Arthur

“Who’s Dr. Dropp?” I ask as soon as we’re settled in the back of the limo to go home.

“Anita Dropp. She’s the obstetrician who delivered me. Well, all my brothers, too. And my nieces and nephews. She was one of the first female obstetricians in Avonia, actually.”

I raise one eyebrow. “Lars is turning forty this year, yes?”

“Yes,” Tessa answers in a curt tone that says she knows where I’m going with this and she is not the least bit interested in coming along. “So?”

“She’s got to be positively ancient. I mean, how steady could her hands be at that age?”

“What does that matter?”

“Her one job is to catch the baby, and she probably won’t be ready and the poor little thing on his head and he’ll end up in the special needs class.”

“Arthur!”

“What? The least we should demand in an obstetrician is someone who won’t drop the baby.”

“She’s not going to drop the baby.” She rolls her eyes at me. “She’s getting up there, I suppose, but I’d much rather have someone who’s seen it all and been through it all than some doctor who hasn’t had the ink dry on his medical degree yet.” She sits up and folds her arms across her chest.

“It’s a moot point, really,” I say with a shrug. “We have an official royal obstetrician who will deliver our children.” 

“An official royal obstetrician?” Tessa asks in her best snooty voice.

“Yes,” I answer, opening the small fridge to get a bottle of water. I offer her one, but she shakes her head. “He’s the best in the nation. Hands down. Head of obstetrics at Valcourt Memorial.”

“I really don’t see that as a plus. He’s probably too busy to properly care for his patients.”

“Well, he won’t be too busy for you, I can assure you of that.”

“That’s a little elitist, don’t you think?”

I nod. “That’s because we are the elite. Now, normally I agree with you when it comes to equality of all, blah, blah, blah, but when it comes to the safety and well-being of our baby, I think insisting on the best of the best is no different than what any other father out there would do if he could.”

“Arthur! What a terrible thing to say. All babies are important.”

I stifle the urge to wrinkle my nose at the notion, knowing this discussion really won’t get us anywhere. “How about this? We meet with both of them and see who we like better?”

“Who I like better. This really does impact me so much more than you, don’t you think?”

“Of course. It’s your body. Your choice.” I lean down and give her a peck on the cheek. “Just as long as you make the right choice.”

Tessa smacks me on the arm.

“Ouch! You’re getting so violent now that you’re pregnant.” I rub the spot where she hit me. “And you may have lost your sense of humour as well. I was only joking.”

“So, we’ll go with Dr. Dropp, then?”

“God, no.” I grin at her to let her know I’m joking, then let my smile fade, feeling the weight of this decision. “I am serious about wanting the best for you and the baby, though. The two of you are by far the most important people in my life, now and forever. So, will you do me a big favour and let me make sure we minimize any possible risk for both of you?”

Tessa sighs. “Fine. We’ll meet your option as well.”

“Thank you.”

***

I’M AT MY DESK WITH a pile of paperwork so tall, I can hardly see over it. I select the folder filled with congratulatory certificates for me to sign first. Might as well warm up with something mind-numbingly easy. I sigh, feeling very irritated with my father, who has just left on another trip to God-knows-where for a month, leaving me with the lion’s share of the ruling again whilst he’s off having fun. Normally, I’m happy to have him out of the country so I don’t have to deal with his crusty moods, but right now I’m in one myself.

It’s a combination of a lack of sleep and lack of sex that has my patience worn thin at the moment. I don’t expect Tessa to want to do the horizontal tango in her current state, but the truth is that I’ve grown rather fond of having regular dance classes in the past year and a half, and now that there is literally no possibility, Excalibur and I are feeling a little pouty.

Not that either of us would dream of telling Tessa. Poor thing is so sick that I’m actually quite worried. At this point, I think she may have lost weight in the last couple of weeks, which I find rather alarming. I also feel a tremendous amount of guilt for being responsible for the source of her current state. And if I were to be really honest, I’d admit that I feel powerless, which is not my normal condition. No man likes to feel powerless, certainly not one who has been given power over an entire kingdom for many years already. But with this, I have to sit back and watch.

Or do I? Maybe I can convince the obstetrician to squeeze us in today and he’ll have some miracle cure for morning sickness. Deciding the certificates can wait, I press the intercom button and ask Vincent if he’s managed to get an appointment with Dr. Glastonbury.

Vincent clears his throat twice before answering. Never a good sign. “I’m afraid I have bad news. Dr. Glastonbury is taking an early retirement, starting in two months.”

“He’s what?”

“Retiring. Moving to Costa Rica, actually.”

“Can’t he wait until February?”

Vincent pauses, which is what he does when he thinks I’m being unreasonable. “I’m afraid not. He’s very much intent on leaving before winter sets in. He did provide me with a list of qualified candidates, however. There are three in total that have been under his tutelage for several years now.”

Dammit. This isn’t what I wanted to hear. Now Tessa’s going to want to go with Dr. Dropp The Baby. I open my mouth to speak, but Vincent cuts me off. “I’ve already taken the liberty of ordering record checks on them all. We should have the results by next Monday. Would you like to interview them at that time?”

“Yes, please set that up.”

***

7 WEEKS

It’s nearly nine o’clock on Wednesday morning, and I’m about to interview the first candidate for the position of official royal obstetrician. Tessa is going to meet me in the conference room where the interview will be held, and I’m putting last-minute touches on my questions before I go in. By noon, we should have the very best choice in care for Tessa and the baby, which shall most definitely take a load off my mind.

First up is Dr. Dev Patell, who graduated first in his medical class and has been practicing gynecology and obstetrics for twelve years. Second will be Ted Yates, whose grandmother is an old friend of my gran. Last we have Dr. Mary O’Rourke, who won the Avonian Healthcare Award in 2014. I intend to find out what caused her to lose every year since. 

The alarm on my smart watch tells me my time is up. I gather my papers and a small bag of medical supplies that Vincent procured for me and hurry out of my office. The first test will be to see if the good doctor has already arrived or not. Two points if he’s waiting.

When I pull open the door, Tessa is standing by the window with a thin man who I presume is Dr. Dev Patell. They’re holding cups of tea, which tells me he was early, and they’re both laughing about something, which tells me he’ll be able to put my wife’s mind at ease. Four points for Patell already. I drop my folder and bag on the table, then stealthily retrieve my first test item from my pocket.

“Hello,” I say, walking towards him. “You must be Dr. Patell.”

“I am, indeed. A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.” He sets his tea on the side table and turns to shake my hand.

“Think fast!” I say as I lob a cricket ball at him.

He catches it with deft hands whilst Tessa yells, “Arthur! What are you doing?”

“Checking the good doctor’s hand-eye,” I say. “If you can catch a ball you weren’t expecting, I bet you have no trouble catching a baby you’ve been waiting on for hours. Great hands, Dr. Patell.”

I finish crossing the room to him and hold out my hand to the bewildered looking doctor. He gives me back the ball, then we shake hands, each with a firm grip. “I’m Arthur. As you know, we’re interviewing three candidates for the position of official royal obstetrician. Congratulations on making the short list.”

Tessa’s head snaps back in surprise, then she gives me that look her mother gives Bram when he uses his fingers to take a turkey leg off the platter. She then smiles at Dr. Patell. “What Arthur means to say is that we’re very grateful you found time to meet with us today, and we’re looking forward to getting to know you a little.”

Dr. Patell smiles. “And I, you. It’s only natural for first time parents to want to make the best choice when it comes to the care and well-being of both the mother and child. And it’s to everyone’s benefit to make sure we’re a good fit before we embark on this long and emotional journey together.”

Oh, he’s smooth. Maybe a little too smooth. What’s his game? I wonder...

We get seated at the table, me next to Tessa and Patell on the opposite side. I open my folder and pick up my pen. “I have a list of questions prepared, all, I’m sure, are very routine. Have you ever lost a patient through death?”

His smile fades. “Sadly, yes. As an obstetrician, you will inevitably encounter certain medical conditions or genetic complications that don’t allow for the healthy arrival of a child.”

Slippery answer. “Yes, obviously, but more to the point, have you ever lost a patient due to your negligence?”

“No, of course not.”

I jot the word ‘defensive’, then move on. “Have you ever misplaced a baby, even for just a few minutes?”

“No, never,” Dr. Patell says, glancing from me to Tessa.

Tessa tries to peer over my arm at the sheet in front of me, but I manage to block her view, knowing she’ll hate most of these questions.

I write ‘very’ in front of the word ‘defensive’. “Have you ever dropped a baby on his or her head or otherwise?”

“Dropped a...no, not once.”

“I noticed on your Facebook page that you collect rare wines.”

“Yes, it’s a hobby my wife and I share.” He smiles again.

“Isn’t that nice?” Tessa says. “What do you consider the best bottle in your collection?”

“I managed to get my hands on a ‘91 Richebourg Domaine Leroy,” he tells Tessa. “I had a glass of it once at an event. Pure magic. We’re saving it for our twentieth anniversary next year.”

“Oh, sounds lovely. That’s a Burgundy, right?” Tessa asks.

“It is.”

I relax back in my chair a bit. “So, I imagine you must drink wine on a fairly regular basis, then?”

“One or two glasses with dinner, but never when I’m on call.”

“Really? Never?”

“Never.”

“So you’ve never gotten drunk and or high when you were on call?”

“No,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Not even once, say, on New Year’s Eve?”

‘Not once, nor would I.”

“Hmm. Okay.” I jot down ‘request lie detector test’, then keep going. “Have you ever misdiagnosed an extreme case of indigestion for pregnancy?”

Dr. Patell laughs suddenly and shakes his head. “Oh, I get it. You two are putting me on, aren’t you?” 

Tessa laughs uneasily while I raise one eyebrow. “I take that as another no.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you have mistaken indigestion for pregnancy?”

“Yes, that the answer was no.” He gives me a confused look for a moment. “So, you are serious right now?”

“Very.” I flip to page two of my questionnaire. “We’ve now reached the demonstration phase of our interview.” I reach into my bag and take out a fetal heart rate monitor. “Can you name this item?”

Dr. Patell folds his arms across his chest. “It’s a Doppler Fetal Heart Monitor.”

“Righto,” I say, checking off that item on my sheet. “I’m going to start my stopwatch, hand you the device and time you to see how quickly you’re able to obtain a heartbeat from my wife’s belly.”

I find the stopwatch app on my phone and start to count. “On three, two—”

The sound of the door closing interrupts me, and I look up to see that Dr. Patell is gone. I look at Tessa, who sighs with a ‘what the fuck was that?’ expression on her face.

I shrug my shoulder. “He’s clearly not the right one for us.”

***

SO, IT TURNS OUT OBSTETRICIANS are a sensitive bunch. Apparently, they aren’t very sporty either. Based on my little test, only one in three can catch a cricket ball, so in hindsight, I realize I should have gone with something softer, like an orange. They also aren’t used to having anyone question their credentials or motivation behind their chosen profession. But I mean, seriously? These people very obviously have vagina fixations, and nobody thinks to question that?

Long story short, we’re now waiting to get in for an appointment with Dr. Dropp, who Tessa has insisted will not be subjected to my questions under any circumstances. She was very firm on it when push came to shove. I believe her words were, “She’s been present at every birth of every Sharpe for the last forty years, and even though technically this baby will be half-Langdon, she’s exiting a Sharpe vagina, so Dr. Dropp is going to do the catching!”

I really shouldn’t have laughed when she said ‘Sharpe vagina’. It didn’t go over well at the time, but I’m pretty sure once Tess gets her sense of humour back, she’ll find that hilarious.

Anyway, I’ve had Vincent order a background check on Dr. Dropp, but at this point she could turn out to be a serial killer, and my wife will still want to have her deliver the baby.