The Noble Doctor

by Gill Sanderson

  And as she worked she thought of the previous night, a faint blush coming to her cheeks. There was tonight, of course. Perhaps she would stay with him again.

  It was dark when she came out of the building and she saw him waiting for her under one of the yellow lamps. She trotted over towards him, threw her arms around him and kissed him. Who cared who was looking? This was something she was happy, proud about.

  'I missed you,' she said, 'but it's good to see you now.'

  He said nothing, seemed a bit stiff.

  'What's the matter? Bad news from home? I saw you had a letter.'

  'Just the usual letter,' he said. 'Things going wrong in the village.'

  'Have you been home to your flat yet? I went to the supermarket, picked up some stuff and cooked you supper: a shepherd's pie. My mother's recipe, not a French dish, but you'll like it.'

  She was prattling, she knew, but she didn't care. She was happy.

  He didn't reply. And suddenly she was afraid. 'What is it, Marc? Is there something wrong? Bad news from home?'

  He took her arm—not her hand—and urged her onwards. 'We have to talk,' he said, 'find somewhere where we will not be disturbed.'

  He led her through the grounds and after a moment she realised he was taking her towards the hospital accommodation.

  'Aren't we going to your flat?' she asked.

  'No.' A single, cold, curt syllable. They paced on in silence.

  Suddenly she stopped, faced him. She tried to make her voice strong, but she knew there was a quaver in it. 'Marc! There's something wrong and I want to know what it is. Now!'

  He took her hand, led her to where a bench was half hidden by dropping branches. They sat side by side and he let go her hand.

  'Well?' she demanded.

  'This has to end,' he said. 'We have to part. We're getting too... close.'

  'What?' She couldn't keep the incredulity out of her voice. 'Is this some kind of a bad joke?'

  'I did tell you when we started our... affair that I was not a free man, that in time I would have to go back to Montreval. And that is what this afternoon was about. I have been deceiving myself and you; I thought we could be happy together.'

  'We are happy together! You mean more to me than any other man I've ever met!'

  She felt him flinch. 'I feel the same. But we have no future.'

  Lucy was just coming round to realising that he meant what he said. 'No future? But we have a past. Now you have slept with me you don't need me any more. One more conquest for the French doctor. How many does that make? Does that mean that I can send you a Christmas card?'

  'Lucy!' His voice cracked like a whip. 'You are entitled to hurt me but you are also hurting yourself. You know that is untrue.'

  'I can't hurt you, you have no feelings.'

  'I assure you that I have.' She could hear the tremor in his voice.

  There was a moment's silence and then she said, as calmly as she could, 'Will you, please, tell me what brought on this decision? Couldn't you have told me last night, before I shared your bed?'

  'I had a letter from my mother. She is ill. Next summer I shall have to take over the running of Montreval. There is no future for you there so we must stop our relationship now to avoid further pain on both sides.'

  'You decided I was not fit to go to this place Montreval? You didn't think I should be consulted? I'm a grown woman; I can make up my own mind.'

  'In this you must be guided by me. I know you're tough, you would not like to admit defeat. But in time you would be defeated. And I could not bear to watch you getting more and more unhappy. And you would.'

  Her voice was quiet. 'I see. So this is the end of our love affair?'

  'It must be. But I hope we can remain friends.'

  'You must be joking. Goodnight, Marc. Don't you dare try to walk me back, I can find my own way. I'll see you around on the wards. But from now on, only talk to me if it's business.'

  She walked the last couple of hundred yards. Pride kept her face straight, she even managed to smile at the nurses coming out of the front door. Only when she was in her room did she fall on the bed and weep.

  The following day Lucy found she was being transferred to the delivery suite and working nights. It wasn't ideal, but babies chose their own time to be born. And there was always something comforting about night-time in a hospital. She found relief in work; being busy was good for her. And she liked this best of all, helping mothers through delivery.

  A week passed and she hadn't spoken to Marc again. Sometimes it happened that way.

  When she went on duty, she took over from another midwife. In some ways she thought that was rather sad—a mother might have to deal with up to a dozen midwives as she progressed through antenatal care, into delivery and then to the clinic afterwards. She thought the old-fashioned way, in which one midwife stayed with a mother all the way through pregnancy, delivery and afterwards, might have been more satisfying for mother and child. But efficiency was all important now.

  She was relieving her friend Maria Wyatt. Maria pretended to wipe her brow as she came out of the room, preparing for handover.

  'Got a good one for you,' she said. 'Annie McCann, primigravida, first stage. No need for Syntocinon to move things along. In fact, no real problems. She's excited but frightened. Been to all the antenatal classes, done everything possible. Any good advice going, she's taken it. Husband is with her. It ought to be easy.'

  'So what's the problem?'

  'She's a worrier. Over the past six months she's had every midwifery textbook possible out of the library. And she's bought more than a few. Now she and her husband are experts on everything that could possibly go wrong. Even told me a couple of things that I didn't know. The husband asked me if I was capable of dealing with amniotic fluid embolism. I told him I expected never to come across a case in my entire midwifery career. But if it happened, I'd sent for help.'

  Lucy grinned. 'We'll have lots of interesting conversations, then,' she said. 'I might learn something myself.'

  But after a couple of hours she wasn't so sure. Annie wasn't too bad but her husband was much worse. Wilfred was a primary school teacher, he had studied childbirth—out of books—and taken copious notes. He had a large notebook. Every time his wife had a contraction or Lucy did a test, he carefully noted it down. Then he asked a question or two, usually a completely pointless one.

  'Is that normal at this stage, Midwife? Is it not a little premature?'

  'Quite normal. These things can vary quite a lot, you know.'

  Lucy, of course, was filling in the partogram, the step-by-step account of the birth, with every observation carefully recorded. She was a bit surprised to discover that Wilfred had copied out his own partogram. He asked for the results of the observations. Then he would solemnly enter them up in his notebook, smile down at his wife and say, 'All going to our plan so far, dear.'

  Lucy felt like telling him that he hadn't done any planning, it was all down to Mother Nature. And Mother Nature had a way of disorganising plans. But she didn't say anything.

  Things were going well; it looked like being a straightforward birth. There was a knock at the door. Lucy checked that Annie was in a suitable state to receive visitors, and shouted, 'Come in.' She turned, her heart lurched. It was Marc.

  'May I come in?' he asked. In the delivery room the midwife was boss, until she asked for help. Doctors had to acknowledge her primacy. But, still, some didn't ask. Marc was courteous.

  'Of course,' she said, her voice trembling slightly.

  'I'm the SHO on duty. I just thought I'd introduce myself. I don't wish to interfere.'

  'You're not. This is Annie McCann and she's now into the second stage. Cervix is fully dilated. And this is Wilfred, her husband. Annie, Wilfred, this is Dr Duvallier.'

  Wilfred's eyes lit up. He grabbed Marc's hand and said, 'I'm pleased to meet you, Doctor. I've just got a couple of queries about—'

  Gently Marc disengaged his hand and said,
'In a moment, Mr McCann. I'd like to take a look at your wife first, if I may. Annie, how are you feeling?'

  'Well, I wonder if I might not be ready to stop pushing and start panting,' gasped Annie. 'Sometimes I wonder if I'm not pushing too hard. We must have a vertex presentation with the bead flexed and the occiput anterior.'

  Marc turned to Lucy, raised his eyebrows. Carefully, Lucy said, 'Annie and Wilfred are very interested in the birth process. They have studied it at great length. Prepared themselves, if you like. But everything seems to be going fine.' She handed him the partogram.

  'I see,' said Marc, and nodded understandingly. He turned to Annie and said, 'No, you're not pushing too hard. Just follow the midwife's instructions.'

  'In general everything seems to be going to... seems to be all right,' Lucy went on. She hadn't wanted to say 'going to plan'.

  'Good.' Marc turned and smiled at the patient. 'Annie, you have nothing whatsoever to worry about. Everything seems to be fine. This should be a perfectly normal birth and soon you will have your baby.'

  'Every midwife should hope for the best but be prepared for the worst,' Wilfred declaimed, obviously quoting from some textbook.

  'And we are prepared,' Marc said. 'I'm on call, there's a team of experts always ready behind me. It's most unlikely that anything will go wrong, but if it does we'll cope. And I'll drop in every half-hour or so. If that's all right, Lucy?'

  'Of course,' she said. But, in fact, it wasn't all right. She didn't want to see him, even though she knew that Wilfred would be soothed a little by his presence.

  Marc turned to go. 'Do you have a minute, Lucy?' he asked. She followed him out of the room.

  'They are OK aren't they?' he asked.

  She sighed. 'They're sweet really, just a bit of a pain. Don't worry, I can cope.'

  'I know that. I've not seen you for over a week. How have you been?'

  'There's no reason why you should have seen me. As to how I've been, well, I've been coping because I have to.'

  He sighed. 'Lucy, please, understand that I did what I did because I thought it for the best—'

  She interrupted him. 'Marc, let's get one thing straight right now. You said everything that was necessary. I understand your position. I don't agree with it but that doesn't matter. I just don't want you to say anything more.'

  'So can we be friends?'

  She looked at him disbelievingly. 'Friends! No, Marc, we can't be friends. We were lovers. That had to stop. But we can never become just friends. Colleagues certainly, and I will work with you as best I can when I have to. But I would prefer not to work with you, and if you can arrange to keep away that would be best for me.'

  He was silent for a moment and then said in a neutral voice, 'That is very clear. As far as I can I will respect your wishes.' He turned and went. For a moment she wondered if she had been hard on him. Then she decided she had not been as hard on him as she had been on herself.

  She felt inside her collar, gently tugged at the medallion on her gold chain. Love conquers all. What rubbish!

  But later she was glad of his professional presence. He had come in once or twice, smiled perfunctorily at her and reassured Annie and Wilfred that all was going well. The birth was progressing perfectly normally but then—she might have guessed—Wilfred started to panic towards the end.

  As usual Lucy rang through for another midwife when the birth was imminent. And casually she added, 'Ask the SHO to come in if he can. Nothing serious, but he might be able to help.'

  When Marc came in, in spite of being asked twice to move back, Wilfred was leaning over Lucy's shoulder, pointing and saying in a terrified voice, 'It seems to be stretching too much to me, Lucy. Perhaps she should have an episiotomy. Annie, it's all right. I'm here for you.'

  Marc took in the situation at once. Taking Wilfred firmly by the hand, he drew him back towards the head of the table. He said, 'Wilfred, we'd like you to hold your wife's hand. That's the best you can do for her now. All is going very well.'

  'But I thought that an episiotomy—'

  'The midwife and I agree that there's no need for one. If you wish, I'll stay here for the birth. But your job is to comfort your wife.'

  'Wilfred, it's coming, it's coming,' screamed Annie, 'Wilfred, I can feel our baby coming.'

  'And it's a lovely little boy,' Lucy said.

  Wilfred swayed. Lucy saw Marc put out a steadying arm. Then Wilfred fainted and Marc laid him gently on the floor.

  'I knew everything would be all right,' Annie said as she nursed her child a little later.

  After helping resuscitate Wilfred, Marc left. Lucy didn't see him again for the next week.

  Chapter Seven

  She had just come off nights and was trying to get her body clock in order. She was trying to sleep but it was difficult. However, she had to do it. It was always that way when you came off nights.

  Lucy had three days off and wasn't sure how she would spend them. For once she didn't have any hopes, any plans. Life seemed to be grey. It was two in the morning and she was thrashing around in bed, tempted to get up, turn on the light and read. But she knew that was not a good idea. She had to sleep. But she was missing Marc. There was a void in her life.

  The phone rang. She jerked upright in bed. Who could it be? What could it be? At this time of night it could only be bad news or a mistake or a prank. She picked up the phone. It was none of the things she had feared. It was Marc.

  She blinked, tried to make sense of things. His voice was urgent. 'Lucy? I need help, I know you said it was not possible, but just for a while I need a friend and I have no one else to turn to.'

  'You need help from me? In the middle of the night?' She was so surprised that she didn't even get angry. 'What sort of help?'

  'Do you remember me telling you about my cousin Simone? The one who caused all the trouble? Well, two nights ago she moved from Manchester into a flat here in the city. I've just had a phone call from her.

  She is now thirty-six weeks pregnant. She needs to see me and she thinks she might have done something stupid. Like take too many pills. But she's not sure. She wants me to go round and I would like to go round with... a friend.'

  Lucy collected her scrambled thoughts. 'You say she might have taken too many pills? Suicide or accident? Marc, send for an ambulance for her. She needs proper care.'

  'I can't do that. It'll make things worse. She's hysterical.'

  'Better hysterical than dead,' said Lucy.

  'True. But she would probably send the ambulance away. I gather that in the past few weeks she has already sent two midwives away before they could complete their examinations.' He paused. 'I must do what I can for her, even though I know she might be just playing tricks again.'

  'Why me anyway?' asked Lucy.

  'I have seen you working; you are good at settling patients. With me Simone is always a bit combative. But no matter. It was a foolish idea. I am so sorry to have disturbed you. It won't happen again.'

  Lucy sighed. 'I won't sleep now anyway. If you want me to, I'll come with you. Will you pick me up outside in ten minutes?'

  There was a pause so long that she thought he had rung off. But then he said, 'I'll be there.' Then he rang off.

  She rinsed her face, cleaned her teeth, pulled on casual clothes, with a cap over her hair. She thought for a minute and then grabbed the midwife's bag she kept in her room. She was going out in the district soon and she needed to have it ready. Then she went downstairs.

  Marc was outside, standing by the big black car. She shivered in the night air and then climbed straight into the car. She said, 'One quick word. It's the middle of the night, we are midwife and doctor going to see a patient. We have no personal feelings.'

  'That might be the best thing.'

  She threw her bag onto the back seat and said, 'I'm going to recline this seat and sleep. Wake me when we get there.'

  'As you wish.' The car purred quietly forward. She knew the journey would not be long but she di
dn't want to have to talk to him. Or endure a silence.

  She tried but she couldn't sleep. She remembered the last time she had been in this car and what had happened that night. And there was a smell to the seat, a leather, a masculine smell—it reminded her so much of him. But she lay there, eyes closed, breathing heavily.

  After a while he said quietly, 'If you're asleep, you'd better wake up. We'll be there in five minutes.'

  'I'm ready. I don't want to pry into your family affairs but I need to know more about the patient, Marc.'

  'Of course. Simone is my cousin. The daughter of my mother's younger sister, I've known her since she was a baby. She is an only child, a rebel, a troublemaker. But I'm fond of her—though she can be intensely irritating. She has been spoilt all her life and now I just can't get out of the habit of spoiling her. She has a positive genius for manipulating me.'

  'And the baby's father?' Lucy asked with a shiver.

  'Don't ask,' said Marc. 'He's just disappeared.'

  The car stopped, she sat upright, reached round for her bag. Both stepped out, they were outside a block of expensive flats. 'Not an impoverished student, then?'

  He smiled a thin smile. 'Not an impoverished family. And, unfortunately, Simone has her own trust fund.'

  He pressed a bell and after a while spoke into an intercom. 'Simone, this is Marc... Let me in.'

  'Why don't you speak French to her?' Lucy asked.

  'Her English is now as good as mine. And she speaks it regularly to irritate her family. But it works for us because I think it important that you now hear and understand everything that is said.'

  They walked upstairs, along a thickly carpeted corridor to where a door was already open. They walked into a dimly lit room. Lucy felt by the door, found a switch and turned on the overhead lights.

  'Too much light!' a voice wailed.

  'We need to see what we are doing,' Lucy said briskly. 'I'm Lucy Stephens and for the next few minutes I'm your midwife.' She walked over to the windows, let down the blinds. Then she looked around the room.