'Sorry?' They were in shadow at the moment, Lucy was glad because it would hide her tell-tale flush. 'I like working with him, we get on fine.'
Simone laughed. 'Don't try to fool me. You're in love with each other, aren't you?'
'Certainly not!' Lucy was sure that her pinkness had not gone away.
'Don't forget, I've known him since I was a baby. I've seen the way he looks at you when you think he's not looking. And I've seen the way you look at him. The last couple of nights I've been surprised that you didn't try to sneak out of our room to go to see him.'
'Simone! He's the doctor, I'm the midwife. We're looking after you and Lucille. That's all there is between us.'
'Of course,' said Simone. 'Lucy, I'm very fond of you but why do you think that I demanded that you and Marc drive me here?'
'To be awkward?' Lucy suggested.
Simone nodded cheerfully. 'Partly that. But I wanted to do something a bit right for once. I wanted to get you and Marc together for a while.'
'You've done that. But now I'm going back.'
'Lucy! Put up a fight for him!'
'I've tried. All I got was hurt.'
They went down the stairs and Simone led her into the dining room. Lucy noticed that Clotilde had changed her dress but that Marc had on the same clothes as before. He must have some clothes stored here. She wondered if he had stayed as he was to make her feel comfortable. She liked him for that.
It was a formal dinner, served carefully. Lucy had the impression that the food was good—but she tasted none of it. There were candles on the table—but this was nothing like the candle-lit meal she had had with Marc two nights before.
Everyone was at pains to make her comfortable. 'We will speak English all evening,' Clotilde had said at the beginning of the meal, and so that was decided.
Lucy had to be included in the conversation. She would have preferred it if they had talked in French and left her alone.
Clotilde questioned Lucy about her care for Simone and the baby. Truthfully, Lucy was able to say that she had noticed a steady improvement in both as they had crossed France, and an even greater one when they had reached the castle. That gave Clotilde a small smile of pleasure.
'I hope you will be able to stay a little time with us,' she said. 'I would like you to see the castle and the village in sunlight, though the forecast is bad.'
For various reasons, that was the last thing Lucy wanted. 'Thank you, Madame, but I must get back to work. If I can take a bus or train to Lyon, then I can catch a plane there.'
'I want you to stay longer, Lucy!' said Simone.
'Lucy must get back to work, Simone,' Marc said. 'She was only allowed to leave by the kindness of the hospital management.'
So that is that, Lucy thought. That makes things quite clear.
Halfway through the meal a man came in and whispered something to Clotilde, who smiled at everyone. 'The trouble with living in the country. There has been a mudslide, the road is now blocked.'
Seeing Lucy's look of dismay, Marc said, 'Don't worry, Lucy, we're used to this. The road will be cleared tomorrow; you'll be able to leave by lunchtime the next day.'
'Or you could make it an excuse and stay,' Simone said hopefully.
Lucy hadn't wanted to stay an extra day. She had breakfast in her bedroom with Simone the next morning and then there was a knock on the door. It was Marc, dressed in rough clothes, boots on his feet. He held a bag out to her and said, 'I'm playing at being a country doctor. I'm going to make a few calls in the village, see a couple of cases I'm interested in. I thought perhaps you might like to come with me, see the kind of work I intend to do. And you could definitely be a help with some of the babies.'
'What's in the bag?'
He grinned. 'My mother has sorted it out. Not a midwife's uniform but clothes suitable for wandering around a wet village.'
'I'll be down in ten minutes,' said Lucy. It would be bittersweet time spent with him. And she was interested in the work that was calling him here.
Marc explained that a doctor called at the village three times a week and held a surgery in the back of an old shop. 'But Dr Malville is getting old; he should have retired years ago. He keeps on going because he enjoys it and he feels he has to. I phoned him early this morning. He can't get through so he asked me to make a few calls.'
It was medicine of a different, old-fashioned kind. And after the initial shock, Lucy thought that she liked it. First of all, there seemed to be plenty of time. They called at the home of an old man who had an ulcer on his leg. He was pleased to see Marc, he was introduced to Lucy and was equally pleased to see her, and then there was a good ten minutes' general chat before his leg was examined. Then Lucy offered to dress it. A general shaking of hands all round and they walked out into the wet street.
'Different to English medicine?' Marc asked with a grin.
'I don't know. The pair of you were talking so fast that the only word I understood was bonjour.'
'You need to live in a place to learn the language. Now, Michelle Malraux is having trouble with her six-month-old baby. Perhaps you can help here.'
A hard tramp through a warren of streets and they arrived at the Malraux house. They could have been quicker but practically every passer-by recognised Marc, stopped him, shook his hand and had a swift conversation.
'I'm glad this rain is driving people off the streets,' Lucy muttered, 'or we'd never get anywhere.'
'Don't you like it? Isn't it friendlier than an impersonal city?'
She had to agree. 'I suppose it is,' she said.
Michelle's baby wasn't feeding properly and wasn't thriving. Lucy and Marc made a detailed examination. Marc asked questions of the worried mother and translated the answers to Lucy.
'What do you think?' he asked eventually.
She shook her head. 'I just don't know. I suspect it's some kind of allergic reaction. I think we can ease this constant crying for a while but, Marc, this diagnosis is beyond us. This baby needs to be seen by a specialist who has access to a lab and who can order all sorts of tests.'
'I agree. But getting the baby to the nearest hospital will mean a two day stay away. I'll see what I can organise.'
There were other calls. Twice, Lucy's skills were needed. She advised a young mother about breastfeeding, checked a baby's hips—all was well. And on two more occasions Marc decided that the patient had to be seen at the hospital. At midday they called in at a cafe, stood at the counter and had a strong coffee served in a bowl.
'I feel very French,' she said. 'Where's the man with the accordion?'
'He comes in later. Are you enjoying the day, Lucy?'
'I am. I like this kind of medicine.'
'And do you see why I want to come back and build a clinic here? Get more professionals involved, so there's no need to travel? And don't forget, we're just looking around the village. There are farms and hamlets up in the mountains. For them, just getting to the village can mean two or three hours' travel.'
'I see what you mean,' Lucy said. 'I just wish it didn't rain so much.'
She did enjoy her day and when they returned to the castle that night she could see why Marc wanted to return to Montreval. For a while she had thought it had been ambition bringing him back, the need to establish a well-known and probably profitable clinic. Now she saw that it was a simple need to serve.
After dinner both Lucy and Simone said they were tired and went up to see to Lucille together. Marc accompanied them. He took Lucy's arm and held her back for a moment.
'I'll be staying here another four or five days,' he said. 'I arranged it with John Bennet. My mother says there are more things to look over and sign. But tomorrow I will drive you to the nearest station. There will be a chance for us to talk a little.'
'Have we anything to talk about? Just drive me there, Marc.' Then she ran to catch up with Simone.
There was some comfort in doing the tasks she was expert in. The baby was bathed, changed and fed. She liked
helping Simone but there was no doubt she wasn't really needed now. Simone could cope easily. Lucy said goodnight and went to bed.
She was tired but she couldn't sleep. She thought about Marc. Now she had seen him in the place he had described, perhaps she could understand a little. This castle, this village, they hadn't changed much in the past hundred years. Now she could comprehend his love of the place. She liked the kind of medicine he practised here. Marc belonged here, came alive here. And he was right about one thing. This was not the place she would choose to live.
Occasionally he had caught her eye. Perhaps there had been a plea for understanding in it. And perhaps she did understand.
And then she slept. There was no sound but the rattle of rain on the window.
Chapter Ten
'Lucy, wake up! Wake up now!' Someone was shaking her shoulder, but she didn't want to wake. However, she had to. She reached out for her bedside light and turned it on. It was three in the morning. And there was Marc, fully dressed, looking down at her.
'Don't make a noise,' he said. 'We don't want to wake Simone.'
She was still befuddled, half-asleep. Marc was in her bedroom. What did he want? Did he want to get into bed with her? She'd like it if he did. But then she came more fully awake.
'Is everything all right? Simone and Lucille OK?' Her obvious first question.
'They're both fine, sleeping soundly. I've just looked in, written Simone a note. They don't need you now anyway.'
'So what is it, then? Don't tell me you want a serious talk at this hour of the morning.' She was feeling irritated, didn't know what was happening.
'No. Someone just called round, there's a problem in the village. We need a midwife. Will you help?'
'Of course I will.' She waved him away. 'I'll get dressed. I've got my bag here. I'll see you downstairs.' She dressed as quickly as possible, this time back in the jeans, shirt and sweater she had worn to cross France.
Marc had been different when he had come into her room. Now they were doctor and midwife again. She liked that. He was waiting for her downstairs, wearing a heavy oilskin. There was an older man with him who was wet through.
'This is Claude Saulnay, father of the woman in question,' Marc said. 'He brought the message. He knows that I am home and that I am a doctor.'
He offered her an oilskin coat and hat. 'It's raining even harder,' he said. 'I suspect that we are going to get soaked anyway but we'll do the best we can. I'd send for an ambulance but it wouldn't get through until morning and a helicopter couldn't land in darkness. So it's up to us.'
The three of them ran out to the Mercedes, the rain, if anything, harder than ever. Claude climbed into the back and Lucy saw to one side that there was a battered, mud-spattered little French car. It must be Claude's.
They set off into the dark, the headlights illuminating little but the silver rain. They passed a few houses, and then they seemed to be driving straight up the side of the valley. Lucy felt the car skid sideways a couple of times, she didn't like it. To take her mind off the journey she asked about their patient.
'Helene Dubois,' said Marc. 'Primigravida. Baby apparently coming, about a month prem. Usually Helene lives in the village but when her husband is away during the week she moves in with her father. The trouble is, Claude lives halfway up the mountain.'
'A regular pregnancy so far?'
'Apparently so. In cases like this, when there's any likelihood of an emergency, the mother is moved into the nearest hospital. But this should have been a straightforward birth.'
He had been driving more and more slowly. Lucy felt the car lurch, skid sideways and then stop. Marc cursed in French. Lucy didn't know what the words meant but guessed they weren't very nice.
The engine screamed, the car seemed to heave itself forward and then stop again. It inched forward. There was a great outburst of French from Claude in the back seat, Marc replied equally rapidly. Then there was silence.
Lucy could tell by the set of Marc's neck that he was worried. 'Come on, tell me,' she said.
'I told you that Claude lives halfway up the mountainside. A little wooden farmhouse perched on a slope. Well, we don't have avalanches here. We have mudslides. Rain gets under the turf, mixes with the soil and forms a great blob of mud. But the turf holds it back. Then in time it all bursts and you can have a wave of mud five or six feet high sliding down the hillside. Nothing can hold it, it carries everything before it. If a slide hits Claude's farm, it will sweep it down into the valley. I don't like you risking your—'
'We'll have to get this woman out,' said Lucy. 'Load her into the car and carry her down to the castle or somewhere. It's not ideal but it's better than her taking her chance with the mudslide.'
'That's if we can get the car—'
As he spoke the car skidded again, more violently than before, there was a jerk as the wheels on the driver's side dropped into a ditch or something and the car tilted over so far that Lucy thought they were going to roll over. She screamed.
'Open your door, jump out and get away from the car,' Marc snapped. 'Don't argue, just do it.'
She did as he said and was instantly battered by the rain. She saw Claude jump out of the back door, he came to join her. Then Marc came out of her door. Cautiously he walked round to the far side, presumably to see what they had fallen into.
He was behind the car. And Lucy screamed again as she saw it slide backwards and then slowly, almost with dignity, roll onto its side. Where was Marc?
She ran forward, slipping in the mud. Dimly, through the driving rain, she could see him kneeling by a post, his hands clutched together in front of him.
'Marc, are you all right?'
Claude was now by her side. Marc spoke to him first and Lucy could tell by the rasping of his voice that he was in pain. Claude moved away and Lucy knelt in the mud next to Marc, her hand on his shoulder.
'What's wrong? Come on, you've got to tell me.'
She was soaked, muddy, tired and scared. All she wanted was to get away, run back to her warm bed. But this was no time for panic, for emotion of any kind. She was a professional who had a job to do.
'When the car slipped backwards it trapped my hand between its side and this metal post. Crushed it a bit.'
'You don't get crushed "a bit". If I could see, I could...'
Suddenly the two of them were illuminated by the brightest of lights.
'I always keep a torch in the back of the car,' Marc told her. 'I sent Claude for it.'
'Let me see your hand.'
He held it out and she took it gently. Hands were one of the most sensitive parts of the human body and hand injuries were always agonising. And this was a bad injury. Rain spattering on the hand washed the mud and the blood away. The fingers had been squashed, had split so there were long cuts that needed suturing and she was certain that there were bones broken. As to damaged nerves, there was nothing she could do about those.
'Tell Claude to fetch your bag and mine. Marc, you've got to get to hospital!'
First he spoke to Claude, who handed her the big torch and went to the car. Then he said, 'Well, that's a bit of a problem. There'll be no medical help till morning. And there's a pregnant woman up the road. Now, Claude will lead you down to the village, you'll be all right with him leading. I'll go up to the farmhouse and—'
'No. I'm going up to the farmhouse,' she said.
'I will not permit it! I will not let you put your life in danger.'
'You've got no choice,' she said calmly. 'First, I can make up my own mind and I'm going to. I don't need any permission from you. Second, you'll be quite incapable of delivering a baby with that hand. You go with Claude and I'll go and deliver the baby.'
As she spoke Claude came back, holding out their two medical bags. She opened her own bag, pulled out a dressing and wrapped it roughly round Marc's hand.
'That will have to do until I can get a closer look.'
'I don't want you up there,' he said.
'
But I'm going. Hard when you can't have your own way, isn't it?'
There was silence for a moment, then another torrent of French to Claude. Claude replied, apparently repeating the instructions he had been given.
'You and I are going up to the farmhouse together,' Marc told her. 'Claude is going to the village, will organise what help he can. But there'll be none till daybreak. The farmhouse is about another half-mile.'
'Let's get started. There's a frightened, lonely girl up there, thinking she'll have to give birth on her own.'
It was a hard climb. They took a bag each. She held the torch because Marc had no spare hand. By now they couldn't have been wetter but fortunately it was still not too cold.
The mud dragged at them, made them slip, made each step an individual effort. At times she thought she had been staggering upwards for five minutes and had got nowhere. Up one step, slide down two.
She was suffering. What must it be like for Marc, suffering the trauma of a shattered hand? She didn't like to think.
'Are you OK?' she asked.
'Just keep going. I feel fine.'
She had a further twinge of fear. His voice wasn't as strong as it had been. She knew that shock and exertion could kill. He should be lying down, being comforted, not pushing his body to its very limits. Even if he only fainted, what could she do?
But now she could see a light ahead, the farmhouse was in sight. Together they managed the last few feet, waded across to the front door and opened it. They stepped inside. Lucy had been wondering if they would ever make it.
'Allo, Helene! C'est Docteur Duvallier!'
From somewhere there came the sound of more rapid French, this time in a woman's voice.
'No great problems so far,' Marc told her. 'We've got time to get organised.'
The house was neat and clean, not like some places Lucy had visited when she was making home visits. She didn't like dripping rain and mud onto the polished stone floor—but she didn't have much choice. She threw off the now sopping oilskin and followed Marc.
The bedroom was on the ground floor. There was a great bed with an ornately carved high headboard and footboard. A pale-faced young woman was in it, talking to Marc. She looked up and smiled at Lucy. It was obvious that she had been lonely and frightened, panic-stricken even. Now she had help, things were better.
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