The Nightingale Nurses (46 page)

The man drew himself up in his seat. ‘The Chief Examiner is busy,’ he sniffed.

‘Not too busy to speak to me, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘Please inform the Chief Examiner that Constance Tremayne, Trustee of the Florence Nightingale Hospital, is here and would like to speak to him.’

The man looked unimpressed. ‘I told you, the Chief Examiner is busy.’

Helen saw her mother quivering with suppressed fury, and wondered if the man knew how close he was to being throttled. ‘Do you know who I am?’ hissed Constance.

‘No, but I know who
she
is.’

They looked up. A woman stood in the doorway to the examination room, tall, thin and ramrod-straight. Helen didn’t recognise her at first in her dark grey uniform, her tight light brown curls concealed under a starched bonnet.

‘Mrs Forster?’ She blinked in surprise.

‘Hello, Helen. I told you I used to be a nurse, didn’t I?’ Mrs Forster smiled, her dark brown eyes twinkling. ‘But I wasn’t sure if it would be fair to tell you I’m Chief Examiner now.’

‘I was just explaining to this person – Mrs Forster, that it isn’t possible for her daughter to sit the State Final Examination because her name isn’t on the list,’ the clerk explained.

‘Oh, I’m sure we could make an exception for Nurse Dawson.’ Mrs Forster sent her a smile of understanding. ‘Come along, my dear, the written paper is just about to start. I will sort out all the paperwork for you before the practical examination.’

As she followed Mrs Forster into the examination room, Helen heard her mother berating the hapless clerk.

‘You see,’ she was saying, ‘if you’d only done as I told you earlier, we could have all saved ourselves a great deal of time.’

The examination room was a cavernous space, like a cathedral, with a pitched ceiling that seemed to go upwards for ever. Sunshine streamed in through the high windows, illuminating dancing dust particles.

Nurses were already sitting at small desks, set out in neat regimented lines that reached as far as Helen’s eyes could see. At the back of the room, she could make out the blue striped uniforms of the rest of the Nightingale set, Brenda Bevan amongst them.

Mrs Forster directed her to an empty desk near the door and placed an examination paper face down in front of her. Helen stared at it, feeling sick.

This was a mistake, she should never have come. How could she ever have imagined she was ready to take an exam? Her brain was suddenly a fog of jumbled facts, none of them making any sense.

The clock struck eleven. ‘You may turn over your papers, Nurses,’ Mrs Forster instructed, her voice echoing around the room.

There was a rustling sound. Helen picked up one corner of her exam paper as if it were a venomous snake, flipped it over and read the first question.

Which drugs or agents could be locally applied to check haemorrhage?

Suddenly she was transported back to the summer. Perching on Nellie Dawson’s moquette settee, preparing a cold compress while Charlie helped her revise.

She smiled, feeling her confidence trickling back. Perhaps she could do this after all.

Thank you, Charlie
, she thought, picking up her pen.

NICK OPENED HIS
eyes to a blinding white light and a smell of carbolic and polish. It took him a full moment to work out that he was lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by screens.

He tried to move, and instantly everything hurt. From his thudding temples to his painful ribs, there wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t in agony. Except for his legs. He couldn’t move them.

Panic surged through him until he looked down and saw that he was heavily bandaged from the waist down, and held fast in some kind of complicated sling contraption, which in turn was attached to an overhead frame. He didn’t know whether that was more or less alarming than being paralysed.

He closed his eyes against the blinding pain in his head. When he opened them again, Sister Blake’s smiling face swam into focus above him.

‘You’re awake at last. How are you feeling?’

‘Like I’ve just gone ten rounds with Max Baer.’

‘I’m not really surprised. You took quite a beating. The doctor had to put you under general anaesthetic while he set your fractured pelvis.’

Nick’s eyes widened. ‘I fractured my pelvis?’

‘I told you you took a beating, didn’t I?’

He tried to breathe in, but it felt as if he had several daggers buried in his breastbone. ‘Will I live?’

Sister Blake pretended to consider this. ‘Luckily it was a simple fracture, and there was no damage to the visceral organs,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid you won’t be up and about for a few weeks, but yes, I reckon you’ll live.’ She checked his pulse. ‘Do you feel sick at all?’ He shook his head, then wished he hadn’t as the room rolled like a ship around him. ‘Your pulse is very strong now, so that’s a good sign.’

She set his hand down on the bed. ‘Do you think you’re well enough to receive a visitor? Only there’s someone who’s very anxious to see you.’

He turned his head, his gaze following Sister Blake as she slipped out between the screens. ‘Dora?’ No sooner had the name left his lips than the curtains parted and Ruby appeared.

‘Hello, Nick,’ she said.

‘Ruby.’ He thought he’d hidden his disappointment well, but her expression was wry as she looked down at him.

‘Sorry, were you expecting someone else?’ she asked, mock innocent.

Nick didn’t reply. Ruby looked him up and down. ‘Blimey, I wouldn’t like to see the other bloke!’ she commented.

Nick grimaced. ‘For once I reckon I came off worst.’

‘At least you’re alive, that’s the main thing.’ She sat down on the chair beside his bed. ‘We were all so worried about you.’

He managed a smile. ‘It was nice of you to come.’

‘Well, don’t get too excited, I haven’t come to mop your brow or anything.’ Her tone changed, becoming brittle and businesslike. ‘I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving the flat, going back to live with Mum.’ She pulled a set of keys out of her bag and put them down on the locker. ‘The place is all yours if you want it.’

‘I don’t,’ Nick said. ‘That flat was always your dream, not mine.’

‘A bit like our marriage then!’ she said, with a trace of bitterness.

‘Ruby—’

‘It’s all right, I haven’t come here to get all miserable. I finished crying over spilled milk a long time ago.’ She gave him a tense smile. ‘But if you wouldn’t mind, I’d rather you didn’t move back to Griffin Street. I don’t know if I could stand bumping into you in the back yard every day!’

He shook his head. ‘You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll find lodgings somewhere, once I’m back on my feet.’

‘That’s all right then.’ Ruby’s mouth twisted. ‘I mean, it could get awkward, couldn’t it, if you’re chasing up the stairs all the time, begging me to take you back!’

Nick smiled. Even after everything they’d been through, she could still make him laugh.

But Ruby wasn’t laughing as she looked down at him. Her large blue eyes were swimming with tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted out. ‘I never meant to hurt you, you have to understand that. It was the last thing I wanted.’

‘I know.’

‘Look at me, blubbing like a baby. I’ll ruin my make-up if I’m not careful.’

He watched her mopping her eyes with her handkerchief, being so careful not to smudge her make-up. She wasn’t perfect, but she was a lovely girl and she deserved to be happy.

‘Will you be all right?’ he asked.

‘What do you care?’

‘Of course I care.’

He reached out for her, but she pulled away. ‘Don’t you dare go soft on me, Nick Riley!’ she warned.

She slid off her wedding ring and put it down on the locker beside the keys.

‘Keep it,’ he said.

‘I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.’ She looked at it for a moment, her face wistful. ‘Besides, I expect Dad or the boys would only take it down to the pop shop and pawn it!’

She stood up to leave. ‘Well, I’d best be off. Don’t want to wear out my welcome, do I?’ She looked down at him. ‘But there was one more thing before I go. It’s about Dora.’

He eyed her warily. ‘What about her?’

‘I just wanted you to know, she never wanted to keep that secret. She wanted to tell you the minute she found out, but I begged her not to. You were right, Nick, she’s a good friend. Probably better than I deserve.’ Ruby smiled bravely. ‘I just thought you’d want to know that,’ she said softly.

‘Thank you.’ Nick watched her gathering up her belongings. ‘Be happy, Rube,’ he said.

She gave him a sad smile. ‘I’ll try,’ she promised.

She slipped out through the screens, and he heard her voice saying, ‘He’s all yours.’ Then Dora appeared, dressed in her uniform. Her freckled skin was as pale as her starched white cap, her green eyes anxious.

She looked so straight-laced and formal, Nick’s heart started to pound. She’d changed her mind, he thought. That moment out on Cable Street where she’d kissed him had been a wild, heat-of-the-moment thing. Now she was wondering how to break it to him . . .

He swallowed hard, determined not to make a fool of himself a second time.

‘Don’t ask me how I’m feeling,’ he warned. ‘I’ve only been awake ten minutes, and I’m already sick of it.’

‘It’s my job,’ she said briskly, reaching for the chart at the end of his bed.

‘And is that the only reason you’re interested?’ he asked.

He saw the smile kindling in her eyes and suddenly realised she was as unsure as he was. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

Relief flooded through him. ‘So I didn’t dream it, then? Only I thought I might be imagining what happened – because of the pain, or something.’

‘No, you didn’t dream it.’

He watched as she bustled around, straightening the bedclothes around the frame. ‘So you’re working on this ward, then?’

‘That’s right. I’m on nights.’

He grinned. ‘Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, then? Reckon you can put up with me?’

He caught the mischievous glint in her eyes. ‘We’ll see, won’t we?’

Constance Tremayne didn’t need anyone to point out Simon Latimer. She spotted him immediately, heading towards his Bentley. He looked every inch as arrogant as she’d thought he would, with his affected bow tie and girlish mane of wavy hair. God’s gift to young nurses, in his own mind.

‘Mr Latimer?’

He turned around, frowning. ‘I’m sorry? Have we met?’

‘My name is Constance Tremayne. I am on the Board of Trustees at this hospital.’

‘Mrs Tremayne, of course! Please forgive me.’ Mr Latimer was instantly all smooth charm. He held out his hand, but Constance ignored it. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Nothing, Mr Latimer. I just wanted to get a good look at you, so I know what a lothario looks like.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘A lothario, Mr Latimer. A libertine. A dissolute or licentious man.’

‘Yes, yes, I know what it means! But I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Is that what you said to your wife, when she asked you about Amy Hollins?’

Mr Latimer’s face suffused with colour. ‘That was all a mistake. A misunderstanding,’ he blustered. ‘She was a silly young girl who got the wrong end of the stick—’

‘I don’t disagree she was silly, but I have no doubt you encouraged her in her delusion,’ Constance snapped. ‘And then, when it all came to light, you abandoned her. Now poor Miss Hollins has lost everything while you have got off scot-free. But that’s the way it works, isn’t it? The man always walks away, while the innocent young girl pays the price.’

Mr Latimer’s gaze darted around, making sure no one was listening. ‘Look,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I have no idea why you’ve decided to – ambush me like this, but I can assure you it will serve no useful purpose to drag up this sordid business. I am a respected surgeon in the hospital—’

‘For now,’ Constance put in. ‘But that situation can easily change, can’t it?’

He stared at her, his mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out. ‘Are you threatening me, Mrs Tremayne?’ he managed finally.

‘No, Mr Latimer. But I am giving you fair warning that I will be keeping my eye on you. And if I think you have so much as looked at another young nurse, you can be sure I will bring the might of the Board of Trustees to bear on you. And I can assure you, we will not be nearly so forgiving as your wife!’

‘
PAY ATTENTION, NURSES.
I know this is a very proud moment for you all, but that is no reason to start squawking like parrots. May I remind you, this is still a classroom!’

Sister Parker clapped her hands for silence and surveyed the third-year set for the last time. It seemed like only a few months ago they were fresh-faced eighteen year olds and she was teaching them how to wash their hands properly. Now on their starched collars they all wore the tiny enamel badge of a State Registered Nurse from the Florence Nightingale Hospital.

Her gaze fell on Helen Tremayne – or Dawson, as she was now called – sitting in the front row, her hands folded demurely in front of her. As Sister Parker had predicted, she also had the Nightingale Medal pinned to the bib of her apron.

And never had it been more thoroughly deserved, in Sister Parker’s opinion. The poor girl had been through so much, there was a time when everyone at the hospital had wondered if she would survive. But fortunately she had proved them all wrong. She had returned to the Nightingale filled with new confidence, although her dark brown eyes still had a haunted sadness that Sister Tutor knew would take a long time to heal.

‘Now, Matron will be calling you all into her office in due course, to discuss your future at the Nightingale. For some of you, this may be good news. For others . . .’ She eyed Brenda Bevan, gossiping on the back row as usual. ‘Well, I daresay you have your own plans for the future. But whatever path you take, I hope the training you have received here will stand you in excellent stead. Remember, girls, you are Nightingale Nurses, and that will always mean a great deal, both in the nursing profession and in life.’

She stepped back and allowed her gaze to travel along the rows of faces, memorising every one. Even after more than twenty years as Sister Tutor, she could still remember all the nurses she had trained. Some of them were kind enough to remember her too. They often wrote to her, or came back to the hospital to visit. Many of them had stayed at the Nightingale as ward sisters and staff nurses.