I opened the front door. The house was very quiet, the one inhabitant obviously fast asleep. I put the parcel on the old oak chest by the hat-stand, and turned to go just as there was a most tremendous clatter somewhere overhead.
A second and louder clatter followed immediately. This time I identified it as a veritable landslide of tiles from the roof. I expected an astonished nephew to burst on to the small landing upstairs. No one appeared. The man must sleep like a log, I decided, and went out to investigate.
The cottage was built on the same lines as our own. The long, sloping, windowless roof at the back ended roughly six feet from the ground. There was a ladder up against that edge, and, higher up, a man in an aged sweater and corduroy trousers was scrambling gingerly towards the chimney.
His foot slipped as I watched. He righted himself quickly, but that slip caused several more tiles to shoot off and crash down on the concrete path round the cottage. I ducked speedily into the shelter of the back door, and knew I had been right about those previous crashes.
When I next peered up he had reached the chimney and was arranging across it a plank and row of spare tiles. I did not recognise him as anyone local. He must be the nephew I had been much maligning.
He fitted four tiles in place quite efficiently, working with one hand, steadying himself with the other. Success apparently encouraged him. He let go his steadying hand and used both for his work. He managed quite well and I was thinking of walking off unnoticed, when he slipped again.
He lunged for the chimney, missed, and grasped the plank. Being loose, it promptly overbalanced and clattered down the slope. Sensibly, he flung his weight forward to correct his balance, but his feet had lost their grip. He slipped and slithered to the edge of the roof, then cannoned off backward.
I had raced forward. There was no chance of my catching him as he was far too heavy, but I was able to break his fall. Then he pitched over, knocking me sideways, and fell into the flower-bed on the other side of the concrete path.
The earth had been made soggy by the recent heavy rain, and the gale-strewn Michaelmas daisies acted as a good cushion. He would probably have been no more than winded if his head had not hit one of the broken tiles. When I got to my feet he was lying limp as a rag-doll in the flower-bed.
I knelt by him and reached for his pulse. It was reassuringly strong. I raised his face and moved the tile. There was a small jagged cut a little to the right of his left temple, his left cheek was badly lacerated.
I thought longingly of my nursing bag. I never moved without it on call, but this was my day off and it was back at the cottage. I found a clean handkerchief in my pocket, another in one of his. The jagged cut was bleeding freely, but not arterially. It was easy to staunch, and once done showed the cut was not as deep as I had first thought.
I made pads with both handkerchiefs, covered his whole left cheek, and fixed the pads with the silk scarf he had been wearing tucked into the neck of his sweater. Then, with my hands on his pulse, I sat back on my heels to work out the next step.
There was no question of my being able to move him alone even had that been wise, which it was not. He was safer on the ground until I could get expert help.
Rugs, telephone, something clean to supplement that emergency dressing, I decided, wondering if Mike would still be with the Withers children. The Withers had no telephone, but Mrs Arbuthnot next door would run over for him. I checked the unconscious man’s pulse on my watch once more. I would give it a full minute to be sure, then go in.
His eyelids fluttered before the minute was through! He blinked at me as if he was having difficulty in focusing, then stared blankly. His eyes were dark brown ‒ surprisingly dark in contrast with his fair hair.
‘I suppose’ ‒ he raised his head painfully ‒ ‘you haven’t got three heads?’
‘No. Only one.’ I held him down gently. ‘Don’t try and sit up yet, Mr ‒ Mr Larraby. You’ve had a slight accident and knocked yourself out. Just stay still until you come round properly.’
He subsided, still watching me. ‘You had better call me Paddy,’ he said calmly, reclosing his eyes, stretching his legs, and relaxing against the Michaelmas daisies as if settling down for a peaceful snooze.
I smiled involuntarily. Mrs Graves was right about his allowing nothing to worry him. What was it to him that he had just escaped death by inches?
His colour was improving, so I studied his face as a man’s and not just a patient’s. I found it interesting. His brow was good, his mouth even-tempered, his jaw stubborn. His voice had matched his eyes. It was a deep, dark brown voice.
His pulse was a little faster. It was impossible to tell without an X-ray what damage he had done to his head, but his pulse was not that of a man with a head injury.
He felt my touch and reopened his eyes. ‘It seems I’m causing you a packet of trouble. I’m afraid I don’t know who you are, apart from the plain fact that you’re my guardian angel, but I humbly beg your pardon for being so tedious.’ He smiled slightly. ‘Tell me, how did I come off the roof?’
‘Right off.’
He fingered the makeshift bandage. ‘Your handiwork?’
I nodded. ‘How does your head feel? You’ve a few cuts on that cheek. Hurt much?’
‘Not too much.’
‘How about your back? Jarred?’
‘Shall we just see if I’ve busted it?’ he suggested and sat forward. The movement was too much for him, he was instantly giddy, but it was reassuring. I had earlier noticed him moving his legs; his being able to sit up like that made it very unlikely he had damaged his spine at all. I caught him as he sagged to one side. He rested his head on my shoulder. ‘Thanks, angel.’
A few seconds later he raised his head. ‘My bones haven’t broken, they’ve just turned to water. I think I’ll take your original advice about laying my little head in the dust.’ He shifted back to the flower-bed, removed two Michaelmas daisies from the neighbourhood of his right ear, and offered them to me. ‘For you.’
‘Thank you very much. Still giddy?’
‘A trifle. I feel not drunk but as if I’d a drink taken. There are worse feelings. Now, would you care to tell me all? I’m beginning to remember a little. I’ve a notion I hit someone on the way down. You?’
I nodded. ‘But not your fault. I was in the way.’
‘Intentionally?’
‘I hoped to break your fall.’ I stood up. ‘I’m going inside to find something to cover you, put on a kettle, and ring a doctor.’
He reached up and grasped my wrist. ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘Not at all, thanks. I’ll just get going.’
He did not let go. ‘There’s no doubt about it, angel, I owe you a lot. Maybe you’ve saved me from a busted neck.’ He looked up at the roof. ‘I weigh over fourteen stone. That on concrete could pack quite a punch. I’m grateful to you. A busted neck this morning would not suit my plans at all. But it’s all over now, so we’ll not bother with doctors or more trouble for you. Hang on while I get my second wind, and I’ll come on in with you.’
‘It’s no trouble, and you must see a doctor. You’ll certainly need some stitches in your face, and until you’ve had an X-ray no one can tell how much damage you’ve done yourself.’
He grinned up at me. ‘You’re a highly efficient angel, and I never contradict a lady, much less an angel, so I’m sure you’re right. If I had the time I’d nip over to the County Hospital and let them patch my face, but I haven’t. There’s a lot I still have to do this morning, before making tracks for London, and later Dublin, with my Aunt Mary. Tomorrow I’m one of the star performers in a wedding. I’m not staggering up the aisle in my fine morning suit with a face full of stitches. Be enough to put any bride off!’
I could see his point, but he had been concussed for a few minutes and concussion is always serious. ‘At least, let a doctor come here and look at you. That won’t take much time.’
‘My dear angel, when I get home tonight I’ll be su
rrounded by ruddy doctors. My father and two brothers are in the trade. They can do their stuff on me then.’ He released my wrist and rose unsteadily to his feet. ‘Let’s go on in and shove on that kettle.’ He leaned momentarily against the cottage wall to get his breath. ‘The man is himself again. You’ve only one head.’
‘You can’t possibly be all right.’
He was even taller than I thought. He was having to bend considerably to avoid hitting his head on the overhang of the roof. He folded his arms and considered me amicably. ‘Now why wouldn’t I be all right? Do you imagine this is the first crack on the head I’ve ever had? And why should I want to go on lying in a flower-bed on my own? I’d much rather be in a warm kitchen making tea with you.’
As there was no alternative I gave in. ‘Walking may make you giddy again. You had better let me help you. Lean one hand on my shoulder.’
‘You can’t be real,’ he said a little breathlessly as we moved slowly down the path to the back door, ‘even though I feel you. You’re surely a pleasant figment of my imagination and will vanish into thin air once we get in.’
I said nothing until I had him sitting in a chair by the kitchen fire. ‘If you won’t let me call a doctor can I make the tea, then have another look at your face.’
He leaned back in his chair. His shoulders were the broadest I had seen, even after eight years of watching inter-hospital rugger matches. A lock of deep gold hair fell forward over his forehead. He pushed it back absently.
‘You really have the most shocking one-track mind. Let’s forget my unfortunate face and talk about you. Who are you? How do you come to be here? And why haven’t I seen you before? I’ve been down here a lot lately.’
‘I live in the village. I came to deliver a parcel.’ I filled the electric kettle and plugged it in. ‘Sorry about my one-track mind ‒ but I’m making that tea.’ I opened what I guessed was the larder door. ‘Tea-caddy in here?’
‘On the right.’ He had moved and was behind me. ‘Here. Now you sit down and leave things to me.’
‘Of course not ‒’
‘Will you stop arguing, angel, and take a chair. My Aunt Mary allows no man in her family to sit in a kitchen while a lady waits on him.’ He took my elbow and shepherded me to the chair he had just vacated. ‘Take a rest, my poor girl. You’ve had a shocking experience.’ He found the caddy and heated the pot. ‘Maybe you should see a doctor? Or shall I call the district nurse. She’s a pal of Aunt Mary’s, I believe, and no doubt a kindly old body. I disremember her name.’
‘Nurse Sanders?’ I suggested gravely.
‘That’s her. Sugar and milk?’
‘Yes, thanks, but ‒’
‘Hold it, angel! Kettle’s boiling. There.’ He set a tray quickly. ‘Would you mind helping yourself to a cup when that’s brewed? And excuse me one moment? I’ll be back, so don’t vanish, please.’
I smiled to myself as I did as he asked. ‘A kindly old body’ eh? He really was an absurd and maddening man, yet rather attractive. His future wife was taking on a full-time job, but she would probably have a lot of fun with it. I wondered how old he was and what he did for a living. He looked in the early thirties, yet behaved like a man ten years younger. As for his job, if looks again were anything to go by, he was in the heavyweight boxing line.
I felt at home with him because he was so like the crazier type of medical student. That type had taken nothing and nobody seriously until they qualified, and grew up overnight. He did not seem to have grown up yet. Marriage might do that, but I was inclined to doubt it. I thought again about the girl he was marrying tomorrow. It was as well for her peace of mind she had not seen him come off the roof just now.
He came back a few minutes later. He had washed his face and fixed adhesive strapping over the cut and grazes. ‘You’ve not drunk much of that tea, angel.’ He helped himself to a cup and leaned against the kitchen table. ‘Is that parcel in the hall the one you brought?’
‘Yes. I met your aunt. She said you’d be in bed.’
‘I’d have been a wiser man to have stayed there. I thought perhaps I could deal with the tiles. They’ll have to wait pro tem.’
‘You’re not thinking of going up there again this morning? You mustn’t! And you shouldn’t be wandering about.’
‘Angel,’ he drawled, ‘how dreary life would be if we all did only what we should. Stop worrying. I’m fine, now.’
He did look much better, incredible though it seemed after that fall. He was clearly a strong man. Strong, healthy young men can take the most tremendous blows without suffering serious damage, but concussion was still concussion. I tried again to persuade him to go to the County Hospital. ‘If it’ll save time I’ll drive you up and back.’
He shook his head, smiling. ‘If you had ever driven me you’d not suggest that. I’m the world’s worst back-seat driver.’
‘Can I come with you while you drive yourself? Not that I think you’re fit to drive, but it’d be safer than letting you go alone.’
‘I don’t drive, angel. Owning a car is far too much trouble for a lazy man like yours truly. I much appreciate your kind concern, but the answer’s still no, thank you very much. My old man’ll fix me up tonight. He’s a fine pill-pusher, is my old man.’
As there was nothing I could do, I finished my tea. Tonight would be too late for any stitches, unless I was much mistaken, but not too late for an X-ray. All the travelling he was going to do was not ideal after a crack on the head, but it would serve to keep him sitting still for long stretches.
He walked out to the car with me. ‘I’m in your debt, angel. I’ll not forget this morning. Incidentally, would you mind telling me your name?’
‘Lesley Sanders.’ I watched his face with some amusement, wondering if that would place me as his aunt’s old pal.
It did not. He had, after all, had a nasty fall on his head.
‘And you live in the village? Now why should I seem ‒’ He broke off as Tom, the baker’s roundsman, slowed his van beside us. ‘’Morning, Tom, No bread to-day, thanks. We’re away.’
Tom said he had only stopped to be on the safe side, since he had reckoned they wouldn’t be wanting none as the old lady was going to be away for a week. He nodded affably at me, then at the strapping on Patrick Larraby’s face. ‘’Morning, Nurse. You having a busman’s holiday, eh? Don’t get no peace in your line, you don’t, even if it is your day off! And what you been up to, sir? In a fight?’
‘With a tile, Tom.’ He glanced briefly my way as he spoke. ‘Sharp hand-to-hand struggle.’
Tom beamed. ‘If that’s your story, sir, you stick to it. Not that that gale didn’t shift a mighty lot of them tiles. Cruel dangerous, them gales.’ He pushed his cap higher with one finger. ‘You want to watch it what with your wedding tomorrow, Mr Larraby, sir.’
‘I’ll do that.’
I got into my car and started the engine as Tom drove off. ‘Good-bye, Mr Larraby. Good luck tomorrow ‒ and mind you tell your father you were out cold for about five minutes.’
‘Hold on there.’ He leant on the window. ‘So you’re the nurse? Why didn’t you say so?’
‘It’s my day off. I’m allowed to lay down my lamp one day a week. The question didn’t really arise. You only suggested summoning the “kindly old body” for me. Remember?’ I smiled and let in the clutch. ‘Take care of that head. Good luck again.’
I glanced in the driving mirror as I drove away. He was standing on the grass verge gazing after my car with an expression that struck me as utterly alien to him. He looked so serious.
Chapter Two
ROSES FROM A PATIENT
Ann had met the vicar’s wife outside our local station when she got back from work that evening. She arrived home full of curiosity about Mike Ellis.
‘I don’t remember your mentioning his name at Hilary’s, Lesley. Was he too special to mention?’
‘Quite the reverse. He was just one of the boys. Don’t get any ideas it was more than t
hat.’
The telephone rang. She was standing just by it in the hall. ‘Ann Sanders. Who?’ She smiled at me. ‘Hold on, please, Doctor. My sister is right here.’
It was Mike. ‘Lesley, can I take you up on your invitation now? I’ve just discovered I don’t have to take late surgery tonight. Dr Bowers is doing it this once, as it’s my first day. I’ve no more visits and don’t have to get back to the Grimmonds’ house for supper until eight.’
‘Then come along now and meet my sister.’
‘I’d love to. Thanks, Lesley.’
Ann was grinning like the Cheshire cat. I told her to stop. ‘You’ll see why ‒ and him ‒ in a few minutes.’
‘Darling, I’m fascinated. If he isn’t a long-lost love of yours he’s certainly a fast mover.’
She might have been fascinated, but when she met him she shook me by lapsing into silence. Normally, nothing stopped Ann talking, but although we tried to draw her into the conversation on several occasions, she just would not be drawn. I could not conceive what was eating her. When she disliked someone she was generally more chatty than ever; and previously she had always gone out of her way to be friendly with my friends. Yet she was definitely handing poor Mike the frozen mitt, and from the way he was watching her, he was as well aware of the fact as I was.
The telephone rang when he had been with us for about twenty minutes. As roughly ninety-five per cent of our calls were concerned with my job, I generally answered the phone unless Ann happened to be in the hall. I jumped up automatically, and was nearly knocked down by my eager younger sister. I waved her aside. ‘It’s bound to be either for the nurse, or the doctor, as his car’s outside. You stay and talk to Mike.’
Nurse Errant Page 2
