New Doctor at Northmoor

by Anne Durham

  ‘But I tell you—’ Gwenny began, but Sister came and took Gwenny away. The car was waiting for her.

  ‘But I must say goodbye to Dr. Bayfield, Sister,’ Gwenny pleaded. ‘It won’t take long.’

  Sister looked rather confused. ‘Actually, my dear, he did ask me to say goodbye to you for him, because he’s rather caught up just now. He sent all his good wishes for your future recovery.’

  Gwenny found herself being escorted to the lift. She didn’t really take in all Sister was saying about the good wishes of the nursing staff and their hopes of her future happiness with that secret rich man of hers. She was too dazed to remember to give them presents, but later found that her parents had seen to that important aspect. All she could think of at this moment was that the R.M.O. had kept out of the way when she was leaving, yet not so long ago she had been his mystery patient, the important person in his life. Well, she amended in her thoughts, in his working life, anyway.

  One thing she had remembered to do, but that was yesterday: yesterday, before she had realized that the R.M.O. wouldn’t even bother to say goodbye! She had tackled Arthur Peake about Clem’s cleft palate, and Arthur had promised to try and have something done about it. Clem would never be friends with her again, she thought wryly, because she had had to betray to Arthur Peake the times Clem delivered to the hospital, in order to catch him. Poor Clem, he would hate every minute of it, especially if the operation wasn’t a success. He would never forgive Gwenny.

  The next day she was whisked off with her parents to the seaside home of the relatives of Dr. Kinglake’s old patient, and they left behind them a surprisingly nice young locum who seemed efficient, pleased to be there, and quite confident of carrying on as Dr. Kinglake would have wished. Gwenny didn’t understand how all this could come about, and it seemed to her that forces were at work cutting the ground beneath her feet.

  Her parents were rather grim, considering everything. Gwenny would have thought Dr. Kinglake would have been extremely relieved about it all, but he wasn’t. He did settle down to his fortnight’s rest, however, when he discovered that one of the men in the family where they were staying was keen on fishing. The two men went off every day. Gwenny found to her amusement that her mother was content, too, in the company of the aunt who was also committee mad, and Gwenny herself was drawn into the company of Ann—the daughter of the family, who was waiting to start her training as a nurse at the local hospital.

  When Dr. Kinglake’s holiday finished, he made it clear that Gwenny was to stay there indefinitely. ‘I don’t have to remind you,’ he said, with a searching look she didn’t understand, ‘that your mother and I have gone through a great deal of anxiety on your behalf, because we couldn’t trust you to stay quietly at home. You had to run wild and go into places that you must have known we wouldn’t approve of. So I’ve arranged for you to stay here indefinitely. I hope you won’t make a nuisance of yourself here.’

  Gwenny hated that. She hated, too, her beloved father looking at her that way.

  ‘All right,’ she said, ‘I get the picture. And I’ve got news for you. I don’t want to come home!’

  It was a gesture, like the one she had made when she had started the story of the rich man, while in the hospital.

  ‘Is it that man?’ her father asked, jumping to the conclusion that that was in her mind too, ‘Am I not to know who it is, either?’

  ‘Daddy, there isn’t anyone, honestly, there isn’t. But if you want to know, I’m tired of Queen’s Heath! I don’t want to come back. Besides, I want to train to be a nurse—I did back at Queen’s Heath. But it seems it might be fun to train here, with Ann. She’s starting next week.’

  So, with a great deal of relief, Dr. Kinglake said he would have it arranged, if it were possible.

  It was winter before Gwenny returned to Queen’s Heath—a return she now wanted, because among other things there was the wedding of her brother Laurence to Tilda Sansom, and Tilda had asked her to come back for it.

  In all that time she had been away, her family had said nothing, not even mentioned the name of the man who had aroused so much anger in their hearts before Gwenny had been taken ill. It was as if Dr. Bayfield had ceased to exist. They talked of old Mrs. Yeedon, who had recovered and was as tough as ever, and they talked of Clem, who had somehow been persuaded to have an operation for his cleft palate and could now talk. His diction was not of the best, it seemed, but at least he could be understood, which was the great thing. He now talked so much that people avoided him on that score, as they had avoided him before because they couldn’t understand him at all.

  Priscilla wrote, with a hint of malice, that the R.S.O. had married Catherine Allen and removed her from the hospital, which pleased everyone very much, because she was more nuisance than she was worth, but it was a pity in a way because he was no longer the jolly fellow he had once been. She also said that her own marriage to the Casualty Officer had been postponed till Easter because of an appointment he was hoping to get in a seaside hospital, which Priscilla herself had set her heart on. She didn’t say it was since Gwenny had started training at a seaside hospital, but that was the underlying impression Gwenny received.

  Gwenny’s mother also said, in her letters, with a great deal of satisfaction, that there was a definite scheme now to tear down those ghastly old cottages in Church Terrace. It was really definite, and so far as she was concerned, it couldn’t happen soon enough.

  Gwenny couldn’t wait to get home to go and see her old friends before they were scattered. It was a bitter day, with hoar frost on the hedges, and the trees ablaze with scarlet berries. Winter had bared the trees and robbed Queen’s Heath of its one beauty. Now the landscape looked harsh and bare and bleak, and the house which had interested her so much and which was now the one place she didn’t want to see—Fairmead—stood out like a solid rock amid its evergreen background, in the middle of farmlands and waste lands that were soon to be built on in the new development scheme which was pleasing her mother so much.

  It seemed that it was pleasing her father, too, because it meant that a lot more houses were to be put up and there would be many more patients trickling into his depleted surgery. Indeed, the new young man who had once been his rival was now in association with him, in a loose sort of way, to the extent of the one taking over the other’s patients in absence or emergency. Dr. Kinglake was more pleased than Gwenny had ever seen him before—cordial, even, to Gwenny herself.

  It was the last few days of the tenants’ stay in their cottages, Gwenny found, as she went first to Mrs. Taylor’s place to visit her cats. The cats had all gone. Mrs. Taylor seemed very much older, and different somehow. Gwenny couldn’t determine the difference.

  ‘Well, we’re all getting older,’ Mrs. Taylor said, ‘and I for one will be glad of that nice new place they’re offering me in Bittleby. It’ll be nice to be in a town, with a lot of traffic and people and shops. I can go out to the pictures, and if the weather’s too bad, I can stay in and look out of my window.’

  ‘But the cats?’ Gwenny whispered.

  ‘Well, yes, the cats, but there! I’m getting too old to be bothered now, my dear. They got sick, and needed a lot of attention. Tiger had canker in his ear and kept shaking it, which wasn’t nice, really. And the little one—remember Ginger?—he had something form in his throat, and it hurt me, the pain he was in, and I could do nothing. I had him put down. And poor little Blackie got caught in a trap. No, I think I’m glad they’re all gone.’

  Even old Jock was pleased to be going.

  ‘But I thought you liked it here!’ Gwenny gasped.

  ‘Needs must when the devil drives,’ the old man said.

  ‘Couldn’t get nothing else, never hoped to, so I just got myself tucked in snug and made the best of it. But when the feller takes me in his car to see the new place, why, I says to myself, Jock, I says, you don’t know what you been missing! Do you know, my lass, there’s an old chap next door to me, in my new place, as p
lays backgammon, and he reckons he’ll take me on every afternoon. Now I’ve never had the chance to play backgammon here. Not for years I haven’t! I’m rare looking forward to it.’

  ‘But your birds!’ Gwenny whispered.

  ‘Oh, well, them. They were company, and my lad brought ‘em home for me. But now they’re gone, why—did I tell you about the old people’s club? Just a few doors down from my new place, it’ll be, and I can pop down there for a chat, and a lot of new faces to see. Cor, it’ll be a fair treat! And I won’t have to go down the yard on a cold night, neither. It’s all indoors. How about that, now?’

  Gwenny was amazed, but old Jock said, ‘Times change. People change. Look at you now, miss. You’re a young lady now. Hardly knowed you when you came walking up the path. You used to skip, and your hair was flying about in them days. Now look at you!’

  ‘Oh,’ Gwenny shifted restlessly, ‘they got me into new ways, being with other girls, at my new hospital. They made me get a decent hair-style, and one has to dress well because of the social life.’

  ‘Dancing and such,’ the old man nodded wisely. ‘Best for a young lady like you, to be with other young ladies, and go dancing and all the proper things a young lady should do. Not messing about with an old feller’s birds, or cats what ought to be put down by rights,’ and he glowered briefly in the direction of Mrs. Taylor’s cottage.

  Gwenny felt a sense of loss as she left him and went to see Mrs. Yeedon. But here again things were changed.

  Mrs. Yeedon was all alone. ‘I’m all right, so don’t start fussing, miss,’ she said, and her tone was just slightly respectful and less endearing than it had been once. As Jock had done, Mrs. Yeedon made it plain that Gwenny was no longer the youngest child of the doctor, to be made a pet of; she was now a young lady, and although she had discarded her new smart town clothes for things more appropriate for cross-country walks, yet there was a new elegance about her, and an elusive charm about her that hadn’t been there before. She was almost a stranger to them.

  ‘But why did she leave Fairmead?’ Gwenny gasped. ‘I thought you weren’t going to be left alone?’ Gwenny protested.

  ‘Well, now she’s working at Mrs. Trendle’s, she doesn’t get as much time to come over as she did when she was at Fairmead,’ Mrs. Yeedon explained.

  ‘But why did she leave Fairmead?’ Gwenny gasped.

  ‘Because she won’t be needed there any more. Fairmead’s going to be pulled down.’

  ‘Pulled down? What for? It’s Dr. Bayfield’s house!’

  ‘Seems you aren’t up to date with the local news, miss. You’d best go over and see for yourself, if you don’t believe me. It’s empty, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the demolition people haven’t moved in already.’

  Gwenny didn’t need any second bidding. She felt as if, in leaving Queen’s Heath, the place was tumbling to bits round her ears. Her old world was vanishing, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

  The place seemed empty as she entered Fairmead’s back way, but as she approached the great curving front staircase to the long verandah with its round-topped french windows, she saw someone else was there. A man, leaning against a tree trunk, staring at the place. A big man, whose mere outlines made her heart leap and race and lurch and behave in the old sickening fashion she hadn’t experienced for so long.

  Mark Bayfield was in a leather jacket and jodhpurs, and for a moment he didn’t recognize this new Gwenny. When he did, he started, and she heard her name burst from his lips: ‘Gwenny!’ and for a moment he looked surprisingly upset.

  But being Mark Bayfield, he quickly recovered, and strolled over to her and coolly said, ‘Trespassing again!’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I heard from Mrs. Yeedon that this place was to be pulled down and I couldn’t believe it,’ said Gwenny. She was shy now, upset too at the sight of him, and trying her best to cover up all that under a cool, casual manner.

  He took his cue from her and said, equally coolly,

  ‘That is so, I believe. Well, how are you keeping, Miss Kinglake? I hear you are training at a hospital near where you’ve been recuperating.’

  Strangers, even she and Mark Bayfield, she thought, and a little cold lump settled inside her and made her feel acutely miserable.

  ‘I’m doing very well, thank you, Dr. Bayfield,’ she told him. She looked away, because she couldn’t bear to feel his eyes wandering over her, taking in the new haircut, the delicate make-up she had learned to use, and the stark pristine good grooming that had replaced the shabby and sometimes far from clean clothes she had worn when she first met him. The endearing urchin had gone for ever, and a tall, well-groomed young woman with coolly appraising eyes stood in her place, and for once in his life he was at a loss as to how to handle this situation.

  She strolled over and touched the stone balustrade of the steps, and said, without looking round at him although she knew he had walked with her, ‘Who will the new owner be? Mrs. Yeedon said the place was to be pulled down, but that can’t be true!’

  ‘I regret, it is true. The demolition people are to come in today,’ he said flatly.

  ‘But why, why? Why did you buy this house over our heads, knowing we wanted it, and then sell it to be pulled down?’ she cried, and her new air of aloofness deserted her and a little of the old Gwenny showed through for an instant.

  It was perhaps this that encouraged him to tell her.

  ‘I regret it as much as you do, but unfortunately it was part of the bargain for allowing Mrs. Yeedon’s cottage to stand.’

  She couldn’t take that in at first. ‘But you mean—well, how does it concern the person who bought her cottage whether you continue to own Fairmead?’ she said at last, in a sincerely puzzled voice.

  ‘You really don’t know who bought Mrs. Yeedon’s cottage?’ he said wryly. ‘Good heavens, I thought everyone knew, though I did my best to keep it secret. But after we all heard about your rich man friend, it hardly seemed to matter. I doubted if you’d care one way or the other.’

  ‘You mean you were the one who bought it for her?’

  ‘Not for her. For you,’ he said, rather harshly. ‘You see, you seemed to care for nothing else, and your health meant a lot to me. It was imperative to make you rested and happy.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I forgot—I was the special patient in your life,’ she said rather bitterly. ‘Still, to risk losing your beloved Fairmead—all this—just for a patient! No, I can’t believe that. Besides, I don’t see—I must be very stupid, but I really don’t see—how anyone could force you to sell your house in order for you to buy a small cottage.’

  ‘You must ask your wealthy fiancé to explain big business to you,’ he said dryly. ‘He will no doubt fully appreciate the implications, and quite understand that although my family has a big share in the property company who has won over buying out the land around here, they don’t hold all the shares, and no one liked me blocking their plans by insisting on preserving Mrs. Yeedon’s cottage for her lifetime.’ He shrugged. ‘They had wanted Fairmead all along, so—it was an excellent opportunity of acquiring it, and my hands were tied. When’s your marriage?’ he finished abruptly.

  She turned angrily on him. ‘How can you be so stupid? Everyone else, yes, but why you? You must know jolly well I don’t even know any rich man! I told you when I first met you that my only friends were the poor old people in the cottages! Rich man—that was a silly story to take that Catherine Allen down a peg or two.’

  His face went blank and those eyebrows of his lifted higher than she had ever seen them go. ‘That’s a very garbled story. You really owe it to me to clarify it, because it may be quite important.’

  She held the pillar and cuddled her face against its icy surface. Her face was so hot and the tears weren’t far off. The icy wind stung her cheeks and made her eyes ache, but she noticed nothing.

  Mark Bayfield said, ‘Perhaps it would help you to be more coherent if we went inside. We might as well shelter from the wind till t
hey knock the place down,’ and his voice sounded far from happy.

  She waited while he undid one of the french windows. They hadn’t bothered to lock them. Of what use—the place was no longer wanted by anyone. She went through after him and felt, as she looked round the now empty hall, with its fine arched staircase and dark panelling, that her heart was breaking.

  She turned to face him by the great fireplace, now yawning and empty. Not so long ago there had been great logs laid ready for just such a day as this. She tore her thoughts from such things and concentrated on telling him, briefly, because he had never had much patience.

  ‘She kept making remarks about you—Catherine Allen—and she called you—well, she seemed intimate in the way she spoke to you—and people kept saying didn’t I know the connection between you two, and there was trouble about my brother Laurence and Catherine Allen, and it dawned on me that she must be the one you were going to marry, so when she made nasty remarks about all those wonderful flowers someone kept sending, I told her they were from a rich man friend.’

  He just stared at her.

  ‘Well, for goodness’ sake, you don’t know what it’s like to be lying in bed and some nurse saying things and you can’t hit back, and people kept gossiping about you coming so much to my room, and they kept saying you wouldn’t like this and wouldn’t like that and—well, I had to tilt back, and someone was throwing money about on flowers. I didn’t know who it was—’

  ‘I’m sorry you think I threw money about,’ he said coldly.

  She threw up her head, her eyes wide. ‘You sent those flowers? You sent me flowers every day?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘But when they stopped suddenly—’ she began.