The Police Doctor's Discovery

by Laura MacDonald

  Weakly Rachel allowed herself to be guided down the steps of the police station and a hundred or so yards down the street towards a sign, which swayed and creaked in the wind and stated quite clearly that the Red Lion served the finest ale in town. It was warm inside with a welcome from a crackling log fire, and briefly the chatter from the locals gathered around the bar ceased as they recognised Nick and curiously eyed Rachel up and down.

  ‘What’ll you have?’ Nick half turned to her.

  ‘A lager would be nice,’ she replied.

  ‘There’s a table over there in the corner.’ Nick nodded towards an alcove on the far side of the room. ‘I’ll bring the drinks over.’

  Almost with a sense of unreality Rachel sat down and looked around the pub with its low beamed ceiling and flagstoned floor. If anyone had told her only the day before that she would be sitting here sharing a drink with Nick Kowalski, she would never have believed it. She watched him as he turned from the bar carrying two glasses and crossed the floor, placed the drinks on the table and sat down opposite her. Taking a deep breath, he lifted his glass.

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rachel replied, ‘cheers.’ Lifting her own glass, she took a sip as Nick did likewise.

  They were silent for a moment as if each of them was searching for something to say. As their eyes met across the table it was Nick who broke the silence. ‘It really is good to see you again, Rachel, after all this time.’

  ‘Yes, Nick.’ She nodded. ‘It’s good to see you as well.’ Suddenly she realised she meant it—it was good to see him in spite of what had happened.

  ‘We had some good times, didn’t we?’ he said softly.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘we did.’ There was something in his eyes now that was decidedly disconcerting and wildly she grabbed her glass again and took another mouthful—too much this time, which caused her to cough. ‘But...’ she spluttered, ‘it...it was all a very long time ago.’

  ‘True.’ Nick nodded. ‘Even so, there are some things you never forget.’ He paused, took another mouthful of his own drink then set his glass down again and leaned back in his chair. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘about this relationship you are in now...the one you feel isn’t going anywhere.’

  Rachel shrugged. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Well, for a start, who is the lucky man?’

  ‘His name is Jeremy Lisle,’ she replied reluctantly, ‘he’s a doctor.’

  ‘Ah, very appropriate.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She stared at him.

  ‘For you,’ he said, ‘and for your parents, of course. I’m sure they approve.’

  ‘Well, yes, they like Jeremy...’

  ‘Now, why doesn’t that come as a surprise?’ Nick lifted his head and laughed. It was the same easygoing, infectious laugh she remembered so well and which for a long time had haunted her dreams. ‘I’m sure they see a doctor as far more suitable marriage material for their only daughter than a mere garage hand with a rather dodgy reputation to boot.’ He paused. ‘Although, from what you say, it doesn’t sound as if there are wedding bells in the air.’ When she didn’t reply he lowered his head, tilting it to one side in order to look into her face. ‘Rachel...?’

  She took a deep breath. She didn’t really want to discuss Jeremy or her relationship with anyone, least of all Nick. ‘No,’ she said coolly, ‘I don’t think there will be any wedding bells, at least not in the foreseeable future.’

  ‘You said this morning that you felt the relationship wasn’t going anywhere.’

  ‘Did I?’ How she wished she hadn’t said that. She’d hoped he might have forgotten it but it seemed there was no chance of that. She shrugged. ‘Well, let’s say it had all become a bit static and when the chance of this job came up—’

  ‘You grabbed it?’ He raised innocent eyebrows.

  ‘Well, no, not quite like that, but I thought it might be an opportunity to get a better perspective on things...’ She trailed off as she saw his lips twitch.

  ‘You make it sound like a business arrangement,’ he said.

  ‘It’s not,’ she replied hotly, ‘of course it’s not!’

  ‘No, I’m sure it isn’t.’ He paused again reflectively then said, ‘And this guy, what did you say his name was—Julian?’

  ‘Jeremy.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Jeremy, that’s right. Well, what does he think of this perspective exercise?’

  ‘As it happens, he’s in full agreement with it,’ she replied.

  ‘Wouldn’t suit me.’ Nick folded his arms and shook his head.

  ‘No, Nick, I’m sure it wouldn’t.’ She paused then mercilessly she said, ‘So tell me about your wife.’

  ‘My wife?’ He looked up sharply. ‘I don’t have a wife.’

  ‘I know. You’re divorced now, you said, but you were married once. I understand she was the daughter of a friend of your mother.’

  ‘How in the world did you know that?’ He stared at her.

  ‘I heard it somewhere,’ she said vaguely, not wanting to tell him that it had been her own mother who had told her, relating the news to her with a decided note of relief and satisfaction in her voice. ‘Did I know her?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘Her name is Marilyn—she was Marilyn Rooney.’

  ‘I remember the Rooney family,’ said Rachel slowly.

  ‘Yes, well, Marilyn and I went to the same school—Westhampstead High—a bit different from your posh boarding school for young ladies.’

  ‘Still taking the mickey?’ she said coolly. ‘You always did if I remember rightly.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he replied firmly. ‘It was quite something for me—a no-hoper from the wrong side of town to be going out with the local doctor’s daughter. My poor old mum never did quite get over it. She used to worry about the wedding—you didn’t know that, did you?’ He looked at Rachel and chuckled. ‘But she did—not that she need have worried in the end, the way things turned out. Marilyn’s and my wedding was a very low-key affair...registry office, then down the local for a bit of a knees-up.’

  ‘How is your mum, Nick?’ Desperately Rachel interrupted him, not wanting to hear these details of his marriage.

  He stopped in mid-sentence and stared at her while behind them someone began feeding coins into a fruit machine. ‘My mum died four years ago,’ he said at last.

  ‘Oh, Nick.’ Her hand flew to her mouth and she stared at him, instantly recalling the bustling little woman who had shown her nothing but kindness on many occasions. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.’

  ‘No,’ he said, and there was a touch of bitterness in his tone now. ‘I don’t suppose your parents thought to let you know that.’

  ‘I liked your mum,’ she said slowly. ‘I really did.’

  ‘She liked you as well,’ he said simply. ‘In spite of the fact that she was in total awe of your situation and background, she really liked you. She thought you were a lovely girl.’

  ‘Did she like Marilyn?’ Rachel leaned forward slightly and noticed that at mention of his ex-wife’s name Nick’s jaw tightened and a bleak expression came into his eyes.

  ‘I don’t know really.’ He gave a slight shrug. ‘I suppose she did. Maud Rooney was her friend so, yes, I dare say she liked her daughter—we never really discussed it.’

  ‘So what happened between you and Marilyn?’ she asked tentatively at last. From wanting to know nothing, for some reason she now suddenly needed to know more.

  His expression changed yet again, his eyebrows drawing together in a black line, and just for a moment Rachel wished she hadn’t asked.

  ‘We weren’t suited,’ he muttered. ‘Incompatible is the word used, I believe. Marilyn wanted a stay-at-home guy with a nine-to-five job. Someone who would always be there in the evenings and at weekends—that sort of thing.’

  ‘And that wasn’t you?’

  ‘Not once I’d joined the police force it wasn’t—if it ever was. I don’t know.’ He shrugged and just for a
moment Rachel witnessed something in his eyes that summed up the bleakness of his marriage.

  ‘So what made you join the police force?’ she asked in an attempt to draw the conversation away from Marilyn.

  He didn’t speak immediately, instead toying with his glass as if deliberating on whether to answer her question or not. Then, his jaw tightening again, he said, ‘Actually, believe it or not, Rachel, it was a remark your mother made to your father that I happened to overhear that was the cause.’

  ‘Really?’ Rachel stared at him in astonishment.

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘It was one evening when I called for you and I was waiting in the hallway of Ashton House. I don’t know whether they knew I was there or not—the housekeeper, Mrs Newton, had let me in. Anyway, I heard your mother say that I was a no-hoper who would never amount to anything—“a waster” was the expression she used, I think.’

  Rachel stared at him. ‘Oh Nick,’ she said at last, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No,’ he said quickly, ‘don’t be sorry. It was the kick up the pants I needed. From that moment my mission in life was to prove her wrong.’

  ‘And you’ve done just that,’ she said softly. ‘Look at you—there can’t be too many DCIs of your age.’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know about that.’

  ‘It was a shame your marriage had to suffer as a consequence though.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He shook his head. ‘Sometimes I wonder if it would have worked even if I wasn’t in the force—Marilyn and I were like chalk and cheese really.’

  ‘But you have a daughter?’ she said gently.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ His expression softened at mention of his daughter. ‘I have Lucy. She was the reason Marilyn and I married in the first place. She’s the light of my life. You’ll meet her.’

  ‘I hope I shall but, Nick, I really do need to go now.’ She glanced at her watch as she spoke then drained her glass and stood up.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, doing likewise. ‘I suppose I’d better get back as well and see if our friend is ready to cooperate.’ He stood aside to allow Rachel to pass him but as she did so he caught her hand. Startled, she looked at him, unable to read the expression that had come into his eyes. ‘It really is good to see you again, Rachel,’ he said softly.

  ‘And you, Nick.’ Her voice was suddenly husky and as he applied a quick pressure to her hand, her skin tingled—just as it had always done at his touch.

  * * *

  It had shaken Rachel, seeing Nick again after all these years, and in spite of the fact that she had made up her mind from the outset that theirs was to be a purely professional relationship, she knew it might not be as easy as she had at first thought.

  To her dismay she found herself looking for him in the town, when she was shopping or out on house calls, and when she was on call she found herself willing the phone to ring to say that her services were required at police headquarters. When one such call did come, it was late on a Saturday night and she was called to attend a victim of a street brawl who had collapsed. To her shame, on receiving the call, her adrenalin level soared at the thought of seeing Nick again and she reached police headquarters in record time, only to find that Nick wasn’t involved, probably wasn’t even there, and that the uniformed staff were in charge.

  After that she tried to get a grip on herself and put him out of her mind. After all, what they had once been to each other had been a very long time ago and no doubt in the intervening years they had both become different people. It didn’t stop her remembering, though, and sometimes as she drove around town memories of that distant time came back in disturbing waves: the rides on Nick’s motorbike late at night; the old cinema—a snooker hall now—where they had always sat in the back row; the café in the high street—a building society had its offices there now—where they had congregated with other bikers to play rock music on the jukebox and drink endless cups of coffee. And then, of course, there was the park where they’d walked late at night, arms around each other, and where invariably they ended up on the mossy ground beneath the trees and had loved each other passionately under the stars.

  As each new memory was rekindled a fresh surge of emotion was released, leaving Rachel in a strange, highly strung state not at all like her usual calm and collected self.

  One evening just as she had finished surgery Danielle buzzed through to say there was a call for her.

  ‘Put them through,’ she replied automatically, and before she even had time to wonder who it might be she heard a voice at the other end, a voice she instantly recognised. ‘Georgie?’ she cried in delight.

  ‘Rachel! Oh this is wonderful. I heard today that you were back in town. I didn’t believe it at first, I said, no, that couldn’t be right, that you were up in Southport or Stockport or somewhere—but they said you were right here in Westhampstead.’

  ‘But what are you doing here?’ Rachel demanded, ‘the last time I heard about you, you were backpacking in Peru, or on a banana boat up the Limpopo or somewhere equally obscure.’

  ‘Oh, I was. I was,’ cried Georgie, ‘but I’m home for a while. Poor old pops is not too well and I’m keeping an eye on him. But what about you—where are you living? Are you at Ashton House?’

  ‘Lord, no,’ Rachel replied. ‘I’m renting an enchanting little house in Cathedral Close. Listen, why don’t you come over?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘What about tonight? I could cook us something and we could have a girly night in—just like we used to.’

  ‘Sounds wonderful—I’ll bring some wine.’

  Five minutes later Rachel had finished signing her repeat prescriptions and had almost cleared her in-tray. She and Georgina Reynolds had started school on the same day and had been friends ever since. There was very little they didn’t know about each other and as far as Rachel was concerned the idea of an evening of catching up and girly gossip with Georgie was the best thing that could happen in her present rather fragile state of mind.

  She took the last envelope from the in-tray and saw that it had been hand-delivered and was addressed to Dr Rachel Beresford and marked ‘Personal’, which presumably was why it hadn’t been opened and dealt with by the staff. Quickly she slit open the envelope, imagining it to be a request for medication or something similar, but when she drew out the single piece of paper and unfolded it she found it was neither. Written in pencil in childish print it simply said: I love you Rachel.

  She stared at it, unable for a moment to believe quite what she was seeing, and then she remembered Tommy Page and what he had said to his mother when he had left the surgery a few days previously. In that moment she guessed that it must have been Tommy who had written this note. With a little smile she folded the sheet of paper and slipped it into the drawer of her desk then, with a last look around her consulting room, she switched off the light and went out.

  * * *

  ‘Actually, Rachel, there’s something I think you should know.’ Georgina peered at her from beneath her cloud of frizzy dark hair.

  ‘Oh?’ Rachel set her wine glass down on the coffee table and raised one eyebrow, suspecting that she knew exactly what her friend was about to tell her.

  ‘I don’t know quite how to tell you really...’ Georgie went on.

  ‘Is it about Nick Kowalski and the fact that he’s back in town?’ Rachel leaned back and rested her head against the sofa cushions.

  ‘Well, yes.’ Georgie stared at her in surprise. ‘But how did you know that was what I was going to say?’

  ‘Probably because you are the only person who knew exactly how I felt about him—that’s why,’ Rachel replied calmly. ‘And likewise,’ she went on, ‘you are the only one who would know how his presence in Westhampstead would affect me.’

  ‘And has it?’ asked Georgie curiously. ‘Affected you, I mean?’

  ‘Is there any point denying it?’ Rachel pulled a face.

  ‘Not with me there isn’t.’ Georgie grinned but it was a sympathetic grin.
‘But surely you won’t need to see him,’ she went on after a moment. ‘I know Westhampstead isn’t that big, but—’

  ‘I’ve taken over Steve O’Malley’s police duties,’ Rachel said flatly.

  ‘And Nick Kowalski is...? Oh, no, you’re not going to tell me he’s stationed at the headquarters here.’

  ‘You’ve got it in one.’ Rachel nodded ruefully.

  ‘Oh, Rach.’ Georgie stared at her again then, leaning forward, she picked up the bottle of wine and topped up both glasses. ‘So, have you seen him yet?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Rachel nodded. ‘A couple of times, actually.’

  ‘And...?’

  ‘And what?’ Rachel stared into her glass.

  ‘Well, how did you feel?’ Georgie demanded.

  ‘How do you think I felt?’

  ‘Don’t know really.’ Georgie shrugged. ‘I know you were besotted with the guy once but, let’s face it, Rach, that was a long time ago and, well...I guess everyone’s moved on a bit since then.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose.’ Rachel sighed and briefly closed her eyes.

  Georgie frowned. ‘Well, for a start, he’s married, isn’t he?’

  ‘Divorced.’ She opened her eyes again.

  ‘Oh, really? I didn’t know that. I guess I’m out of touch as well.’ Georgie paused, sipping her wine thoughtfully. Then, drawing up her legs and tucking them beneath her on the sofa, she said, ‘But you have Jeremy now.’

  ‘Do I?’ Rachel stared into her glass again.

  ‘Well, don’t you?’ Georgie demanded, when Rachel failed to add anything.

  ‘I don’t know really.’ She looked up at last and shrugged. ‘Jeremy and I have been going through a rough patch recently,’ she said. ‘We both agreed that this time apart might help us to sort ourselves out.’

  ‘Oh, Rachel, I’m so sorry, I had no idea.’ Georgie reached out and touched her arm, and to her dismay Rachel felt the tears prickle at the back of her eyes.

  ‘It wasn’t going anywhere, Georgie,’ she said after a moment. ‘Jeremy doesn’t want to settle down and have a family.’

  ‘And you do?’

  ‘Yes, I do. And I don’t want to leave it until it’s too late—I’ve seen too much of that in my surgery. Women of our age group who pour everything into their careers and put marriage and children on hold, then when finally they get around to it their bodies rebel and say no way.’