"Another emergency op, so they said. And when Alan was wanted he couldn't be found either, until he was finally run to earth drinking tea with you."
Ronnie groaned inwardly. She might have known that Topham would not have the sense or the loyalty to keep his mouth shut. "I can't be expected to know
the housemen's duty hours," she said. "Anyway, I hope to goodness Topham didn't tell His Nibs that."
"I don't know. I heard him tell Sister."
Ronnie groaned again, and then for a second stood still holding a counterpane by one corner.
"Come on, don't stand there dreaming !" Danby reprimanded her. "There're still ten more beds to do !"
But Ronnie was remembering something which her father had told her when she got home yesterday evening. Mrs. Ferguson—the part-time secretary at Adam Square—had been up to say that Ronnie was wanted on the telephone. When Toby had told her Ronnie was still not back she had gone back again, and had not returned with any message, so Ronnie had assumed that the call had not been important.
But now some instinct told her that the call had come from the hospital. No doubt Phil had checked up on whether she was home when he found she had gone off duty—or he might have wanted her to return to the hospital. In either case Topham's indiscretions did not seem to be of much importance. His Nibs seemed to have his own way of finding out just what he wanted.
There was no earthly reason why she should not meet Alan for a cup of tea in Sidoli's except for the fact that he should have been on duty at the time—but she could not have known that, and it was his responsibility, not hers. Nevertheless, she had a guilty feeling which made her more than ever averse to coming face to face with His Nibs.
Luck favoured her and incredible though it seemed, she did not met him for fuly a fortnight after the party. This was not entirely unplanned, for she took good care to move silently and quickly down the stairs at home, and if it was possible, managed to be busy at some job that kept her out of the ward at the time he made his
visits. This was not difficult, since most of the girls preferred to be visible when His Nibs was about.
One day, however, as she crossed the short ward corridor from the kitchen to the linen room she was conscious, out of the corner of her eye, of His Nibs passing along the main corridor which crossed the end of it. She went into the linen room and started her task of counting and checking the returned laundry, when she was startled to hear someone behind her. She turned quickly and was even more surprised to see Philip Conway. Consultants did not visit linen rooms, and His Nibs was usually most correct. But just now he looked angry.
He sounded angry when he spoke, too—not his usual effervescent type of anger, but a tight-lipped controlled fury which matched his set, white face.
"Why have you been avoiding me?" he demanded without preamble.
"I—I haven't—" she lied.
"Of course you have. Was it because I so far forgot myself as to kiss you after a pleasant evening?"
"Of course not," she said, and for once her mind worked with a speed which surprised her. "I took that in the spirit in which I'm sure it was meant."
"And that was?" he queried.
"Just your way of saying thank you—though really there wasn't anything to thank me for," she replied easily, aware that for the moment at least she had the ascendancy over him.
Now his eyes were twinkling and the corners of his mouth twitched. "Very neat !" he commented. He went on as though he had never been angry at all : "I have a message for you from my godmother, Adela Porthaven. She wants you to lunch with her on Sunday week at Stoneacres—"
"That's very kind of her, but I don't know if I'm
free that day—" Ronnie began quickly as though she had scented danger of some kind.
"Yes, you are—I checked before I accepted for you." Ronnie's independent spirit was aroused. "I'm not sure that I want—"
He silenced her with a frown and a peremptory : "Do you want to help or don't you? I want you to go. Adela is a very rich woman."
She could not resist the temptation. "Very good' sir," she said demurely.
At that instant they both heard Sister's unmistakable quick, light step in the corridor. Ronnie's heart missed a beat, but Philip Conway took immediate action. He strode out into the corridor, and she heard him say : "Really, Sister, what is a linen room for if not to supply an unfortunate consultant with a handkerchief when he has come without one? Your nurse tells me you don't stock such things."
Ronnie breathed again. "I only hope to goodness he remembers he's not supposed to have a handkerchief !" she thought as she got on with her job. Quite suddenly the sun seemed to be shining.
Stoneacres proved to be a delightful house in a rural setting in Berkshire, not far from Ascot Heath. That Sunday was a blustery March day and from the protection of the chauffeur-driven Daimler Ronnie could enjoy to the full the white clouds scudding across a sky that could hardly have been bluer if the month had been June.
She had an effusive welcome from Lady Porthaven and met Sir Herbert Porthaven for the first time. He was as charmingly unpretentious as his wife, with a small round face on top of a small round body, and a deceptively simple manner. He appeared the most unlikely person in the world to have made a fortune by his own efforts. All the same, Ronnie thought it rather odd that
his wife addressed him as 'Stupid,' until over lunch she explained.
"Herbert was such a duck of a little boy with yellow curls and round blue eyes that his mother always called him 'Cupid.' When Phil was a little boy he'd never heard of Cupid, and he called him Uncle Stupid—and that's what he's been ever since !"
There seemed to be numerous dogs about the house, and one little cairn called Jaker took such a fancy to Ronnie that Adela Porthaven wanted to give him to her on the spot. Ronnie had to be very firm in her refusal. "You just can't keep a dog, even a small one, in a top floor flat in London—especially when he's been used to the country."
Adela pouted—it was obvious that she was never so happy as when she was giving. "I don't see why not. Withers would exercise him for you."
"Withers does quite enough for us as it is without foisting a dog on him." Ronnie hated to refuse—it was almost as bad as refusing a proffered gift from a child.
But Adela found her own compensation. "Never mind," she beamed. "I'll give him to you when you go back to Africa."
"I didn't know I was going back," Ronnie said, surprised, but Lady Porthaven looked even more astonished than Ronnie.
"Oh, I thought it was all settled," she said. "I mean, that's why—er—well, when Phil gets his hospital I thought—" she stopped, apparently rather confused.
Ronnie smiled. "I don't think he'd want me to nurse in his hospital," she said to help the older woman out of the muddle she seemed to be in. "He hasn't any great opinion of my chances of getting through my exams."
Surprisingly, her hostess seemed to find this piece of information to the utmost satisfaction. "Oh well," she
smiled, "I expect I've got hold of the wrong end of the stick. I'm always doing that aren't I, Stupid?"
"You are, my love," her husband agreed mildly. "And now what about taking Miss Forbes to see the horses?"
"Oh yes, of course—I was forgetting. You like horses, don't you, dear?"
Ronnie assured her that she loved horses, and was thereupon muffled up in a big duffle coat with the hood pulled well over her head. When her hosts had similarly attired themselves they went round to the back of the house and through the arched entrance to the stable yard.
There were three fine horses in loose-boxes, putting their intelligent heads over the top of the box doors to receive the pieces of carrot which they knew had been brought for them.
"We don't ride any longer," Adela told Ronnie. "And so the poor dears don't get as much exercise as they ought to. Phil comes down when he can, and there's the groom, of course, but it's not like being ridden by someone who loves you, is it?" she prattled on happily, and fi
nished : "Why don't you come down with Phil and ride at weekends sometimes?"
Ronnie was glad she had a valid excuse for resisting this temptation. She adored horses and riding, and the thought of riding with Phil was a happiness she did not dare even to contemplate. "I'm supposed to spend my weekends when I'm not on duty in studying for my exams," she said quickly.
"How dull ! But it won't be for much longer, will it?"
"It takes three years to become a qualified nurse," Ronnie told her. "Even if you pass all your exams first shot—which I'm not likely to do."
Lady Porthaven blinked and looked startled, but only for a moment. Her cheerful mind never dwelt on one subject for more than a moment or two, and conversa-
tion with her was rather like following a butterfly as it flitted from flower to flower.
The time passed quickly and pleasantly, and at half past three Ronnie left again for town. They would have liked her to stay longer, but Ronnie had had an S.O.S. from Alan the evening before. He just had to see her, he said. Since she had already broken her rule of study at the weekend to go to Stoneacres she had thought she might as well make the whole day a holiday, and had arranged to meet Alan in the West End for tea.
As soon as she saw him she could see that he was excited about something—excited, but not entirely pleasurably, she thought.
"What's happened to you, Alan? You're like a dog with two tails but not quite sure which one to wag !"
He grimaced. "I'm not sure I want to wag either of them," he confessed ruefully, and then after staring at her in silence for a moment he announced : "I'm leaving St. Chad's at the end of the month."
"Are you? Well, of course you've got to leave some time if you want to get on. Is it a good job—tell me?"
"It's at the Playford County Hospital in Durham," he said. "Registrar to Maples. It's a job in a thousand, and once I'd have given my ears for it. Didn't think I stood a chance, as a matter of fact—and I don't mind betting I wouldn't have got it without a strong recommendation which His Nibs put in."
"I'm so glad, Alan. His Nibs wouldn't have given the recommendation if he didn't think highly of you—"
But Alan ignored the congratulations. He was staring straight into her eyes as he answered the second part of her remark. "He might have an ulterior motive," he said gloomily. "Perhaps he wants to separate us."
CHAPTER SEVEN
ALAN took a bit of convincing, especially as he had seen her driving up to their meeting place in the Porthavens' Daimler. She had had to admit that it belonged to a friend of Philip Conway's whom he wished her to visit in connection with financial help for the Bazualiland hospital scheme, but though she explained this as convincingly as she could, Alan was still suspicious.
By the time she had convinced him Ronnie had more or less unconvinced herself. Not that she believed there was any ulterior motive in Philip's action in recommending Alan for the post under Sir George Maples, nevertheless she could see Philip's reason clearly enough. With his uncanny perception Philip was probably quite aware of his young houseman's feeling for herself, and he had more than likely noticed a falling-off in Alan's keenness for his work. Alan had the makings of a fine surgeon—everyone was agreed on that—and Philip would no doubt think it right to remove him to a sphere where he would give his whole attention to his work and studies.
She herself, by the time she left Alan, was very glad that he was going north. In spite of his promises at the dance it was getting more and more obvious that he had not accepted defeat and was still hoping that she would change her mind and marry him.
Her moment of indecision on that subject was over and she was quite convinced now that love had to be
reciprocal if marriage were to have any chance of success. There was no happiness in it for either partner without that mutual love.
When she got home she found her father busy and important, writing letters. "You're late !" he accused her.
"I'm sorry, darling. But I did tell you that I was meeting Alan Pickering for tea, didn't I? I couldn't get away."
"Oh, that young man ! Yes, I know you said tea— but it's half past seven now."
"Have you been lonely?" she asked with sudden compunction.
"Oh no, I've been busy," he announced. "Phil's been up and we've been going through a lot of papers and figures. But we wanted you here."
"Why, is he planning another party already?"
"No. But the matter has become suddenly urgent. It's now or never, apparently. His Government contact —Fergus Stanhope, he's a first-class chap—wants full details of the whole scheme within a month, and Phil thinks we ought to add to the facts the feelings of people who care about the country. That's why I'm writing round to everyone we know to get them to put their opinions on paper. It'll probably be months before we hear anything definite—you know how slowly the wheels of Government grind ! But when they want any information it has to be forthcoming at once ! I don't want to spoil Phil's chances of getting this thing through. It would be a good thing for the country, and he's dead keen on it."
"All right, Daddy. I'll get supper first and then help you with the letters. How will that do?"
"No, you get the supper. But I can manage the letters if I stick at get through them in two or three days. But you ought to be working for your exams, Phil says."
t
Ronnie paused in the act, of getting the tablecloth out of the drawer and turned to stare at her father's bent head with a puzzled frown on her face. After all, it had been at Phil's suggestion—instruction, almost— that she had lunched with the Porthavens. And although looking back on her visit there she did not feel that she had advanced the Bazualiland scheme one iota, still he did not know that. So why should he utter that implied criticism?
"Has he seen the last exam results?" she asked.
"I don't know, dear. He didn't say so. Would he see them?"
"Perhaps." 'He sees everything,' Ronnie thought, but aloud she said : "I may have come bottom of the list again."
But in spite of that depressing thought she got out her books after supper and worked until quite late. As a result she overslept the next morning and had a rush to get ready. After the briefest good-morning kiss to her father and a blessing on Withers, whom she knew she could rely on to see that Toby had his breakfast, she rushed headlong down the stairs.
In the hall she was brought up sharply by a tall, dressing-gowned figure who was sorting the post on the hall table. It had formerly been Withers' job to do that, but just lately on more than one occasion she had found Philip himself going through the pile of envelopes as though he were looking for one particular letter which did not come.
Remembering last night's remark of Toby's about the imminence of a decision about the hospital scheme, she could now hazard a guess as to what he was looking for. But this morning again it seemed that he was disappointed, as he threw down the last envelope with a look of disgust.
"None for you," he said abruptly, without having
given any precise sign of having been aware of her attempt to pass. Disappointment seemed to have made him even more peremptory than usual. "Have a good time yesterday?"
"Yes, thank you," she replied, trying to edge round him. But he managed to block her way.
"You stayed rather a long time for a lunch appointment, didn't you?"
She flushed a little resentful of the insinuation. 'Why does he always pry into my affairs ?' she thought, but what she really meant was : 'Why does he always seem to know when I've been out with Alan?' "Oh, I had another engagement after lunch," she said off-handedly.
"Ah ! With Alan Pickering, no doubt."
She knew it was useless to deny it, for she felt the flush on her cheeks. "Yes," she replied, matching his coolness. "He told me about his new appointment. It was very good of you to use your influence for him. He's thrilled at the thought of working under Sir George Maples."
He looked at her and there was a glint in his keen glance. "I'm glad he's pleased. He wasn
't doing any good here mooning around you instead of getting on with his work."
Suddenly her temper flared. "Who do you think you are?" She asked hotly. "Anyone would think you were God, the way you arrange people's lives for them !"
Even in her anger she was aware of the entirely different expression that came into his face. His eyes widened and he no longer looked either arrogant or even self-confident.
"Believe me," he said with utter sincerity, "I'm only too well aware of my inability to arrange even my own life as I would like it—let alone other people's." Then abruptly the moment was gone and as though to efface it he said brusquely : "You'd better get along—you're
going to be late." Considering he had been blocking her path, this seemed to Ronnie a trifle unreasonable.
As she got the door open he called to her from the foot of the stairs "By the way—congratulations ! You've not done too badly in your test papers."
On the lists posted in the Nurses' Common Room Ronnie found her name a little less than halfway down the list. This was encouraging, until she remembered that she was six months behind her intake and that Flossie had already sat for the first part of her State exam. Still, it was encouragement enough to make her look forward to next October when she herself would sit that first part with hope instead of trepidation.
Later in the day she was called into Matron's office.
"Well, Nurse Forbes," Matron greeted her with a smile, "I expect you were pleased to find that you have done considerably better in your test papers than you did last time."
"Yes, Matron."
"It seems that the easing of your home responsibilities has paid dividends in your case. Are you happy where you are living now?"
"Oh yes, thank you, Matron. I have a great deal more time and less worry now."
"And you still want to carry on with nursing?"
"Oh yes, please, Matron. When you first interviewed me you asked me if I thought I had a vocation for nursing. I wasn't sure then. I wasn't even sure when I went through the Preliminary Training School. But as soon as I went on the wards I—well, I just knew."
Nurse Ronnie's Vocation Page 10