Fate Is Remarkable

by Betty Neels

  ‘I see you understand me,’ he remarked smoothly.

  She said at once, ‘Oh, yes. But you see, you need not have kept it a secret, because I like you already, and I can’t imagine anything you might do making any difference to that … even though I don’t know you very well.’ She sounded forlorn, but only for a brief second, for she went on briskly: ‘Why were you angry coming home just now?’

  ‘Not angry,’ he corrected her patiently. ‘I was uncertain as to whether I had done the right thing after all. Rose Road is hard work, and dirty and smelly—far worse than OPD. I realised that perhaps I had let you in for a worse job than you had had before we married.’

  Her ill-humour and unease quite evaporated. She smiled widely and asked, ‘Was that all it was? But I shall like it very much, really I shall, and it’s only twice a week.’ She added with unconscious candour, ‘I shall be with you too.’

  There was no expression on his face, nor in his voice.

  ‘Er—yes, so you will. I didn’t realise you would wonder where I was.’

  ‘Hugo, how ridiculous you are!’ she remarked roundly. ‘Of course I wondered! I even thought that you—you wanted to get away from me or—or something …’

  He said gravely, ‘Never that, I promise you, Sarah.’ His voice sounded strange, but she couldn’t see his face clearly, because he had his back to the light. She said with relief, ‘Oh, good! I’m glad we’re friends again—I don’t like it at all when we fall out; now I’m going to bed, for you must be wanting to be by yourself.’ He didn’t answer this, but gave a half-smile as she went to him and reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘Goodnight.’

  It was several days later that Mrs Crews telephoned. Sarah had just finished arranging a bowl of flowers on the dining table—it had taken her a long time to do, but was, she considered, well worth the trouble she had taken. The telephone cut across her gentle thoughts and she went into the sitting room to answer it. Ten minutes later she was in the car, thankful that the morning rush hour was over as she made her unhindered way to Phipps Street.

  Mrs Brown was in bed, the awful pallor of her pinched little face in cruel contrast to the pink bedjacket. She said in a thin, cheerful voice, ‘‘Ullo, ducks. Funny, I was just thinking about you and the doc.’

  Sarah smiled warmly at her. ‘Now, isn’t that funny,’ she remarked cheerfully. ‘Because I told the doctor that I was coming to see you today and he said he’d pop in later and take a look at you before we go home.’

  Mrs Crews was at the sink, placidly preparing a dinner Mrs Brown wasn’t going to eat. Sarah caught her eye.

  ‘If you’d like to do your shopping, Mrs Crews, I shall be here for an hour or so.’ They exchanged an understanding look. ‘I’ll come down to the car with you, there’s something I have to bring up.’ They went down together and at the door Sarah said, ‘I’ve not had time to let my husband know … Did you get a message to Dr Bright?’

  ‘Yes, ‘fore I rang you, ma’am. He’s out on a baby case—Sandra said twins.’

  Sarah dug into her handbag, wrote a number on a leaf of her notebook, tore it out, and gave it to her companion. ‘Dr van Elven will be at St Edwin’s by now—it’s getting on for two o’clock. Will you ring this number and give him a message from me? That Mrs Brown is very poorly and would he please come here when his clinic is finished.’ She paused, frowning. ‘There’s nothing more to be done, you know. Mrs Brown doesn’t want to go into hospital and there’s nothing more to do for her. I’ll be quite all right here, so don’t rush too much.’

  ‘You’re alone in the ‘ouse until four o’clock,’ said Mrs Crews doubtfully. ‘I’ll pop in about three to see ‘ow things are. It ain’t right you should be on yer own.’

  She trotted off, and Sarah went back upstairs, carefully carrying something she had taken from the car. She deposited it on the small table drawn up to Mrs Brown’s bed and saw Mrs Brown’s face light up. There had been no time to gather flowers from the garden—she had picked up her floral masterpiece from the table, and brought it with her, bowl and all. Mrs Brown gazed at it with pleasure. ‘Cor!’ she said in a whispering voice. ‘All them lovely flowers—you shouldn’t ‘ave, Sister dear.’ She stroked Timmy, lying under her hand. ‘‘Ow about a cuppa?’

  Sarah made tea and they drank it together, and Mrs Brown talked a great deal about everything under the sun in a voice which rapidly became more breathless, until she said, ‘I think I’ll ‘ave a little nap.’

  When she was asleep Sarah felt her pulse—it was almost imperceptible, as were the shallow breaths. The old lady’s face was very pinched and very tranquil. Sarah looked at her watch; it was a little after three—an afternoon had never seemed so long. She thought about Hugo, and longed for him to come.

  Mrs Brown opened her eyes when Mrs Crews came softly in and they all had tea again, only this time Mrs Brown only took a sip or two, lifted carefully against her pillows by Sarah, who said comfortably:

  ‘The doctor will be here presently.’ There was no need for her to say more, because Mrs Brown had gone to sleep again, and Mrs Crews, after performing a soundless pantomime to show that she would be back again, crept away.

  The old lady still slept when Hugo came quietly into the room. He stood in the doorway and gave Sarah a swift all-seeing glance before he turned his attention to his patient. He put his case down on the table in the middle of the cluttered little room and took his stethoscope from it and asked quietly, ‘Where’s John Bright?’

  Sarah was still sitting by the bed, Mrs Brown’s hand in hers. She looked at Hugo with eyes shining with relief. He seemed to fill the room; she was conscious of the confidence and calm and gentleness he had brought with him. Just for a moment her lip quivered, but her soft voice was steady.

  ‘Mrs Crews tried to get him. He’s out on a midder case—twins.’

  He nodded and bent over the bed to put a large cool hand over Mrs Brown’s and Sarah’s as well. His touch was very reassuring but brief. He straightened up again and looked at her with the careful noncommittal mask of his profession upon his handsome face. She asked worriedly:

  ‘Did I do right? Should I have got an ambulance?’

  He shook his head. ‘Perfectly right, my dear. No point.’ His eyes left hers and studied Mrs Brown, who opened her eyes with the abruptness of a small child and said breathily, ‘There you are.’

  He lowered himself carefully on to the side of the bed.

  ‘Hullo, Mrs Brown,’ he said, and frowned with mock severity. ‘What have you been doing the moment my back is turned?’

  She managed a faint chuckle. ‘Don’t you be bamboozling me, Doctor dear.’ She paused to get her breath. ‘Because it ain’t no use, for all you’re a good kind man.’ She closed her eyes and then opened them again. ‘Thanks fer all yer’ve done—and ducks ‘ere. Them flowers …’

  Her glance invited Hugo to admire them, and he did so, concealing his astonishment at the sight of his highly valuable and prized Rockingham flower bowl gracing her bedside table, he murmured, ‘Delightful,’ and Mrs Brown said, ‘Timmy—yer’ll give ‘im an ‘ome?’

  ‘Certainly—you can be sure that he will be happy and cared for.’

  She sighed and slept again, to wake presently and fix Sarah with a tired eye. ‘Me name’s Rosemary—it’s a nice name for a little girl.’

  Sarah, knowing what she meant, said cheerfully, ‘It’s a lovely name. When—when we have a little daughter, she shall have your name.’ She didn’t look at Hugo as she spoke, but she didn’t think he would mind her saying that, it was so obviously what the old lady wanted to hear. It was a harmless lie that would hurt no one—that wasn’t true; she was conscious of her own deep hurt even as she smiled at Mrs Brown, who gave the ghost of a chuckle and closed her eyes and didn’t open them again.

  There were things to do, of course, and presently Mrs Crews came and Hugo said, ‘Come along, Sarah,’ and she found herself outside on the landing with him. It smelled of fish and chips and hot vinegar,
and the tap over the sink in the corner was dripping steadily. She choked on a sob she was trying to suppress and found herself in Hugo’s arms, crying into his waistcoat. She heard him say, ‘My poor darling, you have had a bad day,’ and accepted the handkerchief he offered, mopped her face and blew her beautiful nose with resolution and said in a watery voice:

  ‘I feel better now, thank you. So silly of me!’

  He still held her in a comfortable, impersonal grip. ‘No,’ he said in a kind voice. ‘Not silly. I’m only sorry I couldn’t leave the clinic and come to you at once.’

  She looked at him in genuine astonishment. ‘But of course you couldn’t—all those people waiting for you.’

  He looked as though he was going to say something at that, but instead he bent and kissed her gently, then led her downstairs where Mr Ives was waiting by the door. Hugo kept his arm about her while he spoke briefly to him, and she stood quietly within its comfort, not listening. When they reached the pavement she said helplessly, ‘Oh—two cars,’ and stood staring at the Iso in a helpless way until Hugo took her handbag and got the keys before opening the Rover door and pushing her gently on to the seat. He got in beside her, started up the engine and said matter-of-factly:

  ‘We’ll leave the Rover at St Edwin’s for the night—perhaps you would come up tomorrow morning and drive it back. We’ll pick up a taxi and come back here and go home in the Iso.’

  When they got back again to Phipps Street, he put her firmly in the car and said firmly, ‘Stay there, Sarah, I shan’t be long,’ and went into the house. Presently he came out again with the Rockingham bowl under one arm and Timmy under the other. He was followed by Mr Ives, who came across to peer at her through the car window. He said hoarsely:

  ‘I’ll miss yer, Sister.’ He put out a hand and shook hers solemnly. ‘Be seeing yer,’ he said.

  They were halfway home when she roused herself to speak. She stared at Timmy, sitting on her lap, and asked, ‘Who’s going to see to …?’

  ‘I’ve arranged things with Ives and Mrs Crews. Don’t worry about it, Sarah.’

  His voice was calm and very kind; she found that she wasn’t worrying for the simple reason that he had told her not to.

  Inside the house, she took Timmy to Alice and went back to the hall in time to meet Hugo coming in with the Rockingham bowl. She followed him into the dining room and watched him put it back on the table.

  ‘I hope you didn’t mind me taking it, Hugo; there wasn’t time to pick anything—I was in a hurry, and I’d just arranged the flowers in it—it looked gorgeous.’ She stopped, appalled to find her voice wobbling. ‘I—I was going to wear my jersey dress when you came home because it matched so well …’

  He was standing in the shadow, so she was unable to see his face very well. ‘How delightful of you,’ he said after a pause, ‘although you look charming in that dress.’

  She looked surprised. ‘This one? Why, it’s that old cotton thing I wore when I was at Mother’s.’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  She found herself blushing and didn’t know why. ‘I’ll run upstairs and change,’ she said. ‘I shan’t be more than ten minutes.’

  He talked about Mrs Brown during dinner, gently at first, then with a cheerful matter-of-factness, and presently led the conversation to other things. ‘I think,’ he said, as they drank their coffee, ‘we might have a few people to dinner, don’t you? We owe one or two already, don’t we? Shall we have the Coles and Kate and Jim to start with, and then something more ambitious with the Binns and Peppards and Matron?’

  ‘Black tie?’ Sarah asked anxiously.

  ‘Oh, yes, I think so, don’t you? It will give you an opportunity of wearing one of your pretty dresses … the pink fairytale princess would be nice. There are plenty of roses in the garden to match it—you could do another centrepiece.’

  She agreed, not sure if he was teasing and then sure he was when he asked:

  ‘Not scared? You shouldn’t be, you know. A colonel’s daughter …’

  She got up and said hotly, ‘I’m not a colonel’s daughter any more, but a doctor’s wife—and proud of it!’

  Her own words had surprised her; she had really no idea of saying them. To cover her confusion she went over to the piano and started to play. She played well, but with a regrettable lack of attention, for her thoughts were confused and needed sorting out. After a while she jumped up and said:

  ‘I think I’ll go to bed.’ It was barely nine o’clock, but Hugo got out of his chair and went to the door with her without mentioning this fact. She stared up at him as they said goodnight, trying to read she knew not what into his placid, gently smiling face. She went upstairs, feeling confused.

  CHAPTER SIX

  DURING THE NEXT FEW weeks, Sarah found herself wondering about the state of her own feelings. For a few days Mrs Brown’s death had occupied her thoughts to a certain extent. She had gone to the funeral with Hugo and Dr Bright and an astonishing number of people from Phipps Street. They had been bidden to the room on the top landing afterwards, where Mrs Ives dispensed strong tea, fish-paste sandwiches and slab cake stuffed with unlikely-looking cherries, and everybody had congratulated everybody else on the success of the whole undertaking. Dr Bright had seen her astonished look and explained, ‘This is exactly what Mrs Brown would have wanted—I can think of no better memorial to her.’

  She looked across the stuffy little room to where Hugo was talking to Mr Ives and the funny little man who lived on the landing below. He appeared completely at ease—she suddenly wanted to be beside him, sharing his feelings and thoughts. She turned back to Dr Bright, looking unhappy, but unaware of it, and he said briskly:

  ‘You’ll be along this evening, I hope, Sarah? It’s such a luxury to have you to do the bandaging and cope with the babies—you’re not sorry you started?’

  She smiled. ‘No—I like it very much, and I see more of Hugo.’

  She enjoyed the sessions at Rose Road. She had bought herself some white overalls which fitted her, and called Hugo ‘Doctor’ in front of the patients, and if they exchanged half a dozen words of a personal nature during the evening, that was a rarity; yet they were together and she felt as though she was sharing at least part of his life, albeit a very small part. About his practice in Harley Street she knew very little indeed, and when, one day, she had made the suggestion that she should call upon him there, he had discouraged her, though in the kindest possible way. They walked the dogs each morning, it was true, but that was only half an hour at the most, and although he had never once given her the smallest hint that he preferred to be alone, she wished he would suggest that she sat with him in his study while he read his post, just as she had done that first evening. He was the pleasantest of companions, kind and considerate, and amusing too … she wondered if it was she who had changed, and had she really been content to see so little of him when they first married? And yet they enjoyed each other’s company. They went out together frequently; she had everything she could wish for. He was generous to a fault. He had taken her down to spend a Sunday with her parents, and she hoped he would suggest a walk; but he didn’t, preferring to discuss world politics with her father. And yet he had been quite delightful on their way home, although when she had thought about it afterwards, his conversation had been quite impersonal. The ugly little idea that he was beginning to regret their marriage crossed her mind and she suppressed it sternly as being unworthy of him; but it was there, all the same, to worry her in an unguarded moment. Sometimes, when she awoke in the night, she wondered if he still thought of Janet, and greatly daring, she essayed to bring her name into conversation, only to be quietly checked by Hugo, firmly introducing another topic.

  It was during their first dinner party that she made an interesting discovery about herself. They had invited Matron and John Bright, as well as the Coles and Kate and Jimmy Dean. She sat opposite Hugo, well satisfied with the elegantly appointed table, with its silver and crystal and the Worces
ter dinner service—she had conjured up a flower arrangement almost exactly the same as the one she had taken to Mrs Brown, and had put on the honey-coloured dress and the earrings and pearls. Their glances met for a moment and she felt a thrill of pleasure at the pride and admiration in his eyes. She had spent a long time in the kitchen with Alice, enjoying the planning of the menu. They had come up with artichoke soup, followed by roast beef with one of Alice’s superb Yorkshire puddings, the whole rounded off by fraises Empress with a sauce sabayon. Now she watched the results of their labours being eaten with every sign of enjoyment by their guests. Hugo was a good host; the wine was excellent; the company were enjoying themselves. She was roused from her pleasant domestic thoughts by Kate, who asked her if she had heard the news that Steven was to marry Anne Binns in October. Sarah stared at her, struck dumb by the sudden awareness of a total lack of interest in Steven. She hadn’t thought about him for days—weeks; she saw no reason ever to think of him again. She went on looking rather vacantly at Kate until Hugo’s voice bridged the awkward little pause. ‘There you are, darling. A chance to buy a magnificent hat!’

  She turned her fine eyes upon him, still looking astonished at her discovery, and said on a happy sigh, ‘Yes, Hugo,’ thinking how marvellous it was when he called her darling, although it was only because they had guests. She gave him a dazzling smile, and mindful of her duties, pressed Matron to try a little more of the fraises Empress.

  When the last of their guests had gone, she wandered back to the drawing room and began to plump up the cushions, while Hugo, who had lingered to let the dogs into the garden, stood in the doorway watching her. She peeped at him once and saw that he was smiling.

  ‘Congratulations, Sarah. A most successful evening—it seems that I have a wife who is a first-rate hostess as well as a beautiful woman.’

  She gave him a smile and began to rearrange the flowers in their vases. Surely he would mention Steven’s marriage, then it would be easy to tell him. She started on the cushions once more, but when at last he said, half laughing, ‘Did you want to tell me something, Sarah?’ she said immediately and pettishly, ‘No, I don’t.’