“Well, Chris, fancy seeing you here,” he said, moving toward them. “And our Dr. Taylor. It sure is a small world.” Christine forced herself to speak to him and Sandra, but John merely nodded.
“Yes. Well, see you,” Robert said, resting his hand briefly on Christine’s shoulder before moving on to sit at one of the other tables.
“Would you like to leave, Christine?” John asked again.
She shook her head. She hadn’t expected to feel quite so hurt, seeing Robert with Sandra. She had thought that in the continued company of John she was recovering from Robert a little.
“It’s all right, John,” she said determinedly. “Anyway, here comes our tea.”
She mustn’t let either Robert or Sandra think that their presence affected her in the least. She poured out the tea and made efforts to smile. But John appeared uneasy and anxious himself "to leave, so as soon as they could they departed. As Christine went through the door she glanced over to where Robert and Sandra were sitting, but they did not even look up. Sandra was talking animatedly and Robert was hanging on her every word.
“I’m sorry about that, Christine,” John said quietly as they settled in the car again.
She gave a faint smile. “It doesn’t matter, John. It’s silly of me to have felt anything at all. I suppose it will wear off in time.”
John did not reply to that. He drove on, but somehow the sun had gone out of the day. John was unusually quiet, and quite early in the evening turned the car toward home.
It was barely eight o’clock when he turned into the drive of Christine’s home.
“Will you come in and have some supper, John?” she asked.
He hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t think so, if you don’t mind. I feel I’ve trespassed on your parents’ good nature quite enough. I’ll just come in and say good night to them and thank them for having me, then I’m afraid I must go. There are some letters I want to write.”
From the tone of his voice Christine sensed that his mind was quite made up, so she said no more. He went into the house with her and had a few words with her parents, shaking his head as they pressed him to stay to supper.
“I really must get back. Thank you so much.”
Reluctantly, they let him go. “Do come again, John. Any time at all.”
Christine saw him off. A gentle twilight lingered, streaking the sky with a soft, rosy tint. She wanted so much for John to stay, to feel his hand comfortingly over hers.
They stood and faced each other for a moment, like two people with things on their minds. John spoke first.
“Well, goodbye, Christine. We shall be seeing each other in theater.”
She looked up at him appealingly. “John, I’m sorry.”
His glance quickened. “My dear, you’ve nothing to apologize to me for.”
He took both her hands in his then and pressed them to him. On impulse she rested her head on his chest, drawing strength and comfort from the feel of him. The hand over hers tightened and she could feel his heartbeat.
“Christine—” he murmured gently.
With his free hand he stroked her hair, then he bent and kissed the top of her head. She looked up then and smiled, tears not far away.
“John, you’re so good—so nice to me.”
“My dear, it’s easy to be nice to you. Very easy.”
She laughed shortly. “Not everyone finds it so, by any means.”
His face clouded. “Unfortunately. Christine, if you’re sure you want to go on seeing me, well—I’d like it.”
“Oh yes, John. That is—”
“That’s all right, then. Good night, Christine.”
He gave her a brief hug, then he released her and drove off. Christine walked slowly back into the house. John was a dear; good, kind, considerate in every way, and she was becoming extremely fond of him. Comparing him with Robert she knew that he was much more a man of character—wiser, more stable, infinitely more gentle. Yet she hungered for the vital spark Robert could evoke in her.
When Christine went back on duty on Monday morning she received an undisguised look of hatred from Nurse Larcham. It was not one of John’s days for operating; otherwise, Christine reflected, her fellow staff nurse might have shown more of her sweeter side. It was not an exceptionally busy day in theater. The thoracic surgeon had two operations only, a bronchoscopy and a lobectomy. The lobectomy was done in the morning—Sister acting as instrument nurse, and the other in the afternoon when Sister was off duty. Nurse Larcham officiated while Christine attended to the anesthetic trolley, answered the telephone and did general duties the scrubbed nurse couldn’t do.
Nevertheless, by the time evening came, Christine felt her nerves were almost in shreds trying to cope with the other’s hostile attitude. They were on duty together in the evening and theater was cleared up and spick and span long before time to go off duty. Normally, in these circumstances, the time would have passed pleasantly enough, but Nurse Larcham repulsed every attempt at conversation.
“Larcham, what is the matter with you?” Christine asked at last, unable to stand it any longer. “If I’ve done something to annoy you, for goodness’ sake tell me. Let’s have a row if need be and get it over. I just can’t stand this atmosphere any longer.”
The pretty, blue-eyed staff nurse gave her a contemptuous stare.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have to talk to you if I don’t want to, except about the work.”
Christine sighed. “That’s ridiculous, Larcham, and you know it. Come on now. What’s on your mind?”
“All right, if you must have it. I think it’s disgusting the way you make up to Dr. Taylor. You’re only using him to make Robbie Marston jealous.” A self-righteous expression settled on her face. “I don’t think it’s fair. Dr. Taylor is far too nice a man to be taken advantage of in that way.”
“I agree with you entirely,” Christine said quietly. “And I wouldn’t dream of ‘using him’ as you call it. So if that’s all there is between us, you can set your mind at rest.”
“On your assurances? The whole hospital knows you’re just taking him for a ride. More than one person has seen you with Rob in his new car.”
Christine was absolutely flabbergasted at this distortion of the truth. Was Larcham right? Was the whole hospital saying these things? If so, it was dreadful.
For a minute or two Christine was speechless. What could she say that would convince Nurse Larcham, make her understand? It was difficult to know where to begin.
She became aware of the other nurse watching her face with a mocking smile.
“Well? Lost for words? I thought you might be.”
“It’s all nonsense, of course,” Christine was stung into replying. “And it’s a pity the hospital hasn’t got something better to talk about.”
It seemed pointless to say any more. No matter what she said, she felt sure Nurse Larcham would twist it. All that concern for John was only affected, Christine felt sure. All the same, the idea of John being gossiped about worried her considerably.
Was it true? Was she just using John to fill the space Rob had left in her life? She argued with herself that John wouldn’t have asked her out if he hadn’t wanted to. But Nurse Larcham’s poisonous remarks were already having an effect, filling her mind with doubts.
She remembered, uncomfortably, that it had been her mother who had pressed him to have dinner with them, her father who had invited him to stay the weekend. And when she thought of the way she had all but flung herself into his arms when he had been saying goodnight on Sunday evening, her cheeks flamed. He had left early on the pretext of having some letters to write. And if she hadn’t played on his sympathy, it was doubtful whether he would have suggested their meeting again.
Come to think of it, he hadn’t really arranged to see her again. He had asked her rather reluctantly—or so it seemed to Christine on reflection—whether she wanted to go on seeing him. In the face of her eager reply how cou
ld a man of John’s nature do otherwise than take her up on it rather than hurt her feelings?
The only thing to do to make things easier for him and to stop the gossip about him was to make him think she had changed her mind, she decided. Accordingly, she avoided contact with him in every way she could. Instead of lingering to speak to him, if only to say good morning when he was scrubbing up, she walked straight past him, and whenever he was near, pretended to be busy, concentrating on what she was doing.
Once or twice out of the corner of her eye she caught a faintly puzzled look from him that almost made her waver in her purpose. But then Larcham’s remarks came back to her, and she was sure she was doing the right thing. As Larcham had so rightly said, he was far too nice a man to be taken advantage of, and though it wasn’t true that she had been using him to make Robert jealous, it was so easy to take advantage of his great kindness and his willingness to listen to her troubles.
But there came an occasion, as there was bound to, sooner or later, when she couldn’t avoid him.
Both Sister and Nurse Larcham were off duty one evening when there was an emergency operation. A case of intestinal obstruction. Robert came to give the spinal.
He came through the operating theater to get to the anesthetic room and paused where Christine was setting out the instruments.
“Good evening, Nurse Townsend,” he said in that half cheery, half coaxing voice he had not used for some time.
Christine looked at him in surprise. “Good evening, Dr. Marston. The patient is ready and waiting for you.”
He grinned. “I’m on my way. Like to have a chat later, by the way.”
As he spoke the door of the scrubbing-up room opened and the next moment John stood there.
“Patient ready, Dr. Marston?”
“Not yet. I only just arrived,” Robert said casually. “Just having a few vital words with Nurse Townsend.” Then he added with less tact even than before, “See you, Chris.”
He walked off then, and John eyed his back thoughtfully before turning to Christine.
“Everything under control, Nurse?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, Dr. Taylor. I’m almost ready.”
John’s assistant was already scrubbing up, and by the time he had been tied into his theater gown the patient was ready.
Immediate operation was the only means of saving life in these cases of acute obstruction.
The skin already carefully prepared, John took the scalpel Christine held out to him and made the skin taut with his finger and thumb, cutting evenly the entire length of the incision.
Christine kept alert, handing gauze packs, artery forceps and sutures as required. The obstruction was discovered to be due to a small piece of intestine becoming adherent to a mesenteric gland. John packed the area around with moist packs, then dissected the adhesions.
“Better than one might have hoped,” John murmured to his assistant. “All right. Suction, Nurse Townsend, then we’ll close up.”
“Thank you, Nurse,” John said formally as he left his assistant to close the skin wound with Michel’s clips.
“Cup of tea in a few minutes, Dr. Taylor,” she answered.
He nodded and thanked her, stripping off his gloves and gown.
When she had fixed the patient’s dressing and seen him on his way to the recovery ward, Christine went around to the theater kitchen. To her surprise Robert was sitting there.
“If you’ll go into the sitting room, I’ll bring the tea in,” she told him.
“I want to talk to you,” he began.
“What about?”
“About us, of course.”
“I would have thought we’d said all there was to say on the subject, Rob.”
“Now don’t be like that.”
He left the chair he was sitting on and came and stood beside her. He put an arm across her shoulders, and in swift surprise Christine turned her head around, only to find her face within inches of his.
Swiftly, before she was aware of what he was going to do, he brought his lips down hard on hers. Furious, she pushed him away in time to see John’s tall figure before it disappeared from view.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Rob, that really was unforgivable of you! You know I never approved of that sort of thing on duty even when...” She broke off as the kettle began to boil. “For goodness’ sake, why don’t you leave me alone, Rob?”
Holding back the tears, she poured the boiling water into the teapot. If only Rob would make up his mind whether he wanted her or not. If only John had not seen them. If only—if only she could make up her own mind whether Rob meant anything to her.
“Now, you know you don’t mean that,” Robert was saying persuasively.
She put the teapot down on the tray and picked it up. Why was he behaving like this? she wondered. He as good as said he didn’t want to marry her the last time they were out together, and surely that meant, too, that he didn’t love her? Why did he persist in pursuing her in this way?
She made no reply to him, but carried the tray into the surgeons’ room. John was not there.
“Oh dear, I wonder where he’s gone?” she said worriedly.
Robert followed on her heels. “I shouldn’t worry. He’ll be back.”
“I hope so.”
Reluctantly, she poured out tea for Robert. Perhaps John had been called to one of the wards.
“Aren’t you going to have a cup, too?” Robert questioned.
She faced him squarely then. “Look, Rob, I don’t know what you’re trying to do to me, but I’d be glad if you’d stop this coming and going into my life. I thought we’d finally got it settled that it was over between us?”
He gave a rueful smile. “I thought so, too. But you draw me like a magnet, darling. I just can’t keep away from you for long.”
She eyed him in perplexity and growing astonishment as she waited for him to say something more, to tell her he loved her and wanted to marry her. But he didn’t. He sipped his tea and apparently waited for her to say something. And when she didn’t: “Come on now,” he said, “admit that you feel the same.”
Christine did not answer him. She picked up the telephone. “Operator, will you get Dr. Taylor for me, please?”
Robert looked at her. “Trying to make me jealous by flaunting John Taylor in my face?”
She drew a furious breath. “Don’t be ridiculous!”
Over the wire came John’s quiet voice. “Hello. Taylor here. Who wants me?”
“John, it’s me, Christine—” Then, aware that she had spoken without thinking in her agitation and that the operator might be listening, she started again. “Sorry, Dr. Taylor. This is theater, Nurse Townsend. I just wanted to let you know that your tea is ready.”
“I see.” There was a slight pause, then he said, “All right, thank you, Nurse, I’ll be along in a few minutes.”
Robert put down his cup and shrugged his shoulders a little. “He’s not really your type, you know, any more than you are his. And on the quiet he’s as much a flirt as I am—if indeed that’s what I am.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she told him tersely. “As he and I are not engaged and don’t pretend to be anything but friends, he’s quite entitled to seek company where he chooses—as you are. The same goes for me, so if you’ve finished your tea, Dr. Marston, I’d be obliged if you’d go your way.”
He grinned. “You don’t really mean that at heart. I know you don’t. Still, I’ll leave you for now. Maybe we can talk some other time when you’re in a better humor.”
He went out, and Christine felt like hurling something at his back. She had never realized he could be so infuriating.
She heard him speak to someone, and the next moment John came in.
“Sorry if I put you out, Christine,” he said quietly. “I thought, actually, that you would prefer to be alone for a little while with Dr. Marston.”
Christine poured out a cup of tea for him. Obviously, he had se
en Robert kiss her and thought they were making it up again. She was about to explain to him that that was not the case at all, but stopped herself. She really ought not to trouble John with her affairs.
She handed him his tea. “That was very thoughtful of you, Dr. Taylor, but you needn’t have troubled.”
John helped himself to sugar and eyed her questioningly. “Why the ‘Dr. Taylor,’ all at once?”
“It’s wiser on duty,” she said evasively. “Otherwise I’m likely to forget myself.”
He inclined his head as if in acceptance of her explanation. “I haven’t had much chance to talk to you lately. You—er—promised me another evening out, if you remember.”
“Yes, I know.”
She poured a cup of tea for herself. She was beginning to regret having called him on the phone. Now she was bound by a matter of etiquette to stay with him until he was ready to go.
Her noncommittal reply lingered in the now heavy silence of the room, waiting for answer.
“If you want to change your mind I shall quite understand,” John said in a low voice.
Christine took a deep breath. For his sake, wasn’t this the opportunity she had been seeking? To put an end to the gossip about him?”
“Perhaps it would be better,” she forced herself to say. “I—I’ve appreciated your friendship, really I have, but I do feel that perhaps...”
He put down his cup. “That’s all right, Christine. You don’t owe me any explanation. We’ll just leave it at that. And now I must be on my way. Thanks for the tea.”
She saw him off and made her way into theater to see how the clearing up was progressing. She felt anything but happy about what she had done. In putting an end to her friendship with John she had a feeling she had done something she was going to regret more than anything in her life.
She opened the door of theater and Nurse Swenwick’s voice came to her ears.
“I tell you, Adcock, it’s Nurse Larcham he really likes. I bet you anything he’s only been taking Townsend out because he feels sorry for her.”
Nurse Adcock’s reply was indistinct. In the scrubbing-up room Christine halted and put her hands to her cheeks. If she needed any confirmation on what Nurse Larcham had said, she had it now. And it sounded so feasible, so like. John. She took another deep breath and squared her shoulders. She was glad she had said what she had to John. She liked him more than a little, more even than Rob, these days. At least, as a person. And deep in her heart she wanted to mean something to him. But not this way. Not because he was sorry for her and sensed she needed his sympathy.
The Gentle Surgeon Page 11