Dora placed the pudding on a plate and started to unwrap it from its steaming shroud. ‘I’m sure if he’s that bad, Bea will find out soon enough,’ she said.
‘If it’s not too late by then.’ Lily looked gloomy.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Dora asked, although she already knew the answer.
‘One of the girls at the club was courting a GI. He told her he loved her, promised he’d marry her and take her to America to live. Until she ended up in the family way.’ Her face was bitter. ‘He didn’t want to know her then. Turns out he’s already got a wife and a couple of kids waiting for him back home.’
Dora stopped. ‘You don’t think Hank’s married?’
‘I don’t know what to think,’ Lily said.
Dora went back to unwrapping the pudding. ‘Bea’s got more sense than that,’ she said.
‘Has she?’ Lily sent her a long look. ‘You know what she’s like, Dora. She gets carried away. You’ve got to talk to her,’ she urged. ‘Make her see sense.’
‘Me!’ Dora laughed. ‘I don’t think she’ll listen to me.’
‘But you’ve got to try,’ Lily pleaded. ‘He’s no good for her, Dora. Anyone can see that.’
Dora looked at her sister-in-law’s beseeching face. It was rare for Lily to spare a thought for anyone but herself, but for once she seemed genuinely concerned. She was good friends with Bea, so perhaps she knew something Dora didn’t . . .
‘Where’s that puddin’?’ Nanna called out from the kitchen. ‘Bleedin’ hell, it’ll be Easter by the time you get it dished up!’
Dora watched her younger sister carefully across the table as she handed round the dishes of Christmas pudding. Bea appeared so happy, and from the besotted looks they gave each other, it seemed as if Hank was genuinely fond of her. Lily must have got it wrong, she thought.
‘Be careful,’ Rose Doyle warned the younger children. ‘There’s a silver threepence in the pudding. Make sure you don’t swallow it.’
‘I’ve got it!’ Bea dug about in her pudding with her spoon and produced the coin.
‘That means you’ll have good luck,’ her mother beamed.
‘You’ll have to make a wish,’ Dora said.
Bea closed her eyes. ‘I wish I could go to America,’ she announced.
Dora glanced at Hank. His smile didn’t waver, but she thought she saw a look of panic in his eyes. Or was she imagining it, after what Lily had said?
‘Oh, Auntie Bea! It won’t come true if you tell everyone,’ Mabel giggled.
‘It won’t come true anyway,’ Lily muttered darkly, prodding at her pudding.
Bea turned to her. ‘What did you say?’
‘You heard.’
They glared at each other down the length of the table. Then Bea tossed her red curls and said, ‘You’re just jealous, Lily Doyle!’
Lily gasped. ‘Jealous? Of you? Don’t make me laugh!’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Look in the mirror, then you’ll find out!’
‘You bloody little cat!’
‘Now girls, don’t start,’ Rose pleaded. ‘What will our guest think of us?’
Dora looked at Hank again. He was staring down at his plate with a frozen expression on his face. He looked as if he wished himself a million miles away.
‘Mum’s right,’ she said. ‘We’re having a nice dinner. Don’t spoil it.’
There was a knock on the door. ‘Now who’s that, I wonder?’ Rose said.
‘Probably one of the neighbours, complaining about the racket,’ Nanna said.
‘It’s not like the neighbours to use the front door.’ Rose stood up to answer it.
As soon as she’d gone, Dora turned to Bea. ‘Behave yourself,’ she warned. ‘Mum’s gone to a lot of trouble over this dinner, the least you can do is try to be civil.’
Bea shot a look down the length of the table. ‘Tell her, she started it,’ she muttered.
‘I’m telling both of you.’ Dora turned from one to the other. ‘If I hear one more word out of either of you—’
She stopped, realising no one was listening to her. All eyes were fixed on the door behind her.
Dora turned slowly. Her mother stood in the doorway, her face deathly white. ‘Mum? What is it?’
And then she saw the telegram in her mother’s hand, and her heart sank like a stone in her chest.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Lily whimper, ‘It’s Peter, ain’t it?’ But her mother’s gaze was fixed on her.
‘I’m so sorry, love,’ she whispered.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dora Riley was late for duty on Boxing Day morning.
Karl Von Mundel arrived at half past six with the guards, expecting to see Nurse Riley already there, helping to serve the breakfasts as usual. But instead he found a harassed-looking night nurse handing out cups of tea and slices of bread and marge.
‘Where is Nurse Riley?’ he asked, looking up and down the ward. ‘She is usually early.’
‘I know!’ The night nurse rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘I’ve got used to her helping me. But she’s not supposed to be on duty until seven o’clock, so I can’t really complain. By the way, I need you to speak to a new patient. He was brought in during the night and I think he’s feeling a bit lost, poor chap.’
Von Mundel followed her to the young man’s bedside. It was another gunshot wound, this time badly infected. He translated for the boy, trying to put him at his ease, but all the time his eyes were fixed on the door, waiting for Dora.
He was not usually a man given to nerves, but this morning he had to admit to a flutter of apprehension about what he was about to do. It had seemed like a good idea at the camp, but now he was here, his confidence deserted him.
What if he had misjudged the situation? Nurse Riley had always seemed friendly towards him, but their relationship had never gone beyond the professional. What if he was overstepping some kind of boundary? He had no wish to embarrass her, especially after she had shown his men so much kindness.
But at the same time, he felt foolishly excited at the thought of what he was about to do. He could just imagine her reaction when she saw the gift he had brought her, the smile spreading across her freckled face, lighting up her green eyes. She was no beauty, but when she smiled it transformed her.
The guards had looked askance at the box when they searched him that morning, and for a moment Von Mundel didn’t think he would be allowed to bring it. But when they’d seen what was inside and he’d explained what it was for, they’d relented and agreed it was a nice thing to do for Nurse Riley.
‘Got a soft spot for her, have you?’ the soldier called Mal teased.
Von Mundel could only stare at him, shocked at the suggestion. He had only ever had eyes for his darling Liesl, ever since they were young. He had never even considered looking at another woman in that way.
No, thankfully he was not attracted to Dora Riley. It would have only embarrassed them both if he was, especially as he knew she was as devoted to her husband as he would always be to Liesl.
But he liked her. He looked forward to seeing her every day, hearing her ready laugh echoing down the ward. Everyone liked and respected Dora, because she had a kind word for everyone. Not that she took any nonsense from anyone, especially not him. Her plain-speaking attitude had taken Von Mundel aback at first, but now he respected her for it. She was direct, but never cruel.
And she stood up for what she believed in, even if it meant risking herself to do it. Von Mundel didn’t think he would ever forget the way she had stood up to Sister Dawson over the Christmas decorations and the carol singing. It had meant a great deal to the men, and to him. He hadn’t expected much of the English nurses when he’d first arrived, but Dora Riley had surprised him.
He had missed her yesterday. It had been a long and tiresome day with Sister Dawson, who made no secret of her dislike for him and the patients. Von Mundel had allowed his thoughts to d
rift towards Dora, wondering what she was doing and whether she was enjoying her Christmas with her family. It had been so long since he’d enjoyed a family Christmas, he envied her.
The double doors opened just before seven, and he looked around sharply. But it was only Nurse Jenkins, closely followed by Miss Sloan. The older woman was breathless as usual, wrapped up in a bundle of coats and scarves. She had told him she cycled several miles in to work every morning, from a village in a place called Essex, where she taught music. It seemed very curious to him that a music teacher would want to nurse in a hospital, but Miss Sloan had insisted she wanted to ‘do her bit’.
‘Where is Nurse Riley?’ he asked, trying not to betray his anxiety. ‘Is she not coming today?’
‘Oh yes, she’s supposed to be here,’ Nurse Jenkins replied, looking round. ‘That’s odd, she’s usually early.’
But neither of them seemed to think much about it as they went about their work, taking bedpans round to the patients, washing them and making their beds.
Some of the patients were in great pain, waiting for the doctor to do his rounds. They needed more medication than the doctor prescribed, but until Dr Abbott visited them they had to go on suffering.
It was frustrating, Von Mundel thought. Outside in the courtyard, a working party of German POWs were being used to help rebuild the crumbling hospital buildings. And yet he was not allowed to use his skills where they were badly needed.
He was trying to console the patient who had been brought in overnight when Dora Riley arrived. For once she was not smiling, he noticed. He hoped something hadn’t happened to upset her.
He fought the urge to rush up to her. Instead he waited until she had taken off her cloak, then greeted her with his usual curt nod.
‘Guten morgen, Nurse Riley.’
Usually she would reply in her mangled cockney German. Her accent was dire, and he would always wince at it, and that would make her smile. It was a little joke between them that was played out every morning.
But this morning she merely gave him a nod and muttered, ‘Good morning.’
He felt a stab of disappointment. ‘Did you have a pleasant Christmas?’ he asked.
She gave him a small, distracted smile, then turned away to speak to Nurse Jenkins, leaving him standing in the middle of the ward.
Von Mundel watched her. He had been so looking forward to seeing her, had pictured exactly how it would be. But she barely seemed to be able to look at him, let alone speak.
He followed her over to the new patient’s bedside. She was reading his chart.
‘He needs something for his pain.’ Annoyance made him speak more sharply than he should, but Dora Riley scarcely seemed to notice.
‘I’m sure Dr Abbott will prescribe something when he does his rounds,’ she said, not looking up from the chart.
‘And when will that be? Is he supposed to suffer because your Dr Abbott cannot get out of bed?’
He saw the angry flush flood her face. ‘If it wasn’t for our Dr Abbott, most of these men would be dead by now!’ she snapped back. Handing the chart to Nurse Jenkins, she stalked off to the next bed, leaving him standing open-mouthed once more.
It was the same for the rest of the day. Dora Riley moved like an automaton, going through her duties but barely speaking or looking at anyone. Von Mundel could scarcely believe it. Was this really the same young woman who had been so cheerful on Christmas Eve?
The men noticed it, too.
‘What has happened to Schwester Riley, Major?’ they asked over and over again. ‘Is she ill?’
‘Ich weiss es nicht. I don’t know,’ was the only reply Von Mundel could give them. But he was worried. Something was definitely wrong, he knew that much. Something very bad must have happened to take the smile off Nurse Riley’s face.
Her mind was elsewhere, he could see. It was evident later that day, when he discovered she had failed to check a patient’s TPRs.
‘I did,’ she insisted when Von Mundel pointed out her mistake. ‘I remember doing it.’
‘Well, you did not record it on the chart,’ he said.
She turned on him. ‘You’re not supposed to be looking at the patients’ charts,’ she reminded him. ‘Their treatment is no concern of yours.’
‘Their welfare is my concern,’ he shot back angrily. ‘And if you are not doing your job properly—’
‘I don’t answer to you!’ Dora’s lips were white with anger.
Von Mundel could only stare at her in astonishment. He was used to Sister Dawson putting him in his place, but never Nurse Riley. He liked to think she had come to value his assistance and expertise. But now here she was, behaving as if he was nothing, just another lowly prisoner to be scorned.
‘Perhaps I should speak to Matron?’ he said.
‘If that’s what you want.’
Once again, she walked away from him. Von Mundel looked around to see Miss Sloan and Nurse Jenkins watching the scene, open-mouthed. When they saw him watching them, they scurried away, their heads down. They seemed as embarrassed as he felt.
He had no intention of reporting Dora Riley, but he was angry and disappointed. She was always the one person he could trust, but overnight she had changed, neglecting patients and acting as if she didn’t care.
But he could not shake off the feeling that all was not well with her. Something had happened to upset her, and he wanted to find out what.
He had his chance that evening, just before he was taken back to the POW camp for the night. Miss Sloan had already gone off duty at teatime, and Nurse Jenkins was helping Oberleutnant Bauer with his exercises before the night nurse arrived.
Dora was in Sister’s office. Von Mundel could see her through the half-open door, sitting at the desk, staring blankly down at the report in front of her. The pen was in her hand, but she didn’t seem able to write anything.
He rapped on the door and went inside. Dora looked up, and for a moment he saw the unguarded anguish on her face before the mask came down again.
‘Major,’ she said coldly.
‘I am leaving now, Nurse Riley. But before I go, I have something I wish to give you.’
She frowned as he produced the box and placed it on the desk between them. ‘What’s this?’
‘Open it, and you will see.’
He watched her face carefully as she opened the box. Her expression didn’t change as she took out the wooden boat and placed it on the desk in front of her. Then she took out the animals, lions and elephants, monkeys and giraffes, all perfectly carved. Von Mundel’s heart swelled with pride at the craftsmanship that had gone into them.
‘The prisoners at the camp made them, to pass the time,’ he explained, feeling suddenly shy. ‘I thought you would like them – for your children?’
She looked at the tiny bear in her palm. ‘They’re beautiful,’ she said flatly.
Von Mundel looked at her face, devoid of emotion, and all his joy seeped out of him. He had been looking forward to this moment, anticipating her pleasure. But there was nothing.
He swallowed down his disappointment. ‘Very well, then,’ he said shortly. ‘I will leave you to your work—’
As he turned to leave, she suddenly blurted out, ‘I had a telegram.’
Von Mundel turned, his blood cold in his veins. He knew what that meant only too well. ‘A telegram?’
She slid it out from behind the bib of her apron and pushed it across the desk towards him. The poor girl had been carrying it around with her all day. It must have felt as heavy as a stone against her heart.
He hesitated, then picked it up. But he hardly needed to read the words. He had sent too many of them in his time.
He put it back down on the desk, and watched as Nurse Riley folded it as carefully as if it was a love letter, then slipped it back into the bib of her apron.
‘It came yesterday,’ she said.
‘I am sorry.’ He was painfully aware of how inadequate the words were.
Why
did it have to come on Christmas Day? News like that was always painful, but to come on Christmas Day seemed like a very cruel blow.
‘But surely you should not be here?’ he said.
‘That’s what my mum said. But I didn’t want to stay at home. I didn’t want time to think . . .’
As if anything would stop her doing that. It was all the poor girl had been doing all day, he could tell. He felt wretched for the way he’d spoken to her. But at the same time he felt honoured that she had shared her secret with him. Nurse Riley did not express her feelings to everyone.
‘I might as well be here, making myself useful,’ she said. ‘Although I don’t think I’ve been much use to anyone today, have I?’
Her little rueful smile nearly broke his heart. He fought the urge to reach for her.
‘I am sorry,’ he repeated.
Her chin lifted. ‘It says missing, presumed dead,’ she said. ‘That means there’s still hope, doesn’t it?’
She was looking up at him, searching for the faintest glimmer of light in the darkness. He couldn’t bring himself to take that away from her. ‘There is always hope, Nurse Riley,’ he said.
‘That’s what I thought.’ She nodded, her face brave. ‘I know Nick, he’ll find his way home to us. He wouldn’t leave me and the kids, he promised . . .’
Her voice choked, and the next moment she was crying. Without thinking, Von Mundel went to her, kneeling by her side to wrap his arms around her. He expected her to resist but she buried her face in his chest and cried.
Von Mundel cradled her against his heart, feeling her sobs shake her body, breathing in her clean scent of starch and soap. All the time he thought of his precious Liesl. He had been hundreds of miles away in France when he found out she had been killed by the RAF bombing their city. All he’d wanted to do was to run, to be with his children, to hold and comfort them the way he was comforting Dora now.
He felt the hot tears sliding down his own cheeks. How he wished he could have held Liesl one more time like this.
A Nightingale Christmas Carol Page 18
