by Molly Green
‘It’s good for the soul.’ Edwin’s eyes met hers. ‘Have you a favourite poet?’
‘N-no.’ Desperately she searched her mind for a familiar name. ‘Well, I did like Byron.’
‘Ah, Lord Byron.’ He kept his gaze on her. ‘He was a rum cove. I’m surprised he’s your favourite. Goes a bit close to the mark sometimes, in my opinion.’
‘I’m not sure what you mean?’ Oh, God, what had she started?
‘Very risqué. Not sure young ladies should be reading such stuff.’
‘I was far away from being a “young lady” at fifteen when I first read Byron,’ she said, her tone a little more clipped than she meant. ‘I don’t suppose I understood half of it, but I remember we used to giggle over some of the passages.’
He raised an eyebrow and she was thankful when the waiter brought their soup. It was time for her to change the subject, even if only to comment on the food.
‘It’s delicious,’ she said truthfully.
‘One wouldn’t expect it to be any different at the Ritz.’ He smiled, dipping his spoon in.
‘What made you come to St Thomas’?’ she asked him, feeling on more familiar ground.
‘It’s a good teaching hospital – or was, what’s left of it. That’s really my forte – teaching. But they’re talking of opening a place in Guildford – a medical school – so I’ll likely be transferred.’
She felt a tiny quiver of disappointment. ‘I imagine all the hospitals are finding it difficult. There’s—’
‘Let’s not talk about work,’ he cut in. ‘I want to get to know you, Maxine. And for heaven’s sake call me Edwin – when we’re off duty, of course.’
So he’s expecting to see me again.
‘Is there a young man in tow?’ Edwin broke into her thoughts.
‘I haven’t a boyfriend, if that’s what you mean,’ Maxine answered quickly, her face feeling warm all of a sudden.’
‘A pretty girl like you without a boyfriend?’
‘Not exactly. I was married.’
‘Was?’ His eyes widened.
‘He died,’ Maxine said quietly, putting down her soup spoon.
‘Oh, dear. I’m so sorry.’ Edwin seized her left hand before she could retrieve it. ‘I didn’t notice your wedding ring. Clumsy of me. How did it happen?’
‘He was one of the ones who had to stay behind at Dunkirk. A medic. They needed them to go off with those rescued, but they also needed medics to stay behind and look after the wounded. I understand he volunteered.’ She wasn’t prepared to go into any further details.
‘How old are you, Maxine?’
‘Twenty-one.’
‘Too young to be a widow.’ He gently squeezed her hand. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he repeated.
‘He wasn’t only my husband for a very short time but he was my best friend … from childhood. That’s what is so painful. I’ve lost my best friend.’ Her eyes filled with tears.
‘Then let me try to make it up to you,’ Edwin said.
‘No one can make up for anything like that,’ she said briskly, to hide the familiar ache in her heart.
‘I’ll damned well give it a good try.’
Maxine was keen to get off the subject and was grateful when the main course arrived. To her surprise she found the duck delicious. She also found she was beginning to enjoy Edwin’s conversation about the places he’d travelled to before the war, though she couldn’t add anything much except to nod and smile.
‘What other books have you read besides Out of Africa?’ he asked.
‘Rebecca.’ She thought a moment. ‘I like Agatha Christie.’ Her mind went blank and quickly she said, ‘What about you?’
‘Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, Evelyn Waugh – I’ve just finished A Handful of Dust – anything by Jean-Paul Sartre …’
He mentioned two or three more names but she’d never heard of any of them. She sipped her wine, hoping she looked interested, not knowing if she’d like the plays he now mentioned because she’d only heard of Noel Coward’s Private Lives. But Edwin was nice. Attentive. Polite. Absolutely charming. Altogether different from when she’d first come across him in the ward.
‘We must do this again … soon,’ he said as he helped her on with her jacket an hour and a half later. ‘I’m not going to keep you out late. None of us are getting a lot of sleep lately, and I need steady hands when I hold the knife.’ He grinned at her.
‘Put like that, I think you’re very wise.’ Maxine smiled back.
The taxi pulled up, as Edwin directed, in Royal Street, close to the hospital building. Edwin paid the fare and the cab disappeared into the dusk. He looked down at Maxine, a strange expression she couldn’t fathom on his face.
‘You’re very lovely,’ he said. ‘Would you allow me to kiss you?’
She didn’t know if she wanted him to or not. Before she could answer, he drew her into his arms and she felt his lips on hers. It buzzed through her mind how different he felt from Johnny, whose kisses were cheerful … friendly … Edwin’s was more like a lover’s kiss. For a few seconds she tried to wriggle free. It was too smothering. But then, against her will, she felt herself responding, felt her own lips start to kiss him back. How she’d missed this. But it was too dangerous. She didn’t want to like him in that way. Dazed, she pulled away.
‘I’ve had one of the best evenings in a long time,’ Edwin said.
‘Me, too,’ she whispered.
‘Then go, before you turn into a pumpkin.’
‘Isn’t that what the carriage is supposed to do?’
His teeth gleamed in the fading light. ‘Yes, something like that.’ He gave her a swift kiss on her lips. ‘You’d better go in, Cinders. It’s going to bucket down.’
Reluctantly she turned away, aware that he was watching her. Inside the hospital she removed her high heels, not wanting to wake anyone as she crept down the steps. It was only when she was safely in the bedroom, hearing Gillian’s gentle snores from the other bed, that she realised she wasn’t sure if she felt relief or disappointment at the sudden end to the evening.
Chapter Nine
‘Come on, lazybones, wake up.’ It was Walker, one of the three other nurses Maxine shared the room with, shaking her shoulders gently. She’d been dreaming about Edwin.
Her eyes opened wide as she jerked up.
‘You were sleeping the sleep of an angel – even on your bed of straw,’ Walker chuckled. ‘He must be gorgeous.’
To her annoyance, Maxine felt her face redden.
‘Oooh, look who’s blushing. I’m pretty close to the nail, aren’t I?’
‘I’m not answering.’ Maxine swung her long, slender legs off the mattress, laughing and shooing Walker away.
Somehow it seemed a little dull that morning without Edwin coming in and out of Men’s Surgical. She rather missed him. This was ridiculous, to feel like this after one date, and probably the only date he would ever ask her on. She’d convinced herself that it was just an impulsive gesture on his part and he wouldn’t be repeating it, when Bennett came to find her as she was washing a few cups whilst waiting for the kettle to boil on the Primus stove for their afternoon tea. The patients had had theirs and Maxine was looking forward to snatching five minutes with her feet up and a couple of Digestive biscuits.
‘For you.’ Bennett handed her an envelope.
‘Me?’ Maxine pointed to herself.
‘Yes, love. It’s got your name on, if I’m not mistaken – Nurse Taylor. Private and Confidential, so it says.’
Maxine took the envelope and shoved it in her apron pocket, ignoring the curiosity on Bennett’s face.
‘I’ll read it later – in private, as it states,’ she said with a grin.
‘Fair enough, but you have to share it with us if it’s something exciting.’ She gave Maxine a sly look from under her lashes. ‘I have a feeling I know who it’s from anyway.’ She winked and scurried out of the kitchen door, pulling it behind her.
There w
as no possibility of reading the letter now. She’d be in trouble if she didn’t get back on the ward right away.
Immediately she forgot about Edwin as George Morton grabbed her attention. During the blackout he’d been knocked off his bicycle by a motorist and suffered internal injuries and a broken arm. Waving his good arm in fury, he cursed Hitler for causing the accident, which, Maxine supposed, indirectly Mr Hitler had.
The only bright spot was that today was payday. She joined the queue outside Matron’s office to collect her wages – ten shillings more than she’d received at the Infirmary. ‘London rating,’ Anna had explained, her nose wrinkling that it wasn’t nearly enough compensation. She could see her friend’s expression now. How she missed her.
‘I didn’t break the bleedin’ thermometer,’ a young girl’s voice came from behind her in the queue. ‘Mr Gibson is a bit funny in the head, I reckon, and he snatched it from me before I could even see his temperature. And to cap it all, Sister said she’d deduct it from my measly four pounds.’
‘Did you tell her what happened?’ another girl asked.
‘No point.’
Maxine wished she could block out their conversation and just collect her envelope and go. She was longing to read her letter, which was beginning to burn a hole in her pocket.
It was several hours later before Maxine fell onto her bed, exhausted. She took the envelope out of her pocket and tore it open. There was a single sheet of paper inside and when she unfolded it, there was his writing – not the usual scrawl of a doctor or surgeon, but beautiful italic writing that looked as it if had popped out of one of the history books.
Dear Girl,
I hope the wine didn’t have any ill effects on you last night and that you had a decent sleep. I didn’t. And it wasn’t just the bombs keeping me awake. I kept thinking of your lovely face and how I couldn’t wait to see it again, but it’s my day off today and I have some errands to do.
When do you have some time off in the day? It would be nice to walk in the park, and maybe go to a matinée or something. I’ll be back on the wards tomorrow so you can tell me then – discreetly, of course, but I know you always will be.
Until tomorrow, then.
Yours,
E
Maxine frowned and read it through a second time. What did he mean by calling her ‘Girl’, and signing off ‘E’? Was that his way of being discreet? It sounded so impersonal. And yet the sentiment was there, staring her in the face. He wanted to see her again. He thought she was lovely. He was just very different from Johnny – that was all.
With a flutter of anticipation, she folded the letter and slipped it into its envelope and back into her pocket.
Edwin arrived on her ward the next morning and didn’t show by even a flicker of an eyelash that he had a personal interest in her. She played along with it to perfection. But when they had less than a minute alone as he was frowning at one of the patient’s medical sheets, and the two other nurses and Sister were at the other end of the ward, Edwin muttered, ‘So when are you free, Nurse?’
‘The day after tomorrow,’ she answered, pretending to tuck in a corner of Sidney Johnson’s bed. ‘I’m off in the afternoon. From two o’clock.’
‘Good. That will be all, Nurse.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Meet you at the same place at half-past two. Be prepared for anything.’
‘Thank you, Mr Blake.’ She wanted to giggle. He was such a respectable man, and there he was, making a date with her right under Sister’s nose.
They did as his note suggested and meandered through Archbishop’s Park. Even though it was right on the doorstep of St Thomas’, Maxine had had little chance to enjoy it, except for an occasional sandwich at lunchtime with Anna.
‘I wanted to take you to see a play, but I’m afraid they’ve already started. Half past two is pretty much the time for most of the matinées.’
‘It doesn’t matter at all,’ Maxine said, taking his proffered arm. ‘We’re inside a stuffy building for too many hours, so it’s wonderful to be out in the air. Most of the flowers are coming to the end, but I can still smell the last of the roses.’ She breathed in deeply. ‘Mmm … lovely. And just walking amongst the trees. We’re so lucky in London to have so many parks.’ She glanced up at the sky. ‘Only the barrage balloons remind us there’s a war on.’
He looked down at her, his eyes searching hers. ‘If there wasn’t any war, would you be happy right this minute?’
‘I’m enjoying this,’ she said, seriously. ‘But I’m not sure what being happy feels like anymore.’
He tucked her arm in his a little tighter. ‘You’re not on duty this evening, are you?’
‘No. No, I’m not.’ Why did she feel uncomfortable all of a sudden? Was it that he seemed to know her schedule despite her only finding out about the alteration herself that morning?
‘Because we can go and see a film if you like. Or a play. I haven’t booked anything because I wasn’t sure. We could get a bite to eat first, or afterwards – whichever you prefer. What would you really like to do?’
‘I’d love to see The Dancing Years,’ Maxine said tentatively.
‘That’s Ivor Novello.’
‘Yes. I heard a programme about it on the wireless and made a note of it. It’s on at the Windmill Theatre.’
‘You can’t go wrong with Novello.’ He patted her arm. ‘Look, why don’t we have some refreshment and then see if we can book tickets.’
‘Weren’t we lucky to get such good seats?’ Maxine said as they found their row just as the orchestra started up.
Edwin smiled and took her hand. She was conscious of his warm fingers linking with hers, stopping her from completely losing herself in the romance of the musical. She tried. How she tried to concentrate, but it was impossible. She wanted him to kiss her again. Hold her. She didn’t dare look at him in case he guessed her thoughts. Think her fast. She stared ahead, hardly blinking, hoping he wasn’t aware of her turmoil.
He began to caress her fingers, one by one. A shiver ran through her body. She tried to think of Johnny. Keep loyal to him. But his face faded in and out of her vision and it couldn’t take the place of this living, breathing man next to her, so close their shoulders were touching.
Her breathing became rapid and she forced herself to draw in a long, deep breath through her nose to steady her pulse. He must have heard the intake as he shot her a look as though to ask her a question.
The music came to a close. To her relief, the curtain fell down.
‘Thank goodness it’s the interval,’ Edwin said. ‘The space doesn’t accommodate my legs at all. I’ve got cramp in one of them.’ He rubbed his calf, then got up. ‘We’ll go and get a drink. Stretch our legs.’
She was thankful. The physical closeness of him was too dangerous. She needed to distance herself. She followed him out of the auditorium and into the bar downstairs.
The bar was jammed from end to end, but Edwin was half a head taller than most other men and Maxine noticed the blonde behind the bar served him sooner than she should.
‘There wasn’t any chance to ask you what you would like to drink,’ he said, carrying two glasses of wine and pushing his way through to where the crowd had thinned, ‘so I hope this is acceptable. Don’t suppose you’ve seen a table?’
‘No. I don’t know how everyone got here so quickly,’ Maxine said, looking round. People were lighting up cigarettes, and passing chocolates, pouring champagne and laughing at something that had been said. They all seemed to belong. Maxine looked away abruptly.
‘We’ll lean against the windowsill, if you can manage.’ Edwin placed the glasses on the sill and glanced at her. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Maxine? You look a little flushed.’
‘I’m fine.’ She gave him a wide smile. ‘Isn’t the show wonderful? Such lovely music. Almost makes me want to dance.’
Why, oh why had she said that? As though she was trying to hint where she’d like to go on their next date. Well, there wasn�
��t going to be another date. She was acting like a star-struck girl and she didn’t like herself one bit. But she’d made a decision. She wasn’t going to put herself through all that emotion she’d felt sitting there beside him in the theatre. He’d laugh his head off if he had an inkling of her muddled mind. She’d feign a headache or something. Ask him to take her back to the hospital. But it was too late. The bell rang for everyone to finish their drinks and take their seats in the auditorium again.
‘Drink up, sweetheart. We don’t want to disturb everyone by being late.’
There was half a glass of wine left. She tipped it back and swallowed it without stopping.
‘Don’t want to waste it,’ she told him, a little shame-faced. She clutched on to his arm and he laughed as she lost her balance. He put an arm firmly around her waist and led her back to their waiting seats.
She didn’t remember one thing of the second half of The Dancing Years.
The rest of the evening seemed to melt away and they were on their way back to the hospital. Edwin was unusually quiet in the taxi, just holding her hand tightly as though he never wanted to release it.
Maxine’s mind was in tumult. She hadn’t even liked the man when she’d first met him; now she couldn’t stop the rush of feeling every time she looked at him. She mustn’t let him know. He would think her a foolish little girl. After all, that’s what he had called her – Girl. But she wasn’t a girl. She’d been married to her dearest friend. She knew how it felt to be married. The intimacy. And she’d missed it more than she’d realised.
Once or twice she caught Edwin glancing at her in the taxi but she forced herself not to turn her head. He instructed the driver to drop them off in the same street as last time. He was protecting her reputation as much as his own – but she hated the subterfuge. It spoilt the ending to what she could only describe as a romantic day fuelled by her longing. But now she would go down to the basement and he would go to his quarters, wherever they were.
As soon as the taxi had moved off, Edwin reached to take her in his arms and laid his cheek against hers. Then his lips sent kisses down her neck, thrilling her. His fingers undid the buttons of her jacket. His hand cupped her breast over her blouse. Then his fingers found bare skin. He began to stroke her and she moaned.