by Betty Neels
Christmas was a safe topic, of course, but Dr Evans quickly introduced a more personal note. ‘The party was tremendous fun,’ she said chattily. ‘It went on for hours— James was the most marvellous companion.’ She shot a look at Clotilde, who remained poker-faced and said amiably: ‘I’m glad it was such a success.’
‘Well, we had to celebrate. I’ve not told anyone yet, of course, but he’s as thrilled as I am.’ She gave a girlish giggle that made Clotilde wince. ‘And don’t ask me to let you into the secret!’
‘All right, I won’t, Dr Evans. Did you enjoy the Ball?’
Mary Evans looked disconcerted, but there was nothing in Clotilde’s quiet face to give a hint as to her feelings. ‘Oh, yes, it wasn’t too bad—too many people there, though, and some of the men seemed to think it was a good chance to go off and consult together. James was gone for hours. I told him off when he got back, and all he said was that he’d taken the opportunity to deal with an unexpected problem.’
Clotilde murmured politely. The unexpected problem, of course, was James’s need for a good square meal. She offered more coffee, assured Dr Evans that she would be on duty over Christmas, and walked down the ward with her. She then went back to the office where Sally was stacking the mugs.
‘Get another pot of coffee,’ she begged. ‘I’ll send two of the nurses to their coffee break, the other two can take round the drinks.’ And when Sally had come back with a full coffee pot. ‘That girl—how tiresome she is!’
‘She’s ghastly—and all that talk about Dr Thackery and their secret. Do you suppose they are engaged? She’s been cocky enough these last few days. If they are, he’s concealing his feelings beautifully. And I bet she doesn’t call him James to his face.’
‘Well, if they’re engaged she does.’ Clotilde spoke cheerfully, for if the truth were told she was so numb with shock and surprise that at the moment, at any rate, she felt nothing. She found it hard to believe, but it was more than likely to be true; Katrina had said someone at the hospital, hadn’t she, and Mary Evans had been throwing out hints for some time now, and this morning had been rather more than a hint.
Clotilde looked into her coffee cup and sighed soundlessly. She had never had a chance with James, she would have to get him out of her system as soon as possible and in the meanwhile preserve a friendly front so that he would never suspect.
She drank the rest of her coffee. ‘It’s round day tomorrow— I wonder what sort of hair-do she’ll have? Let’s get cracking, shall we? We’re so slack I’ll take the two juniors for a teaching round if you’ll get Mrs Dove to X-Ray and send someone down to the Dispensary about that Lasix—it’s in the book, but there’s no sign of it.’
The full force of Mary Evans’ remark didn’t strike her until the end of the day as she was going off duty, when she caught sight of James leaving the hospital with Dr Evans beside him. She stopped at a window to watch them get into the Bentley and drive away.
She went to her room and washed her hair, then changed and presently went down to supper, where she was the life and soul of the party.
She hardly slept a wink, and to get up in the morning was a relief.
Since it was round day there was plenty of work to keep her busy. Besides, the post had swollen out of all proportion with an influx of Christmas cards, so that the distribution of them took her a lot longer than usual. Two porters had put up a tree in the centre of the ward, too, and once Dr Thackery had gone, everyone with a few minutes to spare would be decorating it. There were paper chains to be put up too and the wreaths of paper flowers they had all been busy with in their spare moments. She was only just ready when the doors opened and James came in, with Jeff beside him and Mary Evans trying to get between them.
His ‘Good morning, Sister,’ was exactly as usual, but he went on briskly: ‘We’ll be as quick as we can today. I’m sure Sister has a great deal to do, and most fortunately, none of our patients are in need of intensive treatment.’ He glanced at Clotilde. ‘You are taking emergencies, though?’
‘Yes, sir. There are four empty beds and both side wards empty.’
‘Well, let’s hope they won’t be filled. Now let’s look at Mrs Dove…’
The round ran its course, interlarded by pleasant little seasonal jokes and the exchange of greetings between the doctor and his patients, and when they reached the office there was a handsome beribboned box of chocolates and two bottles of the finest sherry on Clotilde’s desk, James’s annual gift to her and the nurses on the ward. She thanked him pleasantly, poured coffee and joined in the desultory talk while they drank it. Beyond a few changed pills and drugs, his instructions had been few and there was no need to discuss any of the patients. ‘We shall pay for this peace and quiet,’ observed James as he got up to go, ‘we always do.’
At the ward door he paused. ‘I shall be here to carve the turkey, Sister. Good day to you.’
She bade him good morning, smiled at his companions and went back into the ward. All she wanted to do was to find somewhere quiet where she could sit and cry her eyes out in peace, but since that was impossible she pinned a smile on her face and suggested that since there was half an hour before dinners would be brought to the ward, they might as well start decorating the tree.
By the time she went off duty that evening the ward was transformed, paper flowers, some of them a highly improbable colour, hung in great bunches from the ceiling, wreaths hung over every bed and paper chains crisscrossed the ward. The tree, topped by a fairy doll and festooned with tinsel, dominated the place, its coloured lights switched on. Clotilde, doing her evening round before she went off duty and listening to the pleased remarks of her patients, forgot how tired she was. If it made a lot of extra work and all had to be cleared away in three days’ time, it was still worth the trouble just to see the pleasure on their faces. And tomorrow— Christmas Eve—she would have to arrange the packages round the tree at the last possible minute. She would be on duty until eight o’clock; she would go to supper and then come back and do that when lights were out; the night nurses could help her.
Two of the student nurses had days off for Christmas. Sally had a half day on Christmas Eve so that she could spend it with her boy-friend, which left Clotilde with only two nurses, but the ward wasn’t busy, so she had given them both the morning off and she herself wouldn’t be going off duty. The day’s work went easily enough, although she was glad enough when the night staff took over and she could go to supper. She didn’t hurry over the meal; most of her friends were there, grumbling cheerfully about the other extra tasks and overtime they were doing and making plans for the additional free time they would have once everything was normal again. They got up to go presently and she promised to join them in the Sisters’ sitting room once she had been back to the ward.
The night nurses, anxious to have a quiet night, had worked hard; another ten minutes or so and they were ready for the lights to be put out, and Clotilde was able to go down the ward with them and arrange the gaily covered presents round the tree. Not all the patients were asleep, but beyond a whispered goodnight, they didn’t say anything. Clotilde thanked the nurses and slipped quietly out of the ward.
The sitting room was almost full. Nearly everyone had been on duty all day and they certainly would be all the next day too; their own pleasures would have to wait until after Christmas, but there was a cake on the side table, and a dish of nuts and crisps and a plate of sausage rolls flanked by a bottle of sherry. Clotilde cast off her cap and sat down on the end of one of the sofas. Presently they would exchange small gifts and have a drink and then go to bed, although probably someone would make a pot of tea and they’d sit around talking in someone’s room. She would miss their companionship, she thought, looking round at the faces of her friends.
The door opened and Sister Adams, elderly, disapproving and in a hurry to get to her bed, put her head round the door. ‘Sister Collins, you’re wanted at the entrance.’
‘Me?’ asked Clotilde, a
nd reached for her cap. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. What silly questions you young women ask!’ snapped Sister Adams, and withdrew her head.
Clotilde, sticking pins back into her cap, frowned. ‘Who on earth can it be at this hour? I bet it’s a relation with a parcel for one of the patients. Leave me some sherry.’
James was in the entrance hall. Clotilde slithered to a halt and said: ‘Oh,’ then looked around to see if there was anyone else there.
‘There you are’, observed James mildly. ‘Your cap’s on crooked. I’ve brought Katrina to see you.’
‘Oh,’ said Clotilde again, and twitched her cap straight with a peevish hand while she stared at him. He was wearing a dinner jacket with a beautifully tailored coat open over it. He looked distinguished and handsome, he also looked amused.
‘Had a busy day?’ he wanted to know. ‘The car’s outside.’
‘Where’s Katrina?’ She sounded so suspicious that he laughed outright.
‘In the car, of course.’ He held the door open for her, then popped her into the Bentley and got in himself.
Katrina was sitting in the back, looking as lovely as Clotilde would have liked to have looked and smelling delicious. She gave a pleased squeal as Clotilde sat down. ‘Hullo, Tilly. Did you think I’d forgotten you? Well, I haven’t. I do wish you could spend Christmas with us at home, but James has promised me he’ll drive you down for New Year. Won’t that be fun? I don’t go back to Leyden until the middle of January and we’ll have a day out shopping too before then.’ She paused for breath. ‘I’ve brought you a present.’ She pressed a large package into Clotilde’s hands. ‘I do hope you’ll like it. Open it, do!’
Clotilde said weakly: ‘Oh, how kind you are. Of course I’ll open it.’ And she undid the soft ribbon round it. It was a Gucci bag, brown calf, expensively simple and quite exquisite. Clotilde drew a deep breath. ‘Oh, I say,’ she began. ‘It’s simply gorgeous—what a heavenly present!’
‘Oh, good—you like it. That’s a lovely scarf you sent me, Tilly—thanks a lot. I do love Christmas—all the presents and parties. James, is there time to take Tilly for a drink somewhere?’
Clotilde said too quickly: ‘Thank you, but I must get back; there’s still quite a bit to do.’ She eyed Katrina’s green taffeta dress with appreciative eyes. ‘You look lovely, Katrina.’
‘Actually,’ said Katrina slowly, ‘you look rather fetching yourself in that funny little cap and that uniform, doesn’t she, James?’
He was lounging in the front seat, not saying anything much. ‘The Sisters’ uniform at St Alma’s is very attractive,’ he said blandly.
Clotilde carefully folded the ribbons and put the handbag back into its box. ‘It was sweet of you to come,’ she said addressing Katrina. ‘I hope that you—all of you—have a wonderful Christmas.’ She leaned forward and kissed Katrina’s cheek. ‘I really must go.’
James got out of the car without demur, opened the door and went the few yards with her to the entrance. He went inside with her and stood looking down at her. ‘What did I give you last year?’ he asked her.
‘A leather notecase,’ she said promptly.
‘And the year before that it was a leather wallet, wasn’t it? And this year, nothing, Tilly, and do you know why? I’m unable to give you what I wish, and I have no present for you…’
She said chattily to hide her sudden hurt: ‘Oh, that doesn’t matter—finding Christmas presents is a lengthy business, isn’t it? Besides, you’ve given us those luscious chocolates and the sherry.’
She didn’t want to stand there talking to no purpose. She said firmly: ‘I really must go. It was lovely seeing Katrina. Goodnight.’
She went back to the sitting room and the handbag went from one to the other and was duly admired. ‘Nice to have rich friends,’ said someone cheerfully. ‘How about tea if all the sherry’s finished?’
They went to bed eventually, still laughing and talking and opening presents. Clotilde took another look at the handbag and put it in a drawer. How like Katrina, she thought fondly, to buy an extravagant present like that. She might be spoilt, but she was sweet-natured with it.
It was snowing, most appropriately, when they went on duty the next morning. Clotilde listened to the night report, handed out her presents to the nurses, received hers in turn and sent the night staff off duty so that they could get into their beds and get up early if they wished. Then she sailed into the ward where to the sound of Christmas music over the hospital radio, she did her round and then joined the nurses in making beds and getting up those ladies who were capable of sitting around. No one went to coffee; they drank it in her office in turn, two at a time, and ate the mince pies she had provided before doing a quick round once more to make sure that every patient was looking her best.
James arrived on the stroke of twelve o’clock, nicely timed to meet the trolley bearing the turkey being wheeled into the ward from the kitchen. But first he went round the ward too, with Mary Evans trailing him closely and Clotilde in attendance.
He had wished her a happy Christmas on his arrival and she had replied suitably. Jeff had given her a kiss, Mary Evans had said nothing at all, and two of the students, who had been coerced into giving a hand, took the opportunity of kissing her too, watched by James with a bland face.
‘And now to work?’ he enquired, and the silkiness of his voice sent them at once to the trolley.
He carved as he appeared to do everything else, with an easy competence. Clotilde, dishing vegetables, directed the handing out of the plates while one student filled glasses with the lemonade the doctor had decreed should take the place of anything stronger. And by the time the remains of the turkey had been wheeled away, and the plates collected, Clotilde had gone to the kitchen to see about the Christmas pudding. With everything in readiness she issued the annual invitation to her helpers to have a drink and ushered them into the office, leaving Sally to supervise the last of the clearing up and feeding which had to be done.
James had never stayed long at these obligatory functions; he drank his sherry, thanked everyone with charming politeness and begged to be excused. Mary Evans begged to be excused too, and Clotilde, listening to one of the students, didn’t see the faint surprise on James’s face. She had taken a quick look at Mary’s left hand when the party had arrived, but there was no ring on it. Perhaps they were going off to spend Christmas together somewhere and James would give her the ring then. She went quite pale at the thought, so that the student wanted to know if she felt all right.
The rest of them put down their glasses and went with James, and Clotilde went down the ward with them, a little behind the rest, because Jeff, who was the one on duty, wanted to tell her something about one of the patients. James had stopped to speak to each nurse in turn and at the door thanked her again, before wishing her, in his most placid manner, a pleasant time for the rest of the Christmas period.
Clotilde watched him walk rapidly away, with the rest of them trying to keep up. A pleasant time, indeed! she thought indignantly; as if being on duty for the rest of the day, dealing with the small upsets her patients were bound to have, supervising visitors teas, entertaining anyone who chose to visit the ward, rearranging the ward on Boxing Day ready for the students’ concert and clearing up the decorations and mess afterwards, meant she was going to have a very pleasant time. Feeling very ill done by, she went to see her charges and then, smiling and ready with a word for everyone, pulled crackers with all but the most timid of her patients.
The nurses ate their lunch in the office; sausage rolls, sandwiches and more mince pies sent up from the kitchens, and then, while there was a quiet spell during the afternoon and the patients’ rest period, she sent them two by two to wander round the hospital, to inspect the other wards, meet their friends and eat and drink anything they were offered. Indeed it was so quiet that presently she sent Sally off to try and find her current boy-friend, one of the students attached to the Senior
Surgical Consultant. ‘As long as you’re back by three o’clock,’ she reminded her. ‘There’s nothing in theatre, is there? He may be free then.’
After Sally had gone she went round the ward once more; her patients slept, each and every one of them. She went back to the office and sat down at her desk and allowed her thoughts to dwell on James. Sitting in his lovely house with Mary Evans, no doubt, or perhaps he had driven down to his parents’ home. And what about Katrina? She was trying to arrange things logically when she heard the ward door swing open and hurried out silently, her finger to her lips, anxious for her patients.
It was James, laughing silently at her as he came, equally silently, to meet her. He took her arm and turned her round and back into the office, leaving the door open.
An admission?’ she asked. ‘I thought Jeff was on call.’
‘He is. As far as I know there are no admissions—you’ll get those tomorrow as we always do. You looked so fierce this morning, I was almost afraid to speak to you, Tilly.’
He was standing very close to her so that she had to lean back a bit to look into his face. ‘How ridiculous! I wasn’t in the least fierce— I’ve really had rather a busy time…’
‘Oh, was that it? In that case, I can do as Katrina bade me without having my ears boxed.’ He bent swiftly and kissed her long and hard. ‘Do you know what that is?’ he asked her.
Clotilde took a steadying breath and did her best to be normal, which was difficult in the circumstances. ‘No,’ she managed.
‘That’s my farewell salute to Sister Clotilde Collins.’ He grinned at her. ‘You can think about that until I see you again, Tilly.’
He had gone—just like that, leaving her wanting to shout a dozen questions at him. Did he know she was leaving? Probably the Principal Nursing Officer had told him, or was it an oblique way of letting her know that he was going to get married to that awful Mary Evans? She could have screamed with annoyance. And why had he come back? Or perhaps he hadn’t left the hospital; Men’s Medical would have had Dr Fox, the Second Senior Consultant, to carve their turkey; they would have met for a drink in the consultants’ room. Clotilde went and looked out of the window, just in time to see the Bentley turning out of the gates at the end of the courtyard. Most annoyingly, she couldn’t see if there was anyone with him.
