by Betty Neels
Judith had read the notes. Five years at the most, more probably two or three. And that with the very best of care and treatment. She said: ‘That’s splendid news! I may be wrong, but I think you’ll find that after you’ve got over the shock, life will become quite normal again—several years can be anything up to twelve or fifteen.’
‘You think so? Then I will too.’ The little lady lay down in her bed and allowed herself to be tucked up. ‘I shall sleep well, I always do,’ she said happily: ‘And you won’t forget, will you, Judith?’
‘No, of course not. Goodnight, Lady Cresswell.’
The rest of the night was quiet too. Judith had time to think, but by morning she had to admit that she had got nowhere at all. Oh, for a sign, she sighed as she started on her morning round. There was none, she had given her report to the Senior Nursing Officer and was making her slow way to breakfast when she came face to face with Charles Cresswell. Hardly the answer to a maiden’s prayer but perhaps a way of making a decision.
His ‘good morning’ was perfunctory and he would have passed her on the stairs. Her weary brain wondered why he was there so early in the morning, but she couldn’t be bothered to ask. She fetched up in front of him and said without preamble: ‘Your mother has told you that she wants me to go to Hawkshead with her?’
‘She has mentioned it.’ He spoke carelessly and glanced at his watch, which sent her temper sky high. The effort to keep calm on an empty stomach and with the beginnings of a headache was enormous.
‘It’s kind of her to ask me, but of course I can’t possibly do it…’
‘Is the rut too deep, Judith? It’s understandable, of course, you’re secure and safe in it, aren’t you; it leads predictably to steady promotion over the years, and a pension at the end too.’ He ignored her angry gasp. ‘Or Nigel, of course…’
‘How do you know about Nigel?’ she asked furiously.
His voice was silky. ‘You forget that I spend a good deal of my life upon research work—I’m quite good at it.’
‘You have no business to interfere!’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Who’s interfering? Let me make it quite clear, Judith, that I am not interfering—I’m not interested enough. But let me also make it clear that I will do everything in my power to make the rest of my mother’s life happy. Presumably you’ve read the reports. Even at their most optimistic, five years is a very short time in the end and in all probability it will be two or three, even less. There’s no guarantee. And you did say that you were in a rut. Surely this is a heaven-sent chance to get out of it before you’re too old.’
‘I’m twenty-seven,’ she snapped. Her blue eyes flashed and her pale sleepy face was pink with indignation.
‘That’s what I mean,’ he said infuriatingly. ‘I’ve never thought of you as a timid girl, Judith.’ His mouth twitched at the corners and she supposed he was amused. ‘You’re still young enough to accept a challenge, you’re strong and healthy—and with each year the rut’s going to get deeper.’ He grinned suddenly: ‘There’s always Nigel, of course.’
‘How dare you!’ she fumed at him. ‘You’re insufferable—just because you want your own way…’
‘For my mother, Judith.’
She ignored that. ‘Anyway, I can’t leave at a moment’s notice—I have to resign three months ahead.’
He examined the nails of one large, capable hand. ‘Yes, I know that. There are exceptions.’ He shot her a lightning glance. ‘I’m on the Board of Governors, these things can be arranged.’ He said in quite a different voice: ‘Hawkshead, Judith, early on a summer morning, not a patient in sight, only roses and great sweeps of mountain and calm water—and you would be giving my mother a little longer to live because she trusts you and believes in you and you make her feel normal. Only one patient against eighty, but surely she has as much right to live as any of them?’ He added: ‘If you wish, I’ll arrange things so that you can return here if and when my mother no longer needs you.’
He was cutting the ground from under her feet. ‘I won’t be rushed,’ she said quickly, and he agreed at once.
‘Of course not. Let Mother know this evening, if you feel you’ve had enough time to consider it.’ Then he turned abruptly away from her. ‘Good morning, Judith.’
Dismissed lightly like a naughty schoolchild, fumed Judith, racing down the rest of the stairs and catapulting into the canteen ten minutes late.
‘And where have you been?’ her friends wanted to know. ‘You look as mad as fire, Judith—was it Nigel?’
‘No, it wasn’t.’ She made an effort to be in good spirits. ‘I’ve had a messy kind of morning, that’s all.’
‘Nigel’s looking for you,’ said someone on the other side of the table.
‘Something wrong? That man in Surgical, the one with the hernia…?’
‘No, silly, not patients. He’s got tickets for some show or other and he wants you to go with him on your night off. The tickets were given to him,’ added the voice maliciously.
Judith was gobbling cornflakes. ‘I’m going home. You go.’
‘He’s not my boy-friend.’
‘He’s not mine either.’ She realised as she said it that he really wasn’t, not even in a lukewarm way; she didn’t mind if she didn’t see him ever again, she didn’t mind if she never saw Beck’s again…I must be mad, she told herself silently. I’ll feel better when I’ve had a good sleep.
She buttered toast and had a third cup of tea; it was time she had some nights off, she was getting lightheaded.
CHAPTER FIVE
JUDITH KNEW what she was going to do the moment she opened her eyes that evening. She got up and dressed, went along for her breakfast and went on duty, and in due course reached Lady Cresswell’s room. Charles Cresswell wasn’t there, but she hadn’t expected him to be; all the same she felt let down. She wished her patient a good evening, checked the charts, asked how she felt and only then said matter-of-factly: ‘I’ll come with you, Lady Cresswell, for as long as you should need me. There’s one thing, though—Professor Cresswell and I don’t get on at all well and I think that must be understood from the beginning. We both know it, of course, and I hope we’re adult enough to be sensible about it, and I see no reason why we should have to see much of each other.’
‘Charles has said much the same thing to me, Judith.’ Lady Cresswell turned a beaming face to her. ‘But as you say, you are neither of you childish about it. My dear, I can’t begin to tell you how delighted I am! You’re sure, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I am. I think I’ve been wanting to get away from hospital life for quite a while, but I needed someone to give me a poke to get me started.’
‘And I gave you that poke,’ said Lady Cresswell with deep satisfaction. She closed her eyes and looked thoughtful. ‘Such a lot of things to think about,’ she remarked.
It was a little bewildering how quickly things were arranged. Judith had had no idea that one was able to leave one’s employment with so little fuss or delay. True, the Principal Nursing Officer expressed regret at her going, but never once queried it. She had been told that she might go home in three days’ time to visit her parents if she wished and then return to the hospital to collect her patient and be driven with her to Hawkshead. There was a chauffeur, it transpired, a steady reliable man called William guaranteed to get them there in comfort and safety. All this was arranged without a sign of Professor Cresswell, let alone anyone consulting her wishes. Once or twice she was sorely tempted to back down and refuse to go, and then the sight of Lady Cresswell’s happy face made her change her mind. After all, one could not be so heartless as to cast a damper on what might be the last few months of her life. She bade her friends goodbye and listened to their astonished comments with a detached astonishment as great as their own. She must be mad, she told herself a dozen times as she drove herself home, and was astonished all over again at her mother’s pleased acceptance of the situation.
‘Nothing could be better,’ de
clared her parent. ‘Another year of hospital and you would have become so set in your ways…it would have been a job for life unless you’d married Nigel.’
Judith shuddered; Nigel had been tiresome. If only he had put his foot down and refused to hear of her leaving; declared that he loved her to distraction and married her out of hand—she might even have got to like him in time. He had done none of these things; he had blustered a good deal, but he had plainly been overawed by Professor Cresswell’s power to get his own way. Judith had parted from him without regret but with the feeling that she had cut the last link with her past life. Starting again had its attractions, somewhat marred, though, by Professor Cresswell’s dislike of her.
She spent two feverish days at home, packing clothes. It was high summer, but it could be chilly in Cumbria. She weeded out her wardrobe until she had slacks, cotton tops, cotton dresses and a thick cardigan, and just in case there should be any social activities, which she very much doubted, a couple of pretty crêpe dresses, a plastic mac, a pair of low-heeled worthy walking shoes, some frivolous sandals and a modicum of undies. She had no idea how long she would be with Lady Cresswell, but she doubted if they would stay there for more than a month, and when they did leave, she would just have to come home again and get warmer clothing.
Driving back to London, she reflected that her parents had been surprisingly calm about the whole business; after all, she was, from a practical point of view, being rather silly—giving up a good job with a certain secure future for something which might last only a few weeks, even months before she would have to find something else. Oh, well, it was too late now to worry about that. She was to be well paid and since there would be small opportunity of her spending any of her salary at Hawkshead she wouldn’t be destitute. Besides, she had a small nest egg which she had prudently added to from time to time.
Her spirits lifted. It was very early in the morning and it was going to be a splendid day. The sun was already warm and the sky cloudless and the thought of being free—well, almost free—filled her with sudden pleasure.
She had arranged for one of her friends to borrow her car while she was away, a cunning move to ensure that it was taken care of and parked in comparative safety at the hospital. Lady Cresswell’s old-fashioned Daimler was already parked at the entrance and a sturdy middle-aged man, whom she took to be the trustworthy William, was sitting at the wheel. He got out as she approached, took her case and overnight bag from her, greeted her civilly and expressed the hope that Lady Cresswell wasn’t going to be too long in coming as the traffic was getting thicker every minute.
Judith took the hint and hurried up to the Surgical Private Wing where she found her patient dressed and almost ready but having second thoughts about which scarf she should wear with her elegant grey silk suit.
‘The pink,’ said Judith promptly, and to the little nurse who was in attendance, ‘If you’ll ring for the porter and a chair, Nurse, I’ll go along and tell Sister we’re ready to leave.’
‘Lucky you,’ declared that young lady when Judith poked her head round the office door, ‘off to heaven knows what fun and games while I’m stuck here for ever.’
‘Well, there won’t be fun and games,’ observed Judith, ‘and I daresay I’ll be looking for another job in a few weeks’ time.’
‘Time enough to get our Charles in tow—we’re going to miss him.’
‘I haven’t seen him for I don’t know how long,’ said Judith not quite truthfully, ‘and he’ll be buried in his books, I fancy I’m to be seen and not heard and make sure that his mother doesn’t distract him.’
‘It won’t be his mother who distracts him,’ her companion looked her over slowly. ‘I hate to say it, Judith, but you look uncommonly pretty this morning. He’s rather a charmer, you know.’
‘Not my cup of tea,’ said Judith lightly, not quite sure if she meant that or not. ‘Are you coming to see us off the premises?’
She couldn’t resist a quick look round her when she reached the entrance. She hadn’t expected to see Charles Cresswell, but there was just the chance that he might have come to see them safely on the road to his home.
Lady Cresswell said quickly: ‘No, dear, Charles isn’t here. He went back last night.’
William, despite his stolid appearance, proved to be a fast driver once they were on the motorway; even so it was a journey of nearly three hundred miles and Judith wasn’t surprised to hear that they were to spend a night on the way—a piece of news Charles Cresswell hadn’t bothered to tell her, but then he had behaved in a very high-handed manner throughout the whole business and doubtless would again. There was no point in getting vexed about it, so she enquired placidly where they were to put up and was told that he had booked rooms for them at a hotel in Shifnal, north of Birmingham. They would leave the motorway to reach it, but it was a small elegant establishment, said Lady Cresswell, and quiet, in its own grounds.
With a stop for lunch, they reached the hotel in the late afternoon and Judith got her patient into bed without delay. Lady Cresswell was happy and excited, but she was also tired. Judith stayed with her while she ate a light dinner, and then went down to the dining room herself, where the head waiter, quite taken with her pretty face, gave her one of the best tables and made sure that she lacked nothing. She ate a delicious meal, quite unconcerned by the admiring glances cast upon her from those around her. She was aware that she was beautiful; she would have been a fool if she hadn’t known that, but she deplored her magnificent figure, considering herself far too generously built, even although she was tall with it, so that her vanity was small. She thanked the waiter nicely as she went, asked if she might have breakfast early in her room, and went back to Lady Cresswell, now ready to be settled for the night, but ready too for a cosy chat before she slept. It was almost an hour later by the time Judith went to her own room next door and another hour before she got into bed. She had meant to do some thinking, but she was asleep before she had even a vague thought in her head.
They reached Hawkshead in the late afternoon and Charles Cresswell, with Mrs Turner hovering behind him, was waiting for them. She had to admire the way in which he had everyone organised with the minimum of fuss and time. William dealt with their luggage, Mrs Turner bore the tea tray into the sitting room and relieved Judith of the impedimenta with which Lady Cresswell found it necessary to travel, and Charles Cresswell installed his mother in a high-backed chair while Judith poured her a cup of tea. Only then did he turn to her and ask formally if they had had a good journey.
‘Excellent, thank you.’ She handed him a cup of tea and poured one for herself.
‘If you wish to telephone your parents, please do so—your uncle too.’
There was no warmth in his voice and she thanked him woodenly before addressing herself to Lady Cresswell’s wants.
And after that she hardly spoke to him, let alone saw him for several days. True, he took lunch with them and if his mother stayed up for dinner shared that meal with them too, but if Lady Cresswell had a tray in bed, then Judith dined alone, for it was always on such a night that he was dining out, unable to leave his writing, or setting out on some errand which had to be done just as dinner was announced. Judith pretended to herself that she didn’t mind; it was so obvious that he was avoiding her, and she told herself that she couldn’t care less. All the same, she felt hurt and puzzled too, for why had he been so insistent about her accompanying his mother if he couldn’t bear the sight of her?
The days wove themselves into a gentle pattern. Lady Cresswell didn’t like to be roused until half past eight at the earliest, so Judith quickly formed the habit of getting up early, having tea with Mrs Turner in the kitchen and then pottering round the garden for an hour before she had her own breakfast—alone, of course; she had no idea where or when Charles Cresswell had his. She would have liked to have had it in the kitchen with Mrs Turner, but that lady didn’t hold with that, so she ate it in lonely state in the dining room before going upst
airs to wake Lady Cresswell.
The mornings were pleasant enough, and after the ordered rush of the hospital, very welcome. Lady Cresswell hadn’t given in to her illness; her make-up was as faultless as it always had been, every hair was in place, every day time and thought was given as to what she should wear. Judith liked her for that and took pains to see that she looked as well turned out as possible, and on the days when Lady Cresswell wasn’t feeling so well, Judith did her hair, helped her dress, and added a little colour to cheeks which were paler than they should have been. They sat in the garden after that, and if it wasn’t warm enough, in the drawing room while Lady Cresswell worked at her tapestry and Judith knitted a sweater for her father and sometimes she would read aloud. It was all very peaceful and quiet and it might have been a little dull, but after lunch each day, when she had settled her patient for her nap, she was free for a couple of hours, and then she would go down to see Uncle Tom or walk or climb a little. No one had suggested that she should have a free day and by the end of the second week she decided to ask for one. A trip to Kendal would be nice and there were one or two things she needed. The butcher’s son had offered to drive her in on any day she chose to name, and she would take him at his word.
She was on her way to the dining room to eat her dinner that evening when the Professor came out of his study, looking handsome and remote in a dinner jacket. He would have passed her with a murmured greeting, only she stopped in front of him so that he had to come to a standstill.
‘I won’t keep you a minute,’ said Judith pleasantly, ‘but I see you so seldom that I must make the most of the opportunity…’
‘Tomorrow morning?’ he asked impatiently. ‘I’m already late.’
‘No, because tomorrow morning you won’t want to be disturbed, or you’ll go out. I don’t expect you know it, but I’m entitled to a day off—one a week at least—and I should like one this week. Friday would do nicely if you could arrange to be at home with Lady Cresswell, or perhaps Mrs Turner could be with her?’