The Gentle Surgeon

by Hilda Pressley

  “I hadn’t thought of that. But, John, suppose a man demands more proof of a woman’s love than she is prepared to give him?”

  “Proof? Of what kind?” He glanced at her sharply. “If a man needs that kind of proof he doesn’t deserve a woman’s love.” He sounded almost angry. Then, in a softer tone, he added, “I’m sorry, Christine, if that hurts you. I wouldn’t do that for anything in the world.”

  “No, John, I know you wouldn’t.” She sighed. “When things begin to go wrong in a situation on which, at one time, you could have staked your life, you wonder and ponder and blame yourself until in the end you don’t know where you are.”

  “Yes, I know how you feel. But there’s something in you, Christine, some instinct that keeps you on the right path, no matter how confused you might be at times. I’m only sorry that you’ve been going through such a bad patch. I wish there was more I could do to help.”

  Christine smiled. “I don’t think you realize, John, how much you do help. There are few people I can talk to as I do to you.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Then Christine’s father joined them, and a few minutes later, her mother, too. Several times during the next two hours John made an effort to leave, but either Mrs. Townsend or her husband persuaded him to stay. At last, however, he rose.

  “I really must go, though I don’t want to in the least.”

  “Well, come and stay the night some time my boy,” Mr. Townsend said warmly.

  Mrs. Townsend echoed the invitation, and they left it to Christine to see John to his car.

  “Will you come out to dinner with me next time you’re free, Christine?” he asked.

  “I’d love to.”

  “You’re a very nice girl, Christine, you know that?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought you’d think so after some of the things that have been happening in theater lately.”

  He smiled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re very good in theater.”

  Christine could have hugged him. His kindness and his gentleness so touched her that tears filled her eyes. For quite a while after he had driven away she lingered in the garden, still feeling his hand, firm and comforting, on hers.

  She gazed up at the stars, happier than she had been for a very long time. In losing Robert she had lost an ardent, would-be passionate lover. But in John she had gained so very much more—a man on whose friendship she knew she could always rely, who would always believe in her, a man whom she could not only respect, but could love in a way she had never loved Rob, and who she was sure was capable of loving in a way Robert would never understand.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  But Christine was not in love with John. She admired him, she could see no fault in him and was happy and at peace in his company, but he did not arouse any other emotion in her.

  They began to see each other regularly and as was inevitable it soon became known in the hospital. The comments of her fellow staff nurses were pithy as always.

  “Going in for surgery in a big way, Townsend?”

  “Well, if a surgeon can’t repair a broken heart, who can, eh, girls?”

  “You can put it that way, if you like,” Christine answered.

  “Saw Rob out with that blonde the other day. I thought blondes were supposed to be out of date, and that redheads were in fashion?”

  Christine let it all run off her back. Hospital life was like family life. Nothing remained secret for long, even if you wanted it to, and John had made no particular efforts to hide the fact that he was seeing her once or twice a week.

  Sister Kelly’s comment had been almost in the shape of a reprimand. But Christine had stood up to her.

  “What I do in my off-duty is surely my own affair, Sister. You can’t complain that I waste time talking to Dr. Taylor in theater. We make our arrangements in our own time.”

  To her surprise Sister Kelly smiled. “Don’t be so touchy, Staff Nurse. I wasn’t complaining. I merely asked if it were true.” She paused, then said in an altered tone, “If I were you, I’d watch my step all the same. Whether you know it or not you have a rival in theater, and she’ll do you harm if she can. I’m not going to tell you who it is, but be on your guard, that’s all.”

  “Thank you, Sister, but I think I know who it is. She’s wasting her time, though, if she thinks she can influence Dr. Taylor in any way. He’s a man who forms his own opinions.”

  “That may be, but there are more ways than one of causing mischief.”

  This conversation did not worry Christine in the slightest. She was not afraid of anything Nurse Larcham might do in her jealousy. At least, not on John’s account. Nothing could touch their friendship, but they were not emotionally involved with each other.

  She tried not to think of Robert at all. Each time she found him creeping into her thoughts, she deliberately concentrated on something else, usually replacing his image with that of John. When she came face to face with him, she bade him good morning, or whatever time of day it happened to be, in as normal a voice as possible. There was no need for her to avoid him. He appeared to be avoiding her whenever possible, taking care never to be in a room alone with her for more than a few minutes. He made no attempt whatever to speak of anything of a personal nature, and Christine was glad. She still felt acutely disappointed in him. But she refused her heart its pleading to yearn for him, and when she was in John’s company she forgot him completely.

  As soon as her days off happened to fall on a Saturday and Sunday and John was free, too, Christine invited him to stay at her home for the weekend, and her father arranged the trip down the mine.

  He fixed the three of them up with boiler suits and obtained helmets and lamps from the office at the pit top.

  Going down in the pit shaft was the part Christine liked least of all. Though she was prepared for it, having been down before, the plunge downward made her heart lurch sickeningly. Her knees buckled under her as they had done before and though John must have been feeling some effect himself, he put his arm about her and held her close to him.

  This was the first time he had ever done such a thing for any reason at all, and in spite of the circumstances Christine became aware of his touch, his nearness, in a way that was entirely new to her. Something so wonderful, of such depth and quality possessed her that time itself no longer existed. She felt caught up in something eternal and undeniable, the most important thing in the whole world. And John and she were a part of it.

  Then the spell was broken. There was a sensation as if the cage had begun to soar upward again, and John’s arm tightened about her as the cage came to a bumping halt. “Well? How was that for an experience?” asked Mr. Townsend. “I see you’re hanging on to Chris for support.”

  John laughed and released her gently. “It was an experience out of this world,” he said in a low voice.

  The door of the cage was opened by a man at the pit bottom and they stepped out into what was, as John had surmised, rather like London’s underground except that there were no advertisements. Rounded ceiling and walls were whitewashed and there were overhead electric lights. A warning notice referred to the danger of naked lights and the penalty for carrying matches.

  “Does it ever happen?” asked John.

  “Occasionally. Sometimes men have the odd match in their pockets by accident. Didn’t realize it was there.”

  “No question of having a smoke on the job, then. Or even at their snack time.”

  “Snap time,” Christine’s father corrected. “And no question of a smoke at all from the minute they step into the cage at the pit top to the time they go up again after eight or ten hours underground.”

  John inhaled deeply. “It’s a hard, tough life.”

  Mr. Townsend nodded. “It’s that all right. But there are still some people who think miners get too much money. Incidentally, the men are sometimes searched at the pit bottom for matches. Have you got any on you?”

  As he spoke he brought up both h
ands and proceeded to tap John’s sides, frisking his pockets.

  “It’s all right. I left them behind as instructed by Christine,” laughed John.

  “What about me frisking you, Father?” teased Christine.

  “You can, if you like, but you won’t find any on me. Come on, let’s go.”

  He led the way into one of the many tunnel-like roads that led off the pit bottom. Soon the electric lighting terminated and they were left with only the lights from their lamps. As well as the ones in their hands, John and Mr. Townsend had one fixed to the front of their helmets, and it was on this only that the miners relied to see their way and to work by.

  At first they were able-to walk upright, but after a while they were forced to bend their heads, then their backs.

  “Mind your head,” cautioned Christine’s father.

  He was a little too late. An exclamation and a loud crack came from John as his head hit the roof.

  “Good thing I had this crash helmet on,” he muttered.

  They came to a small clearing rather like a cave, its sides streaked with coal and further tunnelled about a foot from the ground.

  “Is this still being worked?” asked John in a surprised voice.

  “No, not now. It’s worked out. I brought you along to show you what it used to be like. Mind you, there are still plenty of pits up and down the country where pick and shovel work only is done.”

  “But the men would have to work more or less lying down,” said John.

  “That’s right.”

  They went back the way they had come, then Christine’s father took them along another part, but here they rode some of the way along a sort of miniature railway, then again on foot, the height varying. This part of the mine was mechanized, but as Mr. Townsend pointed out there was still a great deal of manual labor required in shoveling the coal on to the conveyor belt.

  “Conditions are much better now, but in the days of private ownership everything—even the safety of the miners—was sacrificed to the business of making money, getting as much coal out as possible. Sometimes the heat and lack of ventilation made working unbearable. At other times the men could be working waist-deep in water. And in those days there were no pit-head baths or canteens.

  “If the colliers came across a “dirty seam”—stuff which had to be cleared before the coal could be mined—the men didn’t get paid for their labor. It’s true that a minimum wage was instituted at one period, but it barely kept body and soul together. For years, they were paid according to how much actual coal they mined, not for all the slate and the rock and the dross they had to shift. The young miners of today have simply no idea how their fathers sweated and toiled and fought for better conditions and a decent living wage.”

  They made their way to the pit bottom again and stepped into the cage once more. Going back up wasn’t quite so bad as going down had been. Christine glanced at John’s thoughtful face and wondered fleetingly whether her feeling as he had stood with his arm about her on the way down had been shared by him.

  “That was quite an experience, Mr. Townsend. One I shall never forget.”

  He was referring to what he had seen down the mine, and what her father had told him, of course. That was evident from his thoughtful expression as they made their way back to the house. What he had said as they stepped out of the cage at the pit bottom had nothing whatever to do with what she had felt Why should it?

  He was not a man given to idle chatter or the sort of light, witty conversation that had so characterized Robert. But over lunch also he was quiet and preoccupied.

  “And what are you two going to do this afternoon?” Mrs. Townsend asked of John and Christine as she rose to clear away after lunch. “Are you going to rest after your arduous shift at the coal face?”

  “Very funny, Mother!”

  John smiled. “I’d like to take Christine out for a run and maybe drop off and have tea somewhere—if that’s all right with you, Mrs. Townsend. And Christine, of course.”

  Christine said she could think of nothing nicer, and as soon as the dishes were done she and John set off.

  “Anywhere in particular?” John asked, turning to smile at her as he switched on the ignition.

  Her eyes met his and a feeling of contentment stole over her. “I don’t mind where, John,” she said happily. “Do you?”

  He shook his head slowly, his gaze lingering on her hair and face. “No, I don’t mind either,” he said in a low voice.

  He started up the car and she leaned her head on the back of the seat. It was odd, she thought, how happy John made her feel. If this was the kind of joy one could find in friendship, it was infinitely to be preferred to love. Love, it seemed, only brought frustration and pain.

  As John was unfamiliar with the Yorkshire countryside, Christine did give him one or two directions, though she tried to avoid the road Robert had taken on the last occasion they had been out together.

  “I didn’t realize Yorkshire was so hilly,” John remarked as the car climbed steadily.

  “I suppose it is, really, though being so used to Yorkshire I hadn’t realized it was particularly hilly.”

  His eyes ranged up the rugged crags. “I wouldn’t mind a walk up there. How do you feel?”

  “Fit for anything.”

  At a suitable place John parked the car and they found a spot where they could climb to the top of the crag. About halfway up he took her hand, holding it in his firm, cool grasp, and again Christine was aware of his strength, the feeling of something special in the physical contact of his hand.

  Breathless, they reached the top. “All right?” he asked her. She nodded. “Mm. Lovely up here, isn’t it?”

  They stood for a while in silence, drinking in the glory of the view stretched out below, their hands still entwined.

  “There isn’t a pithead in sight from here,” John said.

  “No. It’s gorgeous.”

  John looked at her tip-tilted face, her cheeks glowing, her hair blowing in the breeze.

  “Christine, you’re a sight to gladden any man’s heart. And it’s wonderful to see you looking happy again.”

  Unaccountably, she suddenly felt shy of him and withdrew her hand from his. But as soon as she had done so, she wished she hadn’t. The hand that had been so secure and comforted now seemed bare and lonely, and she felt deprived and incomplete. “Shall we go back to the car now, then?” John asked quietly. She turned, and without speaking they began the descent. If she had been happy on the top of the crag she now felt depressed and began to think of Robert again. Then, not paying sufficient attention to where she was putting her feet, she stumbled suddenly.

  In a moment John’s arms were about her. “Chris, are you all right? Better take my hand. Come along.”

  He took her hand then as if she were a child, picking an easy way for her, pointing out any rough patches. Her spirit rose again and she took the last few yards at a run, almost dragging him after her, laughing happily.

  They still had a short distance to walk to the car, and when they were on level ground again, John relaxed his hold on her hand a little. But this time Christine did not move hers and she felt John tighten his grasp again. When they reached the car, rather than let her hand go he took it in his other one while he searched for the key. Then he put his arm around her shoulders and held her for a moment.

  “We’ll go and find some tea now, shall we?” he suggested, giving her a smile.

  He helped her into the car and they drove off. John, it seemed—again unlike Robert—preferred not to talk a great deal while driving, and Christine fell deep into her own thoughts, trying to analyze what it was she was feeling toward John. She liked him, of course, but there was something more than that, something more than just friendship. What was it she wanted of him? Comfort for her heart, bruised by Robert? Affection? Someone on whom to lean? He was the sort of person one looked up to, could rely upon in any circumstances whatever. He carried with him a kind of tranquillity,
and it was this Christine longed for and desired from him, she concluded.

  John flicked a quick smile at her. “All right?”

  She gave him an answering smile and nodded, and he took one hand off the wheel and touched her hand.

  “Keep a look out for a little cafe of some sort where we can get tea.”

  About three miles further along they came across a stone cottage with a sign outside.

  “This will be all right, John. I remember having tea here before.

  They serve brown scones and homemade jam, and make the tea in little brown teapots kept warm with hand-knitted tea-cozies.” John laughed. He seemed very happy today, Christine reflected suddenly.

  Christine had been with Robert last summer when they had stopped here for tea. She tried not to think of that occasion as she and John made their way inside. It was incredible how much in love they had been, she and Rob, in those days. Yet now...

  There were not many people in the little cafe—a middle-aged couple and two boy hikers, that was all. John and Christine sat near the window at a table for two, and a young girl dressed in a muslin blouse and dirndl skirt took their order.

  As they waited, Christine glanced idly through the window, covered with a fine net curtain. Another car was just pulling up, and her heart gave a violent lurch as she recognized Robert’s new sports car. Sandra was by his side.

  She looked away quickly, her lips tightening. But as though compelled by some unseen force, she found herself looking again.

  They were laughing together. Now Rob was helping Sandra out, and as they walked toward the cottage he had his arm about her.

  Dimly, she heard John ask her what was the matter, then he leaned toward the window.

  “Christine...” He was looking at her anxiously now. “I’m sorry. Would you like to go somewhere else?”

  Christine was facing the door. As John spoke it opened and Robert and Sandra came in.

  “They serve a pretty good tea here, darling,” Robert was saying.

  Then he caught sight of Christine. His eyebrows shot up and his glance flicked to John. Then his face relaxed again.