A Match for Sister Maggy

by Betty Neels

  ‘Did you want me, sir?’

  He didn’t answer her question, but said shortly, ‘My mother’s asleep.’ He stretched out an arm and took the off duty book from her and studied it carefully. Maggy asked in an annoyed voice,

  ‘Is there something you wish to know, Dr Doelsma?’

  ‘Yes, there was,’ he answered cheerfully, ‘but I’ve seen all I want, thank you.’ He gave the book back into a hand rendered nerveless with vexation, but made no effort to go.

  Maggy filled in another name and then asked, ‘Would you like tea, sir? It’s early, I know, but perhaps in Holland you drink tea at a different time from us.’

  ‘Probably. But I must point out to you that I am a Friesman, and not a Hollander, and proud of the fact—just as you, I imagine, are proud of being a Scotswoman. The Friesians and the Scots have mutual ancestors, you know.’

  Maggy didn’t know, and said so, adding, ‘How interesting’ in a cold voice which he ignored.

  ‘How’s Mrs Salt?’ he enquired.

  Maggy put down her pen in a deliberate manner. He seemed bent on engaging her in conversation, however unwilling on her part, so she said civilly, ‘The path lab results came back yesterday—and the X-rays show an infiltration into the oesophagus—a blueprint of your lecture.’

  ‘May I see her notes?’ He was serious and rather remote now. She got the notes and X-rays and answered his questions sensibly. At length he handed them back to her, saying, ‘A blueprint indeed, Sister, which bears out your question, does it not?’

  She nodded. ‘It’s strange that a condition as rare as this one should coincide with your lecture.’

  They discussed technicalities for a few minutes, and she surprised him with her sharp brain and knowledge used with so much intelligence.

  ‘Could you spare time to come and see Mrs Salt?’ he suggested. ‘Not to examine her, just a social visit.’

  They walked down the ward to the old lady’s bed. She had no visitors—she had been a patient for so long that the novelty of coming to see her had worn off—and she hailed Dr Doelsma with delight.

  ‘Cor, if it ain’t Dr Dutch ‘isself!’ She extended a hand, which he observed had become more transparent, and if possible thinner than it had been a week ago. Her lively black eyes snapped at him, however.

  ‘Don’t feed me a lot of codswallop about getting better, doctor. I ain’t a fool, no more I’m a cry-baby, though I’ll be fair mad if I don’t ’ave me birthday.’ She turned her penetrating gaze on to Maggy. ‘Goin’ to ’ave a cake, ain’t I, love?’

  Sister MacFergus, replying to this endearing form of address, smiled and said, ‘Yes, Mrs Salt, a cake with candles, so you’d better be good and do as you’re asked so that you’ll be able to blow them out. There’ll be presents too.’ she added.

  The old lady brightened. “Oo from?’

  Maggy smiled. ‘That’s a secret, but I can promise that you’re going to get quite a lot of parcels.’

  ‘Suppose I don’t last, love?’

  Maggy didn’t hesitate. ‘Mrs Salt, I promise you that you shall have a birthday party.’

  The old lady nodded, satisfied. ‘Right yer are. You’re coming, young man?’ She turned briskly to the doctor.

  His eyes widened with laughter. ‘No one’s called me young man for years! How nice it sounds. For that I shall bring you a birthday present. Will you choose, or shall it be a surprise?’

  ‘I’ll ’ave a pink nightie with lots of lace,’ she replied promptly. ‘It’ll cost yer a pretty penny; d’yer earn enough to buy one?’

  He didn’t smile, but answered gently, ‘Yes, Mrs Salt, I do, and you shall have it—on condition that you wear it at the party.’

  ‘O’course I shall! A bit of a waste on an old woman like me, ain’t it? but I always wanted one—more sense ter give it ter Sister ’ere. She’d look nice in it, I reckon.’

  Maggy kept her eyes on the counterpane, and concentrated on not blushing, but was well aware that Dr Doelsma was studying her with interest and taking his time about it.

  ‘Yes, very nice, Mrs Salt,’ he murmured, ‘but she’ll have to wait for her birthday, won’t she?’

  He said goodbye then, and they turned away. Madame Riveau, in the next bed, had visitors. Her husband and son sat one on each side of her; they looked, Maggy thought, as though they were guarding the woman in the bed. She wished them a good afternoon as she passed, and was surprised when they both got up and walked over to her. Subconsciously she recoiled and took an instinctive step towards the doctor, who looked faintly surprised but remained silent.

  The older man spoke. ‘I wish to take my wife home. You will arrange it?’ It wasn’t a request but a demand, couched in an insolent tone and awkward French.

  Maggy stopped. ‘I’m sorry, Monsieur Riveau; you must arrange that with the doctor. Your wife is almost better; please let her stay for another week.’

  The younger man had joined his father. ‘My mother is not to have her teeth X-rayed or drawn.’ There was an ill-concealed dislike in his voice.

  Maggy glanced at him briefly, refusing to be intimidated. Dr Doelsma had remained silent, but his presence gave her a good deal of courage.

  ‘Your mother is in pain; surely she may decide herself?’

  His small black eyes glared at her. She couldn’t understand what he said, but evidently the doctor could. He stopped him and began to speak in a voice Maggy hadn’t heard him use before; it was cold and hard and full of authority. He spoke in fluent French which she couldn’t hope to follow, and she watched the two men cringe under it. When the doctor had finished, they made no reply but looked at Maggy with hate in their eyes, and went back to the bed.

  Maggy stood irresolute, but Dr Doelsma tapped her on the shoulder in a peremptory fashion, and she found herself, rather to her own surprise, walking meekly beside him down the ward. By the time they had reached her office, however, she had begun to feel a slight indignation. He had had no right to interfere when she was discussing her own patients; the fact that she had been very glad to have him there while he talked with those two awful men had nothing to do with it. Standing by her desk, she said stiffly,

  ‘Thank you for your help, although I am usually judged capable of dealing with matters concerning my patients.’

  She was vexed to hear her voice shaking. She was enraged still further when he laughed.

  ‘How pretty you are when you are angry! I’m sorry you are annoyed with me. Was I very high-handed? You didn’t understand what that man was saying, did you? Shall I tell you, or will you take my word for it that he was crude and disgusting? If we had been anywhere else but a hospital ward, I should have knocked him down.’

  She looked startled and contrite. ‘I didn’t understand him, you were kind to…to stop him. Thank you.’

  ‘Why are you afraid of them?’

  ‘Oh! How did you know—did they see…?’

  ‘No, they did not. I don’t blame you for disliking them. I found them most repulsive.’ He smiled. ‘Am I forgiven?’

  ‘Yes, of course, sir. I’m sorry I was rude.’ She looked at him anxiously. He was still smiling—she remembered that he had smiled on the day of the lecture and said quickly in a brisk fashion, ‘Now I’ll be helping Nurse with the teas. The visitors will be going…’ She got as far as the door.

  ‘My mother complains bitterly that she has hardly seen you all day. Could not the green-eyed blonde help with teas while you come into Sep? She has proved a poor substitute for you, Sister.’

  She bristled. ‘Nurse Sibley is a very competent nurse.’

  Their eyes met; his were dancing with laughter.

  ‘Indeed yes, Maggy. But that isn’t what I meant.’

  She found she had been ushered out of the office and across the landing into Sep and heard herself telling Nurse Sibley to go the ward and help with teas. She seemed to be doing exactly what the doctor wished her to do. She remembered Sir Charles’ words, and made a resolve to be very much firmer in
the future.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DR DOELSMA went back to Holland during Sunday night, and the ward seemed a very dull place without him. Maggy felt a thrill of excitement when Sir Charles mentioned in a casual manner that Paul would be visiting his mother at the end of the week. Nevertheless she felt constrained to change her off-duty so that she would be absent from the ward on that day. Staff Nurse Williams looked at her as if she was out of her mind.

  ‘Sister! Dr Doelsma’s coming—he’ll get here about two o’clock and he’s going again in the evening. You’ll miss him.’

  ‘Well, that can’t be helped,’ said Maggy reasonably. ‘I promised I would go and see this friend of my mother’s and it just so happens that she wants me to go on Friday.’ She smiled at Williams. ‘You can cope with anything that may crop up, and Mevrouw Doelsma is so much better now, I think she’ll do. Besides, Dr Doelsma thinks you’re a very pretty girl, and you know you’re delighted to be seeing him.’

  Williams giggled, ‘Well, Sister, he is marvellous!’

  So Maggy spent her day with elderly Miss MacIntyre, who hadn’t seen her for a number of years and treated her like a schoolgirl; they went for a walk in the park, and changed the library books and discussed knitting patterns, and she went back to the hospital in the evening, wondering if she would be like Miss MacIntyre in forty years’ time.

  Rather to her surprise, the next morning, Williams gave her the report without mentioning Dr Doelsma, but as Maggy closed the report book her staff nurse opened a cupboard and produced an opulent box of Kersenbonbons, and laid it on the desk.

  ‘He brought these,’ she breathed. ‘I said you weren’t here, and he said how nice it was to see me again, and he gave me these and I told him I’d give them to you, and he said No, they’re for the nurses, Sister will get something next time I come—but we thought we’d save them for you all the same.’

  A small lump of hurt feelings settled in Maggy’s throat, but she swallowed it resolutely.

  ‘That was sweet of you all, but you take them and divide them up amongst you—Dr Doelsma might feel hurt in his feelings if ye didna’ do as he asked.’ She got up from her chair. ‘Sit down now, Staff, and do it this minute.’ She smiled at the other girl. ‘I’m off on my round.’

  As she went she told herself that it was her own fault anyway that she hadn’t been on duty. Staff had said that he was coming again on the following Sunday—it was her free weekend in any case. The thought put her in mind of the amount of work she had to do, and she resolutely put all thoughts of the doctor out of her mind.

  When she got to Mrs Salt’s bed, she found that old lady in a gossiping mood.

  ‘Yer missed ’im,’ she informed Maggy. ‘And now it’s yer weekend, ain’t it, love, so yer won’t see ’im then either. But I ’eard ’im asking Staff if you was on duty next Thursday evening, and she said Yes, and ’e says Good, I’ll be along then. So you’ll see ’im then.’

  Maggy straightened a pillow. ‘Is that so, Mrs Salt? And I’ve just remembered that I’ll have to change my off duty on Thursday. Isn’t that a pity?’

  She turned to the next bed, and found Madame Riveau sitting up in a chair. She would be going home very soon now, but she looked ill and spiritless. Maggy eyed her swollen jaws but remained silent. It was to be hoped that the woman would go to her own dentist as soon as she got home. She asked a few questions of her, but her answers were surly and unwilling, so she left her and went on down the ward and finally into Sep.

  Mevrouw Doelsma smiled at her from her pillows, and Maggy thought how pretty she was now that she was better and had some colour in her cheeks, and a faint sparkle in her eyes.

  ‘Maggy, Paul missed you yesterday. He expected you to be on duty.’ Maggy went across the room and adjusted the blind, then said, with her back to her patient,

  ‘I changed my off-duty at the last minute.’ She smiled over her shoulder.

  ‘And you won’t be here tomorrow either?’

  ‘No, it’s my weekend, but Staff is very efficient…’

  Mevrouw Doelsma looked at Maggy’s rather nice back view. ‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you to lose a minute of your free time, but I’m selfish enough to like you here all the time. Oh well, he’ll be over again on Thursday. You’ll be here then, won’t you?’

  Maggy hesitated; she didn’t like telling lies. ‘Well, I usually am.’ She achieved the half truth, feeling guilty.

  She spent the weekend trying to think of a good excuse for changing her evening off. It was nothing short of a miracle that Williams should come to her during Monday and ask if she could possibly have Wednesday evening free. Maggy breathed a sigh of relief and, taking care not to appear too pleased, agreed.

  Wednesday evening was fairly quiet. She did the medicine round and started the report before going to supper, and when she came back went to see Mevrouw Doelsma, who was sitting up in bed, ready for someone to talk to. She looked rather excited, Maggy thought, as she tidied her pillows, she supposed that she was pleased because she was making such good progress. Another two weeks and there would be talk of her going home. It was almost eight-thirty. She switched off the ceiling light, leaving the little bedside lamp burning, and went to the door and opened it, then turned round again to say,

  ‘I’m going to give the report, Mevrouw Doelsma. Ring if you want anything; I’ll be in to say goodnight later.’ She stepped backwards on to a foot, and didn’t need to hear the chuckle above her left ear to know whose it was. A very large gentle hand clipped her round the waist.

  ‘And do you number me among your enemies that you trample me so ruthlessly under foot? At best a poor way of greeting me after almost two weeks!’

  She stood within the circle of his arm, fighting to breathe normally.

  ‘Ye ken well you’re no enemy of mine, Dr Doelsma—and I didna’ expect ye.’

  He dropped his arm and she turned to face him with what dignity she could muster.

  He smiled at her. ‘No, you didn’t, did you, Sister MacFergus? I should have warned you not to try the same trick twice.’

  She opened her mouth to speak, but only succeeded in making a small choking sound.

  ‘That’s right,’ he said kindly. ‘I wouldn’t say anything you may regret later. And if you want to know how I found out, I have no intention of telling you.’ He looked down at his well brushed shoes. ‘Aren’t you going to say you’re sorry? I’m in great pain…’

  Maggy laughed, ‘Oh, Dr Doelsma, what’s to be done with you?’

  ‘I’m open to suggestions,’ he murmured.

  Maggy frowned. ‘Yes, well,’ she said briskly, ‘I’ll away to give the report.’ She smiled at Mevrouw Doelsma and swept past him without a glance.

  He went over to the bed then, kissed his mother, and tumbled a pile of books on to the bed-table. ‘I’ve been to see Uncle Charles,’ he said. ‘He’s very satisfied, Mother. If we can get Maggy to accompany you home, I should think you could go in a fortnight. You’ll have to lead a quiet life for several weeks, you know.’

  He drew up a chair, and they became immersed in plans.

  There was a subdued hum of voices coming from behind the shut door of the office. Maggy opened the door and stood looking around her, too surprised to speak. The night nurses as well as Sibley and Sims were there, feverishly arranging a vast number of red roses into vases. Sibley looked up when the door opened, and said. ‘Sister, Dr Doelsma asked us to put them in water—he brought them for you.’

  Maggy closed her mouth, which had dropped open. ‘But there are dozens. They can’t all be for me, there must be some mistake.’

  ‘No, Sister. He said, “These are all for Sister MacFergus.” There’s six dozen of them,’ she added in an awed voice.

  ‘How nice.’ Maggy’s voice sounded faint in her own ears. ‘Thank you for arranging them.’ She sent the day nurses off duty, and sitting in a bower of roses, gave the report. After she had done a round with the night nurse she went back to the office. Th
e little room smelled delicious, she crossed the landing to Sep and went in. The doctor unfolded himself from his chair.

  ‘I hear that my mother’s progress is excellent, Sister.’ He looked and sounded exactly like any other consultant—friendly, cool and remote.

  She answered suitably, sedately, wished her patient a good night and went back to the door, feeling awkward. He opened it for her, and stood back politely, waiting for her to pass through. She stopped in the doorway, and raised her eyes to his, she sounded breathless.

  ‘The roses are beautiful, thank you, Doctor. But I think the nurses mistook your message to me. They’ll be for all of us and the ward too?’

  ‘Your nurses made no mistake, Sister. The roses are for you.’

  ‘But there are six dozen of them, Doctor; ye canna mean to give me seventy-two roses?’ She looked at him, bewildered.

  ‘Indeed I do mean it, Sister MacFergus.’

  ‘I’ve never had such a lovely bouquet in my life before,’ she said naïvely. ‘I love red roses.’

  ‘I’m glad. There’s some charming poetry written about red roses,’ he observed.

  She was very conscious of him watching her while she thought. It didn’t take her long to remember. She went pink and said,

  ‘Aye, I expect so; I don’t read poetry much—no time, that is.’ She was becoming incoherent.

  ‘Oh, come,’ he said easily, ‘everyone learns poetry at school. What about, “My love is like a red red rose”?’

  ‘Well, yes, I’d—’ She had been going to say that she had forgotten it; but she hadn’t. ‘There must be any number…such a lovely colour…and long stems…’ She looked rather wildly at him.