“You’ll turn out the best of the bunch, darling.” Susan leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “And you shall have your Grad Party into the bargain. That’s a promise. Now, I must go. Take care of yourself,” and I was alone.
I was shaken. Susan and Claire had always been like strangers to me, somehow. The big difference in our ages, their absorption in their work. I couldn’t even remember Susan ever kissing me before.
One thing was sure. I had to get that medal now. Susan knew about it, and she’d be sure to write and tell Claire, away on a archaeological dig in Africa. I couldn’t let her down - she was expecting me to get the medal. I had to.
I spent the rest of the day studying in good earnest. My burns were nearly healed now, and I would be back at the hospital in a couple of days. The ten days I had already been at home had limped by on leaden feet, and now I regretted not having worked harder during them. So I worked steadily through the papers Chick had sent, trying hard to make up for lost time.
I didn’t see Susan for the next two days. She phoned briefly to say that she had to go to Yorkshire to take someone’s place at a conference, something to do with Economics, which were her special subject, and that she would try to be back before I returned to the hospital.
“Get Dr MacFarlane to see you before you go, Avril,” she said. “And remind Marjorie to see Father goes up to London for that meeting on Monday. He’ll be sure to forget. All the best with the exams, darling, if I don’t see you. I’m planning quite a party.”
I went to see Dr MacFarlane on my last morning at home. He peered at me shortsightedly, his familiar old face wrinkling into the well worn lines I had known all my life.
“You look peaky, child. Are you sure you feel fit enough to go back? I’ll gladly give you a certificate to send ‘em if you aren’t feeling right yet. You’ve lost weight since I saw you last. Eating properly are you?”
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “And I must get back. So don’t you worry about me. I only came because I promised I would.”
“There! And here’s me thinking you came out of friendship, for old times’ sake! And to think I saw you through your mumps and measles, and all your bumps and bruises! Ah, well, I’m an old man now. No pleasure in my company for a young lass like you.”
But he twinkled as he said it. We were indeed old friends. He had let me help him when he had bandaged my kitten’s cut paw, or the wing of an injured bird, for he was an ardent naturalist, and tender and kind with animals. He had pulled me out of trouble with Marjorie time and again. Now, I hugged him.
“Soft soap,” I said. “You know quite well I like seeing you, so don’t fish. And don’t fuss. I’m well able to take care of myself.”
“Maybe, maybe. You nurses always say that. Only you never do.”
“And don’t start getting at me because I’m a nurse, either. It was you who told me about nursing in the first place.”
He nodded. “Indeed, I’ve a lot to answer for, haven’t I? Letting you loose on all those defenceless patients. Well, off with you. Back to the Royal. Give the place my love. I haven’t been back for over forty years, not since I was a student. Did I ever tell you - ?”
He was away, telling me stories about his time as a student at the Royal, stories I had heard so often before. But I enjoyed hearing them again. It was like stepping back into childhood, and for some reason, I was suddenly nostalgic for those days. In retrospect, it seemed such a happy and carefree time, though I knew quite well that this was the gilt of the years. Children are often unhappy, and although I had not known it at the time, I had been a lonely child.
Marjorie saw me off on the train, giving me the same sort of packet of sandwiches she used to give me when she saw me off to boarding school. As usual, she grumbled ceaselessly until the train left, and as usual, I threw the packet of sandwiches - jam ones - out of the window. It was all part of my nostalgic mood, and I wallowed in it.
The mood was shattered abruptly as soon as I got back to the hospital. I paid off my taxi in the courtyard, outside Casualty, and stood there for a moment after it had turned and roared away, reabsorbing the Royal’s atmosphere before I went over to the home.
The lights were just beginning to flicker out into the soft spring twilight. The main ward block loomed hugely across the yard, the big windows throwing sharp oblongs of light across the paving. I could see the butterfly caps of the nurses as they hurried past the windows, and here and there, the thin shadows of drip stands made dark bars across the glass panes. There was a faint smell of disinfectant and cooking and ether, even here in the open air, and the familiar smell was almost perfume in my nostrils. The young green of the trees in the Nurses’ garden sighed gustily in the breeze that had sprung up with the failing daylight, and the red brick of the home glowed warmly in the dimness. It was good to be back.
I started to walk towards the home, cutting an oblique path across the grass, my footsteps silent on the turf. As I passed one of the popular dark corners, where a wrought iron bench was half hidden under a big old oak, I heard a trill of laughter, and without thinking, I turned my head to see who it was.
Two shadowy figures were sitting close together on the bench, and one of them was a doctor. His white coat glimmered in the half light, and there was a faint reflection from the chrome of the stethoscope hanging from his pocket. The girl with him laughed again, and the man spoke, his voice deep and soft. I couldn’t hear his words, but for a moment, it sounded like Peter. But I couldn’t really see who it was, for his head was bent now, as he kissed the girl beside him.
I hurried on, rather ashamed of myself. I was no peeping Tom. And I was a little amused, too. Was I so much in love that every man I saw looked like Peter?
I let myself into my room. It was nearly eight, and if I hurried, I could unpack before I went over to the hospital for a late supper. Then I would have to report back to Night Sister, and if I went to the office via the corridor that passed the doctors’ common room door, I might see Peter. I was aching for a sight of him.
I threw my things into my drawers and wardrobe, and rapidly started to change into uniform. Night Sister would expect me to observe protocol when I went to report back.
I was pinning my cap into place before I noticed the envelope propped up against my dressing table mirror. It read “Nurse Gardner. By Hand,” and the writing was Dickon’s.
I sat on my bed to read it, and as I opened it, I wondered idly why he should have sent a note to my room, when he hadn’t written to me while I had been at home. Then I unfolded the sheet of paper and began to read.
“Dear Avril: I couldn’t go without leaving this. I thought it better not to come down to Kent to say goodbye, because goodbyes are such depressing things, aren’t they? Anyway, my dear, I’m away. I’ve taken a job as a ship’s surgeon. The chance came up suddenly, so I took it. A good G.P. needs the widest possible experience, and this could be of value to me - at least, that’s what I hope.
You see, my dear, I should have left the Royal long ago. I only stayed on because of you. I always hoped you would learn to care about me as I do about you, but I know now that isn’t possible. I didn’t mean to pry, Avril, believe me, but I came to see you in Sick Bay the same night Chester did. So I know. Please believe me when I say I didn’t intend to spy on you. I did knock, but you didn’t hear me. And why should you? You were rather - involved with each other.
Dear Avril. You have always been very important to me, and I’d be a liar if I tried to pretend I didn’t care that you’ve chosen someone else. I care a hell of a lot. But I want you to be happy, and if Chester can make you happy, I must just accept the inevitable, no matter how it hurts me. But if you ever need me, let me know. Chick knows how to reach me.
I shall always think about you, Avril. May I end this as I always have ended my letters to you? Good night, poppet. Dickon.”
I sat on my bed in a sort of dumb dream. Dickon, gone? I couldn’t imagine it. He had been there so long, I couldn’t visua
lize the Royal without him. I wanted to talk to him, to explain - explain what? That I did care about him - but that Peter stirred me in a way I had never been stirred before? How could I explain, even if he were here beside me? But I felt an acute sense of loss, as though I had suddenly lost an arm or a leg. Dickon, I thought stupidly. Dickon.
I didn’t want to see Peter now. It would be all wrong, somehow, Dickon had simplified everything by going away, but I needed time to accept the change. Tomorrow I would see Peter, I told myself. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
CHAPTER TEN
I saw Chick at breakfast the next morning, and it was a great comfort to see her pretty plump face beaming at me again. She looked different, as though someone had lit a lamp behind her eyes. She positively glowed.
“Are you quite well again, Avril?” she asked anxiously. “Are your burns quite healed?”
“Perfectly,” I assured her. “Chick, it’s wonderful about you and Joe. I couldn’t be more pleased. Love suits you. You look marvellous.”
She chuckled delightedly. “I feel marvellous. Joe’s such an angel. And to think we’ve been carrying the same torch for each other all the time! It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”
She showed me the ring she was wearing on a fine gold chain around her neck. It was a gold one, the top fashioned into two tiny clasped hands.
“Joe wanted to get a diamond, but I wouldn’t let him,” she said. “We’ve got a lot to save for, and I’d much rather have this. Practical, that’s me.”
I admired the ring wholeheartedly, but I had to stifle a pang as I looked at it. If only Peter -
Under cover of the usual breakfast time noise, Chick said softly, “You got Dickon’s letter?”
I looked at her sharply. “You knew about it?”
She nodded into her tea cup. “He asked me to deliver it - and he told me where he’d be if ever - “ She stopped, and then went on, “I know what he said about going, of course. How do you feel about it?”
“I shall miss him,” I said carefully. “We’ve been friends for a long time.”
I couldn’t say more than that. Dickon’s departure had left me feeling numb. I was a little surprised by the way I felt, because I was really very fond of him, but there it was. I just didn’t seem to care as much as I thought I would. I had woken in a calm state of mind that was still with me. And I was grateful for that. I had had quite enough emotional unheaval.
The theatres were busy when I got on duty. There had been two cases during the night, and there was a lot to do before the day’s lists started. Sister greeted me with a perfunctory enquiry about my burns, which I matched with one about her scald.
Then she said, “You did very well with Sir Jeffrey that day, Nurse. He was quite pleased with you. I’ve discussed you with Matron, and we both think you are ready to become acting staff nurse. So you will work in the main theatre, taking the bulk of the cases there yourself. I want you to spend some time teaching the juniors, too. It’s time you took more responsibility. You’re nearly qualified, after all.”
I was delighted. It showed that Matron was pleased with me - perhaps that she knew I had tried to do as she had told me. And as there was so much to do, I hadn’t time to think about my own problems.
I scrubbed for an appendix and a hernia that morning, and two varicose vein ties. The rush of preparing my instruments and trolleys, clearing them and relaying them for the next case was all absorbing. I enjoyed the rush, too. The hiss of the steam in the sterilizers, the bubbling of the suction machines, the gleam of the instruments as I slapped them into the surgeons’ hands, all made the morning fly past.
I was surprised when Sister put her head round the main theatre door, where I was sluicing the table after the last case, and told me to go to lunch.
“It’s half past one, Nurse,” she said. “There’s an orthopaedic list at half past two. I’ll start it, and you can take the last case. It’s a pinning of a fractured femur. You’d better have an evening off today. I’ll do the rest of your off duty now, so that you can make your plans for the rest of the week. Off with you!”
Plans for the week, I thought, as I shook my hair out of the tight theatre cap. What plans? Until I’d seen Peter, I had no idea what I’d want to do with my time off. I hadn’t seen him for two weeks. Perhaps he wouldn’t want to see me any more. Then I remembered his letter, and cheered up.
I clattered down the stairs towards the dining room, trying to remember the instruments I would need for a pinning of a femur. I would have to prepare them after lunch. No touch technique, too. That meant two sets of cheatles -
“Avril!”
The voice behind me spun me round. Peter was at the top of the stairs, and I smiled up at him delightedly. His smooth fair head was the best thing I had seen for two weeks.
He came running down the stairs to my side.
“My dear, you’re back! It’s good to see you!”
“Ditto,” I said foolishly, wondering if he could hear my pulse beating thickly, as I could.
“When are you off today?”
“Evening,” I said. “I’ve got to scrub for a pinning of a fracture femur, so I might be late, but I should be away by seven or thereabouts.”
“Marvellous. I’ll see you in the home at eight, then. I’ve got a big OP clinic this afternoon, but that’s all. Nothing much to keep me on the wards. See you then?”
I nodded, “Love to” and then he disappeared away down the stairs to the out-patient department.
I went on, slowly, to the dining room, eating very little when I got there. I couldn’t help comparing Peter’s way of making a date with Dickon’s. Dickon had always asked me very punctiliously whether I would like to go out with him, and then asked me where I would like to go.
In one way, I rather liked Peter’s calm assumption that I would go out with him, and in another I wasn’t so sure. But the main thing was that I was going to spend an evening alone with him, and I shivered in delightful anticipation as I pushed away the inevitable bowl of prunes which makes its unwelcome appearance on our lunch table.
The afternoon went well. I wasn’t used to a non touch technique, which means that not one of the instruments used for the actual operation could be touched, even by a gloved hand. Threading needles with forceps is difficult, to say the least, but I managed.
At the end of the case, which took nearly two hours, the orthopaedic surgeon looked thoughtfully at me over the top of his mask.
“You haven’t scrubbed for me before, have you?”
“No, Sir.”
“Not bad. Not bad at all for a beginner. You goin’ to do theatre when you finish training?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it, Sir.”
“You should. Not everyone’s right for theatre. You could do well. Got the right approach. Quick, neat,” and he turned back to his houseman who was preparing to apply the final hip plaster.
I glowed with pride. Mr Fleming was famous for his taciturnity. Chick always said he spoke only if he had to, and then it sounded like a telegram. To have drawn so much comment from him was praise indeed.
Perhaps he’s right, I mused later, as I wallowed in a hot scented bath before dressing for my date with Peter. I hadn’t given a lot of thought to what I would do once I had qualified. I had been too busy concentraing on the actual exams. I would have to decide soon, though. If I did get the medal, I knew that Matron would offer me a post as junior sister, because Gold Medallists always were offered such posts. Perhaps she would let me have theatre, if I asked her for it.
Peter was late for our date, but I was so happy to see him that I forgot the fifteen minute wait in the entrance hall.
“I thought we’d drive out to the country for a meal somewhere. O.K.?”
“Sounds fine.” I was very aware of his hand on my arm. “I didn’t eat much lunch, come to think of it. Meat pie and prunes and custard aren’t very enthralling, are they?”
I wanted to say so much more, to be scintillating and w
itty as Chick could be, when she was in the mood. My small talk must bore him, I thought anxiously.
He helped me into the car, and then climbed in himself. He slammed the door, but made no move to start the engine. He just sat and looked at me. I returned his gaze as steadily as I could, until I felt the treacherous colour rising in my cheeks, and dropped my eyes. I was grateful for the dim light in the car.
He leaned across, very deliberately, and pulled me into his arms. With a firm finger her raised my chin, and then kissed me, hard. When he raised his head, he was smiling.
“Time for that later,” he said softly. “Right now, food. Yes?”
“Yes,” I echoed, wondering a little wildly whether the Yes meant food or kisses.
We ate at a little road house on one of the main roads leading out of London to the North. It was an intimate place, with individual tables in little booths, each one lit only by a single candle stuck in a bottle. A bored looking pianist tinkled out old romantic songs and a girl in a tight sequinned dress sang in a tiny flat voice. The food was hot and plentiful, and we drank a rough red wine that went to my head rapidly. I melted under this treatment, and soon we were giggling and chattering like a pair of giddy starlings.
We had reached the coffee and liqueur stage when I suddenly heard my voice saying, “Dickon has left the Royal. Did you know?”
Peter raised his eyes from his coffee cup and looked at me in an oddly expressionless way.
“Yes. I’d heard something about it. Ship’s surgeon, isn’t he, now? Not much of a job.”
“He says it’s the sort of job that offers valuable experience to someone going into general practice,” I said defensively.
He shrugged. ‘Oh - general practice,” and there was a world of contempt in his voice.
I was nettled. “It takes a lot to be a really good G.P. Our G.P. at home was the most brilliant man of his year at the Royal, but he went into general practice.”
“My dear child,” Peter’s voice was silky. “You must surely know quite well that for a man of ambition, general practice is professional death. I thought you liked ambitious people. You’re ambitious, and so am I. We have the same ideas on that, haven’t we? The first time we met we talked about it, remember? I thought we were in complete agreement - “
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