by A. J. Cronin
And, when the general conversation was again flowing, he rose, unobserved, and slipped over to Mrs Angus.
‘I must go now,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to get back to a case.’
‘But can’t you wait?’ she murmured, raising her brows in disappointment. ‘We’re going to have a bonfire this evening, and fireworks.’
He shook his head stiffly.
‘I am sorry, but I must go. Someone else will give matron a lift back. As for me, I’ve got work to do.’
He knew that he was uncouth and graceless, but he could not help himself. His tongue was dry in his mouth.
He thought for a second she was about to speak, to reveal in all nakedness his painful secret. But apparently she changed her mind.
‘Very well, then,’ she said, ‘If you must, you must.’ Smiling slightly, she shook hands with him kindly, indeed for quite a while she retained his hand in her own warm clasp, then, turning to her daughter, she declared, ‘Peggy, you’ll see Dr Finlay to the door.’
Thus bidden, Peggy accompanied him into the hall. He felt rather than saw her beside him, for once again he dared not look at her.
The sense of her nearness, coupled with the knowledge that she could never love him, filled his breast with a suffocating pain. But at the door he faced her, thrusting down all the insupportable feelings which surged in him. He said simply—
‘Thank you for having me up here. You have a lovely place. And altogether it’s been a wonderful day.’
She did not answer immediately. Indeed, he thought her cheeks pale and her voice slightly strained as at length she said—
‘I am glad you have enjoyed yourself.’
Silence. Then she remarked in that same tone—
‘It’s all gone very quickly. I hardly seem to have seen you.’
He did not answer. Indeed, he could not answer. Blindly he held out his hand, touched hers for a moment, then ran down the steps.
The drive home was misery. He felt alone in the world.
His work – that was what the future held for him – and he must work alone.
Arrived in Levenford, he made straight for Arden House. Cameron gave a whistle of surprise at seeing him home so soon.
‘You’re back early!’ he exclaimed. ‘Did you hate the fête all that much?’
‘No,’ said Finlay gruffly; ‘the fête was all right.’ He paused. ‘I wanted to see Paxton at the hospital.’
Cameron inspected his young partner shrewdly, discerning something of the bitterness which these simple words concealed. He said presently—
‘As a matter of fact, Nurse Cotter was on the phone for you from the hospital half an hour ago.’
Finlay nodded. He had half expected such a message; troubles, in his experience, never came singly.
Pausing only to snatch a bite of food – he had eaten nothing at Dunhill – he hastened down to the hospital and entered the ward where Bob Paxton lay. Here his brow clouded.
Bending over the supine figure on the bed, Finlay made a rapid investigation, collapse due to haemorrhage, he thought, and there and then he decided upon immediate transfusion.
His face lit up at the coming battle.
Ordering Nurse Cotter to send for Halliday, the porter, who from previous experience could be counted on as a safe and generous blood donor, Finlay passed hurriedly into the side room to prepare for his delicate and difficult task.
The trouble would, he realised, be Nurse Cotter. She was a bungler, the last person he would have chosen to assist him. But the need was urgent, and he must make shift with her the best way he could.
In a sense, too, the blame was his. It was while he had been playing the lovesick swain at Dunhill that Paxton’s condition had deteriorated.
All this was in Finlay’s mind, forcing a look of pain and bitterness upon his features as he crossed to the theatre to see about his instruments.
He pushed open the swing doors with nervous vehemence, then suddenly drew up, petrified to absolute rigidity. There, in the theatre, dressed in her neat uniform, methodically arranging his instruments, was Nurse Angus.
He gazed at her, unable to believe his eyes, while the colour ebbed slowly from his face. Then, with a rush of bewilderment, he gasped—
‘Why are you here?’
Without looking at him, she answered—
‘My holiday is over tomorrow. I thought I might just as well come back for duty tonight.’
He could only stand and stare at her, as though still dazed at her return. And she seemed to sense his incredulity, for in that matter-of-fact voice, she went on—
‘Matron told me about your case, of course, and after you’d gone I thought you might need me. So I came on.’ And bearing the tray of instruments with impassive precision, she went past him into the ward.
He followed a moment later like a man walking in a dream.
Halliday was already at the bedside with Nurse Cotter, who manifested every sign of satisfaction that Nurse Angus should be back to relieve her of responsibility. And, without delay, Finlay set himself to carry out the transfusion, swabbing Halliday’s muscular arm with iodine, puncturing the vessel accurately, transmitting the precious life fluid from the healthy porter to the collapsed and languid figure on the bed.
It was done at last. Kneeling, Finlay watched the change in Paxton, who now, as by a miracle stroke, was filled with new life, breathing quietly and vigorously, saved.
Finlay remained there a long time, in profound meditation, long after Halliday had returned to the lodge, and Nurse Cotter began to fuss with her charts in a far corner of the ward.
Then, with a deep sigh, he rose and went into the side room where Peggy stood, cleansing the last of his instruments.
Mechanically he stumbled into speech.
‘I want to thank you for coming down. I couldn’t have managed nearly so well without you.’ He raised his hand to his brow dumbly. ‘It always seems to be that way somehow – you seem to help me out!’
A long pause. She did not speak. And so, his shoulders sagging a little, he went blindly on—
‘I want to congratulate you, too – on your engagement. He seems a fine fellow, Foster – I hope you’ll be happy.’
Now, indeed, she raised her head and gazed at him steadily. And her voice was also steady as she answered—
‘You’re making a mistake, I think. Dick Foster is nothing but a friend. People have drawn all sorts of stupid conclusions. If you don’t believe me . . .’
The colour rose to her brow, and her eyes fell.
‘Today he proposed to me, and I refused him.’
A start ran through his entire body. He dared not breathe. Then, his heart leaping into his throat, he came towards her.
Though he did not, could not speak, his love for her was written openly in his face, and at that sight she cried, with a little, choking sob—
‘Oh, my dear, don’t you know that it is you – that it always has been and always will be you?’
The next instant she was in his arms.
A melting tenderness filled his soul, his whole heart sang with a wild and matchless joy. He knew that the crowning glory of his life had been achieved.