Nurse Ronnie's Vocation

by Felicity Hayle

  Philip had come back into the room from the hall where he had been speeding the guests. "Thank you both for a wonderful party," he said, smiling.

  "I think it's we who should thank you," Toby said. "You've given us a great deal of happiness tonight, my

  boy, and I only hope that things will turn out as you hope and that this evening has been a help to you."

  "I'm quite sure it has," Philip said heartily. "Such a nice bunch of folks, and they were all enthusiastic about the idea."

  Ronnie was watching his expression closely, but she could detect no sign that he did not believe wholeheartedly what he was saying.

  "Do you really think—" she was beginning, but he cut across her, addressing Toby. "And now, sir, as your medical adviser I recommend bed as soon as possible.",

  "Yes, come along, Daddy. I'll give you an arm," Ronnie offered.

  "Let Withers do that," Philip said quickly with a slight frown. "He can manage better than you can. Withers—"

  The man put down the tray) he was carrying. "Yes, sir?"

  "Help Mr. Forbes upstairs, will you, and lend a hand to get him into bed. The clearing up can wait."

  "Yes, sir. Come along, Mr. Forbes, sir, we'll have you all tucked up in no time at all"

  "Thank you, Withers." Toby allowed himself to be helped from his chair. "And thank you once again, Phil. It's been a most enjoyable occasion."

  "I'm glad. I should take one of your pills when you get to bed. It's been a bit tiring for you and we don't want you awake half the night. So long, sir—sleep well.

  Ronnie made to follow her father and his esco "Goodnight," she said.

  "Just a moment—" he caught her wrist and swurg her round. "I want a word before you go."

  Obediently she halted. The touch on her wrist had been only momentary,' but it had sent a little tingling thrill through her.

  At that moment the phone rang and Philip went to

  answer it. He was not more than a moment or two, but while she was alone Ronnie made use of her time by trying to assess the full implications of those words of Lady Porthaven's. It sounded from what she had said as though Philip had asked her to write a letter of recommendation to the Matron of St. Chad's on Ronnie's behalf ... but the idea was too ridiculous; she must have misunderstood Lady Porthaven's meaning somehow.

  The snapping off of the electric lights cut short her puzzled thoughts, and the next instant Phil joined her at the fireside.

  "I like a good fire, don't you?" he said easily as he held out his hands to the blaze.

  "Yes," she answered. "But you won't need one in Bazualiland !"

  He grimaced a little. "One of the joys I shall have to forgo if my dream ever comes true."

  "Do you really think it will?" she asked him directly, turning to study his profile.

  "If I were sure of the answer I couldn't go on dreaming, could I?" he asked enigmatically.

  There was silence between them for what seemed like a long time. There were all sorts of questions that Ronnie longed to ask him, but she dared not. She could not very well ask him if this evening's entertainment had been engineered more for her father's and her own enjoyment than for the purpose he had spoken of. Could it affect the chances of the success of his scheme for the Protectorate at all? Nor could she ask him if he had persuaded Lady Porthaven to provide references for the hospital—she would feel such an utter fool if he denied it.

  The thoughts made her restive, and she had to break the silence at last by saying : "What was it you wanted to see me about?"

  He turned to face her, grimacing a little. 'You might

  almost have put 'sir' at the end of that sentence !" he told her.

  "Sorry, Phil," she said, using his name for the first time aloud. "But I'm afraid I'm not going to find the transition so easy. It would be dreadful if I forgot on the ward, wouldn't it?"

  "Shocking," he agreed. "All the same, I'd prefer that to the name you do call me."

  "What name?" she asked involuntarily

  " 'His Nibs'," he spat out the words. "I hate it Makes me sound a peacock-strutting fool !"

  "You are 'a bit of a martinet," she told him, without thinking that perhaps she was going too far.

  But he, only laughed. "Am I? Well, if I give directions about a patient I like them to be carried out precisely. I hate to have my work spoiled by carelessness—but I don't ask for all the stupid kow -towing I get—especially from sister Young. Which reminds me, that was a call from the hospital. They getting an emergency ready for Me, so I'd better get moving" "I'm glad they kept it until after your party !""So am I," he agreed. It Was a wonderful party. That's what I wanted Say to you--thank you for a wonderful evening."

  His eyes smiled into hers for a moment, and then without the slightest warning, and as coolly as though it were a normal part of saying thank you, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

  Before she recovered from her surprise he was across the room and halfway 'to e door, calling over his shoulder as he went : "Take your flowers up with you—just leave me the roses."

  The firelight flickered and made long, dancing shadows on the walls. The room seemed very empty when he had gone—like her life. If she had ever had the faintest stirrings of hope that one day her love might

  know fulfilment they were done to death by that kiss, so cool and impersonal. She remembered what he had said of himself, more than once—of his ulterior motives. She remembered what Nurse Danby had said of him—that he was interested only in African babies. For the moment it might be that she and her father were caught up in the singleness of purpose which was his driving force, but certainly he had never p tended that it was otherwise. All those half thoughts surmises which piqued her mind with their suggestion of sweetness were no more than wishful thinking, fantastic imaginings of her desire. Certainly he given her no excuse for

  them. He had not philandered with her ...

  With a sigh she turned from the room and went

  upstairs, but she knew that she would always have that

  picture in her heart—the light and the dancing shadows, and those cool, firm lips on her forehead.

  On the first landing she met Withers coming down.

  "The old gentleman's all tucked up nice and comfy, miss. He's a bit tired, but !appy as a sandboy. It was a good party, wasn't it, mis

  "It certainly was—and thank you for your part in making it such a success, Withers, and for helping Daddy. You're very kind to us."

  "It's a pleasure, miss !" he beamed at her, and suddenly chuckled. "You should 'a seen some of the Valentine parties we had in our village when I was a lad !"

  She looked at Withers, startled, for a moment, and then silently told herself not to be a fool. There was no significance in the fact that today was February the fourteenth. It had just happened to be a free evening in his diary, that was all.

  "You must tell me about them some time," she smiled. "But now I must go up and see if Daddy wants me for anything "

  "And I'll see if there's anythink to be done for Mr. Phil—"

  "Oh, he was called back to the hospital," she told him.

  Withers clucked disapprovingly. "Drat that hospital ! What's the registrar bloke for? Consultants like Mr. Phil didn't ought to get so many night calls !"

  He was down the stairs and his voice faded away. But what he said was true, Ronnie thought. Few of the other consultants were called out at night.

  She found her father propped up on his pillows, looking a little sallow and tired but smiling. "I have enjoyed this evening," he told her. "Come and talk to me for a bit and tell me all the news I didn't manage to pick up. Somehow there never is time to talk to all the people you want to. That's the worst of cocktail parties—you start so many conversations and never seem to have time to finish them. What was Leslie Fisher saying? Something about grandchildren—where'd he get 'em from, that's what I want to know."

  "Oh well," Ronnie wrinkled her nose, "he had a daughter—that awful Sybil creature. I
suppose she's married by now."

  "But she was only a child with long pigtails !" Toby looked quite disturbed.

  "Yes, but that was some years ago," Ronnie told him. "She's quite a bit younger than I am, but maybe she had twins—that would account for the plural."

  "I suppose so," Toby sighed. "I wish you were married, Ronnie m'dear. I'd like to have seen you settled before I—I mean, I'd like to have had some grandchildren. I missed most of your childhood through being abroad, and I've always looked forward to having grandchildren of my own,."

  Ronnie tried to take this in her stride. "Well, there's

  plenty of time yet," she said, patting his hand, but Toby only smiled faintly.

  "I did think once that you and Charles Cunningham—"

  "Definitely not," Ronnie told him emphatically.

  Toby sighed again. "You would tell me if there was anyone?" he queried, searching her face. "Anyone at the hospital, for instance?"

  "Of course I would, but there isn't," she said, bending forward to kiss him so that he should not see too clearly what she felt must be in her expression. "I think you'd better have your hot milk now," she told him, and he agreed meekly.

  When she had heated it and brought it in to him he still seemed disposed to talk. "Phil's a nice fellow, isn't he?" he said artlessly, sipping his milk.

  "I can remember a time when you heartily disliked him !" Ronnie reminded him to save herself having to answer.

  "I wasn't quite myself then," Toby apologised. "But it just shows how you can be mistaken, doesn't it? Take this evening, for instance. D'you know, I half believe—" he stopped short, and Ronnie had to prompt him.

  "You believe what, Daddy?"

  "Nothing, dear. Just nothing. Let it go."

  She did not pester him to complete what he had been going to say. She did not need to. She knew just as clearly as if he had finished the sentence that he shared her belief that the evening's entertainment had been planned more for their enjoyment than for the furtherance of the Bazualiland scheme.

  Ronnie had heard a good deal about the efficiency of the hospital grapevine, but she was astounded the next afternoon to be stopped by Alan Pickering on one of the corridors and to be asked : "Did you have a good party last night?"

  "Yes, thank you—but how on earth did you know?" Ronnie positively gasped in her astonishment.

  "Wasn't I supposed to? Was it a secret?" Alan asked, and although his lips were smiling his eyes were sombre.

  "Of course it wasn't a secret ! But it hadn't anything to do with the hospital and I wondered how you had heard about it."

  "The woman who cleans my room has a brother-in-law who was employed to help wait last night," he told her.

  "Oh, I see. Then you probably know all about it. I'm on an errand for Sister, so I mustn't stop," she said quickly, anxious to get away, for it was a main corridor and the time was two o'clock—when the consultants usually arrived back from lunch. But his low, insistent voice held her.

  "What's the matter, Ronnie? You haven't been the same since that wretched dance. I thought we were still going to be friends at least. Have I offended you in some way?"

  "No, of course you haven't, but it didn't seem fair—" "When can I see you?" he cut in. "Tonight?" "Oh, all right—"

  "What time are you off duty? We'll go somewhere where we can talk—"

  "Five o'clock."

  "All right, meet me at Sidoli's—I'll be waiting there at five."

  "All right, Sidoli's, then," she told him, and hurried on her way.

  When she got back to the ward it was to find that clouds of steam were issuing from the sluice room into the ward. One of the patients had just drawn attention to it.

  "Who was supposed to be doing the steriliser this

  afternoon?" Sister asked.

  "I was, Sister," Ronnie confessed. "I didn't think—"

  "That's the trouble, Nurse Forbes, you don't think about your work nearly enough. You young nurses think of nothing but parties, it seems."

  This was grossly unfair, but Ronnie knew better than to argue.

  "Go and open the windows wide and close the door so that the steam doesn't come into the ward. Then you can pack two more drums and put them in the steriliser —but do them out there, please, not in the ward. Mr. Conway is on his way up."

  Thankfully Ronnie escaped to her task. For once luck was on her side. If Sister had allotted to her the task of sentry on the ward door she would have been hard put to it to act normally. She did not want to meet His Nibs face to face for quite a long while. The memory of Phil's kiss was still too vivid.

  Sidoli's Cafe was outside the hospital gates and was patronised almost exclusively by the hospital staff. Those who wanted to fraternise lounged around the counter in the front of the shop, with its tall stools and hissing Espresso coffee machine. But for those who desired a little more seclusion there was a room of small tables at the back of the shop.

  It was in the back room that Ronnie found Alan waiting for her. "You're late !" he accused her. "It's half past five, and you said you were off at five."

  "Supposed to be," she sighed, dropping into the chair he pulled out for her. "This hasn't been a good day on Connaught. An emergency came in at ten to five, and then old Mrs. Cramp threw a fit or something. I just couldn't get off."

  "Damn. They'll be sending for me, then, I suppose—" "Aren't you off duty ?"

  "Not officially," he grinned. "But a fellow has to take a few moments off now and then in the course of the day."

  "I don't think you ought to stay—"

  "Oh, they'll guess where I am if it's really urgent," he checked her protest. "But me no buts ! I've ordered some tea and toast—here it comes."

  As she busied herself pouring out Alan leaned over the table. "Why didn't you tell me how things were between you and His Nibs?" he asked quietly.

  "What do you mean? There's nothing between us at all."

  "Look, you don't have to act with me. You've turned me down flat and I've accepted that, but you might at least tell me the truth. I know I can't hope to compete— a mere houseman doesn't stand a chance against a consultant—"

  "Alan, for heaven's sake stop talking nonsense !"

  "It's not nonsense. Didn't he ask you to go and live in Adam Square? Didn't you give a joint party last night—was that to announce your engagement, by any chance?"

  "Listen, Alan. If you're going to talk a lot of rubbish like this I shall lose my temper. I do wish you'd get your facts straight instead of listening to a lot of backstairs gossip. The party last night was on an invitation from my father and myself. The guests were all old friends of ours who have interests in Lemumba and Bazualiland where, as you know, Mr. Conway has plans for a health service and hospital. He wanted to get the support of people interested in the country by approaching them in an informal way in the first place, and he asked us to help him by giving the party. That's all there is to it."

  She met Alan's eyes fairly and squarely across the little table. "I see," he said slowly. "If that's what you tell me, of course I believe you. But—" he paused for a moment, and although she knew instinctively what was coming and would have avoided his glance if she

  could, there was something so intense about the look in his eyes that she could not drop her own. "But don't tell me that you're not in love with him."

  She met the challenge honestly. She was fond of Alan and had the courage to tell him the truth. "If I am," she admitted, "I didn't know it myself until quite lately. And since it's quite hopeless, I shall doubtless get over it in due course."

  It was all true except the last bit. She could not imagine that she would ever cease to love Phil. He would probably make her angry and frustrated with his teasing and mockery as he had done in the past, but she would always love him. Of that she was completely sure.

  Alan's eyes were troubled. "I'm glad you've told me, Ronnie. But I wish it hadn't happened. You'll only break your heart. And I love you—I'd do anything to make you ha
ppy—"

  "I know, Alan—and I'm terribly sorry," she said gently.

  He made a rueful face. "That doesn't help either of us, does it?"

  He looked so unhappy that Ronnie's quick sympathies were aroused and she almost forgot her own troubles in the face of his misery. Being sorry was no good—she knew that. With impulsive generosity she wondered whether she could not put her own hopeless love aside and if she could make Alan happy—

  Before she had time to put the thought into words, however, she was saved what might have been an irrevocable decision by a commotion in the outer part of the café.

  "Anybody here seen Pickering?" a voice called, and a second later Topham, Alan's opposite number on the medical wards, appeared in the dividing doorway.

  "There you are ! Jump to it, you lazy so-and-so ! Your boss is calling for you—tearing his hair, and wait-

  ing to tear a strip off you too ! Sister's trying to keep him sweet, but he won't last much longer !"

  Alan swore under his breath. "Just my luck ! Can we meet again?" he begged. "Tomorrow?"

  "I don't know when I'm off tomorrow—I'll see you around in the meantime, though. Run now, or you'll be in real trouble !"

  "You can say that again !" Topham grinned down at her as Alan hastily departed. "Shall I finish his tea for him?"

  "Please yourself—I'm just going for my bus." Ronnie spoke off-handedly, for she did not like that particular houseman very much and felt a little misgiving that it was he who should have found Alan with her in the teashop.

  She was even more sorry when she went on the ward the next morning. She and Danby were making the beds together, and Danby had plenty to say.

  "You caused a fine old how-de-do last night," she said over the patient's-prostrate form.

  "Me? What did I do?"

  "Well, first of all you weren't here when His Nibs wanted you."

  "Oh?" Ronnie was mystified. "I was due off at five and I didn't get away till twenty past, so my conscience is quite clear. What did he want?"

  "I think that little African boy is back in Children's and kicking up a fuss again."

  "Oh, poor little chap ! What was the matter with him?"