‘You know my daughter?’
‘Yes, we met a few years back.’ He sat himself behind the desk and opened the notes in front of him, all his attention focused on the girl only inches away: the still silent girl who as far as he could see hadn’t even breathed since taking her seat. Giving himself a mental shake he pulled the test results out of the thin file to give them a cursory look.
‘So your GP has referred you because you were…’ He gave him an encouraging smile.’
‘Well I’ve been getting a little tired…’
‘Dad, more than tired.’ Mabel reached out to take his hand within her own before raising her eyes. ‘He’s been getting short of breath with even the slightest exertion not to mention centralised chest pain for months now, although I only knew about the chest pain a few weeks ago.’
‘You’ve got so much on your plate already my dear.’ He met Derry’s gaze. ‘She’s the main carer for her husband.’
‘Quite.’ He didn’t want to get into discussions about her husband. If truth be known all he wanted to do was reach out across the desk and pull her into the biggest hug, a hug she’d never be able to escape from. His hands rifled through the pages while his mind rifled through the many images he had of her. That first time he’d met her, a dim shadowy outline. The last time he’d seen her standing in the doorway and now, five years on. She was still Mabel, but only just.
‘Well sir, your test results show you’ve got some calcification to your aorta…’ But Mabel interrupted.
‘It would be best if you could speak English, my dad hasn’t a medical bone in his body.’
‘Of course, I do beg your pardon.’ Reaching across the desk he pressed a button on the intercom and requested tea before standing up and making his way around the desk and pulling up another chair.
‘You’ve managed to get some calcium deposits on one of the little valves that leads to your heart, so a little like a door not closing properly instead of a draft it’s letting blood travel in both directions.’ He paused, but only briefly as Miss Harris entered the room following a brief knock to hand out matching cups and saucers all round.
‘So this valve then.’ Reverend Frederick said, turning to glance from Derry to Mabel. ‘This valve will need to be repaired, replaced?’
‘Yes, that’s about it I’m afraid, and sooner rather than later.’
‘But that’s major surgery.’ Mabel clutched at her dad’s hand, her face now paler than ever.
‘It’s alright my dear. I’m in God’s hands.’ He smiled benignly across at Derry. ‘Would it be you doing the operation?’
‘If you’d like me to then of course I’d be happy to.’ He stood up and, making his way back behind the desk flicked through his diary before raising his head. ‘The sooner the better really so, what about next Friday?’
‘But but…’ Mabel jumped out of her seat only to sit down again. ‘Our GP said there’d be at least a six months waiting list?’ Her eyes now pinned to his face.
He struggled to maintain a bland expression while his mind thought through all the excuses he could come up with for squeezing him in on to the end of a very full list. ‘Usually yes, but I just happen to have had a cancellation.’
‘Really,’ her eyes wide in disbelief.
‘I’ll arrange for an appointment at St Justin’s for you to see the anaesthetist and to have your bloods taken sir. My secretary will phone you.’
‘Miss Turner, I’ve booked the Reverend Frederick in for next Friday afternoon if you can arrange for him to be added to my list.’
‘You can’t! You’ve arranged to go to that weekend shooting party in Brighton with Mrs DeCourcy-Denvers.’
‘Have I by God! I can’t think of anything worse. What am I meant to be shooting again?’
‘Grouse.’
‘Indeed. As the grouse has never done anything to upset me I think I can afford to give it a miss.
‘But Professor...’
‘Michele, just how long have you worked for me now?’
‘Almost five year’s Professor.’
‘Five years already – time flies when you’re having fun. So do you think you could manage to call me Derry now and again?’
‘But what about our secretary – boss relationship?’
‘You know as well as I do you’re the boss, but just don’t tell anyone.’ He smiled, ‘and don’t expect me to do any typing.’ He closed over the set of medical notes and, sticking a yellow post-it on to the front held it out to her. ‘Oh, and you might as well schedule yourself in for a pay rise while you’re at it – six bob a week, or whatever that translates to in new money.’
‘A hundred Euros?’ Her face wreathed in a smile of anticipation.
‘Sounds good to me. Don’t forget to get cracking on the Reverend’s admission though; he’s a very ill man.’
He watched her open the inside cover. ‘Ah sure look at that, he only lives around the corner from me. I’ll pop around after work shall I and go through all the paperwork.’ Her eyes met his over the top of the notes. ‘I take it you’ll be consenting the morning of the op?’
He nodded his reply while adding. ‘Be sure to leave a little early and if you could…’ He paused as he caught sight of her questioning look and decided to leave the rest unsaid. There were things he’d like to know but it wouldn’t be fair to ask her – not now; not ever. He took in her neatly burnished brown hair and grey suit. He’d never really looked at her before but he suddenly realised she’d turned into the very best of secretaries.
‘Thank you Michele, I really appreciate all you do, even though I probably rarely say it.’ He noticed the blush with quiet amusement before driving all thoughts out of his mind other than thoughts of her.
Mabel still lingered just at the edge of his vision to appear later in his dreams – dreams he both welcomed and feared. Dreams were all he had, that and his memories. Nothing else remained, apart from his work, and with each passing day those were fading into a distant land, so distant they didn’t seem part of him anymore. He ran his hand across his five o’clock shadow and would have reached into his top drawer for his electric razor except he had no reason to. When he locked up for the day it was home to walk the dog before another evening slobbing around staring into space at what might have been. As forty loomed ever nearer he’d expected more from his life than abject solitude, but that’s what he’d got. They said man’s best friend was his dog but, whilst he wouldn’t be without him he couldn’t very well take him down the pub for a life changing man to man without having the RSPCA breathing down his neck – not for piling him with alcohol, more for boring him to barking boredom by yet again going over old ground. The reality was, no matter which way he looked at it, he’d never had a relationship with Mabel. She was a married woman, and as things stood he knew there was no point in even looking in her direction – she wouldn’t look and, as much as he admired her principles he couldn’t blame her. He didn’t want just a quick fumble behind the bike shed either. It was all or nothing.
Switching off his laptop and adding it to his already bulging briefcase he made for the door without a backwords glance. Mabel was lost to him but Siobhan De Courcy-Denvers wasn’t the answer and neither was Brighton!
Chapter Twenty Three
‘There’s a Miss Harris to see you Rev, I’ll just be away to make the tea.’
Michele entered the sitting room her eyes roaming around the décor, a social smile pinned to her lips. The pale green velour sofa was well worn, its muted tones exactly right for the old world charm of the dimly lit room now the October light had faded.
Nothing in the room matched or indeed was of any value to anyone excepting its inhabitants. There was no Chippendale or Hepplewhite only chipboard and hand-me-downs, but nevertheless the impression was of an overall gentle shabby chic air reminiscent of times gone by. She loved it, although that was more than she could say of all the inhabitants gathered around the fireplace.
Her smile turned to a frow
n when the conversation she’d just interrupted carried on as if she wasn’t there.
‘Your duty is to your husband Freddie, not your father. He’ll have to go into a convalescent home because I certainly won’t have him in my house.’
‘It’s not your house Henry.’
‘It might as well be the amount of money…’
‘Hello again, sorry for interrupting.’ She made her way into the centre of the room trying to avoid eye contact with anyone except her patient. ‘There’s just some formalities I need to sort out with you Reverend…’ But Henry carried on as if she wasn’t in the room.
‘My dear, this tea is cold and there’s no sugar.’
‘You’re diabetes…’
‘Sod my diabetes – get me sugar!’
‘Yes Henry.’ Standing up she took his cup and went to head back to the tea tray.
‘A CLEAN cup dearest!’ He smiled benignly. ‘I do so hate having to use the same cup. Tea is so important don’t you think, Miss er…’
‘Absolutely.’ But not as important as actually being allowed to drink it, she added albeit silently as his wife scurried out the room.
Her eyes grazed over the speaker. She noted the startling white dog collar and the expensive cashmere jumper hiding more than a paunch. The weak mouth and even weaker chin topped off by less hair than could be found on a derelict thatched roof. She didn’t allow herself to glance down at the wasted legs strapped to their footplates or the lily white hand resting on the controls of the all singing all dancing electric wheelchair. She’d seen more than she needed to. She turned back towards her patient just as Mabel walked in with a tray full of fresh tea and cream cakes.
‘There you go, wasting my insurance money on more food,’ he grumbled, accepting his cup and a plate piled high with food without thanks.
‘I’m quite happy to tell Mrs Friend to cut back on the food bill, all that fancy Swiss chocolate…’
‘No you don’t.’ He glared across the room. ‘Food is the only pleasure I get anymore as you very well know.’
Michele didn’t know where to look, his meaning clear. God almighty, the poor girl being expected to be treated like that and in front of strangers too. She’d always been brought up to respect members of the clergy, just as she’d always been brought up to sympathise with those less fortunate but this man didn’t deserve even one iota of sympathy. He was an oaf. She decided to intervene, after all with a quick glance at her watch if she didn’t get a move on she’d be eating into her evening well and truly. Not that she’d anything to look forward to, she thought on a sigh - just another ready meal in front of the telly.
‘I won’t keep you sir, just a few things about what to bring with you and the tests…’
‘Oh for goodness sake do we have to be bothered with all this now.’ Henry pulled the lever of the chair and deliberately turned his back. ‘The old man’s past his sell by date, just put him in a home and be done with it.’
‘Henry!’ Mabel’s voice no more than a shocked whisper.
‘Well it’s true. What’s the point of wasting all that money on some fancy op, when it could go towards…’
A sudden silence descended on the room as everyone, including Michele looked anywhere except at him. It was finally broken by the sound of the vicar’s cup rattling against his saucer.
‘That’s right my boy – what was I thinking.’ Easing himself to standing his eyes lingered on his still full cup before heading for the door. ‘You’ll see the nice lady out would you love? I’ll just do a little more work on my sermon.’
Leaping up Mabel grabbed his arm. ‘Come on now dad, don’t take any notice of him. Just think of all the tax payers’ money you’ll be saving having the op. No more nasty medicines to fork out on, not to mention hospital stays – just a few nights in hospital and then years of good health to look forward to.’
‘That’s right sir.’ Michele picked up his cup and saucer and followed them out of the room. ‘Much better to do as the prof advises, he’s the best I know.’
‘That’s good to hear.’
‘Dearest, where are you going?’ Michele saw the consternation on her face. ‘I’ve got cramp in my legs again.’
‘In a minute Henry.’
‘Now, Mabel.’
Throwing an apologetic glance across the room Michele watched her as she made her way across the hall to return moments later with a tube of emollient, pulling the door to the lounge closed behind her. It was like one of those nasty fly on the wall docu-soaps on the telly – the ones that always made her change the channel with a grimace. She just had time to hear him shouting at her to hurry up before she was beckoned into the study.
‘Sorry about that, my son-in-law gets a little frustrated you know.’ He sat behind the untidy mahogany desk, or at least she thought it mahogany – there wasn’t much wood to see being as it was hiding under a tree load of papers and heavy looking leather bound tomes.
‘I didn’t really notice.’ She smiled gently liking what she saw. Here was a nice man, a genuine man. It didn’t matter he wasn’t the same religion as her; in truth she hadn’t been to church in years so couldn’t even boast having a true faith despite her parents doctrines. Here was an honest kindly man who obviously didn’t have a bad thought in his mind or bad bone in his body. Here was a man she could… Shaking her head, a little frown pooling between her eyes she lifted her large reliable black bag onto her lap and made a fuss of pulling out her notebook and pen.
Here was a silly old woman who only had a chicken tikka ready meal to look forward to – perhaps she should think of getting a cat!
‘He fell.’ He went on to say, starting to rummage for something on the table his hands patting piles of documents. She watched, the smile back, all her emotions suddenly focused on the man opposite. She took in his frayed shirt, missing the top button just as she took in the pulled jumper with the little hole in the left elbow and felt a strong urge to get out her sewing kit, knowing full well if she waited long enough the urge would pass – sewing, or indeed any form of craft work wasn’t her bag. Placing her biro on top of her pad she retrieved the pair of glasses from their hiding place behind a large pot of pens and handed them to him.
Nodding his thanks he propped the wire frames on the end of his nose before continuing. ‘He fell on their honeymoon, so he obviously has a lot to be aggrieved at.’
‘It must be hard…’ She prompted gently.
‘Terribly so, especially for my daughter. Its funny how something like that changes a person, I used to really like…’ He lifted his head to stare straight at her. ‘I don’t know why I’m even telling you all this…’
‘Doctors and nurses, and medical secretaries - we’re a bit like clergy in a way.’ She gave him a friendly nod. ‘It’s the confidentiality clause we all have to sign you know. Nothing ever gets out.’
‘No, it’s not that at all. One ambles through life meeting all these people, strangers if you like and then someone comes along…’ He paused before continuing. ‘I feel as if I’ve known you a long time, that’s all.’
‘I feel the same way,’ her smile lighting up her face. ‘It’s nice to have a friend.’
He rubbed his hands across his face with a lopsided grin. ‘So, what do you have to tell me then? Is the Prof really that good?’
‘He’s the best, although don’t tell him I told you.’ She leant towards him, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. ‘He’s a tad arrogant as it is!’
‘And that’s why he employs someone as nice as you to put patients at their ease.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that Rev…’
‘You can call me Fergus.’ He interrupted, sweeping an arm around the room. ‘Names like Sir and Reverend, like respect have to be earned and…’ He threw her another smile. ‘as I’m not your vicar – my friends all call me Fergus.’
‘My name is Michele.’
‘Ah that figures.’ He mused. ‘You’re a gift from God.’
‘What?
’
‘Michele, that’s what it means. From the French if I’m not very much mistaken.’
‘My mother was half French.’
‘There, that explains it. It’s my hobby you know: onomastics.
‘You’ve lost me Rev… Fergus.’
‘Not a worry. You’ll be hard pushed to meet such a boring old fart as me…’ She watched his face fall and knew he was remembering Henry’s callus words of earlier. The walls and defences she’d built up around her heart disappeared at the sight of his solemn face. In another time, in another place they might have… She sighed; her eyes now deliberately trained on her note book – the secretary’s best friend. But before ticking through the list of mundane tasks, mundane pre-operative tasks she’d ticked through a thousand times before, she smiled across at him – not her usual bright chirpy professional smile, a soft gentle pulling of her lips that held the shadow of the girl she’d once been amongst their plump folds.
‘You’re far from being old, but as to the fart bit I feel I’d need to get to know you a little better.’
‘Join me for dinner then,’ his voice holding a question.
‘What about…’
‘Henry and Mabel?’ He pulled a wry smile. ‘We decided long ago it would be best for everybody if we ate separately. He’s so faddy, and I’m not. Mrs Friend will have left something for me to heat up – pot luck I’m afraid but she’s a wonderful plain cook.’
‘It sounds perfect.’
‘Hello Derry.’
‘Michele? Is that you, everything all right?’
Unhappy Ever After Girl (Irish Girl, Hospital Romance 3) Page 13