Constance Tremayne didn’t need anyone to point out Simon Latimer. She spotted him immediately, heading towards his Bentley. He looked every inch as arrogant as she’d thought he would, with his affected bow tie and girlish mane of wavy hair. God’s gift to young nurses, in his own mind.
‘Mr Latimer?’
He turned around, frowning. ‘I’m sorry? Have we met?’
‘My name is Constance Tremayne. I am on the Board of Trustees at this hospital.’
‘Mrs Tremayne, of course! Please forgive me.’ Mr Latimer was instantly all smooth charm. He held out his hand, but Constance ignored it. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Nothing, Mr Latimer. I just wanted to get a good look at you, so I know what a lothario looks like.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘A lothario, Mr Latimer. A libertine. A dissolute or licentious man.’
‘Yes, yes, I know what it means! But I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Is that what you said to your wife, when she asked you about Amy Hollins?’
Mr Latimer’s face suffused with colour. ‘That was all a mistake. A misunderstanding,’ he blustered. ‘She was a silly young girl who got the wrong end of the stick—’
‘I don’t disagree she was silly, but I have no doubt you encouraged her in her delusion,’ Constance snapped. ‘And then, when it all came to light, you abandoned her. Now poor Miss Hollins has lost everything while you have got off scot-free. But that’s the way it works, isn’t it? The man always walks away, while the innocent young girl pays the price.’
Mr Latimer’s gaze darted around, making sure no one was listening. ‘Look,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I have no idea why you’ve decided to – ambush me like this, but I can assure you it will serve no useful purpose to drag up this sordid business. I am a respected surgeon in the hospital—’
‘For now,’ Constance put in. ‘But that situation can easily change, can’t it?’
He stared at her, his mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. ‘Are you threatening me, Mrs Tremayne?’ he managed finally.
‘No, Mr Latimer. But I am giving you fair warning that I will be keeping my eye on you. And if I think you have so much as looked at another young nurse, you can be sure I will bring the might of the Board of Trustees to bear on you. And I can assure you, we will not be nearly so forgiving as your wife!’
Chapter Fifty-Four
‘PAY ATTENTION, NURSES. I know this is a very proud moment for you all, but that is no reason to start squawking like parrots. May I remind you, this is still a classroom!’
Sister Parker clapped her hands for silence and surveyed the third-year set for the last time. It seemed like only a few months ago they were fresh-faced eighteen year olds and she was teaching them how to wash their hands properly. Now on their starched collars they all wore the tiny enamel badge of a State Registered Nurse from the Florence Nightingale Hospital.
Her gaze fell on Helen Tremayne – or Dawson, as she was now called – sitting in the front row, her hands folded demurely in front of her. As Sister Parker had predicted, she also had the Nightingale Medal pinned to the bib of her apron.
And never had it been more thoroughly deserved, in Sister Parker’s opinion. The poor girl had been through so much, there was a time when everyone at the hospital had wondered if she would survive. But fortunately she had proved them all wrong. She had returned to the Nightingale filled with new confidence, although her dark brown eyes still had a haunted sadness that Sister Tutor knew would take a long time to heal.
‘Now, Matron will be calling you all into her office in due course, to discuss your future at the Nightingale. For some of you, this may be good news. For others . . .’ She eyed Brenda Bevan, gossiping on the back row as usual. ‘Well, I daresay you have your own plans for the future. But whatever path you take, I hope the training you have received here will stand you in excellent stead. Remember, girls, you are Nightingale Nurses, and that will always mean a great deal, both in the nursing profession and in life.’
She stepped back and allowed her gaze to travel along the rows of faces, memorising every one. Even after more than twenty years as Sister Tutor, she could still remember all the nurses she had trained. Some of them were kind enough to remember her too. They often wrote to her, or came back to the hospital to visit. Many of them had stayed at the Nightingale as ward sisters and staff nurses.
She wondered how many of the set before her would do the same.
Helen was barely surprised to see her mother waiting for her as she came out of Matron’s office and stepped into the courtyard on that brisk November afternoon.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, although she already knew the answer. This was the day she found out what her future held, and there was no chance that Constance Tremayne would want to miss that. ‘I’ve already had my interview with Matron, if that’s what you’ve come for?’
‘Don’t be absurd, why would I want to interfere?’ At least her mother had the grace to look away when she said it. ‘I had to come here to meet the Head of the Trustees,’ she went on. ‘But since I am here – how did you get on? What did Matron say?’
Helen took a deep breath. ‘She has formally invited me to take up a post at the hospital,’ she said, unable to keep the pride out of her voice.
‘Well, of course she has!’ Constance dismissed this impatiently. ‘For heaven’s sake, you came top in your State Finals and you won the Nightingale Medal. She’s hardly going to turn you away, is she? But what has she offered you? I hope it was Theatre,’ she said, without waiting for an answer. ‘It’s the very least you deserve, after all your hard work. She would be foolish not to offer it to you . . .’
‘She did offer it to me,’ Helen said. ‘But I turned it down.’
Constance shot her a disbelieving look. She couldn’t have looked more crestfallen if Helen had told her she was going to give up nursing and go on the stage instead. ‘But why? You didn’t! Oh, Helen, what on earth possessed you?’ She seized her daughter’s arm. ‘We must go back to see Matron immediately, tell her you’ve changed your mind . . .’
She caught Helen’s half smile and stopped. ‘Is this a joke?’ she asked suspiciously.
Helen grinned. ‘Yes, Mother, it is. You’ll be pleased to hear I have accepted a post in Theatre. But only because it’s my decision,’ she reminded her.
‘Of course.’ She could see her mother fighting to keep the self-satisfied look off her face. ‘Now, why don’t we have some lunch to celebrate your new position? Perhaps we could go to Fortnum’s?’
Helen glanced at her watch. ‘I’m sorry, Mother, but I have to catch my train in less than an hour.’
‘Oh? Where are you going?’
‘Southend. I’m going to visit Hollins.’
Her mother nodded understandingly. ‘How is she settling in at her new hospital?’
‘Very well, I think.’ Helen paused. ‘She’s very grateful to you for arranging for her to finish her training at the Victoria,’ she said. ‘If you hadn’t talked to the Matron there, she might never have been accepted.’
Constance waved aside her words. ‘Everyone deserves a second chance,’ she said quietly.
Including you, Helen thought. Her relationship with her mother might not be perfect, but at least they understood each other a little better. And she could see Constance was trying hard to be less overbearing, although there were times when she still couldn’t help herself.
‘And what about you?’ Constance asked. ‘Are you sure you’re doing the right thing, staying on at the Nightingale?’
Helen turned to her, surprised by the question. ‘Why do you ask that?’
‘I just wondered if, under the circumstances, you might prefer a change of scene? This place holds a lot of memories for you.’
Helen looked around at the courtyard, surrounded on all sides by a higgledy-piggledy sprawl of ward blocks, outbuildings and extensions.
H
er mother was right, it hadn’t been easy coming back. Sometimes just walking across the courtyard she would remember the day Charlie died and the pain would make her stop and catch her breath. And she had managed to avoid Judd ward completely since her return. She wasn’t sure she would ever be able to set foot in that corridor again, or see those double doors without remembering that awful day.
But the Nightingale Hospital wasn’t just full of bad memories. There were good ones, too. Like the day she’d met Charlie, so full of life and laughter, on Blake ward. And their wedding day, poignant though it was, was one of the happiest of her life. Because she knew she was surrounded by loyal friends who had rallied round and stood by her. Friends she would have for the rest of her life.
It was those friends who helped her face each day. When she opened her eyes every morning and had to endure that awful moment of realisation that her dreams of Charlie hadn’t been real and that he was really gone for ever, they were there to distract her. And when she saw or heard something funny and stored it in her mind to tell Charlie, only to remember once again that he would never be there to share her funny or sad moments, at least she knew she wasn’t completely alone.
She would be in pain wherever she went. But at least at the Nightingale she knew she was among friends.
‘I think I’m in the right place,’ she told her mother.
After all, if you wanted to heal, where better to go than a hospital?
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Copyright © Donna Douglas 2013
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This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between these fictional characters and actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
First published in Great Britain in 2013
by Arrow Books
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The Nightingale Nurses Page 38
