‘Don’t disillusion my girlish hopes,’ I said. ‘I was just thinking I might risk it. At least I’d be clear of Matrons and Sister O.P.s.’
She smiled. ‘Sister O.P.s being difficult?’
‘That,’ I said, ‘is a miracle of understatement. But you’ve got the general idea.’
She sat in my armchair and swung her legs over the side. ‘What’s all this I hear about our John fixing you up in O.P.s? Is it really true?’
‘Yes. Unlikely though it sounds. But don’t get any ideas about me and our John. He only did it to oblige his beauteous young woman.’
She said she had heard that rumour too.
‘No rumour. I am the horse and I am telling you. Straight from my mouth.’
‘You mean he’s so far gone that he cast caution to the winds and went to Matron ‒ for her benefit?’
‘He certainly went to Matron. And I’d say he’s certainly got it badly. But to be fair to our John, I don’t honestly think he was solely thinking of it from her angle. That man takes the job seriously.’
She said she supposed so. ‘But what’s all this about you wanting to be fair to our John, Gill? You’ve never cared about being fair to him before.’
I said I was a changed woman and growing old before my time. ‘This affair with my dope has made me tolerant and kind.’
Carol said it was all most unnerving.
‘I’ll tell you something that’ll unnerve you still more, honey. John thinks that whoever took that dope was plotting my downfall and that it was all intentional ‒ or I think he thinks that.’
She yawned and closed her eyes. ‘Dear! I’m sleepy! Why does he think that? And how do you know?’
I told her about my walk in the park.
‘Gill.’ She opened her eyes. ‘Did you ask if he had taken it?’
‘Didn’t have to. He guessed.’
She stretched. ‘Did he guess who it was?’
‘No. Or if he has he didn’t say. And I don’t think he has,’ I tried on the stole again, ‘because the only conclusion he reached was that it did not add up and it was high time I took a grip and stopped feeling sorry for myself. Dramatising was the word.’ I saw she was smiling, and smiled back. ‘I suppose it is rather funny.’
She said apologetically, ‘Sorry, ducks, but I can’t help thinking that last bit is, knowing what you think of that man. You must have been livid. I should have been. I would have hit him over the head with my handbag.’
‘You wouldn’t,’ I told her, ‘not at all. I’m bigger than you and I only reach his shoulder. You don’t hit men of his size lightly. Particularly in this decadent age, when the chances are the little gentlemen will hit back and hard.’
My next-door neighbour banged on the wall at that moment. ‘Snow,’ she yelled, ‘I’ve finished with the iron. Want it?’
‘Please,’ I bellowed. ‘See you later, Carol ‒ enjoy yourself.’
Carol said she could hardly wait, and she could also hardly keep awake. ‘I can’t think why I ever agreed to this dance. I’d far rather go to bed.’
The Medical School ballroom was crowded; the floor was jammed with couples, and the couches against the walls were as full as the Out-Patient benches on any weekly morning. The Rugger Club had always printed and sold too many tickets. The Rugger Club was the one financially solvent club in Joe’s. No one ever appeared to object to the fact that dancing was consequently an athletic feat, or that the lack of sitting-out accommodation was inconvenient; and the general reaction was that since so many people had turned up it must be a darned good party, and after all what does it matter if a girl’s feet do get trodden on? Most of the girls present were senior nurses or staff nurses, and by that stage their feet were so tough that even the full weight of one of the first fifteen’s backs coming down smartly on an evening sandal meant nothing but a torn nylon.
Tom Thanet was a good dancer. He was fairly tall, being just over six feet in height. Had we not had John as a standard against which to measure all the young men, we should possibly have considered Tom very tall. John stood six feet five and a half inches, and was proportionately broad. Tom was thin, and beside the S.S.O. looked a frail youth.
I enjoyed dancing with him, and in a detached fashion was deciding that the evening might be bearable after all, when I saw Peter and Carol come into the room. A few seconds later they had joined the crush on the floor; I saw the back of Peter’s head and then the line of his cheekbone as he turned his head and bent to say something to Carol. I saw the way she smiled up at him. I had never seen Carol smile like that in all the years I had known her. She was wearing a grey chiffon dress. It was a beautiful dress, and the colour suited her. I lost my detachment and wondered whether I ought to have my head examined. Carol was certainly my greatest friend, but I recalled what Lisa had said about there being a limit to altruism. The recollection did not improve my morale.
Tom’s arm tightened round me.
‘The name is Thanet,’ he murmured, ‘and you’re dancing with me. Just in case you forgot.’
I tilted my head back to look at him. ‘Do tell me, Mr Thanet ‒ are you a doctor?’
‘If you promise not to tell anyone ‒ yes, I am.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘I do hope nobody heard me. It’s such a responsibility being a doctor ‒ I mean if anything should happen everyone, but everyone, will turn to me.’
I said I thought doctors were wonderful. ‘So noble.’
‘It’s a vocation, Miss Snow. Just that. Don’t praise me; I know how you feel about me ‒ I overwhelm you ‒ let it pass.’
‘And to think,’ I said, ‘that if there was an accident ‒ if someone was suddenly taken ill ‒ you would know just what to do!’
He nodded gravely. ‘I certainly would. I’d run like hell in the opposite direction.’
I laughed. ‘Tom, you are a fool.’
He smiled. ‘There’s quite a percentage in folly, it seems ‒ there is also a percentage in dancing with ghosts.’
‘Ghosts?’
‘Uh-huh. You were one just now. But I don’t mind,’ he said mildly, ‘if the specific ghost looks as good in black as you do.’
‘That’s nice of you, Tom.’
He said he was a splendid type.
In fact that was just what he was. I had known that before from my professional acquaintance with him, but I thought him doubly pleasant to be so civil when he was merely obliging a friend.
John danced by with Sister O.P.s. I had noticed them earlier, but now I had a better look at her dress. It had a halter neckline and was made of violet faille. Her eyes tonight were the exact shade of that dress. She looked incredibly lovely.
I said quietly, ‘I think she’s the best-looking young woman I’ve ever come across.’
Tom reversed to get a good view. ‘Personally,’ he said, ‘I find perfection excessively boring. Imagine seeing that face at the breakfast table every morning. She’d never have a hair out of place and one would feel indecent if one hadn’t used brilliantine or something. And how could you kiss a girl like that before you’d shaved?’
I said, ‘Our John doesn’t appear to agree with you.’
‘My dear girl ‒ not he! The man’s a perfectionist himself ‒ and he probably has an electric razor.’
The music stopped. I saw Peter lead Carol quickly to one of the overcrowded sofas.
Tom said, ‘It’s too hot in here, Gillian. Let’s find a quiet spot, rest our feet, slake our thirsts, and cool off.’
I was looking at Peter. ‘Anything you say.’
He took my arm. ‘I say, yes.’
Peter was talking to Carol and making her laugh; neither of them glanced at us as we walked across the floor. On a sofa near the door Frances Mack was smiling at John Dexter. He said something and pushed his hand through his hair, then smoothed it mechanically. Tom was looking at them too. ‘Now what,’ he said when we had passed them, ‘is worrying the boss? He only pulls his hair out in handfuls that way when something’s in it, if y
ou follow me.’
‘Is that why he does it? I thought it was just a line.’
Tom said no, indeed. ‘Poor chap has the most ghastly time when he’s worried in the theatre and can’t touch his hair. But it’s no line, fact. Sure sign something’s wrong somewhere. You watch out, next time you see him at it. There’ll be a snag handy.’ He opened the door of one of the small offices that lay off the hall. ‘I think these are always available at these do’s.’
I hesitated. ‘Tom, isn’t this the Dean’s?’
He walked in, switched on the desk light, and flopped on to the small sofa that stood beside the empty fireplace.
‘His secretary’s, I think ‒ but who cares? Relax, girl.’ I was still hovering, and he held out a hand. ‘The Dean isn’t Matron. He was young once. No’ ‒ I had reached for the switch by the door ‒ ‘don’t put that on. It’s nicer like this. Come on,’ he waggled his hand again, ‘come and sit down.’
I sat down, warily. I was in no mood for sitting on sofas in the gloaming. ‘What about that cool drink you promised me?’
He sighed. ‘I thought the operative word was rest.’
I said I was thirsty.
‘Right.’ He heaved himself to his feet. ‘Chivalry, you will note, is not dead. It has merely taken refuge in St Joseph’s Hospital. London.’
‘Not even St Martha’s?’
‘God help you,’ he said, ‘if you ever sit out with a Martha’s man. Now they are real men.’
He was back in a few minutes. He put the glasses on the floor beside us and sat down again.
‘Bless you, Tom.’ I raised my glass.
He nodded amicably and touched a fold of my net overskirt. ‘This is pretty,’ he said, ‘and it goes well with that red scarf thing. You don’t really have to worry about our mutual girl friend, the flower of Martha’s. You look all right ‒ more than all right.’
‘Bless you again. But I’m not really worried about her.’
‘Only by her?’ he suggested, and we laughed.
‘Not off duty. I’m a big girl now ‒ fourth year and all. I take off my working problems with my uniform.’
He sipped his drink. ‘Wise girl. Of course, if you were even wiser, you’d have no problems.’ He turned sideways to look at me. ‘You aren’t still upset about that bust-up in Robert?’
‘Well ‒ it was a bit of a bust-up.’
‘So what? My good girl, who doesn’t run into a sticky patch once in a while? Happens to everyone. But it blows over. These things have a way of straightening themselves out.’
‘Peter said that too,’ I said thoughtfully.
He twisted his glass. ‘He did, eh?’ He put the glass back on the floor and produced a cigarette case. ‘Have one?’
I accepted, and decided I had much maligned him by the thoughts I had entertained when he brought me into this room. He obviously only intended that we should do as he had suggested: rest our feet and cool off. I thought this was a good opportunity to thank him for helping Peter.
I said, ‘Tom, it was really very kind of you to ask me tonight.’
He raised one eyebrow. ‘Gillian ‒ this is so sudden. But what are you talking about? What’s so kind about my asking a pretty girl to a dance?’
‘Look,’ I said, ‘you don’t have to pretend all that much. I know this wasn’t an ordinary invitation ‒ that you were just doing it to oblige.’
He sat back in his corner. ‘I don’t doubt that I’m very dense, but I’m not with you. Of course I’m doing this to oblige ‒ myself.’
‘Didn’t Peter ask you to bring me?’
‘Peter Kier?’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Where did you get that bright idea?’
I hesitated. Certainly Carol had not said this in so many words, yet I was sure of her meaning, and how else could she and Peter have known of this invitation when I had not known it myself? ‘I just wondered ‒’ I said lamely.
‘Then don’t wonder. No one tells me whom I’m to take to dances. I asked you because I heard you were free and thought it might be fun. No subtlety. But what’s all this about Peter? Did you seriously think he fixed this up for you because he was booked himself?’
I shrugged. ‘I got it wrong, that’s all.’
He smiled. ‘You definitely have got things very wrong if you don’t yet know Peter well enough to know that this would be about the last thing he’d do.’
‘What do you mean?’
He folded his arms and stretched his legs. ‘Peter,’ he said carefully, ‘is a splendid type and a splendid man on a party, but he’s not exactly a philanthropist. He rather looks on you ‒ rightly or wrongly ‒ as his private property. If it interests you, he wasn’t at all happy last night when he heard I had asked you. Took a poor view, he did, and told me so. A stern warning, it was.’
‘Tom ‒ really?’
He shook his head sadly. ‘So much for my ego. And so much for the good money I’ve wasted on these tickets. Alas ‒ she loves another.’ He laughed. ‘Don’t look so stricken, girl ‒ I’ll survive. You’re a very good dancer and very good to look at. Fair enough. I’m quite satisfied.’
There was no point in pretence. I said, ‘I feel an awful fraud.’
He stood up. ‘You shouldn’t take life so seriously, my dear. It’s a lot of fun if you take it as it comes.’ He held out his hands. ‘Come along,’ he pulled me to my feet, ‘let’s join the howling mob on the floor.’ But when I was standing he held on to my hands. ‘At the risk of having my head bitten off I’m going to give you a stern warning.’
I said, ‘Never to leave my keys around again. I promise, Doctor.’
‘To hell with your keys.’ He gripped my hands more tightly and shook them as if we were playing oranges and lemons. ‘But there’s something else which you’d be wise not to take too seriously.’
‘What’s that?’
He was silent momentarily, as if making up his mind; then he said, ‘The prospect of a joint future with Peter Kier. He’s ‒ er ‒ well, he’s not exactly the home-loving type.’ He was so obviously sincere over what he was saying that there was no question of my feeling annoyed with his gratuitous advice.
‘He isn’t?’
‘No. Oh ‒ hell.’ He broke off. ‘I don’t know why I’ve let myself in for this ‒ I like Peter and I like you ‒ you’re a nice ‒’ he smiled. ‘Any minute now and I’ll ask you to be a sister to me. That’s the point.’ He said he had three sisters. ‘That’s why I know that this is a difficult fact for a young woman to grasp. What my sisters haven’t told me on the subject isn’t worth knowing. Fact. Yes, indeed. So you don’t want to lose too much sleep over Peter ‒ because if you do, all you’ll end up with is insomnia.’
I said bleakly, ‘Thanks, Tom.’
He let go of my hands. ‘Don’t look like that, Gill. You make me feel as if I’ve been pinching sweets from the nippers in Christian. Hell!’ He frowned. ‘I don’t know what to do.’ Then he said quickly, ‘Yes, I do,’ and put his arms round me and kissed me.
The room was suddenly full of light. Then the switch by the door was turned off and John said, ‘Sorry,’ and stepped backward into the passage. Before he had time to close the door we heard a woman’s voice.
‘Really! That girl is quite unsuitable! She wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in St Martha’s ‒’ and the door closed.
Tom said ruefully, ‘Well, I thought it was such a good idea,’ and let me go. He asked what I wanted to do next?
‘Dance? Isn’t that why we’re here?’
‘It’s a point.’ He moved to the door. ‘Are you frightfully narked with me, Gill?’
I smiled weakly. ‘I’m not narked with you at all. I still think you’ve been very civil.’
‘You do?’ He shut the door. ‘Then let’s sit down again. I’ll give you some more advice, shall I? Then I can kiss you again? I liked that part ‒ I liked it a lot.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘no more advice ‒ thanks. We’ll dance.’
He offered me his a
rm. ‘Let’s go and find some apples.’
‘Apples?’ I wondered if I had missed something; it was more than possible.
‘ “Comfort me with apples,” ’ said Tom, ‘ “and stay me with flagons; for I am sick of love.” Solomon. Unquote.’
Chapter Seven
NURSES DO NOT ASK WHY
Later that night as I redid my face in the cloakroom Carol touched my shoulder.
‘How’s it going?’
We were alone in the room. I said, much as I had expected.
She took out her powder compact. ‘Tom dances quite well, doesn’t he?’
‘Pretty well. No, that’s not fair. Very well.’
She smiled. ‘My dear, you’re still full of the milk of human kindness. How long’s it going to last?’
It was a relief to talk to her. I sat down and took off a shoe.
‘I suppose this evening will have to end some time. It seems interminable.’
She said she wasn’t having much fun either. ‘I wish we could have made this a party. It wouldn’t be so bad if we’d been a foursome.’
I did not have to beat about the bush with her, so I asked what was stopping us. ‘I know Tom would be quite happy to mix.’
She peered at herself in the glass. ‘I sort of gathered that Peter’s allergic to parties.’
This did not upset me, although I saw she was afraid that it would. I knew Peter better than she, and the fact that he was against joining us meant that he was annoyed, as Tom had told me. If he had not been angry he would have been delighted with the prospect. As Tom had also said, Peter was a great man for a party. Carol would not know this because she seldom came to our parties. I did not remember her going to more than one other besides tonight’s in all her years in Joe’s.
I suddenly appreciated that I had let her in for an evening with Peter in a mood; and when he was in one of them, you had to be in love with him to find him bearable.
‘Honey,’ I said, ‘I am sorry. It’s too bad of him to behave like this and spoil your evening. He’s murder when he’s sulking. Look’ ‒ I had a bright idea ‒ ‘shall I tell Tom to ask you to dance and then Peter will have to ask me and we’ll have a heart-to-heart?’ It was not the most tactful thing I had ever said, but I was shaken by her reaction. A small flame of anger leapt in her eyes. I had never known her really angry before, and I was so interested that I even forgot to feel guilty about my lack of tact.
The Quiet Wards Page 12
