Dr. Preston's Daughter

by Laura MacDonald

  ‘So what was wrong?’ asked Kim.

  ‘I don’t know really,’ Gemma shook her head. ‘I just came over a bit faint, that’s all.’

  ‘Probably the heat,’ said Kim. ‘I have to say it’s been getting to me as well lately and today seems hotter than ever.’

  ‘Yes,’ Gemma agreed. ‘I dare say that’s what it was.’ In a deliberate attempt to change the subject, she said, ‘So, what have we got next? Oh, yes, Mrs Jupe is coming back to bay three from Intensive Care. Better get down there to receive her.’ She was glad of the diversion, for she feared that if Kim had pursued the reasons for her episode of faintness she might have put two and two together and reached the conclusion that it had coincided with Stephen Preston’s arrival on the unit.

  Somehow, although her mind was in turmoil, she got through the rest of the morning, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she would be forced to face Stephen again.

  That moment came even sooner than Gemma had expected for when she went into the staff canteen at lunchtime, bought her usual salad and orange juice and turned to find herself a table, it was to find that Stephen was already there. Seated alone at a window table, he appeared to have finished his lunch and was deeply engrossed in a newspaper. Gemma wondered if she could sneak past without him seeing her but no sooner had she began to move forward he looked up, saw her and beckoned.

  ‘Gemma, come and join me.’ He half rose, folding his newspaper as he did so.

  Reluctantly she set her tray down on the table and sat down. This was the last thing she wanted. The shock of finding that he was back in the country and working not only in the same hospital as herself but also on the same unit had been quite enough without having to face the inevitable questions that would now be sure to follow.

  On the other hand, didn’t she have questions she wanted to ask him—like what the hell was he doing strolling coolly back into her life after all this time as if nothing had ever happened between them?

  ‘You’re looking great, Gemma,’ he said softly.

  ‘Oh.’ For a moment she was thrown, quite unable to voice the questions she had intended.

  ‘Your hair is different.’

  ‘Well, I suppose that’s not unreasonable after three years…’

  ‘It’s longer. I always did like it longer…’

  ‘Stephen.’ She took a deep breath. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Doing here…?’ He looked puzzled. ‘Well, I’m having my lunch, as you are…’

  ‘I don’t mean that,’ she retorted impatiently. ‘You know what I mean. What are you doing back in England? And why here at Denby?’

  ‘Whoa, please,’ he protested. ‘One question at a time. Well…’ He paused, considering. ‘I’m back in England because my contract finished.’

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t renew it,’ she returned coolly. ‘If I remember rightly, it sounded as if you intended staying in Dubai for ever.’

  ‘That was never on the cards.’ His voice was quiet.

  ‘Well, you certainly gave the impression that was what you wanted at the time,’ said Gemma with a shrug. ‘The chance of a lifetime was how you described it—the best career move you would ever be likely to make.’

  Stephen nodded and they both fell silent.

  ‘So why didn’t you stay any longer?’ she asked curiously at last. ‘Didn’t it come up to expectations?’

  ‘Oh, yes, it was a marvellous job. Conditions were excellent, salary out of this world and the lifestyle left nothing to be desired…’

  ‘But…?’

  He shrugged. ‘I guess dear old England pulled with its warm beer, rain and traffic jams.’

  ‘You were homesick?’ She stared at him incredulously. It was the last thing she’d expected.

  ‘I guess…I don’t know…’ He shrugged again. ‘But I have to say this heat wave has been a bit of a shock, not at all what I had expected.’

  ‘So why Denby?’ She continued staring at him. ‘Why not back to the Midlands?’ She had no intention of letting him off the hook that easily.

  ‘Sheer chance,’ Stephen replied. ‘I was talking to a friend and he happened to say that Bjorn Van Haelfen had a vacancy on his team. It was too good an opportunity to miss.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘But what about you? What are you doing here at Denby?’

  ‘I…I moved down to London when…when my father died.’

  ‘Your father?’ Stephen was shocked.

  ‘Yes,’ Gemma replied quietly. ‘He had a heart attack. He was brought here to Denby but he died a few days later. I stayed with my mother…she wasn’t too well afterwards. Then a job came up here…so I applied.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry about your father—I really am. I had no idea.’ He paused. ‘You didn’t write, Gemma,’ he said at last.

  ‘Everything changed.’ She managed a small smile. ‘I’m sorry, Stephen. I guess it seemed to me we were both starting new lives…And you were quite clear about what you wanted and at the time it really did sound as if you intended staying there for good.’

  ‘It was something I’d wanted for a long time,’ Stephen agreed slowly. ‘But—’ his eyes met hers ‘—I thought we might have been able to work something out.’

  ‘Why should you have thought that?’

  ‘Well, I imagined that what we had was pretty special…I don’t know…Was I wrong?’ He was watching her closely now. All around them was the noise and bustle of the canteen, with a constant stream of staff and visitors coming and going, but it was as if they were the only two there.

  She took a deep breath. ‘No, Stephen,’ she said at last, ‘you weren’t wrong. It was special, but that was then. A lot has happened since—we’ve both moved on.’

  ‘Have we?’ He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Well, I like to think I have after all this time.’ Gemma answered him firmly, but somehow she was unable to meet his gaze. ‘And I should hope you have,’ she added, equally firmly.

  He was silent for a long moment. ‘Yes,’ he said eventually, ‘yes, of course I have.’

  They sat in silence, Gemma toying with her salad whilst Stephen finished his coffee. ‘So, what’s been happening in your life?’ he asked at last.

  She looked up. ‘Oh, you know, this and that,’ she replied airily desperately trying to think what she could say that would sound as if she had a stimulating and exciting existence. ‘New job, new friends, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He nodded. ‘New flat?’ he added casually.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You said new job and new friends. I assume you have a new home as well.’

  ‘Er, actually, no. I’m living with my mother in Kingston.’

  ‘Really?’ The raised eyebrows again.

  ‘Yes, the house was too big for her, she was going to take a lodger anyway so it seemed the obvious solution.’

  ‘I see.’ He sounded surprised. ‘I never did get to meet your parents, did I?’ There was regret in his voice now, even a touch of sadness.

  ‘No, Stephen,’ she said quietly. ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got myself a loft conversion in Streatham,’ he said after a moment when it became apparent that Gemma wasn’t going to ask. ‘It was advertised as a luxury penthouse and I thought that would suit me very well.’ He smiled and for some reason her heart skipped a beat. ‘But when I saw it,’ he went on, ‘the reality was a couple of attic rooms and a loft—tastefully done, mind you, but still a loft.’

  ‘And no doubt costing the earth,’ said Gemma dryly.

  ‘But of course.’

  ‘I can’t afford London prices on my salary so that’s another very good reason for living with my mum.’

  ‘Too true,’ he agreed. He paused and looked searchingly at her and once again her heart started doing unpredictable things because it was exactly the way he used to look at her in the past. ‘Gemma,’ he said, and suddenly his voice was soft, almost caressing.

  ‘What?’ She stared wild
ly at him, held by his gaze, unable to look away.

  ‘I was just wondering…’

  ‘I don’t think so, Stephen,’ she said quickly.

  ‘No?’ he said softly. ‘Ah, well, never mind…’ He continued staring at her, his expression unreadable, then abruptly he shrugged. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Friends?’ he added lightly.

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘Of course, friends.’

  He stood up. ‘I must get back. I’m due in Theatre.’ He looked down at her. ‘See you around, Gemma,’ he said at last.

  ‘Yes, Stephen, see you around.’ As he walked away she realised that she hadn’t even started her lunch. And quite suddenly she found she had lost her appetite. Friends, he’d said. And she’d agreed. But could she and Stephen ever be simply friends? As she sat there and stared at her untouched food Gemma knew without a shadow of doubt that it simply wasn’t possible. For her and Stephen, it would be as it had always been—all or nothing.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE heat hit Gemma as she stepped out of the hospital and walked to the car park at the end of her shift. Sometimes she travelled into work on the tube but she found herself thankful today that she had the car. It took her longer to negotiate the traffic out of central London but at least she had air-conditioning in her car. She was glad her shift was over. She needed time to think, to recover from the shock of seeing Stephen again. And it had been a shock, a shock that had hit her both physically and mentally, leaving her drained.

  Unlocking her car, she slipped behind the steering-wheel, wincing as her arm touched the hot plastic. Moments later she drove out of the hospital gates and into the steady flow of traffic. She wondered if Stephen was feeling even remotely the same as her but somehow she doubted it, just as she had always doubted that their relationship had ever meant as much to him as it had to her. For a moment there she’d believed he’d been on the point of asking if he could see her again, but she knew if she agreed it would mean passion with little or no commitment and Gemma wasn’t at all sure she could deal with that again.

  They had met at a party in the hospital social club. It had been the proverbial meeting of eyes across a crowded room and the attraction had been instantaneous. He had been just her type with his dark good looks and, as he’d later told her, she was his type of girl with her long fair hair and blue eyes. He had asked her to dance and to this day she couldn’t hear that song without being reminded of that night. They’d remained together for the entire evening during which Gemma had found out that his name was Stephen Preston, that he was a doctor, that he’d only just arrived at St Jerome’s and that he hoped to specialise in cardiac surgery. His driving ambition had been evident right from the start, and he’d made no attempt to hide the fact that his career meant everything to him.

  She’d told him that she was senior staff nurse on the surgical unit, a job that she loved because it was so varied and brought her in touch with so many types of surgery.

  ‘Ward sister next then?’ he said.

  ‘I hope so,’ she said with a smile, and at the time she meant it.

  After the party he walked her back to the flat she rented in a block with four other nurses. She asked him in for coffee and they talked far into the night. She learnt that his father was a QC, that the family home was in Hampshire, that his only sister was married with two children. ‘Much to my mother’s delight,’ he said with a laugh. ‘She’s practically given up on me.’

  ‘Have you no wish to marry and have children?’ she asked. By that time Gemma was already smitten by him, and in the small hours of the night and after several glasses of wine the idea suddenly sounded rather attractive.

  ‘One day, maybe.’ Stephen shrugged. ‘But certainly not for a long time yet. The last thing I want is to be tied down by marriage and children. My career plans are very long term. This post at St Jerome’s is only temporary.’

  ‘Oh?’ She was aware of a stab of disappointment.

  ‘Yes, I’m doing some locum work, that’s all. What I’m hoping to do is to work abroad. The experience would be wonderful.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘I suppose it would.’

  He was interested in her family and she told him that she was an only child and that her parents lived in Kingston upon Thames. She’d come to St Jerome’s to work with her friend, Alice, after they’d finished their training, and she’d remained there, even though Alice had recently married and moved to Coventry. They went on to talk of their likes and dislikes and found that they had many things in common, including a shared love of tennis and similar tastes in music, books and films.

  When at last, reluctantly, he decided he should leave, she walked to the door with him. It had started raining and he looked out ruefully before pulling up the collar of his jacket. Then he paused and turned back to her. ‘It’s been a great evening,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘It has.’

  ‘Perhaps we could do it again?’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  Stephen kissed her then, very gently but full on the mouth, and at the touch of his lips she felt her spine tingle. Even now, after all this time, she could remember the way her spine had tingled at that first kiss. He’d gone soon after but he’d left her feeling elated and so wakeful that sleep had eluded her for the rest of the night. The next day she’d hardly been able to wait to see him again. Although they’d both worked at St Jerome’s they’d been on different units and as they hadn’t come across each other before in the brief time since he’d been there, Gemma had wondered how their paths would cross again. He hadn’t asked for her phone number and she’d fretted throughout her shift that he wouldn’t bother to seek her out.

  She needn’t have worried, for he’d come up to her unit just before the end of her shift. She’d looked up from making a bed and he’d been there.

  ‘Hi,’ he’d said, and Gemma’s heart had turned over.

  They arranged to meet that evening and he took her for a meal. By the end of that week she was head over heels in love with him.

  Their affair was brief and very passionate, with Stephen staying over several times at her flat and her sometimes staying at the flat he was renting in the centre of the town. Sex between them was wonderful, quite the most wonderful she had ever known but underlying it all was a sense of dread that it wouldn’t last, that all too soon Stephen would move on and it would come to an end.

  And it happened even sooner than she’d imagined. He told her one night, after they had made love, when they were still lying satiated and at peace in a tangle of sheets, that he’d been offered a job in Dubai. She sat up, hugging the sheets to her breasts and staring at him with a rapidly growing sense of dismay.

  ‘You knew it was going to happen,’ he said gently when she protested.

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t think it would be yet,’ she replied miserably.

  ‘We can write and phone,’ he said, holding her close, ‘and maybe you could even come out and visit.’

  But it wouldn’t be the same. She knew that, just as she knew that she had to accept that it was his career and not her that was the most important thing in his life, and that now he was leaving everything would be sure to change.

  She tried not to let him see how terribly upset she was when he left but on their last night together she clung to him and cried in spite of herself. He held her tenderly and tried to tell her that Dubai wasn’t the end of the world, but that night she sensed an air of excitement about him as he embarked on this new phase of his life.

  After he went she missed him terribly, unable to remember when she had felt this way before about a man. Stephen wrote to her, his letter full of details of his new life—his job in a large, ultra-modern hospital, his home in an apartment which sounded frankly luxurious, and all the new friends he was making. She wondered what she could tell him that he didn’t already know, fearing that in comparison her life sounded deadly dull, but even before she had a chance to write back she received that fateful late-night telephone call f
rom her mother.

  It had been that call, Gemma reflected now as she drove onto the drive of her mother’s house, that had been the start of a series of events that had changed her life for ever. As she brought the car to a halt she sat still for a moment, looking up at the house. Semi-detached with large bay windows, rendered and whitewashed, its gables and woodwork painted black, it epitomised so many of the houses that had sprung up in leafy suburbia just after the Second World War. The garden was neatly kept but with the recent drought a pale shadow of its usual lush glory.

  There was no sign of her mother’s car so Gemma knew that for once she was home first. Climbing out of her car, she walked up to the front door and put her key in the lock.

  She still missed her father dreadfully and for Gemma one of the worst moments was when she entered the house, only to find it empty. She seemed to see him everywhere—in every room, in the garden cutting the lawn, walking behind the mower and raising one hand in greeting as he caught sight of her, in the kitchen where he loved to cook their favourite Italian pasta dishes, or snoozing in the sun in the conservatory.

  Slowly she pushed open the door and walked into the hall, willing herself not to call out—knowing the house was empty.

  Her father’s heart attack had been sudden and unexpected. Gemma had left the Midlands immediately and had travelled to London where she’d joined her mother at Denby General Hospital where the two of them had maintained a vigil at the bedside of the man they both loved.

  He’d died three days later of a second massive heart attack without gaining consciousness, leaving his wife and daughter numb with shock. That had been three years ago and, of course, with the passing of time the pain had lessened, but Gemma still missed him and knew she always would.

  Walking through the house, she began opening windows to let air into the rooms which had been shut up all day. In the kitchen she turned on the electric fan before filling the kettle. She took the teapot from its shelf and clean mugs from the dishwasher and was just taking milk from the fridge when she heard the sound of her mother’s key in the lock.