Chapter Three

She was driving him to the city centre when his mobile phone rang. 'I am sorry, Lucy,' he murmured, but he answered it anyway.

'Dr Duvallier here. Yes, John. Well, I am with someone, I was going out to dinner, but...'  With his spare hand he felt for her shoulder, squeezed it. Then, reluctantly, he said, 'Yes, I suppose I am available... Take the train down tonight!' His voice rose. There was a long period when he was silent and then he said, 'It's very good of you to organise it for me, John. I'll go back to my room at once to pack.'

There was silence in the car, then Lucy said, 'I take it that our dinner has just been cancelled.'

That was John Bennet. There's a three-day conference in London on new techniques in childbirth which would be of tremendous use to me. It starts early tomorrow morning. Someone in the city has just dropped out; John thought of me and grabbed me the place. Lucy, I'm so sorry and I know I ought to—'

'Marc! It's only a dinner and three days, against a real opportunity for you. Of course you've got to go. I would be angry if you did anything else, I really would.'

'But are you also sorry to miss the rest of the evening?' His voice was quiet.

So was her reply. 'Very sorry.'

She pulled up at traffic lights, he took one of her hands and once again kissed it. For how much longer is he going to kiss just my hand? she thought. But she said nothing.

They drove back to the hospital; he had an hour to pack. And nothing she could say would persuade him to let her drive him to the station.

'I will order a taxi. I will be back soon, cherie. And then there are things we must talk about. Partings on station platforms are always painful, inconclusive affairs.'

It was a foolish, pointless thing that she said, but she said it. 'You will come back though?'

And for the first time he kissed her. Quickly, lightly, on the lips.

'I will be back for you,' he said.

He phoned her the next two nights, but the calls were inconclusive and unsatisfactory. The first time he rang her mobile when she was having tea at her parents', and it was difficult to go outside in mid-meal. The second time she was on the ward and as ever things were hectic. He just had time to say that he was missing her and that the course was long and intensive, but very worthwhile.

But he had phoned her, he was thinking about her. That was good enough for three days.

It was eight at night, things were quiet on the ward and the nurse in charge had slipped out somewhere for a few minutes. Only Lucy and Brenda, a middle-aged midwife, were present, and they were drinking tea in the nurses' room. And Marc walked in.

Lucy looked at him, unable to speak, her heart thudding in her chest. She had expected to see him the next day and she would have been prepared then. But here he was and all she could do was stare at him, open-mouthed.

He waved papers at them. 'I know I'm not expected,' he said, 'but I got back early from my course and it's straight into work. I gather that we've got three Caesarean sections due tomorrow, I've got to get consents.'

It was apparently a casual, professional remark. But he looked at Lucy and she knew he had come to see her.

'I'll take you to them,' Lucy said, making an attempt to be casual. 'I've finished my tea.' She ignored the knowing smile on Brenda's face. There was no need for it, gossip would be all over the hospital soon enough.

Their hands touched as they walked down the ward but nothing was said. There was no need and, besides, they were at work. They smiled at the group sitting in their dressing gowns and gazing at the wall-mounted TV. Lucy stood there listening as Marc explained the procedure and why a written consent was necessary.

If a mother elected to have a Caesarean section, she had to be advised of the possible dangers and then asked for her written consent. This simple job was usually left to the SHO.

She thought Marc did it well. Too many young doctors hurried through the necessary details, gave no time for questions. Marc really wanted the patient to understand what was involved.

 It was always when things seemed to be quietest that trouble started.

The first mum-to-be happily signed. They moved on to the second patient and Marc had just started his explanation when the emergency buzzer sounded. And at the same time there was a scream—a scream of real pain. Marc and Lucy ran down the ward to where the emergency light was flashing.

'The baby's coming!' the woman screamed. 'The baby's coming, I can feel it now.'

No time for delicacy. Lucy threw back the bed covers. Oh, yes. The baby was coming.

'This is Margaret Elland, thirty-eight weeks,' she said quickly to Marc. 'She's your third Caesarean patient, this was to be her second section. First child was CPD—cephalo-pelvic disproportion. In labour for eighteen hours and baby got stuck. Not surprising, he was a good ten pounds. Braxton-Hicks' contractions this afternoon but nothing abnormal. Baby appears to be a good size on palpation but certainly not too big.'

Marc nodded then stepped up to stand by the woman's head. 'Hi, I'm Dr Duvallier and this is Midwife Lucy Stephens. Now, baby seems to be in a bit of a hurry to be born but we don't want you to worry. Lucy will help you and all will be well.'

Lucy noticed that even in this emergency, the words seemed to calm the patient. 'Fetch me a delivery pack,' she said.

Brenda appeared at the doorway and took in the situation at a glance. 'I'll fetch the resuscitaire and then bleep for the paediatrician.' She looked at Marc. 'Do you want the obstetric registrar?'

 'No,' said Marc, 'but crash-bleep the paediatric team, there's mec-stained liquor.'

Lucy heard him mutter, 'And I hope they get here in time.'

The baby was born—the quickest Lucy had ever seen. And she—it was a little girl—was covered with sticky, black-green meconium. That meant trouble. Lucy quickly cut the cord but didn't, as she usually did, hand the baby to the mother. Instead, she passed her to Marc, who placed her in the resuscitaire that Brenda had just wheeled up.

The two jobs could now be divided. The baby was now the concern of Brenda and Marc, Lucy could concentrate on treating the mother. The placenta was still to be delivered and after such a speedy birth there was the ever-present risk of haemorrhage. But Lucy desperately wanted to know how the baby was progressing.

'Where's my baby? I want to see my baby!' the mother cried.

'Baby's passed meconium inside you and we need to make sure she hasn't got it into her lungs. Doctor's looking after her now.' She hoped everything was going to be OK. Meconium inhalation could be very serious.

There was time to risk a glance behind her. There were Marc and Brenda bent low over the resuscitaire, the combined cot and trolley that held almost everything to help the unnaturally quiet baby. Something in their posture told Lucy that all was not well. She heard Brenda whisper, 'This is severe birth asphyxia. Don't you think we'd better wait for the paediatrician?'

 'We haven't got time. I've given her an Apgar score of four. I can see meconium below the vocal cords. I'm going to intubate her, otherwise we'll just push the meconium into her lungs.'

'Have you ever done it before?'

'If I don't do it now, the baby will die.'

Lucy knew what Marc had to do. First he would slide a laryngoscope down the baby's throat. Then he would be able to see as he slid the endotracheal tube through the trachea, and inside that a fine suction catheter to clear the trachea. Then the tube would be connected to an oxygen supply. And then the baby could breathe. And live. It wasn't usually a job for an SHO.

But Lucy still had her own work to do. There was the mother to be reassured, the placenta to be delivered. With the mother, things were all now normal. And then behind her she heard the clatter of rapid feet on the ward floor. The paediatric team had arrived. There was the murmur of voices and after a few minutes the registrar appeared by her side. He smiled down at the mother.

'Mrs Elland? I'm the paediatric registrar here. Your little girl has given us a couple of anxious moments but she seems to be OK now. We're going to take her down to our specialist care unit, probably just for the night. But before we do we'll wheel her in here and you can have a look.'

'Can I hold her?'

'After tonight you can spend a lifetime holding her. But she's resting now so we'll not disturb her. Don't worry. She's in good hands.'

The registrar left and Brenda appeared beside her.

 'If you like, I'll take over here now. Emergency over and you look as if you need a rest.'

'Where's...?' Lucy asked weakly.

'The SHO went off with the paediatric team. They invited him to come along.'

'Right,' said Lucy.

Marc came back when there was only twenty minutes of the shift to go. An SHO's job was never finished; he had still to get one consent for a Caesarean section. And Brenda took him for a quick word with Mrs Elland.

Then it was handover time. But he was waiting when Lucy had changed and was ready to go home. 'I thought we might walk over together,' he said.

'That would be nice. And you can tell me all about our bit of excitement on the ward and then about the course.' They left the building and paced along one of the paths.

'We took baby Elland to SCBU,' he said. 'The registrar said that since I had started on the case, if I wanted to, I could continue. So I did.'

Lucy smiled. 'I heard what you were doing,' she said. 'You saved that baby's life, didn't you?'

He thought for a moment then said, 'Probably. The registrar said I did.'

'And how do you feel now?'

He smiled. 'I've been in Britain a long time; I should have learned your habit of understatement, your fear of showing emotion. But I haven't. I'm French, I feel the Latin way and I can say what I feel. Lucy, I feel so good that I could... that I could...' Suddenly, he stopped, took her head between his hands. He pulled her to him and kissed her. A full-blooded kiss that sent her senses reeling. Then, slowly, he released her. 'I feel so good that I could kiss you,' he whispered.

'You just did. And that's British understatement.'

It was their first real kiss.

It had been so good—so unexpected but so good. For the moment she couldn't deal with it. So she took refuge in talking about work, talking about what had just happened.

'You took a risk in intubating the baby,' she said. 'SHOs shouldn't do it unless supervised, you would have been quite in order to wait until the Paeds team arrived. You knew they were on the way. Even if the little girl had died, you'd have done the proper thing. But if she had died after you intubated her, there'd have been all sorts of trouble.'

'I know,' he said. 'And I'll admit I was scared. But if you feel that things have got to be done then you have to do them, no matter what the cost.'

'I see,' she said.

She felt that he was telling her about more than the baby being born; he was telling her about his view of life. And it frightened her slightly.

They passed under a newly lit lamp and she glanced up at his face. There were lines around his eyes, the unmistakable signs of fatigue. 'Aren't you tired?' she asked. 'The course in London and then the train journey and then this. You've had a very full day.'

'SHOs aren't allowed to be tired. And being with you is a tonic.'

He reached to take her hand, she liked that. She felt a bit lost, not sure where she was with him and what exactly their relationship was. And she felt that he had the same kind of doubts. After all, they didn't know each other very well.

There were people walking down a path close to them, laughing and chattering. 'They're going for the last hour at the Red Lion,' she said.

'Where we met less than a week ago.'

Lucy nodded. 'I remember it well. You've had a big effect on me.'

She knew she was revealing herself, making herself vulnerable, by saying such a thing. This was not like the old, tough Lucy. But what she had said was true. She had to admit it.

He squeezed her hand again. They paced on for a few more steps and then he said, 'I guess I feel the same way. And I wouldn't want it any other way, although it's frightening. We ought to be just a couple of medical people who have met, like each other and are seeing each other, wondering what will develop. But it's more than that, isn't it?'

'I suppose it is.' She thought about their last meeting, when they had been on their way to have dinner. She wanted to stay as they were, happy in each other's company. But there was something that was worrying her. 'Last time we met you said there were things that we had to talk about. What things?'

He sighed. 'Perhaps so. If I am to be honourable, there are things that you should know about me. Things that might affect your view of me.'

Honourable? She didn't like the word. All sorts of unpleasant possibilities swirled in her mind. One above all.

'So there is another woman?'

He laughed, shook his head. 'Nothing at all like that. I will explain. But first, are you hungry?'

It had never crossed her mind. But now that he had asked, she realised that she had eaten nothing for eight hours but two bars of chocolate washed down by several cups of coffee.

'Yes, I'm hungry,' she said.

'Then would you like to come to my flat for a meal? Nothing exciting: perhaps an omelette and salad, and a glass of wine.'

'Sounds perfect. Are you a good cook?'

'I have learned to cope. I can even cook English chips—medical students cannot exist without chips. I'm afraid my flat is as dingy as ever, I am still hoping to take you up on your offer to help me turn it into a home. But, for tonight, you being there will light it up. And then we'll talk.'

He squeezed her hand yet again. 'I do like being with you, Lucy. And I have missed you so much.'

A quick remark, but how it made her heart beat!

So she sat in the corner of his tiny kitchen and watched the deft way he cooked—lighting the oven to finish the half-cooked rolls, tearing the salad, mixing the dressing, beating the eggs.

It was good to watch his movements. He became absorbed in what he was doing, trying to get everything just right.

'Have you ever thought of training to be a surgeon?' she asked.

He smiled at her. 'No. Why?'

'You work with such speed and precision. I can do everything you've done but it would take me twice as long.'

'I doubt that. A midwife needs speed and precision too. Look how small and slippery newborn babies are.'

She laughed. 'Perhaps so. But you'd be a good surgeon.'

For some reason his face became blank. 'I'm going to be a generalist, a GP,' he said. 'Though if I had my own way I would like to specialise in obs and gynae.'

Before she could ask him more about this, why he couldn't have his own way, he said, 'But now I think we are ready. Shall we dine?'

Carrying a tray, he led her into the living room. He unfolded a small table, set it quickly and arranged two chairs. Then he fetched glasses and a bottle of wine from the fridge.

Lucy had thought they might eat off their knees in the living room. That's what she would have done in the nurses' home. But sitting formally at the table was infinitely preferable. It turned the meal into an occasion. And she was enjoying herself—especially when she tasted the white wine he had poured her. If there were troubles to deal with, they could wait.

'So how was the course in London?' she asked.

'Very hard work but very impressive. I'll be a better doctor because of it. I must thank John for sending me on it.'

'So was going on it worth missing our dinner date?' she asked with a smile.

'If I were asked which would give me greater pleasure, then no contest, it would be dinner with you. But life isn't always about pleasure. Now, more wine?'

It was a simple but superb meal. And when he was finished he said he would fetch coffee. Perhaps she would like a liqueur?

'That would be wonderful,' she said. She looked at his face again, saw the fatigue there. 'But on one condition. You let me wash up.'

'Lucy, there is no need. I—'

'Or I'll go now,' she threatened.

So she washed the few dishes while he percolated the coffee, fetched a green bottle and two tiny glasses out of a cupboard. Then they went back to the living room, and this time sat companionably on the couch.

She sipped the green liqueur in the tiny glass and turned to him, her eyebrows raised in shock. 'Marc! What is this?'

'It's a liqueur that is native to the countryside where I live. More than sixty local herbs go to make that drink and the alcohol level is very high. My countrymen believe that it is a restorative.'

'It's certainly restoring me. Now, Marc, what do you have to tell me? What's so important that you hinted about?'

He didn't answer quite at once. Instead he said, 'I did enjoy being with your sisters and your family on Saturday. You are obviously all very close.'

'They're my life,' she said.

'So I see. I understand and I envy you. I have no brothers or sisters—not now.'

She was about to ask about why when he rose to his feet and fetched a letter from a small desk.

'You ask what I have to tell you that is so important,' he said. 'I will give you an indication. My mother writes to me at least once a week, we have to keep in touch. I will translate some of her letter; it might give you an idea of her character.'

Lucy thought it an odd thing to do, to read his mother's letter to show what was important. But whatever he thought fit.

'"Melanie d'Ancourt came to dinner last night with her parents, and asked carefully after you. She is now a lawyer, doing very well. She asked if you would call on her next time you are home. In fact, I will invite her to dinner. It is time you were married and settled down, and Melanie would be very suitable."'

'Is she suitable?' asked Lucy.

'Very suitable. A man could be proud of a wife like that. She knows or is related to every notable family in the valley.' He grinned. 'And I can't stand her. She is the kind of woman who wouldn't let you kiss her if she had just put her lipstick on.'

Lucy laughed—slightly because of relief. Then she asked, 'Does your mother try to organise your life? And you put up with it?'

'Things—especially in our rather old-fashioned bit of France—tend to be different from this country.'

'I'm fascinated. But I can't quite make out why you're telling me this.'

'It is hard to describe. There is a saying in my valley: "Every man marries two women—his wife and his land". And eventually I will have to go home, to my land, my second marriage. It is my duty.'

'So what are you saying? That anything between us will only end in sending Christmas cards?'

'No! I wish to... I look forward to... to seeing you, getting to know you. You are the most surprising, the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. But I must warn you. I am not a free man. In time I will go back to Montreval. And I know you would not be happy there. Whatever happens, when I go back, things between us must end.'

He had said it. As simply and as brutally as that.

She had never done anything quite as forward. She leaned forward, gently put her hand over his mouth. 'Marc, you have one big fault!'

He looked confused. 'I have?'

'Yes. You're talking too much. You're worrying too much. All we have to do now is just get on with our jobs and, if we want, see each other. We'll wait and see how our lives go—live in the present, not the future.'

He frowned. 'Is it that simple?'

'It's that simple. And you could start living in the present by kissing me again.'

Perhaps there had been too much talk of emotion as the kiss turned out to be a friendly one. They sat side by side on the couch, their arms around each other and kissed. In time more would come, that was understood. But for the moment this was bliss.

'That was very nice,' she murmured, and pulled his head onto her shoulder. And two minutes later he was asleep.

'Didn't think that sleeping with him would be quite like this,' she muttered, but it was so comfortable there that she also closed her eyes. Just for a moment, she thought. But when she opened them it was one o'clock in the morning.

 Something had disturbed her. Marc had said something. And then, in his sleep, he spoke again.

'Simone,' he muttered, 'Simone.'

Simone was a girl's name. Why was he calling out a girl's name in his sleep?

Carefully, she tried to disentangle herself but he woke anyway.

'Lucy? I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep.'

'It doesn't matter. I have to go home now anyway.'

Even though he had just woken up, he was alert. 'Lucy, your voice has changed. Something has upset you? What is wrong?'

'You were talking in your sleep. Who is Simone?'

She did not get the reaction she had expected. He laughed.

'And you wondered who she was, what she was to me? Simone is a young, very attractive French girl. She is also my cousin and has been a problem to me and to the rest of my family since she was born. She's just come to England, my mother wrote about her in her letter. Would you like me to read—?'

'No! Marc, I'm so sorry, you must think me... But I still think I ought to be going home now.'

He looked at her, his eyes still sleepy. 'You could always stay and...'

She shook her head. 'Some time perhaps. Not yet.'

'Perhaps so. Now, I shall walk you back home.'

'You're tired, there's no need and it's only five minutes' walk.'

He stood, offered his hands to help her to stand too. 'You know I'm going to walk you home, don't you?' he asked. 'And I'm doing it because I want to.'

So they walked to the hospital accommodation, holding hands. Outside, he kissed her again. 'You know I'm looking forward to living in our present,' he said. 'Our present, not our future.'

'Our present, not our future,' she said. 'I'll hold you to that.'

It was only ten minutes before Lucy was in bed. But before she went to sleep she thought of what Marc had told her. He had been honourable. He had said that in time he would have to return to his home and that he did not think she would be happy there. That when that time came, things between them must end.

Well, they would see. This was a battle between her and a tiny place in the south-east of France. And it was a battle she intended to win.