The doctors choice

by Wilde, Hilary

  “Tell me about this clinic idea, Clare,” David said.

  “Who thought it up?”

  “Val. It’s wonderful, David.” Clare leaned forward eagerly to tell him. “Val and Barry are good friends.

  She no longer fusses, and even scolds him now and

  then. He keeps all our notes.” She laughed softly. “I’d never have believed how easily one thing could lead to another in that way, but now Barry works hard at his lessons, practises spelling and asks questions all the time. Ian thinks Zoe will help him.”

  “Ian is an optimist,” David said dryly.

  “Oh, David!” Clare cried. “Even Barry likes Zoe.

  It’s only you—”

  “Barry is very young,” David said coldly, “and finds it hard to–-“

  “But if Zoe was nasty to him—”

  Clare took a long deep breath and bit back the angry words. What right had David to judge Zoe? But then, as Ian had said, what right had she to judge Gillian?

  They were as bad as one another. She looked at the back of David’s neck. What a stubborn look it had.

  Well, he was stubborn. How was it that such a tolerant, compassionate man could have this “thing” about Zoe? It was so unlike David.

  But then what did she really know about him? Had she created a hero-image — of a strong doctor, helping mankind and being perfect? What human being could be entirely perfect?

  “There’s Baroona,” David said abruptly, after what seemed an endless silence. “The buildings just outside the town are the hospital, radio station, my house, nurses’ cottages, and so on.”

  Clare looked down at the cluster of houses below, saw the airstrip, the wind sock fluttering. It was very hot in the plane, but she imagined it might be even hotter down there. Would she ever grow used to the scorching blast of the sun? There was a group of people waiting as the plane circled and came in to land. Clare closed her eyes tightly, there was a gentle bump and the plane swayed a little as it bounced over the ground.

  Suddenly they seemed to be surrounded by people–big men with huge muscles and leathery sun-tanned faces and friendly voices, women in gaily patterned dresses, big-brimmed straw hats and curious eyes.

  They were in a car in a few moments, with David driving her away from the crowd. He looked at her.

  “What’s wrong, Glare? You mustn’t mind them staring and asking questions,” he said as he drove rapidly out of the small town. “You’re something of a—”

  “Freak?” Clare asked.

  He chuckled. “No, just a new face – plus a very English voice!”

  They were climbing towards higher ground. She looked with interest at the houses, most of them weather-board, with neat gardens and brown lawns. Ahead lay the hospital – a long rambling building with the usual wide, screened verandah, and behind it half a dozen single-storied houses of various sizes. One was larger than the others, with a radio mast.

  “Baroona Hospital,” David said. “I’ve seen it grow from a mere shack. Luckily we have some wealthy graziers in the district who contribute generously, so all the time we add things.”

  He gave Clare a quick sideways glance as he parked the car before the hospital. “You won’t think much of it after Queen Anne’s Hospital.”

  Clare was only half listening, she was looking with interest at a group of Aborigine women. What brilliantly bright colours they wore, and how vividly these contrasted with the shining black faces as the chatter and giggling abruptly subsided and they all turned to look at David and Clare.

  It was as hot as she had feared. She slapped the flies off her face automatically and looked at a group of Aborigine stockmen who were lounging near the low wall of the hospital garden. All thin men, smoking and talking, wide-brimmed hats pulled low over their eyes, vividly coloured shirts above khaki trousers.

  “How big is the hospital?” Clare asked as they walked down the path together.

  “Four wards, two white, two black,” he said curtly.

  “A labour ward, delivery room, dispensary, and operating theatre. Enough?”

  Startled, she turned to look at his grim face. “David, did I say something wrong?” she asked quickly. “If I did, I’m sorry.”

  He looked very uncomfortable. “I’m the one to be sorry, Clare. I’m pretty sensitive about the hospital and I was afraid you might find it amusing. Sort of Heath Robinson—”

  “David, how could you—” she began, and paused.

  Once again she realized how little she knew him, really.

  And how little he knew her if he could think she would make fun of this! “How about leading me to my duties?” she said lightly.

  “This way.” He led the way into a dark reception hall where there was an empty desk in a small glass-partitioned office with a telephone. He strode down the corridor and she had almost to run to keep up with him.

  He pushed open a door with a glass panel and let Clare see a ward of five beds. Three were occupied, screens round the beds. “The white women’s ward,” he explained curtly, his voice low. “Two elderly women with severe dysentery, one neurotic woman who is her own worst enemy.”

  Next he showed her the white men’s ward. Two leathery-skinned men were sleeping noisily; one had his leg in plaster and supported by various pulleys. The other man’s face was swathed in bandages. “Third degree burns,” David said quietly. “Car crash.”

  Two other men sitting up in bed stared at them curiously and one began to speak, but David lifted his finger to his mouth significantly and pointed to the sleeping men.

  The Aborigine wards were on the opposite side of the corridor. David was, he said, trying to obtain a building grant for larger, integrated wards, but “it all takes time!” In the women’s ward there were two young women with babies in their arms, both sitting up, their black faces interested as the doctor spoke to them in the strange English Clare knew she would have to learn.

  The men’s ward was full; two elderly grizzled old Aborigines asleep, and two younger Aborigine men, with their heads bandaged.

  “Fights,” David explained. “Neither won!”

  The fifth Aborigine patient was having a blood transfusion, his head was turned away towards the wall and he made no movement.

  “Crushed ribs — bad internal haemorrhage,” David told Clare as he led her away. “Got under a tractor.”

  The operating theatre had swing doors with small porthole windows. She was impressed with the cleanli-ness of the green tiles. David adjusted the powerful lamp over the table and showed her.

  “This cost the earth, but has been worth every penny,” he told her.

  “You do much surgery?” she asked.

  David shook his head. “Not more than we can help.

  Hospital isn’t big enough to house post-operative cases for too long. I do emergencies. Anything big I fly to Darwin.”

  The small sterilizing room and the washrooms were also spotless and the dispensary like a showroom, it was so tidy and immaculate.

  “I think you’ve done a wonderful job, David,” Clare could say in all sincerity. She felt a strange new tenderness as she watched his face glow with pleasure.

  “You’ve every right to be proud of it.”

  “Matron and the staff – we’ve never got round to using numbers instead of names – are excellent,” he began, and paused as they heard the heavy click-clack of shoes on the polished floor of the corridor. A massive woman in nurse’s uniform was walking towards them.

  “Sister Madge,” David said in Clare’s ear. “Formidable but efficient.”

  A powerfully built woman in a blue print dress with a stiffly starched white apron, her grey hair pushed relentlessly under her starched cap, came towards them, her pale blue eyes narrowed, her voice stiff.

  “Doctor, you were—”

  “I know. Longer than I said. I got held up,” David said curtly. “I looked in at Barbeedee – the girl’s going to be all right. This is Staff Nurse Butler, who has said she will lend you a h
and.”

  Clare’s smile froze as she met the hostile glance of Sister Madge’s pale blue eyes as she looked Clare up and down almost scornfully, as if taking in every detail of the simple blue cotton dress, the wind-blown red-

  .

  gold curly hair, the very young face and vulnerable mouth:

  “How long have you been nursing?” she asked curtly.

  “She was a staff nurse at Queen Anne’s Hospital, Sister,” David said, his voice displeased. “She helped nurse Barry, and is most efficient.”

  “I certainly hope so,” the woman said, her voice flat.

  “I’m tired.”

  “I know,” David said, his voice changing, becoming gentle. “I’ll show Nurse her quarters, she can change and join you at once. I’ll introduce her to Matron .

  tomorrow. You need a rest as soon as possible, Sister.”

  He did not wait for Sister Madge to reply but hurried Clare along the corridor that divided the hospital in half, then out on to the screened verandah and through the wire door out into the scorching sunshine. His hand on her arm, he almost made her run, his face stern.

  He led the way’ to one of the single-storied houses.

  Inside he showed her a small sitting-room, a bathroom with a shower, and then her own room.

  “This is Sister Joan’s room,” he said curtly. “Can you manage? No one’s had time to empty the cupboards or anything.”

  She looked round the small room with its rose-pink walls, the narrow bed with its spotless white cover and the white curtains at the window. “I’ll manage,” she assured him. “I’ve brought very little with me.”

  He looked at her and frowned. “Please don’t let Sister Madge upset you,” he said curtly. “She treats all newcomers like this. It’s not because you’re a Pommie.”

  Clare was startled. “I never thought that for a moment. I know how she feels. This is her hospital and I might be an absolute nitwit. Lots of Sisters in London used to treat new staff like that.”

  David smiled. “Thanks be you’re a sensible girl, Clare.” He looked at his watch worriedly. “I must go.

  See you later.”

  He left her and she hastily unpacked, washing quickly, dressing again in uniform, wondering how she could stand the heat in it.

  She hurried back and found Sister Madge, who walked her round the hospital, examining the charts, and talking as if she had some witless raw probationer to instruct. It was with very obvious reluctance that she handed over the keys to the drug cupboard.

  “You’ll find it different from your London hospi-.

  tals,” Sister Madge said contemptuously, “where everything is laid on. Now remember, you’re to wake me at once if anything difficult comes up. Understand?”

  Clare opened her mouth and then closed it as she saw the lines of exhaustion creased between Sister Madge’s nose and mouth, heard the weariness in her voice.

  “Yes, Sister,” she said meekly.

  At last, Sister Madge left her, albeit reluctantly, with a worried look over her shoulder. Suddenly Clare felt very much alone and ridiculously helpless. Sister Madge was right. It was very different from Queen Anne’s Hospital, where you had Sisters and doctors within immediate call.

  What should she do first? A tall dark-skinned man in an immaculate white tunic came towards her. His black face was grave and thoughtful, his deep-set eyes concerned.

  “Sister,” he said, his voice polite, his English excellent, “I am Joseph, ‘the medical orderly. Doctor Johnson told me to report. I have only just come from sleeping. I am to assist you in taking over.”

  “Thank you, Joseph, I’ll be glad of your help,” Clare said, looking at him with interest and feeling a sense of security.

  He looked at her gravely. “It will soon be time for Doctor to make his ward rounds, Sister. I suggest…”

  It was the same for the rest of her time on duty. The Aborigine orderly would “suggest”, and Clare gratefully followed his advice. They went through the records book, discussing the cases, and then David was there and Joseph discreetly vanished. It seemed strange to follow a doctor around again, standing meekly to one side, taking instructions. Afterwards David went with her to the small office in the hall, where the big bell-indicator hung.

  She sat down with relief. “My feet are out of prac-tice.”

  He smiled. “They’ll soon be broken in. How d’you find Joseph?”

  “A tower of strength,” Clare admitted. “I felt quite lost at first.”

  David perched on the desk and smiled. “He’s a good man. Had to fight for his education, but he just didn’t make the grade. He wanted to be a doctor, and a good one he’d make, too. He decided to be a medical orderly which was, he said, the next best thing. He learns quickly, can be trusted. He can give anaesthetics if Matron is not available, and often sutures for me.”

  Soon David left and she had to cope alone. But Joseph was always there, “suggesting”. Food, wheeled on trolleys by two ward maids, had to be handed round and afterwards the patients had to be washed and prepared for the night. But at last, all the patients had been settled and lights dimmed. Joseph vanished and Clare sat alone in her small office, drinking her fifth cup of tea.

  The quietness seemed to press down on her, to be oppressive. She walked round the hospital. Everything was all right. Mrs. Mackenzie, the neurotic patient, could not sleep, but needed only reassurance. The crushed-ribs case was still unconscious. Clare checked the flow of the saline transfusion. The small black babies were sleeping.

  She went back to her desk, then jumped as a shadow fell across it.

  “How are things?” David asked.

  She stood up quickly. “All right. It’s funny, but it’s much harder than being in charge of a ward. I keep going round to make sure everyone is all right.”

  He smiled. “You’ll get used to it. People are tougher than you think. No worries?”

  “Well, Mrs. Mackenzie seems frightened.”

  “She always is, poor soul. I’m afraid Sister Madge gets impatient with her. She’s been frightened ever since I first knew her, and that’s many years ago. I’ll go along and see her. How about a cup of tea for a thirsty doctor when I come back?”

  He left her and Clare made fresh tea. She found some biscuits as well and they chatted casually as they sat together.

  “I spoke to young Barry during the session,” David told her. “He sounded cheerful enough, but he didn’t send his love. That puzzled me. Both Val and Marge sent theirs.”

  Clare laughed. “Barry couldn’t. It would spoil our secret.” Her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes were wide with dismay. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that!”

  “Your secret?” David asked, his voice changing. He frowned. “What secret?”

  “Oh — just a secret,” Clare said airily, furious with herself. Barry would never trust her again.

  “Why all the mystery?” David asked, still frowning.

  “It’s no mystery, just — just a secret,” Clare said unhappily. Then she thought of something. “Look, David, you must promise never to let Barry know I — I admitted there was a secret. If you do, he’ll stop trusting me.”

  “But why has it got to be a secret?”

  She looked at him in surprise. He was really annoyed about it. “As Barry would say, David,” she said, “you always have taught him that you must never — ever —betray a secret.”

  “Douche!” David said, and tried to laugh. “Keep your secret, then. I don’t want to know it.”, Suddenly she was laughing. “Oh, David, you sound exactly like Barry when he’s trying to make me tell him something and I won’t!”

  David stood up. “I’m sorry I sound so childish. I’ll have another look at Mrs. Mackenzie.”

  He strode away, and she stared in dismay as he vanished.

  Now she had offended him! How strange men were.

  He always said secrets must be kept — yet he was angry because she had kept Barry’s secret.

  She stood u
p. Should she apologize? Yet why should she? David, if anyone, was the person in the wrong.

  Suddenly she felt horribly alone and sad. So many thousands of miles from home, no one close to her who really loved her. Except Barry.

  Dear Barry. Biting her lower lip, she gathered the china and took it to the small kitchen.

  A heavy step startled her. She turned, and David stood there, an odd look on his face. His hands were warm on her shoulders as he turned her round and looked down at her.

  “Clare,” he said, and there was a strange note in his voice, “you’re right. I’m being childish. It’s your secret — yours and Barry’s. None of my business.”

  “Oh, David!” To her dismay, her eyes filled with tears as she stared up at him. “Oh, David—”

  And suddenly he was holding her close, patting her back comfortingly, _talking to her gently.

  “Don’t cry, Clare. There’s nothing to cry about. I was just being childish.”

  It was very pleasant to stand there, to feel his arms round her, to hear the gentle tenderness in his voice.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SUDDENLY Clare realized where she was, standing within the circle of David’s arms, crying on his shoulder! Embarrassed, she drew away, looking up at him in dismay.

  “I’m being childish now,” she said, her voice unsteady.

  He looked at the flushed, tear-stained face, the trembling mouth; the starched white cap pushed to one side.

  “It’s all right, Clare,” he said gently. “It’s been a long day for you and -everything’s strange.”

  She turned away, straightening her cap, dabbing her eyes dry. “It isn’t that, David. It was – well, I thought you were angry with me—”

  He looked at her back for a moment, the way her head drooped like a tired flower and he spoke very softly. “You’re the one who has the right to be angry, Clare. I was just being – well, very silly.”