Tread Softly, Nurse

by Hilary Neal

“Opposite? You mean Sir David’s house?”

  “That’s right. And the doctor, he’d just got out of his car. He saw the cat there in the traffic and he dived for it like he was playing rugger. He managed to chuck it clear, but the bus got him. No bones broken, I don’t think, but he took a tidy smack.”

  Fenella, excusing herself, went in search of Mair, and ran her to earth in the office, checking morphia for Nurse Greatrex.

  “Mair—”

  “Yes? Where on earth have you been?”

  “Listen, Mair. Micky’s in Casualty. He’s all right...”

  Mair pushed the syringe back at Nurse Greatrex, and waved her away. She had whitened under her powder. “What has he done?”

  “He’s all right. Badly bruised, I think. And it wasn’t the car, by the way, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s been plunging under buses to save Mrs. Hackett’s cat.”

  “She hasn’t—Was it a big yellow chap? That’s David’s cat. That’s Golden Gleam, and he thinks the world of him. Says he’s his alter ego or his familiar or something. For once Micky has done the bright thing.” She hurried away towards Casualty.

  Three minutes later, as Fenella was explaining to the new occupant of old Joe’s bed why his carbuncles must not be squeezed, Mair marched in. She automatically went to the far side of the bed and helped Fenella to tuck in the blankets, and then could not contain herself any longer. “Of all the nerve!” she exploded.

  Fenella raised her eyebrows. “You’ll be all right now, Mr. Searby?” She picked up her tray and urged Mair out into the bathroom ahead of her. “Whose nerve?”

  “Mick’s. He sent me out! Now I know how you felt. Asked me to send Greatrex instead, if you please.” Her mouth softened. “Poor lamb, he’s black and blue.”

  “Nothing serious, though?”

  “I don’t think so. Dr. Faulconbridge just happened to drop in, and he’s with him. He says that fortunately—” Mair’s smile broke through—“fortunately Micky seem to be fairly well upholstered in the affected area. Pompous ass!”

  “He’s only practising his bedside manner. Well, good. How’s Gilda? I’ve not been to her yet.”

  “I don’t understand her. She seems to have a fair chance of getting back to dancing—but she doesn’t care any more.”

  “What—after all the tantrums we’ve put up with?”

  “Oh, yes. Steve comes first, right now!” She included Mr. Searby’s tray in her brooding look. “I know how she feels. I wish I hadn’t given notice now. Matron says I can go next week if I like, by the way.”

  “Why the change of heart?”

  “Well ... Micky, and so on. You know. If he had crashed the car it would have been my fault ... If it wasn’t going to let David down I’d give up the idea now. Besides, I’d rather be here, where you can do nursing. Was I a fool to say I’d go?”

  “Talking of nursing—did you know we were on our last quarter of morphia? And we shall need that for the spine man.”

  “Oh, no! My fault—I forgot to order. Look, I daren’t call Matron now. We’d better get some, somehow. But how?”

  Fenella shrugged. “If I were on better terms with—with David, I’d go over and borrow some. But I’m not.”

  “Of course. Clever girl. I’ll go myself. Goodness, Micky might want some!”

  Fenella locked the front door behind her, and watched her white cap diminishing along David’s dark path. Micky, his cuts and bruises already soothed by Nurse Greatrex, limped to join her, peering through the glass, with his hospital dressing gown turned up round his neck. “Is that Mair out there?”

  “She’s gone to borrow some morphia. Micky, she says she’ll give up the idea of the job if it’s what you want. Maybe she’ll tell him so while she’s there?”

  He frowned, and didn’t answer. “Unlock that door again, Fenny. I’ll go over myself.”

  “Indeed you won’t. You’re supposed to be resting. I was just about to make you some of that ‘hot sweet tea’ the good books are always recommending for shock. I often think it must be deadly for people who don’t take sugar, to be faced with syrupy tea when they’re feeling their worst. To say nothing of diabetics.”

  Micky swept her aside and unlocked the door himself. She watched him hobble down the steps. He was a grown man, she reminded herself. He was also a doctor. He was quite capable of making his own decisions. She let him go.

  When he and Mair returned arm in arm Nurse Greatrex let them in. Fenella put her head out at the kitchen door. “Tea up!” she called softly.

  “We could surely do with some,“ Mair admitted. “We’ve done some fast talking over there, during the last few minutes, haven’t we, Micky?”

  He sank down on the kitchen chair and groaned.

  “Ooh! Me pore ole back! We certainly have covered some ground. Hey! We haven’t told Fenny.”

  Mair’s eyes were very bright over the rim of her cup. “Did you know that David had a special reason for asking me to do that job?”

  Micky sighed. “Why do you women have to approach everything on a curve? Why not go straight to the point?” He braced up and patted his chest. “You see before you the future partner of the distinguished surgeon, Sir David Anderson,” he said grandly. Then he hid his face in his hands. “No pictures, I beg of you.”

  “But how marvellous!”

  “And you see,” Mair cut in, “he seemed to think it might be a good idea to have us both under his wing, as it were.”

  “So you’re going?”

  “Micky is. Not me. I’ve finally decided. I like nursing, I like the wards, and until I can settle down and—”

  “Yes, please!”

  “Shush, Micky. Until I can settle down and have an enormous family...”

  “All as handsome as their father ...”

  “Until then I’ve decided to accept Matron’s pressing invitation to stay right here. David says not to worry—he’s going to delay the move for a month now, since he’s not too fit himself. There’s time for him to find someone. You know, I can’t think now why I was so mad keen to go.”

  “To make me chase you, no doubt,” Micky told her. “There was that wretched cat sitting on the hearthrug absolutely undamaged, the beast. I’m going to bed to lick my wounds. Anyway, Mrs. Hackett kissed me!” He grinned. “You see? She loves me, if nobody else does.”

  Fenella left them amiably bickering and went along to settle Steve for the night. “I hear Gilda’s decided to put you first,” she mentioned.

  He smiled up. “I know. I can’t believe it. You know, she really doesn’t want to go back to dancing. She wants us to get married quite soon.”

  “It’s infectious.” She reached up to dim his light. “Anything else you want?”

  “What is? And no, thanks.”

  “All this settling down. Good night, Steve.”

  He raised himself on the pillow. “I say—”

  “Yes?”

  “I wouldn’t say anything like that to Nurse Greatrex. Her young man’s in poor shape, she says.”

  “I didn’t know! When did she hear?”

  “She had a phone call this morning, she says. She said she wasn’t going to tell anyone.”

  “She must be wanting to go to him. What rotten luck, when he was a little better. I wish she’d told us—we could have asked Matron...”

  “She said he didn’t want her there.”

  “Didn’t want her?”

  “No. Told her to keep away. She was cut up about that. She said she ought to be there.”

  Fenella nodded soberly. “I know how she feels. Do you—do you think you men always know what you want?”

  “You want a candid answer?”

  “I do.”

  “Then it’s ‘No’. I don’t suppose we do. You know, a sick man’s like a sick animal. He wants to hide, especially from his nearest and dearest, as it were. I mean, I wouldn’t have wanted Gilda around when I was being my worst and whiniest.” He smiled. “I can guess why you asked. I heard. I hav
e my channels.”

  She flushed painfully. “Heard what?”

  “Oh, that Sir David told you to hop it, more or less. I wouldn’t let it worry you.”

  “You wouldn’t?”

  He shook his head. “No. Know what I’d do? That’s if—if I were—well, interested. I mean, you are, a bit, aren’t you? Or it wouldn’t have got under your skin, would it?”

  “Well, what would you do?”

  “I’d jolly well go and beard the lion in his den, so to speak. Go and see him. Grapes in hand, and all that.”

  That was when she decided.

  She took a good deal of trouble with her hair and her face, before she went across the road next morning, and she was still trembling a little as she rang the bell. Mrs. Hackett’s greeting was reassuring. “Go up, my dear. Of course he’ll be pleased to see you. He can’t eat you, can he?” She led the way to the first floor and indicated the open door. “Go right in, he doesn’t bite.”

  He was lying on a day-bed near the window, in his dressing gown, covered with a tartan rug, and with a huge Orange Persian in his arms. “Quite right,” he said. “The only man-eater on duty is Gleam.”

  “He’s a beauty.” She stroked the cat nervously, not daring to look at David’s face.

  David dropped him to the floor. “And he knows it. He’s abominably spoiled and conceited. Well?” For the first time he looked her full in the face, and her trembling began all over again.

  “I—I came to see how you were.”

  “I grudge idle time.” He didn’t smile at all, and she wished he would.

  “I know.” She sought for topics of conversation. It was absurd, she thought. You wanted to be with a person so much—and then when you had him to yourself you actually had to make conversation. “What shall we talk about?” she finally asked desperately.

  “Well, what are you going to do with that legacy for instance?”

  “I’ve definitely decided not to take it.”

  She expected him to be surprised or to laugh, or even to congratulate her. She certainly never expected a sultry frown. “You must be mad.”

  “Why? Money isn’t the only thing in life,” she flashed.

  “I didn’t say it was. But look what you could do with it! You don’t have to spend it on yourself. You could—well, you could give some to the hospital, for a start. Or to cancer research. You could—oh, there’s no end to what you could do. How selfish of you to turn it down, when you know how badly it’s needed.”

  “Selfish! I’m thinking of the other beneficiary. If I turn it down it goes to someone else. It may be someone who needs it badly, and—”

  He laughed shortly. “Yes. And it may be someone with more money than sense, who’ll just fritter it away. That hadn’t occurred to you, of course.”

  Why was he so angry? “Well, no, I—”

  “In fact do you ever think clearly about anything? Why is it that women can never be objective?” His mouth was a straight line.

  Quite suddenly she lost her temper irrevocably. “Really, what business is it of yours? None! You say the cat’s conceited and spoiled—well, they say that people come to resemble their pets in time, you know.” She jumped to her feet. “How dare you? I wish I’d never told you anything about it at all. I don’t know why I did!”

  She was sorry about slamming the bedroom door the moment she had done it, but wild horses would not have dragged her back to apologise.

  Wild horses were no match for David. He reached the bottom step of the stairs as soon as she did, and took her by the shoulders. His eyes were alight now. “Fenella! I didn’t know you had it in you. You’ve always been such a mouse. You’re wonderful!”

  There was no time to struggle. His mouth came down on hers firmly and warm, and his arms tightened. When he did lift his head she had to cling to his arm to steady herself.

  “But I—” She could get no further, because he kissed her again, quickly this time.

  “Fenella, sweet child—listen!” He pushed back the lock of hair that had flopped over her eyes. “You’ve got to take this money, for one simple reason.”

  “There isn’t one.” She was fighting to keep him away, but his arms only tightened round her.

  “There is. Don’t you see? If you don’t take it, it comes to me.”

  “You? But I thought—”

  “I know. You thought it might be somebody like old Joe. Now do you see? Only there isn’t any twenty thousand, I’m afraid.”

  “How do you know?” She stared at him, still gripping his arm. “Because Derry rang me—told me you’d refused it, and that he’d now gone into the paper assets, and found they were largely paper. It amounts to eight hundred or so, actually.” He smiled at her relaxed sigh. “Is it a relief?”

  She nodded. “Silly, isn’t it? But yes, it is. Then I shall take it, and give some to Joe and some to the hospital. You don’t need it, do you?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You have—everything?”

  His face sobered. “Not everything, Fenella. Not yet. I’m a pretty lonely person...” He touched her face with one finger. “I need you, too.”

  She was trembling, now. “Me? But—”

  “But what? You do care about me a little, don’t you?”

  “A little. But I’m not the right sort. I—I can’t be—Lady Anderson! I—I drop things!”

  “Dearest, drop whatever you like. I promise not to jump any more. You’ve cured me of that idiocy. If the roof falls in I shall only think: ‘There goes my Fenella again.’ Well?”

  “Well, what?” She felt stupid. He couldn’t mean what he seemed to be saying. “What, David?”

  “Will you take us on, Gleam and me?”

  He stood back as Mrs. Hackett came in and walked through to the kitchen, and then he added: “And Hacky?”

  “You really mean it?”

  “Mean it?” He groaned. “Nurse Scott, come here! Closer!”

  She went.

  Gleam, waiting on the landing for his master to come to his senses, yawned, and stretched; and Mrs. Hackett made a great clatter in the kitchen! Fenella stayed right where she was. It was the most wonderful place in the world.