The Nightingale Christmas Show

by Donna Douglas

  She laid down her fountain pen and sat back in her chair with a sigh. Poor Miss Davis. Irritating as she might be, it wasn’t her fault that Kathleen was so weary.

  Perhaps Miss Hanley had a point. Maybe the reason she found it so difficult to warm to the Assistant Matron was because she reminded her of how she had once been, before the war sapped her of her energy and her will.

  ‘I suppose you think I was too hard on her?’ she addressed the air of her book-lined office. But the leather-bound volumes on the shelves remained stubbornly silent. The only sound was the wind outside, shivering the branches of the plane trees in the courtyard.

  Kathleen took the letter out of her top drawer to read through it again. The job offer could not have come at a better time. She was weary, and she had achieved as much as she was going to at the Nightingale. Now it was time to hand it over to someone else. Someone who might be able to make a difference.

  Why don’t you write the letter now, if you’re so set on leaving?

  She put the letter away and closed the drawer. There would be time enough to write her resignation another day. For now, she had to get on with the duty rosters before Charlotte Davis arrived to nag her yet again.

  After she had come off duty that evening, Kathleen met Violet and they took a taxi up west to Charing Cross. Kathleen could feel the tension leaving her as they left Bethnal Green, heading for the city of London.

  ‘I’d forgotten how good it feels to get away from the hospital for a while,’ she said, massaging the stiff muscles in the back of her neck.

  ‘It sounds as if you’ve had a hard day?’ Violet smiled sympathetically. She looked different out of her uniform, her make-up subtly enhancing her beautiful bone structure and the darkness of her eyes. Her stylish red coat contrasted with her sleek black hair. Violet had always dressed well, even when clothes were hard to come by, thanks to a wardrobe of elegant, expensive outfits from the life she had once had, but now never liked to talk about.

  ‘Every day is hard at the moment.’

  ‘Oh dear. Any particular reason?’

  Kathleen caught her friend’s look of concern and forced a smile. This was a rare night off for both of them; it would be wrong to burden her with all her troubles.

  ‘Take no notice of me. I’m just feeling a bit under the weather, that’s all.’

  ‘It sounds as if a night out might be just what you need,’ Violet smiled.

  ‘You may be right.’ Kathleen looked out of the window at the buildings of the city rumbling past. She tried not to notice the ugly gaps where the Luftwaffe had left their mark, and instead concentrated on the great dome of St Paul’s looming ahead of them. Despite the German air force’s best efforts, it had remained miraculously intact. A sure sign that God was on their side, some said, even though it hadn’t always felt like it when the bombs were raining down and half the city was ablaze.

  ‘Isn’t it lovely to see the streets all lit up again?’ she said, changing the subject. ‘It’s so festive.’

  ‘You wait until we get to the Strand,’ Violet said. ‘The shops and restaurants all look so lovely, I nearly cried when I first saw them.’

  Kathleen saw what she meant when they got out of the taxi at Charing Cross. To see lights in shop windows and all the Christmas displays lifted her heart. They had lived in darkness for so long, stumbling along the streets in the blackout, with nothing but the dimmest of torchlight to show the way. But now the lights seemed dazzling in every window, more than making up for the lack of Christmas wares.

  Violet crossed the road towards the station and led the way down a narrow little street that ran down to the Thames. Kathleen caught a whiff of dank river water and hesitated.

  ‘Are you sure you know where we’re going?’

  ‘Of course.’ Violet tucked her arm in Kathleen’s. ‘Come on, it’s this way.’

  They picked their way carefully down the cobbled street, following a throng of other well-dressed people all heading in the same direction. There certainly seemed to be quite a crowd there, pouring towards what seemed to be a domed railway arch set into the brick wall.

  Kathleen and Violet had visited the Players Theatre Club several times during the war in their old premises in Mayfair, and some of the players had been kind enough to travel out to the East End to entertain the military patients at the Nightingale. Now the club had a new home, and Violet had managed to get tickets to the opening night.

  ‘I didn’t realise it was going to be such a grand affair,’ Kathleen said, as they finally managed to squeeze inside and handed their coats to the cloakroom girl.

  ‘Oh yes, it’s quite an occasion. I’ve heard there’s already a waiting list to become members here.’ Violet looked around at the sea of bobbing heads. ‘You never know, we might spot someone famous. Or someone we know, at any rate.’

  As it turned out, they didn’t see any famous faces. But Kathleen hardly cared because the show was so entertaining. Act after act took to the tiny stage, and she soon forgot her troubles as she laughed at the comedians’ lively patter and sang along to the old Victorian music-hall songs, clutching the song sheets they had been given on the way in. Suddenly the Nightingale, Miss Davis and her future in Lancashire seemed a long way away.

  But all too soon it was time to go home.

  ‘Thank you for suggesting I come out with you tonight,’ she said to Violet as they left the theatre and stepped into the freezing night.

  ‘It was such fun, wasn’t it? I loved that woman who led the singing, all dolled up in Victorian garb and a huge feathered hat.’

  ‘Oh, that hat! I thought she was going to poke the conductor’s eye out when she bent over! And the things she came out with!’

  ‘She was a bit saucy, wasn’t she? It was like watching Marie Lloyd herself.’

  ‘I do love a bit of old-fashioned music hall,’ Kathleen sighed. ‘There’s nothing quite like a good laugh and a sing-song to make you feel better.’

  Violet smiled. ‘Remember the Christmas shows we used to put on at the hospital for the patients before the war?’

  ‘How could I forget? I think Mr Hopkins’ endless monologues might stay with me forever.’

  ‘Oh heavens, yes! The Head Porter and his recitations. But he wasn’t the only one trying to hog the limelight, was he? Do you remember the ward sisters’ choir, and how Miss Trott always insisted on having a solo?’

  ‘“Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming”?’ Kathleen rolled her eyes at the memory. ‘She sang it every year.’

  ‘And it never got any better, did it? No one had the courage to tell her she couldn’t sing, until Miss Hanley said she sounded like a cat sliding down a blackboard by its claws!’

  ‘Miss Hanley always was rather blunt!’ Kathleen smiled.

  ‘Perhaps we should do it again?’ Violet said, as they stood shivering on the Strand, waiting for a taxi.

  ‘Put on a Christmas show, you mean?’

  ‘Why not? I’m sure we could get some of the staff to join in if we asked them. They always used to be keen, as I recall. In fact, I’m sure the performers enjoyed it more than the audience!’ Violet grinned. ‘Go on, it would be such a tonic.’

  Kathleen considered it. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said. ‘Heaven knows, I think we could all do with something to lift us out of the doldrums.’ She smiled. ‘As you say – why not?’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ Violet said. ‘Although I would suggest we try to dissuade Mr Hopkins from yet another monologue …’

  But Kathleen was no longer listening. She had caught sight of a face in the crowd spilling out of Villiers Street opposite. He was arm in arm with a woman in an extravagant fur coat.

  For a moment Kathleen could only stand there, pinned to the spot by a lightning bolt of long-forgotten emotion. She wanted to look away but somehow she couldn’t drag her eyes from his face.

  And then, as if he knew he was being watched, he suddenly turned and looked at her, and she saw her own shock mirrored on his
handsome face.

  The woman noticed her, too. Her eyes narrowed, then the next moment she was making her way determinedly across the road towards them, dragging her companion with her.

  Kathleen was consumed with the sudden urge to run away. But it was too late; she could only stand there helplessly as James Cooper and his wife approached.

  ‘Why, Mr and Mrs Cooper!’ Violet greeted them with delight, unaware of the tension. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

  ‘Good evening, Miss Tanner. Miss Fox.’ James nodded, his eyes not meeting hers.

  ‘Mr Cooper.’ Kathleen’s body was as stiff as a marionette’s. ‘Mrs Cooper.’

  ‘How delightful to see you again.’ Simone Cooper’s voice was husky, with a hint of her native French accent. She was a brittle beauty, darkly exotic, with hooded eyes and jet-black hair caught up in a brocade turban. ‘Have you been to the club, too?’

  ‘Yes, we have.’ Violet answered for her, as Kathleen’s tongue seemed to stick to the roof of her mouth. ‘Such fun, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was amusing, I suppose. But a little too vulgar for our tastes, I am afraid,’ Mrs Cooper simpered. ‘We prefer opera, don’t we, darling?’

  Especially Puccini. Kathleen remembered a recital they had attended, sneaking away together one afternoon, creeping into the back of the concert hall after the music began so that no one would see them arriving together.

  ‘I had no idea you were back in London?’ Once again, it was Violet who spoke up.

  ‘We returned last week.’ James found his voice at last, his eyes still not meeting Kathleen’s.

  She had often wondered how she would feel when she saw him again. She had hoped that after all these years she would manage to be cool and civilised. But now she realised she was fooling herself. She only had to glance at him and all her feelings for him came rushing back in a wave that threatened to engulf her.

  ‘But only for a few days. We have some matters to settle before we leave,’ Simone said.

  ‘Leave?’ Kathleen blurted out the word before she could stop herself.

  ‘That’s right.’ Simone turned to her, her eyes dark under finely arched brows. ‘Didn’t you know? We’re moving to America.’

  Kathleen held herself rigid. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘No, I didn’t know.’

  ‘My husband has been offered a job as a senior consultant at a hospital in New York,’ Simone went on. ‘It couldn’t have come at a better time. I’m so tired of this country, and all the dreadful shortages. Besides, James’s talents are wasted here. It will be a new start for us, won’t it, darling?’ She clutched his arm tighter, gazing adoringly up at him.

  A new start. That was what they were supposed to have. James had wanted them to run away together, and Kathleen had been writing her resignation letter when the bomb went off.

  That bomb had changed everything. Kathleen had decided to stay in London and help put the Nightingale back together, and James had gone down to the sector hospital in Kent. That had been four years earlier, and their paths had not crossed since.

  What would her life have been like if that explosion hadn’t happened? she wondered. Perhaps she might be the one clutching James Cooper’s arm, planning her new life in America.

  ‘We’ll miss you, won’t we, Miss Fox?’ Violet’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘Yes,’ Kathleen managed to reply. ‘Yes, we will.’

  ‘I daresay you will.’ Simone sent her a considering look, her long, thin fingers still curled possessively around her husband’s arm. Did she know about their affair? There was something, almost pitying, in her expression.

  You tried, her look seemed to say. But you were a fool, and now he’s mine again.

  At that moment a taxi approached. Desperate to escape, Kathleen stepped into the road to flag it down, just as a car went through a puddle, sending an icy arc of slush over her.

  ‘Oh no!’ Violet cried. ‘You’re soaked.’

  ‘Here, let me—’ James moved towards her but Kathleen jerked away from him.

  ‘No! It’s only water, I’m sure it will come off.’ As she brushed herself down, Kathleen looked up and caught the look in Simone Cooper’s eyes.

  Oh yes, she knew.

  ‘Bad luck, Miss Fox,’ she said softly.

  First thing the following morning, Kathleen sent for Miss Davis. While she was waiting for her, she went through the duty rosters the Assistant Matron had left on her desk. She knew Miss Davis would be bound to ask for them the moment she walked in.

  She had just finished going through them when there was a knock on the door.

  ‘Come in.’ Kathleen heard the door open, and without looking up, she said, ‘You’ll be pleased to know I’ve looked at the rosters, and—’ She glanced up and found herself staring into the piercing blue eyes of James Cooper.

  ‘Hello, Kath.’ It was so long since she had heard him say her name. His deep voice always made it sound like a caress.

  Her breath stopped in her chest. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I had to come and see you. I wanted to apologise for what happened last night.’

  ‘Apologise?’

  ‘You shouldn’t have found out that way.’ He paused. ‘I swear I was going to come and see you before I left. To explain—’

  She looked down, straightening the rosters with shaking hands. ‘You don’t owe me an explanation.’

  ‘I owe you that and a damn sight more!’

  Kathleen looked up at him as he stood over her. His dark hair was threaded with grey, but he was still as handsome as a film star. The nurses always used to swoon over him when he did his rounds.

  But it wasn’t just his good looks she had fallen in love with. Behind that handsome face was a sensitive, intelligent and fiercely passionate man.

  The thought of the passion they had shared brought an uncomfortable heat to her face and she looked away sharply.

  ‘You don’t owe me anything,’ she said. ‘It’s all in the past. It’s over. We said all we had to say to each other four years ago.’

  ‘Did we?’ Kathleen shrank back in her seat as James leaned forward, planting his hands on the desk. He was so close she could feel the warmth of his body, the male scent of him. ‘Did we really, Kath? Did it really end there?’

  ‘I – I don’t know what you mean—’

  ‘I think you do. Last night, when I saw you again, I felt something between us. And you felt it too, didn’t you?’

  ‘You’re wrong—’

  ‘Look at me now and tell me that you feel nothing for me.’ His blue eyes burned into hers. ‘Look at me, Kath! Tell me you don’t still love me.’

  Her gaze slid away to her fingers, still clutching the rosters as if her life depended on it. ‘Stop it,’ she begged. ‘You mustn’t talk like that.’

  ‘Why not? I’ve spent four years pretending it never happened, trying to forget you. But I can’t, and I never will. Those few weeks we spent together were the happiest I’ve ever been. You don’t know how often I’ve thought about you, wished we could have run away together when we had the chance.’

  ‘So have I.’ There was no point in denying it, Kathleen knew. James could see into her soul.

  ‘So why can’t we? When I saw you last night, I realised you felt the same, that there might still be a chance for us.’

  ‘How can there be? You’re leaving.’

  He sighed impatiently. ‘Why do you think I’m going to America, if not to get away from you?’

  ‘I – I don’t understand—’

  ‘I’ve been dreading seeing you again, Kath. I wasn’t sure I could cope with coming back to the Nightingale, knowing I would have to see you every day. Knowing I still loved you. But now I know you feel the same—’ He paused. ‘I don’t have to go. I’d stay, if you wanted me to.’

  She stared at him, shocked. ‘You’d do that?’

  ‘I’d do anything for you, Kath. You must know that?’

  ‘But your wife—’


  ‘Simone and I stopped loving each other a long time ago. I’m useful to her, that’s all. If I wasn’t here I know it wouldn’t take her long to find someone else to take my place. God knows, she’s tried hard enough during our marriage!’ He reached across the desk and seized her hand. ‘What do you say? Can we start again? We’ve tried to do the right thing, now surely it’s time for us to be happy.’

  His words were like darts, piercing her skin. The intensity in his eyes frightened her, and Kathleen had to fight for composure. ‘I – I don’t know what to say—’

  ‘Then say yes!’ His fingers tightened around hers. ‘I asked you once before and you turned me down. Now I’m asking you again. One last chance for us. What do you say?’

  Kathleen felt her mouth go dry, her strength of will ebbing away from her. ‘I—’

  Suddenly the door burst open, breaking the spell.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come straight away, Matron, I was – oh!’ Charlotte Davis stopped dead on the threshold and looked from Kathleen to James and back again. ‘I beg your pardon. I didn’t know you had company—’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, what have I told you about knocking?’ Guilt and tension made Kathleen snap.

  ‘I’m sorry, Matron.’ Miss Davis started to retreat.

  ‘No, it’s quite all right,’ James said. ‘I’m leaving now, anyway.’ He glanced at Kathleen. ‘I’ll be leaving on Christmas Day. If you need to speak to me before then, just send word. You know where to find me—’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Cooper, I’ll remember that.’ Kathleen stared down at the desk, fighting for composure. She did not dare look up again until she heard the door close. Then, when she finally dragged her gaze from her blotter, it was to see Miss Davis standing over her, prim as ever.

  ‘I beg your pardon, Matron,’ she said quietly. ‘I didn’t realise you were busy …’

  Kathleen studied the Assistant Matron’s face, but her expression was carefully neutral, giving nothing away.

  She glanced at the door, still trying to work out what had happened. Had James Cooper really just come in and turned her carefully ordered world upside down all over again?

  ‘You asked to see me?’ Miss Davis prompted her, her voice clear in the silence.