the least I can do. I didn’t go to war. I suppose this is my way of making amends.”
“Making amends? Whatever for? No one thinks less of you because you did not fight, if that’s what you mean. No one that matters anyway.”
He smiled at the thought that she was counseling him.
“Tell me, what decided you upon this course of medicine?” she had asked one day. He gave her a brief sketch of his mother and she had looked at him with such sympathy that he felt afresh the wound of that long-ago summer. Had he been given cause to describe the perfect woman, he would not have imagined someone quite like Esther, but now that he knew her, no one else would ever come close. It was as subtle and as simple as the way she held herself, the sideways sweep of her gaze when something amused her, the low timbre of her voice that made him want to lean forward and listen even more closely to what she was saying. It was the way she entered a room, the light in her eyes as if she was about to recount something wonderful that she’d saved just for him. That she was the wife of an old school chum caused him even more anguish than the fact that she was his patient—for she would not be his patient forever, but she would always be married to someone else.
He found himself to be at the mercy of his own desires in a way that he had never before experienced. It disrupted his sleep, made him careless of the others. Despite the longing that plagued him day and night, he vowed that she should never know of his feelings. He owed that to her as her doctor.
* * *
It was ridiculous to hope, but when she called him by his Christian name before Christmas dinner it was as though she too acknowledged their deepening friendship. Such a small gesture meant everything.
The rest of that day passed in a blur for Richard. After the austerity of prior years the table almost bowed with the weight of food upon it and everyone ate heartily. Mrs. Biggs had boiled up a pudding, sweetened with honey and dried fruit, and he held it aloft as, doused in liquor, blue flames danced about its surface.
“There’s a thruppenny bit in there for one lucky lad,” said Mrs. Biggs, who had downed several more sherries by this point.
“Or lass,” said Robbie, angling his spoon at Esther.
Try as he might, Richard could not keep his eyes from returning to Esther, caring less as the evening wore on and the level in the wine bottles grew lower, that anyone might notice. He watched the way her face glowed in the candlelight; how gentle she was with Robbie and his doll. As they ate the pudding, he saw her take a spoonful and a puzzled look appeared on her face. She raised her napkin to her lips and delicately spat into it and he worried for a moment that something was wrong.
“It appears I am the lucky one in this instance,” she said, holding a coin up for all to see.
He caught a split-second look of disdain on Jean’s face, as if she’d just at that moment thought of something unpleasant. He couldn’t be certain, but it looked very much like jealousy. He dismissed the notion. Jean was an excellent nurse, even if she was at times a little humorless.
He returned his attention to Esther, who was beaming at them all, delighted by her good fortune. He hoped the coming year would prove luckier for her than the current one had—she, as much as any of the men under his care, deserved it.
Chapter Thirty-Two
St. Mary’s, Spring 2018
Rachel was soaking in a scalding hot bath, her injured hand hanging over the side, when there was a loud banging at her door. Scrambling to wrap herself in a towel, which was no easy task with only one usable hand, she went downstairs to see who it could be.
“Halloo!” A male voice boomed through the door.
Jonah.
“Come on in,” she called out from the bottom of the stairs. “It’s unlocked. I won’t be a sec, just getting changed.” She raced back up the stairs and awkwardly pulled on a pair of tracksuit pants and a sweater. It felt good to be back in her own clothes again. Pushing her feet into a pair of UGGs and drying her hair with a towel, she padded back