Marrying a Doctor: The Doctor's Girl - new / A Special Kind Of Woman

She went walking on Sunday, to St James’s Park and then Hyde Park, stopping for coffee on the way. It was a chilly day but she was happy. To be free, with money in her purse and a home to go back to—what more could she ask of life? she reflected. Well, quite a bit, she conceded—a husband, children and a home…and to be loved.

‘A waste of time,’ said Loveday, with no one to hear her. ‘Who would want to marry me in the first place and how would I ever meet him?’

She walked on briskly. He would have to love her even though she wasn’t pretty, and preferably have enough money to have a nice home and like children. Never mind what he looked like…She paused. Yes, she did mind—he would need to be tall and reassuringly large, and she wouldn’t object to him wearing specs on his handsome nose…

‘You’re being ridiculous,’ said Loveday. ‘Just because he’s the only man who has spoken to you for years.’

She took herself off back home and had a leisurely lunch—a lamb chop, sprouts and a jacket potato, with a tub of yoghurt for pudding—and then sat in the little armchair with Sam on her lap and read the Sunday paper from front to back. And then tea, and later supper and bed.

‘Some would call it a dull day, but we’ve enjoyed every minute of it,’ she told Sam.

The week began well. The nurse, whom she seldom saw, had treated her with coolness at first, and then, realising that Loveday presented no risk to her status, became casually friendly. As for Dr Fforde, he treated her with the brisk, friendly manner which she found daunting. But such treatment was only to be expected….

It was almost the end of the week when he came earlier than usual to the consulting rooms. She gave him coffee and, since she was for the moment idle, paused to tell him that Sam had turned into a handsome cat. ‘And he’s very intelligent,’ she added chattily. ‘You really should come up and see him some time…’

The moment she had uttered them she wished the words unsaid. The doctor’s cool, ‘I’m glad to hear that he has made such a good recovery,’ uttered in a dismissive voice sent the colour into her cheeks. Of course the very idea of his climbing the stairs to her little flat to look at the cat was ridiculous. As though he had the slightest interest…

She buried her hot face in the filing cabinet. Never, never, she vowed, would she make that mistake again.

Dr Fforde, watching her, wondered how best to explain to her that visiting her at the flat would cause gossip—friendly, no doubt, but to be avoided. He decided to say nothing, but asked her in his usual grave way to telephone the hospital and say that he might be half an hour late.

‘Mrs Seward has an appointment after the last patient. She is not a patient, so please show her in at once.’

The last patient had barely been shown out when Mrs Seward arrived. She was tall, slender, with a lovely face, skilfully made up, and wearing the kind of clothes Loveday dreamed of. She had a lovely smile, too.

‘Hello—you’re new, aren’t you? What’s happened to Miss Priss? Has Andrew finished? I’m a bit early.’

‘Mrs Seward? Dr Fforde’s expecting you.’

Loveday opened his door and stood aside for Mrs Seward to go in. Before she closed it she heard him say, ‘Margaret—this is delightful.’

‘Andrew, it’s been so long…’ was Mrs Seward’s happy reply.

Loveday went back to her desk and got out the afternoon patients’ notes. That done, she entered their names and phone numbers into the daily diary. It was time for her to go to her lunch, but she supposed that she should stay; they would go presently and she could lock up. He would be at the hospital during the afternoon, and there were no more patients until almost four o’clock.

She didn’t have long to wait. They came out together presently, and the doctor stopped at the desk and asked her to lock up. ‘And since the first patient is at four o’clock there’s no need for you to come back until three.’

His voice was as kind as his smile. Mrs Seward smiled too. On their way down to the car she said, ‘I like your receptionist. A mouse with green eyes.’

The extra hour or so for lunch wasn’t to be ignored. Loveday gobbled a sandwich, fed Sam, and went shopping, returning with her own simple needs and weighed down by tins of cat food and more books. She had seen that the funny little shop squeezed in between the grocer and the butcher sold just about everything and had noticed some small, cheap radios. On pay day, she promised herself, she would buy one. And the greengrocer had had a bucketful of chrysanthemums outside his shop; they perhaps weren’t quite as fresh as they might have been, but they would add a cheerful splash of colour in the flat.

The doctor arrived back five minutes before his patient, accepted the cup of tea she offered him and, when the last patient of the afternoon had gone, bade her goodnight without loss of time.

‘They’ll go out this evening,’ said Loveday aloud. ‘To one of those restaurants with little lamps on the tables. And then they’ll go dancing. She’s quite beautiful. They make a handsome pair.’

She locked up with her usual care and went upstairs to give Sam his supper and herself a pot of tea. She would have a pleasant evening, she told herself: an omelette for her supper and then a peaceful hour with one of the second-hand books.

‘I’m becoming an old maid,’ said Loveday.

There was news of Miss Priss in the morning; her mother was recovering from her stroke but must stay in hospital for another ten days. After that she would return home and be nursed by Miss Priss and a helper. There was every chance that she would recover, and then Miss Priss would be able to return to work once arrangements for her mother’s comfort could be made.

The doctor told Loveday this without going into details, and although she was sorry for Miss Priss and her mother, she couldn’t help feeling relief. She had known that sooner or later Miss Priss would be back, but the longer she could stay the more money she could save, and with some experience and a reference from the doctor she would have a better chance of finding work. She must remember, she told herself, to curb her tongue and not talk about herself or Sam.

As a result of this resolution the doctor was at first faintly amused and then puzzled at her wooden politeness towards him. She had become in the short time she had been working for him almost as efficient as Miss Priss; she was discreet, pleasantly attentive to his patients, willing to come early and work late if need be, and disappeared to her little flat so quietly that he barely noticed her going. And always there when he arrived in the mornings. It was what he expected and what he paid her for, but all the same he now had a vague sense of disquiet, so that he found himself thinking about her very frequently.

A few days later she went down rather earlier; there were more patients than usual today. The doctor would expect everything to be ready for them.

There was a man on the landing outside the consulting rooms, standing easily, hands in pockets, looking out of the landing window. He turned round to look at her as she reached the door.

He smiled at her and said good morning. ‘I hoped someone would come soon. I’d love a cup of coffee.’ At her surprised look, he added, ‘Oh, it’s quite all right, Andrew won’t mind.’

When she still stood there, looking at him, he added impatiently, ‘Open up, dear girl.’

‘Certainly not,’ said Loveday. ‘I don’t know who you are, and even if you told me I’m not to know whether it’s the truth. I’m so sorry, but if you want to see the doctor then you should come back at nine o’clock.’

She put the key in the lock. ‘I have no intention of letting you in.’

She whisked herself inside, locked the door again and left him there. He had been sure of himself, demanding coffee, behaving as if he knew the doctor, but he could so easily be intent on skulduggery…

She set about her morning chores and had everything just as the doctor liked and the coffee ready when he came in.

The young man was with him and they were both laughing.

The doctor’s good morning was said in his usual quiet manner, but his companion told Loveday, ‘You see, I am a bona fide caller. Are you not remorseful at your treatment of me? And I only asked to be let in and given coffee.’

‘You could have been a thief,’ said Loveday.

‘Quite right, Loveday,’ interposed the doctor. ‘You did the right thing and, since my cousin hasn’t the good grace to introduce himself, I must do it for him. Charles Fforde, this is Miss Loveday West, who is my most efficient receptionist.’

Charles offered a hand, and after a tiny pause she shook it.

‘What happened to Miss Prissy?’

‘I’ll tell you about her. Come into my room. There is time for coffee, but you must go away before my patients arrive.’ The doctor opened his door. ‘I should be free about one o’clock; we’ll have lunch together.’

Loveday fetched the coffee. Charles was much younger than the doctor—more her own age, she supposed. He was good-looking too, and well dressed. She thought uneasily that he was very like Miss Cattell’s men-friends, only younger. On the other hand he was the doctor’s cousin, and he, in her view, was beyond reproach.

Charles didn’t stay long, and on his way out he paused by her desk.

‘Did anyone ever tell you that you have very beautiful eyes? The rest of you is probably charming, though hardly breathtaking, but the eyes…!’

He bent down and kissed the end of her nose.

‘Till we meet again,’ he told her, and reached the door in time to hold it open for the first patient.

No one had ever told Loveday that her eyes were beautiful. She savoured that for the rest of the day and tried to forget his remark about not being breathtaking. It had been so long since anyone had passed a remark about her appearance that she found it hard to ignore.

That evening, getting ready for bed, she examined her face carefully. ‘Hardly breathtaking’ was a kind way of saying plain…

All the same she took extra pains with her face and hair in the morning, and made plans to buy a new dress on Saturday afternoon.

If she had hoped to see Charles the next day she was disappointed. There was no sign of him, and Dr Fforde, beyond his usual pleasant greeting, had nothing to say. All the same, she spent Saturday afternoon searching for a dress. It had to be something that would last. She found it after much searching: a navy blue wool crêpe, well cut and elegant, with the kind of neckline which could be dressed up by a pretty scarf. She bore it back and tried it on with Sam for a rather bored audience.

And on Monday morning she wore it to work.

Dr Fforde, wishing her his usual pleasant good morning noticed it immediately. It was undoubtedly suitable for her job, but it hardly enhanced her appearance. Her pretty mousy hair and those green eyes should be complemented by rich greens and russet, not buried in navy blue. He thought it unlikely that she had many friends, and perhaps none close enough to point this out to her. A pity. He sat down at his desk and started to go through his post.

It was Charles who voiced this same opinion when he came again during the week. He sauntered in after the last of the morning patients had gone and stopped at her desk.

‘A new dress’, he said as he eyed her up and down in a friendly fashion. ‘In excellent taste too, dear girl, but why hide your charms behind such a middle-aged colour? You should be wearing pink and blue and emerald-green, and all the colours of the rainbow…’

‘Not if she is to remain my receptionist,’ said the doctor from his door, so that Loveday’s wide smile at the sight of Charles was quenched. She contrived to look faintly amused, although her eyes sparkled green fire. The phone rang then and she turned to answer it, and the two men went into the consulting room together.

She had been delighted to see Charles, and although he didn’t like the new dress he had said it was hiding her charms—which sounded old-fashioned but pleasant. And then Dr Fforde had to spoil it all. Who knew what Charles would have said if they had been left alone?

Loveday, a level-headed girl, realised that she was behaving in a way quite unlike her usual self-contained self. ‘Which won’t do,’ she muttered as the phone rang again. And no one could have looked more efficient and at the same time inconspicuous than she did as Dr Fforde and Charles came into the room again.

‘I shall be at the hospital until five o’clock,’ the doctor told her. ‘Have the afternoon off, but please be here by half past four.’

So Loveday had a leisurely lunch and decided to do some more shopping. She didn’t need much, but she seldom had the chance to go out during the day and it was a bright day even if chilly. She got into her jacket—navy blue again, and bought to last—and with her shopping basket over one arm went out.

She had only gone a few yards down the street when she met Charles.

He took her arm. ‘How about a walk in the park and tea? It’s a splendid afternoon for exercise.’

She didn’t try to conceal her pleasure at seeing him again. ‘It sounds lovely, but I’m going shopping.’

‘You can shop any day of the week.’ He had tucked one arm into hers. ‘Half an hour’s brisk walk, then tea, and then if you must shop…’

‘I have to be back by half past four.’

‘Yes, yes. That’s almost three hours away.’

He was laughing at her and, despite her good resolutions, she smiled back. ‘A walk would be nice…’

He was an amusing companion and, bored with having nothing much to do for the moment, he found it intriguing to attract this rather sedate girl who had no idea how to make the most of herself. He had charm and a light-hearted way of talking, uncaring that he rarely meant a word of what he uttered. Those who knew him well joined in his cheerful banter and didn’t take it seriously, but Loveday wasn’t to know that…

He took her to a small café near the park, plied her with cream cakes and called her dear girl, and when they parted outside the consulting rooms he begged her to see him again. He touched the tip of her nose very gently as he spoke and his smile was such that she agreed at once.

‘But I’m only free on Saturday afternoons and Sundays.’

‘Sunday it shall be. We will drive into the country and walk and talk and eat at some village pub.’ He turned away. ‘Ten o’clock?’

‘He didn’t wait for her reply, which just for a moment she found disturbing, but she brushed that aside. A day out in his company would be lovely.

Dr Fforde, coming back just before five o’clock, wondered what had given Loveday a kind of inner glow; she was no longer insignificant, and her ordinary face was alight with happiness.

He asked, ‘You enjoyed your afternoon?’

‘Yes, thank you, Doctor.’ Her beaming smile included him in her happiness, and for some reason that made him uneasy.

At breakfast on Sunday morning, Loveday explained to Sam that she would be away for the day. ‘Well, most of it, I hope.’ She added, ‘But I won’t be late home.’ She kissed his elderly head. ‘Be a good boy.’

Charles had said a drive into the country and a village pub. Her jacket and a skirt would be quite suitable; she would wear her good shoes and the pale blue sweater…

She was ready and waiting when she heard the silence of the quiet street disturbed by the prolonged blowing of his car’s horn. She reached his car just as he was about to blow it again. ‘Oh, hush,’ she begged him. ‘It’s Sunday morning.’

He had looked faintly impatient, but now he laughed. ‘So it is and we have the whole day before us.’ He leaned across and opened the car door. ‘Jump in.’

His car was a sports model, scarlet and flashy. She suppressed the instant thought that Dr Fforde’s car was more to her liking and settled down beside Charles.

‘It’s a lovely morning,’ she began.

‘Marvellous, darling, but don’t chatter until we are out of London.’

So she sat quietly, happy just to be there, sitting beside him, leaving the streets and rows of houses behind for a few hours.

He drove south, through Sevenoaks, and she wondered where they were going. They were well clear of London by now, but he had nothing much to say until he asked suddenly, ‘Have you any idea where we’re going?’

‘No, except that it’s south—towards the coast.’

‘Brighton, darling. Plenty to do and see there.’

She had expected a day in the country—he had mentioned a country pub. Surely Brighton wasn’t much different from London? But what did it matter where they went? She was happy in his company and he made her laugh…

He parked at the seafront and they had coffee and then walked, first by the sea and then through the town, stopping to look at the shop windows in the Lanes. Charles promised her that the next time they came he would take her to the Pavilion. They had lunch in a fashionable pub and then walked again, and if it wasn’t quite what she had expected it didn’t really matter. She was having a lovely day out and Charles was a delightful companion, teasing her a little, letting her see that he liked her, and telling her that he had never met a girl quite like her before. Loveday, hopelessly ignorant of the fashionable world, believed every word of it.

They drove back to London after a splendid tea in one of the seafront hotels.

‘Do you come here often?’ Loveday wanted to know.

Charles gave her his charming smile. ‘Never with such a delightful companion.’ He might have added, And only because here I’m most unlikely to meet anyone I know. He wasn’t doing any harm, he told himself. Loveday led a dull life; what could be kinder than to give her a taste of romance? And it would keep him amused for the next few weeks…

She was a dear little thing, he reflected as they drove back, but too quiet and dull for him. It amused him to see how she blossomed under his attention.

‘We must do this again,’ he told her. ‘I’ll be away next weekend, but there’s a good film we might go to see one evening. Wednesday. I’ll come for you about half past seven.’

‘I’d like that, thank you,’ she said. And, Loveday being Loveday, she added, ‘I won’t need to dress up? I haven’t anything smart to wear.’

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