‘Oui, très bien,’ Melly complimented. ‘Where? And, more importantly, why?’ she asked lightly. ‘I didn’t have to see him before.’ Registering the woman’s total incomprehension, she gave a wry smile, and because she couldn’t be bothered to dredge up her shaky French she turned to Charles, and silently asked him to translate for her. Which he did with a fluency she envied. He would only intercede if she asked, because he said the only way for her to learn the language fluently was to practise on every conceivable occasion. Which was true, she thought wryly, but it made life very complicated sometimes.
‘She doesn’t know why,’ Charles informed her with a smile. ‘Probably just routine.’ Thanking the receptionist, he collected Melly’s notes and, with a hand solicitously beneath her elbow, escorted her down to the antenatal clinic.
Dr Lafage saw them straight away. Another one who spoke English, which only went to emphasise how lazy the English were at learning foreign languages.
‘Madame, m’sieu,’ he smiled, ‘please be seated. Now, we would like for you to go on the monitor. Yes? You have been on it before, I understand.’ Consulting the notes that Charles had given him, he nodded. ‘Yes, last month.’ Leaning back in his chair, he beamed at her. ‘Tell me how you are feeling. You have backache, perhaps? Headaches?’
‘No. Cramp sometimes, heartburn; other that that, I feel fine.’
‘No dizziness? Faintness?’
‘No.’
‘Bien. You are eating properly?’
‘Yes.’
‘Taking the tablets for the iron and vitamin?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed a little impatiently. ‘Is there some problem?’
‘Well, we hope not. Are almost sure not, but...’
Beginning to feel more and more alarmed, she sought Charles’s hand and then held it tight. ‘But?’
With a long sigh, he explained, ‘Your blood-pressure is a little high—nothing to get alarmed about, just a little higher than we would like. And it might be best if we had you in for a few days, just to be on the side of safe...’
‘But if it’s only a little bit high...’
‘It is true, it is not a matter for too much concern, but we would like for you to rest.’
‘I do rest! And, if I need to rest more, I will!’ she insisted. Her face reflecting her worry, she asked faintly, ‘There’s nothing wrong with the baby, is there?’
‘Non! Non, the baby is fine...’
‘Then why? If the baby is fine...’
‘It is fine; please, you must not get distressed. It is only that we have the minor concern that it is small, not growing as fast as we would like. There is nothing to worry about, but we would like to put you on the monitor, just for safety’s sake for half of the hour, and then, if that is all right, which I’m sure it will be,’ he reassured hastily, ‘you may go home. But next week we would like you to come for another scan.’ Getting to his feet, he waited until they stood and then walked round the desk to escort them to the door. Smiling down at her, he patted her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, all will be well, I’m sure.’
Then why say anything at all? she wondered. Searching his face as he opened the door and beckoned to a passing nurse, trying to see if there was something he wasn’t telling her, she turned to her husband. ‘Charles?’ she asked helplessly.
Taking her face between his palms, he smiled down at her. ‘Stop worrying and do as the doctor says. You go with the nurse; I’ll have a chat with him, find out what I can. Go on, I’ll come along and find you in a minute.’
Nodding, she gave the nurse a worried smile, and accompanied her along to one of the cubicles. Obediently climbing on to the bed, she lay back. What did the doctor mean, small? How small? And what did he mean about not growing? The nurse, unfortunately, didn’t speak English, and all the French Melly had ever known had flown out of her head. All she could remember was how to ask for the pen of her aunt. The damned stupid things they taught you in school. She could conceive of no situation whatsoever when anyone might need to ask for the pen of their aunt! Why couldn’t they teach you useful things? Like how to ask about small babies? Giving an agitated little sigh, she tried to relax. Getting worked up might affect the baby’s heartbeat, which would be picked up by the monitor, and then they would keep her in.
With her tummy exposed and the monitor strapped in place, Melly had nothing to do but listen to the sound of her baby’s heart and watch the numbers jump erratically on the crystal display. The nurse watched them for a moment, nodded as though satisfied, adjusted the paper strip that interpreted the numbers on to a print-out graph, gave Melly’s leg a reassuring pat and left.
Forcing herself to stay calm, she kept her eyes fixed on the numbers, willing them to stay normal. So long as the baby’s heart is beating, everything’s all right, she told herself firmly. So who cares if it’s a small baby? Small babies do fine, better sometimes than larger ones, but what did the doctor mean about its not growing as it should? Not forming properly? Is that what he meant?
Hearing Charles’s voice just outside the cubicle as he spoke to the nurse, she relaxed and sank back. Charles would make sure everything was all right.
‘You look like one of Frankenstein’s experiments,’ he commented with a grin as he pushed through the curtain.
‘It’s what I feel like. What did the doctor say?’
‘Not much more than he said to you.’ Walking to the side of the bed, he picked up her hand and held it comfortingly between his own. ‘I don’t think there’s any need to get worried,’ he said gently, ‘they’re just being careful.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed gratefully. ‘But you would tell me if it was anything—’
‘I promise. Now—’
‘But did you ask him what he meant by the baby’s not growing? Supposing it’s not—’
‘Melly!’ he interrupted. ‘Everything’s going to be fine! Now, tell me what all this gadgetry is for.’
‘You know what it’s for! You were here when they explained it all last time.’
‘I’ve forgotten,’ he said blandly.
She knew he hadn’t, but talking would take her mind off her worries, and if Charles wasn’t concerned... ‘The display on the left is the baby’s heartbeat, the one on the right is mine.’
‘And the print-out is confirmation that all is OK,’ he said confidently. Patting her hand, he released it and walked round to stare at the paper being spewed from the machine.
‘It looks very erratic,’ she ventured nervously.
‘So would you be if you were a tiny baby and that cold disc was plonked right on top of you,’ he said with a smile as he indicated the plate attached to her stomach. ‘Stop worrying!’
‘Yes. I just wish—’
