Hospital Heartbreaker

by Oliver, Marina

  Fleur nodded, unable to speak. How could Rowena behave so insensitively. She did not appear to be gloating over a rival, and Fleur suddenly wondered if she knew Russell had been seeing her. She had been partly drunk at the ball, or might simply not have recognised Fleur in uniform. Yet surely, even though she only came into Chad's occasionally, the hospital grapevine would have made her aware of the fact that Russell had a new girl? Or had had one, Fleur corrected her chaotic thoughts, bringing her attention back to Rowena.

  'Poor you! That's one advantage of being a secretary. I'm off home this evening, just as soon as I've cleared up here. Have a really Merry Christmas.'

  'Thanks, you too, I must get back,' Fleur managed.

  To her relief when she got back to the ward it was time for lunch and she could escape for a while. Unable to face her friends or food, she went to the park just a short walk away. It was the only place she could think of where she could be alone. To lick her wounds, she thought dully.

  It was bright and sunny, but bitterly cold, the frost still glittering on car windscreens and those areas of ground not yet touched by the sun. The lake, where small paddle boats could be hired in summer, was frozen in all but a small corner, and dozens of water birds were crowded into those few square yards, or pecking despondently at the frozen ground on the bank.

  A man with a bag of crumbs was scattering them slowly around him. No sooner had the crumbs reached the ground than the ducks waddled towards them, often deprived at the very last moment when more spritely sparrows darted in to snatch up the prize.

  Then the man held out his arm stiffly, a handful of crumbs tempting the birds. Fleur, who had been watching him without thought, was startled to see first one, then half a dozen sparrows fly to perch on his outstretched arm, pecking at the crumbs he held, squabbling noisily as, in their attempts to reach the food they dislodged one another.

  Eventually all the food was gone and the birds departed in search of more. Fleur turned away too, it was time she went back, though how she would contrive to get through the remainder of the day she had no idea. Somehow she managed, inventing a blinding headache when Jenny commented worriedly on her pallor.

  'Poor Fleur, I do hope it will soon be better. But at least you'll be less busy over Christmas, with theatres closed apart from emergencies. I'm so excited to be going home, it's my first Christmas off for three years.'

  'I'll have New Year instead,' Fleur replied, 'then I can have a good rest.'

  'Yes. Oh, I almost forgot. Would you be a dear and water my pot plants? They'll only need doing once, I'll give them a good soak tonight before I go.'

  'Of course. Will the porter let me in?'

  'I've borrowed a spare key. Thanks, I'd hate to lose them and the central heating dries them out.'

  *

  By the end of the afternoon Fleur had a genuine headache, and felt so ill that she was tempted, when an empty taxi cruised past the bus stop, to treat herself to a comfortable ride home.

  Once there her instinct was to crawl into bed and try to blot out her misery, but she knew that if she did, and managed by some miracle to sleep for a while she would only wake during the night and leave herself prey to hours of sleepless agony.

  She must tire herself out again, so wearily she swallowed some aspirin, soaked for a while in a hot bath to try to relax, then forced herself to grill some bacon and eggs and eat. Afterwards she changed into her old clothes and tackled the painting in her bedroom.

  Russell had promised to call at eight, to take her to the party, but of course he would not now. When the phone rang at half past seven she wondered if it would be him, with either the truth or some excuse.

  Reluctant to discover it, panic stricken at the mere thought of talking to him, she let the phone ring. She counted twenty rings before the caller gave up, then the phone went again immediately, and this time rang for even longer.

  Fleur stared at it anxiously, as if expecting it to jump up and attack her, but when it eventually fell silent again, she hastily took the receiver off the hook. She knew that if she had the bell going constantly she would sooner or later be compelled to answer it, whether she wished to or not.

  At ten past eight the door bell rang. Fleur froze. She really had not expected Russell to turn up after having made it up with Rowena, but it was unlikely to be anyone else. She was just distractedly wondering whether she could ignore it, and blaming herself for not having had the wit to turn off such lights as were visible from the street, when the bell rang again.

  Fleur took a deep breath. She would have to face him sometime, perhaps it would be better to do it in the privacy of the flat. She could not be sure of how she would react if she had to meet him for the first time in the corridors or canteen at Chad's. Slowly, paint brush in hand, she went to open the door.

  Russell stood there, smiling unconcernedly at her, and to her dismay she saw behind him a couple she had been introduced to at the ball, Peggy and Timothy Crofton. Peggy wore a long blue dress, while the men had conventional evening dress. The people throwing the party were not the sort who would appreciate guests wearing jeans or track suits, Russell had warned Fleur, when she questioned him about the affair.

  'Forgotten the time again darling?' he queried lightly, 'or had you given me up and decided to get on with some work? I'm sorry I'm late, but I couldn't get through to you on the phone, there was some faulty connection.'

  Fleur looked down at her paint-bespattered jeans and the old shirt of her father's which she had appropriated a long time ago and now used for dirty jobs, then back at him, confused, biting back the angry words she wanted to hurl at him. It was hardly possible to start a row with the Croftons there. She turned a puzzled look in their direction.

  'Forgive us, Fleur, for bursting in on you,' Peggy said, seeing her bewilderment. 'Our car's out of action, and Russell offered us a lift. We'd have waited outside, but the most ridiculous thing happened. My shoulder strap broke. Could I possible come in and borrow a needle and cotton to mend it?'

  'Of course,' Fleur said, stepping back and indicating the sitting room. 'Sorry it's a mess, I'm decorating.'

  Peggy smiled at her. 'You're an angel, I didn't want to have to go all the way home again, and drag Russell there since he refused to let us take a taxi.'

  Fleur crossed to where a workbox sat on a shelf.

  'I think there's some blue cotton in here. Would you like to use the bedroom?'

  'I can manage, thanks, it's right at the front, I don't need to take my dress off.'

  'And you'll have time to get changed, forgetful one,' Russell said, his tone amused and his glance warm. 'May I offer Peggy and Timothy a drink while we wait?'

  Fleur stared back at him, then realised that she was appearing rather gauche. Flushing slightly, she turned to Peggy who was busy threading a needle.

  'I'm sorry. Would you like wine? It's about all I have.'

  'I'll do it,' Russell said firmly. 'Get changed, love.'

  *

  Fleur retreated to the bathroom, more to give herself time to think than because she intended obeying his commands. Absentmindedly she washed her hands and face, noting that for once, perhaps because she had been painting for a comparatively short time, they were not liberally daubed with paint. But her thoughts were all on Russell. How could he behave like this? Of course, he had not seen her in Rowena's office, so could have no idea she had heard the other girl's words and knew all about the change in their relationship.

  She went into the bedroom and almost without thinking began to take off her old clothes. Then a quiver of hope struck her. Was there any way in which she could have misinterpreted Rowena's words? She thought dazedly back over them and shook her head. No, Rowena had been apologising, begging for another chance, and from the joyous look on her face as she left the office she had been forgiven. And Russell had been there so it must have been their quarrel that was being referred to. Also he'd mentioned visiting her parents. There was no other explanation.

  Wh
y did he treat her as though nothing had happened? Did he, callously and totally without any consideration for her, intend to enjoy himself with her while Rowena was at home for Christmas? Or had he been caught by the circumstances of people knowing he was taking her to the party, so he would not be able to tell her the truth until he could speak to her alone?

  She pulled a lacy white top and a long black skirt out of the wardrobe and had actually put them on before she realised what she had done. She looked in the mirror and sat down to brush her hair, then, at last, began to wonder what she had best do. Ought she to send Russell on his way, make some excuse, or – and suddenly she knew what she was going to do.

  If he could pretend so could she. The temptation to spend one more evening in his company, to dance once more with his arms about her, to kiss him again even if she knew it was a traitor's kiss, was too great. It would be bitter sweet, but perhaps, for seconds at a time, she could forget and dream once more that when he had said he loved her he had been speaking the truth.

  Fleur hastened to get ready. She never wore a great deal of make-up, and tonight used only a light foundation and a minimum of eye shadow and lip gloss, so she was back in the sitting room just as Peggy was breaking off the cotton.

  'Darling Fleur, thank you so much,' Peggy exclaimed gaily. 'So embarrassing to lose my dress in the middle of the party, I'm thankful the strap gave way before we got here.'

  'Have some wine?' Russell asked, but Fleur shook her head, and they trooped down to the car, squeezed themselves in, and within a short time were entering a large, rather imposing house which overlooked the River Thames at Richmond.

  *

  'It's a pity it's not summer,' Russell said after he and Fleur had greeted their host and hostess, Sir John and Lady Summers, and been given glasses of wine by a uniformed waitress. 'There's a beautiful garden leading right down to the river, and I've been to some memorable parties here. Perhaps next summer you'll see what I mean.'

  Fleur strove to keep the polite smile fixed on her face. How could he be so cruel as to imply they would be together in the summer, when he must be intending to break with her this very evening? Then she wondered anew at his deceitfulness, and reminded herself that even if he did want to keep her in ignorance of what had happened for longer, he would be forced to break with her as soon as Rowena was back in London.

  The party was crowded, and Russell seemed to know everyone there. Fleur recognised many faces from Chad's, though mostly older than her friends and higher up the career ladder. Russell seemed to be in great demand, and they had no time for private conversation until some of the younger people began dancing in the largest of the interconnecting rooms.

  'Come, I've been feeling deprived without you in my arms for almost twenty-four hours,' Russell whispered to Fleur and, his arm about Fleur's waist, led her through to the dancing.

  This was almost more than she could bear. It was slow, sensuous music, and he held her close. She felt his lips against her forehead, and wanted to break away from him and scream that he was a monster. But she did not, and it was not the surroundings that deterred her. Agonising though it was to think this might be the last time she would experience his embrace, she knew she could not bear to lose a minute of it.

  When the music ended Russell led Fleur through to another room where a buffet supper was laid out, and despite her protests loaded two plates with smoked salmon and salad. He found a quiet corner in the hall and they sat side by side on a long seat. Fleur struggled with the food while he chatted about the people there, telling her who worked at Chad's.

  He seemed unaware of her silence, apart from once when he asked whether she was tired.

  'No, not really, although I suppose it has all been rather a busy time,' she replied rather incoherently, and he smiled sympathetically.

  'I'll get some more to drink then. Wait here, my sweet.'

  It was fortunate he left her then, to shrink back into the corner and hastily blink away the tears at his endearment. When he brought refilled glasses she quickly bent over hers, sipping slowly, until he suggested they danced again.

  'I begin to regret having offered the Croftons a lift,' he murmured softly to her. 'It was difficult not to, as they live in the same block, and he was tinkering with his car when I got home. If only we could steal away now. I want to kiss you until you're breathless, you're so temptingly beautiful.'

  Fleur wanted to scream at him to stop it, but her voice seemed to have deserted her, and at that moment Sir John Summers, with quiet apologies to the people he disturbed, came into the middle of the dancers and laid his hand on Russell's arm.

  *

  'Just a moment, my boy, if you please.'

  Russell looked quickly at him, then turned and followed him off the floor, his arm about Fleur's waist so that she had to go too. They were led into a tiny room which looked as though it was an office. Sir John turned to Russell and without preamble spoke, quietly and sympathetically.

  'I've just had a phone call from Chad's. They asked me to tell you Miss Kingsley has been admitted and there will have to be an operation immediately.'

  Fleur felt Russell's arm tighten round her like a band of steel, and he caught his breath sharply. But his voice was even when he spoke.

  'What is it?' he asked quietly.

  'A car crash. She apparently called in to collect something, an hour ago, and soon after she left her car skidded and crashed with a lorry. The roads are very icy.'

  'Did they say what was wrong?'

  'They don't know yet, but there are abdominal injuries, and they are afraid of a fractured skull.'

  'Who's there?'

  The other understood him immediately.

  'Don't worry, my boy. Mr Havelock and Mr Fergusson. She couldn't have two better surgeons to care for her. Do you know her father's schedule? Can he be reached?'

  'He'll be on his way home. He planned to get back on the twenty-third, the day after tomorrow. Shall I ring her mother?'

  'I think it would be better if you went to Chad's first and saw her, then you can perhaps give more hopeful news.'

  Russell groaned. 'I can't even help in the theatre, I've had far too much to drink.'

  'It wouldn't be a good idea and you know it, so don't waste time in regrets. Can you drive or shall I call a taxi?'

  'No thanks, I didn't mean I was unfit to drive. Thank you, Sir John, you're most considerate. Will you explain to the Croftons for me, please, and give my excuses, they'll need a lift or a taxi as I brought them.'

  'And Miss Tremaine? Can I get you a taxi?'

  'Fleur will come with me, thank you. I won't be able to do anything useful at Chad's, so I can take her home as soon as I've made that phone call.'

  Without another word he turned and, as if unaware he still had his arm about Fleur's waist, led her out to the car. Lady Summers stood ready with Fleur's cloak, which she draped across her shoulders when they reached the front door.

  'Look after him, my dear,' she whispered. 'He'll take it hard if she's badly hurt, or worse. He's very fond of her.'

  *

  Chapter 11

  Fleur sat beside Russell on that nightmare drive back to Chad's, her feelings alternating wildly as if on some crazy, out of control merry-go-round. She was concerned for Rowena, as she would have been for anyone badly injured. She thought of her as a patient, not her rival for Russell's love. She glanced at him. It was clear from the grim set of his face, and the speed at which he drove, he had thoughts only for the girl he was hurrying towards. He must love her very much.

  As for Fleur's feelings towards Russell, she veered between anger he should involve her, so cruelly insisting she accompany him when he rushed to see his injured fiancée, and terror he would crash his car or be stopped for speeding.

  It was natural he should go to Chad's, but to force her along too was a kind of desertion, when he had been pretending he still loved her. This hurt more than if he had sent her home. To be compelled to see his concern, to watch
him agonise over the injuries of the woman he really loved, would strain her endurance to the uttermost.

  She had to fight down her uncharitable desire to tell him he was despicable, but she knew she would do as he wished. If he needed it, she would provide comfort. It was impossible to challenge him now, whatever cruelty he was subjecting her to.

  Fleur took little notice of the other traffic, apart from vaguely thinking it was busy so near Christmas, and dreading to see the flashing blue lights of a police car behind them. She was surprised when they swept past the Houses of Parliament to see it was still only eleven o'clock. It had seemed an endless time since Russell had appeared on her doorstep and, to avoid a quarrel in front of the Croftons, she had meekly gone with him to the party.

  She flinched, but did not try to draw away when they reached Chad's and Russell, parking as near to the front entrance as he could, took her hand and drew her after him. He went straight to the lifts and up to the theatre suite at the top of the building.

  'Please, will you wait there, darling?' he said, nodding towards a small room opposite the lifts.

  She stared after him with a surge of fury. How dared he call her darling when it was perfectly obvious all his love and concern were for the girl at present the centre of attention in the big operating theatre, where a subdued bustle indicated skilled, urgent, but quiet and controlled action.

  He disappeared into the theatre sister's office, and with a shrug Fleur turned and went into the room he had pointed to. It was a small waiting room, with a few hard chairs and a pile of old magazines. A large man dressed in shabby old trousers and a dirty, oil-stained anorak, under which Fleur could see an even dirtier sweater, was slumped into one of the chairs, his eyes closed, but his hands gripped tightly together in front of him.

  At the sound of Fleur's high heels he stood up quickly, then seeing how she was dressed subsided back onto the chair. But she could feel his eyes upon her when she sat down and listlessly picked up a copy of Vogue, and wondered dully why he was there.

  *

  Suddenly he spoke, with a broad Yorkshire accent, and she realised he was very close to breaking down.