Authors Notes: This has been the hardest chapter to write - My inner Richard wasn't willing to play but he had to be written.
Part Two
The thing that Richard had come to appreciate most about being a doctor, more importantly being a doctor in a busy cottage hospital, was that there was always something to do. Between rounds, minor surgery and the tedious bore of paperwork he could practically fill his eight to five day with a little time for a quick lunch break thrown in. Then there were home visits, whether to deliver babies, deal with the latest health crisis of someone at the big house or to check in on a patient after discharge. Free time was something he had little of. Before Isobel he had frequently worked into the night, often falling asleep in his office. Her presence in his life, the evolution of their relationship from friends to lovers, had curtailed that. Instead he stayed at Crawley House, sneaking back to the cottage to wash and change before making an early start on work. He had gone to great lengths to made sure that nothing at the hospital suffered because he finally had a life. Or at least he had tried to have a life, carefully juggling the hospital, Isobel, and his social standing, while not being able to share his happiness with anyone.
As the door to Crawley House had swung shut behind him he had stood still, struggling to catch his breath in the wake of what had transpired. His head was spinning, and his feet seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move under the weight of his shock. Minutes passed before he regained his composure, an internal debate carrying on in his head about what to do next. A light flicked on in her bedroom and he watched as a shadow moved in front of the window. He waited a minute longer, hoping she would come to the window but instead the light went off plunging the room back into darkness. Heavy hearted he moved one foot in front of the other, intent on heading home. Thankfully it was a well worn path because his mind remained elsewhere.
He loved Isobel, in truth probably had almost from the day she had walked into the hospital for the first time. Even then he had been a little in awe of her. Women were supposed to be meek, doting and agreeable but she was anything but. A woman ahead of her time he had called her more than once as they argued about a patient or she came to him journal in hand pushing for a new procedure. He had fallen in love, head over heels, with her but she was way out of his league so he had admired from a far. It had taken the announcement of war for them to lower the emotional wall that had held firm between them, then a particularly intense argument had changed everything. For years they had conducted a relationship, one that was founded in love, built on honesty and steeped in passion. Those things hadn't changed, nor had the world, despite living through a war, and when faced with announcing themselves to the world, he had again been reminded that she was out of his league. As he headed home, he allowed himself to become lost in his own thoughts, happy memories merging with recollections from the evening. When he finally brought himself back to reality, trying to persuade himself that things would look better come dawn, he found himself at the gate to the hospital. With a sigh of resignation, he pushed open the gate and made his way down the corridor towards his office.
The nurses on duty, if a little surprised to see him, welcomed him with a smile. For a few minutes he allowed them to update him on his patients, signing charts and giving orders before slipping away.
Richard had unbuttoned his jacket as he settled himself at his desk. The files were as he left them, piled high, awaiting his notes. Once upon a time he wouldn't have left the hospital until they were complete and filed but dinner with Isobel was more appealing and he had rushed out of the door at six. Frustrated and in need of something else to focus on, he pulled the pen from his pocket and began to work his way through the folders. Paperwork probably wasn't the best distraction for his mood, he had quickly discerned, if anything it allowed his mind to wander with boredom, but sleep was proving evasive and laying awake thinking about her was only going to add to his despair. Better to keep busy and be practical at the same time.
A knock on the door broke into his reverie and he found himself calling, "Come."
A nurse appeared in the door way clutching a cup of steaming tea. "I thought you might like some tea, doctor."
"Thank you," he said with a weak smile, tossing his pen on the desk.
"I found a couple of biscuits in the tin so I popped them on the saucer for you." She gave him a conspiratory smile and placed the cup on the desk in the middle of his self perpetuated chaos.
His nurses, it seemed, were quite fond of him, if the constant supply of tea, cakes and biscuits were any indication. That, and the fact not a single one of them had abandoned him since the war broke out. They had taken on the extra work at the big house without complaint, rewarding his faith in them with miracles of their own. Even with the return to peacetime they had stayed, adapting to the changing needs of the hospital.
"If you don't mind me saying, you should get some sleep. It will be light soon enough."
Richard glanced down at his watch and was startled to see it was after two. "I'd forgotten how involved one can get. If someone can wake me at six I'll take the cot here tonight."
She nodded. "Of course, I'll get Maud to knock before we start breakfast." Satisfied, that he was going to be staying, the nurse left.
The tea was strong and hot, just the way he liked it, which only served to remind him of the woman he had left almost four hours before. Isobel had a strength that he admired. Even in the wake of Matthew's injury, she had kept herself together, nursing him and still raising money for the hospital. Throughout the war she had served by his side, baring witness to some of the most horrific injuries with constant love and compassion. He was in awe of Isobel and he loved her with a passion he hadn't thought himself capable of. Respect had come two-fold with love. That love had ceased to be enough, it had proved not to be unconditional. Her conditions for them to be together were more than he could agree to.
As he removed his jacket and tie and hung up his shirt, his thoughts were of her, and the look of devastation on her face as he left. He knew she didn't understand but he wasn't sure he could explain his reservations to her without admitting how profoundly he cared. How could she respect him after he lay himself bare to her. And his explanation wasn't going to change the impasse they now found themselves at. There was no going back. She had made it clear with her desire for them to be married.
Pulling the single white sheet over him, he lay down on the metal bed, thumping the pillow in frustration until it moulded to his head. He had imagined his night ending slightly differently but in resignation he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
...
Richard slowly opened his eyes and scrunched them tightly closed again as sunlight streamed into the room. Rolling over to face the wall, he tried again. As he became accustomed to the bright light he remembered where he was which in turn lead to his remembering why. He could think of more pleasant ways to wake up, all of which involved having his arms around her tiny frame, his fingers tangled in her hair, her lips quite frankly anywhere on his body. He let out a groan as he felt the all too familiar stirrings in his body and tried unsuccessfully to will them away. He struggled to sit up, tugging the sheet with him in case anyone dare enter his office unbidden, his feet landing finally on the cold wooden floor. Gripping the sheet with one hand, he ran his free hand over his face, rubbing the last hint of sleep from his features and noting the first hint of stubble. How easy it would be to allow the beard to grow, to become rugged and unkempt as he had during the African war, but he was a young man then, one with fewer responsibilities. Unfortunately people seemed to prefer their doctor to be clean shaven and professional which meant he needed to get cleaned up. He wondered what Isobel would make of him should he give in to youthful temptation but those thoughts brought him back to reality with a bump. In truth he couldn't imagine she thought much at all of him at the moment.
A timid knock on the door broke into his reverie and he held the sheet a little firmer as he made his way towards the chair and his clothes. "Yes?"
"Would you like a cup of tea, doctor?" Maud asked through the door.
Another shift, another nurse and more tea – it was a familiar pattern.
"In about five minutes, thank you Maud."
He heard the gentle clomp of shoes against tile as she headed off down the corridor.
Quickly he dressed in the same suit he had worn the previous evening, pulling on his white coat to conceal the fact. He was just ransacking the drawer where he kept his toiletry kit when there was another knock on the door.
"I brought you some tea. There is a choice of porridge or toast for breakfast," another nurse announced as he permitted her entry.
"Toast, please. I'll clean up and then I'd like to start rounds." If he was fortunate, rounds would take up the majority of his morning, focusing his attention on something other than Isobel.
It was lunch time before he returned to his office. In the intervening hours someone had been in and removed the empty cups and made up the bed in the corner. His desk, as always remained untouched, everyone but Isobel too scared to move anything for fear of setting off his temper.
He hadn't expected to her to come to the hospital, he wasn't even sure if she would ever want to work with him again, but that didn't prevent him for looking out for her. Every time the door opened he glanced up, only to be disappointed by whoever entered, his thoughts drifting off when the nurses voice at his side wasn't hers. As he went about his day - the rounds, the examinations, removing the splinter from little Georges finger - he tried to suppress the feeling that he had lost the best thing that ever happened to him, but it continued to nag at him constantly. If the other nurses were surprised by her absence no-one questioned it, at least in his presence, which made him wonder how careful they had really been.
The day finally over and the handover complete he returned to his office to remove his white coat and fetch his jacket. It had been a long day, with little time to dwell on the future, and in some ways that had made it easier. The walk to the cottage took him in the opposite direction to Crawley House but he couldn't resist the urge to glance in that direction. The house looked exactly as it always did, a solitary light on in her bedroom, curtains drawn against the cool Autumn evening, signs that she was home. His heart was heavy as he turned back to the road and continued on his way, knowing as he did so that he had a night alone to think about her. It was going to be a long one.
