“Can I say something?” Torn between amusement and exasperation, Dirk seized the chance to speak when the doctor paused for breath.
“If it’s something sensible, yes.”
“I’m not here because I think you’re an oddity. Why would I think such a thing? I’ve studied the statistics for this place, and they’re very impressive. The least amount of amputations, the fewest fatalities of any other hospital in France. I’m not here to gawk or wonder. I’m here to admire. To celebrate such a fine achievement. To pass on the news about what you’ve done here to the world.”
Dr. Ivens allowed herself to smile. “Fine intentions, indeed.”
Dirk risked a smile himself. “So,” he said, “do I pass the test?”
“Oh, I shall have to see about that, Mr. Loreson,” the doctor told him. “I reserve the right to read anything you write about us before you send it to your editor.”
“All right. It’s a deal.”
“And provided I feel you will pass muster, then you and your friend must join us tonight for a celebration. Today is Dr. McPherson’s fortieth birthday; there’s to be a party this evening for the staff. Of course, you’ll have to find yourself a costume.”
“A costume?”
“Surely they have costume parties in America, Mr. Loreson?”
“Yes, of course, ma’am.” Dirk smiled. “It’s just that two minutes ago I got the impression you were going to kick me out, and now you’re inviting me to a costume party.”
“Put it down to your charming smile, Mr. Loreson,” the doctor said dryly. “Even a hard-bitten suffragette like myself isn’t totally unsusceptible. Mind you, if you don’t do us justice in your article, all the smiling in the world won’t stop me from giving you a good hiding.”
Dirk laughed as he knew he was intended to, and as they got down to the interview at last, he thought with a twinge of excitement of the evening ahead. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to a party. Perhaps there would be music, and dancing. And perhaps, under the cover of a dance, he could finally hold Eleanor close.
Provided she agreed to dance with him after that awful, tongue-tied journey from Creil, that is. He thought suddenly of the sketch which had tumbled from her notebook. Well, he couldn’t draw, but perhaps he could make up for his earlier awkwardness and write something for her. Or maybe he’d be better off just acting like a normal human being.
“Dr. Weinberg from the Pasteur Institute in Paris is a regular visitor to Royaumont,” Hilda McPherson told Eleanor across the torso of the casualty she was operating on. “He selected the hospital for the experimental use of an anti-gas gangrene serum. The results have been spectacular. As long as they get they get to us in time, the chances of patients keeping all their limbs are greatly increased.”
Eleanor listened with interest. At Revigny, gas gangrene was the chief cause of amputations. It was also the main cause of the infections in nurses’ hands when they were not wearing protective gloves. Dirk would be very interested to hear about the trials; perhaps he could even include them in his article.
“Alas,” the doctor sighed. “The serum can be of little help in a case such as this, where the bone is smashed to a pulp. Here, take a look.”
After Eleanor had successfully convinced Hilda McPherson of the motives for her visit, the doctor had taken her under her wing, allowing Eleanor to accompany her during her rounds and while she performed surgery. The tour of the wards with their pillars, high ceilings, and vast, jewel-colored rose windows had been interesting enough. But to watch the nimble fingered surgeon at work…
Prior to the current case, Eleanor had seen the doctor perform the tricky task of stitching a man’s damaged stomach and replacing it into his body, a process assisted by a blood transfusion. It was still touch and go whether the unfortunate man would survive his ordeal, but Eleanor knew that anyone less brave than Dr. McPherson might simply have shrugged her shoulders and left the man to die.
“Well?” Dr. McPherson asked her. “What do you think?”
Eleanor looked at the pulpy mess of the casualty’s leg for a moment before glancing up at the doctor. “Will you have to amputate?”
The older woman nodded with a sigh. “Regretfully, yes, on this occasion. You can leave if you wish. I’d quite understand.”
Eleanor shook her head. “No, I’d like to watch, if that’s all right.”
“Of course.”
Hilda McPherson got on with the task of removing the patient’s leg just above the knee. Eleanor quietly watched, fascinated, just as she had during the stomach operation. Later, when the operation was completed and the doctor took a break, she complimented Eleanor on her lack of squeamishness.
“I think I’m too interested to feel squeamish,” Eleanor said, and Hilda McPherson nodded approvingly.
“Yes, I was always the same. My father was a doctor, and I was brought up on a diet of medical talk at meal times.” She smiled at the memory, her eyes taking on a reminiscent quality, so that Eleanor was completely taken by surprise by her next question. “Tell me, my dear, have you ever thought of becoming a doctor yourself?”
“A doctor?” Eleanor repeated, thinking for a moment that she must have misunderstood Hilda’s meaning.
“Yes.”
Eleanor colored. “Well, no. That is, I recently decided I’d like to train to be a qualified nurse after the war, but—”
“That’s good,” Hilda approved. “But why not aim higher than that? Why not train to be a doctor? A surgeon, even. You obviously have a medical eye. An intense interest and a lack of squeamishness are as good a start as any.”
“I…I don’t know what to say,” Eleanor said, feeling stunned.
Hilda McPherson shrugged. “You don’t have to say anything. Just think about it. There wouldn’t be any point unless you really wanted to do it. God knows, it’s hard to be a doctor if you’re a woman, so you’ve got to want it more than anything else in the world. Some doctors here are married, but they’re a lucky few. Not many husbands would tolerate their wives just upping sticks and coming over here for the duration. I know I never met a man who would, but then, I’ve never been struck by the idea of getting married anyway.”
When Eleanor remained silent, Hilda McPherson laughed. “I’m sorry. I’ve terrified you out of your wits, haven’t I? I didn’t mean to. You’re perfectly free to decide I’m a raving lunatic and stick to your plan of nurse training. Being a good nurse is perfectly commendable; we couldn’t manage without them here of course. But should you decide you do feel strongly enough to train to be a doctor, then don’t let anyone or anything get in your way. That’s what I say.”
“You look just as if you’d come to life from a picture book,” Megan the VAD told Eleanor later, clapping her hands in delight at her handiwork. Using an old pair of cherry red velvet curtains, creative imagination, and a great deal of pins, Megan had transformed Eleanor into Little Red Riding Hood, complete with a covered wicker basket and hood.
Eleanor regarded her reflection a little more doubtfully. “Are you sure I don’t look a little foolish?” she asked, to which Megan shrugged expressively.
“Not at all. But even if you do, what of it? I’ve heard rumors that one of the doctors is going to the party as a baby. Now, what could be more foolish than that?”
Eleanor couldn’t help smiling at the image this conjured. “Sister Palmer at my hospital would have a fit if anyone decided to dress up as a baby.”
“Stuffy, is she?” Megan asked, putting the finishing touches to her own costume, that of a shepherdess. “You won’t find anybody like that here. There was a sister for a while who disapproved of everything—thought we ought to have male drivers and surgeons—but she didn’t last long. They either change their attitude or leave, since there’s no changing the way things are run here.”
“I think it’s a wonderful place,” Eleanor said.
It had been quite a day. Her mind was reeling with all she had seen and everything she ha
d been told. And now, this party. She was, in truth, very pleased with the costume Megan had put together for her. The rich material of the old curtains was wonderfully soft and unlike anything she had ever worn before. It was refreshing to wear something other than her uniform, though it felt odd, since she had worn little else for years. It felt strange, too, to have her long hair loose beneath the hood. She never wore it loose except to go to sleep, but Megan had insisted.
“Little Red Riding Hood was a child, and children wear their hair loose,” she told Eleanor emphatically, brushing out the long, blond tresses. Enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of having someone else brush her hair, Eleanor hadn’t bothered to argue.
And now, looking in the mirror, it was as though another woman looked back at her: a woman with bright eyes and rosy cheeks and an air of anticipation and excitement about her.
“Aye,” Megan agreed, “it is a wonderful place indeed. You must take that delightful young man of yours for a walk in the forest while you’re here. Full of lily of the valley, it is.”
Eleanor flushed at the reference to Dirk’s being her young man, a fact that razor-sharp Megan picked up on immediately.
“Is he not your young man, then?” she asked.
Eleanor dropped her gaze, embarrassed. “No, he’s…” She broke off uncertainly. For what was Dirk to her? An acquaintance? No, more than that, after their shared ordeal on The Sussex. They had written to each other, too, even come here together. They were more than just fellow survivors. Friends, then? That was what Dirk had said he wanted, back at Revigny, beneath the fir trees. But did friends find it as difficult to speak to each other as the two of them had done on the way here from Creil?
“Well,” Megan was saying, “if he’s not your young man, then does that mean he’s available? If so, then I wager it will be a lively party tonight. He’ll be very much in the minority as far as his sex is concerned, and from the brief glimpse I got of him, I’d say he was rather a handsome young man. He’ll be in demand for dances, that’s for sure.”
Eleanor looked up quickly and saw a teasing light in Megan’s eyes.
“Ah-ha!” The Scots woman smiled. “That’s the way of things, is it? Not your young man yet. I understand. Don’t worry yourself; I shall keep my distance. Now, come along, we’ll be missing all the fun.”
Megan whisked Eleanor out of the door, giving her no time to make denials or explanations. Which was just as well, since she was still recovering from the sickening way her heart had lurched when Megan had spoken of Dirk’s likely popularity as a dance partner.
“Mr. Loreson,” Hilda McPherson said, drawing on her cigarette with gusto. “I’d appreciate your granting me a birthday request.”
Dirk smiled. Dr. Ivens had persuaded him he ought to make use of some freshly laundered sheets to dress as a Roman emperor. He had, at first, felt extremely foolish, especially as he was the only man present at the party apart from the French chef. But now that the revelry had gotten underway, he felt easier about his costume. He just wished Eleanor would hurry up and arrive. He hadn’t seen her all day.
“Certainly,” he said to Hilda McPherson, straightening his home made laurel crown, which had slipped slightly to one side. “Anything it’s in my power to grant.”
Dr. Ivens had introduced him to Hilda and some of her other colleagues when he’d arrived at the party. Hilda, who had a nephew living in America, made a point of talking to him, drawing him out about his work and his ambitions for the future. He liked her a lot and was glad Eleanor had had such an excellent companion for the day.
Hilda met him square in the eye. “My request,” she said, “is that you don’t destroy that delightful girl’s chances for a career in medicine by taking it into your head to marry her.”
“What?” Dirk stood, staring back at Hilda, her words echoing round and round his head.
“Eleanor. Don’t marry her.”
Marry Eleanor. God, what a glorious thought that was. To wake up in the morning with her head next to his on the pillow. To have children with her…Dirk’s body was suddenly trembling with excitement. Being married to Eleanor would make sense of everything—all the scattered pieces of his life, all his hopes and ambitions. Instinctively, he knew she was right for him, and it seemed absurd that he hadn’t thought of marriage before.
He remembered the opera singer, Grandos, who had died to save his wife’s life when The Sussex had been torpedoed. To feel such a complete devotion as that…Yes, that was what he wanted.
“I have an instinct about Eleanor,” Hilda McPherson was saying.
At that very moment, Eleanor appeared at the doorway, dressed in a rich red cloak, accompanied by a shepherdess.
Hilda McPherson hadn’t noticed them yet. “Given the right opportunities, I believe Eleanor could go far,” she said. “But she needs encouragement, and if she married, she would soon find herself ankle deep in babies and the upkeep of a house, and that would be that. Mr. Loreson? Are you listening to me?”
The doctor’s voice came to Dirk as if from a great distance as he took in every detail of Eleanor’s appearance. The two girls had quickly been surrounded by other nurses and VADs, and they were now part of an excited group, commenting on each other’s costumes. But Eleanor, in her red, stood out from the rest, and when one of the VADs lifted a hand to pull back Eleanor’s hood, Dirk caught his breath with pleased surprise. Her hair was loose, and it was beautiful, exactly as he’d imagined it would be that time at Revigny.
“I can see I’m wasting my breath,” Hilda McPherson said cynically, having noticed the object of his attention.
Dirk reluctantly dragged his attention from the noisy group to smile at her. “Not at all,” he said.
“Hmm,” Hilda responded doubtfully. “Well, then, what about my birthday request? Are you going to grant it or not?”
Dirk met her strong gaze steadily. He felt excited and happy in a way he never had before. “I can promise to grant it in part,” he said.
Hilda frowned. “Whatever does that mean? It isn’t possible to get partially married, to my knowledge.”
“No, ma’am, that’s true. But it is possible for me to promise never to stand in the way of what Eleanor wants to do, should I ever be lucky enough to become her husband.”
“Ah,” Hilda said cynically. “But can you promise, as a struggling writer, to earn sufficient money to pay for a nursemaid to look after the children that will inevitably come along?”
“I can only do my very best.”
When someone put a record on the gramophone, Dirk excused himself and walked toward the group of women, intending to ask Eleanor to dance.
“Eleanor, you look great!” he said, entering the fray and bravely submitting himself to the inevitable jokes about his costume from the whole group of women. It was some time before he could ask her to dance, but it was worth the wait. She was finally in his arms.
Chapter Seventeen
BY ELEVEN O’CLOCK, when the party was beginning to quieten down, Megan suggested a walk in the moonlight. Anyone able to dismiss the thought of the following morning’s duty from their mind joined a large, strangely-dressed group as it left the abbey buildings and headed past the lake toward the trees.
Eleanor felt intoxicated. Not by wine, for she had only drunk one small glass, but by the occasion and the company. By everything that was Royaumont.
“I wish I could stay and work here,” she told Dirk, walking happily beside him as the others hurried on ahead.
“Perhaps you could,” he said, and she smiled at him. He had slipped a jacket on over his sheets for the walk and looked even more ridiculous than ever. But all evening, he’d been back to his former self, talking and laughing with everyone easily and taking jokes made at his expense with good grace.
“Dr. McPherson says she thinks this is the calm before the storm, that there’s to be a big summer push and all the hospitals will be busier than ever before. So, I suppose, if she’s right, it won’t really matter where I
’m based.”
“It’s hard to believe, here, right now, that there’s even a war going on, isn’t it?” Dirk said as they neared the tall, rustling trees.
“Yes,” she agreed, instantly feeling guilty. Was it right for them to be enjoying themselves like this when so many men were suffering so terribly?
“I’m sorry,” Dirk said immediately. “I’ve reminded you of it all when, for once, you’d managed to forget.”
“It’s all right,” she said.
“You do have the right to feel happy, you know, Eleanor,” Dirk told her. “The right to have fun and to enjoy yourself.”
They were beneath the canopy of the trees now, walking along a well-trodden track, the moon casting shadows all around them. Eleanor could hear the others talking and laughing ahead, but already they were too far away for their words to be distinguishable.
“Do I?” she asked, knowing that she had never really believed it to be so. Other people were happy. Other people enjoyed themselves. But there had never been any laughter at the vicarage, not since her mother had died anyway, and having fun wasn’t something she felt she really knew how to do. At least, not until she had met Kit.
Yet tonight, surrounded by new, encouraging friends, and inspired by tales of miraculous recoveries and skillful operations, she had forgotten to be watchful or self-conscious. Three months ago, she might have said that all she wanted from life was to be at peace. But now, suddenly, that wasn’t enough. Now she wanted all that life had to offer.
“Of course you have that right, Eleanor,” Dirk told her.
Eleanor knew he had played more than a small part in her enjoyment of the evening. They had danced only three dances together; Megan and the others hadn’t allowed her to have the monopoly of him. When they danced, he held her lightly in his arms, swinging her easily around the room in a way that allowed her to enjoy the occasion and the music. Light as his touch may have been, each dance was scorched in her memory.
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