Being a house officer might seem never-ending, but it was always interesting. Delyth knew she was learning.
Although she could always ask for advice, she had a lot to decide herself. After her two days off she had a run in which she seemed to be working more time than there was in a week. Her hours were supposed to be limited, but if the work was there it had to be done.
Frank Allison looked at her suspiciously. He was seventy, and had never come across anything like this in his life. ‘It can’t be natural,’ he said, ‘putting machines inside people and leaving them there. And you say it’ll be powered by a battery? All the batteries I’ve ever had have run out after a month. I’m not being cut open every month.’
‘These are special, very expensive batteries,’ she told him. ‘They last about ten years. And if you have a pacemaker fitted you’ll feel a lot better. You won’t be so tired and there’ll be a lot less discomfort.’
‘Why didn’t you fit one when I came in, then? Without telling me?’
‘We need to have your consent, Frank. We can’t just operate on you. You have to decide whether you want the operation or not.’
Frank considered this. ‘Are you absolutely certain that nothing can go wrong?’ This was a difficult question to answer, but she had been told to be absolutely honest.
‘There’s a risk to everything, Frank. But we can say that about one in every two thousand people has been fitted with one. And they all feel the benefit.’
‘So, what exactly will you do?’
‘You have it done under local anaesthetic. No need for sending you to sleep. But we’ll probably give you something to relax you. And it’ll take no longer than an hour. Afterwards you carry a card round to say you’ve been fitted with a pacemaker, and some people wear a bracelet with the details on.’
‘I’m not wearing a bracelet! You’ll be fitting me with earrings next!’ Delyth knew the old man was being awkward on purpose, obviously enjoying the conversation.
‘I think you’d look sweet in earrings,’ she said. ‘But they’re not necessary and the bracelet’s not compulsory. Now, what they do is fix a little wire in your heart and attach it to this tiny machine which we put inside your chest. You might be able to feel it if you touch it. But what you certainly will be able to feel is a lot better.’
‘Not tired all the time?’
Once again she had to be careful. ‘Almost certainly you’ll feel a lot better. But I’d be wrong if I didn’t tell you that there’s a tiny risk.’
‘All right,’ said Frank, ‘where d’you want me to sign?’
Delyth took out the form for him. Before an operation all patients had to give their informed consent.
‘Informed’ was the important word. It was no good just saying that an operation was necessary. The patient had to be informed of any risks, and have a clear idea of what was involved.
Occasionally she saw James on the ward, always moving with his customary speed. He would smile at her as if they shared a secret, and she would smile back.
He phoned her and said, ‘I know you have no time for eating or sleeping, much less washing, but how about a stolen half-hour in the Clubroom?’ After that they got into the habit of meeting there as often as they could. He had to take a series of clinics in a neighbouring smaller hospital so often he didn’t get back till late. He would phone, and they would snatch a few minutes together. Togetherness was all she needed, all she had time for, all she could cope with.
Their short meetings were odd. Both seemed to know that something might develop, but neither was sure what. For the moment they were busy – things would take their time.
Then, after a fortnight’s hard but exciting work, she found herself with two whole days off. ‘It’s midweek,’ she announced to him as they sat in the Clubroom, ‘Wednesday and Thursday. But days are days.’
‘What are you going to do? See Megan again? A bit more of London?’
‘Sleep,’ she said with some passion. ‘Then wash my clothes, clean my room, write letters to family and friends. I might even do a little light reading.’
‘All excellent ideas.’ They were sitting together in the rather distant corner that had become particularly theirs. No one could overhear their conversation; people didn’t come to sit with them unless invited. ‘You could do all those on Wednesday,’ he continued. ‘How long since you had any fresh air?’
‘They don’t make it around here. I’m getting quite fond of diesel fumes and carbon monoxide.’
‘Just as I thought. Look, I can take Thursday afternoon off. The forecast isn’t bad – how about seeing the best London can do for countryside? Get out your boots and trousers and I’ll pick you up at one.’
He looked at her, suddenly thoughtful. ‘You do walk don’t you?’‘I’m a country girl. Of course I do.’
‘Good. And just for once we’ll have a rule. No talk of medicine.’
‘Is that possible?’ she asked demurely.
‘Quite possible. In fact, we’ll have no depressing talk at all.’
That was a coded message she recognised. He didn’t want to talk about his past. When he’d told her about his two dead lovers a fortnight before, she had been too upset to ask for details. She remembered his account of the deaths of his parents – what a load for any man to bear! After he had told her he had taken her back to the residence and kissed her gently. She had grabbed him and pulled him to her, her face next to his. She had wanted to give him comfort and she thought he had recognised this.
After a while he had put her from him, equally gently. ‘I’m all right really,’ he had said. ‘We’ll talk about it some time – if you want to, that is.’
‘If you want to tell me,’ she had answered. But since then there just hadn’t been time. ‘I’d really like a walk,’ she told him.
Delyth still hadn’t seen much of the centre of London, and the outskirts were completely new to her. James took her by train from Waterloo to Kingston-on Thames, and they walked across the river, and along the path by its side and on to Hampton Court Palace.
Feeling like tourists, they wandered round, talking about history and admiring the ancient buildings. But James didn’t intend to saunter for long. He’d brought her here to walk.
They walked back through Kingston and into Richmond Park. It took her a while, but she managed to get used to his long, loping pace. ‘I’m certainly getting my exercise with you,’ she panted.
‘It’s good for you. If more people walked further there’d be less work for us in hospital.’
‘No talking shop,’ she warned him.
It was good to feel the grass underfoot in the park. She saw the deer and almost felt she was in the country. But in the distance she could see the great towers of the city. He made her walk hard so her legs ached, her lungs stretched. Then they dropped down into Richmond and had a welcome cup of tea, sitting overlooking the river.
‘I really enjoyed that,’ she said. ‘It was just what I needed. I know what you’re doing – you’re taking me out of myself, reminding me there is a life outside medicine.’
He reached over the table to squeeze her hand. ‘You need to remember that,’ he said seriously. ‘It took me a long time to realise it. Learn from my mistakes.’
‘I don’t think of you making mistakes.’
‘Everyone makes mistakes,’ he told her soberly. ‘Come on, we’ll get the train back.’
It was rather fun to be on the train – there weren’t too many on it. Most people were commuting back after a day in the City, and watching the crammed trains coming the other way gave her a sense of escape.
‘I’m quite happily tired,’ she told him as their train slid into the station. ‘This has done me no end of good. But I hope our day isn’t over yet.’
‘Certainly not. I can either take you out to dinner or, if you want, you can come to my flat and I’ll feed you there.’
‘You’re going to cook for me?’
‘My domestic staff will knock something up,’ he said urbanely. ‘Now, which do you want to do?’ It seemed to be a casual invitation, but she knew it wasn’t. When she accepted she had the sense of making a definite decision, of taking a step into something new. But she accepted anyway. Sometimes you had to take risks.
‘I’ll come to your flat,’ she said, ‘but I want to shower and change first. It’ll take me about an hour.’
‘Then shall I pick you up about seven?’
She shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. You’re close to the hospital and there are things you need to do. I’ll be knocking on your door.’
‘But I’d rather –’
‘Just for once let me decide. You know it makes sense. You can walk me back if you like.’ He frowned, but he agreed.
For the walk she’d had her hair in her customary French plait. Now she took it down and rinsed it through in the shower. She’d leave it long, caught back with pretty slides. She put on new underwear, again in white silk, then a grey dress, cool and attractive. No tights – it was too warm. Just a touch of make-up. She seemed to be acting without conscious volition. What the evening would bring she wasn’t going to think about.
His flat was in a house owned by the hospital, only five minutes away and practically part of the complex. Three doctors each had a flat there. She was wondering as she rang the bell, but a kind of faith told her that everything would be all right.
He answered, dressed in dark trousers and a white shirt, his hair still wet. As ever, he looked wonderful. And she knew that, as he looked at her, he found her attractive too. His eyes burned with … admiration? When she saw him, all her previous tiny doubts disappeared. She was glad she had come.
‘Delyth, come in.’ He waved her through the door. ‘I hope you’re hungry. We’ll dine in about half an hour but we’ll have a drink first.’
She’d not been to his flat before. He escorted her to a living room, pleasant enough, with cream walls and a darkish carpet. When she sat on the couch he fetched two glasses and opened a bottle of wine. She liked the taste and the bubbles. Then he sat beside her. She looked round and frowned.
There was a television, a small CD player, a rack of books. Most of the books were medical tomes, dark and heavy. ‘I recognise the furniture, curtains, and paint,’ she told him. ‘They’re all hospital issue.’
He shrugged. ‘I just live here. Africa was even more basic than this, and I liked that, too. It suits me – most of my time here I spend working.’
‘But there’s nothing of you in the room! No pictures, no photographs.’
He seemed surprised at her protestation. ‘What do I want pictures of, Delyth? You don’t need pictures to bring back memories. I like to travel light. If I were offered a job in America I could be ready to leave tomorrow morning. I haven’t even got a car.’
She shook her head in bewilderment. ‘Is it all like this? May I look round?’
‘It’s all like this. But look round, anyway.’
Her mother had always said that a home told you everything about a person’s character. But this flat told her nothing about James. Perhaps that was the point. There was a bedroom with lowered Venetian blinds, throwing slats of light over the double bed. There was a spare room, neatly piled with cases. A dining annexe laid for two. Everything was scrupulously neat, but it said nothing about the inhabitant. The flat was as bland as a hotel room.
‘I don’t understand you,’ she said. ‘You’re an interesting man, an interested man. But you’ve got nothing. Not even books.’
‘Books I can get out of the library. I don’t want roots, Delyth, things to cling to me. In the end you don’t own possessions – they own you.’
‘Perhaps,’ she muttered, ‘but they show who and what you are. All this … this nothingness. It’s as if you’re hiding yourself.’ He didn’t answer her.
The kitchen looked as if it might be used sometimes, but that was all. The oven was on, and she stooped to peer through the glass door suspiciously. ‘I’m ravenous, James. What about the meal I was promised? There’s nothing in the oven. You’re supposed to put food in it – it doesn’t grow there.’
‘Ah. I’d forgotten you were a country girl. I’ll bet you are an expert cook.’
‘My father has a market garden,’ she said shortly. ‘He grows a lot of our fresh food.’
The doorbell rang. ‘Just in time,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ve no kitchen skills but I can certainly use a telephone.’ He disappeared to open the door and returned followed by a little man, carrying a big tray. Quickly, the man stuffed foil-covered parcels into the oven or the fridge, and then disappeared.
‘My good friend, Mr Hung,’ said James. ‘Shall we dine?’
‘This is cheating,’ she reproached him as they sat in the little annexe.
‘Not at all. Mr Hung cooks wonderfully, I don’t. On the other hand, I’m brilliant at taking out appendixes. A fair division of labour, I think. What d’you think of the menu we decided on together?’
She picked up the neatly written card Mr Hung had left on the table, and decided that this was a little more adventurous than the usual Chinese take-away. Melon with citrus fruits and blackcurrant sorbet. Cajun chicken with pepper sauce and a salad. A selection of ice creams and fresh raspberries and strawberries.
‘Let’s eat,’ she said.
‘That was a wonderful meal,’ she sighed some time later. ‘And I love the wine.’ He had opened another bottle – the first had seemed just to go. He had also put on music, something low and seemingly distant. She recognised love songs from the Auvergne. They had decided not to bother with coffee as they still had wine. Now they sat side by side on the couch, pleasantly relaxed. He put his arm round her, and it seemed natural to rest her head against his chest and shoulder.
‘I’ve had a good day,’ she went on. ‘I love being a doctor, but it’s hard work. So when we have a rest from it I like to do something special. And today has been special.’
‘It still is special,’ he told her.
She turned and reached up to kiss his cheek. He hugged her tightly. ‘I’ve enjoyed myself too,’ he said. ‘There’s nobody I’d rather spend time with.’
She thought that they had all the time in the world.It was good just to be with him. She knew what would happen next and felt a tiny burst of apprehension. But there was no hurry.
After a while the arm round her shoulder tightened. He pulled her closer, leaned over and kissed her. He was gentle. She was conscious of him through all her senses, as if they were sharper, sensitised. There was the whisper of the rasp of his chin on her cheek. Through his thin white shirt she could feel his warmth, the muscles taut underneath. There was the rapid throb of a heart – whether his or hers she didn’t know. She caught the faint musky scent of his expensive cologne.
And how he kissed her! Soft, feather-like kisses down the side of her face, almost tickling her on her ears. Then on her lips, still soft at first, but then more demanding, more passionate.
She moaned softly as his mouth took hers, his tongue probing so she opened to him. His hand grazed her breast; more bold than ever before, she took his hand and pressed it there. She heard his groan of excitement and then he slipped his hand inside her dress, to cup and caress her.
For a while it was heaven. Then he gasped. Sitting side by side, it was awkward, uncomfortable. ‘Come and lie down with me,’ he said.
There was a moment’s hesitation, a sense of taking a step from which there would be no withdrawing. ‘Yes,’ she said simply.
He stood and drew her upright, pulled her against him so she could feel the movement of his chest as he breathed, the undoubted feeling of his masculinity.
‘Are you sure?’ he managed to ask.
She tugged his sleeve, turned to the bedroom. ‘Of course I’m sure.’ She smiled. ‘Come on, I’m a big girl now.’
It was nearly dusk, the last rays of the sun tracing golden lines on the bed. He held her at arm’s length; his face was serious but she could see the light of desire in his eyes. She wondered if her own face showed what she, too, was thinking.
She wouldn’t merely be passive. This wasn’t something that he was doing to her but something that they were doing together. Reaching forward, she unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from his shoulders so she could see his lean body. Then he caught her to him and she thrilled to the rub of his naked flesh under her fingers.
Behind her, she felt his hands at her zip. He drew it slowly down and then tugged it over her shoulders so it fell in a soft grey froth at her feet. Now she was naked but for her shoes and the bra and briefs, put on – specially for him?
Kicking off her shoes was automatic, but she did nothing more. She knew he would want to undress her.
His hands reached behind her, undid the clip of her bra, eased the scrap of silk forward. As he did so his hands touched the sides of her breasts, his fingertips exciting the pinkness of the erect tips. She sighed, closed her eyes. Now his hands were on her hips, and there was an odd feeling of freedom as he slipped down her briefs. She was nervous – but happy.
She gave a little gasp of shock as he grabbed her by thighs and shoulders, swung her into the air, and laid her softly onto the bed. Sensually, she stretched, linked her hands behind her head and closed her eyes. She heard the hiss of his breath as he gazed down at her. ‘Delyth, you’re beautiful,’ he groaned.
There was the rustle of clothes and he was beside her, also naked. For a while he just held her, and slowly the apprehension she was feeling died away.
He kissed her more freely now she was naked. She sighed and writhed at the feeling of his lips on the side of her throat, the touch of his tongue on her nipples, now hard with desire. His hands stroked the curve of her shoulders, the delicate flatness of her stomach, the roundness of her hips.
She felt passion flowing like liquid fire through her entire body, knew that it was readying itself for that which she so intensely desired. Still with her eyes closed, she reached up to him, ran her fingertips along the leanness of his body, felt the roughness of hair, the smoothness of skin, and then heard his sudden sob of excitement as she took his hardness into her hand for a moment. Her arms wrapped themselves round his neck, pulled him across her, down to her. Almost of their own volition her legs spread apart. She felt an infinity of excitement, of apprehension, as his body gently came down to touch hers.
‘I’ve wanted this so much,’ he muttered thickly, ‘Delyth, do you know how much I’ve wanted you?’
‘I’ve wanted you too,’ she reproved him. ‘Surely you know that? I’ve kept myself for you, James. Something told me this was meant to be. I know we’re destined to be together for ever. It’ll always be like this.’
Her happiness lasted another thirty seconds. He was poised above her. She couldn’t wait any longer so she urged him down towards her, into her. ‘James,’ she panted.
But there was something wrong. His body, which had been so ready, now seemed rigid with some kind of torment. He slumped to one side of her.
She opened her eyes and looked at the face next to her, now crushed into the bedding. ‘James, what is it?’ she asked tremulously.
His voice was now thick with some emotion other than passion. ‘You said you know this is meant to be.’
‘Yes … I know it. Surely you feel it, too?’
He didn’t answer her question. Instead he went on, ‘And you’ve kept yourself for me? You’re a virgin?’
‘I am, but it doesn’t matter. James, who else should I lose my virginity to?’ Now he rolled onto his back, all bodily contact between them lost but for his hand which clutched hers.
‘And you know we’re destined to be together for ever. To be married, in fact. You’ve been told this by your voice that tells you when patients are really ill?’
Things were now dreadfully wrong. With her free hand she pulled the cover of the bed over her. She didn’t want to be naked for this conversation.
‘Perhaps married in time,’ she faltered. ‘But for now I just know we have to be together.’
He groaned. Then she felt him roll from the bed. When he spoke his voice was harsh at first, then became infinitely compassionate. But she didn’t want compassion, she wanted love. ‘Delyth, your voice is wrong. I’m very … fond of you. But any relationship I form will be temporary. I told you, I travel light. When I finish here I’ll move on, perhaps to America – I’m already negotiating with Chicago. And I’ll go alone.I’ve tried full-scale relationships, but they just don’t work for me.’ ‘So you want me simply as a temporary lover?’ she asked.
His reply was stark. ‘Yes,’ he said.
The silence between them seemed to stretch on for ever. Then she said, ‘If you’d go, I’d like to get dressed.’
The thing to do was not to feel anything. She had learned on the ward that if you tried hard enough you could distance yourself from your feelings. But this was harder.
She dressed, then looked quickly round the bare bedroom. It was now nearly dark. The sun had set. She walked out of the door. He, too, had dressed, and was sitting on the couch, his expression haggard. He stood quickly.
It was the hardest thing she had ever done, but she managed to keep her voice calm, her expression neutral. ‘I can’t talk now, James, but I know we’ll have to say something some time. But, please, not now. I’m going home and I don’t want you to walk with me.’
‘I’ve hurt you, haven’t I?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you have.’