‘I didn’t realise the sea came as far up as this.’
‘It came farther. The church was built on an island. The sea came up to Harbour Cottage. You know the place half-way up the church hill? That’s how it got its name. The harbourmaster lived there.’
We had reached the foot of the oak. He was right about the moon. The mist now covered the entire marsh before us, and rolled gently, a great white sea.
‘It’s unbelievably lovely. What happened to the sea?’
‘No one’s quite sure. They do say that one night, centuries back, the tide went out and forgot to come back. Certainly, there was no great job done of reclaiming the land in one go. It was done in easy stages. Maybe,’ his voice sounded as if he was smiling, ‘the sea was just lazy ‒ like me. A shocking complaint, angel. One day you must tell me how to cure it. Not yet.’
I said, ‘It’s impossible to cure a patient who doesn’t want to be cured.’
His grip on my arm tightened. ‘Darling, I’ve an ugly notion you don’t approve of me.’
I let that one go. ‘How do you know so much about the marsh? It’s scarcely your home territory.’
‘It is, in a way. I’ve lived a long time here, one way and another. Before my old man went into practice, he was in the Indian Medical Service. My brothers and I spent all our school holidays with Aunt Mary. The marsh got me then,’ he went on dreamily, ‘and when that happens, angel, the marsh has you for ever. No half measures. You love it or hate it.’
That I could believe and understand. ‘You know it well?’
‘I doubt there’s a dyke into which I’ve not fallen, an old net-house down by the wall in which I’ve not hidden, or one yard of the place I couldn’t walk with eyes closed. You’re not a proper marsh-man until you’ve been in a dyke. I’m one many times over by adoption.’
‘So that’s how you walk so well in this mist? I couldn’t see this tree, but you led us straight to it.’
His arm muscles tensed against mine, but he answered lightly, ‘That’s the way of it, angel.’
I decided his grip and this queer little interlude had gone on long enough. ‘I think perhaps I should go back in as I’m on call. My sister’s at home ‒ she’ll have heard the car and be wondering where I am.’
‘I’ll take you home, darling. Never fear, Paddy’s here.’
We stopped at our gate. I was quite happy to ask him in, but felt it was time to bring his wife into the picture.
I asked if she liked the marsh as much as he did. ‘Or is this her first visit?’
‘My wife?’ He roared with laughter. ‘Angel, that was my brother Hugh’s wedding, not mine. I was the Best Man. I’m not the marrying kind, darling! Far too lazy.’
Ann opened the front door. ‘That you, Lesley? Mike Ellis wants you on the phone.’
‘Oh ‒ thanks ‒ coming.’ I turned to Paddy. ‘Sorry I made that mistake ‒’
‘I’ll forgive you, darling. But don’t go round saddling me with wives again. My delicate constitution won’t stand the shock.’
‘I won’t. Look, do come in ‒ I’ve got to answer that call.’
He said he really should get back to his aunt. ‘I’m glad we’ve met again. Take care of yourself and keep that lamp shining.’
Ann was in the sitting-room when I finished telling Mike what he wanted to know about the Collins twins.
‘Lesley, who was that man with the heavenly voice?’
‘Paddy Larraby. Mrs Graves’s nephew.’
‘The man who sent you roses on his wedding day?’
‘Only it wasn’t. Didn’t you gather that?’ I smiled. ‘He says he’s not the marrying kind, and I do agree. Marriage is a serious business. He couldn’t be serious if he tried.’
‘He sounded fun, Lesley.’
I nodded. ‘But one doesn’t really want to laugh all the time.’ I went up to my room to get out of uniform for supper. I was brushing my hair when I remembered what Janet Elseworth had said about Paddy and her brother’s death. Maligning that man was becoming a habit with me.
I put down the brush and grimaced at my reflection. I found that thought rather disturbing.
Chapter Three
PADDY TAKES A HOLIDAY
The mornings were growing quieter. We were no longer woken by the noise of tractors, combines, trailers, and men’s voices. The winter ploughing had started, seldom before eight a.m. because of the light. On my rounds I often saw a solitary scarlet tractor outlined against the pewter sky and dark-brown soil. Occasionally, the driver recognised my car and waved a yellow or orange tea-cosy hat.
Everywhere the air was threaded with the scent of bonfires and hummed with the sawing of logs. There was a general sensation of strong men relaxing, straightening their backs, dusting their hands, and saying, ‘Right. All in ‒ let’s have a look at them tanks in the roof.’ The sense of urgency that had built up until the harvest was in had vanished. The weather was no longer something to affect next year’s bills; it became only a matter for small talk.
Dr Grimmond had had one major operation and was still in hospital under observation. There was an unfortunate possibility he might have to be operated on again.
One Saturday morning, a few weeks after that first winter mist, Mike stopped his car a little ahead of mine, a mile from our village, and signalled me to stop.
‘Poor old Grimmond’s end-to-end anastomosis has broken down. He’s having the works out on Tuesday. Which means I’ll be here until spring, if not longer.’
‘Mike, I am sorry. Poor old man. You couldn’t know him, but he’s perfectly charming. Still, I’m glad you won’t be leaving us yet.’
He leant on my window in his favourite chatting position and studied me for a long time. ‘Lesley, dear, you really are the most refreshing person I know,’ he announced abruptly, then walked back to his own car.
I drove on, feeling puzzled. I wished I understood men better ‒ or even understood them at all. I found Mike particularly hard to fathom, even though I had known him for so long. He was constantly doing things that did not make sense to me. He was as formal as ever with Ann, yet never missed an opportunity ‒ and when there wasn’t one made one ‒ to call and talk shop to me during the hours when she was reasonably certain to be home from work.
When he and I were alone he was very pleasant in a positively fraternal way, but every now and then would fox me by making some non-fraternal or downright enigmatic remark, and then walking off in mid-conversation, as he had just done.
My car engine spluttered nastily, and pulled my thoughts back to the immediate present. I knew as little about machinery as I did about men, but I knew that sound was wrong. It was a damp day, and I hoped that was the trouble. My car had not been new when I bought it last year; it had done a terrific mileage since then, and lately had shown signs of being allergic to damp.
I stopped the car to work out how far I had to go to my next call. Four miles. And I was now five from our village garage. As I had passed the point of no return, I decided to go on. My engine did not agree. I could not get a spark out of it.
I got out and looked inside the bonnet. The engine looked to me exactly as usual. The village mechanic was always telling me to dry the leads. I dried every wire in sight. Still not a spark. I cursed the wretched machine, and opened the boot for the starting-handle.
An arm in a duffle-coat sleeve reached over my shoulder and took the handle from me. ‘As my Granny used to say, there’s nothing like an inanimate object for sheer cussedness. Maybe you’d agree with her, angel?’
I swung round and straight into him, as he was standing so close. ‘Paddy Larraby, where have you sprung from this time? Two minutes ago I had the marsh to myself.’
‘Indeed, you did not! The marsh was mine, and there was I sitting peacefully smoking in that net-house not ten yards from here, thinking beautiful thoughts about the best ways of celebrating Saturday night, when along comes a car moaning and groaning and then stopping on my very doorstep, so to speak.
And then out gets young Miss Florence Nightingale herself and starts trying to electrocute herself, and then using most unseemly language for a lady with a lamp!’
‘Well, what the devil would you expect me to call the darned thing?’ I asked irately.
‘Don’t ask me that, darling, or I’ll shock you. And you’ve just shocked me by showing that under that prim exterior there’s maybe a human being. No ‒ don’t hit me with the handle, angel.’ He ducked exaggeratedly. ‘Or then you’d have to render first-aid again, and you’d not like that. Let me offer my humble services, instead. Shall I swing her for you?’
I was too relieved to have help to mind his cracks, yet. ‘Please do, if you can.’
‘I’ll do my best. I can’t have my guardian angel busting her arm. Cranking a car, my love, is no job for a young woman.’
‘What else was I supposed to do? Wring my hands and weep? With my visits piling up?’
‘From what I’ve just seen ‒ and heard ‒ darling, I’d say your line was to spit teeth and cuss.’ He smiled at me across the car. ‘You’ll note I’m at one with Grandpa Hassell. I likes a woman with spirit, too.’
‘How did you know that?’
‘We’ve beer taken together.’ He swung the handle several times. ‘Not a kick. Mind if I look inside the bonnet?’
‘Do ‒ if you know what to look for. I thought you didn’t drive?’
He peered inside. ‘Time was when car engines and I were well acquainted. Those days are gone, but the memory lingers on.’ He had stopped peering, and was feeling rather than looking round. ‘Here we are ‒ you’ve a lead out. No wonder nothing would make her kick.’ He fitted something in place. ‘Try her now.’
I used the starter. The engine came to life but the splutter was still there, though much fainter.
‘She’s damp all through. Switch off. I’ll dry her out.’
He unplugged so many things I was afraid he might forget which went where. He did not. I noticed his hands for the first time; he was very neat-fingered, and I was no longer surprised he was responsible for the pictures in his aunt’s sitting-room.
‘Seriously, since you know so much about engines, why have you given up driving?’ I asked curiously.
‘Sheer laziness, angel.’ He did not even bother to look up.
I looked him over. He was the picture of health, and larger than ever in that duffle. ‘How did you manage to qualify as an architect and hold down your present job? Doesn’t that require some energy?’
‘I owe you my life, and everything I have is yours, darling, but don’t ask awkward questions. God knows how I got through.’ He was still half inside the bonnet. ‘Not me. I just exist from Tuesday to Friday mornings these days, then catch the lunchtime fast down from town and hurry back to my lotus-eating chez Aunt Mary. Where’ ‒ he came up for air and grinned ‒ ‘I have a full-time job trying to shut my mind to the long working week.’
‘You don’t even work on Mondays?’
‘I see I’ve shocked you again. Alas, I don’t. Now I suppose you’ll shame me more by telling me you have one free day a month?’
I was more curious than shocked. I had heard business tycoons sometimes worked those hours in their old age. I had yet to meet one that did. It seemed inconceivable any firm would let a man of his age get away with such hours. ‘I have every Thursday free and a weekend a month. But doesn’t your boss mind ‒ about you?’
‘He loves me, darling. I am his white-headed boy. He pats me on the head and says, “Take as much time off as you like, son”! That answer you?’ He laughed at my expression. ‘We live in different worlds, angel. Why let it worry you?’
‘I don’t.’ I smiled. ‘I’m just interested in how the other half lives.’
He closed the bonnet and tried the engine himself. It sounded fine. ‘She’ll do. She’s all yours.’
I thanked him really gratefully. ‘I’m going towards the lighthouse. Can I offer you a lift anywhere?’
He said it was kind of me, but he had a heavy date with a pipe and a net-house. ‘I’ve not been out long,’ he added, looking up and down the empty road.
I guessed he was waiting for someone to pick him up, and took the hint. ‘Thanks again, Paddy.’
He blew me a kiss. ‘Don’t work too hard ‒ and keep that engine dry.’ He stretched his shoulders languidly. ‘I must get back to my heavy thinking on Saturday-night celebrations.’
It was no more easy to keep my engine dry that afternoon and evening than it was to stop wondering whom he had been meeting that morning, or how he was going to celebrate that night. It poured with rain from lunchtime onwards. My car at least behaved itself. It did not stall once.
‘Any idea whom he was meeting?’ asked Ann, when we discussed my morning after supper.
‘No.’ I turned the pages of my time-book without looking up. ‘I didn’t wait to see.’
The end of the month was near and my time-book due to go into the County Authorities for checking. It held the record of all the cases I had seen during the month; each case and the nursing details under its specific heading: Medical, Surgical, Midwifery, Ante-natal, Post-natal, Accident, and so on. ‘Annie, pass me my day-book, please. It’s on the shelf by your right elbow. I can’t get my dates right.’
‘Who are the local gay girls, Lesley?’ She handed it over. ‘Do lots of parties go on?’
‘According to Mrs Carter, her girls are never in at the weekends. We’ve not been here long enough to be in that kind of thing yet, even, speaking personally, if I had the time. Oh ‒ damn! I haven’t got these dates right yet.’ I turned the pages of both books furiously. ‘Where have I gone wrong?’
She opened her work-box and went on with her embroidery while I chatted to myself. Some time later, she sighed. ‘I’ve got the time to gallivant. I’m not sure I’ve the inclination.’
As she was very much a party girl, that made me look at her hard. ‘Busy day?’
‘Not very. The tourist season’s over. The Christmas rush hasn’t begun.’ She was having a lot of trouble threading a needle. ‘By the way, your pal Mike came in this afternoon to buy some presents for some cousin. Did you know his day off is now Thursday?’
I just shook my head. I had no idea why Mike’s day off had been altered. I had a very good idea why Ann was thinking of taking the veil.
Her smile was strained. ‘Should be fun for you both having the same day free. Rather smart work on his part, I thought.’
‘As the locum, he’s the most junior in the firm. He wouldn’t have any say in a matter like that, my dear.’
‘Care to bet on that, darling?’
‘I would ‒ oh, no!’ It was the telephone bell. ‘I’ll never get my time-book straight if I have to go out. No ‒ I’ll take it. Bound to be a patient.’
‘Or Mike to tell you about the change himself?’ she suggested smoothly.
My caller was a Mrs Siddons. She said she was one of the coastguard wives and sorry to bother me at that hour of the night, but was real upset about her late sister’s boy, Ken Mathers. ‘He lives with us, Nurse, and real poorly he seems tonight. But you know what young lads are. He says as he’s just got a bit of an ache in his back, and maybe he’s strained hisself, and I’m not to fret as it’ll wear off. But it doesn’t seem to be doing that.’
Ann came into the hall. ‘Urgent?’ she mouthed.
I shrugged. ‘How old is he, Mrs Siddons?’
‘Twenty-four, Nurse.’
‘Do you know whereabouts in his back the ache is?’
She hesitated. ‘I reckons it’s catching him lowish, Nurse, and down his legs. I been keeping my eye on him since he come in for his dinner, midday. He usually goes out with his mates of a Saturday afternoon and evening, but he said he didn’t fancy joining the other lads to-day, and he’s gone to bed real early for him. Looks to me like the pain’s catching him cruel, and isn’t no ache.’
‘Have you taken his temperature? Given him anything for it?’
She answe
red sensibly. She appeared to have done all an intelligent woman could have done under those circumstances. ‘I did wonder if it might be lumbago,’ she went on. ‘Bert ‒ that’ll be me husband ‒ took the lumbago a twelvemonth back. But it’s not taking the lad like it took my Bert. Looks much more poorly, he does.’
I did not know the Siddons household as this was my first call from her, even though they were in my area.
‘Have you children of your own, Mrs Siddons?’ I asked to get some idea of the general position.
‘I got five, Nurse. That’s how I knows how to read a thermometer. The old doctor taught me when they were small. All married, they are now ‒ and I’ve seven grandchildren. But none with me, so that’s why I had our Ken come to us when he lost his mum. If the old doctor hadn’t been poorly hisself,’ she added honestly, ‘I’d not have troubled you, Nurse. Seeing as we don’t know the new young doctor what’s taken his place, I didn’t like to bother him just to ask if there was something more I could do to ease the lad. I thought you wouldn’t mind my calling you.’
‘I don’t mind at all, Mrs Siddons. I’m very pleased you did. That’s what I’m here for.’ I looked at my watch. ‘Which is your cottage?’
Ann jerked a thumb at the front door.
I nodded as I listened. ‘Third along. Right. One thing more ‒ any mist by the sea?’
‘Not now, Nurse. The wind’s got up. I don’t like to fetch you over all this way. Don’t seem right for such a little fever.’
Nurse Errant Page 4
