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

by Lucilla Andrews

  I apologised and went up in the lift, wondering how I could let Mike know that I was going to be over half-an-hour late. Telephoning a student at this hour was useless; he would be either at a lecture, or on a round.

  I opened my door. And when I saw who was sitting in my armchair, I forgot Mike Oxford, and the rehearsal. Nurse Standing smiled at my expression as she stood up. ‘I’m sorry to startle you, Blakney. I hope you’ll forgive my waiting in here like this, but I did not want to leave Jude’s without saying goodbye to you. I knew you would be back here eventually.’

  I closed the door, and stared as if she were speaking a strange language. ‘Leave Jude’s, Nurse?’

  She nodded calmly. ‘Last night was my last in the Wing. I didn’t tell you during the night, because I do so disapprove of nurses discussing their personal affairs on-duty. I came over to see you shortly after breakfast, but you had gone out.’

  I tried not to sound as shaken as I felt. ‘I went for a walk. I’m so sorry, Nurse.’

  ‘It’s my fault for not warning you I was coming.’ She glanced at the window. ‘I like walking in the rain, too, but I would rather have it dry for travelling. Railway stations can be so damp.’

  ‘Travelling?’ I asked. Wasn’t she going to stay in Town for the few days that the S.M.O was free?

  ‘Yes. My home is in West Sussex. I’m leaving after lunch and I hope to be there for a late tea. I’ve got three weeks’ holiday before starting at Martha’s.’

  I could not believe I had heard right. ‘Did you say Martha’s, Nurse?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her eyes shone. ‘I’m to have a brand new Cardiac ward. Originally, I was booked to start there in the last week of next month, and to leave here at the end of this one. But we are not the only hospital that’s pressed for beds. Martha’s have to open my new ward prematurely to deal with their many cardiac bookings.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you were leaving us to go to Martha’s, Nurse.’

  She looked amused. ‘I don’t suppose you did. Only Matron, Night Sister and the S.M.O. have known my plans. I don’t believe in mentioning things until they become established facts. It needs so little to give rise to so much talk in any institution.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ I murmured, remembering all the talk there had been about her. It was impossible to believe there was so little foundation for all the gossip about her supposed romance with Dr. Cameron. ‘I do congratulate you,’ I said. ‘It sounds a wonderful appointment.’

  ‘It’s exactly what I have always wanted. I love medical nursing, but never thought I would be lucky enough to be chosen for this. In fact, if the S.M.O. hadn’t insisted, I wouldn’t have dared to apply. I didn’t think I stood a chance. I’m so grateful that I took his repeated advice. I’m sorry to leave my own hospital and old friends, but I can’t pretend I’m not delighted to be given this magnificent opportunity.’ She looked delighted, and more alive and eager than I had ever seen her.

  She told me a great deal more about her new ward and future. Every word she said made me realise how right my instincts had been when they sensed that she was dedicated to her work, and would never be truly happy away from a hospital ward. My thoughts flew to Dr. Cameron as she talked on. Had he realised this, too? Was that why he had so often struck me as looking strained and unhappy when he came to the Wing?

  At last she held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Blakney. I’ve enjoyed working with you. Oh, I knew there was something I wanted to ask you. What is the date of the show? I want to see it if I can.’

  ‘I’m not sure if it’s the twenty-third or twenty-fourth. I can find out this evening. Shall I let you know?’

  ‘Would you? I’ll give you my address.’ She did this. ‘What’s happening this evening? Rehearsal?’

  I smiled wearily. ‘If the cast waits for the pianist,’ I said and explained myself.

  ‘If I see Mike Oxford before I leave, I’ll tell him you are going to be late,’ she said. ‘I really must go now. I’ve still so much to do. Goodbye once more ‒ and good luck.’

  I knew I ought to go to bed, but I could not make the effort. I stood at the window looking over to the hospital and wondering how Dr. Cameron must be feeling at this moment. He loved Standing and she was going out of his life. There was no doubt in my mind about that, now I had seen how she looked and talked about Martha’s. He must have seen and heard her, too; his intelligence would allow him no doubts. I wished and wished there was something I could do to help him. I turned from the window and at last got ready for bed.

  I seemed only to have closed my eyes when Elsie was shaking me.

  ‘Nurse, wake up! It’s gone six! I’ve brought you some tea.’

  I blinked sleepily. ‘Thank you, Elsie. I’m awake ‒ I think.’

  ‘You get up straight away or you’ll be asleep again. Better hurry, it’s five past.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ I swallowed the scalding tea to help me wake, looked momentarily at my clean uniform and decided ordinary clothes would be quicker. I would not have to put up my hair. Five minutes later, I let myself quietly out of the Night Home. It was raining harder than this morning. I tucked my music under my coat and wished I had remembered a headscarf. Luckily there was always a fire in the Library which was on the second floor of the Medical School. I glanced up as I approached the building and was relieved to see lights behind the drawn curtains, showing the boys were still there. I re-doubled my speed up the main stairs and burst in apologetically.

  ‘Terribly sorry ‒ Home Sister wouldn’t ‒’ I gasped, then stopped abruptly.

  The Library was empty.

  Or rather, I thought it empty until Dr. Cameron appeared round the end of one of the jutting wings of bookshelves. ‘’Evening, Nurse Blakney.’ He did not look or sound surprised. ‘I wondered when you’d arrive. I’ve been waiting for you.’

  His calm words added to my sense of unreality. ‘I thought we were having a rehearsal,’ I said.

  ‘So Oxford told me. He was in here about an hour ago, and very anxious that you should find the note he had for you about this rehearsal. He hadn’t time to take it across to your Night Home and was afraid that, if he left it in here, someone might remove it to Matron’s Office out of mistaken kindness, or you might miss it. I told him I expected to be here for some time and could very well see that it reached you.’

  ‘I see. Thank you very much. I hope it hasn’t delayed you.’

  ‘Not at all. I’m trying to turn a disadvantage into an advantage, by catching up on my reading.’

  ‘How ‒ how is your wrist?’

  ‘Doing well, thanks. Your coat’s rather wet. Shouldn’t you take it off?’

  ‘Well, I expect the rehearsal’s been cancelled. I’ll be going out again in a moment.’

  ‘I think you’ll find it has merely been delayed by Dr. Hodgson-Basset’s Path. Drive.’ He brought me Mike’s note. ‘This will tell you,’ he added disinterestedly, and drifted back to the bookshelves.

  Mike’s note was apologetic and irate:

  ‘We should finish by six-thirty if only we can keep that old gas-bag H.-B. off Trypanosomiasis. If he gets launched on his war against the tsetse-fly, we’re sunk. We’ll be up the Congo with H.-B. until midnight! Keep your fingers crossed and the Library booked in case, will you? Sorry I couldn’t let you know about this before. I’ll leave it in the Library, and just hope you spot it before some well-meaning busybody shifts it to Matron’s Office. Yours in much haste, Mike.’

  Dr. Cameron glanced round. ‘What’s the verdict?’

  ‘Mr. Oxford thinks they should be out by six-thirty.’

  He looked at the library clock. ‘You shouldn’t have long to wait. You’ll be able to dry your coat meanwhile. There’s a good fire over there. And if you want to use the piano, please do,’ he went on casually. ‘It won’t disturb me. I just want to find a couple more references, then I’ll be pushing off to my room.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I left my music on the piano, then went over to the fire. M
y coat was very damp; my hair felt even worse. When I saw my reflection in the large brass coal-scuttle, I wished more than ever that I had remembered that head-scarf. Then I consoled myself with the rather wry thought that my appearance did not matter, since Dr. Cameron was totally engrossed in his reading.

  This at least allowed me to watch him openly, as I waited by the fire. He did not look fit to have left the Wing, I thought unhappily. He shifted his position slightly and leant his shoulders against the shelves without looking up from his book. He was wearing a comfortably aged tweed jacket instead of a white coat, his injured arm was resting in a sling that would have made Sister Casualty explode with fury. I wondered who had put it on. It was far too slack, the knot was slipping, the pin at the elbow was set at the wrong angle, and was apparently only there for ornament since the fold was flapping free. I longed to put it right but knew I would not even dare suggest it needed correction.

  I glanced involuntarily at his face and found he was gazing at me abstractedly. I turned quickly back to the fire hoping he had not noticed my scrutiny.

  A few moments later, I heard him close his book with a snap. ‘I don’t suppose Dr. Hodgson-Basset will be much longer.’

  ‘No. It’s still quite early.’

  He slipped his left arm out of the sling in an instinctive movement that showed it was used frequently ‒ and explained the condition of his sling.

  I went back to the piano and rearranged my music. He turned my way again. ‘I hear you’re doing a pantomime. Which one?’

  ‘Cinderella.’

  ‘Are you Cinderella?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ I smiled slightly. ‘I can’t sing. Nurse Gavin is Cinderella.’

  ‘Nurse Gavin? I know her name, but I can’t place her.’

  ‘She is the night junior in Casualty. She’s away at the moment.’ And I explained why.

  He made up the fire with his left hand. ‘Someone ‒ I don’t remember whom ‒ mentioned that at lunch today. Isn’t she engaged to one of our housemen?’

  ‘Not a houseman.’ I hesitated, then added reluctantly. ‘A student. Mr. Thanet.’

  He straightened, leant an elbow against one end of the high mantelpiece and considered me gravely. ‘Thanet? Have we two Thanets?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ The many times he had chanced to see George and me together flashed through my mind. One occasion particularly returned. If only he had not happened to walk in here just as George was hugging me. He must think George the sort of person who made love to one girl while getting engaged to another. I saw that was exactly what he was thinking, for he looked downright grim.

  My heart sank. I was not sure how to explain ‒ even if I dared ‒ but it was not fair to George to leave things as they were.

  I braced myself. ‘I only know one Thanet, Nurse Gavin’s fiancé. He’s an old friend of mine.’

  ‘I’ve gathered that.’

  This was going to be more difficult than I had feared. ‘He was at school with three of my brothers,’ I explained. ‘They asked him to sort of keep an eye on me ‒ and he’s been just like an extra brother since I arrived in Jude’s. Nurse Gavin is a great friend of mine,’ I met his eyes momentarily and his expression was scarcely reassuring. ‘So I’m thrilled about their engagement. We all are.’

  ‘Good.’ He folded one arm on the other. ‘I hope they’ll be very happy.’ His tone was formally polite and quite unconvinced.

  I had to convince him, not only for personal reasons, but for George’s future in Jude’s. Students are allowed to be moderately irresponsible; young doctors are not. In a couple of months, George hoped to qualify, and would apply to the S.M.O. for a reference, as all our students automatically did. Since brains and qualifications are not the only points that make a good doctor, the S.M.O. was always expected to report on the newly qualified young men’s characters.

  ‘I hope they will be happy, too, Doctor,’ I said as firmly as I dared, ‘because I’ll feel terribly responsible if they aren’t.’

  ‘Why?’ I had never heard him so terse.

  ‘Well, I know one shouldn’t try to arrange other people’s lives ‒ but when you see two people making themselves unhappy unnecessarily, it’s so hard not to ‒ well, give them a sort of push in the right direction.’

  ‘To whom did you administer this sort of push? Thanet?’

  ‘Actually to both of them. You see, I could see what was wrong, and someone had to do it.’

  ‘Inevitably that someone would be you.’ To my infinite relief his expression relaxed. ‘Inevitably,’ he repeated and looked into the fire. He went on staring into the fire for perhaps five minutes. I sat down on the piano-stool thankfully.

  I glanced at the clock. Twenty-five to seven. I did not wish to be selfish, but I could not help hoping that Dr. Hodgson-Basset had been reminded of the tsetse-fly. There were so many other evenings when we could rehearse, but there might never be another evening like this for me.

  Dr. Cameron roused himself like a man waking from sleep, turned his back on the fire, and put both hands in his pockets, ignoring the empty sling hanging round his neck. ‘Are you in the habit of doing this sort of thing, Nurse Blakney?’

  ‘Playing at rehearsals? More or less. I played at our P.T.S.’

  ‘I’m afraid you misunderstood me. I was referring to what you said just now about arranging other people’s lives.’

  ‘In a way, yes. It’s because of having so many brothers,’ I added vaguely. ‘At least I think it is.’

  ‘Possibly, not probably. I’ve known other members of large families, but have never met anyone with what ‒ in my view ‒ is your particular ability. And by that I mean your apparently instinctive manner of making the right suggestion at the right time. You did it with Fiona: with Thanet and Nurse Gavin, as you just told me.’ He watched me through narrowed eyes. ‘And twice with me. In the theatre and on the road.’

  I was too astounded and touched to say one word.

  ‘So I was just wondering,’ he went on evenly, ‘how many other people in this hospital owe you as much as I now realise Thanet and Nurse Gavin must owe you.’

  I felt my colour rise. ‘Honestly, Dr. Cameron, they don’t owe me anything.’

  ‘But you did just give them a sort of push in the right direction?’ He spoke very softly.

  I nodded, feeling dumb with embarrassment.

  ‘And others? There were others? May I ask, do your friends come to you for advice, or do you offer it unasked when you feel they require it?’

  ‘It rather depends on who they are, and how well I know them. But sometimes I give awfully bad advice, and wish I had had the sense to keep quiet.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t make a mistake once in a while. We all do that, unhappily. To get to the point, Nurse Blakney. I feel in need of some advice myself,’ he said quietly, ‘I think you might be able to help me ‒ if you would be so good?’

  ‘If I can, of course I will.’

  He inclined his dark head in that special mannerism of his that I knew and loved so well. It was more than a nod, less than a bow. ‘Thank you. My problem is this. I have discovered today that I have made a very great error of judgement. As a result of this error, I’ve taken a negative instead of a positive line over a matter which is ‒’ he paused ‘of such importance to me that in all honesty I have no words to describe its worth.’ He gave an odd little grimace. ‘I fear you must find this very confusing.’

  I did not find it at all confusing. I knew exactly what he was trying to say, because of what Standing had told me this morning. ‘No. I think I understand.’

  ‘You do?’ His eyes were slits of blue fire. ‘Then you must understand my predicament. Forgive my asking this, but can you really do that?’

  ‘I think so.’ I did my best to copy his careful ambiguity. ‘You made a mistake about someone and now you’d like to do something about altering the situation?’ I asked slowly. ‘But you feel it may be too late?’

  ‘Is it?’
he demanded urgently.

  His whole appearance seemed to have altered. He no longer looked quietly interested; he was desperately anxious, so anxious that he did not mind my seeing it. I loved him so much that I would have given anything to have been able to reassure him. But I had to be honest. I knew it was all he would want from me, or any friend, in these circumstances. I could not understand how Standing, or any woman, could put him out of her life, but I knew with absolute certainty that she had.

  I stood up. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Dr. Cameron. I’m afraid it is.’

  He might have been carved out of granite when I said that. For a few moments he just looked at me in silence. Then in his usual quietly impersonal voice he asked, ‘May I ask just one thing? I assure you I do not propose bothering you with the subject after this, but, as a point of interest, would you say it was always too late?’

  My heart seemed to twist. ‘Yes. I am afraid it was.’

  ‘That’s quite all right, thanks. You don’t have to qualify your answers.’ He turned quickly to the fire. ‘We’ve let this get very low. If Dr. Hodgson-Basset comes to the end of his paper on Trypanosomiasis, the Cinderella cast won’t be too pleased to find the temperature in here sub-zero.’

  He heaped a very generous quantity of coal on what I considered was a fairly good fire, using his left hand more freely than his right. I watched him unhappily. He was putting on the most magnificent act, but his taut face and the lines under his eyes, showed what it was costing him. He straightened and dusted his hands. ‘I think I’ve done all I can do. I’ll push off.’

  I said impulsively, ‘Dr. Cameron, I hope you will forgive my saying this, but that wrist isn’t going to heal if you go on treating it like this. You’ve been using it constantly. I’m sure it should be resting in your sling. Perhaps it isn’t very comfortable? Can I fix it for you? Or could you go to Casualty, or to have your wrist looked at properly now?’