Authors: Linda Holeman
Tags: #Fiction - Historical, #Romance & Love Stories, #1930s, #New York, #Africa
Finally, just after two o'
clock, Mr Barlow came to my door, telling me that the telephone lines were finally working.
'And . . . has there been a call for me?'
He shook his head, and, without bothering to take my coat, I followed him to his house, across our back yards and through his kitchen door. Mrs Barlow was at the table, pushing back a strand of heavy grey hair from her forehead with her wrist. Her hands were covered in flour.
'Mr Barlow said the telephone is working,' I said.
She nodded. 'We're not sure when it started; Mike just picked it up a few minutes ago,' she said, nodding at Mr Barlow as he took off his boots.
They weren't sure when it started working? Didn't they understand how important it was to me? I tried to hide my anger; I knew it wasn't their fault, but I was so distraught.
'Do you mind if I use it — the telephone?'
'Of course not,' Mrs Barlow said. The kitchen was warm and fragrant. There was a bowl covered with a tea towel sitting on the back of the stove, and another round of dough on a floury board on the table. 'I'm making raisin bread. There are some loaves already baked. You take one, dear,' she said, kneading the dough.
'Thank you,' I said, taking the receiver from its hook and pulling the hospital phone number from my dress pocket. When I was put through to the hospital operator I asked for Dr Duverger. There was a moment's silence, and then the woman said, 'Dr Duverger is no longer at the hospital. Can I give you another doctor?'
'No longer . . .What do you mean?' I turned so that my back was to Mrs Barlow. There was a dull thump as she slapped the dough on the board. My ears were humming, and I cleared my throat.
'We're referring his patients to Dr Hilroy or Dr Lane, ma'am. Would you care to make an appointment with one of them?'
I stood there, the heavy black receiver pressed to my ear, my lips touching the fluted mouthpiece.
'Ma'am?'
I hung up the receiver, but didn't turn around. I was vaguely aware of Mrs Barlow's endless thumping.
'Sidonie? Make sure you take one of the—'
I left the kitchen, quietly closing the door behind me.
FOURTEEN
I
already had on my coat and boots when Mrs Barlow came to the back door with the bread a few moments later. The loaf was wrapped in a clean tea towel, and gave off a yeasty, fruity smell. 'I wanted you to have it while it was still warm. Oh,' she said, as she held it out to me, 'you're going somewhere?'
I nodded, but Mrs Barlow asked, 'Is everything all right, Sidonie?'
'Yes,' I said, and then shook my head. 'Not really. Etienne — Dr Duverger — was supposed to be here yesterday.'
'Well,' she said. 'Doctors are busy men. Surely he had a reason.'
I shook my head. 'I'm worried that something has happened to him.'
'Why would you think that? Because he didn't come round when he said he would? There's no reason to worry yourself, dear. Give it another day or so.'
I didn't want to tell her what I'd just heard on the telephone. I stood in front of her, now looking at the bread she still held towards me.
She set it on the table and patted my hand. 'Give him time, Sidonie. He'll most likely be along as soon as he can,' she said, turning to leave, and then added, 'My. You look more like your mother every day now.'
I was ashamed to ask Mr Barlow to drive me to the hospital, knowing Mrs Barlow thought I was irrational for worrying because Etienne hadn't come when he said he would. But of course she didn't know the whole story. Something had happened to him. He wouldn't promise to come and then not show up. Especially not for something as important as arranging our marriage.
I walked to the hospital; it was a good hour and a half, but after the heavy snow the weather was surprisingly warm for mid-February, and by the time I reached the hospital I was too warm.
At the front counter I asked for Dr Duverger. Somehow I hoped that my physical presence in the hospital would actually produce him. When I was given the same answer, that he was no longer in the hospital's employ, I asked to speak to one of his colleagues. I tried to remember the names of the two doctors he worked with.
'Dr Hilroy or Dr Lane,' the woman said.
'Yes. Yes, either of them. Could I speak to one of them?’
The woman consulted a series of papers in front of her. 'Do you need an appointment? There will be a week wait. I can book you for next Monday, at noon.'
'No, I don't need an appointment. I simply have a question. It's not anything medical.'
The woman looked up from her appointment book, frowning.
'I just have a question,' I repeated, annoyed that I was forced to explain myself.
'Have a seat then, please. Dr Hilroy is almost done with his shift. When he's finished I'll have him speak to you.'
I sat down, taking off my coat and dabbing my forehead with my gloves. I felt truly ill; clammy and nauseous. I waited for what felt like a long time, and finally a tall, white-haired man came from behind swinging double doors.
'I'm Dr Hilroy,' he said, after speaking to the woman at the desk. 'May I help you?'
I stood, explaining that I had expected to hear from Dr Duverger.
'I assume you're a patient of his. But you mustn't worry. Dr Lane or I will take over your records.'
I shook my head and cleared my throat. 'Actually . . .' I licked my lips, 'although I was a patient
once
,
now . . . I'm, a friend of Dr Duverger's. A good friend,' I stressed. 'I'm concerned for his well-being. As I said, I expected to hear from him, and now I'm afraid something must have happened to him.' I hoped I didn't appear as shocked and confused as I felt. 'Naturally I'm very worried.'
The doctor frowned. 'I'm sure he's all right.'
'You don't think that something may have happened to him? Has anyone checked on him?'
'Well, I don't know, but there was no reason to suspect . . . Look, he did leave a month early, but it was quite straightforward.'
'A month early? What do you mean?'
Dr Hilroy looked as if he'd said too much, and shook his head.
'Did he . . . when do you expect him to return?' I asked.
'Would you care to sit down, Mrs. . . ?'
'No. But it's quite out of character for Etienne — for Dr Duverger — to act in such a spontaneous manner, you must agree. Leaving. So suddenly,' I added. 'Surely, there's something more.'
Dr Hilroy looked even more uncomfortable. I told myself I sometimes had that effect on people even under normal circumstances. 'As I've just said, it was only a month less than the year contract. As a visiting surgeon.'
I blinked. 'He was leaving next month? For where?'
'I really don't know of his plans once his term contract was up. But frankly, none of us got to know Dr Duverger very well. He never spoke of his family before this, although I assume they're in France.'
I nodded vacantly, trying to take in everything Dr Hilroy was saying. Etienne's family? But . . . they were all dead. 'He's gone to France?'
Now Dr Hilroy looked vaguely displeased, shifting and glancing at his watch. 'I really can't help you any further. He simply said it was impossible for him to stay on, due to family circumstances, and that he had to return home.'
Return home. Family circumstances.
I thought I only repeated it in my head, but I must have spoken aloud, for the doctor said, 'Yes. Good day, then, Mrs . . . ma'am.'
'So . . . you have no way of reaching him? He must have . . . did he leave an address? Some way to contact him?' I asked, no longer caring if I appeared desperate. It didn't matter what this man thought of me.
Dr Hilroy suddenly looked down, and I followed his gaze. I saw, my own hands, gripping his. I let go and took a step back. Now he rocked, ever so slightly, on his toes.
'I'm afraid not,' he said, and I must have made a sound, perhaps a small cry, or a sudden intake of breath, and stared into Dr Hilroy's eyes. I saw my tiny reflection there.
I'd thrown on the first dress my hand touched in the wardrobe, and my hair . . . had I brushed my hair? I remembered how colourless and hollow my face had been in the mirror last night. Surely I appeared a madwoman.
'I'm sorry,' he said.
'Is there anything, anything more at all, you can tell me?' I heard the beseeching tone of my voice. 'What about . . . can you tell me the address where he lived? A rooming house nearby. I know that much.'
I know that much.
The words only emphasised how little I did know.
Dr Hilroy frowned. 'I don't believe I should be giving out that information.'
'I'm Miss O'Shea,' I said, forcing myself to stand straighten I knew I couldn't carry on in this manner; it was obvious Dr Hilroy was unsettled by me. I spoke more calmly. 'Miss Sidonie O'Shea. You can check the hospital records. You'll see I was a patient of Dr Duverger's last year. And I don't see how it could hurt to give me the address now. If Dr Duverger has truly left Albany, it won't matter, will it?'
He studied me for a moment longer.
'Please,' I said, in little more than a whisper, and he shook his head, as if to himself, and then walked away from me, speaking to the woman at the front counter in a low tone, glancing towards me. Then he motioned me towards the desk, leaving before I stepped up to the high counter, and the woman handed me a slip of paper.
The rooms Etienne had rented were ten long blocks from the hospital. I told myself he was actually still there; that he hadn't left Albany. He wouldn't leave me like this, especially not now. He had said we would marry. He had said
our child.
He wouldn't possibly have gone to France without talking to me, without telling me what had happened — what family circumstances he had spoken of. And when he would return to me.
The house was tall and narrow, the red brick well maintained and the creamy paint around the windows and door obviously fresh. In one of the front windows there was a hand-printed sign:
Furnished Rooms for Rent.
I told myself there were many rooms in the house; the sign didn't have to refer to Etienne's rooms.