Page 2 of A Sight to Behold
The new door sign, a polished brass one, had all their names etched on it. They’d finally arrived at their own office, triggering a celebration with a bottle of sparkling wine the evening before—right after Felix screwed their new door sign in place. It sparkled as brightly in the morning sun as the sight did in Nick’s heart.
87 Harley Street
Nicholas Folsham
Alfie Collins
Felix Leafley
Wendy Folsham
Andre Fernando
Even though it was small and understated, like all the signs on Harley Street, this little brass sign bore his name and filled Nick with pride. Besides the sign, Nick adored this neighborhood. It was peaceful and quiet in the early morning hours.
But he was adamantly ignoring the undercurrent of anxiety, a constant vigilance that kept his heart racing and his palms sweating because he knew that anything one received, no matter how hard earned, could be lost. As quickly as the sign had been installed, it could be removed.
The medical offices on Harley Street were in constant flux. It was a known fact that patients would seek the best care and cutting-edge treatments from experts with degrees and skills from around the world. Discretion reigned regarding the noble patients’ treatments since the Ton rarely acknowledged having undergone improvements, such as vision correction or dental work. But the case was the opposite regarding making or breaking the doctors’ reputations. A happy patient singing a doctor’s praise at Almack’s could bring an influx of new business to a practice on Harley Street or ruin someone with a story ofa procedure gone wrong. That fear of jeopardizing it all was almost worse than the fear of not reaching his goal.
Then he faced the street and took a deep breath of crisp morning air. “Time to perform some miracles today,” Nick said to Chromius. “But first, we need a proper breakfast.” The dog cocked his head to the side, his ears perked up in curiosity.
In these early morning hours, Nick usually prepared for the patients scheduled for the day. Today, he needed to prepare himself and calm his nerves. Steady nerves meant steady hands, the most important part of a successful outcome.
“Number one is the Earl of Langley’s cataract,” Nick told Chromius as if he needed to lay his day’s plans out to his terrier companion and let him know that his signature procedure was first. The Earl of Langley was a demanding and domineering character with old-school manners and a vast network among Europe’s wealthiest families. Nick’s signature procedure, his cataract surgery, would be the first of the day. The terrier emitted a soft, melodious whine which apparently expressed his understanding, so Nick continued to talk as usual on their walk to thepatisserie.
“You probably remember that he was a difficult patient when I first operated on the earl’s right eye a few years ago.”
Chromius gave a quick shake of his fur.
“I know, I know. It’s a risk but he helped Felix, Alfie, Andre, and me to get a toe hold in with the well-paying patients of the Ton, Britain’s aristocracy.” Cocky as the earl was, he’d admitted to his friends that he’d had various procedures done and had thus inadvertently sent Nick some of the best patients—the aristocrats who could pay and wanted none of their ailments to show, at any cost. They paid well for discretion and yet gossiped handsomely. It was the right mix for Nick and the others because they were good at their jobs. Very good. When they made their patients happy, those happy patients sent more. As long as thismill was fed, the young doctors at 87 Harley Street stood to profit handsomely, or at least break even, considering thepro bonocases.
Chromius let out a series of high-pitched yips when they turned the corner, and the bakery came into view.
“Yes, we’re almost there. But you know that the Earl of Langley is one of our first and best clients in London. Without his support, I couldn’t buy you the sausages you like so much.”
Nick attributed most of the earl’s ailments to a life in splendor. He had already removed the cataract on the earl’s right eye, Felix had saved his smile with plenty of gold fillings and porcelain, and Alfie had supplied the concoctions to cure his various other infirmities—and the earl paid handsomely for their discretion and ongoing care. He was the best kind of patient—the needy kind.
The iron handle was cold, and the heavy door with the glass pane screeched as Nick walked into the bakery. It was a little gem in Marylebone, this part of London. He’d gotten to know the owners, a French family from the Loire Valley. ThePatisserie de la Loirewas a small, well-lit shop with just one wire chair at the far end of the glass counter. No matter how early Nick showed up, the display was always stocked with decadent treats: flakey croissants, stuffed mushrooms, braided brioches, and glazed eclairs. The madeleines, however, were never on display. They had to be eaten hot and were made to order. They were the fluffiest golden biscuits, elongated seashells shaped with the sweet aroma of salted butter and powdered vanilla sugar. Felix wouldn’t approve of these lovely breakfasts and preferred that Nick eat something non-sugary, like carrots, instead. But he wasn’t a horse, so the treats at seven in the morning were just fine, thank you very much.
“Ah, voilà Monsieur le Docteur! Come on, come on! I am just powdering another batch. Sit! Please,” the owner said with his lovely French singsong of linked consonants and vowels.
Just when Nick turned at the ring of the small bell over the door, a cold gust of wind from outside sent a chill down his back. And then he felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. A demure being walked in, dressed fashionably in a walking gown of plain cambric muslin, with a simple wrap front and frock back.
Time slowed and Nick’s body hardened. He tried to keep his gaze on the pastries, but he couldn’t help but steal a glance at her face. Perfect features would have been an understatement. Rules of harmony could learn from the combination of what he should know were just eyes, a nose, and cheeks. But her lips were so pink that a raspberry in a swirl of cream would envy her. A few stray curls fell from her hood and looked softer than the ermine trim. It was absurd, madness, and probably assault if he tried, but his hand flinched with the need to caress the stray curl and tuck it behind her ear. Nick’s mind wandered to a kiss, but he controlled himself by clenching his fist and burying his hands in his pockets.
Nonsense. He needed breakfast before preparing for surgery.
He blinked over his shoulder again. Her pelisse of emerald-colored sarcenet trimmed all around with ermine flew up in an elegant wave as she stepped inside the patisserie. The fabric wrapped around her figure, and he imagined running his hands along the glossy fabric—this had to stop! He wasn’t fourteen.
Nick squared his shoulders and dug his fists deep into his pockets. Madeleines would have to be enough. He had to get out of here.
She wore a lined hood low on the forehead, tied with a bow in the same shade of green. Oh, he’d pluck the hood off her head and take a deep breath of her perfume. She smelled like freshflowers and green leaves, the essence of morning and freshness and—he gulped—virtue.
Nick froze. His mouth had gone dry, his body hard, and his mind blank. Every last hair on the back of his neck pricked up. He’d get the pastries and leave.
Unfortunately, that’s not how it played out.
Chapter Two
