Dora looked at her sharply. She’d remembered. When everyone else seemed to want to forget about Nick and skim over his memory, Helen understood how important it was for Dora to keep him alive in her thoughts, at least.
Helen gave her a nervous little smile. ‘I still remember Charlie’s birthday too,’ she said. ‘Just because he’s gone, it doesn’t mean—’
‘Thank you.’ Dora cut her off. ‘That’s very kind of you.’
For a moment they looked at each other, bound by the understanding of what it was like to lose the love of their lives.
Then Dora pulled herself together and said, ‘Never mind about standing here admiring it. Shall we have a slice?’
Helen looked wary. ‘Are you sure you want to share it with me?’
‘Don’t you want any?’
‘Well, yes, but—’
Dora read the message in her friend’s eyes. The cake was a peace offering, and she was waiting to see if she would be forgiven.
‘That’s settled, then. It’s nearly time for my morning break, anyway. I’ll just take this beef tea out to the patient while you fetch a knife. And we’ll keep some for Miss Sloan and Nurse Jenkins and Major Von Mundel, too.’
She looked at Helen as she said his name, but her friend’s expression was neutral, giving nothing away.
When Dora returned, Helen held out the knife to her. ‘You do it,’ she said. ‘You have to make a wish.’
Dora’s mouth twisted. ‘But it ain’t my birthday!’
‘That doesn’t matter. It’s still a birthday cake, so I’m sure it counts.’
Dora took the knife from Helen and closed her eyes as she pushed the blade into the cake. There was only one wish she made. It was the same wish she made every night.
Afterwards, they sat in the kitchen, eating cake and discussing the news. Dora was aware of the tension in the air between them, but at least they were speaking, and that was something.
Then Helen said, ‘I’ve written to David.’
Dora stiffened, instantly wary. ‘Oh yes?’
Helen chased some crumbs around her plate with her fork. ‘I thought I should. I felt I needed to explain what had happened, rather than him hearing it from someone else.’ She glanced up at Dora from under her lashes. ‘I’ve had time to think about it, and I’ve decided it was the right thing to do. He deserved to know the truth.’
‘I agree,’ Dora said. ‘But I didn’t tell him.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’m telling you I forgive you.’
‘And I’m telling you I didn’t do it!’
Helen sighed and put down her fork. ‘Must we argue about this again? It doesn’t matter what you did—’
‘It does matter!’ Dora insisted. ‘It matters that you don’t believe me. I’m not a liar, Helen.’
‘I’m not calling you a liar—’
‘Yes, you are!’ Dora pushed the cake away. ‘And you can take this. I don’t want it.’
‘Now you’re being silly—’
‘I’m not. We can’t be friends if you don’t think I’m telling you the truth.’
Their eyes locked across the table for a moment. Then Helen stood up, pushing back her chair. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I’ve tried to talk to you, but you don’t want to listen.’
Dora glared at the cake in front of her. ‘Don’t forget to take this with you.’
‘I bought it for you. For Nick.’
‘Well, I don’t want it.’ She didn’t lift her gaze, but she could feel Helen staring at her.
‘You know your trouble, Dora Riley? You’re too stubborn for your own good.’
‘I might be, but I don’t tell lies!’ Dora threw back at her as she left the room.
She stared back at the cake, furious. It had been such a lovely moment, and Helen had ruined it.
She was too busy to notice Helen for the rest of the morning. A patient came back from theatre, and Kitty went to sit with him, then two more were taken down. Dora went with them. By the time she returned, Helen had gone off to the military ward.
She was probably telling Clare all about it, Dora thought sourly.
She and Miss Sloan served up the midday meal together, then Dora went off to the kitchen to put the kettle on.
She heard the door open behind her, and looked over her shoulder to see Arthur Jenkins loitering in the doorway, looking as sullen as ever.
‘You’re a bit early to collect the dishes, ain’t you?’ she said, turning back to the sink. ‘I don’t think the patients have finished eating yet—’
‘I’m looking for Von Mundel.’
‘That’s Major Von Mundel to you,’ Dora corrected him. She filled the urn with water and switched it on. ‘What do you want him for, anyway?’
‘That’s between him and me.’
‘You cheeky little—’ Dora turned to scold him, which was when she saw the gun in his hand.
It was so unreal, she felt surprisingly calm. Keeping her eyes fixed on the gun, she said, ‘Why don’t you put that down and go back to the porters’ lodge before you disturb the patients?’
‘Not until I’ve seen him.’ She barely recognised Arthur. His eyes were red-rimmed, staring out of a livid white face. He looked sick with fear.
She glanced at the door, mentally assessing the situation. Miss Sloan was busy serving the meal; Kitty was still sitting with the post-operative patient. The guards were at the far end of the ward. Even if she screamed, she doubted they would reach her before Arthur pulled the trigger.
‘I’m sure we can sort this out, if you just put the gun down,’ she said quietly.
The gun shook in Arthur’s hand. ‘You don’t understand. He humiliated me!’
‘I’m sorry, love. I’m sure he didn’t mean—’
‘He did!’ Arthur’s voice rose. ‘You weren’t there, you didn’t see what he did to me . . . But you would defend him, wouldn’t you? Sticking up for your lover! You’re just as bad as he is!’
He levelled the gun at her. Dora took a step backwards, colliding with the table. All she could think about were her babies, and the wish she’d made just a couple of hours ago when she’d cut the cake.
She had wished that she could be with Nick.
‘Arthur, please,’ she whispered.
‘Leave her alone,’ a voice bit out. ‘Your argument is with me, not her.’
Dora looked up sharply. She had been so focused on the gun, she hadn’t noticed Major Von Mundel in the doorway.
Neither had Arthur. He swung round wildly, pointing the barrel at the major’s chest.
‘Put it down, please!’ Dora begged, but the Major merely sneered.
‘Do not worry, Nurse Riley. He is too much of a coward to pull the trigger.’
‘You want to bet?’ Arthur said, raising the barrel to the Major’s head. He had to grasp it in both hands to stop it shaking. ‘I’ll do it! I will!’
‘Go on, then,’ Major Von Mundel taunted him, his cold blue eyes like chips of ice.
There was a click as Arthur cocked the gun, ready to fire.
‘Stop it!’ Dora cried. ‘Please!’ Still Major Von Mundel didn’t move.
She heard footsteps coming lightly down the passageway, and a moment later Kitty Jenkins put her head round the door.
‘Nurse Riley, the post-op—’ She saw her brother. ‘Arthur?’
Dora saw Arthur lose his concentration for a moment, and seized her chance. Springing forward, she made a desperate lunge for the gun.
‘Honestly, Helen, I don’t know why you don’t just forget it.’
There was an edge of impatience to Clare’s voice as she set up the drip stand. ‘You did everything you could, you even made her a peace offering, and all she did was throw it back in your face. I’m telling you, she simply isn’t worth it.’
‘I know, but . . .’ Helen sighed. ‘You didn’t see her. She was so adamant she hadn’t done it. Even when I told her I didn’t mind, that I was happy David and I were talking again, she still denied it
all.’
‘What?’ Clare turned, her face rigid. ‘You’re speaking to David again?’
‘Well, not exactly speaking. But I did reply to his letter.’
‘You didn’t tell me!’
‘Didn’t I? It must have slipped my mind.’ Helen shrugged. ‘Anyway, I felt I had to write to him. Honestly, Clare, it was such a lovely letter he sent me.’
Helen had honestly expected him to hate her, to shun her after what had happened. But David’s letter was so full of love and understanding, it made her realise that he truly cared about her.
It made her dare to hope that there might be a chance for them after all.
‘So that’s it?’ Clare said coldly. ‘It’s all back on?’
‘I wouldn’t say that. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’ve said I’ll meet him when he comes back to England—’ She broke off, seeing Clare’s face. ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’ Clare turned away from her, testing the drip. ‘I just thought you would have told me all this, that’s all. Since I’m supposed to be your best friend.’
‘I was going to,’ Helen said.
‘When? When were you going to tell me? Tomorrow? The next day? Or were you going to wait until he came home and you didn’t need me any more?’
Helen frowned. ‘Clare—’ she started to say.
That was when the gunshot rang out.
Chapter Forty-Four
The ward was in uproar when Helen arrived. Kitty Jenkins was sobbing in Miss Sloan’s arms, and most of the men were out of bed, gathered around the end of the ward. Helen looked around for the guards but they were nowhere to be found.
‘What on earth is going on here? Get these men back to bed immediately!’ she shouted. No one moved.
Most of the men were clustered around the kitchen doorway. Helen shoved her way through them. As they parted, she saw Major Von Mundel in the kitchen, kneeling on the floor, cradling Dora in his arms. Blood pooled on the tiles around them, soaking through his grey prison uniform.
‘No!’ Helen forgot herself and everyone around her, as she threw herself down beside him. ‘Oh God, Dora!’
Dora’s eyes fluttered open and she managed a wan smile. ‘Hello, Sister.’ Her cap had slipped, spilling red curls around her white face. She put up a shaky hand to set it straight, then cried out in pain.
‘Here, let me.’ Helen reached over and tucked her friend’s curls inside the cap, her face averted from the spreading crimson stain on the starched bib of her apron. The coppery tang of blood filled her nose and mouth.
She felt her head begin to swim. This couldn’t be happening. It was an awful dream and in a moment she would wake up . . .
‘The bullet passed through her, but it has damaged her collarbone.’ Major Von Mundel’s voice was quiet and precise, cutting a clear path through her panic. ‘But I believe the subclavian artery has been damaged. We need to stop the bleeding.’
Helen blinked stupidly at his hand, jammed under Dora’s arm. As she forced her head to clear, she realised he was trying to stem the blood that flowed from the open wound on her shoulder.
Tourniquet. The word came into her brain but for a moment she could do nothing but stare at her friend. She was gasping for breath, a blueish tinge around her lips.
‘Oberschwester?’ Major Von Mundel snapped, bringing her sharply to her senses again.
Helen jumped to her feet and turned to the men standing around the door. ‘Get back to your beds, all of you!’ she snapped. They stayed rooted to the spot, staring at her with wide, blank eyes.
‘Bett!’ Von Mundel barked, and they all fled.
Helen turned to Kitty and Miss Sloan, still standing in the middle of the ward with their arms wrapped around each other. ‘Don’t just stand there! Jenkins, set a trolley with dressings. Sloan, make up a bed in Room Three.’
Without waiting for a reply, she went to the supplies cupboard and found a length of bandage which she brought back to Major Von Mundel. Together they fashioned a tourniquet around the top of Dora’s arm.
It must have only been a few seconds before the bleeding slowed down, but it felt like a lifetime. Neither of them spoke. All Helen could hear was the crashing of her own heartbeat in her ears.
Kitty wheeled in the dressings trolley, and Helen quickly set about cleaning and dressing the wound on Dora’s shoulder. She had dressed a thousand wounds as a field nurse, but suddenly her hands were clumsy, her fingers fumbling over the swabs. All the time she could feel Major Von Mundel watching her keenly.
Dora laughed faintly. ‘Honestly, Sister, you’re as bad as a probationer—’ she started to say, but her words were lost in a panicky gulp of breath.
‘Her chest seems very weak,’ Major Von Mundel said.
Helen’s eyes met his. She knew they were both thinking the same thing. The damage to her collarbone had torn a hole in the pleura, causing her lung to collapse.
‘I’ll check her pulse,’ she said.
Once again, she was aware of him watching her anxiously.
‘The apex beat is displaced, yes?’ Helen nodded. ‘Verdammt!’ he hissed.
‘She needs oxygen—’
‘Nein, Oberschwester. Oxygen will not be enough. She needs aspiration.’
Helen looked from him to Dora. ‘I’ll fetch the doctor.’
She called down to theatre, but the sister told her that both Dr Abbott and Dr Marsh were in the middle of surgery. The only doctor available was Dr Philpott, a second year medical student with no real experience of surgical procedures.
‘I can do it,’ Major Von Mundel said, when Helen returned.
‘You can’t. It’s against the rules.’
‘Your friend is dying, Oberschwester. What are rules, at a time like this?’
Helen looked down at Dora, fighting for breath. He was right, she was dying. Another few minutes and it would be too late.
But to save her, she would have to do the very thing she had sworn never to do again. She had to put her trust in a German.
She shook her head. ‘It’s not safe—’
‘You think I would ever do anything to hurt Nurse Riley?’ His voice was edged with steel. ‘I owe her my life, Oberschwester. The least I can do is try to save hers.’ He met Helen’s gaze, his eyes cold. ‘I intend to perform this procedure, whether you want me to or not,’ he said. ‘It would be better if you helped me, but if you want to go and fetch a guard, or one of the porters to come and take me away, then please do so. But make up your mind, as we do not have much time, I think.’
Helen looked from the Major’s arrogant face to Dora’s and back again.
‘Do it,’ she said.
Major Von Mundel was clean, quick and more precise than any surgeon Helen had ever seen. He worked with icy dispassion, inserting the needle and then the tube into Dora’s chest, releasing the air from the chest cavity. Helen could almost see the life ebbing back into her friend, the blue fading from around her lips as her chest went down.
Dr Philpott arrived just as they were finishing off the procedure. Helen steeled herself, ready for a dressing-down for what she had done. But the young man seemed relieved that he hadn’t had to do it himself.
‘It all looks in order,’ he said, inspecting the wound. Helen suspected he had no idea what he was looking at.
‘She will need something for the pain,’ Major Von Mundel said.
‘Of course. I’ll prescribe some morphia. A quarter of a gram should do it, I think?’ He glanced at Major Von Mundel for confirmation. The Major gave a barely perceptible nod.
Once Dora was settled in bed in the private room, Helen went to sit with her. Dora seemed in very high spirits for someone who had brushed with death.
‘I knew I was in good hands,’ she grinned.
‘I’m not so sure!’ Helen held up her hands to show Dora her trembling fingers. ‘I don’t think I’ve stopped shaking since I saw you on that kitchen floor.’
‘Just as well it was M
ajor Von Mundel sticking the needle in and not you, then!’ Dora smiled. ‘I said you could trust him, didn’t I?’
‘Yes,’ Helen agreed quietly. ‘Yes, you did.’
‘I know he might seem like a bit of a cold fish, but he’s got a good heart, I reckon.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
Helen left Dora sleeping and crept out of the room. As she passed down the ward, she spotted Major Von Mundel in the passageway. He was leaning against the doorframe, staring into the kitchen, a look of blank horror on his face.
He must have heard her approach, because he turned round quickly.
‘Pardon me, Oberschwester,’ he muttered, hurrying past her. He kept his head down, but not before Helen glimpsed the tears running down his face.
So much for being a cold fish, she thought.
‘Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht . . . Alles schläft; einsam wacht . . .’
Dora opened her eyes, lost in confusion. At first she thought she was dreaming. The room was in darkness, the blackout blinds drawn. And there were the voices, faint but unmistakable, coming from somewhere outside the door.
She struggled to sit up, as the door opened and there was Helen silhouetted against the dim light from the passageway.
‘You’re awake,’ she said.
Dora rubbed her eyes. ‘How long have I been here?’
‘A couple of hours. I didn’t want to disturb you, so I thought I’d let you sleep. How are you feeling?’
‘Sore.’ That was an understatement. Her shoulder seemed to be filled with throbbing fire.
‘I can give you some more morphia for that.’ Helen picked up her wrist and took her pulse. Outside the voices continued.
‘Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht . . .’
Perhaps it was the morphia, Dora thought. Helen didn’t seem aware of them at all as she busily checked her temperature.
‘We’ve moved you to the sick bay,’ she said. ‘We thought you’d be more comfortable here than on the POWs’ ward.’
Dora nodded, taking it in. ‘How long will I have to stay here?’
‘Another two or three weeks, according to the doctor. That’s if the X-ray doesn’t show any more damage.’
‘Three weeks?’ Dora was aghast. ‘That’s longer than I’ve ever stayed in bed in my life!’
A Nightingale Christmas Carol Page 29
