Cruise to a Wedding

by Betty Neels

  A resolve she was to break within a very short time—the next day in fact. The list had been short and had gone without a hitch; there was a heavy list for the afternoon, though, and the first operation was to be done by some specialist, Gordon had told her, apologizing at the same time for not having warned her earlier in the day, but Mr Gore-Symes hadn’t been perfectly certain that he was coming; it was some new technique this professor something-or-other had perfected, and the old man was deeply interested in it. ‘I believe the fellow brings his own instruments,’ he concluded.

  ‘In that case,’ Loveday had told him, ‘he’d better hand them over pretty smartish, or we shall all be standing around waiting for them. Do the CSD do them or am I supposed to see to it, I wonder? Why doesn’t someone tell me?’

  Gordon had grinned. ‘Haven’t the faintest, but I’m sure you’ll cope.’ He had gone off to his lunch, whistling cheerfully, and she, in her turn, had gone off to hers.

  She had stayed longer than she had intended, sitting at table, sipping her post-prandial tea, deeply absorbed in the ever-interesting topic of clothes—so long, in fact, that she had no time to go to her room and do her hair and her face; not that it would matter a great deal, for she would be wearing a mask for the rest of the afternoon. She tore through the bleak Victorian corridors which would bring her to the lift taking her to the theatre block; the Royal City had been modernized on several separate occasions, various well-meaning persons taking it in turns to have an architect’s finger in their Utopian pie, so that the whole place was a complexity of antiquated staircases, underground passages, gigantic pipes which made hollow noises in the dead of night, and hyper-modern lifts, automatic doors and a magnificent entrance hall, which had been designed to contain the very latest in communication panels, kiosks for visitors, a flower stall even, and which had never quite got to this stage, so that Parkinson, the head porter, still held its traffic in the hollow of his aged but iron hand.

  The theatre block had been completed, however, and it was a splendid one, with Loveday in charge of it, aided by two junior Sisters, who ran the smaller theatres and relieved her when she went off duty. They got on well, the three of them; she was thinking about that as she skipped down a quite unnecessary flight of steps and began to run along the curved passage which ran round the back of the entrance hall. She was lucky, she considered, unlike poor Rimada, who disliked and was disliked by Big Bertha and was unable to laugh about it. She quickened her pace slightly and shot round the next bend, slap into the arms of someone coming in the opposite direction. A man, a very tall, very large man, no longer young but possessing the kind of good looks which would catch any female eye. Loveday just had time to see that for herself as he put his hands on her shoulders to steady her and then held her away from him to take a good look. His eyes were blue, she noted with interest, and at the moment positively frosty. She smiled nicely, none the less, and said pleasantly: ‘So sorry—I’m in a hurry.’

  ‘My dear good girl,’ he drawled in a deep voice and in what she considered to be a very ill-humoured tone, ‘I find it surprising that a member of the hospital staff—a Sister, are you not?—should so far forget her dignity as to run, one might almost say, race on duty. You are on duty?’

  Loveday eyed him with a slightly heightened colour and answered him with a decided snap. ‘My dear good man,’ and her voice was as cool as his, ‘I don’t know you from Adam, and what I’m doing can be none of your business!’

  She twisted away from his hands as she spoke and continued on her way, her back expressing—she hoped—dignified disapproval, while she beat back a quite unworthy desire to turn round and have another look at him. She almost stopped when she heard his chuckle, but she was late already—besides, he had been very high-handed; a most unpleasant man, she told herself safely in the lift at last, but undeniably good-looking.

  Staff Nurse Cross, bless her, had everything ready, and she still had ten minutes in which to sort the special instruments which had been delivered to her office, get them into the autoclave, and scrub up. She was nicely settled behind her trolleys well before the surgeons’ unhurried entry. Mr Gore-Symes first, with his guest—her eyes widened at the sight of him; the man in the corridor, no less, behind. The blue eyes met hers with a blandly impersonal glance while Mr Gore-Symes introduced him as Professor de mumble van mumble, from mumble. Loveday, none the wiser from her chief’s indistinct remarks, inclined her head with hauteur and was affronted at the stranger’s grunt.

  ‘Loveday Pearce,’ said Mr Gore-Symes, quite distinctly for once. ‘My Theatre Sister, you know. Runs the place very well.’

  His companion raised thick fair eyebrows in what she could only describe to herself as an offensive manner, and turned to speak to Gordon before taking his place by the operating table. The three men arranged themselves without haste around the unconscious patient, covered on the flanks, as it were, by two housemen, looking apprehensive. Loveday waited until they had settled themselves before motioning her own team into place; Staff at her elbow, as always, the two student nurses well back from the table, ready to do anything she might require of them; Mrs Thripps, on duty, for the afternoon, standing back even further, her experienced eyes everywhere. And Bert in his corner, surrounded by the various electrical appliances which might be needed from time to time. She took a final look at them all, nodded her pretty head in satisfaction, and handed Gordon the first towel.

  The operation was to be an adrenalectomy, and both kidneys were involved. As it proceeded Loveday felt bound to admit that this foreign surgeon was good; he worked fast and thoroughly, and not until he reached the stage where his own new technique was involved did he speak more than a few words. Even then she could not fault his manner; there was no hint of boasting; she was forced to admire his modest manner even while she recalled his quite unnecessary rudeness in the corridor.

  It was a long business and tiring for all of them. All the same, it was with regret that she saw him leave the theatre. It was a pity, she decided, as she took off her gown and gloves and prepared to scrub for the second case, that she wouldn’t see him again, let alone discover his name—even if she asked Mr Gore-Symes at the end of the list, he would have forgotten it by then. She sighed and freshly scrubbed and gowned went to brood over the contents of her trolleys.

  They finished just before six; the last two cases had been straightforward ones, and she had been able to send those nurses who were off duty out of the theatre punctually. She was off duty herself, but she was doing nothing with her evening, so that she sent the last of her staff away and, the theatre cleaned and readied once more, went to her office. Ten minutes would be long enough to write up the books, then she would take the keys along to Joyce, on duty in the ENT theatre, and go off duty herself. Someone had made her a pot of tea, she discovered; it stood on a tray on her desk with a plate of thin bread and butter on a saucer-covered plate. She smiled at the little attention, poured herself a cup and opened her books.

  She had finished her writing and was polishing off the rest of the bread and butter when she heard the swing doors separating the theatre block from the hospital open and click shut. ‘In here,’ she called. ‘I was just coming over with the keys.’

  But it wasn’t Joyce, it was Mr Gore-Symes’ visitor who entered, and at her surprised, ‘Oh, hullo, it’s you,’ he inclined his head and put her firmly in her place with a cold good evening. She stared at him for several seconds, a little puzzled, and then spoke with relief. ‘Oh, of course, you want your instruments. I gave them to Bert, but I daresay he couldn’t find them—they’ll be in the theatre.’

  ‘Thank you, I have them already. You are a friend of Rimada’s, are you not?’

  He was leaning against the wall, staring at her in a disconcerting fashion. She said slowly: ‘Yes,’ while a sudden unwelcome thought trickled into the back of her mind. ‘I didn’t hear your name, sir.’ She spoke hesitatingly.

  ‘I didn’t think you had, that is why I have come b
ack.’ His voice was silky. ‘De Wolff van Ozinga,’ he added with a biting quietness. ‘Adam.’

  Rimada’s name was de Wolff. Loveday said in a small voice, ‘Oh, lord—I might have known, you’re Rimada’s guardian!’

  ‘I am. I intend seeing her this evening. Is she behaving herself?’

  She shot him a guarded look which he met with a bland stare. ‘She always behaves herself, and I have no intention of answering any prying questions about her.’

  He smiled lazily and she felt her dislike for him oozing away, to return at once as he continued: ‘She has a remarkable habit of falling in love with every second young man she meets. Who is it at the moment?’

  Loveday looked at him crossly. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m not going to answer your questions. You should ask Rimada.’

  He looked hatefully pleased with himself. ‘So there is someone—she meant what she said. The absurd girl telephoned me—besides, her mother showed me a letter. I suppose you are aiding and abetting her?’

  Loveday lifted her chin. ‘No. But now I’ve met you, I certainly shall!’

  This spirited remark met with a laugh. ‘By all means,’ he agreed affably. ‘If you are half as bird-witted as my cousin, you aren’t likely to succeed, though.’

  ‘I am not bird-witted!’ She was feeling quite ill-tempered by now. ‘Rimada’s a dear, she can’t help being—being…’ She stopped, conscious of his amused eyes. ‘She’s afraid of you,’ she flung at him.

  He lifted his eyebrows and looked resigned. ‘I can’t think why; I’m kindness and consideration at all times towards her. Just as long as she does nothing foolish, of course.’

  Loveday felt that she should really make an end to this absurd conversation; she wasn’t getting anywhere with it, and nor, she fancied, was the man before her. A pity, though; she would have liked to have got to know him better, even, as she hastily reminded herself, though she disliked him. She closed her books and stood up.

  ‘Do finish your bread and butter,’ he suggested politely.

  ‘Thank you, no. I’m off duty.’ She picked up the tea-tray with an air of someone with not a minute to lose.

  He took the tray from her and put it down again on the desk. ‘Now from any other girl I might take that as an invitation. But from you, Miss Loveday Pearce, I think not. All the same, despite your cross face and your pert manners and your bad habit of running along hospital corridors, I find you a good deal more—er—interesting than Rimada.’

  He leaned across the desk and kissed her on her half open, surprised mouth.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LOVEDAY stood very still. Her power of speech had left her; so for the moment had the power to think clearly. She was aware of a peculiar feeling deep inside her which she presently decided might be attributed to rage and a bitter dislike of her visitor, certainly she found that she was shaking with some strong emotion. Presently she picked up the tray and took it along to the tiny kitchen on the theatre corridor and tidied everything away in her usual methodical fashion before taking the keys over to ENT and going off duty. Once in the Home, she went straight to Rimada’s room and found that young lady dressing to go out, an elaborate ritual which she interrupted to say dramatically: ‘He is here—the horrid Adam. He waits below and I am forced to dine with him.’ She tossed her head. ‘I should have been spending the evening with Terry.’

  Loveday sat down. ‘Well, it’s a good thing in a way, Rimmy, because now you can tell your guardian all about it. Why doesn’t Terry go with you?’

  Rimada applied mascara and leaned forward to survey her handiwork.

  ‘Adam wished that, but Terry is suddenly called away—an emergency case in theatre…’

  ‘Oh—I hadn’t heard.’

  ‘But you are off duty, so how could you? They will have told Joyce in ENT.’

  Loveday reflected that she had left Joyce not ten minutes earlier and there had been no news of an emergency; indeed, there had been nothing in the Accident Room, and Nancy was very good at letting them know the moment anything likely came in, indeed, she often warned the theatre staff the moment she had news of an emergency from the ambulance crews. It sounded like an excuse on Terry’s part, but perhaps it was best not to pursue that train of thought. Instead, she asked: ‘How old is your guardian?’

  ‘Thirty-six—no, seven. Almost middle-aged.’

  Not middle-aged, Loveday decided silently; middle-aged men didn’t kiss like that. ‘I didn’t know that he was a surgeon.’

  Her friend swung round to stare at her. ‘You have met him? How is that? Do you not find him quite terrible?’

  Loveday skated round the question. ‘He operated this afternoon. We bumped into each other when I was on the way back to theatre. He’s super at his job, whatever else he is.’

  Rimada shrugged her shoulders. ‘Oh, yes; he is, how do you say? the tops. He is a Professor of Surgery, you know. He also likes pretty girls. You will take care, Loveday? He has charm…’

  You can say that again, thought Loveday while she assured Rimada that she would indeed take care. ‘Though as I’m not likely to meet him again, it doesn’t matter, does it?’ She felt a momentary regret about that. ‘I’m going down to supper—come along to my room when you get back and tell me how you got on.’ She peered at her reflection over Rimada’s shoulder. ‘Gosh, I look a hag,’ she remarked, and following her train of thought: ‘I daresay your guardian won’t be as difficult as you imagine—he’s only human, after all.’

  Her friend snorted. ‘Bah!’ she said through excellent teeth. The word carried a great deal of feeling.

  Loveday had been in bed and asleep for quite some time when Rimada wakened her with an urgent shake. She was in tears, and Loveday, still in a half dreaming state, sat up slowly, forcing herself to wakefulness.

  ‘Rimmy,’ she uttered urgently, ‘whatever is the matter? You’re in floods!’

  ‘Adam—I hate him! He does not listen when I say that I will marry Terry; he laughs and says that I don’t know my own mind.’ A fresh flow of tears choked her and Loveday, ever helpful, offered a handkerchief.

  ‘He hasn’t cut you off with a shilling, or anything drastic?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘Of course not,’ sobbed Rimada. ‘It is my money, is it not? When I asked him for some of my allowance so that I could buy that hat—you remember?—he gave it to me at once.’

  She gave Loveday a rather hurt look because she giggled. ‘Oh, it is funny to you, I daresay, but he thinks that he can bribe me, and I will not be bribed—I will have my own way.’

  Rimada’s rather weak chin set in stubborn lines. ‘He is unkind, also he called you an interfering busybody and told me that I should run my own life. He said, too, that you are too clever by far and that bossy women are not his cup of tea.’

  Loveday’s bosom heaved with the fury of her feelings. ‘He said that? I can well believe it,’ she said in an icy voice. ‘Anyone disputing his opinions or his plans would naturally prick his abominable ego.’ She drew a trembling breath. ‘You really want to marry Terry? OK, Rimmy, so you shall. I’ll help you all I can. We should be able to think of something between us.’ Her dark eyes glinted, she was now very much awake. ‘I’ll show him what a busybody I am!’ She smiled at the Dutch girl. ‘I’ve got days off at the end of the week—change yours and come home with me, that will give us two days’ peace and quiet in which to cook up something. Go to bed, Rimmy, and stop crying—you shall have your Terry. Good lord,’ she exclaimed, suddenly furious, ‘anyone would think it was the nineteenth century we’re living in; he’s nothing but a tyrant.’ She added softly: ‘It’ll be rather fun.’

  She didn’t see Rimada until they shared a table with half a dozen other Sisters at dinner time the following day, and it was apparent that the Dutch girl had quite recovered her spirits. For a moment Loveday wondered uneasily if Terry Wilde really was the best husband for her friend—a dear girl, but easily swayed and singularly bad at managing her own affairs, monetary
or otherwise. But Rimada caught her eye even as she was thinking it, and smiled so happily that Loveday dismissed the idea as nonsense, and plunged into the lively discussion going on around her; Nancy Dawson from the Accident Room was getting married in December; she had just informed the table at large that they would be spending their honeymoon on a cruise. ‘Madeira,’ she breathed ecstatically, ‘Lisbon—can you imagine? I can hardly wait!’

  There was a general murmur of envy and interest and the inevitable topic of the right clothes was broached. It wasn’t until they had left the dining-room and were hurrying back to their various wards that Loveday was struck by an idea so exquisite that she stood still in the middle of the passage to savour it. Supposing she and Rimada should go on a cruise? Quite openly, of course, in fact, they would tell everyone, including the hateful guardian. Even though he considered her to be a bossy busybody, he could hardly object to the pair of them going on holiday; indeed, he should be glad because it would take Rimada away from the Royal City and Terry. She smiled slowly; only he would be with them, of course, and once in Madeira—and Madeira would suit admirably because it was more than two days’ cruising away, which gave them two days’ start…they could marry. There must surely be such things as special licences there; Terry would have to find out. And once they were married, her guardian could do very little to change things; he would have to give in, settle Rimada’s money on her and accept Terry Wilde into the family.

  Loveday got into the lift, quite carried away with the cleverness of her reasoning. What was more, she decided as she pushed open the theatre doors, she would say very little to Rimada until they were on their way home; Rimmy, bless her, was no good at keeping a secret, but she would have her two days off in which to get used to the idea, and during that time she would have to be made to understand that discretion was all important—about Terry—she could tell as many people as she liked about the cruise. Loveday, greeting Staff with an absent-minded nod, made up her mind to go to a travel agency in the morning and collect all the brochures they had.