The First Year

by Lucilla Andrews

  The tears were pouring down my face now, and I reclosed my eyes automatically. I brushed my cheeks with my finger-tips, then felt in my handbag for a handkerchief. I was still fumbling blind, when I heard footsteps coming by my table; I sat still and bent over the magazine pretending to be engrossed with it. The steps stopped, the chair beside me was drawn back, someone sat down in it, then for only the second time in my adult life I felt a handkerchief being pushed into my hand.

  ‘I should use that, Miss Standing,’ said Jake’s voice softly, ‘and don’t bother to return it either. I carry an inexhaustible supply!’

  I turned and looked at him, too surprised to remember my appearance. ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked rudely. ‘You’ve gone.’

  He looked very unlike his normal self this morning. He was wearing a dark well-tailored suit, a white silk shirt, and a Martin’s tie. He never used that tie in the hospital. I wondered in the abstract way in which you do wonder about trivialities when your mind is unable to accept the present happenings whether he wore that tie because he was feeling cut off from Martin’s.

  He laid his hat on the table. ‘I’ve gone from the hospital. I’ve got another day in London. I do apologize for breaking in on you now, but as I came into Bert’s I noticed you through that window and I saw you were crying,’ he added honestly. ‘I wondered perhaps if something was very wrong ‒ if there was anything I could do?’

  I scrubbed my face absently. ‘Thank you. No, no, there’s nothing really wrong. I was just crying because ‒ I felt like crying.’

  ‘I see.’ He took up his hat as if to move on. I would have given everything I possessed to keep him beside me, but I could not think of the means of doing that or even of a word to say. All the fine speeches of thanks and farewell that I had rehearsed in my room last night had vanished from my mind like last night’s dreams.

  He did not move off at once. Instead he asked after my hand. ‘All well?’

  I took off my glove and showed him my palm. ‘Yes, thank you.’

  He glanced at it. ‘I thought it would save complications if I handed you over to Embry.’

  I said, ‘Yes.’

  He asked if I had ordered lunch.

  I said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you object if I joined you?’

  I said, ‘No. Please do.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  There was a small, strained silence. He broke it. ‘Our meeting like this,’ he said conversationally, ‘is rather coincidental. I ‒ er ‒ have just been ringing your Home. I rather wanted to speak to you.’

  ‘Me?’ I demanded ungrammatically. ‘Why?’

  The somewhat grave expression he had worn during this brief conversation relaxed. His mouth remained serious, but his eyes smiled. ‘You ‒ er ‒ don’t beat about the bush, do you, Miss Standing? I rang you because, as I’ve said, I rather wanted to speak to you. There wasn’t much time left, and if I was to contact you before I left London I had to do it to-day. I would still’ ‒ he did not take his eyes off my by-now quite unpowdered face ‒ ‘like to have a talk with you if you could spare me the time?’ He made that request in the tone he would have used had he asked me to pass him the salt. ‘Are you very hungry?’

  I had been wondering if I had heard right, if I was dreaming, perhaps been knocked down by a car and was dead. This kind of thing did not happen to me. Never in my life had I been in the right place at the right time. But his final question made sense if nothing else did. I said I was not hungry.

  ‘Nor am I. So would you mind if I suggested ‒’

  But Bert was brooding by our table, wearing a large smile and carrying a plate heaped with steaming food.

  ‘This’ll suit you, miss!’ He deposited the plate in front of me.

  ‘And what can I get you, Mr Waring? Same again?’ He shook a finger at Jake. ‘You didn’t half give me a surprise when I see you walk in just now. My missus was looking out of the kitchen window and she just called to me, “Bert, isn’t that your Mr Waring a-coming in?” And there was I saying, “Give over, Jen ‒ that doctor’s left us.” And there you were large as life! So what’ll it be, sir? The usual?’

  Jake stood up. ‘Bert,’ he said, ‘you aren’t going to like this ‒ but do forgive us. This lady and I have got to have a talk before we eat. We just have to talk,’ he repeated, looking at me. His expression was questioning and ‒ incredibly ‒ anxious. He reached for my plate and handed it back to the outraged Bert. ‘Shove that in the oven or somewhere, there’s a good chap. Don’t chuck it out; I’ll eat it when we get back, and you can fix up a fresh lot for Miss Standing. We won’t be long.’

  Bert grumbled that he didn’t know, he was sure. ‘Food’s going to be ruined, doctor! Ruined ‒ that’s what! But if that’s how you want it,’ he shrugged grandly, ‘you leave it to me. I’ll save your table for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Bert. Thanks very much.’ Jake waited while Bert made his disgruntled progress back to his counter, then turned to me. ‘I am afraid I’m being very arbitrary. I hope you are not too annoyed, but I haven’t a lot of time. I expect you have to be on duty to-morrow night?’ I nodded. ‘I thought as much. And I have to go north to-morrow night. I was going to have three weeks’ holiday before taking over my new job, but the man I’m succeeding had a coronary yesterday, and they’ve asked me to make do with a couple of days off now and have the rest later. It doesn’t leave me’ ‒ he touched his collar as if it was too tight ‒ ‘much time. Which is why I had to see you this morning, if possible. So shall we go outside and walk round somewhere, anywhere, while we do our talking?’

  I stood up and was surprised to discover my legs could carry me. My bones felt as if they had turned to water. I heard my voice reply calmly, ‘I should like to go outside,’ and for an absurd moment wished that Sister P.T.S. could have been there to hear me. Sister had told us frequently that a good nurse should be able to control any situation. Her teaching must have gone deeper than she or I realized; superficially I was quite composed. Inwardly I was far from that. My heart was beating so loudly that when we reached the street I wondered how I would be able to hear anything he said over the noise in my chest and temporal arteries; not that that mattered. Nothing mattered beyond the glorious fact that I was with him because he wanted to have me there.

  We walked towards the river; we talked about the traffic; the chances of another war; the weather. We walked a little apart from each other and looked at everything but each other. We went down a succession of small streets that grew smaller as we came closer to the water. Once we crossed one of the great traffic-congested roads of dockland, then we were back in the alleys again. The air smelt of salt and tar and coal-dust, and the skyline ahead showed a forest of masts of different sizes belonging to ships anchored in the docks.

  Just before we reached one of the smaller entrances to the docks he stopped and felt in his pocket. ‘I think I’ve got my pass on me. Yes.’ He flicked it open. ‘It’s valid until the fifth of next month. I know most of the chaps on the gates; let’s go over and see if they’ll let me take you in and show you round.

  ‘Yes, let’s,’ I agreed weakly. I was not clear what I had been expecting; but I was quite clear that I had not expected to be taken for a conducted tour round the Pool of London.

  My surprise must have shown in my expression, because he said mildly, ‘The embankment is a shade crowded at this time of the day; the nearest park will be intolerable; we can’t have a reasonable conversation in the street, and I can’t take you to my club, as the ladies’ room there is like a morgue. We could perhaps have got in a taxi and driven around, but I’m afraid I simply did not think of that until now. My car’s being serviced’ ‒ he smiled at me ‒ ‘so it’s docks or nothing. If my conversation bores you you can always watch the ships. I expect you like watching ships.’

  Very dimly some understanding of what was going on lit my mind. He was trying to show me that we were out of hospital, on equal terms, two ordinary people. To make certain
that I was right about this, I said, ‘And train engines. I spend all my off-duty watching the engine-drivers.’

  His smile deepened. ‘I see I should have taken you to Waterloo. I apologize. Now let’s see this cop.’

  The policeman at the gate recognized him at once. ‘Hallo, Doctor. Not sent for you, have they? I wasn’t informed.’ Jake explained that he was on holiday.

  ‘In point of fact, I’m on holiday for good as far as this place is concerned. I’ve finished my time in Martin’s. I go north to-morrow night.’

  ‘You leaving us, sir?’ The policeman seemed honestly sorry. ‘You don’t say. We’ll miss seeing you around. Been in and out of here many a time you have.’

  Jake said he was right there and would like to come in once more. ‘I’d like to take a final look round. And may I take this young lady in with me? We’re only taking a walk. We won’t go near any gangways or loadings; we merely want to look at the locks.’

  The policeman looked me over shrewdly. ‘The lady’ll be your wife, I expect, sir?’

  Jake said smoothly, ‘No, not my wife. Miss Standing is a nurse at St Martin’s.’

  The policeman relaxed and hitched his thumbs in his belt. ‘The lady from the hospital, doctor? Right. That’ll be all right. Which gate were you thinking of leaving by?’

  ‘We haven’t any specific plans. Like us to come out this way?’

  ‘If you would, sir. But if you get lost ‒ and there’s a good many who know these docks and still do that ‒ get the man on the gate you find to ring me up.’ He told us the number of his gate. ‘I’ll mention that you’re in to the Sergeant. Not that I reckon he’ll worry, seeing as you are both from the hospital. Miss Standing, wasn’t it, sir? Right. I thank you.’

  When we were a few yards inside the gates Jake said, ‘Martin’s name is an open sesame in this district.’

  ‘So I’m discovering. First in Bert’s; then here.’

  He did not answer directly. He was returning the wave of one docker, who was ambling by with a coil of old rope slung over his shoulder. ‘How’s the back, Dan?’

  Dan grinned, exposing a mouthful of nicotine-blackened teeth. ‘Mustn’t grumble, doctor. Lasting me time out nicely.’

  As we walked on I asked, ‘Do you have to come here often? Don’t they have a Port M.O.H.?’

  ‘Oh, yes; and a surgeon to every so many ships in port. See that chap there.’ He pointed to a large blue-and-white flag on one of the ships. ‘That’s the M.O.’s flag. They fly it to show where the surgeon is. It moves with him.’

  ‘Then why do you have a pass?’

  He said slowly, ‘For official and unofficial reasons. Being the nearest general hospital, we get called in officially to take all emergencies; accidents major and minor and so on. For no really good reason beyond tradition, the Port M.O.H. is generally an old Martin’s man; the present chap qualified when I did. He often rings up and says, “Come on down ‒ I’d like a second opinion,” and someone goes down. The S.M.O. and S.S.O. get official passes automatically; it saves a lot of fuss and bother on occasions when there is time to do neither. As most of the cases down here are straight accidents, I’ve probably been here more frequently than Spence. Wait a moment.’ We waited as he said, while a small file of open trucks rolled past us on one of the many sets of railway lines, then crossed over to the road on the far side as he continued. ‘I thought we might go over to that far lock. There’s a seat there some philanthropist built for the dockers, but none of them would ever dream of using it. They much prefer to hang around between ships by their braziers drinking tea. Good tea, too. Often had some.’

  The stone seat was built to the right of one of the long line of sheds. It directly overlooked the water in the now half-empty lock. As we sat down Jake looked round nostalgically; he looked as if he was taking a photograph in his mind.

  I asked, ‘Are you going to miss all this?’

  Slowly he turned to look at me. ‘Yes.’

  I could not look at him while he watched me. I looked at the water. ‘Have you worked in the north before? Do you come from there?’

  ‘No to both.’

  We were silent. The silence was agony. I had to say something. He seemed to have forgotten that he had torn me from my grill because he wanted to talk to me. I asked more about his new job. ‘Are you going to work in a hospital?’

  ‘Several hospitals. I’ve got the job of Consultant Surgeon to a Group.’ He mentioned which one. ‘It’s a good job and I was very lucky to get it. The competition for such jobs nowadays is cut-throat.’

  I said I had heard that was the case. I glanced at him again, and this time I could not look away. We seemed to be having two conversations; the unimportant one was the one we spoke aloud. ‘And you start the day after tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes.’ He removed his hat and laid it on the seat between us. ‘And you go back on nights to-morrow night?’

  I felt breathless. ‘Yes.’

  He said abruptly. ‘This is where we came in.’ Then he seemed to have run out of words. He took out his cigarettes, shook one from the packet, lit it, and inhaled hurriedly as if he needed the nicotine in his blood-stream, then realized that he had forgotten to offer me one, and did so apologetically. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t know that you smoked.’

  I accepted gratefully. I too needed a cigarette. ‘I don’t often.’

  He shut the packet carefully. ‘I didn’t know that,’ he said again, as if the matter was vital, ‘but then I don’t know very much about you, Rose. I do know that on occasions you can be idiotically scatter-brained, and on other occasions highly intelligent. I know that you are good at drawing, very gay, very pretty ‒ and so young.’ He looked down at the cigarette in his hand. I noticed that his cigarette was shaking slightly as he added quietly, ‘Does this worry you? Or can I go on?’

  ‘Please ‒ go on.’

  His grey eyes looked into mine, and I wondered how I could ever have thought them cold. ‘If I go on ‒ I have to tell you the rest. I have to tell you what I have wanted to tell you since you scooted down that basement last summer like a child scooting on a toy pram. I have to tell you’ ‒ his voice was very deep and nearly inaudible ‒ ‘that from the moment that I picked you up I have not once ceased to want to hold you in my arms again. It did not take me long to realize that I loved you, Rose ‒ and I love you now. I also realize how absurd all this must sound to you. I am so much older than you; we work in different spheres. You’ve got your own friends, your own life; and that you enjoy that life to the full is patently obvious. Even if it had not been obvious that you had no need of me I could not have told you this while I was S.S.O., as hospital etiquette completely tied my hands. I had to wait.’

  He sat back and dangled his arms over the back of the seat. ‘Normally I am a moderately patient man. I have not been at all patient about you. You see, I thought after first meeting you last summer that, as you were so young, there was plenty of time; and if I got an appointment in or near London when my time ran out I could do something tangible about getting to know you after I left. Then this northern job cropped up. It was too good to ignore. I applied ‒ and as I did not particularly want it ‒ I got it. Then I thought, I’ve got three weeks. Yesterday those weeks narrowed to three days and two of them would be useless, as you were technically my patient. You don’t,’ he added a little grimly, ‘tell your patient you love her unless you want to be struck off. Rather absurd under our given circumstances, I agree; but Martin’s is in many ways an absurdly conventional world. Which was why I made a point of handing you over formally to Mike Embry. You do follow that?’

  I nodded. I had no breath to spare in speech.

  ‘Having got that fixed up, I waited for this morning. The time was running out. You’ll have to be in bed by midday to-morrow, so it was getting down to twenty-four hours. That isn’t very long. I told you about ringing your Home. I did not tell you I rang you five times. And I could not get hold of you. They said you were out for the day on t
he last time I rang, so I gave up. Being careless and from force of habit, I wandered down to Bert’s. I often took refuge in Bert’s when the job got on top of me. Then, when I got there, I saw you through the window sitting at my table. It was almost ‒ as if you were waiting for me. I felt ‒’ He stopped and looked at the lovely lines of the great ship waiting at the far lock gates. ‘I can’t describe how I felt. Then I saw you were crying.’ He looked round at me. ‘Why were you crying? Martin’s upset you? Or Sister Margaret?’

  I simply sat and looked at him for several seconds. It was so wonderful to know I could answer honestly. I could not take in all he said, but I could and did believe him. I said, ‘No.’

  The lines on his forehead deepened. ‘Then ‒ why? Your hand? Let me see it,’ he asked, forgetting his fine sense of ethics.

  I removed my glove again and held my palm upward. ‘It doesn’t hurt at all.’

  He touched the scar. ‘Good union there. Looks all right.’ He handed me back my hand as if it was a parcel. ‘Then, why?’

  I said, ‘Because you had gone and hadn’t bothered to say good-bye.’

  ‘Because ‒ I ‒ had gone?’ He sounded as incredulous as I had been, and in a way still was. ‘Why?’

  I could not answer that. I shook my head stupidly.

  ‘Rose,’ he said gently, ‘I’ve told you ‒ I haven’t much time. I can’t deal with this sort of thing in letters, and I can’t say yet when I’ll be able to get back to London again. We must get this straight now. Why, when you have clearly disliked me for all these months, should you bother to weep because I’m going away?’