overnight and then I’ll leave.’
So simple. It would have been fine without Edward’s tears. ‘I don’t want you to go! You won’t come back!’ he sobbed, and Patrick couldn’t console him.
‘Of course I’ll come back,’ he assured him. ‘I promise.’
‘Connie went. I miss Connie. I want her.’
You and me both, Patrick thought grimly. ‘I’ll go and see Connie and give her your love, and I’m getting all your things from Mummy and bringing them back here. We’re going to live here now.’
‘With Connie?’ he said, a little brighter.
Patrick hesitated. He couldn’t lie, but he didn’t have time to go through another bout of tears. ‘Maybe,’ he procrastinated, knowing it wouldn’t be but unable to break Edward’s heart. ‘Perhaps sometimes.’
If I can drag her away from London for the odd weekend of torment and masochistic self-indulgence.
He kissed Edward goodbye, checked the directions to Connie’s flat yet again, then set off. It took just over two hours door to door, and he found a parking slot outside by a miracle. He went into the foyer of the tall, forbidding building, pressed the intercom button and waited.
Connie couldn’t believe it. Just when she’d crawled into the bath, the doorbell rang. She crawled out, wrapped her towel round her against the chill and went to the door, pressing the button. ‘Yes?’
‘Connie, it’s Patrick.’
The breath whooshed out of her lungs, and she sagged against the wall.
‘Connie?’
‘Come up,’ she said unsteadily, pressing the button, and she heard the door downstairs click, then his firm, heavy tread on the stairs. She opened the flat door and let him in.
‘I’m sorry, I got you out of the bath,’ he began, but she didn’t care about it any more. She didn’t care about anything except being in his arms, and she threw herself at him with a strangled cry.
‘Patrick!’ she sobbed, and all the pent-up tears and anguish and expectation and pressure which had been with her since Anthony’s death came out in a huge rush of tears.
‘Oh, Connie,’ he said gruffly, and wrapped her tight against his chest, rocking her from side to side and saying her name over and over again.
Finally the first rush of tears abated, and she pulled herself together and eased away from him. His soft suede leather jacket was blotched with her tears, and she dabbed ineffectually at the marks.
He took her hand—her right hand—and lifted it to his lips. ‘I’m sorry. I gather the news wasn’t good.’
She shook her head. ‘I just feel lost. I knew where I was going before. Now I feel like I’ve been cast adrift and I just don’t know where I’ll end up.’
She sniffed, scrubbed her nose on her hand and looked for a tissue. Patrick put one in her hand and she blew her nose loudly and tried for a smile. ‘Sorry. It was all a bit awful, and I’ve missed you…’
The smile wobbled, and his face seemed to crumple as he reached for her. ‘Oh, love, I’ve missed you, too.’
His mouth found hers, and Connie felt as if she’d come home.
There was no hesitation this time, not for either of them. She slipped her arms round his waist under
his jacket and snuggled close, and she felt a groan rumble through his chest.
‘Connie, I want you,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Let me make love to you.’
‘Oh, Patrick,’ she said, and her eyes overflowed again. ‘I’ve missed you so much. I came back here and I needed you so badly.’
‘Oh, Connie…’ She thought he was going to crush her, but then his arms slackened just long enough to shift his grip and swing her up against his chest like a child. ‘Where’s the bedroom?’ he asked tautly.
‘Through there.’ She waved at the doorway, and he shouldered the door out of the way and dropped her into the middle of the hastily made bed. It was freezing, the sheets chilly against her back, and he pulled the covers back, lifted her and dispensed with the towel, dropping her inside the bed before tearing off his clothes and sliding in beside her.
There were no words, no need for words. It was just so right to be there with him, holding him, letting him touch her like this. He was almost rough with her, his trembling hands exploring her with eager haste, and yet he was still careful, never rough to the point of hurting her.
She felt the pressure building, felt the blood pounding in her veins as he moved over her, then he was part of her and her soul cried out to his.
The streetlights slanted across the ceiling, casting strange shadows on the wall. Connie watched them for a moment, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, and beside her she felt Patrick stir.
‘Connie?’ he murmured.
‘Mmm?’
His mouth found hers in the half-dark, sipping and teasing. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked gently. ‘That got a little wild.’
‘I’m fine—never better. You?’
He laughed softly. ‘Oh, definitely never better. I know it sounds like a cliché, but it’s true, Connie, I swear.’ His hand cupped her cheek, and he kissed her again, just very lightly. ‘I love you,’ he said, and a huge knot in her chest balled up even tighter.
‘I love you, too. I think I have for ages, but we’re just going such different ways. You’re going to Devon, and I haven’t a clue what the hell I’m doing—’ She broke off, choked by tears again, and she felt him shift, propping himself up on the pillows and drawing her into his arms.
‘Actually, I’m not going to Devon,’ he told her in a careful voice.
She didn’t understand. He’d been so keen…
‘Why?’ she asked, puzzled. ‘I thought you liked it.’
‘I did—but your father’s decided to go early. He’s offered me the practice, and I’ve said yes.’
‘Oh.’ Shock transfixed her for a moment, and she struggled to sit up. ‘Um—the house as well?’
‘Yes. They’re buying that new bungalow just at the end of the garden beyond the orchard.’
So she was losing her home, too!
‘That’s nice,’ she said blandly, flailing for something to say. Suddenly she felt terribly alone, terribly lost. What had this all meant?
If anything?
‘Is that all?’ he asked. ‘Just nice?’
She sniffed. ‘It’s my home. I feel a bit strange about losing it.’
He was quiet for a long time, then he said, very softly, ‘What if you didn’t have to lose it? What if you were to live there?’
‘Me? But you’re buying it for you.’
‘Maybe for us,’ he said, and she could hear a touch of uncertainty in his voice. ‘You could do paediatrics in Ipswich or Colchester, maybe, and I wouldn’t expect you to give up your career.’
She laughed. ‘What career? Patrick, I don’t have a career.’
‘Not at the moment, maybe, but you could have, Connie, given time. And if you wanted that, I would never stand in your way. I don’t want a mother for Edward. For better or worse, he’s got a mother. What I want is someone who cares for him and me, to share our lives. I don’t want a servant—I don’t want you to think that. It’s nothing to do with him. And I know you don’t want to be a GP, Connie, but how about being a GP’s wife?’
‘Wife?’ she said, a little dazed.
‘Yes, wife,’ he confirmed. ‘I’m asking you to marry me, Connie—and I hope to God you’re going to say yes.’
CHAPTER TEN
CONNIE didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so she solved the problem by doing both.
‘Oh, yes, yes, yes!’ she said, happiness bubbling up inside her and swamping all the worry and uncertainty.
Patrick hesitated for a second, staring at her in disbelief, and then engulfed her in the biggest hug she’d ever had.
‘Oh, Connie, thank God!’ he whispered raggedly. ‘Thank God.’
She hugged him back, sniffing and smiling and blinking all at once. She wasn’t going to lose him! Strange, how much more important that seemed than not being able to go back to surgery. And she’d have Edward, too, with his delicious giggle she was hearing more and more these days.
‘And, of course, I’ll look after Edward,’ she added, pushing him away so she could look him in the eye. Too dark. She sat up and snapped on the bedside light, rummaged under the pillow for her nightdress and tugged it on, then wriggled up beside him again.
‘It’s amazing how things look different in different lights,’ she told him. ‘For instance, only a couple of hours ago I was so miserable, because I was here all alone, you were going to Devon and I was never going to see you again. Now I’m going to marry you. You can have no idea how suddenly incredibly unimportant my arm seems. I don’t care if it never gets any better. I can learn to cope with what sensation and control I’ve got, and as long as I’m with you and Edward what more could I possibly want?’
‘But you’re a career doctor,’ he said, sounding confused.
‘Am I?’ she said wryly, thinking about it. ‘I don’t think so. Anyway, a career’s a very fragile thing, as I’ve proved. Other things are much more important.’
‘So you don’t want to go back to work?’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe, one day. I’m quite happy to work, especially if we need the money, but I don’t feel I have to for the sake of my soul or anything crazy like that. In fact,’ she said with a sly smile, trailing her fingers over his chest, ‘I’d be quite happy to work on giving Edward a little brother or sister to play with. What do you think?’
Patrick grinned, clearly relieved. ‘What—now?’
She met his eyes, and the laughter in them died, replaced by a simmering heat which had never been far away when he looked at her. ‘Why not?’ she said softly. ‘Got a better idea?’
He gave a wry chuckle. ‘Not really. Come here, let me warm you up, you’re freezing. You won’t conceive if you’re cold.’ He snuggled her down in his arms, kissed her lingeringly and brushed the hair back from her face, while she stared up at him and thought she’d never seen anyone more wonderful in her life.
‘I love you,’ he murmured, all trace of humour fading. ‘I want you to know that.’
‘I do know,’ she said. ‘I’d have to be blind not to see it in your eyes at the moment. They’re transparent at the best of times. Just now you couldn’t keep a secret from me in the dark.’
He gave a soft laugh and hugged her close. ‘Oh, Connie, I don’t want to have any secrets from you. I just want to be with you and hold you.’
‘Good. Hold away, because I feel just the same. I love you, Patrick.’
His lips found hers, and there was no more conversation for a while. They had better things to do than talk.
‘Why don’t you come back with me in the morning?’ he asked later, when they’d started talking again.
She shook her head. They were sitting cross-legged on the sofa, face to face, a newly delivered Chinese take-away on the cushion between them, feeding each other strips of chicken and noodles. It was messy, but fun. Connie was allowed a fork instead of chopsticks as she was already disadvantaged, and because Patrick didn’t want to starve to death he allowed her to cheat.
‘Why not?’ he asked round a king prawn.
‘Because I h
ave things to do. I have to pack up my flat, and go and resign and talk to my boss, and just sort out my life here. Say goodbye to it.’
He nodded. He did understand, but he would miss her. ‘How long will you need?’ he asked.
‘A few days. You could pick me up at the weekend, if you’re offering?’
‘Done. I want that bit of pepper.’
‘Please.’
‘Please.’
She dropped it down his front, then giggled as he rolled his eyes. He could remember a time when she would have stormed off in a rage or burst into tears, and he picked the pepper up and put it in his mouth, smiling as he chewed it. ‘Can you manage to pack up on your own?’
She tipped her head on one side thoughtfully. ‘Oh, I expect so. I might have to get the odd male colleague to help me.’
He studied her. Was she joking? He’d never asked, but there might have been someone in her life, someone who cared, someone who might feel pushed out by his presence.
‘No,’ she said firmly, reading his mind. ‘There’s no one. I’m teasing. There hasn’t been anyone for years and years.’
He tried not to sigh too obviously with relief, but apparently he failed. ‘Such a fragile ego,’ she teased.
‘You didn’t have to live with Marina,’ he said by way of explanation.
Her face sobered. ‘Was it awful?’ she asked quietly.
‘Sometimes,’ he said honestly, remembering the rows. ‘Either we were fighting about something trivial or she was out shopping. Fortunately she had her own income—an allowance from her father, who’s disgustingly wealthy—so I wasn’t having to subsidise her retail therapy sessions. It also meant I got the house which I already owned, which is how come I’m able to buy the practice. And, of course, without having to pay maintenance for Edward I should be better off—’
‘I don’t need a breakdown of your bank balance,’ Connie teased, and he relaxed.
‘Sorry. I was just filling you in.’
Practically Perfect Page 14
