Secrets in Time: Time Travel Romance

by Alison Stuart

  The wait was taking its toll on both of us.

  I forced myself to flick through dog eared magazines filled with endless photographs and gossip about Princess Diana and her latest flame. After a cursory inspection of modern royalty, Nat lost interest and if he had not been on crutches, he would have been pacing the floor instead of tapping the toe of his shoe with the end of the crutch.

  The last few days had not been easy. Nat, like most convalescent males, was not the best of patients but I found Christian took most of my time and energy. Despite my years of medical training, adjusting to life with a two-year-old, particularly an ill two-year-old, in an unfamiliar setting, presented its challenges.

  Christian’s father did what he could but Nat, as dislocated as his son and hampered by the injury to his leg, drew into himself and spent the day propped up on the sofa watching television. Even the crutches I borrowed for him didn’t improve his mood.

  The reality of Nat’s situation began when I handed Nat a pen to sign the consents. As he turned it over in his hand, I sighed. He’d had no cause to write on his previous visit. A modern biro would be completely unfamiliar. He pushed the forms to one side, drew a piece of paper toward him and scratched his signature a few times. I grimaced; the florid seventeenth-century writing would raise questions. He huffed out an exasperated sigh and after some practice reduced his signature to a more acceptable basic twentieth-century scrawl.

  We had a long road to travel.

  ‘How much longer?’ Nat asked, breaking the silence.

  He had wanted to know what the surgery entailed so I had pulled out my text books and gone through it in detail with him. I’m not sure if it helped.

  ‘A few more hours. It's complex surgery, Nat.’ I set aside my magazine. ‘Coffee?’ I offered.

  He shook his head.

  ‘Is there a chapel here?’ he asked. I nodded and pointed down the corridor.

  He rose awkwardly to his feet and settled the crutches. ‘Show me.’

  I led him to the peaceful room and he sat on one of the chairs. He looked up at me and gave me a small, tight smile. ‘Do you mind leaving me, Jessie?’

  I shut the door and returned to the waiting room to drink another cup of warm, vaguely coffee-flavored water from the machine in the corner.

  By the time Mark came out of the surgery, Nat had returned. He struggled to his feet, his face taut with expectation. Mark looked exhausted and I read the signs. It had not been as straightforward as he would have liked.

  ‘He’s through,’ Mark said, ‘but the damage was worse than the scans had indicated. He’s a very sick little boy.’ He turned to Nat. ‘How in God’s name did he get to this age without any doctor picking it up?’

  Nat met his accusatory eyes. ‘We were not living anywhere near doctors,’ he replied.

  ‘Where the hell were you living? The Amazon jungle?’

  ‘Mark!’

  He glared at me and his expression softened as he ran a hand over his eyes. ‘Sorry, just a little tired. He’s in recovery. Gown up, if you want to sit with him.’

  How many times had I stood in the intensive care unit, just as I did now, looking down at a patient, wondering whether he would live or die, whether we had done enough? For the first time in my life, that professional concern was tinged with sheer panic. What if, after all we had been through, we lost him?

  Lily French buzzed around the bed hooking up the various monitors and drips, none of which Christian would understand once he awoke. She paused in her ministrations and looked at me, hands on her hips.

  ‘You two look terrible. Why don’t you go home and get some sleep? There is nothing you can do here. I’ll ring you when he wakes.’

  If he wakes.

  A glance at the monitors told me his condition was stable. I looked down at the tiny figure on the hospital gurney, his little face lost among the tubes. He seemed so fragile.

  Nat watched me from over the top of the paper mask he wore.

  ‘You go, Jessie. I don’t want to leave him.’

  I gave him a fierce look that said, ‘And I’m not leaving either of you.’

  ‘You don’t look so crash hot yourself, sunshine,’ Lily glared at Nat. ‘I’ll go and get you a chair. You need to rest that leg.’

  I followed her to fetch a jug of water. I wasn’t leaving either.

  Lily cocked her head and watched me as I ran the tap. ‘He’s the one?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, that’s him, Lily. Nat and I have travelled a long way together. No turning back now.’

  ‘Well. I can see the attraction. Lucky girl.’ She frowned. ‘What’s he done to his leg?’

  I avoided her eyes. ‘Just a silly accident.’

  Lily gave me an appraising look before she shook her head. ‘Men. Just what you need when you have to deal with a sick child.’ She laid her hand on my arm, forcing me to look at her. ‘Are you sure you’re ready to be an instant mother, Jess?’

  I smiled and nodded.

  Lily picked up a chair and gave me one of her professional, reassuring smiles. ‘He’ll be all right, Jess. I don’t let my patients go that easily.’

  Back in intensive care, I drew up a second chair, fished for Christian’s small hand amidst the tentacles of tubes and set myself to wait. Across the bed, Nat kept his vigil. Neither of us spoke.

  Sometime in the dark hours of the night I dozed, still holding the child’s hand, my head cradled in my arms, resting on the side of the bed. An almost imperceptible tightening of his fingers, or a shift in weight, woke me and I sat up with a start.

  ‘Nat, he’s awake!’

  Nat rose to his feet, his injury forgotten. He bent over his son, who looked from one to the other of us with large, fearful eyes. The change in his status on the monitors had alerted the on-shift nurse, who hustled us out of the way while she checked the machines.

  She turned and smiled at us. ‘Looking good. Dr. Westmacott asked me to ring him when the boy woke.’

  Mark appeared within a few minutes, looking as if he had just been woken, and I felt a rush of gratitude to him. Whatever he might have felt about Nat and me, he cared enough about his tiny patient that he hadn’t left the hospital.

  ‘Hmm,’ he said after he had finished his examination. I made a mental note to never to use that particular tone with a patient. ‘A word, Jessie.’

  He took me by the arm and steered me into the corridor.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ My voice sounded high and tight even to my own ears.

  Mark glanced through the window at the bed, where Nat stood leaning over his son and talking softly to him.

  ‘The child’s not out of the woods yet but it’s looking promising.’

  ‘So? What did you want to say to me that can’t be said in front of Nat?’

  Mark cleared his throat. ‘Jess, I’m worried about you. There’s something damned peculiar about your friend. Are you sure you know what you’re taking on?’

  ‘Absolutely sure, Mark.’ I laid a hand on his arm. ‘Thank you for what you’ve done.’

  He gave a gruff snort. ‘Well, you’re the one footing the bill.’ His face softened. ‘Now, as the child’s doctor, I am ordering you both to go home. You’re more use to me, and him, at home getting some rest.’

  He stalked off down the corridor and I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window.

  One look at our faces and anyone could have seen we were done in. I bent and kissed Christian’s forehead, gathered up his father and left, knowing the next twenty-four hours would be critical.

  Chapter 11

  A man with no past does not exist

  Lost amidst the tubes and strange machines that emit odd noises, my little son looks like a toy, a rag doll tossed aside by an angry child. Jessica tries to reassure me and explains in detail what each machine does but her words bounce off me.

  If I am adrift and afraid in this strange world, how will Christian manage when he wakes to a reality that no longer includes his brother, his aun
t and his grandmother, everything with which he is familiar?

  How could I have contemplated sending him here without having the courage to come with him?

  ~*~

  Back at the hospital next day, Nat and I settled ourselves in for the long wait by the child’s beside. Christian mostly slept and I exhausted the supply of magazines. I wandered down to the shop to buy some new one, returning with a book for Nat.

  He grimaced as he shifted his leg, reaching up to take the book from me.

  ‘I have sat in more comfortable chairs,’ he said.

  I thought of the hard, oaken chairs at the Hall and doubted the truth of that statement.

  ‘I should have a look at that leg. It needs redressing.’

  He clumped along the corridor behind me until I found an empty treatment room. I peeled back the bandages, wincing in sympathy as the dressing adhered to the wound.

  ‘Let me.’ Lily stood at the door, hands on her hips.

  Before I could protest she had elbowed me out of the way.

  ‘Doctors have no idea how to dress wounds,’ she told Nat, ripping the dressing off with practiced efficiency.

  She peered at my handiwork and looked up at me with a frown. ‘Is this a bullet wound?’

  I nodded and said, ‘Please say nothing, Lily. It was an accident.’

  ‘But...’ she began.

  ‘As my friend?’ I pleaded.

  She glanced from one of us to the other. ‘Do you know how much trouble you could be in?’ She whispered in an urgent tone.

  I nodded. ‘My problem, not yours,’ I said. ‘You can close the door behind you and pretend you never saw this.’

  Lily’s shoulders stiffened and she sniffed. ‘Well you’ve done a good, neat job, Dr. Shepherd. I’ll just have a clean around and put on a fresh dressing.’

  She smiled at the patient. ‘It’s only because you’ve such a winning smile, you know.’

  Nat laid a hand on her arm. ‘And I recognize a good heart when I see one.’

  When Lily had finished, I looked at Nat’s pale face and tight mouth and offered him a mild painkiller. He shook his head.

  ‘I need my wits, Jessie.’

  He gathered up the crutches and we returned to Christian’s bedside, settling ourselves back to her vigil. Nat turned the cheap paperback over in his hands before reverentially opening the first page.

  ‘Dinosaurs?’ he asked. ‘Are those the ancient beasts we saw in London?’

  Jurassic Park, may have been a mistake, I thought.

  From the corridor, I heard voices and my senses prickled. Rising to my feet, I parted the curtains and caught a glimpse of a blue police uniform among a gaggle of people clustered outside the door.

  ‘Police,’ I whispered.

  Nat was on his feet, reaching for his crutches. ‘Is this not a good thing?’

  Mark pushed his way through the curtain.

  ‘There you are,’ he said, as if he had expected us to be somewhere else.

  ‘Christian?’ Nat asked, and I could see the fear on his face.

  Mark glanced at the bed and shook his head. ‘He’s fine. No it’s you, Mr. Preston, that these good people are interested in. Could I ask you to step into the corridor?’

  Nat glanced at me and I shrugged. There was nothing we could do, nowhere we could run. We would just have to brazen it, whatever “it” was, out.

  We were met in the corridor by not only the uniformed police officer but a young woman in a gray suit.

  ‘Are you Nathaniel Preston?’ The policeman directed his question to Nat.

  Nat nodded. ‘I am.’

  The policeman puffed out his chest. ‘Do you mind showing me some identification, sir?’

  ‘Identification?’

  ‘Driver’s Licence? Bank book?’ the policeman suggested helpfully.

  Nat coughed. ‘I don’t have anything with me.’ He glanced at me. ‘We left home in a hurry this morning.’

  ‘Mark, what’s this about?’ I asked.

  ‘Mr. Westmacott has made a report to us regarding Mr. Preston’s lack of proper identification,’ the police officer said. ‘I’m Sergeant Evans and this is Ms. Smith of the Department of Immigration. We have been looking into Mr. Westmacott’s report and there are some matters we wish to discuss with Mr. Preston.’

  ‘Mark? What have you done?’ I glared at my former lover.

  Mark could not meet my eyes. ‘They think he may be an illegal immigrant,’ he mumbled.

  Nat opened his mouth but before he could speak, I put my hand on his arm. ‘Nat, you don’t have to say a thing.’ I addressed his accusers. ‘This is ridiculous. He is as English as any of us.’

  Ms. Smith consulted her notebook. ‘Then perhaps he can explain why he has no birth record, no NHS numbers or national ID, doesn’t appear to have a bank account or a driver’s license and in short, does not appear anywhere in any record in this country?’

  They had done their homework.

  When neither Nat nor I answered, the policeman nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Preston, but I have to take you into custody.’ He stepped forward, unbuckling hand cuffs from his belt. ‘Until we can get this matter cleared up, you must consider yourself in detention.’

  Nat laughed and held out the crutches. ‘My dear sir. You can clearly see I am not capable of making a swift bid for freedom. There will be no need of manacles. I will just bid my son farewell and then you can take me.’

  They all followed us into the ward, the policeman still holding out his handcuffs.

  I rounded on him, a white mist of anger rising before my eyes. ‘How dare you even consider putting him in handcuffs in the presence of the child. Put them away this instant.’

  Sheepishly the officer complied as Nat bent over his son.

  ‘Be brave,’ he whispered to the boy. ‘I will be back as soon as I can.’

  Christian who whimpered and I stroked the hair away from his anxious eyes His hand closed on mine.

  ‘I will be back in a moment,’ I said.

  I left Christian in Lily’s care but the child began to cry as I ushered the crowd into the hallway, where Sergeant Evans took Nat by the arm.

  ‘This is outrageous.’ I turned to the perpetrator of this tableau, my face hot with anger. ‘Mark, how could you?’

  Mark looked away. ‘I’m sorry, Dr. Shepherd, but I have a duty.’

  ‘A duty to your patient, who has now been deprived of his only parent at a vulnerable time.’ I turned to the officials. ‘What happens now?’

  ‘We are taking Mr. Preston to Northampton police station for the time being, and then he will be moved to our detention center, where we will undertake further inquiries,’ Ms. Smith replied.

  ‘I’ll get you a lawyer, Nat,’ I said.

  Behind us, Christian’s wails echoed down the corridor, and I saw the pain in Nat’s eyes but I could do nothing except watch helplessly as the policeman, followed by the little woman in the gray suit, took my lover away.

  When I turned around, Mark, his work complete, had beaten a retreat. I found him in his office, writing up reports. To make my point, I slammed the door behind me and, both hands on the desk, glared down at him.

  ‘You spineless bastard,’ I said. ‘This was never about Nat. It’s about you and me.’

  ‘Dr. Shepherd, Jessica, please...’

  I brought my face to within inches of his. ‘You spoilt little boy. When you couldn’t have me anymore, you thought you would punish me by taking away the one person in the world I have ever truly loved.’

  ‘Jessie...’ He adopted a silken, soothing purr.

  ‘Don’t ‘Jessie’ me, Mark. I’m so disappointed in you. You were bloody brilliant in surgery. You saved that child’s life and then you had to go and spoil it all with your shabby tricks.’

  ‘You don’t understand, Jess. I had no choice. I have a duty to this hospital, to the government, to report these inconsistencies. For all you know, he could have been an Irish terrorist!’

 
‘Does he look like an Irish terrorist?’

  ‘What do you know about him anyway?’ Mark’s bravado had returned.

  I nearly said ‘Everything, but bit my lip just in time. ‘I know he’s not Irish and he’s not a terrorist. He is just a father who would do anything for his son,’ I paused. ‘And I know I love him, Mark. Whatever else there is to know about him, I have a lifetime to find out.’

  Mark deflated like a balloon. ‘You really feel that strongly about him? There’s no chance...’

  I gave him what I hoped was a withering glare, straightened and said, ‘No. Now I’m going to find him the best lawyer I can and then I’m going to sit with his son who needs him. Stay out of my life, Mark--mine and Nat’s.’

  ~*~

  I returned home late in the evening, after a fruitless afternoon spent trying to get Nat released. Apparently the Department of Immigration liked to keep its suspected illegal immigrants firmly under lock and key. Not even the best efforts of my lawyer and offers of a hefty recognizance could change their minds.

  I had barely sunk onto the sofa with a large whisky, when I heard a knock at the door. Muttering under my breath, I went to answer it.

  ‘Colonel Preston.’ I greeted the dapper elderly gentleman on the front door step.

  ‘Good evening, Dr. Shepherd. I hope I haven’t called at an inconvenient time?’

  ‘Well...’ I ran a hand through my hair, wondering how I could get rid of my uninvited visitor without offending him. He seemed like a nice, old fellow.

  ‘I was wondering if I might speak with your friend, Nathaniel.’

  ‘Ah, that’s a little difficult. He’s not here.’

  Colonel Preston raised an eyebrow in much the same way Nathaniel did. The familiar gesture made my heart jolt.

  ‘Can you tell me where I may find him? It’s quite urgent.’

  I shook my head. ‘You couldn’t have come at a worse time. He’s in Northampton police station. Come in.’ I gestured and stood aside to allow the man to enter.

  I poured him a whisky and sat on the sofa. He took one of the armchairs and listened patiently while I told him of the afternoon’s events.