by Cathy Sharp
‘Gosh, that is very profound,’ Angela said.
‘Blame Eddie. He comes out with such things!’
‘Wherever it came from it’s right,’ Angela said. ‘I agree that we should send some flowers for Sally and a card signed by everyone at St Saviour’s – would you like me to organise that?’
‘Yes, but you mustn’t pay for it all. We must all put a few pennies in, Angela – so that it is really from us all. I think everyone here likes Sally and would want to wish her well.’
‘Yes,’ Angela said. ‘We’ll have a collection.’
‘I’ve already started it; the tin is in the rest room,’ Nan said. ‘But I thought you might know what was suitable.’
‘Sally likes spring flowers rather than hothouse blooms.’ Angela frowned. ‘Who has taken over Sally’s duties for the moment?’
‘I asked Nancy to look after the little ones this morning. She has them in the schoolroom and is reading to them, I think.’
Angela nodded and gave her an appreciative look. ‘Yes, she will do that well. It’s what she needed to stop her brooding over her brother.’
‘She told me she thinks she would like to stay on here when she’s older, either as assistant cook or a carer. I suggested that she talk to Sister Beatrice – and I think they’ve come to some sort of arrangement.’
‘She would do well here, because she likes looking after people,’ Angela said.
‘I’ll go and get on with my work and leave you to yours. You won’t forget the card and flowers?’
‘I’ll buy a card and flowers in my lunch break,’ Angela promised. ‘I’m off to a meeting this evening after I’ve seen Sally.’ Angela placed her empty cup on the tray. ‘I’m speaking to a clothing manufacturer. He must get some waste … spoiled articles. I think someone told me it’s called cabbage in the trade. I understand they knock the seconds out cheap to market traders, cut the labels out first of course. With a little persuasion he might give me a few bundles – just to clear them out of his way, naturally. I’ll be doing him a good turn really.’
‘Don’t you ever stop?’ Nan said, and went off, shaking her head with a wry smile.
Angela opened her drawer, took out some sheets of typing paper and inserted one into the machine. She’d hardly done a thing since she’d arrived that morning – but it was a day for talking, for offering comfort and receiving it. She’d just begun to type the first line of the monthly report when someone knocked at the door; it opened and Mark entered.
‘Am I disturbing you?’
‘No, of course not,’ Angela said, but her heart caught with pain. ‘I was hoping to speak to you later – please come in and tell me what you’ve heard. When is the funeral to be held?’
‘I’m arranging it,’ Mark said. ‘I don’t know if you were aware, but Markham had only one relative, his elderly aunt. She recently moved into a home for widows in Cheshire, and Andrew was going to sell her house for her to pay the fees. I think he visited regularly and he was on his way back from settling her in the home when the crash happened. His parents died in the 1920s, both of typhoid fever. His aunt saw him through college; I believe she more or less brought him up, though I understand his father left him a house and a little money – Mr Markham senior was a missionary and he and his wife were in Africa when they took ill and died.’
‘So he had hardly any family. I wonder if Sally knows …’
‘He didn’t speak of it much; I only learned about his aunt when he asked me if I would be his executor a few months back. He said that his aunt might not live much longer and he wanted to be certain that his wishes were carried out in the event of his death – and that he knew I would do it.’
‘Of course. He had complete faith in you, Mark.’
‘Yes, it seems that way. It isn’t a task I fancy, but I shall do what he asks, whatever it is. He had so many friends. I shall invite as many as I can trace to the funeral so it won’t be quick – perhaps in a week or so, so that we can do things decently.’
‘Yes, that may be better for Sally. She may be able to face it by then …’
‘Poor girl. It was a rotten experience for her. I’m not sure how serious she was … Carole told me she was leaving to train as a nurse.’
‘She is devastated, Mark. Yes, she wants to be a nurse, but she loved him very much. They would have married one day, I’m certain.’
‘That makes it worse for her.’ Mark sighed, and he seemed to hesitate, his look almost beseeching her – asking for what? Understanding? ‘Let me know if there is anything I can do, please.’
‘Of course; we must all do what we can.’ She was managing to keep her manner friendly and calm – just. Inside, she was rebellious and finding it hard not to ask him why the hell he continued to look at her that way when he was going to marry someone else – the woman who was having his child.
‘I must go now …’
‘To see Carole? Naturally, you must.’ Angela spoke through gritted teeth. If she was right about that woman he was making the biggest mistake of his life! ‘I am sure she is looking forward to the wedding and all the excitement.’
‘Carole is like me, she doesn’t have much family – so it will just be a quiet wedding.’
‘Oh, I see. I hope you will invite me?’ Angela couldn’t resist asking, wondering if Carole would want her there.
Mark looked at her sadly. ‘If you would like to come, of course.’ He inclined his head. ‘Excuse me, I must leave you now.’
Angela sat looking at the door as it closed behind him. Mark didn’t seem as happy as he ought and she couldn’t help wondering if he had already begun to regret his decision.
FIFTY-ONE
Mark was conscious of deep regret as he left Angela’s office and made his way to the sick ward. Carole would be waiting for him and he knew she was looking forward to making more plans for the wedding and their honeymoon; so far they’d only agreed on a church ceremony. She’d already told him she would like to go to Paris, and seemed set on talking it all over that evening at his flat. Why that held no particular appeal for him, Mark couldn’t say: he only knew that when he’d been with Angela he’d been aware of a sense of loss.
Markham’s death had shocked him. The man was a colleague and a good friend, one of the best, and a similar age. It had made Mark very aware of the fragility of humanity. If Markham had been snuffed out in the prime of his life, it could happen to them all – to him.
Was he really content to settle with a woman he didn’t love? Mark knew he’d made a mistake by tumbling into bed with a girl just because she was sexy and pretty and made him laugh. He’d been a fool, but she was having his child – and that meant he was caught. He would never desert his own child, because he’d seen too much of that kind of careless behaviour.
At least he would have that, a child of his own to love and care for, he thought. Sometimes he’d given up hope of a family. Edine had only conceived the one child and although Mark had known other women since his wife died, there had never been any hint of another; of course the ladies were older and more experienced so perhaps they’d made sure they were safe. He’d been shocked that Carole was pregnant, because it was only that one night – but of course they’d both had a few drinks too many. It was odd that he didn’t remember anything … surely he ought to remember making love to her? A part of him wanted to reject her claim; it seemed so sudden and quick but if she was having a child it must be his, mustn’t it? Carole was adamant that her period was regular and if she’d missed it … Mark didn’t think she’d been out with anyone else since she’d been at St Saviour’s so it had to be his.
He couldn’t regret that he was to have a child, even if he wasn’t certain of his feelings for the mother. In the circumstances he could only try his best to make a good marriage; he stuck a smile on his face as he walked into the sick ward. There were quite a few marriages that existed for the sake of the children, and he supposed he would manage to do as well as most. He’d been hoping there was a
way out, but he’d better bite the bullet and start acting like a prospective husband. After all, he’d found her highly attractive at the start and he must surely have lost the respect of the woman he really wanted …
Carole frowned as she checked the medicine cupboard. Mark’s visit had been brief and she had felt that he’d come more out of duty than pleasure. It annoyed her that he wasn’t more demonstrative towards her. She’d imagined that the idea of having a child would please him, but he seemed withdrawn. He’d made an excuse about feeling upset over that colleague of his … Mr Markham.
Sally Rush had been going around with Markham. She was a fool; a man like that would never have married her, a girl from the slums. He’d just been having fun; she’d probably had a lucky escape. Not that Carole cared either way. She hadn’t really known the popular surgeon, though she’d seen him and exchanged greetings, and she’d observed the children reading his books. Besides, she didn’t like Sally. If she was vindictive she would think it served her right for trying to be something she wasn’t, wearing Angela’s cast-offs and thinking she could mix in the circles Markham came from. It would never have worked.
Mind you, it was rotten luck to lose someone you cared about. Carole had been through that herself too often, what with her fiancé, then her father and brothers – and that’s why she was determined never to let herself really love a man again. Mark was decent, not bad-looking and not too old. He could provide her with the lifestyle she required – and she wasn’t sure she wanted to go on nursing for much longer: certainly she didn’t want to continue here, at St Saviour’s. Unless she could take over the old dragon’s job …
So far her meddling hadn’t produced results. Perhaps she should have one last stab at getting rid of Sister Beatrice, but it would have to be something bold. A smile touched Carole’s lips as she looked at her list of tasks. She was about to give a boy his injection of insulin and there were only two bottles left in the little fridge where such medicines were stored. If she removed one and placed it in Sister’s desk but left the records showing two it meant there would be no fresh insulin the day after tomorrow, because it had to be kept cool – and Michelle would be on duty then: it was Carole’s day off.
Normally Carole would order more insulin immediately they got down to the last two, but this time she would wait. If the missing insulin was found in Sister’s drawer everyone would think she was becoming forgetful … and even if it only succeeded in making Sister look a fool it would be worth it.
After all, what did it matter now she was going to marry Mark? Except that she wished Mark would look a bit happier. She’d thought he would be putty in her hands after she told him about the non-existent baby. Carole’s monthlies had started that morning and she was feeling off-colour, but she had to keep that to herself. Mark mustn’t know she’d lied to him – because if he did he might break it off …
Carole touched the wonderful diamond ring he’d given her when he’d taken her out on Sunday for lunch so they could talk about the future. She’d thought he might take her back to his place afterwards and they would end up in bed, but it hadn’t happened. He’d seemed remote, serious, even when he gave her the ring. She couldn’t wear it for work, but it was hanging on a chain with a gold cross her father had once given her, under her uniform. Everything she’d wanted was within her grasp: money, position as an eminent man’s wife, and a life of ease and luxury. After her father lost everything just before the war and then went off to get himself killed playing the hero, Carole had vowed she would get back everything she’d once had She had to keep Mark sweet long enough to get his wedding ring on her finger – which meant she couldn’t let him guess she wasn’t pregnant just yet.
The trouble was he’d invited her to dinner that evening and might want to make love. A surge of panic went through Carole. She would have to invent a headache after dinner – find a reason for Mark to take her home rather than staying over at his place. He’d taken her back to his apartment on Sunday after they’d walked off their lunch but it had all gone sour when he’d had to rush off because his colleague was involved in an accident. He’d gone to fetch Sally Rush to the hospital, after dropping Carole off to sit at home and twiddle her thumbs. She felt a surge of annoyance. He ought to be thinking about her rather than Sally Rush – and why did Mark have to arrange the funeral and see to the will and things?
Carole wanted a man whose life centred on her and his home. Once they were married, she would make it clear that she wanted him to be at home when his day’s work was finished.
Suddenly, the doubts had set in. She wondered if marriage to an older man who seemed to be more interested in his work and colleagues than her was really what she wanted – and yet what else was there for her?
She shook her head as she made a figure in the right-hand column. No, she must go through with her plan. She gave a wince of pain as her stomach started to ache. She hated having the curse, especially when she was at work. Deciding to take an aspirin, Carole opened the large bag that contained all the things she carted with her every day and took out a strip of tablets, leaving it on the desk as she went to fetch a glass of water from the rest room.
Feeling sorry for herself, Carole didn’t immediately register that someone had entered the sick room. It was only as she returned carrying the glass and saw Angela standing by the desk that she realised she’d left her bag open and right at the top was the packet of sanitary towels that she’d bought that morning. Had Angela seen them and the strip of aspirin – would she understand the significance of the two?
Carole went hot and cold all over, but then she realised it didn’t matter. Angela couldn’t know about the supposed baby. Mark wouldn’t have told her …
‘Did you want something?’ she asked and zipped the top of her bag. ‘I’m rather busy.’
‘Sister asked me to fetch the medicine record book,’ Angela said. ‘She wanted to check that there is enough insulin. She thought there were two doses in the refrigerator – and I’ve checked to make sure: she is right. So we shall order those today? Is there anything else that you know is short?’
Carole cursed the interfering bitch. Was she a damned mind reader?
Well, her little ruse wouldn’t work this time, but she would think of something else to pay them back … both of them.
‘Feeling a bit under the weather?’ Angela asked as she took the book Sister had requested.
‘Just a headache,’ Carole lied and scowled as Angela lifted her brows and then turned and walked from the room.
Damn the bitch! If she ran to Mark telling tales he might realise that she’d been lying.
FIFTY-TWO
Angela went carefully through the record book three times. As she’d thought, several figures had been erased and others inserted. According to the records they were completely out of some drugs and that just wasn’t normal. Sister Beatrice had impressed on her right at the beginning that they must check these records each week and if anything was getting low they must reorder it at once.
‘We do not want to be out of something we need urgently – particularly the insulin for our diabetic child,’ she’d told Angela just that morning.
Every one of the alterations was next to Sister Beatrice’s signature and that meant she would be the one to blame if anyone discovered these discrepancies. Angela considered whether she should take the book straight to the Warden or check the cupboard for herself that evening after Carole went home. Perhaps she ought to just tell Sister, because she would be very angry if she discovered that Angela had known and not told her.
Picking up the book, she went next door and knocked. Sister was holding something in her hand and staring at it in obvious bewilderment.
‘Something wrong?’
‘Yes, I have a packet of new dressings in my drawer and I have no idea how they got here.’
‘Are they the new sterile dressings we bought last week?’
‘Yes – how did you know?’
‘They were m
arked as being used.’ Angela handed her the record book. ‘You will notice your signature next to the column showing we have none in stock …’
‘Yes, but I put a one in the stock column when they were delivered. I know I did.’ Sister looked at her, shock in her eyes. ‘Why would I have taken them?’
‘I do not believe for one moment that you did, Sister.’
‘What are you saying?’ Sister still seemed stunned, as though she doubted herself.
‘If you care to look through these figures carefully and then check the stock cupboard I think you may find several errors. There are in all ten erasures. I think they are the ones to concentrate on.’
‘But they all have my signature … I don’t understand …’
‘Someone is trying to make it look as if you are either careless or forgetful,’ Angela said. ‘You remember the accounts? You were puzzled because you never use an eraser. And the rota where Sally was double booked …’
‘Yes, I do recall.’ Sister frowned. ‘Someone is making trouble for me – is that what you are telling me?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid it looks that way.’
‘Have you any idea who that might be?’
‘I don’t have proof,’ Angela said. ‘I have my suspicions, but I should like to check the medicines myself – with your help, perhaps this evening.’
‘You mean after Carole has gone home?’ Sister gave her a straight look. ‘Why her, may I ask? She is a good, efficient nurse and I can see no reason why she would wish to harm me.’ She paused. ‘Are you sure this isn’t personal, Angela?’
‘I am quite sure,’ Angela said. ‘I think Carole has been lying about quite a few things and once I’m certain I shall confront her.’
‘Then I shall check the cupboard with you and we’ll see just what has been going on.’
Alice left St Saviour’s after a long day on her feet. Her back ached more these days and she found the work tiring, because the children needed so much looking after and there was always another job waiting to be done. She’d changed Betsy’s bed three times this week, because the little girl kept wetting it. Alice didn’t know why the child was prone to bed-wetting; she supposed she ought to have spoken to a nurse about it, but Staff Nurse Carole had made it clear she didn’t want to deal with girls like Alice, whom she considered beneath her.
