by Betty Neels
‘Nice—the children will love it.’ She glanced at a folder on her desk. ‘I see you’ve been working in a nursery school, just the kind of person we need here.’ She smiled at Daisy. ‘Lots of dirty work, though.’
‘I don’t mind that, Sister.’
‘Good. Come and meet Maisie—our other orderly.’
Maisie was on her hands and knees clearing up a toddler’s breakfast porridge which had been hurled away in a fit of childish pique. She came upright, beaming from a round and cheerful face. ‘’E’s at it again, Sister,’ she observed without rancour.
‘Naughty boy,’ said sister. ‘Maisie, here is Daisy, your new partner.’
‘’Ello, love, am I glad to see you—one pair of ’ands don’t go far with this lot.’ She looked Daisy over in a friendly way. ‘Like kids?’
‘Yes,’ said Daisy.
‘You and me’ll get on fine,’ declared Maisie. ‘’Elp me clear the breakfast things and I’ll tell you what’s what as we go.’
Daisy had never been so content; the ward was a happy place despite the sick children in it and she had spent the day clearing up messes, sorting clean linen and bagging mountains of soiled sheets and small garments, going to and fro with meals, making Sister’s coffee and listening carefully to Maisie’s advice. Maisie was a treasure with a heart of gold and endless patience. The nurses were nice too; she might not be one of them but she had been made to feel that she was part of the team. Daisy blessed the unknown authority who had seen fit to send her to the children’s unit. Going down to her short tea break, she wondered who it was.
The unknown authority was sitting in Sister Carter’s office, going over his small patients’ case-sheets and drinking strong tea from a mug. Presently he glanced up. ‘The new orderly—she’ll settle down?’
‘Daisy? Oh, yes, sir. A nice little thing. You recommended her, didn’t you? Not quite our usual sort of girl but she has a way with the children and our Maisie assures me that she’s a good worker. She’s at tea—did you want to see her?’
‘No. My sister employed her as nanny to her children and she needed to have a job near home. Now, what are we going to do with baby George? He had better have another X-ray. I have to go back to town this evening but I’ll speak to Dr Dowling before I go—I shall be away for the rest of this week.’ He got up to go. ‘Thanks for the tea.’ As he went through the door he saw Daisy’s pink-clad person disappearing into the ward.
It was late evening when he left the hospital and drove himself through the city, through the medieval gates of the cathedral close and parked before his house. It was a very old house, but like many of its neighbours had a Georgian front with an important pillared door and a charming transom over it. He let himself in and was met in the hall by a tall, bony woman of uncertain years, whose sharp-nosed face lighted up at the sight of him.
‘There you are, sir. And there’s your dinner waiting for you, and eat it you must before you go to London… I’ve packed your case and there’s messages for you—’ She was interrupted by a deep-throated barking. ‘That’s Belle, in the garden with all the doors shut, but she knows it’s you.’
‘Sorry I’m late, Mrs Trump. Give me five minutes, will you? Thanks for packing my bag; I’ll join Belle for a moment—I could do with some fresh air.’
The doctor opened a door at the back of the square hall and went into a fair-sized walled garden behind the house, to be greeted with ecstasy by a golden Labrador. He bent to fondle her ears and then strolled round the small garden still bright with autumn flowers until his housekeeper called from the door and they both went inside to the dining-room, its walls panelled, the mahogany table and sideboard gleaming with polished age, silver and glass gleaming in the soft light of the wall-sconces. He ate his solitary, deliciously cooked meal without waste of time, had coffee at the table and, accompanied by Belle, went to his study to collect up those papers he wished to take with him. It was a pleasant room at the back of the house, its walls lined with books, its leather chairs large. His desk was large too, every inch of it taken up with case-sheets, folders and a mass of reading matter. It looked a splendid muddle but he put his hand on what he wanted without hesitation, put it into his briefcase and went up to his room to fetch his bag.
Downstairs again, he went through the door beside the graceful little staircase and found Mrs Trump loading the dishwasher. He let Belle into the garden and addressed himself to his housekeeper.
‘I’ll be away for the best part of the week,’ he told her. ‘I’ll ring you later.’ He smiled at her. ‘Take care of yourself.’ He whistled to Belle and presently got into his car and drove himself away. It would be late by the time he got to London but the drive would give him time to think. Rather against his will he found he was thinking about Daisy.
Daisy was thinking about him too. She had been on tenterhooks all day expecting to see him on the ward, but there had been no sign of him, nor had his name been mentioned. ‘And a good thing too,’ she muttered to herself. ‘The less we see of each other the better; he unsettles me.’
Luckily, when she got home her thoughts were happily diverted by a letter from Philip, home on leave in Bristol and asking if he might drive down to Wilton and see her. A day out together, he suggested in his neat handwriting, or failing that could they meet for a meal? If she would like that could she phone him and perhaps something could be arranged.
Her mother and Pamela, apprised of the contents of the letter, were enthusiastic. ‘Phone him now,’ urged Pamela. ‘You’re free this weekend, aren’t you? Well, say you’ll spend the day with him. Wear the good suit. Debenhams have got a sale on; see if you can get a top to go with it—one of those silk ones, you know, short sleeves and a plain neck; you can borrow Mother’s pearls…’
Philip sounded pleased when she phoned. Saturday, he suggested with flattering eagerness. They could drive out into the country and have lunch. He assured her that he was looking forward to seeing her again and to exchanging their news. Daisy put down the receiver feeling a faint glow of pleasure.
Before she slept that night she lay thinking about Philip; it would be nice to see him again—he was a very pleasant companion and they got on well together, which thought somehow reminded her that she and the doctor didn’t get on well at all. Surprisingly, it wasn’t Philip in her sleepy thoughts, but Dr Seymour, his handsome face vivid under her eyelids.
Naturally enough, she saw no sign of him during that week. There were a number of children under his care and a youngish man with a friendly face came each day to see them. Daisy, cleaning the bathrooms with Maisie, asked who he was.
‘’E’s Dr Dowling, registrar to Dr Seymour—keeps ’is eye on the kids when ’is nibs isn’t here.’ Maisie gave her a sidelong glance. ‘Got a boyfriend, ’ave you, Daisy?’
‘Me? No…’
‘Go on with you, a nice girl like you.’
Daisy thought of Philip. ‘Well, it’s true, though I’m going out on Saturday with someone I met a little while ago in Holland. Just for lunch.’
‘Holland, eh? Been to foreign parts, ’ave you? I’ve always fancied a bit of travel meself. Is ’e a Dutchman, then?’
‘No, he just works there; he’s on holiday.’
Maisie was mopping the floor. ‘Our Dr Seymour, ’e goes over to Holland once in a while—very clever, ’e is, with the kids. Tells other doctors what to do.’
That sounded like him all right, thought Daisy, arranging the tooth-mugs in a neat line on their appointed shelf. She squashed an impulse to talk about him and instead suggested that she should go to the kitchen and get the trolley ready for the dinners. ‘Unless there’s something you’d like me to do first, Maisie?’
‘You run along, Daisy, and get started, then, and lay up a tray for Sister at the same time, will you? She likes her pot of tea after her own dinner.’<
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Saturday came at last. Daisy got up early and dressed carefully. She had found a plain silk top to go with the suit, very plain, round-necked and short-sleeved, but if they were to go to the kind of restaurant where she would be expected to take off her jacket it would pass muster. The pearls gave it a touch of class, or so she hoped. Carefully swathed in one of her mother’s aprons, she got the breakfast, saw to Razor’s food and sat down with her mother and Pamela to boiled eggs and bread and butter.
‘Let’s hope you get a smashing lunch,’ said Pam with her mouth full. ‘Any idea where you’re going?’
‘Not the faintest. If he hasn’t been to Salisbury before I dare say he’ll want to look round the cathedral.’
Pamela looked horrified. ‘But that’s not romantic.’
‘I’m not expecting romance,’ said Daisy. She had the ridiculous idea that if it were Dr Seymour and not Philip it would have been romantic in a coal hole. She frowned; really she was allowing the most absurd ideas to run through her head. She helped clear the table, made the beds and did her hair again and then went downstairs to wait for Philip.
He arrived punctually, greeted her with pleasure, drank the coffee her mother had ready and led the way out to his car. It was a small, elderly model, bright red and nice but noisy. Daisy got in happily enough. Philip had no wish to see the cathedral; instead he had planned a trip down towards the coast, through Fordingbridge and Ringwood. A friend of his had said that there was a good pub in Brockenhurst where they could have lunch. ‘We could go on to Beaulieu but I don’t suppose there would be time for that; I have to get back this evening.’
‘Yes, of course; come home to tea, though.’
They were almost on the outskirts of Salisbury when the doctor, driving the other way, passed them. Neither of them noticed the Rolls slide past them but he, even in the few seconds allowed him, had a clear view of them both laughing.
Less than ten minutes later he drew up before her home, got out and banged the knocker. Mrs Pelham came to the door, beaming a welcome.
‘How very nice to see you again!’ she exclaimed. ‘Did you want to see Daisy about something? Such a pity you’ve just missed her.’ She opened the door wider. ‘Do come in and have a cup of coffee; I’ve just made some.’
‘That,’ said the doctor at his most urbane, ‘would be delightful. I’m on my way to see my sister.’
Mrs Pelham looked past him. ‘Is that a dog in the car? Yours? Bring him in, do. Razor won’t mind.’
‘Her name’s Belle; she’s very mild. You’re sure—er—Razor won’t mind?’
‘Our cat. He has a keen brain, so Daisy says, but he’s bone-idle.’
They sat over their coffee, with Belle at her master’s feet and Razor sitting on the corner of the mantelpiece for safety’s sake, and since the doctor was at his most charming Mrs Pelham told him all about Philip coming to take Daisy out. ‘All the way from Bristol,’ she observed. ‘They’ve gone down towards the coast—I told Daisy to bring him back for tea. He seemed a nice young man.’
‘Indeed, yes,’ agreed the doctor, at his most amiable. ‘I met him while I was at the Hague—a sound young man.’ He put down his coffee-cup. ‘I must be on my way.’
It was only as he was at the door saying goodbye that he asked casually, ‘Daisy is happy at the hospital?’
Mrs Pelham said happily, ‘Oh, yes, and now she’s been moved on to the children’s ward—your ward?—I dare say you’ll see her.’ She hesitated. ‘But of course she’s an orderly; I don’t suppose you talk to them.’
He said gravely, ‘Well, I don’t have much contact with anyone outside the medical or nursing profession. I must look out for her, though.’
‘Yes, do,’ said Mrs Pelham. ‘I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you again.’
He agreed pleasantly, reflecting that delight was the last thing he expected to see on Daisy’s face.
In the car, he assured himself that it was because Daisy was so unwilling to like him that he found her so often on his mind. She appeared to have got herself a possible husband too. There was nothing wrong with young Philip; he would be an ideal husband in many ways, reliable and hard-working with little time for romantic nonsense. ‘Well, if that’s what she wants…’ he muttered so savagely that Belle lifted an enquiring ear.
It might have been a relief to the doctor’s feelings if he had known that Daisy had never once thought of Philip as a husband. If she had had a brother she would have liked him to be just like Philip—easygoing and cheerful, a good companion. She was enjoying herself enormously; there was a great deal to talk about, mostly about his work in the Hague and his hopes for the future, and at Brockenhurst they had found the pub without difficulty and had a ploughman’s lunch, and presently drove on to Lymington, parked the car on Quay Hill and walked the length of the High Street and then down to the shore to look at the sea.
‘We must do this again,’ said Philip as he drove back later. ‘I’ve got two weeks. Are you free every weekend?’
‘I have to work every fourth weekend. That’ll be in two weeks’ time—I’ve been sent to another ward and the off duty’s different.’
‘I’m going to Cheshire to spend next weekend with friends and I’ll be gone before you get your next free weekend. Could I come and see you at the hospital?’
‘Heavens no. I mean, not just like that—I suppose if something really urgent happened and someone needed to see me about something.’ Daisy shook her neat head firmly. ‘Otherwise not.’
‘I’ll be home for a few days for Christmas; we must see each other then.’
He gave her a brotherly grin and she said, ‘Yes, that will be nice.’
They had a splendid tea with her mother and Pamela, and Mrs Pelham, if she hoped for signs of a romance, was very disappointed; nothing could have been more prosaic than Daisy’s manner towards Philip, and he, thought Mrs Pelham sadly, was behaving like a brother.
He left soon after tea, unknowingly passing the doctor’s Rolls once more in one of Wilton’s narrow streets, happily unaware of the frowning scrutiny that gentleman gave him as they slowed, going in opposite directions. The doctor had spent several hours in his sister’s company, had a civil conversation with his brother-in-law, obligingly played a rousing game of snakes and ladders with his nephew and niece and had pleaded an evening engagement as soon as he decently could, and now he was driving himself back to his house in the close. He had a consultation at the hospital on Monday morning and there was no point in going back to London. He had no engagement; at the back of his mind had been the tentative idea that it might be pleasant to take Daisy out to dinner and use his powers of persuasion to stir up her interest, even liking, for him. Only an idea and a foolish one, he told himself and greeted his housekeeper with tight-lipped civility so that she went back to the kitchen to cook an extra-splendid meal. ‘To take his mind off things,’ she explained to Belle, who was eating her supper under the kitchen table.
She might just as well have served him slabs of cardboard although he complimented her upon the good food as he went to his study, where he sat, Belle at his feet, doing absolutely nothing but think about Daisy.
It was a waste of time thinking about the girl, he reasoned; cold facts proved that. She had disliked him on sight, and she had even told him so, hadn’t she? He was far too old for her and he was quite sure that if she were to discover that it was through his good offices that she had got work at the hospital she would quite likely throw up the job at once. As far as he knew, she had never discovered that it was he who had asked his sister to take her on as a nanny, nor did she know why she had been moved to the children’s ward or who had arranged that. He hoped she never would. What had started as a kindly act towards a girl who had intrigued him had become an overwhelming desire to make life as easy as possible for her.
; He went up to bed at last, long after midnight, resolved to put her out of his mind. There was more than enough to occupy it; he had his work, more than he could cope with sometimes, many friends and family; he would find himself a wife and settle down. The doctor, a man with a brilliant brain, a fund of knowledge and priding himself on his logical outlook on life, had no idea how foolish that resolve was.
As for Daisy, she had enjoyed her day. They had reminisced about the Hague, and she had listened to Philip’s light-hearted criticism of his job, pointing out in a sisterly fashion that however dull it might be at the moment it could lead to an interesting post.
‘Well paid too, I shouldn’t wonder,’ she had added.
‘Oh, yes,’ he had agreed. ‘I don’t do too badly now. They like married men for the more senior jobs, though the thing is to get promotion and find a wife at the same time.’
They had laughed together quite unselfconsciously about it.
She had settled down nicely on the children’s ward; it was hard work and at times extremely messy but Sister Carter was a happy person and the ward and its staff took their ambience from her; the nurses were treated fairly and if there were any small crises—and there very often were—and it was necessary for them to work over their normal hours, she worked with them. Daisy, going about her lowly tasks, wished that she could be a ward sister. She was happy enough, however; she was on good terms with the nurses and Maisie and the children had accepted her as a familiar face.
The week went by without a glimpse of Dr Seymour and she didn’t know whether to be pleased or vexed when she went back after the following weekend to hear from Maisie that he had been to the ward several times during the weekend but had now returned to London.
As casually as she could, Daisy asked, ‘Does he only come at weekends?’
‘Lord bless you, no—’e comes when there’s something needs sorting out, too much for ’is registrar; ’e comes regular like, for ’is rounds and out-patients and that. Busy man, ’e is.’
