CHAPTER IX
Contrary to her usual practice on night duty, Joy began to worry and fret. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the hospital itself, nothing to do with her duties there, and no connection at all with the night staff with whom she was quickly on friendly terms. The whole thing, she knew, was within her own mind.
During the long, quiet hours, when most of her patients were sleeping and when one of the others woke and was quickly and competently dealt with by the nurse on duty, she found herself thinking of Quentin Moyser. The thoughts, she realized, were mostly absurd, the sort of thoughts she had never had about any other man throughout her life.
She found herself wondering what he had been like as a baby, a little boy. She knew he had an elder brother, now a doctor with the Air Force and stationed abroad somewhere. She knew he had a sister about his own age, nursing with the Queen Alexandra’s nurses somewhere abroad, but no more than that.
. Had he always wanted to be a doctor? Had he, as she herself had felt the call to nursing, wanted to help those who suffered, right from the first days of understanding what suffering was and how much could be done to help?
Had he ever had a girl-friend? It was ridiculous to suppose otherwise. There might have been someone in his student days, and if there had been, what had become of her? What sort of a girl was she, what sort of girl appealed to him ... now?
‘You needn’t worry about that,’ she told herself firmly one night when the speculative thoughts refused to be ‘quietened. ‘Lana appeals to him, even anyone who didn’t know the first thing about either of them can see that. And it’s only to be expected. She’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen ... and she knows how to make the most of herself, even though she’s still stuck on that couch.’
There was no denying that Lana, beautiful as she had always been, was even more beautiful now she had developed a tan, followed, somewhat reluctantly, the few exercises that Miss Calvin had been able to persuade her would not be too much exertion for her as yet. There was a new awareness about her now, a new alertness, which added to her charm. Only this week Amy Calvin had suggested that she learned to touch-type, and said she would arrange for a special typewriter to be loaned to her so that she could practise. The typewriter was especially built to help bedridden patients, and there could now be no excuse about the difficulty or weight of the machine after Amy had explained how many of her patients were leading useful and interesting lives after developing some such skill.
‘You’ll be able to help your mother then,’ she had told Lana cheerfully. ‘She was saying only the other day how much work was coming into the bureau now and that she would soon have to advertise for someone to help her. I’m sure there’s something you could do. And Doctor Quentin thinks it would be a very wonderful help in your own recovery.’
Lana had not said anything, and neither had Joy, at the time, but now, in the quiet hours of the night, she thought about it and wondered just how many more suggestions Doctor Quentin had made or approved of of which she knew nothing.
‘I shall have to do something about myself if this goes on much longer,’ Joy told herself firmly. ‘I’m not sleeping in the day, not half so much as I should, wondering if I’ll miss his visit. And yet,’ she realized abruptly, ‘since I’ve been on night duty he has usually called in the evening, before I’ve gone out. It’s only on the nights he does casualty duty here that he’s called in the day...’ but common sense told her to read nothing of any personal note into these matters.
She went off duty the next morning feeling, which was most unusual for her, worn out and ready to sleep the clock round. She had her meal with the other night nursing staff before she left the hospital and decided that this morning she would dispense with that extra cup of tea and biscuits Emma or Mrs. Wrenshaw had ready for her by the time she arrived back at Fernbank.
She had another driving lesson booked for late afternoon, so she would have to get what sleep in she could long before then, otherwise she would not be as alert and as safety-conscious as she was normally, and, she told herself firmly, it was very important that she passed her driving test just as soon as she could. She was all right getting to and from Lucy’s without a car, for one or another of the staff was always coming and going at more or less the same time, but it would be quite a different matter when Lana had to be taken to the outpatients’ clinic, maybe every day, just at first!
Quentin—there he was, back in her mind again and quite without her having any intention of thinking about him—had agreed with Lana that there was no reason why she should not be taken and fetched by ambulance, as were so many other patients. But they, Joy thought stubbornly, were probably making every effort to get themselves fit and well, whereas Lana, despite Miss Calvin and Mr. Tate’s assurances that she could and would soon be completely cured, remained a victim of these dreadful bouts of depression which robbed her at once of any benefits already gained.
By the time she reached Fernbank her head was aching and her feet felt as though they did not belong to her. She changed her mind about the cup of tea, it looked so welcoming and fresh, and took some aspirin, then went up to her room, undressed quickly and got into bed, opening the window and drawing the curtains fully across to darken the bright light of the July day.
‘My new machine came this morning, love,’ Aileen informed her as she went through on her way to the little ‘office ‘which was just under Joy’s bedroom. ‘You wouldn’t believe how quiet it is, or how easy on the wrists! I shall not disturb you now, with all my clatter and whatnot underneath your floor.’
‘I don’t think you or anyone else will disturb me today, dear,’ Joy said wearily. ‘I think once these aspirins have begun to work I’ll take some rousing to go back on duty tonight ... or rather to get up for my driving lesson.’
Aileen looked at the girl’s face, a little drawn in the bright light of morning, and at the unaccustomed dark patches below her eyes.
‘I think you should let me ring and cancel that lesson, love,’ she suggested. ‘It isn’t so important that you need to wreck your health. Give it a break until your next free day. When is it?’
‘Wednesday,’ said Joy, suddenly giving in. ‘All right. I honestly don’t feel up to it today. I’ll be all right once I’ve had a decent rest.’
‘I hope so.’ Aileen smiled and Joy turned over to settle to sleep, but although the aspirin helped the headache it did nothing to prevent her thoughts whirling as they seemed to have done nothing but whirl ever since she had started her night duty.
She tossed and turned, for once envying Lana whose couch had been taken into the garden as Joy came home. There, amid the sweetly scented roses, the mignonette which was a relic of Mr. Barnes’ old-fashioned garden, the lavender and the pinks, Lana would breathe in the flower perfume, the scent of the sea, the golden sunlight. Joy did not envy her sister’s life, but just at that moment she felt she would have given a great deal to be lying out there in the sweetly scented air, with nothing whatsoever to do but to relax.
‘I could sleep then,’ she thought tiredly.
Downstairs the door bell pealed. It was not the casual single ring of one of their now many friends in and around the town, almost all of whom knew Sister Benyon was ‘on night duty’ and would be sleeping, and who signalled their arrival by either a discreet tap on the door or a single brief peal of the bell. No, this was a prolonged ringing, as though whoever it was had kept his or her finger on the bell push and seemed likely to let it remain there until someone opened the door.
There were footsteps, footsteps muffled by the carpet in the hall. The door was opened and a man’s loud voice drifted up the stairs and reached Joy as she strove in vain for the sleep which eluded her. She turned over again, searching in vain for a cool place on her sheet and pillow, and from directly underneath came the sound of the same loud, angry-toned voice.
Joy sat up in bed and did something she had never done before. She reached out for her handbag, took out a cigarette a
nd lighted it, leaning back on her pillow and telling herself how stupid she was being. She was tired. She knew she was tired. She had worked all night, and she had taken aspirin for her headache, which should have helped her to settle off easily to sleep. But for some reason or other, every small noise of the outside world seemed magnified this morning. Even the birds, she thought irritably, seemed to have settled in the trees closest to her windows.
The cigarette which might have helped to soothe her nerves and helped her to relax proved in vain, for the loud voice of whoever it was calling came up to her, muffled though it was by the intervening ceiling.
‘Sounds as though Mother has a queer client in this one,’ Joy decided, finishing the cigarette and debating whether or not to try once more to settle down or to put on a dressing gown and find out for herself just what was happening, when her mind was made up for her. Aileen, who was normally the most gentle-voiced member of the somewhat noisy family, was answering her client and even muffled as it was, to Joy her mother’s voice sounded distressed and in a state of emotional upset.
‘I’m going down to find out what’s wrong!’ Joy’s mind was made up on the instant. Aileen had shouldered too long the burdens of normal family living entirely alone, the burdens normally shared between a husband and wife. Whenever she could, since she had grown old enough to realize the responsibilities which faced her mother and which had faced her ever since the day of the accident to her father and to Pete’s parents, Joy had stepped in and taken whatever she could of the load from her mother’s shoulders. Now, without pausing to think of the rest she was missing, rest which had so far eluded her completely, she pulled on her slippers and dressing gown and went swiftly and silently down to the old morning-room which Aileen had made her own office.
Joy tapped on the door, but did not wait to be bidden to enter. She pushed the door open, her glance going immediately to Aileen’s face. Her mother was still seated at her desk, but her usual pretty colour was missing, save for two bright spots of angry crimson which touched her high cheekbones and the added light in her eyes which made them seem suddenly too bright, as though she were holding back the tears.
‘Is there anything I can do to help, Mother?’ she asked quietly. ‘It sounds very much as though there’s something wrong.’
‘Oh, dear!’ Aileen’s distressed glance flew back to the man who was firmly planted in front of her desk ‘Has ... have we wakened you, darling?’ she asked anxiously. ‘I did try to tell Mr. Bainbridge here...’
‘Samuel Bainbridge, miss, representing the Vanmouth Incorporated Development Trust,’ he announced pompously. ‘I take it you’re Sister Benyon, of St Lucy’s Hospital?, Your lady mother here’—he turned and smiled at Aileen, and abruptly Joy was astonished at the change in his expression and almost had to pinch herself to make quite certain she was not dreaming—‘tells me there’s no man of the house and that I must talk to you about my proposition.’
‘What proposition?’ Joy demanded, feeling distinctly at a disadvantage in her long dark blue dressing gown and flat slippers. As though she could read her daughter’s thoughts, Aileen rose to her feet and brought forward two chairs, pushing one towards Mr. Bainbridge with a smart prod from the toe of her shoes.
‘Sit down, darling,’ she invited, adding in a somewhat cooler tone of voice: ‘Won’t you take a seat, Mr. Bainbridge?’
Samuel Bainbridge seemed unaware of anything at all adverse in the atmosphere. He settled himself in the chair, crossed his legs and brought out a slim gold cigarette case and proffered it first to Aileen, who murmured ‘Not just now, thank you,’ and then to Joy, who shook her head. ‘I’ve just put one out, thank you,’ she told him.
‘Good round!’ he commented, smiling. ‘Can’t say it ever works out like that at home or at the club! Never mind, maybe you’ll both join me some other time? Now, about this proposition, Miss Benyon. I may as well tell you right at the start you’ll never get another one half so good...’
‘Perhaps not,’ Joy agreed calmly, ‘but you’ll first have to tell me just what this is all about ... what your proposition is, as an instance, won’t you?’
‘I’m a business man, Sister Benyon,’ Mr. Bainbridge began. ‘I can’t tell a story of “from rags to riches” or any romantic nonsense of that sort, because it just wouldn’t be true. My father, rest his soul, left me what he considered comfortably off. I agreed with him—up to a point—but standards have changed a great deal since he died, and what seemed a comfortable income just after the war isn’t such a comfortable one these days. There I’m sure you’ll agree.’
He looked from Joy to her mother and back again as though awaiting confirmation of his observations, but as neither of them spoke he waited a moment or so and then continued.
‘I made a bit of extra money during the war years,’ he announced complacently, ‘and since then I’ve managed to make a bit more. It’s amazing,’ he said as though making some wonderful discovery and announcing it to the world, ‘how money seems to attract money, if you know what I mean?’
Still neither mother nor daughter offered a comment, and as the silence lengthened Joy felt an unaccountable satisfaction in the fact that Samuel Bainbridge was obviously beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.
‘Serves him right,’ was the thought—totally alien to her usual good nature—which crossed her mind. ‘Coming in here and making all that noise, whatever it is he wants! I wish he’d hurry up and come to the point and have done with it!’
‘I’ve spent two or three summer holidays abroad,’ he continued after a time. ‘Last year we stayed in what was called on the brochure “a holiday village”. It was good fun. Like a holiday camp only more extensive. Everything was catered for in and around a small section of the coastline. Sands, amusements, restaurants, music, dancing, a casino, kiddies’ corner, bathing pools, walks for the young lovers—the lot. You name it, that village has it. I’d thought of starting the same thing here in Vanmouth. Lots of people don’t want to go abroad for their holidays. Some of them have pets they don’t want to board out. Some of them have relatives they can’t take with them for illness or other reasons, and yet don’t want to leave in hospital or a home. I’ve got a few business friends together, men like myself who can contribute financially as well as in a material way, and we’ve had the plans passed and everything. It only needs...’
He paused so long this time that Joy, who was suddenly beginning to feel very tired, decided to help him out:
‘Needs what, Mr. Bainbridge?’ she enquired. ‘I don’t really see where Mother’s business bureau comes into this! I should imagine your best idea would be to get some good secretarial staff of your own and have everything on the premises, so to speak.’
‘That’s just the idea. ‘He beamed upon her as though glad he had encountered someone who appeared to be talking his line of common sense. ‘But it wasn’t secretarial work I was thinking of,’ he continued, ‘not at the moment, although there’ll be plenty of that in the near future. No,’ he heaved a big sigh, took out another cigarette and lit it from the stub of the other one, ‘it’s this house and the ground that goes with it.’
‘This house? And the garden?’ Joy knew she must sound stupid, but that was the effect this man was having upon her, probably, she thought, because of her extreme tiredness and the aspirin combined.
Mr. Bainbridge,’ Aileen said gently, ‘is willing to meet any reasonable offer you may name for this property, Joy. He wishes to use the house as a residence for his staff ... I think that’s what he said, and the grounds for ... I’ve forgotten what.’
‘A garden for the use of the staff only, with an enclosure for sun-bathing and that sort of thing,’ Samuel Bainbridge expounded. ‘It’s a regular sun-trap here, just on this corner. We should have our own private road made to the beach, of course...’
‘Mr. Bainbridge,’ Joy rose to her full height, forgetful now of the dressing gown, the slippers and the fact that she had entirely cleaned her face of m
ake-up before she went to bed, ‘I must inform you that you’re wasting your time.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he smiled blandly. ‘Your mother, begging your pardon, Mrs. Benyon’—he beamed cheerfully on the speechless Aileen—‘wouldn’t even listen to anything I had to say. All she would tell me was that it had nothing whatsoever to do with her, and that I must wait until you’d done whatever you’re doing at present—night duty, I think she said it was—and then have a chat with you. I’m prepared to match any figure you name, Sister Benyon, within reason, that is.’
‘I’m afraid you still haven’t got the picture, Mr. Bainbridge.’ Joy kept a firm hold on her temper and the tone of her voice was well controlled. ‘This house and garden are not for sale, to you or to anyone else, either now or in the foreseeable future.’
‘You don’t appear to understand, Sister Benyon,’ he said stubbornly. ‘You and your family can have a house just as roomy as this and more modern in design, in the new part of Vanmouth, down at the end of the bay where we’ve built the pleasure gardens.’
‘We happen to like Fernbank and everything about it. Its design, its position, its amenities, the garden, everything. We are not interested in moving.’
‘I don’t know anything about your affairs,’ Sam Bainbridge said slowly, ‘but I have heard you have a sister who isn’t ... very well. I don’t know what’s wrong with her or anything about it, but I do know Doctor Moyser is here every day. With what you get from the Vanmouth Development Trust,’ he said magnanimously, ‘you could afford to take her to the best doctors in the world who specialize in whatever she has wrong with her.’
‘My sister is being taken care of by Doctor Moyser and the other people from St Lucy’s, thank you, Mr. Bainbridge,’ Joy said firmly. ‘There’s already a very marked improvement in her state of health since we came to live here, and I’m certain it will not be long before she’s completely well once more.’
Promise the Doctor Page 9