The Fair Wind: A moving 1950s hospital romance (The Anniversary Collection Book 6)

by Lucilla Andrews

  Something in his tone made me look at him sharply. He cast another quick look at Jill. It was only then that I realised he was finding it difficult to keep his eyes off her. After that I paid a great deal more attention to Mark; I was free to do this, as he was paying no attention to me at all. He looked very much like a man who did not know what had hit him; his conversation was a little too bright, his laugh a little too forced. And when the party ended at last, and he and Tom escorted Jill and me home, it was Tom and Jill who kept the conversation going.

  ‘Oh, Sue, that was fun!’ whispered Jill as we tiptoed into her room. ‘I do hope they ask us again. And weren’t those physio girls nice? I hope we see more of them.’

  ‘Yes, I thought they were sweet.’ I pretended to yawn. ‘I’m whacked, Jill. Do you mind if I go to bed? I can’t sleep in in the morning. I’ve had my day off. Sleep well, and I’m so glad you loved the party.’

  She looked at me with her great eyes. ‘You loved it, too, didn’t you, Sue?’

  ‘Rather!’ I said with hideous heartiness. ‘You know me. I always love parties. See you in the morning.’

  She coloured slightly. ‘Actually, I don’t think you will. When I told Mark ‒ or it might have been Tom ‒’ she added with a much too casual air ‒ ‘that I had tomorrow as a day off, they both suggested I went round to the flat to have morning coffee and to help them with the clearing up!’

  I did not see much of Jill for several days. Now we worked in separate wards, our off-duty seldom coincided, and only infrequently were we sent to the same meals. We had the evenings after duty together, naturally, but then we were generally joined by Sally or Agatha, who was becoming more human, and less of an embryo-Sister with every passing day.

  One evening, however, when we were alone in her room catching up with our news, I asked Jill how she had enjoyed the morning she went to have coffee and tidy the men’s flat.

  ‘It was rather pleasant.’ She smiled. ‘I wish you had been there, Sue. I know Mark missed you.’

  ‘I’m sure he didn’t do anything of the sort. Mark’s a nice man, and he may think I’m a nice girl, but he doesn’t think any more about me. He’s just not my type and I’m not his.’

  I had expected her to disagree with me. Much to my surprise, she nodded. ‘That’s true. Yet ‒’

  ‘Yet ‒ what?’

  She looked at her hands. ‘He’s so frightfully attractive. It’s hard to realise that you don’t find him so.’

  I was really worried. I said, carefully, ‘Jill, do you think he’s very attractive?’

  She did not meet my eyes. ‘Yes.’

  ‘More so than Thomas?’

  She glanced up. ‘Thomas is a dear, but ‒ well, he and Mark are as different as chalk and cheese.’

  I said, ‘Yes, they are,’ and we looked at each other in a rather peculiar fashion. Then I said, ‘Have they dated you again?’

  ‘I’m having supper with Thomas tomorrow evening at that Italian place.’

  ‘Very nice.’ Then I asked her if Tom’s Finals had begun. I hadn’t seen him about the hospital at all lately.

  ‘They began yesterday, and I think they go on for about a week or ten days. He didn’t tell me himself, but Mark was in Margaret clinical-room last evening, and he told me. Poor Tom. It must be a terrible strain for him. Imagine having an exam that drags on like that!’

  I agreed and made no comment on Mark being in Margaret clinical-room. But I could not help wondering what the students would do if there were no clinical-rooms into which they could drift quite naturally when they wanted to catch a glimpse, or have a brief word, with a special nurse.

  Next morning Sister Joseph sent me on an errand to Casualty Hall. I was waiting for Sister Casualty to find the notes for which I had been sent, when I saw a group of young men and women standing by the porter’s lodge. They were all dressed in impeccable dark suits and dresses and their expressions were serious to the point of strain. I had watched them for several seconds before I realised that I recognised one of them. Thomas was leaning against the wall of the lodge. When he saw me he came across with his unhurried stride.

  I said the first words that came into my head. ‘Thomas, you do look smart! I didn’t recognise you.’ Then I realised what I had said, and apologised. ‘Do forgive me. It’s just that when you are all dressed up like this I don’t know you at all.’

  ‘No. I don’t think you do,’ he said.

  I longed to ask him what he meant by that. Perhaps if he had been looking like a vast, shaggy teddy bear, as was usual, I would have done so. It had never struck me to be shy with Thomas. But today he looked very much the young Dr. Dillon, and I was not on teasing terms with young doctors.

  Sister Casualty bustled out of her office with some notes in her hand at that moment. She ignored me and smiled quite pleasantly at Tom. ‘Well, Mr. Dillon? How is it going?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not at all well, Sister, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Splendid!’ she said heartily. ‘I’m delighted to hear you say that. If any student comes and tells me he feels he has done a paper well, I know I am certain to see him as one of my dressers and clerks for another six months. The less sanguine you feel about your chances, Mr. Dillon, the more sanguine do I feel about the prospects of my shortly addressing you as Dr. Dillon.’ She turned to me. ‘Nurse, here are your notes. Kindly ask Sister Joseph to let me have them back again as soon as she has done with them.’

  ‘Thank you, Sister.’ I hurried away without daring, in Sister Casualty’s presence, to look again at Tom, or wish him luck. I was delighted that Sister Casualty wanted the notes back. It would give me a chance to meet Tom again. But when I got back to Casualty he and his fellow candidates had vanished.

  Jill came into my room after her supper with Tom, much as I had gone to report to her after my one and only date with Mark. ‘Not asleep, Sue? Good! I hoped you wouldn’t be.’

  ‘I’ve actually been doing some work.’ I closed my lecture note-book carefully. ‘And at last I’m up-to-date.’

  She stood over me and shook her head. ‘I don’t know what’s come over you, Sue. The sight of you turning over a new leaf and keeping it turned, is growing quite unnerving. Even Thomas was talking about it tonight. He said he hadn’t heard of you making a single mistake since you left Catherine. He sounded quite worried.’

  ‘I don’t suppose the anxiety will put him off his exams. Tell me about your supper. How did it go?’

  She sat in my armchair and swung her legs over the arm. ‘I enjoyed it.’ She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. ‘The place was just as you described it.’

  ‘How ‒ er ‒ do you two get on alone?’

  ‘All right.’ She smiled across at me. ‘We always have. We understand each other.’ She stood up and wandered across to my window. ‘This is the first supper date I have ever had on my own with a man.’ And she murmured something I did not catch at the moment.

  ‘What did you say?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, nothing much. I was looking at the snow. It’s just starting.’

  I climbed out of bed and joined her at the window. ‘So it is. Surely it’s much too early in the year?’

  ‘It does snow in November,’ she said as she left the room. As the door closed behind her, I realised in that odd way in which you do sometimes realise things after they have been said, the words she had murmured so quietly. They had been, ‘Inevitably with the wrong man.’

  I sat down on the end of my bed, feeling as if I had been hit on the head.

  Jill, after meeting both Tom and Mark; socially, had found Mark more attractive.

  The snow did not last until morning: the cold snap did. It grew colder and colder. The sky was heavy with snow, too cold to fall, and the river ran blackly beneath the pewter-coloured sky. The hospital with its highly efficient heating was probably one of the warmest places in London, and when our children’s parents came to fetch them home, they said they were sure their offspring wouldn’t want to leave
the nice warm ward and face the bitter wind outside. Personally I enjoyed the cold, but I was in a minority. I met Mark one afternoon when I returned from my usual walk in the park. He was carrying a suitcase; his one concession to the weather was the long, multi-coloured Rugger Club scarf which he wore wound several times round his neck.

  ‘Hi, there, Sue! Long time no see. How are things?’

  I said things were fine, thank you. ‘How are you getting on, Mark?’

  ‘Not so dusty. I’ve got a holiday and I’m off home. Ten days in this weather will set me up a treat. My father says the Fens are frozen, and with any luck I’ll get some skating in.’

  ‘Lucky man! Do you like this weather, then?’

  ‘It sends the good red corpuscles racing after each other, sweetie. Nothing like it. Seems to suit you, too.’ He bowed gallantly. ‘Brings up the roses in the cheeks, dear Sue. Have you been scampering round the park again?’

  ‘Yes. How did you know that? Or was it a guess?’

  ‘Jill mentioned it. I ran into her in Margaret Ward this morning. I thought I’d drop by if only to say goodbye.’ He laughed, and his laugh did not ring true. ‘I wouldn’t like her to think I was just doing a vanishing act.’

  I looked at him steadily as I asked simply, ‘Are you doing a vanishing act?’

  He grinned; his grin was no more natural than his laugh had been. ‘What do you mean? I’ve told you. I’m having a holiday ‒ a break from it all.’

  ‘I know you did. What I meant was, are you vanishing on purpose? To keep out of the way while Tom’s exam is still on?’

  ‘And why should I have to do that?’

  I said, slowly, ‘Because he’s your best friend.’

  He put down his suitcase. ‘Susan Fraser, I would very much like to shake you,’ he said quietly. ‘You have no business to ask such questions ‒ or be so perceptive.’ He sighed slightly. ‘But since you seem to have twigged so much, Sue, will you just tell me what a chap is supposed to do when he is all set to marry his best friend to some nice girl ‒ and then finds he wants nothing more than to marry her himself?’

  I was thunderstruck. I had guessed Tom had marriage in his mind, but I thought a light-hearted young man like Mark was the last person to have such serious intentions. He seemed still far too adolescent to think of marrying or settling down. ‘Mark, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. But are you sure you’re serious? I mean, I hate to remind you ‒’

  ‘But I’ve sown the odd wild oat. I know that. I’ve reminded myself, too. The thing is this, Sue, I’ve never in my whole life wanted to marry any girl ‒ until now. I don’t understand what’s happened; it’s all new to me. So I thought I’d get out of sight for a while. I can spin out the ten days once I’m away. That will at least give Tom time to get cracking of his own accord. I can’t mess things up for him at this stage, and I can’t stick around and lend a helping hand any longer. So I’m off.’ He put a hand on my shoulder. ‘I’ve been doing some thinking, Sue. I watched you at that party of ours. And I had a strange notion.’

  I stiffened. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Knock me down if I’m speaking out of turn. But couldn’t you be feeling exactly the same way where Tom’s concerned?’

  I felt my colour rise. I could not answer him.

  He bent down and kissed my cheek lightly. ‘You and I, my sweet,’ he murmured, ‘are as alike as two peas in a pod. I’m glad we met. Take care of yourself. And keep an eye on things for me.’

  My voice came back. ‘Mark, you won’t talk about this?’ I demanded urgently.

  He said only, ‘Will you?’ and I was satisfied.

  I walked back into the hospital to look for my post, and collided with the same group of examination candidates I had seen in Casualty last week. Tom stood at the back. He was not looking my way, so I could not smile at him. As I walked on past them, I heard one man say to the others, ‘See that tender farewell old Mark was taking from his curly-headed damsel just now? I thought that affair had died in infancy. Seems I was wrong.’

  Jill did not mention seeing Mark when we met at tea that day. She was off that evening, and had the day off next day, and I expected that she would come into my room when I was off duty after supper. But I found Sally in my room with the news that Jill’s married brother had come to take her home for the evening.

  The next day was an operation day in Joseph. When I went off duty in the morning I decided I must have some fresh air. I took off my apron, and slipped a mackintosh over my uniform, buttoning it high at the neck so that my uniform dress might not show as we were not allowed to go out in indoor uniform. I was nothing like smart enough for the park that lay west, so I turned east, and walked down towards the docks and the river.

  The docks were exciting, even on cold, grey winter days. The air smelt of tar and salt. I turned down one alley that seemed vaguely familiar, and realised that I was outside the little Italian restaurant. I passed it quickly, without looking inside, and felt stupidly relieved when it was behind me. I walked on and on, not very fast now, and stopping every now and then to look at the ships that were now much nearer. I passed a large disused dock and noticed casually the big red painted sign: This dock is dangerous for children. I must have gone about fifty yards farther on when I heard footsteps behind me; light, quick and stumbling as if a child was running too fast. I turned round. A small boy was chasing me. A tiny boy; he could not have been more than four or five, and he was running as if his life depended upon it. I went to meet him, and he threw himself into my arms. ‘Miss! Miss! Teddy’s in the water! Teddy’s in the water!’

  ‘There, there, love!’ I stroked his hot little face. ‘Have you dropped your Teddy in? Never mind. I’ll see if I can fish him out. I expect he’ll float. Teddy bears generally do.’

  He shook his head in a positive frenzy of impatience. ‘It’s not my Teddy bear,’ he sobbed. ‘It’s Teddy ‒ an’ he tried to get our ball ‒ an’ he fell in.’

  An ice-cold hand clutched at my heart. ‘Teddy ‒ a little boy ‒ where?’ I looked round at the heavy, blackish water, then saw that he was pointing farther down towards the area from which I had just come. I seized his hand and rushed back with him along the empty, narrow dockside. It was then that I saw something small and yellow, bobbing up and down about twenty yards from the edge. I kicked off my shoes automatically, and pulled at the buttons of my mackintosh. I stopped only to say to the small boy, ‘Go and get your mum ‒ quick!’ Then I dropped my mackintosh and jumped into the dock.

  Chapter Eight

  The water was colder than any cold I had ever imagined. I swam as fast as my clothes would allow me towards the bobbing, yellow figure. The golden-haired child in the yellow jersey was beating the water with the instinctive gestures of a small puppy in a garden pond. He was very young, perhaps two or three, and almost too young to know fear. He beat at me as I reached him, and his little face was purple with cold and anger. His glorious rage was possibly what saved his life. He was really furious. ‘Wet! Wet! Ugh! Nasty water!’ he spluttered as he continued to dog-paddle with his frenzied little arms and legs.

  Although I was not by any means a strong swimmer, I was at home in water and had no fear of it. But I was not at home in this icy, black dock with a uniform dress weighing me down and a small child clutching at my I neck. I trod water momentarily to get my breath and to get him in a better position. ‘Let go of my neck, Teddy, there’s a good boy,’ I gasped, gently disengaging the small, clinging hands. ‘I’ll hold on to you ‒ but I’m going to turn you round.’ And I swung him round in the water, keeping his chin and head above water with my left hand and holding him under the arm and across the chest with my right. Once I had him in what seemed to me a safe position, I swam backwards, using my legs to propel us both towards the edge of the dock. This may not have been the official method of life-saving, but it seemed the best method for the moment.

  The little boy who had run after me had come back with two women in floral aprons and an e
lderly man. They were all running fast; the two women ahead, the small boy clinging to the hand of the old man. As they came nearer, one of the women shouted breathlessly, ‘Is he all right, Miss? Did you get to him in time? Oh, look, he’s turned his head. Dad, did you see? Our Teddy’s turned his head!’ They were all at the edge now. The small boy was jumping up and down with excitement as if watching the boat-race.

  The old man moved the child back carefully. ‘You stand well back, son. Your mum don’t want two lads in the water in one morning. Your Aunty May and I’ll be giving a hand to help the lady and Ted out of the water.’ He was old, but he was very calm, and he took complete control of the situation. ‘If you can just hang on a second, Miss, we’ll give you both a hand up. Here, Lil, take this to wrap Ted in when he comes out.’ He removed his jacket, then lay on his face and held both arms out to me. ‘Let’s have the lad, Miss. That’s the boy! Come on to Gran’pa, sonny.’

  When Teddy was safe on land, the old man and the young woman called Aunty May each took one of my hands in both their own and hauled me from the dock. I could do nothing but stand and shiver. The wind seemed even colder than the water.

  Grandpa picked up my mackintosh. ‘I don’t know how we’re going to thank you for this, Miss, but you put this on, and come along back with us. We’ll give you a chance to warm and dry out and have something hot inside you.’ He turned to his daughter, who was cuddling Teddy and crying great tears at the same time. ‘You get young Ted home quick, Lil. I’ll see to the young lady.’

  ‘I’ll be all right, thanks,’ I said. ‘Do take Teddy home as quickly as you can and give him a hot bath and put him to bed. And I do think you ought to let your doctor know about his fall. He may get badly shocked, or take a chill later. The sooner he’s indoors the better. Please don’t delay.’ My teeth chattered violently, and I wrung as much water as I could from my skirt as I spoke.

  When the small procession had hurried off, he watched me anxiously. ‘I wouldn’t bother about getting no more of that water out, Miss. You do up your coat and get on your shoes and come along with me.’