Christmas Wish (31 page)

Carefully unbuttoning the back of the dress, she laid it out on the bed ready to put on. Her own dress, once she’d taken it off and laid it out too, looked shabby in comparison.

She was wearing little beneath her woollen dress, a warm affair and fit for the job she was doing.

Underneath she wore just a pair of cotton drawers that she’d trimmed with lace herself, and a thin vest that drooped at the front so her breasts kept popping out.

The vest was scruffy, she decided, too scruffy to wear under something as crisply clean as the maid’s outfit.

Pulling the vest off over her head, she flung it onto the bed. As she stretched to pull the dress over her head, she caught sight of herself in the mirror attached to the inside of the wardrobe door.

She’d once envied Venetia her more developed figure and had considered her own puny and almost boyish. But no more. Her breasts were round and firm, at least the size of oranges and just as good a shape. She smiled at her reflection; she hadn’t exactly caught up with her sister, but what she had was attractive and pleased her.

The buttons were at the back of the dress and not that easy to do up, but she managed. After the dress came the apron. Sliding the wide ties around her waist she tied them a bountiful bow in the small of her back.

Her reflection was pleasing. Now for the cap.

Scraping her hair back behind her ears, she finally crowned herself with the pretty little cap.

Her eyes sparkled at the sight of her own reflection. Father Anthony would be pleased with how she looked. She was sure of it. His visitors too would be impressed.

Father Anthony gave her a few minutes to go into the room and find the clothes.

Still sitting where she had left him, he now looked up at the ceiling hardly able to contain his excitement.

She was so pretty, so innocent, like a spring flower, or an unblemished Madonna.

He patted his chest as he counted to ten, aware of the thudding of his heartbeat.

Barely audible, but he heard the discernible squeak of the wardrobe door. The room was directly above the kitchen. She’d finally opened it.

Rising slowly and carefully, he pulled the chair out from beneath him and headed for the stairs, the landing and the room next door to that once occupied by the housekeeper.

The room was dusty, the door well oiled. No squeak from this one. The dust was another matter.

Father Anthony held his breath. Wasn’t it typical he thought that a tickle in the throat arises at the most inconvenient time?

In an effort to stop the threatening cough, he placed a hand around his throat, fingering his windpipe as though such movements might dissipate the problem.

To his great relief it seemed to work. Now he could concentrate on what he was doing, drink in the delectable scene in all its glory. Nobody would know; certainly not the girl.

He’d discovered the hole in the plaster purely by chance when trying to hang a picture of some obscure Irish saint on a rusty nail already hammered there. Either the nail had been too
rusty or too weakly secured, or the picture had been too heavy. Whatever the reason, the picture had crashed to the floor and the nail had fallen out of the wall.

What was left was a small hole; certainly not enough to poke a hand through or even a finger, but certainly enough of a peephole to see into the next room.

That was exactly what he was doing now, his eye against the hole, his face turned slightly to one side so that his cheek lay against the faded wallpaper.

It was most people’s opinion that 1936 was a year to go down in history. King Edward VIII had abdicated in order to marry his American divorcee, and King George VI had taken his place.

People were still arguing about the rights and wrongs of the whole scandal, but other people had more important things to think about. Important to them that is.

Magda Brodie, now a second-year medical student, hugged her lecture notes against her chest as she descended the slippery steps from the annexe that was presently serving as a lecture room. The building was old and had served its purpose for some time, but the heating was almost non-existent. The students joked about leeches used in past ages for blood-letting still being stored in the dusty cellars. A few more months and she would be leaving the lecture rooms for
real
medicine on the wards of Queen Mary’s Hospital for the East End.

‘Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!’

On raising her head to see who had called her, her foot slipped and she landed with a bump.

‘Magda. Are you all right?’

The young man standing over her had glossy brown hair and kind blue eyes behind the horn-rimmed glasses he wore.

Magda laughed. ‘Just give me a hand up. If we hear a cracking sound, we’ll know I’ve broken something.’

‘That may not be enough. I can always give you a thorough examination if there’s any doubt,’ the young man replied. His eyes twinkled mischievously.

‘You’re a cheeky monkey, Andy Paddock,’ she said as he helped her to her feet.

‘Doctor Andy Paddock, if you don’t mind.’

Feeling slightly privileged that someone like Andy who had been studying for five years was interested in her, Magda smiled at him. ‘At long last. I bet it feels good.’

‘To be a real doctor at last after all those gruelling lectures and grovelling to senior house doctors? You bet it does! Now. I know you’re going home for Christmas and so am I, but what about celebrating New Year together? I’m on duty. You’re on duty, but we could possibly squeeze an hour or two together – perhaps around midnight.’

‘Nineteen thirty-seven. I’m so looking forward to it.’

‘So you should. You’ve done wonders in your first year and second year. Now for your third – out there in the thick of things.’

‘That’s what I want.’

Alongside training on the wards full time, she’d opted for assisting a charity working in the East End with impoverished families. A lot of the work would be with children and attending women in labour.

‘You’re a brick,’ he said to her, his eyes shining with admiration. ‘Can I give you a lift home in the orange box?’ Andy was one of the few doctors who happened to own a motor car – nothing grand, just a little black Ford that he fondly called
the orange box. That was in fact what it looked like; an orange box on wheels!

Magda looked down at her hand, which was still in his. Not that she could feel much through the thick mitten, but it still made her feel good.

‘No, but thank you. The underground is close by and if I don’t hurry I’ll miss my train.’

‘You know I like you a lot, Magda.’

It came out in a rush as though he’d been building up the courage to say it.

She nodded, her head slightly bent forward so she could feel the weight of her hair on the nape of her neck. It was still long, though captured in a snood nowadays away from her face. She was a doctor in training. Compromises had to be made.

‘I have to go now. Have a Merry Christmas Andy. See you soon.’

He looked a little dejected that she didn’t go even halfway to making a reciprocal comment. The truth was that she couldn’t say that she felt the same way, because she really didn’t know whether she did. She was fond of Andy Paddock, newly qualified doctor from a well-to-do family. But did she love him? Time will tell, she said to herself. Give it time; besides you want to be a doctor before you’re anybody’s sweetheart or wife.

With a look of regret, he let her hand go.

‘I’ll be seeing you then.’

He waved and she waved back, only stopping when it seemed she was making no forward progress.

The pavements were slippery and she was careful where she stepped. It was gone ten o’clock when she finally got down onto the platform for the eastbound train.

The cavernous tunnels echoed to the sound of footsteps and
for a moment she thought she was hearing more than just her own.

Refusing to bow to her nerves and look behind her, she kept going until she gained the station itself.

The underground stations were nearly empty, the main army of people commuting to the new suburbs already sitting in their living rooms, drinking Ovaltine and listening to the radio. Just a few stragglers remained, men in bowler hats likely to travel only one stop, a merchant seaman, kit bag slung over one shoulder.

A prim-looking woman wearing a shabby coat and scuffed shoes, probably a domestic servant on her way home to the East End, got in behind her. For one moment she turned anxious eyes in Magda’s direction but then seemed to change her mind.

Alms for Christmas, thought Magda. So many people with families needed money for Christmas. If the woman had asked, she would have given her a shilling, maybe even half a crown.

A drunk huddled in one corner suddenly blinked open his eyes and began singing ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’, in a pretty decent baritone despite the drink.

Magda smiled to herself. So what if he was drunk? He was harming nobody, just enjoying himself.

The only other occupant drew her attention and once drawn she couldn’t look away. He wore a trench coat over a navy blue suit; his shirt was crisply white, his tie a moderate shade.

At first she couldn’t see his face, hidden as it was beneath the brim of a tan-coloured trilby hat that matched his trench coat.

Becoming aware that he was being scrutinised, he looked up.

His deep-set eyes were a compelling blue beneath dark eyebrows; his features strong and even.

At first he looked surprised to see her, almost as though they knew each other.

Magda searched her memory. No. If they had met before, she would have remembered him.

His mouth opened as though to acknowledge her; then he smiled, shook his head as though mistaken and turned away.

He got off at the next stop, though not before tipping the brim of his hat in her direction, his smile just as controlled as before, just as enigmatic.

She turned her attention back to her notes on that day’s lecture. The lecture had occurred after an early-morning start on the women’s ward where she’d been required along with a number of other students to accompany a senior around the wards. They’d lingered over one particular woman patient who had been in labour for three days.

‘One day more and I’ll operate,’ the surgeon had said loftily before moving onto other patients.

Magda had frowned and looked back at the woman, feeling for her pain. By her judgement, three days seemed too long.

The surgeon noted her expression.

‘She’s a charity patient, Miss Brodie. Surgery costs money. Please remember that.’

A hand touched her sleeve, disturbing her thoughts.

‘Excuse me.’

She jerked her head back from her notes. The face of the woman looking at her so intently was thin with a long nose and jet black eyes. Magda recognised the woman she’d taken earlier to be a domestic servant.

‘Are you Doctor Brodie?’ she asked in a hushed voice.

Magda racked her brains. This was certainly a night for coming across people she might or might not know.

‘I’m not a doctor. Not yet anyway. Just a medical student. How do you know my name?’

The woman looked sheepish. She was wearing a shabby coat, shiny with wear, the seams coming undone. Her knitted hat and mittens had a wrinkled look, made from a variety of unpicked garments if the mix of colour was anything to go by.

The woman’s eyes were round and unblinking.

‘I made enquiries at the hospital and somebody pointed you out to me. I was going to make meself known outside the hospital, but then I saw you talking to that young man. I didn’t like to intrude, so I followed you, waiting for the chance to get you alone. Susan sent me.’

‘Susan! How is she?’ asked Magda, relieved that this woman was not dangerous and knew her old school-friend.

‘That’s why I’ve been waiting for you. She needs to see you.’

Magda glanced at the wristwatch Winnie had bought her for her birthday.

‘Can this wait for tomorrow? It’s late and my aunt will be worried.’

She called Winnie her aunt even though they were unrelated but it saved having to explain anything.

‘Please. It’s very urgent.’

The jet black eyes pleaded and the woman’s pinched face pinched itself in further.

‘Is she ill?’ Magda asked.

The woman nodded.

Magda settled back in her seat, resigned to going with this woman.

‘All right,’ she said.

Absorbed as she was in her studies, it had been a while since Magda had seen her old friend. Susan had married the first man to ask her.

The woman’s thin body, so rigidly held up until now, suddenly deflated like a balloon with a slow leak.

What’s Winnie going to think, Magda worried to herself
as the train pulled into her stop and within minutes pulled out again?

Winnie would assume that she’d been asked to stay on and assist. It wouldn’t be the first time. Even junior doctors were put upon to deliver more hours; medical students were no exception. Whilst studying they doubled as cheap labour; it was hard, but that was the way it was.

Her reflection looked back at her as they rattled through the dark tunnels of the underground. In her mind she was with her friend Susan again and the thought of that chirpy face and wild red hair made her smile.

They hadn’t seen much of each other since leaving school. It was only when she’d bumped into her out shopping in Clapham High Street with two kids piled onto a pram that she knew what had happened.

‘I married Billy Sellers. You might remember ’im. Two yards wide with hands like shovels. Not the sort for getting down on bended knee an’ all that,’ Susan had said to her, nodding at the eldest child who looked to be no more than two or three years.

Their paths had divided. With the help of a friend of Winnie, Magda had got into medical school with the barest of qualifications. Any protests about it being cheating had fallen on deaf ears.

‘It’s not what you know, it’s who you know. And besides I’m owed favours.’ Winnie’s eyes had twinkled with untold secrets and vivid memories.

The train rattled to a stop.