Canadian West Collection, page 119
“I shouldn’t be too late,” she called to her aunt.
“Have a good evening, dear,” Mary responded just as the hall phone rang.
“Do you want me to get it? I’m still right here,” Christine called again.
“Please, dear.”
Christine lifted the receiver, hoping to hear her mother’s voice. “Hello.”
“Hello. Miss Delaney?”
“Yes?” Christine was hesitant.
“This is Eric Carlton. Remember me? The cola and coffee guy?” There was teasing in his voice.
“Of course. How are you?” Christine was more than a little surprised.
“I’m great. Just great. In fact—I’d like to celebrate. And I thought of you.”
Christine frowned. Did the doctor have the right number? She hadn’t even spoken to him in weeks.
“I’m listening,” she managed.
“I just completed my residency and have been offered a position. Right here at General.”
“That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. So . . . I know this is . . . rather out of the blue. But I wondered if I could ask you to help me celebrate being a working, full-fledged doctor of medicine.” He finished in rather a rush.
“I . . . I was just going out the door. Down to Hope Canteen.”
“To help out?”
“Yes.”
“Do they expect you?”
“Well . . . not definitely. I mean, I go when I can. We all do.”
“So if you didn’t show up, you wouldn’t be breaking a promise.”
Christine hesitated. “No . . . not really.”
“Then would you mind changing your plans?”
Christine was caught totally off guard. “What . . . what did you have in mind?”
“Dinner.”
“I’ve had dinner.”
“Then would you come with me and watch me eat?” She could tell by his voice he was joking again. “Seriously,” he hurried on, “I will grab a bite here at the cafeteria and pick you up about seven. There is a concert tonight at the Opera Hall—full orchestra. I thought we might catch that if you’re interested. Then pop out for coffee afterward. Promise—I’ll try to find something better than what you’d get here.”
“A concert?”
“It’s billed as a tribute to Mozart.”
“Mozart?” She was sounding awfully dense, she knew.
“How about it?”
“I guess I could. Yes, that will be fine.”
“Thanks. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Christine cradled the phone, still in shock. The call was so totally unexpected. She had almost forgotten that Eric Carlton even existed. Without her daily trips to the hospital, she had pushed all thoughts of the whole experience from her mind. Now she stood dumbly looking down at her skirt and blouse, trying to get through her benumbed brain that if she was going to a concert instead of the service center, she had to change. But she wasn’t moving.
“Who was it, dear? Your mother?”
Christine stirred. “No. No . . . a friend. I’ve been invited to a concert.”
“That’s nice. You need to get out more.”
Christine turned and slowly climbed the steps to her room, her sweater still over her arm. She guessed she wouldn’t be needing that either.
It had been so long since she had gone out for an evening of entertainment that she scarcely knew where to start in getting prepared. At last she shook out her mental cobwebs and headed for her closet. She had the lovely suit from Henry’s wedding. She had scarcely worn it since. It had seemed a bit too dressy for church. She pulled it out and stood looking at it, then one hand reached out and brushed the smooth material. Yes, she would wear it. It should be fine for the concert.
She had showered that morning, but she decided it didn’t seem right to put on the beautiful suit without first bathing. She sprinkled bath salts liberally in the water as she filled the tub. The pleasing aroma was deliciously jasmine. Not too strong, but rich enough to be noticed.
Once in her suit, she sat down at the dressing table. She would have to do something with her hair. Her usual casual style didn’t go with the fancy suit at all. She wound it this way, tucked it up that way, and liked nothing she tried. At last she picked out some decorative combs Henry had given her one Christmas. She brushed it back and up, pinned it with the combs, then let it fall in a cascade about her shoulders. It wasn’t perfect, to her thinking, but it would do.
She was just patting a bit of powder on her nose when she heard the doorbell. Gathering her purse and her self-confidence, she slowly descended the stairs.
She hardly recognized him as the same man without his stark hospital whites. A dapper, black-striped, double-breasted suit included a handkerchief that matched his checked tie tucked in the pocket. The white shirt fairly rustled with crispness. For one brief moment they stood and stared at each other. Then he seemed to recover and smiled. “Miss Delaney.”
He held out a bouquet of flowers.
Christine noticed that Aunt Mary, who had answered the door, had not moved. First looking from one to the other, she then reached out a hand and took the flowers from Christine. “I’ll take care for those for you if you like. You mustn’t be late.”
Christine managed a nod.
“Shall we?” He offered his arm, and Christine accepted it tentatively.
“It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Thatcher,” he said with a nod of his head to Mary.
“Have a nice evening,” she answered, and the door closed behind them.
He didn’t say that she looked lovely. At least not verbally. But Christine got the clear message from his frank approval. He did thank her for accepting his last-minute invitation.
“It wasn’t fair of me,” he admitted as he helped her into the car. “But I just had to try. I thought of you, Christine, the moment I realized I had something to celebrate.”
Christine was surprised. She had hardly remembered their encounters at the hospital.
“In fact, were I to be totally truthful, I’d have to admit that I’ve been doing a good deal of thinking about you over the recent months. But I wanted to get this residency thing out of the way,” he said as he put the car in gear.
Christine flushed, not quite sure what she was to read into his words.
“I haven’t even made it down to Hope Canteen like I’d planned.”
Christine had noticed that—at first. Then it had slipped from her mind, and she’d forgotten all about it. She knew doctors were kept busy.
The concert turned out to be delightful. Christine felt herself becoming totally absorbed by the music. It had been so long since she had been able to sit and thoroughly enjoy something beyond her work and her family. And to be able to forget, momentarily, all the struggles and conflicts of the world. She felt herself relaxing, her mind clearing, her emotions soaring with the music.
Eric caught her eye and gave her a smile. For one moment she wondered if he might reach for her hand and spoil everything, but he did not and she was able to relax again. Soon she forgot everything but the music. The wonderful music that washed over and around her. When they played the slow movement of Mozart’s piano concerto number 21 in C, she closed her eyes and rested against the seat back. That is musical perfection, she mused. Truly Mozart had been a genius. A gift to the world from the Creator of all things beautiful.
All too soon the concert ended, and Christine returned to reality. As they stood with the rest of the audience to offer one final applause to the orchestra, Christine felt both elated and let down. It had been such a wonderfully renewing and stimulating evening that she had hated for it to finish.
“Thank you,” she whispered to her escort. “I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed it.”
He did take her hand then. Just long enough to give it a light squeeze. Then he released it again.
“It was,” he agreed, “and doubly so for me, just watching your face.”
She found herself flushing and was glad for the diversion of making their way through the exiting crowd.
He didn’t ask where she’d like to go. She could tell he already had a restaurant in mind. It was softly lit with rich, plush seats and deep carpeting on the floors. She thought it must be terribly expensive and was about to protest when she remembered that this was his night of celebration. She would not spoil it for him.
They ordered coffee and dessert, the chocolate mousse. The coffee was rich yet mellow. Christine immediately deemed it the best coffee she’d ever tasted. He laughed. “Are you just comparing it to the hospital fare?” But she shook her head.
They visited easily in the elegant surroundings. He spoke of his work and inquired of Henry and Amber. He also asked about her work and how things were going at Hope Canteen.
“Your aunt seems to be a delightful person,” he continued, and Christine launched into a description of her extended family.
Eventually he told her that he was the youngest of four children, born and raised in Calgary. His oldest brother was a university professor, his other brother an attorney, and his sister was married to a minister. She, with her husband and three children, had moved to Victoria. Those being the only grandchildren, the grandparents were missing the little ones.
From snippets of the conversation, Christine came to understand that his was one of the “old” families in the town.
This was confirmed to her when he told her where his folks lived and that his father had been in real estate and development, taking over the business from his father before him.
“Some of the buildings on Main Street were my grandfather’s doing,” he said simply without obvious boast.
He really is very pleasant, thought Christine as she listened to his account of family life. And good-looking. His eyes were especially nice. Very blue, framed by dark lashes. His hands were long and slim, like the hands of a pianist—or a surgeon. Christine was surprised she hadn’t noticed these things before.
“I’d love to have you meet my folks,” he continued, and Christine felt her stomach lurch.
Meet his folks. She was pretty sure she was not accustomed to their kind of living. She had been raised in the North in rather primitive surroundings, the daughter of a police officer. She was used to things being rugged and rustic. She was used to making do and going without. What could she possibly have in common with people who had helped build a city? The very thought frightened her. She tried to force a smile and murmured something like, perhaps one day, or some such noncommittal words, but she did hope that the day would not be soon.
True, she now had a job in a sophisticated city office and managed just fine. True, she presently lived with her Uncle Jonathan and Aunt Mary who had one of the nicest homes in Mount Royal. But it wasn’t her home. She would go back to the North at the least opportunity. She wouldn’t even need encouragement. And she was still hoping with all her heart that such opportunity would eventually come.
“It’s been a lovely evening, but I really should be getting home.”
He did not argue. “I still can’t believe I’ll actually be working days now—except when I am on call,” he commented as he led her to the car door held open by the valet. “It’s going to seem like I’ve been given my life back,” he quipped.
Christine slid into the passenger side, and the valet closed her door. He moved around to Eric’s side and, with a slight bow, held the door for him. Christine saw money change hands and the valet back away with a cheery, “Thank you. Good night to you, Dr. Carlton,” as he tucked the bills in his pocket. So he is known at this fancy restaurant, Christine thought.
It was rather a quiet ride home. Perhaps he is all talked out. Perhaps he is weary after a long day, Christine surmised. In truth, she was glad for the chance to gather her thoughts.
“It’s a shame this was the last concert of the season,” he said, half turning toward her. She wondered where his thoughts had been. “They don’t start again until September.”
Christine had seen the announcement in the program.
“Well, we sure can’t wait for that. What would you like to do?” he asked.
“I’m . . . I’m not sure what you mean,” Christine managed to answer.
“Am I being presumptuous? I was hoping you had enjoyed the evening.”
“Oh, I did,” she said quickly. Maybe too quickly.
“Just the music?” There was teasing in his voice again. She wasn’t sure whether to tease back or be serious.
“No . . . not just the music,” she admitted shyly. “Every part of the evening.”
“Then you will agree to go out again?”
She cast a glance his way. He wasn’t teasing now.
“That depends. If . . . if I . . . if we both think it wise and . . . and desirable, then—”
“I think it would be wise . . . and desirable.”
They were already pulling up in front of the house. The porch light was still on and a dim light shone out from the hall window, though Christine saw no light in the living room. They must have already retired.
“Then . . . perhaps you’d like to call me,” she said softly, “and we’ll talk about it.”
“I’ll do that.” He grinned and opened his door.
When he came around to Christine’s side, he opened her door and waited for her to step out. “You’re not leaving me your purse or a hankie or something so I have an excuse to call tomorrow?” he joked.
She shook her head. His easy banter made her wonder just what she should take seriously. Perhaps a doctor needs a sense of humor—just to make it through some of his days, she decided.
He tucked her arm in his and led her up the sidewalk. “I understand this is where your aunt fell.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that to happen to you, would we, so I’ll just have to hold on tight.”
“My aunt fell on ice,” she rejoined, but even as she said the words she heard him chuckle.
Christine drew out her key, but she had no need of it. The door had been left unlocked.
He stepped back. The overhead porch fixture splashed down light on his head, making it look as if he was wearing an unusual halo. His face was shadowed, but she could hear the earnestness in his voice, even if she could not read his eyes. “I don’t know when I’ve had such a pleasant evening, Christine. I felt like the luckiest guy in the hall tonight, and I’d like to do it again—real soon.”
“There are no more concerts—remember?”
“We don’t need a concert. We’ll make our own music. At least we can go out to dinner—or picnic, or for a walk. Something. Anything.”
She nodded. He must have seen the nod in the semidarkness, for he whispered, “Good. I’ll call you.” Christine watched him walk away with a light step before she gently closed the door.
It was quiet in the house. She flicked off the porch light and proceeded up the stairs to her room. Her head was whirling. What was happening? In some ways he seemed so serious. In others so . . . so casual. She wasn’t sure just how to interpret his manner, his intentions. She had a lot of thinking, a lot of praying to do before she could know her own mind.
She turned on the light to her room and began preparations for bed, but her mind was still totally preoccupied. She had to carefully think some things through before her emotions came into play. She had made a bad mistake before in a relationship. She did not wish to go down that kind of path again.
He does have faith in God. That was the place to start in her inventory. She would never allow herself to be involved with a nonbeliever again. But what else did she really know about him? Henry liked him. That was another big plus. She trusted her big brother’s judgment of people.
He seems to have love and respect for his family. That was good. Family was very important to Christine.
He has a sense of humor. She supposed that was good, though she sometimes found it difficult to know if he was serious or teasing.
He’s from a well-established, probably wealthy, family. That was not a plus in Christine’s thinking. That part scared her. She could picture a mother, prim and sedate, lips tightly pursed, daring some slip of a girl to try to take her son away from her. She could imagine a stern, money-driven father, hands folded over an ample chest, peering out with cold eyes at another young gold digger out to get her hands on a share of the family wealth. It was not a pretty picture. Christine shook her head. She wanted no part of it.
Hastily she pulled her nightgown over her head and knelt to say her evening prayers. But she found it hard to concentrate. She liked Eric Carlton, she really did, but she was afraid of his family’s wealth and prestige. How could she ever live up to the expectations that his family likely would have for her?
She said “Amen” but wondered if she had really talked to God with her rambling, troubling thoughts, or had she simply repeated by rote things she had been saying for many nights?
She turned out the light and climbed into her bed, her thoughts still in turmoil. I don’t know why I said he could call, she chided herself. This little charade can go nowhere. I must find the courage to tell him so when he phones.
And with her mind firmly made up, Christine pulled the covers up to her chin and tried to quiet her troubled heart so she could sleep.
Chapter
Eighteen
Uncle Jonathan summoned Christine to the phone. When she lifted the receiver to her ear and said hello, the first word she heard was, “Dinner?”
“Eric?”
“Actually, this is Bob.”
She recognized his voice. Had she thought more quickly—and dared—she could have responded, “Bob, I’ve been waiting for you to call. I’d love to.” Just to give him a bit of his own medicine. But Christine was not one for that kind of joking. She merely flushed and felt confused.
“It’s Eric,” he said in a more serious tone when she had no reply. “How about dinner?”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight—if possible. If not—at your earliest opportunity.”
“Not tonight. I have plans.”
