‘Oh ‒ good, the caddy’s full. Why? Want some?’
‘Yes, please. Don’t you?’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Treating me for shock?’
‘If I was I wouldn’t use tea; you know that’s aged therapy. I just want some. I always do. You must remember that’ ‒ he filled and plugged in the kettle ‒ ‘after the quantities you, Dave, and I drank together.’
‘I remember.’
He could have been being unnecessarily tactless, yet in a peculiar way I found his reminder comforting. It made me remember we knew each other too well for me to have to bother with entertaining him. He neither expected nor wanted that. He wanted to make tea, so I left him to it and sat down watching him wash the cups. It was all I felt fit for. The last few hours after my difficult day’s work and hot train journey had left me physically and emotionally exhausted. The tea when ready began to revive me. ‘May be aged therapy,’ I admitted, ‘but it still works.’
He sat down. ‘The Health Service would have crumbled years ago if it didn’t.’
‘And the industrial economy. No tea-breaks and every factory worker in the country would be out on strike.’
He smiled faintly and fell silent, which again suited me. It was some time before he asked, ‘Had supper yet?’
‘No. I’m not hungry. I’ll get some later.’
He refilled our cups. ‘Would you care to come back to Astead with me for tonight? My godfather’s got five spare bedrooms. Mrs. Lane’ll be glad to get one ready. She enjoys having visitors, and though the old man isn’t over-fond of surprises, he’s very attached to Sister Mary, and as you are here to help her he’d be genuinely pleased to put you up. I’ve already left him entertaining one guest to dinner. Why not join the party? I can ring Mrs. Lane first to let her know we are on our way.’
It was nice of him to ask, even if the idea appalled me. I thanked him and refused. Then, as he had reminded me of his guest, whom I had completely forgotten, I apologised for wrecking his evening and suggested he ought to be on his way.
‘When I’ve finished my tea.’ To my relief he did not press his invitation. ‘They’ll have finished dinner, and Mrs. Lane’ll be keeping mine, so there’s no hurry.’ He saw me look at my watch. ‘They won’t have reached Astead yet.’
‘No.’ I looked at the apple-tree outside the window. I did not really see it. My body was in that kitchen; my mind was in the ambulance with Nick. ‘Robert, why is Stock “Doctor” not “Mister”?’
‘He’s got the double.’
‘Membership plus Fellowship?’ He nodded. ‘Why isn’t he on the Staff?’
‘Muir’s only forty-three. He’s good for years. He got there first. Stock could have had another pundit’s job in one of the rival firms, and I’ve heard a couple dangled for him, but he turned them down.’
‘Why?’ I asked curiously. ‘Most men would give their souls for the job.’
He said, ‘I don’t know him well, but, from what the old man has told me, I should say that there was one particular reason why Stock opted out. He detests back-stairs politics ‒ and you know how much of that pundits have to put up with ‒ he doesn’t like teaching, or London. Also, at the time these offers came up, he needed to make much more money than he could at a teaching hospital. Out here he gets his consultant’s pay and enough time for a private practice. He’s got a big private list. This is an affluent county, and he is very good with eyes. The word has got round. He must now be making at least twice as much as Muir, if not more.’
I thought this over. ‘He doesn’t look like a money grabber.’
‘I didn’t say he was. I said he needed the money.’ He went on to explain how Dr. Stock’s decision to leave the teaching hospitals must have been affected by his having, at that period, to support elderly parents, a widowed sister with a small child, and a younger brother, to whom he was devoted and who had leukaemia. ‘His brother had died first, then both parents a year or so later. His sister married again, and well, last year.’
‘Robert, I am sorry! No wonder that poor man has all that white hair and looks so much older than he must be. Yet he looks so cheerful’ ‒ I stopped myself as a thought struck me. ‘My father says it’s always the people who have known great grief who end up looking the most cheerful of individuals. I guess that’s because, having known the worst, they’ve got a sort of yardstick against which to measure all petty problems.’
‘You’ve got something there,’ he said. ‘I felt something like that after my parents died. I was at school, and everyone was very decent to me. But just after, and for some time, when I heard the other boys getting worked up about Common Entrance or some match, I thought they were all daft. I couldn’t follow how they thought such trivial things mattered. It took a while for that “nothing can hurt me any more” feeling to wear off. Saved a lot of worry.’
I did not say ‘At what a cost,’ but I thought it, and was ashamed it had not occurred to me before to understand why he had seemed happier to stand around watching life rather than join in. ‘How old were you when your parents died?’
‘Eight.’
I looked at my cup. ‘Road?’
‘Plane.’
I said, ‘I’m sorry ‒ but that sounds so inadequate.’
‘I know. There are no words for the things one really wants to say.’ He got up for the kettle.
‘That’ll be cold,’ I protested, so he plugged it in again, and added fresh leaves to the drained pot.
‘They’ll be in the theatre now,’ he agreed, as I squinted once more at my watch. When the tea was ready he sat down and began talking more about his childhood, and how much he had enjoyed living with his cousins in Caithness. ‘They had four kids of their own, two of each, and I was the youngest, which gave everyone an excuse for spoiling me, which suited me well. The old man fixed that up.’
‘Are you related to him at all?’
‘No. He was a great friend of my mother’s family. He was her godfather, and asked if he could also be mine. He collects godchildren.’ He smiled to himself ‘At the last count there were ten of us.’
‘Ten! Wonderful old man.’
‘He’s that all right. Incidentally, how did you know I’d be with him this evening?’
‘Tom Elkroyd told me.’
‘I thought he probably had. He told me you were coming down here to clean up. Which reminds me, I owe you an apology ‒’
‘Forget it. Think what I owe you for Nick. I couldn’t get him to take this seriously until you arrived.’
‘That’s reasonable. You are too close to him.’ He flicked open the writing-pad that had been lying on the table where Nick left it. ‘What’s all this about? Nick redesigning this place for Sister Mary?’
‘I thought he was just doing sums.’ I had a look. ‘He’s made sketches. This one must be how he thinks the sitting-room could look without that false wall.’
‘What false wall?’
I took him in to show him, and then he wanted to see all round. He seemed as fascinated by the place as Nick had been, and suggested I showed Sister Mary the sketches. ‘Nick’s an expert, Anna, as one only has to look at Mary Block to appreciate. His advice is worth having.’
‘If Sister Mary ‒ or, rather, Jill Collins ‒ will take it. Sister’ll probably be happy to leave it all to Jill, and her passion for pastels appals Nick.’
He looked round the sitting-room. ‘When do you intend painting this?’
‘Not this week-end. This will be all cleaning ‒ when I get started.’
‘Then there’s time for Nick to work out colour-schemes? That’ll keep him busy after his op.’
‘You think he’d want to do that?’
‘Why not?’ He looked over the sketches again. ‘This looks to be his hobby as well as his job. Good post-op therapy.’
We went back to the kitchen. He felt the teapot and poured himself another cup.
‘Robert! You can’t drink any more of that stuff! It must be horrible by now.’
‘I like it. Good for my kidneys.’ He reached for the ceiling as Nick had done. ‘And this is another fraud?’
‘So he said.’ I was trying to pay attention, but my thoughts kept darting off to that theatre. ‘If Stock succeeds, how long before Nick can use his eyes for drawing? I should remember. I can’t.’
‘If Stock follows Muir, a few weeks.’
‘Stock won’t be using the old sandbag routine?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sure he won’t. Muir chucked that out five years ago. He’ll probably put on a double bandage for a day or so but by next week Nick’ll have his good eye free. He’ll have the stitches out around the tenth day, the shade off around the twentieth. He’ll have to go quietly. They’ll give him a telly to watch. Muir swears by the telly. He says there’s nothing to touch it for its benefits to Ophthalmic surgery as it keeps the eyes still and patients happy. It’s far less disturbing than reading, or even watching the nurses rustling round. I’m sure you’ll find Stock’s in line with Muir. Nick’ll be safe with him.’
I said, ‘If he can get that retina back.’
He looked at his watch now. ‘Shall we find out? It should be over now.’
I had been dreading this moment. ‘Is that why you stayed?’
He said, ‘They’ll tell me the truth. They may not tell you. We know what hospitals are like. I thought I might as well hang around as ring you later. Let’s get it over.’
Jill Collins left London at seven next morning. She arrived as I was cooking breakfast. ‘Rowe, my poor child! What an evening you must have had! Thank God Marcus Stock got at it in time!’
I gaped. ‘Sister, how do you know?’
‘From Sabby Wardell.’ She put down her suitcase, removed her gloves and the jacket of her brown linen suit. The suit had good lines, but the colour accentuated her sallowness. ‘I was working very late and got back just as she was arriving back from Astead. Her room’s next to mine. She told me all about it.’
‘Sabby ‒ Sister Observation?’ I echoed unnecessarily. ‘She was down this way last night?’
‘Yes, dear. Robbie Gordon drove her down. Didn’t he tell you?’
‘No. I wish he had.’ I sat on the table. ‘He was here ages. It must have wrecked her evening. I hope she didn’t mind too much?’
She said briskly, ‘My child, one has to expect these things if one dates doctors. Robbie probably felt he had to stay and see you were all right before leaving you here alone. Now, tell me all your side of it. And what’s the news this morning? Rung the hospital?’
‘Just now. I spoke to Nick’s ward sister.’ I grimaced. ‘She said he was comfortable and as well as could be expected.’
‘That bromide! Not that there’s more she could say at this juncture. And when will they let you see him?’
‘Today. Dr. Stock said he’d arrange that. He has. The sister said I could come along for a few minutes this afternoon. She didn’t sound too happy about it, but good old Marcus Stock seems to be boss in his own ward. He’s rather a pet. Did you know him?’
‘Oh, yes! Well ‒ this won’t do! I’ll go and change into working clothes while you eat, and then we must get started!’
I had not had much of an appetite before she arrived. Her news left me with no desire at all for food, so I switched off the frying-pan and settled for tea. Had I used my intelligence, since I had known Wardell had a free evening yesterday, I should have guessed she was Robert’s dinner guest. Remembering the time he had left me, he must have gone back to Astead with only a few minutes to spare before putting her on the last train to London at eleven, unless he had driven her back. In either event, God help me in Observation on Monday.
Jill reappeared in a lilac cotton shirt and blue jeans that would have made Nick shudder. She saw I was not eating, insisted on scrambling some eggs, and then stood over me while I ate them. ‘No one can work without food, dear! And I’m going to make you work! There’s nothing like it for worry!’ Her voice softened. ‘The poor boy! What a dreadful thing to happen to him of all people!’
I was grateful for her concern for Nick and, as the morning unwound, to have her organise me as well as the cottage. The reaction had really hit me, and I felt as if my brain and bones were made of cotton-wool. I stopped brooding about Wardell, as there was nothing I could do about last night, and there was no point in facing Monday until Monday. I almost stopped worrying about Nick. Only almost, because, though his op had been an initial success, he was going to have to be very careful about that eye for some time, and, unless last night had shocked some sense into him, I could not see his being that. I tried to kid myself that now we were engaged I should have much more influence over him. That was not much help, as I kept remembering how useless my influence in that direction had been last night. Yet he loved me. I was as sure of that this morning as I was that I loved him. I kept reminding myself that was the one very bright spot. I felt that should have put everything right, and when it did not, decided that must just be another side-effect of delayed-action shock.
Sister Mary rang before lunch. She was staying in Hayhurst for the next week or so to nurse her friend. She was very apologetic about leaving us to her cleaning.
Jill assured her we were having a high old time and she was not to worry about us at all. ‘Do you need help in Hayhurst? Is there anything we can do? You will need more clothes, of course. If you can tell me what you require I will pack a suitcase and put it on the Hayhurst coach. There’ll be one through Wylden early this afternoon as it is Saturday.’
She suddenly reminded me very much of Robert dealing with Nick’s affairs last night. It struck me those two had a lot in common. Robert was much quieter, but he was as good as Jill at getting on with a job, remembering details, and showing a, to me unexpected, sympathy with other people’s problems. I could write off this attitude to Tom Elkroyd as part of his job, but I could not stretch that to cover his behaviour last evening. He had been very nice to me, I realised in retrospect. The strain of waiting would have been even worse without him. When we had our next row, which on past showing was inevitable, in fairness I must remember last evening, and Robert swigging cold stewed tea and talking interior decorating and his childhood to keep my mind off Nick. Jill said he probably felt he had to stay, and probably she was right. It was still an unexpectedly nice gesture, even if it was going to have the most lamentable after-effects on my working life.
We washed the ceilings, walls, windows, and scrubbed the upstairs floors during that morning. Over lunch Jill said she would get on with the sitting-room and study while I was in Astead.
‘Sister, won’t you come with me? I wish you would!’
She said she refused to do anything for me if I persisted in calling her ‘sister’ outside Barny’s as it was making her feel in Sister Mary’s age group. ‘You can’t possible want me along this afternoon.’
‘I do! I’m nervous.’
‘Nonsense! You are used to hospitals!’
‘Not from this angle. Please. Then we can both attack the downstairs when we get back.’
She was obviously very reluctant. ‘I’ll come and hold your hand if you insist, Anna. But this is such a good opportunity to get the work done ‒’
‘We’ll only be away for a couple of hours. It’ll be a nice bus ride! Do come.’
Eventually she gave in. ‘I’m still not clear why you want me.’
I could not answer that as I was not clear myself, the reason I had given her being only a half-truth. I was nervous, but by the thought of seeing Nick again, and not because of a strange hospital. Yet why I should suddenly feel nervous of Nick and need her moral support was beyond me. It remained that I was and did.
We left Sister Mary’s suitcase at the village bus station before getting our own Astead bus. To rationalise things to myself, on the way to the hospital I told Jill of my anxiety that he would do fresh damage to his eye during his convalescence.
‘You’ll have to be firm with that boy, Anna!’
‘But one of those men who always have a touch of the little boy in them. You’ll have to look after him. Isn’t that part of his great charm? I would have thought so? And, of course, he is so very talented. One couldn’t fairly expect anyone with his gifts to be a solid, sober citizen.’
‘That’s true.’
She looked at me keenly. ‘You don’t sound very happy about it.’
‘Probably because I’m not exactly a solid, sober citizen myself.’
‘Then you’ll have to change, dear. It’s always the woman who has to change, I’ve noticed. Men don’t.’
Astead General Hospital had two hundred beds. It looked like a toy in comparison with Barny’s, and the whole place would have fitted into one of our blocks. Dr. Stock’s six-bedded eye ward was like a miniature Observation without our finer ultra-modern points. There was no air-conditioning, wholesale barrier-nursing, and there were no cornerless rooms, but every bed was in its own small ward with its own equipment for use only in that room.
The sister in charge was a Sister Dawson. She was a pleasant, middle-aged woman with a North Country accent. She did not talk too much. She said, ‘You’ll not need me to warn you to be quiet, Miss Rowe. Dr. Stock told me Mr. Dexter’s fiancée is a trained nurse. Only a few minutes, mind.’ On hearing Jill was a fellow ward sister she invited her to sit in her office. ‘We’ll not keep you long. I’ll take Miss Rowe.’ She asked me to wait outside Nick’s room. ‘I’ll warn him.’ She disappeared, then was back. ‘You can come in now.’
There was plenty of light in Nick’s room as both his eyes were bandaged and there was a felt blind over the bandage. He had only one pillow for this first day, and lay on his back. His hair looked very yellow against the pillow and in contrast with the dark double-eye blind. I had seen other patients in this condition. I might have been looking on it for the first time. When his hands groped blindly for me I wanted to weep.
Sister Dawson had a hand on my elbow. She said evenly, ‘Miss Rowe is on your left, Mr. Dexter. She is going to touch your left hand ‒ now.’ She nodded at me. ‘That’s it. Now, don’t forget what I’ve told you, young man. Keep your head still just for today. You’ll have that double bandage off your good eye by tomorrow afternoon.’ She gave me a chair, had a good look at us both, then removed herself.
A House for Sister Mary Page 12
