‘Mr Cook, I’m impressed! I just hope the safety-pin was closed? I know the gadget can deal with ’em open, but as old habits die hard, the idea of an open pin still makes me nervous.’
‘I warned him to shut it. I’m not officially supposed to know about it. I’ll go and investigate.’ He disappeared into the Intensive Care Room, and I opened the door of Mr Waring’s office.
Momentarily, I paused in the doorway. Then I went in, put my tray on a chair, and very quietly closed the door. The sight of a sleeping S.S.O. might have me by the throat, but it was not a sight for curious and uninformed eyes.
Richard had been writing notes at the desk when he fell asleep. His pen had dropped out of his limp right hand and lay open beside it. From the length of the ash on the burnt-out cigarette in the ashtray he had dropped off directly after lighting it. He was sitting back in Mr Waring’s chair, his left arm hung over the waist-high chair-arm, and his head was tilted back against the wall behind him. His breathing was regular, quiet, and deep. His face was pale with fatigue, and his hair looked darker and lacked its usual glow. His eyelashes were brown, and the shadows beneath his eyes black. He would need a week of sleep to remove those shadows.
In sleep he looked so very much younger that I realized more clearly than ever before how close a contemporary he was to Mr Waring. Looking at his unguarded face, I remembered how on first meeting him I had written him off as middle-aged and a fine man to make me a future uncle. A fine man, I thought again now, but the last man in the world I now wanted as an uncle.
I hated to wake him, but had to, as the others would be in at any moment. ‘Mr Leland, would you like your tea in here today?’
He was too far under. He did not even stir. I poured one cup, added eight lumps of sugar, set it on the desk by him with an intentional clatter. He slept on. I touched his shoulder. ‘Mr Leland.’ Still no reaction. I shook him, gently. ‘Mr Leland. I’m sorry to disturb you, but it’s teatime.’
He sighed, blinked up at me, then smiled sleepily. ‘What’s that, dearest?’ he murmured, and opened his eyes properly. ‘Oh! Oh, God! It’s you, Nurse Dungarvan! Did I drop off?’ He shook his head violently to clear it. ‘I do apologize. Do you know, I didn’t just drop off, I was right out. When you shook me I thought’ ‒ he broke off to rub his eyes ‒ ‘I’m not quite clear what I thought, except that you were your aunt.’
That I had worked out for myself. ‘We are very alike.’
‘Not very. Superficially, yes.’ He stood up. ‘I’ve never dropped off before. I hope I never will again. One feels death would be a happy release.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I hope you weren’t too shocked?’
I had never felt so throttled by etiquette as at that moment. I longed to tell him that all that shocked me was the hours he was expected to work, and work well, without sleep. I said primly, ‘No, Mr Leland,’ and pushed forward his cup. ‘I poured this for you.’
‘Thank you.’ He sipped it and screwed up his face. ‘Did you empty the sugar-bowl into this?’
‘Eight lumps.’
‘Thank you,’ he said again. ‘Nauseating, but I can use it. And thanks for waking me up.’ He opened the door for me. ‘Does Mr Waring know tea’s up?’
‘Yes. I’ll get another cup.’
‘Don’t bother. I’ll rinse this one out. I only want one.’ He did not close the door after me when I left him. I went straight along to the Intensive Care Room. There was no need for me to do that, but I had to get away fast. ‘Gentlemen and Miss Miles, your tea is stewing and getting cold.’
Monica Miles spun round. ‘Fancy your knowing my name already, Nurse!’
‘Ah, ha!’ exclaimed Mr Cook. ‘Efficient girl, our Nurse Dungarvan! Come on, you lot! Let’s get at it before the customers start rolling in again.’
Monica Miles let the others go. ‘So you’re Nurse Dungarvan? Of course! I see the resemblance now! You’re Mrs Ellis’s niece!’
I was devoted to Margaret, but my pleasure in our strong family likeness to each other was now wearing very, very thin. ‘That’s right. I take it you know my aunt?’
‘Not very well.’ She explained meeting Margaret in the Wing and hearing of me from her, on her several attempts to call on General Francis. ‘He’s “No Visitors” at his own request until he’s clear of ops. Your aunt has had to break this to me, tactfully. She’s been simply sweet.’
‘I can imagine. You’re a friend of General Francis?’
‘Not exactly.’ She had a high squeaky voice that was, oddly, not unattractive. ‘I met him when he used to visit his son in Marcus. You knew he had a son warded there?’ I nodded. ‘I was a Marcus dresser for his last few days.’ She hesitated. ‘He was good fun.’
‘Yes. He was.’
‘You knew Bill Francis?’ From her tone, I had seen the Holy Grail.
‘I was his night special when he was on the D.I.L.’
‘Were you? I suppose you haven’t heard from him?’
I said, ‘Not since his bread-and-butter letter.’ I said nothing about his one telephone call. I had a good hunch her feelings had been hurt enough.
‘Then you wouldn’t know if he’s still in Majorca?’
‘Majorca?’ My mind flashed to Aline’s prolonged sick-leave. ‘I didn’t even know he was there.’
‘Oh, yes!’ She obliged with dates. They matched the date that Aline had flown out to join her parents. ‘He’s had his plaster off out there. He sent me a card saying so.’ She smiled at herself. ‘I guess he’s forgotten my name by now. But he was rather sweet, so I thought I’d look up his father. Not that I don’t like General Francis for himself. He’s charming.’
‘I think so too, and so does Daisy Yates. She works here. She’s off today. She was Bill’s special on days. I expect you’ll know her?’
‘Not by name. Oh, dear! She’s not tall, fair, and slim, with a tight mouth? An absolute go-getter?’
She was describing Aline. I did not tell her so. Hospital sets were like families, and whatever the individual members might think about each other, to the outside world whenever possible they presented a united front. ‘Daisy’s auburn and not all that slim. She’s very nice. You’ll like her.’
‘That’s a mercy,’ she replied frankly, ‘as, though I like to like nurses, not all nurses seem to like female students. Or have I just got a chip?’
I would have been a liar had I denied her charge. ‘Some do, some don’t. Depends, I suppose, on the nurse ‒ and the female student.’
‘Fair enough.’
We were smiling at each other when Linda Oxford came in. ‘Dungarvan, Nurse de Wint has just told me I should have got the men’s tea! Why didn’t you tell me? Don’t you consider me capable of doing my own work? Or do you just like getting tea because it gives you another opportunity to talk to the men?’
Richard’s reaction on wakening had left me far too edgy for tact. It was one thing to suspect; another to be certain. I snapped back, ‘And what makes you think I have to look for opportunities, Nurse Oxford?’ I stomped off just as she had done to me earlier. I knew I had just made an open enemy, and was far too cross to care, until my anger cooled three minutes later, and, as always after a childish display of temper, I regretted the fact, as I confided to Gwenellen at first supper that night.
Gwenellen had worked with Oxford. She said, ‘I can never make up my mind whether that girl’s a Matron in the making or a large bladder stuffed with hot air. Her lamp is so bright it dazzles me. She never stops blahing on about wanting to do something really worthwhile with her life. Most people who want that don’t blah about it. They just get on and do it. I wonder if old Sinbad’s got her number?’
‘If she hasn’t she will. One may like to believe old Sinbad’s making a mistake, but, as I now know, she doesn’t. She stands around watching and brooding ‒ and giving one hell in the process ‒ until she’s sure of her ground. She must be pretty sure about Oxford to let her in the Unit, but only pretty, as she’s still watching her. She was in again j
ust now. Unless,’ I added as an idea occurred to me, ‘she’s watching a student girl we’ve now got. A Monica Miles.’
‘Monica Miles? Tom’s told me about her. Wasn’t she in Marcus after I went off sick? Tom said she was very, very taken with your ex-special p.’
‘You never told me!’
‘Why should I? Not my affair, and Tom says she’s a nice kid. You won’t mention this to her?’
‘Don’t have to.’ I explained all Monica Miles had said about Bill. I left out Aline.
Gwenellen glanced round the table. We were sitting alone up one end. Nevertheless, she lowered her voice before filling in the gaps in my explanation. ‘I’ve not told you about Aline and Bill Francis before, Jo, as the subject’s sheer dynamite. I haven’t even told Tom, but as Aline, in the letter I had from her yesterday, said she doesn’t imagine she’ll be coming back and has just used this “relapsed” story for Matron’s benefit, I don’t imagine it’ll be long before Home Sister invites us to pack up her room.’
I was astonished. ‘Aline walking out? When we’re in a few months of taking State Finals? I’ve always thought her so bright! This is crazy!’
‘Yes and no. You nursed Bill Francis. Wouldn’t you have called him a fast worker?’
‘Yes. But ‒’
‘Hang on, love. Think. Aline is bright. She obviously thinks she’s on to a good thing. I’m not sure I agree with her about the man, but there’s no question she’s right about his future prospects.’
‘Journalists don’t make all that money!’
‘A few do. I wasn’t thinking of that. Nor, I’ll bet, is Aline. Jo, think! General Francis doesn’t run a new Rolls, and pay for Corporal Wix, his bill in the Wing, Remington-Hart’s fees, and support a huge stately home in Devon on his pension, good though it may be. To spend money like that you need real money.’
‘How do you know he’s got a stately home?’
‘Old Red took some snaps when he was down there fishing. Tom’s seen ’em. So, I guess,’ she added drily, ‘has Aline.’
‘Yes. I guess you’re right. And Bill’s the eldest son.’
‘And General Francis not exactly in the best of health. So if our Aline doesn’t come back from this holiday as Mrs Bill I don’t know our Aline. I think I do. Don’t you?’
I nodded, reluctantly. ‘I wonder if Bill Francis does?’
I did not answer at once. I was thinking of Bill’s selfishness in staying away from his father now, and how Aline matched that by letting him stay. She knew all about the General’s being in the Wing, if not that Margaret was nursing him, as I had written and told her General Francis was a Benedict’s patient only last week. I had given her all the medical details I knew, thinking that since she had known Bill she would be interested. No doubt she was, if not in the way I thought.
‘Gwenellen, I feel sick! Really sick! I don’t give a damn about them marrying each other ‒ I think they’re a well-matched pair ‒ but Bill Francis ought to be with his father now, and Aline knows it!’ I explained how. ‘She must have told him!’
‘Not necessarily.’ Her dark eyes were both gentle and shrewd. ‘You’re as much her friend as I am, and you knew Bill Francis much better than I did, but she never told you she had him on a string. I think she only told me to settle an old bit of business between us.’
‘Your Tom?’
‘Yes.’ It was the first time she had ever mentioned that tricky period in her life to me. She did not dwell on it now.
I said, ‘Yet ‒ I like Aline so much.’
‘She’s got some very good points. She can’t help being a bitch, and her bitchiness may even be just the job for Bill Francis. He’s weak as they come. She’s strong enough for two. She may even be properly in love with him, and him with her. Whether he’ll stay that way if she lets him off the hook is another story. There’s a lad with a roving eye, if ever I saw one. Good thing you ran into Old Red before you got too involved.’
I gasped, ‘You knew?’
‘Jo, love, I was right there in Marcus. I have two eyes in my head. Oh, goodness, is that the time? I promised to meet Tom five minutes ago.’
I had another ten minutes, but as I did not want any pudding, I left with her. Margaret was leaving the Sisters’ Dining-room as we came out of ours. Gwenellen hurried back to the Home to change for her date, and Margaret and I walked slowly back towards Casualty.
I was too furious with Bill and Aline to talk of anything else. Sensibly, Margaret warned me to keep my voice down and thoughts to myself, as Aline was still officially on the staff. ‘After all this time I doubt Matron would take exception to her getting engaged to an ex-patient whom she just happened to meet again on holiday, no matter how faintly suspect that “just happened”, but she would object very strongly to hearing of a nurse’s resignation from anyone but the nurse in question, herself. Who happens to be one of your set ‒ and, I always assumed, one of your great friends.’
‘That’s what I thought!’
She looked at me and frowned. ‘So you’re not quite over it, still?’
‘Honest to God, I am! It isn’t their romance that sticks in my throat! It’s the way this must be hurting General Francis. He was so good to Bill.’ I told her of those nights in Marcus. I had mentioned them casually before. Now I gave her the works. ‘How can such a good father have produced such a lousy son?’
‘It worries him. He doesn’t talk much about it, but he does worry. Yes, of course he’s hurt. Every morning I scan the post hoping there’ll be a letter. The most he ever gets is a card. He props it on his bed-table, and we admire the view and say how glad we are Bill’s having such a good time in the sun. The other boy’s very different. He writes every few days by air from Hong Kong. I wish he was stationed nearer. I did suggest he might ask to be flown home on compassionate leave. I’m sure the Army would give it him. The Army’s good about such things these days. His father wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘Why ever not? Doesn’t he realize that if he doesn’t see his younger son now he may never ‒’
‘Jo, don’t be stupid!’ she snapped with rare violence. ‘Of course he knows the score! He’s a normal, very affectionate father. Of course he wants to see his boys again! But, like any good father, he’s putting his son’s future ahead of his own wishes. He says life is hard enough for any serving soldier who has to live down the fact that his father is a Major-General and, even though retired, still in a position to pull the right string, without adding to the difficulties by asking a special concession that would certainly be granted. Consequently, he hasn’t even told Paul the whole truth about his present condition. I’m convinced that if he had Paul Francis would be here now.’
‘Bill should have told his brother. He must know it all.’ I explained my letter to Aline.
She shared Gwenellen’s opinion on that subject, but for different reasons. ‘You kids are as fiercely intolerant of each other as you are of your elders. Aline doesn’t have to have kept the news to herself only to keep Bill to herself. She may honestly believe that’s the most sensible thing to do, and there’s nothing to be gained by worrying Bill until he has to be worried.’
‘To hell with Bill! What about his father’s feelings?’
She said, ‘To appreciate another person’s feelings requires imagination. Haven’t you always told me Aline was the one girl in your set able to view the patients with total detachment? How can any nurse who is able to get under a patient’s skin remain detached? To do that you must lack imagination. So Aline lacks it. A pity, but don’t blame her for not suddenly producing something she hasn’t got.’ She went on to say that for some time she had been wondering if there was any connection between Bill’s long stay in Majorca and Aline’s sick-leave, but had said nothing to me as it might only have been a coincidence. ‘His father’s often remarked there must be some pretty girl to add to the attractions of that place, as Bill normally is far too keen to see over the top of the next hill to stay more than a few days anywhere on hol
iday. And ‒ this is just for you, Jo ‒ Matron the other day told me that I would be astonished at how often her nurses away on a foreign holiday developed the most convenient attacks of food poisoning a day or so before they were due back. She named no names, but I’d a notion she’d your friend Aline in mind. It would seem, rightly.’
‘Yes. You may be right about Aline. I still don’t think she’s right to keep the truth from Bill.’
‘Frankly, darling, nor do I. But we are here, and she is out there. It may look so different from out there.’
It seemed to me Bill should be given a chance to decide that for himself. I brooded darkly for the rest of my duty, and after midnight wrote to him myself. Not knowing his address, I sent the letter care of Aline’s hotel, trusting the desk clerk to deliver it.
I made no excuses for writing, and did not mention Aline or his old promises to me. I wrote that I was prepared to incur his own and his father’s wrath for involving myself in the Francis family affairs. Then I sealed and stamped the letter to go air-mail, and crept downstairs to post it in the box in our darkened front hall before going to bed.
One o’clock struck somewhere as I drew back my curtains after switching off the light. The general-theatre floor was still lit up. I forgot the Francis family and lay in bed watching those lights and worrying about Richard. I remembered Margaret in the Sisters’ Home and wondered if she was thinking of him, too. I felt ashamed, miserable, lonely ‒ and went on worrying about Richard. I did not let myself fall asleep until the general-theatre lights went out, one by one, over an hour later.
Chapter Twelve
THE UNIT IS A FACTORY-BELT
Next morning I had a letter from the solicitor acting for the Downshurst police in connection with that accident on the bypass. The two men in the black car were now out of hospital, the case was shortly coming to court, and the solicitor wanted to check through my statement with me, if possible in Downshurst, if not in London.
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