Prince Charming of Harley Street / The Heart Doctor and the Baby (5 page)

Jonathan turned off the ignition. ‘Except that they can never be sure whether I’m visiting as a doctor or as a friend. Most of my patients belong to the same social circle as I do. You can’t imagine how many off-the-record consultations I do at a party or at Ascot.’

All this was more and more confusing. Rose frowned.

‘That can’t be good. Surely there needs to be some distinction between the doctor and the patient?’

He jumped out of the car. ‘Nope. It works just fine, believe me.’

The door was opened, before they had a chance to knock, by a man dressed in a formal suit.

‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he said. ‘And miss. Miss Goldsmith is waiting for you in the drawing room. She said I was to show you straight in.’

Rose wanted to giggle. It was like being caught in a time warp. But if Jonathan found it amusing, he gave no indication of it. Instead, he stepped back to allow Rose to go through the door in front of him.

She stepped into a hall, so enormous her parents’ whole house could have easily fitted into it—possibly twice. The floor was marble, paintings hung on the wall, and sculptures and large vases holding extravagant flower arrangements
were placed around the space. To one side was a fireplace and a small sofa.

‘I know my way, thank you, Robert,’ Jonathan said, and taking Rose by the elbow steered her across the hall and up a flight of stairs that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the foyer of the grandest cruise ship. Everywhere Rose looked there were ornate statues and gilt ornaments. Although someone had lavished a fortune on the interior, it wasn’t to her taste. Rose much preferred a minimalist, uncluttered look.

Inside another equally impressive room, almost hidden in the depths of a sofa, was a woman with fine features and a mass of red hair. As soon as she saw Jonathan, she jumped to her feet and came towards him, arms outstretched.

‘I’ve been waiting all day for you to come.’ She pouted, holding up her face to be kissed.

‘I do have other patients, Jess,’ Jonathan said, bending and kissing her on the cheek. ‘I’ve brought someone with me. This is Rose Taylor, my…er…nurse for the next few weeks.’

Rose stood trying not to shuffle her feet like some sort of servant from the Middle Ages. She smiled and held out her hand. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Ms Goldsmith.’

Jessamine studied her for a second, her glance no doubt taking in the cheap suit Rose wore. Whatever she saw seemed to reassure her and she smiled, the famous smile Rose knew from the times she had seen her in the movies. It lit up her face, turning her from a petulant teenager into a woman of remarkable beauty.

Jessamine ignored Rose’s outstretched hand and dropped two air kisses on either side of Rose’s cheeks.

‘Would you like something to drink? Champagne perhaps? Tea?’

‘Tea would be lovely,’ Jonathan said firmly. ‘Now, Jessamine, what can I do for you?’

‘It’s my stomach,’ she said. ‘It hurts like crazy.’

‘Why don’t you lie down while I take a look?’ Jonathan suggested.

‘Perhaps Rose wouldn’t mind going downstairs to organise the tea while you’re examining me?’ There was no mistaking the glint in Jessamine’s eye.

‘Sorry, Jess, I need Rose here.’ He sent Rose a look that implied that if she even thought about leaving him alone, she would have him to answer to. ‘In case I need to take blood. Now, don’t be difficult, let’s have a look. Have you been eating properly? You know we spoke about this before. Your tummy hurts because you’re hungry. You have to have more than five hundred calories a day.’

‘That’s all very well for you to say.’ Jessamine pouted again. ‘You know how the camera adds pounds and I have an audition tomorrow.’

Jessamine lay down on the sofa and lifted her T shirt, revealing her stomach. It was, as Rose had suspected, as flat as a pancake. But Jonathan was right, she was too thin. Rose could almost count each individual rib poking through the skin. When Jonathan made Jessamine sit up, so he could listen to her breathing from her back, it was the same, each vertebrae sticking out like a railway track.

‘Your chest is fine and so is your heart. Rose, could you take Jessamine’s blood pressure, please?’

It took Rose about two seconds to wrap the cuff around the too-thin arms. The blood pressure was slightly on the low side, but nothing particularly concerning. Despite her thinness, Jessamine was, on the surface, in good physical condition. While Rose was taking her blood pressure,
Jessamine was talking to Jonathan. She was speaking too fast, her eyes bright and feverish.

‘I hope you haven’t forgotten about the Wakeleys’ yacht party next weekend, Johnny? All the crowd is going. I know you and Felicity aren’t together any more, but you mustn’t stay at home and mope. You must come too, Rose,’ she added as an afterthought.

Rose knew it was only politeness that had made Jessamine invite her.

‘I’m sure Rose would love to come,’ Jonathan said before Rose could decline. ‘In fact, I’ll bring her myself.’

The response was obviously not what Jessamine had been hoping for. She narrowed her cat’s eyes at Rose, and then with another dismissive glance seemed to remember that Rose offered no competition.

Rose opened her mouth to protest. She might be working for Jonathan, but that didn’t give him the right to accept invitations on her behalf. Besides, she had her own plans. She would be going down to the pub, her old local, to meet up with friends she hadn’t seen for months. Nevertheless, she felt slightly wistful. When was the last time she’d been to a party? And when would she ever have a chance to go to one like the one Jessamine was talking about? Never was the answer. But there was no point in even thinking about it: she’d be completely out of her depth. She caught Jonathan’s eye. He was looking at her, willing her not to contradict him, so she wouldn’t. She could always send her apologies with him on the night.

Eventually, after Jonathan had taken some blood and given Jessamine a lecture about eating properly and had received a promise in return that everyone in the room knew was empty, he made their excuses.

‘We’ll see you a week on Sunday, Jess,’ he said. ‘And I’ll come back and see you before then. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about at the moment, but I’m going to keep an eye on you. But you have to eat more regularly. If you don’t, you will continue to suffer from indigestion. But that’s not the only thing. You’re harming your body by starving yourself.’ He frowned down at her. ‘Is it really worth putting your health at risk, Jess?’

‘Please don’t tell me off, Johnny. I promise I’ll be good. I just have to audition for this next film and then I’ll put a few pounds back on, I promise.’

She held up two fingers in a salute Rose knew well. ‘Brownies’ honour.’ She slid a pointed glance at Rose. Her look was mocking and challenging at the same time. She had taken a dislike to Rose, that much was obvious, and Rose had no idea why.

Outside, Jonathan held open the door of his car. ‘Can I drop you off at home?’ he asked.

Rose shook her head. ‘I think there’s a tube station not far from here. I need to pick up a few things on my way home so, thanks, but no thanks.’

‘Then I’ll drop you off at the station. Hop in. We can have a chat about Jessamine on the way.’

Rose did as he suggested. ‘You seemed pretty sure it was indigestion,’ she said.

‘I am. Given her lifestyle, it’s the likely diagnosis. But I’m not ruling out other possibilities just yet either. I want to check her blood count—do a full blood screen, just to be on the safe side.’

Although it probably was just indigestion, Rose had been worried that Jonathan didn’t seem to be taking the
symptoms seriously enough. There was something about the casual way the consultations were held, the familiarity with the patients, that disturbed her. Jonathan’s manner was so easygoing, her earlier doubts were resurfacing. Did he really know what he was doing? However nothing in the thorough way he examined the patients or his detailed notes suggested otherwise. Perhaps it was simply that this world was so different from anything she had ever encountered.

‘You think it could be more than indigestion?’ she asked.

‘Let’s just say I’m not going to take any chances.’

Rose was relieved by his reply. Apart from the ethical considerations of working with a less than thorough doctor, it had become important to her that Jonathan had a modicum of respect for the profession in which he was practising.

Suddenly he grinned at her and her heart gave a disconcerting lurch.

‘How was your first day, then?’

‘Not really what I’m used to,’ Rose admitted. ‘But interesting.’

She wasn’t lying. But the most intriguing thing about the whole day was this man sitting beside her. She studied him surreptitiously from under her eyelashes. She had never met anyone like him before. How could she have? Her upbringing had been as different from his as it was possible to be. Her father and mother had worked hard just to keep their heads above water. Treats had been few and far between, but if material possessions had been in short supply, Rose had always felt treasured and loved.

She had always been studious, but she had never really been ambitious. After leaving school, without sitting A levels, she had done a secretarial course and had taken a
job as a medical secretary with an out-of-town practice. It was there that she had realised that she wanted to do more with her life. The patients and their illnesses had fascinated her and she’d found herself becoming immersed in their lives. Soon the patients had been stopping by her desk on a regular basis to tell her the latest on their families, sharing their hopes and fears with her. One of the doctors had noticed how easily the patients spoke to her and how quickly she picked up the medical terminology and had suggested medicine or nursing as a possible career. She had taken her A levels at evening class and followed up her excellent results with four years studying for her nursing degree at Edinburgh University. The circle of friends she had formed there had shared her interests—walks, music, theatre and opera. University had introduced her to things she had never been exposed to before and she had lapped it up. After graduating, she had easily found a job she loved in Edinburgh, within walking distance of her flat.

It had been a warm, comfortable, if unexciting life. One she had cherished. Why, then, was she beginning to wonder if something had been missing?

‘I’
M HOME
,’ Rose called out, heaving a sigh of relief as she dropped her bags of shopping at the front door. The tube had been packed as usual, bodies pressed up against each other as the train had rattled and swayed. She had stopped off at the supermarket for something for tonight’s dinner and had then had to complete the second half of her journey home. The walk from the station only took ten minutes but, laden as she was, combined with heels that, although sensible by most women’s standards, were still an inch higher than Rose was used to, had felt every painful step of the walk home.

Her mother came out to greet her.

‘How was it, love?’ She reached for one of the shopping bags. ‘Why don’t you go in and see your dad while I put this away? Then you can tell us all about it over a nice cup of tea.’

‘How is he, Mum? What sort of day has he had?’

‘Not too bad. He ate his breakfast and his lunch, then we did the exercises the physio showed us. He’s a bit tired now. I’ll help him to bed once we’ve had supper.’

Rose found her father in his usual chair by the window. Her heart squeezed as she took in his useless arm and downturned mouth. The stroke had left one side of his
body pretty much paralysed, as well as impairing his speech. Her father had been a vigorous man who had enjoyed going to football matches and playing cricket and golf, and now he was reduced to sitting by the window, watching the world go by. Rose knew how much he loathed needing help. If he would barely accept it from his wife, he hated taking it from his daughter. There had been a small improvement since he’d been discharged from hospital and Rose prayed with the proper treatment he’d continue to make progress.

‘Hey, Daddy. How’s it going? Seen any suspicious characters out there today?’ She dropped a kiss on the top of his head and he gave her his lopsided smile.

‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he said. Although the words were indistinct, Rose knew that was what he was trying to say.

She sat down beside him and took his hand in hers. ‘You have no idea what sort of day I’ve had, Dad.’ She told him about the chocolates, Mr Chips, the visit to Jessamine’s house, embellishing her stories to amuse him. Not that they needed much embellishment. She rubbed her stocking feet as she spoke, knowing she’d need a plaster or two before she could wear the shoes again.

‘What’s he like, then, this doctor you’re working for?’ Her mother appeared in the doorway, tea towel in hand. She had only very reluctantly agreed to Rose coming home to help look after her father. They had been so proud of her, the first in their family ever to get a university degree, and had wanted her to carry on building her career. In their minds, Rose knew they had her as Hospital Matron within a year or two. Rose had tried to tell them hospital matrons didn’t exist any more, but they chose not to believe her.

Of course Rose had had to come home. She’d had to see
her father for herself and she’d known the first weeks following her father’s discharge would be tough, so she’d applied for, and been granted, five weeks’ special leave. After that? She shrugged inwardly. She’d have to see. Her mother wasn’t getting any younger.

‘Dr Cavendish?’ Rose paused. How could she describe him? ‘Well, he’s young. Not much older than I am. About six foot and kind of lean. Apparently he’s the son of a lord.’

‘Well, I never. The son of a lord! What’s he doing working as a doctor, then?’

‘Apparently the practice belonged to his uncle who was doctor for the Queen’s household. The uncle’s retired now and Jonathan has taken over.’

‘Is he poor, then? That he has to work for a living?’ Rose’s mother crossed over and plumped the cushions behind her husband’s back. ‘I know not all of the aristocracy is well off.’

‘I don’t think so, Mum. He drives a Lotus, although I suppose that could belong to the business. I don’t really know much more about him. I can’t say I’ve ever heard of his family.’

She closed her eyes and immediately an image of smiling green eyes and a mischievous grin flickered in front of her. How could she even begin to explain someone like Jonathan Cavendish to her parents when she could hardly explain her reaction to him to herself?

‘Let’s just say that I think the next few weeks are going to be interesting. Instead of acting as receptionist and medical secretary, it seems as if I’m to be nurse and chaperone.’ Rose filled her parents in about Vicki before continuing, ‘He has patients all over the country, and in Europe, and he’s asked me if I can travel with him.’ She
looked at her mother. ‘It does mean I won’t be around to help as much as I’d like.’ She paused. ‘Maybe I should tell him I can’t do it. Come to think of it, I must be crazy.’

Her father reached out and patted her on the arm. ‘Do it,’ he said. ‘I want you to. It would make me feel better knowing that I’m not holding you back.’

Rose hugged her father, feeling his too-thin frame under her arms. Where had the strong muscular father of her teens disappeared to? He had always been there for her, now she wanted to be there for him and her mother. But he hated being dependent. And she had to make sure she didn’t make him feel worse.

‘By the way, Miss Fairweather phoned.’ Rose’s mother mentioned the name of the neurosurgeon Rose had seen after her father’s stroke. ‘She wants you to call her at the hospital. She wouldn’t say any more. There’s nothing wrong, is there, love?’

Rose felt a shiver of alarm but pushed it away. Her father’s GP had recommended she see the specialist after discovering her father’s stroke had been caused by an aneurysm. He’d told Rose that the condition often ran in families and to be on the safe side she should have herself checked out. Miss Fairweather had agreed and advised Rose to have an MRI. That had been on Friday and she had refused to let herself think about it over the weekend. She had been positive that there was nothing to worry about. After all, it wasn’t as if she had any symptoms. No headaches, tingling sensations. Nothing. She dismissed the uneasy feeling that was creeping up her spine. No doubt the consultant just wanted to let her know that her results were all normal.

‘I’m sure she just wants to let me know everything’s okay, Mum. Don’t worry. I’ll give her a ring now.’

But when Miss Fairweather asked Rose to make an appointment to see her as soon as possible, Rose knew it wasn’t okay. Had her results been fine, the neurosurgeon would have said so over the phone. Rose replaced the receiver, having made an appointment at the end of the week. She returned to the sitting room and her mother looked at her, alarm written all over her face.

‘Not bad news, love?’ she asked, the colour draining from her face.

There was no point in worrying her parents until she knew what Miss Fairweather had to say.

‘No, Mum. Everything’s fine,’ Rose lied.

The following days at Jonathan’s practice settled into a pattern. Patients would come to see Jonathan in the morning, then in the afternoon he would go out on visits, leaving Rose to type up notes if she wasn’t needed. Some of the patients Rose recognised from the newspapers or TV, some she didn’t recognise, but felt she should. Jonathan treated them all with the same easy grace and familiarity. Some afternoons she’d accompany him on his house visits, each home almost more spectacular than the last. Whenever Rose found herself thinking about her upcoming appointment with Miss Fairweather, she would push the thought away. There was no point in worrying until she knew what the neurosurgeon had to tell her.

But at home, in the privacy of her bedroom, she spent her evenings searching the net for information about aneurysms. None of it gave her much cause for optimism.

When Jonathan turned up for work in the morning, he’d sometimes look tired, as if he’d spent most of the night clubbing, although he never appeared hungover. And sure
enough, there were photographs of him in the tabloid press, outside clubs and restaurants, with one glamorous woman after another on his arm. If it gave Rose a strangely uncomfortable feeling to see him with different women, she would dismiss the thought with a shake of her head. It was none of her business what he chose to do in his own time.

Once there was a photograph of him playing polo and she discovered that at least two of his free afternoons were given over to the sport. In the picture, he was swiping at an object with a long stick. Dressed in a white shirt and light-coloured trousers, his hair flopping over his eyes as he concentrated on his task, he looked like someone out of a regency romance. No wonder women seemed to find him irresistible.

She had managed to get in touch with Jenny, who had been delighted at the offer of some short-term work.

‘I’m going mad having nothing to do,’ Jenny had confided in Rose. ‘I’ve sent out hundreds of applications but no luck yet. A bit of actual work experience can do me no harm. Especially if Dr Cavendish likes what I do and is prepared to put a word in for me.’

Rose had met Jenny the day she had gone to sign on with the agency. She was nineteen, having just finished her secretarial course, and full of boundless enthusiasm.

‘Could you just tone down the hair?’ Rose asked, remembering the spiky haircut. ‘And perhaps remove the piercings, especially the ones from your nose and lip? Somehow I don’t think it would be appropriate for the practice.’ Even if quite a few of the patients had tattoos and piercings themselves.

‘No problem,’ Jenny said. ‘I promise you you won’t recognise me when you see me next.’

And true to her word, Jenny had turned up with hair neatly slicked into a bob, piercings removed and wearing a skirt that, while short, was just on the right side of decent.

She had regarded the consulting rooms with undisguised glee.

‘This is a bit of all right,’ she said. ‘Now, where is this Honourable Dr Cavendish? And what do I call him? My Lord? Sir?’

Rose laughed. ‘I think Dr Cavendish is just fine. Come on, I’ll take you in to meet him.’

Happily, Jonathan seemed to take to Jenny. And the young girl, being smart and quick on the uptake, was soon ensconced behind the desk.

‘He’s a bit of all right,’ Jenny confided. ‘If he wasn’t so old I could go for him myself.’

Rose laughed. ‘He’s hardly old. Twenty-seven.’

Jenny sent her a look that suggested that anyone over twenty-five was middle-aged in her opinion. Then she scrutinised Rose. ‘But he’s the right age for you.’

Rose smiled uncomfortably. ‘I don’t think I’m his type. Or he mine, for that matter,’ she added quickly.

Jenny was still studying her critically. ‘You know if you lost the glasses, maybe got some contacts, got a more modern hairstyle and some decent clothes, you’d be quite pretty.’

Rose couldn’t make up her mind whether she was insulted or flattered. Get some new clothes and haircut indeed. Jenny watched too many films. Whatever, she knew Jenny didn’t mean to be offensive.

‘I appreciate your…’ she searched for the right word ‘…opinion. But I’m happy the way I am. I like my clothes—they’re comfortable. And I don’t fancy poking my fingers into my eyes every morning and evening.
Besides…’ she glanced behind her just in case Jonathan was within earshot ‘…I’m not looking for a boyfriend. And if I were, Dr Cavendish wouldn’t be him.’

‘But…’ Jenny started to protest.

‘No buts.’ Rose cut her off. ‘Whatever thoughts are in that head of yours, get rid of them. I’m here to do a job. That’s it.’

But after Jenny had returned to her work, she thought about what she had said. It was true she wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, and even if she were, Jonathan wasn’t for her, or she for him. Although he made her pulse race uncomfortably, she doubted whether he took anything in life seriously. And even if he were her type or she his, she had far more important things on her mind than the dishy Jonathan Cavendish.

One morning, towards the end of the week, a well-known footballer came to the surgery, accompanied by his wife. Rose vaguely remembered reading about their wedding in a magazine she had picked up on the train. The footballer was even better looking in real life, his wife petite next to his six-foot frame. Whereas he was dressed simply in a pair of jeans and T-shirt, his wife was dolled up to the nines.

While Jenny organised drinks for them Jonathan called Rose into his consulting room.

‘Mark and Colette came to see me a couple of weeks ago as they are thinking of starting a family,’ he said. ‘The last time they were here I arranged for them to have some tests. I have the results back. And I’m afraid it’s not going to be the best news they ever heard. IVF is the only way forward for them unless they adopt. I’m going to arrange for them to have further investigations at the London Fertility Clinic, but in the meantime I think it would be helpful if you could sit in while I chat to them. If they agree.’

Rose nodded. She often sat in with the doctors in her surgery when they were giving unwelcome news. That way she could be there if the patients telephoned later, looking for clarification. A large number of patients were unable to take in everything they were told when they first heard that there was a problem.

The couple were happy to have Rose present. From their smiling faces, Rose knew they weren’t expecting bad news. At least until something in Jonathan’s face alerted Colette

‘What is it, Jonathan? Something’s wrong. I can tell from the way you’re looking at me.’ Colette’s voice shook and Mark took her hand firmly in hers.

Jonathan pulled his seat around to the side of the table where Colette was sitting. His green eyes were full of sympathy.

‘The initial bloods I took from Colette the last time she came to see me suggest that her ovaries are working normally. That’s good. Although I think you should have the test repeated at the London Fertility Clinic. They will probably also suggest an ovarian scan, just to confirm the results of the blood test.’

‘So there isn’t a problem, then. We should just keep trying. We don’t need to be referred.’

‘There doesn’t seem to be a problem with Colette.’ Jonathan kept his voice steady. ‘Although that’s not a helpful way of looking at it. As if it’s a problem belonging to one of the partners. Whenever couples are having difficulty conceiving, we like to think of it as a couple thing.’