The Flying Nurse (1960s Medical Romance Book 3)

by Sheila Burns

  Meanwhile, Cam lay there sleeping in peace, comfortable, which meant that all the time he was progressing in the right direction.

  She was with him through another night, a long and a difficult night, for there was something of a storm. Carmina had whispered shudderingly of ‘the sirocco’, and it alarmed Mandy. But next morning the patient was normal. That was the big help.

  She had received a card from Richard Tate, for somehow he had discovered her address, though she could not recall having given it to him. He sent her all the news of St Jeremy’s, and she was surprised to find how interesting it was. Sister was still fierce as ever, Matron in a bad temper, and there had been trouble in Casualties which had come his way. Someone had confused chicken pox with smallpox (you wouldn’t have thought it possible, would you?). Mandy was surprised at the thrill the touch with St Jeremy’s brought back to her. Had she cared for it more than she had imagined, she wondered, in the curious way that people do? The years of training had been hard and fatiguing, yet here she was away from it, and in a radiant country with the dawn breaking over pink clover fields, and she was dreaming of St Jeremy’s.

  Across the island rang the noisy almost truculent bells. The patient slept, and she went out on to the verandah for air, the first fresh air of the new day. She saw that the gate which she had given orders to keep locked, was open again. A goat peered through it. During the dark hours the goats seemed to run wild and do as they wished. It was then that Mandy realized that in the patio itself a man stood. Not Giuseppe again, she thought and in indignation. This time I shall have to tell the police.

  But this was not Giuseppe.

  An Englishman was standing there; she could tell his nationality by the cut of his clothes and his height. He held a panama hat in his hand, and stared at her where she stood on the verandah. His hair was fair, almost too fair, it could be grey, yet she knew that he was not old.

  For a moment they stood staring at each other, then the man moved a shade closer, not surprised at being disturbed nor ashamed to be found trespassing. He came to the spot where she stood with only the carved balustrade between herself and him, and she laid a cautious finger to her lips. As he still came on, she leant over the verandah.

  ‘Hush! Someone is very ill, and must not be disturbed. What is it you want?’

  ‘You ‒ you are a nurse?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘I’m a friend of Cam Sykes. I trust that this is not anything serious?’ and he looked at her in some perturbation.

  ‘It is very serious indeed.’

  He was standing just under where she stood, a good-looking man with light eyes, and that beautifully clear skin which as he aged would become florid. ‘I’m very sorry, for he is an old friend. What can I do to help?’

  At hospital they had taught her not to be open to compliments, endearments, or cajoling. Instinctively she felt that she did not trust this man who had so deliberately trespassed. She still had no idea who he was. ‘You must not come here and disturb him, for it is essential that he should sleep.’

  ‘I apologize.’

  ‘Please go away.’

  He still stood on, and then spoke more softly. ‘You are a stranger to this island?’

  ‘I am Cam’s stepdaughter, a trained nurse who flew out here to help him.’

  ‘You know of Cam’s business then?’

  ‘Something, not much!’ She was playing for time, and glanced back nervously into the big room with the fans whirling and the patient still asleep. Thank God for that, she thought.

  ‘He and I work together.’

  ‘I see.’ They had taught her how to reveal nothing at St Jeremy’s. Nobody can be such a block of granite as a nurse, nor so calm.

  ‘You know that Cam is an agent?’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Packets come for him, containing goods which are urgently required in the island. One should have been brought here yesterday by a man who answers to the name of Giuseppe.’ He smiled at her ingratiatingly.

  It was plain that he knew quite a lot about the subject, but nothing would make her commit herself. If Cam was in the Secret Service, and she had no reason to doubt that, he needed protection, and he needed loyal understanding. ‘I know nothing,’ she said at last.

  ‘Giuseppe brought the parcel here?’

  ‘Did he?’ Instantly she was angry that she had committed herself to knowing Giuseppe.

  ‘You must know.’

  ‘I only flew out a few days back. If something came, my patient is in no condition to cope with it. He can do no business. He cannot see anybody.’

  ‘Would you tell him that I am here?’

  ‘No, I refuse to disturb him.’

  ‘But this ‒ this is very serious.’ He smiled faintly; it was the smile of an elder person dealing with a difficult child. ‘This is more serious than you realize. Other nations are concerned with it. Important other nations.’

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot help that.’

  ‘It is serious for him also.’

  She leant lower. ‘This is going to be very serious for him if, by talking here, we wake him up. Please go away. Return tomorrow, when we hope that he will be rested and much better, but I can do nothing to help you now.’ Mandy knew that she had changed, and now she was all trained nurse; St Jeremy’s would be proud of her. The dress that she wore might not be uniform, it was sleeveless, plain white and straight as a chemise. She had pinned to it a small star which all the St Jeremy nurses wore when qualified; it was a badge of office which gave her the feeling of assurance, and at this hour she needed that sense of assurance.

  ‘You’re wilful, aren’t you?’ he smiled. She knew that he was aware of his personal charm, and did not hesitate to use it. Could he be a dear friend, also in the Secret Service (a secret to which she must never admit knowledge), or was he an enemy?

  ‘My patient is desperately ill.’

  ‘I know and I wish to help. We have been friends since schooldays, and I know that he wants help. There is a parcel … a very urgent parcel on which everything depends?’

  ‘I have no knowledge of his work or his friends or anything of that kind.’

  It was almost unbelievable to Mandy that she was standing here on a verandah with the flowers around her dewy with a new day. The sun rose more rapidly than it had ever done in England, and gave fresh radiance to the island. Far away a man started to sing as he brought his little market cart into the city full of vegetables. He sang grand opera! In the distance a bell rang jangling again, to be joined by others, for this was the island of bells.

  This man was still smiling at her. ‘I wanted to help a dear friend. You also,’ he said gently. He had benign good looks, a figure which was beginning to thicken. He would be over thirty, she thought, and would run to fat as this type do, but he was English, and until this hour in an alien island she had never thought how strong was the bond between people of one nation. He must have seen that she was relenting. ‘You can trust me,’ he told her.

  She pulled herself together at that. ‘I must return to my patient,’ she said rather coldly.

  This was what Matron would have expected of her, and even the sternest sister would have congratulated her. She hoped that he would do no more, and went into the room where Cam lay. Then she stood still, her heart beating fast, and she waited for the scrape of a shoe against the verandah itself, or a man’s step beyond the French windows. Nothing came. Out of sheer curiosity she returned again on tip-toe. The day had become brighter, it was considerably changed, and the gold was already glitteringly hard, but she had seen the radiant moment when the new morning was born, and was grateful to have seen it even if only once.

  On the floor of the verandah a small white speck lay. It was like a tiny island on the tessellated paving, and she went to pick it up. It was a man’s visiting card, and she read it quickly. It gave no address, only the name:

  Mr Max Jefferies

  He was, of course, this man who had come to see C
am, someone he knew, maybe another secret agent. She was almost sure of that. Max Jefferies. It was a nice name.

  All day she worked for Cam. She would not leave him, and she spent another night on duty, too. But she got some result for her pains, for he was infinitely better, and when Dr Mallea came next morning he was pleased with him. She knew that she was worn out herself, and that now she must get some sleep. But should she dare hand Cam over to Marina?

  ‘I am going to get a long sleep,’ she said.

  ’Difficult in this heat.’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ she promised. ‘He is better, and you guard him closely. Giuseppe is taboo.’

  ‘That does not surprise me.’

  Then, because she had to admit it, Mandy said: ‘Last night another man came, an Englishman in a light suit. He had fair hair, and would be over thirty, I would think.’

  Marina nodded.

  ‘He has been here before. He says that he is an old school friend, and that he has work to do with Mr Sykes. Is that true?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know. Could be! But for now Mr Sykes must see nobody. Not this man! I have a sort of feeling about him.’ This afternoon she would ask Luis, for she felt that she could trust him. This afternoon, she promised herself.

  ‘Very well,’ Marina told her.

  Mandy knew that she could trust her, and she herself went to rest. She dropped off into a deep sleep almost on the moment that her head touched the pillow, and perhaps it was the most refreshing sleep of her life. She came out of it after lunch to find a great bowl of luscious fruit had been brought to her by Carmina. It was the sort of fruit one does not get in England. She dressed, and went to Cam. He was recovering too quickly, she felt, for now he was over-anxious to do more, and in doing more lay the danger.

  ‘I could get up?’ he said.

  ‘Not yet. We have to get you quite well.’

  ‘You’re a tartar,’ he said mischievously. ‘A proper little tartar, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’ve got to get you right for when Mother comes.’

  He changed at that. ‘Look here, Mandy, don’t let your mother come out here, there’s a good girl! I’ll fly back to England the moment that I can, but do for God’s sake keep your mother out of this.’

  ‘Have you ever tried keeping Mother out of something which she wanted to do? She is a very obstinate woman.’

  ‘You’re telling me! The bother is that I have friends here who work with me, and they could never be her friends. You have got to realize this, and help me with it, for my work is tricky. I’ve told you that.’

  ‘I know.’

  He dropped his voice. ‘That packet which came just as I had the bad luck to get ill?’

  ‘It’s under lock and key.’

  ‘Keep it there! It is worth a fortune. It is a packet beyond price.’

  ‘But surely papers are not of such vital value?’

  ‘It is not only papers. There are goods in it, medical goods, if you want to know.’

  ‘Medical goods?’ It was difficult to hide the startle which was in her voice.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not dangerous drugs?’

  ‘Of course not. If it comes to that, all goods are drugs, some more dangerous than others. I suppose you could call water a drug.’

  ‘I couldn’t,’ she said, rather coldly.

  ‘No, you wouldn’t! You’re very young, my darling. You have faith in the great big world that keeps turning, but if you ask me it is a great big difficult world. It turns too fast! These are drugs which you know nothing about.’

  She did not know why she thought of atom bombs, or frozen water and all those rumours which had got going at the end of the war, to break on the world with the chaotic effort on Japan. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘You can understand that I am worried.’

  ‘Yes, and that is the worst thing for you. Lie still for another twenty-four hours and then we will see what can be done to help you. Take life quietly. Don’t let yourself get upset. We have got to get you well enough to travel home the moment that we can.’

  ‘I want to get home,’ he admitted.

  When Dr Mallea arrived he could not have believed that the patient could make such a miracle recovery, and praised the good nursing. He came in with Carmina who bore an enormous gilded basket of flowers and fruit. There were those scarlet lilies, the light ferns and the deep-red roses. Immediately Cam wanted to know where they had come from; for the moment this malady affected his eyes and he could not read the card. Mandy read it to him.

  ‘It says: Love from Lucinda.’

  ‘Ha, ha,’ and Cam laughed, obviously flattered. He explained, making jokes as he did it, that the Contessa Lucinda lived in the Casa Antonia in Citta Veccia, in what she called ‘the hills’. ‘Ant hills are more like it,’ and he laughed. In the end it was the doctor who told Mandy who Lucinda was.

  ‘She is American,’ he said. ‘She married a very noble admiral some years ago and now lives in the magnificent casa. She is rich, owning more of the island than she should do, for much of us feels angry about it. It is our island. But she is always so kind to the English people. Always most kind.’

  Mandy looked at Cam, and saw that amused expression on his face, the one that she least liked. It meant that he was up to something. He was one of those men who are amused at their own naughtiness, a man who always prided himself on being ‘a bad boy’. Born mischievous, she knew that there was very little reason in him, really. The doctor ordered him a quiet day, no visitors and no messages. The longer Cam stayed quiet, the more good it would do him, but if Mandy wished, she could go out this afternoon and it would do her good. She ought to see the island. When he had gone, she rang up Luis. This afternoon when the heat was cooling, she would love to visit the temples as promised, she said. He was obviously enchanted, and would come for her.

  Then she returned to Cam.

  He was already on the telephone, even though he had heard the doctor forbidding this. He spoke gaily, thanking someone with profuse flattery for flowers and fruit, and asking them to come and see him.

  ‘Goodbye, my own lovely Lucinda,’ was what he said.

  Mandy walked to the bed without a word and took the telephone from him. She put it aside and out of reach. ‘You heard the doctor forbidding this!’

  ‘You’re like your mother, aren’t you, Mandy? Too much so. Lucinda would do me a world of good, for we are very, very old friends.’

  ‘Mother would not like it.’

  ‘Mother will never know,’ and he laughed.

  She persuaded him to rest, then changed her frock to drive out to Hagiar Kim with Luis. She had not realized until now how much she was looking forward to seeing him again. An eternity of time seemed to expand between now and their last meeting.

  She had not brought a shady hat with her (for it asked too much packing) and she had not thought that these were wanted. She sent Carmina out to bring her a large green-lined sunshade which was the right thing to have. It was a great shelter.

  Mandy’s hair was curling with the heat, and how much prettier it was when it curled like this, she thought. She wanted to look her best. It was a surprising thing that there had been no phone call or letter from her mother; no news. Was the ankle worse? Mandy hoped it could be, to delay her visit here.

  Luis arrived dead on time, and took her in the big white car. Stepping into the street was much like stepping into an oven, Mandy thought, for the heat was intense. She sat down beside him as they moved off, and was thankful for the breeze their progress made. They swept out of Valletta through the Porte de Reale, on past Floriana, into the heart of the island itself.

  They came to wild country, and she saw small grapes fruiting in the grass, trailing there, in the dusty green seared by the sun. There was red-sorrel, and the purple pink of the clover everywhere, all part of an enchanting island.

  ‘My island!’ Luis said.

  They got out of the big touring car in the shadow of an enormous cypress
tree, and she saw before her a stretch of wild land with what appeared to be some sort of much larger Stonehenge on it. There were the pagan temples, where, centuries before Christianity came to the world, living sacrifices had been made under terrifying conditions. People had come here to worship their heathen gods, and men and women had been martyred to appease the greed and anger of those gods.

  Mandy felt a qualm as she looked at them.

  But everywhere the wild thyme blossomed, and the fragrance lingered about the place and was actually an inspiration. Luis took her hand and guided her across the rough ground of stone, of pieces of rock, and the coarse weeds which seemed to grow in the shady parts. They walked across to the first great stone which rose against the sky and cast a grateful shadow in which they could sit. They sat down in that shadow, with another great stone alongside them set on smaller pieces of rock which perhaps had supported it for centuries.

  ‘This was once an altar,’ Luis explained. ‘All sorts of curious rites happened here, but then all these rites seem to have been curious, according to our idea today. Men and women died, and willingly, as living sacrifices.’

  ‘Not here?’

  ‘On this actual stone,’ he explained.

  She felt appalled and would have risen, but his hand reached out and took hers, gripping it closely.

  ‘There is nothing to worry about,’ he explained. ‘All that is over. People no longer die for their faiths as they did once upon a time. That is finished in a Christian country, and Malta is a very Christian country, devout, too.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  He had paused for a moment, and she knew that he was watching her closely, but with questions in those eyes, perhaps the unanswerable questions which almost alarmed her. He said, and very tenderly, ‘I wanted to talk to you. I brought you here to see our temples, and anyway they are a good place where we can talk. Later, I want you to come back to my home in Citta Veccia, but I want to talk to you first. I’m worried for you. I think you knew that I was very worried when we met in the plane?’