‘No. It’s quite comfortable. Thank you.’
He looked at the night nurse. She handed him my chart. They kept it out of my reach. I did not need to see it to know my temperature had gone up a little.
‘Headache?’ he suggested.
‘No. Thank you.’
He smiled at me the way he always smiled at patients. ‘What have you been doing since I saw you this morning?’
The senior night nurse answered for me. ‘Entertaining. Every other staff nurse in the hospital seems to have been up, according to Sister Nightingale.’
‘No wonder you look worn-out. It’s just as well the Professor won’t be round tonight. We’ll give you something to help you sleep.’
As they were leaving the night senior told me Home Sister had sent up my writing-case. ‘Sister was unpacking your trunk for you, found it inside, and thought you might need it. Nurse Dinsford brought it up. She wanted to look in again, but Sister Nightingale said no.’
Johnny opened the door for her. ‘’Night, Nurse Francis. Sleep well.’
I slept very well because of that sedative. The night girls did not wake me until after the day staff had come on duty. I was sucking a thermometer with my eyes closed when one of the day juniors bustled in with a huge bunch of daffodils. ‘Spring flowers this early, Nurse Francis! Aren’t they glorious! Oh, goodness! Were you asleep?’
‘Trying to wake up.’ I removed the thermometer and read it. ‘I must have died in the night. This is just over the ninety-five.’ I shook it right down. ‘Who are those for?’
‘You, Nurse.’ She pulled out a white card. ‘From Mr Druro.’
‘Thanks.’ I dropped the card on my locker, stuck the thermometer stick in my mouth, took my own pulse. When the night senior came in I asked her to hand me my chart. ‘I’ll chart me for you, Peggy.’
‘Thanks. We’re busy this morning.’ She handed me the chart. ‘Don’t let Night Sister see. She’ll have a stroke.’
‘I won’t. Though I never have and never will agree with the nonsense of hiding people’s charts from them. Whose temp is it, anyhow?’ I looked at the graph. ‘100 last night. That’s not much. When are they going to let me up?’
‘Depends on the Prof. Johnny Druro last night said probably this weekend.’ She picked up the daffodils. ‘Aren’t these dreamy! I wondered if they were for you when I saw them in our clinical room earlier. Who from?’
‘Dave Druro. I nursed him in Mark. He’s a very grateful grateful-patient.’
She said she had seen him around, but did not know him. ‘Mind if I leave your bed to my junior? I haven’t finished my report yet.’
The night junior and I made my bed between us. She worked at the foot; I did the top.
‘How many brothers has The Mr Druro got here, Nurse Francis?’ she asked as she was having a final tidy-round.
‘Only one. David. There are two other brothers. Not in medicine.’
‘Then who’s M. Druro? Least’ ‒ she went rather pink ‒ ‘I thought it was M. Druro on that card.’ She picked up the object still lying face down on my locker. ‘Oh, no. J. M. I suppose,’ she added calmly, ‘that must be our Mr D.’
She was too new to the hospital to realize why I was gaping at her; when she left me I went on gaping at the card in my hand. Johnny had written no message. Just his name.
When Sister Nightingale came on duty she clucked round my room about my still looking very poorly. I was not feeling poorly. I was merely weak with wonder at Johnny making such an unethical but wholly enchanting gesture. I could no more understand why he had done it than I yet understood my conversation with Sonia last night.
I spent most of that morning sleeping off my sleeping-tablets. At lunchtime Sister told me the S.S.O. was back on the job.
‘Mr Druro going back to the annexe. Sister?’
‘At the weekend, I believe, Nurse. Now, let me make those pillows comfortable. They look all of a bundle.’
I did not see Johnny for the rest of that week. Every time my door opened to admit another visitor I kept hoping it would be him, and every time was disappointed. By the end of that week I was convinced I ought to have my head examined for taking any notice of anything Sonia said or did, and that she was responsible for those daffodils. Johnny obviously knew nothing about them. If he had sent them he would have followed them up.
I had put off thanking him for them at first in the hope that he would come in as in ordinary visitor, and I could do it then. As the days went by I became increasingly grateful at my silence. Sonia might repeat herself. I did not want to seem to repeat myself. Perhaps I would be able to sort things out later when I was up and about. While I was stuck in a small ward in Nightingale there was nothing I could do about the one thing that mattered to me more than anything else in the world.
There was one thing I should do, and that was deal with the stack of unanswered letters on my bed-table. My writing-case was in my locker, but I could not even get around to pushing those letters in it and out of sight. Also ‒ which astonished me as I had never been a patient before ‒ there was so little spare time. I had so many visitors; there were so many rounds from Matron, the Professor, the S.M.O., the S.S.O.; so many meals; so many hot and cold drinks in between; so many long chats with the Nightingale nursing staff, the cleaning ladies, the men who polished the floor, the window-cleaners, and the repairs and works man who came to mend my wireless headphone plug which had broken without my being aware of it, since there was never time for listening to the wireless. Instead of having long, empty, bed-ridden hours to kill on my own in my lonely little small ward, I was exceedingly lucky if I ever managed to get five free minutes to myself.
Saturday was a horrible day. I calculated Johnny had to be having a free weekend after working through so many running. Then Sister Nightingale volunteered the information that he was due to return to the annexe on Monday.
Dave had gone home for a few days. He sent a message with one of my set saying he hoped I had a nice, restful weekend, and he would see me on Tuesday. Aline was in charge of her theatre all weekend and could not come near me; Sonia had been given three days off to compensate for the free time she had missed in her move from the annexe. Richard called in to see me for a few minutes on Saturday morning, and told me he was joining her at her parents’ country home. Johnny did not even put his head round the door to say good-bye.
Sunday morning was the quietest of the week. I was going to be allowed up that afternoon, so belatedly decided I must get my thank-you letters done during the morning. Johnny had gone; the world was black, black, black; the future nightmarish. I might as well try and keep the few friends I had by writing to thank them for their kind flowers and letters, before they ruled me out too.
My writing-case key had been lost years ago. I clicked open the lid, and was surprised to see fixed inside a largish buff unstamped envelope addressed to me in Phil’s handwriting. Inside it was a letter scribbled on an unused theatre-history sheet and a couple of unopened envelopes addressed to me at the annexe. The handwriting on the top envelope belonged to an old school-friend. I pushed both aside casually, read Phil’s letter first.
She had just had my letter and was very annoyed by my transfer. ‘The annexe seems a different place without you all. I am even missing dear Sonia. Good luck in Cas. Forgive rush ‒ writing on duty. I enclose your morning’s post with the Ass. Mat. Annexe’s best wishes, since she has just told me to send it up in the van with your belongings. My love to the girls and you. Phil.’ There was a postscript. ‘What’s Johnny D. doing writing you letters? Why doesn’t someone tell me these things? More love. P.’
I dived for the two letters. Johnny’s was underneath. It had been sitting at my elbow half a week, in my writing-case since that Monday. The postmark was the day before that. It had been written, according to the date inside, on the Saturday we had had that row in the main corridor.
It was not a long letter. It was a very polite and rather formal apology for jumping to
what he said I had so rightly described as scurrilous conclusions. He had spoken to Dave, had all the story from him. ‘I feel an absolute heel. I really am very sorry about all this,’ he went on, ‘and I would like to tell you so in person. Could you face that? Any place. Any time. I’ll get myself free somehow. Of course, if the idea appals, just forget it and this letter. I just hope you won’t do that.’
I lay back and closed my eyes. No wonder he had not come to see me. The next move was mine. The only wonder was that he had been interested enough to prompt me with those flowers.
‘Nurse Francis.’ Sister Nightingale smiled from the doorway. ‘Would you care to receive a visitor who unfortunately cannot wait until this afternoon, as he says he has to return to the annexe sooner than was anticipated?’
I guessed it was Paul Brewster. On Friday he had looked in, told me he expected to return to the annexe some time to-day, and would come in to say good-bye. I was tempted to invent a misty headache, then I remembered Paul would either be seeing Johnny at the annexe this evening, or could tell me for sure where he was. I had to get hold of him, fast. Paul could be the answer. ‘Thank you very much, Sister. If it’s all right with you?’
‘I think we can stretch a point once again, dear.’ She stood back. ‘You may come in, Mr Druro.’
He came in slowly, closed the door after her, stayed by it. ‘Hallo. How goes it? Feel better?’
If I had told him the truth he would probably have gone straight for Sister. I felt nearly as peculiar as the time I collapsed from shock.
‘Getting on fine, thanks. Won’t you sit down?’
‘I can’t stay long.’ He was glued to that door. ‘Not worth it, thanks. I want to get down to the annexe early after first lunch. I ‒ I’ ‒ he was, incredibly, actually nervous ‒ ‘didn’t like to leave without looking in to say good-bye.’
‘I’m glad.’ I hitched my top sheet over the assorted letters lying on my bed. ‘I hoped you’d be in.’ So much time had been wasted. I was not wasting more. ‘Johnny, do you mind if I ask ‒ did you send me those daffodils there?’
He flushed. ‘Yes. Er ‒ don’t you like daffodils?’
‘Very much.’ I did not want to waste time, but I was still very much in the dark. I invented a mix-up about the cards. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t thank you before. That’s why.’
‘That’s all right.’
We were silent. He looked at my flowers. I looked at him.
He was looking unusually elegant. He had on a very good dark suit, white silk shirt, hospital tie, and his curly hair was subdued by what had obviously been violent brushing.
‘Are you on duty anywhere to-day?’ I asked suddenly.
He looked at me quickly, hesitating visibly before answering. ‘No.’
That monosyllable pleased me inordinately. It was reassuring to discover how difficult he found it to tell a white lie.
‘Then why do you have to get down to the annexe in such a hurry?’
‘I’m not in a hurry to get there. Just to get away. I’ve hung around up here more than long enough. It’s time I pushed off. I just wanted to see you first.’
‘And I wanted to see you.’
His expression tightened. ‘To thank me for those flowers.’ He was not asking a question, he was stating a fact. ‘I rather wondered if you would accept them after what had gone before. It didn’t occur to me there had been a mix-up. I’m glad that’s all there was to it.’
‘Not quite all.’ He sounded only half alive. I was fast coming very much alive. ‘Johnny, come away from that door and get a chair. I can’t talk to you across the room.’
‘Sure you feel up to talking?’
‘When all that’s now wrong with me is a chipped os calcis and a few stitches here and there? I’m not ill. I’m getting up this afternoon. You Druro men are a pair.’ I sighed. ‘What with Dave handling me with kid gloves, and you standing there with an any-more-for-the-tomb expression. You go on this way you’ll turn me into a roaring neuro.’
He came as far as the end of my bed, leant as Sonia had done on the foot-rail. ‘Why is Dave using kid gloves?’
I explained, then added, ‘He said he couldn’t worry me with his problems because you wouldn’t like it. He was very hot on your passion for ethics.’
‘I see.’
‘You may. I don’t. I don’t see how any man with such a passion could take the unethical step of sending flowers to one of his patients. Or did you forget I still was that morning? The S.S.O. didn’t take me over until lunchtime.’
‘I didn’t forget. It just didn’t matter. I was up very early, and went out for a walk as I wanted to think. On my way back through the market they were unloading the flower-lorries. Those were the first daffodils I had seen this year. I wanted you to have some.’ His hands tightened on the rail and his knuckles were white. ‘Sonia asked me to join her across the road for a drink the night before. She told me she had talked to you.’ He was briefly silent. ‘Odd girl, that. Definitely schizoid.’ He paused again. ‘Why didn’t you tell me straight out that someone must have pulled a practical joke and sent me Phil’s letter?’
‘Sonia didn’t tell you?’ He shook his head. ‘I did not think you’d believe me. Would you have?’ His silence answered me. I smiled faintly. ‘Let’s not talk about it any more.’
‘That’s all very well, but I’m discovering I owe you so many apologies, I don’t know where to start.’
‘Then don’t start anywhere. I do understand.’
‘Do you?’ he asked. ‘Do you honestly understand why I’ve made such a mess of things and why I’ve been so bloody-minded to you for so long? And particularly on that Saturday morning?’ He took a deep breath. ‘My God, Kirsty! When I saw you drive up with Richard at eight in the morning I could gladly have knocked him down ‒ and you too.’
I said, ‘Your self-control’s better than mine, Johnny, remembering what I said to you then.’
He smiled rather grimly. ‘I’m not sure you’re right about my self-control. If you are, I’ve had the hell of a lot of practice these last two years.’
‘Why?’ I saw his expression change and held up a warning hand. ‘No, Johnny! Don’t you dare snap my head off about asking damn fool questions again! And no more jumping to conclusions. When I said just now that I understood, I was only talking about your reasons for apologizing. I have often wondered why you’ve been so bloody-minded with me ‒ and not only on that Saturday ‒ and I now want to know why.’
He let go of the rail, dropped his hands to his sides. ‘Kirsty, you’re not dumb. You must know perfectly well that I love you like hell, and always have.’ He walked to the window, walked back again, stood beside me, his hands in his pockets. ‘I did not mean to go into all this this morning. It isn’t fair to shove it down your throat when you’re stuck here in bed and can’t walk out on me. But if you want the score you’ve got it. Don’t worry,’ he went on, ‘I meant what I wrote in that letter I sent to the annexe. I suppose it came back next day in the van?’ I nodded. ‘Then there’s no more to be said. I’m sorry about ‒ the lot ‒ but not about loving you.’ He was looking at me as no man had ever looked at me before. ‘You are so worth loving. And not just because you do crazy things like this last affair. But the fact that I love you doesn’t give me the right to make a flipping bore of myself telling you so, or hanging round your bedside. If you had wanted to see me you would have done something about it. So, I’m pushing off.’ He made for the door again. ‘I’m glad you’re doing so well. See you some time. I’ll give your love to Sister Mark ‒’
‘Johnny! Come back!’ My voice cracked most quaintly, but I could not bother with that. ‘You can’t just walk out on me now.’
He looked worried. ‘That’s what I was afraid of. You’re going to start getting yourself in a state because I stitched up your foot or slapped on that plaster or something, and you feel you’ve now got to be polite to me or something.’ He sighed. ‘Patients always get soft about their doctors. It’
ll pass. You’ll see.’
I said, ‘And if you don’t stop talking such utter rubbish you’ll see your daffodils and the vase coming across the room at your head. I’ve no intention of being polite and falling in love with you because you’re one of my doctors. If I was going to fall in love with any one of my present lot I’d choose the Professor. He’s an absolute dreamboat, not all that old, as he’s only a little over forty, and he has the most wonderful bedside manner in the hospital.’
He flushed slightly. ‘I never suggested you should fall in love with me.’
‘Then don’t you think it’s time you did? But before you answer that one, there’s something I have to tell you.’ I explained about his letter, then produced it. ‘I was just wondering how I could get hold of you fast, when you walked in.’
That made him sit down at last. He chose a chair against the wall by the door. ‘Then if you had not been in that basement and knocked out you would have answered it?’
‘Stat.’
He said, ‘This may be a damn fool question ‒ but why?’
I told him the truth. All the truth. He was silent for a long time after I had finished. Then, ‘I thought I was being hellish clever, and that it helped you to imagine I was in love with Sonia. It never occurred to me it would ever matter to you.’
‘So that’s why you told me that day on Resting Hill?’
He stood up, came over to me. ‘In actual fact, I did not tell you. You told me. And as it seemed to make things easier for you, I let you believe it. I would have let you believe I ran a harem of ward sisters that day, if I thought it would have helped. You looked so shattered. That’s why I insisted on dragging you away from the annexe, and why, after I had talked to George Halliday on the lodge phone and got the facts straight from him, I rang Sonia to double-check. That’s when she asked me to her miserable party.’ He sat on my locker. ‘You won’t mind my telling you this now, but I was afraid what eventually happened would happen, from that hot summer night when we were all having tea in the junior sitting-room and I walked her off to look at some view.’
Flowers from the Doctor Page 18
