I tilted my head, concentrating on the gentle cadence of his speech.

His voice was warm, but there was an unusual caution in the way he answered me.

And for reasons I couldn’t explain, I had the unsettling feeling that he knew more about me than he was willing to admit.

After a brief hesitation, he finally replied.

“No,” he said, with a smile in his voice. “I don’t believe we do.”

Embarrassed, I dismissed my suspicion.

Nigel proved exceptionally patient. He explained my condition clearly and discussed experimental treatments with genuine determination.

Over the following year, he became my regular physician, then my friend.

Sometimes he escorted me to the parking lot after appointments, describing the scenery around us.

“It’s one of those clear, sharp blue days,” he told me once.

I laughed. “That sounds lovely.”