Nana re-entered the room bearing a plate of hot scones, while Mrs. Miles brought up the rear carrying the tea-tray which she set carefully on the table. “Now is there anything else you want?” She gave a quick look at the table. “Mind you ring if there is anything I’ve forgotten.”
“Now there’s a pleasant body for you!” Nana exclaimed as she began to fill the cups. “And her Mary is a jolly little girl, as polite and pretty as you please.” She prepared a sandwich for Terry and filled his mug with milk, then drew up a chair. “Come along, dear, and sit up nicely to the table ... Mind you eat your tea properly and no nonsense now—remember what I told you!” she added in firm tones as she pushed his chair closer to the table.
As Jill drank her tea and ate hot scones and listened to Terry’s happy chatter—interrupted with Nana’s constant reminders that he ‘eat up like a good boy’—it seemed that the whole scene was strangely familiar, as if she had sat at this very table and acted in the same way many times before. Even the room was taking on an air of homeliness, and in the gathering shadows its hard, unfriendly lines were softened and it enveloped her with warmth and friendliness.
“Am I too late for tea?”
Jill recognized Duncan McRey’s presence with a sense of surprise; she couldn’t imagine why. Surely it was the most natural thing that he appear in his own house, particularly as he had not yet welcomed his guests? With a feeling of uneasiness almost amounting to guilt, she made to rise. “I ... I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Sit down ... don’t let me interrupt you.” He restrained her as she pushed back her chair and drew another up to the table, then seating himself, went on speaking. “Bad habit I seem to have of creeping up unheard.” His eyes twinkled with laughter while he greeted Nana and Terry in turn. “Well, young man, how is the appetite?”
This seemed to be Nana’s cue, and without giving the child an opportunity to reply, she gave full vent to her feelings. “Far from good, Doctor. I’ve warned him how angry you’ll be. He pecks at his food, doesn’t attempt to eat a meal properly.”
Listening to the conversation, Jill was amazed how readily Duncan McRey managed to quell Nana’s eloquence without hurting her feelings. It seemed that, if he cared to exert it, he had a way with adults as well as children! Jill knew his dislike of discussing its failings in a child’s presence, and with remarkable tact he successfully turned the conversation to more general subjects.
When tea was at last finished, Nana addressed Jill. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll pop along and unpack a few things. Perhaps you won’t mind keeping an eye on Terry for a while. I expect he’s tired. I’d like to get him to bed in good time.”
Clambering down from his chair Terry crossed over to Duncan McRey. For a moment he hesitated as if uncertain, then lifting his wide blue eyes began boldly: “You ‘member saying you’d mend my engine, you promised, if I were good. I were very good, so I’ve brought my engine for you to mend.”
“Of course I hadn’t forgotten. I must certainly have a look at it tomorrow.” Duncan McRey smiled down into the eager little face which, at his reassuring words, had immediately lost its expression of indecision.
“Not to-morrow!” Terry shook his head. “I’ve waited a terrible long time. Can’t you do it now?” Anxious to clinch the matter, Terry hurried across the room to where his coat lay folded on a chair and returned triumphantly with the engine held aloft between his two podgy hands. “I got it here! I didn’t pack it in case it got more broken. I carried it on my lap all the way.” He thrust the toy into Duncan McRey’s hands: “Mend it ... please,” he implored.
“Well, it’s certainly out of union hours, but I’ll see what can be done!” His long fingers were already probing the miniature motor attached to the engine. “You run along to my study—the room right opposite—and bring the little brown box from the table by the window ... It’s heavy, it’s got tools in it, so carry it carefully.”
“I will.” With an air of importance Terry hurried from the room, but it was not until he was well out of earshot that Duncan McRey spoke again. “Made wonderful progress hasn’t he? A week or two here and he’ll be as fit as a fiddle.”
“I was so delighted when I saw him,” Jill admitted. “He may have lost a little weight, but otherwise I wouldn’t know he’d been ill.”
“He’ll soon get that back with Mrs. Miles’ cooking. I’m even getting a little fearful of my own dimensions.” He laid his hands speculatively on the waistline, then added more seriously: “It’s a pity to take too much notice of his disinclinations for food, the child isn’t ill now. He doesn’t need tempting, his appetite will return far more quickly if he is left alone.”
“I know,” Jill agreed. “But Nana is always inclined to worry...” She broke off then added: “This room looks so nice and homely, I can’t think what you’ve done to it.”
“Nothing at all! Don’t you realize that it’s the occupants who make the room?” Duncan McRey laughed meaningly and Jill was glad that Terry’s re-entry, with the tool box clutched carefully in both arms, saved any need of reply. She wouldn’t have known what to say and was glad to remain silent. As she watched the two of them—those two who meant more to her, each in his different way, than anyone in the word—a lump rose in her throat, and the picture they made with their fair heads close together, bent over the broken toy, quickened her heartbeats.
“I think you’re very, very clever.” Terry spoke with a touch of awe in his tone as he watched Duncan McRey’s hands manipulate the minute parts of the motor.
“You mind that screw, young man. If you lose it we are sunk.”
Terry replaced the screw, with which he had been fidgeting, on the arm of the chair, linking his hands behind his back continued to watch with rapt attention. “Will you know how to put all those things back again?” There was a note of anxiety in his tone as he saw his beloved engine come apart piece by piece.
“I sincerely hope so. Anyway, you’d better give me a hand; pass me those big screws first...”
For the next few minutes there was hardly a word spoken while Terry waited for his engine to resume some semblance of its former state. Even Jill, the repair completed, found herself waiting with bated breath as Duncan McRey inserted the key, and she was sure that her excitement was almost as much as her small brother’s when the motor responded immediately with a most satisfying whirr.
“Oooh ... lovely! ... Thank you!” Terry clutched the toy to his heart and exclaimed ecstatically: “Uncle Duncan, I think you are the cleverest person in the world, and I love you an awful lot. I’m awful glad Jill’s got you here, ‘cos I was always afraid she might be lonely. It’s so far away. Jill loves you, too. She told me so,” he ended with an air of deep satisfaction.
Duncan McRey’s attention appeared to be fully concentrated upon the child standing at his knee. “Then I am a very lucky man.” He now turned deliberately in Jill’s direction, an enigmatic smile playing round the corners of his lips. “You know she had never told me that.”
Jill had seldom felt more uncomfortably self-conscious in her life. She was sure that her very confusion must betray her; she made every effort to regain some measure of composure as she addressed Terry. “Darling, you shouldn’t say such things. You know you are just making it all up.”
“No I aren’t,” Terry insisted stubbornly. “You must ‘member, you told me yourself, honest you did.”
Jill cast an agonized glance at Duncan McRey, but he seemed entirely unperturbed; in fact, to her horror, rather amused. “The ideas that children get ... it’s really silly.” She knew her words sounded forced and stupid, but she was at a complete loss what to say without becoming more deeply involved. “I’m sure it must be nearly your bedtime.” That at least seemed a happy solution, but Terry was not to be so easily silenced.
“Nana hasn’t called me yet.” He rewound his engine and listened to the motor with obvious satisfaction, then continued: “Don’t you really ‘member when I was ill you told me
you loved Uncle Duncan, and you’d be ever so lonely here wivout him?”
Of course she had! ... just to cajole the child. Jill realized now that further argument would be futile, and as she struggled to find a diverting subject, Nana’s welcome form appeared in the doorway. Jill had never been more pleased to see Nana in her life.
“Bath’s ready, Terry,” Nana announced. “So hurry up and say ‘Good night’.”
Terry shook hands solemnly with Duncan McRey, then gave Jill a tight hug. “Night night, Jill. You’ll come and see me to-morrow, won’t you?”
“Not in the morning, you’ll be busy exploring with Nana, but in the afternoon I’ll come over again. I’ll stay with you from two to four, that’s two whole hours.” As the door closed behind Nana and the child, Jill rose. “I’d better be going along myself now. Thanks for a wonderful tea—and everything.”
“You can’t go yet ... What about a drink? Children can be somewhat exhausting. I’m sure you need a pick-me-up before you leave.”
Jill was sure she could detect a hint of underlying laughter in his words, but since he was already producing bottles and glasses from a side cupboard, she felt it would be ungracious to refuse. Seated again before him, a glass of sherry in her hand, she knew that she hadn’t really wanted to leave. In her heart she could not bear to deny herself one moment of Duncan McRey’s company. His attitude towards her had changed. Of that she felt so sure ... the way he spoke ... the way he looked at her ... Jill lowered her head over her glass fearful of the tell-tale flush in her cheeks. If only she dare believe that one day he might love her as she loved him. Terry’s childish treble resounded in her ears. What embarrassing things the child had said, she couldn’t help wondering what interpretation her companion could have put upon them. Summoning her courage she lifted her face to him. “I’m afraid Terry comes out with some unexpected remarks. I can’t think where he hears them; he is far too much with grown-ups.” She forced a laugh.
“Yes, that is a pity ... I imagine you mean that I mustn’t accept his statements without reserve?” His eyebrows were raised, and there was a quizzical expression in his blue eyes as he asked the question. His lips, too, were curved into a half smile, that gentle, kindly smile which Jill had grown to love.
She hesitated, unsure of herself. Despite everything his expression remained inscrutable, and she still harboured a fear that he might be laughing at her. “One says things without thinking to pacify a sick child.” Again her laughter sounded forced and unnatural. His eyes still held hers, and although she could not understand their enigmatic expression, she was conscious of a sense of elation.
“Then I mustn’t pay too much attention to Terry’s assertion...?”
The sudden ring of the doorbell interrupted his words. Its strident sound was unexpected, and to Jill it was as if a spell were suddenly broken. As from a great distance she heard voices in the hall, the opening of the door, then became aware of Harriet standing framed in the aperture.
Duncan McRey rose instantly to his feet. “Hallo, Harriet, come along in, you are just in time for a drink.”
“Don’t say I’m too late to see Terry?” She turned enquiringly towards Jill. “Has he gone to bed already? ... And I hurried over as soon as I could.”
“I’m afraid so.” Jill was surprised at the steadiness of her voice. “I think Nana packed him off a bit earlier than usual, he has had a tiring day.”
“Oh, well, I must try and see him to-morrow.” Harriet seated herself on the wide arm of Duncan McRey’s chair. When he returned with her drink she made no effort to move, declining the chair which he had pulled up for her. “No, don’t bother, I’m only staying a moment ... don’t disturb yourself for me. Come back to the armchair.”
He reseated himself while Harriet remained perched on the arm, her hand resting on the high back of the chair for support. “What is the hurry?”
“I’ve got to get back to have a final word with Dick Fahr about one of his cases. I mustn’t be long, he has his train to catch.”
“I’ve never spent any time with Fahr when he hasn’t been rushing off to catch the train.” Duncan McRey laughed. “I hope I shan’t live in a perpetual, train-catching state when I move to town.”
“The service is so bad,” Harriet grumbled. “Except at business hours ... Even then it’s a bit erratic.” She sipped her sherry. “Nice stuff ... Where did you get it, Duncan. It’s the best I’ve tasted in a long time.”
“A grateful patient!” He stretched out for the bottle and refilled her glass. “What about you, Jill?”
The use of her Christian name seemed so natural, yet its very familiarity confused her. “No, thanks...” She set down her empty glass. “I really should be going.”
“Wait a moment, I want a word with you. We’ll stroll back together.” Harriet suggested, then turned again to Duncan McRey. She was so close to him that her arm brushed his shoulder, and as she leaned forward to address him she rested her hand on his coat-sleeve.
Jill found herself watching them covertly. How easily Harriet approached him, with such a natural air of intimacy. Her mother’s words came back to Jill in all their full implication, and it was as if her heart ceased for a moment to beat. It couldn’t be true, it couldn’t! But as Jill looked across again to the armchair a feeling akin to panic engulfed her. Supposing her mother had been right? Did some deeper understanding exist, between these two, something more than mere friendship? Had she mistaken his recent more friendly attitude towards her for something stronger, born of her own intense desire that it might be so? But that night on the beach ... Was it an illusion or had his lips brushed her forehead? Jill shivered. Perhaps it had been no more than a caress from the sea, the soft wind lifting a tendril of her hair...
“I really must go.” Jill rose to her feet with an abrupt movement. “No ... please, don’t get up. I can find my own way.” She waved Duncan McRey back. “Please, I’d rather...” Before he could reach her side or Harriet could detain her, she had nodded a brief farewell to them both and hurried from the room.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As Jill looked round her ward on Christmas Eve it did not need Brenda’s assurance to tell her that the decorations were delightful and the tree a sight to gladden any child’s heart. Apart from a few snatched hours with Terry, she had worked, hard, and now, although already well past the hour when she usually left the ward, there were still things to be done before she could close her office door behind her and seek the tranquility of her own room.
It was unusual for Jill to be on duty late, and an atmosphere of peace and quietude—rarely met with during the daylight hours, lent the ward an air of unfamiliarity. Most of the children, happily exhausted by the unusual diversions of the day, lay sleeping in their cots, some with their arms flung over the covers in the abandon of sleep and others with their heads buried deep in their pillows with only a tuft of hair showing above the sheets. One or two moved restlessly in their dreams, perhaps dwelling on the promise of the morrow, the image of the tree, with its laden branches still visible in their unconscious thoughts.
“We’d better be getting on.” Brenda’s whisper recalled Jill to the present. “I don’t know how you feel, but my back is almost breaking, and we’ve still got those sweets to parcel up ... I’ve tried to work it out: I think we can allocate about a dozen to each child...”
Although Brenda went on speaking Jill scarcely heard what she said. Her thoughts were still elsewhere. A hundred conflicting ideas turned round incessantly in her mind.
At the door she paused to look back along the ward. The shaded lights reflected the white coverlets on the beds, and the branches of the tree, dominating the centre of the ward, cast long shadows across the polished floor. The coloured fairy bulbs were, as yet, unlighted, but the ceiling lamp, although shaded, caught the loops of silver tinsel and the coloured glass decorations scintillated like myriads of diamonds. From some distance—probably at some point outside the main building—the carol singers h
ad started on their round, and the melodious and satisfying sound of “Good King Wenceslas” came clearly across the night. Jill felt strangely stirred. It was all so familiar, and yet, even in its familiarity, deeply moving.
“Come on,” Brenda urged. “Let’s try and get clear before Night Sister turns up. You know what a chatterbox she is, we’ll never get away once she starts talking.”
Recognizing the wisdom of the remark, Jill moved away and let the swing doors of the ward close to behind her. She felt unable to define her own emotional reactions to what was, after all, a routine of her nursing years. Somehow this Christmas seemed different, and although its spirit stirred her, she remained aware of a sense of depression. She knew it to be wrong ... even unjustified. Terry’s presence during the past two days should have filled her cup to overflowing, his stay was proving a greater success than she had ever dared hope, and she had never known Nana so contented nor Terry so uproariously happy. She had managed to see so much of them, too. Being so very near made it possible to spend every spare moment with him and, at Duncan McRey’s suggestion, she was having most of her meals in Terry and Nana’s company. She knew the futility of probing into her unhappiness. For the first time in her life she knew jealousy in all its crude reality, felt its tearing pain every time she thought of Harriet and Duncan McRey.
“What’s the matter, Sister ... are you tired?” Brenda asked as Jill sank dejectedly into her chair, a long-drawn sigh escaping from her lips.
To Please the Doctor Page 18
