“I? ... How can I answer it? If you mean, shall I go to Matron and ask for your transfer, then the answer is definitely no. When you leave St. Joseph’s it will be entirely on your own initiative not mine.”
“My initiative.” Jill echoed, and she made no effort to conceal the bitterness which lay behind her words. “I suppose you feel I should be grateful that you leave the decision to me? In theory, perhaps you will...” She broke off, trying desperately to control the break in her voice. “In fact, the whole thing depends upon you and you know it.”
“I think you are mistaken.” His tone was gentle and when he spoke softly the burr in his speech was more pronounced. “You don’t really have to work, do you?” he added irrelevantly.
“No. If you mean am I dependent on my earnings, then I’m not,” Jill responded with some surprise.
“Then why do you take a job? Nursing is a serious profession and meant for serious people.”
There was no further hesitation in Jill’s voice as she was stung to a retort. “I don’t understand you! Do you imagine that I am just playing at a job because the uniform is becoming ... That I believed nursing consisted of holding the patient’s hand and whispering words of sweet consolation to the sick? I took up nursing because I wanted to. I’m interested and I love it! Is there any reason why, just because I happen to have private means, that I should be denied the work I want to do?” Her words were defiant, and even in the pale light of the moon which was rising from behind the black mass of hills behind, her eyes shone with suppressed anger.
“I’m sorry—I misjudged you.” Duncan McRey’s tone was sincere, and for a fleeting second his hand rested on hers. Quickly he withdrew it as he continued: “My original meeting with you at Harriet’s that night gave me a different impression.” He smiled and Jill felt sure that it must be a trick of the moonlight which softened his features conveying an expression of sincere concern. “I must admit that little has happened since to alter that first impression.” This time there was no mistaking the quizzical smile playing at the corners of his lips.
“There I have to admit you are justified.” Jill stopped speaking abruptly. She longed almost unbearably to tell him of the overwhelming odds which seemed to have conspired against her since her arrival at St. Joseph’s. Her suspicion of Brenda Malling’s complicity in her failure to make good, her own sense of bitter disappointment and frustration. With a supreme effort she choked back the words which trembled on her lips, chiding herself for her own weakness as she recalled the scorn which would probably greet her disclosure, and the satirical twist which would no doubt replace the sympathetic expression on Duncan McRey’s face. She mustn’t be too easily moved by this rare show of understanding. Linking her fingers together on her lap she looked up to meet his questioning gaze. “I know that you have had every right to be disappointed in me,” she repeated.
“I suppose that I must be satisfied with that admission—unsatisfactory as it is.” His steel-blue eyes caught and held her gaze in a remorseless stare. “One thing you must realize—that is, if you decide to remain at St. Joseph’s—expect no quarter from me, inefficiency and carelessness I cannot and will not tolerate.”
Jill was conscious of a deep sense of apprehension. She felt an almost uncontrollable urge to ignore Harriet’s appeal and inform Duncan McRey without delay that he need concern himself ho longer with her shortcomings, that she would soon be shaking the dust of St. Joseph’s from her heels. The words froze on her lips, an innate sense of pride restrained her, and she knew she longed before all else to justify herself in this man’s eyes. It seemed utterly unreasonable. Why should she care? Except that she’d be giving up a good job, it meant nothing to her, she insisted. But in her heart she felt that was not the true reason for her silence.
“We should be going. Are you rested?”
The question roused Jill from the despondency into which her thoughts had momentarily plunged her. She gave an involuntary shiver, as some inexplicable fear held her in grip.
“You must be cold, you are shivering.” Duncan McRey rose quickly to his feet, then taking Jill’s hands pulled her up from the seat. “I shouldn’t have let you sit so long, it was thoughtless of me.” He slipped an arm beneath her elbow as, emerging from the shelter of the wall, the wind whipped against their backs, causing Jill’s skirt to billow round her knees, and turning back the heavy flaps of Duncan McRey’s mackintosh.
It was a short walk from the front to the more sheltered paths across the hills, and far easier walking. Duncan McRey had dropped his arm from hers and their steps quickened as the force of the wind abated. It was perhaps not so exhilarating as the sea front, but much as Jill had enjoyed the outward journey, she was not sorry for the present lull. There seemed to be storm enough in her own chaotic thoughts without being buffeted by the gale as well.
“Thank you for seeing me back—and for the walk too. It was wonderful.” Jill held out her hand as they reached the hospital gates.
“I enjoyed it too.” He dug into his pocket and returned Jill’s bag, then, extending his hand, he took hers in a firm grip. “Good night.”
As she crossed the lawn to the Sisters’ Home her hand tingled from that hand-clasp, but it was a curiously warming and pleasant sensation. Had it been meant as a show of friendship? ... she slipped quietly past the Sisters’ lounge to the privacy of her own room; she still longed for solitude and her own thoughts. Locking her door, Jill sank down on the corner of her bed and pulled off her gloves. Then, her hands free, she untied the knotted scarf from her head. She’d forgotten to return it! Jill’s cheeks dimpled into a smile as, spreading it across her knees, she folded the soft material, carefully smoothing out the creases with her fingers. Unconsciously her mind drifted back to that moment when Duncan McRey had tied it beneath her chin. It had been a kindly thought ... Jill sighed. What an odd person he was; somehow so difficult to hate, but quite impossible to feel indifferent about. That only left the other extreme—love ... She found herself laughing softly at the thought. As far as she was concerned, that extreme was unthinkable, so it was up to her to find some middle course.
CHAPTER SIX
So closely did Jill watch her own and Brenda Malling’s movements during the following days that she began to feel that much more “sleuthing” would qualify her for a special job in the C.I..D! She didn’t allow the slightest detail to escape her notice, watched everything her Staff Nurse did with an eagle eye, and sooner than take any risks, undertook any special job herself rather than call upon Brenda’s help. It was tedious and heavy going, but was at least proving worthwhile, inasmuch as it gave her a better grip on the general running of her ward, and was also proving to her junior that not only would she not be trifled with, but that she was determined to stand her ground against any opposition.
Jill glanced at the clock on her desk. Another ten minutes before visitors were due to leave. How she dreaded these visiting days; it was the same in every children’s ward at every hospital. Naturally they had to be tolerated, but, oh dear! the tears and tantrums they brought in their wake. She rose from her desk with a sigh. She supposed she’d better make her appearance on the ward and face, the bombardment of questions, from the dozens of anxious parents, which were no doubt awaiting her. On the whole, thank goodness, she hadn’t any ill tidings to report and she could be reasonably cheerful to all and sundry. Baby Williams’ prognosis remained doubtful; still, she’d done better since she’d been in an oxygen tent, and Dr. McRey had been far more satisfied that morning ... Mary Miles was surely progressing a little, too. It was a slow, uphill job and the child seemed to have such low resistance...
“Oh, Sister, can I have a word with you?” A thin, neat young woman approached Jill as she entered the ward and forestalling other anxious parents buttonholed Jill in the doorway. “It’s about Mary—she is better, isn’t she?”
“I think she is.” Jill responded reassuringly, steering the girl across the ward back to Mary Miles’ bedside. “Dr.
McRey seems far more satisfied, and has, for the moment anyway, given up the idea of operating.”
“I’m glad of that.” Mrs. Miles wiped her hand across her eyes, which were suspiciously moist. “I signed that paper when Mary came in saying that I didn’t mind them operating, but do you know, I just can’t bear the very thought.” As they reached the bed where Mary lay propped up against high pillows, the mother leaned over, smiling fondly. “She looks better; I’m sure she does. Nearly ready to come home with Mum, aren’t you, duckie?” she asked, stroking the child’s hair with an even, soothing movement.
“Yes.” The child looked up, her forehead puckered into a frown. “want to come home, but the kitchen is always so hot. It’s nice here if only you stayed with me ...” She turned on her pillow to smile at Jill. “New Sister is so nice, and I love Doctor too.”
“So you are in love with me, are you, young woman?” Jill stood back in astonishment as she saw Duncan McRey approach the bed. It certainly was a surprise to see him, he usually kept well away from the ward during visiting hours. He turned towards Jill and addressed her in lowered tones. “I thought I’d better come over. I have got to discuss the matter of a convalescent home for that boy on the end bed. Are his parents here?”
“Yes, sir ... Would you like me to bring them along to my office now?”
“Please, Doctor, before you go...” Mrs. Miles, unwilling to let such an opportunity slip, laid a detaining hand on his arm. “Mary is better, isn’t she? I was telling Sister how glad I am she is getting on so well.”
“She is doing all right,” he responded briefly, then giving a playful pull at Mary’s curly hair, added, “You are fine, aren’t you?”
“... but please, Doctor,” Mrs. Miles persisted anxiously as Duncan McRey was about to turn away. “She is going to get better, isn’t she. I mean, I’ll be having her back before long?” The question was fraught with an anxiety she was unable to conceal.
“Widow, aren’t you?—if I remember rightly, husband died of tubercle?” He took the notes from the folder at the foot of the bed, and scanning them, went on, “I remember now, you work in a restaurant or something, don’t you?” awaiting her reply, he went on, “What happens to the child while you’re working?”
“She plays around the kitchen with me. Mr. Grant, that’s the boss; doesn’t mind. She’s at school most times, except of course when she’s poorly,” she amended with a sigh.
“A hot kitchen is no place for that child. Isn’t there a garden or a yard or something?” he demanded, replacing the notes.
“No, there’s nothing like that; the back yard is used to park cars now. I’ve often wished there was some other place Mary could play ...” Mrs. Miles broke off, then added, “It’s not so easy to pick and choose a job when, you’ve a child. It isn’t everyone wants children, not that Mary isn’t a well-brought-up child...”
“The steamy atmosphere of a kitchen is no place for Mary. We’ll have to see about it later,” he interrupted, then turned away before Mrs. Miles could detain him further.
With no time to offer more consolation than a reassuring smile in Mrs. Miles’ direction, Jill hurried to follow him from the ward.
Duncan McRey made short word of the next interview, and Jill was seeing him from the room when she ventured a protest. “Poor Mrs. Miles. You might have been a little kinder; you have left her in a complete state of dejection, and she was worried sick about Mary at it was.
“I don’t understand. I didn’t say anything.”
Jill gave a low laugh. “That’s just it, you didn’t say anything, and the poor dear was longing for just one word of assurance, she is so anxious to do her best for the child.”
It was obvious to Jill that no one had so far had the temerity to tackle the Honorary on the delicate matter of parents; he gave such sympathy and understanding to the children, surely a little could be spared for the harassed parents too.
“I hope I made her see the impossibility of boxing that child up in a steamy atmosphere when she leaves here. If I’ve only done that much it will be some good.”
“Yes, sir, I know you are right about that. I’ll discuss the question again with her later and see if she can’t get a more suitable job.”
Duncan McRey had certainly been more amenable to her protest than Jill would have believed possible, and it was with some sense of achievement that she returned to the ward to supervise the children’s teas. It was, as she had expected, in some uproar after the visitors’ departure, and most of the staff were occupied cajoling the children back into a more normal state of mind.
“I’ve taken your tea into the office,” Brenda Malling addressed Jill. “Dr. Traven is there. He is waiting, to see you.” The words were politely spoken, but did not disguise the underlying note of surliness which rarely left Brenda’s voice when she addressed Jill, and was invariably present when Philip Traven’s name came into the conversation.
“Hallo, Philip.” Jill sank into a chair at her desk. “Those children! It’s like Bedlam in the ward, it takes hours to get them quietened; in fact, they just settle down again nicely when it’s visiting day again! There doesn’t seem anything more disturbing to a sick child than a doting parent!”
“Poor Jill, you really do look tired.” Philip appraised Jill as she turned towards him, a steaming cup of tea in her hand.
“I’m all right. I suppose you want some tea. In fact, I expect that’s what you came for. Even in your student days you were always hanging round the ward at meal times!”
“What a libel.” Philip helped himself to a buttered scone. “Actually, I didn’t come here to tea at all. I came to speak to you. When is your long week-end—pretty well due isn’t it?”
“Next week-end, if you must know.” Jill drank her tea appreciatively, but refused the scones which her companion handed her. “I’m going down to Brent Towers. I ought to have had a day in town for some Christmas shopping, but Terry—you know, the little step-brother I told you about—seems so anxious to see me. I used to get home quite a lot when I worked in London; it’s difficult now, and I think he misses me.”
“That’s a pity. I’ve got some time off myself, and I was going to suggest that we went up to town and did a show together. Of course, if you’d like to offer me an invitation to Brent Towers, I’d run you over on Friday in the M.G., but I’d have to come back the following evening. You’d do the journey far more quickly than by our famous local line!” He smiled at Jill persuasively. “It’d be quite like old times!”
“It’s certainly like old times to hear you cadging an invitation to the Towers!” Jill laughed. “And typical of you to bribe me with a lift by car, and then leave me to find my own way back on Sunday night by train which you so rightly scorn.”
“That sounds as though you were going to let me come, then?”
“I can scarcely refuse, can I? Anyway, Mother and Trevor will be delighted, you were always a great favourite with them, and they were genuinely sorry when you took yourself off to that appointment in the North and stopped visiting us. Mother still says that her parties are not the same without you.”
“Good for Lady Hallard! I shall never forget how nice she used to be to me.” Philip’s voice took on a more serious note. “When my parents first settled abroad, I missed all the fun we always had at home ... and then I met you at Baldwin’s and you took pity on my loneliness and invited me to Brent Towers. That first occasion was your birthday, I remember, and there was the most wonderful dance, with a ‘hot jazz’ band from London, and the grounds were decorated with coloured lights and there were the most glamorous girls...”
“Yes, you would remember the glamorous girls!” Jill broke in. “But you’re quite right, it was a wonderful dance ... And after everyone had gone, you and I had a swim in the pool. Dear old Nana was so shocked, I couldn’t make her see that bathing by night was really no worse than bathing by day.” Jill laughed at the recollection. “Well, we shan’t be tempted to bathe this week-end, that’s a
certainty.”
“It’s more likely that we shall be snow-balling!” Philip remarked as he glanced out of the window at the frost which still clung to the bare branches of the trees. “Well, may I call it a date then? If so, I’ll pick you up about ten o’clock and we shall have an easy run to get there for lunch. The roads will probably be skiddy, I shan’t be able to drive fast.”
“It’s a lovely idea, I’m glad you suggested it. Not that I think you deserve an invitation. Look at the months when you ignored our existence completely—a card at Christmas was about all you managed.”
“You know I can’t bear letter-writing,” Philip protested. “And that last hospital I was at was in the wilds of Northumberland, and except for a summer holiday, when I went fishing in Scotland, I never got away from it. I fully intended to look you up when I was settled in here.”
“Intended to!” Jill scoffed. “How like you!”
“Well, I’m still pretty much of a newcomer at Sunsand myself, you know,’ he defended himself. “And then miracle of miracles, you appeared in person. I could scarcely believe my eyes, it seemed too good to be true!” He glanced at Jill searchingly. “Yet already there’s an ugly whisper going round that you’re not going to stay. It’s not true, is it?”
“You shouldn’t listen to gossip,” Jill retorted quickly. “And if the ‘ugly whisper, as you call it, emanated from Nurse Malling, you can tell her from me that I haven’t the slightest intention of leaving.” She was surprised at her own emphasis. The idea of a rumour that she was leaving only strengthened her decision to stay the course as she had promised Harriet.
“I stand rebuked,” Philip replied contritely. “Now I’d better go and do a spot of work.” He walked across to the door and opened it. “Thanks a lot, Jill, the thought of that week-end has put new life into me.”
A moment later Brenda Malling entered the office. “What about Mary’s injection, do you want to give it yourself?”
To Please the Doctor Page 7