I had one letter from Mark at the end of my third week at home. It was a long and almost illegible letter that amused me very much when I was finally able to decipher his handwriting. He wrote that he was hogging the books for his own Finals and was following the excellent example set by Tom in more ways than one. ‘I have taken to haunting clinical-rooms, Sue. Did you ever notice my close resemblance to a microscope?’
Thomas did not write to me at all. I did not really expect to get a letter from him; I merely watched the post like a hawk and haunted the front hall when the postman was due. If my parents noticed my preoccupation with our letterbox, they said nothing about it to me. My mother wore her usual tranquil air as she dealt competently with the house, cooking, telephone calls, messages and constant knocks on the front door. My father, as always, was in a hurry, eating belated meals and sleeping disturbed nights, and driving countless miles across the county, his every day work as a country doctor.
On my last Sunday at home, Father was later than usual for lunch. Mother and I had waited until two before starting our own meal. We lingered in vain. When we had finished, Mother glanced at her watch. ‘Ten to three. I really will have to turn the oven right off. There are limits to how long you can keep food heating and palatable even in a casserole. I wonder what’s keeping him? He said he thought Mrs. Hallet’s new baby would be here by twelve when he went off after breakfast.’
‘I expect he’s had another call at the Hallets. The village always knows where to find him when he’s on a baby case.’ I stood up. ‘I’ll see to the oven.’
‘You sit still, darling. I’m even more used to this than you.’ My mother’s smile was serene. ‘A doctor’s wife thinks nothing of ruined or lonely meals. But I do wish your father did not work quite so hard. He does get so tired by the evening, and he is not as young as he was. Drink up the rest of that coffee. I’ll make fresh when he comes in.’
She sailed off to the kitchen just as I heard a car pull up in the drive outside.
I blinked and jumped up. ‘Here he is!’ I called to my mother who was still in the kitchen. I went swiftly out of the front door. ‘Darling, you are late! Was it the Hallet baby?’
Father climbed out of the car, threw his hat on to the back seat, and picked his medical case from the floor. ‘I need some refills. Remind me if I get called out again. Sorry I’m so late, Sue. It wasn’t Master Hallet’s fault.’
‘Has Mrs. Hallet got another boy?’ I tucked my arm through his. ‘That makes four Master Hallets. How are they both?’
‘Fine. Only the poor little scrap is dressed in pink as his mum was determined to have a girl this time.’ He smiled. ‘Grand little fellow. About eight pounds, Nurse Docherty thinks.’ He glanced over his shoulder as if he was looking for someone. ‘It wasn’t the Hallet family that held me up. I would have been back a good hour ago but for that accident at the crossroads past the village. The driver wasn’t too badly hurt, but he did need hospitalisation. He was pretty shocked. We decided it would be wisest to run him straight up to the hospital in my car and not wait for an ambulance. We’ve just come from the hospital.’
‘We? Who else was involved?’
‘Only the driver was hurt. He was in one of those low sports cars, and ran straight into a telegraph pole. Skidded clean across the empty road; you can see the marks plainly. When he came round he admitted he had the road to himself, poor chap. He just blacked-out. He was really exceedingly fortunate not to have done himself more damage and to have been found so soon by our enormous colleague.’
‘By whom?’
He chuckled. ‘The fellow who was first on the scene. A youngster with a good head on his shoulders as well as a strong pair of arms. He lifted the car clean off the poor chap.’ He looked expectantly over his shoulder for a second time, then glanced at me curiously. ‘He told me he was a friend of yours. On his way down to see you, in fact, when he drove past the crash, and naturally, being a medical man and a human being, stopped to see what he could do to help. Were you expecting a visitor this afternoon, Sue? You didn’t mention it.’
My mouth felt strangely dry. ‘No. Er ‒ what was his name?’
‘Devlin ‒ Donlin ‒ something like that.’
I could not believe this. I was sure I was dreaming. Then I heard my voice say calmly, ‘I think it must be Tom Dillon.’
Father beamed. ‘Dillon! That’s his name. Well, as I was saying, being built like Goliath, he was able to shift the car and get the injured man on to the grass verge. He was examining him when I went by. Not a lad to waste time or words,’ added my father approvingly. ‘Didn’t take us a couple of minutes to get the man into my car. We stopped in the village to let Masters know at the Police Station. He said he’d get his Sergeant away from his Sunday dinner. They are all down at the crossroads now, with their tape-measures, notebooks and breakdown van. I dropped young Dillon to have another word with the Sergeant, and pick up his car. Told him to come along here as soon as the police had done with him and we’d give him some lunch.’ He cocked an eyebrow at me. ‘What’s the matter, lass? Don’t you like young Donlin? Why are you looking like that?’
‘Dillon,’ I corrected absently. ‘Oh, yes! I like him.’
‘Then why seem so worried? Afraid we won’t have enough food to satisfy a man of his size? I’m sure your mother has a good reserve. She never lets me down. And in any event,’ he added dryly, ‘I doubt that your friend will have much of an appetite.’
‘Was he very upset about the accident?’ I asked anxiously.
He watched me shrewdly. Much too shrewdly. His eyes twinkled. ‘I told you it wasn’t a bad accident. Chap only had a bang on the head, for all he dented a telegraph pole. I wanted him hospitalised as a precaution, and also to find out the cause of his black-out. Devlin must be moderately used to dealing with chaps who’ve had bangs on the head, for all that he hasn’t been qualified long. He has met hundreds in Casualty. No, I was referring to another reason for his lack of appetite. I was merely recollecting a certain occasion in my own youth. I couldn’t eat that day either. Remind me to tell you about it another time ‒ or, better still, ask your mother. She’ll remember. Now we must welcome your large friend. I hear his car.’
The sound of Tom’s car turning into our drive brought my mother from the kitchen. ‘Alec darling, are you very tired? Come in, lunch is all ready. But what is that man doing? Don’t say you have to go out before you’ve had a chance to eat?’
Father put an arm round her shoulder. ‘My dear, I am not at all tired. I’ve brought you a guest for lunch. A friend of Sue’s.’
‘How nice! Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asked placidly, ignoring the fact that it was well after three, and rather late for the arrival of a luncheon guest.
‘I wasn’t really expecting him,’ I explained weakly, but she was not paying attention. She was gazing at Tom, who was climbing out of his car. My mother gave a small, pleased gasp, and went to greet him with her hand outstretched. ‘It’s Dr. Dillon! What a pleasant surprise! I am so glad you have come to lunch with my husband. I hope you’ll forgive Sue and me for eating first. We didn’t realise you were joining us or, of course, we would have waited.’
Father shook Tom’s hand, too. ‘And now that we all seem to know each other, shall we go in and eat? I expect you’re hungry, Donlin?’
‘Er ‒ not very, sir. Thank you.’ Tom turned to my mother. ‘I hope I’m not inconveniencing you, Mrs. Fraser. I didn’t mean to ‒ well, I thought that perhaps I could just call in and have a chat.’ He looked appealingly in my direction. ‘I thought I’d just drop by and see how Sue was.’
Father asked with suspicious innocence, ‘I thought you had come down from town?’
Tom nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Do you always drive a hundred odd miles for a chat?’
I did not dare look at Tom. I was afraid my father’s remark would upset him badly. Then I heard the smile in Tom’s voice as he answered without a touch of embarrassment, ‘It’s my day off, sir. I t
hought I’d like to get right away from the hospital.’
The two men smiled at each other. Mother said, ‘Dr. Dillon, I’m afraid you’ll never be able to do that.’
‘You don’t have to tell him one word, my dear,’ put in Father. ‘He knows. He’s just been doing a job with me. I’ll tell you about it directly. There are no days off or getting away from the job for men in our line, eh, Devlin? Come along in.’ He took Mother’s arm and walked into our hall.
Tom was beside me. He smiled warmly. He did not say hallo or mention that he was pleased to see me. He said, ‘You are very like your father, Sue. I hadn’t met him before, but directly he drew up I recognised the resemblance. The moment he began to talk, I was sure of it.’
My mind was in too much of a whirl for me to be able to grasp more than one thing at a time. ‘How did my mother know you?’
‘We met in Nightingale.’ He looked over my head. ‘Hadn’t we better go in? Your father is calling you.’
A few minutes later I joined my mother in the kitchen. She was whisking gravy powder. ‘Sue darling, put in an extra plate to heat. And open that tin on the table. The opener is in the drawer.’ She forestalled all the questions I was longing to ask her by adding: ‘I am pleased to see that young man again. He was so considerate to me when I spent all those days waiting in Nightingale. We had lots of little chats.’ She looked at me as keenly as Father had done, but asked no questions. ‘Get a tray, dear. I’m going to dish up in here and you can carry in the plates. I’m sure Dr. Dillon won’t object to being treated as one of the family.’
After their late lunch, we all went into the sitting-room. My mother made first coffee, then tea; I drew the curtains and switched on the lights as the short winter afternoon faded. The two men sat on the sofa and talked shop. They talked that medical shop for a solid hour and a half. I could not begrudge the obvious pleasure Father was having in being able to talk to a young man who was right up-to-date with modern medicine. Like all doctors, my father was never happier than when thrashing over old cases and treatments. At first I was surprised to hear how well Tom could talk, too. I had expected him to be shy, perhaps nervous, certainly tongue-tied. He was none of those things. He was clearly fascinated with the conversation as was Father, and neither Mother or I had the heart to interrupt them. But secretly I could not help wondering if I would have the opportunity to have a word with Tom before the time came for him to travel the hundred miles back to London.
When my mother and I were preparing the tea we served the moment coffee was cleared, she said, ‘I am so pleased your father is having this little break from work this afternoon. It will be as good as a tonic for him.’
I had to laugh. ‘Did you say break? Darling, they’ve been walking the wards all afternoon!’
She laughed with me. ‘I know. All the same, they are walking them sitting down by a comfortable fire, and it really is a rest for both of them. They can’t help being so wrapped up in their profession; your father’s world has always been his hobby as well. I would say that Dr. Dillon takes the same view. Now, how much bread and butter have you prepared? Oh, cut a little more, Sue. Dr. Dillon hardly touched his lunch. I think he was rather shy about being an unexpected guest.’
At five o’clock the telephone-bell disturbed the enthralling discussion of modern anaesthesia that was being held in our sitting-room. I answered the telephone. It was the Vicar’s wife.
‘Susan dear, could I have a word with your father. I am not at all happy about the Vicar, and I cannot persuade him to let the Curate take Evensong tonight. I would like your dear father’s advice.’
I called my father. He rose from the sofa with a rueful smile. ‘What is it now, Sue? Mrs. Brand’s baby?’
‘The Vicar is worrying Mrs. Ames. She didn’t say why specifically. She wants to talk to you.’ I handed him the receiver and went back to the sitting-room. Two minutes later, Father’s head came round the door.
‘You’ll have to excuse me, Dillon. I’ve got to run up to the Vicarage. See you later.’
I was sorry that the Vicar should be unwell and that my father should have to go out again; but I could not pretend to be sorry that the medical conference was being adjourned. I had been growing more and more impatient as the afternoon progressed, and the glances I had received from Father had shown me that he was well aware of my impatience. But for reasons of his own he was determined to talk to Tom, to draw him out and find out what he was like. I did not stop to consider why he should be doing this, simply because I did not dare to consider it. I needed all my courage to nerve myself for the moment when I had the opportunity to ask Tom why he had come down to see me today.
That opportunity arrived a few minutes later ‒ and I promptly lost my nerve and wished Father was back and still talking anaesthetics. Mother said she was going into the dining-room to write letters.
‘I always write my weekly letters on Sunday evening, Dr. Dillon. Will you forgive me if I leave you for a little while? I’m sure you and Sue have plenty to talk about.’
Tom closed the door after her and looked at me. I looked at the floor. I heard him sit down again. He said, ‘Your mother is very charming.’
‘Yes.’
We were silent. I knew that now was my chance to ask him what he was doing here, but I could not get the words out.
He said, ‘Your father seems to have a very busy practice.’
I said, ‘Yes.’ I glanced at him and glanced away quickly. ‘Would you like to watch television?’
‘No, thank you.’
I felt slightly desperate. ‘Well, then, I’ve got some good records.’
‘How nice!’ he answered stiffly. ‘Er ‒ no, thank you.’
I felt very desperate. ‘Have some more tea?’
‘Er ‒ no, thank you.’
I forced myself to look at him again. He was sitting bolt upright on the sofa and gazing unhappily into the fire. I suddenly realised he was even more nervous than I was; immediately my shyness vanished. He looked like Thomas again, the Thomas I knew and had loved for so long. ‘Thomas,’ I said sternly, ‘this is too much!’
He jerked his head round to look at me as if he was a puppet and I had pulled the right string. ‘What’s that?’
My courage was fast returning. ‘Of course it’s too much! There you sit, saying, “No, thank you”, to this, that and the other, when all afternoon you’ve been talking the hind leg off a donkey with my father! Don’t you think it’s time we had a talk? Shouldn’t you explain just what you are doing down here?’
His face relaxed into a smile. ‘There’s not all that much to explain. I’ve told you; this has been my first real day off since I got my House job. I thought I’d like a change of scenery; I like driving through the country; I like having an object when I’m driving.’
I felt very flat. ‘I see.’
He leant back against the sofa, stretched out his legs and folded his arms in his favourite position. ‘I wonder if you do? There is a little more to it than all I’ve said. I appreciate that my arrival must have struck you as slightly peculiar. It isn’t as if ‒ well, we’ve ever been great friends or anything. We just know each other. You are more Mark’s friend.’
I said, ‘Yes. And you are Jill’s.’
He frowned. ‘That’s not exactly right. And that’s really why I wanted to see you. There is something that has got to be straightened out. Something has ‒ er ‒ cropped up since you left the hospital, and as you are due back next week, I thought it might be a sound scheme if I nipped down to have a chat about it.’
I did not know what to think. I could only think how typical it was of him to call a hundred mile drive on a winter’s afternoon ‘nipping down’. ‘Then hadn’t we better chat?’
He looked at me for several seconds. I could read nothing from his expression. ‘Yes. We had. Sue, I hate to hurt you, but I have to tell you that ‒ well, I don’t quite know how it’s happened ‒ I mean, I don’t understand about Mark ‒ and I want you to kn
ow that I’m sure he hasn’t hurt you intentionally. But ‒’ he took a deep breath ‒ ‘it’s no good my pretending that he hasn’t grown very fond of Jill. Very fond,’ he added unhappily. ‘And I’m afraid you are going to be in for a bad shock when you get back. Don’t think I’m blaming him. These things just do happen, and one can’t control them. One can’t fall in and out of love to order. I only blame him because I’m afraid be may have misled you into thinking ‒ well, Mark’s a pretty persuasive chap and his tongue does rather run away with him. But he is a good chap for all that.’
I had to stop him; I could see this was difficult for him. ‘Thomas, are you trying to tell me that Mark is in love with Jill?’ I asked softly.
He nodded. ‘That’s right. I’m sorry, Sue. I really am. I feel awful coming down like this ‒ but I haven’t come behind his back. I had it out with him last night. I told him what I thought of his behaviour to you.’
‘What did he say?’
He shrugged. ‘He said you’d understand. I suppose you will in the end. You’re good at understanding, Sue. But I don’t like having to hand you something like this. I don’t like it at all.’
That was obvious. I clasped my hands in my lap. I had to hold them to keep from shaking. I could not bear to sit here and see him looking so unhappy. I could guess only too well what all this was costing him, and what an effort he must have had to make it seem so natural and unconcerned in front of my parents.
I said, ‘Tom, you needn’t worry about me. Honestly. I know this may not make sense, because of the act we put on, but I’ve never been even mildly in love with Mark. I like him. I think he’s a dear. And I have known for some time that he was getting more and more fond of Jill. How did you find out?’
‘Last night. He said he had to tell me. In a way it was just as well that he did.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Because the poor chap had some fantastic notion in his head about Jill being attached to me. That, at least, I was able to put straight.’
I gaped at him. ‘Thomas. Did you guess that?’
The Fair Wind: A moving 1950s hospital romance (The Anniversary Collection Book 6) Page 14