An Irish Doctor in Love and at Sea (53 page)

He had to swallow and blink until he could focus on the words. He'd thought by mailing a letter from Gosport he'd surprise her, but she'd thought of exactly the same thing, bless her.

I love you for the choice we made the day the deer came and pray that soon I'll have the news we both are wishing for.

I don't want to run on. Hearing the same thing over and over can be numbing. I only want you to know that your Deirdre loves you from the bottom of her soul, always has and always will, misses and aches for you and begs you to take care and one day come home safely to me.

I love you, Fingal, and when you look at the rose in the album, think of me and send your love to me across the miles.

Deirdre

He read it twice, put the letter back in its envelope, and slipped it into his pocket. Deirdre. Deirdre. Wonderful girl. Fingal took a deep breath, cleared his throat and said, “Deirdre sends her love.” He could hardly wait for the meal to be over and he could rush back to his cabin to write the loving reply that would go into tomorrow's mail.

 

43

The More Difficult the Choice

“Come in, Doctor Stevenson. Thank you for driving down from Belfast after a night on call,” O'Reilly said as he ushered the smartly dressed young woman into the hall.

“We get the mornings off after, so I'm free until two o'clock,” she said. “Thank you for asking me.”

He'd noticed her two weeks ago at the Royal Maternity Hospital. She'd been one of the learners the day Lorna Kearney had had her first amniocentesis. He could not deny that the young doctor's thick auburn hair, cut in a fashionable bob, and bright green eyes had made an impression on him. She had the look of a younger Kitty. Something about the slant of her eyes, the curve of her neck. “Here, here, let me take your coat,” he said, feeling flustered. The young woman was remarkably contained.

“Doctor Bradley and Doctor Harley both speak highly of you. I spoke to Doctor Bradley after the last clinic here, and to Doctor Harley on the phone last week.” On her professional credentials alone the job was hers—but only if she seemed someone with whom he and Barry could work.

“Thank you, Doctor O'Reilly.”

“That's something we need to get clear. It's the usual medical formality in front of the customers, but among ourselves it's Christian names. I'm not good at standing on ceremony. Please call me Fingal.” He'd acquired his preference for informality from one remarkable surgeon commander twenty-five years ago. “You are Nonie, I believe.”

She nodded. “Nonie. Nonie Elizabeth. After my grandmothers.”

“And I believe you know Barry Laverty?”

O'Reilly had told Barry last Friday that she was coming down today for an interview and had asked his young partner to sit in. O'Reilly had been surprised when Barry had been pretty noncommittal about Nonie Stevenson.

“We were together in the same year,” she said. “Barry may have told you that we didn't have much chance to get to know each other. We worked in teams of two, four, or six students, depending on the service we were attached to. We weren't assigned teams but chose each other, and that often meant the women worked together because most of the men preferred all-male company.”

Fingal noticed a slight lift of Nonie's chin as she said this. He laughed. “In my class at Trinity, if the women all worked together, they would have made exactly one team of four. I graduated from medical school in 1936. Shortly after Hippocrates.”

She laughed. “Things are different now in some ways, and in others they haven't changed at all. Barry and I only did one rotation together in six years. He seemed like a nice enough lad. There were a lot who didn't think women should be doing medicine. Didn't wrap it up either. Sometimes you had to fight your corner, but Barry was never like that. I'd be happy to work with him, Fingal.”

O'Reilly had expected Barry to be more interested in a potential new colleague, but the lad still wasn't at himself, still pining for his Sue. He had moments when he'd not shown enthusiasm about anything.

“Come and meet him again.” O'Reilly opened the door to the dining room, where Barry immediately rose from his seat. Surgery would be starting a little late, but the patients would be understanding.

“Morning, Nonie,” Barry said with a smile. “Nice to see you.”

“And you, Barry,” she said. “Do sit down.”

“Have a pew,” O'Reilly said, offering her a chair opposite Barry. “Coffee?”

“Please. Just a bit of milk.”

Barry poured.

O'Reilly deliberately sat half-turned beside her, not wanting her to feel as if she were facing the Spanish Inquisition. “You don't mind if we ask you a few questions, Nonie?”

“'Course not, and I'll have some of my own.” Businesslike. No deference being paid from a junior to a senior as was the ingrained custom in Ulster medical circles. He liked that.

“So, Nonie, you've done two years,” Barry asked, “nearly halfway to finishing training as a specialist. Why quit now?”

O'Reilly stole a glance at the lad. He looked relaxed but intent. He certainly hadn't wasted any time.

Nonie opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again quickly. Barry apparently hadn't finished his question.

“I mean, I did a year of obstetrics and gynae, but I soon found out I preferred GP so I came here. But to get through two years and quit? Seems odd to me.”

She shrugged. “Pretty simple really. I've always enjoyed GP locums so I have some experience, but midder was my first choice. And I'm afraid,” her grin was self-deprecatory, “I discovered I can stand the occasional call out at night, but most nights in a busy obstetrical unit you get practically no sleep at all.” She yawned. “Like last night. I have to be realistic. I really need my shut-eye. I'm tired of hospital on-call bedrooms, and canteen grub too. I tried to stick it out, but I couldn't see forty years of broken nights. It was starting to affect my—my health.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. Nothing serious, I hope,” Barry said.

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing serious. Just…” She inhaled. “If I get too tired I can get a bit … you know … a bit Bolshie.” She gave a little laugh.

O'Reilly made a mental note of that. “But you wouldn't mind taking some call?” he said. “We'd expect you to cover one in four, and the same at weekends.”

“I'm single so I'm perfectly happy to help out with call, and live in if you have room.”

“There's a bedroom in the attic.”

“Suits me, and GP call is usually a lot less onerous. Frankly, one in four will be a luxury.” He heard the depth of feeling in her voice. “I've been used to one in three.”

“I'm sure,” Barry said, “you could get an even better rota in a big group practice in Belfast. Why Ballybucklebo?”

“I'm a country girl, Barry,” she said, “from Rasharkin. I like to think I understand country patients. Jenny told me about the well-woman clinic here. I discussed it with Doctor Harley. He advised me to consider that field. It's even more nine to five. He arranged for me to work in that area. So I'd have a good on-call schedule, be doing something I think I'm good at, with patients I can work with.”

“So,” said O'Reilly, “you've extra training like Jenny?”

“Not as much, but yes.”

She seemed personable enough, O'Reilly thought, wants to come for some of the right reasons.

Barry rose. “Fingal, I don't have any more questions. Thank you, Nonie. I'd better get the surgery going.” He headed for the door.

“Nice seeing you, Barry,” she said to his back.

Barry closed the door behind him.

O'Reilly sat back in his chair. That hadn't gone quite as he had hoped. And yet she had all the right requirements. He liked her. Perhaps she would bring the lad around. “So,” he said, “I think I understand why you want to come. You've been honest. I like that. Finish your coffee,” he said, “and let me show you round. We'll talk more while you get the conducted tour.”

“Lead on, Doctor.”

“Waiting room,” he said a minute later, and was greeted by a chorus from inside of “Good morning, Doctors.”

“Now there's something you don't see every day,” she said, pointing to the mural of roses on the far wall. “I like it.”

“A young woman with taste.” He warmed to that.

“But how does everyone know I'm a doctor too?”

“Excuse me, miss,” Cissie Sloan said, “but this here's Ballybucklebo. That nice Doctor Bradley telt Aggie Arbuthnot, her with the six toes, that Doctor O'Reilly was going til get a new lady assistant. Aggie telt Jeannie Jingles, and Jeannie telt Flo Bishop, and Flo…”

“All right, Cissie. Thank you,” O'Reilly said. “We get the message.” He turned to Nonie. “News travels here.”

“It's like Rasharkin. Telegraph, telephone, television, or tell, I believe you said, Aggie Arbuthnot?”

“You're dead on, Doctor,” said Cissie. She giggled and everybody else joined in.

“Now settle down,” O'Reilly said, noting that Nonie was quick off the mark and clearly had a sense of humour. “Doctor Laverty won't be long.”

He led Nonie along the hall, knocked on the surgery door, and heard Barry's “Come in.”

O'Reilly said, “Hello, Irene. I hope you don't mind—”

“Hello, Doctor O'Reilly, sir, and hello, Doctor Stevenson.” Irene Beggs was sitting on one chair while Barry examined her newborn son. The fibroid that had complicated her pregnancy had had no effect on the child. Little Eric was thriving.

“Nice for til see you again. And thanks for looking after me at the RMH.”

“I delivered Mrs. Beggs,” the young doctor said, “two weeks ago. How's the bairn?”

“Wee Eric's doing rightly, so he is. Me and Davy's tickled pink.”

“Great,” said Nonie.

“Och,” O'Reilly said, “a baby brings its own welcome. Now, I'm sure Doctor Laverty would like to get on, so we'll be off.”

“The surgery's well set up,” Nonie said once they were in the hall.

“It is.”

“I could certainly run a clinic there, but it badly needs a new examining couch.”

In his mind's eye, O'Reilly pictured the battered couch. How long had it had that tuft of stuffing sticking out from the top left corner? “We could probably stretch to that. I inherited it from Doctor Flanagan, who'd been in practice here since before the war,” said O'Reilly. He was beginning to wonder who was interviewing whom. On the other hand, she had a point.

He and Nonie left the surgery, only to meet Lars coming downstairs.

“Morning, Finn.”

O'Reilly made the introductions. Lars had arrived last night. Tonight he, O'Reilly, and Kitty would be having a get-to-know-you dinner with the marquis, and tomorrow Lars would begin working on the legal aspects of the marquis's estate planning.

“Don't let me interrupt, Finn,” he said. “I'm nipping up to Belfast.”

“Drive carefully,” O'Reilly said as they headed along the corridor.

“This,” he said, as they entered the big warm kitchen with its wonderful cooking smells, “this is the nerve centre, and this is Mrs. Kinky Auchinleck, the brains of the outfit, and that,” he pointed, “is Arthur Guinness, the sleepiest lummox in all Ulster.”

“What a lovely dog,” the young woman said, bending to pat Arthur's head. “My father runs Labradors too. Wonderful breed.” That put up her stock with O'Reilly. “Kinky, meet Doctor Nonie Stevenson, who may be coming to take over from Jenny.”

“I do be very pleased to meet you, so, Doctor.”

“Mrs. Auchinleck.”

“The clinic may not be your cup of tea, but I warn you, Nonie, tasting one of Kinky's meals will keep you coming back for the rest of your life.” He laughed. “It's definitely not canteen grub.”

“Will you run away on, Doctor O'Reilly, sir, and not tease a poor Corkwoman? I have an orange sponge in the oven that needs my attention, so. If you'll go into the dining room, sir. I need to hoover the upstairs lounge and I don't want you underfoot. I'll bring you both coffee and a slice of the new cake in a shmall-little minute.”

“Don't say you've already had coffee,” O'Reilly said. “No one should miss out on Kinky's sponge cakes.”

Nonie laughed and said, “I'm easy to convince.”

As they returned to the dining room, he said, “I assume you are seriously interested in the position. Taking over from Jenny, running the well-woman clinic, helping out with call, taking the occasional surgery?”

“I am,” she said. “Doctor Harley and Jenny have already explained the way the clinic runs. Terms of service. Salary. I've learnt all the techniques I'll need.”

O'Reilly pulled out a chair. “Shoo, Lady Macbeth.” The little cat sprang to the floor and promptly made herself comfortable on another chair. “Have a pew,” O'Reilly said. He waited until Nonie was seated and took a chair opposite. “But you don't like working nights?”

She inhaled deeply.

Was she going to bridle? He didn't give her a chance. “Not everybody's a night owl. Brave of you to face it and confess rather than get stuck doing a job you're not cut out for.”

She exhaled. “Thank you.”

“And it sounds as if your training fits the bill.” What he'd seen, he liked, particularly her easy way with Cissie Sloan, and it was imperative to fill Jenny's position. If Barry had had severe reservations, Fingal was sure he'd not have kept them to himself. “I must discuss this with Barry,” O'Reilly said, but was happy enough with the prospect of hiring her. “I'll have to wait until the surgery's over, and it's already running late, but can I reach you by phone in RMH after lunch?”