A Match for Sister Maggy

by Betty Neels

  ‘Maggy, you’re babbling.’ He was laughing at her. She didn’t know whether to laugh with him or cry; she felt unaccountably like doing both. He stopped laughing and said quite seriously,

  ‘I want to talk to you. Will you be here next Wednesday?’

  She nodded and said goodnight in a low voice, then fled through the door and over to her office, and stood amongst the roses until she heard him shut the door. Then she picked a bunch of roses from one of the vases and went over to the Sisters’ Home.

  Maggy lay awake a long time trying to think sensibly. But good sense had no chance against the wisps of wild dreams floating in and out of her head. She wondered what he wanted to see her about, and then caught the tatters of her common sense about her, and told herself sharply to stop behaving like a lovesick schoolgirl and go to sleep.

  In the morning the first thing she saw was the bunch of roses, and she remembered what Sister Beecham had said when they had met on the way to her room the night before.

  ‘Red Roses, MacFergus? Who’s in love with you?’

  ‘In love with me?’ She must have sounded stupid, for the older woman had answered impatiently, ‘Of course. You must know that men send red roses to the girls they love.’ She had sniffed. ‘Still, perhaps they don’t do it nowadays.’

  At the memory of her remark, Maggy said ‘Nonsense’ very loudly and got out of bed, deliberately filling her mind with thoughts as practical as the uniform she was putting on.

  She had little time for private thoughts during the next few days. Mrs Salt, prostrate after a sudden bout of pain and sickness, needed a great deal of encouragement and attention if she was to survive to celebrate her birthday. It took the combined skill and cunning of the nursing staff, coupled with pep talks from Sir Charles and the house physician, to get her sitting up against her pillows again.

  Maggy had another problem on her hands too— Madame Riveau, due to go home in a couple of days, looked increasingly ill. Despite this, her husband and son asked sullenly each time they came if she could leave immediately. To her surprise, Madame Riveau had consented to have her teeth X-rayed on the morning of her discharge, but Maggy guessed that she had not told either her husband or her son. If she could persuade them to wait until the day the doctor had agreed upon for her discharge she could be seen before they called to fetch her home. The woman had been a lot of trouble and she would be glad to see her go.

  Wednesday came at last. When she went into Sep, Maggy was greeted by Mevrouw Doelsma, whose manner was faintly tinged with excitement, but she chatted guilelessly while Maggy helped her out of her armchair and back into bed. When she was once more sitting back comfortably against the pillows she gave a contented sigh.

  ‘It’s wonderful to get up each day now, but bed is so delightful afterwards. I’m doing well, aren’t I, Maggy?’

  She was answered by a muffled voice from under her bed, where Maggy was lying, plugging in a second lamp. Sep, as Maggy had so often said, had been designed by a man with no imagination. The wall plugs were all ground level, behind the bed, and the nurses had long ago discovered that it was both quick and easy to reach them by getting under the bed rather than to pull the bed out from the wall, and then push it back again. Mrs Doelsma, having seen this operation performed countless times, thought nothing of the shapely pair of legs sticking out from under the side of her bed, but continued to address them.

  ‘Do you suppose I shall be able to go home soon? I’ve been very happy here, but now I feel almost well again, and I should like to go back to Oudehof.’

  Her voice tailed off. Her son was standing in the doorway; he gave a half smile in greeting and raised an eyebrow at the legs, but made no attempt to come into the room. There was a click, as the lamp was switched on.

  ‘Of course you’ll be going home soon, Mevrouw Doelsma.’ Maggy spoke in a comforting voice. She had heard the slightly wistful note in the little lady’s voice. She slid from under the bed and stood up. For all her size, she was a very graceful young woman; she gave herself a shake, twitched her apron bib straight, smiled at Mevrouw Doelsma, and turned in a leisurely fashion to the door. The sight of the doctor brought her up short. She blushed, to her own annoyance, and said in a rather weak voice. ‘Oh! Have you been there long?’ She looked at him anxiously, but there was nothing to read from his face. Perhaps he had just that minute arrived.

  He smiled briefly and said, ‘I’m early, I believe, Sister. I hope it is not inconvenient?’ He sounded brisk and rather aloof. Just as though, thought Maggy, he had never seen red roses in his life. Well, she could be brisk too.

  ‘No, sir, it’s not inconvenient. Mevrouw Doelsma is quite ready to see you.’

  She smiled at her patient and slipped through the door, determined to be very busy in the ward for the rest of the day; there were only a couple of hours to go before the night staff came on. She did the medicine round, and was writing her report at her desk when the doctor knocked and came in.

  He spoke without preamble. ‘Will you spare me five minutes of your time—there is something I want to ask you.’ He pulled up a chair and sat down and smiled at her to make her heart turn over.

  ‘Mother will be going home to Friesland in ten days or so.’ He paused. ‘Maggy, I’m not giving you much time to make up your mind about this—I want you to come too.’ His voice was urgent.

  Maggy, sitting very upright with her hands folded on her apron, kept her eyes on the desk. She was deafened by the thudding of her heart; her mind a jumble of thoughts and dreams. Before she had time to reply he went on,

  ‘It will be just for a few weeks; you’re an excellent nurse, and my mother is fond of you. I can trust her to your care, I know. I must confess that we thought of this some time ago, but I was doubtful if you would come.’

  He sat back, looking at her smilingly. Maggy smiled back, pride keeping her mouth steady and her eyes dry. There would be plenty of time later on to call herself the silly romantic fool she undoubtedly was. She thought fleetingly of the red roses—all part of the softening process perhaps, deliberately planned so that she would fall in with his suggestion? When she spoke, her voice was quite steady.

  ‘I’m flattered by your good opinion of me, sir, but I think that Matron will not allow it.’

  He said with a trace of arrogance, ‘I saw Matron some time ago about this. We—that is, Sir Charles and I—managed to persuade her to agree to you going. Provided you have no objection.’ He looked at her sharply. ‘But you haven’t, of course.’ Again the touch of arrogance.

  She gave him a level glance. ‘Dr Doelsma, I ken fine that there’s many a good nurse here in this hospital, better than I, who would nurse your mother devotedly.’

  He looked at her in amazement. ‘Are you refusing, Maggy?’

  ‘Aye, sir, I’m refusing.’

  He said in a kind of wonder, ‘Do you not like us?’

  It was her turn to look amazed. ‘Gracious goodness, Doctor, I like you fine—the both of you.’

  ‘So it is personal reasons which make you refuse?’

  She considered a minute. ‘Yes, I suppose you might say that.’

  He said sharply, ‘Selfish reasons?’

  Maggy sat quite still, looking at the frowning face, then got up slowly. ‘Ye’ve no right to speak to me like that, sir. Now if ye’ll excuse me, I’ll away to my supper.’

  Without a word he stood up, opened the door for her, and stood watching while she spoke to Nurse Sims and then went downstairs.

  Her gay and animated manner at supper caused her friends to look askance. Maggy, for all her size, perhaps because of it, was known to be rather shy and retiring. Those who knew her well realised that she was in a dreadful temper. She did indeed go back to the ward with little sparks of rage in her eyes, and pink cheeks; most of the rage was against herself. She opened her office door and stood staring. The little room seemed full of people— Sir Charles Warren, Matron and Dr Doelsma. She looked at him down her beautiful nose and then turned h
er back, waiting for someone to speak.

  Matron began: ‘Er—Sister MacFergus, we won’t keep you from your work, but I am sure that this little matter can be cleared up in a few moments. I am certain that your reasons for not going to Holland are given from the highest of motives, but I can assure you that you need have no qualms about leaving the ward. It is unusual, I admit, for a Ward Sister to take over a private case; but Sir Charles wishes it, and it can be arranged quite simply.’ She inflated her bosom and nodded briskly, signifying that it was now Maggy’s turn to speak.

  They were all three looking at her, Matron with the certain air of a woman who had stated her case and expected no argument. Sir Charles with a shrewd twinkle, and Dr Doelsma with a smile. How dared he? Maggy gave him a baleful stare and turned a shoulder to him again.

  ‘I should be glad if you would take on Mevrouw Doelsma, Maggy.’ It was Sir Charles, at his most wheedling. ‘She is a lifelong friend of mine; I want her to have the best attention there is, and I consider you are the one to give it. As a personal favour, Maggy.’

  She liked and admired Sir Charles; she could not refuse him. He was also senior consultant of the hospital, and she a Ward Sister, there to do her work under his guidance and carry out his orders.

  ‘If you wish it, Sir Charles, I’ll be glad to go with Mevrouw Doelsma.’

  He beamed at her. ‘Splendid! I’m sure that Matron will see you later and fix up all the details. I think you should go in about ten days’ time, don’t you. Paul?’

  Maggy didn’t look round when Dr Doelsma answered, nor when he said,

  ‘May I have a few words with Sister, Matron? I promise I won’t keep her for more than a minute.’

  He ushered her and Sir Charles out of the little room and stood in the open doorway, contemplating Maggy’s very straight back.

  ‘You needn’t be afraid,’ he said blandly. ‘I’ve left the door open this time.’

  This remark had the effect of making her turn round to face him. She said with great hauteur and a rising colour,

  ‘I do not wish to be reminded of that regrettable incident.’

  He was instantly contrite. ‘I’m sorry, indeed I am; not because I kissed you, but because I’ve made you angry. Forgive me, and for taking such shameful advantage of you just now. It was unfair, I know. But I want you to nurse Mother. I should have warned you that I like my own way, and go to any lengths to get it.’ He waited a moment, but she did not speak. ‘My mother is normally a bright and happy woman, but now she had been badly frightened. She hides her fear, but only when you or I are with her does she lose it. She is a sensible woman; in time she will overcome it, and forget. Until then, she needs help. She likes you, Maggy, and trusts you—as I do. Thank you for consenting to come.’

  Maggy was still looking out of the window, facing a fact which could no longer be ignored. She was hopelessly in love with Dr Doelsma; and while her good sense counselled her to take the prudent action to withdrawing her consent and never seeing him again, the delightful prospect of being with him, perhaps frequently, for the next few weeks was impossible to ignore. Before she could change her mind, she turned round and said quietly,

  ‘I’ll be glad to go with your mother, Dr Doelsma, and stay with her until she is well again.’

  He had been looking rather stern; now his whole face lighted up.

  ‘You can’t know how pleased I am that you will be at Oudehof with my mother. Come and tell her yourself, won’t you?’

  She was glad of her decision when she saw Mevrouw Doelsma, who took her hand and said, ‘I’ll never be able to thank you, my dear. I thought perhaps you wouldn’t want to come—it will a dull life for you after the rush and bustle here.’

  Maggy assured her that that was just what she would like, and went away to give the report to the night nurse. Before she went off duty she told a bewildered junior nurse to take all the roses from the office and carry them to the geriatric ward, and waited until the little room was once more bare. In her room, she took the remaining flowers over to the front lodge to George, whose wife was ill. She wasn’t to know that Dr Doelsma would see them on his way out, and such were her feelings that she wouldn’t have cared.

  She cried slow bitter tears for a long time before she went to sleep that night.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MAGGY SENSED that there was something amiss as soon as she got to her office the next morning. The night nurse looked nervous, even Williams looked worried. Maggy sat down at her desk. ‘I’ll have the report first, Nurse, shall I? Then you can tell me what’s gone wrong.’ She gave her an encouraging smile and opened the book. The report duly given and commented upon, the bad news came tumbling out. Madame Riveau had gone. It had happened during the busy period between six and seven, when the nurses were fully occupied with teas, bedpans, washing patients, giving medicines, changing beds… Madame Riveau had got up and dressed, unseen, what with screens being pulled and patients who were well enough walking up and down the ward to the bathroom. The first the nurses had known of it was the commotion caused by the two Riveau men, who, it seemed, had come into the ward via the fire escape. They had walked off with Madame Riveau before anything could be done. By the time the nurse had rung through to the porter, they had already gone, using the Casualty entrance. The nurse there, busy herself, had thought they were relatives who had spent the night with one of the ill patients.

  ‘I’ll have to let the Office know, and Matron,’ said Maggy. ‘Write a statement, Nurse, and I’ll sign it too, and take it along to Matron. It was no fault of yours. She’s been a difficult patient and her husband has been wanting her home for a long time now. She was due out tomorrow morning anyway.’ She sighed with relief at the thought that she would not have to meet those awful men again.

  The days slipped by. Matron had told her that she would probably be in Holland for four weeks, perhaps a little longer; a relief Sister would run the ward until her return. Maggy wrote to her parents in Scotland, got herself a passport and looked through her clothes, openly envied by every nurse in the hospital.

  It was arranged that they should travel on a morning plane. An ambulance took Mevrouw Doelsma and Maggy, very neat in her uniform and little cape, to the airport, where they were met by Sir Charles who had elected to see them off. Maggy had been surprised to see Dr Doelsma waiting with him when they arrived, but beyond a brief good morning he said nothing, but went away to see to the luggage. She had not anticipated that he would be travelling with them, indeed she had not known that he was in England. There was, she admitted to herself, no reason why he should have informed her of his plans. She spent the next ten minutes or so installing her patient and herself on the KLM plane. In this she had the good offices of the stewardess and between them Mevrouw Doelsma was made comfortable, reassured and generally made much of. Maggy was surprised to find Sir Charles at her elbow; in answer to her enquiring look, he said,

  ‘No. I’m not coming with you—but Paul will be. I was allowed to make sure that everything was all right before take-off.’ He stayed a few minutes, and then took his leave, saying,

  ‘You’ll do, Henrietta. I’ll be over to see you as soon as I can spare time for a holiday. Have a good trip—you too, Maggy, and I hope you enjoy your stay in Friesland.’ He waved cheerfully from the door.

  Mevrouw Doelsma watched Maggy fixing the portable oxygen cylinder so that it could be got at quickly and easily if it was wanted. She caught her eye and smiled and said,

  ‘What a nuisance I’m being to everyone.’ The smile flickered and went out. Her voice faltered. ‘I hope you don’t have to use it, Maggy.’

  ‘Och, no,’ Maggy said comfortably. ‘It’s like taking an umbrella with you to keep off the rain.’

  Her patient giggled, and Paul, who had just entered the plane, decided that Maggy was indeed a blessing, with her calm efficient ways and her soothing Highland voice. He stowed away his medical bag and took the seat by his mother, leaving the window seat for Maggy. Having adjus
ted their seat belts, he talked gently about nothing in particular until they were airborne, when he opened The Times and a Dutch magazine called Elsevier, and became immersed in reading them. However, from time to time his eye strayed to Maggy, guarding her patient like a hawk, but finding time to glance out of the porthole with wide eyes.

  ‘Have you not flown before, Sister?’ he asked casually.

  She looked across at him, her eyes alight with excitement.

  ‘No, never. I’ve never left England before.’ As she said it she realised how amusing she must be to the much-travelled doctor. She looked at him again to see if he was laughing at her, but he wasn’t.

  ‘We must make certain that you see as much of Holland as possible before you go back home.’

  He became immersed in his papers again, but presently, when his mother went to sleep, he folded them carefully and crossed over to the seat beside Maggy. The coast of Holland was visible; he leant across her, and started to point out landmarks. Their heads were very close together. Maggy kept her gaze on the view below her, not hearing a word of what he was saying, but thinking of the weeks ahead.

  The plane touched down at Schiphol, and with a minimum of delay and a maximum of efficiency Madame Doelsma was transferred to a small smart ambulance with rakish lines. Maggy was too occupied with her patient to do more than give a hasty look round. There was no sign of the doctor; she supposed he was seeing about their luggage. The white-coated ambulance driver prepared to shut them in, and said something to Maggy, who looked blank. Madame Doelsma murmured something and he laughed and looked at Maggy and nodded and gave the thumbs-up sign, the friendly little gesture warmed her heart.

  As soon as the door was shut, she began a systematic search of the ambulance, so that she would be familiar with the equipment if she should need it. When she had made a thorough inspection she sat herself down on the collapsible seat by her patient. It was a very small seat; she wriggled experimentally, reflecting on the long journey ahead of them, Mevrouw Doelsma was lying with her eyes closed, so Maggy allowed her attention to wander out of the window in the door of the ambulance. Drawn up within a few yards of their own vehicle was an ink-blue Rolls-Royce convertible. Dr Doelsma, hands in pockets, was leaning against its well-bred bonnet, talking to an elderly man by the boot, who was supervising the stowing away of the luggage. When this had been done to his entire satisfaction, the elderly man tipped the porter and went round to the doctor. Maggy watched with interest while they carried on another short conversation, at the end of which the elderly man sketched a vague salute and disappeared round the corner of the airport building, while the doctor strolled over to the ambulance and opened the door. He nodded briefly at Maggy, and addressed himself to his mother, who had opened her eyes at the sound of the door opening.