A Nightingale Christmas Wish (30 page)

‘Very well,’ Kathleen said. ‘I will find other hospitals.’

‘Wherever you send them, the journey will probably kill them anyway,’ Gertrude said. ‘But then I suppose that would solve your difficulty,’ she added in an undertone.

Kathleen put down her pen. ‘Sister, please. I’m doing my best.’

‘I beg your pardon, Matron, but you’re not. If you were doing your best then you would have put an end to this nonsense straight away, instead of letting the Trustees get away with closing the hospital down when there is absolutely no need.’

Kathleen stared at the elderly nurse as she stood before her, ramrod straight in her immaculate grey uniform. ‘How dare you take that tone with me!’

‘I’m sorry, Matron, but it’s about time someone told you the truth. I have spent my whole life caring for these people, and I’m not going to abandon them to an uncertain fate just because some self-important fool of a Trustee tells me I should. And I must say, I’m surprised you don’t feel the same,’ she added.

I do, Kathleen wanted to shout back. Any other time she might well have stood up to Constance Tremayne and the other Trustees. But not now.

Pain gnawed at her. The aspirin she had taken first thing had failed to dent the urgent stabbing in her belly. She could barely think of anything but the constant, grinding agony.

She held on to her temper. ‘This wasn’t an easy decision,’ she said. ‘But the Trustees have to consider the safety of the doctors and nurses who work here—’

‘Then ask
them
!’ Gertrude cut her off bluntly. ‘Ask those doctors and nurses if they would rather be here, saving lives where they belong, or cowering in the countryside praying for it to all be over. Because I know which I’d choose!’ She faced Kathleen, her blue-grey eyes full of fire. ‘Did you know there has been a hospital on this site for five hundred years? Long before it was ever called the Nightingale, long before Florence Nightingale ever picked up a lamp. It’s lived through wars, bombings, fires and God knows what else, and has stood firm through it all. Because we don’t run away when things get difficult. We turn around and face them.’

Kathleen winced as pain lanced through her. She gripped the edge of her desk to stop herself from crying out.

‘That will be all, Sister,’ she said through clenched teeth. She could feel beads of sweat gathering on her upper lip.

But Sister Hyde didn’t move. She stood there, towering over Kathleen, looking down at her with icy contempt.

‘You know, when you were first appointed Matron everyone thought you were too young and inexperienced,’ she said. ‘But I saw something in you. I thought you would be good for this place. I thought you would bring fresh ideas, new blood, something to keep it alive for years to come. I never imagined you would be a coward.’

‘That will be all!’ Kathleen raised her voice above the pain that screamed through her body.

The door closed behind Gertrude Carrington, and Kathleen finally allowed herself to collapse forward, her head in her hands. Behind her, rain fell steadily out of leaden skies, pattering against the window like gravel thrown at the glass.

Sister Hyde was wrong, so wrong. Kathleen loved this hospital, had cherished it for five years. She had shaped it, cared for it, defended it. It was her whole life. How could anyone believe she would want it to disappear?

The pain subsided, washing away like waves receding from a shore, and Kathleen took a moment to catch her breath and reflect. It was the second time recently she’d been called a coward.

Was that really what she was? She’d thought she was being heroic, soldiering on, but now she realised she was running away from her problems.

Perhaps, as Sister Hyde had said, it was time to turn around and face them.

JAMES COOPER HAD
just finished his rounds on the Gynae ward when Kathleen found him.

‘Matron.’ He looked up from scrubbing his hands in an enamel bowl, a smile crinkling the corners of his intense blue eyes. He was in his forties, tall, dark and handsome in his expensive pin-stripe suit, with just a touch of rakishness about him. His charm was all the more lethal because he seemed completely unaware of it. ‘What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t realise you were doing your round this afternoon.’

Kathleen glanced past him to where Sister Wren stood looking very peeved. The ward sister disliked sharing the chief consultant’s attention with anyone else during his twice-weekly visits. She also disliked Matron turning up unannounced.

‘I was looking for you, Mr Cooper.’ Kathleen lowered her voice. ‘I wondered if I might have a word with you in private?’

Now she was here, she was already beginning to regret her decision to speak to him. She crossed her fingers in the folds of her black dress, hoping he would say no, he was too busy. If he told her to come back another time she would have the chance to escape . . .

‘Of course.’ He shook the water from his fingers and reached for the towel a student nurse was holding out for him. ‘Come along to my office.’

James Cooper’s office was sleek and beautifully furnished, as befitted a consultant of his high standing. The walls were lined with framed certificates attesting to his qualifications and achievements. Two very comfortable-looking leather armchairs flanked the fireplace. His desk was empty, save for a pristine blotter and a gilt-framed photograph of a beautiful, dark-haired woman. The window gave a fine view over leafy Victoria Park, bathed in brilliant early-summer sunshine.

On the other side of the office was a couch half hidden behind a green hospital screen. Kathleen shuddered, remembering why she was here.

James Cooper closed the door and invited her to take a seat in one of the armchairs, then sat down opposite her.

‘What can I do for you, Matron?’

Kathleen clutched her shaking hands together and pressed them into her lap. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

Tell him
, the voice inside her head urged.
Just say it and get it over with
.

He waited, his handsome face smiling and composed, blue eyes searching hers. Kathleen opened her mouth to speak, and—

‘I wondered if you’d had any thoughts about the evacuation plan yet?’ she said.

His face clouded over. ‘The evacuation plan?’

‘Yes. We – need to start drawing up a schedule of when we can start to send patients home.’

‘I see.’ His voice lost its warmth. ‘I didn’t realise it was a matter of such urgency? As far as I know, no one has declared war on anyone yet.’

‘Yes, but it’s as well to be prepared, don’t you think?’

‘If you say so. But you’ll need to speak to Sister Wren about it, not me,’ he dismissed impatiently.

‘I will.’ Kathleen stood up quickly, and only just stopped herself from yelping with pain.

‘Is that all? Mr Cooper asked.

‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ She clenched her teeth and turned hurriedly for the door. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Cooper.’

Coward
. The word echoed around her brain as she cleared the space between the armchair and the door.

‘Miss Fox?’

She jumped at the sound of her name. Her hand was already on the door handle, ready to escape. ‘Yes?’

‘You could have spoken to me about the evacuation plan outside, you know.’

She heard him cross the room to stand behind her. She could smell his cologne, subtle and lemony, as he stood behind her shoulder, but she didn’t dare turn round to look at him in case he saw the agony written all over her face. Instead she stared at the hand he’d placed on the door. His nails were well manicured, nothing like her own which were shamefully ragged and bitten-down.

‘What do you really want?’ he asked.

His voice was so deep and gentle, Kathleen felt herself melt. There was something about his calm presence that reassured her, that actually made her believe he could help.

Without meaning to, she suddenly found herself telling him about her pain.

‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ she said hastily. ‘Just my age, that’s all. You expect this kind of thing as you get older, don’t you?’

She allowed herself to glance at him, expecting more reassurance. But his face gave nothing away.

‘Let’s have a look, shall we? If you could undress behind the screen and lie on the couch . . .’

‘Oh, no!’ Kathleen panicked. ‘Surely there’s no need for that now?’ Her hand was already scrabbling for the doorknob again. ‘I’m sure you must be very busy. I can easily come back later . . .’

‘There’s no time like the present, is there? Besides,’ he added with a knowing smile, ‘I suspect if I let you get away now, you’ll find an excuse not to come back.’

Kathleen’s shoulders slumped in defeat. ‘You’re right,’ she said.

‘Then let’s get on with it, shall we?’

It should have been mortifying to find herself on Mr Cooper’s couch, but Kathleen was in so much pain she was past caring. She lay there, biting her lip to stop herself from crying out, staring up at the elaborately corniced ceiling as he examined her. Only once did a whimper escape her as his warm hands pressed her swollen abdomen.

He looked up at her sharply. ‘Does that hurt?’

‘A little.’

‘More than a little, judging by your face.’

Finally, he finished his examination. ‘You may get dressed,’ he said shortly.

Kathleen uncurled her fingers that had been gripping the edges of the couch and sat up, wincing with the effort. As she dressed, she could hear the splash of running water from the other side of the screens.

‘As I said, I’m sure it’s nothing serious,’ she began, when she’d finished dressing. ‘Just my imagination, I expect . . .’

She emerged from behind the screens and looked at James Cooper. She was waiting for him to say she was right, it was nothing to worry about. But his grave face told a different story.

‘With your permission, Matron, I would like to operate straight away,’ he said.

AROUND TEATIME ON
15 May, Dora Riley hobbled into Casualty in the throes of labour.

Nick was with her, carrying her bag in one hand, the other arm protectively around her shoulders.

‘She was digging a hole in the backyard for a bloody Anderson shelter when her waters went,’ he told Helen grimly. ‘I told her not to do it, but would she listen?’

‘We needed to get it put in,’ Dora protested. ‘I thought I might as well get on with it, since I had nothing better to – ooh!’ She stopped in her tracks, doubling over.

‘Dora?’ The colour drained from Nick’s face. ‘Do something!’ he pleaded with Helen.

‘I’ll fetch Dr McKay.’ She turned away, but Dora put out a hand to stop her.

‘I’m fine,’ she insisted. ‘It’s just labour pains, that’s all. I don’t even know why he brought me in.’ She shot a dark look at her husband. ‘I told him I only need my mum and my nan to help me when the time comes . . .’ She stopped talking again, drawing in a sharp breath between her teeth. ‘Ooh, that was a bad one.’ She tried to smile.

‘So is our new maternity department not good enough for you, Nurse Doyle?’ Dr McKay approached them, smiling.

‘It’s Mrs Riley to you, Doctor,’ Dora told him primly. ‘And I’m sure your maternity department is lovely,’ she added. ‘It’s just I don’t want all the bother. My mum had all her babies at home, and so did my nan. I don’t see why I shouldn’t do the same – ow! That bloody hurt!’ she cursed under her breath.

Helen glanced at Nick’s helpless expression. He looked as if he was suffering every contraction with his wife.

‘Are the pains getting worse?’ he asked worriedly.

‘No, you fool. It’s your hand gripping my arm that’s hurting!’ Dora tugged herself free. ‘You’re going to draw blood in a minute, if you’re not careful.’

She looked at Helen and they both burst out laughing.

‘Just get me home, for gawd’s sake,’ Dora said. ‘I’m having this baby in my own home and my own bed, and that’s – aah!’ She stopped dead again.

‘Those contractions seem to be coming thick and fast,’ Dr McKay said. ‘I think we’d better check how far along you are, just to be on the safe side.’ He nodded to Helen. ‘Take Nurse – I mean, Mrs Riley – up to the labour ward, will you? I’ll telephone and let them know you’re on your way.’

‘I’ll take her,’ Nick offered immediately, but Dr McKay barred his way.

‘You’re an expectant father today, Mr Riley, not a porter,’ he said. He turned to one of the student nurses. ‘Nurse Forrest, could you arrange a cup of tea for this young man? And I don’t think a spot of brandy would go amiss, either. The way he looks, we may end up admitting him too, in a minute!’

Up in the labour ward, Helen helped Dora undress and get comfortable in bed.

‘I really don’t want a fuss,’ she kept saying. ‘Look at me, putting you to all this trouble . . .’

‘It’s no trouble,’ Helen assured her. ‘It’s what we’re here for, remember?’

Dora smiled weakly. Her freckles stood out like dark pinpricks against the milky pallor of her skin.

‘Are you nervous?’ Helen asked.

‘A bit,’ Dora admitted. ‘But I’m more worried than anything. This wasn’t supposed to happen for another three weeks. It will be all right, won’t it?’ she asked anxiously. ‘That the baby’s come early, I mean?’

‘Of course,’ Helen said. ‘You know these things never go exactly to time. It will come when it’s ready.’

‘It’s my own stupid fault, digging that hole,’ Dora muttered, gnawing at her thumbnail. ‘Nick warned me not to do it, but I wouldn’t listen. I had to be stubborn . . .’

‘You, stubborn? Never!’

Dora looked at her ruefully. ‘I’m not the only one. You were the one who walked out on me, remember – ow!’ She groped blindly for Helen’s hand as another labour pain swept over her.

Helen checked the watch on her bib. ‘Dr McKay was right, they’re definitely coming quicker now.’ She glanced at the door. ‘What’s keeping my brother, I wonder? Perhaps I should go and check . . .’

‘No!’ Dora gripped her hand tighter. ‘Stay with me – please? I feel better when you’re with me.’

Helen gazed into her friend’s muddy green eyes. Dora was a proud East End girl, and not the type to ask for help unless she badly needed it.