Busman's Holiday, page 15
‘Allendale,’ he echoed, ‘Allendale. Frances ‒ why does that ring a bell?’
‘My aunt, a Miss Joanna Allendale has been an out-patient here ‒ and for one night an in-patient.’
‘Why was that?’ He shook his head when I explained. ‘That doesn’t ring a bell. The Frances Allendale does. Now, why ‒ who ‒ my wife!’ He snapped his fingers. ‘I’m sure my wife’s mentioned your name! Do you know my wife, Audrey? She’s a GP here ‒ knows most people in Arumchester. You’ve met her?’
‘I’m afraid not, Doctor.’ I was too worried to be curious, but I could understand the strain under which he had been all night, made him clutch momentarily at a triviality as a form of safety-valve. ‘The only girl I’ve met here outside this hospital, is a Helen Vintner.’
‘You know Helen? She’s one of my wife’s chums! Perhaps Helen mentioned you to Audrey ‒ think, man!’ He slapped his head with his flattened palm. ‘Breakthrough coming! It was after we’d been dining with Helen and David Loftus last week ‒ Audrey said something about you and someone having a narrow escape ‒ ring any bells?’
‘Sorry,’ I said untruthfully, ‘no.’
‘This is going to drive me nuts! But nuts it’ll have to drive me as I must get back on the job.’ He stuck the label on the bottle. ‘You stay there till I return with some tea and tell you when you can get up. Feeling all right?’ He took my pulse. ‘Good. Going like a steady sledge-hammer, even if you do look peaky ‒ and who’d wonder, after a night like this?’
It was neither the work I had done, nor the pint of blood I would not miss, that made me flop back and close my eyes when he left me. It was not the thought of David telling Helen, and her passing on his relief at narrowly escaping falling in love with me ‒ as he had admitted to my face. All that would hurt, later. It was the thought of what was now going on in the theatre.
The telephones throughout the department did not ring, they flashed lights. The flashing light on the duty-room telephone made me open my eyes. Training kept me on the sofa. Having often been a ‘dirty’ nurse on night calls when the theatre worked always with a skeleton staff, I knew few things were more confusing than when some well-meaning but thoughtless person picked up one of the outside extensions before one could reach the one in the theatre itself. As I watched, the light went out. I re-closed my eyes and longed to be back under those fierce lights beside Mr. Yates. Watching his small, square, infinitely delicate gloved hands would be agony, but at least I would have been able to be some help. This enforced helplessness and ignorance was far worse agony.
‘Frances! What the devil are you doing?’
My eyes jerked open. David was standing over me. A David I barely recognised. His dark hair was hidden by his green cap, his mask was pulled down, and above the high green collar of his gown, anxiety had stretched his face so tautly over his cheek bones that they looked in danger of breaking through. He looked years older than the young man in sailing clothes who had given Sir Martin, Aunt Joey and myself the news of the emergency this evening.
Again, training prompted me. In any theatre, Sister Theatre’s word was law to the nursing staff. ‘Sister told me to rest.’
‘Then why’re you trying to get off that couch? Do what you’re told, and stay there whilst I take a ’phone call.’ He sat on the desk and reached for the receiver. ‘Dr. Loftus, Henry. Put Mr. Foyle’s outside call on, please. What’s that ‒?’ He listened, frowning. ‘Yes, trace it fast as you can, Henry ‒ and in case you can hear us and we can’t hear you, Mr. Foyle,’ he added slowly and very kindly, ‘I’m the doctor in charge of the Children’s Department in this hospital and the news I have for you about your little daughter Isobel is reasonably good. She has not been too badly injured, is now comfortable and sleeping well.’ He covered the mouthpiece, keeping the receiver at his ear. ‘I didn’t know you’d offered to come in tonight. Did you know Sir Martin’s had the same idea?’
‘Yes.’ I had to look down at the rug covering my arms. My anxiety for his anxiety was suddenly a knife. ‘He said he hoped to work in the ARR.’
‘Where he’s been invaluable, all night, turning his hand to everything from major first-aid, to tea making. He’s still here, though the ARR’s clear, comforting Tony’s grandmother as much as ‒’ he broke off. Then, ‘Tony’s the child Mr. Yates is operating on, now. He’s ‒ er ‒ not too well, poor infant, but I don’t imagine Sister Theatre had time to give you any details when, I take it, she sent you out during the last case. Come over queer? Bit rusty after your long break, plus a bit hungry?’
I was too hurt to give a direct answer. Mr. Hall, Dr. May, Sister Theatre, even Mr. Yates, had treated me all night as one of their team. David could not accept me enough for more than that ‘not too well’. Admittedly, we both knew that the translation of that from hospital language was, ‘very ill, indeed’. But he could not trust me with any details, or mention the crushing burden he was now carrying. Mr. Yates was operating, but on David’s advice, and at David’s request. If David had misjudged Tony’s ability to tolerate the operation, though some might forgive him, he would never forgive himself.
‘I came out after the last case.’ I changed the subject. ‘Is ‒ is this Tony’s grandmother the Mrs. Thomas who works for Sir Martin? Your Mrs. Wallis’s sister?’
He nodded curtly and again spoke into the mouthpiece. ‘Yes, I’m here, Henry ‒ who? Put her on, please. Night Sister? Yes, Loftus, here.’ A very small smile flickered through his eyes as he listened. ‘Does he? Good. We’ve some chocolate ice-cream? Yes, he can have some ‒ two helpings if he wants. Thanks. Henry? Yes, I’ll hang on a bit longer in case Mr. Foyle’s getting through on another line.’
‘Nurse, I’ve done my best, but alas, a poor best ‒ oh!’ Dr. May hesitated in the doorway with a mug of tea. ‘Sorry, Doctor! Don’t let me interrupt.’
David’s frown contradicted his, ‘You’re not, Doctor. I’m just holding on.’
‘Then I can give poor nurse this pathetic apology of a cup of tea.’ Dr. May came in, closed the door and handed me the mug of very pale tea. ‘I’ve loaded it with sugar as even if you don’t take it, you can use it. Sorry about the colour. The three tea-leaves that made up the pot this came from did their best, but tonight has drained the Path. Lab. tea-caddy as much as it has its Blood Bank.’ He turned to David as I accepted the mug with my right hand. ‘How’s our Tony standing it so far?’
David tapped the desk top. ‘Holding his own, when I was called out. Not that I was doing more than take up floor space in there, and though my eight others are in better shape than any of us dared hope when we carried them in earlier, I can’t stay away from their ward or a ’phone any longer to go back in there, much as I’d wish it.’ He watched me sip the sweet, tasteless, tea with narrowed, unseeing eyes. ‘Not that Tony could be in better hands. Mr. Yates is an excellent surgeon, Hall a very able assistant, and as one of the junior Night Sisters has now taken over Children’s Surgical for the night, Sister Frampton’s scrubbed up and is acting as Mr. Yates’s dresser. No sinecure standing under those lights after the night she’s just had.’
I flushed at his obvious implication. Dr. May glanced from me to David. ‘I’m sure this poor girl’ll agree, seeing she’s been rooted under those lights all night. Talk about treating a Good Samaritan rough! First we pitch her straight into a nine-hour list, then demand a pint of her blood.’ David’s frown made Dr. May smile, quietly. ‘Hasn’t she told you that’s where this precious extra pint for Tony has come from? She matches.’
David turned his frown on me and shook his head. ‘All I knew, Dr. May, was what you’d said when you rang down. Which was that an unregistered, but suitable donor had fortunately turned up in Arumchester and you’d have the pint in twenty minutes.’
‘All I could say then, Doctor. Didn’t then know her name. Didn’t need to, as she’s not a minor, not a member of the staff, and had volunteered to be a donor. Had to have her name to label the stuff,’ added Dr. May, ‘but when providence hands me a much-needed bonus and time’s short, I accept it first and ask questions second.’
‘Very wisely and correctly.’ David was still frowning at me. ‘Much-needed bonus from providence is the right expression. I just wish I’d known ‒ oh ‒ excuse me!’ The porter was talking into his ear. ‘You’ve got Mr. Foyle now, Henry? Good! Put him on please …’
I had caught Dr. May’s eye. He answered my mouthed, ‘Can I go?’ with a nod. I grabbed my rug and mug and escaped with him into the corridor. ‘As Sister said I must go off now,’ I said reluctantly as he closed the door after us, ‘I guess I must.’
‘You most certainly must! I’ll give you a few minutes to get changed, then arrange transport to take you home.’ I was shaking my head. ‘Nurse, don’t be absurd,’ he said sternly. ‘I’m not pitching you out to walk home alone at this hour!’
That from David now, would have crushed me. He wasn’t David and he had been so nice and so tired after the real miles he had walked between his Blood Bank and the patients all night, that he could not stand without propping himself against a wall.
I explained Sir Martin Blake had earlier promised my aunt to see me home and though I had not set eyes on him since we arrived together, I was sure he had neither forgotten nor left the hospital without me. ‘If he’s not ready to go, I can wait downstairs till he is.’
Dr. May’s weary face split in a broad grin. ‘Nurse, I’m not merely impressed you’ve such an illustrious escort promised,’ he bowed gallantly, ‘I’m honoured to have taken your blood! I’ll say goodnight ‒ and thanks a lot.’
I smiled. ‘Thank you, Doctor.’ My smile disappeared as I glanced towards the sealed theatre with the illuminated scarlet words above the entrance, OPERATION IN PROGRESS. NO ADMISSION UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. ‘I hope all goes well.’
‘It will,’ he said, ‘it will. You’ll see. Not working here, you can’t read the signs and symptoms of recovery in the faces of those who really carry the can. Being used to working with them, I can. Every time during your list old Morgan-Jones nipped down, then popped back up again looking as if carrying the world on his shoulders, it showed he knew that bad as it was, it was slowly getting better. If not he’d have been bright as a button. Nothing worries me more than old Morgan smiling cheerfully, unless it’s Mr. Yates re-telling anecdotes of his student days when he’s scrubbing up. Then you know he knows he’s fighting a losing battle. He fought a good few tonight, but he wasn’t on the losing side and he knew it. Then take Dr. Loftus.’ He jerked his head at the closed duty-room door. ‘He never sits on a desk, or anything else, even when he looks ready to drop, till his knowledge, experience and instincts tell him he can safely do both. A good physician has to have an instinctive feeling about his patients, and he’s very good. I’m not pretending young Tony’ll be in the clear by morning, or for quite a few mornings, but having got him this far, they won’t let him go ‒ and I’ll stick my neck out on that one, with great pleasure! Been an ugly night, but it’s nearly over now. Take a look.’ He drew aside the corridor window curtains. ‘Those pale grey streaks in that murky black cloud mayn’t look much like it ‒ but that’s the dawn. You know, we all know, the old hospital maxim, “get ’em through to dawn and you’ve won that night”.’
We had not noticed David coming out until he spoke very quietly behind us. ‘You’re right, Joe. Doesn’t look much like it yet, but that’s what it is. Dawn.’ His voice lingered on the word and then he sighed deeply. ‘Good. Very ‒ very ‒ good.’
Chapter Eight
When Sir Martin and I walked slowly back to Aunt Joey’s house, the pale grey mist muffled our steps and hid the ground floor lights till we were a few feet from the gate. Being no longer young my companion was desperately tired, but he insisted on seeing me up to the front steps. ‘I’ll be off home now, Frances.’
But Aunt Joey had opened the door and a mist-splintered ray of the hall light caught his weary face. ‘Sir Martin, how kind when you’re so tired.’ Aunt Joey spoke softly not to disturb the sleeping neighbours. ‘Come in out of this chilly air and rest before you walk another step. I’ve a hot drink waiting.’
I sensed he dreaded being fussed over but was too polite and wearied to make some excuse. Knowing Aunt Joey never fussed, I tucked my hand through his arm. ‘Do join us for a few minutes.’
In much less than that, we were sitting on either side of the front-room fire drinking the scalding superb cocoa that was one of Aunt Joey’s specialities. She topped up Sir Martin’s with a little rum. ‘My father’s recipe on occasions such as this.’
‘Most acceptable.’ He was beginning to look better. ‘I’m extremely grateful, though much regret having to disturb you at this hour and put you to all this trouble.’
‘No trouble, and I’ve had hours of good sleep.’ Quietly, deftly, despite her plastered left wrist, Aunt Joey set small tables and previously laid trays in front of us. She did not ask if we were hungry, realising we were too tired to know the answer, but if asked would instantly deny it to save her more trouble. Nor had she yet asked one question about our night in the hospital, or attempt any form of conversation. She vanished briefly, then returned with two plates of piping hot and fluffy scrambled eggs on toast. She set one before Sir Martin. ‘Only eat what you feel you can and don’t worry about waste. There’ll be none as Psmith loves egg scraps and the birds will love the toast.’
I noticed the look he gave her as he silently bowed his thanks and thought it could not have been far removed from the look on that mythical stranger’s face when he knocked on an unknown door and suddenly found himself at home.
A very little later he sat back, contentedly and accepted a second cup of cocoa. ‘Miss Allendale, I disremember when I last so enjoyed a meal, or consumed scrambled eggs and cocoa after a long night’s work. Certainly, not since I was a hospital resident, when I consumed quantities of both and those days ‒’ his enchanting smile transformed his stern, but now much less tired, face, ‘are more years back than I care to recall. May I enquire how you had the perspicacity to choose the precise menu the doctor orders for himself, on these occasions.’ He glanced at me. ‘You the source of enlightenment, Frances?’
I shook my head. ‘Aunt Joey always knows just what one feels like eating. Grandpa used to say she had culinary second sight ‒ oh ‒ so sorry ‒’ I had to stifle a yawn. ‘Fire and food always make me sleepy.’
Aunt Joey had blushed at his compliment, but she was still far too concerned for our comfort to remember her former shyness in his presence. ‘A little more than that, dear. Go to bed. I’m sure Sir Martin will excuse you.’
‘Of course! I must just finish this excellent cocoa and be on my way.’
I stood up with my tray. ‘I’ll just get rid of this ‒’
‘Fran, dear, leave it, please.’
‘Won’t take a minute, Aunty,’ I demurred. ‘You mustn’t wet your plaster washing-up.’
‘Frances, stop prevaricating and do as your very wise aunt bids you!’ Sir Martin turned apologetically to Aunt Joey as I put down the tray as if it were red hot. ‘Miss Allendale, I hope you’ll forgive my impertinence in thus supporting you?’
She smiled very sweetly. ‘I’m only too grateful for your support! No one could have better nieces, but both my good girls have minds of their own!’
‘Having a daughter with a mind of her own ‒ I take your point!’
She kissed me. ‘Sleep well. You’re so pale.’
Sir Martin’s deep-set hazel eyes studied me clinically and sympathetically. ‘Fatigue, plus a little temporary anaemia. At your age and in your good health, a good sleep’ll put both to rights. Off to bed!’ Aunt Joey was suddenly anxious. ‘Rest assured, Miss Allendale ‒ I’ll explain that remark, directly, but the child’s all right ‒ in more ways than one.’
I turned far from anaemic in colour as I shot away and fell into bed too tired to think, or, I expected to sleep. The next thing I was conscious of, was the mid-afternoon sun streaming in through my window. It was ten to four and my immediate thought was for Tony Thomas. I leapt up, zipped on my kaftan, combed my hair and raced downstairs.
Aunt Joey came smiling out of the sitting-room. ‘Your lovely sleep has given you back your colour!’
‘I wish I hadn’t slept so long! Has ‒ has David called today?’
‘For a minute or two before lunch, dear. Worrying about that little boy, Tony Thomas? He’s better. David said to tell you he had come safely through his operation and was picking up nicely, but not too nicely. He said you would understand that as a good sign.’ I collapsed thankfully on the stairs. ‘Don’t sit there, dear. Come into the front room. I was just pouring a cup of tea to take up to you.’ She helped me up and put an arm round my shoulders. ‘I’ve always been proud of my girls, but I’m prouder than ever today after the nice things Sir Martin and Davie said about you. Come in here. I’ve something to show you.’
I was too relieved for Tony to take in much else. Then I realised the sitting-room was full of flowers. ‘Where did all these come from?’
‘The dahlias are for you from Sir Martin. The roses ‒’ she coloured faintly, ‘he very kindly ordered for me in return for my hospitality and a little advice I gave him on his own ‒ but that’s not important. These are.’ She took the card she had propped against the tall vase filled with orange, yellow and bronze chrysanthemums. ‘They came with this card, for you. David brought them.’
‘David?’ idiotically, my heart leapt for joy. ‘For ‒ me?’
‘He’d promised to deliver them. This card explains why. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve read it.’ Her eyes glowed softly. ‘Read it, dear. I think you’ll want to keep it.’
My equally idiotic disappointment vanished directly I read the card. It was signed with a row of signatures and the last three had been written by children. It ran:
