‘Not on a Saturday night, Anna.’ His voice, as always, irritated me by being so good. It was both deep and gentle. ‘On Saturday night I prefer James Bond.’ He smiled as Jill Collins bounded up the stairs. ‘I’ve shifted those beds, Jill. What’s next?’
‘You good boy!’ She sounded as if he was eight, not twenty-eight. ‘I think ‒ Ward Three next. I want everything out! Ah! Come along, my child!’ Harriet had joined us. ‘All hands to the pump!’
Harriet ignored her and beamed at Robert. ‘Robbie! Hallo, there. Are you our first party guest? What fun! How are you? How long have you been here? And why didn’t anyone tell me you were here?’ She held out both hands to him. ‘It’s ages since you left!’
‘Two years. It’s good to see you again, Harriet. How have you enjoyed midder?’ he asked, smiling.
‘Need you ask?’ beamed Jill heartily. ‘How does the child look? A picture of health!’
‘Picture ‒ Heavens ‒ I forgot!’ Harriet turned to me. ‘Anna, that man must still be hanging on. In Sister Mary’s office. He says he wants to talk to you about some picture.’
‘A man? Wants to talk to me? What’s his name?’
‘I don’t know. Forgot to ask. He said he wanted to talk to Miss Anna Rowe about some picture. Isn’t that enough?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘yes. Thanks.’ I felt most peculiar. It was not an unpleasant sensation. It just made me wonder how my legs were going to carry me downstairs.
My hand was still shaking when I raised the receiver. ‘Anna Rowe speaking.’
‘Anna suits you better than Jane,’ said a voice I recognised. ‘How do you do, Anna? I’m Nicholas Dexter. You can call me Nick ‒ I hope.’
‘How did you find out my name?’
‘You mustn’t expect me to divulge my sources of information.’ From the sound of his voice he was smiling. ‘But, having tapped them, I thought I would ring to introduce myself and ask you one question. What colour dress are you wearing tonight?’
I was too surprised for anything but the truth. ‘White.’
‘What material?’
‘Lace. Why? What’s all this about?’
‘I like to know these things.’
I had met a good many opening gambits, but this was a new one on me. ‘Are you in the rag trade?’
‘No. I’ll tell you my job tonight.’
‘Tonight?’ I came down to earth, remembering mentioning the party to him. ‘Don’t you dare gatecrash!’
‘Perish the thought. I’m invited.’
‘Oh, nonsense! That’s impossible ‒ unless you really are a Barny’s man?’
He said pleasantly, ‘I’m neither a Barny’s man nor a liar. I have in my hand at this moment an invitation from a Miss Maud Bush to her party tonight. As I have a noble and understanding nature, I’ll forgive your dark thoughts. And I want to see you again, Anna. Do we have a date tonight? Or are you already booked?’
I wanted to see him again. I wanted that so badly that I nearly lost my nerve a second time and invented an absent boy friend to whom I had to be faithful. Then I remembered Robert Gordon. If he did get back for the party he would expect to see me lamenting David. I said, ‘I’m not booked.’
‘You are now,’ said Nick Dexter. ‘See you, Anna. Thank you very much.’
Chapter Two
A PARTY FOR SISTER MARY
Harriet watched me pin the orchids to my left shoulder.
‘Why is it that when I take a walk in our wood the only man I meet is Frank? I’ve never even been this close to orchids before!’
‘Nor me.’ Together we admired my reflection in our long glass. ‘Think I should wear them? I don’t want to give him ideas.’
‘Any man who sends a girl orchids already has all the ideas you know plus a few you’ve never thought of, duckie. Relax.’ She examined the florist’s box. ‘Special delivery from Astead. I thought you said he was staying in Wylden?’
‘That’s what he said.’
She put down the box and began wriggling herself into the particular foundation garment she called her armour. Being so plump, she had quite a struggle.
‘His invitation was from Miss Maud Bush ‒ not Sister Mary?’
‘Yes.’
I saw what she was getting at. I should have seen it before had I not been feeling slightly drunk all afternoon. All Barny’s and Wylden village knew Sister Mary as ‘Sister Mary’. As far as we knew all her invitations had gone out under her official title. ‘How could he know her name?’
Harriet gasped. ‘Give me a heave first, Anna.’ We both heaved, and by the time we had her properly in her armour and the back zip up we were both red in the face. ‘There’s one person who always calls her Miss Bush’ ‒ Harriet was still gasping ‒ ‘old Norris.’ She faced me. ‘Your new boy friend must be one of his many godchildren. He’s got a godson with him this week-end.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I was helping Sister Mary with her post this morning when she rang to ask if it would be all right to call on the old boy, as she always does, knowing he can’t abide casual callers. The housekeeper went off to sound him, and came back saying he’d be pleased to see Miss Bush at eleven-fifteen, and was sorry she would miss his godson as the young gentleman had already gone out for the morning. And where’d he gone? Into our wood!’
I was amused but unconvinced. ‘Of course. That settles it!’
‘Why not? From your description Nick Dexter’s the right age. He could have known our wood as a small boy. He must have heard we were closed from old Norris.’
‘He could just as easily have heard in the village ‒ as he said.’
She refused to allow me to pick holes in her theory. ‘He probably said that not to embarrass you with his connection with our wealthy benefactor.’ She dropped a curtsy. ‘Also, maybe he wants to be loved for himself and not his lolly ‒ in which case, he shouldn’t dish out orchids to hard-working nurses!’
‘It won’t be his lolly ‒’
‘He may have to share a few million quid with three or four co-godchildren. That’ll be tough!’ She stepped into her dress. ‘Am I going to make this?’
‘Hold on. Ready?’ Again we heaved together. ‘That’s it.’ I stood back. ‘You may not be able to sit down.’
She studied herself. ‘Tomorrow I diet.’
‘You do that,’ I agreed tactlessly, my mind on her theory. ‘Why should Sister Mary invite him? The old man’s not coming.’
‘Only because he’s allergic to stepping outside his front door and so aged. Otherwise he’d be our guest of honour. Think what Barny’s owes him ‒ blah, blah, blah. But once Sister heard he’d got this godson staying, naturally she’d ask him. I’ll bet she left an invitation card with the old boy, and that’s how this Dexter had it in his hand when he rang you.’
‘And how did he get my name?’
‘Have you forgotten the old boy’s housekeeper is our Taffy’s cousin?’ I had. ‘And that you’ve been the only redhead here for months.’
That was true, but I was still not wholly convinced. I let it go, as once Harriet made up her mind nothing could shift her, and there was something else on my mind. ‘Harriet, how long has Mr. Martin lived in Wylden?’
‘About five years.’ She peered into the mirror to fix on false eyelashes. ‘Why? Still brooding about him changing his mind?’
‘Yes. Aren’t you?’
She reminded me she was not the brooding type. ‘That’s why I’m so fat. I’ve tried worrying to get some weight off. It’s no good. I keep forgetting my worry.’ She had on the eyelashes and was busy with the mascara. ‘Maybe he was just having another of his rushes of blood to the head this morning.’
‘Hope so. Where did he come from before he settled in Wylden?’
‘He was teaching up north. Not sure where. Why are you interested?’
‘Robert Gordon.’
‘What?’ She glanced round. ‘Since when have you been interested in Robbie Gordon? I thought you h
ated his guts.’
‘I do. But I’ve just remembered something I had forgotten.’ I went on to explain how David had once told me Robert was spending a week-end near the Mat Unit with some relation. ‘This was ages ago, before I knew Wylden. I only remember it because at the time I had thought all Robert’s family lived in Caithness or the Orkneys or some other outlandish spot.’
She was surprised. ‘I thought he had no family?’
‘No parents. He was raised by some cousins of his father. I wonder ‒ do you know if his mother was English?’ She shook her head. ‘Then Martin could be his uncle.’
‘You’re not serious?’ She saw I was. ‘Anna, there are three hundred and fourteen people in Wylden. Why pick on Martin?’
‘Because we know most of the people in the village and have heard of those we don’t know. If anyone but Mr. Martin had a nephew at Barny’s we’d have been told. The village has adopted Barny’s. We’re their pet hospital. Anyone but old Martin would have buttonholed each one of us every trip we made into Wylden to ask if we knew the dear boy. You know all outsiders assume we all know each other. Mr. Martin wouldn’t do that, as he never remembers anyone’s name, and I’m sure still doesn’t know which hospital owned the Mat Unit.’ She did not say anything. ‘But he did tell you this morning his nephew was doing medicine.’
That roused her. ‘And you said he couldn’t be one of our men because he was trying to spoil things for Sister Mary.’
‘When I said that I had forgotten Robert Gordon. He wouldn’t hesitate to spoil anything for anyone ‒ if it suited him.’
She said, ‘Anna, aren’t you picking on the wrong man? It was David, not Robert, who asked for his ring back.’
‘I haven’t forgotten,’ I said dryly. ‘There’s nothing like a good, clean jilt for lingering in a girl’s memory. Not that I now blame David for that. As he had discovered he was in love with someone else, it was the only possible thing to do. Yes ‒ I know ‒ he should have told me sooner, but he only put it off because he hated hurting me. David was like that.’
She shrugged. ‘I never knew David Somers. I just saw him around. But Robbie I knew quite well. I’ve never rubbed that in as his name always gets you to flash-point in record time, but when you’ve talked about him I’ve always felt we must be talking about two different men. I like Robbie Gordon. Sorry, but I do.’
‘Which just goes to show you don’t know him quite as well as I do.’
‘Come on, girls!’ Jill Collins put her head round the door. ‘Stop wasting time trying to make yourselves beautiful. Sister’s waiting.’
Sister Mary and Mrs. Evans were in our front hall. Our cook was superb in black satin. Sister Mary was wearing a long grey velvet dress, and she looked smaller, slimmer, and oddly defenceless without her uniform. And tonight she looked her age.
I had known she was elderly, but had never until now realised she was old. Now she reminded me of my grandmother’s friends, and it gave me quite a shock to realise she belonged in their generation. She must have been a very pretty girl in much the same style as Harriet, and one of the thousands of pretty girls left unmarried by the First World War. I knew she had loved her life at Barny’s, and she had probably been too busy to be aware of the side of life she had missed. After Monday she would begin to remember. I thought about my grandmother. She lived alone, and was a fiercely independent and active lady with three great passions: her grandchildren, hats, and sitting on committees. Sister Mary could indulge in the two latter, but as a human being she was going to be very alone. She had no family alive, and, apart from Barny’s, the only friends she had had time to make lived in Wylden. As if to underline my thoughts, having thanked us all for the work we had done in preparing the party, she said how delighted she was to be retiring locally. ‘I feel I won’t be losing touch with you all. I am going to keep you dear girls to your promise to come down and help me with the decorating once I move in. Now, don’t forget ‒ any time you want a quiet week-end in Wylden, just drop me a card. You will be more than welcome.’
I glanced at Harriet, feeling like Judas. She did not notice. She was discussing the supper menu with Taffy Evans.
Jill Collins had organised the party as she would have organised a ward-list. She had even drawn up a list. She had put herself down to look after our most senior guests; I was to escort the others to the various cloakrooms. It was Harriet’s job to stay in the hall with Sister Mary and move the crowd on into the reception rooms. Professor Ferguson, our specific pundit, was running the bar with the help of his two teenage sons and any students as soon as they arrived.
Jill was in bronze silk, but bustled round so professionally that one forgot she was not in uniform and could almost hear the crackle of starch. She handled the two ex-Matrons, aged senior sisters, the consultants and their wives, with the brisk good humour with which she handled the patients and staff on duty. The patients had loved her and been only amused by her tactlessness, as she was very kind and extremely efficient. The patients felt safe when she was around; but, like every patient I ever met, they rated kindness as the top qualification in their doctors and nurses. ‘That Nurse Collins is a born nurse,’ they would say, and in Jill’s case ‒ which was by no means the general rule ‒ they were right. She never could have been anything but a nurse; her job was her hobby as well as her profession; she had no outside interests. Harriet said Jill Collins was not just uninterested in being a woman ‒ she had not yet discovered the fact.
I often wished I had her one-track mind. I loved my job, but it had never been enough to fill the gaps left by David. When our guests began to arrive and I found myself looking at every fair man with a new interest, I felt as if I had suddenly come alive again.
The party got off the ground instantly. Each new guest sensed the atmosphere, shed a few inhibitions, and added to the general high spirits. Girls I hardly knew fell on my neck like long-lost sisters and gave me the latest hospital gossip as I took them upstairs. ‘Have you heard about Sister Florence and the S.M.O.? My dear, they’ve already changed the date three times, and they say …’
Three girls with whom Harriet and I had started midder came back from the new Mary Block. ‘Haven’t you seen it since it was finished? Anna, it’s a dream! It’s got the lot! Spherical, air-conditioned theatres, four-bedded wards that look like five-star hotel rooms, mums’ lecture-rooms, fathers’ lecture-rooms, thermostatically controlled nurseries, and, of course, incubators, and absolutely fab decorations ‒ there are plants climbing every other wall! The mums can’t believe their eyes when they come in! And the waiting fathers are having a ball amongst the potted plants and crafty little push-button machines that produce hot coffee, tea, and iced milk in their waiting hall. Did you hear the block has won some high-powered international architectural prize? The man who thought it up has gone off to Italy to collect it!’
‘Sounds great. What’s the new Sister Mary like?’
‘Sweet. Didn’t you know her as Sister Elizabeth?’
I said not. ‘I’ve never worked in Elizabeth.’
They exchanged glances. ‘Then you won’t have worked with Sabby Wardell, as she was senior staff in Elizabeth for four years before Matron gave her Observation.’
‘No. All I know about Wardell is that she’s the best looking girl in Barny’s. What’s she like, girls?’
‘ “Miss” Wardell, if you please, Nurse Rowe.’
I laughed. ‘God! Like that, eh? Thanks for the tip. Any others you can give me?’
One girl said, ‘I worked with Wardell in Elizabeth. She wasn’t too bitchy then, and I’ll say this for her: she knows her stuff.’
‘She’ll need to in Observation,’ said another.
I asked, ‘Is she now bitchy all the time, or just some of the time?’
‘That depends on ‒’ The speaker broke off as Jill bounded in.
Jill Collins and Sabina Wardell, my future ward sister, had started training in the same set. When the girls had removed themselves Jill told me
she had lost one of her ex-Matrons. ‘You seen one up here, Rowe?’
‘Sorry, Nurse, No. I’ve been too busy gossiping about Observation.’
‘Of course, you’re going there. You’ll like it. Sabby Wardell’s making a very good job there as sister, I hear. We used to be great pals ‒ though I never quite understood why. Much as I like her, we’ve so little in common. Where is my Matron?’
I was rather amused and rather relieved to get her version on this. On balance, I was inclined to back her opinion against that of the girls. Sabby Wardell was so very good-looking that she was bound to be judged harshly by her fellow-females, unless they happened to know her well, which Jill did. I was not worried by her being occasionally bitchy. All ward sisters had to be sometimes, or they made rotten ward sisters. I should infinitely prefer to work under a tough who knew her job than under a gentle soul who tried to please her nurses and then looked the other way when something went wrong. We had had a few sisters like that at Barny’s. They never lasted long. While they lasted their nurses nearly had nervous breakdowns.
Jill chased up and down the corridor, looking in empty rooms. I cantered after her. ‘Where did you lose her, Nurse?’
‘On this floor. I had to abandon her to cope with a phone call from Mr. Martin.’
‘What did he want? Forgotten the date? Sister said she’d asked him.’
‘He’s not coming. He’s got some meeting on in the village hall. That wasn’t why he rang, though. He wanted to speak to Robert Gordon.’ She misunderstood my reaction. ‘Don’t tell me he’s here? I said he hadn’t shown up.’
‘I haven’t seen him. But why did Martin want him?’
‘Didn’t ask, my child. I said I couldn’t oblige, and he rang off.’ She leant over the banisters. ‘Where has the child Jones got to? Half those people down there have nothing in their hands. Thank God! Clerks!’ She ran downstairs and pounced on a quartet of final-year students. ‘Boys, we need you!’
They leered hopefully. ‘And we need you, ladies!’
That sailed over Jill’s head. ‘Go and help the Prof in the bar like good lads!’ She waved them off and slapped my arm. ‘Wake up, Rowe! Here’s another car and, so help me ‒ a coach!’
A House for Sister Mary Page 3