by Sheila Burns
‘So early?’
‘So early,’ I repeated.
He opened the door a little way, and as he did so took my hand in his and pressed it fast.
‘Good-bye for a little while.’
I was so angry that I made no reply, but, feeling my face flush, I walked straight out and on to the small landing.
A man was standing outside the door of an adjacent flat, obviously waiting for an answer to his ring. I nearly collided with him as I marched out full of fury at the way I had been received.
‘I beg your pardon,’ I exclaimed as I saved myself only in the nick of time.
The man turned. It was then that we recognized one another.
‘You?’ he demanded.
It was Ray Harper.
In that moment I saw through quite a lot of things, and realized that he must have been calling here to visit a patient, and that the door would open to admit him. I could not possibly give Iris away by explaining what I was doing here, and I saw him glance instinctively at the door which had closed behind me, and which had the brass plate with Captain Dawson on it.
He stared at me.
‘Whatever are you doing here, Nurse?’ he asked incredulously.
It happened to be one of those moments when I could say nothing at all. I tried to think of something, but thought would not clear itself, and words would not come. It seemed that the two of us stood staring at one another for ages, and I thought that it would never end. Then, when he spoke again, his voice was aloof, cold, and very distant.
‘That is Captain Dawson’s flat?’
I could not deny it, beside it would have been madness to lie with the name standing out there on the plate.
‘Yes,’ I said, and all the while there was the feeling inside me that I must think, I must find some excuse, only I just couldn’t think.
‘Did Iris send you to see him?’ he asked quickly, and now his eyes were the eyes of the fighting man that I had seen above the white mask in the theatre of the home.
I prayed hard that the door might be opened before I had to answer that question, but of course it wasn’t opened. He stood there staring at me, and I at him like a tongue-tied schoolgirl. What on earth could I do? I could not give my patient away, and I would not have hurt him for the world. I just did not answer.
‘I see,’ he said at last, and sighed, then he added, ‘I asked you to do your best for her, and see after her for my sake, and now this happens.’
Still there was nothing that I could say; worse, there was nothing that I could think of to help us both.
Of course I had realized all along that he had known about Bill, and that he hated the man as I had done on sight. I wanted to be comforting. I wanted to help him and make him realize that I had not come here with the idea of cheating him, but of comforting Iris, and for all my good intentions there was nothing that I could say.
Then there came footsteps to the door of the flat where he was calling, and I heard somebody saying from within ‘the doctor at last’, and, turning away, I actually ran down the stairs.
My face was stinging.
Naturally he thought that I had betrayed his confidence, he thought that I was acting as a go-between for Iris and her lover, and I had not been able to find my tongue, or to tell him the truth. What did I do next? What did I say next time I met him?
I wished I had never been called in to nurse her. If only I had had the courage to tell Miss Vaughan that I wouldn’t, I should not have got myself caught up in this chain of circumstances.
Perhaps after this Dr. Harper might decide that I was not fit to be trusted with her, and would not go on persuading me to take her away. He might release me from my promise, and that would be a good thing.
All the way home I was seeing again the way that he had looked at me. It did not make me very happy. I was hearing the disappointment in his voice, and that hurt too.
I kept thinking what a mess you can make of life even with the best motives, and I was making a mess of it all right.
Next morning I saw the report book and learnt that Iris had had a bad night. She had taken her medinal at midnight and even then had had only a fitful sleep. The upset of the previous evening had retarded her convalescence quite a lot.
‘She must not be disturbed by anything,’ said Miss Vaughan, ‘you must be prepared to pander to her on every score if you are to get her well.’
So that I could not tell her that I had had a horrible evening and had run into her husband outside the flat and that he suspected me. I could not tell her that nothing would make me act as a go-between any more, and she could send her own notes and take her own messages for all that I cared.
Instead I gave her Bill’s message.
‘He will send white violets the morning of the day that he is coming to see you,’ I said primly, and thought what a silly message it was.
But it pleased her.
She smiled to herself as she lay among the pillows, and I suppose that the idea of white violets satisfied her sense of vanity.
‘Dear Bill, he thinks of everything.’
I said nothing at all, because I did not want to get mixed up any further in this nasty business. She did not ask me questions, but let me get her ready for the day, watching me with far-away eyes. I think she was still a little dopey from the medinal, anyway she did not bother me with questions.
Tenny called me down the corridor to help her lift the operation patient who had come up last night. She was looking a great deal better this morning, and was lying there smiling at the bowl of hyacinths.
‘I do hope that I wasn’t a lot of trouble to you last night,’ she said. ‘I didn’t quite know what I was doing and may have been crotchety.’
It is funny how some patients think such a lot for their nurses, while others never mind how much they worry you, believing that is what you are there for, and nothing else matters.
She was a plucky little kid, and had had a bad night too, but had stood up to the pain wonderfully.
‘All grit and gold,’ Birdie told Tenny when she came on duty.
We made her as comfy as we could, and she expressed the hope that the young man was coming along to see her; she was doing her best to perk up for him so that he shouldn’t be worried about her.
‘We are going to be married when I get well, Nurse,’ she said. ‘I only hope this illness doesn’t make too big a hole in our expenses. We are thinking of every pound as one less table and chair,’ and she laughed.
I rather wished that she was my patient, because she was such a dear little thing, the sort of patient who makes nursing a pleasure.
Dr. Harper came to see his wife about eleven, in between two operations. I was putting her pillows straight and did not hear him come in until she spoke fretfully to him.
‘You smell of anaesthetics, Ray, and make me feel quite ill.’
‘Sorry, but I thought I had just time to run up and see how you were.’ He stood there apologetically, and I was horribly aware that his eyes avoided mine. He was still angry with me about the previous night, still blaming me, I suppose.
I gathered up the flowers from her bedside table, and made them the excuse to leave her alone with him. Not once had he looked at me! I knew what he was feeling, but then I was feeling badly too, badly because it was such a dreadful misunderstanding, and I could not think what to say to put matters straight again.
When he came out of her room, I was in the nurses’ sitting-room washing up some glasses. I could not believe it when I saw him peep round the corner of the door.
‘She has rounded that corner well,’ he said, ‘and she seems a lot better this morning, though I shall be glad when those stitches are out. She tells me that her being like this is all thanks to you.’
I murmured something about having done nothing, and all the while I was sure that his eyes were trying to read what I was thinking.
He said, ‘She is a queer little girl in lots of ways and she needs clever management. I can rely o
n you, can’t I?’
‘I will do my best, I promise you,’ I said.
He still lingered and it occurred to me that he was waiting for an explanation of last night. Yet there was nothing that I could say. Apparently realizing that I was not going to speak, he turned on his heel. Downstairs the bell from the operating theatre burred. I saw a couple of nurses hurrying to the stairhead, and Sister coming in for the sterilized drum out of the sterilizer. The opportunity had passed and life had whirled us on again on its tide.
I ought to have told him the truth.
Or oughtn’t I?
It is all very difficult to know, all very difficult to do. Opportunities do not come back to you in life. I know that. Yet perhaps it was all to the good that this had happened, because by going on with the affair, by nursing Mrs. Harper and by seeing him so often, I was only hurting myself badly, and getting nowhere. I was destined to go on with my nursing for ever, not to be somebody’s beloved.
I decided then that I would tell him that I could not carry out my promise and go away for a holiday with his wife when she got better. He must forgive me but I just couldn’t.
I went back to my floor just as the doors of the operating theatre shut to and the operation started below.
I was in charge of that floor for the entire afternoon.
I got my own tea in the sitting-room before taking down the patients’, but even then you don’t get much rest. I wanted to think, and to make some plans for my future, as to how I was going to break it to Dr. and Mrs. Harper that I couldn’t go away with her, but all the time bells were ringing.
The little creature who had been operated on yesterday rang for me several times. She was thirsty, poor little soul. Then there was the man in number twenty-nine, who was worried about himself and needed soothing.
‘Stay and talk to me, Nurse,’ he implored, for his op was in the morning and he was very agitated.
My own tea was cooling, but I could not be such a beast as to leave the poor fellow when he was so distressed.
Doctors were coming and going. The bell from the operating theatre went, and there was the sound of porters carrying stretchers up the stairs.
The life of a nursing home has to go on, whatever your own personal life may be, and eventually I went to bed tired out. All of me was absorbed in the home; it possessed me. Yet here, in my cubicle, I seemed to become an individual, somebody real and alive, and I wore a chiffon nightie, which he had bought and which Iris had given me.
As I tied the sash I thought how much I should have appreciated a husband who bought things like this for me. Iris did not care for him, but I knew that I could have loved him ‒ if I dared. It was the eternal triangle.
I fell asleep and dreamed that he came to me and was sweet and tender, and that we were going to be married, and I woke to the sharp ringing of the nurse’s bell, which meant hurried dressing and down to breakfast on the tick. You are allowed no licence, and the breakfast is a miserable affair, because nobody is anxious to start the day’s work, and all the while you are aware that the night nurses are chafing to hurry you up and get you on duty, so that they may get a little relaxation after the long night.
Prayers too.
Prayers, and I did not feel like saying them. Somehow I felt that I had been wicked thinking about Ray Harper, when he was nothing to me and never could be. Probably he talked about me as ‘that ham-faced nurse’. Doctors do, you know.
I went on duty with a heavy heart and did the round of my patients. It was when I had got the last one ready for the day that the porter brought up a little basket full of white violets for Mrs. Harper.
I went to the door and took it in.
‘The messenger said that there wasn’t a card,’ he explained. ‘He said that the lady would be sure to understand.’
Unfortunately I understood too.
White violets in a room already full of pink carnations and gold mimosa. A room which smelt of roses and lilies, and yet this fragrance borne by this little silver basket was ineffably lovely.
I showed them to her.
‘They have come,’ she said, and she dimpled. ‘White violets. Oh, Nurse, that means that he will be here this afternoon.’
‘I suppose so.’
But she did not notice me. She was wondering if the wave in her hair had kept sufficiently, and what she could put on her skin to make it look a little better. Then she became communicative and told me a little about her husband.
‘Ray hates Bill,’ she said, ‘he simply can’t stand him, and we have had some of the most dreadful quarrels about him already. If he comes here when Bill is with me, you will keep him outside, won’t you?’
‘I can’t,’ I said.
‘Oh, but you can. You know you can.’
I stood at the end of her bed and tried to adopt a firm attitude with her. This wouldn’t do. I was getting deeper and deeper into the mire, and I knew it. I explained, ‘You are making it extremely difficult for me, Mrs. Harper, and I don’t think you ought to ask me to do such things. A doctor has the right in this home to come in and see people. What could I tell him?’
She looked at me pitifully, and her lips began to droop. She was one of those people who cried very easily, and before I could say anything more the tears had begun. I knew it was dreadfully bad for her, yet the only way to comfort her was to tell her that I would do what she asked.
‘You are so cruel to me,’ she sobbed; ‘you are one of those people who have never been in love yourself, and you don’t know what it feels like.’
Never been in love myself! Don’t know what it feels like! Hard words, with hard meanings, and quite wrong. But of course I could not tell her so.
‘You will help me?’ she whispered.
‘I will always try to help you, but sometimes it isn’t easy.’
‘You could if you would. You could wait at the top of the stairs and catch Ray as he came up. He has got that patient in number fifty-one, you could make him go there first and then warn Bill about it.’
She had all the little mean intrigues at her finger-tips, had Iris. I might have guessed then that it wasn’t the first time that she had stooped to this kind of thing, she was far too clever at it. I did not want to promise her anything. Doctors are not always too tractable, and I had seen a look in her husband’s eyes that was very compelling.
I avoided it. ‘I hate telling lies,’ I told her. ‘I hate cheating people, and I don’t want to have anything to do with this. You don’t seem to realize that I am in a bad position here. Supposing Miss Vaughan found out?’
‘Oh, that old thing!’ said Iris contemptuously.
‘All the same she could dismiss me. And, if I start cheating the doctor, I deserve dismissal.’
Iris wept wretchedly. She sobbed, ‘As if it would ever come to that! I never heard such nonsense. You might do it for my sake. I do think you might realize what I feel lying here, so miserable, and so alone.’
For her sake! And her husband had asked me to see after her for his sake. It was a very uncomfortable position for me, but I was determined that I would not promise to help her, however much she coaxed.
‘I will do what I can, but I am promising nothing,’ I said, and she had to be content with that.
It would not hurt Iris to find that she could not manage everybody who came into her life, and that she had not got the world at her feet as she thought. I contemplated teaching her a lesson.
We happened to have a bad morning that day.
They were operating as usual downstairs, and they were having a very difficult time with the patient. The operation went wrong. I heard that they were getting down extra help, and suddenly I was called off my floor and sent into the theatre.
To step into the theatre is like stepping into a world remote and distant from this. White figures, stertorous breathing, the tinkle of the anaesthetic and the heavy, sweet smell of it lying over everything. I have never got quite used to it, but still treat it with an awe and reverence
of its own. In the theatre there is tension. Outwardly everything runs smoothly, there is never an order that is not carried out on the instant and exactly, there is never a fluster or a stir, but under it lies the strain, the agitated beating of hearts and the wonder at the miracle which gives life and hope and mends broken bodies and sends them back whole.
When I was ultimately returned upstairs it meant that I was behind with getting my lunch trays up, and I wanted to get my own patients settled for their nap before visiting hours started.
I got Iris Harper nestled down for a while, and then the porter came along with a card.
‘A gentleman to see Mrs. Harper,’ he said.
‘These are not visiting hours. No one is supposed to come until three o’clock.’
Old George scratched his head thoughtfully. ‘The gentlemen says that it is urgent. He said, “Get hold of her own particular nurse, she knows me and she will understand”.’
I glanced down at the card and saw written on it: Captain William Dawson, which meant that I thoroughly understood. I was so angry with his impertinence that I determined to make him wait.
‘Tell him that three o’clock is the visiting hour and that he must wait until the clock strikes,’ I said. ‘Show him into the waiting-room and he can wait there, or tell him to come back again, but she is asleep now and he cannot see her before the proper time.’ George went off, mumbling to himself. I don’t think he relished giving the message.
I thought that there would probably be a quarrel about this when Iris got to know of it, but there was nothing of the sort. I went in just before three to tell her that he was waiting, and instantly she brightened up; I had to admit that she did look very lovely. She wanted to get herself titivated for him. A filmy nightie, with an all lace top through which an exquisite pastel blue ribbon was threaded. Over it one of her pert little feather coats. There was no doubt about it, she was one of those lovely women who could wear lovely things with an air. She had her hair brushed until it shone like gold, and then insisted on rubbing it softly with a silk handkerchief. She smoothed a liquid powder over her cheeks while I held the mirror for her. A black pencil marked her eyebrows, and her mouth was warmed to vermilion by her lipstick.
