Nurse with a Dream (19 page)

I love him, she exulted. He understands my every thought before I think it, my every action. He can laugh at me, because he can never hurt me. In my deepest need he has always been there to help; quietly, unobtrusively there.

The white heather led me to him. Because without it I’d never have had my accident and he would not have saved my life. The Bubbling Well did grant my wish, after all—
let me find my true love or let my true love find me.
And sure enough, Alan found me, only a few hours later. Is the well always so quick to grant a wish, I wonder?

He slackened. “Thirty area now. We shall just be in time. Pity it’s started to rain. Never mind, the worst of the journey is over and we can’t speed now.”

“You’ve saved my bacon—I’ve hardly lived down the snowball episode yet. Could you put me down at this end of High Street—I don’t want to make myself conspicuous by arriving in such a well-known car, and there are a crowd of us out late to-night. You may be sure they’ll all arrive at the last minute, too.”

“But it’s pouring by now. You’ll spoil your shoes.”

“I’ll take the risk. I am sure riding in your car would be considered uppish in a junior. We are supposed to keep to our stations in life, and mine is lowly.”

“Very well. I hate to do it, but I sympathise. Barnbury life is still narrow and somewhat hag-ridden by Mrs. Grundys of both sexes, gossiping old women who hate youth and life since both have passed them by.”

“Tell me something. Are doctors specially vulnerable to gossip? Does it harm them more than anybody else?”

“What funny questions you ask.”

“It’s because of not being brought up in England. You see, some things are more free and easy, and some more rigid.”

“One forgets you have no English background. I suppose doctors and lawyers are the most vulnerable of all. We know so many secrets and are in such an intimately personal relationship with our patients—or clients as the case may be—that the least hint of untrustworthiness would blow the whole thing
sky-high
. And it doesn’t harm only the individual but his whole profession. These little back-o’-beyond towns are much more dangerous, because people are old-fashioned and haven’t much to talk about.” He laughed easily. “I know
I’d
hate to be involved in a scandal here in Barnbury. They’d have the hide off me.”

“But you wouldn’t do anything wrong.”

“Bless you, they wouldn’t wait for that. The least hint of smoke and off they’d
go, puffing it all up into a roaring fire. Why on earth are we talking about this?”

“You’re enlightening my ignorance. Somebody said something which made me wonder. I know now, thank you.”

He patted her hand affectionately. “Sometimes I think you are a very sweet child, Jacqueline. Want to get out here—or will you drive up to the door? It’s still raining a bit.”

“Not much. Put me down here. I’ll run and be in quickly. I shan’t get wet, really I shan’t.”

He leaned across her to open the door. They were very close together and he smiled into her eyes. “Good night, little Jacky, sleep well.”

“Good night, Alan. And thank you—for
everything.”
He brushed her soft lips gently with a kiss.

Jacqueline lay awake thinking of Alan. At the Moor Hen; sheltering from the storm in the shepherd’s hut; squatting in the heather, grinning over his shoulder at her as he waited for a bird to settle. Alan in the hospital, so different and withdrawn a personality. Who would believe, here, that their grave and dignified Consultant had knocked a man down and left him sitting in the road, his truculence subdued. What fun it would be to tell the other nurses and watch their faces! But of course one couldn’t.

She sat up and switched on her bedside lamp, to find the sprig of white heather, faded and brown now, which had started the whole thing. She laid it on her palm and stared at it. As she did so a cold hand gripped her heart and squeezed until the pain was unbearable.

That first day, in the heather, Alan said a lot about love. He said:
I
am a man with a passion—a passion which means more to me than the love of any woman I’ve ever met
.

The bright fire of exaltation died. In the excitement of her discovery, in the humility of the true lover, she had not considered love as a two-sided affair. But now she knew that to love where love could not be returned could lead only to unhappiness. Alan would never return her love. She was too young, too silly for him—a child, in and out of scrapes.

She touched her lips, where the memory of his kiss lingered warmly. It could not have meant anything more than a goodnight kiss to a very young friend.

She put the heather away carefully, slid down between the sheets again. It was almost morning before she slept.

Jacqueline was on night-duty in Private Patients’ block. This was separate from the main building, lighter, more modern, and alleged to be easier on the nurses’ feet. The private patients were much like those in the wards, with the same fears, hopes, courage or the lack of it. Some would suffer any inconvenience rather than trouble the nurses; others were impatient, inconsiderate, rude—just as on the wards. The difference was that here the inconsiderate patient had a bell, and used it.

Liz had gone to Women’s Medical and Bridget came up with Jacqueline, resenting the move from the X-ray Unit because her affair with Hank Gregory was going so well.

She swore Jacqueline to secrecy and confided that Hank’s first name was really Cyprian, because his parents had hoped he’d become a bishop.

“You going to Birdie Cartwright’s farewell party, Jacky? It’s a house shower, they say she’s got a swish little flat. Can’t you see her having cosy tea-parties, queen bee in her own skep and patronising the Sisters still at work—they’ll drink gallons of tea and tell each other nurses are not what they were in
their
young days. What can we buy, for five bob?”

There was an unwritten law that no one spent more than five shillings on a contribution to a shower, and normally this did not present any difficulty. A girl getting married needed practically everything and her fellow-nurses gave rein to their own somewhat specialised brand of humour. But Matron had let it be known that she and some of the senior house officers would be attending Sister Cartwright’s retirement party, and the gifts would have to pass that august scrutiny.

“I’m embroidering a tray-cloth. Half a yard of fine white linen, and the thread I already had by me. I hope that isn’t cheating.”

“There’s a bell,” said Bridget happily, secure in her slight seniority. “Pop along, like a good little nurse. Who is it—I haven’t memorised this lot yet? Number Seven—appendix—perforated. Blimey!” She hummed a song which she declared had been her father’s favourite, the only lines she really knew being:

More work for the undertaker,

Another little job for the tombstone maker!

“Diana Lovell, Miss. Skip along, infant, she sounds impatient. And don’t fret your fat, she’s been in ages; she must be doing all right. H’m—Broderick, naturally.”

Diana Lovell was fretful. “A clean handkerchief, Nurse. My pillow is as hard as iron, I believe you stuff them with skulls. Why didn’t I have a sleeping-tablet to-night? I can’t sleep without something.”

“You probably weren’t ordered one, Miss Lovell. I’ll go and look, if you like.”

“I ought to have been ordered one. Bring me something to make me sleep. Hurry, Nurse.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that on my own responsibility, Miss Lovell. You must wait till it’s ordered officially.”

“Goodness, don’t be so stuffy. Who would know—one pill more or less can’t make any difference. You can sneak one from somewhere.”

“I certainly shall not ‘sneak’ a sleeping-pill, Miss Lovell. I’ll ask about one for you. Now, is there anything else before I go?”

“Yes. Refill my hot-water bottle. You’re new, aren’t you? What’s your name?”

“Clarke.”

“I’ve seen you before somewhere. Are you any relation to Sister Clarke? She comes and talks to me at night, and I’m a special friend of Mr. Broderick. He was very anxious about me, and says I’m to have every attention. I nearly died, you know.”

Jacqueline turned at the door. “We give every attention to every patient, Miss Lovell, whether they pay or not. If you nearly died, so did a number of other people in here. I’m not impressed by your special friendship with Sister Clarke, who is a distant relative of mine. Nor with Mr. Broderick. I shall do my duty as I’ve been taught to do it—and they will both uphold me. Now, if you don’t need anything more, I’ll go and attend to a patient who had her operation this afternoon. Yours was over ten days ago.”

She closed the door softly and went to find Bridget, to whom she passed the message about the sleeping-pill. Bridget studied the report. “She was fast asleep at ten p.m. and, anyway she’s not down for one. What’s she like?”

Jacqueline grimaced. “Impressed upon me she was a special friend of Mr. Broderick.”

“
That
sort? She’ll give us trouble, mark me.”

“It’s true, Bridie. She was with him at the Christmas dance.”

She filled the hot-water bottle and took it back to Room Seven. Was this girl Alan loved, to whom his heart was given? She was lovely enough, she had the cherished look which comes from exquisite, expensive grooming; beautiful as a fragile hothouse flower.

Diana was not an easy patient. She was young and had a splendid constitution, so she made rapid progress, which she found disconcerting. She had cast herself for the
role of
interesting invalid, to find it slipping away from her before she was tired of it. She formed a habit of waking about two in the morning, demanding a fresh bottle, a cup of tea or anything else which occurred to her. Then she would detain the nurse as long as possible in conversation about herself, her symptoms, admirers, flowers—and Alan Broderick.

One night Jacqueline went in with a glass of hot milk and found Diana sitting up, wide awake and ready for a chat. The girl said bluntly, “Are you the nurse all the talk is about?”

Jacqueline set the milk down carefully. “I don’t know what you mean, Miss Lovell.”

“Ugh! There’s skin on this milk. I hear there’s a nurse here crazy about Alan. Chases him all over. They say he spends his time with her at the Moor Hen and brings her back in his car at all hours.”

“It’s cruel and untrue to say such things about a fine man. People who talk like that must be jealous of his success.”

“Or of hers? He’s Barnbury’s most eligible bachelor, remember.”

“He’s Barnbury’s finest surgeon.”

Diana shrugged white shoulders. “You know how it is. Doctors and nurses are fair game.”

Jacqueline’s blood boiled. “Considering how much the public owe to doctors and nurses, that’s hardly fair.”

“No, but it’s human. Rumour tells me you’re the one.”

“Rumour has a human tongue. Whose, Miss Lovell?”

“I’m not telling tales.”

“Mr. Broderick gave me a lift home one night, when my cousin’s transport broke down and I should have been late in.”

“How innocent it sounds! Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, would it? I’ll bet he kissed you!” Suddenly she squealed with delighted laughter. “Nurse—he
did!
You’re blushing like a lobster. Oh, how exquisite—what fun! Wait till I tell them at the Club. Alan and the little blonde nurse, bless his heart! He’ll never live this down.”

Jacqueline was shaking with anger. “If I’m blushing, it’s with anger that anyone who professes to be his friend should be so cruel. Say what you like about me, but leave Mr. Broderick out of it. Why should he have to suffer for what was only a very simple courtesy?”

“Don’t be huffy. I just think the whole thing is a lark.”

It was fortunate that Night Sister had already done her round in Private Patients, and that nothing occurred to bring her back. Otherwise Jacqueline’s burning sense of injustice might have led her into a serious breach of discipline. For of course it was Deborah who had been talking. She must have spoken to Guy, and knew all about the drive home.

But when it was she who warned me about gossip, why should she spread it herself? Jacky stood stockstill in the corridor, a tray in her hands, as she realised what was probably the truth. Deborah was jealous. She was seeking revenge for the fact that Alan would have nothing more to do with her. Striking at me, because Alan is kind to me. Striking at him, through his kindness to me—making it the basis of cruel gossip, the very thing which will hurt him most.

She stalked into the kitchen and clashed the tray down in a way which alarmed Bridget, who was writing a long screed to her mother on hospital paper.

“The fair Diana upset you? She’s poison, that one.” “Not Diana. Just—circumstances. As Mary Leigh would say, ‘how all occasions do inform against us’. That’s Lady Macbeth.” She returned the milk to the refrigerator and added doubtfully, “Or somebody.”

Sister Birdie Cartwright’s party" was to take place the next afternoon, so the night nurses went to bed early in order to be ready for the fray.

At three in the afternoon Jacqueline was on her way downstairs, immaculate in white and freshly ironed pink, her newly-washed hair gleaming soft as satin. She felt a sick excitement, sure Alan would be there; knowing she must not speak to him or even look at him. It was like walking on quicksand—she could not tell where, or how much, Deborah had talked. All she was sure of was that gossip would hurt Alan—and she would rather die than hurt him.

She reached the first-floor landing, where the sisters had their bed-sitting-rooms, and on the turn of the iron staircase came face to face with Deborah—obviously bound for the party, too.

Deborah hesitated. The stairs were deserted at that hour. “I’ve been wanting to speak to you—”

“And I’ve been wanting to speak to you,” the girl flashed. “Sister or no Sister, I won’t suffer your conduct in silence. How dare you talk to Miss Lovell about me, making her believe my behaviour is scandalous?”

A red patch rose dangerously on the older woman’s cheeks. “And isn’t it? My brother took you to a dance. You left him, to go home with another man. That the other man was Mr. Broderick was beside the point. It was rank bad manners.”

“I was forced to it, by Guy’s own manners.”

She shrugged. “That wasn’t the version I heard. And I saw for myself how you sneaked on foot the last part of the way. I wondered at the time why Guy had let you walk the last bit in the rain. Afterwards I knew. You felt too guilty, I suppose, to drive up in the normal way.”

“Were you spying?”

“Keeping an eye on the late-pass nurses.”

“You’ve twisted everything against me, because you hate me, don’t you, Deborah? You’re jealous because Alan is kind to me; jealous, for all I know, because Guy wants to marry me. And I see now that you’ve talked to Diana Lovell because she’s a bird of a feather, spiteful and cruel. Though I believe her cruelty is thoughtless, but yours is carefully thought out.”

“Be careful!”

“Use your position to go to Matron about me if you wish. I’m not afraid. There are things so intolerable than no one should be intimidated into putting up with them. Even if you make Matron sack me—and I know you could—I know I’d be right in speaking out. I believe your whole object is revenge, whether on me or upon Alan I don’t know.”

“Be quiet. Don’t you know how these stair wells echo? Do you want the whole place to hear? I don’t know what you are talking about—you must be hysterical. What Diana Lovell says is her own business. She’s in love with Alan and expects to marry him. So far as I know, he’s in love with her. If she hears things in the town about you, you can’t expect her to be pleased, but don’t blame me. You’ve been throwing yourself at his head ever since you came here, you are solely to blame. If you must know, I
am
fond of Alan. I’ve warned you before of your conduct towards him, and if it is getting about in the town—as it must be, from what you say—one of you must leave the hospital. Obviously not Alan, so it must be you.”

“I shall do no such thing. If necessary, I shall ask Alan himself to talk to Matron.”

“And force him to resign? Don’t, for his sake, mention it to him at all. If you have any friendship towards him, just go, quietly.”

Jacqueline shook her head helplessly. She was caught in a net of Deborah’s weaving and could see no way of escape. “I won’t run away and neither will he. The truth will always overcome a lie.”

Deborah smiled coldly. “Has that been your experience? It hasn’t been mine. You are in a temper, and making wild accusations for which I hope you will be sorry—but I am making allowances for you and speaking earnestly for your good and his. Leave St. Simon’s, leave Barnbury, telling no one of your reasons.”

“I certainly won’t.”

“Very well.” Deborah moved as if to end the conversation. “I felt sorry for you, because I had an idea you loved Alan in your way. Now I see you don’t. You’ll spoil his life here in Barnbury without regret.”

“But it’s
you
who—” She pressed her fingers to her burning temples. ‘There must be a way of proving you’re wrong.”

“Why not announce your engagement to Guy? That would kill any rumours stone dead.”

Deborah moved away, leaving Jacqueline staring after her speechless.

The nurses’ sitting-room was packed with people, chattering through a blue haze of smoke. Birdie sat in state; Matron, temporarily descended from Olympus, beside her; the senior medical staff were clustered round the throne, and the junior men were making the most of their opportunity to fraternise with the prettier nurses.

Already, on a table beside her, Birdie had accumulated enough gaudy tea-towels, wicker plant-pots, pottery cruet-sets and Italian pottery donkeys in straw hats to last a couple of lifetimes. There were one-woman casseroles in red, blue or green ovenglass, side by side with pots of trailing tradescantia. Jacqueline was pushed forward by friendly hands until she stood before the royal circle.

“You did this yourself—for me?” Birdie blew her nose violently. “I’d no idea we harboured such talent.”

“I went to a French convent, Sister. The nuns taught us to embroider.”

Birdie passed the tray-cloth to Matron, who examined it with interest. “Mark my words, Matron—this girl will be leaving us to get married before long. A talent like this won’t be used on rolling bandages.”

“Not she!” said Matron confidently, smiling at Jacqueline. “When she hears what I have to say to her in the morning. Nurse has other talents, Sister.”

It seemed as though everyone was talking to everyone else and very few listening to Matron, but as she made this quiet remark there was an explosive hiss as practically every nurse in the room whispered, “Exam, results!” The whole room fell silent, and every eye turned to Matron as if she were the Delphic oracle in person.

Into this silence Sister Clarke said clearly, “I think Nurse does intend to marry, Matron. Isn’t that so, Nurse?” She smiled graciously on Jacqueline, who alone knew that Deborah was opening the door of a trap. Here was the perfect way out; here was the swiftest, surest way of killing gossip about herself and Alan; of silencing Diana Lovell, who intended to spread the story round town as a great joke. Well, by the time she did so, it would already be dead and cold if—if—

Jacqueline said clearly, “I have promised to marry my half-cousin, Matron. Guy Clarke.”

She dared not look at Alan. Deborah primmed her mouth in a self-satisfied way and Matron looked more grieved than cross. She said softly, “I’m disappointed, Nurse. We had hopes of you.” Then she raised her voice authoritatively. ‘This very special occasion has lured me into saying more than I intended. The examination results are here, but no one”—she fixed a beady eye upon a junior nurse who nervously dropped half a sandwich into her tea—“will be told anything before to-morrow morning, when those nurses who took the exam, will report to me at ten. Keep your minds on your work and don’t spend the rest of the day chattering in moderns.”

A mistress of strategy, she withdrew on this splendid exit line, whereupon everyone concerned fell into a high-pitched chattering about the results.