For a while he sat there and watched her, benevolent and uncritical, and then as the sobbing grew louder he reached forwards and held her hands, and gradually her control, which had slipped away totally, came back. She was able to draw a few deep breaths and shakily reach for her handkerchief from her bedside table and wipe her face and eyes with harsh stabbing little movements which displayed her self-loathing so clearly it was like a shout echoing in the ugly little room.
‘No,’ Dr Forester said firmly, and pulled her hand away. ‘You’re not to treat yourself so harshly. You are by no means a bad person, and by no means stupid, and by no means all the other accusations you’re obviously throwing at yourself. You’re a woman who’s been betrayed by her own body, and that is a fact that should excite the sympathy of a doctor, not criticism. Think as a doctor for a moment, my dear, and forgive yourself.’
‘How can I?’ she said drearily, her voice husky with the remnants of her tears. ‘I behaved like a - like -’
‘Like a woman who loved. Oh, all right, like a woman obsessed with love if that’s how you prefer it. There’s little difference as far as I can see. You’ve done nothing wicked, nothing wicked at all. Nature has, as she usually does, abandoned your personal welfare to her own imperious demands -’ He smiled again and took back the hand she had pulled from his grasp. ‘As you see, I have a taste for the literary view of life. We little creatures walk under Nature’s huge legs and peep about - that’s roughly how the quote goes, isn’t it? Perhaps not, but you can see what I mean, I hope. That Nature in her wisdom took hold of you and played this trick on you. You’re amazed that you conceived as the result of one experience of coitus? I’m not. I have come across the same phenomenon many times. A woman who has a deep emotional attachment to a man and who is for whatever reason swept into sharing the act of love with him is so overwhelmed by her own hormones that she ovulates in response to the experience and thus conceives -’
She had been staring at him and now she managed a watery smile. ‘You make me feel like a rabbit,’ she said. ‘I remember learning that they don’t have cycles like the higher animals, like us. They just respond to the stimulus of sex and that’s why there are so many rabbits -’
‘Precisely! Dr Forester beamed at her. ‘You understand perfectly! And in purely biological terms, it makes excellent sense, don’t you think? I fear Nature slipped up a bit giving most women these regular cycles that mean they can only conceive at certain times - much more effective to have women react as you clearly did, and to conceive as a direct reaction to lovemaking instead of almost accidentally, if the times of lovemaking and ovulation happen to coincide -’
‘I’m sure all this is very interesting in an academic sort of way,’ Charlie said and sat up more straightly, rubbing her hands over her tousled hair in an effort to restore her tidiness and with it her sense of amour propre. ‘But it doesn’t convince me - look, is there any possibility that you could be wrong? I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re a physician and not a gynaecologist and -’
‘I’m not wrong, my dear. I’m the father of four splendid young things, a well as a physician. A man, too, you see, and I’d lay my professional life in any bet that said I was wrong about this pregnancy. But of course you have a definite point. You do need the care of a gynaecologist and I’ll arrange this morning for Mr Croxley to come and see you and -’
‘No!’ Charlie said and bit her lip, trying to think. ‘If you’re quite sure -’
‘Of course I am,’ he said kindly. ‘And so are you, aren’t you?’
She ignored the question. ‘If you’re sure, then it’s stupid to try to deny it. I’ve got to think - I can’t let people here know. I can’t. I couldn’t face them and -’
‘You need good care, my dear, and I insist you get it. You may be a little anaemic already - looking at your pallor I can’t be sure, but I suspect it and I’ll arrange for some blood work to be done - so don’t think I’m going to wash my hands of you, just because I’m not a gynaecologist and you’re not married and so worried about your reputation -’
‘Of course I’m worried about my reputation!’ Charlie flared at him. ‘It’s all I’ve got, isn’t it? A doctor of ill repute is hardly likely to be able to practise anywhere she can do any good and - I’ll have to go on as long as I can. The fewer people who know what’s happening to me the better - so I can’t see Mr Croxley here at Nellie’s - I can’t -’
He reached forwards and took her shoulders between his hands and gave her a little shake. ‘My dear, I am so glad!’ he said and there was very strong emotion in his voice.
‘Glad? What about?’
‘You’re taking it for granted that you will bear this child.’
She stared. ‘What else can I do? If you’re so sure you’re right and that I’m pregnant -’
‘There are those who meddle with Nature,’ he said and leaned back, as though he was ashamed of his momentary display of emotion. ‘Especially some doctors.’
She blinked and now she stared not so much at him as through him as the import of what he was saying sank in.
‘I hadn’t considered that,’ she said slowly, still with her eyes glazed.
‘Then I’m very sorry that I even mentioned the possibility,’ he said and there was a little anxiety in his voice. ‘Though I imagine it would have occurred to you eventually.’
There was a little silence and then she shook her head. ‘No, I couldn’t. I - I may be very angry and hurt and - and a lot of feelings like that, but it’s happened and I don’t think I could - no. It wouldn’t be right, however difficult everything might be. However much easier it might be to do as -. No.’
He took a little breath and it was loud in the small room and then he smiled at her. ‘Now, my dear, to practical problems. You need to be looked after, of course, and to make plans for your confinement. Let’s see if we can work out when this baby might be expected to make an appearance.’
She sat and watched him as he made notes, checking the possible dates of her last period against the date she gave him of that evening in Earlham Street and then he nodded.
‘A spring baby,’ he said with satisfaction and smiled at her, those round eyes mild once more behind his glasses. ‘The second week in April or thereabouts’, and she let her eyes move to the small window behind him where the heavy metallic blue of the sky brooded over Nellie’s.
April next year? That was an eternity away from the hot city she was living in now: 1948 would never come. She’d be dead by then, and all this would be a sick joke, over and forgotten.
‘April,’ she said.
‘When does your appointment here end?’ He sounded brisk and efficient now.
‘Here? At Nellie’s? At Christmas if I want it to, though it was suggested I could continue for another six months if I wanted to–’
‘But you said you don’t want people here to know of your situation?’ He peered at her through those owlish glasses.‘Then I suggest you seek a new post for next year, and leave here when you’re about twenty weeks pregnant. You’re a well-made girl and if you dress sensibly there is no reason why you shouldn’t conceal your – um, your private concerns till then. Full skirts, you know, and a slightly larger white coat –’
‘You think I should go on working?’
‘I imagine you have to,’ he said a little drily. ‘Mothers have to eat.’
‘I have money,’ she said, almost dismissing that. ‘I inherited a sizeable income – but –’ she shook her head. ‘I couldn’t bear not to work. I’d go mad, I think.’
‘I think so too,’ he said. ‘For the first few months anyway. But after Christmas find yourself somewhere quiet to stay, buy yourself a wedding ring and go away to have your baby quietly. You won’t be the first woman to be widowed before she’s wed, and you won’t be the last. That’s my advice to you, my dear. Stay here as long as you can and then reappear somewhere else as Mrs Lucas. No one will question that, and you can maintain your reputation and eventually, i
f you choose to, return to your profession.’
‘I’m not leaving it,’ she said vigorously. ‘I’ve – he’s not going to steal that from me too.’
‘Well done,’ Dr Forester said and leaned forwards and once again took her hand, but this time he shook it. ‘You are a splendid young lady, Mrs Lucas,’ he said and smiled. ‘I do congratulate you. I truly expect you will produce a most delightful child who will give you much pleasure. Let’s be happy about Nature’s gift instead of angry, shall we?’
‘I’ll try,’ she said and then once again sat up more upright. ‘Please, don’t call me Mrs Lucas. It’s happened and I’ll do the best I can – but I don’t want to tell more lies than I must –’
‘I’m sorry. I was – perhaps anticipating the future a little. I’m sorry. Now shall I talk to Mr Croxley for you, quietly? You can trust him, you know.’
‘No thank you.’ She reached for the dressing-gown that was lying on the chair beside her bed. ‘I’ll make arrangements for myself. No, don’t worry. I’ll see someone. I know the sort of care I need, and I’ll see I get it–’
She stood up and he helped her get out of bed and she stood there, barefoot beside him, tying the girdle of her dressing-gown.
‘Then I’ll tell Sister Battleaxe that you can leave her prison, shall I? You’re feeling tolerably well, I take it?’
She laughed a little grimly. ‘As well as can be expected.’
‘Good, I’ll write up some blood tests for you, so that you can take the results to whichever consultant you choose, and – well, I’m always here if you need me.’ He held out his hand once more and this time she shook it with real gratitude.
‘You’ve been very kind,’ she said. ‘I’m – please accept my apologies if I was at all rude.’
‘You weren’t. Far from it. I’ve only one regret, actually.’
She lifted her brows at him, questioning.
‘I’d like to get my hands on that bloody man who left you like this. To knock some sense into him. He obviously has no idea what he’s letting slip through his half-witted fingers. Goodbye, my dear. And very good luck to you.’
And to her amazement he bent and kissed her cheek briefly and then went, quietly closing the door behind him.
27
Max had spent over two hours with Miss Curtis since lunchtime and was, to say the least, tired. It wasn’t the amount of work they’d done, though that had been considerable; it was the sheer effort of dealing with her enthusiasm for him and her fierce protectiveness of him. There were times he could shake her for being so solicitous, but of course he couldn’t do that. She was a hardworking and efficient woman, deeply concerned with his and the hospital’s welfare, and for that reason had to be tolerated. But it wasn’t easy.
His tiredness did make him irritable with other people, however, even though he was as always very controlled with Miss Curtis, and when Brocklesby put his head round the door of the small office and announced with an air of great portentousness that he would like to have a quick word with Dr Lackland, if he didn’t mind, sir, on a matter of importance, private like, he made no effort to stop Miss Curtis when she surged to her feet with great outrage and told Brocklesby shrilly that he had no right to disturb Dr Lackland in his private office when he was busy.
‘If you have any messages to give the doctor,’ she said firmly, ushering Brocklesby out of the office like a hen with an intrusive duckling to get rid of, ‘you can tell me’, and she closed the door firmly behind her so that Max could hear no more, but he didn’t care, glad to be rid of her for a few moments.
He leaned back in his chair and stretched. He’d be able to leave in another hour or so, God willing, and after going straight to Leinster Terrace to check on his father – whose high colour and over-bright eyes had worried him a good deal this morning – he’d be able to get home and to bed for an early night.
He certainly needed it; he’d been sleeping badly and though that was something he ought to be used to by now, the nature of his sleeplessness was changing. He found himself thinking more and more about Charlotte Lucas, and less about Emilia, though thoughts of her still threaded their way through his days and nights.
The thoughts he was having about Charlotte upset him a good deal. He had always prided himself on his tact, his ability to enter into other people’s feelings, to empathize, help them to feel better; was not that the essential gift of the psychiatrist, after all? Yet with Charlotte Lucas all that failed. With her he was tactless, harsh, unfeeling; he must be, for why else would she always react to him with such hostility? He still could feel the sense of cold rejection that had filled him when she had so peremptorily refused his care the other evening even though she had been obviously ill. And his anxiety had sharpened as he thought of that illness, and wondered what it was that made her so pale and hollow-eyed.
He shook his head to rid himself of these obtrusive thoughts and turned back to the letters still remaining to be dealt with, irritably aware of the voices of Miss Curtis and Brocklesby locked in some sort of wrangle outside his door and he was about to get to his feet and go out to see for himself what was going on when she returned to the room, snapping the door behind her, with her colour high in her cheeks and obviously very put about by what the hall porter had said to her.
‘That man,’ she said in ringing tones that prodded into greater intensity the faint headache Max already had, ‘is extremely rude, extremely.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Max said wearily, not sure whether he was commiserating or apologizing. ‘You can make a complaint to the Secretary of course, if you feel that’s necessary. The portering staff are part of Mr Molloy’s department. I can’t intervene, of course. What did he want?’
‘That’s the thing – he flatly refused to tell me, said it was personal and none of my affair, and if I wouldn’t let him in then he’d keep his information to himself. I told him if he had any information you needed it was his duty to tell you, and that he could make an appointment if he wanted, but he was just thoroughly rude and still wouldn’t say what it was you had to be told and said if anything happened as a result it would all be my fault and –’
‘Well, I dare say it will all sort itself out,’ Max said vaguely, bored by her chatter and by all the fuss. ‘Now, if we can finish these letters, I’d be grateful. I want to get away as soon as I can –’
At once she was a whirlwind of busyness and he tried to relax and not let her get on his nerves so much, but it wasn’t easy; everything about her set his teeth on edge this afternoon, but he bent his head and began to dictate, and she sat there, her pencil whispering importantly on her notebook and her lips pursed with concentration, as he got the words out as quickly as he could.
One of the letters demanded a long case history to be outlined, and he was doing his best to concentrate, but it grew difficult as he became aware of distant sounds outside his door. There were calls from one voice to another and the loud rattle of the lift gate and the sound of rushing feet and at last his irritation boiled over and he threw back his chair in a temper and went to the door and flung it open.
‘What the blazes is going on out here?’ he called as he went out into the corridor. ‘I’m trying to work and I can barely hear myself think with all the racket that’s going on –’
‘Oh, you’re there!’ someone said in a surprised tone and he peered into the dim light of the corridor, which had windows only at the far end to illuminate it. ‘I understood that you’d left and no one could get a message to you –’
‘Who’s that?’ Max said sharply and then as the figure moved closer added, ‘Oh, Brodie! What is the matter? People shouting and running –’
‘I thought someone had told you,’ Brodie said again and he looked uncertain and confused, very unlike his usual self. ‘I’m afraid, it’s not good –’
‘What isn’t good? Damn it, man, what is going on?’
‘It’s your father, Dr Lackland. I got a message to say he had arrived and that he wanted to
see me and Molloy at once and –’
Max stared at him. ‘My father? Here? But he can’t be! He’s not well enough! I told you that this morning – he’s ill, or he’d have been at the Board of Governors’ meeting.’
‘That’s the point, Dr Lackland. When I heard he was here, I didn’t believe it either, but then my secretary assured me he was, that he’d gone up to the boardroom and seemed very agitated, and that I was to see him – and when I got there –’
Max had come out into the corridor now and was walking quickly in the direction of the staircase and the boardroom and Brodie fell into step beside him.
‘When I got there I saw at once he wasn’t well and sent for the physician on duty tonight. Dr Forester’s out of London for the weekend, it seems, and so is Dr –’
‘Why wasn’t I told he was here?’ Max said savagely as he reached the stairs and ran up them two at a time. ‘What were you all thinking of not to let me know?’
‘I was told you weren’t here,’ Brodie said again. ‘Or at least I think that’s what he – Brocklesby –. When I said someone was to find you, he said he’d tried to get a message to you and he couldn’t, so there was nothing anyone could do –’
‘Brocklesby?’ Max said, and frowned, as he at last reached the boardroom door and pushed it open, and then stopped short on the threshold and stared at the tableau that met his shocked gaze.
His father was lying on his back on the floor and breathing heavily, making thick stertorous noises in his thoat. Kneeling beside him was Charlotte Lucas, leaning forwards as she listened with great concentration to her stethoscope. Grouped behind her were Molloy, his face quite flat and expressionless as he stared down, and Brocklesby, who had a look of avid excitement on his face. Another porter stood on the other side with an oxygen cylinder on a stand, and he was also leaning forwards in a state of excited interest, while beside him a nurse stood poised with a kidney dish in one hand and a dressing towel in the other.
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