Man, woman, and child(50)

cian."

"Could you page her anyway? Say it's for Professor Beckwith."

She reluctantly complied. Within minutes Nicole Guerin breezed into the emergency room, clad in a white coat, her dark hair tied back in a pony tail.

"Follow me," she said to Bob, and led him briskly down a corridor. She stopped by a door marked

RADIOLOGIE.

"Please step in here," she said.

The room was crammed with x-ray paraphernalia. A white-haired technician appeared to be in the process of closing shop. Nicole addressed him.

"Paul, I need cranial x-rays on the patient—to check for possible fracture."

"Now? But Nicole I am just going off for din-

ner-"



''Now, Paul. If you please." *'Very well," he sighed. '1 capitulate to your smile."

Some fifteen minutes later, she was studying the inside of Bob's skull.

"Are my brains intact?" he quipped, to cover his anxiety.

'Tm not a psychiatrist," she smiled. "But I don't see any signs of fracture. You might have a mild concussion, but there's no way of determining that from these photographs. Basically, I think you're just 'shook up,' as you say in America."

"What should I do?" he asked.

"For the moment sit down and I'll re-dress your wound."

As she wrapped a new bandage around his head. Bob made polite conversation.

"I guess you don't do this sort of thing too often. I mean, being a pathologist."

"I'm only a specialist two days a week," she replied. "The rest of the time I'm a real doctor. You know, broken arms, measles, crying babies. In Sete, where I live. Do you know Sete?"

"Doctor, all I've seen is the inside of a lecture room and the chamber of commerce tour. You know —Roman ruins, Le Peyrou, the aqueduct . . ."

"Fascinating," she said sarcastically. "And you'll return to MIT without seeing the lovely fishing village where the poet Valery was bom and died? I can't allow that. Look, I'm off duty—let me take you right now. It's the perfect time of day."

I^Uh-I don't think I could," said Bob.

"A previous engagement?"

"Well, sort of . . ." (Tm not only engaged, I'm married.)



Her dark brown eyes fixed on him. She spoke good-humoredly.

''Be frank—if I were a middle-aged man you would have accepted, right?''

He was embarrassed.

''Come on, Professor, the sea air will do you good. And, if you like, that's a medical order/'

Before he knew it, they were in her red Dau-phine, speeding south on the N 108. And she was right. The breeze coming off the ocean did clear his head considerably. And his mood.

"Where'd you learn such fluent English, Doctor?"

"Nicole," she corrected him. "We are in the midst of the new French Revolution, so everyone is on a first-name basis. Anyway, I spent a year in your city."

"Cambridge?"

"Well, Boston, actually. I had a clerkship in pathology at the Mass General. It was absolutely wonderful."

"Why didn't you stay on?"

"Oh, I was tempted. And my department head was willing to pull the necessary strings. But in the end I decided that even the greatest medical facilities couldn't compensate for what I have in Sete."

"Which is?"

"Well, the sea. And a very special feeling of being home."

"You mean family?"

"No. They're all gone. The villagers are my family. But I was born here and I want to die here. Besides, they could use a young doctor. Also my clinic is right above the best bakery in France."

"What about Montpellier?"



"I just keep the affiliation in case I need to hospitalize my Setois."

*Tou seem very happy," said Bob.

She looked at him with a smile. Her bronzed face glowed in the setting sun.

"Oh, some people think Vm crazy. I actually turned down a post in Paris. But since I live by my own definitions, I can say I'm a very happy woman. Are you happy. Bob?"

*Tes," he replied, and seizing the opportunity, added, "Fm very happily married."

They flew along the highway, the Mediterranean on their left.



^ETE WAS LIKE A LITTLE VeNICE. ExCEPT FOR THREE

small bridges, the old port was completely encircled by canals.

The restaurant reverberated with loud conversations in southern dialect, raucous laughter and song, and the obbligato of clinking glasses.

"What are they celebrating?" Bob asked as they sat at an outdoor table.

"Oh, the day's catch, the revolution—or maybe just life," she replied.

She ordered a bourride, the local fish stew, and a white wine from Narbonne. Bob grew increasingly uneasy. This was getting more and more like a date. Maybe he should have left with Harrison, after all.

"Are you married?" he asked.