Normally, after lunch Guy Harwood went for a walk. He liked a walk, and the ancient wood, not more than ten minutes away, was his favourite, for it had, probably centuries ago, been planted with beech and oaks which now were great trees spreading their branches across the well-worn tracks.
His self-contained flat was at the far end of the Abbey, away from the others, which pleased him, for he preferred to be alone. The flat consisted of his small surgery and then, through a series of adjoining doors, his sitting room, the bedroom and bathroom. He had been given permission to give it all a coat of paint, pale grey, and he had brought a few personal bits: his chair, piano and books.
Now he sat at the piano and without much thought began to play by heart a Mozart minuet. The woman looked nervous, ill at ease, he thought. Not really surprising – the only woman among men! She hadn’t eaten properly, perhaps that was why she was so slim. Looked as if a breath of air could blow her over. She wasn’t beautiful, but he had to admit that for him there was something lovely about her. So pale. Chestnut hair bundled up with loose bits hanging down her neck. He had had a long chat with Tom about her, so he knew the situation. Wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to do, however. Tom had said he hoped the break away somewhere peaceful would help; he wanted to try that before resorting to anti-depressants. But she was stubborn, apparently. Well, he would definitely have to find an occasion to meet her. What would happen after that? He didn’t know. He could help build her confidence, perhaps?
All he knew was he didn’t want any serious involvement and he could detect in himself the warning signs. But no. Not after Elizabeth.
He had met her and Tom when they, all three, were training together at Barts, had become great friends and all gone to Bristol General as junior doctors, where they met up in pubs after shifts, gave each other lifts to and from their digs, went to parties, the cinema and discussed endlessly the pros and cons of life as junior doctors.
Then Tom met Di, and he and Elizabeth saw less of him and were, in a way, thrown together. Elizabeth was petite with a fuzz of naturally curly brown hair and, like him, she wore glasses. When their friendship developed into something more intimate, they used to joke, ‘You’re steaming up my glasses!’
He thought they would never be apart. But could not decide how they would be together either. Kissing was OK, but he couldn’t do the sex bit. Too afraid. He’d masturbate alone after being with her, imagining her all the time, her plumpish thighs, her breasts.
He supposed he should have known. Yet when she told him that evening in the restaurant, one of their favourite places, that she had met somebody who made her feel a woman, where the chemistry was good, he was stunned into a shaking silence. Took him years to get over it.
All the time Tom remained a good friend, as did Di, whom he married shortly after Guy’s break-up with Elizabeth. Guy saw a lot of them, especially as he and Tom became partners in the same practice. And he was looking forward, after this sabbatical, to working alongside Tom again. He would leave here when the rest moved to Wiltdown, staying, of course, to help with the move.
In the meantime, he should walk, not think about Rose Gregory, despite the fact that there was something about her that he was drawn to. But no! Never again. He shut the lid of the piano, took out a handkerchief and cleaned his glasses, sat for a moment, thinking, and then left for his walk.