Heartbreak Surgeon (1960s Medical Romance Book 2)

by Sheila Burns

  She slept that afternoon, and when she woke felt considerably better, and even asked if she could be prettied up to greet Michael Bland when he arrived. A fresh bed-jacket was produced by the ever ready Henderson, her hair was done again and a new make-up applied. Mrs. Liskeard was a woman who was fanciful about appearance, and disliked being untidy.

  Henderson had been with her since the day that she married; when she spoke of it there were tears in her eyes. She had gone on her honeymoon with her, carrying a violet leather dressing-case which she refused to part with for a single moment, and making herself absent in a most noticeable way whenever she felt she was not required. Mrs. Liskeard loved her; perhaps she could not visualise a world without Henderson, for ever at her beck and call, and without a doubt Henderson had no world beyond Mrs. Liskeard’s.

  The car arrived earlier than they had expected it. Lorna heard it coming down the avenue as she sat reading little bits of interest out of the evening paper to her patient.

  ‘That must be them!’

  ‘How nice! Go down and welcome them, Lorna dear, and make him realise how proud we are to have him here. Henderson will stay to see after me.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Lorna went down the stairs and all the time she felt that thrill of excitement that Michael could give her. He was coming here for a whole week; she would be seeing him every day, not as the silent almost unapproachable man in the wards and the operating theatres, but as a friend. It was a dangerous project; it was of course quite wrong for both of them, yet it was the thing that she wanted more than anything else in the whole world.

  He must never mean anything to her again, for whatever excuse he tried to make could only be an excuse. She wished that she could curb the quickening beat of her heart, the feeling of utter joy as she went downstairs and saw Brown opening the door to them. The men came in together.

  Brown was bringing in the suitcases in that ever-efficient manner of his, something that Lorna had admired from the first time that she had seen him do it. She had come downstairs to the bottom step of all and stood there waiting. She had changed into a clean lilac uniform, and a fresh apron. Usually whilst she was here, she had worn plain clothes at Mrs. Liskeard’s request, but somehow this evening she felt that the uniform armed her against the very events that had the power to hurt her most.

  From the outer step Roger turned back to say something to Brown, and as he did so, Michael entered and looked straight across to her. He smiled, and hurried, coming across the hall itself to greet her. She got the impression of turkey rugs lying there in the multitudinous blur of lovely colours on the gleaming parquet, a background of ancestral state, quiet pictures, lovely carved furniture, and the big pewter bowls of cut flowers. Henderson always arranged the flowers most beautifully.

  In those black eyes of Michael’s there was real pleasure, real welcome, and whatever she had been thinking about him, one thing was plain, he was enchanted to see her. He had wanted her to be here! Don’t be a fool, she warned herself, don’t fall to his charms as you did before, and she held out her cuffed hand.

  ‘And how is the patient?’ he asked.

  ‘Mrs. Liskeard had a rather difficult morning, but she is a great deal better now, and most anxious to see you. You had a safe journey?’

  ‘Indeed, yes.’

  ‘Have you had tea on the way?’

  ‘At Redruth of all places,’ and he shrugged his shoulders with a smile.

  ‘At Redruth. I see!’

  Roger was coming across the hall to them. He was just as usual, and she wondered why it was she had half thought that he would have altered, all of which went to show what imagination could do for one. As he came nearer she saw that his face was flushed, and on his left cheek there was a big purple splotch of bruising, whilst his left hand was bandaged.

  ‘Whatever have you been doing to yourself?’ she asked before she could stop herself.

  He laughed. ‘Someone ran into my car, and I could not get out of the way in time, and had a bit of a crash. I really must get grabbers, like my aunt said.’

  She did not know why she recognised on the instant that none of this was true. She must be absurdly on edge about Michael’s visit to be so sensitive, so ready to pry deeper, and she looked at Roger again.

  ‘What really happened?’ she asked. That was the moment when she saw him flinch.

  ‘Just as I said. A car ran into me. You should see how some of these people use the road, he was cutting it close and had never thought that I might be there. It was a most disgraceful thing.’ Roger looked ill; his face was haggard as though he had had no sleep, and the bruise on his cheek was deeply violet, with a scarlet streak across the centre as though someone had scratched him.

  ‘You must let me dress that bruise for you,’ she said, ‘it looks quite fierce.’

  ‘I shan’t let you dress it.’

  She became aware that Michael was waiting at the stair foot, and she turned. He had never liked being kept waiting, the hospital had noticed it many times in the operating theatre, when, although he said nothing, the black eyes over the white mask stared venomously at the anaesthetist whom he blamed for the hitch. In the wards he had been authoritative, he would not waste time. She remembered with a grin how quickly Sister had responded to the tone!

  She said to Brown, ‘Please take up the suitcase to Mr. Bland’s room,’ and then to Michael, ‘Would you rather go there first and have some refreshment afterwards?’

  ‘I’d rather go and tidy up.’

  He followed Brown up the stairway taking the steps two at a time, whilst she and Roger waited at the bottom and watched the two of them go. On the top step of all Michael looked back and down on them, he turned, and half smiled. Perhaps he was one of those strange men whom you could not hope to understand, and it was maddening that in spite of this she went on deeply caring for him; emotionally attracted, and the emotion was something she could not conquer …

  Roger said, ‘I feel awful.’

  ‘Of course you do, accidents are always very unnerving. Go to your room and lie down for a while before visiting your aunt. It will only worry her seeing you like that. Let me put a dressing on that bruise however much you hate the idea, then she won’t see how bad it is. And I’d have a whisky and soda, if I were you.’

  ‘It’s an idea!’ Suddenly his mood had changed and he was grateful to her for attending to him. ‘You’re a nice girl, Lorna, and you do try to see after a chap.’

  She went to his room with him.

  It was the typical young man’s room, she supposed, large and capacious as was all Wiseways. There were books covering one wall, she would never have thought that reading was one of his interests, yet this proved it. A bed was in a niche at the far end of the room, and a dressing-room opened off beside it. She opened her own little case, she had picked it up from her own room as they passed it, and she brought out the dressing for the cheek. As she went nearer and looked into it; she saw that this deep bleeding scratch lay across the centre of the bruise; could he have scratched himself? It was most unlikely.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me the truth about this?’ she asked him.

  He had relapsed into one of those sullen moods of his, and he did not want to speak to her. The fact that he stayed silent only increased her own tormenting doubts. Why did he keep the truth from her? What was there about this that apparently he did not want her to know? and again the memory of that other terrifying night came to her. For a single second she wondered if she ought to go to the police station and report her doubts. Then she remembered the amiable little cottage with the notice ‘police’ on it, and the bullet-headed policeman who lived there, and knew that she would only disastrously commit herself. Ought she to ask Lionel Strong what he would do? He would possibly insist that this was nonsense, for he had known Roger many years, and realised what a good chap he was.

  It could easily happen that way.

  It would be far better to stay silent, and see what happened
next. Roger finished the whisky and soda and brightened with it. He smiled again.

  Lorna said, ‘Have a wash and brush-up, and when you feel better come and see your aunt. I must go back to her because Mr. Bland may want to see me.’

  ‘Is Maudie coming round?’

  ‘Maudie is at a party in Tintagel. Tomorrow is his appointment.’

  ‘He’s the veriest old fool.’

  Lorna said nothing.

  In Mrs. Liskeard’s bedroom Michael was sitting comfortably in an easy chair, and talking to her. Brown had brought the cocktails in. Before Lorna actually turned the door handle she heard Mrs. Liskeard laughing quite gaily, as though there were nothing in the world wrong with her. She heard Michael’s heavier laugh, and entered reluctant to disturb them.

  Mrs. Liskeard said, ‘And where have you been, Lorna?’

  ‘Roger had a slight accident, nothing much, someone ran into him, cutting a corner. He is not hurt but has a nasty bruise on his cheek, so I dressed it for him. I am sorry to have been so long.’

  ‘My dear, he is all right?’ She was plainly nervous for him, her eyes were strained.

  ‘Absolutely all right.’ Again she felt that doubt within her. He was not all right; he had not told her the truth, she realised, and how had that scratch come on to his cheek? She pulled herself together, aware that Michael was watching her.

  ‘The patient is much better,’ he said.

  ‘I’m worlds better.’ Mrs. Liskeard was one of the people who resent illness, and she showed it now as she spoke. She was happy, for Michael’s presence gave her confidence, and she was delighted that he had decided to accept her hospitality. Here at Wiseways he could do what he liked. He could turn up to meals or let them pass by, it upset nobody, and she would not complain. She wanted him to enjoy the big leisurely house, and the gardens which were at their best at this time of the year. She wanted him to find the relaxation that he needed in these contrasting conditions to those which harassed him in London with all those early appointments, and the unending strain. He lived in a world of rushed meals, and emergency operations which made continuous demands on his courage and his strength.

  Mrs. Liskeard was sure that he would be glad to escape for a time, that crowded life of X-rays and consultations, of arguments and ordeals.

  Lorna went to the window seat and sat down there; she wanted to be aloof, for she felt that it was a good thing for patient and consultant to talk together. Only a few moments later Roger entered with the little patch of a dressing that she had set on his cheek. The cheek itself was flushed, but he looked better, the whisky and soda had done its job, and he went to his aunt and kissed her.

  ‘Roger dear, whatever did you do?’

  He tried to laugh it off as men always do. ‘Oh, it’s nothing. Just one of those things which happen in this hard world. A chap was coming too fast round the corner, and cutting it a bit fine. He hit me one big hell of a wump. I must get grabbers, they’d have solved half the difficulty, and you asked me to have them fitted ages ago. Now I know how wise you were. The steering wheel caught me something of a slap, too,’ and he rubbed his chest.

  ‘Oh, Roger, how awful! People are so thoughtless for others. You are quite sure you’re all right?’

  He laughed again. ‘I’m not seeing Maudie about it if that is what you are going to suggest.’ Then he looked round. ‘By the by, where is Maudie?’

  Lorna told him. ‘I’ve said where he was already. It’s a get-together dinner at Tintagel, and he expects to be out of this world for the time being.’

  ‘Out of this world, I’ll say!’ Roger laughed. He was back in his everyday mood; she need not have been suspicious or silly about him, the accident had upset him for the time being, nothing more. ‘Maudie would do better to keep off it.’

  Michael glanced at them. ‘You mean …?’

  It was Mrs. Liskeard who explained. ‘I’m afraid Roger and everyone else here knows that this is something of a quiet life for a doctor. In this part of the world he is away from the encouragement of wiser men, he does not see new operations, and is not very interested in new treatments. All that sort of thing has made Dr. Morde’s life a little dreary. He should have married.’

  ‘He must find this place awfully slow.’

  ‘Yes, he must. I suppose you and Roger will think I am driving home the point, but bachelorhood is not good for an entire lifetime. People need companionship, especially when they grow older, comfort, and help; someone to lean on; someone who is always there.’

  Roger drank his cocktail. ‘That’s the pet argument of my aunt; she’s always wanting me to marry, and I don’t! I have yet to discover if I really am a one-girl man, which I doubt very much.’

  Michael shrugged his shoulders. ‘I should have thought that marriage would help you,’ he commented.

  Instantly Roger changed the subject with a startling adroitness. ‘When you’ve finished your tea, let me show you round. Brown showed you the little west wing suite, where my aunt always puts the honoured guest, but there are the gardens. They are really very pleasant, and there is a punt on the lake, if you wish to go there for a read, or a quiet time. I always find it very restful, and I think you’ll like it.’

  ‘Nothing could make me happier,’ he agreed and smiled. ‘I think I am going to enjoy this change more than I can say. Cornwall is new to me, but the house and grounds remind me of my own home. At the moment any time spent at home is hardly restful for I have had a most frightful row with my obstinate old father.’

  Mrs. Liskeard hurriedly glanced across at him, Lorna knew that she had an established feeling about family rows. ‘Oh dear! Do you think it was really worth while? I mean, it always seems to me that a row ‒ even if it gets things off the chest ‒ is far better avoided.’

  ‘This one had to happen.’ Michael was purposefully not looking at Lorna, but she knew what the trouble had been.

  He’s one of those men who can be stubborn as a mule, she told herself.

  But Mrs. Liskeard could not let it be. She was the woman who poured oil on troubled waters and who always sought to help people. ‘Are you sure?’ she enquired anxiously.

  ‘Quite sure. If I had let my father go on as he was doing I should have found myself married to the girl of his choosing and not mine. It would not have meant that we lived happily ever after. Something had to be done quickly, so I did it.’ He set the empty tea cup on the table.

  Nobody said a thing.

  Then, after a moment, Mrs. Liskeard put her cup forward and asked Lorna to give her some more. When the men had gone off to the garden, Lorna rang for Henderson. Mrs. Liskeard was lying back, her face towards the window watching the sunlight on the trees, and the yellow patches it scattered on the newly-mown lawns. She loved it.

  Then, very slowly indeed, she said, ‘I wonder who the girl was that his father wanted for Mr. Bland? I just wonder.’

  Chapter Nine

  That evening something happened.

  Lorna had left Mrs. Liskeard with Henderson, whilst she had an hour to herself to do the mending, wash the ‘smalls’, and do all those innumerable odd jobs which clutter up every life. When she returned again at the end of the time, and walking down the corridor approached Mrs. Liskeard’s room, she heard Roger talking, his voice raised. She did not hear it until she had already opened the door very quietly, only to find that it was then too late to go back.

  Mrs. Liskeard was sitting on the sofa by the window, her back to the door, and Roger stood with her. Instantly Lorna knew that neither of them realised that she had come into the room.

  Mrs. Liskeard was talking with some agitation. ‘You say it was another car, Roger. You did not invent that, did you? You’re not telling me another of your silly schoolboy stories? It was another car that ran into you?’

  ‘Of course it was, Auntie. Don’t you believe me?’

  Mrs. Liskeard’s voice betrayed the fact quite clearly that she did not. ‘You tell me so many stories. I don’t see how you got your
cheek hurt in that way.’

  ‘I was flung against the window frame, Auntie.’

  ‘But that would have been on the other side of your face, you know that. Oh Roger, why do you always have to try to deceive me? I am your best friend, perhaps your only friend, and you should know that. You can confide in me and tell me the truth, you must let me help you.’

  ‘If you don’t believe a word I say, how can you ever help me? Who knows what happens in a car accident, for it is all so sudden, and before you know where you are, it is over and done with. I saw him coming too late, and pressed hard on the brake. Then it all began. Perhaps I don’t know what I did. Perhaps I was tossed round in my seat. Perhaps …’

  His voice broke.

  Lorna turned back to the door in horror. This was no moment to intrude, no moment to be there, and she slipped out again, but her heart was making a curious noise as she did it. They were so occupied with the argument that apparently they never noticed that she had been there.

  For the moment the car was left in London for repair, and when it returned with all traces of the accident erased from it, it would be extremely difficult to put the facts together. But now she was distressed that there was something behind all this. Inside her from the first there had been the extraordinary feeling that she was warning herself to beware. Be careful, the inner sensitivity had told her. This man is dangerous. You have met him before.

  Yet Roger’s behaviour had been exemplary and she had no cause to feel this way. Even that time when he had brought her back from supping in St. Ives through the dusk into the dark, even then he had behaved perfectly. She had been terrified, of course, because that was natural, but he had been absolutely normal and entirely ordinary.

  He was just the kind host who had taken her out for a treat, who said nothing amiss, and most certainly did nothing to scare her. She could not connect him with the previous experience at all.

  He had returned from the visit to London, with this badly bruised cheek and a scratch across it. She could not explain the scratch. His aunt plainly suspected something; until this moment she had always excused him, saying that Roger was moody, and this had begun at the time when he had failed in his exams and had had the bad breakdown. Roger had never got what he wanted out of the world, and the fact that he had found the pathway to the scientific career blacked out, was one which he resented most bitterly.