A Ward Door Opens: A touching 1950s hospital romance (The Anniversary Collection Book 7)

by Lucilla Andrews

  She admitted that Bill was very much on her mind. ‘It’s so difficult to know what to do until he’s qualified.’

  ‘Surely you can tell whether you love him or not, without waiting for him to have an M.B.?’

  ‘There’s so much more to it than that.’ She drifted to the window and gazed out at the hospital. ‘I am very fond of him, but I’m not sure that I want to spend the next few years being engaged or married to the hospital.’

  I looked at her back curiously. ‘If you marry a doctor, you marry his job.’

  ‘Ye-es.’ She spun round. I could not see her face clearly as the light was behind her. ‘In most circumstances. Not all. Take Standing,’ she went on casually. ‘If your romantic notions about her and the S.M.O. are right, she won’t have to pinch and scrape and sit at home while her husband flogs the books trying for higher degrees. He’s already got them.’

  ‘Unmarried S.M.O.s are rare; unmarried pundits, even rarer. But Bill is very bright. He’ll race up the medical ladder. You wait and see!’

  ‘Maybe.’ She yawned. ‘Time we both had some sleep. Thanks for the cream, Maggie ‒ and for being so decent about my idiotic message to George last night. I only hope you’re right about the S.M.O. But I have a horrid feeling that he’s not the sort of man to forget things in a hurry. Last night may be the last straw.’

  ‘You could be right,’ I said gloomily. It was not until I had tossed and turned for a couple of hours that I realised I had been nearly asleep when she came in, and that it was the disturbing thoughts she had sown in my mind that had kept me awake.

  Chapter Three

  The Wing was busier that night. Three of our convalescent patients had gone home and their rooms were occupied by emergency admissions who had come in for immediate operation. And just after breakfast Miss Ashbrook had had another fairly severe heart-attack.

  Nurse Standing, however, remained serene when the report was over. ‘No drinks for the post-operative patients, Nurse. I’ll see to them and ring if I need help. Miss Ashbrook must have a drink. Put in plenty of glucose and don’t let her feed herself. I’ll look at her before I attend to the op. patients.’ She glanced at the corridor clock. ‘Mr. Old is in the hospital tonight, and may come up to see Miss Mason. Mr. Livingstone will definitely be up to see his operation cases. If I am busy with either Mr. Old or Mr. Livingstone, you will have to take round the Residents. I can’t leave a Consultant for anyone. If you have to take my rounds, be sure you remember all that the men say to the patients and yourself. I shall want a detailed report.’

  My heart sank at the prospect of having to escort Dr. Cameron after last night. I made Miss Ashbrook some hot chocolate and mentally kept my fingers crossed. The surgeons came early. With any luck, when Dr. Cameron came up for his round, Nurse Standing would be free. Miss Ashbrook was a small, frail old lady of seventy-nine, with curly white hair, amused brown eyes, and a very firm mouth. She sat propped high against her pillows; her colour and respiration were surprisingly good despite her recent set-back and her pulse had settled wonderfully. When I took the hot chocolate to the old lady, she was busy sorting knitting-patterns on her heart table. The fact she had done this now showed she was feeling better. It also showed she had moved much too much.

  ‘I wish you had let me get those patterns for you, Miss Ashbrook.’

  She patted my face with a paper-thin hand. ‘You have quite enough to do, dear. I didn’t reach far.’

  I plumped her pillows and admired her vivid blue bedjacket, and the bright tartan mohair shawl round her shoulders.

  She stroked her shawl lovingly. ‘I disapprove of drabness, dear, particularly in the sick-room. My kind young relatives all know my weakness for colour, and never bring me discreet pastel garments, which may be more appropriate to my age but would not suit my temperament.’

  The door opened quietly. ‘Back again, Doctor?’ Miss Ashbrook said. ‘I am sorry to be giving you all this work today.’

  I stiffened inwardly and turned. ‘Good evening, Dr. Cameron. I think Nurse Standing may still be busy. I’ll just go and see.’

  Looking at the tip of my cap, he informed me that Nurse Standing was in Room 8 with Mr. Livingstone and the S.S.O. ‘I’ll come back for my round later.’ He ignored me and smiled at Miss Ashbrook. ‘I thought I’d pay a call on you. How’s it now?’ And he examined her carefully.

  A few minutes later, Miss Ashbrook folded her hands on her top sheet. ‘Now we’ve finished with my tiresome heart, there is something I want to ask you, Doctor, dear. You were so helpful over the fit of my great-nephew Hughie’s socks that I feel I may dare to trouble you again.’

  He pulled off his stethoscope and left it dangling round his neck. ‘Can I act as model once more? I’ll do so gladly.’

  ‘Not this time.’ She raised one finger as if he were another favourite nephew. ‘I want your advice on colour. Could I knit this sweater in a canary yellow? Or should it be grey?’

  He considered the pattern she had handed him. ‘This for young Hughie?’ His tone showed he knew as much as I did about the many branches of the Ashbrook family.

  ‘His father. My nephew Guthrie.’

  He glanced up. ‘The Brigadier? Came up three weeks ago?’ He rubbed his jaw, thoughtfully. ‘I should say grey for him.’

  She nodded wistfully. ‘I was afraid dear Guthrie might consider yellow too vivid. Men do wear yellow, do they not? Or am I behind the times?’

  He said he was not, unfortunately, very up in fashionable colours, but was personally all in favour of canary yellow sweaters. ‘I thought the Brigadier might have a rather conservative taste. It is not mine.’

  She brightened and temporarily lost interest in Guthrie. ‘I have not seen you wear yellow, Doctor. You must ask your wife to knit you one. Would she care to borrow my cable pattern?’

  ‘You’re exceedingly kind ‒’ he smiled down at her very pleasantly ‒ ‘but I’m not married.’

  ‘Dear boy, what a shame! You should have someone to look after you.’ And she offered to knit him a canary yellow sweater. ‘If you would care for one, it would give me so much pleasure.’

  He accepted warmly. ‘Can I get the wool for you, Miss Ashbrook?’

  She glowed with delight. ‘No, no, you must leave it to me. I am sure Nurse Blakney will shop for me. Nurse does all my shopping. She will know just what to obtain, since she is so experienced in shopping for men.’

  He looked at me as if he had forgotten I was there. ‘A useful accomplishment.’ He turned back to Miss Ashbrook, thanked her again and they had a long discussion on measurements. When we left her room, etiquette ordained that I walk with him to the stairs. He stopped outside the empty duty-room. ‘Are you very busy, Nurse? Or can you spare me a few moments?’

  My heart lurched ominously. ‘Yes, Dr. Cameron. That is ‒ no, I’m not very busy.’

  He walked to the duty-room door and waited for me to precede him. ‘In here, please.’

  I went in obediently, guessing what was about to happen. The quick glance I risked at his face did nothing to ease my mind. He put his hands in the pockets of his white coat, and looked at me in silence for a few seconds that seemed to last an eternity. ‘You know why I wish to talk to you, Nurse Blakney?’

  I had to meet his eyes, then. ‘Yes, Dr. Cameron.’

  ‘Then you will know what I have to say. I cannot, and will not, appear to countenance an open breach of an established hospital rule. I do realise that you were not directly responsible for Thanet’s visiting you up here last night. He explained that he had come on the spur of the moment to deliver a note and, I imagine, to surprise you. Is that so?’

  ‘Yes, Doctor.’

  He inclined his head. ‘I believe you. If I did not, I’m afraid I would have seen no alternative to reporting Thanet to the Dean, and speaking to Night Sister. I want you to understand that.’

  I clasped my hands tightly behind my back. ‘Yes, Doctor.’

  He did not take his eyes off my face. ‘I also
wish to make it as clear to you as I did to Thanet that there must never be any repetition of this. I can allow you the benefit of the doubt once; not twice.’

  I swallowed. ‘No, Doctor.’

  ‘You must understand, Nurse, that although your private life and friendships are your own affair, once you are in uniform and in the hospital, what you do becomes automatically the concern of everyone who values the reputation of Jude’s. The patients trust you, because you wear that uniform. How much trust do you suppose they would feel if they suspected that in the middle of the night, when you were in sole charge of the Wing, you were in danger of having your attention taken by a casual social visitor? And how much trust would you be worth? I know this did not happen. But the only thing that prevented it was my unexpected presence. I imagine Thanet told you I was using the Wing as a short cut and walked into him?’

  ‘Yes.’ I nodded miserably. ‘He did.’

  ‘He said you did not invite him but he knew you were alone.’ He looked at his feet. ‘Did you give him that information?’

  I could not let him believe that. ‘No, Doctor.’

  He glanced up sternly. ‘No? Then who did?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘By which I assume it was some person whose name you prefer not to give,’ he said drily. ‘There is no necessity for heroics. Whoever it was was either very foolish, or no friend of yours. Thanet is an irresponsible and impulsive youngster. A hospital is no place for irresponsibility. I hope that in future you and he will remember that.’

  ‘Yes, Dr. Cameron. We will.’

  ‘Good. Then there is no more to be said. Good evening, Nurse. Will you please tell Nurse Standing I will be back to do my round later. Thank you.’ He moved to the door and again waited for me to leave first. I did not have to walk the length of the corridor with him because for once he used the lift that was only a couple of yards from the duty-room door.

  For the rest of that night, I felt thoroughly unhappy. I would have been quite relieved to be chased by Standing, to take my mind off those few minutes in the duty-room, but her rare good-humour lasted all night. She was kept moderately busy by our post-operative patients, and when she did suddenly summon me from the kitchen just before four a.m., it was only to give me a short and fascinating class on cardiology.

  ‘Come and sit by me, Nurse. I want to show you something.’ She handed me an old envelope on the back of which was a diagrammatic sketch of the heart. ‘I expect you’ve been wondering how Miss Ashbrook managed to seem so well this evening, after her attack this morning? I saw you reading her notes.’

  I felt myself grow pink. I had expected a lecture for wasting time in this fashion. ‘Yes, Nurse. I couldn’t quite understand, and hoped I’d find out.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘No, Nurse.’

  She actually smiled. ‘Nor did I. So I asked Dr. Cameron to explain and he drew me this. Keep it and copy it out in your note-book. It’s worth keeping. This is what it represents.’

  When her explanation was over, she capped her pen. ‘One of the things I like most about night-duty is the opportunity it gives a nurse ‒ even a junior, at times ‒ to listen to an expert talking alone on his own subject,’ she said reflectively. ‘One can learn more in ten minutes that way than in a month of ploughing through text-books on one’s own. When you reach the stage of taking the men round regularly, never neglect an opportunity to ask questions. I have yet to meet the physician or surgeon who objects to going into details. On the contrary, they are only too willing to explain and teach. One can learn so much, and keep on learning. So don’t forget.’ She looked at the clock, as she always did, whenever she stopped to talk. ‘How is your routine going?’

  ‘Finished, Nurse.’

  She nodded approvingly. ‘Good. It will soon be time to start work.’ She gave a long, contented sigh. ‘I do like being busy, again. I’ll just make our morning washing-list while you get our tea.’ She called me back to give me the envelope. ‘Oh, Nurse, you can keep this. Get rid of it, when you have copied it.’

  I returned to the kitchen feeling as if I were on a see-saw. I barely recognised her in this amicable mood. I did not dare contemplate how very differently she would have behaved had she known what had happened in her duty-room tonight. I looked at the diagram absently, thinking about Nurse Standing and Dr. Cameron. Perhaps he had been extra nice to her tonight? Perhaps he felt sorry for her having to work with someone as hopeless as me? When he had returned for his round, he had looked at and through me, as he always did when doing a round.

  George Thanet was waiting behind Miss Nightingale’s statue when I left the dining-room that morning. ‘I didn’t dare risk the Wing stairs, Maggie. The boss is around. All serene? Any further developments?’

  ‘One or two. All over now.’

  ‘Come out on to the terrace. It has stopped raining and you can tell me about it in peace.’

  I told him about my interview with Dr. Cameron as we walked slowly parallel with the water. There was not really much to tell. When I had finished, he said, ‘I’m terribly sorry.’

  It was very cold. I hugged my cloak more tightly round me. ‘Tell me about yourself. What are you doing being a Casualty dresser, again? I thought you had finished all your dressing.’

  ‘Wheels within wheels,’ he muttered and intrigued me by going red in the face. ‘Tom Cardew wanted a stand-in. You know how it is.’

  I looked at him. ‘I’m not sure that I do.’

  He coloured and said uncomfortably, ‘Some chap needs a stand-in, so why shouldn’t another chap oblige? Quite simple, Maggie. Even you should be able to understand?’

  ‘Maybe I would,’ I agreed, ‘if you hadn’t told me three months ago that you had finished your time as a Casualty dresser, and nothing would get you into Sister Casualty’s clutches again. I just wondered what the attraction was.’

  George answered evasively again and went on to talk about cases in Casualty. But I was only listening with half an ear and eventually he said, ‘I say, old girl, what’s wrong? You’re miles away this morning!’ George stopped walking and leant against the stone balustrade overlooking the Embankment, while he surveyed me sympathetically.

  ‘It really was a peculiar night. I haven’t quite got my bearings.’ I explained about Nurse Standing. ‘It was fantastic. I basked in the sunshine of her smile. It must be love, because she never has been able to stick me.’

  ‘I must say, I think you’re right. The boss was doing his morning promenade in the vicinity of the Wing stairs when I was lurking behind Miss Nightingale. Rowena Standing came tripping along and gave him that beautiful smile ‒ and you should have heard the big hallo she got back. Old Bill was with me, waiting for Jo. Set him up no end.’

  ‘Did it, now?’ I looked at him quickly. ‘Why?’

  He shifted his feet uncomfortably. ‘I was talking out of turn, Maggie. Forget it.’

  I could not do that, because I remembered what Jo had said about Bill yesterday. So I ignored his attempts at evasion. ‘George, Bill isn’t worried about Jo, is he?’

  He hesitated. ‘Chaps get worried when they’re in love. Nothing to it, of course. Bill thinks that Jo’s a shade bored with hanging around waiting for him to qualify.’

  I said no more to George, who was obviously only too happy to drop the subject. I did not mention it to Jo, either, when I returned to the Home and told her in privacy about the S.M.O.’s reprimand. But I could not help watching her far more closely than I usually did. Every instinct I possessed was suddenly demanding that I should keep my eyes wide open.

  ‘Maggie, you must have wanted to sink with shame! Poor thing, I expect you looked like a guilty schoolgirl.’

  ‘I’m sure I did. That’s what I felt like.’

  She considered her hands sadly. ‘I’m afraid you’ll be in Dr. Cameron’s black books from now on. I wish there was something I could do.’ She looked up and smiled very sweetly. ‘I’ve got an idea. As all this is my fault, let me pa
y the piper. You go to Matron and ask for a transfer. Almost certainly she will switch us over ‒ and then I’ll have to face your fierce S.M.O., and the ghastly Standing ‒ and you can have my peaceful Catherine Ward. After all, it’s no more than I deserve.’

  ‘You’re a pal, Jo, but ‒’

  ‘Then you will go to Matron?’ She kept her voice even, but there was no hiding that flicker of excitement in her eyes.

  ‘Only when I reach breaking-point. I’m not there yet. Asking for transfers is something a girl wants to keep up her sleeve until there’s just no alternative,’ I said. ‘It isn’t a thing you ought to do more than once.’

  ‘But the Wing is beginning to get you down,’ she said. ‘You’ve lost your colour and most of your sparkle since you got back from measles.’

  ‘That’s because I’m due for nights off. Thank you for your offer, Jo, even though I won’t be taking you up on it.’

  ‘You know I only want to help you. How about a walk before we retire?’

  ‘Not now, I simply have to catch up on my letters home.’ I picked up my cloak and wandered back to my room. I found I was breathing carefully, as if I had had one blow, expected another, and needed to conserve my breath. I was very close to tears. I had always been so fond of Jo and admired her so much. Now I knew I no longer admired her. She was a very determined girl who made a point of getting what she wanted ‒ and I had to face the fact that she wanted my job. She had sent George up to the Wing deliberately, in order to get me into trouble with Matron.

  I slept badly that day. When I went on duty, I decided Nurse Standing must have slept badly, too. Her good temper had vanished. The patients always rallied helpfully when they heard Standing in one of her strident moods. They might be in separate rooms, but in their attitude they were as unitedly kind as the women had been in Catherine Ward last year. They saved me countless scoldings, but for all their help Standing found fault endlessly for the next three nights.