Last April Fair

by Betty Neels

  She crossed the room and rang the bell and when the unsmiling manservant came, asked him to let Miss Gaby know that she was wanted in the morning room.

  The first thing Phyllida thought when she saw Gaby was how very pretty she was, small and slim to the point of thinness and far too pale, with a cloud of dark hair to match her dark eyes. This thought was followed at once by a second one, that the girl looked far more ill than her parents had made out. She seemed a docile little creature too, replying meekly to her mother’s remarks about how much she wanted to go on holiday with them, and what she intended to do. But she offered no remarks of her own, although she smiled at Phyllida and went on smiling when her father said that she was a spoilt girl and had everything she could possibly want. He sounded very pleased with himself as he said it, and Phyllida wondered if he had stopped to think that having everything one wanted wasn’t much use if one wasn’t going to be alive to enjoy it.

  She stayed for another half an hour, asking questions as discreetly as possible as to her duties. It would be mostly companionship, she gathered, and the giving of Gaby’s medicines and pills, as well as a number of small routine tasks—temperature and pulse and blood pressure and making sure that her patient slept well. She rose to go presently, reiterating that she would want the case notes with her, and reminding the de Wolffs that the ship’s doctor would have to be informed. Gaby had gone with some small excuse so that Phyllida could speak openly now. A little uneasy because of the de Wolffs’ casual attitude towards their daughter’s illness, she said gently: ‘You do know that Gaby is very ill? I know it’s hard to believe—and you’re quite happy about her making this trip?’

  Mrs de Wolff’s charming smile slipped again. ‘Quite happy, Miss Cresswell,’ she said with finality. So Phyllida left it at that, only staying to arrange to meet them all on the morning of the sixth.

  ‘We shall be driving up,’ explained Mr de Wolff. ‘We’ll pick you up at the hospital, that will be the easiest way, I think.’

  They wished her goodbye, and the manservant ushered her out into the chilly March morning. She had driven for ten minutes or so when she said out loud: ‘Well, they could at least have offered me a cup of coffee!’

  She reached Salisbury by continuing along the same country road from the de Wolffs’ house, stopping on the way to have the cup of coffee no one had offered her, and once through Salisbury she made for London without waste of time.

  At the hospital she had the leisure to change into uniform, write out her resignation and present herself at the office. The Senior Nursing Officer was considerably astonished, but in the course of her long and successful career she had learned when not to ask questions. Beyond expressing a sincere regret at Phyllida’s decision to leave, she said nothing other than to wish her a successful future and advise her to give the office due warning as to the exact date of her departure.

  ‘You have a week’s holiday still, Sister Cresswell, and I expect you can arrange to add your days off to that. I shall have to appoint someone in your place, but in the meantime I think that Staff Nurse Jenkins is quite capable of carrying on. Do you agree?’

  ‘She’s very good, Miss Cutts, and the patients like her. The nurses work well for her too.’

  ‘In that case I see no reason why she shouldn’t apply for the post.’ Miss Cutts nodded kindly in gracious dismissal.

  Phyllida, speeding to the ward, felt intense surprise at what she had done. Probably if she had stopped to think about it, she would have decided against leaving, but now it was done she felt relief as well. She still had to see Philip and explain, but she would bide her time and choose the right moment for that.

  But the matter was taken out of her hands. He came on to the ward to take a look at a suspected duodenal ulcer which would probably need operation, and instead of leaving at once he followed Phyllida to her office, shut the door behind him and asked her quietly: ‘What’s this I hear about you leaving?’

  ‘Oh, dear—so soon?’ She turned to face him across the small room. ‘I only saw Miss Cutts half an hour ago and I haven’t told a soul—I was going to talk to you about it, Philip.’ She pushed her cap away from her forehead. ‘Not now, though—I’ve heaps to do.’

  ‘You’re off at five o’clock? I’ll meet you at Tony’s at half past six.’ He went away without another word, leaving her to wonder for the rest of the day if she had made the mistake of her lifetime. Even now, if he overwhelmed her…she wondered at the back of her mind if he felt strongly enough about her to do that. With a tremendous effort she dismissed the whole thing and attacked her work; there was enough of that to keep her mind off other things; the duodenal ulcer not responding to medical treatment; Mrs Gregson springing a mild coronary upon them; the young girl in the corner bed with undulant fever, so depressed that no one knew what to do next to get her cheerful again, and the sixteen-year-old anorexia nervosa next to her, taking precious time and patience with every unwanted meal…

  Tony’s was a small unassuming restaurant within five minutes’walk of the hospital and much patronised by the doctors and nurses. Phyllida arrived punctually and found a table for two by one of the windows. There was no view, only the drab street outside, and she sat staring at it until Philip slid into the seat opposite her.

  His ‘Hullo—shall we have the usual?’was uttered in his normal calm way and when she nodded: ‘And now what’s all this nonsense about leaving?’

  ‘It’s not nonsense, Philip. I’ve given Miss Cutts my notice and I leave in three weeks’ time—just under, as a matter of fact. And I’ve got a job.’

  Just for a moment his calm was shaken. ‘A job? So you’d arranged it all some time ago?’

  ‘No.’She explained carefully and added: ‘I’m sorry, Philip, I like you very much, I told you that, but the best thing to do is for us to stop seeing each other.’

  He said with faint smugness, ‘You’re afraid I’ll wear you down.’

  She stared at him, her blue eyes clear and honest. ‘I don’t know,’ she told him earnestly, ‘but if you did, it wouldn’t be right.’

  The waitress brought them the soup of the day and Phyllida studied it as though it was something of vital importance. Presently she said: ‘It’s difficult to explain, but when I marry I want to be so in love with the man that nothing else matters; there’d be no doubts and no wondering about the future and where we’d live or how.’ She looked up from her soup and gazed at him from under her fringe.

  ‘And you don’t feel like that about me? Phylly, grow up! You’re living in a fairy tale—there’s no such thing as that kind of love, only in romantic novels. I’m surprised at you, I thought you were such a sensible, matter-of-fact girl, with no nonsense about you.’

  Phyllida picked up her spoon and gave the Heinz tomato a stir. That was the trouble, she thought silently, he’d got her all wrong. She was romantic and full of nonsense; he had confused the practical, sensible young woman who ran the medical ward so efficiently with her real self, and looking at him now, she could see that he still thought it.

  He was half way through his soup by now. ‘Well, trot off if you must,’ he told her cheerfully, ‘and come back when you’re ready. I daresay I’ll still be here.’

  She sat silently while the soup was replaced by pork chops, frozen peas and a pile of chips which might have daunted any girl but her, who ate like a horse and never put on an inch. When the waitress had gone again, she said patiently: ‘I’m not coming back; this job is only for three weeks—I don’t know what I’ll do after that.’

  It annoyed her that he still looked complacent, but to say more wasn’t going to help. Deeds, not words, she told herself silently.

  ‘What is this job?’ he wanted to know.

  She told him, and being an opportunist, picked his brains. ‘I don’t know a great deal about it—I’ve never seen a case, though I’ve nursed one or two lymphoblastic leukaemias and they did rather well.’

  ‘This one isn’t likely to—it’s rare, so rar
e that there aren’t enough statistics, but it’s a terminal illness, I’m afraid. Have you got the notes yet?’

  ‘No. Sir Keith Maltby has been looking after her, but he’s in Scotland. Father will get the notes from him, though, he’s already telephoned him about it. He doesn’t object to Gaby going on this cruise—he says she can do what she likes provided her parents understand that the moment she shows signs of deterioration they must get her to hospital or fly her back without delay. The ship’s doctor will have all the facts; Mr de Wolff has undertaken to see about that. There’s plenty of money, I believe, so there’s no reason why anything should go wrong from that side of it.’

  As she spoke, she wondered uneasily why she didn’t quite believe what she was saying. Perhaps because she had taken a faint dislike to Mr and Mrs de Wolff—quite an unfounded one, based entirely on his brisk attitude towards his daughter’s illness, and his wife’s calculated charm. Phyllida gave herself a mental shake, agreed with Philip that it would be interesting to see Madeira and the Canaries even if her chance to do so might be limited, and then applied herself to responding suitably to his unshakable friendliness.

  It remained unshakable too for the next few weeks, and she felt guilty because she was unable to feel regret at her decision, largely because Philip made no secret of the fact that he expected her to come running once she had brought Gaby back home again.

  ‘Any ideas about the next job?’ he asked her airily. ‘A bit difficult while you’re away, isn’t it? It’ll mean an enforced holiday while you find something to suit you and then go after it. You might not get it either.’ He sounded so satisfied that she could cheerfully have thrown something at him.

  Leaving the ward was harder than leaving Philip, she discovered; she had grown fond of it during the last few years; it was old and awkward to work in and there were never enough staff, but she had loved the ever-changing succession of patients, and some of those, like old Mrs Gregson, were so upset at her going that she had promised that she would come and visit them the moment she got back from the cruise. Unthinkingly she had mentioned that to Philip and been furious with herself for doing so when she saw the knowing little smile on his face, smugly sure that she was making an excuse to return to the hospital and see him. She managed not to see too much of him, though, going home for her days off so that she might collect Gaby’s notes and listen to her father’s sound advice, as well as root around in her bedroom to see what clothes she should take with her. It would be warm for most of the time and last year’s summer dresses looked depressingly dull. She decided to travel in a jersey suit and the silk blouse she had bought in a fit of extravagance, pack some slacks and tops and buy one or two things in London.

  There was a nice selection of cruise clothes; her modest list lengthened as she went along the rails. In the end she left the shop with a new bikini, three cotton dresses, sleeveless and light as air, and because they were so pretty, two evening dresses, one in pink crêpe with not much top and a wide floating skirt, and the other of white organza. She wasn’t sure if she would have the chance to wear them, but there was no harm in taking them along. She already had a flowery-patterned long skirt and several pretty tops to go with it and a couple of short silky dresses from last year.

  She packed her bags, arranged to have the rest of her luggage sent home, bade goodbye to her friends at a rather noisy party after the day’s work, and retired to bed, but not to sleep at once. There was too much to think about—Gaby and her treatment and the still vague disquiet because she didn’t know too much about it, although the notes were comprehensive enough and her father had primed her well. Presumably the ship’s doctor would keep a close eye on her patient, and after all, her parents would be there. Slightly reassured, Phyllida allowed her thoughts to turn to Philip. She had contrived to bid him good-bye at the party, with people milling around them so that there was very little chance to say much. She had tried to sound final, but he hadn’t believed her. It was annoying and she worried about it, getting sleepier and sleepier until she nodded off at last.

  She left the hospital in some state, for the de Wolffs arrived for her in a chauffeur-driven Cadillac; it took up a lot of room in the forecourt and Phyllida, turning to wave to such of her friends who had managed to spare the time to look out of their ward windows, saw their appreciative grins. She got in beside the chauffeur after a final wave and caught Mrs de Wolff’s eye. It didn’t look in the least friendly and she wondered why, but she smiled at Mr de Wolff, and spoke to Gaby, who answered her eagerly and with encouraging warmth. Phyllida, a charitable girl who seldom thought ill of anyone, supposed Mrs de Woolff had had a trying time getting ready for their holiday. She settled herself in her seat, resolving to do her best to see that Gaby wasn’t only well looked after, but kept amused too, so that her parents could enjoy themselves too.

  They arrived at the dock with only a very short time to spare before embarking—done deliberately, Mr de Wolff explained, so that there would be no delays for Gaby in getting on board. Phyllida took her patient’s arm as they walked slowly up the gangway, for Gaby looked exhausted, then followed the steward up to the Sun Deck. They were to share a de luxe cabin and she looked around her with deep satisfaction; she was used to the normal comforts of life, but this was luxury. She sat Gaby down in a comfortable chair, noted with satisfaction that their luggage was already waiting for them, and took a quick look round.

  The cabin was large, even for the two of them, with beds widely spaced, a comfortable sofa, a table and two easy chairs. The window was large and the lighting well arranged and the adjoining bathroom all she could have wished for. It only needed a pleasant stewardess to offer to unpack for them to complete her satisfaction, but she declined this service and asked instead if they could have a tray of tea, for Gaby looked as though she could do with something of the sort. It was barely midday and Mr de Wolff had told her they would be going to the second sitting for their meals, still an hour and a half away; ample time to unpack, check unobtrusively that Gaby was fit to go to the restaurant, and try to get to know her better.

  They drank their tea without interruption. The de Wolffs hadn’t appeared; probably they realised that Gaby was tired and needed to rest. Phyllida unpacked for both of them, not bothering her patient to talk. After lunch she would search out the doctor, show him the notes and ask for any instructions he might care to give her. Gaby could rest on her bed in the mean-time. The girl looked fagged out and Phyllida frowned a little; the job was full of uncertainties and Gaby was a very sick girl. She wondered again if it had been wise of her parents to allow her to come on the cruise and then conceded that if the girl had set her heart on it and had so little time to live, they were only doing what any loving parents would want to do. It was a pity that Sir Keith hadn’t seen Gaby for some weeks, but the de Wolffs had said that he had agreed to the trip, so it must be reasonably safe for Gaby to go. Phyllida dismissed her gloomy thoughts and started to chat quietly, hanging away her patient’s lovely clothes as she did so.

  They shared a table with Mr and Mrs de Wolff at lunch, both of whom dominated the conversation, talking animatedly about the places they were to visit, the various entertainments on board and how splendid it all was for Gaby, who ate almost no lunch, replied docilely when she was spoken to, and attracted a good many admiring glances from the surrounding tables.

  Phyllida did too, although she wasn’t aware of it; she was too concerned about her patient.

  The meal was a leisurely one, passengers serving themselves from a long buffet of cold meats and salads, arranged in mouthwatering abundance. Gaby’s parents didn’t seem to notice that she was drooping with fatigue, so that Phyllida took affairs into her own hands and when the steward brought the coffee, excused both herself and Gaby, whisked her to their cabin, tucked her up on her bed, and went in search of the doctor’s surgery.

  It was three decks down, adjacent to a small hospital. The doctor was at his desk, a young man with a pleasant open face, talki
ng to the ship’s nurse. Phyllida took a dislike to her on sight and felt that the feeling was reciprocated; she didn’t like heavy make-up and brightly tinted nails on a nurse, nor did she fancy the hard blue eyes and tight mouth in what should have been a pretty face. However, her errand wasn’t with the nurse. She introduced herself briskly, stated her business and waited for the doctor to speak.

  He looked bewildered. ‘But I haven’t heard…’ he began. ‘I’ve had no information about this Miss deWolff. Perhaps you’ll tell me about her, Miss—er—Cresswell.’

  It took a little time, although she gave the information concisely and without personal comment. When she had finished he said thoughtfully: ‘Of course I’ll look after her and do everything in my power to help. You say she’s entered a period remission? Then it’s quite possible that she’ll be able to enjoy this cruise, to a limited extent, of course—and return home at least none the worse. May I keep these notes and study them? I’ll see that you get them back. Perhaps if I were to call and see Miss de Wolff…this evening, or later this afternoon after tea?’

  Phyllida agreed. ‘I thought we’d have tea in the cabin and then dress without hurrying.’

  ‘Very wise. I think you should suit your activities to her mood. You say she insisted on coming on this holiday?’

  ‘Well, yes, so her parents told me—perhaps it was just a flash in the pan; she’s not shown anything but a— a kind of docile acceptance.’

  The doctor rose to his feet. ‘Would you like me to talk to her parents?’

  Phyllida considered. ‘If when you’ve seen her you think it necessary, yes, please.’ She hesitated. ‘They seem to think that this cruise will put her on her feet again. They can’t accept…’

  ‘I know—it’s hard for people to realise. Miss de Wolff has no inkling?’

  ‘None that I know of, but I don’t know her very well yet. I’ll tell you if I think she has.’