A Promise Is for Keeping (11 page)

Back in Sister's office Mark turned to Fay. "Sorry for the unceremonious handling," he apologised.

Because she was still tingling from the touch of his hands which had registered with her even in the moment of stress, Fay was particularly clipped in her reply. "You should have left it to me," she said. "It was my job—and Ward Sisters are more expendable than surgeons."

For a moment Mark stared at her with a look almost of incredulity in his eyes, then he threw back his head and laughed. Immediately he became that other Mark—the Mark of Christmas time, a gay and charming companion, now almost obscured by the hospital strata of professional distinctions. "It's the potential value that counts," he told her, "and potentially you're worth more than I am." And with that enigmatic remark he was gone.

"I don't know what's come over young Geoff. Maybe it's because the Lambert scare has proved to him that he's got two legs still, or whether it's the treatment he's getting in physiotherapy—but I've never seen such an improvement—"

"It's this book he's writing—bless his heart, the darlin' boy. Though it's shameful the language you get when it's time to do his dressings—"

It was overhearing that scrap of conversation between her staff nurse and one of the juniors that gave Fay the idea, and without waiting to consider the pros and cons she put it into operation at once.

She went down the ward to Geoff's bed, and this time he apparently did not mind the interruption, for he looked up

from his writing with a bright smile. "Hullo, Sister—I was afraid you had gone off duty."

"Not for another hour," she told him, and went on, "How would you like to go into the side ward?"

"Side ward?" he echoed, not comprehending at first. "D'you mean—a place to myself—free from these everlasting interruptions?"

Fay nodded, smiling a little at his young enthusiasm.

"Show me the way to go ! Do you really mean it?"

Fay nodded again. "Yes. I can't see any reason why we shouldn't put you in there—for a while anyway. It's a small room we sometimes use for private patients—but under the National Health Scheme we don't get many of those—or sometimes for cases that need barrier nursing. But it's empty at the moment, so if you like I'll get Staff Nurse to transfer you there."

"Sister, you're an angel!" and then suddenly his face clouded with doubt. "It will still be under you, won't it?"

"Oh yes, still part of Stanhope," she reassured him.

"Wow! This is absolutely super!" Geoff had reverted to schoolboy slang in his excitement. Then he added, "Could I have my typewriter brought in?"

"I don't see why not—provided you don't overdo it, and take your rest when we tell you to."

"I promise," he beamed. "Sister, you've made my day !"

Geoff's obvious happiness at the move was reward enough, but Fay did find that it gave her a little trouble with the young nurses, who exhibited a marked tendency to disappear into the side ward at every available opportunity. But she could rely on Geoff not to encourage them, she knew. Just then all he wanted was as much time as he could get to make headway with his novel.

When Matron did her round Fay told her of Geoff's transfer and she thoroughly approved. She had rather a weak spot for the young man

"Well, and how is our budding author this morning?" she greeted him

"Very well, Matron," Geoff smiled up at her and then with the smile transformed into a schoolboy's grin he went on, "I shouldn't say 'that, should I, or you'll be turning me out

before I've finished my book—and I don't suppose I'll ever have such an opportunity to write again once I'm loosed on the cold, hard world."

Matron rose to the occasion with the charm she invariably used on her rounds. "If we had our way you could stay as long as you liked, Mr. Wentworth—we wish all our patients were like you. Unfortunately they're not, but their need is just as great and we have to make way for them. But you won't be leaving us for a while yet, and when you do you'll have a spell at one of the Convalescent Homes. Have you always wanted to write?"

"Yes, I think I have, but I've never managed to find time for it. But it's becoming doubly important now when I've got to face not being able to do lots of things that used to be so important to me. But don't think I'm feeling sorry for myself—"

"I'm quite sure you're not," Matron interrupted warmly, and to Fay's surprise she did not break off the conversation there. In the ward she never had time for more than a pleasant word or so with each patient, but here in the side ward she seemed disposed to stop and chat for a moment almost on an equal footing. "I'm glad you've found another outlet for your energies, and I hope the book will be successful."

"Thank you, Matron." And then with the diffidence which was part of his charm Geoff went on, "But I'm afraid I'm only a raw beginner and everyone is being far too kind. I shall probably be a complete flop."

"Rome wasn't built in a day," she comforted him. "You mustn't be downhearted if you don't succeed at once. Just keep on persevering—"

"Oh, I'll do that, Matron," Geoff put in enthusiastically. "You see, Sister has convinced me that only through writing can I make things come out the way I want them—so I'll just carry on until that happens."

"And just what did you say to give that young man so much confidence?" Matron asked when they were in the corridor again.

"I just can't remember," Fay confessed. "I know I did try to encourage him to try his hand at writing when he was

rather down in the dumps. And as my father was a publisher I probably gave him a bit of professional advice. I only hope it doesn't let him down !"

As she parted from Matron Mark Osborne swung into the ward corridor and Fay guessed that he had come to do his round. She sighed for the mass of paper work on her desk which would now have to be postponed again.

"Good morning, Mr. Osborne," she greeted him.

"Has Shaw appeared yet?" he asked after he had briefly acknowledged her greeting.

"Not yet."

"Then I'll start without him. I can't think what housemen are coming to these days. Can't they tell the time?"

"Perhaps he got held up on the women's wards."

"Held up my foot!" and Mark strode into the ward to commence the round. Fay gathered that he was not in too good a temper.

That fact did not show itself, however, during his round. He always had time and solicitude for his patients, who felt him to be their friend and talked to him freely and naturally, knowing from experience that he would understand their fears and worries.

That morning old Mr. Lambert was inclined to be tearful, partly from guilt at the pipe episode—though he did not fully understand the danger he had caused—and partly because he was in that state of convalescence when he thought he would never be well again. The old man had been a gardener all his life until he had retired and come to live in London with his daughter. Mark had the right touch and applied it. He asked for advice on the rearing of a certain plant whose name meant nothing to Fay but apparently aroused the old man to an enthusiastic argument.

The conversation finished with the old man saying firmly, "Nay, lad, they're not difficult to rear. Now when I get back to my greenhouse I'll raise you a dozen in pots and you can plant them out in the autumn and next summer you'll have a blaze of colour."

"Done !" Mark agreed, getting up from the edge of the bed where he had been sitting. "But only on the understanding

that you come and plant them for me. Be a nice day's outing for you."

"Aye, it'll be a pleasure—I'll look forward to that. How much longer will I be here, though? I should get the seeds started come next month."

"You will," the Registrar promised, and passed on with a smile to the next bed.

Whether the promises on each side were ever to be fulfilled Fay could not guess, but it had certainly given the old man hope again.

The round finished, Mark stopped abruptly, just short of the ward doors. "What have you done with Wentworth?" he demanded, and there was an edge to his voice.

"I've put him in the vacant side ward," Fay explained. "He's trying to do a bit of writing and the ward is so distracting for him—"

"What absolute rot!" Mark positively barked the words out. "Side wards are supposed to be for patients who need them or for private patients—not for any young fellow who chooses to think he's a literary genius."

Fay matched his irrational outburst with a chilling calm. "There are no such patients at the moment, sir—and Matron approves of the arrangement."

Mark glared at her and then burst into the side ward with an unnecessary amount of noise. His manner to his patient, however, was impeccable, even if it did lack his customary warmth. He studied the notes—with particular interest in the report of the physiotherapy treatment. He asked one or two questions of Geoff and then with a curt "Good !" turned to leave the room. At the door he turned back to the patient. "I think it won't be long now before you're able to go either to Lesterholme or Deemings. Talk it over with your people when you see them—we could probably arrange to send you to whichever is the more convenient for visiting. 'Bye."

And with that he was gone without a further word to either patient or Sister.

Geoff made a little grimace. "I never thought I should be sorry to leave hospital," he said gloomily.

"Cheer up," Fay told him. "The convalescent homes are quite nice, and you'd have all the time you want for writing."

"You won't forget your promise to read and help me with your criticism—even if I do have to leave here, will you?" Geoff pleaded.

"I won't forget," Fay promised. "There's always the post—and anyway you haven't gone yet. I don't think it's quite as easy as Mr. Osborne seems to think to get a vacancy in either of those two homes."

The next day was operating day and the ward only saw Shorty. Fay asked him, "How's your boss today?"

Shorty grinned. "Dunno. Haven't seen him yet. Bit shirty yesterday, though—what did you do to annoy him?"

"Me? Nothing," Fay denied. "I thought it was you—because you missed your round with him."

Shorty grinned again. "I don't think a mere houseman's lapses could provoke him to such wrath. Takes a pretty Sister to do that!" And he strode off before Fay could reprimand him

The following day when Mark came up to Stanhope Ward he seemed to have recovered his usual equilibrium and he completed his round without incident, with Shorty this time in proper attendance.

The big ward finished, Mark paused in the corridor and did not go into the side ward. Instead he turned to Fay and said, "Could you spare me a few minutes in your office, Sister?"

And when Fay of course agreed he dismissed his houseman. "You might go over to the Path. Lab., Shaw, and if they haven't got the results of Mrs. Sturgess's tests, stand over them until they do produce them."

"And if they have got them shall I bring them back here to you?" Shorty was being deliberately mischievous, but Mark was blandly indifferent. "No, you can just leave them in my office, thank you."

Inside the little office Mark surprised her by asking without preamble, "Have you heard anything from Beechcroft lately?"

"No." Fay felt a little breathless from the mental jerk. "Toni doesn't write very often."

"Then you haven't heard that she's had another slight stroke?"

Fay might have replied, "How should I hear if you don't tell me?" but all her concern was for Toni. "I am so sorry. Poor Toni. How bad is it?"

"Only slight, fortunately—but it's the second she's had."

"Has she lost her speech?" That had always seemed to Fay the tragedy and frustration of stroke cases when they were unable to make their slightest or greatest needs known.

On that point Mark was able to reassure her. "She's a little
slow at finding her words—but quite clear. But of course with the second stroke—we know what the future must be—"span>

"It's so sad—" pity made Fay's voice tremble a little. She would have controlled it if she could. That sort of emotion was out of place in the hospital and in her official capacity. But as so often before Fay's heart betrayed her. Swallowing the lump in her throat as she remembered Toni's defiance of age, her upright figure, her bright dark eyes, she said, "Is she at home?"

"Oh yes, she's at Beechcroft. We had to promise years ago that come what might she should live and die at Beechcroft. Horsey is a faithful soul and will never leave her, but she needs a nurse now, of course."

"Have you been to the Agency?"

"Oh yes—her doctor was prepared and there's an ex-Naval nurse with her at the moment, but she is waiting to go abroad again. Which brings me to my point—"

He hesitated for the fraction of a second and Fay looked up at him in all innocence. "Your point?"

"Yes. Would you take the job and go down to Beechcroft to look after her?"

She might have seen where his discourse was leading, but she had not, and her mouth dropped open in sheer surprise.

If she could have spoken, however, an imperious gesture of his hand, worthy of Toni herself at her most regal, would have stopped her. "No. Please don't answer now. Take a little time to think it over. Beechcroft is very pleasant in the spring and summer. The job would not be arduous and you need not be without companionship. I think you know what it would mean to Toni to have her 'angel child' with her. Let