‘Ah. There I was, a new doctor, hoping to learn. White coat, stethoscope dangling round neck, book of instructions in pocket. I was asked to fetch a patient from the waiting room. And I found her staring at a magazine with a large picture of me inside the back cover. She looked at the magazine, looked at me, looked at the magazine again and decided she was imagining things. I decided to avoid future possible embarrassment and gave up the job. My agent wasn't pleased.’ He stayed silent, thoughtful for a moment, then said, ‘Now you know the guilty secrets of my past, tell me about yours.’
‘I've got no secrets,’ she said promptly, and hoped he'd believe her. She could tell him perhaps – but not yet.
He looked thoughtful again. ‘I like you a lot, Jane,’ he said, ‘and I think you like me. We get on well together. So why do you treat me in such an offhand manner?’
‘You mean, why aren't I head over heels in love with you? Why aren't I besotted? I could be, but I won't allow it to happen. You're good company but all you want is a casual relationship. That's fine by me. You're not good marriageable material and someday I want to get married and have children.’
‘And if you find a suitable man while you're seeing me?’ he asked softly.
She found it hurt to give him an honest answer. It felt brutal, but she knew she had to. ‘Then goodbye you,’ she said. ‘Just like you said goodbye to I don't know how many girls at Lady Mary Hospital.’
‘Ow,’ he said. ‘Are you the woman who counsels for the Samaritans? God knows what advice you give.’
‘It's good,’ she told him. ‘I went on a course. And we don't exactly counsel, we listen.’ She was silent for a moment, but she could tell by the thoughtful way he was looking at her that he wanted her to continue. ‘Being a Samaritan teaches you something about relationships. You hear what difficulties people get into, and you sympathise. But it teaches you the necessity of being … not hard, but determined. You don't want to make the mistakes that other people have made.’
‘Everyone makes mistakes at some time,’ he told her, and she could tell that he meant it.
‘You're not as hard as you pretend,’ she said. ‘When you're nervous or thoughtful — like now — you rub the inside of the fingers of your right hand with the fingertips of your left hand.’
‘You've noticed!’ He looked down at his hands and drew them apart. ‘I don't know why I'm surprised,’ he said. ‘I know you're a subtle person.’ He held his right hand, palm upwards, towards her. ‘Look at my fingers.’
She'd held his hand quite often, but now she examined it. It was hard to detect at first, but along the sides of his fingers she saw the tiny scars that indicated surgery. ‘What happened?’ She looked at him questioningly.
He stared down morosely at his hand, flexed it, twisted it, touched the fingertips together. ‘There's enough movement, enough sensitivity, enough dexterity for anaesthetics,’ he said, ‘but not enough to enable me to be a surgeon. Which was what I wanted to be.’
She took the hand, squeezed it gently and for a moment brought it up to her lips to kiss. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘you're going to tell me the story.’
He took his hand from her and poured them both more coffee. She thought she'd never seen him look so bleak. She said nothing, realising that he was getting his thoughts together, working out how – or what – to tell her. She knew that in his own time he would tell her.
‘I was engaged once,’ he told her, ‘to a girl called Diane Furling.’ He still didn't look at her, his eyes fixed somewhere across the water. ‘She had nothing to do with medicine — which perhaps was the problem. In fact, she was the director of the firm I modelled for. She got me my first break.’ His eyes came back to Jane. ‘She was nothing like you — she seemed to live on a diet of Perrier water and lettuce leaves.’
Jane's eyes fell on the crumbs of the roll she had just eaten. ‘Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?’ she asked.
He smiled wryly. ‘Yes, you are. Because it was meant as a compliment. Anyway, Diane was always beautifully groomed. She would never run, get out of breath, anything like that. She hated medicine, but did think that if I stuck to it I ought to become something like a cosmetic plastic surgeon. She knew one who might offer me a job when I was fully qualified. We mixed with a very upmarket crowd — TV, stage and so on. I quite took to it all.’
By now his voice was entirely cynical. ‘I guess I was a bit overwhelmed by it all. She suggested I give up medicine, said I could make a fortune with my face. I told her no thanks. Anyway, we went to this party. She drove — she absolutely refused to get into my Fiesta. Her car was a Porsche.’
Jane looked at him, amazed. ‘But you've got one now!’
‘I know. I like it, it's a good car. In fact, I bought it on purpose, because there are some demons you've just got to lay. But … I thought she was fit to drive after the party because I knew she hadn't had anything much to drink. Fattening, you know. What I didn't know was that she'd been scoring cocaine in the Ladies. In those days I was a bit naive. She wasn't fit to drive. We took a corner far too quickly, she lost control and we crashed and turned over. The car was a write-off. She was shocked, scared, but unhurt. I was concussed. That was bad enough as I woke up in my own hospital. Then I found my right hand bandaged. My fingers were broken, and there was nerve damage.’
He stopped and looked down at where he was unconsciously rubbing the damaged fingers. She said nothing. ‘The hospital got the best orthopaedic men there were, but they never managed to restore full feeling and flexibility. I wanted to be a surgeon. I was told I could be a competent one — doing the smaller, less important operations — but I would never be in the first class. So I transferred to anaesthetics, which I very much like.’
There was silence for a minute. ‘And Diane?’ she asked.
‘Came to see me in hospital, quite unrepentant. Said it didn't matter about the fingers, they wouldn't show on photographs. She had no idea of what I was feeling. She had been offered the biggest contract she'd ever had for me. I was to give up medicine, go to America and be the centre figure in a new range of men's cosmetics. I would become a millionaire. I told her I didn't want to be a millionaire, I wanted to be a doctor. She gave me my ring back, told me she objected to wearing cheap jewellery and when I came to my senses to get in touch with her. I never did.’
Jane tried to get a grip on her whirling emotions, and said, ‘I hope you're not expecting me to say I feel sorry for you.’
He grinned at her. ‘Well, I did wonder. I guess I should have known better.’
‘All right, you had a hard time with this girl, though it strikes me you were well rid of her. I'm sorry about your fingers. But you had no right to think all women were the same. It was just an excuse to avoid commitment in the future, and I suspect you were getting your revenge for what just one person had done to you. Some of those women you told you only wanted a casual relationship with … you hurt them, David.’
Now he was angry. As always, he was calm, but she could see the spark in his eye, and there was a thickness to his voice that hadn't been there before. ‘Have you ever thought it a bit too easy to sit in an office, answering the phone, listening to people but not judging?’
‘You have to be detached,’ she told him.
‘Other people's problems are easy to bear.’
She stood. ‘I think it's time we were going.’
They drove back in silence, her mind churning. It was getting dark and he had to be near the hospital because he was on call that evening. Halfway home she put her hand on his arm. ‘Will you pull into that lay-by?’
‘May I ask why?’ His voice was cold, intending to hurt.
She took a breath. ‘Because I ask you to,’ she said impatiently. ‘Come on, it's not much to ask.’
He did pull in and switched off the headlights. They were on top of a small hill, facing myriad factory lights, but beyond they could see the dark silver of the river.
She undid her safety belt, leane
d across to take his face between her hands and kissed him. ‘I've been thinking about what I said. You were right. I was crass, insensitive, and wrong. I've never had any real ambition that I haven't achieved, and so I can only guess how hard it was for you. I'm sorry.’
He laughed and shook his head. ‘No, it's me that should be sorry. You're good for me, Jane. What you said hurt because I thought you were right. The idea just took some getting used to. Come on, we're friends now.’
Then he kissed her. It was very nice but it was a strain as their bodies had to contort. ‘These cars weren't designed for kissing in,’ he said.
‘Then let's go somewhere else.’
Chapter Five
Jane had never been to David's room at the hospital. From six o'clock he was on call, and if there was an emergency he had to be able to get to Theatre within twenty minutes. It was most unlikely that there would be an emergency, but the hospital management needed to have someone on standby.
They did think of going to a pub near the hospital entrance but neither of them fancied it much. ‘I can make you a drink,’ he told her. ‘I've even got the makings of a sandwich in the communal fridge.’
‘Just a drink, I think,’ she told him. ‘I'm still full from that roll we had.’ So he left her in his room to fetch it.
It was a typical hospital room, and she had been in many in her time. It was plain but serviceable. There was a bed, desk, cupboards, wardrobes and drawer space. On his bookshelf she noticed textbooks on surgery – the knowledge she now had gave them an added poignancy.
There was only one easy chair so she took off her shoes and sat on the bed. ‘There are no personal touches in this room,’ she told him when he came back with two steaming mugs. ‘No pictures, no music.’
‘A definite and deliberate policy. At Lady Mary I had a doctor's flat, quite a bit bigger than this. It was furnished but I had some stuff of my own. I put it all into storage because I thought that would make me look harder for a proper place of my own. And you helped me furnish it, Jane. I decided that once I was a consultant I'd grow up. Get a proper place to live and —’
‘And alter your lifestyle?’ She grinned. ‘Stop being a perpetual medical student?’
‘Something like that,’ he confessed. ‘I wanted to be respectable at last.’
‘What a dreadful ambition!’
She was sitting cross-legged at the head of his bed. He offered her a mug of tea then kicked off his own shoes and sat the same way at the other end of the bed so they faced each other.
‘You told me about your medical life,’ she said. ‘What about the rest of it? Are your parents still alive?’
‘Very much so. Dad's a retired doctor. I have a brother who's a GP in New Zealand and he's married to another GP. They've got two little kids, Frederica and David, who's named after me. Ma and Pa are out there now, technically visiting but actually working as full-time babysitters. They love it.’
‘Have you been out there yourself?’
‘I visited them last year. I wanted to get to know my niece and my nephew. Actually, I was offered a job there but I wanted to stay in the UK. We keep in touch every week by e-mail.’
‘It's sad to have a family so far away, but nice to know that they love you and want to keep in touch.’
Both were silent for a minute, busy with their own thoughts.
‘A personal question, Jane. You know a lot about me. I want to know something in return.’
‘Ask away,’ she said cautiously. ‘I'll answer … if I can.’
‘Why have you never married? I would have thought you'd have been snapped up long ago.’
She hesitated. She could give some smart answer about still waiting for Mr Right – she didn't have to be completely honest.
‘You can trust me, you know,’ he said softly.
She was still undecided. Could she trust him? This was a wider question than the one he'd asked. She made up her mind. Yes, she could.
‘All right. I nearly was married once — in fact, I was engaged and lived with a doctor for over two years. His name was John Gilmore, and this was some time ago. I thought we were happy. Both of us were working very hard. We talked vaguely of marriage, but never got round to doing anything about it. John was a neurologist, working for his FRCS exams. We had a little rented flat — this was in Leeds.’
‘What went wrong?’
‘Nothing really went wrong. He passed the FRCS and was offered a wonderful job in the States, in Boston. He had to take it. I went over to be with him after three months. I got a job and stayed for a year, but I just didn't like the life and I came home. We tried to live on two different continents but it didn't work. We phoned each other less and less, and after a while he came over to see me. He'd met someone else over there. So we parted, but stayed good friends.’
‘It was good of him to come over to tell you in person. What did you feel afterwards?’
She decided to be honest with him. ‘As a matter of fact, I was a bit relieved. The time that I had with him — it was good, but I guess it wasn't good enough.’
‘Always hold out for the best,’ he said. He went on, ‘But that's not your entire story, is it? There's more. Everyone thinks that good old Jane is cheerful, hard-working, outgoing. But I think there's a bit of wariness hidden somewhere. What are you hiding, Jane?’
He was much shrewder than she'd ever guessed. She would have to be careful with him, even thought there was no great mystery.
‘I never knew my parents,’ she said. ‘I was only told that my mother was a student at a teacher training college who just couldn't cope with me. I was adopted and made very happy by the lady whose name I carry, Alice Cabot. She was everything a mother could be — loving, kind, encouraging. After she'd had me six years she adopted another child, a boy who became my brother Peter. She asked me first and even though I was so young we talked about it carefully. And the three of us got on very well.’
She stopped and took a great mouthful of tea. ‘When Peter was seventeen and I had just qualified, our mother died. Just like that — a stroke, a couple of weeks in hospital and then she was dead. We were devastated, but somehow we survived and Peter has trained to be a doctor. He's a house officer in London. Although we're apart, we're still very close — if you see what I mean.’
‘I see what you mean. I think he's a very lucky young man. But there's more, isn't there, Jane? You're keeping something back.’
‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘I'm keeping something back.’
There was silence for a while, then he said, ‘I can act like a Samaritan if you like. Imagine I'm on the other end of a telephone line, and just tell me — you might feel better. But if you don't want to, I certainly won't pry.’
She remained silent, and he said nothing more.
When she thought she was ready, that she could control her voice, she said, ‘There's a letter at the back of one of my drawers upstairs. It's worried me more than any letter I have ever received. And I don't know what to do about it. I've never been undecided like this, ever.’
‘Do you want to tell me who it's from?’
This was the crux. And to her surprise, she found she did want to tell him. She certainly couldn't tell Peter and she hadn't been able to talk to Sue or Megan, so why this man? But she would tell him.
‘I told you I was adopted, apparently about six weeks after birth. It was all done properly through an agency and, as I said, I couldn't have had a better mother. But now … but now I've just had a letter. It came from the adoption society, and apparently my real parents want to get in touch with me. It was an official letter — my parents don't know my name or address. The adoption society will forward any messages I want to send back. If I don't want to get in touch, that's fine.’
‘When did you get the letter?’
‘A few weeks ago. I don't know what to do. For the first time in my life I really don't know what to do.’ She knew her voice was tremulous, but there was nothing she could do about it.
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‘Just talk about it,’ he said. ‘You don't have to make sense, just talk about it. No one's going to judge you or make you take a decision. Just talk.’
Just talk. Was it as easy as that?
‘I told you I had a happy childhood — it couldn't have been better. She was my mother, I still think of her that way. My … real mother gave me up. And where did my father just appear from? What was he doing before? He gave me up, too. I don't need parents now. Once you've got them, you can't un-get them. But … I am their child. Some of the stories I've heard in Samaritans are about people with dreadful difficulties. Giving me up might not have been my real parents' fault. And what else don't I know? I might have a brother or sister — I love Peter dearly, but I'd like that. But what if we didn't get on?’
There were tears rolling down her cheeks and he handed her a handkerchief but very wisely made no move towards her.
‘The top and bottom of it is I don't know what to do and I'm frightened.’
‘Is there any hurry?’ he asked. ‘They waited for years to get in touch with you, so a week or two longer won't hurt. Wait until you feel that you know what to do. Then do it.’
She thought about that. It wasn't exactly advice, but it was worth listening to. ‘Now I know what good the Samaritans do,’ she said. ‘I do feel better for having told you.’
‘I'll fetch us more tea,’ he said. As he went she realised that he was giving her time to settle down, to compose herself. He was a thoughtful man.
‘It's warm in here,’ she said a few minutes later. All hospital rooms were warm, and those in the residency were no exception. Jane crossed her arms and pulled off the blue cashmere sweater. Underneath she was wearing a sleeveless white blouse.
‘You've got good arms,’ he said. ‘They're nurse's … hockey-player's arms. No fat, just enough muscle to be slightly rounded. I like them.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, ‘and thank you for the tea.’ She had just finished it.
He wriggled up the bed so that their knees were touching and they could look at each other face to face. She couldn't back away – her back was against the wall – but she decided she didn't want to anyway.
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