The fact that he did not wait for an answer added point to the question, and the silence after the young man had closed the door behind him was pregnant with meaning.
"Yes—how did he know your name?" Nurse Danby's voice was quiet but her eyes were alight with curiosity.
"Come on, Forbsie, spill the beans !" the other nurse advised her. "You're going to get a rocket from Sister, so if you want us to stand by you you'd better tell us the whole story."
"There isn't any story to tell !" Ronnie said irritably. "It just happens that I've seen His Nibs before—on
the ship coming back from West Africa, as a matter of fact—and I was surprised to see him here, that's all."
"Doesn't sound much of a reason for falling flat at his feet," Danby remarked.
"Oh, don't be an idiot. I slipped—"
"Sez you!" Peggy put in.
"Well, I'm not sitting here all day—I'm going back to the sluice to get on with some work." Ronnie started to rise, but Nurse Graves' restraining hand prevented her.
"No, you don't. Not until you've told us how you came to know His Nibs—and why you didn't tell us about it."
"But I don't know him ! I'd no idea who he was. He was just a passenger on the ship, that's all. I don't even know his name."
"I thought there was always a passenger list on board ships."
"I certainly wasn't going to check through that," Ronnie said crisply, then relented a little. "I did notice that the initials on his briefcase were M.O.H.—"
A burst of laughter cut her short. "Well, what's so funny?" she demanded.
"How green can you be? Ministry of Health—ever heard of it?"
"His Nibs went on a Government medical survey somewhere in Africa," Danby remembered.
"That's right," Graves put in. "He's nuts about black babies and wants to get the Government to start up some maternity and child welfare work out there—"
"He's a brilliant gynaecologist and paediatrician as well as being quite the best-looking consultant at the hospital," Danby finished piecing together the jigsaw of their odds and ends of information.
Ronnie got up and stalked to the door. "Well, you seem to know all there is to know and a great deal more
than I do. I'm off—oughtn't you two to be on the ward?"
"We're supposed to be looking after you. Flossie's ,un the door, and Staff and Sister should be able to cope with His Nibs."
"Still, if Forbsie is going back we'll have to show up too," Nurse Danby reflected 'a little sadly. "The round can't last much longer, that's one thing."
Ronnie preceded them to the ward door, her back stiff with irritation. Just before she got there however she stopped, turned round and whispered to the other two : "What is his name ?"
"Philip Noel Conway," came back the answer, with an added warning from Nurse Danby : " 'Sir' to you !"
In the steamy seclusion of the sluice and steriliser room Ronnie metaphorically kicked herself. Why on earth did 'His Nibs'—the 'Government Wallah'—Philip Noel Conway, or whoever he was—have the power to irritate her so much? And why on earth did she have to slip just at that moment?
The coincidence of meeting him again at the hospital was not so strange after all. Everything fell into place now. She remembered that there had been a big medical survey, not only of the Lemumba Protectorate but of the whole Bazualil and Province. But it had happened just about the same time as the trouble which had been her father's undoing and she had not taken in many of the details. Certainly there had been nothing to associate their fellow-passenger with the medical survey. No one addressed him as 'Doctor' and she was quite sure of that. He didn't even look like one, she thought—though if she had been asked to define what a doctor was supposed to look like Ronnie would have been hard put to it to find an answer. But Philip Noel Conway was certainly not her idea of a typical medical practitioner.
A sudden outburst of talking in the ward told her that
the round must be over. 'Now for it !' she thought, and braced herself to meet Sister's sarcastic anger.
The expected summons was not long in coming. Flossie put her head in at the door. "Nurse Forbes, Sister wants you in her office," she said, trying to keep a straight face. Then as she came further into the room the irrepressible smile broke out. "You are a one, Forbsie What did you want to do a thing like that for? I know he's a gorgeous hunk of a man, but there's no need to drop dead at his feet ! Why didn't you let on that you knew him, you dark horse !"
"Because I don't . . .I—oh, what's the use?" Ronnie gave up the unequal struggle and sighed. "Are you going to take over here? There's just those specimen glasses to do."
"O.K. Best of luck !"
'I'll need it,' Ronnie thought glumly as she stood inside the door of Sister's office while Sister deliberately kept her waiting as she dealt with a batch of forms on her desk.
When at last she looked up Sister Young's eyes were still snapping with anger. "Well, Nurse Forbes," she began acidly. "What explanation have you to offer for that disgraceful exhibition in the ward just now?"
"I'm very sorry, Sister. I don't know what happened. My foot slipped, and—"
"Perhaps you were not wearing the regulation rubber—"
"Oh, but I was, Sister !" Ronnie interrupted, forgetting that Ward Sisters do not expect to be interrupted by junior probationers.
Sister's eyebrows were up in amazed disapproval. "Then your performance is all the more difficult to account for," she said smoothly. "You were not by any chance running, Nurse?"
"No, Sister." Ronnie had seen the warning signal and restrained herself to monosyllables.
"Then I can only suppose that it was surprise at seeing your friend Mr. Conway on the ward. In future you will kindly remember that in this hospital, whatever your relations may be outside it—"
Bursting with indignation, Ronnie could contain herself no longer. "But he's not a friend of mine ! I didn't even know his name ! He just happened to be a passenger on the same ship coming back from Africa, that's all—"
It was Sister's turn to interrupt. "Mr. Conway seemed to know quite a lot about you, Nurse Forbes," she commented icily.
"I don't see how he could have !" Ronnie protested.
"That will do, Nurse. I shall not expect to have to reprimand you again for unseemly behaviour on the ward. Now, as Nurse Flourish is finishing the sluice you had better go into the linen room. The laundry came up five minutes ago and I would like it sorted and counted before you go to dinner."
Seething with indignation, Ronnie somehow managed to mutter "Yes, Sister" and get out of the office before she said what was really in her mind.
Unseemly behaviour, indeed ! In the linen room Ronnie gave her fury full rein. "Damn and blast Mr. Philip Blooming Conway !" she said out loud to the cool, unresponsive linen.
"Here, steady on !" An amused male voice behind her made her start and turn in some consternation. It was Alan Pickering, grinning all over his face.
Ronnie felt herself flushing, partly with annoyance and partly from the embarrassingly close scrutiny with which the young houseman was regarding her.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Pickering. I didn't know you were there. Did you want something?"
"Yes," he smiled. "A word with you."
"Look, sir, I've got all this linen to sort and stack before twelve o'clock. I'm in Sister's bad books already and I'm sure the linen room is out of bounds for you. So will you please leave me to get on with my work?" Exasperation lent daring to Ronnie's tongue, and an edge to it too.
"All right, my dear, don't get alarmed. I've got a message for you—from His Nibs."
"Then I don't want to hear—"
Alan Pickering continued blandly : "He said I was to say he was sorry and to enquire how the head was. If it aches badly I'm to tell you to report sick—"
"My head's quite all right, thank you," she told him briefly.
"You did go a mighty wallop !" His blue eyes, on a level with her own, were smiling at her. He was quite
an attractive young man and Ronnie was sufficiently conscious of the fact not to want to be caught talking to him in the linen room.
"Why didn't you say you knew His Nibs? I mean, it's nothing to be ashamed of."
"I don't know Mr. Conway," Ronnie repeated wearily. "We happened to travel home on the same ship, and that's all there is to it."
"He seemed to know quite a bit about you, though." "Such as?" Ronnie demanded with hostility.
"That your father had been Governor of somewhere or other in West Africa—"
"He was Resident Officer of the Lemumba District," Ronnie corrected.
"Oh well, it's all one to me. Oh yes, and that you'd been acting as your father's hostess. And that there'd been a row of some sort or other and that the boys in Westminster had shifted the blame on to your father's shoulders and dismissed him from his post."
"Oh, he said that, did he?" Ronnie was slightly mollified. "But that's only what anyone could have picked up from newspapers and gossip."
"You don't seem very anxious to claim acquaintance with His Nibs. Why don't you like him?"
"Mr. Pickering, I've told you that I don't know him. I neither like him nor dislike him, and now will you please leave me to get on with my work?"
"I'm rather glad," he said enigmatically.
Ronnie turned to stare at him over the stack of sheets she was putting on the shelf. "Glad about what?"
"Glad that you don't like His Nibs too much."
"What on earth has it got to do with you?" This had been a very trying morning and Ronnie had forgotten that junior probationers usually treated housemen with some degree of politeness.
Alan Pickering however did not seem to notice her lack of courtesy. He just smiled jauntily and said : "You're very attractive, you know—and I don't see why the consultants should have it all their own way !" And then, with an impish grin, he was gone before she could think of a suitable reply.
Never had pairs and dozens been so elusive as they were that morning, and Ronnie had to do a triple recount before she could be sure that she really was three draw sheets short and six pillowslips to the good. A search revealed that the latter should have gone to Sumner Ward. She was just putting them aside with a sigh of relief when she was hailed from the doorway by the staff nurse. "Haven't you finished in there, Forbes? It's time you went to dinner."
"I've practically finished, Staff. We're three draw-sheets short and there are six pillowslips belonging to Sumner."
"Well, you can drop those in on your way over and
make a note to go in the laundry basket tonight about the missing sheets—and a note for the office too."
"Righto," Ronnie forgot herself for the moment.
But Staff Nurse looked at her with an amused twinkle in her eye. "This hasn't exactly been your morning, has it, Forbes? Take a tip from me—remember young and attractive Ward Sisters don't like competition when it comes to the men ! Now run along and get your dinner."
"But I—" Ronnie began, but gave it up as a bad job. "Thanks, Staff," she remembered to add before taking herself off.
When Ronnie went off duty at six she felt ready to drop. The day had not improved as it went on, and neither had her headache.
She was glad to get out into the fresh air and as she walked towards the hospital gates she debated whether to go by Underground—which was quicker—or by bus, which would probably mean standing in a queue but would at least be out in the air. Six o'clock was a bad time to end duty, for the homeward-travelling crowds had not cleared away yet and travelling was uncomfortable, especially if you had been on your feet all day.
There was the usual stream of ambulances and cars turning in and out of the drive, and Ronnie paid little attention to it, until a loud and musical blast on a horn assailed her eardrums as a long black car slid slowly alongside her.
The door swung open, and a voice peremptorily told her : "Get in."
She stood stock still, not so much with amazement as with annoyance as she recognised the abominable Mr. Conway.
"Thank you," she said coldly. "I prefer—"
"Get in —you're holding up all the traffic !"
Ronnie never afterwards knew why she obeyed so meekly. The fact that the order was issued with no
thought of resistance should have made no difference, nevertheless somehow she found herself in the car and felt the pressure of his arm as he leaned across her to close the door.
There was silence in the car, but not quiet. Ronnie's angry thoughts were too clamorous for that. Why on earth had she let herself be tricked into getting into the car? It only needed the suddenly blank stare of deliberate non-recognition on the part of the gate porter, with whom she was hail-fellow-well-met as a rule, to send her anger over boiling point.
"Will you please put me down at New Street, sir, I get my bus there," she said.
For the briefest second he turned and smiled that mocking smile of his. "But I'm driving you home to save you the fag of buses," he said mildly. "That was a nasty crack you had this morning, and as I was responsible it's the least I can do to take you home."
"I slipped," she said, her anger cold now. The conceit of the man !
"Yes, of course," he said pleasantly, and then added : "I'm going your way anyhow."
She received this barefaced lie in the silence it deserved. It seemed to worry him not at all, for a couple of seconds later he added quite unashamedly : "Where do you live?"
"Grantchester Mansions, Pimlico," she snapped.
He nodded, for the next few minutes the busy traffic took all his attention. Presently Ronnie found her eyes drawn irresistibly to the man at her side. His hands fascinated her first—large and strong, but with long, sensitive-looking fingers. They lay on the steering wheel relaxed, capable and confident. From his hands her eyes strayed upwards and sideways to his profile. He was even more handsome from that angle. Suddenly her eyes caught sight of the central driving mirror, and the
regard of a mocking grey glance in it. A wave of hot anger and embarrassment flushed her cheeks—and she had no doubt he noticed that too and attributed it to the wrong cause.
"What made you take up nursing?" he asked presently.
"What made you take up surgery?" she countered. "I inherited a talent for needlework from my mother," he told her gravely.
She did not make any reply to that, and in fact neither of them spoke again until Philip Conway asked abruptly as they approached a turning : "You'd better direct me from here—I've only a hazy idea where Grantchester Mansions are."
"Left, and then second right," she told him coldly.
"I wonder why your branch of the Forbes family has taken such an irrational dislike to me?" he ruminated. "Now your aunt thinks quite highly of me."
"My aunt?" Ronnie felt rather like a pricked balloon.
"Min. Mary Forbes—she is your aunt, isn't she? Great V.A.D. worker. She and my dad were buddies in the first war."
"Oh," was all Ronnie could say.
"Yes. She asked me to look out for you at St. Chad's. But you haven't answered my question."
"You can't dislike someone you don't know," Ronnie muttered, a little ashamed. It was perfectly true. Her dislike, based on Toby's attitude probably, was quite irrational—or almost. But she disliked all conceited men, and she was convinced that His Nibs was very conceited. No man with his looks and ability could be otherwise.
"You seem to be able to do it pretty thoroughly."
Ronnie was saved an answer to that as they turned into the road where Grantchester Mansions was. "Will you stop here, please?" she asked frigidly.
He did so, and then turned to look at her as he
reached across to open the door. His eyes were teasing, but his lips were set a little grimly. "Let's ,call a truce, shall we?" he asked.
"I don't think it matters very much." Ronnie refused to meet those searching eyes of his—they gave her the uncanny feeling that he could read her thoughts. "You must realise, Mr. Conway, that I'm a very junio
r nurse at the hospital and that our paths don't cross. Matron is also a friend of my aunt's, but she warned me that such personal relationships must not enter into hospital life at all."
"Very right and proper, I've no doubt. But it would be better if you didn't glare every time we meet in a ward—or fall in a dead faint at my feet."
"Will you please understand that I did nothing of the—"
"All right !" he laughed. "I know you just slipped— those wretched highly polished floors ! Now go on— ask it !"
"Ask what?" Puzzled, she did look at him now, and found that he was searching her face keenly.
"Ask what my ulterior motive is. You're quite sure I've got one, aren't you? And I have," he admitted.
"Well, what is it?" she asked hardily, determined to beat him at his own game of outrageous frankness. But the odds were against her, for his teasing, enigmatical expression did not give her the slightest due as to the thoughts that were going on behind it. Suddenly he became serious.
"I want to speak to your father," he said.
"He's not in," she retorted promptly, knowing that Toby would not want to meet his bete noire—the `Government Wallah.'
"I don't mean now," he corrected. "I want a session with him sometime when he's got an hour or so to spare."
"I don't think he'll want to see you," she retorted rudely.
His level dark brows shot up. "I thought he had the reputation of being a Resident with the welfare of his people at heart."
"He's not a Resident anymore," she said a little belligerently. "And what's it got to do with you, anyway?"
"I'm interested because I'm trying to get Government support for a medical and hospital service for Bazualiland and the Lemumba Protectorate, and I think he could help me with a good deal of on-the-spot information."
She had momentarily forgotten what Nurses Danby and Graves had told her about His Nibs being 'nuts about black babies.' Once again Ronnie had the unpleasant feeling of being slightly ashamed of herself. "I'll ask him," she said.
Suddenly her companion smiled, a brilliant flashing smile this time, without the usual hint of mockery. "Good girl ! I hope the head's better tomorrow. Don't go in if it isn't."
Nurse Ronnie's Vocation Page 3