The Gentle Surgeon

by Hilda Pressley

  Suddenly she felt weepy and unutterably tired. When they reached home John insisted on carrying her into the house, and the feel of his arms, firm and strong about her, was sweet agony. She longed to entwine her arms around his neck, to rest her head on his shoulder.

  “Would you like me to carry her straight upstairs?” he asked, as though she were a child.

  “Yes, I think so, thanks, John,” her mother answered.

  Half an hour later, after a warm bath, her foot bandaged again by her mother and a hot drink and a sedative inside her, she sank her head into her pillow and closed her eyes.

  The sun was streaming through her window when she awoke. She was refreshed after her sleep, but felt a curious disinclination to get up. Her bedroom door was half open and after a minute or two her mother poked her head in the room.

  “Oh, hello. You’re awake, are you?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Getting on for eleven. Are you feeling better for your sleep? This is the third time I’ve been in to you,” her mother said, smiling.

  Christine sat up. “Eleven o’clock? Good heavens!”

  “There’s nothing to worry about. Stay where you are and I’ll bring up some tea and toast. You must be famished.”

  In a very short time she was back again, carrying a tray and with the morning papers under her arm.

  John telephoned after lunch and said he would look in during the afternoon. Christine was sitting on the terrace when he arrived. At the sight of him she held out an arm impulsively and she found her eyes filling with tears.

  “John!”

  He stood still for a moment and looked at her, then he smiled and took her hand.

  “How are you, my dear?”

  She blinked and wished he would go on holding her hand for ever.

  “It’s funny, but I feel terribly tired. I just don’t want to do a thing.”

  He smiled again and pressed her hand, then released it. “There’s not the slightest wonder at your feeling tired after what you did yesterday.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t do any more than you did—or Dr. Newton—or—”

  “Oh yes, you did. But I haven’t come to argue with you. I just came to see how you are and to bring you everybody’s best wishes. Lots of people are asking about you, including Sister Kelly and Nurse Larcham.”

  Nurse Larcham. Christine felt depressed beyond words. “It’s very kind of them all,” she said in a hollow voice.

  Her mother brought out some tea, and as yesterday’s disaster was still very much on their minds they talked about it for a while. Its cause—there would be an inquiry, of course—the number of men involved, how many were married with families, the matter of compensation to be paid out.

  “Needless to say, no amount of money will compensate for the real loss.” Mrs. Townsend said.

  John’s face was grave. “It’s a wonder to me that any man would be willing to go down in the mine ever again. Or that any woman would want her sons to become miners.”

  “The majority of them don’t. But fear is something they learn to conquer. As far as the young men are concerned the pay is good these days.”

  “It has need to be,” John put in fervently.

  Mrs. Townsend nodded. “As to the older men—well, it’s their trade. They’ve been miners all their lives and are not trained for anything else.”

  Christine sat in silence while her mother and John talked. Though she had wanted to see John, had looked forward eagerly to his coming, her heart was now heavy. It had been kind of him to come. He had been wonderfully kind and gentle to her yesterday. But she wanted something more than kindness and gentleness.

  He was looking at her with concern. “You know, you’re not looking awfully fit yet. I think you’ve had quite enough company for one day, young lady, so I’ll push off and let you get some more rest.” He rose and lightly touched her shoulder. “Goodbye, my dear. Take care of yourself.”

  He thanked her mother for the tea and was gone, leaving the afternoon bleak and empty.

  He felt no more for her than he would feel for anyone, she thought. He would be just as kind, just as considerate and as gentle with any woman. She did not stir any other feeling in him at all, neither love nor passion nor any other emotion. What was it he had said about his ideal woman? A delightful mixture —gentle and sweet, courageous and spirited and feminine enough to make her very desirable.

  “Darling, you’re crying!” came her mother’s voice anxiously.

  “No, Mother, I’m not—”

  Her mother sat down quickly beside her and took her hand. “It’s all the strain of yesterday. You’ll be all right by tomorrow. It’s taken more out of you than you realized.”

  There was more truth in her mother’s words than appeared at the time. At any rate Christine felt much less weepy and in much better spirits the next day. She rose and dressed soon after breakfast and was even able to take one or two tentative steps without pain in her ankle.

  There was a letter from Matron congratulating her for her part in the rescue work and telling her not to think of returning to duty until she felt thoroughly rested and her ankle was better. Christine reflected that at least the fuss would have died down by the time she went back on duty, and for this she was thankful.

  Her mother went shopping that afternoon and she had no sooner gone than Robert’s car turned into the drive. Christine had been so preoccupied with thoughts of John—unhappy though they were—that she had almost forgotten Robert would be paying her a visit. But she was pleased to see him, nevertheless.

  “Well, how’s my girl today?” he said cheerfully, bending his head and kissing her cheek.

  “I feel a fraud. I really ought to be back on duty.”

  He grinned and sat down beside her. Then reached out for her hand. “Christine, I want to talk to you about something very important. At least, it’s important to me—and I hope to you.”

  Her heart gave a sudden twist. She didn’t want Robert to talk about marriage. It was unthinkable now.

  “I—I don’t think it’s going to be any use, Rob—” she said haltingly.

  He looked at her swiftly. “You mean you don’t want to marry me? But, Christine—”

  “Please, Rob. I’m sorry, but I suppose the truth is—well, it seems to be my turn to feel unsettled now.”

  “I see.” He rose abruptly and turning away thrust his hands in his pockets. “I must say I didn’t expect this, Christine. I’ve said I’m sorry. I can’t say any more.”

  She sighed as she looked at the back of his dark head, seeing pride and obstinacy in its tilt.

  “It hasn’t anything to do with what has happened lately. At least—”

  He whirled around. “It’s Taylor, isn’t it? He’s making you feel like this. Everything was all right between us until he came.”

  She stared at him in astonishment. “Rob, how can you say that? It was Sandra!”

  “Sandra?” He sat down again and took both her hands in his. “Darling, listen to me. I know I behaved badly and I’m sorry. For some reason or other things began to go wrong between us. We started to quarrel. Maybe it was just a phase we were going through—like lots of engaged couples do after a while. I suddenly felt restless; you seemed to become jealous and possessive. But Sandra never meant a thing to me. Whenever I took her out I was thinking of you all the time, even talking about you. Be honest, Chris. Wasn’t it the same with you?”

  She stared at him. “Yes, I—”

  “I knew it. Look, darling, I know you’re not feeling quite yourself yet. You’ve been through a terrific experience. You’re bound to be feeling unsettled and unsure of yourself. Let’s just put the past behind us and start afresh. See how we—”

  A car turning into the drive cut into his speech. Would it be John? Her heart began to beat loudly. What would happen now if he and Robert came face to face? But it was her father who came around the side of the house.

  “Hello, you two. Your mother i
n, Christine? I came home for some tea.”

  Christine was relieved at the interruption. “No, she’s gone to town. I’ll get it for you.”

  This brought about protests and arguments and ended in all three of them sharing the task. It was not long before Mr. Townsend returned, and as Robert was due back at the hospital at five, there was no further opportunity for private conversation between Christine and himself.

  On her return to the hospital she soon found that everyone seemed to take it for granted that she and Robert had made up their differences and were engaged again. She sighed and let them go on thinking so. She knew the futility of attempting to deny something that gossip had firmly established. Indeed, she could see Robert and herself gradually drifting together again until, in the end, they would stand side by side at the altar and the clergyman would pronounce them man and wife.

  She almost dreaded coming face to face with John again in case she should give herself away. When she did see him he was at the scrubbing-up bowl.

  “Nice to see you back, Nurse Townsend. Are you feeling all right again now?”

  No more than he might say to any other nurse. She would have to face it, accept it.

  “Yes, thank you, Dr. Taylor.”

  “Good,” he said, then concentrated on his scrubbing.

  As expected, there was a noticeable difference in the attitude of most of the hospital staff toward Christine. For a while, at any rate. Some of the nurses made direct references to the pit disaster, asking her what it had been like, how she felt, and so on. Those who did not know her sufficiently well to ask direct questions looked at her curiously, some of the juniors with a new respect.

  Sister Kelly warmly congratulated her and began to treat her more as a friend and colleague than a junior staff nurse. The only two people who seemed to resent her more than ever were Nurse Larcham and Nurse Swenwick. Though Nurse Swenwick, realizing no doubt Sister’s change of attitude toward Christine, took good care never to be rude in her presence, Christine found her most uncooperative on the occasions when both Sister and Nurse Larcham were off duty.

  Christine registered these things without caring too much, and week followed week in a pattern similar to that Robert and she had known before Sandra had come into their lives. They saw each other regularly, Robert became a frequent visitor to Christine’s home, and he managed most evenings to run Christine home.

  Yet if the pattern was similar, neither of them were quite the same people as they had been before. It seemed they had emerged from the happenings of the past weeks and months much older. Robert was quieter, more thoughtful, more eager to please. He would put his arm around her when they were out in the country or take her hand, kiss her goodnight after seeing her home, but make no demands upon her. He seemed to be waiting for her to come to life again. But for Christine life seemed to wash over her head almost unheedingly.

  Christine longed for her six months’ staffing to come to an end. She had made up her mind to leave, in any case, whether or not she married Robert.

  This latter question was to be settled rather sooner than she anticipated. Robert had not mentioned the question of marriage to her in so many words. Rather they had seemed to be drifting toward it. On her next weekend they drove out into the country for a picnic, and when they had lunched beside a quiet stream, they stretched out on the grass in the sun.

  Presently Robert turned and looked at her. “I’ve decided to sell this car, Chris. It costs too much to run. I was a damned fool to buy it in the first place.”

  “But won’t you miss it?”

  “I can get another. A cheaper one. This one eats gasoline. It’ll still fetch quite a good price, though. It’s the sort of car that will always be popular with young fellows who’ve more money than sense.”

  “Like you?” she said, to tease him.

  His eyes held hers, suddenly serious. “I’ve got a little more sense than I used to have.” He reached out for her and pulled her to him in a way he had not done for a very long time. “Darling, I love you. Let’s get married.”

  He bent his head and kissed her tenderly, then she felt his lips tremble on hers.

  “Oh, Rob—”

  She couldn’t push him away. He had been so patient, so loving, all these weeks.

  “Let’s go right back to where we were, darling,” he murmured. “Put my ring back on your finger.”

  She gave a tremulous smile. “Yes, Rob, I will. Next time I see you, I’ll have my ring on.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Christine tapped at the door of Matron’s office and entered in response to the voice from within.

  Matron looked up. “Good morning, Nurse Townsend. And what can I do for you?”

  “Good morning, Matron. I—I’m in the last month of my staffing period and would like to resign at the end of it.”

  She held out the white envelope containing her written resignation.

  With obvious regret Matron took the envelope from her.; “If you’ve made up your mind, Nurse, I suppose there’s nothing I can do about it. I was hoping you’d at least take your midwifery here, then perhaps—” She broke off. “Exactly what are your plans?”

  “I—Dr. Marston and I plan to get married, Matron.”

  “Well, congratulations, Nurse. Someone did tell me you’d made it up again. But perhaps you’d be willing to help us out after you’re settled. A little part-time work?”

  But Christine shook her head quickly. “I don’t think so, Matron. At least, not for a while.”

  Not until I’m quite sure that John Taylor no longer means anything to me.

  “Very well, Nurse,” Matron said resignedly. “I’ll see you before you leave, of course.”

  Christine said as little as possible to her fellow staff nurses about her forthcoming marriage.

  Her parents had taken the news quietly. “Well, you know your own minds best,” said her father. “Rob showed up very well at the time of the explosion, and I’ll be proud to have him for a son-in-law.”

  “And so will I,” added Mrs. Townsend. “Just you let me know when you want to start making preparations.”

  “Oh, when I’ve finished at the hospital, Mother,” Christine said. “I can’t settle to a lot of planning until then.”

  One day Robert surprised her. “Darling, how would you like to get right away from Dunston? To live, I mean, of course, after we’re married.”

  “I—I think it might be a good idea, Rob. Why? Have you something in mind?”

  “There’s a post of senior registrar going. The Suffolk General. Shall I apply?”

  Christine felt a cold hand on her heart. This, then, would be final. Common sense told her it would be the only way.

  "Yes, Rob, do that. I might even find a part-time job for myself in the same hospital.”

  He stroked her hair and kissed her. “Anything you like, as long as you’re happy.”

  “Rob, you’re a dear. We shall both be happy, away from Dunston, I’m sure of it.”

  A few days before she was due to leave, Christine gave Sister Kelly a new copy of the book on theater technique to replace the damaged one.

  “Thank you very much, Staff Nurse,” said Sister. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking about that business lately. Granted that you left the book on my desk and forgot to take it home with you, but I’m quite sure you weren’t responsible for damaging it. Who were the nurses on duty with you that afternoon?”

  “Nurse Swenwick and Nurse Adcock, but—”

  Christine would have preferred to drop the matter at this stage, but Sister Kelly was not, it seemed.

  “No, no buts. Send Nurse Swenwick to me. Go on.”

  Reluctantly, Christine went in search of the nurse and found her talking to Nurse Larcham in the anesthetic room.

  “Trouble?” queried Larcham as Nurse Swenwick went to Sister’s office.

  “Possibly,” Christine said briefly.

  “Well, maybe there won’t be quite so much after you’ve gon
e. There wasn’t any problem in theater before you came in.”

  Christine eyed her steadily. “Can’t you let up, Larcham? I’ve only got three more days. I should have thought you’d got what you wanted by now. Or haven’t you—quite?”

  Larcham glared at her with a look of hatred in her eyes. Christine wished with all her heart she had not had this encounter. To think of Larcham and John ... but she curbed such thoughts impatiently.

  A little while after Nurse Swenwick had gone to the office, she in her turn came in search of Christine.

  “Sister wants you, Nurse Townsend,” she said sulkily. Christine thanked her, but to her surprise Nurse Swenwick accompanied her.

  “Now then, Nurse Swenwick,” Sister Kelly said severely. “Apologize to Staff Nurse, and tell her what you did.”

  Nurse Swenwick’s face was a dull red. “It was me who damaged the book—and I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

  Christine looked at her perplexed. “But why, Nurse? You could have told me you’d had an accident with it.”

  Sister Kelly snorted. “It was no accident. All right,” she said contemptuously to Nurse Swenwick, “get out of my sight. I shall see Matron about you in the morning.”

  After Nurse Swenwick had left, Sister Kelly turned to Christine. “I should have done that weeks ago. You may not know it, but that girl has tried to make nothing but trouble for you.”

  Christine sighed. “I certainly don’t seem to be very popular around here.”

  “Staff Nurse Larcham, you mean? She was jealous of you and your friendship with Dr. Taylor. It wouldn’t surprise me if she put Nurse Swenwick up to some of the mischief.”

  “She could have saved herself the trouble,” Christine said a trifle bitterly.

  Then, almost as though he had heard his name mentioned, John himself came in. Christine murmured an excuse and would have gone straight out, but Sister Kelly called her back.