The Tea Gardens

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The Tea Gardens Page 15

by Fiona McIntosh


  Lily grinned. ‘I thought of all people you’d enjoy him.’

  ‘Why?’ I looked back at her, aghast.

  ‘Oh, I see similarities, even a common purpose.’

  ‘Surely not?’ I could hear how disconcerted I felt by this observation. ‘He’s the most unpleasant person I’ve met in my life!’ I was exaggerating but the point was made.

  She lifted a shoulder, unaffected by the belligerent tone. ‘He’s quite brilliant and I think with that brilliance comes a lack of patience and also a drive that doesn’t let anyone or anything stand in his path.’

  The way she offered her insight so carefully I could hear the blatant comparison. It made me blink, perplexed. Was I impatient? Was I so determined I metaphorically drove over people? Perhaps she sensed my injury.

  ‘I mean,’ she said, quickly backtracking, ‘these are qualities I can only admire. To be single-minded and committed, combined with such talent. Few of us can be so . . . so disciplined.’

  ‘Is that what it is?’ I said, clearly unconvinced. ‘I personally think he’s a boorish, protected, unrealistic male with early Victorian sensibilities who probably believes women are good for little else than child-raising and fundraising.’ I hated the heat in my voice, burning through into feverish words.

  I was impressed that she gamely pushed back. ‘I don’t see what you’re seeing.’

  ‘Dr Baird does – he warned me about him before I’d set foot in the hospital.’

  ‘It’s not for me to say, Dr Fenwick, but I do think Dr Baird is . . . ’ She blinked, perhaps thinking better of airing her opinion. I admired her control.

  ‘No, come on. Spit it out. I’m not going to say anything to either of them.’

  She looked embarrassed. ‘Dr Baird often sounds jealous when he speaks of Professor Vickery. I suspect he’s felt the sharp end of the professor’s tongue but the professor doesn’t suffer fools, as they say —’

  ‘Are you calling Miles a fool?’

  Lily gave me a look of horror. ‘No, not at all. It was just an expression my father uses. Forgive me. I meant that I’ve overheard Dr Baird express his disgust quite openly that everyone praises the professor’s work, barely notices his . . . and —’ She stopped again abruptly.

  ‘And what?’

  She blushed. ‘Dr Baird is, I think, envious of the attention Professor Vickery wins without even trying.’

  ‘You mean the attention he receives from women?’

  She nodded. ‘All women.’

  ‘Not this one!’ I assured, trying to ignore the fact that I’d thought of no one else all of the previous evening and this morning and here I was, still talking about him into the afternoon. ‘He was so rude to you yesterday and I heard he fairly terrified Dip this morning.’

  She laughed. ‘Dip is in awe of him, that’s why. So am I. Most of the women who know him wish they could corner him in the supplies room and most of the male staff are jealous of him.’ She waited for me to speak but I was embarrassed for both of us and Lily only giggled more. ‘Perhaps if you saw him with his patients you might form a fresh opinion of him.’

  ‘How so?’ I didn’t want to show more interest and yet I felt helpless.

  ‘It is with sick people that he finds endless patience, gentle words, relentless energy. He never stops. That’s why he looks hollow-eyed, always seems fractious and impatient. He is continuously trying to outrun death because his patients are never anything but critically ill.’

  I swallowed some water to hide my shame but my hand tingled, reminding me of the slap and how I’d done a thorough job of humiliating myself yesterday. I could have heard his words and even if I didn’t agree, I should have walked away when I had the chance. Now I felt small and, yes, histrionic, as he’d accused. I had never considered myself as someone who ever lost control and yet how could he reach any other conclusion? I hit him! I didn’t appreciate his condescension but that was no excuse for my fishwife behaviour; I was better than that.

  ‘He asked for my help,’ I admitted.

  ‘You should give it, Dr Fenwick. He’s waging war against infectious disease; there are times I feel he’s like a one-man army, crusading in an impossible battle.’

  ‘It can be beaten. Infectious diseases will know their foe . . . and some will know their end.’

  She shook her head at me as though she couldn’t understand why I couldn’t see what she did. ‘Then help him. I’ve never heard him ask anyone for it before. He must see something in you.’ There was a glint in her eye. It was silently asking a question.

  I should have left it well alone. ‘Lily! I am to be married!’

  She stood to leave. ‘I meant your talent with tropical disease, Dr Fenwick,’ she qualified.

  We both knew she was lying but we were interrupted by Matron. ‘I can come back . . . ’ She waved a hand.

  ‘No, Matron, I was just leaving,’ Lily said and eased around the robust senior nurse. ‘Dr Fenwick’s going to run a special mobile clinic. I’ll let her tell you about it but my suggestion if we go ahead is that we look at making the first clinic at the bhusthie of, er —’ she looked my way ‘— that means shanty town.’ Lily returned her attention to Matron. ‘Behala, south of the city. They need a lot of help there.’

  Matron looked at me, aghast. ‘What is this all about?’

  I sighed, gestured to a seat and Lily left me with a sympathetic grin.

  Matron and I talked for another half an hour, back and forth. She wasn’t charmed by my latest idea but I now felt obliged to press on with it. It’s not that I particularly wanted to be controversial but I was increasingly recognising that I didn’t like to be told I would likely fail at something. Matron was hinting strongly that such an innovation could lead to problems.

  ‘The load would be too huge to bear, Dr Fenwick. We barely cope with the patients we have.’

  ‘Then once a month. A chance for those women who are not permitted to come to the hospital to be reassured, perhaps receive some advice for when their confinement begins, some help with after-care for their babies.’

  She looked back at me dubiously. ‘I can’t fault your endeavour; it occurs to me as you say this that we might be able to work with the Sisters of Loreto. They do brilliant work in the slums and perhaps together we can get your monthly clinic happening.’ She raised a hand to stop my excitement gushing too fast across the desk. ‘It would have to be restricted to check-ups for pregnant mothers. To take on anything else would be lunacy as we don’t have the staff and we’d probably create more problems than solve. Although . . . ’ She frowned in thought.

  ‘Although what, Matron?’ I sounded hopeful because there was a chance I could broaden her view.

  ‘Someone like Professor Vickery should be involved to widen the scope; his is such an important area.’

  Inwardly I recoiled but kept my expression even.

  ‘I spoke to him earlier; he said you shared a most convivial cup of chai on the lawns.’

  ‘Er, yes, we did,’ I lied, shamelessly convincing.

  ‘I’m pleased. He’s quite brilliant, you know.’

  ‘So everyone keeps telling me,’ I said, keeping my voice full of enthusiasm.

  ‘I believe he senses brilliance in you too, my dear. To be candid, I haven’t heard him speak so brightly of a colleague previously.’

  That baffled me. I gave a demure smile to hide my bewilderment. ‘He’s being generous.’

  ‘Not at all. In your short time, don’t think we haven’t noticed the loyalty you’ve engendered from the team of midwives and nurses under your care. They’re a happy bunch and being led from the top by a wonderful role model. What’s more, in just a matter of weeks you’ve reduced the deaths and complications in births by thirty per cent already.’

  ‘I’d like to double that percentage in the next month or two.’

  She smiled. ‘I’m confident you will, Dr Fenwick, and the hospital administration is truly impressed. We would love it, of course, if you would le
nd your impressive knowledge and research into tropical disease once you feel you have the team working well in obstetrics.’

  I felt my stomach clench again. No, I mustn’t be tempted to break my oath. Fortunately, the thought of Professor Vickery helped me to stay resolute.

  ‘I doubt I’ll have time, not with the outreach clinic that I feel passionately about.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, I understand. And I will help, but before you leave us I would consider it a personal triumph if you would lend your expertise to Professor Vickery at some stage. He’s fighting what feels like an unwinnable battle and he’s such a warrior.’

  ‘I can tell you admire him.’

  ‘His disposition can be abrasive, I’ll admit, but watch him with the patients, get a feeling for his commitment, witness his extraordinary work and you’ll perhaps enjoy being part of it. Just promise me you’ll think about it.’

  It was a compromise – not my strength – but wisdom was coming with age that I had to learn how to reach solutions that kept all parties happy. ‘I’ll do that as soon as I have the clinic in place,’ I agreed.

  It felt like a start and I could imagine how exciting it would be to leave Calcutta later in the year knowing I’d set up a monthly clinic that brought medical services and advice to women who previously had no access to it. It would feel satisfying to leave on such a positive and progressive note. I needed to refocus Matron on my work. ‘Thank you. I’ll look forward to hearing when you’ve spoken to the nuns?’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, leave that with me. I think we might even broaden the offering so we can garner more support and funding. When did you hope to begin?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ I waited a beat or two before adding a grin to show her I was jesting. She let out her breath with relief. ‘How about within a month?’

  She lifted an eyebrow in consideration and then nodded. ‘All right, then, Dr Fenwick. We shall talk as soon as I know more from the convent. Now, the reason I dropped in was actually to talk about a visit to the hospital by Her Excellency the Vicereine.’

  I pulled a face. ‘Oh no . . . when?’

  She laughed. ‘Oh yes! We need the support and exposure such a visit brings. The Viceroy is paying a visit from Delhi and his wife said she’d like to visit a hospital that provides for locals. We have been chosen. She’ll be with us in early June. Her Excellency is apparently extremely interested in women and babies . . . ’ Matron dropped her voice. ‘One of her two sons died during the Great War at just twenty-one, and she’s been a solid campaigner for better conditions in India since they first arrived in the country in 1913.’ She smiled broadly. ‘Anyway, she’s particularly focused on pushing better health care for women, especially against diseases that can be controlled through improved hygiene, and once again that forges your work with the professor’s, which is why you’re both being asked to attend a special soiree she’s hosting.’ Matron stood. ‘I’ll make sure all the details come through to you, Dr Fenwick, both of her visit next month and the event at Belvedere House.’

  I sighed, knowing this was not a battle worth fighting. ‘Yes, of course, thank you, Matron. I’ll be glad to show her around.’

  ‘You can tell her about your newly proposed outreach clinic. You never know where the help might come from.’

  10

  May came and went; I hardly noticed its passing, I was so immersed in my work. My world became so small I began to believe my shoes had the power to shift me between the flat and the hospital and around the wards without me having to think about the footsteps involved. If not for weekly letters from Jove, the odd note from my father and regular invitations from Miles, which I turned down, I could have been forgiven for believing I was in my own slipstream. It was as though I wasn’t moving in beat with the rest of the hospital population but was instead in my private world. Life was punctuated by the groans of women in labour, the soothing sounds of midwives comforting those in pain, and the cries of new life – always so welcome.

  I looked up to see Miles hovering once again at the doorway to my office. I was irritable from too little sleep and perhaps it showed.

  ‘Bad time?’

  A grudging smile formed itself. ‘Tired . . . and hot!’

  ‘You’ll get used to it,’ he quipped good-naturedly. ‘I can think of a nice way to cool you down. How about tonight for that long-promised drink? You look like you could use a break.’

  I’d been putting him off for weeks with vague excuses. I either needed to be blunt and risk offence or simply accept and make it clear we were no more than friendly colleagues. I hesitated in my decision as the former was tempting.

  ‘I’m thinking a refreshing gimlet or a pink gin on the terrace of the Calcutta Club. You’ll like it because the point of this particular gentlemen’s club is not to be discriminatory. The first president was, in fact, a maharajah.’

  ‘I’m impressed,’ I said, nodding.

  ‘Good. Then say yes and join me this evening.’

  I was weary enough of this stuffy room that the thought of sipping something cold and alcoholic beneath an effective ceiling fan sounded suddenly attractive.

  ‘All right, Miles.’ He looked shocked and then covered it with a delighted smile and a sound to match. I wasn’t thrilled by his rush of pleasure and looked at my watch to avoid having to share it. ‘Er, so, I’ll head home to change and I shall see you there at seven. Is that suitable?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like me to pick you up?’

  ‘No. Much faster this way. You’re a member, I’m guessing?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Just leave my name at the door. That’s fine.’

  ‘Seven it is.’ He beamed. ‘What about dinner afterwards? The club does a great salmon in aspic and their beef Wellington is considered the best in Calcutta.’

  I gave him a look of mock warning. ‘A drink is fine.’

  ‘I forgot you don’t eat,’ he said, risking an attempt at humour. This time my thin smile likely looked forced. ‘Righto. See you later; can’t wait,’ he assured, tapping the door architrave twice as though the sound signified a task achieved.

  Ugh. What had I done? Oh well, I had never led Miles in the wrong direction; interest was all one-sided and I’d certainly remind him of this should he overstep any invisible line. But the weeks of routine had caught up with me and I did feel like that drink and a change of scenery. I’d lived like a recluse for the past four months.

  In the spirit of being more sociable, I packed up my desk immediately and was on my way home within fifteen minutes, emerging not much more than an hour later, dressed for the evening.

  It felt odd to be so elegantly attired after my sensible skirts and blouses for work. As to wearing heels, if we had to stand, I doubted that I’d last the evening in the strappy sandals I’d packed, still new in their soft bag from London. I’d opted not to wear full evening satin but instead had chosen an appropriately floaty chiffon dress in a style that safely suggested late afternoon rather than evening. I didn’t want to gives Miles any wrong signals.

  The chiffon felt gossamer against me in its knife-pleated, palerose sheer silk. The fichu neckline gave it just the right feel for cocktails time, with its softly pleated waterfall collar, and I could wear a bolero to cover up until I reached the club. I’d washed and properly shaped my hair to look less like the helmet it had become when I didn’t pay attention and more as it should, with gentle waves to frame my face. I checked myself in the cheval mirror before I stepped out and noted I’d lost weight. My eyes looked bigger than I recalled because my cheeks had hollowed somewhat. The dress fell off my frame as though it were hung on a wooden hanger; if I were honest, it looked better than it had when I’d bought it in London. Thin suited me but the bruising beneath my eyes and the redness within them didn’t.

  I feathered some mascara on my top lashes and, although I hadn’t intended to wear much make-up, this was my first night out since my arrival. I felt I should make more of an effort so I added a hint o
f eyeliner beneath my lower lashes, tracing upwards from the tear duct, and finished with a very pale but smoky sweep of grey shadow. Soft dabs of foundation and some powder helped in a reasonable cover-up job of the dark circles. Jove said my eyes always seemed to have the magical ability to reflect colour around me and so tonight I suppose they became more grey than blue. I dabbed the barest hint of cream blush to brighten the apples of my cheeks and hide the hollows. I didn’t want to wear much lipstick so I avoided the rich rubies of wintry London and chose instead a dusky pink. I glanced at my eyebrows and sighed at their untidiness. I didn’t have time to pluck them and I certainly didn’t want angry red brows either, so I neatened what I could and looked away. None of it mattered; it wasn’t as though I was wanting to impress.

  I arrived by taxi at one minute past seven, sweeping into the circular drive to be confronted by a double-storey neoclassical building, painted white. Arched, shuttered windows led straight to the grand portico entrance, while above it a bank of small squared windows of guest rooms glittered and glimmered their way to the central pediment of the building with its proud emblem, above which flew what was presumably the club flag.

  Miles was waiting for me; he looked anxious as he skipped out of the shadows of the main entrance, emerging from behind the pillars to wave. I allowed him to help me from the car; he even paid the driver but his grimace told me something was up.

  ‘You look gorgeous, Isla.’

  I didn’t want anything more made of this. ‘Thank you,’ I said as briefly as I could. ‘This is pleasant.’

  ‘Well, it would have been if Vickery hadn’t turned up.’

  ‘The professor’s here?’

  He nodded. ‘Want to go somewhere else?’

  ‘No . . . I’ve come to share a drink, some conversation, and I’m not at all troubled that one of our colleagues is likely doing the same. Why are you concerned?’

  He groaned and shook his head. ‘He just puts me on edge.’

  ‘I warned you months ago, Miles, you’re far too aware of him. Ignore him.’ Good advice that I had personally not adhered to. Saxon Vickery had been stuck in my craw for weeks but as I hadn’t come face to face with him since our best attempt to be friendly had failed so spectacularly, the memory of my horror had faded. ‘Come on, show off your club to me,’ I said.

 

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