by Jane Arbor
“Not on your life. He’s stiff with money and must always have had enough to oil a few wheels.”
“I don’t believe that. I’m sure I’ve read somewhere that he started out with nothing.”
“My dear girl, that proves my point. If he really hadn’t money, then he must have had influence or at least some mighty lucky breaks, like his being called into consultation by minor Royalty while he was still young and comparatively unknown.”
“He had a reputation for fine work even then, and, Rex—you’re not seriously waiting for something of the sort to happen to you?”
“Of course not. But, for instance, there’s no telling where getting specially noticed by a chap like Catterick might land me. But just on the wards there’s no scope for a chance like that.”
“I suppose he’d be impressed by good work or diagnoses over a long period,” suggested Tessa quietly.
“Yes—Auntie dear!—I daresay he would. I’d still prefer a shorter cut.”
“Such as?”
Rex shrugged. “Nothing in mind. Except that to get next to him in some social contact or other would probably help. But what chance of that?”
“Well, if you are really getting nowhere, why don’t you try some other branch of medicine—say, go to sea or take a post abroad?”
“Bury myself in a jungle? No thanks. And ship’s doctoring is for chaps just qualified. Besides, if I did cut loose, what would you do?”
Tessa moistened her lips, wondering what he was really asking her, praying that it might be, “Would you come with me?” or even the lesser, “If I had to go alone, would you wait to marry me when I came back?” She began hesitantly:
“I should have my job. I—I should be all right—” only to be cut short by his scornful: “As if I’d risk that when some other chap might grab you! Thanks for nothing. But we’re wasting time, honey. More important matters in hand this afternoon, surely?”
He wanted the subject changed and so, a little sick at heart, did she. But just as his grasp tightened and he was about to kiss her again she heard another car overtaking up the vicious gradient, just as a huge lorry bore down from the crest ahead. Though the driver saw the danger and did his best to give room to the ascending car, there was inevitably to be a point at which the three vehicles would be dangerously abreast, and clearly it was Rex’s faulty parking of his car on the narrow road which made for near-disaster.
The lorry-driver swore and wrenched over his wheel; the private car, driven by a woman with a man as passenger, edged skilfully through with inches to spare, and disappeared over the crest. The lorry hurtled on downhill and Tessa, white-faced, accused: “Rex, that was our fault! We should never have parked just here.”
“M’m. Tricky for the moment. But no harm done—Hullo, what d’you suppose he wants?”
Rex frowned and nodded ahead to where the other car’s passenger was striding back towards them. As he approached Tessa saw that he was a craggy giant of a man with a breadth of shoulder which owed nothing to the cut of his easily-worn tweeds. He was hatless and his hair was a tawny thatch; nearer, she saw that his eyes, beneath brows of the same leonine colour, were frankly, piercingly blue. Viking blue, she thought, and realised at once how “Viking” aptly described the whole of his rugged stature.
He loomed at the car window on her side, making an impatient gesture for her to wind it down. When she did so he rested a huge but surprisingly sensitive-looking hand upon its edge, and looking coldly down at her he said: “May I suggest that before taking a car on to the road you should have learned certain courtesies as well as rules? But perhaps, for drivers like you, they ought to be rules. For instance, if there’s nothing in the Highway Code forbidding alfresco love-making on a blind corner just short of the top of a one-in-four gradient, then it’s high time there was. Meanwhile, for your attention—as your inconsiderate parking has only just escaped causing a very nasty accident, may I at least take your apologies to the friend who is driving me?”
His tone held a sarcasm which bit far deeper than a bluster of abuse could have done, and Tessa blushed in confusion as at “lovemaking” she jerked free of Rex’s encircling arm. Only then did she realise that, since she was in the driving seat, it was she alone who was being blamed for the parking of the car.
She glanced at Rex, waiting for him to take over her defence by explaining his responsibility. But he only began abusively: “Look here, I don’t know who the heck you think you are—” and was cut short by the stranger’s crisp: “We needn’t exchange cards, I think. This lady’s apology is all I came to get.”
“And how she’ll apologise! And she is not interested in your views on road-usage!” spluttered Rex angrily.
Tessa waited a moment longer for him to add the obvious “It was my fault.” When he did not, she said quietly: “I’m very sorry. Please tell your friend so, will you? I did know we were wrong, but we were just about to move on—”
“Thank you.” As the big man turned on his heel and strode away his departure seemed to galvanise Rex. “If he thinks he can get away with that—” he muttered.
“He did get away with blame which I don’t think I deserved,” Tessa could not resist pointing out.
“For Pete’s sake, I tried to get a word in, didn’t I?”
But not very hard and not the right word, thought Tessa, saying nothing. And Rex went on truculently: “Exchange cards, indeed! If I decide to follow him up, he may find that’s not so necessary after all. I recognised the woman who was driving. She’s a doctor somewhere in the city. She has been to St. Faith’s to visit patients. Name of Wake; she’ll be in the telephone book and her boy friend would be traceable through her if I went the right way about it. I’d like another word or two with him.”
“Oh, Rex, leave it! I did apologise, and there’s nothing to be gained by stirring up trouble again.”
Somehow she knew the protest to be unnecessary. Rex’s instinct of self-preservation, which had adroitly avoided direct blame, was likely to keep him from deliberately going to look for it. For herself she had never resented anything so hotly as the weapon of sarcasm the big stranger had used against her.
But he had not known he was being unjust. It was Rex who had known—and had said nothing. When he began to talk lightly of other things she was certain he was glad to drop the subject, and during the long drive back to the city she had time to wonder why it was often harder to forget people’s little meannesses than to forgive their major sins. What was more, she had not wanted to think Rex capable of either.
The flat which she had been allotted was part of one of the tall blocks which served the housing needs of the thousands of men and women kept busy day and night by the towering modern factories of the district known as The Chase.
No trace now of the dense hunting forests which had given The Chase its name—only a ceaseless pulse of machinery, a night-long glow lighting the sky and always a busy coming and going of people on the radiating avenues of neat houses which might be as alike as twins outwardly, but, like all homes, had personalities of their own and were as individual as finger-prints within.
Standing at her window in the course of her first survey of the tiny flat, Tessa thought: “At St. Faith’s it was the thing to grumble about Northtrenton, to compare it with London and to call it a wretched hole. But it is honest and alive, and there’s something gripping about being a tiny part of a city this size. I’m glad I came back to nurse here. Rex? Yes, to be near him was why I came. But work matters too, and I’m glad I know he isn’t the only reason which will keep me here, really to stay.”
Looking round the flat and deciding how best to improve on the austerity of its furnishing when she received her first pay cheque, she found that her pride of possession of a place of her own included a pride in The Chase as “her” district. And when she had donned her new uniform she began to be eager to tackle her first case. Once that was behind her she could really feel she “belonged.” Tonight, however, there were no ap
pointments, so that she would be called out only to an emergency.
Nurse Hatfield had ordered some dry stores for her, and on the nearby Parade Rex had stopped the car so that she could buy ham and fruit for her supper. While she was in the shop he had gone to the florist’s for a great spray of early mimosa, and though there was no vase in the flat, even dumped into a water-jug its golden glow dominated the room and seemed to bring a promise of spring. When Tessa settled to her meal she was very well content.
Afterwards, while the kettle boiled for her coffee, she glanced at the telephone memo pad which Nurse Hatfield had copied out from her own. Prescription chemists, fire brigade, police, schools, hospitals, the doctors’ surgeries which served the district ... Doctors? Curiosity took Tessa’s finger swiftly down the list in search of a name she did not want to find.
But it was there. The name—Dr. Judith Wake. The address only a few streets away; the telephone number on Courtney exchange, the same as her own.
She caught a breath of dismay. In a whole cityful of doctors and through no fault of her own she had had to cross swords this afternoon with a woman, under whom she was likely to have to work in almost daily contact. Really, fate should have been kinder than to force her to such a mishap as that!
She had no clear memory of having noticed Judith Wake. But now she wondered about her—whether it was she who had insisted that that apology should be forthcoming or whether her Viking friend had taken it upon himself to demand it for her. Somehow the latter, Tessa thought. He had been no mere intermediary; he had kindled his own anger, she felt sure. But Dr. Wake had almost certainly shared it, and they would have discussed the affair as they went on their way. And though their lack of recognition was likely to be mutual, Tessa knew that when she met the woman doctor she would feel impelled to clear the air by apologising again.
Explaining too, perhaps, that she had not really been driving? But no, the time for that had passed. A brief, frank apology would best disarm any hostility Dr. Wake might feel. All the same, why, why need it have happened?
A whiff of steam escaping from the kitchenette warned her that the kettle was boiling its head off. But when she ran to it she had to run as quickly back to the telephone.
She took up the receiver. “Courtney 34680. Nurse Greve speaking.” (Was this her first case?)
A crisp voice she did not know repeated: “Nurse Greve, yes. Dr. Callender’s secretary here. You are to go to Flat 54, Chase Court, as soon as possible, please. You are the new nurse on the district, aren’t you? Do you know the way?”
“I can find it.” (Tessa’s bedtime reading for days had been a large-scale map of The Chase!)
“Well, Dr. Callender is with the case now and will wait for you.”
“Is it maternity?”
“No. An old lady has had an accident, and there are children. But the doctor will tell you what he wants. Good night, Nurse.”
So it was her first case! Tessa took down her uniform topcoat and hat, checked the contents of her professional bag and debated whether, for the short distance she had to go, it was worth going round to the garage for the duty car she was to share with Nurse Hatfield.
She decided that to walk would be quicker in the end, and she was already on her way before she realised she had not noticed the name of Dr. Callender on the memo list.
She should have checked that, she thought, vexed at an omission which betrayed her inexperience. Supposing she was the victim of a hoax? It was the kind of joke which Rex’s set at St. Faith’s might regard as a kind of tenderfoot test for her, never dreaming that she would fall into the trap and charge out, leaving her post unmanned for any genuine call.
But it was to prove no trap. When she arrived, breathless with hurry and diffident lest she had not been called there, the door of the flat was flung open immediately to her knock.
The man silhouetted against the light behind him was of a stature she would not easily forget. And the same voice whose sarcasm had shredded her pride earlier that day said, “Good. I’m Dr. Callender, though you won’t have worked for me yet. Partnering Dr. Wake in future. Nurse Greve, is it? Or Nurse Hatfield? Whichever you are, come in.”
He showed no recognition of her in her uniform, but momentarily the Viking blue eyes met the grey. Then, with all the professional reserve she could summon at will, Tessa said “Nurse Greve, Doctor—” and went in without having to stoop beneath the arm which held open the door.
CHAPTER TWO
Inside the tiny hallway Dr. Callender said: “Well, Nurse, the trouble here is that there is no one to look after two children and a six-months-old baby until their father comes off an evening work-shift. His wife is dead and the family is cared for by their grandmother, who has just complicated matters by falling off a stepladder. I’m not sending her for X-rays until tomorrow, but I suspect a fractured tibia. The neighbour who called me and who will be able to cope in the morning has had to go off to night work herself, and meanwhile Mrs. Frere, my patient, can’t do anything for the babes.”
“I see, Doctor.” Tessa turned away to hang up her outdoor things. “You’d like me to get the children to bed first, perhaps?”
“Not first. The baby’s feed isn’t due and I understand the youngsters can undress themselves if they must. I’d rather you went to Mrs. Frere. She is pretty shocked, poor old soul, and not a little fussed for the children. So when you’ve made her comfortable. I’ll give her a sedative shot before I go. Your job then will be to feed the baby and wait around until the father gets back to take over. Understood?”
“Quite, thank you.”
“Right. I’ll be in the kitchen with the kids. That is the old lady’s room—” As he nodded towards a closed door giving on to the hall his brief glance swept Tessa over, but lingered nowhere.
“Fussed” was a mild term for their patient’s nervous state, Tessa found. Mrs. Frere, submitting distractedly to her gentle ministrations, seemed much less concerned for her own pain than she was with self-blame for the accident and with worry for the children and their father. Nor, having expected Dr. Wake and Nurse Hatfield, did she take kindly to being attended without notice by two strangers.
“Not that I’ve anything against you and the new doctor, Nurse. But when you are old, like me, it’s not quite the same thing as having someone you know, is it?” she fretted.
Tessa smiled: “Not a bit the same, Mrs. Frere. I realise exactly how you feel. But, do you know, there’s quite a distinction for me in being sent to you? You are my very first patient ever in The Chase!”
The old eyes brightened perceptibly. “Am I, Nurse? And here am I, grumbling away, while everything must be just as strange for you! Fancy your first call being to clumsy old me! Well there—that’ll be something to boast about, when we’ve all grown fond of you and wouldn’t have anyone else for the world.”
“How nice of you to say so,” exclaimed Tessa, touched. But though Mrs. Frere’s thoughts appeared to be already worrying at a fresh problem, it was not until Tessa was about to leave, after settling her in bed with an improvised cage over the injured leg, that she mused: “You and Dr. Callender—new at the same time. Maybe you came together, then? In the way of being friends, before, perhaps?”
At the irony of that Tessa’s mouth curved to its characteristic half-smile. “Oh, no,” she told the old lady. “Like you, I never met Dr. Callender before today.”
“Oh. I thought—Where I lived once there was a nice young doctor who had known the District nurse when they were both learning in the same hospital. I wondered if it might be like that with you and Dr. Callender?”
“Not a bit,” Tessa assured her.
“Well, these two—they didn’t get on too well at first, people said. But then they surprised everybody by getting married to each other. That was funny, wasn’t it?”
“Very.” Though it did not seem worth while to say so, Tessa reflected that any comparison with herself had less point than ever.
In the kitchen the two older
children were having their supper under the doctor’s eye, and a knotty discussion on space travel was interrupted when he went to take a last look at his patient. While he was gone Tessa prepared the baby’s bottle before lifting him from his cot to take it.
At the touch of strange hands he whimpered fretfully and rejected the bottle again and again. But even his bewilderment was not proof against Tessa’s gentle patience, and though he continued to fix her with a calculating eye, he began to feed contentedly at last.
Gratified and absorbed, she knew when the doctor returned, but she did not look up. And when she sensed that he was watching her from behind her low chair, nursing the baby became a task to which she gave more concentration than it called for, now that, replete and drowsy, he was cushioning his downy head in the crook of her arm.
For by now she felt sure that, though he had given no sign since, Dr. Callender’s measured glance in the hall had recognised her. She believed too that now, if ever, he had the power to set the tone of the professional relationship which had been thrust upon them. He could ignore the whole incident. Or he could ease the inevitable tension with a word. Not knowing the man, she could not guess which course he would take. She could only wait, hoping for a clue.
When it came it was a dry, reflective: “Well, Nurse, may I say that your handling of a baby appears to be beyond reproach? That—as I’m now in a position to judge—I’m glad that it far surpasses your handling of a car? Even that most people would agree that it’s an infinitely more valuable accomplishment in a woman?”
Tessa caught her breath. No disarming olive branch, this! In fact, more than the mere tang of another gibe. And yet for some inexplicable reason the manner of it pleased her. It even took the sting from the original injustice which she had resented so much, and more than ever she felt it would be petty now to defend herself at Rex’s expense. Let it rest.
