He has made an impression, Lucy thought. He's even made an impression on the hardened Sister Spain. Will he make an impression on everyone?
This was not the time for anything personal between them. She walked back down the ward with Marc and gave him a quick report on the patient. 'I've got no problems with her physical state. We could probably discharge her tomorrow morning after the registrar has seen her. She gave an address which is in the middle of student-land, probably a bedsit somewhere. But there's no sign of a student card. She was unconscious when brought in and the A and E staff looked through her handbag, looking for some signs of identity. And there was nothing. No letters, no credit cards, no passport, nothing to show who she is. Just fifty pounds and some change.'
Marc had an instant effect on Astrid. Perhaps it was the cheerful smile he gave her, perhaps it was the flow of gentle sounding words in her own language. Whatever, she smiled for the first time. But then she began to look cautious. Perhaps Marc was too persuasive. Lucy had taken GCSE-level French and then forgotten everything. She could pick out a word here and there but that was all.
After a while Marc stopped speaking and looked expectantly at Astrid. Astrid said nothing. Marc repeated what he had said and Lucy realised it had been a question. And slowly, falteringly Astrid replied. Marc reached out and touched her on the shoulder.
Then he turned and said quietly, 'Do you think you could fetch Astrid some juice, Lucy?'
'Not too strong,' Lucy said, and then went to fetch the drink. Marc had somehow worn down the girl's resistance. It wasn't just that he spoke her language. There was something both powerful and comforting about his manner.
And he changed when he spoke French. Partly it was that he used his body, his hands to communicate. And French was such an expressive language! It felt as if he was stroking her with words, calming and yet exciting her at the same time... Lucy shook her head in annoyance. This was silly!
When she came back with the coffee, Marc and Astrid were deep in conversation and looked up at her as if she were an intruder. 'I'll leave you for now,' Lucy said coolly. 'Dr Duvallier, if we could have a word when you've finished speaking?' She had other duties.
He came to see her ten minutes later.
'Astrid Duplessis,' he said. 'Aged nineteen, home is in a small town in Brittany. About seven months ago, just after Christmas, she met an English student who was staying in a hostel in the village, trying to improve his French. They fell in love. Her parents found out— apparently they are very religious, perhaps rather narrow-minded. They didn't approve. And Astrid is an only child. So they sent her away to stay with relations on the other side of the country for a month, didn't even let her say goodbye to the boy. And when she returned her lover had gone.'
'And she's now nineteen! Parents must have more influence in France than they have here!'
He shrugged. 'France is a big country. Some country districts are remote from the cities. They have their own ways of doing things. This I know because...' He stopped, shook his head as if vexed and went on, 'She does not want to go back to her parents, she has her pride.'
'Pride won't feed a baby. What is she doing here now?'
'Somehow she persuaded her parents that she was coming here on a course. She didn't dare tell them that she was pregnant, she knew what they would say, how their reputation in the town would be ruined. She wanted to find her lover. But she has no address for him, isn't even sure of his full name. She knew him just as Kevin. And he has dark hair.'
'He's got dark hair, is called Kevin and might be a student here,' said Lucy. 'Well, that narrows the field down to two or three thousand. And I doubt he wants to be found anyway.'
Lucy wasn't being cynical. She was thinking of other, similar cases she had come across.
Marc didn't agree with her. 'Not necessarily so, Lucy! This Kevin didn't want to be parted from her; it was done before she could tell him. He must think that she deserted him. And she is sure that he loves her!'
'Now, where have I heard that before?' Lucy said. Then she stopped herself saying more.
But he had noticed her wry comment. He said, 'And I hope you will hear it again and that it will be meant.'
'Perhaps,' she said. 'It's just that... here in O and G we get too many cases of girls who think they have a future and then their partners just disappear.'
He nodded. 'I agree. Fathering a child, even by accident, brings responsibilities. And those responsibilities should be honoured!'
Lucy looked at him, a little surprised at his stern tone. 'You seem to feel as strongly about it as I do.'
'I am pleased we agree. There are duties in life as well as pleasures.'
This was a side of Marc Lucy hadn't yet met. And she thought she liked it. Too many of the young doctors of her acquaintance took refuge from the tragedies they came across at work in an easy cynicism. Marc had principles and wasn't afraid to show them.
'We can still hope for a happy ending,' she said, 'even if we know it's not too likely. Now, what do we do about Astrid?'
He was formal. 'You are the midwife in charge. If I may, I would like to visit her again tomorrow, perhaps just for a chat.'
'It'll make my job easier,' she agreed.
She didn't have a chance to say much more to him for the rest of her shift. From time to time she saw him across the ward, but they were busy at different tasks. Then, half an hour before handover at two o'clock, he came over to speak to her.
Now she had learned to recognise that thrill of anticipation when he came towards her. But she still liked it.
'Lucy, I gather you're to leave now. Are you on the same shift tomorrow?'
'Working earlies again,' she said. 'Will you be here again?'
'I regret, no. And this afternoon I have part of my induction, I shall be busy until quite late. But tomorrow is Saturday and I too have the afternoon off. I wonder... would you like to show me something of your city? I know you are fond of it and I am a stranger here. And perhaps we could have dinner.'
Her heart thumped at the prospect. But then she remembered. 'Marc, I'd love to. But in the afternoon I'm meeting my sisters at the park, we're having a picnic and a children's birthday party. My nephew Dominic is six and he's mad on trains. And there's a little train in the park.'
He shrugged and smiled, and for a moment she thought he had never seemed more French. 'I do not wish to interfere with Dominic's birthday treat. No matter. Perhaps another time.'
'I'm free in the evening,' she pointed out, and was excited when she saw the obvious pleasure in his face.
'Excellent! May I pick you up at the hospital accommodation at about six?'
She thought for a moment and then shook her head. 'No, not there; it’ll be all over the hospital within minutes.'
He was still smiling. 'You do not wish to be the subject of gossip?'
The way he looked at her, the sound of his voice and the way he seemed to concentrate all his attention on her made her feel as if she was the most special person in the world. But she had to be cautious.
'No. I'll pick you up at the doctors' flats, they're much quieter. And I'll drive you.'
Then something struck her. 'You don't object to being driven by a woman?'
He shook his head. 'Not at all.' Another smile. 'You are a good driver?'
'I'm wonderful,' said Lucy.
Then there was a plaintive cry from the nearest bed and Lucy hurried away. She was still at work.
Marc had to leave before handover. Lucy walked across the grass to her home, her heart singing. Marc had asked her out. Perhaps they had a future, perhaps things would develop—who could tell?
Once in her room she looked at the rose plant she had deadheaded. It was her imagination, of course it was her imagination. But the flowers seemed to be blooming more than ever.
A small disappointment next morning. There was a message from Marc, relayed to her by an apparently equally disappointed Melissa Spain. Dr Duvallier could not come to the ward to speak to
Astrid Duplessis. But he gathered that Astrid was to be kept in, and he would call in another day. No matter. Lucy was seeing him that evening.
Lucy was to meet her two older sisters, Jan and Lizzie, in the park. Between them Jan and Lizzie had six children. It was Dominic's birthday, he had asked for a trip on the little train and a picnic. So that's what he was going to get.
There was just enough time to wrap Dominic's present, sign his card and hastily make a box full of small sandwiches. Then walk the mile or so to the park. Fortunately it was a fine day—though the three had prepared a contingency plan in case it rained.
She found the little party easily and there were a lot of people to kiss. Then she was enrolled to play ring-a-ring o’ roses. It was an exhausting game and as usual everyone screamed with laughter. Lucy was enjoying herself; she loved being with her family. There were children to play with and gossip to catch up on. And finally time to eat and have a rest.
Then something happened that she was not at all expecting.
She was sitting on a blanket, her back against a tree and a towel on her lap, giving a bottle to six-month-old Frances. Lizzie whispered, 'Look at that man. Isn't he gorgeous?' Then her voice rose a little. 'Good Lord, he's coming over here. Do you know him?'
Lucy looked up, she did know the man. It was Marc Duvallier.
As ever, he was dressed elegantly, this time in light chinos with a dark blue polo shirt. But this outfit showed more of him, the muscular arms and slim waist that before had been suggested were now quite obvious.
He stood above them, his expression doubtful. 'I have to apologise,' he said. 'I know I'm intruding. But I had nothing to do, the sun was out and you'd told me about this park. So I came for a walk around.'
'Great,' said Lucy. 'It's really good to see you.' And it was. She was shocked, she'd never felt this way quite so quickly. 'Look, I can't get up or talk much because Frances will soon be asleep. But these are my sisters, Lizzie and Jan, and these are all my nephews and nieces.'
'It's good to meet you all,' said Marc, shaking hands with Jan and Lizzie.
'Sit on a rug and have a sandwich,' said Lizzie.
Lucy thought that it was tactful—but typical—of him that he spent most of his time talking to her sisters and their children. She was content to sit and hold Frances and look at him. She could tell he was charming Lizzie and Jan. It wasn't a conscious act; he just showed that he was pleased at his welcome.
Lizzie was telling him about how they were a close family, how they all lived near each other and were constantly in and out of each other's homes. Lucy noticed that he didn't say anything about his own home. She thought it a bit odd.
After a while he said, 'I must confess, I'm going to work a lot with Lucy and I hope to learn from her. So I'm hoping to get on with her family.' From his pocket he took a small package. 'Lucy showed me the list of engines that Dominic has got. If you don't mind, I've bought him another. A small birthday gift.'
Nobody did mind, especially Dominic.
And so they talked for another ten minutes. Then Jan said, 'I think it's train trip time now. Lucy, will you stay here and look after Frances? I don't want to disturb her unless it's necessary. Or did you want to come on the train yourself?'
'I've been on it before,' said Lucy.
So the excited children led the mothers away and Lucy was left alone with Frances and Marc.
He smiled. 'It was good to see you all together. You are a... happy family.'
She wondered why he had paused before saying 'happy'. 'Why did you come?' she asked.
There was silence for a moment. Then he said, 'I just wanted to see you. I've seen you at work and at a party, but tonight I suspect I shall see you through the eyes of a...' He grinned. 'There is only one word for what I wish to say, it is a French word. I shall see you as a boulevardier.'
'You mean like that man who sang Thank Heaven for Little Girls in the film?'
'Not quite,' he said. 'But now I wanted to see you as a family person. And you are just as attractive here.'
'I see,' said Lucy, not quite sure that she did.
Frances had stopped feeding now. Lucy leaned the baby over her arm and was gently rubbing her back.
'You handle that baby with considerable expertise,' Marc said. 'May I try?'
He leaned over to take Frances. Cautiously, Lucy handed her over. 'Be careful,' she said. 'There's a towel here for your lap. She seems a bit disturbed and...'
But Marc had taken the baby and was already rubbing Frances's back. Frances burped once and then was sick all over Marc's polo shirt.
'I should have paid more attention to you,' Marc said calmly.
At first Lucy was horrified. She looked at the stained polo shirt, the oblivious baby then the towel in her lap. What had been an intimate little scene between them was now ruined. But then she saw his entirely calm face and she couldn't help it. She burst out giggling.
'Now you know what midwives, nurses and mothers have to go through,' she said.
'I had some idea already. No matter, these things happen. Have you got any wipes for Frances's face?'
'I'll see to her now, you're in enough of a mess.' She took Frances, settled her safely on the towel and reached for the baby bag. 'Now, take that shirt off and in a minute I'll take it and rinse it. There's a big toilet block over there.'
He crossed his arms, carefully pulled the shirt over his head. Lucy glanced at his bare chest and then lowered her head. She had known it; his body was magnificent! Not an ounce of fat and two wings of dark hair rose from the taut waist to the broad chest muscles. The thought of being close to that chest, held by those muscular arms... She had a baby to deal with!
He stood, the scrunched-up polo shirt in his hand. 'No need for you to do my laundry,' he said, 'and there are enough bare-chested men around for me not to be conspicuous. I'll go and wash this through.'
'Right,' muttered Lucy. 'Marc, I'm sorry she vomited all over you and I'm sorry I laughed at you.'
He bent, stroked the side of Frances's cheek. 'It doesn't matter. And I can have a shower before I meet you later. You don't want a companion smelling of baby vomit.'
'You could be accompanying a midwife who does just that,' she said.
Twenty minutes later the rest of the party returned. Marc stood as they approached—as Lucy had known he would. Lizzie and Jan eyed his naked chest.
'A half-naked man. What has been happening here?' Lizzie asked cheerfully.
'A small accident,' Marc said. 'Nothing to worry about. How was the train ride, Dominic?'
'Ace,' said Dominic, who tended to ration words.
'Good. Now, I've gatecrashed your party long enough, I should go. Lizzie, Jan, I do hope we'll meet again. Lucy, till tonight.'
'We'll boulevard together,' said Lucy. And then, greatly daring, she added, 'A bientot, Marc.'
He raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
'He's gorgeous,' Jan said as they all watched his retreating figure. 'Will he take you off to France, Luce? We want you here but we'll all come there for holidays.'
'Don't be silly. I only met him for the first time two days ago.'
'You can know he's the man for you after the first meeting,' Lizzie said, a reflective smile on her face. 'I know I did. And you're seeing him again tonight, aren't you?'
'And he's mad on you too,' said Jan. 'It showed in his eyes. But...'
'But what?' Lizzie asked.
Jan frowned. 'When we were talking about our lives together he looked sad. Well, thoughtful if not sad. But he's still gorgeous.'
What should she wear? Bathed and hair dried, Lucy stood in her newest, most dainty underwear and looked thoughtfully at her wardrobe. It wasn't an easy choice.
She'd never had this problem before—she picked something and if it was the wrong choice, so what? But that had been before she had met Marc. Before Marc? It seemed such a long time ago and yet she'd only known him two days. But in those two days he'd been seldom out of her thoughts.
>
What would a lady boulevardier wear? They were going to walk—stroll perhaps. So she felt she needed sensible shoes. Well, sensible-ish. But he had also said they would go to dinner, so something rather smart.
Eventually she settled on a cream linen trouser suit.
She looked well in it. But a coat as well, in case it got cold. She decided on her military-style mac. She looked in her full-length mirror and tried a smouldering expression. Hmm. It went quite well with her white balconette bra and brief lacy knickers. If he could see her now he...
She blushed at the very thought and quickly got dressed.
There were only four doctors' flats, in a little block some distance from the hospital accommodation. He must have been looking out for her as the front door opened before she reached it.
'Lucy! It's so good to see you. Just for once I'll lapse into my native language. Cherie, tu es si belle!'
'Sweetheart, you are so beautiful,' she translated. 'Marc, that's the nicest way I've ever been greeted.'
'Then I am pleased.' He stepped aside, waved her in. 'I am ready but I need my coat. For a moment, perhaps you might like to see the chaos I am at present living in. But in time all will be neat.'
She had been in the flats before. They were just adequate, furnished sparsely but with very little sense of style. She peered into the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom, noted the cases and cardboard boxes stacked in the hall.
'I am not going to unpack just yet,' Marc said. 'To live in such dismal surroundings would depress me. When I have two days' rest time I shall paint the walls a far more cheerful colour and buy myself a few things to turn this place into a home.'
She didn't know why she said it. 'I'll help you,' she said. Then she blinked. That had been a bit forward.
'I would so much like you to help,' he said slowly. 'You could make these dreary rooms come alive.'
Then he shook himself, as if to move onto other thoughts, and said, 'I need my jacket and then we can go. Where are you taking me, Lucy?'
'I'll take you wherever you want to go,' she said.
From the way his dark eyes flashed at her, she knew that he had received the half-subtle message. But he decided not to act on it, which perhaps was a good thing.
The Noble Doctor Page 3