Dr Preston's Daughter
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Laura MacDonald
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CHAPTER ONE
IT WAS a shock—there was no denying that—coming as it had right out of the blue. Why, oh, why hadn’t she taken more notice when the appointments of new members of staff had been discussed? If she had, she would have recognised the name—for wasn’t it a name that hovered constantly around the edges of her mind?
But if she had, what could she have done about it? Could she have protested, said the new appointee was unsuitable—which, of course, would have been untrue? She knew that, just as she knew that her opinion wouldn’t have been considered anyway—after all, who was she to voice such an objection? And then again, even if she had been forewarned of the appointment, what else could she have done? What indeed could she do now?
Very few options were open to her. She could hand in her notice and seek another position—and at first that had seemed her only option—or she could stick it out and carry on as if nothing had changed.
‘Gemma? Gemma, are you all right?’
A voice broke into her troubled thoughts and she looked up sharply to find her friend and fellow staff nurse, Kim Slater, peering anxiously at her.
‘Oh, Kim. Yes, yes.’ Desperately she attempted to pull herself together. ‘I’m fine, thanks…’
‘You don’t look fine. In fact, you look as if you’d seen a ghost—you’ve gone really pale.’
‘Have I? I felt a bit dizzy just now, that’s all. I think I’ll go to the loo.’
‘Why don’t you take your break now?’ Kim still looked concerned.
‘What about the new patient?’ Gemma frowned. ‘Won’t she be arriving soon?’
‘If she does, I’ll admit her, and if Sister asks why, well, I’ll think of something.’
‘All right, then. Thanks, Kim, you’re an angel.’
‘I know.’ Kim grinned, her tiny, elfin-like face lighting up. ‘Now, push off before I change my mind.’
After splashing her burning cheeks with cold water, Gemma felt a little better, but while she brewed a mug of instant lemon tea and took herself off to a corner of the staffroom, where hopefully she wouldn’t be disturbed, she found her mind returning to how it had been in those moments before it had happened—when life had still been normal.
She had driven to work and parked in her usual space in the large staff car park of Denby General—London’s biggest and newest hospital. It was August and London was in the middle of a heat wave in what was proving to be one of the hottest summers for many years. The parks, usually so lush, were parched and brown after days of relentless, burning sunshine whilst on the roads the tar had melted, forming bubbling, molten pockets that overflowed into black rivulets. The flower-beds around the hospital car park resembled some arid wasteland, the earth cracked and the flowers limp and dusty, and because a hosepipe ban was in force they could expect no respite.
It had been the coolest part of the day, if the previous few days were anything to go by, and as Gemma had locked her car and made her way into the huge edifice of glass and steel that soared above her she had taken in several deep breaths of the cool, unpolluted morning air as the sun shimmered above through a haze that had only threatened more heat to come.
She loved her job at Denby as a senior staff nurse on the busy cardiac unit. She had been there nearly two years now after her previous job at St Jerome’s Hospital in the Midlands. Quickly she’d made her way across the car park and into the building. Already her hair, naturally honey blonde but bleached several shades lighter by the sun, had felt damp against her neck and the cotton, sleeveless dress she wore had begun to stick to her skin. It had felt mercifully cool inside the building and after greeting the doorman and reception staff, as she always did, Gemma had made her way up to the cardiac unit on the fourth floor by way of the lift.
The morning ward routine had got under way as usual. The changeover from the previous shift, the early morning personal routine for the patients, breakfast, a drugs run, dispensing medication, the changing of dressings, the preparation of those patients facing surgery that day—it had all been normal, a routine carried out every day with little change. So at what point had it differed that morning? Gemma frowned. Had it been during the consultant cardiologist’s round? No, it had been just before that. And as she concentrated, willing herself to remember the sequence of events, she quite suddenly was able to pinpoint that exact moment when her world had fallen apart.
It had been a sound that had done it. The sound of a human voice. A voice she would have recognised anywhere, under any circumstances, but more significantly a voice she had imagined she would never hear again. It had, quite literally, stopped her in her tracks. What had she been doing? She frowned again, desperately trying to remember, as if by reconstructing the sequence of events she could in some way change things. She had been checking a patient’s blood transfusion. Yes, that was it—Mr Tobin who had just had a triple bypass and who had only recently returned to the ward from the Intensive Care unit. He had joked weakly with her, asking if he had died and had gone to heaven and was she an angel?
It had been then, at that precise moment, that she had heard the voice. It had taken her some time to turn round because the shock had rendered her temporarily immobile, and when at last she’d done so it had only been slightly gratifying to see that his surprise had been as great as hers, because underneath had been the pain, pain like a knife twisting under her ribs, pain at seeing him again.
He looked almost the same as he had three years ago but there were subtle differences. The same lean, good looks, but the dark hair cut short now whereas before he had worn it so it touched his collar. And his skin was tanned—not the tan acquired by a London heat wave but the sort of colour consistent with a spell in a hot country. The eyes were the same, however—nothing could change those hazel eyes which she remembered so well, the expression questioning, challenging even when he’d got over his initial shock of seeing her there. He’d crossed the ward immediately. At least he hadn’t just ignored her or pretended he hadn’t known her, as he might well have done under the circumstances.
‘Gemma,’ he said quietly. ‘This is a surprise.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed weakly. For one moment she had been afraid she was going to faint but thankfully the moment passed. ‘Hello, Stephen. What are you doing here at Denby?’ she managed to say at last.
‘I’ve joined Mr Van Haelfen’s team,’ he replied.
There wasn’t time to say more for at that moment the man in question arrived. Bjorn Van Haelfen, Denby’s eminent cardiothoracic surgeon, strode onto the ward, surrounded by the other members of his team and accompanied by Ward Sister Julie Miles.
‘I’ll see you later.’ Stephen Preston nodded briefly before moving to join the others as they grouped themselves around the bed of the patient recovering from bypass surgery.
And that was it. Kim tackled her shortly afterwards and here she was now in the staffroom, trying to remember what it had been like when life had been normal because there was no way that it could be normal from now on.
Why had he come back to this country when he’d seemed so set on continuing with his career in Dubai? And if he’d seen fit to come back, why hadn’t he returned to the Midlands where he’d been before? Had it simply been coincidence that had brought him to London and to Denby General—the very hospital where she was working?
She didn’t want him back in her life; she’d moved on. She’d got over him, for heaven’s sake—hadn’t she? Of course she had, she told herself firmly as she stood up, rinsed her coffee-mug and prepared to go back onto the ward.
So, if that was the case, why did she still feel shaky? Why did her legs feel like jelly? It was simply the shock, that’s all. Shock did that to people, and when all was said and done it had been a shock, seeing Stephen Preston again after three years.
Slowly she made her way back onto the ward. To her relief the consultant surgeon and his team had left and the ward was back to normal. In fact, it looked so normal that just for a moment Gemma wondered if the presence of Stephen Preston had simply been a figment of her imagination.
‘Oh, Gemma, there you are.’ Sister Miles bustled onto the nurses’ station. ‘Mrs McCleary has arrived. She’s for valve replacement tomorrow. Would you go and admit her, please? She’s in bay two. Bed four.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Glad to be given a specific job to do to take her mind off recent events, Gemma hurried down to bay two. She found the patient already undressed and sitting in her dressing-gown in a chair beside her bed. ‘Hello, Mrs McCleary—I’m Staff Nurse Gemma Langford,’ she said. ‘I’d like to take some details, please.’
‘I’m here for an operation.’ Mrs McCleary was twisting her hands together and Gemma sensed she was nervous about her forthcoming surgery.
‘Yes, I understand you’re to have a heart-valve replacement.’
‘That’s right,’ the patient agreed, ‘but I think I have to have some tests today.’
‘Let’s have a look at your notes.’ Gemma opened the patient’s folder. ‘Yes,’ she said after quickly reading through the information, ‘it says here you are to have tests before your operation.’
‘What will the tests be?’ Mrs McCleary looked even more anxious.
‘Well, there will be the usual blood tests, an electrocardiogram and an echocardiogram, all of which you will have had before so there’s nothing to worry about,’ Gemma replied, ‘but first of all I’d like to check your personal details. Now, your full name is Barbara McCleary and you are fifty-eight years old. And you live at 218a Mimosa Court, Putney?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who is your next of kin?’
‘My husband, Geoffrey,’ Barbara McCleary replied.
Gemma moved swiftly on, taking details of Barbara’s medical history before checking on whether she had any dentures, crowns or contact lenses.
‘I now need to check your weight, pulse, temperature and blood pressure,’ she continued as she entered the details onto her chart.
‘It’s all so different these days,’ said Barbara as she watched Gemma with the temperature and blood-pressure machines. ‘When I had my hysterectomy it was still the old thermometer under the tongue instead of this contraption in your ear, and as for the blood pressure, well, in those days that always seemed to me to be a bit hit and miss with that rubber balloon thing.’
Gemma laughed. ‘Modern nursing procedures have indeed moved on,’ she replied, ‘but that’s not to say that the old methods didn’t work just as well.’
After completing Barbara McCleary’s admittance forms and securing the plastic identification tag on her wrist, Gemma made her way back to the nurses’ station.
There was a little cluster of nurses around the station, all, it seemed, deep in conversation. With sudden, intuitive certainty Gemma knew what the topic would be on that particular morning. Warily she approached the group, knowing what was coming.
One of the staff nurses, Mia Gallini, turned and saw her. ‘Oh, Gemma,’ she said, her black eyes sparkling wickedly, ‘have you seen him?’
‘Seen who?’ Gemma tried desperately to remain cool, casual.
‘The new man on Mr Van Haelfen’s team.’
‘Er, yes, I think I did see someone…’
‘Of course you did.’ Another of the nurses, a woman by the name of Pauline Higgs who had only recently joined the staff, looked at Gemma almost accusingly. ‘He spoke to you. When he first came onto the ward he went right across and spoke to you.’
‘Did he, Gemma?’ Mia turned and looked at her in surprise.
‘Oh, him!’ Gemma nodded as if it had just dawned on her who they were talking about. ‘Yes…He thought he knew me…that’s all.’
‘Lucky you,’ said Pauline. ‘Does anyone know anything about him? I heard a couple of the domestics talking and they were saying that they’d heard gossip from the doctors’ staffroom that he’s been working abroad—they thought Africa—so that would account for that glorious tan.’
No, Gemma wanted to say, not Africa—Dubai. But she remained silent. She didn’t want the others to know about herself and Stephen Preston.
‘What’s his name?’ asked Kim.
‘Simon, I think,’ replied Mia.
Stephen, screamed Gemma silently. It’s Stephen. Stephen Preston, he’s thirty-two years old, his birthday is in April which makes him an Aries, he loves Indian food, anything by Eric Clapton, his father is a QC, he has one sister…the list was endless. She could have gone on and on but she remained silent.
‘I don’t think that was his name,’ another of the nurses chipped in. ‘Simon is my boyfriend’s name and I would have remembered if that was his name. It was something else…’
‘Well, whatever it was, it doesn’t alter the fact that he’s drop-dead gorgeous—a real hunk,’ said Mia. ‘I wonder if he’s married.’
‘Bound to be, looking like that…and if he isn’t, he’s probably gay,’ sniffed Pauline.
He isn’t either and I should know. Gemma only just managed to bite back the retort. On the other hand, while she well knew that Stephen wasn’t gay, did she know for certain that he wasn’t married? Three years was a long time and anything could have happened in Dubai. He could well be married by now.
‘What’s going on out here?’ Sister Miles was suddenly amongst them. ‘If you haven’t anything to do…’
The group miraculously dispersed.
‘Did he?’ murmured Kim in Gemma’s ear as they made their way into bay five where two patients were due back from Theatre.
‘Sorry?’ Gemma frowned.
‘Did he know you? You said the new registrar thought he knew you,’ said Kim. ‘I just wondered if he was right—you didn’t say.’
Gemma was prepared to be as equally evasive as she’d been with the others, but Kim was her friend and something stopped her. She didn’t want to lie to Kim.
‘Yes,’ she said at last, aware as she did so of the quick, interested look that Kim threw her. ‘Yes, he did recognise me. We were at the same hospital in the Midlands for a time…’
‘Why didn’t you say so to the others?’ There was a puzzled half-smile on Kim’s face.
‘You know what they’re like.’ Gemma shrugged. ‘It was no big deal but they would go on about it—you know, pumping me for details about him, that sort of thing.’
‘Well, you couldn’t blame them really, could you?’ Kim wrinkled her nose. ‘You have to admit he is a bit out of the ordinary.’
‘Yes, I suppose he is.’ Gemma nodded.
‘Did they say he’s been working in Africa?’ asked Kim curiously.
‘Actually, I believe it was Dubai.’
‘Quite a coincidence, you both ending up here at Denby.’ Kim eyed her speculatively.
‘Yes, it is,’ Gemma agreed awkwardly. At that moment, to her relief, the porters appeared with a patient and she and Kim stepped forward to assist.
The patient, an elderly man, had just had angioplasty and for the next half-hour Gemma and Kim were busy setting up an infusion and carrying out observations.
When they had finished and had left the patient to rest, they returned to the nurses’ station. ‘Are you all right now?’ asked Kim suddenly, as if she’d just remembered that earlier Gemma had appeared unwell.
‘Yes,’ Gemma replied quickly. ‘I’m fine.’
‘So what was wrong?’ asked Kim.
‘I don’t know really,’ Gemma shook her head. ‘I just came over a bit faint, that’s all.’
‘Probably the heat,’ said Kim. ‘I have to say it’s been getting to me as well lately and today seems hotter than ever.’
‘Yes,’ Gemma agreed. ‘I dare say that’s what it was.’ In a deliberate attempt to change the subject, she said, ‘So, what have we got next? Oh, yes, Mrs Jupe is coming back to bay three from Intensive Care. Better get down there to receive her.’ She was glad of the diversion, for she feared that if Kim had pursued the reasons for her episode of faintness she might have put two and two together and reached the conclusion that it had coincided with Stephen Preston’s arrival on the unit.
Somehow, although her mind was in turmoil, she got through the rest of the morning, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she would be forced to face Stephen again.
That moment came even sooner than Gemma had expected for when she went into the staff canteen at lunchtime, bought her usual salad and orange juice and turned to find herself a table, it was to find that Stephen was already there. Seated alone at a window table, he appeared to have finished his lunch and was deeply engrossed in a newspaper. Gemma wondered if she could sneak past without him seeing her but no sooner had she began to move forward he looked up, saw her and beckoned.
‘Gemma, come and join me.’ He half rose, folding his newspaper as he did so.
Reluctantly she set her tray down on the table and sat down. This was the last thing she wanted. The shock of finding that he was back in the country and working not only in the same hospital as herself but also on the same unit had been quite enough without having to face the inevitable questions that would now be sure to follow.
On the other hand, didn’t she have questions she wanted to ask him—like what the hell was he doing strolling coolly back into her life after all this time as if nothing had ever happened between them?
‘You’re looking great, Gemma,’ he said softly.
‘Oh.’ For a moment she was thrown, quite unable to voice the questions she had intended.
‘Your hair is different.’
‘Well, I suppose that’s not unreasonable after three years…’
‘It’s longer. I always did like it longer…’
‘Stephen.’ She took a deep breath. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Doing here…?’ He looked puzzled. ‘Well, I’m having my lunch, as you are…’
‘I don’t mean that,’ she retorted impatiently. ‘You know what I mean. What are you doing back in England? And why here at Denby?’
‘Whoa, please,’ he protested. ‘One question at a time. Well…’ He paused, considering. ‘I’m back in England because my contract finished.’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t renew it,’ she returned coolly. ‘If I remember rightly, it sounded as if you intended staying in Dubai for ever.’
‘That was never on the cards.’ His voice was quiet.
‘Well, you certainly gave the impression that was what you wanted at the time,’ said Gemma with a shrug. ‘The chance of a lifetime was how you described it—the best career move you would ever be likely to make.’
Stephen nodded and they both fell silent.
‘So why didn’t you stay any longer?’ she asked curiously at last. ‘Didn’t it come up to expectations?’
‘Oh, yes, it was a marvellous job. Conditions were excellent, salary out of this world and the lifestyle left nothing to be desired…’
‘But…?’
He shrugged. ‘I guess dear old England pulled with its warm beer, rain and traffic jams.’
‘You were homesick?’ She stared at him incredulously. It was the last thing she’d expected.
‘I guess…I don’t know…’ He shrugged again. ‘But I have to say this heat wave has been a bit of a shock, not at all what I had expected.’
‘So why Denby?’ She continued staring at him. ‘Why not back to the Midlands?’ She had no intention of letting him off the hook that easily.
‘Sheer chance,’ Stephen replied. ‘I was talking to a friend and he happened to say that Bjorn Van Haelfen had a vacancy on his team. It was too good an opportunity to miss.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘But what about you? What are you doing here at Denby?’
‘I…I moved down to London when…when my father died.’
‘Your father?’ Stephen was shocked.
‘Yes,’ Gemma replied quietly. ‘He had a heart attack. He was brought here to Denby but he died a few days later. I stayed with my mother…she wasn’t too well afterwards. Then a job came up here…so I applied.’
‘Well, I’m sorry about your father—I really am. I had no idea.’ He paused. ‘You didn’t write, Gemma,’ he said at last.
‘Everything changed.’ She managed a small smile. ‘I’m sorry, Stephen. I guess it seemed to me we were both starting new lives…And you were quite clear about what you wanted and at the time it really did sound as if you intended staying there for good.’
‘It was something I’d wanted for a long time,’ Stephen agreed slowly. ‘But—’ his eyes met hers ‘—I thought we might have been able to work something out.’
‘Why should you have thought that?’
‘Well, I imagined that what we had was pretty special…I don’t know…Was I wrong?’ He was watching her closely now. All around them was the noise and bustle of the canteen, with a constant stream of staff and visitors coming and going, but it was as if they were the only two there.
She took a deep breath. ‘No, Stephen,’ she said at last, ‘you weren’t wrong. It was special, but that was then. A lot has happened since—we’ve both moved on.’
‘Have we?’ He raised his eyebrows.
‘Well, I like to think I have after all this time.’ Gemma answered him firmly, but somehow she was unable to meet his gaze. ‘And I should hope you have,’ she added, equally firmly.
He was silent for a long moment. ‘Yes,’ he said eventually, ‘yes, of course I have.’
They sat in silence, Gemma toying with her salad whilst Stephen finished his coffee. ‘So, what’s been happening in your life?’ he asked at last.
She looked up. ‘Oh, you know, this and that,’ she replied airily desperately trying to think what she could say that would sound as if she had a stimulating and exciting existence. ‘New job, new friends, that sort of thing.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He nodded. ‘New flat?’ he added casually.
‘Sorry?’
‘You said new job and new friends. I assume you have a new home as well.’
‘Er, actually, no. I’m living with my mother in Kingston.’
‘Really?’ The raised eyebrows again.
‘Yes, the house was too big for her, she was going to take a lodger anyway so it seemed the obvious solution.’
‘I see.’ He sounded surprised. ‘I never did get to meet your parents, did I?’ There was regret in his voice now, even a touch of sadness.
‘No, Stephen,’ she said quietly. ‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Well, I’ve got myself a loft conversion in Streatham,’ he said after a moment when it became apparent that Gemma wasn’t going to ask. ‘It was advertised as a luxury penthouse and I thought that would suit me very well.’ He smiled and for some reason her heart skipped a beat. ‘But when I saw it,’ he went on, ‘the reality was a couple of attic rooms and a loft—tastefully done, mind you, but still a loft.’
‘And no doubt costing the earth,’ said Gemma dryly.
‘But of course.’
‘I can’t afford London prices on my salary so that’s another very good reason for living with my mum.’
‘Too true,’ he agreed. He paused and looked searchingly at her and once again her heart started doing unpredictable things because it was exactly the way he used to look at her in the past. ‘Gemma,’ he said, and suddenly his voice was soft, almost caressing.
‘What?’ She stared wildly at him, held by his gaze, unable to look away.
‘I was just wondering…’
‘I don’t think so, Stephen,’ she said quickly.
‘No?’ he said softly. ‘Ah, well, never mind…’ He continued staring at her, his expression unreadable, then abruptly he shrugged. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Friends?’ he added lightly.
‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘Of course, friends.’
He stood up. ‘I must get back. I’m due in Theatre.’ He looked down at her. ‘See you around, Gemma,’ he said at last.
‘Yes, Stephen, see you around.’ As he walked away she realised that she hadn’t even started her lunch. And quite suddenly she found she had lost her appetite. Friends, he’d said. And she’d agreed. But could she and Stephen ever be simply friends? As she sat there and stared at her untouched food Gemma knew without a shadow of doubt that it simply wasn’t possible. For her and Stephen, it would be as it had always been—all or nothing.
