Nurse Ronnie's Vocation

by Felicity Hayle

  By the time she had got the front door open she was wishing fervently that she could have found some way of letting him know that she was meeting Alan Pickering that morning. She had a feeling that would have annoyed him—and she wanted very badly to do that.

  She met Alan in a quiet side street past the hospital.

  He was sitting hunched somewhat moodily over the wheel of his car and barely smiled as he opened the door and slammed it again when she had taken the seat beside him.

  "Why didn't you let me call for you?" he demanded by way of greeting.

  Ronnie wished she had—it would have been one way of achieving her object of annoying Philip Conway. But before she could think up an adequate reason to give Alan he went on : "Why make a secret of it? Everyone knows you're living with His Nibs."

  Ronnie had to repress a hysterical giggle. The idea was so completely ludicrous. But obviously Alan had meant it for no more than a token grumble, for he finished with a sigh and a sheepish grin : "Well, here you are, anyway !" and letting in the clutch he pulled swiftly away.

  As they drove through the empty streets Ronnie was very much occupied with her own thoughts and paid scant attention to Alan's easy flow of chatter. Just what had His Nibs meant by 'entertaining' ? But in her heart she knew it was something that would come easily to her. She had been an accomplished hostess in those days in Africa—days which now seemed a lifetime ago. And it was only fair that she should assist Philip Conway in this project of his if she could. She and Toby had derived, and were deriving, untold benefit from the move, and Ronnie liked to pay her debts.

  Determinedly she gave her attention to her companion. "Where are we going?" she asked.

  "Where would you like to go?"

  "Anywhere you like—I just want to be taken along !" she smiled at him, and the quick answering light in his eyes gave Ronnie a warning. She must not let Alan get too fond of her—it wouldn't be fair— Oh, why was life so complicated?

  They did not after all go very far—a drive round Richmond Park, lunch at the best hotel Alan could find, and then a walk on the almost deserted Terrace Gardens while the sun still shone and turned the river below them to a streak of shining silver. -

  "Reminds me of school," Ronnie said.

  Alan laughed. "Is that pleasant?" he asked.

  Ronnie thought for a moment, and then decided : "Yes—on the whole they were pleasant days. Much more uncomplicated than being adult !"

  "I love you when you do that," Alan said, looking at her.

  "Do what?" she asked quickly.

  "Wrinkle your nose when you're trying to make up your mind about anything," he told her, smiling.

  "Do I?" she asked. "Then I must try not to."

  "Why not?" he riposted quickly, but she did not answer him. She knew the symptoms all too well and was on her guard.

  Over lunch he leaned across the table to say, his blue eyes very intent on her face : "You're coming to the Christmas Dance, of course?"

  "I keep hearing about it—what is it like?"

  "Oh, it's great fun," he told her. "We join forces with St. Boniface's—we're the same foundation, you know, but they've got more room. You girls have the privilege of bringing a partner if you want, because even if all the consultants turn up in force, we men are hopelessly outnumbered. Will you be bringing anyone?" he looked at her anxiously.

  Ronnie thought frantically, and remembered Charles. "I'll probably ask Charles Cunningham if he'd like to come—so long as there's plenty to drink !"

  "Oh, there's plenty of booze," Alan laughed a little miserably. "Who's Charles Cunningham?"

  "He's a bit of an ass," Ronnie conceded. "But quite

  a nice sort of an ass. He was out in Lemumba for two years and we were pretty good friends. But I'm afraid Charles judges the value of a party by the amount there is to drink !"

  "He can spend all his time at the bar as far as I'm concerned," Alan said. "Save me plenty of dances, won't you?"

  "My name would be mud amongst the other nurses if I had more than my fair share," Ronnie told him with a diplomacy of which she was proud.

  Before they parted Alan asked a little wistfully : "Aren't I allowed to come and play chess with your father now that you live amongst the high and mighty ones?"

  "Of course you are !" Ronnie told him warmly. "Daddy would love to see you whenever you have the time."

  "Can't I come when you're at home?"

  "I'm supposed to spend my free time studying," she told him quickly.

  "Is that in the terms of the lease?" he said disgustedly.

  Ronnie felt quite sorry for him. "Don't be so silly, Alan," she said kindly, and a few minutes later she paid for her kindness, for drawing the car into the roadside, the young surgeon took her in his arms and kissed her as she had not been kissed for a long time.

  She reprimanded him—of course.

  It was not so much the memory of those kisses that sent her home with a warm flush on her cheeks, so much as the realisation that she had wanted them. Not from Alan, exactly—but somehow the kisses themselves satisfied a deep need of which she had been hardly conscious herself before.

  On the first floor landing for the second time that day she nearly ran full tilt into Philip Conway.

  .

  "Enjoy your day?" he enquired, and before she could answer he went on : "I can see you have !"

  And from the look in his eyes Ronnie could almost imagine that he had seen her being kissed, too.

  The dance was almost the only topic of conversation on the wards for the next week or two. All the nurses were busy deciding what frock they should wear —in the case of the fortunate ones who had a choice— and how they could make do with the only one they had in the case of some of the juniors. The dress was no problem to Ronnie—she had plenty left over from Lemumba days and would gladly have lent one to one or more of her colleagues, except that she was a good deal taller than the majority of them.

  "You're lucky," Flossie told her. "I'm absolutely skint, and if I do get some money presents for Christmas it'll be too late then to go and buy a new frock. I've got one that's decent—it's almost new—"

  "Well, why don't you wear it, then, and have done with it?" Ronnie was getting a trifle impatient with all this talk of dresses. "It'll be new to everyone at the dance because we haven't been to a social function here yet."

  "I know," Flossie puckered her brow. "But there's something about a new frock—" she looked at Ronnie's glum face. "Oh, Forbsie, there are times when I despair of you. You're just not normal !"

  "Thank you very much !" Ronnie tried not to smile at the horror in her friend's voice, then relented and grinned across the canteen table. "Don't worry, Flossie —you'll have all the men flocking round you whatever you wear !" Ronnie spoke with sincerity, for Flossie had a kind of gamine charm that had nothing to do with what she wore.

  "Not a hope with—" Flossie changed the subject abruptly and went on : "Are you bringing a partner?" "Yes."

  "Well, go on—what's his name?"

  "Charles Cunningham. And d'you know, he'd suit you to a T !" Ronnie suddenly discovered the fact. "He's what you'd call a gorgeous hunk of a man—rather stupid, but quite a dear."

  "Do you go out with him much?" Flossie had no inhibitions.

  Ronnie shrugged. "Not now. We used to go around a good deal when he was in Lemumba."

  "I bet you had a whale of a time in Africa," Flossie regarded her with wide-eyed speculation. "They say it's about ten to one—men to girls—out there."

  Ronnie didn't answer, and Flossie went on : "Was he in love with you? Were you engaged?"

  "He thought he was. No, to your second question."

  "Well, did he ask you to marry him?" It was impossible to put Flossie off when she had made up her mind to pursue a subject.

  "Yes," Ronnie said, and suddenly fell to thinking how different things would have been if she had accepted Charles. No getting up at six in the morning—no aching back at the end of the day, no b
.p. rounds, no ... but quite definitely she knew that she would not change her life—she had no regrets about turning Charles down.

  Flossie's voice broke through her thoughts. "Aren't you interested in men at all?" she asked despairingly.

  Ronnie got to her feet. She knew the hot blood had rushed to her cheeks and could not hope that the fact would escape Flossie's notice, but she was in no mood for more questions. "Come on !" she said. "I don't know about you, but I'm due back on the ward and Sister'll be hopping mad if I'm late."

  If Flossie could have seen -Ronnie as she dressed for the dance, though, she would have concluded that her friend was quite normal after all.

  Three dresses were tried and discarded before Ronnie could decide which she liked best. The choice went to a sapphire blue which threw up the colour of her eyes and was a perfect contrast to the warm honey-colour of her skin.

  "You look wonderful, darling," was Charles' comment when he came to call for her. "This is a nice place you've got here," he went on, looking round. "Much better than that Pimlico place. How come?"

  But Ronnie did not feel inclined to explain to Charles how they had come to move to Adam Square, and changed the subject. "You've come up in the world too," she told him, indicating the big black car he had arrived in.

  "It's the firm's," he gave his engaging grin. "I always use it for taking girls to dances—if they're as beautiful as you, that is !"

  They were rather late getting to St. Boniface's and the parked cars already seemed to fill the available space to overflowing, but Charles was an adept at finding his way around, and discovered another courtyard at the side of the main building with ample space. "How's that?" he demanded smugly as he nosed the long car into position.

  "It's probably reserved for high-ups," Ronnie demurred, but that did not weigh with Charles.

  Even with the two hospitals joining forces, the floor of the big hall was not overcrowded. There was a general

  air of gaiety and Ronnie hardly recognised many of the people in their evening dress after being accustomed to seeing them in uniform.

  If Flossie had had any serious ideas of being the belle of the evening, Ronnie decided that she had lost hands down to Sister Young, who looked really lovely in a simple white frock and who was smiling radiantly up at her partner. Ronnie was so surprised at noticing the

  Ward Sister's attractions that she did not realise for a few moments that her partner was none other than His Nibs. That accounted for the radiance, she thought.

  Their eyes met, and for all the recognition in his they might have been complete strangers instead of dwellers under the same roof.

  Sister Young was small and slight, her head barely reaching her partner's shoulder. She said something that amused him, and he bent his head down to smile at her.

  `I'll make him acknowledge me !' Ronnie muttered to herself through clenched teeth, and Charles asked what she had said.

  But if Charles did not hear, it almost seemed that Philip Conway had, for the next time the gyrations of the dance brought them into position he gave her the briefest of curt, unsmiling nods---and with that she had to be content.

  She had not expected to dance with him—the consultants did not dance with probationers—but she had not thought that it would hurt so much.

  Charles was talking. "You see that tall feller dancing with the little piece in white? I'm sure I've seen him somewhere before—"

  But Ronnie pretended not to be interested. She did not want to have to explain to Charles.

  Soon Alan Pickering came to claim her, and Ronnie found herself happier dancing with him than with Charles. He was more of her world now, she felt.

  "You look lovely tonight," he said, his eyes glowing. "I don't like your friend. Can't we slip out of here and go somewhere where it's quiet? I want to talk to you."

  "Don't be silly," Ronnie admonished him. "And Charles isn't at all a bad sort, really."

  "How well do you like him?"

  "Quite well—but not too meth I" Ronnie smilingly admitted, and Alan sighed.

  "That makes me quite a bit happier," he said, and then becoming serious, "All right—if you won't go somewhere where we can be by ourselves I shall have to propose to you here. Will you marry me, Ronnie?"

  "No, of course not !" She was so surprised that she did not pick and choose the words of her refusal—they just tumbled instinctively off her lips.

  "Why not? You know I love you! And you like me a

  little bit, don't you, Ronnie? I could make you love me."

  Ronnie liked Alan a great deal—so much that she hated hurting him, and could not bear the pain in his eyes.

  "No person can make another love them," she pointed out gently, and found her own glance going down the length of the room to a certain dark head which at that moment was bent close to the red one of Sister O'Neill of Casualty.

  "I didn't mean that," Alan put in, quickly apologetic. "Of course I don't want to make you—I want you to love me of your own free will. Don't you think you ever could, Ronnie? I'd wait as long as you like if you'd just let me hope—that's all I ask."

  Now she did raise her eyes to his and smiled. "Then you shouldn't be so meek and undemanding, Alan. I do like you a lot—but not enough to marry you. And anyway, you shouldn't be thinking of marriage for quite a while yet. If you're sensible you'll go ahead for your Fellowship while you're still young and uncluttered ! Time enough to think about marriage when you're through that."

  "That'll be years ahead," he grimaced. "And you won't be free then."

  "I expect I shall," Ronnie replied a little absently, and then added more brightly : "I shall probably be a starchy-bosomed Ward Sister by then."

  "Heaven forbid !" Alan ejaculated fervently. "Though

  I must say Sister Young seems to be doing pretty well with His Nibs."

  A quick frown furrowed Ronnie's brow, but she quickly wiped it off when she realised that Alan had noticed it.

  "Is that all the hope you're going to give me?" he asked with a sigh.

  "Let's be just good friends," Ronnie begged. "We've both got careers to think about—"

  "Your vocation isn't for nursing," he told her.

  "Why do you say that—" Ronnie began, but at that moment the lights went out and only the beam of a spot swept slowly over the dancing couples. Before Ronnie could complete her sentence her lips were sealed by Alan's kisses, as in the momentary isolation of the darkness he held her close to him.

  "You shouldn't have done that," she told him—not angry, but sorry for him, deeply sorry.

  "At least you can't take that away from me," he replied quietly, and a moment' later the music stopped and the dance was over.

  In the interval before the next dance, which was booked by Charles, Ronnie slipped out of the dance room and went along to the room which was set aside for the nurses' use.

  Alan's kiss had been passionate and it had shaken her. She needed a few moments of quiet to recover her poise, and freshen her make-up. She felt almost as though that kiss showed on her face, although there were no physical signs of it. But she felt she must be away from curious eyes for a little, and especially from a pair of light grey ones which always seemed to see more than they were intended to.

  She was glad there were none of her particular cronies there as she idly surveyed her reflection in the mirror

  and let the buzz of many conversations pass over her head, as other young nurses came in and out.

  Some bits of dialogue however did break through her preoccupation. The red-headed Sister O'Neill came in with another nurse whom Ronnie did not recognise— probably on the St. Boniface staff.

  "Isn't it revolting?" the strange nurse was saying. "Young looks like a dog with two tails tonight !"

  "Sure, let her be havin' her little day !" replied the Irish Sister. "It'll not last for long. Last year it was Cooper—"

  "And before that it was O'Neill !" put in the other with a spice of malice.

  But nothing could
shake the Irish girl's good temper. "Ah, the man's nothing but a low-down philanderer, so he is ! And one of these days he'll burn his fingers !"

  "You should hear Cooper on the subject !" the other girl said darkly with the air of one who could tell a great deal more if she wished.

  "I have so," O'Neill slapped her lipstick home in its case. "The girl thought she had her hooks in him, and if you're askin' me he had the luck of the devil to get out of it that time."

  Ronnie's cheeks flamed with a sudden and un accountable anger. Though his name had not been mentioned she knew quite well whom they were talking of. Philip Conway. And she had heard one or two things about the Sister called Cooper too—and they were not very savoury.

  Impulsively she spun round. `If he does philander it's only with women who are well able to take care of themselves !' were the words which sprang to her lips, but fortunately they were not uttered. O'Neill and her companion were already making for the door and deep in conversation. Ronnie stared after them for a few seconds, her hands clenched, her lips foolishly agape. Then she turned back to the mirror.

  She too got out her lipstick and tried to apply it to her lips, but her hands were shaking so much that she could not get a satisfactory outline.

  "What on earth's the matter with me?" she asked herself irritably. But she knew the answer to that question.

  Revelation had come in a flash, but now she realised that it was something which her inner consciousness had known for a long time but refused to acknowledge. Philip Conway was arrogant and aggravating, outrageous and overbearing; but she loved him—had loved him ever since that moment of the lower deck of the Talisman Castle when his strong hands had gripped her shoulders.

  It was a shattering revelation, and Ronnie did not know how she had come by it. But there was no room for doubt—and precious little for hope.