Dangerous Decisions (12 page)

Oliver drummed the cover of his small leather notebook, intensely aware that he had made no entry for several weeks.
Was
Helena pregnant? He glanced at the inter-connecting door as he had so many times on previous nights. If she was, he must take care not to endanger his possible heir; if not …

As their stay in Florence lengthened, impatience and frustration won. Helena, her hair loose against the snowy white pillow, was reading but laid down her book as Oliver crossed to an ornate gilt chair and drew it up to sit facing her. ‘I thought, my sweet, that perhaps we should talk.'

She smiled at him. ‘You
have
guessed!'

‘I think I have. But I need to hear it from you.'

‘Well I can't be sure, Oliver, but yes, I think I am pregnant.' She paused, and he saw a soft glow in her eyes. ‘Isn't it wonderful?'

‘But when were you going to tell me?'

‘I didn't want to raise your hopes in case I was wrong.'

He rose and went over to the bed to kiss her gently on the lips. ‘Then I shall continue to respect your privacy.'

Helena found their stay in Florence idyllic; her spirit gloried in the paintings, the museums and the beauty of the city itself. It was nearly time for them to leave when she began to tire easily.

Then once they reached Venice she began to feel queasy, and it was not confined merely to the mornings. When one day she couldn't face even tortellini for lunch and they were forced to go back to their hotel, he was adamant. ‘We must return home at once. There is no point in staying any longer – even the gondola affected you.'

‘It was the movement in the water. I'm sorry, Oliver, I know I'm being a nuisance.'

‘Nonsense, Helena, but we need to consult Dr Haverstock to have your pregnancy confirmed anyway.'

They both turned as a soft knock came at the door with the familiar call, ‘
Permesso
?'

Oliver glanced at Helena who called back, ‘
Avanti
.'

She waited until the maid had left after replacing their bathroom towels then said, ‘Dr Haverstock?'

‘Yes, if you recall, he and his wife were guests at our wedding.'

London, despite it being the beginning of August, was damp with drizzle and it was a relief to be welcomed in Carlton House Terrace by a cheerful fire in the drawing room. The journey had been tiring and when the parlourmaid brought in their refreshment the dainty egg and cress sandwiches were welcome, though Helena was dismayed to find that she had developed an aversion to tea. ‘I hope it passes,' she said to Oliver. ‘A proper cup of tea was one thing I was really looking forward to.'

‘I'm sure Dr Haverstock will reassure you. I shall make an appointment at his consulting rooms in Wimpole Street as soon as possible. Until then, Helena, I think you should rest as much as possible.'

‘It's not an illness, Oliver. Lots of women have to look after large families while carrying a child.'

‘They, Helena, are not carrying the heir to Graylings.'

Helena began to feel bored with little to occupy her but to play the piano and read. Oliver was out most evenings at his club, and she found the bookshelves in the small library distinctly uninspiring.

‘I need some new books,' she told him one morning after breakfast. ‘I was reading the other day that Foyle's have opened a new bookshop in Charing Cross Road.'

‘I shall take you myself.'

Helena knew that Oliver would be bound to suggest worthy literature and she wanted the freedom and privacy to choose romantic novels and perhaps a few detective stories, not only for her own pleasure but to take with her to Graylings to lend to Molly. His presence would only be constraining. ‘But hadn't you planned to see your lawyer? Honestly, Oliver, I'm quite sure that if I take Jane with me I shall do perfectly well.'

‘And you feel up to it?'

She nodded. ‘I seem to feel the nausea only in the mornings now.'

The following Monday Nicholas arrived at the Wimpole Street practice just as the polished mahogany door to Andrew Haverstock's room opened. ‘I shall see you in one month, Lady Maudley, when I hope to see you much improved.' Despite the warm weather, the elderly dowager's shoulders were caped in mink and as she inclined her head, Nicholas wondered where and how women of her class learned to so perfectly convey graciousness and condescension.

‘We have a busy week ahead as usual,' Andrew said, and Nicholas followed him into his consulting room to where the appointments book lay on the large polished desk.

Nicholas glanced down, leafing through until he reached the page for Wednesday, when his hand stilled. He remained silent for one long moment, then said, ‘Mr and Mrs Faraday? Didn't you attend their wedding earlier this year? When you had to postpone Lady Trentley's appointment?'

‘I'm impressed you remember. They are at their London House, having recently returned from Italy.'

‘Is the London house close?' Nicholas managed to keep his enquiry one of light interest.

‘It's in Carlton House Terrace. I had cause to visit there once, when as a child Oliver developed measles.'

Nicholas simply gave a nod and their conversation turned to medical discussion. The morning was a busy one and it was their habit to lunch together, so it was only when his first afternoon appointment was cancelled that Nicholas was able to clear his mind. He left the practice and made his way to Regent's Park, hoping that in the fresh air he would be able to think calmly, logically. On Wednesday he had a full diary, so there could be no question of cancelling his appointments. Already the thought of seeing Helena again was sending adrenalin racing through his veins, even though he knew he was being unrealistic. It was over a year since that fleeting scene in Cadogan Square; so much had happened in her life. Nicholas was hoping that the magic would have gone for him too, that he would see her as an attractive young woman, nothing more. At least he would then be able to dismiss the whole episode as nothing more than a foolish fantasy.

He continued walking along the tree-lined paths until reaching the lake, and in an effort to escape his tormented thoughts, paused to watch and then smile at the excitement of a small boy who was trying to launch a red sailing boat. Seeing that he was hovering dangerously near to the water, his uniformed nanny leaned down and crossly pulled at his shoulder. ‘Come back, Master Peter. You'll be splashing your sailor suit.'

Her concern was not for the child's safety, only to keep his clothes pristine, and Nicholas disliked hearing a grown woman address a child in such a subservient way, thinking that it was hardly surprising that the aristocracy and upper classes grew up with an innate sense of superiority.

The brief episode lingered in his mind, an uncomfortable reminder that Helena was a member of that privileged section of society.

As he continued on his way and eventually left the park, he knew he must face the fact that he was fooling himself. Already his every sense was impatient for Wednesday to arrive. Should he try to remain out of sight, ignore her presence? Would he be able to? The layout of his consulting room was such that his desk was not in view when the door was open, and so Nicholas had no fears that he and Helena might inadvertently catch a glimpse of each other. His hearing was acute – he could always hear Andrew's door open and the muffled sound of farewells – and so it would be easy to manoeuvre a meeting.

The thoughts continued to plague him until he felt the threat of a headache;
that
he could easily remedy, but so far no one had invented a panacea for a lack of common sense, not when the heart was involved.

On Wednesday morning Oliver escorted Helena to the practice in Wimpole Street, where they arrived exactly five minutes before the appointed time. The receptionist smiled up at them. ‘Good morning – Mr and Mrs Faraday?'

‘That is correct.'

‘Please may I take your full details?'

‘Dr Haverstock knows me perfectly well.'

‘Yes, Sir. But I always check a patient's details – just to ensure accuracy.'

‘All you need to write down, young lady, is that I am Mr Oliver Faraday of Graylings in Hertfordshire.'

‘And is it yourself or your wife who is the patient?'

Oliver gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘Mrs Helena Faraday.'

‘Thank you, Sir. I shall notify Dr Haverstock of your presence.'

Helena led the way over to a horsehair sofa, wishing that Oliver wouldn't be so arrogant in his manner. The young woman had only been doing her job. She glanced over to the gleaming coffee table where beside a vase of pink carnations were copies of magazines such as Tatler, Country Life and The Lady. There were two doors, both with a nameplate. One bore Dr Haverstock's name and the other Dr N E Carstairs. ‘There is another doctor here too,' she said in a low voice.

‘So it would seem. Perhaps Dr Haverstock has taken on a partner.' Oliver began to leaf through Country Life. ‘I see there is a new crop of debutantes.'

‘Yes, perhaps Johnnie will make an offer this year and be accepted. Can you imagine anything worse than having Mrs Horton as a mother-in-law?'

Oliver frowned. ‘No names in public, Helena.'

It was a rebuff she considered unnecessary in view of her voice being almost a whisper, and she was about to retort when the receptionist rose from her desk to usher them in. Oliver had reminded Helena that she had met the doctor at their wedding breakfast, but it was only when she heard his soft Scots burr that she remembered him.

He came forward, hand outstretched. ‘My dear Oliver and Mrs Faraday – how are you both?'

‘Excellent, and I trust you and your family are in good health?'

‘We are very well, and my wife and daughter still talk of your wedding and your lovely bride.' He smiled at Helena and said, ‘I believe you wish to consult me.'

She smiled back. ‘Yes, please.'

He turned to Oliver. ‘Then if you would indulge me and leave your wife in my capable hands …' He gave a frown at Oliver's outraged expression. ‘I'm sorry, but I'm afraid it's not usual to have someone else present during a consultation, except in the case of children, of course.' He walked over to the door and opened it. ‘If you wouldn't mind?'

Oliver left with ill grace. After Helena had taken a seat before him, Dr Haverstock said with a smile, ‘Perhaps you would let me know the problem.'

After her explanation, he took her medical history and then asked her to go behind a screen and undress. ‘Just the top layer, Mrs Faraday. There is no need to be concerned; I shall merely make a short preliminary examination.'

Helena found his brisk yet friendly manner inspired confidence and once she had retaken her place before his desk and they had talked a little, he summoned the receptionist to ask Oliver to rejoin them.

Dr Haverstock rose and held out his hand. ‘May I congratulate you? I can confirm that your wife is not only pregnant but in the best of health.'

Oliver shook his hand. ‘Thank you. And the expected date?'

‘I would expect it to be at the beginning of April.'

‘And I assume you will attend the confinement?'

‘I would be delighted. But as babies are not always punctual I would recommend that you also enlist the services of a local doctor and midwife, just in case.'

‘You haven't mentioned a gynaecologist.'

‘That is rare unless there are anticipated complications. But if appropriate, I assure you I will make the necessary arrangements.'

‘And are there any precautions my wife should take? I presume, for instance, that she should cease riding. I am also concerned about her nausea.'

Helena felt a flash of irritation. Did he think her a child, incapable of asking these questions herself? ‘Dr Haverstock has already discussed these matters with me, Oliver.'

‘I'm sure your wife will take the greatest care. Now I shall need to see Mrs Faraday in another three months, just to check that all is progressing normally.'

‘I had thought at least every four weeks,' Oliver protested.

‘Your wife would do better at home, rather than undergoing the constant travelling. You must trust my judgement in this.' He softened his words with a smile. ‘But before you go, I think it would be wise for you to meet my colleague, Dr Carstairs. I'm sure the situation won't arise, but if for some reason …' He pressed a bell at the side of his desk. ‘I'll just ask Miss Barnes whether he has a patient with him.'

Nicholas was endeavouring to write up medical notes. The fact that the door to Andrew's room had already opened twice was of no concern to him – he could guess the reason. He had still not decided whether to remain in his own.

‘Dr Carstairs?' Miss Barnes smiled at him. ‘Dr Haverstock wondered if you could please join him for a few minutes.'

Never for one moment had Nicholas imagined this would happen. He managed to say, ‘I'll be there directly.' Then he sank back against the leather upholstery.

So it had come – within seconds he would see her again. Moments later, struggling to maintain a professional demeanour, he turned the gleaming brass knob into Andrew's consulting room.

Her broad-brimmed hat was cream, adorned with apricot tulle roses, and he saw beneath it her lovely hazel eyes widen in shock.

Helena knew him immediately. The same sensitive face that had so haunted her, the warm brown eyes that once again met her own with that extraordinary sense of connection. Bewildered, she watched him being introduced to Oliver, while her pulse raced madly with the effort to regain her composure. Then he was turning to her, his hand outstretched. Their fingers touched; his were firm, hers were trembling, while his gentle smile was for her alone.

‘Dr Carstairs, I'm delighted to meet you again. If you recall we met briefly once before, in Cadogan Square.' The practiced civility sprang to her lips even while her every emotion was in chaos.

Nicholas collected his thoughts. ‘Yes, of course – a matter of an ill-treated horse, as I remember.'

Then as the three men exchanged pleasantries, Helena heard Dr Haverstock use his colleague's first name and at last, she knew her mystery doctor's full identity. His voice too, low and musical, and she tried to store every cadence in her memory.

But to her panic, all too soon Oliver was saying, ‘Helena, I think we may now take our leave,' and she was forced to follow him to the door, struggling not to look back at Nicholas, but it was impossible. With her head high, her body tense, she flashed one last look at him. His face was inscrutable but his eyes … She dragged her gaze away. ‘Thank you again, Dr Haverstock,' she said. ‘Goodbye, Dr Carstairs.'

Outside in Wimpole Street, the Faraday coach was waiting for them and once they were comfortably seated Oliver said, ‘Within ten years or so, I daresay a private coach will be a rarity in the capital, or indeed in the country.'

Helena merely said in a low voice, ‘Would you mind having luncheon alone, Oliver? I'm feeling rather tired.'