Betrayal (15 page)

             
Wanting to refill her teacup, Lydia moved across the Italian tile floor to the counter. She reached, turning on the radio, to listen to the 7:30 news. Once back at the table Lydia sipped her tea as the black cat settled once more on her foot.

             
“Just the usual blend of bad news,” she said to the shadowy form below the glass topped table. As the announcer related the gruesome details of an overnight murder in the city’s north end Lydia groaned. “Time to get dressed, Trevy. I can’t stand anymore of this.” The cat jumped up into Lydia’s outstretched arms.

             
After a leisurely shower Lydia decided to answer her cousin’s letter and mail it on her way to work. She struggled to write each line on the single sheet of lined paper, loyalty to her father waxing and waning as she tried to formulate a proper response. Finally finished, she reread the letter; then quickly put it in an envelope before she could change her mind. Now the sealed letter lacked only a stamp.

             
Returning to the kitchen Lydia saw Tremayne staring at her from the countertop. She reached into a lower cabinet producing a box of cat food, shaking the box loudly as she crossed to the cat’s bright red food dish. The cat made the distance in one smooth elongated leap, deftly landing directly under the flow of dried kibble. Lydia brushed him aside with her left hand, but she had already spilled some on the floor. “Now look what you’ve done. It’s all over the floor and I’m late.”  Lydia felt the kibble crunch underfoot as she crossed to the broom closet.  “Just once, Trevy, I’d like the food to land in the dish and not on the floor,” she grumbled as she swept the powdered nuggets into the dustpan. The cat rubbed himself against her calf, purring loudly.  “Pleased with ourselves are we?” Lydia snapped. “Now, shoo!  Let me get ready for work.”

             
When she finally reached the front door Lydia huffed to a stop, the cat’s retreating form bringing a smile to her face. Taking a deep breath and expelling it fully from her lungs, Lydia opened the outer door and stepped out into the morning sun. As Lydia neared King Street she noticed how Market Square seemed to strain against the looming fog. She winced as the misty grayness crept closer. “Another gray day, oh joy!” she muttered as she bent forward against the steep grade of King Street’s hill. A glance across the street to Brunswick Square revealed shoppers lined up awaiting the mall’s opening.

             
Entering the King Street Professional Centre Lydia gave a quick wave to Marge, Dan’s receptionist, as she watched her cross King’s Square, scattering pigeons into frenzied flight. Lydia waited for Marge to cross Charlotte Street.  Together they entered the building’s irregular lobby. Lydia liked the stark angular elevator bay flanked by two ultra-modern chairs and the hopelessly out of place spindly palm tree.

             
Marge was mumbling to herself as she entered 1290 King Street, about the city’s proposed new by-law to prohibit feeding of pigeons on city property. “Rather they should issue every citizen with a gun to shoot the things. They wouldn’t even need a bounty on the dirty creatures.”

             
“And a good morning to you too,” Lydia said teasingly.

             
“Would have been if I had missed the dog poo. Oh, what a great start to the day. I met Dan on Waterloo Street. He waved me down to tell me, he had been called to 4 West in St. Joe’s about Mrs. Allaby.”

             
Lydia paused, thinking of St. Joseph’s Hospital, mentally correcting herself that it was no longer a hospital but an extended care facility. She frowned, thinking of the former hospital’s ideal downtown location, her brow wrinkling as she compared it with the out of the way location of the Saint John Regional Hospital. Then realizing Marge was crying she asked, “How is she doing?”

             
“Not good. The family has been called.”  Marge paused to wipe a tear from her eye. “I’ve known Grace Allaby for many years ever since she first came to old Doc Stevens.  I can’t believe she is dying. Last year when her eldest son was diagnosed I held her hand while the Doc told her.”  Marge slipped into one of the lobby’s white chairs holding her head in her hands.

             
“He died of cancer, didn’t he?”

             
“Yes, he was gone in just six months.”

             
“Cancer is a cruel disease that plays no favorites, taking the very young as well as the old,” Lydia said, laying a gentle hand on Marge’s shoulder.

             
“Poor Grace, she lost Bert two years ago and then her son just last year. Sometimes it seems some people’s grief is just too much to bear. Yet she never complained. She bore her own illness with dignity and grace. She must have had pain and a lot of it.”

             
“Yes, I am sure she did.”

             
“She brought me a rose from her garden every year. Did you know that?”

             
“Yes, I did,” Lydia replied. “I didn’t know Mrs. Allaby as well as you did but I will miss her, too. It’s not easy losing a friend of so many years,” Lydia said resting her hand on Marge’s shoulder.  She knew that Dan would not give up this patient to Death easily. It was an eternal battle, a losing fight, for Death always won in the end.

             
Slowly the two women made their way to the elevator; they could hear the telephone ringing before the doors opened to Dan’s fifth floor office.

             
The elevator door opened to reveal a wide well-lit waiting room. Lydia touched Marge’s arm as she sprinted for the telephone. The older woman smiled; wiping a tear from her eyes, she lifted the receiver. A large reception desk stood at one end of the bright room.  At the other, under a bank of expansive windows, was a large children’s play area overflowing with a variety of enough games and toys to tempt even the most jaded childhood appetite. Lydia crossed to the windows to look down on the uptown shopping district. Turning, she surveyed the play area, priding herself on the large pediatric practice Dan had carved for himself in a neighborhood filled with pediatricians, by the simple addition of toys to his waiting room.  Lydia smiled, remembering it had been her idea to build a play area. The black leather chairs and cream colored couches were artfully placed in small groups giving the large room an air of coziness.  The small tables that were scattered about the room held a variety of reading materials. The local news radio station played softly in the background, a final touch to the room’s comfortable ambiance.

             
Marjorie McAndrews safely ensconced behind the reception desk, telephone receiver tucked betwixt ear and shoulder, winked as Dan entered the waiting room at 10:15. He peered over the desk’s high front to look at the appointment book.

             
“No rest for the weary,” he moaned.

             
“Nor the wicked either,” Marjorie teased as she slid the receiver back into its cradle. No sooner had it made contact than the telephone rang again.

             
Dan winced, stepping back from the desk as Lydia stepped behind Marjorie.

“When is my first appointment?”

              “10:30 with Mrs. Jagger, and her daughter Diane at 10:45.”

             
“I’ll put the coffee on,” Dan said as he turned down the hallway past the clinic’s two examination rooms.

             
After a few minutes Lydia joined him in his private office. She dropped two new journals atop the already large pile of unread ones on his desk. Dan groaned loudly.

             
“10:30, you said, hmm, 15 minutes,” he said, indicating the pile of periodicals. “What do you think, Lydia, five pages? To read all this I’d have to close the office for a month.”

             
“That wouldn’t work. There would be as many new ones by then,” Marjorie teased as she entered Dan’s office. “No reading today. There is a Mister Avery to see you. He didn’t have an appointment but since you were here…,” she laughed, shrugging her shoulders. Theirs was a relaxed relationship. Marge had basically “come with the office” when Dan took over from Doctor Stevens, who had had his family practice in this office for over twenty years.  Marjorie had been his right arm running his office like a well trimmed ship, as she now ran Dan’s.  Turning to leave the office Marjorie handed Lydia a stack of telephone messages which she proceeded to sort into three separate piles. Prescription renewals would go back to Marjorie so she could pull the patient’s chart for Dan. Another pile for calls she could handle herself and finally those requiring Dan’s attention. Lydia frowned when she saw Alan Stokes’ name. The message simply said ‘returned your call’.  She stuffed the note into her sweater pocket, deciding she would handle this in her own way.

Dan let out a long sigh as he settled deep in his chair. “I expect I will have to go back to St. Joe’s before the day is out,” Dan said, his voice losing its strength as he accepted once again the ultimate certainty of death.

Lydia paused. She wished she could do something; say something that would ease his pain. At last acknowledging that there was nothing she could do, Lydia gently closed the door to Dan’s office and made her way to the waiting room.

***

              Lydia came up behind the front desk saying, “Yesterday was so busy I never got the chance to ask how your weekend was.”

             
Marjorie deftly slit open the envelope she was holding and replaced the letter opener on the desk before answering. “It was quite fun, actually. Now, don’t laugh, but I went with a friend to a psychic fair,” the older woman said with a schoolgirl giggle. “No, honestly, Lydia, it was an eye-opening experience.”

             
“I’m sure,” was Lydia’s dry reply. She had seen the advertisements on television and heard the radio hype but she had never expected anyone as level-headed as Marjorie McAndrews to fall for such foolishness. As uncomfortable as she felt, Lydia made no move to change the subject nor did she move to sit down.

             
“My friend, Denise Fowler, you’ve met her, haven’t you? No. Oh, I suppose it doesn’t matter, but I thought you had. Anyway, she has been after me for years to go to one of these meetings.” Marjorie shifted her considerable weight from one foot to the other as she swiftly date stamped each of the fifteen charts before her. She paused briefly to stack them neatly in order by appointment time, ready for the patient’s arrival.

             
“Don’t tell me, you had your cards read?  Marjorie, I am surprised at you. I’d have thought …” But Lydia didn’t get to finish her thought as the loud ringing of the telephone distracted her.

Marjorie replaced the receiver in its cradle, turned to pull another chart, and smiled at Lydia while she stamped it. “That and other things,” she teased as she continued down the hall toward Dan’s office, leaving Lydia standing there with her mouth open.

“Good morning, Lydia.”

Lydia turned at the greeting to find Diane Jagger standing before her. “Good morning, Diane.”

“Mom is parking the car. She sent me on ahead,” continued the pretty fifteen-year old.

“Just have a seat, Diane. It will be a few minutes yet.”

Marjorie returned to the reception desk and spotting the young girl in the waiting room asked, “Hi Diane, how did you enjoy the fair on Saturday?”

“Don’t tell me you were there too?” Lydia moaned. “Does your mother know you were there?”

“Are you kidding, she took me!” The girl’s face widened into a bright smile. “Great fun wasn’t it Marjorie? I had my cards read and I was right, Steve does like me,”

Diane confided with a wink. “The psychic said he is going to ask me to the dance next Saturday. I can’t wait until Elaine sees me with him. She’ll be green with envy.”

              Lydia was about to say something but thought better of it. She would talk to Marjorie privately later.

             
The morning slipped by in a mix of jangling telephones, crying babies, and endless interruptions. Lydia never did get around to questioning Marjorie further and was prepared to let the matter drop.

             
Dan came out between patients to ask if Stokes had returned his call. When Lydia replied in the negative he told her he would be returning to St. Joe’s during the lunch break to check on Mrs. Allaby.

             
“Well, it looks like just you and me, kid. Care to join me for lunch? I was heading to Brunswick Square for a bite. Want to come? Besides there is something I want to talk with you about,” Marjorie said, straightening the pile of charts on her desk.

             
Lydia nodded her agreement. She didn’t relish the idea of lunch alone at home. After the last patient had left and they had waved Dan off to the hospital the two women gathered their things and left the office. Once outside Lydia finally spoke up. “What was Diane talking about? How could this total stranger tell the kid this boy she likes is going to ask her out? The nerve of some people, really.”

             
“Now, Lydia, calm down. It’s not the end of the world.”