Rachel Lindsay - Love and Dr Forrest
"I seem to be an extremely bad judge of women," Phillip said at last. "Either that or you're the best actress I've ever met!"
It seemed so ironic. Now that the way was clear for her and Phillip to love each other, Lesley couldn't marry him. Nor could she tell him the real reason; she didn't trust him. How could you tell the man you love that you think he killed his wife?
Phillip would just have to believe she didn't love him.
CHAPTER ONE
Lesley Forrest stared through the window of the nurses' sitting room and wondered for the hundredth time why she had chosen to do her training at St. Catherine's.
"It's more like a training ground for the Olympic marathon!" she grumbled, slumping into a chair. "I've never known a place with so many stairs and corridors."
"I'm sure matron will transfer you if you ask her," said Pat Rogers, a plump pretty girl who was the only other occupant of the room. "She's bound to know a hospital where there aren't any stairs!"
Lesley grinned. "Thank the Lord I have the weekend off. I'm going to see Janet on Friday and I intend to stay in bed each morning until lunchtime!"
"With breakfast brought in by your brother-in-law."
"That I doubt! He'd expect me to wait on him."
"Still the same Tod, eh? How long have he and Janet been married?"
"Three years. Six months after dad died. Tod was our first tenant after we turned the house into furnished rooms."
"Then he married your sister and lived rent free!" Pat tried, but failed to hide her indignation. "If he'd been able to support your sister properly, you could have kept your share of the rents and gone on studying medicine."
"Janet couldn't manage on what Tod was earning—especially after Bobby was born." With an effort Lesley forced some brightness into her voice. "Anyway, I doubt if I'd have qualified. Those first couple of years at medical school were hard enough."
"You'd have got through if you'd had the chance." Seeing her friend's expression, Pat decided to change the subject. "Anyway, you can always marry a doctor, instead! From the way they run after you, you can take your pick."
"They run after anything in skirts!" Lesley yawned and moved over to peer at herself in the mirror above the mantelpiece. Her oval face with its high cheekbones and grey eyes was reflected back at her, the irises unexpectedly flecked with honey, which matched the colour of the thick, glossy hair held securely back by her stiff, white cap. "Come on, Pat. We're on duty again in a minute."
"Don't remind me! I didn't have time for my forty winks in the sluice room this morning and I'm whacked out!"
Wheeling the tea trolley around the ward later that afternoon, Lesley wondered if she would have taken up nursing if she had foreseen the drudgery it entailed. Would she have the stamina to finish the whole course, or would she do as Tod had sneeringly prophesied and turn to something less strenuous?
Even as she thought this she dismissed it. Ever since she could remember she had wanted to be a doctor, and when the unexpected death of her father—followed by Janet's marriage to a feckless spendthrift—had put an end to her ambition, she had chosen nursing as the next best thing. But now, tired and depressed, she was no longer sure she had made the right decision.
"You look worried," one of the patients remarked. "Had a telling off from sister?"
Lesley smiled. "I was just thinking about Christmas presents," she lied. "I want to buy them before the rush starts and all the stores are jammed with shoppers."
Turning the lie into a reality, she wondered what to get for her sister and young nephew, and the following afternoon spent her free time battling in the West End stores.
She returned to the hospital weighed down by packages. The wind was biting as she struggled toward the main entrance. Her eyes smarted from the cold, and she sniffed and tried to reach for her handkerchief. As her fingers closed over the snap of her handbag, a passerby bumped against her, and bag and packages tumbled to the ground. As she bent to retrieve them, her hands came into contact with those of a man who had disengaged himself from the crowd to help her.
"You're very kind," she said breathlessly.
The man smiled. "You don't do things by halves do you?" He lunged forward in time to prevent a lipstick and a thermometer from rolling into the gutter. "What might you be doing with hospital property, nurse?" His voice was so exactly like matron's that Lesley giggled.
"You obviously know her," she said.
"Yes."
A passing bus lit up his face and she saw it was lean and tanned, topped with thick, dark hair. "I've never seen you at the hospital," she added.
"The loss is more mine than yours."
Colour deepened in her cheeks, and she backed away from him. "I'm terribly late. I should have been on duty five minutes ago."
"Then I won't detain you."
He raised his hand in a half salute and turned away, leaving her to race toward the hospital entrance.
During the next few days Lesley's heart beat a tattoo every time she saw a tall, dark figure in a white coat walking along the corridor.
"Who are you expecting to see?" Pat remarked. "Frankenstein?"
Belatedly, Lesley recounted what had happened to her on her last afternoon off.
"Why didn't you ask his name?" Pat asked. "Then you could have found out where he made his rounds and accidentally bumped into him."
"I never thought of it."
"Well, if he works here, you're bound to see him at the dance."
The hospital dance! Lesley gave an exclamation. Why hadn't she thought of that before? Held in the ballroom of a nearby hotel, it was attended by the entire medical staff of the hospital.
"He might not remember me," she murmured.
"He'll still notice you," her friend said staunchly. "He'd have to be blind not to!"
Studying herself in her bedroom on the night of the dance, Lesley admitted the truth of Pat's statement. Her dress showed off the smooth curve of her shoulders and up-tilted breasts, while the tawny bronze shade of the silk almost matched the colour of her hair.
The dance was in full swing when she and Pat arrived, and she stood self-consciously by the door, trying to recognise the other nurses out of uniform. The doctors looked unfamiliar in evening dress and, at the far end of the room, talking to Sir Lionel Brooks, the hospital chairman, was a tiny lady whom she had difficulty in recognising as matron.
But her eyes continued to search the throng, not stopping until she caught sight of a man deep in conversation with a grey-haired woman.
"He's here, Pat," she said quickly. "The man who helped me with my parcels."
Pat followed Lesley's gaze. "That's Phillip Redwood—the chest specialist! He's the dishiest consultant we've got."
Lesley caught her breath. So that was the famous Phillip Redwood. And she had been hoping to attract his attention! That only showed how foolish it was to daydream. Yet she could not stop herself from watching him, nor from envying the slim girl who suddenly came to stand beside him.
"Isn't that Sir Lionel's daughter?" she asked.
"His one and only," Pat answered. "And spoiled rotten by her doting father. Redwood won't stand a chance if she's set her cap on him."
"I'm sure he won't marry for years. He looks much too young."
"He's thirty. And consultants are advised to marry young. It settles their minds!"
"You're making that up," Lesley retorted.
"Only to stop you from wasting your time looking at the stars! Mr. Redwood's out of your reach." She turned her head. "Here come the possible though. First-year medics and rarin' to go!"
Lesley was caught up in
the excitement of her first hospital dance. The fulsome compliments of the young men went to her head like wine, as she swung from one pair of arms to another.
After supper she drifted off to the cloakroom to tidy her hair and returned in time to join in the Paul Jones. Around the floor she whirled, and as the music stopped she found herself facing an expanse of stiff, white shirt- front. Her gaze travelled upward and with a little gasp she recognized Phillip Redwood.
His finely cut mouth curved in a smile. "So we meet again. No need to ask if you're enjoying yourself."
"I've had a wonderful time."
"I'm not surprised. You're one of the prettiest girls here."
Before she could think of anything to say, the music stopped and he released her.
"Thank you for the dance, Miss, er, Taffy."
Gently, he touched her hair and was gone. Unwilling to spoil the magic of the moment by dancing with anyone else, she slipped into an alcove and sat in an empty chair. It was here that Pat eventually found her.
"I've been searching all over for you. Dick and Paul want to take us on to a discotheque."
"I don't want to go."
A roll on the drums drowned Pat's response and the two of them moved out of the alcove to see what was happening. Sir Lionel was standing in front of the microphone, beaming.
"I won't keep you long," he began, "but I thought you would like to know that my daughter has just become engaged to one of your own consultants." There was a murmur of anticipation and he chuckled. "I'm sure it hasn't been a secret on the hospital grapevine that Mr. Phillip Redwood has a special heart ailment for Deborah, and I am sure you will join with me in wishing them both every happiness."
There was a burst of clapping and the orchestra started to play "A Fine Romance."
Lesley caught Pat by the hand. "Come on, we don't want to keep Dick and Paul waiting."
"I thought you didn't want to go?"
"I've changed my mind. That's a girl's prerogative, isn't it?"
CHAPTER TWO
Early in the New Year Tod was offered an excellent job in Liverpool and decided to take it. Janet suggested to Lesley that they sell their house, which would give her sufficient money to buy another one up north, and Lesley, delighted by the thought of her brother-in-law's becoming solvent, readily agreed.
Two months later she found herself in possession of eight thousand pounds, though with no place to live during her time off, so she immediately rented a small apartment and put the bulk of the money into the bank.
"Why don't you transfer to a hospital in Liverpool?" her sister had asked the night before her departure.
"Because I'm in the middle of my training and it would be awkward to change," Lesley replied, forbearing to say that a tall, dark-haired man who loved another woman was also part of her reason.
Since the night of the dance she had caught infrequent glimpses of him and thought that a junior nurse like herself could never hope to carry out the instructions he issued in his forthright, peremptory .way!
His impending marriage was a source of gossip, and Lesley was glad she was on duty the day of the wedding and unable to attend the ceremony. Pat went, however, and left nothing to her friend's imagination.
"You should have seen the guest list. Film stars and half the Cabinet and two members of royalty with their husbands!" She sighed gustily. "Deborah looked gorgeous. I don't like her but I must admit she's beautiful. I bet she has all sorts of plans for her husband."
"Plans?"
"To set him up in a 'society' practice."
Lesley spun around from the sink in which she was washing some stockings. "She wouldn't dare interfere with his work. He has a wonderful future here."
"Our Deb's only interested in a mink-lined future. And the big money lies in private practice. Still, it's not our worry." Pat yawned and moved to the door. "I'm going to bed. Don't forget we're on night duty tomorrow."
"I've been thinking of nothing else!"
Lying in bed Lesley pondered what Pat had said. Nursing was hard but infinitely satisfying, and being a doctor must be a thousand times more so. It would be disastrous if Phillip Redwood allowed his wife to take him away from hospital work.
The clock in the hall chimed midnight and she pulled the blanket over her head. If Pat were right, they'd be run off their feet this time tomorrow. The idea of having to stay up throughout the night and waste the spring days in bed was distasteful, and her last thought was a fervent wish that she would be able to manage on half her usual amount of sleep. Otherwise she'd never see the-sun!
To her relief she was assigned to the casualty ward and, contrary to her expectations, quickly became used to night duty. Though it had its drawbacks, it gave her more freedom during the day, and she often felt fresh enough to get up in the early afternoon and stroll into town.
She was returning from one such walk when a low- slung black car passed her by the main gates. Phillip Redwood was at the wheel, his face still tanned from his honeymoon in Bermuda. The unexpected sight of him set her pulses racing, and she wondered if he remembered the nurse he had teased at the Christmas dance. Yet why should he? She watched the car disappear and sighed. Specialists rarely visited the hospital at night and it would be a long time before she saw him again.
The opportunity came sooner than she had expected. On Sunday evening a severe accident case was brought in, and Miss Roberts, the resident surgical officer, decided an immediate operation was necessary.
Lesley was detailed to accompany the patient to the theatre, and she knew at once that his life hung in the balance. It was apparent in the silence that surrounded the operating table,, the quickened breathing of the green-capped nurses and the anxiety in the eyes of the anaesthetist as he studied the dials at his side. It was apparent, too, in the way Miss Roberts finally lifted her mask and turned away from the patient, though her actual words came as a shock.
"I've done all / can. We'll have to call Mr. Redwood. He's the only surgeon who can pull this man through."
"I'm not sure he can stand another operation," the anaesthetist said.
"He'll die without it. We have no choice."
At five a.m. Phillip Redwood entered the theatre. Perspiring in her long white gown and unfamiliar mask, Lesley watched enthralled as he began to work. He had no need to ask for instruments: the theatre sister anticipated his every wish. Once a scalpel clattered to the floor and everyone jumped except the tall, white-clad figure bent over the unconscious patient. He glanced up only to look enquiringly at the anaesthetist and, receiving a nod of confirmation, once more lowered his head.
Two hours later he put down his instruments and walked wearily toward the surgeons' changing room.
"Do you think he'll pull through, sir?" one of the 13 housemen asked as they pushed open the swinging door.
"It will be a miracle if he does. I should have been called in earlier."
"The patient was a casualty, sir. He was rushed straight down here."
"I still should have been called." Tired and strained, Redwood's temper got the better of professional etiquette. "The trouble with women is that they won't call in a man unless they absolutely have to!"
And, in a white heat of anger he picked up his jacket and strode out.
Phillip Redwood's fears for the patient proved justified, for when Lesley reported for duty again she learned he had died.
No one knew what passed between Miss Roberts and the senior surgeon, and though wild conjectures circulated for a day or two, the subject was soon forgotten.
Spring was already half over when Lesley was transferred to the private wing. She delighted in the lovely surroundings and found the work easier than any she had done yet.
During her third week, Deborah Redwood came in for an emergency appendectomy and was put or't Lesley's floor. She proved the least tractable of patients, and Lesley was kept running her errands from morning to night.
Yet the girl had a natural charm that was difficult to resist, apolog
ising for her bursts of temper with a gift of chocolate or a small bottle of perfume from the large array on her dressing table.
Without doubt she was the prettiest patient in the private wing, for her pale, flawless skin required little makeup, though she spent unnecessary hours brushing the glossy black hair that waved softly to her shoulders.
On the fifth day of her admittance Lesley answered her bell and found Phillip Redwood seated in the armchair by the window. It was the first time she had seen him informally since his marriage, and a flush rose into her cheeks. But he gave no sign of recognition and after a nod in her direction continued to stare out of the window. In a grey lounge suit with an unusually bright tie he looked younger than she remembered, and she felt a pang of envy that one woman should have beauty and money as well as such a dashing husband.
"Can I get anything for you, Mrs. Redwood?" she asked.
"Yes, please, nurse. Find a ribbon in my drawer and tie my hair back for me."
Lesley moved to the dressing table and Deborah spoke to her husband.
"For heaven's sake, don't let's argue about it anymore. I've no intention of living in Switzerland. You'll have to tell Professor Zecker you don't want the job."
"We'll discuss it later." The man's voice was low.
"We'll discuss it now. How can you expect me to get well if I'm continually worrying about it?" Deborah Redwood twisted impatiently as Lesley began to tie her hair. "Nurse, you're hurting me!"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Redwood. Shall I come back later?"
"No! Finish it. Really Phillip, you're crazy to stick yourself away in Zecker's clinic."
"I need the experience."
"Rubbish. You have enough experience to set up your own private clinic!"
Redwood stood up angrily. "I don't want my own clinic."
"Then stay on here. But don't expect me to live in some dump in Switzerland."
Tears welled up into the limpid blue eyes and Red-wood turned to Lesley. His voice was tired but sharp.
"That will be all, nurse. You can go."
Embarrassed, Lesley did so and turned blindly into the small kitchen. Almost immediately Deborah Redwood's door opened and closed again, but before the man could move off, more footsteps came along the corridor and she heard the voice of Sir Clive Waters—the specialist in charge of Phillip Redwood's wife.
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