by Jane Arbor
“Yes, you must let that help.” Over a final cigarette they talked about Camille, speculating which surgeon might operate, which ward she would go to and which nurses might expect to be made “specials” for her.
While they talked Tessa was conscious that her thoughts were running at two different levels—an upper one of anxiety for Camille, the lower, an undercurrent of foreboding which Rex could not have known his lightly given warning had caused her.
When Hilary had gone the undercurrent became a tide. Trying to face it squarely, she asked herself what she feared, and knew it for a fear of Neil’s embittered past which had poisoned his trust in love for so long. Rex had foreseen that his presence in her flat called for an explanation to Neil. But only she could guess at the torture of doubts of her to which Neil might be put until he was able to ring again.
If only it had been someone other than Rex—some casual friend of her own or Hilary’s who had taken Neil’s call! Rex was the one man whose continued intimacy with her Neil might think he had to fear; Rex’s voice the one of all others he should not expect to be answering her telephone, saying, as if with her authority, that she was “engaged.” What must Neil be thinking? Of course she could explain as soon as he rang again. But was there any object so inanimate and withdrawn as a telephone which did not ring, however hard you willed it? There must be a moment ahead when it would ring. It could be now ... Or now ... But as the silence lengthened from moment to minute, five, ten, beyond—her thoughts went plunging towards a new abyss.
Rex had said that as soon as he had given his name, it had been Neil who had hung up abruptly, not questioning anything, not waiting to hear any more. Surely that couldn’t mean that he had prejudged her even then? Oh, no—not that! Please, please—not that! she begged her fate. Of course he would call her again. And even if, for some reason, he did not, she could try to get in touch with him. She remembered that earlier that had appeared easy and the most natural course in the world. Then why wasn’t it now? What was she waiting for? Why was she afraid? The telephone rang.
But it was Hilary’s voice at the other end; Hilary, saying that, though she would not be on duty until the morning, she had rung her own ward to be told that one of the sidewards reserved for private or very ill patients had been prepared for the post-operative reception of Camille.
Hilary added gravely: “There’s nothing official from the Theatre yet, of course. But I understand the operation was very ‘emergency.’ Rex will spend the night in hospital, and I understand Matron is putting up Lady Catterick.”
“Thank you for ringing. I’m so glad Camille is to be in your ward,” said Tessa. “You’ll keep me posted, won’t you?”
“Yes, but not till morning. Go to bed now. Don’t you realise what time it is? Good night. God bless!”
Tessa knew only too well that it was long past eleven and fully four hours since Neil’s call. Four hours of silence which surely he could have broken if he would! And more of this waiting and alternate hope and fear she could not bear!
At seven-thirty or so his call could conceivably have been from the surgery. But as Judith Wake still had a locum, she thought not, and it was too late to try the surgery now. Neil’s flat, then?
But from the flat there was no reply. Judith’s house next? But Judith’s mother had recently been ill and Tessa hesitated to disturb the small household for anything which was not a professional call to Judith. From the airport a crisp voice confirmed what she had guessed—that a plane from Amsterdam “had arrived on schedule at 19.00 hours” and a second call to Neil’s flat again brought no reply.
There were other trails, she supposed. He had a club in the city; there was a restaurant where he frequently dined. But the news from the airport had emphasised her worst fears and sapped her courage for further search. If Neil had indeed come in on the Dutch plane he had almost certainly called her as soon as he landed. But he had not done so again nor come to see her, though he knew she was at home. Why?
At the call to the flat which she meant to make her last there was now a continuous “Engaged” signal for so long that, trembling with hope, she appealed to the night operator.
He was a sympathetic man with, at that hour, time on his hands. He also had a good memory. He assured Tessa that the line had certainly been in order shortly before, as he had handled both a call and an answer on it. Could he ring her as soon as it was free?
But to that Tessa heard herself answering dully: “Thank you very much. But no—it doesn’t matter.”
For this was the bottom of the pit. At some point of time since her last call Neil must have been there, and every intuitive sense she had insisted that probably he still was. When she had suggested to the operator that it was possible the subscriber had deliberately broken the connection, not wanting to be disturbed, the man had claimed that, as a doctor, he would not do that. But she knew that Neil, temporarily not in practice, could have taken the small risk in order to guard against another—that she could reach him against his will. She was convinced now that he no longer wanted to speak to her. Pride and despair kept her from touching the receiver again.
When the telephone rang the next morning her sleepless night had taken her past hoping for anything other than an early call to a case or the promised one from Hilary to give her news of Camille.
It was, in fact, Rex ringing to tell her that Camille, though not out of danger, was “as well as could be expected.” He sounded very tired, and, doctor though he was, as racked by anxiety as if he had never heard or passed on that cautious, non-committal message before. He remembered to ask if Neil had rung up again. But Tessa guessed that, in the circumstances, he would have little interest in the answer, and she managed to avoid giving one. When they rang oft it was time for Tessa to set out on her round.
She scanned the list of her morning’s visits. The first injection of the day for her patient at the far end of the district; on her way back, some papers to be left at Dr. Herney’s surgery; then Nurse Hatfield would be needing the car and she herself would walk the short distance to her next call, a patient of Judith’s, where Judith would meet her to give her instructions about the patient’s treatment.
Judith ... For Tessa there was comfort in the very thought of Judith Wake, serene, wise Judith, her friend—and Neil’s. Judith probably knew already why Neil had returned to England ten days before he was due, and even if she had heard his version of his call to Tessa she was far too just to refuse to listen to truth from the other side. Once Judith knew the truth, Neil must believe it! Yes, Judith was the one person she could count on, hers the only help Tessa felt she need not be too proud to ask.
Pinning her hope to meeting Judith that morning, she was unprepared for the sharp disappointment in store. Outside her second patient’s house it was not Judith who alighted from Judith’s car but Dr. Cliveden, the locum who had taken Neil’s place.
He was a breezy, cheerful young man whom it was impossible not to like, even though Tessa had never been less glad to see him than at that moment. At sight of her, however, he grinned: “Just as well you’re punctual, Nurse—proof that I’ve got the right house and the right time. Bad enough, you know, making out the meaning of entries in one’s own diary; the hieroglyphics in other people’s simply aren’t to be deciphered at all!”
Tessa puzzled: “What do you mean, Dr. Cliveden? That you are having to take Dr. Wake’s cases as well as your own today?”
“Too true. But I suppose you wouldn’t have heard. You know her mother has been ill? Well, yesterday at very short notice, Dr. Wake had to take her up to London for treatment, and they’ll be there some time, though for how long depends—”
“Meanwhile, you can’t possibly manage this huge practice alone, Doctor!” Tessa protested.
He grinned again. “Nice of you to be concerned for my falling arches and my beauty sleep, Nurse! Not to mention the need for a bite of food from time to time. But no—I haven’t got to cope solo. Before she left Dr. Wake was able
to recall her partner, and I understand he flew in from the Continent last night. He’ll be on the job today, and I daresay we shall manage to parcel out the work between us. Which reminds me—Or no, let’s deal with this case first. Afterwards, though, there’s something you can do for me, if you will.”
As they went up to their patient Tessa dazedly took in the full implication of his news.
Judith’s help must be counted out of reach indefinitely, and she was in no doubt now that Neil’s silence was a deliberate gesture which he intended she should not mistake. But with his enforced return to duty, even he could not escape the inevitable contacts of their work. They must meet before long, if not within a matter of hours. It would be at a patient’s bedside or in the cold officialdom of the surgery—instead of the sweet promise of the “face to face” of his letter. But with the prospect she swung towards hope again, feverishly counting the chances of a summons which could not come too soon.
It was nearer than she expected. Her mission for Dr. Cliveden proved to be the return to the surgery of some records which Judith had had with her on her last round and which Neil must see before taking over the cases to which they referred.
Looking at her watch, Tessa demurred: “The surgery will be closed for the morning, Dr. Cliveden.”
“I know,” he agreed. “But Dr. Callender wasn’t doing a round this morning, and he may still be there. If not, go up aloft and try his flat, there’s a good girl. Dr. Wake particularly wanted him to have those cards as soon as possible. But look—you needn’t walk. I can take you some of the way.”
She would have preferred to walk, preparing herself for an ordeal of which he knew nothing. Instead she had to chat “shop” throughout the short drive, and it was only when she found the surgery closed and received no answer to her ring at Neil’s flat that she hardly knew whether she was disappointed or relieved.
On her way down she heard footsteps on the stone hall below. Neil’s? If so, they were bound to meet, and at the yard-square turn of the staircase they did so.
As Tessa opened her lips to breathe his name she was daunted at once by her glance at the set mask of his face and the formality with which he asked: “Were you wanting me on surgery business? If so, I’ll come down again with you.”
She shook her head. “It was a packet of case cards you wanted. Dr. Cliveden asked me to deliver them, so I put them through your letter-box.”
“Oh, thank you. I was needing them before the afternoon round. Anything else?”
“No, nothing else. But, Neil!”
The lids flickered once over his blue eyes. “Yes?” he invited, waiting.
“Neil, don’t! You can’t treat me just as—as a stranger. After your letter, we owe each other more than that. And if you had let me write my answer, you couldn’t possibly have misunderstood—last night!”
He nodded agreement. “I see that I should have let you reply. But when I wrote I thought we were of one mind about the answer. I didn’t know then how the face of things might change, or I could have spared you the embarrassment of explaining a situation that I’ve no longer any right to make any business of mine.”
“But it is! And I can explain!”
He made a gesture of reluctance. “Do you mind? No.”
She stared at him incredulously. “You mean—you don’t want to hear the circumstances of Rex Girling’s being in my flat last night and of his answering your call as he did?”
“If you must tell me, I can’t refuse to listen. May I repeat, though, that I consider it less my affair than yours, Girling’s and possibly his wife’s, though naturally I’m no judge of that?”
(But Rex was not alone with me!) Tiredly, last night, over and over since, Tessa had rehearsed the words that would be the insistence of truth which Neil must accept. She had thought there was no need to look beyond them, that on the far side of them argument would be over. But suddenly, aghast, she guessed that they had no significance at all.
For the only possible explanation of the impenetrable barrier Neil had set up was that it was one, not of injustice, but of indifference. She could still say “Rex was not alone with me”—but Neil would not care. Everything he had said pointed to it. He had regretted his letter to her. The month he had offered her as a testing time in which to grow sure of her love must have proved so many weeks of misgiving and retreat for him. For Neil, their love story had ended before it had begun.
She heard herself saying dully: “Very well. And I gather you are less interested still in my answer to your letter?” A spasm—of pity for her, she supposed—crossed his face. He said, though less coldly, “I didn’t suppose you’d want to give me one now. You don’t, do you?”
It took courage, but she raised her eyes to his. “Not any longer,” she said, and went on down the stairs.
CHAPTER TEN
After that Tessa half expected that Neil might go to some lengths to avoid any but the most necessary contact with her. But during the days which followed she was called as usual to any of his cases which needed after-care, and on the formal, professional level at which they met her pride found protection of a sort in the fact that he could continue to be, as always, “Dr. Callender” to her and she “Nurse Greve” to him.
But she knew that it could not go on. There would always be too much bitter-sweetness in seeing Neil, hearing his voice, watching him at work. As soon as she had fulfilled her present obligations she would have to leave Northtrenton, and trust that distance and silence would accomplish an escape which mere time never could.
Meanwhile Camille had been pronounced out of danger and had gone back to Usherwood for her convalescence. On the day before she left hospital Tessa had visited her and had found her excitedly leafing through a pile of travel brochures which Rex had brought her. At first Tessa thought these might have a bearing on their future plans, but Camille explained that they were merely tourist booklets to enable her to choose the holiday which would complete her convalescence. She appealed eagerly for Tessa’s advice: “Now where? The Dolomites? Maman thinks Spain would be too hot. What about Majorca? In a fortnight it will be September and it says somewhere here that the early autumn is quite perfect for Palma. Yes, I think Palma if Maman agrees Wouldn’t you?”
Tessa had agreed that Majorca sounded lovely and had asked when Camille hoped to travel.
“By the end of next week, if I go on well. You see. I’ve got to please Maman too, because she will go with me and Rex will join us after he has had his final interview for his hospital appointment in Belfast.”
“Belfast?” Tessa had queried. “I haven’t heard anything about this.”
“Oh, hadn’t you? Well of course it’s not settled. But if it is, we shall go in October,” Camille had paused. Then, shyly: “Tessa, how did you persuade Rex to take me away, so that we could begin our married life as other couples do—by ourselves?”
Tessa had smiled. “Considering how quickly he has moved since I suggested it, it doesn’t look as if he needed much persuasion, does it?”
“And yet I’d thought it was the one thing he would never agree to! After all, if he had married me just for—well, for Usherwood—”
“But he didn’t. You know that now, don’t you, Camille?”
“Quite, quite surely!”
“No more fears or suspicions about me?”
“Of course not, though I’m a little glad I was afraid enough to have sent Rex to you. But, Tessa—”
“Yes?”
“Well,” Camille had hesitated, “that time I came to see you you said that, after Rex, at first you’d hated what life had done to you, but that since you had been glad. I thought that meant you were in love again, and one day when Maman was sitting with me Rex came in and he gave us ten guesses as to whom you might be engaged to very soon. I told him I hadn’t any idea, as I didn’t know any of your beaux. But Maman said, ‘Pooh—one guess is enough. Who else could it be but that sandy giant of a doctor? And when Rex asked how she knew, she said, ‘Bec
ause they are always denying it, of course. It’s the surest sign there is.”
“Rex laughed at that and told her that, though her reasoning was distinctly odd, she was right, he believed.
But me—” Camille’s bright dark eyes searched Tessa’s face—”I am not so sure. For I think that if it were true, it would be the one thing you would want me to know. And if it were true, you would look happier than you do.”
Tessa had said: “Don’t worry about me, Camille. And be sure that I should have wanted you to know—if it were true.”
“Then it is not?”
“And it isn’t going to be?”
“No.”
“Oh, dear! And to be wrong never pleases Maman.”
Camille’s face fell, then brightened. “Ah, I know! I can tell her the truth—that you still deny it. And so, since that is what she expects, she will remain convinced that she is right!”
Sore-hearted as she was, Tessa had had to agree with a smile that Camille’s diplomacy was sound.
A fortnight later, the day on which Camille and Lady Catterick were to fly to London on the first lap of their journey to Majorca, was to be one of other arrivals and departures.
Judith Wake was bringing her mother home and was to return to her practice that night. And Neil, Tessa heard through Nurse Hatfield, was returning to Holland for forty-eight hours to complete contacts which had been interrupted at his sudden recall. For Tessa, it was her day off duty, and she planned to spend the morning in the flat and to ring Hilary later to find out if they could have the afternoon together.
But in mid-morning Hilary rang from her ward at St. Faith’s.
“Tessa? Hilary here. I say, weren’t Rex and Camille flying out today?”
“Not Rex. Camille and her mother. Why?”
“Yes, well—I thought I’d call you, in case you heard rumours and got worried—”
“Oh, Hilary—what?”
