A Ward Door Opens: A touching 1950s hospital romance (The Anniversary Collection Book 7)

by Lucilla Andrews

  He was leaning against the desk. He straightened, politely. ‘Of course, Nurse. Thank you for the tea. I’ll be getting along.’

  Standing disappeared, leaving the tray behind. I walked warily into the duty-room and was reassured by the way the S.M.O. ignored my presence. The tea-tray was on the left corner of the flat-topped desk. I reached for it with one hand, as it was such a small tray. Perhaps my balancing act would have been successful if he had not moved out of my way when I expected him to stand still and allow me to walk round him. I jumped aside, the tray swayed dangerously, but I managed to clutch it with my free hand. That clutch was a mistake. It jolted the tray and did what the swaying had not done. The small, and luckily half-empty tea-pot shot off, and would have smashed against the desk if he had not caught both the pot and its lid in mid-air. Unfortunately, he could not save the contents spilling down the front of his long white coat.

  ‘Oh, dear!’ I was too distressed by that spreading stain to feel nervous or shy. ‘I’m most terribly sorry, Dr. Cameron. I’m afraid it will stain.’

  He glanced down. ‘Probably.’ He replaced the pot on my tray, but did not let go of it. ‘Got it steady now?’

  ‘Yes ‒ yes, thank you. But your coat is ruined. Can I take it and soak it for you? Please?’ I begged desperately. ‘I do apologise for being so clumsy.’

  ‘It was an accident.’ He slipped off his coat, swung it into a bundle and tucked it under one arm. ‘I’m not on-duty, so I don’t require it at the moment. The laundry will deal with it.’

  I could scarcely believe my ears. I had expected him to be furious, particularly after our previous meeting. I had thought nothing could save me from his displeasure and Standing’s wrath when she returned to find I had drenched the important Dr. Cameron with tea. ‘Thank you very much, Dr. Cameron. It’s ‒’

  His raised hand silenced me. He looked all round suddenly. ‘What’s that smell? Something burning?’

  He had scarcely spoken when I heard a sharp crack coming from the direction of the kitchen. I recognised the sound. I had heard it in Alberta the night I let the hot-water urn boil dry. ‘My urn ‒ excuse me,’ I gasped and fled to the kitchen.

  The door was shut. Directly I opened it, a cloud of acrid smoke hit me in the face. I pushed the door to behind me, slid the tea-tray on to the draining-board, opened a window with one hand and turned off the gas under the urn with the other. The urn lid was burning with heat, but I was too harassed to bother about my hand. I pulled off the lid, dropped it on the kitchen table, shook my hand hard in pain, then using my apron as a shield, lifted the dry urn from the stove and carried it over to the sink. My hand was on the cold tap when another hand grasped my wrist and firmly moved it away.

  ‘Nurse, are you determined to injure yourself? First you try to break your neck,’ said Dr. Cameron quietly, ‘now you risk a scalding, not to mention cracking a good urn. Don’t you realise what would happen if you had turned on that cold tap? That urn’s red hot. The water would boil instantly. You would be deluged in boiling steam ‒ and the sudden change in temperature would split the metal of the urn. Or did you not think of these consequences, either?’

  I could only gaze up at him. ‘No, Doctor,’ I said at last. ‘I didn’t. I’m very sorry. I should have done.’

  He took as long to answer me, as I had to him. ‘Indeed, you should have. As I told you earlier, I consider it high time you started thinking.’ He noticed the lid on the table. ‘How did you get that off?’

  I told him the truth.

  ‘Let me see your hand, please.’

  I held out my right hand. He looked at it in silence, without touching it. ‘There’s no trace of any burn. I can only assume your hands are used to heat?’

  I nodded weakly, thinking of the times I had removed objects from a just-off-the-boil steriliser that had to be emptied quickly for cleaning. I always used my hands. ‘Yes, they are.’

  He looked at me, thoughtfully. ‘How long have you been in the hospital, Nurse?’

  ‘Counting the P.T.S. and sick leave ‒ seventeen months.’

  He lifted one dark eyebrow. ‘Sick-leave? I’m not surprised. What caused you to have that?’ he asked coolly.

  ‘Measles, Doctor.’

  ‘Measles?’ His mouth twitched. ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘No, Doctor.’

  ‘You seem to have been singularly lucky, if this is your customary behaviour. And if it is, you ought to do something about it. Hospital property is valuable. It is your duty to take care of it. You also have a duty to the hospital in respect of yourself. Nurses are valuable, too.’ His tone had grown gentle.

  ‘Yes, Dr. Cameron.’

  ‘So there is to be no more climbing shelves, or letting urns burn dry.’

  ‘No, Dr. Cameron.’

  ‘Good!’ His feet moved. I thought he was going when I realised he had turned on the cold tap. He rinsed the urn, turned it upside down against the light, nodded to himself, and placed it under the tap. He raised the urn again when it was full. There was no sign of a leak. He set it on the stove, fixed on the lid, then dried his hands. He looked even taller without his white coat. The jacket of his dark suit was very well-cut and added to his distinguished appearance. ‘Thank you, Nurse,’ he said as if I had done him a favour by letting him carry my urn. ‘Good night.’ He walked to the door, then turned back. ‘My coat?’

  ‘It’s here.’ I handed the stained bundle to him. ‘I really am very sorry to have been so ‒ so thoughtless. Thank you very much for helping me, Doctor.’ And I stiffened involuntarily at the sound of Standing’s soft, quick footsteps coming towards the door.

  He opened the door and went to meet her. Her face froze at the sight of him coming from the kitchen. ‘Nurse Standing, I’m glad you’re back,’ he said evenly. ‘I’d like your advice.’ He shook out his white coat. ‘I’ve had the misfortune to get this stain. Do you think the laundry will be able to remove it, or should I do something about it straight away?’

  She was instantly placated. She said she was sure she could remove the stain if he would leave the coat with her for the night. ‘How did you do it, Doctor?’

  I had stepped back into the kitchen. I could not help listening for his answer. ‘The teapot emptied itself over me in some unaccountable manner, Nurse.’

  ‘You mean Nurse Blakney dropped it?’

  ‘Nurse was not touching the teapot,’ he answered truthfully. ‘It was handled only by myself. With the dire result that you see.’

  When I dared leave the kitchen, he had gone. Standing was writing her night report, and his coat was soaking in some white solution in the duty-room handbasin. She called me to her. ‘Nurse Blakney, has your hot-water urn been refilled tonight? I noticed it was nearly empty when I was last in the kitchen. I did not refill it for you, as I do not approve of covering up my juniors’ mistakes. You can only learn by your mistakes.’ She blotted her writing.

  ‘It has been refilled, Nurse.’

  ‘Good!’ She noticed my apron. ‘What have you been doing to that apron? It’s crumpled and damp. Go and change it at once, and in future keep a clean apron in the kitchen as well as in the changing-room. What Dr. Cameron must have thought of you when he went into the kitchen just now, I do not like to think.’

  ‘No, Nurse. I’m sorry.’ I hurried off to change. I did not like to think of the new S.M.O.’s opinion of me either, but that was not going to stop me thinking very gratefully of him. He had saved me from three severe rockets tonight, not to mention the possibility of a scalded face. I would like to be able to repay him, and hoped some opportunity would present itself.

  Chapter Two

  Jo and a girl called Avis Gavin were sitting alone at the junior table when I finally limped to breakfast next morning. ‘Maggie, you are late!’ said Jo. ‘We thought you must have come and gone.’

  I flopped into the unused place beside Avis. ‘Oh, my poor, poor feet! They haven’t felt like this since I left the P.T.S.!’

  Avis
was a tallish, very slim girl with irregular features that were not good individually yet combined most attractively. She was working as night junior in Casualty. ‘Did Standing keep you going at the double?’

  Jo filled my tea-cup. ‘Poor old Maggie. Was she grim?’

  ‘Just tedious.’ I sipped my tea. ‘She didn’t really go to town until this morning, when she found I hadn’t folded the soiled linen edge-to-edge. I had to re-do the lot after report, which is why I’m so late.’

  Avis turned to Jo. ‘Didn’t you warn Maggie about Standing’s edge-to-edge complex? Paula asked you to, yesterday morning.’

  Jo looked contrite. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Maggie. I forgot.’

  ‘Never mind. I know now. How did you girls get on?’

  Jo said Catherine Ward had been a haven.

  ‘Casualty went to the opposite extreme,’ announced Avis. ‘I’ve come to the conclusion I much prefer the S.M.O. to be on. He may scare the daylights out of the entire staff but he can reduce chaos to order at the drop of a hat. You only have to take one look at him to know he’s not only built like the Rock of Gibraltar, he’s as steady as said Rock. We had a run of medical cases last night ‒ and how we longed for the S.M.O.’s presence! Even if he does make us shake in our shoes.’

  ‘Dr. Cameron makes you shake in your shoes? Why?’ I asked incredulously. ‘He’s nice.’

  ‘He’s what?’ demanded Jo sharply.

  I repeated myself. ‘Not only nice, but useful. He heaved me off the clinical room shelf and got down a flower-vase I wanted, never turned a hair or let on to Standing when I emptied a tea-pot over him, and only gave me the most gentle rocket when I let the urn boil dry and nearly scalded him when he came to my rescue.’

  ‘He heaved you off a shelf? You upset a tea-pot over him?’ Jo choked over her tea. ‘Maggie, it’s not true!’

  ‘Of course, it’s true. He did just what I’ve said and he filled the urn, too!’

  They stared at me in blank amazement. ‘What did Standing do about all this?’ Avis asked.

  ‘Not one thing, except rinse his white coat ‒ which put her in such a good humour that for at least half-an-hour I became her angel-child of a junior.’

  Avis began to laugh. ‘Maggie, you had me believing you ‒ almost! A tea-pot! And Standing doing the laundry! Are you sure you didn’t empty the urn over him as well?’

  ‘I’m not kidding,’ I protested.

  Jo cut me short. ‘It’s no good! We know you a little too well.’ She rocked with laughter. ‘And we know the S.M.O. much better than you do because of your measles. He never deigns to notice nurses. As if he’d run round in small circles helping you out!’

  I tried to convince them. But it was useless. The more I protested, the more they laughed. Eventually Sister Dining-Room came over to complain about the noise. ‘You three nurses are making more commotion than the entire day-staff. I can understand that you like to relax now you are off, but I cannot permit this uproar.’

  We sat down again as she departed.

  ‘How does Standing get on with the S.M.O.?’ Jo enquired.

  ‘I scent a romance.’ I told them why. ‘You can’t conceive the effect he has on her.’

  Jo smiled at her plate. ‘I shouldn’t imagine she has any effect on him.’

  ‘She’s very, very pretty,’ I reminded her. ‘Maybe he thinks her tough technique with us just shows she’s a girl of spirit.’

  Jo pushed back her chair. ‘You always were a sentimental little soul. I’m going over to change. I’ve got an early coffee date with Bill. Coming, girls?’

  I said I was still hungry and wanted more food. Avis said she was too weary to go to bed and might as well watch me eat.

  She watched Jo’s retreating figure, thoughtfully. ‘Is she engaged to Bill Flanders yet?’

  ‘No. Remember, he’s not qualified.’

  ‘Is the waiting her idea? I’ve gathered Bill’s very serious about her.’

  I nodded. ‘Jo is very level-headed.’

  She glanced at me. ‘And quite exceptionally attractive. I wonder what effect she had on the S.M.O. at the Hockey Ball. It’s pretty obvious she hasn’t got over those two dances with him. If I were Bill Flanders, I’d get that ring on her finger mighty fast.’

  I was more amused than surprised. ‘Nonsense. She is terribly fond of Bill. She’s just very practical.’

  Avis shrugged. ‘She’s your friend, so you ought to know.’

  Sister Dining-Room returned to us. ‘Sister Tutor has just rung for you, Nurse Blakney. Sister wishes to see you before her first lecture at nine-fifteen.’

  Avis left the dining-room with me. ‘What’ll Sister Tutor want? Your set isn’t having any lectures just now, and you haven’t been back long enough to do anything wrong.’

  I stared at her. ‘I never thought of that. He didn’t say anything to Standing. Would he have gone higher to report me?’

  ‘He ‒?’

  ‘The S.M.O.,’ I explained briefly. This time she believed me. She whistled soundlessly. ‘Wow, Maggie!’

  ‘You’ve seen a lot of him in Casualty. Would you say he would report me?’

  She hesitated. ‘He’s still very much an unknown quantity. I’ve barely spoken to him. I shouldn’t have thought he was the type to need to report anyone to anyone. He would cope alone ‒ very adequately. The snag is, I’m not much of a judge of men,’ she added frankly. ‘I’ve no troops of faithful swains like Jo, or hordes of brothers, like you. You should be in the better position to tell. What was your impression last night?’

  ‘That he had said all he intended saying. I thought him so nice. Now I’ve heard what you girls say about him I’m scared.’

  We had reached Sister Tutor’s classroom. Avis said she would wait and keep her fingers crossed. Five minutes later I sailed back to her. ‘Uncross those fingers, Avis. She only wanted to see me about the two medical lectures I missed through being sick. I’m to catch up when the set below get to theirs.’

  Avis was relieved. ‘I’ve been thinking, Maggie, and I decided that if he hadn’t reported you ‒ you can thank your large eyes and your lack of inches. You look such a helpless infant, and he obviously must have a weakness for helpless infants, or he wouldn’t have taken on bringing up his niece, single-handed.’

  ‘I’m as different from his glamorous niece as chalk from cheese! Still, it’s a comforting thought. I can’t wait to tell Jo how she has misjudged him. She gave me such a stern warning about not attempting to be a sister to him. I must let her know you feel I might do as a spare niece.’

  ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t,’ Avis said slowly.

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Things like this can get around awfully quickly ‒ and get awfully distorted. It might reach Standing … even him. You wouldn’t want that?’

  ‘You are so right! But Jo wouldn’t spread it.’

  She glanced at me as she had done when I said Jo was level-headed. ‘If you can’t keep your own secret, is it fair to expect other people to do so?’

  ‘I never thought of it that way.’

  She fiddled with one of the lower buttons on her coat. ‘It’s something that’s worth remembering in this chatty little hospital world.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘I say, have you heard that the Drama Society has definitely decided on a pantomime? George Thanet was talking about it in Casualty in the small hours. He’s on Casualty call this week. He’s going to contact you. He and Bill Flanders are writing the book together and they want you to help to fit pop music to their words.’

  ‘How splendid! Which are they doing?’

  ‘ “Cinderella in Casualty”. Sister Casualty has offered to give technical advice and raise two full uniforms for the Ugly Sisters. It should be a riot. George will give you the details.’

  We discussed Cinderella all the way back to our rooms. It was only when I was in bed that I wondered why Jo had not told me this pleasing bit of news yesterday. She would know all about it from Bill. And then I wondered
why Avis had twice changed the subject when Jo’s name cropped up in our conversation. It all seemed rather odd.

  The Wing was very quiet for my first few nights. The only disadvantage I found during those peaceful periods was that our being slack left Standing with time on her hands. She used that time in training and scolding me. Consequently, although I had now learnt that the entire night staff seemed to share Jo and Avis’s opinion of the S.M.O., I was unable to restrain a sigh of relief when his tall figure appeared at the head of the stairs. His arrival meant that Standing would be occupied and happy during his round.

  I took Avis’s advice and said no more to anyone about the blunders I made on my first night in the Wing. In my second week, Night Sister came into the Duty-Room as we were finishing our meal. ‘Don’t get up, please, Nurses. I merely want a word with Nurse Blakney.’ Night Sister said she wanted me to relieve Nurse Standing’s meal-hour. ‘I have no spare senior nurse whom I can use tonight. Nurse Standing kindly offered to have a tray sent up to the Wing kitchen, but I do so disapprove of my night nurses having to eat on-duty. As the Wing is so exceptionally quiet, I think you can manage. If you get into any difficulty, or are at all worried, ring my Office.’

  My colleagues were very amused at the prospect of my sudden promotion. ‘Sister must be hard-up, leaving our Maggie in charge,’ chuckled Jo.

  Avis said quietly, ‘And when did you ever hear of Night Sister making a mistake, Jo? Or Matron?’

  ‘Don’t let’s bring Matron into this,’ I begged. ‘I’m smitten with nerves as it is!’

  My tremors were not improved by Staff Nurse Standing’s open misgivings about leaving me in charge. ‘Naturally, if Night Sister insists, there is nothing I can say, as I told the S.M.O. …’ She shrugged and left her sentence unfinished but very obvious.

  I wondered unhappily what the S.M.O.’s reaction to her news had been. He had arrived for his very late round just before I went to supper. The medical side of the hospital ‒ and that entailed nine hundred beds ‒ was his personal responsibility. He had walked more slowly than usual when he came into the Wing; he had looked very tired. I thought about his grave expression and quietly authoritative air, and was once more aghast by the memory of my behaviour at our first meeting. I could not blame him if he, having that same memory, had been equally aghast when Standing told him her irresponsible junior was going to be left in charge of her department.