The Doctor's Love-Child

by Barbara Hart

  ‘That’s right,’ replied Andrew.

  ‘Here it is. I’ll write it down for you.’ She scribbled three or four lines on a notepad, tore off the sheet and handed it to him.

  ‘Many thanks,’ he said, taking the note and putting it in his pocket.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ON SUNDAY afternoon, Andrew cancelled the game of tennis he’d previously arranged with a work colleague. He couldn’t settle to doing anything until he’d got his visit to Helen organised. He couldn’t put it off any longer. The sooner the two of them talked things over, the sooner he could get his life in order once again.

  Why was everything so complicated? Why had the Chicago fiasco had to happen just at a time when he’d met the most exciting woman who’d come into his life for years?

  He opened his map of Milchester, folding it in four so that it showed the area he needed…the road where Helen lived. As a stranger to the town he needed to study it carefully while he planned the route.

  When he had familiarised himself with where he was going, he picked up his keys and stepped out of his rented house into the brightness of the warm June day.

  It didn’t take him long to reach her road as it was only a few miles from the city centre. It was in a quiet suburban setting, a little oasis off the main thoroughfare into town, with tree-lined streets and a small park nearby. There were dozens of cars parked on both sides of the road. Andrew drove past them slowly, counting the house numbers as he searched for number 29. When he had located it he had a prob lem finding a space and ended up parking a long way from the house.

  ‘Must be a party going on at one of the houses,’ he muttered to himself as he walked towards number 29. It hadn’t occurred to him for one minute that the party would be at the house he was heading for. It wasn’t until he rang the doorbell that he realised that the party was indeed at Helen’s house.

  The door was opened by a woman he vaguely recognised, dressed in an elegant summer dress and jacket. There was a lot of noise in the background. He was struck by doubt.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I think I must have got the wrong house.’

  ‘Dr Henderson!’ said the woman, her face a curious mix of expressions—surprise, momentary pleasure, then serious concern. He still couldn’t recall where he’d seen her before.

  ‘You know me?’ He was baffled and a little bemused.

  ‘I work at the hospital,’ she said. ‘I’m Dorothy Talbot…Nurse Talbot.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Andrew. ‘I was wondering where I’d seen you before. I’ve obviously come to the wrong house. I’m looking for the house where Helen Blackburn lives…Dr Blackburn.’

  Another expression replaced the earlier one. This time her face went hard, her mouth set tight. She spoke almost in a whisper. ‘What do you want? Why are you here?’

  ‘I told you, Mrs Talbot,’ Andrew replied with a light laugh. ‘I’m looking for Helen, but I seem to have come to the wrong house, although…’ He checked the piece of paper where the address had been written for him. ‘I’m looking for number 29 and I could have sworn that this was the house!’

  ‘It is,’ said Dorothy Talbot not moving an inch, not opening the door any wider. ‘And, yes, this is where Helen lives.’ She looked like thunder.

  Andrew was relieved to at least have tracked Helen down, but didn’t know why this woman, a nurse he now discovered, had turned into a dragon.

  ‘Could I have a quick word with her, do you think? I won’t keep her a minute because I can see there’s obviously some sort of party going on.’

  ‘She’s busy. It’s not convenient now.’ She made to close the door. Andrew decided to do something he’d only seen done in the movies or on TV. He put his foot in the door.

  ‘I’m sorry to behave like this, Mrs Talbot, but I think you should at least speak to Helen while I’m here. Are you her landlady or something?’ He kept his voice calm but assertive.

  ‘I’m her mother,’ said the dragon lady. ‘And I’d just like to tell you that Helen is happy and I think you should leave her alone. Please, remove your foot from the door.’

  ‘Now, just a minute—’ Before he could finish the sentence someone else joined in the conversation, someone he couldn’t see but whose voice was instantly recognisable.

  ‘What’s going on, Mum? Why don’t you come into the garden? Patrick’s waiting for you so he can make his speech.’

  ‘Helen? Is that you?’ he called out.

  ‘Andrew?’

  Helen stood behind her mother in the doorway. Her mother opened the door wider and then, stepping to the side, walked away, whispering something to Helen as she went.

  Helen was holding a baby in a long white robe.

  ‘Oh, hi!’ said Andrew. ‘I guess I’ve come at a bad time. Is there some sort of christening party going on?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her face was a blank.

  Andrew peered at the baby.

  ‘Nice kid. Boy or girl?’

  ‘Boy.’

  ‘Are you his godmother?’ Andrew asked.

  Helen didn’t answer immediately but stared at him for several seconds before dropping her gaze to the baby.

  ‘I’m his mother.’

  It was a good thing that Andrew had previously removed his foot from the doorway because he needed both feet firmly planted on the ground to stop himself from falling over.

  ‘His mother? You’ve got a baby?’ Andrew hoped he didn’t look as foolish as he knew he must sound. ‘I mean…I didn’t know.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you did,’ said Helen, undecided how to handle the situation. She still wasn’t sure whether Andrew realised the baby was his. But from the way he was looking at her it was obvious that he had come to another conclusion entirely…a conclusion she was more than happy for him to jump to at this particularly inconvenient moment.

  At that moment someone else appeared at the door way, a thin, red-haired man with glasses. Andrew estimated him to be in his late thirties or early forties.

  ‘Are you coming, Helen?’ the man asked. ‘First of all your mother disappears and now you and the baby. I’m all set to make my “wetting the baby’s head” speech, so…’ He noticed Andrew standing outside. ‘Another guest?’

  ‘Andrew,’ said Helen, deciding she’d better make formal introductions, ‘this is my fiancé, Dr Patrick Perrott.’ Turning to Patrick, she said, ‘this is Dr Andrew Henderson…we were medical colleagues in New York. Dr Henderson is on a short-term contract at Milchester General.’

  Patrick beamed and held out his hand. ‘Delighted to meet you, Andrew. Do come in and join in the fun.’

  Before either Helen or Andrew could protest, Patrick had taken Andrew by the arm and pulled him into the house. ‘Follow me,’ he said. ‘It’s all happening outside in the garden. Grab a glass of champagne and hold it in readiness for the end of my speech…which won’t be too long if only I can get it started. Chance would be a fine thing!’

  Andrew and Helen followed him through the patio doors and into the throng of people congregating in the garden. The dragon lady was there, he noted, giving him piercing looks from across the flower-beds. What had he done to offend the woman? Was it because she imagined he was trying to gatecrash the party or was it because he was dressed in an open-neck shirt and jeans? That was probably it. No doubt she would think he was lowering the tone of the occasion.

  Patrick’s speech was, as promised, short and to the point. The baby, apparently christened Robert Patrick, was toasted by everyone and wished a happy, healthy and long life. Patrick had his arm around Helen, who was holding the baby. They looked a happy couple…a happy family. Black images filled Andrew’s mind. Jealousy, anger, frustration and more than a little self-pity came over him in great waves. He downed his champagne and headed for the patio doors, determined to leave before he said or did anything he’d later regret.

  ‘Dr Henderson!’ someone called out.

  He turned and saw a young woman waving from the other side of the lawn. She was r
unning towards him. He recognised her. It was a doctor he’d worked with in the ER in New York. She’d been Helen’s flatmate, he recalled…Jane, he remembered, was her name.

  ‘Hi!’ she said breathlessly. ‘I didn’t know you were coming to the christening. I’m the godmother. I flew in from the States this morning and I’m still suffering from jet-lag!’

  ‘Great,’ said Andrew. ‘Nice to see you again. I have to be going. I only called in for a moment to see Helen.’

  ‘Is this the first time you’ve seen the baby?’ Jane asked, unsure how much he knew.

  ‘Yes. He’s a little trouper, isn’t he? But he hasn’t got his dad’s red hair.’ Andrew glanced across at where Helen and Patrick were standing. The baby was being handed around various admiring people.

  ‘Er…yes,’ said Jane. ‘You mean Patrick?’

  ‘Who else?’ Andrew paused before walking to the front door. ‘Anyway, nice to see you again, Jane. Safe journey back.’

  He let himself out and walked back to where he’d parked his car. He couldn’t wait to get away from the place. He’d come to England on a six-month contract with the express aim of wooing and winning Helen…and he was too late. When he’d talked to her in the hospital canteen and he’d been told the black news that she was going to marry another man—that had been bad enough. But at least he’d been left with a tiny bit of hope. If she hadn’t actually married the man, Andrew had felt that he’d been in with a fighting chance of getting her back, of making her change her mind. But now…now he’d discovered that they had a baby!

  It really was too late. Helen and Patrick and their baby were a family—and Andrew had no intention of even trying to come between them. He sighed deeply and regretfully. Now it really was all over and his dreams of a life with Helen had been shattered. He couldn’t wait for the remaining time to be up so he could return to the States and pick up the remnants of his medical career.

  Helen noticed Andrew’s departure and wasn’t sure whether she was pleased or not. It was perhaps just as well he’d gone, otherwise he might have started asking awkward questions about Robert’s age—and then working out for himself that he was the father.

  Jane came over and told her of the short conversation she’d had with him.

  ‘He’s convinced that Patrick is Robert’s father. I didn’t know what to say.’

  Helen’s eyes grew round. ‘You didn’t tell him?’

  ‘No, of course not. I was just very surprised to see him here.’

  ‘You and me both,’ said Helen ruefully. ‘I nearly dropped the baby with shock when I saw him standing on the doorstep, talking to Mum.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit…’ Jane screwed up her face ‘…mean not letting him know he’s Robert’s father. He has that basic human right, surely?’

  ‘He has no rights whatsoever where Robert’s concerned! You know that, Jane! When he left me and buzzed off to Chicago, he forfeited any rights he ever had.’ Helen’s voice was bitter and angry. ‘I shall tell him when I’m ready to do so. That’s my basic human right!’

  ‘Of course,’ said Jane to pacify her. ‘Now, how about another glass of champers? Patrick is opening bottles by the dozen so come on, let’s party!’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IN THE weeks since the christening, Helen didn’t see Andrew on any of the days she’d been working at the open access unit. She did wonder if he was being kept very busy in Orthopaedics—but she also wondered if he was deliberately avoiding her.

  She had given a lot of thought to how and when she should tell Andrew about the baby. She’d worked out when his contract would come to an end and planned to tell him just before he went back to America. But she kept having doubts and guilty feelings about keeping Robert’s parentage a secret from Andrew. Her conversation with Jane was weighing heavily on her conscience and she decided she had to tell him now. But what was the best way to do it? Write him a letter? Or tell him face to face? She asked her mother for advice.

  ‘I’d write to him, if I were you,’ Dorothy said. ‘That way you can spend some time choosing exactly the right words. It’s not something you can just go up to a man and tell him right in his face! I know some women do that, but I always think it’s kinder to let the man have a bit of privacy when he first hears that kind of news.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s cowardly just to write a letter?’ asked Helen nervously.

  ‘No, dear,’ said her mother. ‘You can say in the letter that you’re very happy to talk it over with him—or words to that effect.’

  Helen hesitated for a moment. ‘I don’t know his home address.’

  ‘Then send to him at the hospital,’ said Dorothy firmly. ‘Mark it private and confidential.’

  When Andrew received the letter, his reaction was one of sheer fury. He marched over to the open access unit, only to find it closed.

  ‘Have you seen Dr Blackburn?’ he asked a nurse.

  ‘She hasn’t been in today,’ he was told.

  Driving through busy city traffic, he nevertheless managed to reach her home in less than fifteen minutes. He spotted her getting out of a red Metro, carrying several supermarket shopping bags. He parked nearby and strode purposefully over to her.

  Helen saw him walking toward her. He looked like thunder. She felt sick with nerves.

  ‘How could you do it?’ he said between clenched teeth. ‘How could you deceive me like this?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Helen weakly.

  ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ He hadn’t raised his voice, but the quiet, angry way he spoke sent a chill through her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me right at the start that the baby was mine?’

  ‘I did what I did for the best,’ she said, trying to keep her cool. Andrew had thrown her on the defensive and she was finding it very hard to gain the upper ground.

  He pointed an accusing finger at her. ‘You had no right to do what you did. No right to come back to England, knowing you were pregnant with my child and not even telling me! How do you think that makes me feel?’

  Helen closed her eyes for a brief moment, summoning up her assertiveness. ‘Frankly, Andrew, I don’t care how it makes you feel. I wrote and told you that you are Robert’s father because I felt you had a right to know.’

  ‘You’re dead right I have! You’re a bitch, do you know that?’ His face was contorted with anger.

  Her heart was pounding but she was determined not to let him browbeat her. His extreme reaction had taken her unawares. She’d thought he might be cross for being kept in the dark about being a father but, considering that he appeared to have other plans for his life that didn’t include her, he was definitely overreacting. She sensed that it was his pride that had been hurt more than anything. He must have hated being kept in the dark. Well, that was all in the past and she had to consider her own future and, of course, Robert’s.

  ‘Would you, please, leave?’ she said calmly.

  ‘This is a public road and I most certainly will not leave. Not until you tell me what your plans are for bringing up my son.’

  ‘He will be brought up by Patrick and me,’ she said. ‘What else did you expect?’

  ‘In that case, I must tell you that you’ll both be hearing from my lawyers.’

  Helen laughed at the notion. ‘Your lawyers can’t stop me marrying Patrick—or anyone else I choose to marry!’

  ‘I’m talking about my son,’ said Andrew. ‘I shall be demanding access and all other parental rights.’

  She was temporarily speechless.

  ‘You’ve not heard the last from me, Dr Blackburn. You can run away from me but you can’t deny me my son!’

  Helen’s pulse was racing furiously. ‘The sooner you get back to America the better! Chicago, New York, wherever you like…but just go!’

  ‘I’m going back, don’t worry about that. But I might very well be taking Robert with me. I shall be applying for custody and I believe I’m in a very favourable position to get it! Goodbye, H
elen.’

  He walked back to his car and drove away loudly.

  She was gripped by a clammy fear. Andrew couldn’t take away her baby, could he? The idea was so ridiculous she almost laughed. Nevertheless, it was a few moments before she composed herself and walked to her front door.

  The following day Helen still hadn’t come to terms with the confrontation outside the house. She couldn’t decide what had upset her most—Andrew’s threat to cause trouble over access to Robert or the way he’d turned his anger on her.

  It was a lovely summer’s day and Helen was pushing Robert in his baby buggy towards the little park. He was lying flat on his back fast asleep with the most angelic look on his face.

  ‘My little cherub,’ whispered Helen to him as they neared the park entrance. There were children playing on the swings, and three other mothers with babies in buggies.

  She found an empty bench in a shady spot and sat down, keeping one hand on the buggy and rocking it gently.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t wipe from her mind the picture of Andrew and the bitter way he’d spoken to her the previous day. Tears began to spring into her eyes once again and she wiped them away briskly. She couldn’t stop herself from wanting to burst into tears every time she thought about it. Her mother had been most concerned when Helen, returning with her shopping, had walked into the kitchen with tears streaming down her face.

  She’d told her mother what had just happened and almost immediately regretted doing so. Her mother had flown into a rage and called Jack into the kitchen. The two of them had proceeded to outline a plan of defence in, as Jack put it, ‘the unlikely event’ that Andrew would carry out his threat.

  She’d hardly slept a wink last night as she’d gone over, time and time again, her conversation with Andrew. She blew her nose and stared out across the park, feeling wretched. She was startled from her reverie by a familiar voice behind her.

  ‘Hayfever?’ he asked. ‘There’s quite a lot of it about this year, so I’ve heard.’

  ‘Andrew!’ She looked round and there he was standing next to the buggy. He was wearing chinos and a blue open-necked shirt.