by Betty Neels
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS dinner time before Eugenia remembered with horror that she hadn’t told Humphrey she wouldn’t be off duty until the evening. She was halfway through her milk pudding when the thought struck her, and she leapt up from the table, to the surprise of her companions.
‘I’ve just remembered,’ she gabbled, and tore off to the porter’s lodge, where she got old Belling to ring the Residents’ flat. Humphrey’s ‘Yes?’ was terse, and then: ‘Oh, it’s you— I’ll be ready in half an hour.’
‘Not me—I won’t, Mr Grenfell’s doing a teaching round and wants me on the ward…’
‘At such short notice? I never…’
‘It’s my fault,’ said Eugenia meekly. ‘I forgot to tell you—he asked me a couple of days ago. You know he always insists on the Ward Sister being there when he’s got students.’
‘You forgot to tell me,’ observed Humphrey nastily. ‘Have I become so unimportant to you? First you ignore my special wishes for you to diet and now you ruin my half day!’ Before she could speak, he added: ‘I shall go home to Mother.’
It was quite unforgivable of Eugenia to giggle; the sound of the phone slammed down in her ear made her realise that. She went back to the ward, feeling guilty, incredibly mean, and at the same time vexed. Humphrey need not have been quite so cross about it—after all, it wasn’t as if they were going to do anything special. Perhaps, she reflected, if they bought something from time to time, it would make their window-shopping more interesting. Her own nest-egg was piling up slowly in the bank, and she had no doubt that his was as well, but there was such a thing as inflation. By the time they actually married, probably they wouldn’t be able to afford the things that he was so anxious that they should have.
Mr Grenfell, with a number of students trailing behind him, arrived, as usual exactly on time, and for the next hour or so she had no thought for anything but her work. Barbara was doing well now, so was Mrs Dunn, and so for that matter was the elderly lady with the chest injuries. He spent a long time with each of them, asking courteous questions of them and waiting, equally courteously, for the students to make observations. There was the usual know-all ready to answer everyone else’s questions as well as his own, the usual slow thinker, who, given enough time, came up with the right answer and would probably in the course of time make an excellent surgeon. There were two women students today; both young and pretty and, Eugenia suspected, more interested in Mr Grenfell than the patients. He was good at getting the best out of them though, disregarding the know-all unless it was his turn, waiting patiently for the slower ones to give their answers, ignoring the two girls fluttering their eyelashes.
Eugenia, at her most professional, with Nurse Sims to back her up, took down dressings, sat patients up and laid them down again, whipped back bedclothes, adjusted drains and handed notes at the exact minute they were required, and doing all these things with a calm friendliness towards the patient so that the alarming sight of half a dozen strange people staring at the bed’s occupant was tolerable after all. Unfortunately it was quite late by the time the round was over. She offered tea, but Mr Grenfell refused politely, dismissing his students with the observation that there were one or two notes he wanted to write. Eugenia led him to the office, handed over the charts he required and beat a retreat. As she reached the door he said quietly: ‘You enjoyed yourself the other evening, Sister?’
She opened the door a little way, having no wish to discuss it with him. ‘Yes, thank you, sir.’
‘But you didn’t stay long?’
‘Well, no. Humphrey had a busy day ahead of him.’ She thought as she said it that Mr Grenfell had had a busy day ahead of him too, but he had been dancing with every sign of enjoyment when they left.
‘Ah, yes, of course,’ said Mr Grenfell smoothly. ‘You were celebrating? Your birthday, perhaps?’
‘Not mine—his.’
She spoke sharply because he was looking at her unsmilingly, although she had the uneasy feeling that he was finding something amusing.
‘Two safely engaged people, aren’t we, Sister?’ He sounded thoughtful. ‘There is, of course, many a slip between the cup and the lip.’
‘We’ve been engaged for eighteen months, sir.’ She said it coldly.
‘Indeed?’ Just as though he didn’t know. ‘So you’ll be marrying very soon?’
‘In two years’ time.’
‘A long time to wait?’ He raised his eyebrows.
‘Humphrey—that is we, want everything bought and paid for before we marry.’
Mr Grenfell drew a large cat with handsome whiskers on her blotting pad. ‘You do? Now that’s something I can’t understand.’
‘I don’t suppose you can,’ said Eugenia tartly. ‘I daresay you have everything you could possibly need and are able to get married when you like.’
‘Oh, indeed, yes.’ He was quite unruffled by her crossness. ‘But that doesn’t mean to say that I shall.’ He added a yachting cap and wellington boots to the cat, admired his handiwork and added a cigar. He looked up to smile at her. ‘Don’t let me keep you from your work, Sister.’
Eugenia flounced out of the office, rather pink in the cheeks. Mr Grenfell was excessively tiresome at times!
Somehow she didn’t see Humphrey during the next day or two, she was off duty on the evening before her days off, and before she left the hospital she went along to the porter’s lodge and asked to see him if he was available. It seemed that he wasn’t; so she left a message, picked up her overnight bag and went to catch her bus. It was a pity she couldn’t have seen him; occasionally he sulked, but she had always been able to get round him; she wasn’t unduly worried, she had no doubt that when she got back to St Clare’s everything would be smoothed over.
It was marvellous being home again. She was welcomed boisterously by the twins, invited to cook supper, and gently greeted with affection by her father. ‘It seems a long time since you were home,’ he commented vaguely.
‘About ten days ago, Father. I quite often have to change my free days. And we’ve been busy.’ She kissed the top of his head. ‘Found any more books lately?’
Supper was delayed while he told her about a splendid copy of Milton’s Paradise Lost which he had unearthed in some small, out-of-the-way bookshop.
Eugenia helped the twins with their homework after supper and then sat with her father in the cosy, shabby sitting room, discussing their future and ways and means; they were clever, the pair of them, bound to go to university, and the money would have to be found somehow. Even with grants there would be expenses. Eugenia said thoughtfully: ‘Well, Father, Humphrey doesn’t want to get married for at least two years; there’s no reason why I shouldn’t use some of the money I’ve saved to help out.’
Her father shook his head. ‘My dear, Humphrey depends on those savings, I daresay.’
‘Oh, he does, but we can wait another year—we shall have waited so long by then that I can’t see that it will matter if there is a little delay.’
‘It’ll matter very much. It’s not my business, Eugenia, but I can’t agree with his ideas at all. You’re both young and he has a good job—you could be quite happy in a small flat for a year or two. You could even go on working for a time.’
‘Yes, I know, I’ve told him that, but he’s set his heart on having just about everything before we marry. And then there’s his mother…’
‘What has she to do with it?’
‘Well, she’s not a very independent person, Father, she does depend on him quite a bit.’
Mr Smith made a derogatory sound. ‘He’s a grown man, a professional man, he has his own life—and your life—to lead, my dear.’
‘Yes—well, I suspect it will all sort itself out.’ She was suddenly weary; she seldom allowed herself to think too deeply about the future; Humphrey had told her so many times that he had it all sewn up and that she wasn’t to worry, so she just let the months slide by—perhaps it needed something drastic to happ
en to job them out of the rut they seemed to have got into…
It happened on the very morning that Eugenia returned to work. Mr Grenfell strolled into the ward, unexpected and unannounced, stood silently while she removed a chest tube and then followed her still silently down the ward to the sink, waited while she scrubbed her hands and then said: ‘I want to talk to you, Sister Smith.’
Eugenia dried her hands and then led the way to the office. He probably wanted extra beds put up down the centre of the ward, or an emergency to be filtered into an already overflowing list. She sat herself down behind her desk, cast a lightning glance at the clock and asked politely: ‘Yes, sir?’
‘You may not know that from time to time I’m called into consultation in other countries. I’ve been asked if I’ll examine, and if necessary operate on, the wife of a British diplomat in Lisbon. In actual fact they have a villa in the Algarve where she is at the present time. From what I hear from her doctor she has the signs and symptoms of a new growth of lung. If that’s so then surgery is indicated, which I should carry out on the spot. It’s required that I bring a nurse with me, conversant with the treatment of such a case, to see the patient through the first few days and demonstrate to a nurse there exactly what should be done. I should be obliged if you would accompany me, Sister. We should be away for a week if everything is satisfactory, ten days at the most, as I have commitments here. There’s a small private hospital in the area where I should operate and where the patient will remain until she’s convalescent. I imagine you’re capable of demonstrating the post-operative treatment within two or three days, and you would, of course, return with me when I consider the patient to be out of danger.’
Eugenia had sat, her pretty mouth slightly agape, during this lengthy speech. After a moment of silence during which they looked at each other wordlessly, she said: ‘When would you want to go, sir?’
‘Two days’ time, certainly no longer than that. A day sooner, if that could be arranged. I should like your answer now.’
‘How long for? Ten days at the longest, you said…’ She thought rapidly. She was to have spent her next days off with Humphrey’s mother, who she felt sure would take it as a personal insult if anything should prevent that. On the other hand, it was her job—she was there to carry out Mr Grenfell’s instructions, and this was, in effect, an order.
‘What about the ward?’ she asked.
There was a satisfied gleam in Mr Grenfell’s half-closed eyes. ‘I imagine Hatty could cope for a few days. Besides,’ he continued with an entire lack of conceit, ‘I shan’t be operating, so it won’t be all that busy.’
‘Very well, I’ll come with you, Mr Grenfell. Perhaps you’ll let me know when exactly we’re to leave and what I shall require to take with me. I do have a passport valid until the end of the year.’
‘Good. I’ll either see you this evening or send you a note.’ He opened the door he had been leaning against. ‘I’ll arrange things with the Office,’ he told her, and was gone before she could answer him.
Hatty had to be told, of course, and her father telephoned during her dinner hour. But she didn’t say anything to anyone until she was summoned to the Office and given official permission to go with Mr Grenfell.
Over tea in the Sisters’ room she mentioned it, aware that if she didn’t the hospital grapevine would get hold of the news and pass it on, highly distorted.
‘Whatever will that fiancée of his say to that?’ demanded Chloe Watkins, who was in charge of the Men’s Chest Unit on the other side of the landing. ‘I wouldn’t imagine she would take kindly to competition.’
‘But I’m not competing,’ offered Eugenia mildly, ‘just doing a nursing job.’
‘She won’t believe that. You’ll probably find her there as well, seeing fair play.’
Eugenia chuckled. ‘We don’t even like each other; I think Mr Grenfell’s a super surgeon, and I suppose he finds me adequate as a nurse. Besides, we’re both going to be married…’
‘Can’t think why he waits so long,’ said a voice, ‘I mean, he’s not exactly lacking this world’s goods, is he?’
‘Cold feet,’ said someone else, and raised a laugh. And then: ‘What will your Humphrey say, Eugenia?’
‘I don’t know—at least, he won’t object. It’s a job, like everything else, isn’t it?’
‘Well, I for one,’ said that same voice, ‘wouldn’t mind going instead of you, Eugenia. Mr Grenfell is worth cultivating.’
‘Well, if he is, I haven’t got very far, and I’ve worked for him for three years now.’ Eugenia got to her feet. ‘I’m going back, there’s still a case in theatre.’
The patient, an elderly woman with a stove-in chest; came back to the ward very shortly and Eugenia dealt with her needs with her usual calm. She had checked the two tubes and the blood transfusion, and made sure that the patient was as well as could be expected and was writing up the chart when Mr Grenfell came on to the ward. He spent a few minutes checking his patient’s condition, nodded his satisfaction and asked Eugenia to go with him to her office. Eugenia finished her writing, whispered a few instructions to Nurse Sims, positioned by the bedside, and led the way down the ward.
‘We go tomorrow evening by charter plane—five o’clock from here. I’ll pick you up at the entrance. One small case, and take uniform. You can wear ordinary clothes for the flight, of course. Don’t bother about money—I’ll see to that, but remember your passport. We shall fly straight to the Algarve and be met at the airport, examine the patient during the evening and again in the morning, and if it’s necessary arrange to operate that same day. You’ll probably be very busy; not much time to sleep and no time off.’ He started for the door. ‘Anything else you want to know?’
Quite a bit, she thought, but as none of it was relevant to their actual journey there seemed little point in giving utterance to them. She said: ‘No, I think not, sir,’ and added, ‘Goodnight,’ and he nodded briefly and went.
Eugenia sat down again and made a list of what she would need to take with her. And then, of course, there was the question of telling Humphrey. He might be a bit sticky, she reflected, although he had no reason to be. All the same he would have to be told, and as soon as possible. She was off duty that evening, and he might be free for an hour or so; they might go to a pub for something in a basket instead of supper in the hospital.
Later that evening she had neither seen nor heard from him, so as she went off duty she went along to the porter’s lodge and asked old Evans to find out where he was.
“ere yer are, Sister,’ said Evans, and handed her the receiver.
Humphrey was free for the evening, and from the sound of his voice, still on the sulky side.
‘A drink and a sandwich?’ suggested Eugenia. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘Well, if it’s important,’ he agreed grudgingly.
They met an hour later in the entrance hall and she could see at once that he was still sulking. Her heart sank, and she spent the ten minutes’ walk to the pub getting him into a good humour again. Over their chicken and chips in a basket and beer, she took heart and told him. The chicken and chips hadn’t been enough; she watched him grow remote, sorry for himself and finally critical. ‘I can’t think why you have to go,’ he observed coldly. ‘There are plenty of other nurses—your staff nurse, for instance. What’s so special about you?’
‘Nothing, only I know his routine inside out and the nurse there will have to be shown what to do. Why are you making a fuss, Humphrey?’
He said with dignity: ‘I am not in the habit of making a fuss, Eugenia. I merely remarked that I can’t see the need for you to go. Have you accepted?’
‘Yes,’ said Eugenia calmly.
‘Without consulting me?’ He was definitely sulking again.
‘Well, Humphrey, I didn’t see the need for that. After all, I’m going on a nursing job, not a weekend at Brighton. And we’re not married, you know.’
‘We are engaged,�
� he reminded her, ‘and I expect my wishes to be observed whenever possible.’ He added, to make her quite savage, ‘Mother wouldn’t like it at all.’
Eugenia swallowed rage and hurt and annoyance. ‘Humphrey, I’m sorry if you’re annoyed about it—I never imagined you would be. And I can’t think why.’ She asked in a conciliatory voice: ‘Don’t you like Mr Grenfell?’
‘That’s beside the point,’ said Humphrey loftily. ‘You’re going against my wishes.’
‘How can I be doing that?’ she asked reasonably. ‘When Mr Grenfell asked me you didn’t know anything about it.’
‘You can at times be a very stubborn young woman, Eugenia. However, we’ll say nothing more about it. Presumably you’ll be back in time to spend the weekend we’d arranged with Mother?’
Her heart sank at the very thought, but she said gently: ‘Of course, dear. Mr Grenfell said a week, and our weekend is still a fortnight away.’
‘I wouldn’t want to disappoint Mother,’ said Humphrey repressively. ‘If you’ve finished, we might as well be getting back to St Clare’s—I have a busy day ahead of me.’
‘So have I,’ said Eugenia, faintly waspish.
Sitting beside Mr Grenfell in his Turbo Bentley, being whisked towards Heathrow on the following afternoon, Eugenia wondered how on earth she had managed to be where she was. The ward had been extra busy, one of the part-time nurses hadn’t turned up, Barbara had started running a temperature, and she had been at odds with the diet clerk as well as X-ray—not a good day, and she had gone off duty wishing she had never agreed to go with Mr Grenfell. She showered and changed, shut the one small case she was taking with her, checked her handbag for money and passport, and went down to the hospital entrance. He had been waiting for her, and after the briefest of greetings had put her case in the boot, ushered her into the front seat and got in beside her. And now here she was, a little edgy and tired, wishing she hadn’t come. Humphrey had been right, as he so often was; she should have told him first before agreeing to go and taken his advice.
