A Surgical Affair (12 page)

“You should still take things quietly for a bit,” Diana agreed. There was a moment’s silence, as Diana played with her stethoscope, then she looked up. “Sister, can I ask you something?”

“You can always ask, Dr. Field.”

“Well, it’s this.” Diana was aware of Sister’s keen gaze fixed on her, missing nothing, the same way her mother looked at her. “You know all this business about Nurse Edmonds?”

“Yes, she was working on my ward for three months.”

“Do you know why she did it? Why she wanted to kill herself? I know she was my patient, but she would never tell me her reason for taking those tablets.”

Sister sighed. “I don’t see what harm there is in telling you. It’s common knowledge in the Nurses’ Home.” Diana could feel herself becoming very hot. She waited, sitting quite still, for Sister to continue. “It seems that she had been very friendly with one of the doctors here, not openly, of course. They had agreed to get married, but then he suddenly told her it was all off, didn’t give a reason. She took the whole thing far more seriously than he did. That’s all I know. Anyway, she’s gone home to her parents. I doubt if she’ll come back here again.”

They looked at each other.

“I wonder who the doctor was, Sister?” asked Diana quietly.

Sister peered over her spectacles. “Yes, I wonder.”

They sat in silence, both with the same unspoken thought, the same fear, that it might have been Mark.

Diana stood up. “I must get on. There are three patients being admitted to my ward after tea, and I’ve some progress notes to write. I’ll drop in again, when I’m passing by.”

Sister saw her to the door saying, “Oh, I meant to tell you. I had a card from Dr. Royston yesterday. He seems to be having a wonderful time.”

“Yes, he does,” Diana agreed, trying to keep any emotion out of her voice.

She went up to her ward, knowing that only by involving herself in other people’s problems would she stop dwelling on her own.

Mr. Patrick Reilly, a small, red-faced man, a 39 year old advertising executive, beckoned her as she walked by his bed.

“I just wanted to know something, Dr. Field. This new drug you’re giving me to bring down my blood pressure—how long does it take to act?”

“A few days, maybe more. Try to be patient, Mr. Reilly.”

“There’s not much improvement yet, is there?”

“How do you know?”

“I study the chart at the end of my bed every night. The pressure isn’t dropping at all. I’ve compared mine with Mr. Craine’s opposite, and Mr. Ashton’s down at the end. Theirs are dropping, but mine isn’t.”

“Mr. Reilly,” Diana said sharply, “you really shouldn’t do that. Those notes are for the doctors and nurses. Anyway, if you worry about it so much, that could stop your blood pressure from falling. I’ll have all the charts kept in Sister’s office in future.”

She had not meant to lose her temper with the poor man, who after all only wanted to be out of hospital, back at his job and with his family. But Diana knew that the events of the last few days and the nagging fear at the back of her mind, were making her irritable and on edge.

She met Tony Spring leaving the ward.

“This is away from your department, Tony. Come to see how we’re all managing without you?”

Diana grinned.

“I’m not on duty. I just popped in to see old Mr. Bates. I sent him up from Casualty, remember?”

“Oh, he’s fine now. The pneumonia has completely cleared.” “Well done!” He patted her on the shoulder, as they walked out through the swing door. “Have you heard the latest news from the hospital grapevine?”

“I never seem to hear as much gossip as you do, Tony.”

“Well, it’s this—all in the strictest confidence, of course.” He looked at her questioningly.

She smiled. “Of course.”

“I can’t say I’m sorry. I couldn’t stand the chap myself.”

“Who?”

“Bill Evans. He’s left. Packed his bags and gone! And that's not all.” Tony Spring lowered his voice, as they passed a group of nurses on the staircase. “I hear it’s all to do with Nurse Edmonds. Apparently they were having an affair. Her mother found out about it and told Matron. Nurse Edmonds was madly in love with Evans. I can’t think why, a most unprepossessing fellow. Anyway, he didn’t take it very seriously and led her on, just for the fun of it. Then, when she started talking about marriage, he told her it was all over between them, and she took the tablets.” Tony paused for breath. “The Hospital Management Committee obviously gave Evans a strong hint that he should leave.”

They had arrived at the dining r
o
om.

Diana spoke at last. But her feeling of relief was so great that all she could bring herself to say was, “Let’s go and have some tea.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Diana found a deck chair on the hospital roof, arranged with the nurses in the theater to signal out of the window if the switchboard needed her, and abandoned herself to the hot sun.

A gentle breeze was blowing through her hair, caressing her face; all the tension of the last few terrible days was leaving her. The immense relief, after hearing the news about Evans, was equalled only by a longing for Mark, greater than she had ever known.

She felt ashamed of herself for ever suspecting that Nurse Edmonds had been visiting Mark’s room and realized how perfectly everything she knew and thought about Bill Evans fitted in with Tony Spring’s story.

Nobody else was on the hard concrete roof, which burned Diana’s feet if she took off her sandals. The breeze almost drowned the roar of the traffic far below. She could see for miles—villages, towns and fields, all burning in the mid-day sun.

Diana began to hum the tune of
Manhattan,
they had danced to. All the time she was getting hotter and could feel the sun burning her fair skin.

“He’ll be looking so brown when he comes back, he must find me brown, too,” she thought.

Then tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Her whole body yearned for Mark to be with her in that glorious
sunshine. He was returning from France that day; she didn’t know what time. She imagined him suddenly appearing on the roof; or would she see him first at lunch time, in the dining room? Would he have changed? All those weeks spent with Denise—he must have become fond of her.

Diana wiped away the tears, in case somebody was watching from one of the windows overlooking the roof. She thought: “One thing’s sure, as Mark would say. This can’t go on. This desire, which is eating me up; this pain; it must end or it must lead somewhere. It can’t always be like this.”

At last, weak from the heat, she walked slowly back to her room, collected her white coat, and went downstairs in search of a long, cool drink.

Turning into the corridor leading to the common-room, Diana found herself face to face with Mark.

“Hello! You’re back.” She suddenly felt overcome with shyness and could think of nothing more interesting to say.

He was smiling at her, looking sunburned and slightly fatter in the face.

“Diana! Hello! Gosh, it’s hot here. I needn’t have bothered to go away.”

“You had a good time?”

“Fabulous! Sun, food and wine!”

She smiled. “And you spent all your money.”

“Most of it. I even bought a present for my two-year-old niece—a miniature cotton bikini. It’s cute.”

It was almost as if he had never been away.

“Everything’s much the same here, except Miss Harvey and Dr. Pallie are married—and Sister’s settled into her new ward.”

Mark was looking keenly at her. “You’re fatter!” he grinned.

“I'm not!” she protested, but knew in her heart that he was right. The hard, interesting work at the hospital had increased her appetite.

He grinned. “It doesn’t matter, I’m glad you enjoy your food. I can’t stand a girl who picks at a meal just because of her figure—specially when I’m paying for it.”

“You’ve put on a bit of weight, too,” she told him.

“I’ll soon get back to my normal shape after a few days here. How’s Dr. Barker?”

“Oh, not bad. Different from you.”

“How—different?”

“Well, he’s terribly serious and correct. He never makes jokes, and he always calls me Dr. Field, never Diana.”

Mark smiled. “You’ll have to make him more human.”

Diana felt so happy to see him that she could hardly think of anything to say.

“I’m terribly thirsty,” she told him at last, turning toward the common-room. “I simply must have an orange pop.”

Then he rested his hand firmly on her shoulder. “It’s good to see you again,” Mark said softly.

She smiled. “It’s nice to have you back.”

And she knew that nothing had changed. Everything was going to be just the same. It would need more than a holiday abroad and her change of job to separate them.

Diana took a novel up to the roof on her next afternoon off duty. The deck chair had disappeared, so she sat on her rug, resting her back against the wall.

A strong, warm wind fluttered the page
s
of her book, and she did not hear Mark approaching.

“I heard from Sister Baker that you haunt this roof. Mind if I join you?” He was standing in front of her, smiling.

Diana peered over her sun glasses. “You’re dressed for the occasion, too.”

Wearing shorts and sandals, and no shirt, he lay down on the rug beside her, his back to the sun.

“Mmm,” Mark sighed, “this is good. Why don’t you take something off?”

“Because there’s a wind. It has to be absolutely boiling before I’ll change my cotton dress for a bathing suit!”

“Pity,” he murmured, and shut his eyes.

Diana did not want to read any more. It was enough to be near Mark, not talking, simply being together. Up there in the wind, it was as if they were alone on a mountain, and the traffic below, the patients in the wards, Denise, Richard, did not exist. There was only that moment, and time had stopped.

She gazed at his soft black hair, his smooth cheek, the lithe body. She wanted to remember everything about that afternoon in the sun, because it was making her so completely happy. Then she felt drowsy, so she slid down and lay on her side, facing him. Her eyes closed.

They slept on the rug until a cloud covered the sun, the shadow and the coolness waking them up.

“Your hair looks different,” Mark told her.

Diana looked into his brown eyes, smiling. “I’ve tied it back in a bow.”

Then he sighed contentedly. “I’d like tea to be served up here.”

“I’m glad it’s not. Nobody else has thought of coming to the roof—except us.”

“I’m thirsty. Let’s go in.”

After dinner that evening it rained. Summer was coming to an end.

Diana tried to sort out the heap of papers and letters on her desk, a job she was usually too tired or too busy to tackle. But she had the evening off; there was nothing else to do. The rain beating on the windows, her body still burning from the sun, she felt restless, lonely, hot; the depression that comes with a storm.

She discovered a medical journal that Mark had lent her a few months before and remembered him saying he wanted it back.

Diana stood outside his door and listened carefully, but heard only the rain and distant thunder. She knocked twice, and Mark called, “Come in!”

He was lying on the sofa, writing, and Diana hesitated. “I thought you would be out, as you’re off duty today. I couldn’t hear any music, or talking—”

“It’s raining, so I’m staying in. I’m writing to my mother. I can never think of anything to say unless I concentrate hard for a few hours.” He was grinning.

“I only wanted to bring back your journal.”

Mark leaped up and closed the door. “Come in! Be my guest, let’s play some records. You’ve only heard them through the door.
”

So Diana sat in the armchair and listened to Beethoven and opera, jazz and dance music, until the room was almost dark.

She remembered that Richard never liked listening to music; he preferred the ballet or a play, where there was something to watch. He became bored and restless whenever Diana put on a record. “Perhaps he lacked imagination,” she thought. “What was it Shakespeare wrote?
The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for t
reasons, stratagems, and spoils
.”

At last she stood up. “It’s late. I must be going.”

“Not yet,” he pleaded.

Mark came toward her, and Diana did not move. Then his hands were on her arms.

“You’re beautifully brown,” he said softly.

And he kissed her, a tender kiss of love, quite different from the hard passionate embrace when they first held each other.

As he released her, Diana told him breathlessly, “I’ve missed you—so much.”

“I miss having you to tease in the theater,” he said, smiling. Then Mark put on another record, and the soft notes of Tchaikovsky’s
Romeo and Juliet Overture
filled the room.

They sat on the sofa; he was kissing her face, her neck, and she was quite still, her eyes closed. As the music became louder, more u
r
gent, their desire for each other increased. The sound acted like a drug. It was compelling them on, throwing them together, its strength and beauty keeping away all that was separating them.

There was only that little room, crashing cymbals, strings in flight, melancholy oboes, tempestuous brass; and their bodies clinging together, with one desire, one consuming feeling.

And when the music was soft again, he sat back beside her, and they listened. The could not hear the rain now; there was only the music and their love.

Then he looked around at her. “Your nose is peeling.”

She giggled. “Do you remember, when we were sewing up after taking out Mrs. Hastings’ appendix—”

“And I said, ‘Your peel is dropping in the wound, Dr. Field.”

“But it wasn’t!” she protested, “and I couldn’t argue with you, in front of everybody.”

“I k
n
ow. I was only teasing, and you took it so seriously.” Mark ran his fingers through her hair. “I like the way you laugh.”

“I must be going,” Diana said, for the second time that evening, but she was to tired, bewildered and happy to move.

“I want to kiss you again.”

But she pushed him away, because this was not what she really wanted. It was no use pretending any more.

“What about your friend, what would she say?” Diana asked him, coldly, unable to keep the resentment out of her voice.

“Denise? She’s just a friend.”

“Don’t you—love anyone?” she persisted quietly.

Diana felt as if they were caught in one of those revolving giant wheels you see at fairs, always going back to the same point, never escaping.

“I try not to let myself fall in love,” he told her, frowning. “If I did, it would lead to marriage—and I’m not sure that would work.”

“Still blaming yourself for what happened to Mary? And with Denise, there are no ties, no obligations.”

“She doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Well, I do, Mark.”

The music had stopped. There was only the rain beating on the
window now.

“This is the moment,” she thought. “It had to come. I was a fool to think we could go on putting it off. He has to tell me where we go from here. I can’t go on any longer not knowing.”

Mark sighed and gazed up at the ceiling, as if he could not bear to see the hurt, unhappy look in her eyes. Then he said quietly, “When are you supposed to be marrying Richard?”

“So that’s his answer,” Diana thought. “A moment ago he had his chance to start a new life, to begin again, but he didn’t take it. Well, at least we know where we stand.”

“I don’t know, it’s up to me,” she replied calmly. “There are problems. How to combine surgery with marriage.”

Then Mark turned and gazed at her, a pained expression on his face. “I’d be jealous, miserably jealous, to see you married to him, although he’s probably a nice guy. I couldn’t offer you anything better.”

Diana bit her lip, to stop herself from telling Mark that she couldn’t imagine anything better—than to be his wife.

“I’m not like you,” he went on. “You said so yourself, at Tony Spring’s party, remember? We’re from different worlds, Diana. Sister once said that I was dragged up, and you were properly brought up. First you had a nanny; then you were carefully protected by a boarding school until you went to Oxford and met Richard.”

“I suppose I’ve always known my parents were in the background, to help me,” she agreed.

“Compared with yours, my whole life has been a tough climb. After my father died, I worked in cafes and hotels in Sydney, in the evenings, washing-up mostly, to get through medical school. And my sister was still at school, so there were three of us to feed. I couldn’t have qualified without scholarships all the way along. My whole background is different, don’t you see?”

Diana sighed and decided to change the subject, because she knew he was right. They had been living in different worlds from the moment they were born. How could they ever live together? “Do you think I’ll ever become a surgeon?” she asked him.

“It’s too early to say. I guess if you really want to be one you can, and nothing wil
l
stop you. It gets hold of you, once you start. There’s always more to learn, a better way to operate.”

Diana stood up. The talk of surgery had brought her back to reality.

“I must get some sleep,” she said.

“And I’m going to the library,” Mark announced, leaping up.

“The library?” she repeated incredulously.

“To bury myself in the latest surgical advances. To forget about you, Diana,” he told her quietly. “It’s the only thing to do in the circumstances.”

“I mustn’t come here again.” She sighed. “It’s a pity, because I love listening to your records.”

“You know you can always play them—when I’m out. The reason I haven’t asked you here before is that it would complicate everything. And it has. You must see that.”

There was nothing more to be said.

“You’d better run along,” Mark told her quietly, his hand gently on her arm.

And she left the room.