She listened without interrupting until I had said all I wanted to say. Her vivid blue eyes appraised me kindly and keenly. ‘I’ll find out how he is for you. I’ll ring Richard Leland.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Is tea still served in the Doctors’ House?’
I was too rapt in my own problems to remember anyone else’s. ‘Yes, but you can’t ring Old Red! He’s S.S.O.!’
‘So you wrote in your letter, darling.’
That did rouse me slightly from myself. ‘You do remember him?’
‘Of course! Very well! Richard and I trained together. We’re old friends. I haven’t seen him in years, but he won’t have changed. He’s not the type. He was a sweet boy.’
‘He’s no boy now! I can imagine what he’ll think if you ring him up and say you’ve found me weeping over my special patient! What excuse could you give?’
‘Jo, I told you, he’s an old friend. I don’t need any excuse. Nor will he think it odd if you are a little het up. Everyone gets het up over their special patients. Or are you rather more than just het up?’ I did not answer. ‘Darling, you are not imagining yourself in love with this young man?’
‘Don’t ask me what I’m imagining!’
‘Jo, be careful! Remember, he’s a patient.’
‘Like to bet?’ I replied savagely.
She touched my hand. ‘Let’s face things one by one. Where are the nearest outside phone-boxes? Still in Cas?’ She jumped out of the car. ‘You wait here. If authority wants to know why, blame me. Say you were too tired this morning to remember to ask for permission to get up early to meet me and then woke at the right time and didn’t want to let me down. As I’m not only an Old Benedictine, but was in the same set as Matron ‒ God help me! ‒ no one’ll object after that. I’ll be quick as I can.’
‘Hold on ‒’ Her back was to the car-park entrance. She did not see the S.S.O. coming quickly out of the library and crossing the entrance. ‘He’s over there ‒ he’ll be across the road before you catch him.’
My aunt swung round. She was twelve years younger than my father, and for years now I had called her Margaret, but until that moment I had always thought of her as firmly fixed in the older generation. She was by far the quietest, as well as much the nicest, of my four aunts, and normally a rather shy woman. Her reactions momentarily startled me out of my anxiety. Startled and enchanted me. She seemed to shed ten years in one second as she hollered, ‘Oy, Richard!’ at the top of her voice across the car-park.
His reactions affected me exactly as hers had done. His head jerked round, he stared at Margaret, then bellowed back, ‘Maggie!’ He came to meet her so fast that the skirt of his white coat floated out behind him. ‘Maggie Dungarvan! I can’t believe this!’ He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her, then held both her hands and smiled down at her as I had not seen him smile since I mentioned her name that night in the subway. ‘Maggie, you haven’t changed at all! What are you doing here? How long are you staying?’ he demanded eagerly.
His gaiety jarred. My anxiety had returned, and I hated him for being so happy. I almost hated Margaret. How could they both stand there smiling when Bill might be dead?
My aunt was explaining that she had come up to visit me. It was only then that Old Red noticed me in the car. He glanced at me as Margaret went on, ‘I feel very guilty at getting the poor child out of bed, as I know she’s specialing a D.I.L. and worried stiff in the process. And how one worried as a special, I well remember.’ Her smile had vanished. ‘How’s he doing, Richard?’
He went on smiling. ‘Well.’ Still holding her hands, he spoke to me over her head. ‘Dr Curtis is well satisfied with your patient’s chest, Nurse Dungarvan. His temperature dropped just over six degrees this morning. When I was in Marcus just now he was normal. Dr Curtis expects him to stay there, so you may find yourself out of a job tonight.’ I was smiling and smiling.
‘Mr Leland, that’s fabulous!’
‘Very pleasing indeed. I’m sure you can appreciate his father’s relief.’
‘He was there?’
‘Yes. Sister Marcus has finally been able to persuade him to go back to his club for a short rest.’ He returned his attention to Margaret. ‘How long are you here for? Do you have to hurry off, or can you stay and have dinner with me later? As this is my free evening, I’m sure I can get away by seven. Can you wait?’
I was too happy to hear her answer, or even recollect they were there. Later she told me she was going to accept his invitation. By then I was hearing wedding bells, and not only for Old Red and Margaret.
Chapter Four
ONE MORNING ON A BYPASS
I was well into my holiday before I learnt Margaret’s real reason for looking so elegant that afternoon. She had come on to Benedict’s from an interview with her bank manager. ‘When father opened an account for me in that branch just across the river from the hospital in my P.T.S. days he advised me, if possible, never to move my account. I’ve made an arrangement with the Downshurst branch which is now years old. I’m now far too devoted to my Mr MacQueen to consider depriving him of my overdraft.’
‘Do you always dress to kill for him?’ I asked. ‘Isn’t he married with four kids?’
‘He is.’ Margaret smiled. ‘But if you ever need to borrow money, Jo, don’t forget this; look as if money is the last thing you need. As Tom MacQueen himself once told me, banks will always lend you an umbrella, when it’s not raining. I’m not saying getting all dressed up solves the problem, but as bank managers are human, it does make ’em that much more willing to help try and solve it. With the Ellis family finances being in a perpetual state of crisis, I’m something of an expert on the subject of raising an overdraft.’
Her husband’s pay as a junior registrar had died with him. He had had no private income, pension, or ‒ which had surprised me in the last few years ‒ life insurance. After his death Margaret had had only a widowed mother’s pension to support Dickie and herself. My paternal grandparents had died within a few months of each other whilst she was training, and as Grandfather had tied up all his savings in annuity for my grandmother, none of his children had inherited anything from him. Simon Ellis had lost both parents before he married, and his only brother had been killed in the last War. My father had helped Margaret during the early years, but directly Dickie had been old enough to board at his preparatory school Margaret had insisted on returning to nursing and becoming sole breadwinner. A gloriously unexpected legacy from a great-aunt had allowed her to use half to start buying her cottage and bank the other half for Dickie’s education. It had not been a large legacy. My father frequently said he did not know how she managed. Margaret gave all the credit to her Mr MacQueen. ‘A dour Scot. But his mother was left an impoverished widow. He sits there looking like John Knox being unimpressed by Mary Stuart, and just as I think he’ll never let me increase my overdraft he says, “Aye, life’s not easy for a woman alone with no head for business. I’ll do my best for you, Mrs Ellis.” And I could willingly kiss him, if I wasn’t sure that would shock him to death!’
I said smiling, ‘If you always look as fabulous as you did on Thursday when you visit him I wouldn’t bet on that reaction. How did you make out then?’
She closed the living-room door before answering, even though Dickie had long gone to bed. ‘He thinks I can manage the first two years’ bills at Dickie’s new school, but after that I’ll be cleaned out, so God alone knows what’ll happen. Unless Dickie has passed in well enough to get a scholarship.’
Dickie had just taken the entrance examination required by his father’s old public school. The results were due next week. Dickie’s place had been booked at birth.
I said, ‘He’s a bright lad. Isn’t there a good chance he may get a scholarship?’
She shrugged. ‘His present Head is hopeful, but, as he told me, no-one can predict exam results. It’s tough enough to get into that school. To get in on a scholarship means passing little short of brilliantly. Dickie realizes tha
t. He took the exam, very seriously ‒ in fact, far too seriously. He’s always set his heart on going to Simon’s school. He’s trying to pretend he’s not worrying about the results now, but I know he is.’
I had noticed this. I did not say so.
She went on, ‘At least twelve is one year older than eleven. I’ve seen how Dickie’s pals look when taking the eleven plus, and it makes me so mad, Jo! No child of that age should have to face something which they’ve the intelligence to realize can affect their whole lives, even if they are too young to appreciate, mercifully, just how much. The poor little things look white and strained and old. Yet don’t ask me how else they can sort out the bright from the not-so-bright, as I don’t know. I don’t even know it’s a good idea they should be sorted out. Personally, I’m not sure it is, though Dickie’s Head insists it is, and he should know. I’ve got to leave that problem to the experts. The problem I can’t leave is what do I do if Dickie just passes? Break his heart now by saying the school’s too expensive? Or wait two years and break it then?’
I said tentatively, ‘Suppose in two years’ time the situation was different?’
‘In what way?’
‘You might have more money.’
‘How? Think they’ll raise our pay? Darling, we are nurses, not doctors.’
I was on thin ice, and I knew it. Though she had dined with Red Leland that evening and had seemed as pleased to meet him again as he had been to see her, though I had frequently brought up his name since my holiday started, each time she had immediately changed the subject. I had not yet been able to fathom why.
‘Well’ ‒ I was intentionally vague ‒ ‘by then you might have won a football pool.’
‘Don’t do ’em. I don’t know how. Do you?’
‘No. So that’s out. Well, then how about ‒ if you marry again?’
Her expression was thoughtful as well as amused. ‘Are you suggesting I remarry to pay Dickie’s school bills? An idea. I can’t say I like it.’
‘But wouldn’t you like to marry again?’
‘In theory, yes, very much. In practice, I’m not so sure it would work out.’
‘Why not?’
She took her time. ‘Lots of reasons.’
‘Such as?’
‘To begin with, I’ve been on my own a long time, and the longer one is alone the more used to it and the more choosy one becomes. Also, the more independent. I never aimed to be an independent, career-woman type, but on being jerked into it by Simon’s death I’ve had to become one. It would be folly to pretend that at least part of me doesn’t love independence, or that very independent women make the most adaptable of wives. And wives, my child, to make a success of marriage, must adapt.’
‘Surely, with the right man that would work out?’
She said, ‘Sweetie, don’t forget I not only need the right man for me, but the right stepfather for Dickie. Ready-made good fathers who are free to marry and in my age-group aren’t easily come by. Then there’s another snag. As far as I’m concerned, Dickie must come first. Now I know the love for a man and the love for one’s child are two totally different things, but it’s not always simple for the father of one’s child to understand that. To expect a man to understand it about another man’s son is expecting a very great deal.’
‘But lots of second marriages are happy.’
‘And lots are not, particularly for the kids. No father’s tough on a kid, but the wrong father can be far worse. I might take a gamble for myself. I’d never risk gambling Dickie.’
Old Red was in the right age-group and free. As he had no children, how could anyone say what kind of a father he would make until given a chance to prove it himself?
‘Margaret, I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but aren’t you forgetting that in a few years Dickie’ll be grown up? And what then?’
‘He’ll move out and live his own life.’
‘And you’ll be alone.’
‘Yes, dear. But if you’re about to suggest I marry now for companionship later, don’t. Though I may well seem aged to you, Jo, I’m not yet that old.’ She smiled self-derisively. ‘Or if I am I don’t feel it. At the same time, I’m a long way from being young enough to imagine, as you do, that marriage is the answer to all life’s little problems. On the contrary, and if this is corny I can’t help it, as it’s still true, it’s when one marries that one’s real problems start. I think I’ve enough of my own without looking round for a few more.’
‘But if you did you’d have someone to help with your problems! And, Margaret ‒ don’t you get lonely?’
‘Obviously, Jo. Who, on their own, doesn’t? But there are worse things than loneliness, and I’m old enough to have seen ’em. I’ve often come home from a job, or visiting so-called happily married friends, and thanked heaven fasting for my lot. I’m not complaining.’
‘I know!’ I snapped crossly. ‘But it’s time you did!’
‘Phooey! You’ve got marriage on the brain tonight, darling. Must be this wedding you’re going to tomorrow. What time do you want the car?’
‘Ten-thirty-ish do?’
‘Fine.’ She stood up. ‘Let’s go to bed.’
I knew when I was beaten. I went glumly upstairs. Fond as I was of Margaret, I could willingly have shaken her. She was behaving like an ostrich about Old Red ‒ and a stubborn ostrich at that! From what I had gathered of her dinner with him in town, despite her obvious pleasure in meeting him again, she had given the poor man a straight brush-off. She had told him she was unlikely to be in town again in the foreseeable future, and was sure he was far too busy to have time to drive down to Sussex. I had asked, ‘Why not?’ She had laughed. ‘Where’s the S.S.O. with energy for a one-hundred-and-twenty-odd-mile drive there and back?’
To comfort myself I reread Bill’s letter. He had got my address from Aline, who had been moved to Marcus to replace Gwenellen, who had flu. I had returned to Hope from the night after Bill’s crisis. He wrote: ‘I nearly died again when you didn’t appear.’ His plaster had been changed, and he had written whilst it dried. Once dry, they were letting him up. He hoped to join his father in Devon next week. General Francis had seen Mr Remington-Hart on Monday. ‘He has not said anything about it to me,’ the letter continued, ‘but as he is making plans to leave town this week-end, I fear the result was no dice. I know he would like me to send you his regards. He took quite a shine to you, did my old man. Like father, like son.
I now want to thank you. How the hell can I? Even though words are my trade, I don’t know the right words. You may think you just nursed me. That I was just another job. Maybe. I think you saved my life. I think that had you not been with me on the black nights I would have died. You may forget me, though how I hope you won’t! I’ll never forget you. I want to see you again just as soon as they let me out of this hospital. May I, please, please, please?
I realize you can’t write me here. I’ll be in touch, my love ‒ as you must know you are.
Yours ‒ and this is no euphemism,
Bill Francis
Dickie had just collected the afternoon post from the postman in the lane and given me my letter before taking in the rest to his mother. I had not yet told Margaret it was from Bill. It was bound to worry her, as he was still a patient and I felt she had more than enough on her plate already without my adding anything. Or, rather, that was my excuse to myself when the letter first arrived and sent me sailing up on to Cloud Nine. Reading it again that night, I discovered that, as usually happens, my motives were mixed. I did not want to worry her, but neither did I want to discuss him, even with Margaret. I did not really know why not. I suspected it was because I had never been properly in love with anyone before, and the sensation was too strange, too pleasant, and too personal for sharing.
Margaret and I were very alike temperamentally. Suddenly it occurred to me to wonder if this was her real reason for refusing to discuss Red Leland. I was very much happier by the time I went to sleep.
&nb
sp; The wedding to which I had been invited was taking place in a village church ten miles the other side of Downshurst, a market town eleven miles from my aunt’s cottage. Dickie wolf-whistled when I appeared in my fine clothes. ‘I say, Jo, you look smashing! I dig that hat! Is it going to stay on?’
‘Honest to God, I hope so! I’ve fixed it with two cap-pins.’ I turned round. ‘Do they show?’
Margaret examined the pale-blue Breton sailor hat with the enormous upturned brim that by sheer luck exactly toned with my dress and jacket. ‘Not a trace. You look a dolly. Careful with that hat when you get into the mini.’ Dickie studied my skirt.
‘Is that a proper mini-skirt, Jo?’
‘No. It’s only two inches above my knees; a proper mini should be at least six. I thought with this hat this dress was short enough. Anyway, it’s my best.’
‘Can you sit down in it?’ asked Margaret.
‘With care and a large handbag to slap on my knees.’ I picked up my bag and gloves. ‘What’s the time? Twenty to? Hell! I’ll be late.’
‘The bride’ll be later, darling. Take it easy on the roads. And don’t forget to wear my safety-belt, or your aged aunt will never lend you her car again.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t. Having just spent a few nights in a major-accident ward, I’d rather be late than hurry.’ They came out to the car with me. Dickie wanted to know who was getting married.
‘No-one’s told me.’
‘Yes, I did, muggins! Yesterday, when we were doing the lawn. I was at school with the bride. Her name’s Gillian, and she’s marrying a schoolmaster. A David Benson.’ My cousin was groaning loudly. ‘What’s up now?’
‘Who’d want to marry one of that lot? Ugh!’
It was a lovely day and high summer. The traffic was quite heavy on the country lanes to Downshurst. On the Downshurst bypass there were six steady lanes of vehicles coming and going between London and the sea.
Hospital Circles Page 5