A Surgical Affair

by Shirley Summerskill

  Mark and Diana went downstairs in silence. She was excitedly aware that this was their first outing together and felt very conscious of every remark they made. She was completely content to be with Mark; the whole evening ahead of them.

  “You sit in front with me, Sister, and direct me, or I’ll lose the way among all these country lanes,” said Mark, as they all climbed into the shining blue Cadillac that looked like a huge metal monster, glistening in the half-light of dusk.

  Diana settled into the leopard-skin covering on the back seat. There was a faint smell of perfume in the car, different from her own. She wondered what she was like, this woman Mark must know so well and yet cared for so little. “Perhaps owners look like their cars, as well as their dogs?” thought Diana, with a smile. “In that case, she must be smooth, sleek and sophisticated.”

  Ten minutes later they drew up at a large country house standing back from the road. Mr. Cole appeared at the doorway to welcome them. In the hall was Mrs. Cole; a tall, gray-haired woman, wearing a smart blue dress, and with pince-nez perched on the end of her nose. Towering over her husband, she greeted them effusively.

  “Good evening! How nice to see you all! ... I know Sister. Without her Charity Ward would fall to bits. Ha! Ha! And Dr. Field, how do you do? I hope my husband isn’t making you work too hard? Ha! Ha! ... and Dr. Royston, I’ve heard such a lot of nice things about you, I can’t wait to have a long talk with you about Australia.”

  Mrs. Cole ushered her guests into the large drawing room, decorated with her husband’s hunting trophies and tastefully furnished with genuine antique pieces.

  Sipping the sherry she had been given, Diana listened to them all discussing the bazaar, which Mrs. Cole was organizing, for the Friends of Mansion House Hospital. She remembered Sister Baker telling her, “Mr. Cole’s wife used to be his Theater Sister, years ago, when he was first a consultant. I’ve heard that she was rather quiet and submissive in those days.”

  “The years have certainly changed all that,” Diana thought. “Mr. Cole is the quiet one now—in his home, that is.”

  “My problem is,” declared Mrs. Cole, “who can I invite to open the bazaar? I mean, should it be an actor, or a politician—or a comedian?”

  She looked around at them all, a perplexed expression on her face. Then, as various suggestions were put forward, the maid announced that dinner was served. Mr. Cole looked distinctly relieved; Diana had the feeling it was because his wife had talked of nothing but the bazaar for the last two months.

  Melon was followed by fresh salmon, caught by Mr. Cole the previous day on his brother’s estate.

  “Do you eat much salmon in Australia, Mark?” Mr. Cole asked affably. Diana had never heard him call Mark by his Christian name before.

  “Now and then, if you know where to catch it sir.”

  “I want to go there before I get too old. It must be good to live in a young, growing country.”

  “Even so, lots of us come over here, to learn from you,” Mark reminded him, scraping his, plate clean.

  “But out there you’ve got an incentive to work hard, to build and create something. That’s so important ... Have some more wine?”

  Lemon soufflé and cheese and biscuits followed; then Mrs. Cole led Sister and Diana back to the drawing room, leaving the men to smoke cigars over their brandy. She went out to see to the coffee, and Diana, feeling full of the contentment that comes after an excellent meal in pleasant company, relaxed in the armchair.

  “You’re quiet tonight, Sister. Not your usual bright self.”

  There was a moment’s silence; then Sister heaved a deep sigh. “Perhaps I am,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’d better tell you why.” Diana waited, wondering. “You—you know that pain I sometimes have—?”

  “Yes?”

  “The results of Mr. Cole’s investigations came back today.”

  “Well?” Diana was leaning forward expectantly.

  Sister looked at her calmly, blinking through her spectacles. The room suddenly seemed very quiet. “He says there’s a swelling in the aorta. He’ll have to operate.”

  Diana gazed thoughtfully into the fire. So that was it. An aortic aneurysm. For a moment she forgot Sister, her friend, was sitting opposite her, and automatically started to recall all the symptoms, and match them with the final diagnosis. Of course, everything fitted perfectly. And the treatment? Diana knew that without an operation, the abnormal part of the aorta could break open at any time, and the main artery supplying the lower part of the body would be out of action. It would be like the bursting of a dam, fatal within minutes.

  Before Diana had fully realized the significance of Sister’s words, Mrs. Cole came in with the coffee tray, and the conversation turned to the proposed building of a swimming pool at the hospital.

  The rest of the evening passed quickly. Mark looked more relaxed and seemed to enjoy talking with Mr. Cole about their surgical experiences, in America. Diana was happy to be away from the hospital, to see Mark in a different setting; not always in his white coat, or rubber gloves and mask. It was, she thought, an unnatural existence. No dances or tennis-club parties or outings to the theater for them, as other couples enjoy, as she and Richard had known.

  When they left the house, it was dark and raining hard. The three of them waved to Mr. Cole as the car went down the drive.

  “That was a lovely evening,” said Sister, settling back in her seat beside Mark. “And isn’t it a glorious house?”

  “You can say that again. There aren’t any old houses like that at home,” Mark replied.

  “And the meal was delicious,” added Diana contentedly, from the back seat.

  They were driving along one of the narrow, twisting country lanes that led toward the hospital. Although the car had powerful headlights, the rain beating on the road and onto the windows gave a dazzling effect. It was Sister who first saw the man step into the lane from the left.

  “Good heavens! He’s going to cross!” she shouted.

  And at that second Mark saw the man and, with all his strength, swung the steering wheel to the right and jammed his foot on the brake.

  The car skidded helplessly across to the other side of the lane. “Crazy fool!” yelled Mark.

  There was a loud crash and the sound of splintering glass as the car ran into the hedge. Diana was flung across the back seat, but she noticed Sister had braced herself in time for the impact. Mark was slouched in his seat, his head on the steering wheel. There was blood on his face.

  “Mark!” screamed Diana, in a strangled voice. She had recovered from the shock and realized what had happened.

  It was dark and raining hard; the car had crashed and Mark was unconscious.

  Diana never forgot that night.

  Leaving Sister in the car, and with her jacket over her head, she walked a mile along the lane until at last she reached a farmhouse. After telephoning the hospital, she hurried back to the car, shivering, wet and exhausted.

  “He’s come around. I think he’ll be all right,” Sister said thankfully. She had put her coat over Mark, and he sat with his head resting on the back of the seat. “That man who stepped into the lane—just disappeared. How could anybody be so selfish and inconsiderate?”

  Diana collapsed into the back of the car. She suddenly felt very sick. It didn’t seem possible that only an hour ago they had all been sitting by the fire at Mr. Cole’s house.

  A few minutes later the ambulance arrived and took them all back to the hospital.

  The casualty officer put four stitches into a deep cut on Mark’s forehead. Although a skull X-ray didn’t show a fracture, everyone insisted that Mark should spend the night in the side room of Mr. Cole’s men’s surgical ward.

  Sister went off to sleep at the Nurses’ Home, and Diana changed into a skirt and warm sweater before she went to say goodnight to Mark in the ward.

  “The car,” he said quietly, as Diana sat beside his bed. “Don’t worry about that.
The police have moved it—to the side of the lane. It still goes, but it’s badly damaged.” She picked up the cup of tea from his table. “Here, drink this before it gets cold.”

  “I prefer coffee.”

  She smiled. “Don’t be awkward. I’ve brought you a sleeping tablet. Night Sister gave it to me.”

  “All this fuss,” he murmured. “I suppose they’ll be measuring my blood pressure every half hour all through the night.”

  “Now you’ll know what it’s like to be a patient.”

  Mark looked at her intently. “Are you all right? You look pale.”

  “I’m better, now that I’m warm and dry.”

  Diana watched him as he drank the tea, then said, “Will your friend be cross—about the car?”

  “I expect so. Still, it’s insured.” He put down the cup and took her hand in his. “You and Sister won’t be coming out with me again in a hurry. I’d never have forgiven myself if anything had happened to either of you tonight.”

  “We know it wasn’t your fault,” Diana assured him.

  Mark touched the bandage on his forehead and grinned. “Well, I may be left with a scar to remind me of our first evening out together!”

  “Sister told me tonight about her operation. Did you know?”

  “Cole told me.” Mark’s eyes were shut. “It’s going to be quite a party,” he said wearily.

  Diana switched off the light and sat with him in the tiny room for a few minutes.

  Then she leaned over and gently stroked his soft hair. “Dear Mark,” she whispered.

  He was breathing deeply as she left him.

  Back in the residents’ quarters, Diana met Bill Evans in the corridor. He grinned and stood in front of her, blocking the way.

  “You’re up very late, Dr. Field. Been discussing an important case with our friend Royston, I suppose?” He laughed—or rather, leered.

  Diana glared at him. She was tired and disliked Bill Evans, particularly when he was facetious, but she didn’t want to wake everybody.

  “Let me pass, please,” she whispered fiercely.

  He smiled and put his hands on her arms, gripping them firmly. Diana wrenched herself free and brought her right hand up to his face, slapping it with all the strength she could muster. Then she pushed past him and into her room, locking the door behind her.

  The rain was beating relentlessly on the windows when, much later, she lay in the dark, unable to sleep.

  Diana was confused and bewildered by a sudden realization. “I’m in love with Mark Royston!” she thought. “That car accident has changed my whole life... And I thought my registrar would be an ogre!”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sister Baker was in her bedroom, dusting the top of her closet, when Diana arrived at the apartment. She had come to carry the suitcase and generally cheer Sister up on the way to hospital.

  The telephone rang.

  “Hello, Nan! It’s your cousin, Fay,” said a cheerful voice, which Diana, who had taken over the dusting, could hear perfectly.

  “Hello, Fay. Well, zero hour’s nearly here. This afternoon I’ll be admitted to Charity Ward.” Sister laughed nervously.

  “Well, at least it isn’t strange to you. You know all the doctors and nurses.”

  “Perhaps I’ll even enjoy being the center of attention. Do you know, it’s quite an unusual operation I’m having? We’ve had only one case like it since I’ve been on the ward.” Sister sat on the bed, obviously glad of an excuse to stop dusting. She was a little breathless.

  “I didn’t want to ask you before, Nan, but what exactly is it they’re going to do?”

  “Well, they cut out the piece of the artery that is all swollen up, the aneurysm it’s called, and then sew another piece in its place. The new piece is called a graft.”

  “It sounds very simple,” Fay said vaguely.

  “If Mr. Cole wasn’t doing it, I’d be scared stiff, but I feel I can trust him completely. And Dr. Royston and Dr. Field will be there, so I’ve nothing to worry about.”

  “I’ll come and see you, as soon as they’ll let me, Nan.” “Don’t forget to help yourself to flowers from the cottage garden. That’s my only regret about all this. I’ve had to cancel the decorators. Oh, well, I’ve waited for so long to have my own cottage, another few months can’t make much difference. I’ll appreciate it all the more when I do move in.”

  “Be seeing you, then. ’Bye, Nan.”

  “ ’Bye.”

  Diana noticed that Sister did not get up, because the pain had come on again. It made her sweat, and she clutched the edge of the bed, until her fingers went white. Diana thought Sister didn’t believe in God, but at that moment, with her eyes shut, she seemed to pray hard: “If there is anybody looking after us, relieve me of this agony.” And after a few minutes, the pain was gone.

  In the small kitchen Diana made them both a cup of coffee, and afterward they started to pack, filling a suitcase with the things Sister always told her patients to bring when they came to her ward.

  “Perhaps going through all this will make me better at my job,” Sister said. “It will be a strange feeling, going into that room in Charity Ward as a patient, lying in the bed instead of standing beside it. I’ll have to wear a hospital nightdress and cap to go to the theater, and take my glasses off. And the bed-socks—they must remember my bed-socks, before they take me up. I hope I make a good patient, not irritable or too demanding.”

  Sister took a last look around the small, simply furnished sitting room, which must suddenly have seemed very dear to her. She showed Diana the green leather armchair with the broken spring—in 14 years she had never bothered to have it mended; the tiny radio, which helped to while away so many lonely hours; the three Certificates of Honor she had won as a student nurse, framed on the wall. How proud she had been of those! There would be more room at the cottage, and a garden, but this was her home, familiar and full of memories.

  Diana shut the front door; Sister pocketed the key, and heaved a long sigh, and they went downstairs.

  Outside, summer had arrived. The sky was a bright blue, all the birds were singing and people were not rushing along to keep warm.

  Later that afternoon Sister, wearing a new pink nightdress, lay in the side room of her ward. Diana sat by the window, writing the case notes.

  Probationer Nurse Joan Edmonds appeared at the door and brought in a glass and a jug of water. She was looking pale and tired.

  “Nurse, are you feeling all right?” Sister asked her, ignoring the fact that, for the moment, she was no longer in charge of the nurses on Charity Ward.

  “Yes, Sister, I’m—I’m fine,” the nurse replied uncertainly, avoiding Sister’s watchful eyes.

  At that moment, Mark Royston pushed open the door and strolled in. Diana noticed Nurse Edmonds look up at him. Then hastily pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket, the nurse rushed from the room, sobbing. Diana knew that if they had not been interrupted, Nurse Edmonds would have poured out her troubles. Anyway, Mark didn’t appear to have noticed the girl’s strange behavior, or if he had, he chose not to mention it.

  “Have everything you want?” he asked, smiling from the end of the bed. “Whisky? Cigarettes?”

  Sister laughed. “I’ve got my knitting and my newspaper. They’re all I need, thank you!” She pointed to the sweet peas on her table. “And these, to remind me of my cottage garden.”

  “Dr. Field told me about this cottage. You haven’t asked me to see it, Sister, and I’m most offended,” Mark said, trying to sound aggrieved.

  “Oh, dear. I’m sorry I’ve offended you, Dr. Royston. You must both come, when I’ve moved in,” she assured him, smiling. “By the way, how’s that car—the one we had the accident in?”

  “I still drive it occasionally. It’s as good as new now.”

  “You know, Dr. Field was marvelous that night, walking all that way in the pouring rain. Don’t you think so?”

  He nodded gravely. “Yes, Sister, I do.�
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  “At this moment, I’d better leave,” Diana said, laughing. “You’ll make me conceited!”

  As she left the room and walked away, she couldn’t help hearing Sister say, “She’s a very nice girl. Have you ever thought of marrying, Dr. Royston, or do you prefer being a bachelor?”

  “I expect I will marry some time, but I must find the right person,” she heard Mark reply. “I’d like to have children, too. All girls. I like little girls.”

  “It’s a pity to see a kind, good-looking man like you—wasted.” and they both laughed.

  Mark joined Diana in the office. She presented him with a long narrow box and told him, “These are the grafts for Sister’s operation. They’ve just arrived from America. Miss Harvey asked me to give them to you.”

  He opened the box, and they gazed down at the four long blood-vessels, marveling that those inert tubes had once carried the warm blood of some American, and, stranger still, that one of them would be sewn into Sister’s body to carry her blood.

  Mr. Cole strode in through the door, hands in his pockets. “All ready for tomorrow’s test of endurance? This thing’s going to take at least six hours. The last one I did took seven and a half. Is the blood ready?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Diana. “There are eight pints in the laboratory, and we can have another eight from the blood-bank, if we need them.”

  “Good. Let’s hope we don’t. Miss Johnson is anesthetizing, so we’ll have nothing to worry about up that end. I see you’ve got the grafts there. You look after them, Royston. All we can do now is go to bed early. Lucky we’re not on call tonight.” He slapped Mark on the back. “No gallivanting about this evening, my boy!” he shouted, and roared with laughter.

  A blush came into Mark’s cheeks. Diana had never seen him embarrassed before.