Dr Finlay's Casebook (32 page)

‘Ye young de’il,’ cried Meg, struggling up in her night-gown from the bed. ‘Let me get my claws on ye, and . . .’

But Finlay, roaring with laughter, the real Ming plate under his arm, was already halfway down the stairs.

Enter Nurse Angus

From that first moment when Finlay met Peggy Angus he knew that he detested her, and, naturally enough, he suspected the feeling to be mutual. But whether or not our young
medico was right in such dour primary impressions the events of these chronicles may presently reveal.

Admittedly the meeting was unfortunate. Finlay was in a bad mood. Troubled over a case, bothered and overworked, he had got out of bed on the wrong side that morning, which, to add to the
general gaiety, was teeming with rain.

He drove to the Cottage Hospital under the dripping heavens, jumped down from the gig, then, with his head lowered to escape the pelting raindrops, he dashed through the front door into the
corridor beyond. Here he ran full-tilt into a nurse.

Angrily he raised his head and glowered at her. She was young and slender, and rather small, very neat and trim in her uniform, with a clear complexion, and lively, sparkling eyes. Her mouth was
big and ready to smile, her teeth white and even, while her nose, small and decidedly upturned, gave her an air of vivacity and impudence.

Altogether she was, Finlay saw, uncommonly pretty; moreover, she was preparing to smile at him. But this, for some strange reason, added to his simmering annoyance.

He had realised, of course, right away that she was the new nurse they had been expecting at the hospital in place of Nurse Crockett, who had recently been appointed to Ardfillan. And he
scowled.

‘Can’t you look where you’re going? Or do you make a habit of running people down?’

Her smile, which had begun with much affected friendliness, immediately died out. Her eyebrows lifted, and her eyes sparkled more.

‘It was you who ran into me,’ she declared with emphasis. ‘I tried to get out of your way, but you came through the door and down the passage like a bull at a gate.’

Finlay’s temper flared. He was at his worst this morning, and he knew it, and the knowledge served to make him even more disagreeable.

‘Do you know who you are talking too?’ he barked.

Her expression altered to one of mockery.

‘Oh, yes,’ she returned, in a pretence of awe. ‘You must be Dr Finlay. I’ve heard how nice you were. I couldn’t possibly mistake you.’

His face flushed with discomfiture.

‘Please remember your position. You’re a nurse in this hospital, and I’m – I’m your superior.’

Again the sparks flashed from her pretty, dark eyes, but she was cleverer than he, and knew better than to display her anger. Lowering her lashes with mock demureness, she remarked—

‘Yes, sir. I won’t say a word the next time you run into me.’

‘Why, hang it all!’ Finlay exploded. ‘How dare you talk to me like that?’

But at this point Matron Clark came out of her room and waddled along the corridor towards them, a short, rather stout, important figure, her round, fat face beaming with unusual amiability.
Advancing, all unconscious of the scene which had occurred, she cooed to Finlay—

‘So you’ve made friends with Nurse Angus already, Dr Finlay? I’m real glad. I was coming into the ward to introduce you. We’re downright pleased to have Miss Angus with
us. She’s just finished her training at the Edinburgh Royal, you know, doctor, and now that she’s come back home she’s going to lend us a hand.’

Furious though he was, the open flattery towards the new nurse in matron’s tone quite took Finlay aback. Junior nurses, he was fully aware, did not receive such signal recognition without
due cause, and he was right, for while he stood speechless, matron’s honeyed voice went on—

‘You ought to know, of course, doctor, that nursing is a labour of love with Miss Angus. She doesn’t – er – she doesn’t have to do it for her living. You see, her
father – oh, well doctor, you know all about the Anguses of Dunhill, don’t you, now?’

Naturally enough, like everyone in the district, Finlay did know of the Anguses. Old John Angus, who owned enormous dye-works at Dunhill, employed close on fifteen hundred men, and was justly
reputed to be worth a fortune.

His only daughter, Finlay remembered, had persuaded the old man into allowing her to take up nursing as a profession. All this occurred to Finlay as he stared fixedly at matron, who
continued—

‘So you see, doctor, under the circumstances, we’re pleased and proud to have Nurse Angus here. Her father’s such a large benefactor to the hospital. We must try and make
things pleasant for her. Eh, Peggy?’ And she beamed in motherly fashion at the young nurse.

A wave of repugnance swept over Finlay. He did not see – at least, he did not choose to see – the quick distaste which matron’s too obvious flattery had aroused in the eyes of
Nurse Angus. Instead, he declared, in a loud and surly voice—

‘I don’t care who Nurse Angus is, or what she is. She’s come to nurse in this hospital, and not to be on the social register. I’ll treat her exactly as she
deserves.’ And, pushing past the astounded and crestfallen matron, Finlay stalked his way into the ward.

An unfortunate beginning, you must agree, for the doctor and the nurse, in which each was represented to the other in a most indifferent light.

And, indeed, from that beginning, things went from bad to worse. Every time Finlay came into contact with Nurse Angus the air crackled with an electric hostility.

Quite frankly, Finlay was determined to put the young nurse down. He found fault with her on every pretext, real and imaginary, tried to catch her in mistakes, laid traps for her, and in general
pursued her at every turn. Yet, for all his efforts, he found Peggy Angus more than a match for him.

When, in a bossy tone, he would make her fetch and carry for him in the ward, the derisive meekness with which she answered ‘Yes, sir’, drove him nearly frantic.

What annoyed him most of all was her extreme proficiency in her work and her extreme fondness for it. As he watched her deft and skilful movements with the patients, and saw her slight trim
figure moving briskly down the ward, at times an almost unwilling admiration came upon him. But he checked it fiercely. He was resolved to subjugate her.

Another source of exasperation to Finlay was Nurse Angus’s popularity. She had many friends in the town, was continually renewing old associations which had lapsed while she was absent at
her training school.

Invited everywhere, Peggy went out a great deal in her spare time; she was on terms of familiarity with the very best families in the district.

Angrily, Finlay told himself that it was all due to her father’s position and money. And he bristled at the very thought.

Once when she returned from spending a weekend on the family estate between Dunhill and the Loch shore he remarked with a sneer—

‘Why don’t you stay at home all the time? You’re only playing at nursing here.’

For once the impudence left her eyes.

‘Am I?’ she asked.

‘Of course,’ he scoffed. ‘And you know it. The lady bountiful stooping to suffering humanity! A fine pose. You’re not genuine. It takes courage and real endurance to make
a proper nurse.’

‘Oh,’ she answered in a quiet voice, ‘then I suppose that rules me out?’

So much had Peggy Angus come to prey upon Finlay’s mind it was a godsend when, at the beginning of the summer, she went upon night duty in the hospital. Thereafter he saw her seldom;
indeed, for days on end he did not see her at all, and the relief, so he told himself, was tremendous. Though at moments he almost missed the stimulus of her disturbing presence, the sharp
satisfaction of matching his wits and tongue against hers, he was once more, he told himself, infinitely better off now that she had vanished from the sphere of his activities. And he hoped that it
would be long enough before she reappeared to worry him again.

But here Finlay little reckoned with the fates, which held more in store for him than ever he visioned in his wildest dreams.

It was, by this time, the summer season – a hot summer which made fishing indifferent sport, and caused Finlay to spend most of his leisure on the Levenford lawn tennis courts. He was a
keen player, and, though he played little in his student days, now, with regular play and practice, his game had rapidly improved, and he had become quite adept at the game.

It was, then, in a spirit of considerable enthusiasm not unmixed with optimism that he put his name down for the Nimmo Trophy, the big annual tournament. This competition was for mixed doubles,
partners to be drawn by ballot, and it was looked upon as the main event in the tennis season of the town, and, indeed, of the entire county.

On the Monday evening following that on which he had made his entry, Finlay strolled up to the club after surgery hours to see what his luck had been in the draw.

A pleasurable excitement stirred him, for he was aware that on this particular turn of fortune much of his chance depended. It was late, the dusk falling, and most of the Club members had gone
home.

He entered the pavilion, sauntered up to the notice board, and let his eye run down the list of names on the white sheet. Suddenly his expression altered to incredulous dismay. Bracketed with
his own name was the name of Peggy Angus.

Finlay stared at the offensive name, with muttered exclamation he was turning away from the notice board when Doggy Lindsay and some others came in from the changing-room.

‘Congratulations, Finlay, old man!’ cried Doggy in his usual offensive style. ‘You’re the lucky man right enough.’

‘Lucky?’

‘Certainly! To draw Miss Angus!’

Finlay frowned at Doggy.

‘I didn’t know she played. I didn’t know she was even a member of the club.’

‘Of course she is,’ cried the irrepressible Doggy. ‘And a jolly fine little player, too. When she was at school she won the junior championship here. See?’

‘I see,’ retorted Finlay again. ‘So she does know something about the game.’

‘Why, of course.’ Here Doggy laughed and slapped Finlay on the back. ‘Not that it really matters, Finlay, old man. I’ve drawn Anne Brown. We’ll wipe the floor with
the rest of you. We’re the winners, Finlay, and don’t you forget it.’

Unheeding of Doggy’s banter, Finlay nodded blankly, and as soon as he could get away he slipped out of the club, his face brooding, still marred by that unpleasant frown.

Impelled by some secret, inner force, his steps took him not in the direction of home but towards the Cottage Hospital. It was after nine when he got there, and, as he expected, Nurse Angus was
on duty, writing up her charts in the small side room which opened off the ward kitchen.

He entered without a word, and, standing with his hands in his pockets, surveyed her with Napoleonic gloom. At last he spoke.

‘I thought I’d come in and tell you the glad news. We’re drawn together for the Nimmo Trophy.’

If he had expected to dismay her he was disappointed. Swinging round in her chair, she surveyed him calmly.

‘That’s grand,’ she said with satirical emphasis. ‘Couldn’t have been better.’

He gave a grunt.

‘I wasn’t aware that you knew one end of a tennis racket from the other.’

‘Oh, yes,’ she answered sweetly. ‘I believe I can just tell the difference.’

‘The junior champion, weren’t you?’ he derided. ‘A kind of infant prodigy, I suppose?’

‘That’s right,’ she answered with a humorous smile. ‘I began to play before I’d finished teething.’

He had to bite his lip to keep back an answering smile. Really her good nature was infectious. And she was as pretty as a picture.

All at once Finlay felt a warm tide pulse within his breast. Did he really dislike Peggy Angus after all? With dramatic suddenness her loveliness and charm took him by storm. He grew confused,
and muttered—

‘Well you’d better begin to play in good earnest this time. You’ve got to put your back into it and show some real spirit. I expect you to practice and practice hard. Do you
hear me? It’s pluck that counts in any game, and if you’ve got any I want you to show it just for once.’

Without giving her time to reply he nodded awkwardly, turned on his heel and left the hospital.

He did not see Peggy Angus again until the date appointed for his first round tie. So far from indulging in any practice, she seemed never to have been near the courts, a
defiance of his instructions which served to increase his growing admiration for her spirit.

With a queer sense of anticipation he made his way to the club and arrived there punctually at half-past five in the evening.

Six o’clock, being suitable to all parties, had been fixed as the time of the match. Despite Doggy’s assurance, he did not expect Nurse Angus would prove herself expert at the game.
But if she were any good at all they ought to win this tie, for they were drawn against Tom Douglas and May Scott, neither of whom were any class as players.

Douglas and Miss Scott were already on the court, and at five minutes to six, sharp, Miss Angus arrived, already changed, looking prettier than ever, and very efficient and neat in her smart
white dress and white shoes. She carried two rackets under her arm.

The sight of her sent a thrill through Finlay. He knew now how much he had looked forward to playing with her, and the knowledge for some reason made him angry with himself. He met her with a
pretence of brusqueness.

‘Late as usual!’ That was his polite greeting.

She gave him a quick glance, in which there was neither mockery nor impudence.

‘Surely it isn’t six o’clock,’ she answered quietly, then looked away.

It was as though this final rudeness had subdued her at last, for there was no raillery in her manner and no roguishness in her face.

He ought, of course, to have exulted, having sworn to put Peggy in her place. But instead he cursed himself for a boorish prig. He wanted more than ever to take back all he had said against
her.

The game began. And here again Peggy proved her mettle. Although obviously out of practice, from the moment when, with a clear note, her racket met the first ball, it was evident that Peggy
Angus was a skilled player. Indeed, Finlay saw that without a doubt she knew more about the game than he.