“Nothing like that,” he assured the man gravely. “There was an accident, which was why I came here, but I’m simply staying for dinner. That’s all.”
“Very good, sir,” Foster said again and hung up after a moment. Philip chuckled to himself as he imagined him framing the explanation he thought best for George and Bob, the two ex-seamen, who worked under him. He was still smiling as he returned to the lounge and found Dr. Hislop still there.
“Trudie’s been telling me exactly what happened,” he said briskly as the other man entered. “Must have given you a nasty shock too, falling just under your wheel like that. From her description of the woman and her children I think she must be Mrs. Semperman, a patient of mine. She was to come to St. Catherine’s today to bring the baby to see Dora Stacey.”
“What’s the trouble?” Philip asked politely.
“Ears,” was the brief answer. “Tell you the history later, if you’re interested, but right now the office is filling up, and if I don’t close the door—officially it should have been closed five minutes ago—someone else will roll up right to the moment Mrs. Emma serves dinner. See you later,” and with a cheery wave of his hand he went off this time.
“Dad’s the old-fashioned type of doctor.” Trudie looked after her parent with an affectionate smile. “It really hurts him when he can do no more for any patient of his, and he’s pinning all his faith on Miss Stacey this time on little Chris’s behalf. Seems his brother—the imp who ran onto the road—had this same trouble, but thanks to Miss Stacey he’s all right now.”
“Yes, she’s good at her job. Dora, I mean,” Philip said almost absently. “She’s a good person, too.”
“I know.” Trudie was perking up a little now, after a bowl of some concoction that Mrs. Emma had brought to her, announcing it had been prescribed by Dr. Hislop. Whatever it was had certainly helped his daughter, and she smiled now at Philip, making conversation about Dora, her father’s patients, anything that came into her head, because she did not know quite what she could talk about to Philip Malham, off duty.
“All the nursing staff like her.” She was, apparently, still referring to Dora, Philip concluded. “She seems to understand other people’s problems almost before they have spoken them aloud.”
“She’s in the wrong department,” Philip teased. “She should be in psychiatry!” But even though he smiled he was seriously remembering the little talk he had enjoyed with Dora about himself and what, he realized, might one day become a problem: his own inability to treat the opposite sex in any other way than simply as colleagues or patients. Or, he reflected, nurses.
Dora’s words came unbidden to his mind. “What you need,” she had told him, “is a nice, safe engagement...”
Philip found himself watching Trudie Hislop across the room. She was pretty, more than usually so with her eyes, lovely hair, and well-molded features. She was intelligent, and she had the gift of humor. She was thoughtful and brave. He remembered the child, stumbling in the road in the path of the bus—she was modest about what she had done.
“Sounds like a catalog of her virtues,” he scoffed at himself mentally, but all the same the idea persisted at the back of his mind and would not be put away. Safely “engaged” to Trudie, he would undoubtedly be safe from Ursula’s attempts to manage his affairs. Perhaps Ursula would turn her attentions, well-meaning though they were, elsewhere. That would be an undoubted relief. The more he thought of Dora’s suggestion, the more pleased he was with it and the more he regarded it as an interesting possible solution to his worries. Trudie was not, he told himself, like some of the nurses, forever hanging around the heels of one doctor or another. Trudie, so far as he could judge, was more like himself, minding her own business, doing the work she was trained to do and not allowing her private hopes, dreams and fears to intrude into her working life.
Malcolm had an amusing story to tell of Miss Peterson, a character well known in both Lower and Upper Thrackwaite. Miss Peterson had more money than she knew what to do with and no relatives, and at least twice a month she changed her will. This time, it appeared, a newly founded organization for the preservation of “Areas of Silence” was to benefit.
“I’m not really discussing a client’s business,” Malcolm explained. “As soon as she leaves the office she goes straight into the coffee house on the corner and takes great delight in informing all who will listen of the changes she has made and why.”
“It’s a pity someone can’t interest her in something really worthwhile,” Philip observed. “There are plenty of good causes running out of funds. I think Dora ought to get her to endow her new clinic ... if she gets it!”
“Or Arcpo’s latest project,” Geoff put in quietly. “At her age, she might be more interested in that than in the welfare of children.”
“And the project is... what?” Philip asked with genuine interest.
“Prolonging of life, but real life,” Geoff said seriously. “It’s useless just to have people living years longer unless they feel fit and well. There’s so much to be done, so much people can be taught, the right foods, the right exercise, the right relaxation, the art of breathing properly.”
Philip asked him to explain what had been done so far and in a short time the subject had engrossed them all.
It was something of a shock when Mrs. Emma announced that the doctor would be in from the office in just five minutes and that dinner was ready to be served.
“I must pop up and look at those slides before I sit down,” Geoff announced. “I’ve some cultures you might like to see later, if you’re interested,” he added to Philip, who said with enthusiasm that, of course, he would be delighted.
“And I’ve a phone call to make.” Malcolm glanced at his watch. “It won’t take a minute, if you’ll excuse me.”
Philip and Trudie were left alone for a few moments. When he looked directly at her she smiled—a warm, friendly smile with nothing teasing or flirtatious in its quality. Philip found that strangely reassuring. “She’s like Dora,” he thought with a flash of insight, “but younger of course.” Like Dora, he was certain, Trudie put her work first. It was obvious that she loved every moment of it: the patients, the other nurses, the doctors, the rest of the staff from Matron downward, but with no degree of sentiment. She was what Philip had once heard described as “a nurse through and through.” He was certain of it. And what had Dora said?
“Surely there must be someone like yourself,” had been her words, “someone who is as dedicated to her own calling as you are to yours and who wouldn’t want to go rushing off to the altar in a blaze of white satin and glory.”
The worst she could do would be to snub him, he reflected, and from what he had seen of her this evening she was hardly the type to do that while entertaining him as a visitor and guest in her own home.
He flung a desperate glance at the door. Any moment now Dr. Hislop or one of Trudie’s brothers might come in. He cleared his throat and moved over to sit beside her, not wanting to speak above a subdued tone of voice.
“I’m glad you’ll be working at the extension, Trudie,” he began, not even realizing that this time he had dropped the formal “Nurse Hislop,” causing Trudie’s heart to race faster although she gave no outward sign.
Instead she said demurely. “You get the best out of people. I’d do anything for you.”
It was the opening he needed and, unaware that this was completely out of character for him, Philip took the plunge.
“In that case,” he said slowly and deliberately, “I have a proposition to put to you that I hope you will seriously consider, It’s both personal and private—” Then the hearty voice of Dr. Hislop greeted them from the door and, for the time being, the moment was gone.
Dinner at Conrey was always well cooked, excellently served, but, Philip realized, rather a lonely affair. Here at The Cedars the meal was equally well cooked and served, and the conversation was lively and general. Trudie, as both her father and Philip had exp
ected, showed little interest in the good fare put before her by the anxious Mrs. Emma. Both medical men were anxiously watching for any signs of delayed shock, hoping this would be prevented, but prepared to act if she showed any reaction.
They had reached the coffee stage having discussed a variety of subjects ranging from the out-of-the-ordinary incidents that cropped up in the life of a general practitioner in a large and scattered practice such as Dr. Hislop’s to the legal side of the administration of the large, new extension hospital. Geoff, who had contributed little to the last two topics of conversation, looked up suddenly and spoke directly to Philip, his dark eyes alight with tense anxiety.
“Do you ever come into contact with Miss Sinclair?” he asked in a clipped tone of voice as though the words were being forced from him against his will. “Her uncle is chairman of the board, I believe.”
“You mean Ursula?” Philip was watching the younger man with close attention. “We often meet,” he parried the question. “We see one another at medical functions—she usually accompanies her uncle—and sometimes she attends the monthly hospital dances. Why?”
“She’s a wonderful person, isn’t she?” Geoff countered with another question. “Seems to have a knowledge of what goes on and where and in connection with what in the medical field. I met her once at an Arcpo function. I’ve never forgotten her. She has such an intensity of purpose.” He gave a brief laugh. “She was very interested in an idea I had with regard to this new project of ours. She was certain all I had to do was explain it to the ‘high-ups’ to have it incorporated in the project. It’s what I want, of course, but I’m afraid I haven’t Miss Sinclair’s powers of persuasion,” he ended ruefully.
Watching his son, Dr. Hislop longed to explain to Philip that ever since Geoff had met her, he had dreamed of meeting Ursula Sinclair again. He had talked about her for weeks on end, until the family was tired of hearing her name, but there was little Dr. Hislop could do to help. Since his wife’s death he had almost entirely neglected the social side of living, burying himself in work and family to the exclusion of all else. Now he waited with hope and interest for Philip’s reply.
“I’m sure Ursula would be glad to help,” Philip said now, forming an idea that might help Geoff and also Philip himself. He had formed a high opinion of the young man’s capabilities and knew instinctively that with the right sort of backing Geoff could possibly make a name for himself in his own field. If anyone could give that upsurge of interest, that devotion to a cause, Ursula Sinclair would be that person. If she had already shown some interest in his ideas then the rest should be easy.
Philip was under no delusions about Ursula and her feelings toward himself. Ursula was determined to marry a doctor; she had said so over and over again, and her interest in any field of healing was really genuine. If only he could bring them together: Ursula and her enthusiasm, Geoff and his ideas and brainwork!
“Would you like to meet her again and talk about it?” he asked now, quietly and casually, as if the matter were of no possible importance to himself.
“I would.” There was no doubt about Geoff s enthusiasm. “The only other person I could talk to and show my things to, without boring them to tears, was Garth.” The word fell like a stone into the quiet of the dining room, and as if he sensed its effect upon the others Geoff hastened to qualify his statement. “We all miss him,” he said, almost defiantly. “But we can’t just never mention his name. I miss him as much as you do!” He glared at his father’s tense, set expression and Trudie’s strained one, but catching the warning glance Malcolm directed upon him his tone dropped and something of the challenge went from his voice,
“We all miss him, as I said,” he went on more quietly, “but although it wasn’t his field, he was always interested in what I was doing and what far-reaching effects it might have on other medical and surgical matters. I’d like someone to talk these things over with ... someone.”
“We’ll see what we can do,” Philip promised, and Dr. Hislop muttered in a low voice, “If only I knew just exactly what did happen I’d feel more settled...” But Trudie did not say a word. Philip noticed that she had gone rather white about the mouth, and her slim hand was crumbling the bread beside her plate and placing it in neat and orderly piles, as though she were in need of something to distract her thoughts.
“How’s the Ellerton boy, Dad?” Philip shot a quick glance at Malcolm. The elder Hislop boy might not move in the medical field, but legal training or otherwise he would take a prize as a student of human nature and its needs, Philip reflected. The Ellerton boy proved an adequate distraction for Dr. Hislop, who immediately launched into a description of the boy’s condition since his discharge from the hospital. The case had nothing to do with Philip, for the boy had been the victim of a slight attack of polio and was now, happily, on the road to good health once more. But he had been on the verge of taking some big and final examination in his career as an accountant, and it appeared Dr. Hislop had been instrumental in allowing him to write the examination despite his handicap.
“The fact that not only was he successful but his marks were unusually high,” Dr. Hislop concluded, “has helped him enormously. There’s an old saying, ‘Nothing succeeds like success,’ and it almost always proves true. It certainly has done in this case.” He pulled out his pipe and repacked it carefully. “Just time for this,” he murmured, “then I’m off on my evening rounds. Not much this evening, unless Mrs. Atkinson decides to have her baby in the wee small hours. She had all her others then, so I don’t expect number four will be any exception.”
“Since, apparently, the other three births at that hour have all been successful, and as you say, ‘nothing succeeds like success’—” Philip remarked, and they all laughed. Their laughter was cut short by the shrilling of the office bell.
“Someone else in trouble,” Geoff remarked philosophically. “I often wonder what folks around here would do if they had a modern young man in Dad’s place. They’ve only to say they have an unusual ache, pain or fever and off he goes, rain, hail, snow or blow.”
“He’s a good doctor,” Philip said seriously. “Very painstaking, very thorough.”
“And wearing himself out very thoroughly, too,” Geoff said crisply. “I wonder if there’s anything I can do.”
There was, it appeared. Dr. Hislop came bustling back from investigating, calling over his shoulder to someone to “Come in, please, and close the door.” A tall, uniformed figure of a young constable followed him, nodding a courteous “good evening” to the company.
“Seems young Miller had an accident on that motorcycle of his around Harper’s Bend,” the doctor announced briefly. “I knew he would before very long. He doesn’t speed, thank goodness, but he has no more idea of how to take that vehicle around a bend than a child of three would have. Constable Fletcher says he isn’t badly hurt, but I’ll have a look at him here before we decide what to do. Will you drive me there, Geoff, please? It’s only a matter of minutes, and an extra pair of hands may be useful.”
Malcolm waited until they had left the room, then smiled down at Trudie and Philip, seated side by side now on the low sofa.
“Young Miller’s one of Dad’s babies,” he explained. “He appears to remember every one he’s ever brought into this world and to take a personal interest in each one. Don’t know how he does it.”
“Isn’t Constable Fletcher the one with the masses of certificates and what-have-you from the St. John Ambulance people?” Trudie inquired. “If he is then I should say he’s made a fairly accurate assessment of the situation.”
“He’s the one,” Malcolm nodded. “And a good chap, too.”
“His sister’s nursing at St. Catherine’s,” Trudie added. Philip looked at her, startled, realizing how much this family knew and cared about the people whom they moved and worked among. How differently he had looked at life so far, he reflected humbly. He had considered it quite enough to do his own job to the best of his powers and
leave the rest of whatever worried people to others. How many lessons he was learning from this happy, united family, without being obviously taught.
“All of them must have better memories than I have at present,” Malcolm observed ruefully. He had been searching his pockets for his lighter and had pulled out an envelope that he was now staring at with a concentrated look of disgust. “Mr. Rogerson especially asked me to mail this for him tonight,” he remarked. “The office mail had gone and I said I’d slip it into our collection here on my way home. Dad, could have popped it in for me. They have to pass the mail box in Spring Lane on their way to Harper’s Bend. It might be too late by the time they return. If you’ll excuse me I’ll slip out and mail it now. I gathered it was of some importance.”
Left alone, Philip looked at Trudie, wondering how and where he could begin to say what he was feeling, but before he could frame the words there was the sound of a car outside. A moment or so later Dr. Hislop strode into the room.
“Nothing to worry about,” he informed them, taking their interest in the Miller boy for granted. “I’ve brought him back here. Now Geoff’s taking the motorcycle to the police station for examination. I’ll be back soon,” he promised over his shoulder and disappeared, presumably to patch up whatever “young Miller” had done to himself.
“Is it often like this at The Cedars?” Philip surprised himself by the question, but it was something he really wanted to know. Trudie smiled.
“Quite often,” she said simply. “I’m afraid Geoff’s right. People in Thrackwaite tend to rely on Dad for lots more than just attending to their ailments. He likes it,” she added with perfect truth, “and he’d be hurt now if they turned to anyone else. I know a doctor is the most obvious person to call when there’s been an accident. But Dad won’t call the ambulance men out unless it’s really necessary, or fill a hospital bed unless it’s for something he can’t deal with himself, or that they can do better. It keeps him from brooding too much,” she added reflectively, so that Philip wondered if this was another obscure reference to her dead twin. “He hasn’t really ever recovered from missing Mother, you see,” she went on slowly, “and now there’s Garth...”
Nurse Trudie is Engaged Page 4