Once for All Time

by Betty Neels

  There was no one receiving any more, and she slipped round the edge of the dancers and found a chair between Sister Parsons, due to retire next year, and the hospital chaplain, but she had barely time to do more than say hullo before she was borne off to dance by one of the members of the Hospital Committee, a rather short stout man who whirled her round and round with tremendous energy and asked her the sort of questions she had come to expect at hospital functions: What did she think of the new ENT Unit? Did she think the lecture hall was better decorated than the previous year, were her nurses happy on the ward and did she realise that the hospital budget was excessive? Economy, boomed her partner in her ear, too much wastage in every department, from kitchen upwards. Clotilde murmured soothingly and presently danced with the hospital secretary, the senior anaesthetist and a consultant surgeon.

  She was dancing with Jeff Saunders and wondering if she could slip away as soon as the band stopped when she saw James, head and shoulders above everyone else. His partner was Mary Evans, and Clotilde, without appearing to do so, took in every detail of the girl’s dress. Green with a lot of sequins and far too skimpy. The neck was cut far too low; it was meant for an opulent bosom, which Mary Evans most decidedly did not have. I’m growing into a spiteful cat, Clotilde mused, twirling gracefully and listening with every sign of attention to Jeff’s description of his small son’s first tooth. Presently she allowed herself another look, this time at James. He looked elegant, his dinner jacket, cut by a master hand, no doubt, fitted him to perfection, his shirt dazzling white and finely pleated, put the pastel ruffles and broderie anglaise of some of the younger men there to shame. He looked at her suddenly across the heads of the other dancers and she looked away, her heart thumping. This won’t do at all, she thought crossly, I’m behaving like a silly young girl, and the moment the music stopped she said: ‘Jeff, I’m going now. It’s been lovely, but I’ve had enough.’

  He looked at her with some concern. ‘Of course. Shall I come with you?’

  She chuckled: ‘To the Nurses’ Home? That would give everyone something to talk about! I’ll slip away.’

  ‘Not before we have had a dance, I hope, Clotilde?’ James’s voice was gentle in her ear, and Jeff smiled and disappeared into the people milling round them. ‘If we don’t dance just once,’ went on James, ‘the grapevine will put it about that we’re not on speaking terms, and that would be serious. Appearances must be kept up, don’t you agree?’

  ‘Well, all right,’ agreed Clotilde, ‘but I do want to go…’

  ‘And so you shall.’ The band had struck up again and he swung her on to the dance floor.

  She had danced with him before, of course. Last year it had been a duty dance, a wasted ten minutes while she might have been dancing with Bruce, but now it was different; she wanted the band to play for ever. She made polite conversation—‘What a splendid band this year’—and encouraged by his, ‘Indeed, yes’—‘What pretty dresses the women are wearing!’

  ‘I hadn’t noticed. Why are you leaving early?’

  She lifted troubled eyes to his. ‘I think I didn’t want to come in the first place…’

  ‘But your parents would have wanted you to enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Yes— Oh, yes. I’m a bit unsettled.’

  ‘Did you have supper before you came? You were late.’

  She hadn’t thought he had seen her. ‘I didn’t get off duty until eight o’clock. I forgot about supper. I expect there’ll be lashings of food presently.’

  ‘Sandwiches, vol-au-vents, sausage rolls, things in paper cases which slide all over the place, and something unmentionable called cup.’

  ‘The catering department do their best,’ she told him.

  He danced her to one of the side entrances, opened the door and urged her through it. ‘Go and get a coat, or something warm; we’ll eat outside.’ Clotilde protested instantly: ‘But we can’t! I mean, I can leave and no one will notice, but you can’t…’

  Just for one moment his eyes blazed down at her. ‘I do exactly what I please, but if it makes you happier, we’ll come back here and join the merrymaking later on. Now run and get that coat.’

  She said stubbornly: ‘What about Dr Evans?’ and watched his eyes blaze once more.

  ‘I wasn’t aware that Mary Evans wanted to eat out and she’s unlikely to raise any objection—indeed, she’s always urging me to eat regular meals.’ He added plaintively: ‘I missed my lunch.’

  ‘I’ll be at the entrance in a few minutes,’ said Clotilde, and made for the covered passage connecting the Nurses’ Home with the hospital. She felt guilty and excited and reckless, she also felt very hungry.

  He took her to Quaglino’s and they ate globe artichokes in a piquant sauce, lobster Newburg, mushrooms with chopped truffles and a Waldorf salad, and rounded off these with Ananas Fiona—at least, Clotilde did; James had angels on horseback. They were sitting over their coffee, talking of this and that, when Clotilde glanced at her watch. She was just a bit hazy, what with a champagne cocktail and two glasses of hock, and she blinked and looked again. ‘Look at the time!’ she gasped. ‘The Ball will be over. My goodness—we must go!’

  James studied her pretty face. ‘We shall be back just nicely in time for the last dance.’

  ‘But I wasn’t going back…’

  ‘In that case, we can stay here,’ and when she protested: ‘Better still, we’ll dance in the entrance hall, just the two of us.’She wasn’t sure if he was serious. She said quickly. ‘We can’t do that,’ and when he smiled at her she was sure he had been joking. All the same, she said: ‘I really think I should go back…’

  Illogically, she was quite disappointed when he agreed without demur. On their way he asked her: ‘Do you get any time off at Christmas? Katrina wants you to spend the day with her—not Christmas Day, of course, she knows that’s impossible, but Boxing Day or the day after that, perhaps?’

  ‘How kind of her, but I can’t—you see, the nurses on the ward have all got their plans laid; they each get a day off in turn. As Rosie’s going to stay with her niece, I arranged to be on duty. I— I really don’t mind.’

  Afraid he would argue about it, she went on brightly: ‘Thank you for my dinner, it was heavenly,’ and then, anxiously: ‘Shall we be back in time? You’ll have been missed.’

  ‘I’m flattered. Katrina’s going to be disappointed. Perhaps we can arrange something for Old Year’s Night. Here we are and the band’s still playing. How about the dance?’

  Something she would have liked more than anything in the world. ‘No—no, thank you. It’s been lovely, but I really must…’ She sought feverishly for excuses as they went through the door. ‘I can’t—oh, I can’t,’ she mumbled, and turned and flew away, down the passage to the Nurses’ Home, up the staircase and into her room. She could still hear the band faintly. James would be there by now, probably dancing with Mary Evans. She tried to remember who else he had danced with during the evening; most of his partners had been wives of other consultants and members of the committee; he’d danced with Sally and Jo and several of the other sisters, but he hadn’t singled any one of them out, only Mary Evans; he’d danced with her at least twice. He would be with her now, probably explaining in his calm way that he had taken Sister Collins out for a meal because she had needed cheering up.

  Clotilde wept while she undressed and went on weeping once she was in her bed. Finally she slept, but she felt terrible the next morning, but then so did almost everyone else. The dance had gone on until three o’clock and they hadn’t had enough sleep.

  There was time, between the feverish preparations for Christmas, to visit Mr Trent once again. He studied the list of furniture she handed him, pronounced her choice to be a most sensible one and informed her that the new owner intended to take up residence in the New Year. ‘Although I believe,’ observed Mr Trent in his dry old voice, ‘that that largely depends on circumstances. I understand that—er— Rosie will be staying with her niece over the
holiday period. Will you be going down to Wendens Ambo before Christmas?’

  ‘Yes, the weekend before. I’ve got a few clothes still there, I’ll pack them up and bring them back with me. I don’t think I’ll go again. I’ve been very lucky being able to go there so often now that it’s not my home any more.’

  ‘Indeed yes. You have plans now? Definite plans?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I shall give in my notice tomorrow. I’ve seen several jobs that might do…’

  ‘In London?’

  ‘No, there’s a post in Birmingham, and another in Liverpool and one in Edinburgh, but I’m not sure about that one, it’s a bit far away from Rosie.’ She smiled a little. ‘She’s all I’ve got.’

  ‘Of course. Well, I must wish you a happy future, Clotilde.’ Mr Trent coughed. ‘I suppose you never hear from that young doctor to whom you were engaged? You have no wish to find work near him?’

  ‘Good lord, no— I never think of him now and I don’t mind if I never see him again.’

  It could almost be said that Mr Trent smirked. ‘Just as well, Clotilde, just as well.’ He added: ‘There are as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it.’

  Clotilde agreed with him, only she wasn’t lucky enough to catch her particular fish.

  She went back on duty, puzzled over the off duty list and nursed her patients to a very high standard of care, and the next morning went to the office and gave in her notice. The Principal Nursing Officer, a stern lady who never showed emotion, allowed the severity of her features to relax a little. ‘I’m not altogether surprised,’ she observed to Clotilde. ‘You’ve had rather more than your share of hard knocks during the last month or so, perhaps a complete change will benefit you. I shall be sorry to see you go, of course, you’re a competent and intelligent young woman, and they’re rather thin on the ground. Have you any ideas as to your future?’

  Clotilde told her about Birmingham and Liverpool, and added: ‘I was wondering if I would go abroad.’

  ‘I should look around first,’ advised her companion, and went on rather severely: ‘Running away isn’t much help, Sister Collins.’

  Clotilde mumbled meekly. There was no point in disagreeing with Miss Scott, who was self-opinionated and middle-aged. She would do exactly what she liked, thought Clotilde grumpily, and it would depend if she felt like going to some outlandish spot; if she did she would go. In the meantime she said all the right things and got herself out of the office.

  The remainder of the week was taken up with preparations for Christmas; as many patients as were able to were to go home, some happily discharged, some to return in three or four days’ time. There were several ill women to whom Christmas would mean very little, and these Clotilde moved to the end of the ward. It was more awkward for the nurses to keep an eye on them, but on the other hand they would enjoy what peace and quiet there was, away from the tree and the decorations and visitors. She spent her off duty shopping for the patients, choosing presents for the nurses and laying in a stock of nuts and chocolates and potato crisps. Sherry she already had— James had sent half a dozen bottles with his compliments; she stocked up in soft drinks and beer, made sure there was coffee and tea in plenty and spent long hours tying up parcels and labelling them. Even with help from the nurses, it took up a good deal of her time.

  James did a round the day before she intended going home. He took longer than usual, pondering each case so that everyone who could possibly go home should have the chance to do so. Clotilde had provided him with a list of her patients who had no family and who lived alone, and with the utmost tactfulness, he pointed out to each of them in turn that they were really not quite fit enough to go home and would they mind staying over Christmas. The relief on their faces was pathetic.

  The round over, coffee, with the addition of mince pies in honour of the festive season, was served in Clotilde’s office. She hadn’t seen James to speak to since the night of the Ball and she avoided him now, presenting a professional front hard to crack. She listened to Mary Evans gushing about the party the medical staff were giving that evening and to which James had been invited. It was, according to her, going to be an all-night affair. She was at some pains to tell Clotilde this and remarked laughingly: ‘Aren’t you envious, Sister Collins? You must find life very dull now that Bruce has gone.’ And just by way of piling it on: ‘I hear he’s dating one of the medical students—her father’s a grocer with lashings of money.’

  To all of which Clotilde said nothing, just smiled calmly and nodded and observed that the party sounded fun and she hoped everyone would enjoy themselves. James, taking the chance to talk to Jeff, hadn’t even turned his head, but she was sure he had heard every word. Would he have been surprised, she wondered silently, if she had leaned across the desk and pulled Mary Evans’ hair and boxed her ears?

  She bade them all a dignified goodbye at the ward door and went back to her office, where she sat, fighting for calm, until Sally came to tell her that dinners were ready to be served.

  The nurses, looking at her white strained face, muttered to each other that she looked pretty ghastly, and because they liked her, went out of their way to be helpful. Clotilde, silently slightly bewildered by their earnest responses to her directions, observed to Sally that it must be the Christmas spirit got into them all. ‘They’re always pretty good, but they’re positively motherly!’

  And Sally, although she made a laughing remark, quite understood why. Clotilde, usually so serene and content with her lot, looked so pale and pinched that someone must have upset her badly. Not Dr Thackery, surely? Sally had been harbouring hopeful ideas about Clotilde and him ever since Bruce had left, but it seemed that they were to come to nothing. Mary Evans had looked like the cat that had got at the cream as they had left the office. She must have said something, or hinted at something. There had been a good deal of joking about her and her efforts to attract Dr Thackery’s attention, but no one had seriously thought they would come to anything.

  Clotilde had two days off on the following morning and she was going home that evening. Before she went she told Sally that she had given in her notice. ‘But don’t tell anyone, I’ve only told you so that you can apply for my job. I’m pretty sure you’ll get it.’ She had waited until the last minute before giving her news, and didn’t stop to hear more than Sally’s startled: ‘Sister Collins…’

  ‘We’ll talk about it when I get back.’

  It was a very wet, very cold night when she left the hospital and the roads were treacherous with frost. She drove carefully and arrived home to find Rosie waiting for her with hot soup and mince pies and a bottle of sherry the Vicar had given her.

  They sat up late, drinking half the sherry and then making a pot of tea while Tinker dozed in front of the stove. He was to stay with Rosie; it seemed that the new owner had no objection to him remaining—indeed, Mr Trent had written to say that he would be a useful guard dog for Rosie when she was on her own. ‘He’ll miss you, Miss Tilly, but you will come and see us as often as you can?’

  ‘Of course!’ Clotilde made her voice cheerfully brisk. ‘If I take the Birmingham job I can drive over on my days off quite easily. After all, since Mother and Father died, he’s got used to being here with you. He won’t be too much for you, Rosie?’

  ‘Lor’, no Miss Tilly! He’s good company of an evening.’ She poured more tea for them both. ‘So you’ve given in your notice. You’ll come again before you leave?’ She sounded so anxious that Clotilde hastened to reassure her.

  ‘Of course, my next free days after Christmas—after that, we’ll see. I don’t know when the new owner’s coming, do you?’

  Rosie shook her head. ‘A very easy gent he must be. Generous too—he could have given me notice any time, instead of which, here I am, as snug as can be, and you, Miss Tilly, with the chance of coming back now and again.’

  Clotilde agreed a little doubtfully; perhaps it would have been better if she had cut loose completely. Perhaps, in time, when she had g
ot used to her new life, she would be able to do that.

  She spent the next day walking with Tinker in the blustery weather, loving the feel of the cold wind on her face and the crunch of frost under her boots, and the following day, before she went back to the hospital, she packed Rosie and Tinker into the car, and drove them to her niece’s house. It was a wrench leaving them there, and Rosie wept as she pressed two beribboned parcels into her hands. ‘One from me and one from Tinker,’ she explained, and, ‘Oh, Miss Tilly, I do hope that next Christmas we’ll be together again. I do try to be cheerful, but things’ ave gone a bit against us, haven’t they?’

  Clotilde gave her a great hug. ‘Dear Rosie, it’ll blow over—things do. By next Christmas I’ll have a nice little home going and we’ll spend Christmas together— Tinker too, of course.’

  She bent to hug the dog too, then got into the car.

  ‘You’ll go straight back to the hospital?’ asked Rosie, anxiously.

  ‘Yes, dear. And I’ll phone you on Christmas Day. Have a nice time with everyone.’

  She drove off quickly, not looking back. It was still early evening. She turned the Mini towards Wendens Ambo; just one last look, she promised herself, and when she got there, got out of the car and went into the house, to walk slowly through it. After Christmas it wouldn’t be hers any longer; she would come from time to time, but only as a visitor to Rosie. She thought it might be very much better if she stayed away altogether, but then Rosie would be upset. She locked the door and got into the Mini again and drove slowly back to the hospital. In three days’ time it would be Christmas and there was plenty to keep her busy until then.

  Dr Evans was early on the ward the next morning, making her round just as the nurses were getting patients up and making beds; the very worst time. She was in a bad mood too, demanding this and that to be done. All the same, Clotilde saw that she had all she needed and then politely asked her if she would like coffee. To her surprise, she agreed, and Clotilde led the way to the office, wondering what on earth they would talk about. Sally brought in the tray and Clotilde told her to fetch a mug and have coffee with them. The ward was quiet, running on the oiled wheels Clotilde had so painstakingly instigated, and conversation would be easier with the three of them.