Rachel Lindsay - Love and Dr Forrest

by Rachel Lindsay

  "Don't be daft! Anyway, you aren't fat; you're plump." She stared earnestly into his face. "Find someone else. You're fun to be with and intelligent, as well as being highly elligible. I'm sure you'd have any number of girls falling for you if you'd give them half a chance."

  "All right," he said slowly. "I'll keep my feelings to myself—for the moment." Then, with a change of tone, he remarked, "I'm surprised Mr. Redwood engaged you. He's got a thing about women doctors—about women generally, I think."

  Lesley kept her expression casual. "What's happened to his wife?"

  "I've never seen her. According to Axel she hasn't been near the place for two years."

  Lesley was startled. "Are they separated?"

  "I don't know. I doubt if he's worried about it. He's married to the clinic. What does he need a wife for?"

  "He's only human."

  "He doesn't have to get married for that!" Richard heaved himself out of his chair. "I'd better go and see the chief. I've stacks of reports to give him."

  "Were you with Professor Zecker the whole time?"

  "Yes. It's a privilege to watch him work. Matter of fact, Redwood's the only one who comes anywhere near him." He opened the door. "It's great to have you here,

  Lesley. I'm suddenly looking forward to the New Year."

  Alone at last, she walked over to the window and looked out. Lights glimmered through the drawn curtains of the far wing where Phillip Redwood lived, and she wondered what he thought of as he sat alone in his room each night. Did he care that he had chosen his career instead of the continuation of his marriage, and would he—given the chance—do the same thing again? It was a question she could not answer, though she dearly wished she could.

  With Christmas over and the imperceptible lengthening of the days, the hotels and pensions were full of tourists, and music from the ice rink blared from early morning till dusk. The nursery slopes were full of laughing people, and Lesley decided it was time for Bobby to learn to ski.

  She was dressing him one afternoon for his first lesson when she received a summons from Phillip Redwood. Enjoining Bobby to wait, she picked up her casebook and hurried to the first floor.

  "Why did you bring that?" Redwood asked, as she entered his study.

  "I thought you wanted to discuss the patients."

  He smiled and shook his head. "No, it's personal. About your nephew. He's getting out of hand."

  She frowned with embarrassment. "I keep telling him only to play in the courtyard, but he—"

  "I didn't mean that. You can't chain a youngster. What I actually had in mind was sending him to school. He should be with boys of his own age."

  She relaxed. "I've been thinking of that, too. I asked Nurse Liesel what the village school was like."

  "No good for Bobby," he said abruptly. "He's not fit enough. There's a professor here who runs a school that would be ideal for him. He takes mostly English and American boys."

  "Wouldn't it be expensive?'

  "Nothing's cheap in Switzerland. However, there's a way out. The professor wants a doctor to visit the boys once a week, and I've told him you'll do it gratis, if he'll take Bobby on the same terms." Her eyebrows lifted and he smiled. "A bit unprofessional, I agree, but it's a good arrangement all around. The clinic car goes into the village at eight-thirty and five, so your nephew can get a lift both ways."

  "It's kind of you to go to so much trouble."

  "I haven't done it out of kindness." His voice was impatient. "If doctors have personal problems it impedes their work."

  "It was still kind of you to think of Bobby. And I'll certainly send him. When can he start?"

  "The day after tomorrow. And you can begin your own weekly stint on Friday."

  He bent to the papers on his desk and only grunted as she bade him good afternoon and left.

  In the corridor she could not restrain a smile. He had taken a lot of trouble to get Bobby into a school, yet his way of telling her had made the whole gesture ungracious.

  What a disconcerting man!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Before the week was out, Richard became sick with flu, and Pat wrote to say she was due for two weeks' holiday and would be arriving in Arosa the following Wednesday.

  "I'm not giving you much notice," she apologised, "so if you can't get me fixed up, I'll go home, instead."

  Nurse Liesel solved the problem, however, by saying her aunt would put Pat up, and Lesley was left only with the problem of hoping she could find time to see her friend.

  Richard's illness meant she had half his work to do as well as her own, and she only just managed to meet Pat at the station in Arosa.

  Chattering happily, they drove in a sleigh to Frau Dorfen's chalet, and within minutes Pat was unpacking her suitcase in a warm bedroom, bright with pine furniture and handwoven rugs.

  "You engaged to Richard yet?" she asked.

  "Why should I be?" Lesley said flatly. "I didn't love him in England and I don't love him here. Our working together was a pure accident. And talking of work—I have to get back to the clinic. Richard's off sick and I'm doing half his shift as well as my own." She rose. "But what about coming up to the clinic after supper? I won't ask you to come before it, because I know Frau Dorfen's a sensational cook!"

  "After supper it shall be," Pat said with a grin. "And don't worry about leaving me to my own devices. As long as we can meet for a chat once a day, I'll be quite happy. There's lots for me to do while you're on duty."

  The first few days of Pat's visit flew by. Pat took skiing lessons, and on two occasions Lesley joined her afterward for a cup of hot chocolate at the caf6 overlooking the nursery slopes.

  On the following Monday, Lesley managed to get time off and decided to take a skiing lesson herself: a labour she found so exhausting that she barely had the strength to stagger to the caf6 for their usual hot drink.

  "This is the life for me," Pat said as two steaming cups of chocolate, frothing with whipped cream, were placed before them. "If Mr. Redwood needs another nurse let me know."

  "I can't see your leaving St. Catherine's. If I—" Lesley stopped as a stocky, brown-haired man stamped across the snow and mounted the steps to where they were sitting.

  "Richard!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know you were out and about."

  "This is my first effort." He stood by their table, grinning.

  "You remember Pat," Lesley said quickly.

  "Could I forget her?" Richard extended a hand. "How are you, sister?"

  "Very well, doctor," Pat said coldly.

  Lesley pulled a face. "Can't you two be friends even in Switzerland?"

  Pat shrugged and moved along the bench to make room for Richard.

  He eased himself between them, gave an order to the waitress and then stared at Pat. "This climate agrees with you. You look like a pink-cheeked dairy maid!"

  "What a great compliment," she said sarcastically and looked at Lesley. "Are you free tonight?"

  "Unfortunately not. But I'm off tomorrow afternoon and evening. I thought we'd go to a dance at the Post Hotel." Lesley turned to Richard. "How about coming?"

  "I haven't the strength to dance with two females!"

  Pat's already pink face grew pinker and she reached for her gloves. "I must get back for my next lesson. Will you settle for my chocolate, Les?"

  "It's on me," Richard said.

  "I'd rather not," Pat replied. "I wouldn't dream of letting you pay for two females!" Turning on her heel she marched down the steps.

  As soon as she was out of earshot, Lesley spoke.

  "I suppose you see yourself as a great wit?"

  "A great twit," he acknowledged gloomily. "But I meant it as a compliment when I said she looked like a dairy maid."

  He seemed so woebegone that Lesley's annoyance abated.

  "Finish your chocolate and we'll go back. You shouldn't stay here too long—it's getting cold."

  Immediately after lunch the next day, Lesley took a final look at her patients a
nd hurried to her room to change into her ski clothes. She was walking down the corridor when Liesel came running after her.

  "Herr Redwood wishes to see you, Fraulein Doktor."

  Muttering under her breath, Lesley went to his office. She had to cool her heels in the waiting room, and it was well after the time she was due to meet Pat before he called her in.

  "Sorry to bother you, Dr. Forrest. I'd forgotten you were free this afternoon or I'd have spoken to you earlier. I want you to miss your off-duty hours for the rest of the week."

  She stared at him in consternation. "But I can't."

  "I beg your pardon!"

  She flushed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude, but I've a friend staying here who came out specially to see me. Won't next week do?"

  "If it would, I'd hardly be asking you now. Or do you think I am doing it out of perversity?" He saw the uncertainty on her face and his mouth set in a hard line. "You should use your intelligence, Dr. Forrest, not your emotions. Dr. Berteau has been on duty solidly for the past month and I'm sending him off for a few days rest. I have to go to Zurich so that only leaves Richard. I didn't want him to start work for another few days, but since—"

  "Please don't say any more. Of course I'll do as you ask."

  "It shouldn't be necessary for me to give a reason."

  She had nothing to say to this, and with a stiff smile, she went in search of Richard.

  "I have to take over from Axel right away," she explained. "Would you be an angel and tell Pat I won't be able to see her till tonight?"

  "Sure. As long as you don't expect me to spend the whole afternoon with her. That would set back my recovery by a month!"

  Richard set off for the ski school at a brisk pace, but it was well after three-thirty before he reached the nursery slopes. Pat was standing forlornly by the door of the ski hut. He called her name and waved.

  She came over quickly. "Where's Lesley?"

  In a few words he told her what had happened, and with a careless thanks, she moved away.

  There was something so despondent about the droop of her shoulders that he continued to watch her. Laboriously she clipped on her skis, slowly plodded up the snowy slope and had just reached her ski class when the instructor waved his hand to signify that the lesson was at an end.

  Richard watched her teeter down the hillside and, on an impulse, went into the hut, collected his own skis and was waiting for her as she reached the entrance.

  "Come on Pat, I'll give you a lesson, instead."

  "I don't want one."

  "Oh, come on," he said crossly.

  Pat looked as if she were about to protest, but he had already set off across the snow. With a slight shrug she followed.

  "Can you manage alone?" he called over his shoulder.

  "Perfectly."

  He said nothing more and concentrated on the climb. At the top he looked back and was unable to restrain a smile. In spite of Pat's assurance that she could manage, she was still only halfway up the steep grade, and for every step forward she seemed to slither back two.

  "Walk on the edge of your skis," he called, "and use your poles. They'll stop you from slipping."

  At last she was by his side and turned to survey the way she had come.

  "It looks steep from here," she said dubiously. "I've never skied from this height."

  "Scared?"

  She tossed her head and, as if to answer, bent her knees and pushed off. Quickly she gathered speed and was soon hurtling down the slope.

  "Stem!" Richard shouted.

  The warning came too late. Halfway down she panicked, waved her arms wildly in the air and toppled over.

  Richard skied down to her and stood grinning by her side. Her green woollen cap had fallen off and her red curls were caked with snow.

  "Want any help?" he asked blandly.

  "No!"

  She manoeuvred herself into a sitting position, pushed one foot under her, heaved herself halfway up and collapsed again.

  "Had enough?" he asked politely.

  "Go away and leave me alone!"

  "Suits me."

  With a wave of his hand he pushed off, reached the bottom of the slope and curved in an arc to look at her.

  She was still sitting where he had left her and he crossed his arms and waited. He did not have to wait long.

  "Richard!" she called. "I can't move at all now!"

  "Want me to help?"

  Pride and mortification chased themselves across her face. "Yes, please. You needn't climb up. Just shout and tell me what to do."

  "Pick up your poles, grip them tightly and dig one each side of you into the snow. Now, bend your legs, make sure your skis aren't crossed and stand up. But dig your poles in or—"

  He spoke too late. Unaware that as she stood up her skis were pointing downhill, Pat began to slide, and she shot down the slope to finish once more in a heap at his feet.

  This time they both burst out laughing, Richard bent and helped her up. "You'll soon learn. Let's climb to the top again."

  As the afternoon wore on the bracing effect of the exercise and fresh air made their spirits rise, and by the time they put their skis away and settled themselves in the cafe for a drink, their antagonism had evaporated.

  "I really shouldn't have any whipped cream with my chocolate," Pat said as their order was placed before them. "I'm too fat."

  "So am I," Richard agreed. "But plump people are so much better tempered!"

  "But not nearly as glamorous."

  He studied her carefully. "With a bit of powder and paint you'd do very well."

  "Don't flatter me. I'm not the type."

  "Who's flattering you?" He leaned closer. "You've got the loveliest mouth I've seen."

  Colour swept into her face and she pushed back her chair.

  What's the rush?" he asked in surprise.

  "It's late. Besides, you shouldn't be out after dark or you'll catch anothfer cold."

  "Cluck, cluck, mother hen!" He drained his cup, shrugged into his jacket and held the door open for her. "I'll see you to your pension."

  As they set off, the sky deepened to purple, while above the hills lingered the last yellow edge of day. They walked in silence until they reached Frau Dorfen's chalet and Pat stopped.

  "It was nice of you to see me home."

  He sneezed. "You still going to the Post Hotel with Lesley tonight?"

  "Yes."

  "I might come along." He sneezed again.

  "Only if you're looking for trouble!" She glanced at him anxiously. "I hope you haven't caught another chill."

  He sneezed a third time and she gave him a gentle push toward the narrow road leading uphill to the clinic.

  "Go home, Richard. And thanks for taking pity on me.”

  He looked as if he was about to say something, then changed his mind and set off up the hill.

  Pat stared after him, and only when his figure had disappeared around a bend in the road did she heave a deep sigh and go into the chalet.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lesley was astonished when she learned that Richard had spent the afternoon with Pat, and even more so when he said he would give Pat another lesson the following day.

  As she dressed to go to the Post Hotel, a vague sense of depression hung over her, and in an effort to ward it off she put on the brightest dress she owned: a sapphire blue wool that set off perfectly her taffy-coloured hair.

  Stuffing a pair of evening shoes into a paper bag, she ran down the corridor, her rubber-soled boots making no noise. Disdaining the lift she hurried down the stairs and, at the last bend, collided violently with a man coming up the turn of the stairs.

  Scarlet with embarrassment, she wondered why she always made a fool of herself in front of Phillip Redwood.

  "Where are you rushing off to?" he asked, steadying her.

  "To catch the nine-o'clock bus. I'm meeting my friend at the Post."

  "The bus goes at quarter to the hour after six o'clock."
<
br />   He saw her dismay and hesitated. "Will you let me drive you down? It's the least I can do after spoiling your afternoon."

  "It isn't necessary," she said quickly. "I can walk to the hotel in twenty minutes."

  "Please," he said abruptly. "My car's outside."

  In view of his insistence it was impossible to refuse.

  and they were soon driving through the clinic gates.

  The snow radiated a faint light as the crystals sparkled where they were caught by the beam of the headlights. She glanced at the man beside her, conscious of his strong profile as he peered intently through the windscreen.

  "Here we are," he said, drawing up outside the hotel.

  He came around to open the door for her, keeping his hand beneath her elbow as he led her inside. The foyer was crowded with laughing groups of people, and he frowned and shook his head.

  "Is anything wrong, Mr. Redwood?"

  "Only that I'm beginning to realise what an old fogey I'm becoming." One dark eyebrow lifted quizzically. "I wonder if you and your friend would care to be my guests this evening?"

  The request was so unexpected that she was bereft of speech, and misconstruing her silence he said hastily, "Forget it. It was just an idea. You've probably made other plans."

  "Not at all. And it's a lovely idea."

  Irrationally her depression lifted and she led the way across the foyer to where Pat was waiting.

  "I missed the bus," she said quickly, "and Mr. Redwood brought me down. He's asked us to be his guests."

  Pat hid her surprise as she extended her hand to the surgeon. "I don't suppose you remember me, do you, Mr. Redwood?"

  "Don't tell me I got you the sack, too!"

  "Nothing like that!"

  "Thank goodness." He glanced at the throng milling around them. "Put your coats away while I go downstairs and fix a table."

  In the cloakroom Pat was agog. "He's the last person expected you to turn up with at tonight's party. How come?"

  "I think he was bored."

  "More fool him."

  "What do you expect him to do? After all, he is married."

  "He's still a man!"

  "And a doctor with a reputation to keep!"

  "As long as you remember that," Pat warned.