by Neels, Betty
‘Why?’
‘My dear girl, all she thinks about is clothes and having a good time and spending money. Can’t think what he sees in her...’
Katherine agreed with him, only silently; Dr Fitz-roy needed a loving wife, one who would look after him and be his companion and let him get on with his work when he wanted to, but be there when he wanted her. She herself would be exactly right, but there were a number of drawbacks. She was what Joyce called homely; moreover, unlike a girl who had the means, she had none with which to disguise the homeliness. She didn’t move in his circle, either, nor did she see any likelihood of ever doing so.
She parted from Edward at Mrs Potts’ front door, promising to be ready when he called the following evening at seven o’clock. He gave her a brotherly hug, wished her a cheerful goodnight and strode off. A nice boy, she earnestly reflected, shutting the front door carefully behind her. Such a pity that her brother couldn’t have been more like him.
Edward had suggested that they go to the Rose and Crown for dinner, a well-known hotel dating back some few hundred years, where the food was excellent and the service likewise, and where Katherine’s one and only wool dress would pass muster. She went to bed well content, if a litte wistful at the doctor’s impersonal attitude towards her. It was just as well she wasn’t at his house to overhear the conversation he had with his cousin.
Dr Fitzroy had listened to Edward’s plans for the following evening. ‘Nice little thing,’ concluded that young man. ‘A bit behind the times, though. Led a sheltered life, probably.’
The doctor was pouring drinks. ‘Probably,’ he agreed casually, ‘and not much money to spend, so don’t take her anywhere too dressy.’
‘Why doesn’t she do her training?’
‘I think that probably she might do that once she has some self-confidence. She has been living with a rather overbearing brother and his wife.’
‘Needs a jolt, does she?’
The doctor shook his head. ‘A series of gentle prods, I think.’ He went and sat down in his chair by the fire. ‘I’m taking Dodie to a carol concert after dinner. Will you be able to amuse yourself?’
Christmas, vaguely distant, was suddenly there; Katherine helped hang chains of bright-coloured paper on the ward, arranged posies of paper flowers at the foot of each patient’s bed, and assembled a series of paper hats for everyone to wear. It was hard work, but she enjoyed it; her evening out with Edward had done her a lot of good; it was pleasant to feel that someone liked her enough to take her out to dinner, besides she thought he was an amusing companion and treated her with the ease of a brother. He was full of good advice, too; she should start her training as a nurse, he counselled her, and get herself a secure future.
‘I’m sure you’ll get married,’ he had told her airily, ‘but you can’t be sure of that, can you?’ And, when she agreed, he added, ‘Once you’re trained, you could afford a small flat of your own, and get out and about a bit. Of course, it would take a few years, but you’re still young enough.’
She had laughed then, but afterwards such a prospect looked bleak and lonely. Still, it would be better than being an aide. She had promised him that she would consider it.
Take-in week started a couple of days before Christmas and, as was only to be expected, the ward filled rapidly with victims of road accidents, those who had anticipated the festive season rather too soon and got themselves drunk enough to fall about and cut themselves on broken glass, or knocked themselves out against doors they thought were open and weren’t. Over and above these were the normal quota of ulcers and hernias and appendices. Sister, not to be thwarted from her Christmas celebrations, moved the ill patients to one end of the ward, and chivvied the porters to hang holly wherever there was space for it.
Mrs Potts had done her best too, with a tree in the sitting-room window, lit at dusk, and the curtains un- drawn so that the passers-by could enjoy it. There were mince pies at supper, too, and the promise of turkey on Christmas Day. Katherine was assured that hers would be kept hot in the oven until such time as she got back from the hospital.
Several of the nurses had Christmas leave, so her days off had been split: Christmas Eve and the day after Boxing Day, an arrangement which suited her very well. It would be cheerful on the ward, and there was the joy of knowing that she would have plenty to do. The prospect of spending Christmas Day in the company of Mrs Dunster and Miss Fish was daunting, and on Boxing Day Mrs Potts was going to spend the morning with her sister, Mrs Spooner.
The weather had turned very cold, with the prospect of snow. Katherine was about early on Christmas Eve, intent on enjoying the bustle in the shops. And since she had some money in her pocket she intended to have her lunch out, and should she see a pretty dress she would buy it. Edward had suggested that they might have another evening out before he left Salisbury...
The streets were already full of shoppers. Recklessly, she treated herself to coffee at Snell’s, sitting lonely amid cheerful family parties and well-dressed matrons comparing shopping lists. Presently, she began her round of the shops. It had begun to snow, and the shops had turned on their lights. She went from one window to the other, choosing what she would buy if ever she had enough money. There were several boutiques where she might find a dress; she went to each of them in turn, searching for something she would be able to wear on any of the likely occasions when she might need to dress up a little. There weren’t likely to be many of them, but the wool dress was no longer good enough; besides, she was sick to death of it. She finally decided on a fine wool crepe dress, paisley patterned in several shades of amber and dark green. It was plain, but it fitted her well, and the price was right. Well satisfied with her purchase, she had coffee and a sandwich at a snack bar, and combed the cheaper shops for shoes to go with the dress. She found these too—plain black leather, because she would be able to wear them with the few clothes she had, but they were high-heeled and suited her small feet.
Well pleased with herself, she bought crumpets for her tea and went back through the snow to her room, where she lit the gas fire, drew the curtains and toasted the crumpets. When she had had her tea she tried on the dress and shoes, craning her neck to see as much as possible of herself in the looking-glass, before putting them away and getting into the wool dress again, and going down to supper. Miss Kendall had gone, and Miss Fish and Mrs Dunster were hardly in a festive mood, but Mrs Potts produced boiled ham and parsley sauce, with coffee to follow and, since it was Christmas, mince tarts. After the two elderly ladies had gone back to their rooms, Katherine stayed behind and helped Mrs Potts with the dishes and told her about the new dress over a second cup of coffee.
‘A shame you have to work on Christmas Day,’
declared Mrs Potts. ‘It didn’t ought to be allowed. There’ll be a drop of hot soup for you on the stove when you get back from the cathedral. And mind you get straight to bed—it’ll be late enough.’
Katherine thanked her and agreed meekly, although what she was supposed to do to keep her out of her bed at that hour of night was beyond her. She went back to her room and laid the small gifts she had for Mrs Potts and her fellow lodgers ready on the table, and then sat down by the fire to read until it was time to go to the midnight service. She didn’t read for long though. She had barely glimpsed Dr Fitzroy during the previous week, but that didn’t stop her thinking about him.
The snow had stopped by the time she left the house, but it lay thick on the pavements and garden walls along the side streets she walked through. The close was a vast white blanket, its paths already filled with those going to the cathedral, which was already almost full. Katherine found a seat to one side, close to the medieval clock, hemmed in by an old gentleman in a hairy tweed suit, with a resounding cough, and a haughty matron who overflowed on to Katherine’s chair. Not that she minded; there was a distinct feeling of goodwill and a happy peacefulness all around her, so it was impossible to feel lonely.
It was long past midnigh
t as she made her way through the crowds leaving the cathedral, and she started off briskly along the snowy path towards North Gate, prudently keeping to the main streets. She was almost at the Gate when she was brought to an abrupt halt by Dr Fitzroy’s voice.
‘I thought I saw you as we left the Cathedral. Come back and have a warm drink before you go to bed?’ He had put a hand on her arm, and she saw that Edward was on the other side of her, and Dodie, looking furious, was just behind him.
She stammered a litte, her heart thumping with the delight of seeing him. ‘Oh—thank you, but I must get back. I’m on duty in the morning...’
She found herself turned round and walked smartly away from the High Street, in the direction of the doctor’s house. ‘All the more reason why you should enjoy a few minutes of Christmas now. I’ll take you back, and at this hour half an hour more or less isn’t going to make much difference.’
Edward had taken her other arm and the four of them walked arm-in-arm, the two men talking trivialities, deliberately setting out to make her laugh, while Dodie walked sullenly along. At the house, Mrs Spooner had the door open before they reached it, and in a flurry of good wishes and cheerful talk Katherine was ushered into the drawing-room. There was a roaring fire, with Charlie and Flo and Joseph lying side by side before it, and the table in the window was laden with several covered dishes, a small Christmas tree, bristling with lights and baubles, and a tray of drinks.
The doctor had taken Katherine’s coat and urged her to sit down near the fire, and presently Mrs Spooner came in with a steaming jug.
‘Hot chocolate,’ she declared. ‘Just right after that walk back. And there’s sausage rolls and smoked salmon and mince pies on the table.’ She looked at the doctor. ‘Will you see to the wine, Doctor?’
Edward had sat down beside Katherine and handed her a plate of food; Dodie had flung herself down on one of the sofas, declaring that she couldn’t eat a morsel and would someone give her a drink? She didn’t speak to Katherine at all, but her silence went almost unnoticed, for Mrs Spooner was handing round cups of chocolate and the doctor was filling glasses, keeping up a flow of small talk.
He brought a glass over to Katherine and said kindly, ‘We shall have a party on New Year’s Eve. Edward will be here, and he’d like you to come— he’s scared to ask you, in case you refuse.’
Katherine bit into a mince pie. ‘Why should I do that?’ she asked in surprise. ‘Oh, you mean if I’m on duty! Well, I’m not and I should love to come, thank you very much.’ She added anxiously, ‘Will it be a grand affair?’
Dodie answered her. ‘You mean black ties? Of course it will. You’ll have to mortgage your wages for weeks and buy something presentable—or not come.’
Both men looked at her. ‘I say...’ began Edward, but the doctor cut in, ‘We’ll forgive you for that silly joke, Dodie, since it’s Christmas. I shouldn’t drink any more if I were you.’
He sounded perfectly good-natured, but there was a tinge of ice in his pleasant voice, so that Dodie mumbled, ‘Oh, can’t anyone take a joke any more?’ She got up, and with a defiant look at him, went to the table and refilled her glass.
The doctor took no notice, but sat down on the other side of the hearth and engaged Katherine in a gentle conversation which lasted until she had finished her chocolate, drunk a glass of champagne as a toast to Christmas and suggested quietly and a little hesitantly that she should go back to Mrs Potts. He didn’t attempt to dissuade her; she wished Dodie goodnight and the compliments of the season, received a brotherly hug for Christmas from Edward and got into the doctor’s car.
It was only a few minutes’ drive; he drew up outside Mrs Potts’ house and got out with her. ‘I have a key,’ said Katherine. ‘Please don’t bother...’
He took the key from her and opened the door, switched on the hall light and stood looking down at her. ‘A very pleasant start to Christmas,’ he observed, and watched the colour creep into her cheeks. ‘And, I hope, a happy one for you, Katherine.’ He bent and kissed her cheek, pushed her gently into the hall and closed the door. She stood listening to him driving away, and after a minute or two switched off the light and went upstairs to her room.
Her room was cold; she put the kettle on the gas ring and filled her hot-water bottle, then jumped into bed and with her chilly person curled around its warmth, was asleep before she could put two thoughts together.
It was still pitch dark when the alarm wakened her. She lit the gas fire, crept down to the bathroom and dressed rapidly before sitting by its warmth to eat her breakfast. There had been more snow in the night, bringing with it a stillness made even more apparent by the lack of early morning traffic, and when she let herself quietly out of the house her feet sank into white crispness. It seemed a pity to spoil it with footprints.
The hospital was humming with subdued activity, its windows lit, a kind of background buzz betraying the readying of patients before breakfast, trollies being wheeled round the wards, and the never ending toing and froing of the nurses. Katherine hurried to the changing room and five minutes later made her way to the surgical wing. To save time, she took a short-cut past the theatre block, nipping along smartly, secure in the knowledge that at that early hour there would be no ward sisters to eye her with suspicion or question her speed. She was level with the heavy swing doors which separated the theatres from the main corridors when they were flung open and Dr Fitzroy came out. He was immaculate; she had never seen him otherwise, but he was the last person she expected to see. She came to a slithering halt staring at him.
‘Hello again, Katherine.’
He grinned at her from a tired face and she found her voice. ‘Haven’t you been to bed?’ she asked in a shocked voice. ‘Have you been here all night?’
‘No, to the first question, yes, to the second.’ He was standing idly beside her, and for the moment she had forgotten all about going on duty.
She said urgently, ‘I hope you’re going home now.’ Her loving eyes searched his face. ‘You’re tired. You need a good breakfast and then a nap...’
The slight lift of his eyebrows sent the colour rushing to her face. She stammered, ‘I’m late...’ and almost ran from him. What a fool he must think her to be! She felt near to tears as she reached the ward, and Staff Nurse, on the point of telling her that she was almost five minutes late on duty, changed her mind; Katherine was a hard worker and didn’t watch the clock, and after all it was Christmas Day.
Despite Sister’s efforts to send home as many people as possible so that they might enjoy the festive season at home with their families, the ward had filled up. The student nurse with whom she was making beds gave her a quick resume of the admissions during her day off and added, ‘There was a bit of a flap on during the night, too—there were three RTAs— we got two of them, the other man died in the theatre. They called in Dr Fitzroy just after two o’clock, but the junior night nurse told me that after five hours they had to admit defeat.’
They smoothed the counterpane of the empty bed and turned to the next one, occupied by a middle-aged man who had had a gastrectomy three days previously, and was beginning to feel himself again. There was no chance to carry on their talk; he wished them a happy Christmas and they made silly little jokes about his diet while they made his bed. After that, Katherine went off to the sluice, and presently to the kitchen to help with the morning drinks.
The ward was in festive mood, even Sister had unbent sufficiently to wish everyone a happy Christmas and take part in the drawing of gifts from the bran tub in her office. Katherine, being the newest member of the staff, and also the most lowly, was last, which meant that there was no choice. She fished around and unearthed a small, flat packet; notelets—so useful, Staff Nurse pointed out kindly, for writing thank-you notes for presents.
Only Katherine hadn’t had any presents.
The patients’ dinner was the high spot of the day; the consultant surgeon, Mr Bracewaite, arrived with the turkey and, suitably aproned
and crowned with a chefs cap, carved with the same precision he exhibited in the theatre. Katherine, trotting to and fro with plates, sitting patients up, cutting up food for those who weren’t able to do so for themselves, kept out of his way. He had a reputation for being peppery and ill-tempered, and rarely spoke to anyone less senior than a ward sister, or, if he had to, a staff nurse. He did a hurried round after he had carved the turkey, and then went away to Sister’s office to drink a glass of the excellent sherry he gave her each Christmas. With the disappearance of authority, the ward took on a festive air: crackers were pulled, paper hats were donned and the nurses took it in turns to go to the kitchen and pick bits off the turkey carcass. But this pleasant state of affairs didn’t last long; Mr Bracewaite went away, and Sister summoned the two staff nurses and the senior of the student nurses into the office to eat their own lunch—sausage rolls and mince pies and a selection of sandwiches with a bottle of plonk. By the time it was Katherine’s turn she was famished but, since it was time to settle the patients for their brief afternoon rest, she had to gobble her food and then rush round taking away pillows, filling water jugs and fetching and carrying for Sister and Staff Nurse. She was surprised when Sister told her that she might take an hour off so that she might tour the hospital and visit the other wards. Her companion was the most junior of the student nurses, a pretty girl who, once they were out of the ward, caught Kath-erine by the hand. ‘There’s someone I’m going to see,’ she told her, her eyes sparkling. ‘He’s in the residents’ wing, and if anyone wants to know, tell them I was with you all the time.’
She dashed away, leaving Katherine open-mouthed. The residents’ flats had been pointed out to her when she first arrived; no one went there, she had been told sternly. If they did, the consequences would be dire. She watched the tail end of her companion disappearing along the corridor and then set out on her own.