Busman's Holiday, page 16
‘Dear Nurse,
Dr. Loftus has explained he is not allowed by this hospital’s rules to tell us your name, but he has promised to give you this and our flowers, with our love and thanks. We all love Tony very much and we don’t have to know your name to remember always what you and the other blood donors did for him.
God bless you, Nurse, and thank you again, from all of us.’
Against each signature was added the writer’s relationship to Tony: Mum, Dad, Gran Thomas, Grandad Thomas, Gran Mercer, Grandad Mercer, and the children had added their ages. Brother, 10, brother, 7, sister, 5½.
Aunt Joey handed me a handkerchief and a cup of tea. I had put the card very carefully away and drunk three cups before I asked what time Sir Martin had left this morning.
‘About an hour after you went to bed. I think talking quietly helped him to unwind.’
‘I’m sure it did. And you’re such a wonderful listener.’
‘Nonsense, dear. I just happened to be there.’ She dismissed the subject. ‘Helen very kindly brought the flowers round earlier this afternoon.’
‘Was she worried by his being out so late?’
‘She hadn’t realised how late, until I told her. She was ‒ quite amused.’
‘Amused?’ I tried to sound casual, but if Helen Vintner found anything amusing in last night, I didn’t.
‘Fran, dear, be fair! Helen knows nothing about hospital work, as her father admitted only because he was so tired this morning, as he has never discussed his work with his family, the responsibility for Helen’s lack of interest in medical matters, must rest with him. In any event, Helen was out very late herself, last night. Apparently, these American friends of her late husband who had taken her and Davie sailing over the weekend, had a party. When they heard Davie couldn’t join them, they fetched Helen and later brought her home. She went straight to bed. She didn’t miss her father at breakfast as it is not a meal she takes. She told me she never sees her father before mid-morning, and then he is either in his study or garden. He was in the garden this morning and didn’t mention his night.’
‘But ‒ but didn’t she once tell us she had come home to look after him?’
‘In my opinion,’ said Aunt Joey firmly, ‘Sir Martin is a man who prefers to look after himself, and is obviously content with the life he now shares with his daughter. I am very sure Helen does all he expects from her. Now, go and have a bath and get dressed.’
I did as she said without agreeing with all of it. I didn’t say so. But in my bath I thought over my conversation with Sir Martin during our walk after Evensong yesterday. I agreed he was a man who enjoyed the solitude of his own company and thoughts, but from the way he and I had been able to strike up this very pleasant friendship, I sensed there were moments when his solitude came close to loneliness. He needed, if only occasionally, sympathetic companionship. Never having known this from his marriage, being the understanding man he was, he would not expect it from his daughter. I thought that very sad. He was such a dear and, though so accustomed to commanding great authority and respect, beneath the sternness he had the natural unassuming character that Grandpa once described as the hallmark of all truly great people.
If only he and Aunt Joey could be ‒ and there I clamped firmly down on my imagination and made myself face the facts.
Aunt Joey had once been a pretty girl, but never a beauty. She was a long way from girlhood now. Being very slim, despite her affection for shapeless sweaters, bulky tweed skirts and sensible shoes, she always looked neat and trim. Her greying dark hair was thick as ever, but as she had dragged it back in a tight french knot for as long as I could remember, its luxuriance was hidden. Now the years had etched her character in her face, her kindness, patience, and gentle, charitable humour, were very noticeable, but she wholly lacked classic beauty, elegance, wit, and the cool poise that accompanies all three.
The late Lady Blake had been a breathtakingly lovely and elegant woman. Would a man who had loved and married such a woman look twice at quiet, shy ‒ and it had to be faced ‒ dowdy and middle-aged Aunt Joey? For all her sweet nature and very real, but unexciting, domestic talents, would any man? And if, by some miracle, some nice, kind man of her age would, could Aunt Joey ever be persuaded to believe his interest? Ever since Nicky and I had grown up and discussed this, we had been forced to realise that Aunt Joey’s many years of devoted service to our family had convinced her, as much as the family, that she was just ‘dear old Aunt Joey who could always cope’.
‘She’s not old!’ Nicky had exploded to me in private. ‘She’s only two years older than your father, he’s one year older than Dad and Dad takes enormous umbrage if anyone tells him to his face he’s middle-aged! Just because she’s the elder sister, she’s forgotten she’s ever had a right to a life of her own ‒ she’s even forgotten she’s a woman! And she’s a wonderful woman!’
At first this latest stocktaking made me as unhappy as that earlier and more personal stocktaking David had made me do. Then, very slowly, I saw the light as well as the shade. Sir Martin and Aunt Joey already had enough in common to form the basis of a very gentle, undemanding friendship that could give pleasure to them both. They both loved gardening, music, the privacy of their own homes, and shared a mutual dislike for large social gatherings. Certainly, his first formal call had been a stilted experience for both, but early this morning the ice had melted. If only they saw more of each other soon enough, they might be able to go on from this morning. If Sir Martin now retreated to his garden for a month or so, next time he met Aunt Joey she would be right back in her shy shell.
I still had till Saturday night. Four full days. I wracked my brains for some tactful and cast-iron excuse for bringing them together before I left. My excuse would have to be both, or it would be as distasteful as obvious to the shrewd Sir Martin and sensitive Aunt Joey. If she even dimly suspected my intentions, she would so freeze that nothing and no one would thaw her. I knew my Aunt Joey. She very rarely brandished her pride, but it was a sword of pure steel.
Four days was not long for this. In another way, it seemed endless. That night I had worked in Arumchester Hospital had shown me more clearly than anything else, that in first misjudging, then rejecting David’s now long-past attempts to make friends with me, I had made one of the greatest mistakes of my life. Now I had had more than enough time to recall painfully the pathologist telling me that his wife, a chum of Helen’s, had named me in connection with someone’s narrow escape. The pathologist hadn’t been able to place who had escaped and from what. I could, horribly easily, having been told by David himself how relieved he was to have narrowly escaped falling properly in love with me. I guessed he had told Helen this in confidence, never suspecting she would pass it on to her chum Mrs. May. Having no sisters, he probably didn’t realise just how much all girls handed on to each other when ‘all girls together’. Whether or not Helen had done this intentionally didn’t matter to me. It was David’s part that hurt. Once, that would have made me writhe with anger. Now, I just writhed ‒ and was more determined than ever to stay out of his way.
He arrived much later than usual for his visit the next afternoon. Psmith and I were returning when I saw his car drawing up outside Aunt Joey’s gate. We were still some way behind the car, so I turned round and walked back the way we had come, to Psmith’s surprise but not displeasure as no walk was too long for him. The following morning I was in the front room when David’s car suddenly appeared. I grabbed my handbag, called to Aunt Joey that I had to rush to the shops as it was early closing and was out of our gate before David had locked his car. I explained my invented hurry. ‘How’s little Tony Thomas?’
‘Doing so well he’s now working his way systematically through our varieties of iced lollies. How are you, Frances?’
‘Fine, thanks!’ I addressed the floral tie that contrasted oddly with his sober suit and showed he had been taking a baby-clinic. ‘How’re you?’
‘Just great! Sorry, you can’t stop ‒’
‘So am I. Aunt Joey’s in the kitchen. ‘Bye!’ I raced along the square, took the cobbled path and did not look back until I knew I was out of his sight. I then charged on with my head over my shoulder and straight into the wheelbarrow filled with hedge-cuttings Sir Martin was pushing back into his garden gate. ‘So sorry!’ I jumped aside. ‘Wasn’t looking!’
Sir Martin was in old gardening clothes, rubber boots and wearing an ancient panama hat which he raised, politely. ‘So I perceived as you came along the path as if pursued by the most irate ward sister! You’re clearly pressed for time, so I mustn’t detain you, though there is a small matter on which I would like your advice.’
‘I ‒ I’m not really in a hurry. I ‒ er ‒ just felt like walking fast.’
He smiled. ‘Ah, the energy of youth! However, if you can spare me a minute …’ and he went on to offer me the opportunity for which I had been searching, without success.
He had just heard from some friend that one of the world’s finest pianists was paying a private visit to Arumchester this coming weekend. ‘My friend, and also excellent medical attendant, Dr. Audrey May, is a devoted worker in the cause of underprivileged children. On hearing of our renowned visitor’s plans, she took it upon herself to write asking if he could spare a couple of his valuable hours to help her cause. She has just told me she was prepared for a polite refusal, but he rang her from London this morning, saying ‘with pleasure’. She has since managed to hire the Assembly Rooms’ largest hall, as there is no larger in Arumchester, but with such a draw she’ll have no difficulty in filling it at short notice. We get good concerts here, but seldom the opportunity to hear a pianist of this calibre. All Arumchester will want tickets ‒ and this is where I require your advice.’ He propped himself against the barrow and pushed up the brim of his hat with his thumb. ‘I’ve asked Dr. May for three tickets. I’m hoping you will do me the honour of being one of my guests and wondered if Miss Allendale would care to join us? I am not considering taking Helen, even were she not booked for this weekend by her American friends, as it would afford her no real pleasure and would take the seat from some music-lover. Does your aunt enjoy listening to music? Being an accomplished pianist yourself, I know you will enjoy this ‒ but one man’s pleasure is often another’s pain, so should I only ask for two tickets? If you will do me the honour of coming with me?’
It was my morning for quick inventions. ‘Thank you so much for asking me and how I wish I could accept! It’s too freaky! I’m afraid I’ve got a date Friday night, but I know Aunt Joey’ll enjoy it. She’s hung-up on Chopin, and no one plays him so wonderfully as that man!’
He looked so grave that for an awful moment I thought he was going to call it all off. ‘It is indeed freaky that I shall be deprived of the pleasure of your company ‒ if I’m correct in assuming “freaky” may be translated as ‘saddening’? And doubtless “hung-up” signifies approval?’
I smiled. ‘More than that.’
‘Chopin is also Miss Allendale’s own thing? Or does that only apply to roses?’
‘Sir Martin, you’re teasing me!’
‘Not so!’ He was smiling. ‘Merely enlarging my vocabulary of the strange new language of youth. Not only roses?’
‘No. Anything you’re hooked on.’
‘I’m much obliged.’ He raised his hat. ‘Now, with a return to the gravity more becoming to my white hairs, I’m exceedingly sorry though scarcely surprised you should be prevented from accepting by this previous engagement, Friday being the last night of your stay here. Do you think it would be convenient if I called on Miss Allendale this afternoon? I would like to see her, as, aside from this concert, I remain perturbed by my roses. I much fear my diagnosis of Leaf Spot is at fault.’
At lunch, Aunt Joey’s immediate reaction was to refuse. ‘I can’t use up such a precious ticket. I’m sure, without you, Sir Martin would far rather invite one of his many friends here. I was only included in the invitation as a compliment to you. But why haven’t you mentioned this date, earlier?’
I coloured guiltily. I hated misleading her, but having gone so far did not see how to go back. ‘It’s ‒ well ‒ it’s something rather special that I’m hoping’ll turn out well ‒ but I haven’t liked to talk about it.’
She gave me a long, strange and very sweet look. ‘Then I’ll just hope so too, dear, and ask no more questions.’
That left me more guilty and more determined than ever to coax her into accepting Sir Martin’s offer. ‘I don’t see why he’d prefer some local chum as he told me the only person he takes to concerts is Helen and she loathes them. And it’s not just a compliment to me. To us both!’
‘Nonsense, Fran! But for you, this would never have entered his mind! He has a very high regard for you and, indeed, Davie says in consequence you’ve made local history as the normally uncommunicative Sir Martin has now told half Arumchester that you’re responsible for his narrowly escaping serious injury or worse, whilst quietly ‒ and he thought safely ‒ attending his wind-battered dahlias. And why look so startled? You know that bit’s true!’
I was pink with a new confusion. Was I still falling into my old error of misjudging David unfairly? ‘It’s just that someone at the hospital said something that’s been ‒ er ‒ puzzling me. I see now this could have been what he meant.’ I changed the subject and my tactics swiftly. ‘Of course, if you’d as soon miss the concert, that’s up to you, but I hope you can give Sir Martin some more advice on his still ailing roses. Now, he doesn’t think it can be Leaf Spot.’
‘He doesn’t? I am sorry! I wonder ‒ could it be rust? Stem canker? Mildew? I hope it isn’t mildew!’
It was. After they had discussed the possibility for half an hour, we had all walked round to his garden and they spent an hour shaking their heads over the consequences of a cold wet spell following a warm period, the humidity of the last few days, and Aunt Joey had advised on immediate treatment, Sir Martin expressed the hope that she would approve and advise on his interim report on Friday, if she would do him the honour … and it was settled.
I studied the afflicted roses hard to hide my pleasure and wished Nicky could share it with me. I could almost hear her, ‘Bully for the mildew! Let’s hope these poor roses don’t recover too quickly!’
Later, and for the first time in my life, Aunt Joey asked nervously, ‘Fran, what should I wear?’
I was so pleased, but I could have wept for all the years when she had had no time, and so no occasion, to ask that question.
We decided on a barely worn petrol-blue watered-silk dress she had had long enough for the length and princess lines to be back in fashion. Having been so long in tissue folds, we hung it to air in the back garden on Thursday morning. During lunch it suddenly looked like rain, so I rushed out for it. When I got back in, David was in the dining-room.
He had heard all about the concert. ‘Audrey May is being snowed under with demands. She could sell every seat thrice over.’
Aunt Joey’s eyes sparkled. ‘I must admit I am so looking forward to hearing him play! I’m only sorry you can’t attend either, Davie, but, naturally, as you’re on-call you have to stay near your telephone.’ She smiled to include me in the conversation. David had given me a brief nod, but was far too occupied chatting-up Psmith to spare me more attention. ‘Davie has kindly offered to drive me out to see his other hospitals this afternoon.’
‘I’ve a couple of short, but far-flung clinics,’ David informed Psmith. ‘We’ll take in a good bit of the surrounding countryside, but I’m afraid it won’t be much of a walk for you, lad.’
‘He did have a walk this morning,’ said Aunt Joey. I said nothing.
David had to glance at me then. ‘Be rather a busman’s holiday for you, Frances.’
I grabbed his hint. ‘Yes, it would, rather. And Psmith does love his walks.’
‘So I’ve gathered,’ he replied drily and stood up. ‘Right, Miss Allendale ‒ five to two suit? I’ll be back.’
I felt Aunt Joey watching me when we were alone, but I concentrated on my pudding. When she did speak it was only to say she hoped it would keep dry for us all.
‘I hope so.’ I collected our plates. ‘I’ll get the coffee.’
It was fine when I waved them off, fine when I took Psmith on the lead through the busy streets, then let him off to run free on what was now our habitual walk across the common to the footpath running by the river and away from Arumchester. After that one afternoon when I had inadvertently walked as far as the hotel garden in which David had kissed me, I had always chosen the opposite direction. It was an attractive path and if the fine weather was coolish for late August, it was perfect for walking. I did not enjoy it that afternoon. I kept wishing myself with David and Aunt Joey, wishing I could put the clock right back, wishing, wishing, wishing, wishes I knew could never come true.
Psmith had found an empty rabbit-hole and was having such fun, snuffling, scrabbling, that I hadn’t the heart to whistle him on. I sat down near him on the sloping bank and stared at the river chuckling by. I wondered if David was on-call throughout the weekend and that was why Helen had chosen to spend it with her husband’s old friends. Probably David had encouraged her to go, not wishing her to be bored sitting around when he was busy, or house-bound waiting for his telephone calls. But if she could not tolerate a quiet weekend when he was on-call now, how was she going to tolerate the years of waiting around, of answering the telephone, of belated meals, of never arriving on time for the first and generally having to leave before the last act of any play, or of getting anywhere on schedule at all. How was she going to accept the many other inconveniences that doctors’ wives had to accept whether their husbands were residents, GPs, or consultants. She might not have shared her father’s interest in his work, but she must have realised what that entailed domestically from her mother and her own childhood. Would she be willing to sacrifice the social life she loved? I wished I could believe that for David’s sake, but the river carried that wish off as unsatisfied as the others.
