by Betty Neels
‘Cold feet?’ asked Mr Grenfell, hitting the nail on the head so accurately that she jumped.
‘Yes. Humphrey didn’t want me to come…’
He swooped past an articulated lorry. ‘Why not?’ He sounded interested, but only in a vague way.
‘Well, I don’t know—he didn’t say.’ She added thoughtfully: ‘Perhaps because we’re engaged…’
‘I’m engaged,’ observed Mr Grenfell carelessly, ‘and as far as I know Miriam had no qualms.’
‘Didn’t you ask her?’ Eugenia was curious.
‘Certainly not. She has no interest in my work, indeed she finds it extremely boring.’
She had a momentary picture of him going home after a day’s successful operating, bursting to tell someone about it, and not being able to say a word. Fleetingly she was sorry for him. She said carefully: ‘Well, I daresay it’s restful for you not to talk about your work when you get home.’
‘Bunkum,’ said Mr Grenfell. They were driving through the complexities of the airport now and a moment later he stopped outside Terminal Two. ‘This is where we get out.’
There was a man waiting to take the car, presumably to garage it. Mr Grenfell picked up her case, handed his own and his case of instruments to a porter; and walked briskly into the booking hall. The formalities, which she had been rather dreading, took no time at all. She was ushered upstairs, told to sit down and not walk away until he returned. Which he did presently, with two cups of coffee and an armful of magazines and papers.
‘About twenty minutes before our flight is called,’ he told her, and opened The Times.
He didn’t hurry when their flight was called, so that Eugenia became quite nervous about missing the plane altogether and longed to tell him to hurry up. They were some of the last to go on board, and she was secretly pleased that they were in the first class compartment. Not that she could see much difference between that and the rest of the plane, only it would sound so much better when she told everyone about it when she got back.
She didn’t much care for flying, but since Mr Grenfell’s impassive face betrayed no emotion whatsoever, she took care to sit very still, her insides knotted up, her hands clasped together on her lap.
‘You can unwind now,’ said Mr Grenfell laconically, ‘we’re airborne.’ She had no intention of answering him, but gave him what she hoped was a cool smile and began on the pile of magazines, to be interrupted very shortly by the stewardess with food and drink. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but it passed the time very nicely and made everything so normal that she peeped out of her window into the dusk below. It was quite a surprise when they were asked to fasten their seat-belts because they were about to land; it was even more surprising when Mr Grenfell, who had barely spoken throughout the flight, took her hand in one of his large firm ones, and held it comfortingly until they were safely on the ground.
They were met at the airport, and since there were not many passengers Customs formalities took only a few minutes. The Customs officer was young and dark and eyed Eugenia with appreciation as he asked Mr Grenfell why he was travelling. He went on looking at her while Mr Grenfell told him, but now his glance was tinged with respect. She heard the word Medico, and the man took another look at both their passports, said surprisingly: ‘I wish you good luck, sir and madam,’ and smilingly waved them both on.
The stout dark man who had met them picked up their bags and led them to where a large Cadillac was parked. ‘One hour,’ he said cheerfully, and swept Eugenia into the back seat while Mr Grenfell stowed his case, got in beside her and settled back in his corner. ‘I shall take a nap,’ he told her, and he did, while she tried to see where they were going in the almost dark. Tantalising glimpses of villages with small houses bordering the road, signposts which she never quite managed to read as they tore past, and now and then the lights of villas standing back from the road. The car slowed and Mr Grenfell, sitting beside her, stirred. ‘We’re going to Portimao, I understand the house is just outside the town.’ He yawned. ‘I’ve never before met a girl who’s so incurious—I find it so refreshing.’
Eugenia could see the lights of a town now and the glimmer of water. They crossed a bridge and drove along a wide boulevard with fishing boats crowding its edge, and the town on its other side. But they didn’t stop, only drove on out of the town again, still with the river on their left, and after a while the car was turned into a narrow road and then into a drive overhung with trees. It opened on to a sweep before a house with lights shining from almost every window and the chauffeur got out, opened the car door and gestured from there for them to mount the steps and go through the open door. They had reached it when a man came hurrying towards them.
‘Mr Grenfell? And your nurse.’ He held out a hand. ‘I’m Clarence—my wife’s upstairs—in bed, of course. You have no idea how glad I am to see you! The doctor is with her now—we’ve had a bad day…’
He was a tall, thin, distinguished-looking man, and at the moment worried to death; as well he might be, thought Eugenia, shaking hands and then standing discreetly behind Mr Grenfell.
‘You must be tired…’ began Mr Clarence.
‘Not in the least,’ Mr Grenfell spoke for them both, and Eugenia felt indignation at his high-handedness. ‘You would like us to see your wife as soon as possible, naturally. If we might have ten minutes to tidy up…?’
‘Of course. The housekeeper has put you both on the first floor, opposite each other, in case you need each other during the night.’
Eugenia heard Mr Grenfell mutter and chose to ignore it. She said calmly: ‘I’ll get into my uniform and be with you in ten minutes, Mr Grenfell.’
She was led away by a hovering maid, a pretty dark-haired girl dressed in black, to a room at the side of the house, nicely furnished with heavy dark bed, chest and dressing table, and with a shower room leading from it. Her case was already there; she fished out her uniform, spent five minutes in the bathroom and then got into her uniform and went downstairs again, very neat and fresh and looking reassuringly efficient.
Mr Grenfell looked at her from under heavy lids. ‘Ah, yes. Do you speak any French?’
She opened her lovely eyes in surprise. ‘A little—why?’
‘Probably we may find it easier to talk in that language, the doctor and I.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ she told him sedately, and followed him up the stairs behind Mr Clarence.
Mrs Clarence was in bed in a large room with a huge bay window draped extravagantly in brocade, a thick carpet underfoot and some massive dark furniture. She was a small, fair woman, quite lost in the big bed and very ill. She looked at them both with obvious relief as they went in, and so did the doctor with her. He went forward and shook Mr Grenfell’s hand, and then Eugenia’s. ‘A pleasure to see you, Mr Grenfell,’ he said in slow, correct English, ‘and I know that my patient is just as pleased that you could come.’
Mr Grenfell went to the bed and took Mrs Clarence’s hand. Eugenia admired his bedside manner before being introduced herself, then stood quietly while the two men exchanged a few words. Presently Mr Grenfell said: ‘Dr da Marcos and I would like to have a short talk. Would you stay with Mrs Clarence, Sister Smith?’
So Eugenia drew up a chair and engaged her patient in gentle chat about nothing in particular. ‘I feel better already,’ declared Mrs Clarence, ‘just seeing you sitting there in that nice uniform. My husband insisted on getting Mr Grenfell,’ her eyes flickered towards Eugenia, ‘he’s quite certain that he can cure me.’
‘He’s a very good and famous surgeon,’ said Eugenia. ‘I’m sure he’ll put things right.’
‘He’ll have to operate? Dr da Marcos said I had a bad infection of the lung.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t want to go into hospital—they’re not like hospitals at home, you know.’
‘If you go, just for whatever tests and treatment Mr Grenfell wants you to have, I’ll come with you, Mrs Clarence. And probably you’ll be back here for your convalescence
. Here they come back again; I expect Mr Grenfell will want to examine you and have a little chat.’
The examination took a long time, and when he had finished, he asked a great many questions. At length he said gently: ‘I think it will be better for you if I operate, Mrs Clarence. Dr da Marcos has seen to all the arrangements, so there’s no reason why we should delay. I’m going to take away part of your lung, and that means hospital for a day or two, but Sister will be with you and so will I, and you shall come home here within a few days. You’ll be up on your feet within a week, feeling very much better. Suppose we say tomorrow afternoon? I’ll make all the arrangements and Sister will know exactly what has to be done. Dr da Marcos is going to give you something to make you sleep, and I’ll see you again in the morning.’
He went away with Dr da Marcos and left Eugenia to make Mrs Clarence comfortable for the night, see that she took her pills and then sit quietly until Mrs Clarence dozed off.
It was getting late by now. Eugenia left a small lamp on in the room and went downstairs, where she found the three men sitting in the enormous living room, talking quietly. ‘She’s asleep?’ asked Mr Clarence.
‘Yes. I’ll go and take another look presently. Is there a night nurse?’
‘We had one, but my wife didn’t like her—I sat with her last night, but now that you’re here, she may sleep peacefully until the morning…’
‘I shall want you in theatre tomorrow, Sister, so you must get a good night’s sleep yourself. Perhaps there’s someone reliable who would stay within call and rouse me if necessary?’ Mr Grenfell sounded unworried, almost casual, but she knew better than to argue with him. There was a maid, an elderly woman, very trustworthy, said Mr Clarence; he would see to it, and in the meantime would they have the meal that was awaiting them?
Eugenia, quite sleepy by now, wasn’t sure what she ate. It tasted delicious, though, and afterwards someone brought her a tray of tea, and when she had finished it, Mrs Clarence still asleep, Mr Grenfell said in a no-nonsense voice: ‘Go to bed, Sister. If you’re needed you’ll be called. Be ready to take over at seven o’clock, will you?’
She said goodnight and went up to her room, had a quick shower and fell into her bed, to sleep at once, dreamlessly.
She awoke to a bright morning, with the sun shining from a blue sky. A beautiful day, she thought, dressing quickly and going along to Mrs Clarence’s room. The elderly woman who had spent the night there went thankfully away and Eugenia set about making her patient comfortable, so that by the time Mr Grenfell arrived at eight o’clock she was nicely propped up against her pillows and had drunk the tea which she was allowed to have. She had slept well too, and answered him cheerfully enough when he asked her if she was ready to go into hospital. ‘This morning, I think,’ he said kindly. ‘There’ll be several tests to do, and if they’re satisfactory I’ll operate this afternoon. We shall keep you there for a few days and Sister will nurse you, and at the same time there’ll be a Portuguese nurse there whom she’ll instruct, so that when we go you’ll have exactly the same treatment.’
Mrs Clarence nodded. ‘That’s kind of you,’ she said weakly. ‘To tell you the truth, I feel so rotten I don’t really mind what happens.’
‘All the more reason to go ahead as quickly as we can,’ said Mr Grenfell soothingly. ‘I shall leave you with Sister Smith and very shortly an ambulance will take you in to Portimao.’
Eugenia was thankful that she hadn’t unpacked her case; she was given barely ten minutes in which to collect her things together when the ambulance arrived and Mrs Clarence was loaded carefully into it. It was a low-slung vehicle with a blaring horn and a turn of speed that outstripped Mr Clarence’s Cadillac, following behind.
Portimao looked interesting under the bright sunshine; Eugenia looking out of the small window, hoping she might have time to explore it, but that seemed unlikely.
The hospital was small, tucked away in the centre of the town, but the room they were led to was bright and airy, and Eugenia lost no time in making her patient comfortable. Dr da Marcos came with Mr Grenfell presently, accompanied by another older man, who was introduced as the anaesthetist. They stood around talking pleasantly, taking it in turns to examine Mrs Clarence, making cheerful remarks as they did so. ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t return to England soon,’ observed Mr Grenfell. ‘You have two boys at school, I believe?’
Mrs Clarence’s pale face lighted. ‘Oh, do you really think so? I should love that—and to feel well again.’
He smiled gently. ‘I can see no obstacle. It will be up to you, once the operation is over, to get fit as quickly as possible. In three weeks’ time you should be fit to travel.’
He got up from the side of the bed. ‘We’ll leave you to Sister, now. Presently she’ll go away for a little while to have her lunch, but in the meantime Dr da Marcos will bring you your other nurse, Amalia Deniz, so that you can get to know each other. She speaks English.’
He went away, and presently Dr da Marcos came back with a pretty dark girl with a smiling face, who shook hands with Eugenia and then with her patient. The three of them talked for a few minutes and then Eugenia took her on one side. ‘Shall I explain Mr Grenfell’s methods now?’ she asked. ‘And may I call you Amalia, and you call me Eugenia if you will,’ and when the other girl agreed readily: ‘Good, now here are the charts—I’m to stay with Mrs Clarence until midnight, but I’m only next door, so don’t mind calling me if you’re worried or need help—it’s so much easier with two. I’ll give you a hand with the bed and so on in the morning before you go off at eight o’clock. Now this is what Mr Grenfell intends to do…’
Amalia was quick; she grasped the main points at once. ‘I have never seen this operation,’ she observed. ‘They always go to Lisbon.’
‘Yes, I know, but Mrs Clarence is too ill to stand such a long journey. You’ll go back with her to her home, won’t you? I shall be there for a day or two, but we have to go back to England in a week’s time.’
Someone came to take her to lunch presently, an early meal so that she would have time to get Mrs Clarence ready for theatre. She wasn’t very hungry and she sat alone in a small dining room filled with tables, presumably where the hospital staff had their meals. She ate the fish and rather sweet custard tart and drank some black coffee, then went back to Mrs Clarence, fretful now and a little frightened. Luckily it was time to give the pre-med Eugenia and Amalia put on gowns, tied back their hair, talking gently the while, and then put on Mrs Clarence’s gown and slid the needle expertly into the thin arm.
An hour later Eugenia was in theatre, gowned and masked and scrubbed up and decidedly peevish. Mr Grenfell had omitted to tell her that she was expected to scrub for the operation. She had supposed that there would be a theatre nurse to do that, and indeed the nurse in charge had scrubbed as well, explaining cheerfully to Eugenia that she had never seen open chest surgery—all such cases went to Lisbon, and although she was eager to assist she was glad Eugenia was taking the case. Eugenia didn’t share the gladness; she hadn’t scrubbed for quite some time. It would serve Mr Grenfell right if she made a mess of it.
She didn’t, of course. They worked together, speaking rarely, relaxed and at ease with each other. Mr Grenfell worked without haste and finally stood back to allow his assistant to finish the stitching. ‘She’ll do,’ he said, and then: ‘Thank you, Sister.’ He began to pull off his gloves. ‘I’ll see you in the room they’ve set up for intensive care. Go with the patient.’
He sounded coldly polite, and Eugenia, peeling off her own gloves wondered why she should feel unhappy about that.
CHAPTER THREE
EUGENIA WAS KEPT busy for some time. There were the tubes to keep a sharp eye on, the blood transfusion to regulate and continuous oxygen to control. Amalia had been waiting for them and Eugenia had been glad of her skilled help. The anaesthetist and Mr Grenfell came in together within minutes of them getting Mrs Clarence positioned in her bed, examined her briefly,
pronounced themselves satisfied and went away again. It was just a question of waiting for her to come round from the anaesthetic before propping her up on her pillows.
‘It’s all over, Mrs Clarence,’ Eugenia told her as she opened her eyes and stared up at her in a woolly fashion. ‘Everything is fine; just lie still and go to sleep again. I’ll be here…’
Mrs Clarence grunted and closed her eyes again, and a few minutes later Mr Grenfell came back. ‘Mrs Clarence regained consciousness two minutes ago,’ Eugenia told him, and added blood pressure, pulse and respirations.
He nodded. ‘Good.’ He looked across at Amalia, on the other side of the bed. ‘Will you take over for ten minutes while Sister Smith has a cup of tea?’
Amalia nodded earnestly. ‘I have the bell,’ she stated. ‘Eugenia will come.’
There was a small ante-room outside the ward; someone had set a tray there with tea and a plate of cakes, and Mr Grenfell pulled a chair across and told her to sit down. There were two cups on the tray and when she glanced at him enquiringly, he said, ‘Yes, please, pour me a cup too, will you?’ He sat down opposite her. ‘You did very well in theatre, Eugenia.’
He had never called her Eugenia before, but she let that pass. ‘I would have done even better if I’d known that I was to scrub,’ she pointed out.
He waved that aside. ‘Rubbish!’ He ate one of the cakes from the plate she had offered. ‘I’ll stay here for the night—you’ll be on duty until midnight and be ready to give a hand if you’re wanted. Don’t let anyone else touch the tubes except yourself, they’ll be in for forty-eight hours; if the bottles need changing, do it yourself. If there’s more than three hundred mls. in six hours’ time, I’m to be told at once—you know all this, inside out and back to front, but I’m making sure. This isn’t quite like our home ground, so no offence meant.’