The year 1949. Patrick arrives.
Mrs. Applebee Thornton, that gentle soul, was taking a secret inspection of her brother who finally was sitting there in their Nonnatus House apartment. He was not anymore the dashing young man with an unblemished, dreamy face, but a lean, gentlemanly figure with slightly stooping shoulders. His face wore the marks of a life lived, with a few lines. There was some silver in his hair. She was pleased with what she saw. Sometimes she mused that same question that Doctor Tracy had once wondered: what it would take to make him live a little again? In his professional life, he was a risk taker. It was rumoured that his work in America had made him not only famous but rich. If he had heard it, he would have laughed ironically.
He was commenting his finances to his brother-in-law in a lively manner.
"Research, James, it does not pay. Not even in America. But I am glad I went there. A new country, a new beginning."
"Surely you, more than most of us, deserve a new beginning. To work at the London lab now, that is fantastic for you," James Applebee-Thornton pondered.
"Yes, the neurological research group is exactly what I have hoped for. With Aubrey as the head, we will get this polio vaccination project ahead in full speed."
"You yourself could be the head of that department. "
"Yes, but I have a too checkered past for that."
"Do you really think the Nonnatus Foundation will care about that now, after the war and everything?"
The details of his private life were rarely touched, even if the brothers-in-law had a very good rapport.
"I meant my checkered past in research. First obstetrics, then virology and neurology. My years in North Africa left me a bit behind as well. I might still do some clinic work, if you will have me."
"Pregnant women and small children, Patrick. That is the Nonnatus focus. Are you sure you'd like to earn some pounds with us? I could organize you a shift or two. Once a week, perhaps?"
"Sure, I'd like that. I am an old war horse. Send me to the beaches, sorry, breeches." He gave his best Churchill imitation: "We shall fight them to the beaches."
After laughter died down, his sister said:
"I am afraid that childbirth is still blood, toil, tears and sweat."
"That is what our father suffered in The Somme. Surely his offspring can stand a few years of the same?"
"Yes. Prepare yourself for a perhaps too friendly welcome," James warned. "Doctors and eligible men were missing in Poplar for the duration of the war. You'll be twice appreciated. There are new nurses both here and at the London, and a few female doctors or medical students as well, all eagerly waiting for you."
"I might be expecting them, too, with pleasure. Once, I might have preferred a pair of enemy binoculars to any of them."
His sister took his tea cup and gave him a concerned look. She was not sure if his suave nonchalance was real or a camouflage of something. She decided to take a plunge:
"But Patrick, surely you are thinking of getting married again? I wouldn't want to spoil our first evening with sadness. But now that Peggy is...gone, shouldn't you think about it? You're not so young anymore, remember."
"Phew, thanks for the reminder. From my older sister." There was a general hilarity. "Yes, Jane, I will think about it. There are certain qualifications, though, that must be met. I want someone with a firm mind and sensible values. I might fall in love with any lady under forty, if I didn't keep some standards. "
Jane looked still anxious.
He patted her hand. "Jane, dear, I have given this some thought. You know I have. I have had my share of youthful follies and tragedies. I have paid a price and won my personal freedom. Now I am ready to lose it. Sensibly. " His voice sounded a bit melancholy.
Jane and James looked at each other. "Well, that could be the right attitude, " Jane conceded. "As far as these things are dependent on a good plan."