The Burleigh still looked the same country house hotel from the outside, but when Cat walked into the entrance hall she realised that it had had a sleek, sophisticated makeover. The walls were now a putty colour, the carpet taupe, the upholstery various shades of cream and pale grey. The front of the bar was covered in what appeared to be cream leather, the stools covered in the same but darker. The lighting had been redesigned. It was intimate but cool, the Italian influence everywhere.
Luke’s partner, Enrico, must have spent several of his many millions on the place, hoping to attract a richer and more international clientele but, location being all, she wondered if he was likely to succeed with a hotel just outside Lafferton, for all that the country was green and pleasant.
‘Cat! You look like the spring.’
She saw at once why she had fancied Luke twenty-five years ago. He looked exactly the same, in that he was still slim and more youthful-looking than was decent, his hair was still thick but had greyed a little in an attractive way. And he still had the same charm. He took her hands and kissed her on both cheeks.
‘And you haven’t forgotten how to flatter. It’s so good to see you, Luke.’
‘I have a table beside the window. Let’s have a glass of champagne to celebrate.’
He led her across the room, which was very quiet. She did not notice him indicating that he wanted to order but as they sat down a waiter appeared with two glasses of Veuve Clicquot.
‘That suit came from nowhere but Italy,’ she said. It was very pale grey, a fine wool, perfectly cut, worn with a slate-grey shirt and fuchsia silk tie. Cat tried briefly to imagine Kieron in the same outfit and smiled. He was fine in full uniform, but otherwise, the opposite of sartorial. She had been trying to update his wardrobe by small, subtle steps since they were married. Chris had been just the same. Simon, now – he could carry off a suit like that.
‘Here’s to us,’ Luke said. Olives came, and rounds of toast the size of pennies with a dab of potted shrimp and a sprig of dill, a mustard-spoon blob of caviar or a curl of smoked salmon on each.
Cat sighed and leaned back. ‘Whatever the reason,’ she said, ‘this is so good. Thank you.’
‘Right, fill me in on the last twenty-odd years, Dr Deerbon. You haven’t changed your professional name I presume?’
While they enjoyed their champagne, she filled him in, on the children, Chris’s illness and dying, Simon, Kieron. She did not mention Richard – Luke knew of her mother’s death from the medical obituaries.
‘OK, that’s the personal life. Talk about the medicine.’
‘That will take until the end of the main course.’
‘No problem. I’ve got plenty of time. You?’
‘It’s my day off.’
The hotel now had both its old formal dining room and also a brasserie. Luke gave her the choice and Cat looked over her shoulder at the main room.
‘Sorry but that would be like eating in a morgue – there’s no one in there.’
The Italian brasserie was very comfortable, it felt intimate but the tables were not set too closely together and the menu was written both on a board behind the bar and chalked on individual blackboards which came to the table. They ordered crab and lobster linguine and salad. Fresh warm bread and olive oil came first.
‘I know the state of general practice overall,’ Luke said, ‘but what about your personal experience? Bring me right up to date.’
Cat did, but set out in detail her time in palliative care at the Imogen House Hospice, the short spell as a partner again in a GP surgery, where she had felt undervalued and undermined, to her new job as a locum in the surgery.
‘It’s good in one way – they’re all nice, they’re supportive and they include me in discussions and meetings as if I were a partner. But the fact is, I’m not. I pick up the last-minuters, the overbooked patients, the temps. I do quite a lot of phone consultations. There’s no continuity, or very little, and I don’t often see the same patient twice. The usual.’
‘How many hours do you do?’
‘The equivalent of three and a half days.’
‘Facilities?’
‘Not bad. I don’t have my own consulting room, but locums never do. It works, in that I get time off to have a bit of life and see my husband.’
‘You’re not stretched.’
‘God no.’
‘Nor well paid.’
‘No … Times have changed. So have doctors.’
Cat stopped talking and ate. The linguine was moist, rich in white crab meat and chunks of lobster, the salad dressed with the best olive oil. She did not want to rush the enjoyment of it.
Luke poured them both more iced water. The jug was topped with lemon slices and fresh mint.
‘Let me tell you about Concierge Doctors.’
Bitter-lemon granitas and two lots of coffee, as good as only the Italians make it, came and went and Luke had barely stopped talking. But now he downed his second espresso and leaned back.
‘I’m not going to ask you what you think right now – there’s a lot to take in, it’s complicated, though it actually won’t be. But maybe the only reaction I need from you at this point is whether you have any objections to the principle – plenty of doctors are totally against private medicine of any kind, and I respect that. If you are, well, it’s been a great lunch and so good to see you again.’
‘Chris was totally against it. He’d have made his excuses and left before you were a quarter of the way through. I have never felt like that, though I understood some of his arguments, but with him, pride came into it and there’s no room for that, especially the way general practice is now.’
Luke waited for her to continue but she had no more to say. Not today. Not now.
‘I need a week to think this over and come up with a response. Is there anything in writing yet?’
Luke reached into his jacket pocket and took out a card. ‘All my details are here and the website details – it isn’t live of course, it’s been mocked up but by a professional designer and it tells you absolutely everything. Trying to be paper-less if not paperfree.’
‘Thanks. I promise I’ll read it very carefully and come back to you – just not until I’m pretty clear where I stand. It’s very interesting though.’
‘So you’re not saying no.’
‘I’m not saying anything at all yet, Luke, except that I’d love another coffee.’
The rest of their time was spent catching up on news of fellow medical students, and swapping stories about the parlous state of recruitment and the laxity of present-day training. Cat thought they sounded like her parents when she was in her first med-school years – nothing was ever as good as in ‘my day’.
Luke walked her out to her car and kissed her on both cheeks again. ‘I can’t wait to hear,’ he said.
‘Well, you’ll have to. Thanks for the lunch.’
He waved as she turned out of the gates. She had given him the impression of feeling moderately interested in his scheme but that going onto the website to study it in detail was not an immediate priority. In fact, she was much keener on it than she had let herself appear. She liked what she had heard so far, above all because it presented a possible route out of the professional rut in which she found herself. When she had asked Luke if she could tell Kieron about it, he had been keen that she should. ‘Partners are important in this, it affects home life, obviously. So tell him, I’d be interested to hear his views. I hope I get to meet him – never known a Chief Constable.’