“I wouldn’t worry.” Diana spoke reassuringly. “Of course you’ll have to go, it’s only fair to your brother that you should give it a trial, then, if you don’t like it, I can’t see that there is anything on earth to stop you coming back.”
“I suppose not,” Felicity agreed, a trifle consoled at Diana’s sound argument. “Perhaps I’m unduly anxious, maybe it will be all right once I get there,” she concluded, but her tone still lacked conviction.
“You haven’t told me about Brenton and Miss Jason yet,” Diana reminded her. “You told me in your letter he’d found out about the ring, how did he really take it, do you think it’s going to be all right?”
“They marry in just over three weeks. I suppose everything is settled amicably now, Alaine is definitely giving up her career—in fact it’s giving her up since I understand that Fettle’s Studios are closing down—I believe she’ll settle to married life once she has given up her ambitions.” She paused for a moment while her brow creased into a worried frown. “I do hope they’ll be happy, they are both such nice people—” She broke off, unwilling to put into words her own lingering doubts and how much Guy s happiness had come to mean to her.
“He ought to have married the type who could stand up to him, some girl he could really respect, but perhaps being as alluring as she is, Alaine Jason will do just as well. She paused to light a cigarette, then went on, “What made you come back to Hospital, you aren’t on duty till morning. I thought you’d spend the .evening with your brother.”
“I didn’t feel I should do that, that’s why we had supper on the road. You see, Alaine had to get home in good time as she’s got a dance on this evening and as Tony was going to Guy’s flat I couldn’t very well go along with him.”
“Guy indeed! Since when?” Diana asked with raised eyebrows.
A flush of colour mounted Felicity’s cheeks. “Oh, I don’t know, it just slipped out,” she confessed awkwardly. “You see, we four have been so much together the last three days, Tony is so friendly and casual with everyone, he and Alaine dropped right away into Christian names, and I suppose Mr. Brenton decided he’d better follow suit. I felt uncomfortable about it, and I imagine he did too; an occasional ‘Felicity’ slipped out, but most of the time we just avoided addressing one another by name at all!”
“What a joke!” Diana laughed. “I’ll split my sides if I hear you addressing him as ‘Guy’ on the wards!”
“Don’t be idiotic!” There was a note of embarrassment in Felicity’s laugh and anxious to terminate the conversation she began to speak of other things. “Do tell me how are Bill and Philip, I’m longing to see them. What about fixing a foursome one evening?”
“I don’t suppose you’ll have many evenings to spare now your brother’s here,” Diana reminded her. “In any case Bill won’t be along. Believe me or not the wretched man has thrown me over for that red-headed Jones on your ward.”
“I don’t believe it!” Felicity exclaimed. “I know you weren’t ever serious but he always seemed so keen.”
“Never trust a man!” Diana sighed but there was a twinkle in her eyes which gave the lie to her words. “I suppose I played him up once too often, anyways I’ve lost him all right and I can’t say I’m really heartbroken.”
“You are an incorrigible flirt,” Felicity said with mock severity, then went on, “What about Philip, don’t tell me he has walked out on us too.”
“Not exactly.” Diana giggled. “For two or three days after you left he slunk around Hospital like a bear with a sore head then he turned to yours truly for comfort. He has been hanging round me the last few days, took me to a show on Saturday night and a movie on Sunday. I expect, as you were away, I was the next best thing, but I, must admit I’ve enjoyed it, it’s nice to be taken out in style sometimes. You always managed to keep him at arm’s length but you know if you’d only relax a bit he really can be quite fun.”
“I’m sure he can!” Felicity laughed until her cheeks dimpled. “You haven’t taken long to console yourself,” she chaffed good-naturedly.
“You don’t mind do you? I mean about Philip—of course now you are back—”
Felicity’s unchecked merriment interrupted her friend’s excuses. “Don’t be silly! Of course I don’t, why should I? I like Philip, I always have and I always shall but that doesn’t mean I mind him having other friends. On the contrary, I prefer it, I can then—as you so neatly put it—keep him at arm’s length without one qualm of conscience.”
“Good heavens—speak of the devil—there he is!” Diana exclaimed as Philip, perceiving them as he entered the restaurant, made straight for their table.
After greeting both girls he drew up a chair to the table. “Well, Felicity, what’s the news?”
“She can’t go over everything again, I’ve been bombarding her with questions all the evening. To put things in a nutshell she has had a wonderful time, and is fed to the teeth at the idea of returning to the dreary routine of St. Edwin’s,” Diana summed up for Philip’s benefit.
“I hear that Brenton is coming back to town?” he asked, turning to Felicity.
“He told MacFarlayne when he came down to remove the plaster on Sunday that he wanted to get back as quickly as possible. He is remarkably well in himself, he won’t be able to use his hand much for a while, but MacFarlayne was very optimistic about; that too. Anyway, Brenton seemed fed up with doing nothing so he’s commencing his lectures again on Monday. He’ll probably do a ward round too, the only tiding he really can’t do is operate. The wound on his shoulder hasn’t healed properly yet, it will need attention for about another ten days I should say, but he can have it done at hospital and being on the spot he’ll be able to have some diathermy and massage for his arm.”
For a time they spoke of desultory matters; now Felicity’s news was exhausted she had to hear all the latest Hospital gossip. Bill Newlyn’s new attachment naturally came again into the discussion and Felicity found herself recalling those many evenings when the four of them had sat together, their heads close as they had pored over the tit-bits of Hospital scandal. It was all part of Hospital life, part of the life she had grown used to and loved. With a pang she realized she would soon be leaving all this behind, leaving it for an unknown future in an unknown country, and once again she was obsessed with a frightening sense of misgiving.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Exacting as Felicity had always found her work she had never found it tedious, yet since her return from Weir Court day seemed to have succeeded day in dreary monotony. She’d barely been back ten days and yet it seemed months since she had inhaled the sweet smell of the countryside and feasted her eyes on the undulating vista of hill and dale. As with meticulous care she adjusted the extension tackle attached to a patient’s bed, her thoughts were miles away. Not only was she uncomfortably aware of her own sudden disinterest in her work, but although she had as yet not even found the courage to admit it to herself, the reason had become all too apparent. There was only Mr. MacFarlayne visiting the ward. In place of Guy Brenton’s exacting but precise instructions she was obliged to accept the deputy surgeon’s easy-going and almost benign attitude. When Mr. MacFarlayne had first taken over it hadn’t really been so hard, since during those weeks she had been giving her all to the care of her patient. She had exerted herself to the exclusion of all else in promoting Guy Brenton’s recovery. Now there was nothing to distract her, nothing but the monotony of ward routine and the periodic visits of a surgeon whose persistent smile and almost apologetic manner now goaded her to desperation.
“Shall I do Mr. Brown’s back now?” the probationer who had been assisting Felicity asked with some hesitation.
“Yes, I think that’s all we can do here.” Felicity gave a final pull at the adjustment and turned away. “I suppose you can manage?”
“Well ... I think so.”
The young girl’s expression was more eloquent than her words, and never able to resist an appeal from any of her j
uniors, Felicity accompanied her to Mr. Brown’s bed. “No —like this,” she instructed her patiently. “No—turn him this way—take his weight on your shoulder, you’ll find it far easier.”
“Nurse Dene—”
At Sister Robinson’s summons Felicity placed the bottle of spirits on the bedside locker and turned obediently. “Yes, Sister, did you want me?”
“Just a moment—” Sister Robinson broke off to smile kindly at the probationer. “You must try and manage alone, if you don’t try you’ll never learn ... massage more evenly ... there ... that’s better!” She turned back to Felicity and there was a note of ill-concealed anxiety in her voice. “I’ve just heard that Mr. Brenton is here—it seems that he intends doing a round. Most thoughtless without warning us—how about straightening things up a bit, we’d better have everything in order.”
Guy Brenton to visit his ward! Sister’s words must have carried as far as the probationer bent assiduously to her task of rubbing Mr. Brown’s back, perhaps to Mr. Brown himself and maybe the adjacent beds and to Nurse Jones who had at that moment passed them with a trolley of dressings, yet, to Felicity it was as if the momentary hush which followed the announcement completely filled the long ward. That real or imaginary silence was followed by excited chatter, and those patients familiar with the name through their long sojourn in hospital were busily explaining to the more ignorant. As for Felicity, she felt sure she had been gaping in wide-eyed astonishment, why, she couldn’t imagine since surely this was the moment she had been awaiting since her return.
“Yes—yes,” Sister was replying to a patient’s eager questioning, “It looks as though we’ll soon be getting our own surgeon back. Some of you boys know him. Of course we’ll all be very pleased,” she added with a forced smile.
Felicity couldn’t help feeling that Sister’s obvious despondency belied her words and when she followed her into her office and the door closed behind them, making further conversation inaudible to the staff and patients, her opening remarks brought a smile to Felicity’s lips.
“Fancy just turning up—without a word of warning! How are we going to cope—a nurse short this morning too!” Sister Robinson’s voice was almost a wail and in her agitation she pushed back her cap allowing a few wisps of hair to escape from the confining band. “You know what he’s like, so different from dear Mr. MacFarlayne, he’ll expect every report and every X-ray ready to hand—every detail of his old cases and there must be still quite a dozen that were originally his—oh dear, I can’t even recall which ones they are!” She fumbled distractedly through the index file on her desk. “Let me see—Morati, he was here, wasn’t he? Number seven was operated by him, too—oh dear, I do wish I knew which cases he’ll want to examine,” she ended despairingly.
“Probably it’s just a formal visit, perhaps Mr. Brenton doesn’t intend to do a proper ward round at all,” Felicity suggested, but underlying her air of complete composure she was certain that she felt just as agitated as Sister Robinson, perhaps not quite in the same way, but with a pervading sense of excitement and pleasure. Since leaving Weir Court she had not seem him again. Tony, staying in his flat, had been able to tell her of his progress and although she knew he had paid periodical visits to hospital for treatment and for lectures, they had not met. She had also heard of Guy’s improvement from Alaine who had chatted unreservedly on a shopping expedition they had taken together; Alaine had spoken of his persistent and untiring efforts to regain the full use of his hand. Now she was really to see him, she would be able to judge for herself, would perhaps feel that she had played no small part in his recovery, and realized how much joy that knowledge would afford her. Felicity gave a guilty start as she awoke to the fact that Sister Robinson was again addressing her.
“... I feel he may be annoyed about Morati, but after all Mr. MacFarlayne did say he could get about.” Unaware that Felicity had missed quite a few of her observations, she continued. “We must get the ward straightened up—get a couple of the pros, on to it—and oh, Nurse Dene, what about renewing Brown’s dressing? I was going to leave it until later, Mr. MacFarlayne never minds when we are busy, you know how understanding he is.” Her forehead creased into a frown of perplexity. “I don’t see how we’ll get through, I wonder what time he’ll come. I’ve just remembered about getting the Simpson boy up, you know how Mr. Brenton insisted he should go down for his massage in the mornings, he hasn’t had it yet and I know Mr. Brenton is bound to ask!”
“Suppose I get along and see to these things,” Felicity suggested., “There seems to be quite a lot to do and the sooner I get started—”
“Yes, yes,: my dear,” Sister interrupted. “Do get along. I mustn’t keep you talking with so much to do. Oh, dear, it is so inconsiderate...”
Sister’s words were still following Felicity as she left the office. She was, unlike her senior, quite free from any sense of panic. In any case it wasn’t in her nature to get flustered over her work and if she felt any undue emotion at all it was only one of pleasure at Guy’s imminent visit.
Although Felicity set quietly about her work she could not but be aware of Sister Robinson’s disturbing presence. She seemed to be hovering first here then there, and even imbuing the patients with her own show of anxiety. “Might be royalty comin’ ” she heard one man mutter impatiently, and Morati, now promoted to a wheel chair, gave his opinion of the whole affair in his most flowery language.
“There, there, son, you mustn’t use such wicked words,” she heard Sister chiding him. “You would still be on your back if it hadn’t been for Mr. Brenton, such ingratitude.”
“Can’t be ho need for all this tidying,” she heard a youngster grumble as Sister ruthlessly swept away a pile of comics which littered his bed and deftly smoothing his counterpane, tucked them away at the back of his locker out of reach.
With a last glance round the now immaculately tidy ward Felicity picked up a stack of unwanted linen and returned it to the cupboard. A small group of students crowding just within the entrance to the ward proclaimed Guy Brenton’s arrival and Sister beckoned Felicity over to where she stood in conversation with the surgeon. “Ah, Nurse Dene, there you are. I was just telling Mr. Brenton what a great pleasure it is to us to see him back and what a lovely surprise it was when we heard he was coming!”
Felicity repressed the smile which began to curl the corners of her lips. The old hypocrite! Straightening her features she bade Guy Brenton a formal “Good morning”, her face, now quite devoid of expression, gave no indication of her quickened heart beats and the joy which his presence back on John Mason Ward afforded her. He looked so well too. Gone was the unsightly sling and with his hand thrust in the jacket of his white linen coat it was almost difficult to recall him any other way; his illness, his helpless dependence, all that seemed like an ugly dream and no part of this tall, broad-shouldered man, so strikingly self-assured and virile.
“Well, I must say that our patient, although he was rather a fractious lad, does us credit.” Sister smiled archly, then perhaps aware that her particular brand of humour was not to Guy Brenton’s taste, began hurriedly and with some confusion to discuss the cases he had no doubt come to see. “There is Briggs of course—and Morati, yes, alas, we still have him with us, still as difficult as ever, but the lad is showing progress now and we’ve actually had him on his feet...” She babbled on but Guy Brenton, who was now studying a list which his houseman had handed him, was paying but scant, if any attention to her discourse.
“Grand to have him back,” Philip managed to whisper to Felicity. “We’ll get something done now.”
Felicity urged him to silence with a warning glance; she was just in time as Guy Brenton, returning the slip of paper to Philip, advanced to the first bed. “Thank you, Sister, I want to see the new admissions as well as my old cases. Mr. MacFarlayne has given us much of his valuable time during the past weeks, now I propose to take on as much of the work as I can to relieve him; in future I’ll follow up all ca
ses, he will only carry on with the theatre work.” He paused, then added, “I expect it will mean a long round this morning, don’t let me detain you, Sister, Nurse Dene can accompany us.”
Sister Robinson seemed only too glad of the suggestion and with an encouraging smile at Felicity hurried along the ward, no doubt glad of these extra few moments to see that everything was in order.
Even as the visit from bed to bed progressed, Felicity felt sure that it would take more than their hurried rush round to get John Mason Ward back to the standard of efficiency which it had always boasted when Guy Brenton had been in charge. Things had grown slacker and slacker of recent weeks and Sister Robinson, prone as she had always been to take the line of least resistance, had needed just that spur which Guy Brenton’s exacting demands had made upon her and Her underlying awe of him to keep her up to the mark. Mr. MacFarlayne’s easy-going ways had proved fatal to one of her indulgent and kindly attitude. Authority had been gradually undermined and she had allowed herself to fall all too readily into a benign and satisfied state of apathy.
The first part of the round hadn’t been too bad. Nurse Jones ever at her elbow, had been ready to take a quick hint from Felicity. A missing report was quickly found before Guy Brenton had even had time to notice its absence, and the physiotherapist wheeling an ultra-violet lamp into position had been hastily turned from the ward with Nurse Jones’ whispered reminder that Mr. Brenton had never allowed treatments to be given during the hour set aside for his visit.
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