Nurse Trudie is Engaged

by Marjorie Norrell

  It was a relief to escape from the kitchen but the relief was short-lived. Veronica was in the lounge, a magazine spread before her as usual, with her lovely face gazing into space as though she saw things there no one else could see or share. In exasperation Trudie turned and went out into the yard where the weeds were greeting spring as eagerly and as full of life as the thrusting, tender, cultivated plants.

  She was still on her knees, a growing pile of weeds beside her testifying to the extent of her activities, when Philip arrived. He parked the car and crossed over to her, stopping to raise her to her feet. He kept his arm about her when she was standing, making her wonder if this was done for the benefit of whoever might be watching them from the window, of out of friendliness.

  “What are you going to wear tomorrow... for the party, you know?” he asked seriously. “Or have you made up your mind?”

  “It’s made up for me.” Trudie’s smile flashed out. “My job doesn’t give me a great deal of time for anything other than a uniform,” she reminded him teasingly. “I only possess two real evening dresses, and I keep those for formal things, and a short one for the monthly hospital dances. I shall wear a dress I bought for Christmas. It’s short, but quite suitable.”

  “And the color?” Philip insisted as she paused, wondering why he was making such a fuss.

  “White,” Trudie said simply. “Just plain.” She had been about to add that at times she wore gold-colored accessories for a sophisticated touch and at other times she wore something in a strong, contrasting color. Before she could say any more Veronica drifted from the house hugging a short fur stole about her shoulders.

  “Why don’t you come inside?” she invited them, but it was Philip to whom she directed her words. “It really isn’t warm enough to be out here all this time. Trudie’s going to end up with an awful cold.” The words were lightly spoken, but they made Trudie feel at once very young and unworldly, and already she felt the strong suspicion of an itch around her nostrils.

  “Purely psychological,” she assured herself, but it was no comfort to see that Veronica had already asked Philip the name of some shrub she was vowing she had never seen before. The two of them were once more shut away together in that secret world that appeared to enmesh them whenever they met. Trudie sighed, picked up her gardening things, and went off to wash her hands. When she returned to the lounge they were sitting side by side before the small but cheerful fire, and although Philip did his best to draw Trudie into the conversation his efforts were by no means successful, balked every time by Veronica’s determination to monopolize him.

  Trudie was thinking of that half hour or so when she dressed for the party the following evening. She may, of course, have been completely wrong, she admitted to herself, but Philip had not stayed very long and made obvious excuses to leave before the evening meal. So far as Trudie could see, he was not in the least happy about the situation.

  She paused and studied her reflection in the mirror. He had told her before they had met Veronica that now they had “completed their arrangement”—he had meant, to the outside world they were the conventional newly engaged couple—he felt a freedom from restraint such as he had never felt before.

  “I can relax now, Trudie,” he had said. “And we can have such fun together, without anyone wondering when the engagement’s going to be announced, if we’re “serious” and all the other things they say around St. Catherine’s the moment any nurse goes out with someone on the staff. The engagement news will be all around the hospital by this time. Everyone’s delighted, Matron included; she told me so herself over the telephone this morning when I was arranging for Gustav’s visit, so we can go around together without worrying about a thing. And”—mentally she pictured his face, alight and eager, pleased by the way in which this matter was working out—“I can only hope you take as much pleasure in my company as I find in yours.”

  “I do,” she had told him, meaning every syllable. “I am enjoying today immensely.”

  And so she had, she reflected now, right until Veronica joined them. Ever since then there had been this strange atmosphere, nothing tangible, nothing on which she could lay a finger, but present like a living, breathing organism.

  “If tonight is spoiled,” Trudie thought abruptly, “the only thing to do is to ask him if he would rather call the whole idea off.” But in spite of her brave resolution a little shiver of apprehension ran over her as she gave a final, last-minute touch to her hair before going down to welcome the others.

  Philip arrived as Trudie ran downstairs. She greeted him as she felt he hoped and expected to be greeted, as a treasured and valued friend, but before he divested himself of his coat he held out a small wrapped box.

  “I hope this will match these,” he said slowly and held out a smaller box, bearing the name of the jewelers from whom they had bought their engagement ring. Breathless with excitement, Trudie opened the box and gasped with pleasure; the tell-tale blush rose as she lifted her gaze to his.

  “They’re lovely,” she said in a hushed little tone, “but you ought not to have done this ... they were so expensive.”

  Inside the box, nestled on their velvet cushion, lay a pair of sapphire and diamond earrings, matching the ring. Philip laughed.

  “Then you saw them too?” he demanded. “I wanted to buy them for you then, but you’d said so much about the expense of the ring. Put them on, and the flower too. I want to see how you look before the others arrive.”

  The “flower” was a delicate blue orchid in a shade Trudie had never seen on a natural growth before. It teamed up with the earrings and the stones in her ring. Catching Philip’s approving glance, Trudie felt a wave of supreme happiness wash over her. If only all this could be real, she thought wistfully, and then quickly stifled the thought. It could not be real, because Philip did not love her as she loved him, and all these things were only empty gestures to blind other people. She would be content with that, must be content, if only those meaningful glances exchanged between Veronica and himself meant even less.

  The dinner party was off to a very good start. The guests all arrived punctually: Dora drove over in her new, immaculate car with Ursula close on her heels in the equally new Jaguar her uncle had bought for her the previous week. Dora wore a severely tailored violet dress that suited her clear, lightly tanned complexion and silvered, short hair. Ursula’s bronze-brown head gleamed like a new chestnut and was the perfect foil for the green satin dress that was moulded to her young figure. Beside them Trudie felt she looked absurdly young in her white and gold dress, but she remembered the orchid at her breast and the earrings, and looked down at her ring until she was reassured. Only when Veronica at last descended the stairs in a daringly cut dress the color of flame, emeralds at her ears, wrists and throat, did she realize how skillfully the actress had placed all three others in the shade.

  Across the table Philip watched Veronica covertly, little realizing how closely he himself was being observed by Trudie, Dora and someone else. Malcolm was not blind, but said not a word; he was waiting for some move from the other man, but Philip appeared to be almost mesmerized by Veronica and helpless to do anything about it.

  Philip was, indeed, in a strange state where Veronica was concerned. Part of the reason for the orchid and the earrings tonight was because he wanted to prove to her that his life was bound to Trudie’s and that their engagement was new, something they were at this very moment celebrating. The other part of his reason was because he had found Trudie so unexpectedly sweet and understanding that he wanted to do something for her, to give her something she would keep forever when this pretense was at an end ... that accounted for the earrings. The orchid he had added because he had felt it extremely unlikely she had ever had one sent to her before, and her delight in his gift was more than adequate repayment so far as he was concerned.

  Yet he could not resist exchanging glances with the other woman who sat opposite to him and whose green eyes appeared to see into
his very soul, to know his reasons for these gestures, informing him mockingly how futile they were. Cutting his chicken with meticulous precision, Philip tried for the hundredth time to analyze the attraction she undoubtedly held for him. The main thing, he was certain, was her amazing vitality when she wanted to do anything, or have someone else moving for and with her, and the equally amazing indolence when she relaxed.

  “She’s like one of the big cats at the zoo,” he thought and was aware that the suggestion was a compliment to Veronica. “When she moves, when she wants something, she’s quick, alert ... vibrant with a zest for living. When she’s relaxed she almost purrs.”

  He stopped his thoughts abruptly. He had realized already that such a person would drive him mad if he had much to do with her; she and he had little or nothing in common. His tastes and ideas were Trudie’s; his way of life more akin to hers than to that of any other woman he had met. And yet, he reflected wryly, how could he judge? Trudie and Veronica were practically the only two people of the opposite sex he had had anything to do with, apart from his work.

  He glanced at Ursula. Cool, competent and serene, she was talking to Geoff about his own ideas on the project at Arcpo, and Philip could see plainly that her interest and enthusiasm were aroused. Already she was outlining plans and schemes and in a brief lull in the conversation he heard her say, “I think we should interest Herr Mazo in this. I shall be seeing him next week—”

  The remainder was lost as general conversation broke out again, but Philip repressed a sigh. That was what Geoff needed: someone to listen while he expounded his theories, someone clever enough to pick out the essential points that could be further developed, to see ahead and who knew the right people to see.

  “And what I need,” he told himself, “or thought I needed—and Dora must have thought so too since the idea was hers in the first instance—was a nice “safe” engagement to someone like Trudie. And now I have it I’m not satisfied. I don’t want Veronica, and I don’t suppose she’s the least bit interested in me, except as another scalp to hang on her belt! And yet...”

  He shut his mind to that thought. Not even mentally would he admit to the almost violent attraction he felt toward this stranger, an attraction such as he had read about in some long-forgotten novel but had never believed existed outside the author’s mind. Now he knew it could be a very real thing, threat to the well-being or peace of mind of an ordinary individual, and he had not the faintest idea of how to fight against it. Yet he knew he must, or find himself destroyed.

  From her seat at Dr. Hislop’s right, Dora was paying attention with only half her mind to his conversation. She was answering mechanically, almost without hearing what was said.

  “We have them from birth,” she said now, referring to the children. “Even before they are born, what with prenatal care, postnatal care, clinics ... the lot. We care for them through the formative years, through the middle years and on to a ripe old age; yet there are so many bodies wasted—neglected by their owners for us to put to rights again, abused, ill-treated—and so few apparently aware of what a crime they are committing.”

  “Most people take their bodies for granted, while they are strong and healthy, that is,” Dr. Hislop agreed, smiling, “but you were not thinking of what you were saying then, Dora. I said if you had your new block could you not do more for those unfortunate youngsters who were born needing help?”

  “I’m sorry.” Dora apologized immediately and sincerely. She knew Dr. Hislop to be completely on her side in her request for a block to be added to the extension, and she knew that in certain circles he could be of invaluable help in achieving her end. Yet she was so absorbed in watching Philip and his reactions to Veronica that she had lost the thread of the conversation. Dr. Hislop was not offended. Dora had often thought him the most tolerant man she had ever encountered. He followed her glance and his own rested affectionately on Philip.

  “He’s a grand chap,” he said very softly and for Dora’s ear alone. “I’d no idea this was in the air. I only know that Trudie thinks there’s nobody to touch him, in St. Catherine’s or out. I only wish he could have met Garth. They’d have got along together so very well. Having Veronica here seems to bring him closer in some ways, and to send him farther away in others ... and yet it’s by no means the same as if they had arrived together.” He gave a short, sharp sigh and quickly recovered himself. “Philip can never take Garth’s place,” he went on, still speaking in the same low voice, “but at least he is an addition, a replacement if you like, to the family.”

  Dora nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She was wondering just how much Veronica was also looking at Philip with the idea of making him a replacement for Garth. And what of Trudie then? Or of Philip himself?

  “She’s not the woman for him,” Dora decided. “She’d kill him ... spiritually and mentally, if not physically.”

  Her glance slid from Philip to Malcolm. So far he appeared to be the one person who was impervious to Veronica’s undoubted attractiveness and to her beguiling ways. That she had deliberately set out to reduce him to the same state as Philip, Dora had no doubt. She was the eternal beguiler, ensnaring all males with whom she came into contact, regardless of age or of social discrimination.

  “I’ve seen her kind before,” Dora reflected, “and they never bode any good to anyone, not even to themselves. I’m sorry for her; it’s part of her make-up and she can’t help herself. But I’m not going to stand by and see Trudie’s and Philip’s lives wasted for want of a little well-meant interference.”

  Malcolm, she decided after another look at that firm, clear-cut profile, seemed perfectly capable of taking care of himself. His legal, analytical mind would see to it that mere emotions were kept well in their place, and she did not doubt that he could command enough self-discipline to achieve that object. But Veronica ... she glanced at the girl, and was a little shaken by the naked emotion she saw on that attractive face ... Veronica was piqued. She was not accustomed to being either ignored or rebuffed, and a slight shudder ran through Dora’s frame as she uttered a soundless prayer that Malcolm might prove to be as self-controlled and self-sufficient as he posed.

  “I thought,” observed Dr. Hislop as Mrs. Emma came in with the coffee, “that we would not observe the custom of leaving the gentlemen here alone. We’ll have our liqueurs here, and retire to the lounge together. If anyone would care for bridge...”

  “I’ve arranged a concert,” Geoff said modestly, but waiting for the exclamations that he knew would follow. He was a stereophonic sound man and had his tape recorder, record player and radio all wired in this way.

  “My style?” Dora inquired, her brows beetling at him as though in menace, but she was laughing, knowing Geoff could swing from classical music she loved to current rock, depending upon his mood.

  “Your style,” he assured her gravely. “Satisfied?”

  “My style, too,” Ursula said firmly. “Dora’s told me so much about the concerts you arrange. You must have all my favorite records.”

  The conversation drifted to music in general, to one’s likes and dislikes, and for a time Veronica was left somewhat out of things.

  “She’s waiting her time,” Dora decided. “I wouldn’t put it past her to sing ... to any accompaniment,” and to make the matter more interesting she was in the process of laying a little bet with herself on the outcome, when the telephone rang sharply, insistently, alerting them all.

  “Can’t be a social call at this time of night,” Dr. Hislop observed. “Besides, all our usual callers are here ... hope it isn’t some complication or other. We haven’t been around to the celebrating drinks yet.”

  He broke off as Mrs. Emma hurried into the room and made straight for his chair.

  “Bad accident on the new highway, Doctor,” she said quickly. “There’s an excursion coach, two cars, a motorcycle and a truck involved. That was the police. They want you to come at once. There’s an ambulance on the way from St. Catherine’s
and another from Deeping Thrackwaite.”

  “We’ll all go.” Philip was already on his feet. “Trudie can help. You too, can’t you?” he asked Dora.

  “Of course,” she said at once, brisk and competent, “but no one else. Geoff and Ursula won’t be able to do anything, neither will Mrs. Garth, or Malcolm. They’d only be in the way.” She gave them all the quick, sweet smile she used when she wanted the nurses to do something special, and at once they were on her side.

  “We’ll start the concert,” Geoff said obligingly. “We can always play the records through again when you return.”

  But although he started the record player as soon as the sound of the cars had died away, somehow no one wanted to listen; the four of them sat around with only the hushed background of music, not talking, waiting, waiting, waiting ... the evening over before it had more than spent itself halfway.

  Half an hour had passed since the four had driven off to the scene of the accident. The big room was warm and glowing; the shaded lights on the walls and the flickering flames of the log fire, lit against the chill of the late spring evening, combined to give an illusion of comfort and well-being, of contentment and calm.

  “But there’s no calm in me,” Veronica thought, bored by the selection of records, annoyed because Geoff had insisted on them all occupying places in what he termed “the apex of the sound.” The only music Veronica knew and understood was the music to which she sang. The songs she knew and the little fame she had enjoyed had no place in Geoff’s scheme of recordings.