by Betty Neels
The morning went well. Perhaps because she was so miserable she was even more efficient than usual, and as for Adam, he worked vigorously, relaxed and friendly but never wasting a word in her direction. The case took a long time; they had their coffee after it and then, after the briefest of halts, went on to the remainder of the list. It was past one o’clock by the time they had finished, and the afternoon list began at half past two. Once the theatre was cleared, an undertaking put into action the moment the surgeons had gone from it, Loveday sent the nurses to their dinner and went along to her office, where the theatre orderly had left a tray of tea and some sandwiches for her. She hadn’t wanted a meal; she didn’t particularly want the sandwiches, but she supposed that she would have to eat something; the afternoon list would last until four o’clock at least. She poured tea and wondered what she would do with her evening; none of its probable activities interested her; she opened an instrument catalogue and started to leaf through it idly. She was studying a self-retaining catheter, tastefully ringed round with intestinal clamps and a couple of pairs of Judd’s basting forceps, all overpoweringly coloured, when the swing doors at the end of the corridor, cutting off the theatre unit from the rest of the hospital, swung open and a moment later her own office door was pushed wide.
‘Ah, sandwiches,’ said the Baron with satisfaction, and pulled up the only other chair in the room, to sit opposite her across the desk.
Loveday pushed the plate towards him. ‘Have you had no lunch?’ she asked, and her voice shook a little despite her calm manner.
‘No. I wanted to talk to you before I go. Is there enough coffee?’
She opened a drawer in her desk and produced another mug, silently filled it and offered it to him. ‘It’s tea,’ she told him.
He bit deeply into a sandwich and Loveday, watching him and wondering what he was going to say, nibbled hers, glad that she had something to do. When the silence became unbearable she asked in a polite voice: ‘I hope Rimada and her mother are well?’
‘I want you to come to the party I am giving,’ he observed, completely ignoring her remark. ‘In three days’ time—you see that I have stolen a march on Rimada and Guake.’
She drank some tea; she felt peculiar, as though it was some other girl sitting in her chair and she was watching. She put her mug down carefully. ‘I’m so sorry, I shan’t be able to—I shall be working.’
‘That can be arranged. If I see to things for you, will you come?’
‘No.’ She took a bite of sandwich and he asked quietly: ‘Why not?’
‘I shan’t know anyone—none of your friends. I can think of no earthly reason why I should come.’
‘Shall I give you a very good reason?’ He was smiling very disarmingly at her, but she didn’t smile back. The only reason she could think of was so that she might meet the blue-eyed blonde who had him in her toils, and wish her happiness and be forced to admire a ring the size of St. Paul’s, no doubt. She bit off a scream of pure rage and unhappiness and despair, and without a word, got out of her chair and ran from the little room, down the corridor and into the main hospital. There was still twenty minutes before the afternoon list should start; she would have to find somewhere to hide until then; by that time Adam would be gone and she would never have to see him again.
She burst into tears and shot into the Accident Room to take refuge in Nancy’s office. That young lady took one look at her face, fetched tea from the kitchen, added a good splash of brandy from the medicine cupboard and found a box of tissues. ‘Don’t say a word if you don’t want to,’ she advised. ‘I must get on with the work, Staff’s at her dinner and there’s that case to admit. Drink your tea, love, and do your face—there’s my make-up in my bag, use that. See you later.’
She went away, and Loveday, knowing that her friend’s advice was sound, took it, and ten minutes later, looking, save for rather pink eyelids, very much as usual, went back to theatre. Staff and the others were already there, so she went to scrub up. She was adjusting her gloves to a nicety when Mr Gore-Symes joined her. He had barely turned on the taps when Adam joined him at the next wash basin.
Loveday stopped short, her sterile gloved hands clasped before her sterile green-clad person. ‘I thought you were going…’ she began, betrayed into speech by her surprise.
‘Not before we have had our little talk,’ he told her over his shoulder. His eyes regarded her steadily above his mask and she had the absurd feeling that he was smiling.
‘I’m busy for the rest of the day,’ she almost snapped her answer, and made for the door. It was a pity he ignored this; perhaps he hadn’t heard. ‘I’ll be busy,’ she repeated, loudly this time.
It was Mr Gore-Symes who answered her. ‘I take it that the patient is ready, Sister?’ he queried in his gentle voice, and without a word Loveday went through into theatre to take up her usual position at the patient’s foot—it was an abdominal and the anaesthetist and Donald were already there. She gathered her own force around her and stood like a patient statue until the two men arrived. As she handed the towels and towel clips she thought how wonderful it would be if she could drop the lot and run out of the theatre, out of the hospital—miles and miles away; even as she toyed with this preposterous idea she was offering Mr Gore-Symes his scalpel, the Spencer-Wells forceps, the tissue forceps, some swabs…
The list was neither long nor complicated; it was over by four o’clock and all three men went away together. Loveday sent the nurses to tea and waited impatiently for Staff to return, although there was no point in her impatience; she had no plans for the evening and no idea what she would do with it. A nice solitary place in which to cry would be ideal, but she couldn’t cry for ever, she would have to pick up the pieces and start again. She gave a watery giggle as she strung the forceps on to their rings; Terry had stopped her that morning and asked her to have dinner with him that evening and once again she had said no; she would change her mind and go after all. It would be awful, but it would get her through an intolerable evening. Surely in the morning, after a night’s sleep, she would feel more rational, more able to think clearly.
Her thoughts now were chaotic; a mass of vivid pictures of the Baron engaged, married—living in his lovely house with that horrible girl, whoever she was. Loveday snapped the retractors together viciously as Staff came back, tore off her gown and mask and cap, pinned on the small starched and frilled headdress the sisters of the Royal City were privileged to wear, and with a modicum of words as she handed over the keys, went off duty.
She went circumspectly, longing yet terrified of meeting Adam. He was in the hall as she crossed it, talking to Mr Gore-Symes, but he had his back to her and couldn’t possibly have seen her—if she could get across to the Home— At its door she looked back over her shoulder; he was crossing the courtyard without haste, in her direction. She flew through the door, slammed it shut and ran down the narrow passage to the Sisters’ sitting-room.
There were quite a number of Sisters there, sitting round the fire. She skirted round them, oblivious of their surprised glances at her strained white face. She had barely seated herself in the window when there was a tap on the door and the Baron walked in.
A lesser man might have been unnerved at the sight of a dozen girls staring at him, but not Adam. Probably he hadn’t noticed them; he had eyes only for Loveday as he closed the door and then stood leaning against it.
‘Dear girl,’ he declared genially, ‘how I do waste my time chasing you around!’ He smiled as he spoke; the smile was for her alone, no one else there counted.
‘You can’t come in here,’ she said wildly.
He gave her an innocent stare. ‘Why not? There is no notice saying so, and my dearest love, if you insist on receiving my proposal of marriage before a large number of witnesses, then I must allow you your whim.’
She choked, ‘Whim? You simply can’t—it’s not a whim—I never…’
His voice was bland. ‘Well, I do think it’s a better idea
if we were to be alone.’ He beamed round at the ring of interested faces turned towards him. ‘I’m sure all you young ladies will agree—such a personal matter,’ he added, still very bland.
They smiled back at him as they got to their feet and filed through the door which he was holding open. When the last one had gone, he closed it once more and leaned his shoulder against it, this time with his hands in his pockets. ‘My darling,’ he began.
‘I’m not your darling!’ snapped Loveday, her nerves stretched like violin strings, her voice a little shrill with emotion, lacked conviction.
‘Oh, yes, you are.’
But she broke in, almost shouting. ‘I’m not—I’m not—you’re going to be married!’
She stared across at him, standing there so calmly. Didn’t he feel anything at all? she wondered, while she was bursting with rage and unhappiness and a vicious wish to hurt him.
‘So I am,’ his deep voice rang out strongly. ‘I’m a man who likes the idea of having a wife to love and cherish and children to love too, although I suppose with you, dear heart, I shall have to put up with a certain amount of nagging.’
She gaped at him. ‘Nagging? I… Rimada said…’
‘Rimada says so much. As I have told you before, my little love, she is a nice girl and I am fond of her, but she is sometimes a little stupid.’
‘The party?’ She wished that Adam would come a little nearer.
‘Oh, yes, indeed I am giving a party—a very large one, I should warn you, so that we may celebrate our engagement and you may be introduced to my friends.’
‘A large party?’ Loveday’s powers of conversation had deserted her, she could only repeat what Adam had said. ‘Introduce me? Oh, Adam—me?’
‘You, dear heart, and no one else. I am astonished that you could imagine that our meeting could end in any other fashion.’
‘But we didn’t like each other.’
He crossed the room at last and took her in his arms. ‘Did I ever say that?’ he wanted to know. ‘What would you have done if, the moment I had clapped eyes on you, I had caught you and kissed you—like this?’ He kissed her until her head swam. ‘And then asked you to marry me. I’m asking you now, my darling—it has been on the tip of my tongue a thousand times, but I wanted you to be sure.’
She said, her voice a little muffled by his shoulder: ‘You called me a meddlesome busybody.’
‘And so you were, although a delightful one. Were you a bossy little girl?’
She chuckled into his jacket. ‘I don’t know—probably.’
He kissed the top of her head with pleasure. ‘Ah, well, I suppose in due time we shall have some bossy little daughters.’
She looked up at him then. ‘Oh, Adam—but there must be a little boy too, so he can be a surgeon when he grows up.’
‘But of course.’ He smiled down at her tenderly. ‘How well we agree.’ He looked about him, still holding her tightly. ‘My dearest darling, I do not care for this room; we will go somewhere else, somewhere pleasant where we can make plans.’
‘You mean to tell me,’ asked Loveday, quite astonished, ‘that you haven’t made any plans? But you’re always making them and then everyone does what you want them to do.’
He held her back against his arm so that he could look into her, and she gazed back at him. He looked most satisfyingly in love with her, he also looked smug; she had seen that look before.
‘Plans?’ his voice was smoothly content. ‘Well, I may have thought up one or two ideas, my darling. It seemed sensible to get together all the necessary papers for our marriage—I happen to have them in my pocket—and there’s the small matter of you leaving this place at a moment’s notice.’
‘You thought that up too?’
‘Oh, yes, I had that settled some days ago.’ He added with an air of innocence: ‘I would have told you sooner, my pretty, but I was a little uncertain about sweeping you off your feet.’
Her mouth curved into a smile that was all love and delight.
‘Adam darling, you’ve never been uncertain about anything in your life, have you?’ She wreathed her arms round his neck and kissed him. ‘Besides, I’d love—just once—to be swept off my feet.’
She kissed him again for good measure.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-3976-0
CRUISE TO A WEDDING
Copyright © 1974 by Betty Neels
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