“He still doesn’t want you working.”
“No.”
“He’s bloody selfish. You need something to do and God knows we need the help. Heard from Rob lately?”
“A letter last week, he’s hoping to get leave for Christmas.”
“I know. Your little brother has been writing to me.”
“Has he?”
“Yes, he’s a good kid. I’m fond of him.”
At four o’clock, Bill told her to go home, but dreading the prospect of facing Paul and another row she dawdled around for a time. Would she go straight to the bungalow? Maybe go to the theatre, or wander through the department stores in Raffles Place? Helen would not be off until six, so she could hardly hang around the hospital until then.
* * *
Paul waited with mounting impatience near the main entrance of the hospital for Daphne. Four o’clock she was supposed to finish. He glanced at his watch once more, nearly five. Then he saw her, a slight figure in a grey nurse’s dress, trailing forlornly out of the hospital.
She seemed to be dragging her feet. No wonder, he thought bitterly. Why would she want to hurry home after what happened last night?
“Daphne.” He stepped up to her and something died in him when she cringed away.
“I thought I’d pick you up.”
“You shouldn’t have bothered.” Her voice was flat, dead-sounding, her eyes wounded, like those of a trapped animal.
“I’m sorry about last night. I was drunk. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Don’t you?”
“Let’s go for a drink somewhere. We could eat out too.”
“Yes.” She accepted so readily he felt shattered. Anything to keep from being alone with me, he thought feeling sick to his stomach.
“Raffles, driver.”
They didn’t speak until the car pulled up outside the imposing white building. The driver opened the door for Paul, who got out and turned to help Daphne, but she clambered out by herself.
He didn’t touch her, in case she rebuffed him, so they walked side by side with a foot or more separating them. Daphne ordered a long cool fruit drink, Paul his usual stengah.
“Will we order our meal now?” he finally asked once they were seated at the table.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I’ll chose something for both of us, shall I?”
She sat there, twisting the only jewelry she wore, his plain gold wedding band.
“Did you enjoy your day at the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry about last night, honestly. I acted like a bastard. Can you forgive me?”
“I don’t know.”
He groaned. “Please, I’m sorry. If I could undo the hurt I would, I’ll make it up to you, promise.”
“Buy me some new clothes?”
“If you like, jewelry, anything.”
“I don’t want your money. I never did. Your love is all I want.”
“You’ve got it, you know you have. I swear there wasn’t another woman last night.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she interrupted him.
“We have to.”
“Why? Frightened I might withhold my sexual favors.”
He spluttered into his drink.
“Don’t worry. I’m your wife. If I don’t give you your marital rights, you can take them.”
“Like I tried to do last night,” he said bitterly. “You’re hurt and upset and you have every right to be, but I love you. You can’t stop loving me because of one stupid thing I did. I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear it. You made me angry when you fought me and I lost my temper. You certainly pack a wallop.” He rubbed his cheek.
Daphne nodded her thanks as a waiter brought over a menu. She wouldn’t care if she never ate again.
“Listen to me.” Paul reached across the table and clasped one of her hands between his own. “This voluntary evacuation isn’t working. Ships coming in with supplies and reinforcements are sailing off half empty because people won’t leave. There will be compulsory evacuation for European women soon. You’d have to go, and we mightn’t see each other for years.”
“I’m a nurse.”
“It won’t matter. You don’t imagine the British Government would allow any of our women to be left here if the Japs come.”
“What about you?”
“I’m an army officer. I’ll be staying.”
Fear that something might happen to him overrode everything else. “I wouldn’t leave, not unless you did.”
“You’re too good for me, Sunshine, far too good.” He traced the line of her lips with his finger.
“Would you care to dance?”
“No, I want to go home.”
“We haven’t ordered our meal yet.”
“I’m not hungry. I ate a big lunch at the hospital.”
When they arrived back at the bungalow they shared a jug of iced tea and a plate of sandwiches. They sat in the sitting room for a time without speaking. Paul smoked one cigarette after the other.
“I might go to bed, I have to be at the hospital before eight.”
“I’ll drop you off on my way to work.” He stood up when she did, but made no attempt to follow. “Daphne.”
“Yes.” She swung around to face him.
“Would you…” He swallowed a couple of times. “Would you prefer me to sleep in the spare room again?”
“Not unless you want to.”
He watched her leave the room. Going over to the liquor cabinet he poured himself a whisky, which he gulped down. About to refill his glass, he thought better of it, and put it back on the tray. He heard the bath water running and waited for the sounds of water gurgling down the plughole. After another few minutes elapsed he went into the bedroom, shrugged out of his uniform and put on a dressing gown. The door to the bathroom was ajar, so he pushed it open. A horrified breath caught in his throat.
Daphne stood there naked. She grabbed for the towel, but wasn’t quick enough to hide the purple imprints of his fingers, flawing the smooth white skin of her breasts and thighs.
“My God, Daphne. I loathe myself.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
It did. Deep down he knew it did.
She was already in bed with the sheet pulled up to her chin when he came in from the bathroom. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted me to sleep in the spare room forever.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she told him wearily. “Do what you like. You always do anyway.”
He slid in beside her and lay quietly instead of reaching for her as he normally did.
“Would you like to go home for Christmas?” he asked when the silence between them stretched unbearably.
“Home?”
“Yes, to Wangaratta, I could arrange it.”
“Would you come too?”
“No.”
“Robbie?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’ll stay here.” She touched his arm. “I thought you were going to force yourself on me last night. That’s why I hit you.”
He felt her shudder.
“But I still love you,” she said with a catch in her voice. “I’ll always love you, no matter what.”
“You’re too good for me, Sunshine. I don’t think I would have, well even if you hadn’t slapped me, but I loathe myself because I’ll never be a hundred percent certain.”
* * *
Christmas came and went. They put on a small dinner party for Valda and Joe Beaumont, Helen and Rob. They served a traditional Christmas meal. Roast turkey with vegetables, and, even though the weather was so hot, plum pudding in a flaming brandy sauce, just like at home.
They sang Christmas carols together without musical accompaniment, thought of loved ones at home, but enjoyed themselves, just the same. Even though Kuala Lumpur aerodrome had been bombed three days previously, it did not dampen their spirits. Rob had three days leave, which he spen
t with them, swimming and playing golf and tennis.
* * *
Daphne attended numerous dances and other functions with Paul, but underneath the frivolity were undertones of anxiety now. She continued working at the hospital. Trains from up north brought in hundreds of military casualties, and because the hospital was so busy she often found herself on nursing duties.
She entered the orthopedic ward and waved to her favorite patient, a young sailor from the Repulse.
“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” she asked with a smile. Even though both his legs were in traction, he kept making jokes and she admired him for it.
“Much better now I’ve seen you, Sister. I wish you weren’t married.” He gave her a cheeky grin.
“Well, I am married, and if you don’t stop flirting with me I’ll hit you on the head with this bed pan,” she threatened, trying to sound severe, but spoilt it all by laughing. “How’s our sergeant doing?”
“Not real good,” Eddie said. “He had a bad night so they upped his dose of morphine.”
She went over to the young English sergeant’s bed and picked up his hand. “Eddie said you had a rough night?”
“It wasn’t too good, Sister, but I’m feeling all right now,” he whispered.
He had sustained shocking burns to his face and hands in one of the bombing raids. Lying encased in bandages, he must have been in agony, yet he never complained. Comparing his behavior to that of some of the European women who whined because they missed their imported foods and greedily bought things on the black market, she shuddered with disgust. If those women had even an ounce of decency they’d be down here trying to help out.
“Have you had any word on your brother?” Eddie asked.
“No, but there are heaps of rumors flying around about fierce fighting and bombing in Malaya. My husband is an officer and even he can’t find out anything much. Don’t you worry about Robbie, he’ll be fine.” She tried to sound reassuring, when in actual fact anxiety dogged every waking moment. Eddie had enough problems of his own without worry about her.”
Refugees pouring in from Malaya were being billeted in some of the larger homes or in public halls, and the harrowing stories they told about escaping with not much more than the clothes on their back did nothing to allay her fear. She forced herself to push aside her own worries and smile as she went around the ward checking on the comfort of each patient. A drink of cool water, a sympathetic ear, rearranging pillows. It wasn’t much when she could have been helping the surgeons in the operating theatre. She wanted to do more, but this at least was something.
Daphne wiped her hand wearily across her forehead, the climate was so debilitating out here. She wanted to run away and hide somewhere, have a really good cry, but couldn’t afford the luxury. Once I start I wouldn’t be able to stop, and what about my patients if I crack up. Pull yourself together Daphne Ashfield. Show a bit of spunk.
* * *
Following his usual routine, Paul waited for Daphne outside the hospital. She often looked so tired, scarcely able to drag one foot after the other. She had lost weight. Her cheekbones were quite prominent now, in a face made pale by fatigue and anxiety.
He argued and pleaded with her to lessen the workload at the hospital, all to no avail, because the pain of her patients was Daphne’s pain. He could see it in her eyes. And hear it in the way she spoke about ‘our boys,’ and he felt powerless to do anything about it. She gave everything of herself and this generosity sapped her strength. Of course, he asked too much of her as well. He shouldn’t be so demanding.
He had been brought up to think only of himself and what he wanted, and it was hard to change especially in their present environment. You selfish bastard. Make yourself change. Surely you can do that much for Daphne.
She despised the way some of the officer’s wives carried on. He rather despised them himself, but he could understand it. Having lived a pampered life, he took for granted, as his right, things Daphne could not, and these women were the same. He glanced at his watch, twenty minutes late. Some soldier had probably wanted her to read him a letter from home at the last minute, and she would never refuse such a request.
At last he saw her trudging towards the car, and a shaft of pain stabbed him in the heart because she looked so sad and worried.
* * *
The dinner party at the colonel’s house was a crashing bore, as always. Paul watched Daphne, as she stood there pale and ethereal-looking, listening to Major Galbraith sprout off in his usual pompous manner. Making a move so he might rescue her from his clutches, he got waylaid by a slightly tipsy Amelia.
“How are you, darling?”
He shrugged off the red painted fingers and stepped back a pace before answering. “Fine thanks, Amelia.”
“What about a drink, for old time’s sake?”
“Another time, perhaps?” He started moving away.
“You’re a bastard, Paul Ashfield.”
He kept going.
“Sweetheart, are you all right?” He elbowed Major Galbraith out of the way, but already Daphne was sliding to the floor. “Daphne!” He sank to his knees and picked up her small, cold hand. She looked so white, even her lips were bloodless.
“What’s going on here?” The Medical Officer pushed his way through the milling crowd.
“I must have fainted, how silly of me.” Color started returning to her pale cheeks. “I’m all right, Paul. Don’t look so fraught.”
“I’d better take a look at you, Mrs. Ashfield.”
Paul swung her up in his arms, and he and the doctor followed the colonel’s wife to a guest bedroom.
“There’s nothing much wrong with me, but I have felt vaguely off color for a couple of weeks.” She patted Paul’s cheek to alleviate his worry.
“You should have told me.”
“Why? It’s nothing. Maybe I have been working too hard.”
“Wait outside, Paul while I check your wife over. She should see her own doctor tomorrow. Now, my dear, you’re a nurse. What do you think is wrong?”
“Just run down, I guess. We go out a lot and it’s been frantically busy at the hospital.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Eight weeks.”
A couple more questions, that brought heat into her cheeks, and she knew what he was getting at.
“You think I’m pregnant?"
“Ninety-nine percent sure, my dear.”
“Heavens, the symptoms. Ooh, I’ve had them all, even the nausea in the mornings. I can’t believe I didn’t suspect something.”
He patted her hand. “Lie still for a few minutes and I’ll have a chat with your husband. You’ll have to take things easier now.”
“How is she?” Paul rushed at the doctor as he opened the door. “Did you find anything wrong?”
“Do you have any cigars, Paul?”
“Cigars? Not here. For God’s sake, what is it?”
“Congratulations, old man. In less than eight months time you’ll be a father.”
“A father! You mean Daphne’s pregnant?” He felt as if a ton weight had been dragged off his back. “I thought there was something seriously wrong.”
“It’ll pay you to have her checked over by your own doctor, then, if I were you, I’d have her evacuated.”
“God yes, I have been toying with the idea, anyway. May I see her now?”
“Certainly. Wait ten minutes or so before taking her home. You’re a lucky man. See you take good care of her.”
Daphne was standing up patting her hair back into place when he came in. “Hello Paul.” She smiled shyly. “Did the doctor tell you?”
He grinned. “Yes.”
“Are you pleased?”
“Yes, it’s just a bit sudden. Shouldn’t you still be lying down?”
“I’m not an invalid. I’m an idiot, though, for not realizing on my own.”
He pulled her into his arms. “I’m glad, but you know what this means? Home.”
> “Yes.”
“As soon as I can arrange it.” He nuzzled at her creamy white throat. “I’m going to miss you like hell.”
“I could stay a while longer.”
“No, I’m having you sent out immediately.”
“Not until I’ve seen Robbie. He’s getting leave next week.”
“There isn’t time.”
“I have to see him once more. Then I’ll go, I promise.”
He capitulated. It was against his better judgment, but how could he deny her this, when she had given him so much? “A week. Not a minute longer.”
* * *
Air raids were now an almost common occurrence and civilian casualties mounted. The hospitals were full to overflowing with mutilated and traumatized patients.
Bodies of victims were buried quickly to stop them putrefying and spreading disease. Even then, some were ripped to pieces by packs of marauding dogs before they could be collected and decently disposed of. Shop windows were smashed, roads blocked by fallen lampposts, broken down cars and all manner of other debris. At Raffles, however, it remained business as usual.
Chapter Thirteen
Paul swore savagely as the continual ringing of the phone woke him. Who the hell would want him now? Automatically his eyes went to the clock, and it was four in the morning. He slid out of bed, grabbed up his dressing gown and rushed out to still the noise in case it woke Daphne.
“Major Ashfield,” he snarled into the receiver.
“Sir, it’s Lieutenant Baker,” the young male voice said. “From the 113th A.G.H. Is Sister Ashfield there?” It sounded strange, hearing Daphne referred to in such a way.
“She’s in bed. It’s bloody well four in the morning. Where the hell do you think she’d be?”
“Her brother’s been brought in.”
“What!”
“There’s been heavy fighting on the Muar Road, heaps of casualties. Private Clarke is badly wounded.”
“Why didn’t you say so before? How bad?”
“I don’t know. The senior sister asked me to contact you, said you should get to the hospital quickly.”
“We’ll be there in a few minutes.” Dear God please, not Rob. He was only a boy.
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