She woke early the next morning. She woke first, knowing she had slept well. There were the birds outside, sunlight probed through the sides of Marc's blinds. Otherwise, the room was dark.
She was resting against the warmth of his naked body. As she brushed herself against his back she felt her nipples come erect and then the rest of her body responded. She had never felt this way before.
It was early, she could see from the clock by his bedside. No need to wake, no need to go to work. But she couldn't sleep again. There was too much to think about.
She thought about the evening before, the rapture she had felt. Then she thought of earlier, of the songs by Edith Piaf. 'I will have no regrets.' Well, she herself had none. She knew she would never forget the night before. It had been simply something else. But where would it lead? Did they have a future together? Marc was not like any other men she had known. But... she thought of the other song by Piaf. 'I don't know how it will end.' She didn't. But there was a growing certainty in her that she wanted to spend more time with this man.
It was too early to think such deep thoughts! She wriggled, yawned and stretched her arms over her head. She had disturbed him and he rolled over. His arm flopped over her—and suddenly his hand was holding her breast.
'You're awake,' she muttered.
'Oh, yes, I'm awake now. Are you?'
'Well, I will be if you keep doing that.' His thumb was caressing her nipple into a hardness that was almost more than she could bear.
'Then I'd better stop,' he said.
To her instant disappointment he did stop. But then he rolled further towards her, took her breast in his mouth and she sighed with pleasure.
'We've got at least an hour,' she told him.
'So we're going to work together,' she told him afterwards. 'We're on the same ward. But I gather you're on days and I'm on lates. But we'll be in the same place between two o'clock and half past five.'
'Or longer. They get their money's worth out of me. And I love it.'
'I know you do. Now, you get washed and dressed and I'll make you some breakfast. And after you've gone to work, I'll wander back to my own place and then we'll meet on the ward.'
'After last night it'll be odd working with you,' he said. 'Very odd.'
An hour later he was washed, shaved, breakfasted, dressed as a young doctor should be for a day on the wards. Lucy was wearing his dressing gown and had to hike it up to stop herself tripping over the hem. But she was looking as lovely in it as she did when she was smartly dressed.
He kissed her goodbye. A long kiss.
'See you in a few hours,' he said.
'I'm looking forward to it already.' Then she kissed him again.
He stopped in the hall to pick up his mail. There was the usual pile of advertising material, which he would skim through later, and a letter from France in his mother's clear handwriting. He would take it to work and read it later.
The sun was shining. As he walked across the grass towards the main hospital building, Marc felt particularly happy. Last night had been...well, something else. Something he knew he would never forget. As he would never forget Lucy Stephens.
Work was as fascinating as always. There were drug prescriptions to be written up. He was called down the ward to decide if a patient could have more analgesics. There were IV lines to be inserted, a decision to be made as to whether or not to call the consultant. He knew he was learning a lot from the senior midwifes there and always asked their opinions.
The work was time-consuming but he liked it. It absorbed him. And it stopped him thinking about other things.
One of the mums-to-be found out that he was French. After Marc had written up her observations she asked him about Provence. Her husband was thinking of taking her and the new baby there for a holiday next spring and she was a little nervous.
'You will love it, Mrs Kennedy,' Marc assured her. 'Spring is the very best time to go. The flowers are coming out, it isn't too hot and there aren't too many tourists.'
'But the baby? Will it be all right?'
'The baby will love it. And I can assure you that in the very unlikely event of you needing medical advice, the French medical service is excellent.'
'Oh, I didn't mean to suggest... I mean, you being French and all, I...'
He patted her shoulder. 'Of course not. Now, you have this baby and afterwards you can dream of your holiday in Provence. I promise you will enjoy it.'
He knew, of course, that Mrs Kennedy didn't really want to talk about France. She just wanted a little human contact, a little reassurance. The kind of thing that Lucy was so good at. She'd have been pleased with me, dealing with Mrs Kennedy, he thought. And the thought of her being pleased with him pleased him even more.
The morning wore on. It was unusually quiet on the ward, he had plenty of time to go to the doctors' room and sort out his paperwork. He even had time for a long coffee break. And he shut his eyes and thought of the night before.
The image came back, Lucy in his dressing gown kissing him goodbye. They had had breakfast together. Just before that they had made love. Her hair had still been tousled, she had worn no make-up, but the brightness of her eyes and the happiness of her smile had made her lovely. Like a... He had to think it. Like a newly married wife.
She would make a wonderful wife. He had only known her a short time and yet she'd made such an impression on him. Not only the love-making last night but the way she talked, thought, tried to make him happy and was always happy herself. He sighed. He had to face it; he had fallen in love with her. He felt more for her than he had felt for any woman in his life before.
In two or three months he thought that he might... might what? Of course, they both might find that the attraction between them was passing, it had happened before. But something told him that it wouldn't happen this time.
He thought about her life. She was a dazzling person, loved being surrounded by people. She wanted— needed—to be close to her family. What was the expression? She was a people person.
As he poured himself another cup of coffee he noticed the letter from his mother sticking out of his pocket. Time to find out what was happening in Montreval. He opened the letter, scanned the details about the estate that his mother always sent.
No really good news. A couple more young men had decided that their work was too hard and their pay too poor and they had gone to the city. The government had sent surveyors round who had spent all their time asking questions, getting in people's way and generally causing unrest. The autumn crops looked as if they would be a little worse than last year. The chateau needed extensive and expensive repairs. So far, so typical—a report, not a letter. Then came the personal details.
I have not wanted to worry you and so have said nothing about this so far. However, after pains in my chest, I was referred to a consultant in Lyons. I enclose his address and if you phone I have asked him to speak to you fully. But his message is simple. I have a heart condition that will in time get worse . I must cut down on work. I may stay at home for the next six months, but after that I must make arrangements to spend my winters somewhere more hospitable than Montreval. My son, I fear it will soon be time for you to take up your duties here...
Marc paled, read and reread the letter. He would phone the consultant in Lyons that afternoon, but he knew that it was not in his mother's nature to exaggerate. She was ill.
Now there was a definite time for him to return to Montreval. He had no choice, it was his destiny and he accepted it. He would leave this hospital next summer... he had perhaps ten more months here.
What was he to do about Lucy? Could she be happy in Montreval? Would it be fair to ask her to go there? His future was there; would she wish to share it? It was so different from the life she might have expected.
He threw down his pen, went down onto the ward and triple-checked observations that he had double-checked already.
'I've never been inspected so often,' he was told by a cheerful mother who had three children already. 'Is there anything wrong? Anything worrying you?'
'Not a thing, Mrs Jones. I'm just being too careful. You're absolutely fine.'
Now his private life was making him an inefficient doctor, he thought. And because he was basically honest, he realised what he was doing. Displacement activity. He was working to stop himself thinking.
He looked out of a window at the greenness of the trees. Somewhere out there, either at his flat or her room, was Lucy. She might be thinking of him, as he was thinking of her.
Fortunately, work on the ward suddenly became more intensive, there was no time for thinking. But later on he was alone in the doctors' room, looking for the tiny glass phials of sodium chloride that were used to flush out the IV tubes.
Smiling, he thought of Lucy. Vaguely, he heard a crack but he paid it no attention. And then, suddenly, he realised that his hand hurt. He looked down and blood was running from between his fingers.
Unknowingly he had squeezed the phial too hard and had broken it. Not too much of a problem. He could get more sodium chloride and it wasn't poisonous.
He washed his fingers, found himself some sticking plaster. He had been told that in hospital every accident, no matter how small, should be written up in the accident book. Not this one. Cause of accident? Being in love? Forget it.
And then it struck him, almost unexpectedly. His mouth opened with the shock of it. But he knew it was right.
His affair with Lucy must end. Perhaps because, for the first time in his life, he was serious about a woman.
And he would have to act now, while he still had the strength of mind.
It was nearly lunchtime. Lucy would be coming onto the ward in a couple of hours. He just couldn't meet her. He phoned one of his fellow SHOs and asked him if he'd finish this shift. In return Marc would work the next Saturday afternoon, when there was an important football match on. Of course, his friend was delighted.
'What's the problem, Marc? Nothing too serious, I hope?'
'Just had a letter from home. A couple of things I have to arrange. Thanks for coming in.'
Then he left word for Lucy with the ward sister that he had been called away and would see her at the end of the shift.
His friend arrived and Marc left. He seemed to be moving with more and more speed towards a disaster that he was causing. And there was nothing he could do.
First he drove out of the hospital grounds. No way did he want to run into Lucy until he was ready. He stopped at a telephone booth and phoned the consultant in Lyons. The conversation went exactly as he had suspected it would.
'Your mother is strong, m'sieur, but like all of us she is getting old. And Montreval is not a good place to spend a winter when you have a diseased heart. I have given her drugs, told her to work less hard. There is no great need to worry at present. But I feel that the coming winter must be the last in the chateau. A house somewhere on the coast would be much more suitable.'
'Thank you, m'sieur le docteur. I will see that that is provided.'
He drove on a little way and parked, and found himself near the park where he had met Lucy and her family. It was only a couple of weeks ago, but so much seemed to have happened since. He remembered how glorious she had seemed, sitting there with the baby on her lap. He remembered how happy she had been with her family. He remembered how happy she had made him.
He sat under the same tree to think. What did he have to do? Was there any way out?
Montreval had to be his first priority. That was his destiny. At the latest, he had to be there next summer. He would have finished his medical training by then and he could be a good doctor to the village.
Next, what to do about Lucy? He could have ten happy months... no, ten ecstatic months—with her and then either leave her or take her to Montreval. And the more he thought about it, the more he became certain that he could not take her.
He thought of his one previous attempt to take a girlfriend to his home—Genevieve. That had been an absolute disaster. Lucy, of course, was different to Genevieve—but not too different. He had thought Genevieve was strong, she had said she was strong. And in the wintertime she lasted less than three weeks. No, Lucy would not fit in at Montreval.
So, do what she had agreed, carry on seeing each other, wait and see how things turned out? Then go to Montreval? It was so tempting. But that would be unfair to her. The decision was already made. It would make things so much harder for her.
There was no point in putting things off. To do otherwise would be unmanly, cowardly, dishonourable. He would tell her that night.
Doing what was right was not always easy.
Lucy had a good shift. She was sorry not to see Marc there, but the smiling nurse in charge told her that there were things he had to sort out. Lucy guessed from the smile that the nurse in charge had a good idea how things were between them. The gossip would be all over the hospital soon. No matter. She was happy with it.
And as she worked she thought of the previous night, a faint blush coming to her cheeks. There was tonight, of course. Perhaps she would stay with him again.
It was dark when she came out of the building and she saw him waiting for her under one of the yellow lamps. She trotted over towards him, threw her arms around him and kissed him. Who cared who was looking? This was something she was happy, proud about.
'I missed you,' she said, 'but it's good to see you now.'
He said nothing, seemed a bit stiff.
'What's the matter? Bad news from home? I saw you had a letter.'
'Just the usual letter,' he said. 'Things going wrong in the village.'
'Have you been home to your flat yet? I went to the supermarket, picked up some stuff and cooked you supper: a shepherd's pie. My mother's recipe, not a French dish, but you'll like it.'
She was prattling, she knew, but she didn't care. She was happy.
He didn't reply. And suddenly she was afraid. 'What is it, Marc? Is there something wrong? Bad news from home?'
He took her arm—not her hand—and urged her onwards. 'We have to talk,' he said, 'find somewhere where we will not be disturbed.'
He led her through the grounds and after a moment she realised he was taking her towards the hospital accommodation.
'Aren't we going to your flat?' she asked.
'No.' A single, cold, curt syllable. They paced on in silence.
Suddenly she stopped, faced him. She tried to make her voice strong, but she knew there was a quaver in it. 'Marc! There's something wrong and I want to know what it is. Now!'
He took her hand, led her to where a bench was half hidden by dropping branches. They sat side by side and he let go her hand.
'Well?' she demanded.
'This has to end,' he said. 'We have to part. We're getting too... close.'
'What?' She couldn't keep the incredulity out of her voice. 'Is this some kind of a bad joke?'
'I did tell you when we started our... affair that I was not a free man, that in time I would have to go back to Montreval. And that is what this afternoon was about. I have been deceiving myself and you; I thought we could be happy together.'
'We are happy together! You mean more to me than any other man I've ever met!'
She felt him flinch. 'I feel the same. But we have no future.'
Lucy was just coming round to realising that he meant what he said. 'No future? But we have a past. Now you have slept with me you don't need me any more. One more conquest for the French doctor. How many does that make? Does that mean that I can send you a Christmas card?'
'Lucy!' His voice cracked like a whip. 'You are entitled to hurt me but you are also hurting yourself. You know that is untrue.'
'I can't hurt you, you have no feelings.'
'I assure you that I have.' She could hear the tremor in his voice.
There was a moment's silence and then she said, as calmly as she could, 'Will you, please, tell me what brought on this decision? Couldn't you have told me last night, before I shared your bed?'
'I had a letter from my mother. She is ill. Next summer I shall have to take over the running of Montreval. There is no future for you there so we must stop our relationship now to avoid further pain on both sides.'
'You decided I was not fit to go to this place Montreval? You didn't think I should be consulted? I'm a grown woman; I can make up my own mind.'
'In this you must be guided by me. I know you're tough, you would not like to admit defeat. But in time you would be defeated. And I could not bear to watch you getting more and more unhappy. And you would.'
Her voice was quiet. 'I see. So this is the end of our love affair?'
'It must be. But I hope we can remain friends.'
'You must be joking. Goodnight, Marc. Don't you dare try to walk me back, I can find my own way. I'll see you around on the wards. But from now on, only talk to me if it's business.'
She walked the last couple of hundred yards. Pride kept her face straight, she even managed to smile at the nurses coming out of the front door. Only when she was in her room did she fall on the bed and weep.
The following day Lucy found she was being transferred to the delivery suite and working nights. It wasn't ideal, but babies chose their own time to be born. And there was always something comforting about night-time in a hospital. She found relief in work; being busy was good for her. And she liked this best of all, helping mothers through delivery.
A week passed and she hadn't spoken to Marc again. Sometimes it happened that way.
When she went on duty, she took over from another midwife. In some ways she thought that was rather sad—a mother might have to deal with up to a dozen midwives as she progressed through antenatal care, into delivery and then to the clinic afterwards. She thought the old-fashioned way, in which one midwife stayed with a mother all the way through pregnancy, delivery and afterwards, might have been more satisfying for mother and child. But efficiency was all important now.
She was relieving her friend Maria Wyatt. Maria pretended to wipe her brow as she came out of the room, preparing for handover.
'Got a good one for you,' she said. 'Annie McCann, primigravida, first stage. No need for Syntocinon to move things along. In fact, no real problems. She's excited but frightened. Been to all the antenatal classes, done everything possible. Any good advice going, she's taken it. Husband is with her. It ought to be easy.'
'So what's the problem?'
'She's a worrier. Over the past six months she's had every midwifery textbook possible out of the library. And she's bought more than a few. Now she and her husband are experts on everything that could possibly go wrong. Even told me a couple of things that I didn't know. The husband asked me if I was capable of dealing with amniotic fluid embolism. I told him I expected never to come across a case in my entire midwifery career. But if it happened, I'd sent for help.'
Lucy grinned. 'We'll have lots of interesting conversations, then,' she said. 'I might learn something myself.'
But after a couple of hours she wasn't so sure. Annie wasn't too bad but her husband was much worse. Wilfred was a primary school teacher, he had studied childbirth—out of books—and taken copious notes. He had a large notebook. Every time his wife had a contraction or Lucy did a test, he carefully noted it down. Then he asked a question or two, usually a completely pointless one.
'Is that normal at this stage, Midwife? Is it not a little premature?'
'Quite normal. These things can vary quite a lot, you know.'
Lucy, of course, was filling in the partogram, the step-by-step account of the birth, with every observation carefully recorded. She was a bit surprised to discover that Wilfred had copied out his own partogram. He asked for the results of the observations. Then he would solemnly enter them up in his notebook, smile down at his wife and say, 'All going to our plan so far, dear.'
Lucy felt like telling him that he hadn't done any planning, it was all down to Mother Nature. And Mother Nature had a way of disorganising plans. But she didn't say anything.
Things were going well; it looked like being a straightforward birth. There was a knock at the door. Lucy checked that Annie was in a suitable state to receive visitors, and shouted, 'Come in.' She turned, her heart lurched. It was Marc.
'May I come in?' he asked. In the delivery room the midwife was boss, until she asked for help. Doctors had to acknowledge her primacy. But, still, some didn't ask. Marc was courteous.
'Of course,' she said, her voice trembling slightly.
'I'm the SHO on duty. I just thought I'd introduce myself. I don't wish to interfere.'
'You're not. This is Annie McCann and she's now into the second stage. Cervix is fully dilated. And this is Wilfred, her husband. Annie, Wilfred, this is Dr Duvallier.'
Wilfred's eyes lit up. He grabbed Marc's hand and said, 'I'm pleased to meet you, Doctor. I've just got a couple of queries about—'
Gently Marc disengaged his hand and said, 'In a moment, Mr McCann. I'd like to take a look at your wife first, if I may. Annie, how are you feeling?'
'Well, I wonder if I might not be ready to stop pushing and start panting,' gasped Annie. 'Sometimes I wonder if I'm not pushing too hard. We must have a vertex presentation with the bead flexed and the occiput anterior.'
Marc turned to Lucy, raised his eyebrows. Carefully, Lucy said, 'Annie and Wilfred are very interested in the birth process. They have studied it at great length. Prepared themselves, if you like. But everything seems to be going fine.' She handed him the partogram.
'I see,' said Marc, and nodded understandingly. He turned to Annie and said, 'No, you're not pushing too hard. Just follow the midwife's instructions.'
'In general everything seems to be going to... seems to be all right,' Lucy went on. She hadn't wanted to say 'going to plan'.
'Good.' Marc turned and smiled at the patient. 'Annie, you have nothing whatsoever to worry about. Everything seems to be fine. This should be a perfectly normal birth and soon you will have your baby.'
'Every midwife should hope for the best but be prepared for the worst,' Wilfred declaimed, obviously quoting from some textbook.
'And we are prepared,' Marc said. 'I'm on call, there's a team of experts always ready behind me. It's most unlikely that anything will go wrong, but if it does we'll cope. And I'll drop in every half-hour or so. If that's all right, Lucy?'
'Of course,' she said. But, in fact, it wasn't all right. She didn't want to see him, even though she knew that Wilfred would be soothed a little by his presence.
Marc turned to go. 'Do you have a minute, Lucy?' he asked. She followed him out of the room.
'They are OK aren't they?' he asked.
She sighed. 'They're sweet really, just a bit of a pain. Don't worry, I can cope.'
'I know that. I've not seen you for over a week. How have you been?'
'There's no reason why you should have seen me. As to how I've been, well, I've been coping because I have to.'
He sighed. 'Lucy, please, understand that I did what I did because I thought it for the best—'
She interrupted him. 'Marc, let's get one thing straight right now. You said everything that was necessary. I understand your position. I don't agree with it but that doesn't matter. I just don't want you to say anything more.'
'So can we be friends?'
She looked at him disbelievingly. 'Friends! No, Marc, we can't be friends. We were lovers. That had to stop. But we can never become just friends. Colleagues certainly, and I will work with you as best I can when I have to. But I would prefer not to work with you, and if you can arrange to keep away that would be best for me.'
He was silent for a moment and then said in a neutral voice, 'That is very clear. As far as I can I will respect your wishes.' He turned and went. For a moment she wondered if she had been hard on him. Then she decided she had not been as hard on him as she had been on herself.
She felt inside her collar, gently tugged at the medallion on her gold chain. Love conquers all. What rubbish!
But later she was glad of his professional presence. He had come in once or twice, smiled perfunctorily at her and reassured Annie and Wilfred that all was going well. The birth was progressing perfectly normally but then—she might have guessed—Wilfred started to panic towards the end.
As usual Lucy rang through for another midwife when the birth was imminent. And casually she added, 'Ask the SHO to come in if he can. Nothing serious, but he might be able to help.'
When Marc came in, in spite of being asked twice to move back, Wilfred was leaning over Lucy's shoulder, pointing and saying in a terrified voice, 'It seems to be stretching too much to me, Lucy. Perhaps she should have an episiotomy. Annie, it's all right. I'm here for you.'
Marc took in the situation at once. Taking Wilfred firmly by the hand, he drew him back towards the head of the table. He said, 'Wilfred, we'd like you to hold your wife's hand. That's the best you can do for her now. All is going very well.'
'But I thought that an episiotomy—'
'The midwife and I agree that there's no need for one. If you wish, I'll stay here for the birth. But your job is to comfort your wife.'
'Wilfred, it's coming, it's coming,' screamed Annie, 'Wilfred, I can feel our baby coming.'
'And it's a lovely little boy,' Lucy said.
Wilfred swayed. Lucy saw Marc put out a steadying arm. Then Wilfred fainted and Marc laid him gently on the floor.
'I knew everything would be all right,' Annie said as she nursed her child a little later.
After helping resuscitate Wilfred, Marc left. Lucy didn't see him again for the next week.