CHAPTER EIGHT
The following day brought rain. The overcast skies, the monotonous downpour and the incessant drip of water into the gutters reflected Felicity’s own mood as she hurried through the ward to reach the sanctuary of the small pantry just beyond the wide swing doors. As she closed the door behind her and leaned against the lintel for support her breath came in quick, uneven gasps, then, taking a grip on herself she slowly unclasped her fingers and looked down at the ring which had lain concealed in her palm.
It had proved too easy. It had been Guy Brenton himself who had asked her to send his suit and overcoat for cleaning, prior to his departure from hospital. “They probably show some signs of wear and tear after the crash,” he had remarked and had added with complete indifference, “just make sure the pockets are clear before they go.” It had been as simple as that and now the glittering bauble lay in her hand, an unpleasant reminder of the part she had played.
Lifting her apron, Felicity thrust it hastily in her pocket, then moved across to the sink. She really must talk to Nurse Jones about leaving the place in such a mess, she thought mechanically as she swilled away the fallen leaves and petals of some recently arranged flowers.
“Nurse Dene? Oh, there you are!” A red-headed nurse poked her head round the door. “I couldn’t think where you’d got to, Mr. Elver is on the ward and asking for you.”
“I’ll come straight away ... but Nurse Jones, just a moment.” She beckoned the girl into the room. “I was just clearing up this mess, why, I can’t think.” She forced a laugh to cover her own confusion, it was so obvious why she had been clearing up—at least to herself—she had longed for some occupation, anything to delay for a few minutes her return to the ward. “You really mustn’t leave the sink in this state. I know patient’s flowers are a nuisance but they are all part of the routine and you can’t leave the odds and ends lying about. Now finish clearing up and hurry about it.”
“It’s Watson I want to talk to you about,” Philip Elver began as Felicity joined him on the ward. “Mr. MacFarlayne discharged him this morning ... I expect Sister told you ... but that ‘walking plaster’ is to be refixed first, I wondered if Sister could arrange for it to be done this evening?”
“Sister is ‘off’, but I expect I can do it,” Felicity agreed, then went on, “Morgan is to go too, that gives us two beds.”
“Yes, I know, I want to talk to you about admissions too.”
While they had been speaking they had made their way towards Sister’s office and now, on the threshold Felicity paused. “Do you want some tea?” At his nod of assent Felicity instructed a probationer to bring it along, then entered the office and closed the door behind her. “There is a waiting list for this ward, isn’t there?”
“I’ll say there is,” Philip laughed. “About a mile long!” He studied a paper he held in his hand. “Brenton leaves Friday, doesn’t he? That will free a bed.” He concentrated on the paper in his hand, a frown creasing his forehead. “How about moving that hip case along there, that man must be an awful nuisance to the others in the ward, he’d be far better in a private room, his language at times is quite appalling.”
“You mean Morati, that disagreeable old so and so?” Felicity smiled, but the smile hid the sudden shock which Philip’s suggestion had unwittingly provoked. Yet why on earth should it matter, hundreds of patients had occupied that cubicle and would go on doing so, surely she wasn’t harbouring any ridiculous notion of keeping it sacrosanct since Guy Brenton had occupied it for a brief spell. “Yes, I suppose you are right. I—I’ll discuss what you said with Sister first thing tomorrow.”
The entrance of a probationer carrying a tray with tea momentarily disturbed their conversation, but with his cup balanced on his knee and a plate in one hand, Philip began again. “I understand that Brenton is going down to Buckinghamshire to recuperate. I don’t imagine you’ll be sorry, nursing him must have been rather a strain. He is making such a slow recovery, too, perhaps getting away will hurry his convalescence.” He rose to his feet and flicked a speck of ash from the lapel of his jacket. “I suppose I’d better be moving, I’ve got a session of O.P.s with MacFarlayne this afternoon. I don’t mind telling you I’m getting a bit sick of that old dodderer. I shan’t be sorry to have Brenton back, at least he knows what he wants. Old MacFarlayne dithers around until I don’t know whether I’m on my head or my heels.” He swung the chair he had been using back into its place by the window, and glanced out. “Filthy day. I’m told we needed rain but surely the supply is exceeding the demand.”
“I think it’s clearing a bit.” Felicity spoke mechanically, then went on. “You do think Mr. Brenton will come back, don’t you?”
“I thought I noticed a slight improvement this morning, the nerve reactions seemed better, I’ve got a hunch he’ll be all right in the end, if only he’d make the effort. It’s odd how unco-operative he has been all along. If he didn’t return I believe you’d miss him as much as I would.”
“Yes,” Felicity admitted, while for a fleeting second she tried to visualize St. Edwin’s without Guy Brenton. “I’m going to miss him as a patient too.”
“First rule of nursing, never get too interested in one patient.” Philip laughed as he spoke with assumed pomposity. “Quite against regulations, Nurse, a patient should remain a mere cipher, never, never a person. Just think of it—a nurse falling in love with her patient—why, the whole nursing profession would shudder at the very idea.” With a laugh Philip turned to the door. “So long, thanks for the tea, I’ll be along in the morning to see what Sister’s fixed about those admissions.”
Felicity could hear the ring of his footsteps getting fainter as he turned from the office door and made his way down the stone corridor towards the lift. They stopped and a strange, still silence enveloped her, yet it was not quite silent, the small confined space still seemed to echo Philip’s words—“a nurse falling in love with her patient”—a foolish thing for him to have said—a ridiculous insinuation. Of course he had only been joking, he’d be the first to laugh his head off if he thought for one moment she’d taken it seriously. Felicity leaned her elbows on the desk and rested her forehead wearily against her hands. Her thoughts were in a turmoil. What was the matter with her, what did it all mean? Scarcely aware of the action she fumbled in her pocket for the ring, the light from the window caused the facets of the large diamond to sparkle between her fingers, it was as if it returned her gaze, unflinchingly, mockingly. With a hasty gesture she returned it to her pocket, she hoped Alaine Jason would soon call in to claim it, she’d be glad to be rid of it, to hand back to Alaine this symbol ‘of a man’s devotion.’
Felicity was thankful that Sister’s absence that afternoon made her far too busy to spare much time for her own thoughts. From the time following Philip’s departure until well into the evening she was too occupied to dwell on her own troubles and she couldn’t help being glad that the extra work gave her a legitimate excuse for leaving Guy Brenton in O’Brien’s charge. On any other afternoon she might have resented the fact that number four’s extension tackle should choose Sister’s half-day to become temperamental or that Tom Brent in number seven should decide to have a rigor at that particular moment. She was in fact grateful for her many additional duties.
Even Alaine on her arrival had realized that Felicity’s impatience to shorten their interview was justified, and with the ring safely on her finger she herself appeared to have no wish to prolong it. With a gushing show of gratitude she had left Felicity to her work. “I can take my gloves off this visit!” she had exclaimed with a laugh as she had hurried in the direction of her fiancé’s room.
It was some time later that Felicity realized that within half an hour Night Sister would arrive to relieve her. She could scarcely go off duty without a peep at her patient, so, instructing her junior about the last remaining jobs, Felicity steeled herself to the task.
“Where on earth have you been all day?” Guy Brenton greete
d her. “You’ve not been near me since this morning!”
“I’m sorry.” Felicity crossed the room and drew the curtains across the window, shutting out the last of the fading daylight. “Sister has been off duty. I have been even more pressed than usual.” She knew the excuse must have sounded unconvincing. Sister’s half-days were a regular institution and previously she’d never let Guy Brenton feel any neglect. She could have got into him if she’d wanted to—seen personally to his tea-tray—tended to those little things which had added so much to his comfort—she just hadn’t wanted to, she’d been putting off the moment when she’d have to face him with that acute sense of guilt which she felt sure must be written on her face for all to see.
“Oh, well, never mind. I’ve been up most of the afternoon, O’Brien has just settled me back in bed. I’d better walk around a bit more tomorrow, I must get on to my feet before I leave at the end of the week.”
“Yes, I think that would be a good idea.” Felicity moved round the room straightening a chair, plumping up a cushion and obviously seeking some occupation.
“Why are you fidgeting around, the room’s all right, O’Brien’s just done it.”
“Yes, of course.” Felicity felt a telltale flush mount her cheeks but she forced herself to stand calmly by the bedside as she continued. “Is there anything else you need before I go off duty?”
“You can take this tray away,” he responded shortly.
“You haven’t eaten your supper.”
“No, never mind about that.” He turned her remark impatiently aside, then went on. “I must drop a line home to tell them to expect me—must contact my secretary too, he’ll have to order a car—I believe Sister put some writing-paper in the dressing-table drawer—my fountain pen, that was in one of my pockets—by the way, where did you put the contents of my pockets?”
Felicity was sure she must have given a visible start at the question, but was glad at least that to reach the dressing-table she had to turn her back. Still bending over the opened drawer, she spoke. “The paper is here—and the pen too, is there anything else you need?”
“No, but tell me what’s happened to all the stuff that was on me at the time I was brought in?”
“As you had a private room Sister didn’t think it necessary to deposit anything at the office. Your money and note case are here.” Felicity rummaged in the drawer. “Your cigarette case, some matches—and oh, yes, a pipe and tobacco pouch.”
“Is that all? You are sure you cleared my coat pockets this morning?”
Felicity longed to see from his expression whether there was any underlying meaning to the question, but as if rooted to the spot she felt utterly unable to turn. “There was nothing whatever left.” At least that was the truth, she told herself desperately.
“All right—then just hand over the writing materials. I hope I can produce a legible scrawl with this utterly useless hand.”
A surge of misery enveloped Felicity as she made her way with dragging steps through the ward. She had done the right thing she told herself, surely she had acted wisely. She knew now that Guy Brenton’s happiness and welfare meant more to her than anything else in the world. Yet to have deceived him, even for his own good, filled her with unhappiness. Now, as the swing doors of the ward closed behind her, she knew a sudden fear of the hours which stretched ahead of her; she had intended to have an early supper, then to bed. Now the prospect appalled her ... those hours alone, lying in bed thinking ... thinking ... she couldn’t bear it; somehow, somewhere she must find distraction. Almost unconsciously her steps turned towards the operating theatres, there was just a chance Diana was free that evening, she’d just have to be, Felicity thought with rising panic, she couldn’t remain alone with her tormenting thoughts.
“Nurse Weste—is she anywhere about?” Felicity asked the white-coated porter on duty in the corridor outside the operating theatres.
“Yes, Miss, I just see her come out of number two, I reckon she may be in the sterilizing room.”
“Thanks.” Felicity walked along the corridor past the theatres. The bustle of the day had died down but through the small glass panels in the doors she could see that two of the theatres were still in use—there must have been a long operation list; perhaps, after all, Diana wouldn’t be off duty yet. Unconsciously hurrying her steps, Felicity opened the door of the sterilizing room, the hiss of steam muffled her footsteps and she had reached Diana’s side before the other girl had realized her presence. Pulling down her gauze mask and letting it dangle at her throat, she turned eagerly.
“Hallo, what are you doing here? Don’t tell me that Mason’s has an ‘emergency’ for us, we’ve just about had it down here, couldn’t face another thing!”
“Nothing like that!” Felicity laughed reassuringly. “I’ve just come off duty, I wondered if you were free this evening, I don’t feel I can face dining-room supper and an early night.”
“Half a moment, I can’t hear a word.” Diana lowered a facet controlling the steam, then turned again to her companion. “Did you ask me if I was free this evening?”
“Yes—couldn’t we eat out somewhere—what time will you be off?”
“Right now if I know anything about it!” Diana twisted her arms round to the back of her neck to unfasten the long white overall. “Here, give me a hand with this,” she begged, turning her back to Felicity, then, twisting her head round, continued, “I’m nearly half an hour late as it is. MacFarlayne’s so slow, he just puts the whole list back hours— thanks,” she interposed as, the tapes undone, she flung off her overall. “Yes, let’s go out, can’t say that the prospect of a dining-room meal thrills me either—it’s corned beef night, after eight hours on my feet I couldn’t face it, corned feet I’ve got already and I don’t need the beef to match.”
“That’s grand! I’ll wait for you in the hall—don’t let’s change, it’s such waste of time, couldn’t we just run into the ‘Kettle’, it’s near and the food’s not too bad, it seems so late to go into town.”
Half an hour later the two girls were seated at a small table over an appetizing dish of fish au gratin. There was something so warm about Diana’s presence that Felicity was already beginning to feel more at ease. The happenings of the day seemed less real, they were dissolving away like a bad dream.
“What made you change your mind about an early night?” Diana asked casually as she helped herself to another portion of fish baked to a beautiful golden brown.
“I was worried—I felt I wanted to talk to you,” Felicity, admitted, then suddenly diffident about saying more, lapsed into silence.
“Go on, tell me what it’s all about, I thought you seemed a bit mournful.” Diana’s calm voice took on a teasing note as she added, “Fretting about Brenton leaving?”
Felicity choked back the denial which sprang to her lips and with unsteady fingers fumbled for the menu. “What will you have next? Coffee? Or how about a sweet? I see there’s apple-tart.”
“Never mind about food, tell me what’s up,” Diana persisted, but the mocking note had left her voice and her serene expression was sympathetic.
The urge to share her burden was too strong for Felicity to resist. Leaning towards her companion she began. “I must tell you something—about Alaine Jason—she waylaid me yesterday afternoon and poured out the most amazing story.” Felicity paused, then assured of her companion’s attention went on with her narrative while she found herself anxiously—almost fearfully—watching Diana’s reactions. “I didn’t know what to say at first, I was horrified at the idea of taking anything from a patient’s pocket, it seemed unthinkable, preposterous!” A deep sigh escaped her. “I tried to see the thing reasonably, I just had to believe, what she told me, that if Mr. Brenton found the ring it would seriously upset him.” She lifted her head anxiously. “You do believe me, don’t you?”
“Goodness, what a teaser!” Diana ejaculated. Then, pursing her lips, she silently contemplated her friend’s revelation. “You
say you found the ring just where the girl said? You’ve given it back to her now, I presume?”
“Yes, this afternoon.” Felicity spoke with obvious distress. “Don’t tell me you think I did wrong.”
“Heaven alone knows!” Diana shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose that one’s duty is to protect a patient from unnecessary excitement or distress, in that way you were right. It was certainly an odd sort of position to find yourself in and I suppose you acted wisely ... always assuming that minx was telling the truth,” she ended meaningly.
“Oh, it sounded true enough, but she is such an actress, one never knows how much is an act or how much is genuine. She was almost in tears—surely one can’t fake that?— she seemed to care so much, to be deeply concerned that he shouldn’t be hurt.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t see that you—or anyone else for that matter—could have behaved differently, you had to accept her word and I expect there must be some truth in the fact that, assuming he had forgotten all about the row, finding his engagement ring back in his pocket would have been a nasty shock. I really think you were right, honestly I do.” Diana repeated trying to add conviction to her words.
“If only I knew—if only I could understand.” Felicity’s tone was more relaxed but there was an obvious longing for enlightenment. “I just can’t make out the relationship between Miss Jason and Guy Brenton.”
“They are engaged, darling, didn’t you know?” Diana asked with a burst of satirical laughter, then, becoming serious, added, “I wouldn’t trouble your head about it, you’ll never really know. You’ve done what you thought best for your patient and that is as far as a nurse is supposed to go,” she ended practically.
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