by Betty Neels
Sir Arthur glanced at Eleanor. ‘Know each other, do you?’ he wanted to know genially.
Before she could answer, Fulk observed pleasantly: ‘Oh, yes—for many years. Eleanor was almost five when we first met.’ He had the gall to smile at her in what she considered to be a patronising manner.
‘Five, eh?’ chuckled Sir Arthur. ‘Well, you’ve grown since then, Sister.’ The chuckle became a laugh at his little joke and she managed to smile too, but with an effort for Fulk said: ‘She had a quantity of long hair and she was very plump.’ He stared at her and she frowned fiercely. ‘Little girls are rather sweet,’ his voice was silky, ‘but they tend to change as they grow up.’
She all but ground her teeth at him; it was a relief when Sir Arthur said cheerfully: ‘Well, well, I suppose we should get started, Sister. Doctor van Hensum is particularly interested in that case of agranulocytosis— Mrs Lee, isn’t it? She experienced the first symptoms while she was on holiday in Holland and came under his care. Most fortunately for her, he diagnosed it at once—a difficult thing to do.’ His eye swept round the little group of students, who looked suitably impressed.
‘Not so very difficult in this case, if I might say so,’ interpolated Fulk quietly. ‘There was the typical sore throat and oedema, and the patient answered my questions with great intelligence…’
‘But no doubt the questions were intelligent,’ remarked Sir Arthur dryly, and the students murmured their admiration, half of them not having the least idea what their superiors were talking about, anyway.
They were moving towards the first bed now, and Eleanor, casting a quick look at Fulk, saw that he had become the consultant again; indeed, as the round progressed, his manner towards her was faultless; politely friendly, faintly impersonal—they could have just met for the first time. It vexed her to find that this annoyed her more than his half-teasing attitude towards her when he had entered the ward. He was a tiresome man, she decided, leading the way to Mrs Lee’s bed.
That lady was making good progress now that she was responding to the massive doses of penicillin, and although her temperature was still high and she remained lethargic, she was certainly on the mend. Sir Arthur held forth at some length, occasionally pausing to verify some point with the Dutch doctor and then firing questions at random at whichever unfortunate student happened to catch his eye. Most of them did very well, but one or two of them were tongue-tied by the occasion. Eleanor, unobtrusively helping out one such, and standing slightly behind Sir Arthur, had just finished miming the bare bones of the required information when she realized that Fulk had moved and was standing where he could watch her. She threw him a frowning glance which he appeared not to see, for the smile he gave her was so charming that she only just prevented herself from smiling back at him.
Perhaps he wasn’t so bad after all, she conceded, only to have this opinion reversed when, the round over, she was bidding Sir Arthur and his party goodbye at the ward door, for when she bade Fulk goodbye too, he said at once: ‘You’ll lunch with me, Eleanor,’ and it wasn’t even a question, let alone a request, delivered in a silky voice loud enough for everyone to hear.
‘I’m afraid that’s impossible,’ she began coldly, and Sir Arthur, quite mistaking her hesitation, interrupted her to say heartily: ‘Nonsense, of course you can go, Sister—I’ve seen you dozens of times at the Blue Bird Café’—an establishment much favoured by the hospital staff because it was only just down the road and they were allowed to go there in uniform— ‘Why, only a couple of weeks ago you were having a meal there with young Maddox, although how he managed that when he was on call for the Accident Room I cannot imagine.’
He turned his attention to Fulk. ‘The Blue Bird isn’t exactly Cordon Bleu, but they do a nice plate of fish and chips, and there is the great advantage of being served quickly.’ He looked at Eleanor once more. ‘You intended going to your dinner, I suppose? When do you go?’
She didn’t want to answer, but she had to say something. ‘One o’clock,’ she told him woodenly and heard his pleased: ‘Excellent—what could be better? Van Hensum, we shall have time to talk over that case we were discussing.’ He beamed in a fatherly fashion at Eleanor, fuming silently, and led the way down the corridor with all the appearance of a man who had done someone a good turn and felt pleased about it. Fulk went with him, without saying another word.
Eleanor snorted, muttered rudely under her breath and went to serve the patients’ dinners, and as she dished out boiled fish, nourishing stew, fat-free diets, high-calorie diets and diabetic diets, she pondered how she could get out of having lunch with Fulk. She wasn’t quite sure why it was so important that she should escape going with him, because actually she liked the idea very much, and even when, as usual, she was battling with Miss Tremble about the amount of ham on her plate, a small part of her brain was still hard at work trying to discover the reason. All the same, she told herself that her determination not to go was strong enough to enable her to make some excuse.
She was trying to think of one as she went back to her office with Jill, to give her a brief run-down of jobs to be done during the next hour—a waste of time, as it turned out, for Fulk was there, standing idly looking out of the window. He had assumed his consultant’s manner once more, too, so that Eleanor found it difficult to utter the refusal she had determined upon. Besides, Jill was there, taking it for granted that she was going, even at that very moment urging her not to hurry back. ‘There’s nothing much on this afternoon,’ she pointed out, ‘not until three o’clock at any rate, and you never get your full hour for dinner, Sister.’ She made a face. ‘It’s braised heart, too.’
Fulk’s handsome features expressed extreme distaste. ‘How revolting,’ he observed strongly. ‘Eleanor, put on your bonnet at once and we will investigate the fish and chips. They sound infinitely more appetizing.’
Eleanor dabbed with unusually clumsy fingers at the muslin trifle perched on her great knot of shining hair. ‘Thanks, Jill, I’ll see.’ She sounded so reluctant that her right hand looked at her in amazement while Fulk’s eyes gleamed with amusement, although all he said was: ‘Shall we go?’
The café was almost full, a number of hospital staff, either on the point of going on duty or just off, were treating themselves to egg and chips, spaghetti on toast or the fish and chips for which the café was justly famous. Fulk led the way to a table in the centre of the little place, and Eleanor, casting off her cloak and looking around, nodded and smiled at two physiotherapists, an X-ray technician, and the senior Accident Room Sister with the Casualty Officer. There were two of the students who had been in Sir Arthur’s round that morning sitting at the next table and they smiled widely at her, glanced at Fulk and gave her the thumbs-up sign, which she pointedly ignored, hoping that her companion hadn’t seen it too. He had; he said: ‘Lord, sometimes I feel middle-aged.’
‘Well,’ her voice was astringent, ‘you’re not—you’re not even married yet.’
His mouth twitched. ‘You imply that being married induces middle age, and that’s nonsense.’ He added slowly: ‘I imagine that any man who married you would tend to regain his youth, not lose it.’
She gaped at him across the little table. ‘For heaven’s sake, whatever makes you say that?’ But she wasn’t to know, for the proprietor of the Blue Bird had made his way towards them and was offering a menu card. He was a short, fat man and rather surprisingly, a Cockney; the soul of kindness and not above allowing second helpings for free to anyone who was a bit short until pay day. He stood looking at them both now and then said: “Ullo, Sister, ’aven’t met yer friend before, ’ave I?’
‘No, Steve—he’s a Dutch consultant, a friend of Sir Arthur Minch. Doctor van Hensum, this is Steve who runs the café.’
The doctor held out a hand and Steve shook it with faint surprise. ‘Pleased ter meet yer,’ he pronounced in gratified tones. ‘I got a nice bit of ’ake out the back. ’Ow’d yer like it, the pair of yer? Chips and peas and a good
cuppa while yer waiting.’
A cheerful girl brought the tea almost at once and Eleanor poured the rich brew into the thick cups and handed one to Fulk. ‘Aren’t you sorry you asked me out now?’ she wanted to know. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever had your lunch in a place like this before.’
He gave her a thoughtful look. ‘You’re determined to make me out a very unpleasant fellow, aren’t you? I wonder why?’ He passed her the sugar bowl and then helped himself. ‘No, I’ve never been in a place quite like this one before, but I’ve been in far worse, and let me tell you, my girl, that your low opinion of me is completely mistaken.’
‘I never…’ began Eleanor, and was interrupted by the arrival of the hake, mouthwatering in its thick rich batter coat and surrounded by chips and peas; by the time they had assured Steve that it looked delicious, passed each other the salt, refused the vinegar and refilled their cups, there seemed no point in arguing. They fell to and what conversation there was was casual and good-humoured. Presently, nicely mellowed by the food, Eleanor remarked: ‘You were going to tell me about Imogen.’
He selected a chip with deliberation and ate it slowly. ‘Not here,’ he told her.
‘You keep saying that—you said it in the car yesterday. Do you have to have soft music and stained glass windows or something before she can be talked about?’
He put his head on one side and studied her face. ‘You’re a very rude girl—I suppose that’s what comes of being a bossy elder sister. No, perhaps that’s too sweeping a statement,’ he continued blandly, ‘for Henry assured me that you were the grooviest—I’m a little vague as to the exact meaning of the word, but presumably it is a compliment of the highest order.’
‘Bless the boy, it is.’ She hesitated. ‘I’d like to thank you for being so kind to him—he’s a poppet, at least we all think so, and far too clever for his age, though he’s a great one for adventure; he’s for ever falling out of trees and going on long solitary walks with Punch and tumbling off rocks into the sea when he goes fishing. We all long to tell him not to do these things, but he’s a boy…having you for a companion was bliss for him.’
‘And would it have been bliss for you, Eleanor?’ Fulk asked in an interested voice, and then: ‘No, don’t answer, I can see the words blistering your lips. We’ll go on talking about Henry—he’s not quite as strong as you would like, your father tells me.’
She had decided to overlook the first part of his remark. ‘He’s tough, it’s just that he catches everything that’s going; measles, whooping cough, mumps, chickenpox—you name it, he’s had it.’
He passed his cup for more tea, eyed its rich brown strength, sugared it lavishly and took a sip with an expressionless face. ‘I shudder to think what this tea is doing to our insides,’ he remarked lightly. ‘Have you a good doctor?’
‘Doctor MacClew. He’s quite old now, but he’s been our doctor all our lives. He’s a dear and so kind, although I daresay he’s old-fashioned by your standards.’
‘My standards?’ He looked quite shocked. ‘My dear Eleanor, you’re at it again, turning me into someone I’m not. Why should you suppose that I would set myself up above another doctor, probably twice my age and with at least twice my experience, and who has had to improvise, make decisions, take risks, diagnose without X-rays and be his own Path Lab in an emergency? I, remember, have the whole range of modern equipment and science behind me—I need not open my mouth until all the answers have been given me.’
She said indignantly: ‘Don’t exaggerate. That’s not true; a good physician doesn’t need any of those things—they only confirm his opinion. You know as well as I do that you could manage very well without them.’
He lifted his thick brows in mock surprise. ‘Why, Eleanor, those are the first kind words you have uttered since we met.’ He grinned so disarmingly that she smiled back at him. ‘Well, you know it’s true.’
He said slowly, watching her: ‘Do you know I believe that’s the first time you’ve smiled at me? Oh, you’ve gone through the motions, but they didn’t register. You should smile more often.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘How delightful it is not to be quarrelling with you.’
She eyed him with disfavour. ‘What a beastly thing to say! I’ve not quarrelled with you, I’ve been very polite.’
‘I know, I’d rather quarrel, but not now—let’s call a truce.’
She seized her opportunity. ‘Tell me about Imogen.’
He leaned back on the hard wooden chair. ‘What do you want to know?’
Eleanor was so surprised at his meek acceptance of her question that she didn’t speak for a moment. ‘Well, what does she do and where does she live and where will you live when you’re married, and is she very pretty?’ She added wistfully: ‘You said she was small…’
‘Half your size and very, very pretty—you forgot to ask how old she is, by the way. Twenty-six, and she doesn’t do anything—at least, she doesn’t have a job. She doesn’t need to work, you see. But she fills her days very nicely with tennis and swimming and riding and driving—and she dances beautifully. She lives in den Haag and I live near Groningen, about a hundred and fifty miles apart—an easy run on the motorway.’
‘But that’s an awful long way to go each weekend,’ observed Eleanor.
‘Every weekend? Oh, not as often as that, my dear. Besides, Imogen stays with friends a good deal—I did tell you that she’s in the south of France now and later on she will be going to Switzerland for the winter sports.’ His voice was very level. ‘We decided when we became engaged that we would make no claims on each other’s time and leisure.’
‘Oh,’ said Eleanor blankly, ‘how very strange. I don’t think I’d like that at all.’
‘If you were engaged to me? But you’re not.’ He smiled thinly. ‘A fine state of affairs that would be! You would probably expect me to sit in your pocket and we should quarrel without pause.’
‘Probably.’ Her voice was colourless. ‘I think I’d better go back to the ward, if you don’t mind…’ She was interrupted by the cheerful booming voice of Doctor Blake, Sir Arthur’s right-hand man, who clapped a hand on her shoulder, greeted her with the easy friendliness of a long-standing acquaintance and asked: ‘May I sit down? It’s Doctor van Hensum, isn’t it? I’ve just been with Sir Arthur and he mentioned that you might be here still—I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’
‘I’m just on my way back to the ward,’ said Eleanor, and wished she wasn’t. ‘I’m a bit late already.’ She smiled a general sort of smile and got to her feet. ‘Thanks for the lunch,’ she said quickly and hardly looking at Fulk. He had got to his feet too, and his ‘Goodbye, Eleanor,’ was very quiet.
She had no time to think about him after that, for Miss Tremble had seen fit to go into a coma and it took most of the afternoon to get her out of it again. Eleanor missed her tea and the pleasant half hour of gossip she usually enjoyed with the other Sisters and went off duty a little late, to change rapidly and catch a bus to the other side of the city where an aunt, elderly, crotchety but nevertheless one of the family, would be waiting to give her supper. It had become a custom for Eleanor to visit her on her return from any holidays so that she might supply her with any titbits of news, and although it was sometimes a little tiresome, the old lady had got to depend upon her visits. She spent a dull evening, answering questions and listening to her companion’s various ailments, and when she at last escaped and returned to the hospital, she was too tired to do more than climb into bed as quickly as possible.
It was two more days before she discovered, quite by chance, that Fulk had gone back to Holland only a few hours after they had shared their meal together in the Blue Bird Café, and for some reason the news annoyed her; she had been wondering about him, it was true, but somehow she had taken it for granted that he would come and say goodbye before he left, although there was no reason why he should have done so, but one would have thought, she told herself peevishly, that after making such a thing about taking he
r to lunch, he could at least have mentioned that he was on the point of leaving; he hadn’t even said goodbye. She paused in her reflections: he had, even though he hadn’t told her he was leaving; probably thinking it was none of her business, anyway—nor was it.
She glared at her nice face in the silly little mirror on the office wall and went back to her work once more, and while she chatted with her patients and listened to their complaints and worries, she decided that Fulk wasn’t worth thinking about, quite forgetting that she had told herself that already. She would most probably not see him again; she could forget him, and the beautiful Imogen with him. She finished her round and went back down the ward, the very picture of calm efficiency, and went into her office, where she sat at her desk, staring at the papers she was supposed to be dealing with while she speculated about Imogen; it was strange that although she had never met the girl and was never likely to, she should have such strong feelings of dislike for her.
CHAPTER THREE
THE DAYS SLID BY, October became November and the bright weather showed no sign of giving way to the sleet and gales of early winter. The ward filled up; acute bronchitis, pneumonia, flu in a variety of forms, followed each other with an almost monotonous regularity. Eleanor, brimming over with good health and vitality herself, had her kind heart wrung by every fresh case. They got well again, of course, at least the vast majority did, what with antibiotics and skilled nursing and Sir Arthur and his assistants keeping a constant eye upon them all, but Eleanor, wrapping some elderly lady in a shabby winter coat, preparatory to her going home, wished with all her heart that they might stay in the ward, eating the plain wholesome food they never cooked for themselves, enjoying the warmth and the company of other elderly ladies; instead of which, going home so often meant nothing more than a chilly, lonely bed-sitter.
