Tears had actually flooded her eyes before she stiffened her backbone, despising herself for succumbing to self-pity. She began briskly to clean the bath. Once she had been discharged from the hospital she would have more than enough time on her hands to look for somewhere cheaper to live. And as soon as she had overcome this silly tendency to weep at the drop of a hat, maybe she would be able to find a part time job.
The ward was still humming when she returned to it, visitors huddled round each bed. Bethan always chose visiting times to have her bath, knowing she could have a leisurely soak without anyone battering impatiently on the door. And it made her feel less conscious that there was never anyone to rush in to sit beside her bed.
But today as soon as she pushed open the door the little dark-haired student nurse pounced on her. 'Miss Steele, I was just coming to find you. You have a visitor.'
'Dr Fielding!' In spite of warning herself this visit might mean nothing, Bethan couldn't help a sudden stirring of relief as the grey-haired man rose from the chair beside her empty bed.
'Why so surprised to see me?' he asked as he handed her into the chair and himself perched on the edge of the bed. 'Didn't I say I'd be in touch?'
'Yes I know, but… ' Bethan flushed. 'I know my
problem's very small beer compared with the ones you have to solve every day.'
The problem of someone you care for is never trivial,' he admonished. And I have solved it. In fact you've solved a problem for me too, or at least the problem of a very dear friend of mine.'
I have?' Again Bethan felt that weakening surge of relief although she was intrigued to know what he meant.
'I've found you a job,' he said triumphantly, and Bethan's jaw sagged in astonishment.
'But—but I thought you said ' she began
And I meant exactly what I said, but this is rather a special job. Let me explain.' He settled himself more comfortably. An old friend of mine, a Mrs Lorna Ruston, is due to have a replacement operation on a badly arthritic hip, but unfortunately a couple of weeks ago she caught a nasty virus infection that's pulled her down badly. What she needs is not so much nursing as
a watchdog to make sure she builds up her strength again sufficiently to face the operation. Her nephew's been trying to persuade her to agree to having a nurse, but she's been very stubborn about it, refusing to have "someone starchy fussing over her and bossing her about" as she puts it. A very independent lady is Lorna.' His voice was wry, but betrayed a wealth of respect and affection for his troublesome friend.
'Well, I've been to see her,' he went on. 'I've told her about your predicament, and frankly the idea that you're both in the same position—that you too need to recover your health and strength—tickles her fancy and has removed all her prejudices about having a nurse in the house.' He grinned complacently. 'Actually it's a very neat solution. Your job will be to see she follows a strict regimen; no worries, plenty of rest and good food—a regimen you'll follow yourself, of course—while Lorna will see herself as looking after you, so she won't feel her independence is threatened. And both I and her family can relax, knowing there's someone in the house trained to spot any signs that she's not responding to the building-up treatment as she should.'
It sounded too good to be true, to have companionship and a roof over her head and still feel she was earning her keep. 'You're sure there really is a job for me to do?' Bethan asked doubtfully. 'I'd be most terribly embarrassed if I thought this friend of yours was taking me in out of charity.'
The doctor's grey bushy eyebrows shot up towards his receding hairline. 'You're a fine one to knock charity, Bethan. Don't think I don't know where the salary you could have saved to see you through an emergency like this has gone.'
Stunned that this man appeared to know so much, her lips parted in a gasp, then mortified colour stained her neck and flooded into her cheeks. 'I don't see that any small donations I might have made in the past to help people in real need entitles me to sponge on your
friend for six months, Dr Fielding,' she said in a strangled voice.
'Sponge!' The doctor looked taken aback, as if he didn't know how the conversation had come to take this turn. 'Who said anything about you sponging? Bethan, haven't I already explained that any benefit you get out of the arrangement you'll be repaying in full by the favour you'll be doing for us? Maybe Lorna's case isn't as desperate as those you've been handling this last six years, but she does need you. Pain is still pain whether it's suffered in poverty or with all the trappings of luxury, and believe me, wealth doesn't protect anyone from personal tragedy. It didn't help Lorna when her husband had a massive heart attack while driving along the motorway a few years ago. She lost her husband, her only son, her daughter-in-law and her grandson that day, and sustained injuries herself to her legs and pelvis that have led to her present worsening arthritic condition. Can't you find it in your heart to feel some compassion for her?'
Bethan hung her head, feeling crushed and humbled by the doctor's disclosures. Perhaps working for so long in war-torn and famine-stricken areas of the world among people fighting for mere survival had led her to dismiss the needs of those more fortunate. And if she was honest she would admit her pride had revolted at the thdught that this friend of Dr Fielding, a pampered and cosseted member of that more fortunate society, had been persuaded, perhaps reluctantly, into taking a waif into her home. Pride and a deep-seated conviction that she didn't warrant anyone's charity, however reluctantly given.
But the word-picture Dr Fielding had drawn erased these personal considerations from Bethan's mind. Poor Mrs Ruston, to have lost her whole family like that! Bethan knew only too well what it was to lose everyone she loved at a stroke, to know herself utterly alone, but where in her own case she had only her own criminal
stupidity to blame, Lorna Ruston had been guiltless, the victim of a cruel accident. Bethan's heart went out to the unknown woman in piercing sympathy.
Her voice was husky with emotion as she said, I'm sorry, Dr Fielding. Of course I'll help your friend. I'll do everything I can for her for as long as she needs me.'
Dr Fielding leaned over and squeezed her clasped hands. 'Thank you, my dear. You've taken a weight off my mind.' He had been going to add, 'A double weight,' but thought better of it. It had been Bethan's warm compassion for someone in need that had prompted her co-operation and to remind her of the benefits to herself might even now upset what he saw as an ideal solution. But once again he couldn't help wondering at this fragile young woman's reluctance to think of her own comfort and well-being. He knew so little about her except that she was one of the agency's most willing and selfless nurses, and he couldn't help but be curious to know what it was that had made her the way she was.
Stifling that curiosity he said briskly, 'Now that's settled the hospital will be able to discharge you tomorrow morning, and Lorna's arranging for a car to be here to pick you up. The personal belongings you left behind you in Beirut were packed and returned to the OK, so I'll make sure they're on hand in my office first thing in the morning and the driver can collect them before he comes on here for you.'
Bethan had the breathless feeling that events were sweeping her along too fast. 'That's very kind of Mrs Ruston,' she murmured uneasily, 'but doesn't she want to interview me first? I mean, surely she'll want to assure herself that I'm the kind of person she'll be happy to take into her home? It would hardly help her to regain her health if she found she didn't like me.'
Amusement curved the doctor's mouth at the very idea that Lorna could take a dislike to this self-effacing young woman. They were rather alike in some respects,
I
both having a quick compassion for the helpless and vulnerable. 'Well, in the normal course of events I suppose her nephew would have spoken with you first, but as he's out of the country on business at the moment ...' He shrugged, his smile widening. 'Not that either of them would question my recommendation, I think, and I'll eat my hat if you and Lorna don't take to each ot
her on sight.'
Bethan found herself smiling in response, her doubts fading at his confident optimism. 'What time would you like me to be ready?' she asked quietly, and knew that come what may, she had committed herself to caring for Lorna Ruston for as long as it took.
'Let's say ten-thirty, shall we?' Dr Fielding suggested. 'That'll give the driver time to collect your luggage from my office first, so there'll be no delays to your journey. You're bound to find it tiring, your first day out of hospital.'
Bethan didn't doubt it and in spite of her reluctance to accept cosseting she couldn't feel she deserved, she couldn't help being relieved that she wouldn't have to struggle to her destination on public transport. A destination still unknown to her, she realised suddenly. 'You haven't told me where I'm going—where your friend lives,' she reminded him.
"Dr Fielding struck his forehead with the heel of his hand 'Ah—stupid of me! It's Suffolk. Deepest Suffolk. A tiny village not far from Framlingham. I doubt if you'll find a more beautiful house or a more peaceful spot on the face of this earth. And whether you'll admit it or not, it's what you need, my dear; a period of recuperation for both body and spirit.'
At the first mention of the word Suffolk, Bethan went very still. It was a part of the world she'd once known well, at least an area on the Suffolk/Essex border. A part of the world that stirred memories she would rather not recall, a time of her life when she'd known happiness and security, when she'd believed
herself to be facing a blissful future instead of the bitter hurt and disillusion that had culminated in the night when her safe world had been irrevocably shattered.
But Dr Fielding was still talking and she made a conscious effort to listen. After all, Framlingham was quite some way from Sudbury, wasn't it? And it was hardly likely she would meet anyone she had known in those days.
'You should arrive in time for lunch,' the doctor was saying. 'After which you will rest. And I mean that, Bethan.' He looked at her severely. 'Your own good sense should tell you you won't be the slightest use to Lorna if you're shattered. I expect two well people to result from this job of yours. Dr Stratton, Lorna's GP, has promised to drop in at the earliest opportunity to check you over, and ' he swept on as Bethan opened her mouth to protest, '—to give you your instructions as to Lorna's treatment. I shall expect you to co-operate with him in all things, Bethan, but I anticipate his advice will be the same as mine as far as your own recovery is concerned; no overtiring yourself and absolutely no stress.'
Bethan found herself nodding meekly, but later she was to remember his words with a sense of helpless desperation.
The nurses who had looked after her so well said goodbye to her on the ward and a porter escorted her down to the main entrance of the hospital, carrying the small bag that, together with the single suitcase the agency had been taking care of, constituted all she possessed in the world.
Stepping out of the lift into the busy entrance hall Bethan knew a moment's panic, an urge to return to the familiarity and security of the ward, but the porter was already leading the way to the reception desk and a stocky, middle-aged man in a tweed suit turned at their approach.
'Miss Steele?' he queried, and when Bethan nodded,
his round, weather beaten face split into a grin. 'I'm Ernie Flowerdew. Mrs Ruston sent me to collect you.'
Bethan held out her hand, responding to his infectious grin with a smile of her own. 'Hello, Mr Flowerdew. It's very kind of you and Mrs Ruston to go to so much trouble on my behalf.'
'Thass no trouble, my dearie,' he assured her in his slow, Suffolk burr. 'Though to hear my Molly talk thass all kind of troubles I could get into, spending a night out of her sight.' His blue eyes twinkled. 'Is this all you've got?' He took her bag from the porter, who raised his hand in farewell and hurried away.
'Yes. That is—there's another suitcase
'Oh, I've got that safe and sound,' her escort assured her. 'We'd best get away then.' He held the door for her and led the way to a grey Rover parked nearby. 'Would you like to sit up along o' me?' he asked when he'd dropped her bag into the boot, and when she nodded her agreement he handed her in and fastened the safety belt.
'I didn't realise you'd have to stay overnight in London because of me, Mr Flowerdew,' Bethan said as he slid into the seat beside her. 'It must have taken you away from more important things.'
Her companion glanced at her curiously as she spoke, noticing her anxious embarrassment. 'Never think it,' he assured her quickly. 'Been a nice change for me. And thass given this ol' car a chance to stretch her legs 'stead of puttering round the lanes. And if you're worrying about putting us to expense, then don't. I stayed at the boss's place. He has his own little flat here.'
Bethan had assumed Mrs Ruston was his employer but his reference to his boss as 'he' made her wonder. The nephew Dr Fielding had mentioned, perhaps? For some reason she shivered in apprehension.
'You cold?' the kindly Mr Flowerdew asked at once, and turned on the heater.
The late May sunshine was bright but there was a
distinct nip in the air that penetrated her light cotton jacket as soon as she'd stepped outside the centrally heated hospital. 'I've been working abroad and I'm afraid I'm not acclimatised yet. Neither are my clothes suitable to the vagaries of an English summer,' she added wryly.
'And you've been ill, I believe?' He looked at her questioningly.
'I—had an accident,' she prevaricated, unwilling to go into details of the circumstances that had put her into hospital. 'They—the doctors—insisted that I took on less taxing work until I'm fit enough to go back to my old job, hence this post looking after Mrs Ruston. But I want to stress that I'm not an invalid, Mr Flowerdew,' she hastened to add, 'and I don't expect either Mrs Ruston or her staff to treat me as such. I may not be fully fit but I'm perfectly capable of pulling my weight.'
Ernie Flowerdew shot her another glance before returning his full attention to the road. Not an invalid, maybe, but she certainly looked as if the first puff of wind would blow her away. 'Just as long as you help get our lady on her feet again, Miss,' he said laconically. 'Knocked her back badly, that bug she caught. And the names Ernie, so less of the Mr Flowerdew.'
Bethan smiled, relieved by his matter-of-fact attitude. If the rest of Mrs Ruston's household were like this man she was going to be very content. 'Thank you—Ernie. And my name's Bethan.'
You don't want to be addressed as Nurse, then?' 'No. That is ...' Doubt entered her voice. Not unless Mrs Ruston prefers it that way.'
Ernie flashed her a grin. 'Right. Miss Bethan it is.'
Bethan grimaced. She hadn't been called Miss Bethan since—she shut the thought off abruptly and fell silent, aware her companion needed all his concentration to deal with the London traffic. She didn't speak again until they had reached the Al when the car was able to
put on speed, and then it was only to comment on the countryside and any passing places of interest.
It was as the car swept along the Colchester by-pass and she saw the signs to Sudbury that she said involuntarily, 'It's all so changed!'
'You know this part of the world then?' Ernie glanced at her, noting the crease in her forehead that drew her winging brows together.
Bethan let out a long breath. 'Once, a long time ago. Almost another lifetime.' And because Ernie's silence was questioning, 'There was a schoolfriend I used to stay with ...'
Ishbel Laurie. The nearest Bethan had ever come to having a sister. Popular, madcap Ishbel, impulsive to the point of recklessness and yet with a sympathy that made her fiercely protective, fiercely loyal to those who earned her friendship.
Bethan, guilty at leaving the stepfather she adored when she knew he was so hurt, almost paranoid with shame at her beautiful and utterly amoral mother's well-publicised affair with an American film actor and her departure for America with him, had found to her horror during her first few days at boarding school that her mother's misdoings were common knowledge among the girls.
It had been holidays spent at Merrifields, Ishbel's lovely rambling home about five miles from Sudbury, that had shown Bethan the warmth and stability of family life; mother, father, uncle, aunt and a clutch of cousins all sharing the enormous, beautifully kept but still homely farmhouse. And Fraser, of course, Ishbel's elder brother.
Fraser. She hadn't allowed herself to think about him
for so long. Already a man when they had first met, twenty-two to her own very naïve thirteen years. He had teased her out of her painful shyness, comforted her when she took a toss from the little mare he was teaching her to ride, and later, when because of her friendship with Ishbel, the two families—the Lauries and the Latimers, her stepfather Charles and stepbrother Mark—had been drawn closer, Fraser had protected her from Mark's hurtful and confidence-destroying remarks.
When she had first known him she had wished fervently that Fraser could have been her brother instead of Mark, who had never accepted her, but by the time she was eighteen she had known a brotherly relationship with him was the last thing she wanted. She knew now it could only have been a girlish infatuation, but dear God! how she had loved him, with all the ardency that had been in her. And how his rejection had hurt! Yet until that terrible moment of disillusion there had been times when she had felt certain he was at last seeing her as a woman and not a child, when she had been certain he was as aware as she was of the overwhelming forces pulling them together, moments when he had kissed her, sometimes with a drugging tenderness, sometimes with a suppressed anger, as if he felt drawn to her against his will.
In her naïve infatuation she had read all the signs wrong, of course. He had only encouraged her because he had seen her friendship with his sister as a steadying influence on the volatile and easily led Ishbel. And that had been the most ironic twist of all!
Ishbel's Party Page 2
