“That’s an idea, Miss.” Mackerley brightened visibly. “Mr. Guy is the only one what can manage the Colonel, he is that obstinate and I know by rights he should stay in bed, he is thoroughly tired out, that’s what he is. I’ll look up the number and phone right away.”
Such a call would certainly bring Guy back, Felicity knew, and she found herself hoping desperately that Mackerley would succeed in locating him. She realized now how much his absence that evening was hurting her, as if he were deliberately repudiating any comfort her presence might afford. He had preferred to go away alone, had turned his back on her unspoken sympathy. She could well understand that longing for solitude, but even that did not assuage her hurt. How could he know how much she minded? He could not guess that her feelings for him were such that she longed to share not only his happiness but his pain.
“They paged him and all, Miss, but he’s not there.” Mackerley’s disappointment matched her own. “Would you like me to see if I can persuade Colonel Brenton to remain in his room? I suppose I could have my dinner there with him.”
“Of course, Miss, that would be most kind of you.” Mackerley’s relief at being able to share his responsibility knew no bounds and he could scarcely wait for Felicity to rise and follow him and was already half-way along the long corridor leading to the bedrooms before Felicity had caught him up.
“You’d better go in first and make sure that Colonel Brenton has no objection to my intrusion.”
“He won’t mind, Miss.” Mackerley was positively beaming. “The Colonel thinks the world of you, always praising you up to the skies, he is, he took a real liking to you that time down at Weir.”
Since there was no reply to Mackerley’s discreet knock, he turned the handle and entered. His smothered gasp immediately drew Felicity to his side and looking at Colonel Brenton’s figure slumped sideways in his chair, it became obvious why no reply had been forthcoming. Pushing her way unceremoniously past Mackerley who remained aghast in the doorway, Felicity advanced quickly to the sick man’s side. Instinctively her fingers felt for his pulse and she turned quickly to her companion. “It’s a heart attack—has he had one before? Come here quickly, help me get his head back against this cushion.” With her natural ability for dealing with any emergencies, she immediately took command of the situation. “Is there a drug cupboard in the flat, does Mr. Brenton keep anything here?”
“The Colonel had one of these attacks a long time ago. It was then that Mr. Guy said he was to have stuff with him—told me I was to see it was always handy,” Mackerley gasped as he hurried across the room and fumbled with desperate speed in the bureau drawer. “This is what Mr. Guy gave me—these things and that syringe.”
“That’s excellent—now where can I boil up this syringe?” In a few minutes Felicity was back with the sterile hypodermic and while injecting the coramine, she gave Mackerley instructions. “Ring St. Edwin’s and ask for Dr. Fraser— of course you’ll explain who it’s for—ask him to come as soon as he can.”
This seemed to Felicity only a continuation of the nightmare in which she had existed since that afternoon. Dr. Fraser was quick to arrive, but even with his presence the anxiety persisted and she knew from his expression that he was seriously concerned with the patient’s grey, drawn features and his racing pulse.
“You’ll stay with him, won’t you?” Dr. Fraser asked het as he prepared to leave. “Anyway, until Mr. Brenton gets back and can make other arrangements. I wish I could have waited for him myself, but tell him, will you, that I had to get back to Hospital. I’ll look in again in the morning. There is nothing more I can do now, repeat the injection in an hour if he needs it. Lucky you were here, Nurse, very lucky,” he repeated as he took his hat and gloves from the hall table. “I’ll get the oxygen sent along as soon as I can. I’ve heard from Mr. Brenton what an excellent nurse you are and how well you looked after him when he was warded. I certainly compliment you upon your clear sightedness tonight.”
Refusing Mackerley’s anxious request that she should at least take some refreshment before returning to her patient, Felicity went back immediately to his room where she kept a constant vigil. The prompt arrival of oxygen gave her something definite to do and so intent was she in watching and attending to the slightest change in the Colonel’s condition that she was scarcely aware of the passing hours. There was one moment when, cradling his head against her arm to adjust a pillow, she believed herself back in the small room at the end of John Mason Ward, the resemblance between father and son had never before appeared so marked, but with a sigh she quickly returned to the present and to the disturbing fact that never again would Guy lean upon her for support. That evening had left her no more illusions and it was as if she had held out her arms only to let them drop to her sides, empty and disregarded. She wouldn’t be going to California now, it would have been hypocritical to pretend she minded, but she knew that she could no longer remain at St. Edwin’s. She would let her notice stand and within a few days her association with the Hospital—and with Guy Brenton—would cease forever. Instinctively she knew that it would be better so, for although his illness and erstwhile dependence had brought about a close friendship and intimacy, she had now come to the cross roads. It had never been necessary before to face the issue, his marriage and her coming departure from England had been an inevitable end, but it was no longer easy to evade the truth; imperceptibly Guy had replaced the image of Peter in her heart. That girlhood love had only served to strengthen the deep and overwhelming emotion which now held her in thrall.
For a long time her patient’s slow and laboured breathing was the only sound in the darkened room. Then she became aware of Guy’s presence as he crossed the room towards her.
The one shaded lamp cast a pool of light where it stood, but the rest of the room was dim and shadowed. She could scarcely discern his features as he leaned over his father and the quiet restraint of his movements gave no indication of the shock he must be suffering. In low tones she gave him Dr. Fraser’s report, then her own observations of the patient’s condition. His response had been monosyllabic and sometimes a mere nod of understanding, then, straightening up, he turned towards the door.
“Father will be all right for the moment, the pulse is settling. Mackerley can stay with him while you come and have some food.” He placed an arm firmly beneath her elbow and led her from the room.
Felicity hadn’t realized how tired she was. She had lost all sense of time and had quite forgotten that she had eaten nothing since her early lunch at Hospital. The bright light of the corridor was dazzling after the dimness of the sickroom. It seemed to make her head swim and it was only when they reached the lounge and she had dropped gratefully into a deep arm-chair that she realized the lateness of the hour. The sunray clock above the fireplace had struck midnight as they entered.
“Was that twelve? I had no idea it was so late.” She made an involuntary gesture to rise again, but Guy forestalled her by placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Sit down and rest—Mrs. Mackerley is bringing you something to eat, you look tired out. You don’t think I’m going to let you leave until you are rested, do you?”
“But I haven’t even a late pass.” Felicity spoke with concern not untinged with fear. Respect for authority was too deeply imbued within her after her years in Hospital to treat lightly of such matters.
“You’ll stay where you are.” His tone was firm and brooked no further argument. “I’ll ring Hospital right away and explain what’s happened.”
The offer cleared Felicity’s mind of further doubts and with a sigh of relief she sank back in the chair, and half closing her eyes gave herself up to the luxury of relaxation. Her head was still swimming, she couldn’t remember ever being more tired; it was hardly surprising, she reminded herself, since she had been on duty until four that afternoon and all the conflicting and exhausting emotions she had passed through since then had been sufficient to shatter anyone.
It wasn’t u
ntil Mrs. Mackerley wheeled in a trolley loaded with sandwiches, appetizing little cakes and biscuits, and carrying with it the intoxicating aroma of hot coffee, that she realized how famished she was and when a few moments later Guy returned from the telephone she needed no persuasion to partake of that most enticing spread.
She felt it was only in order to put her at her ease that he also poured for himself some coffee and put a sandwich on his plate. He made a pretence of sharing the meal, but Felicity could see that he was barely aware of his actions, and although he sipped at his cup, the food remained untouched. Beyond the few conventional remarks demanded of him, he had scarcely spoken. He was prone to moods of detachment, she knew that only too well, but his present withdrawn attitude was born of something far deeper than mere moodiness. She suffered again that longing to be of help; now no longer restrained by her loyalty to Alaine she felt an almost unbearable desire to cross to his side and pour out all the sympathy which filled her heart.
“I’m deeply grateful to you—for all you have done this evening—words seem very inadequate. I can only assure you of their sincerity.”
Felicity looked up quickly to meet his eyes as they sought hers. Their expression reflected his words and she could only return him a tremulous smile of understanding.
“I believe my father will be all right now—thanks to you—it will be a few days before he can be moved, then I’ll get him back to Buckinghamshire as soon as possible. He’ll be better there, but I’m afraid it will mean he’ll have to take things pretty quietly in the future.”
“He’ll certainly be better at Weir,” Felicity agreed. “It’s not far, he could go by ambulance.” She put down her cup and wiped her fingers on a serviette. “I ought to be getting back to Hospital.”
“I’ve explained what’s happened, there is no hurry and I am wondering whether you would prefer to stay here tonight—I know you have nothing with you but it might be less tiring than going back.”
The prospect of staying certainly had its attraction, it would not only save the journey but also the inevitable hanging about and arguments which might arise since she had no late pass. While she still hesitated and perhaps sensing her doubts, Guy went on speaking.
“It’s nearly one o’clock, why not get straight to bed. I shall sit with my father tonight. St. Edwin’s is sending along a nurse in the morning.” He took his pipe from his pocket and began to fill it, pressing down the tobacco with his injured hand with comparative ease. Before applying a match he looked up and continued speaking. “You leave Hospital pretty soon, don’t you? Will you be returning with your brother—or—now perhaps you have other plans?”
That momentary hesitation had proved that it was not easy for him to touch on the subject of Alaine’s departure. What the happenings of that afternoon had meant to him she would never know. The shock of his father’s illness might, momentarily have swept all else from his mind, but now it could only be part of the pain he was suffering so clearly reflected in the drawn lines of his face and the deep shadows of fatigue, beneath his eyes.
“I shall not go back with Tony,” Felicity asserted firmly. Then, with somewhat less assurance, added, “I shall leave St. Edwin’s as I’ve arranged. I’ll have to go on nursing but I think I ought to make a change. I’d like to get to some seaside or country hospital—somewhere out of London.” Even as she spoke she knew she was taking the biggest gamble of her life. Now, she really stood at the parting of the ways and by deliberate intent she had taken the road which would separate her from Guy.
“I wonder—dare I ask you?” Guy looked straight at Felicity and his unspoken need of her assurance was more than she could resist.
“Of course—ask me anything. Is there something you want me to do for you?” She smiled encouragingly, aware again of that urge to go to his side, to take his hands within her own and beg his confidence and make him understand her longing to be of help.
“I was wondering—” he began tentatively, then paused, obviously finding it difficult to frame his request. “When you leave at the end of the week—if by then my father is well enough to go home, would you go back with him? Just for a few weeks,” he interposed quickly as if fearful of her answer. Her hesitation must have been obvious and no doubt in an endeavour to forestall a refusal he went on. “The old man is so fond of you, it would make things so much easier for him to have you there, he’ll definitely need a nurse for some time after his return, and I, also should have much more confidence knowing you were with him.”
Weir Court in summer! Felicity nearly laughed aloud, the thought was so ridiculous and irrelevant. Here she was actually thinking of the hills, the fields and meadows, when the real issue was something which touched the very foundations of her whole future. Wasn’t she giving up St. Edwin’s her friends, her prospects, all in order to forget this man, and now he dangled this temptation before her eyes and with all her soul she longed to stretch out and grasp it. But after all, could just a few weeks make any difference? Guy wouldn’t even be there, just perhaps an occasional day or so ... her heart-beats quickened as she found her resolution weakening, and torn with her conflicting doubts Felicity returned Guy’s questioning glance, scarcely as yet daring to frame her answer.
“I’m sorry—I should not have asked—” he began, but Felicity quickly interrupted.
“But, of course, I’ll do as you want, I’d love to go down to Weir with your father.” The words seemed to Felicity to have issued from her lips without conscious volition, but having spoken them she knew no regret. Guy’s obvious relief and pleasure entirely robbed her of any lingering doubts she might have harboured as to the wisdom of her decision.
“I can’t tell you what a load that is off my mind.” He rose and crossed to Felicity. “I can’t thank you enough—but I do know that my father will make up for my deficiencies in that direction.” He smiled as he held out his hand to assist her to her feet. “You look desperately tired. The spare room is opposite my father’s. Go and lie down, sleep as long as you want. I’ll square Matron in the morning.”
Felicity was glad of Guy’s supporting hand; the food and drink had refreshed her but even mow she felt almost dazed with fatigue and as she stood the room seemed to swing around her.
“You certainly are exhausted.” He firmly linked an arm beneath hers and led her along the corridor. At the bedroom door he paused. “You’ll find a dressing-gown of mine in the cupboard.” Again there was that note of hesitation. “Tony apparently forgot his, left it hanging behind the cabin door, so it’s the one I lent him—wrap it round you and get some sleep.” He released his hold and letting his hand slide down her arm held her fingers for a moment between his own, his expression showing his solicitude, and a smile—almost tender—playing at the corners of his lips. “Sleep well—and thank you with all my heart.”
Later, when she sank into the sweet unconscious state of sleep, she could still feel the touch of his hand and see that tender smile—but it was different. In her dreams she had almost reached fulfilment, yet even as she lifted her face for his kiss and felt his warm breath against her cheek, the illusion was shattered and she woke to find a beam of morning sunlight caressing her upturned face, while a playful breeze from the opened bedroom window gently billowed the curtains and fanned the golden tendrils of her hair.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Felicity slipped the airmail letter she had been reading back in its envelope and resting her hands idly on her lap looked across the sweeping lawns of Weir Court. The flower borders were now a riot of colour and even from where she sat on the terrace the sweet scent of roses assailed her nostrils, and all the country sounds she loved, the call of birds, the lowing of cattle, the hum of bees as they flew from flower to flower were as music in her ears.
The weeks she had spent nursing Colonel Brenton recalled the care-free days of her childhood with her parents and Tony in Somerset. He was an easy and charming patient, never failing to show his gratitude for her attention and never lacking
in courtesy and consideration. The severe attack he had suffered had enfeebled him considerably. He was unlikely ever to regain his former strength, but his progress was encouraging and, without grumbling, he had resigned himself to the inevitable. Felicity glanced at his recumbent figure lying on the long dicker chair at her side. He was sleeping peacefully, and with gentle care, fearful of disturbing him, she tucked the rug more closely across his knees. Recently she had grown more and more fond of him, he seemed to have taken the place of her own father and she found herself listening to his opinion and seeking his advice. Her complete absorption in her work and her ingrained love of country life soon banished the misgivings she had harboured when she had first returned to Weir Court; it seemed impossible to be anything but content and her troubles had been thrust resolutely aside. Indeed there was very little now to trouble her. Both Tony’s and Alaine’s letters from California positively exuded joy, and Alaine was ecstatic about both her home and her surroundings. Felicity sometimes wished she could have seen that home so vividly described by her brother and now by Alaine. She would have loved a peep at the white house and the orange groves on the hillside. Perhaps one day she’d get her wish.
Felicity no longer felt any regret for having left St. Edwin’s. Fate had placed her here and like a straw in the wind she felt satisfied to be blown willy-nilly as Fate decreed. St. Edwin’s would have seemed strange without Diana but now, her flirtations over, Diana was engaged to Philip and it was only a matter of weeks before she would be giving up her career to follow him to the Midlands, where he intended to settle down and practise.
Guy’s presence at Weir Court was her only problem, but his visits had been rare and although his attitude towards her had been friendly, she was never sorry to see him leave. Now that the formality demanded by hospital etiquette no longer existed it made it more difficult than ever for her to adopt a casual and composed air, and the anticipation of each visit caused her both trepidation and doubt. Colonel Brenton’s demands upon her attention had made it easy for her to refuse Guy’s suggestions of riding or walking. How much she had longed to accept he’d never know, but the one thing she tried to avoid at all costs was any prolonged tete-a-tete.
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