A Promise Is for Keeping

by Felicity Hayle

  As Fay read on her heart grew cold and heavy and all the brightness went out of the day. Mark had been right. This girl of the ice rink, though her name was different and the setting and circumstances of their meeting fictitious, she could not fail to recognise as herself.

  The chapters she had did not go much beyond the first

  meeting, but with a sense of chill foreboding Fay remembered that it was she who had told Geoff that he could bend his story's ending to his own desire.

  Fay, who had only seen Beechcroft under the snow, was unprepared for the loveliness of the surrounding countryside. Even the Victorian Gothic house itself seemed less out of place with the gentler background of different shades of green. The garden too was aglow with patches of brilliant colour, whereas before it had been featureless under the snow. Unbidden the thought which sprang first to Fay's mind was, "What a lovely place for children to grow up !" and she was thinking not of Helen or Wendy, the present generation, but of children who might have been there twenty years or more ago—of Mark and his sister.

  She did not need to go right up to the house, for Toni was sitting, well wrapped up, in the sunshine on the terrace. Behind her through the open french windows Fay could see that the small downstairs sitting room had been utilised as a bedroom now.

  Another chair was set out beside Toni's and a small table, so Fay knew that she was expected. Toni had a smile of welcome, too, as soon as she caught sight of her visitor, but Fay was not sure at first whether Toni did indeed remember who she was, or that she was expected, or whether perhaps the charm which had been her chief asset all through her long life was still standing by her.

  "My dear angel child!" she greeted her, stretching out her one good hand.

  Fay bent and kissed her on both cheeks and was surprised to notice how soft and smooth the old lady's skin was. "How are you, Toni? It is good to see you enjoying the sunshine."

  Toni gave a little grimace. "Sunshine—you call it sunshine? It's bright, but there's no hot in it anymore."

  That was the first sign she gave of the results of her second stroke, that of choosing the wrong word and producing her words slowly. Otherwise, as Fay sat and chatted and listened to her memories, Fay might have been back at Christmas time—except that Mark was not there, nor any of the others.

  Horsey, who must have heard voices, came out with coffee and biscuits and stayed a few minutes to chat.

  Nurse had gone into the village, she told Fay, but would be back soon—and she was a good soul. There was also a young Italian girl in the house—au pair—because Toni, so Horsey explained, very often found it easier to express her thoughts in her native tongue these days. She too was a nice young thing.

  When the housekeeper had gone inside again Fay settled herself to let Toni talk or be silent as she would—not wanting to tire her out with too much talking and content enough herself just to be there. She had not realised it, had not even thought that such a thing could be possible, but she had been homesick for Beechcroft as though indeed she had once been a part of the days into which every now and then Toni slipped back.

  Fay tried to take her cues from Toni, but it was sometimes a little difficult to follow her thread of thought, as it veered from the 'present to the past, and even to the future, in a matter of seconds.

  There was a tiny stream running through the garden, a pretty sight now, sparkling in the sunshine. Toni's eyes rested on it a moment, then she said slowly, "Mark says it will have to be filled in—it is dangerous for the children."

  Since the stream was not more than a couple of inches deep it could not have presented any danger to Helen or Wendy—only to toddlers perhaps. To Mark's children? Fay managed to remain non-committal and did not ask any questions, but she was wondering. Did Toni after all know about Mark's wife and children? But if so, why weren't they at Beechcroft at Christmas—and why had Mark not told her of them? There were no ready answers to these questions, nor to many more she would have liked to ask. She could have asked Horsey many things, but her innate loyalty forbade that. By asking her questions she might have disclosed knowledge which the others did not have.

  But Toni was off into the past again. "We must get the tree house repaired," she said. There was no tree house now, though there were plenty of trees which might have held such a child's delight. "Oh—but I forgot. One of the child-

  ren fell out and broke an arm. We can't have that happening again?"

  "Which one of the children was it?" Fay asked, but for answer she got an entirely different subject. "I'm worried about Mark," Toni told her. "I didn't want him to marry too young—he had his work to think of. But it is time now. He should marry soon. I would like to see my great-grandchildren," she finished with a smile.

  Fay's previous surmises were shattered. Toni obviously did not know—or if she did, she had forgotten.

  By lunch time the nurse had returned from her shopping in the village and turned out to be a kindly woman in her mid-fifties. The Italian girl came to the table with Horsey. She was young and shy and very pretty, but as yet she could speak little English. Toni, Fay noticed, could take very little food, and she began to realise that Toni's looks were deceptive. She was frailer than she had at first imagined.

  All through a long sunlit afternoon she sat beside Toni on the terrace while she alternately dozed or chatted. It was all very peaceful and—yes—strangely enough it was happy. Toni's illness did not in any way seem to have detracted from the graciousness of her way of living, and those about her were normal and naturally cheerful. She remarked as much to Horsey when they were alone for a moment.

  "Mark is most insistent about that," the housekeeper told her. "He won't have her illness bring her sorrow or ugliness if he can help it. That's why he wanted you to come and nurse her—though he knew it was all wrong to ask you—but there's nothing he won't do for his grandmother."

  The long day drew to a close with the arrival of the car which was to take her to the station. There was a certain sadness in Fay's heart as she prepared to leave. There was the sadness of last times about it. She did not think that she would see either Toni or Beechcroft again. They would soon be just a memory to be treasured along with the memories she already had of that time with Mark. Only already the two were getting mixed and she saw herself and Mark here at Beechcroft in all the beauty of summer and not in the bleakness of winter. She sighed as she realised that this was all she would ever have of Mark and Beechcroft—just

  memories. And memories, however sweet, do not assuage hunger when you are young.

  At the last moment there was a delay which nearly caused her to miss her train. Earlier in the day Toni had told her that she must take back some roses with her to London, but it had been a passing thought and Fay had not reminded her. But Toni remembered and sent Lisa with a pair of scissors to the greenhouse where the flowers for the house were grown, and a lot of voluble instructions in Italian.

  The girl came back with a generous bunch of deep red rosebuds which she presented to Fay with a shy smile. "For you wiz love," she said, immensely proud of her English.

  Goodbyes had to be hurried then, and at the very last Toni called after her, "You will give the roses to Mark, won't you?"

  Fay had evidently misunderstood, for she had thought the roses were for her, but she quickly adjusted and gave Toni the assurance that they should be delivered to Mark at the first opportunity.

  The drive through the lanes in the dusk drew the soft shadows of a grey veil over that enchanted day and there was little enchantment in the railway carriage into which she flung herself, only just in time, at the junction. It was the end of a long and busy day, and though she now had the carriage to herself it reeked of stale smoke and the traffic of the day.

  She put the roses on the opposite seat where she could enjoy their beauty and live on for a little while in the world from which they came. But she found herself clutching the folder which held Geoff's manuscript—and her problem. A problem which had to be faced.


  Since she could not have her dream, ought she to renounce even the memory of it, and accept the reality? The reality was that Geoff loved her—as she loved Mark. But not loving him, could she make Geoff happy?

  She could not answer that question and so she decided for the time being to evade it and hoped that time itself might bring its own solution.

  So much can happen in the life of a hospital ward in the

  space of twenty-four hours that Fay felt, when she went on duty the next morning, that she had been away at least a week. But even before she went on duty she had had to solve the problem of how to get Toni's roses to Mark. One thing was quite certain : she was not going to be seen carrying a large bunch of roses through the hospital corridors and depositing them at Mr. Osborne's office. She could have sent them by one of her junior nurses—but that might have led to a certain amount of whispering and giggling in the ward kitchen or the linen room. In the end she decided to leave them at the porter's desk with an instruction to send them along to the Registrar's office, and she stood over the man while he laboriously wrote on a piece of paper : "From Mrs. Travers."

  Nurse Moore was already on duty when Fay came through the swing doors and followed her into the office.

  "Ah, there y'are, Sister dear. And did ye have a good day? Faith and I do declare you've caught the sun !"

  "Well, I was sitting in it for a long time," Fay admitted, "but I didn't think it would show. It must have got very pallid since I came to London."

  "No and indeed you haven't," the staff nurse hastened to assure her. "It's not scorched ye are but just a sort of extra glow. Did you enjoy yourself?"

  "Very much," Fay admitted, and then added, "Though it was sad too in one way. My old friend is very frail—it may well be the last time I shall see her."

  "Oh now, and isn't that a shame—and she such a grand lady too, by the sound of it."

  Fay looked a little startled, for she had not told anyone where she was spending her day off, except that it was in the country. Kate Moore, who was not dim, caught the look of surprise and explained, "Mr. Osborne was telling us all about it yesterday—about you knowing his grandmother, and all."

  Fay wondered at Mark's indiscretion. There was no harm in it, but any sort of connection between a member of the nursing staff and one of the medical officers always caused a bit of scandal-mongering.

  She changed the topic abruptly. "What's in the Report?" she enquired, flicking the book open.

  "Well, Mr. Andrews went home—and nearly cried when he went. Old Mr. Bowker took a sudden thrombosis and collapsed. Coronary. He couldn't stand it, of course."

  "Poor old man," Fay said softly.

  "It's the way I'd like to go meself," Staff Nurse said. "Quick and clean."

  "Yes, I suppose so. Anything else?"

  "Nothing special. Geoff's definitely on the waiting list for the convalescent home, but it'll be about a week yet, the Almoner says. Oh, and Rainbow's back—at least she will be in ten days' time. She's back in her flat and'll be coming back here, so they say."

  "Of course she will," Fay agreed. "I'm only filling her place temporarily. I'm glad she's better again."

  But was she really glad? Had her time on Stanhope Ward been happy or unhappy? Would she miss her almost daily meetings with Mark? Or would it be to remove a constant source of nagging pain?

  She supposed that she would not know the answer to that until she had tried not seeing him again—it was a question that only time would answer.

  And just then she did not have any time, for after the briefest of taps the office door burst open and Mark appeared. "Here, these must be for you," he said, dumping the red roses on her desk.

  "But I was told specifically to give them to you," Fay exclaimed.

  Mark, who had obviously been going on to say something further, stopped abruptly and regarded Fay with a curious glance. "All!" he said then, which exasperated her by its tone, which carried all sorts of implications without disclosing any of them. Then he grinned boyishly as he said, "Oh, well then, I give them back to you. I'm in Clinic all day today, and anyway, there's no room in my cell—they'd just be wasting their fragrance. You have them." And before she could demur he was gone.

  "Aren't they gorgeous?" Nurse Moore admired and sniffed hard. "Red roses."

  It was a mere statement of fact, and Fay thought that her imagination was playing tricks when it seemed as though there was an undercurrent of some other meaning which the Irishwoman put into those two words.

  After a day off duty there were a hundred and one things requiring the personal attention of the Sister, both in the ward and on her desk. This at any rate was the excuse she gave to herself for not going into the side ward until the morning was well advanced. It was not quite the truth—at least not the whole truth. She had not yet made up her mind what line she ought to take with Geoff. Above all else, she did not want to hurt him—but whether it was kinder to nip his emotions now, while they were still, she hoped, in the bud, or whether it was kinder to let him go on hoping for a while until time and separation did their work she could not be quite sure. Then too she was not clear about her own feelings. She did not love Geoff, but she had grown very fond of him, and there was something heart-warming about being loved.

  She had a few moments of most unusual quiet before she made up her mind to visit the last of her patients—a moment when no one knocked on the office door and even the noises from the ward kitchen were muted behind closed doors. She found herself staring hard at the vase of red roses which Staff had arranged on her desk. And she knew that there lay the kernel of the problem of what to do about Geoff. She tried to be objective, cool and clinical in her approach. Mark was not free to receive her love or to give his in return. Mark was a surgeon, and if it were necessary he would not hesitate to cut out any growth that might detract from the good working of the organ it had attacked. Love like some cancer had got at her heart and could grow to no good purpose—so it had to be cut out. Even as she thought it, some pain like a knife turning in her heart made her physically wince. But she had decided on her course of action. She must cut all thought of Mark out of her heart, and to help in that process she would ask Matron if she might return to Anderson Ward and Sister Brownlow. As far as Geoff was concerned she would—temporise.

  That decision made, she walked briskly into the side ward. Mr. Oliver, who was hidden behind The Times, quickly dropped his paper when he heard her footstep.

  "Come along Sister, do—and put this poor boy out of his misery or his temperature will go up sky-high. How did you like it?"

  Geoff looked up from his scribbling with a shy smile and a question in his eyes. But the question was not entirely, she felt, on the merits of his prose and she knew that she had to tread carefully not to commit herself.

  "I think it is very good indeed. If this is the first time you've tried your hand at writing all I can say is that you're remarkably good. And you've got a great future before you in the literary field."

  "I don't know about that," Geoff said. "It may be that I shall only ever write this one book. But I'm glad you like it —now I can go ahead." And now his eyes were saying "Thank you."

  Fay strove to keep things on a practical level. "I'm sure that many publishers would be glad to commission the work on the basis of these first chapters. If you like to get them typed and let me have them, together with a brief synopsis of the rest of the story, I could send them to one or two firms with whom my father used to be in contact."

  "There's fame for you, my boy—you've as good as made your name already. Oh, this is exciting! I never thought when I came into hospital that I'd be sharing a room with a famous novelist."

  They laughed at the old man's enthusiasm and from the broad wink which he gave her Fay gathered that yesterday Geoff had been very much in the dumps with Mr. Oliver trying to raise his hopes for him.

  "Hold hard!" said Geoff, but there was a new ring of confidence in his voice. "Thanks a lot—it was good o
f you to spare the time to read it on your day off."

  "Not a bit—it whiled away a train journey," she told him. "Now, what about it? Would you like me to submit it for you?"

  "Yes, please. But I think—if you don't mind—I would rather finish the book first—"

  "Why, haven't you made up your mind how it ends yet?" Mr. Oliver put in. "Must have a happy ending, my boy. I'm the general public and I like to have a happy ending to my novels."

  They laughed again, but Geoff's eyes were serious as he stared at Fay, so that she knew her every flicker of expression would register with him "I know how I want it to end all right, but somehow the characters seem to take over at times and I'm not sure where they're going next. I'd rather wait until it's finished, please."

  "Perhaps you're wise," she agreed quietly, and she knew that she and Geoff were speaking of other things than appeared to Mr. Oliver's ears.

  "May I let you see the other chapters as they work out? Even if I go to the convalescent home place I could post them to you."

  "Of course you could," Fay agreed readily, "and I shall look forward to getting them. Can you arrange about typing, by the way—is your own good enough?" she indicated the little portable on the side table.

  They were almost back on the everyday level again, but not quite. When Geoff asked, "Did you enjoy your day off?" there was some underlying intensity which startled her for a moment until Mr. Oliver put in, "Yes, Mr. Osborne was telling us about your visit to his mother—"

  "Grandmother," Fay corrected quickly. Grandmother seemed so much less personal than mother, and she went on again to explain her own connection with Toni Travers.

  Staff Nurse Moore put her head in at the door. "Matron wants to see you over in her office, Sister dear," she called.