‘We have a busy week ahead as usual,’ Andrew said, and Nicholas followed him into his consulting room to where the appointments book lay on the large polished desk.
Nicholas glanced down, leafing through until he reached the page for Wednesday, when his hand stilled. He remained silent for one long moment, then said, ‘Mr and Mrs Faraday? Didn’t you attend their wedding earlier this year? When you had to postpone Lady Trentley’s appointment?’
‘I’m impressed you remember. They are at their London House, having recently returned from Italy.’
‘Is the London house close?’ Nicholas managed to keep his enquiry one of light interest.
‘It’s in Carlton House Terrace. I had cause to visit there once, when as a child Oliver developed measles.’
Nicholas simply gave a nod and their conversation turned to medical discussion. The morning was a busy one and it was their habit to lunch together, so it was only when his first afternoon appointment was cancelled that Nicholas was able to clear his mind. He left the practice and made his way to Regent’s Park, hoping that in the fresh air he would be able to think calmly, logically. On Wednesday he had a full diary, so there could be no question of cancelling his appointments. Already the thought of seeing Helena again was sending adrenalin racing through his veins, even though he knew he was being unrealistic. It was over a year since that fleeting scene in Cadogan Square; so much had happened in her life. Nicholas was hoping that the magic would have gone for him too, that he would see her as an attractive young woman, nothing more. At least he would then be able to dismiss the whole episode as nothing more than a foolish fantasy.
He continued walking along the tree-lined paths until reaching the lake, and in an effort to escape his tormented thoughts, paused to watch and then smile at the excitement of a small boy who was trying to launch a red sailing boat. Seeing that he was hovering dangerously near to the water, his uniformed nanny leaned down and crossly pulled at his shoulder. ‘Come back, Master Peter. You’ll be splashing your sailor suit.’
Her concern was not for the child’s safety, only to keep his clothes pristine, and Nicholas disliked hearing a grown woman address a child in such a subservient way, thinking that it was hardly surprising that the aristocracy and upper classes grew up with an innate sense of superiority.
The brief episode lingered in his mind, an uncomfortable reminder that Helena was a member of that privileged section of society.
As he continued on his way and eventually left the park, he knew he must face the fact that he was fooling himself. Already his every sense was impatient for Wednesday to arrive. Should he try to remain out of sight, ignore her presence? Would he be able to? The layout of his consulting room was such that his desk was not in view when the door was open, and so Nicholas had no fears that he and Helena might inadvertently catch a glimpse of each other. His hearing was acute – he could always hear Andrew’s door open and the muffled sound of farewells – and so it would be easy to manoeuvre a meeting.
The thoughts continued to plague him until he felt the threat of a headache; that he could easily remedy, but so far no one had invented a panacea for a lack of common sense, not when the heart was involved.
Chapter Twenty-Two
On Wednesday morning Oliver escorted Helena to the practice in Wimpole Street, where they arrived exactly five minutes before the appointed time. The receptionist smiled up at them. ‘Good morning – Mr and Mrs Faraday?’
‘That is correct.’
‘Please may I take your full details?’
‘Dr Haverstock knows me perfectly well.’
‘Yes, Sir. But I always check a patient’s details – just to ensure accuracy.’
‘All you need to write down, young lady, is that I am Mr Oliver Faraday of Graylings in Hertfordshire.’
‘And is it yourself or your wife who is the patient?’
Oliver gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘Mrs Helena Faraday.’
‘Thank you, Sir. I shall notify Dr Haverstock of your presence.’
Helena led the way over to a horsehair sofa, wishing that Oliver wouldn’t be so arrogant in his manner. The young woman had only been doing her job. She glanced over to the gleaming coffee table where beside a vase of pink carnations were copies of magazines such as Tatler, Country Life and The Lady. There were two doors, both with a nameplate. One bore Dr Haverstock’s name and the other Dr N E Carstairs. ‘There is another doctor here too,’ she said in a low voice.
‘So it would seem. Perhaps Dr Haverstock has taken on a partner.’ Oliver began to leaf through Country Life. ‘I see there is a new crop of debutantes.’
‘Yes, perhaps Johnnie will make an offer this year and be accepted. Can you imagine anything worse than having Mrs Horton as a mother-in-law?’
Oliver frowned. ‘No names in public, Helena.’
It was a rebuff she considered unnecessary in view of her voice being almost a whisper, and she was about to retort when the receptionist rose from her desk to usher them in. Oliver had reminded Helena that she had met the doctor at their wedding breakfast, but it was only when she heard his soft Scots burr that she remembered him.
He came forward, hand outstretched. ‘My dear Oliver and Mrs Faraday – how are you both?’
‘Excellent, and I trust you and your family are in good health?’
‘We are very well, and my wife and daughter still talk of your wedding and your lovely bride.’ He smiled at Helena and said, ‘I believe you wish to consult me.’
She smiled back. ‘Yes, please.’
He turned to Oliver. ‘Then if you would indulge me and leave your wife in my capable hands …’ He gave a frown at Oliver’s outraged expression. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid it’s not usual to have someone else present during a consultation, except in the case of children, of course.’ He walked over to the door and opened it. ‘If you wouldn’t mind?’
Oliver left with ill grace. After Helena had taken a seat before him, Dr Haverstock said with a smile, ‘Perhaps you would let me know the problem.’
After her explanation, he took her medical history and then asked her to go behind a screen and undress. ‘Just the top layer, Mrs Faraday. There is no need to be concerned; I shall merely make a short preliminary examination.’
Helena found his brisk yet friendly manner inspired confidence and once she had retaken her place before his desk and they had talked a little, he summoned the receptionist to ask Oliver to rejoin them.
Dr Haverstock rose and held out his hand. ‘May I congratulate you? I can confirm that your wife is not only pregnant but in the best of health.’
Oliver shook his hand. ‘Thank you. And the expected date?’
‘I would expect it to be at the beginning of April.’
‘And I assume you will attend the confinement?’
‘I would be delighted. But as babies are not always punctual I would recommend that you also enlist the services of a local doctor and midwife, just in case.’
‘You haven’t mentioned a gynaecologist.’
‘That is rare unless there are anticipated complications. But if appropriate, I assure you I will make the necessary arrangements.’
‘And are there any precautions my wife should take? I presume, for instance, that she should cease riding. I am also concerned about her nausea.’
Helena felt a flash of irritation. Did he think her a child, incapable of asking these questions herself? ‘Dr Haverstock has already discussed these matters with me, Oliver.’
‘I’m sure your wife will take the greatest care. Now I shall need to see Mrs Faraday in another three months, just to check that all is progressing normally.’
‘I had thought at least every four weeks,’ Oliver protested.
‘Your wife would do better at home, rather than undergoing the constant travelling. You must t
rust my judgement in this.’ He softened his words with a smile. ‘But before you go, I think it would be wise for you to meet my colleague, Dr Carstairs. I’m sure the situation won’t arise, but if for some reason …’ He pressed a bell at the side of his desk. ‘I’ll just ask Miss Barnes whether he has a patient with him.’
Nicholas was endeavouring to write up medical notes. The fact that the door to Andrew’s room had already opened twice was of no concern to him – he could guess the reason. He had still not decided whether to remain in his own.
‘Dr Carstairs?’ Miss Barnes smiled at him. ‘Dr Haverstock wondered if you could please join him for a few minutes.’
Never for one moment had Nicholas imagined this would happen. He managed to say, ‘I’ll be there directly.’ Then he sank back against the leather upholstery.
So it had come – within seconds he would see her again. Moments later, struggling to maintain a professional demeanour, he turned the gleaming brass knob into Andrew’s consulting room.
Her broad-brimmed hat was cream, adorned with apricot tulle roses, and he saw beneath it her lovely hazel eyes widen in shock.
Helena knew him immediately. The same sensitive face that had so haunted her, the warm brown eyes that once again met her own with that extraordinary sense of connection. Bewildered, she watched him being introduced to Oliver, while her pulse raced madly with the effort to regain her composure. Then he was turning to her, his hand outstretched. Their fingers touched; his were firm, hers were trembling, while his gentle smile was for her alone.
‘Dr Carstairs, I’m delighted to meet you again. If you recall we met briefly once before, in Cadogan Square.’ The practiced civility sprang to her lips even while her every emotion was in chaos.
Nicholas collected his thoughts. ‘Yes, of course – a matter of an ill-treated horse, as I remember.’
Then as the three men exchanged pleasantries, Helena heard Dr Haverstock use his colleague’s first name and at last, she knew her mystery doctor’s full identity. His voice too, low and musical, and she tried to store every cadence in her memory.
But to her panic, all too soon Oliver was saying, ‘Helena, I think we may now take our leave,’ and she was forced to follow him to the door, struggling not to look back at Nicholas, but it was impossible. With her head high, her body tense, she flashed one last look at him. His face was inscrutable but his eyes … She dragged her gaze away. ‘Thank you again, Dr Haverstock,’ she said. ‘Goodbye, Dr Carstairs.’
Outside in Wimpole Street, the Faraday coach was waiting for them and once they were comfortably seated Oliver said, ‘Within ten years or so, I daresay a private coach will be a rarity in the capital, or indeed in the country.’
Helena merely said in a low voice, ‘Would you mind having luncheon alone, Oliver? I’m feeling rather tired.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘What a charming and attractive young lady she is,’ Andrew said. He went over to his desk and, opening the top drawer, withdrew his pipe and pouch of St Bruno Flake. ‘As for Oliver, the Faraday estate is entailed so he will be hoping for an heir.’
‘One of the reasons he married, I expect. Isn’t that the point of the whole debutante scene?’
‘Do I detect a slight note of cynicism?’ Andrew gave a chuckle. ‘But of course you’re right. However, this particular union would seem to be a love match, at least according to Mrs Haverstock. Have you noticed how women get fanciful at weddings?’
Nicholas managed to smile. ‘My mother always gets tearful. Now if we are to lunch together, then I should go and complete the notes on my last patient. Not that I could help him very much, apart from prescribing opiates.’
‘They will give him some comfort.’ As Andrew began to fill his pipe at last Nicholas felt free to return to his consulting room.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He had seen her again – and now he knew. As soon as he opened the door and met her startled eyes, he had known. She had felt that sense of recognition, of connection, all those months ago in Cadogan Square. She had not forgotten him. Her voice was as light and sweet as he remembered it, and her perfume delicate and flowery like that ridiculous hat. He smiled; he would never see cream roses again without that lovely image. When she had turned before leaving, had she understood his silent message? Nicholas opened his eyes to stare blankly ahead as frustration and anger swept through him. Frustration that he could never love her in the way he longed to and anger with himself for not accepting the futility of it all.
The following week at Broadway Manor, the maids had opened all the windows to allow the cooling air in. It was, as Beatrice was saying to Jacob, going to be yet another hot day. They both turned as the door to the morning room opened and Bostock brought in a silver salver containing the early post.
Jacob smiled as he saw a large envelope bearing Helena’s handwriting, and taking an ivory paperknife from a small sofa table, he slit it open. ‘How very odd, there is a letter here for you too. I can hardly think she needs to economise on postage.’
Beatrice took it from him and held out her hand for the paper knife. Moments later, they were both smiling at each other with Beatrice clasping her hands together with delight. ‘She wanted us to read her news at the same time, how clever of her.’
‘So I’m to be a grandfather.’ Jacob’s face creased in a proud smile.
‘And me a great-aunt. Isn’t it wonderful? A baby in the family. I am so thrilled, Jacob, and so must she be. She says she is well but my note is quite short. Is there anything further in yours?’
He frowned. ‘Just that Oliver wishes us to be discreet. He can see no point in Helena’s condition being general knowledge, not until she’s at least six months.’
‘That’s not too unusual, you know. After all, it is a matter for discretion in the early days.’
‘I suppose you’re right. So we must be careful not to discuss it before the servants. Didn’t you say that letters were sometimes sent to Molly?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Although how Oliver expects to keep his own staff in ignorance I don’t know. If Helena were living here it would be impossible.’
‘Yes, Jacob, but I feel that our house, possibly because it is smaller, is much more of a family home, and our servants are part of that family. Whereas Graylings is so vast and grand …’
‘Impersonal, you mean. I do wonder sometimes whether Helena will ever be truly happy there.’
Beatrice’s tone was one of reassurance. ‘A child will make all the difference, you’ll see.’
At Graylings Helena was unable to put the meeting at Wimpole Street out of her mind. She tried to convince herself that it was pointless to dream of ‘what might have been’. Yet the expression in his eyes when his gaze met hers, the feel of his touch on her skin, the secret and silent message between them, how could she not think of it? How often did she wonder whether if they had met sooner and in different circumstances, whether their lives would now be entwined?
She was strolling in the extensive walled kitchen garden, where against the warm red bricks one of the gardeners was tending fan-trained fruit. He doffed his cap as she approached, then reached to pick a ripe peach and presented it to her. She searched for his name and with relief found it. ‘Thank you, Alf.’ As she continued on her way, Helena rubbed the peach gently against her sleeve then bit thoughtfully into its downy skin and soft juicy flesh.
Was Nicholas feeling as bewildered as she was? That one glimpse, one exchanged glance, and now a few moments spent in the same room, could have such a devastating effect? Was he too trying and failing to make sense of it all? Was he married? Did he have children?
And in the late evenings when Oliver often retired to the library, Helena would feel so restless that she would meander around the drawing room, gazing out at the beautiful rose gardens and silvery lake in the
distance. She was able to console herself that at least having received warm and congratulatory letters from Broadway Manor, she now felt free to confide her news in confidence to Dorothy. And this was the perfect time to invite her to Graylings. Her company would be the ideal diversion.
‘I had thought, Oliver,’ she said, ‘that during her visit we might host a few intimate suppers after which I could give a short recital. The music room is too beautiful not to share with others. I especially love those French gilt chairs. Do you know who acquired them?’
‘My father did.’
‘You so rarely talk about him. I don’t feel as if I know him at all.’ She glanced up at the ornate framed portrait of a stiff-collared fair-haired man who bore a strong resemblance to his son.
‘Then your feelings are the same as my own.’ Oliver’s voice was tight. ‘I’m afraid he had little time for me, even as a child.’
Helena stared at him in growing dismay. ‘But that’s awful. You were his only son and heir …’
Oliver gave a shrug of his shoulders. ‘I never understood it either. I can only think that he held me responsible for my mother’s death.’
‘And there was no relative, no aunt? I can’t imagine what my childhood would have been like without Aunt Beatrice.’
‘No, no one. I wasn’t neglected in any other way.’ Oliver’s normally confident tone became defensive. ‘There was a nanny and later a governess. Of course I was away at school much of the time. One learns to be self-sufficient.’
Helena was thinking of a lonely little boy in this great house, starved of affection. This could be the reason for what she sensed was his lack of interest in others, his underlying coldness. What had Dorothy called him, an enigma?
‘Shall we decide who to invite to entertain your friend?’ Oliver asked. ‘For instance, I’m sure Johnnie would welcome the chance of a weekend at Graylings.’
Dangerous Decisions Page 14