The Doctor's Reunion to Remember
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Annie Claydon
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16
CHAPTER ONE
IT WAS A brisk uphill walk from Richmond Station, and Dr Clemmie Francis was a little out of breath by the time she got to St Barnabas’s Hospital. The large modern building sparkled in the sunshine, and Clemmie turned left at the main entrance as she’d been instructed, walking towards the older building that stood next door.
The neurological rehab unit was an example of a previous reincarnation of Barney’s. Grand in quite a different way, with high arched windows and fancy brickwork, that would have been a state-of-the-art example of a modern hospital in Queen Victoria’s reign.
Clemmie was a little early, so she crossed the road and sat down on a bench that was placed on the border of Richmond Park. She imagined that the windows of the neurological rehab unit afforded a magnificent view of the park, and that it would be possible to see for miles from the top floor of the building. A smile found its way from her heart to her lips. Seeing for miles was exactly what she wanted to do.
For too long now, she’d taken each day as it came, facing each new challenge as it presented itself. It had been a matter of self-preservation, a way to ignore a future that seemed to hold only jarring reverberations from the past. But slowly she’d made a new start. Found a place to live, scraped old paper from the walls and made it home. Found a new job, at a neurological rehab unit attached to a central London hospital. She’d been determined to shine, and she had.
And now she was on a fast track to promotion. The head of the unit was due to retire in six months, and Clemmie would be his successor. Spending six weeks here at Barney’s, which was recognised as one of the best neurological rehab units in the country, was an opportunity to learn and prepare herself for her new role.
Clemmie filled her lungs with air. The future really did seem to be waiting for her, sparkling in the early morning sun. She took a moment to appreciate the feeling of anticipation, and then got to her feet. Turning up early on your first day was never a bad thing, and she just couldn’t wait any longer.
The entrance of the older building gleamed in quite a different way from the main hospital complex. No vast sheets of glass or shimmering automatic doors. Here the pace seemed a little slower and quieter, and it was the polished wood of the lobby that caught the light. Beyond that, a large, bright space, where Clemmie could see a woman sitting behind a reception counter.
‘Dr Clemmie Francis. I’m here for the director of the unit...’ Clemmie handed over the letter from her hospital’s administrator, who had dealt with her placement here at Barney’s, and which instructed her to be here at nine this morning.
‘Ah! Yes, we’re expecting you.’ The receptionist grinned. ‘You wouldn’t believe how many people have turned up here this morning instead of where they’re supposed to be. You’re in the right place though. I’ll give Dr Alexander a call. Sit down right there.’
Dr Alexander? A name from the past, which even now had the power to send shivers of agitation down Clemmie’s spine. She turned, obediently walking over to the seat that the receptionist had indicated and sitting down.
It was nothing. How many Dr Alexanders were there in this world? More than one, clearly, and this one would probably be middle-aged and avuncular, if the welcoming style of the reception area was anything to go by. Or a woman, maybe...
Clemmie took a deep breath, going through all the reasons that this couldn’t be the Dr Gil Alexander that she knew... Scrap that, the one she’d met seven years ago, had a brief fling with and clearly hadn’t known at all. He’d be somewhere in the fast lane, getting his kicks from emergency medicine. That, or sitting back in a comfortable leather seat with private patients hanging on his every word. Maybe back in Australia...
Enough. Wherever Gil Alexander was, he was part of her past now. She’d moved on and she didn’t need to wonder about him every time something happened to remind her of that mistake. The first domino to fall in a succession of others that had brought her world crashing down.
‘You’ll be with us for a while...?’ The receptionist’s voice came to her rescue and diverted her attention.
‘Yes, six weeks. I work at the Princess Victoria Hospital in north London.’
‘Ah. Nice.’ The receptionist shot her a blank look. ‘You’ll like it at Barney’s. Everyone’s very friendly. And if there’s anything you need, just come and ask me. I’m Maggie.’
‘Thanks...’ There was one thing. ‘Could you tell me where the ladies’ is, please?’
‘Back there, turn left, and the lockers and the ladies’ room are right in front of you.’ Maggie jerked her thumb, pointing behind her. ‘If you want to pop there now, Gil said he’d be five minutes.’
Dr Alexander. Gil. Dr Gil Alexander. Shock must have impaired Clemmie’s reasoning ability, because she was already on her feet and halfway over to the door that the receptionist had indicated before she put it all together. And even then she was groping for some reason not to believe it. Maybe this Dr Alexander was Dr Gillian Alexander... No, Maggie had said he.
By the time she got to the washbasin in the ladies’ room, her hands were shaking, and she turned on the cold tap, dangling her fingers in the stream of water.
A warm summer, much like this year’s. Sticky heat. Sweat. Gil doing things with her body that she couldn’t forget, however hard she tried. She’d met him at a two-week conference and liked him...a lot. Fallen into bed with him with embarrassing speed, and then believed him when he’d said that he couldn’t wait to see her again. That business with the photo booth, where they’d had their pictures taken and written their telephone numbers on the back, had been just cruel. He’d never called her, and when Clemmie had called him, excited to hear the sound of his voice, he hadn’t picked up. She’d been embarrassed and belittled, as well as hurt.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror above the basin. What if he recognised her?
What if he didn’t? That could cut both ways: it would be a blow to her pride, but it would make things easier. She could pretend that it had never happened. If he started to make her nervous, she could employ the old interview trick of imagining him naked...
Which wasn’t going to work. Imagining someone naked was supposed to empower you. The Gil she’d known was far more powerful naked than he was clothed.
Imagine him as a liar. Someone who breaks his promises.
That wasn’t going to be so difficult—Gil was a liar. Clemmie splashed a little cold water onto her cheeks, drying her hands carefully. She had to think clearly. Gil had made her feel so miserable, so humiliated, that her work had suffered. She’d pulled herself together and resolved that would never happen again. Now more than ever it was important, because this six-week placement meant so much to her.
If she was just one in a long line of forgotten lovers, then it was simple. Clemmie would pretend it had never happened. If he did recognise her, she’d play dumb and pretend she didn’t remember him.
She picked up her bag and opened the door of the ladies’ room. The reception desk was still hidden from view, but the sound of a man’s voice made Clemmie stop in her tracks.
She was sure now. Even after all these years, Gil’s voice sent shivers down her spine. An Australian accent, softened by years living in London. The sound of a smile in his tone.
‘That philodendron’s looking a bit sad, Maggie. Aren’t you going to water it?’
Maggie chuckled. ‘I thought you were the gardener around here. And I can’t leave the desk...’
Clemmie heard him laugh. She’d liked that laugh so much...
She should probably breeze back into Reception as if nothing were amiss, but that just wasn’t possible. If seeing Gil had as much effect on her as hearing his voice, then she needed a moment to breathe. She tiptoed forward and caught sight of him.
Gil was standing with his back to her, examining the large plant that stood by the entrance doors. Still broad-shouldered and slim-hipped. His hair was a little different from the neat crew cut he’d had when Clemmie had known him, and had grown out into a mass of dark curls. Just that brief glimpse of him left her breathless with shock.
‘I’ll go and get some water. I’ve got some plant food in my office—that’ll give it a pick-me-up.’
‘I’m sure it could have waited until lunchtime, Gil.’ Maggie reached under the reception desk, producing a glass jug and putting it on the counter. ‘And stop insinuating that I’m trying to murder the poor thing. It’ll turn against me.’
‘Actions speak louder than words...’ Clemmie ducked back as he turned to fetch the jug, peering out again to see Gil walking back out of the reception area as Maggie waved her hand dismissively at him.
Actions did speak louder than words. Gil had told her how much she meant to him, and then his actions had proved him a liar. Clemmie tried to swallow down her anger. The dazzling future she’d imagined for herself had suddenly shrunk into a tremulous hope that she would be able to just get through today. Gil had no right to take away her hopes and dreams, or to damage her career. Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, Clemmie walked back over to the reception desk.
‘Gil won’t be a minute. He’s gone to fetch some water for the plants.’ Maggie smiled up at her, then squinted over at the philodendron. ‘It looks perfectly fine to me...’
Clemmie turned, surveying the plant. It did look a little sorry for itself, but maybe Gil could sweet-talk it into reviving. Poor thing. Even a plant didn’t deserve Gil’s brand of loving care...
‘He’s given me a form for you to fill out. Contact details for while you’re here.’ Maggie slid a sheet of paper and a pen towards her.
‘Right. Thanks.’ Clemmie picked up the pen, grateful that she didn’t have to talk to Maggie about Gil any more.
She couldn’t help glancing up at the corridor that led into the reception area every few seconds, though. If she saw him coming, before he saw her, then maybe it would give her some advantage. Maybe her heart would stop beating so ferociously, and she’d manage to get her knees to stop shaking. Clemmie scribbled down her name and address.
‘Here he comes.’ Even Maggie’s murmured words made her jump. Clemmie forced herself to look up, and saw Gil, exchanging a few words with a cleaner who was working her way along the corridor with a mop.
Don’t stare. Clemmie dragged her gaze back to the form in front of her, her mind blank with panic. Telephone number. She wrote the first four digits down and then jumped again as a loud crash sounded from the corridor.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake...’ Maggie was on her feet, hurrying towards Gil, who was surrounded by water and shards of broken glass. The cleaner was bending to pick up the glass, and Gil stopped her before she cut herself. Maggie began to fuss and was clearly receiving assurances that he was all right. Gil appeared to be attempting to brush the water from his soaked shirt.
She shouldn’t laugh. But Gil’s obvious embarrassment made her feel a great deal more in charge of the situation. Sometimes, just sometimes, there was a little justice in the world.
Sometimes there wasn’t. Gil looked just as delicious wet through as he did dry. More so. He hadn’t changed in the last seven years and that male magic was still there, pulling her towards him despite everything she knew and all that she felt.
And... Clemmie looked around. You’d think that in a hospital there would be a doctor or nurse around somewhere, who could rush to his aid. But there was no one, and Gil had snatched his hand from his shirt as a pinkish red stain started to spread across it. Blood could go a very long way when mixed with water, but he’d clearly cut himself. Two of his fingers were curled awkwardly, and Clemmie wondered if he’d done any real damage to his hand.
There was nothing for it. She was going to have to go and check on him. Just standing here, watching a person bleed, wasn’t anywhere in her remit as a doctor, and she was a good doctor. She’d hung on to that, building her life back up around it.
She heard her heels clack on the floor as she walked towards him. Concentrated on that, and not Gil’s sudden stillness when he saw her.
‘I’m Dr Clemmie Francis...’
‘I know. Gil Alexander.’ He held out his hand as if to shake hers and then saw that he had blood on his fingers, from having inspected the cut, and pulled it back again.
‘Are you all right?’
He didn’t even think about his answer. ‘Yeah. I’m fine.’
Take charge. All of Clemmie’s professional instincts were screaming at her to do so, and it seemed a good personal strategy, too.
‘You’re bleeding. Let me take a look.’
‘Thanks, but it’s nothing. I snagged my hand on some glass.’ Gil stepped to one side as the cleaner, armed now with a dustpan and brush, waved him away so she could deal with the mess.
Typical doctor/reluctant patient exchange. Clemmie could work with that, far better than the conversation that was going on in her head, where she demanded to know why he’d written his number down and begged her to call, when he’d had no intention of ever speaking to her again. There was no possible answer to that question that wouldn’t tempt her to slap him.
‘The wound needs to be irrigated and dressed.’ She looked up at him.
Gil shot her a querying glance. Somewhere, deep in his dark eyes, there was a hint of tenderness that couldn’t entirely be accounted for by her offer of medical assistance. Then it was gone. If Gil recognised her, he was clearly keeping quiet about it, which meant that Clemmie could, as well.
‘Uh...yeah, thanks. I’ve got a medical kit in my office.’ He turned suddenly, walking briskly along the corridor, and Clemmie followed him.
It was a nice office, light and just tidy enough to inspire confidence. Just messy enough to make someone feel at home. Gil didn’t seem over-interested in making Clemmie feel at home, walking directly to the washbasin in one corner and reaching into the cupboard below it to take out a soft bag.
‘Let me do that.’ Gil was trying to unzip the bag one-handed and Clemmie took it from him. Inside, there were a number of colour-coded bags.
‘Blue for cuts.’ Gil turned on the cold tap, wincing slightly as he held his hand under the stream of water.
‘Can you straighten your fingers for me, please?’
Gil smiled suddenly. ‘No. But that’s nothing to do with the cut. It’s an old injury.’ He opened his hand, the little finger staying obstinately curled, and Clemmie watched carefully as he pulled it straight. ‘I had a brain bleed, some years ago. I was treated in this hospital.’
So that was the reason for Gil’s sudden change of course. The last seven years had obviously been no more straightforward for him than they had for Clemmie. And Gil had been the victim of something he couldn’t control. Clemmie had made her own mistakes, walking into them with her eyes blurred by tears over him.
She couldn’t think about that now. She was having difficulty thinking about anything other than that she was too damn close to him and his scent was just the same as it had been before. But inspecting a cut and dressing it were difficult to do at arm’s length.
‘This hospital?’ Clemmie seized on the one detail that didn’t send shock waves hurtling through her.
‘Yes. Funny how things turn out, sometimes.’
‘Funny?’ Clemmie swallowed hard.
‘I meant strange...’
Suddenly his gaze caught hers. It still held the silent suggestion that she was the only person within a two-hundred-mile radius that Gil was interested in. Even now, it sent shivers along Clemmie’s spine.
It was an effort of will to break away from it and look back down at his hand. For a moment Clemmie could see nothing, and then her medical training came to her rescue. That compartmentalisation that allowed her to set everything else aside and concentrate on a patient.
‘I can’t see any glass in there...’ By some miracle, her tongue was still working and her voice sounded vaguely normal. And she couldn’t see any splinters lodged in his palm, which was a relief because Clemmie wasn’t sure how she would manage to tweeze shards from a wound while her heart was still beating so fast.
‘There’s nothing. I had a look myself.’
Clemmie nodded. That was Gil all over—he didn’t leave anything to chance. Finding that his control had been wrested from him must have been a cruel blow.
She should stop this. She could feel sympathy for Gil when he wasn’t so close, and she could look at everything more objectively. Clemmie busied herself with cleaning the cut and applying three wound-closure strips, then carefully covering it with a dressing.
But she couldn’t help it. She’d fitted everything together so neatly in her head, and now this. The one piece of information that didn’t fit and was careening around in her brain, tearing everything else apart. She had to ask.
‘How long ago was your brain bleed?’ She tried to make the question sound casual, a matter of professional interest.
Gil was silent for a moment, and she glanced up at him. ‘If you don’t mind my asking.’
He shook his head. ‘Of course not. It’ll be seven years at the end of next month.’
Next month. Clemmie couldn’t even work out what this month was at the moment. Today must be a Monday, because it was her first day here...
Suddenly she couldn’t stay still any longer. Springing to her feet, she made a grab for her handbag, and then inspiration hit her.
‘I’ve just remembered... I have to make a call.’ Gil was watching her steadily, his eyebrows slightly raised. ‘A patient of mine... I need to just check on them.’
He nodded. ‘Go and do whatever you need to. I should get changed.’ He gestured towards his soaked shirt.
That was the last straw. The thought of Gil unbuttoning his shirt, and the smile that had accompanied it, was altogether too much to bear. Clemmie flung a thank you over her shoulder, practically running out of the room.
