by Sheila Burns
He had finished his drink and he rose. She knew that she had comforted him, and she had a hunch that if he did take this cruise ‒ and he must ‒ then he would give himself a big chance. He had worked too hard.
She was called out almost immediately to an accident, another child fiddling with his father’s bicycle chain, and with a badly cut hand. Perhaps whilst she herself worked, it helped her too. She was surprised to find that having broken with Chris had not left a vivid scar across her own heart, a jagged still bleeding scar which she would have expected.
She had a headache that night, which she attributed to worry, and went early to bed, but two hours later was out again to a stroke, and spent the rest of the night with the poor old man.
Yet she did the normal day when morning came, and did not feel too dreadful. She remembered a ward Sister who had once taught her that good hard work was far more curative than all the bottles of medicine in this world, and she was beginning to find this to be true.
The evening post arriving with her tea (Mrs. Hopkins was definite about insisting on a cup of tea every afternoon), brought a letter from Terence. She had not expected this. He enclosed two tickets for the exhibition, and said that he would be enchanted if only she would come up and see it. She did not know when a gift had charmed her more.
Curiously enough she did not turn down the thought of doing what he said, and going to it, she was entitled to the Saturday afternoon off. Never in her life had she been to an exhibition of modern pictures. The National Gallery, the Wallace Collection, and the Tate were the limits of her visits to date, and she played with the idea of going to see this one.
If work cooled down she would go, she told herself.
They say that the gods sometimes help the young, and they were helping her. That week-end the village was extraordinarily free of illness, and she had no further excuse left to her.
She told Sir Charles when she ran into him at the post office on the Saturday morning.
‘I’m actually going up to town to see Terence’s exhibition,’ she said.
‘Good for you! You’ll find London awfully hot after the fresh air in Kent, don’t forget that.’
‘It will only convince me how lovely Kent is, I’ll love it even more than I do now,’ she said.
She put on a cream silk frock, for the day was hot. She got into a fast train, which was lucky, but when she got out at Charing Cross station she had to admit that the heat seemed to be rising from the platform itself, and it was quite unbearable. Sir Charles had been so right when he had mentioned it. She walked out into the station yard.
Pigeons fluttered round her feet in the old familiar way, and she turned across it. It seemed to be quite ridiculous that a girl should live in London all through her training years, and yet so quickly forget how suffocating it could be; and yet how cold were its demands when winter came!
She turned into one of the quieter side streets, leaving behind her that crowded thoroughfare where people jostled one another, and there was the eternal drumming of traffic coming and going. She prayed that she would not start a headache. Just recently she had had three of them, a little more fierce than usual, and had attributed them to the fact that she had ended with Chris.
It takes real courage to end an alliance of this sort, and she had been in love with him. It could not go on, she knew she had done the right thing, but perhaps she still loved the ghost of the man, and this had brought about the headaches.
She came to the gallery and went inside.
There were quite a lot of people there, but it was airier than it was outside, for the fans were going. She entered the first big room and looked around her. Too many pictures, was the first impression that she got. Then when she moved along that changed, it seemed to slip away from her, and one by one she studied them.
She was attracted to the view of the valley. It was of somewhere like the garden of England, with cool trees clustering together by the road, and wearing the first light green of Maytime, that yellowish green which had such infinite charm. There was a field of wild marguerites in the foreground, and she had never realised how lovely marguerites could be. The sky was light blue, and there were hills in the distance. The scarlet ticket on the picture told her that it had already been sold.
She looked at the entry in the catalogue.
Springtime, by Terence Anderson, was what it said.
The price horrified her; she did not know that anyone could pay quite so much for a picture unless it bore the name of a great master.
She went to the next, also sold. It was called Summer, and was a small picture of a single rose. It was warmly pink, deeper so in its heart. It had two leaves with it, and a single thorn, and somehow the piercing sharpness of that thorn contrasted keenly with the romantic beauty of the rose. A single rose for summer, she thought.
That was when she heard his voice, and knew that Terence had come into the gallery, across the room, and now was standing a little behind her. She turned to look at him. Shorter than Chris, he had not the same good looks, but a warmth and a tenderness, an infinite kindness which was the attribute she most needed at this moment.
He came closer. ‘Somehow I thought you might be here. How lovely to see you, Claire!’
She felt completely at ease with him, which she had not felt with Chris. He could elate her, make her excited and thrilled, and then in the end disappointed. Terence did none of these things.
‘Terence, these two! They are wonderful pictures.’
‘Nice of you. I happened to love painting them, and therein lies the answer. I suddenly came upon that field of marguerites and knew that it could do something for me. I saw the rose and spent three whole days, never stopping, so that I could catch some idea of its beauty before it died.’
‘You’ve got its beauty.’
‘Both pictures gave me a delight to paint, and I always think that when that happens a man is on a cert. Now come and see the others, then let me take you back to my studio for tea.’
There was something different from anything else in her world, walking round the gallery and looking at lovely pictures. He had one of Bourton-on-the-Water when the snow was on the ground. He said that he had caught the worst cold of his life painting it.
There was the Vale of Evesham in plum blossom time, a picture of the Rhine which left her entirely breathless. Then they went out into the hot street and he drove her back to Chelsea in his car. It was one of those dream afternoons which come in life, and which give the impression of being entirely unreal, and that you will wake up and believe it could never have happened.
She thought that tomorrow her one regret would be that she could never have today again.
The studio was off Cheyne Walk; one slipped through an archway to it, and there was a big sweet-smelling clematis hanging against the wall. Its scent seemed to follow them. Before the front door was a small paved yard, the stones marked by feet which had come and gone. All round were the big old houses of Cheyne Walk, with ghosts haunting them, but somehow their height seemed to shut out the noise of traffic, so that it could almost have been the country itself.
Claire sank down on a big sofa.
He said, ‘I have ice cream in my refrigerator, would you rather have that than hot tea? I always think it is a fallacy to say that tea cools you in the long run. Or what about a fresh orange drink?’
He had the loveliest ideas, this fair-haired man of her own age, with the quietly shy eyes. He was growing on her rapidly, or had she always felt this tender emotion for him?
He brought the ice cream and they sat down on the sofa to talk. Claire told him about the cruise Sir Charles was contemplating, and he also thought it was a good idea.
‘It would help both of them.’
‘I wish that Mavis would marry.’
‘She won’t, you know.’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Mavis is one of those people who go through life nursing a grievance against being single, for it always happens
to people like Mavis. It makes them stay single. I am most sorry for her uncle,’ then he paused, ‘and how is your doctor friend? The dark-haired one?’
She drew in a long breath. It was as though again she had come to a point of decision. Did it still hurt too much to do anything save try to draw a curtain across it? Or could she speak the truth? ‘It’s over,’ she said, and was quite surprised that she could say it.
‘For good?’
‘Absolutely for good. I think it would have been the biggest mistake of my life. The fascinating lover is too often the most difficult husband. Chris has immense attraction, he is someone one wants to be with, but I am sure that he could never quench that flirtatious streak. Marriage would mean constant suffering for his wife. Maybe I’m wrong saying this, but it was suddenly brought home to me.’
Gently he said, ‘I’m glad that you found out. I was half afraid that you wouldn’t.’
‘But I did.’
‘You did the right thing, you know, but it was difficult and it takes unending courage to do that sort of thing.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Maybe the early part of your life led you into it. It does with some people.’
She did not know how it was that she could talk of the early part of her life, but suddenly she could. She had been the child who had always been lonely, and who had so longed for happiness. She had come into the hospital because she honestly believed that this was the work that she could do really well, and would love. She admitted that she had fought moments of despair at the unhappiness that she saw there. Moments of joy, too, as had been the moment when she had first met Chris.
She spoke of the tremendous help Sir Charles had been to her, her love for him, and her faith in his guidance.
‘And what does he advise you now?’ Terence asked. His eyes were unfathomable. Like some light blue sea in summer, which tells no secrets, and has forgotten storms.
‘To go slow, I think.’
‘You are still having trouble with the village men?’
‘It’s not so bad as it was. Do you know ‒ perhaps I did not realise it ‒ that recently it has not been so bad as before? I really do think so.’
‘Maybe you have come through the test time, and now it is going well.’
‘Perhaps. And I’m glad. They made it pretty wretched at the start.’
‘And Mrs. Heath!’ and he laughed.
‘And Mrs. Heath!’ she agreed. ‘I wonder what the future holds, because I would not want to stay on in the village for ever.
‘You’ll marry?’
‘I don’t think so,’ she said.
‘That is the aftermath of the affair with Chris. No more.’ He lifted her hand and laid his mouth to it and kissed the back of it as once he had done before. There was something of infinite significance about it, it made her catch her breath. ‘You are such a darling person,’ he said, ‘and I am so thankful that you have finished with the dark-haired doctor!’
Claire listened a trifle dully. She felt that today was widening the gap between herself and Chris, that she was starting something completely different, and something which had behind it complete happiness.
‘You’re very kind,’ she said.
When he spoke his voice was tender. ‘I suppose I fell in love with you the first moment after the crash. I came to, felt that awful pain, and then saw you standing there. I dreamt of you as being the angel who could stop the pain. I knew then that you were the girl whom I had always dreamt about.’
She wanted to say something, but no words came. They did not seem to be necessary. She had passed the crossroads in her life, and the road ahead was the very one that she had never dreamt could be there.
He said, ‘Maybe I am rushing my hurdles. I don’t want to do that, but there you are … I think I was in love with you from the first moment that I saw you, and somehow you never guessed.’
She said nothing.
He put an arm round her, and she knew that for no known reason she had started to cry. It was sheer joy. It was as if the world stood still, for they were hand in hand, and even if this was not the passionate emotion, the one which could turn her head, it was the hour when they walked into heaven.
Doctors and Nurses: 3-in-1 box set by Sheila Burns
Three medical romances from the 1960s in one box set. Romance and drama in medical settings.
Doctor Called David ‒ Can Valerie escape her past, or is history destined to repeat itself?
1966. After nurse Valerie Scott is found innocent of a terrible crime and released from jail, she turns to prison doctor David Graves for support. The offer of a new position as a private nurse to a kind and elderly couple seems the ideal chance to rebuild her life. But are the Goddards and their adopted son Gregory all that they seem? And can a doctor called David protect Valerie from a cruel twist of fate?
Dr Irresistible M.D. - Sharon wins a beauty competition but can she win a handsome stranger’s heart?
1962. Sharon’s life takes an unexpected turn when she wins a beauty competition. Then she crashes the prize car of her dreams, and is rescued by a mysterious, good-looking man. He is Glynn Rodwell ‒ Dr Irresistible. The chance of a Mediterranean cruise offers Sharon excitement and opportunity ‒ but if she takes it, will she ever see Dr Irresistible again?
The Eyes of Doctor Karl - Will Cherrie discover the truth behind the hypnotic eyes of a handsome doctor?
1962. While sitting in a traffic jam, Cherrie locks eyes with a dark and handsome man. That evening she reads about the strange case of Dr Karl Heineman whose patients have died in mysterious circumstances. Cherrie accompanies a newspaper reporter friend who is investigating the story. When they call on the doctor, she is surprised to find he is the man whose eyes she hasn’t been able to forget. As Cherrie is drawn closer into his world, will she discover the truth, and love, behind the eyes of Dr Karl?
All three novels previously published separately and now available in one box set.
Read Doctors and Nurses by Sheila Burns from Amazon UK
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Read Doctors and Nurses by Sheila Burns from Amazon Australia
Heartbreak Surgeon by Sheila Burns
1963. Nurse Lorna Vane makes some surprising discoveries when she takes up a private nursing job in Cornwall.
When Lorna learns that Dr Michael Bland, the ‘Heartbreak Surgeon’, is to marry another woman, she decides to leave St Botolph’s Hospital. She travels to Cornwall, to work as private nurse to a rich widow, Mrs Liskeard.
Lorna soon realises that caring for her new patient will present many challenges. Could it be that she and Mrs Liskeard’s nephew, Roger, have met before? And will a surprise newspaper announcement change how Lorna feels about the Heartbreak Surgeon?
A medical romance from the 1960s. Romance and drama from the author of the popular Doctors and Nurses box set.
Read Heartbreak Surgeon by Sheila Burns from Amazon UK
Read Heartbreak Surgeon by Sheila Burns from Amazon.com
Read Heartbreak Surgeon by Sheila Burns from Amazon Australia
The Flying Nurse by Sheila Burns
1967. Nurse Mandy Thwaites travels to Malta to care for her ill stepfather. But nursing her patient proves to be more complicated than Mandy could ever have imagined.
After passing her exams and qualifying as a nurse, Mandy is looking forward to a short rest. Then her bossy mother insists that Mandy fly to Malta and look after her sick husband, Cam Sykes.
At the airport, Mandy meets dark and handsome Luis Vella. She doesn’t realise then that this Maltese man will play a big part in her life on the island.
Cam is dangerously ill, but seems more concerned about a mysterious business deal. As Mandy tries to nurse him back to health, she discovers secrets and romance on the enchanting island of Malta.
A medical romance from the 1960s. Romance and drama from the author of the popular Doctors and Nurses box set.
Read The Flyi
ng Nurse by Sheila Burns from Amazon UK
Read The Flying Nurse by Sheila Burns from Amazon US
Read The Flying Nurse by Sheila Burns from Amazon AUS
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