Pride in his prowess was mingled with chagrin that it should have brought him to this embarrassing situation. Reluctantly, Lesley found herself believing him.
"I must see the Herr Doktor and explain," the Swiss went on.
"I don't think he'd appreciate that."
"But I want him to know the truth. Will you tell him?" At her nod, he looked immeasurably relieved. "Then I will go. There is nothing more I can do here."
Hurrying along to Phillip Redwood's room, Lesley nerved herself for the ordeal ahead.
He was seated at his desk and pushed back some papers as she entered: a similar scene to many that had gone before. Yet there was a difference: words had been spoken that had subtly altered their relationship; no more did she feel they were strangers talking across a chasm of indifference, but neither by look nor gesture did she reveal her new awareness.
"I've spoken to Herr Kasper. He had no idea Mrs. Redwood was ill. Apparently she's been able to hide it from everyone. They went on an excursion from St. Moritz, and on the way back, she collapsed."
Carefully she recounted her interview with the skiing instructor, and Phillip Redwood heard her out in silence.
"Not a very pretty story," he said at last. "My wife turned down by a skiing instructor!"
"It might not be true."
"But you believe him, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Do you also believe I should keep her here?"
"You have no choice. You must."
He slumped forward and rested his head on his hands. "When I saw her just now I hated her!"
"It's understandable."
"No," he said quietly. "Deborah is ill, and she needs me as any other sick person would. I had no right to let my emotions interfere with my behaviour as a doctor."
"You're not a machine," Lesley protested.
"It would be better if I were. The task ahead isn't going to be pleasant."
"You will do what is right," she stated.
"How can you be so sure of me when I'm no longer sure of myself?"
"Woman's intuition," she said with the faintest of smiles and went to the door. "Good night, Mr. Redwood."
"Good night… Lesley."
As much as she wanted it, sleep would not come, and Lesley thought of the conversation she had had with Phillip Redwood and knew it had changed the whole pattern of her life.
For years she had believed him to be a hard man but now saw him as a lost and lonely one whose determination to succeed as a surgeon had cost him his marriage. Poor Phillip. When he had finally found the courage to resolve the problem and give his wife the freedom she wanted, she had come back into his life in the most dramatic way possible.
It was on this thought that Lesley fell asleep, awakening heavy-eyed to supervise Bobby's breakfast and see him down to the car that took him to school. Then, deploring the flu that kept Axel to his bed and placed his duties on her, she went to Deborah Redwood's room.
In the harsh light of the mountain sun she had her first proper sight of Phillip Redwood's wife.
How cruelly illness had dealt with her. The long hair was robbed of its lustre, the red mouth seemed twice as large in the emaciated triangle of her face, and jutting shoulder bones and ribs marred the lines of the once lovely body. Only her voice was the same: husky and with the sardonic drawl that made Lesley feel like the most junior of nurses.
"Well, well, a lady doctor in Phillip's domain! I never thought I'd live to see the day. Which reminds me—how many days do I have?"
"Years yet." Lesley took the damp wrist lightly in her fingers.
"Where's Phillip?"
"Mr. Redwood is doing his rounds."
"What am I supposed to do till he finds, time to get here?"
"Lie quietly."
"You must be joking!"
Deborah Redwood tried to sit up but Lesley bent to restrain her.
"Please lie still. It's bad for you to get excited."
"It'll be worse for me to stay here! Hans should never have brought me."
She struggled again but Lesley held her firmly, and after a moment, she sank back on the pillows.
"Are they going to operate?" she asked abruptly.
"I don't know. What other treatment have you had?"
"None. I never went to see anybody."
"But you must have realised you were ill!"
"I hate doctors!"
Lesley set her lips, unable to believe anyone with a modicum of intelligence could have behaved with such disregard for her health.
"As a matter of fact I did see someone last year," Deborah admitted. "He wanted me to stay in bed for a couple of months and have a course of injections."
"And you didn't?"
"I just thought he was being dramatic. Most doctors are, you know. Make a patient believe they're dying and then save them. That way you win their gratitude and their money!" The woman laughed sharply. "Forgive me if I'm cynical about the medical profession. I'm sure you know why."
Lesley forced herself to remain silent, and it was Deborah who broke the silence, her voice no longer sarcastic but full of fear.
"How long will I have to stay here? I must know the worst. The man I'm going to marry is neurotic about illness. He'd run a mile if he found out I was really sick. I would never see him again."
"I'm sure he wouldn't," Lesley said calmly. "Not if he loves you."
"He does love me! But his whole future depends on his health. He's one of the best skiers in Switzerland."
She spoke with such force that she started to choke and Lesley handed her a tissue from a box on the bedside table. Deborah's body shook with a violent spasm of coughing and the tissue at her lips became flecked with red.
Lesley went to the door. "I'll send in a nurse."
"No!" Deborah gasped. "They all hate me for leaving
Phillip. You stay with me. I can't put up with them."
Seeing her agitation, Lesley sat down. But as she did so Phillip came in.
"Good morning, Deborah. Feeling more rested now?"
"Don't ask stupid questions!" was the gasping reply. "I feel ghastly and you know it."
As Lesley stood up to go, Phillip detained her with a movement of his hand, though he still kept his eyes on his wife.
"You'll feel better once the treatment takes effect. But the most important thing is to relax."
"How can I relax with you around? Hans was stupid to bring me here."
"It would have been more stupid if he hadn't. This is one of the best clinics in Switzerland."
"It's still too embarrassing."
"Not as embarrassing as if you'd gone somewhere else. After all, you're still my wife."
"That's not my fault!"
His lids flickered. "I'm glad to hear your sarcasm. It's always a sign that the patient's improving."
"Am I a patient of yours? How very unethical! And you're hot on ethics, aren't you, Phillip? Thafs why you've never given me a divorce. But a year from now— thanks to the new laws—I'll be able to get it without you."
Purposefully he studied the X rays in his hand. "You're ill, Deborah; let's talk about getting you well."
"Just tell me how long the course will take."
"It isn't a course; it's an operation."
Deborah lost some of her bravado. "I thought the new drugs had made surgery obsolete?"
"When it's caught in time. Unfortunately you've allowed your condition to advance too far."
She sat up straight. "What are my chances, Phillip? Will I die?"
Instantly he was by her side, his hand on her shoulder.
"Of course not. Professor Zecker's the best man in the world for this operation. I've put a call through to Zurich and I'm waiting to hear from him."
Her hand came out and clutched his. "I'm afraid, Phillip."
"There's nothing to be afraid of, my dear." He bent over her. "You'll be perfectly well. I give you my word."
Quietly Lesley left the room. Would this crisis unite husband a
nd wife? The idea that it might brought no elation, and she walked slowly down the corridor. She had reached the end when Phillip caught up with her.
"The X rays couldn't be worse," he said. "We'll operate as soon as Zecker arrives. He brings his own team."
"May I watch it?"
"Certainly." His eyes narrowed. "Is Berteau better today?"
"No. But I can manage." She clapped her hand to her mouth. "Heavens! I must get in touch with Pat! With Axel off as well as Richard, I won't have a chance to see her."
"Trust both of them to be off at the same time!"
"They didn't do it on purpose."
"I know. But I'm in a foul mood. And with your having to stand in for the two of them—————— "
Assuring him she could manage, she hurried to Richard's room. He was lying on a couch, a book open on his knees.
"What foul luck I have," he grumbled. "The first bit of excitement we have had here for months and I'm left out of it. Isn't there anything I can do?"
"Keep away from the patients," she grinned, "and keep Pat company for me, will you? Show her the—"
"Definitely not. I wouldn't dream of giving her my cold!"
"I'm not letting you off with that excuse. Don't go close to her and keep in the fresh air!"
"The things I do for you!"
"You don't really mind, do you?"
He shrugged. "She improves on acquaintance."
"I knew you'd like each other once you stopped fighting!" Lesley moved to the door. "I must be off or the ward sister will have kittens!"
At four that afternoon, Lesley was again summoned to Phillip Redwood's office. One look at his face and she knew something was wrong.
"Don't tell me the Professor Zecker has the flu, too!"
"Worse than that. He left for America an hour before my call. I knew he was scheduled to go this week, but he went a few days earlier than planned."
"Is there anyone else who can do the operation?"
"No. It's his speciality."
Phillip Redwood pushed himself away from his desk and stared out into the darkening afternoon. "We'll either have to wait till he gets back or fly in someone from London."
"But if you want to use his method," Lesley said, "you must use someone who's seen him operate."
The man in front of her was so still that she knew exactly what was going through his mind. "You," she whispered. "You're the only British surgeon who's seen this new technique."
"I can't operate on my wife. It's out of the question."
"You haven't any choice. It's her only chance."
"I still can't do it."
"But you're Zecker's protege. You're looked on by all as his successor. Of course you can do it, Phillip."
"On a stranger," he muttered, sitting down again in his chair. "Not on Deborah. I'm afraid."
Looking at his anguished face Lesley longed to comfort him. But this was not her right; all she could do was to help him overcome his fear. For if she didn't and Deborah died, he would never escape his guilt.
"The great Phillip Redwood," she taunted. "What a pity Martha Roberts can't hear you now!"
"What does she have to do with it?"
"You once condemned her because she let her emotions interfere with her work as a surgeon. And now you're doing exactly the same!"
"Can you blame me?"
"I don't blame you for your feelings—only for giving in to them. You're a coward, Phillip!"
"How dare you say that!"
"It's the truth. It's your duty to operate on Deborah. Your duty," she repeated in a hard voice. "That's all you should think of."
"Wearily he lowered his head and she waited, her body taut. At last he straightened and flexed his long, slender fingers.
"Please tell the theatre sister I'll operate at seven tonight. I must ask you to assist me. Unless you don't want to watch a coward at work?"
Her eyes sparkled with tears. "I didn't mean what I said. I only—"
"I can recognise therapy after the event," he interrupted with a faint smile. "Thank you for helping me."
At seven that evening Lesley entered the theatre. Two other doctors were there and she guessed they came from the local hospital. With Axel and Richard out of action, it was obvious that Phillip would need more assistance than she herself would be able to give him.
She was keyed to fever pitch and intensely aware of every detail in the room: the shining instruments; the gleaming trolleys; the heart and lung machine and a battery of other machines she did not recognise.
Then the doors opened and Deborah was wheeled in. But was this still, white figure the Deborah she had spoken to earlier in the day? It was no one and it was everyone: the anonymous patient.
Phillip came in from the surgeon's changing room, a green gown covering his figure, a mask hiding his face. Only his eyes were visible, but though they looked at Lesley they did not appear to see her. For a second all movement was suspended, the circle of figures under the arc light seeming to be carved in marble. Then he took the instrument from sister's hand and with a steady stroke made the first incision.
Slowly the hours passed. The lights beat down with tropical intensity, but air conditioning kept the theatre cool. Eight o'clock… ten… eleven……….
Despite the coolness, the sweat poured down Phillip's face and frequently a nurse stepped forward to wipe it away. But not for a moment did he raise his head from the table, and Lesley marvelled at the strength and delicacy of his healing hands.
And this was the man who had been afraid!
At a quarter-past-eleven he glanced up. "All right. I'm done."
The theatre sister nodded and a few moments later he straightened, signalled the surgeon next to him to close up and walked wearily away from the table.
The scrub-room door closed after him and Lesley decided not to follow him; there were times when privacy was essential.
Tonight she had watched a man battle with himself and win, and it was no longer possible for her to hide the truth of her feelings. No matter what heartache the acknowledgment might bring her in the future, at this point in time it was a treasure to examine and accept.
She was in love with Phillip Redwood!
CHAPTER TEN
Lesley awoke with a headache that not even breakfast could dispel and, making her way heavily downstairs, wondered what the songwriters meant when they said being in love was wonderful.
Deborah Redwood was still unconscious and Lesley glanced at the chart hanging at the front of her bed and then at the nurse sitting beside it.
"I see Mrs. Redwood awoke at five this morning. Why wasn't I called?"
"Because Herr Doktor Redwood was here. He remained all night."
"I see."
Resolutely Lesley quelled all the emotion that this knowledge aroused in her.
"The Herr Doktor left only a few moments ago to meet Sir Lionel Brooks," the nurse continued.
"Then call me if I'm needed," Lesley said. "I'll be doing my rounds."
With a precision born of training she went through her usual routine but was unutterably glad when lunchtime enabled her to relax. Richard and Axel—now recovered from his bout of illness—were already at the table, intently discussing Deborah.
"Is it the first time you've seen Redwood operate?" Richard asked, pulling out her chair.
"I saw him once at St. Catherine's."
Richard resumed his lunch. "He must have nerves of steel. Or no nerves at all! Suppose something had gone wrong? With things the way they are between him and his wife, someone might have said he'd done it deliberately."
"Oh do shut up!" Lesley said tetchily; then, aware her reaction had been sharper than the remark had warranted, she smiled. "Sorry, Richard. It seems your lot to put up with bad-tempered females."
"In the singular, if you please. The other one's behaving quite well."
"You mean you and Pat aren't quarrelling?" she asked in mock surprise.
"Better than that. We're almost
friends. I'm meeting her this afternoon, in fact. I'm still not allowed to go back on duty so I'm brushing up on my skiing."
Quick tears came into Lesley's eyes. "You're sweet to look after her for me."
"There's no need to cry about it. I'm enjoying myself."
This was more than Lesley could say during the seventy-two hours following Deborah's operation. Many times she'd witnessed patients hovering between life and death, but this particular patient was the wife of Phillip Redwood and, as such, the drama was heightened.
It was not until the afternoon of the third day, when she went into Deborah Redwood's room, that she met Sir Lionel. The woman was still heavily sedated, and after taking her pulse, Lesley turned to go.
It was then that Sir Lionel followed her out and spoke to her. She had not seen him since the night—four years ago—when he had announced his daughter's engagement, and she was dismayed to see how different he looked now: old, weary and dispirited.
"I'd like a .word with you, Dr. Forrest," he said. "My daughter keeps asking for someone called Hans. I take it she means the ski instructor who brought her here?"
"Yes."
"I believe you met him? I'd like to know what impression you formed."
Lesley lowered her eyes. "He seemed a typical, good- looking, young athlete."
"That wasn't quite what I wanted to know," Sir Lionel replied. "This is rather embarrassing, Dr. Forrest, and I applaud your discretion. But I'm concerned for my daughter's happiness. She's my only child and I can't let her go on making a mess of her life. What opinion did you form of this man? Do you think he cares for her or is he only interested in her money?"
Throwing discretion aside, Lesley said bluntly, "I don't think Herr Kasper is interested in your daughter or her money!"
Sir Lionel could not hide his surprise. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"That makes it even worse! Now I understand why she's so determined to marry him. Thwart her in anything and she wants it all the more. I am most grateful for your honesty."
He returned to his daughter's room and Lesley went on her way, wondering if he would have said the same had he known she herself was in love with his son-in- law.
By the end of the week Deborah Redwood was out of danger, a fact Phillip confirmed during one of the rare moments he saw Lesley alone. As far as she could gather from Richard and Axel, he spent all his spare time with Sir Lionel, and though she ached with the need to see him alone, she forced herself to spend her own off-duty hours with Pat. Phillip Redwood was married, she told herself again and again, and no matter how deeply she felt about him, she was ethically bound to hide her love.
Rachel Lindsay - Love and Dr Forrest Page 8