Читать книгу Tabitha in Moonlight - Betty Neels, Бетти Нилс - Страница 7

MISS TABITHA CRAWLEY opened the door of Men’s Orthopaedic ward with the outward calmness of manner for which she was famed throughout St Martin’s Hospital, although inwardly she seethed with the frustration of having to leave her half-eaten supper, combined with the knowledge that within half an hour of going off duty after a tiresome day, it would be her almost certain lot to have to remain on duty to admit the emergency she had just been warned of. She had already calculated that the patient would arrive at about the same time as the night staff, which meant that she would have to admit him, for the night nurses would be instantly caught up in the machinery of night routine and the night sisters would be taking the day reports.

She frowned heavily, an act which did nothing to improve her looks, for her face was unremarkable enough with its undistinguished nose, wide mouth and hazel eyes, whose lashes, of the same pale brown of her hair, were thick enough but lacked both curl and length. Her hair was one of her few good points, for it was long and thick and straight, but as she wore it tidily drawn back into a plaited coil, its beauty was lost to all but the more discerning. Not that many of those she met bothered to look further than her face, to dismiss her as a nice, rather dull girl; if they had looked again they would have seen that she had a good figure and quite beautiful legs. The fact that they didn’t look for a second time didn’t bother Tabitha in the least—indeed, it gave her considerable amusement, for she was blessed with a sense of humour and was able to laugh at herself, which, she reminded herself upon occasion, was a very good thing. She had plenty of friends anyway, and although she was considered something of a martinet on the ward, the nurses liked her, for she was considerate and kind and didn’t shirk a hard day’s work.

Nurse Betts and Mrs Jeffs, the nursing auxiliary, tidying beds at the far end of the ward, watched her neat figure as she walked towards them, and Betts said softly:

‘You know, Mrs Jeffs, she’s got a marvelous shape and a lovely voice. If only she’d do something to her hair…’ She broke off as Tabitha reached them.

‘An emergency,’ she said without preamble. ‘Will you get one of the top beds ready, please? We’d better have him near the office—it’s a compound fracture of tib and fib. He’s eighty years old and he’s been lying for hours before he was discovered. They’re getting some blood into him now, but they won’t do anything until tomorrow morning; he’s too shocked. I’ll lay up a trolley just the same.’ She smiled a little and looked almost pretty.

The trolley done, she went back into the ward to start her last round, an undertaking which she always thought of as the Nightingale touch, but the men seemed to like it and it gave her the chance to wish each of them an individual good night as well as make sure that all was well as she paused for a few seconds by their beds. She started at the top of the ward, opposite to where Nurse Betts and Mrs Jeffs were still busy, coming to a halt beside a bed whose occupant was displaying a lively interest in what was going on. He was a young man of her own age, recovering from the effects of a too hearty rugger scrum, and he grinned at her cheerfully.

‘Hullo, Sister—hard luck, just as you’re due off. Hope it’s someone with a bit of life in ’em.’

‘Eighty,’ said Tabitha crisply, ‘and I fancy he’s the one you should be sorry for. How’s the leg?’

He swung its plastered length awkwardly. ‘Fine. Pity old Sawbones is out of commission, he might have taken this lump of concrete off—I bet the new bloke’ll keep it on for weeks. What’s he like, Sister?’

‘I haven’t an idea,’ said Tabitha, ‘but be sure you’ll do as he says. Now settle down, Jimmy, there’s a good boy.’ Her voice was motherly and he said instantly, just as though she were twice his age: ‘Yes, Sister, OK. Goodnight.’

Tabitha went on down the neat row of beds, pausing by each one to tuck in a blanket or shake a pillow and now and then feel a foot to make sure that its circulation was all it should be.

The ward was almost aggressively Victorian with its lofty ceiling and tall, narrow windows, and the faint breeze of the summer’s evening seemed to emphasise this. Tabitha had a sudden longing to be home, instantly dismissed as she fetched up by Mr Prosser’s bed. Mr Prosser had two broken legs because the brakes on his fish and chip van failed on a steep West Country hill when he was on his way to the more remote villages with his appetising load. Tabitha’s nose twitched at the memory of the reek of fish and chips which had pervaded the ward for hours after his arrival. Even now, several weeks after his admission, the more humorous-minded of his companions in misfortune were apt to crack fishy jokes at his expense. Not that he minded; he was a cockney by birth and had migrated to the West Country several years earlier, satisfying a lifelong urge to live in the country while at the same time retaining his native humour. He said now:

‘’Ullo, ducks. What’s all the bustle about? Some poor perisher cracked ’is legs like yours truly?’

Tabitha nodded. ‘That’s right—but only one. How are the toes?’

‘All there, Sister—I wriggled ’em like you said. How’s ’Is Nibs?’

‘As comfortable as possible. I’ll tell Mr Raynard you enquired, shall I?’

‘Yes—’e’s been ’oist with ’is own…’ he hesitated.

‘Petard,’ finished Tabitha for him. ‘Hard luck, wasn’t it?’

She spoke with genuine sympathy. It was indeed hard luck for the senior orthopaedic surgeon to have fallen down in his own garden and broken his patella into two pieces. He had been brought in late that afternoon and had largely been the cause of Tabitha’s tiresome day, for whereas his patients were willing to lie still and have done to them whatever was necessary for their good, Mr Raynard had felt compelled to order everyone about and even went so far as to say that if he wanted his damn knee properly attended to he’d better get up and do it himself, which piece of nonsense was properly ignored by those ministering to him. He had had the grace to beg everyone’s pardon later on and had even gone so far as to thank God that he was in his own ward and in Tabitha’s capable hands. Having thus made amends he then demanded the portable telephone to be fetched, and ignoring the fact that the staff were longing to get him settled in his bed, had a long conversation, his share of which enabled his hearers to guess without much difficulty that he was arranging for someone to do his work. He laid the receiver down at length and fixed Tabitha with, for him, a mild eye.

‘That’s settled. A colleague of mine has just given up his appointment prior to going on a series of lecture tours, he’s coming down tomorrow to see to this—’ he waved an impatient hand at his splinted knee. ‘He’ll take over for me until I can get about.’ He grinned at her. ‘He’s an easy-going chap—he’ll be a nice change from me, Tabby.’

She had said, ‘Oh yes’ in a neutral voice, thinking privately that probably the new man would be even worse than the other old friend of Mr Raynard’s, who had come for a week when he was down with ’flu. He had been easy-going too—his rounds had been leisurely and totally lacking in instructions to either herself or the houseman, but hours later, usually as she was preparing to go off duty, he would return to the ward, full of splendid ideas which he wanted to put into operation immediately.

She walked on slowly down the ward, passing the time of day with each patient while she wondered why Mr Raynard chose to lie in discomfort and a fair amount of pain until this colleague of his should arrive in the morning, and then remembered that George Steele, his registrar, was out for the evening and wouldn’t be back until very late, and there really wasn’t anyone else.

She was on her way up the other side of the ward now and there were only Mr Pimm and Mr Oscar left before the two empty beds at the top of the ward. She stood between the two men, each of whom had a miniature chess board balanced on their chests, and Mr Pimm rumbled:

‘He’s got me, Sister—it’s taken him the whole evening, but he’s finally done it.’

‘How?’ asked Tabitha, remembering with a grief she still felt keenly the games of chess she and her father had played before he had married again. It was one of the memories she tried her best to forget, and she thrust it aside now and listened intelligently to Mr Oscar’s triumphant explanation before wishing them a cheerful good night and going finally into the cubicle outside her office.

Mr Raynard was waiting for her, looking bad-tempered—something which she ignored, for she had long ago learned not to mind his bristling manner and sharp tongue. Now he asked; ‘Is there something coming in?’

She told him briefly and added: ‘If you’re quite comfortable, sir, I won’t stay—there are several things…I hope you’ll sleep well. You’ve been written up for what you asked for and I hope you’ll take it—you need a good sleep. Nothing after midnight, either, in case you go to theatre early—that depends upon your colleague, I imagine. I shall be here at eight o’clock anyway, and your pre-meds are written up.’

Mr Raynard snorted. ‘All nicely arranged. You’ll go with me to the theatre, of course.’

Tabitha raised her eyebrows. ‘If you insist, sir—though I must remind you that it’s theatre day tomorrow and there’s a list from here to there; you made it out yourself last week.’

Mr Raynard looked sour. ‘Well, you’ve got a staff nurse who’s quite able to carry out your pernickety ideas.’ He added reluctantly, ‘You run the ward so efficiently that it could tick over very well by itself.’

Tabitha looked surprised. ‘Fancy you saying that,’ she remarked cheerfully. ‘I’ll be getting too big for my boots!’ Her too-wide mouth curved into a smile. ‘Just for that, I’ll take you to theatre, sir.’

Her quick ear had caught the sound of trolley wheels coming down the corridor. ‘There’s our patient, I must go.’

The old man on the trolley looked like Father Christmas; he had a leonine head crowned with snow-white hair and his handsome old face was wreathed in whiskers. He groaned a little as he was lifted on to the bed, but didn’t open his eyes. It was a few minutes later, after he had been tucked into the warmed and cradled bed and Tabitha had checked his pulse and turned back to take a second look at him, that she encountered his startlingly blue gaze. She said at once: ‘Hullo, you’re safe and sound in hospital. How do you feel?’

His voice came threadily. ‘Not bad—not bad at all, thank you, Sister.’

She smiled. ‘Good. Then will you close your eyes and go to sleep again? Presently, when you’ve had a rest and a little nap, one of us will answer any questions you may want to ask. Unless there’s anything worrying you now?’

He closed his eyes, and Tabitha looked to the drip and checked his night drugs and was on the point of turning away when he said in a voice which was a little stronger: ‘There are one or two questions. What is the time?’

She told him and he frowned so that she asked quickly: ‘Is there someone who should know you are here? We got your address from your papers in Casualty, but there was no one home when the police called.’

‘My cat—Podger—he’ll wonder what’s happened. My landlady won’t bother. He can’t get out—he’ll starve.’

‘Indeed he won’t,’ said Tabitha instantly. ‘I’m going home in a very few minutes. I live quite close to you, I’ll feed your cat and see what arrangements I can make, so don’t worry.’

He smiled a little. ‘There isn’t anyone…’ he began. He closed his eyes and Tabitha waited for him to say something more, but he didn’t; Pethedine and shock and weariness had carried him off between them to a merciful limbo.

It was almost ten o’clock by the time she left the hospital in her small Fiat. A few minutes’ drive took her through the main streets of the city and into the older, shabbier quarter where she found her patient’s house without difficulty. It was one of a row of two-storied Victorian houses which at one time would have been described as desirable family residences, although now they were let out in flats or rooms.

The woman who answered Tabitha’s knock, had a flat Midlands accent which sounded harsh to Tabitha’s West Country ears. She said stridently:

‘What d’yer want?’ and Tabitha felt a sudden pity for the old man she had just left, and for his cat. She explained why she had called and the woman stood aside to let her in with casual cheerfulness. ‘Upstairs, dear—back room, and I ’opes no one expects me to look after ’is room or that cat of ’is. I’ve enough ter do.’

She opened a door and shuffled through it, shutting it firmly on Tabitha, who, left on her own, went briskly up the stairs and into the back room. She switched on the light, closed the door behind her and looked around. The room was small and very clean, and although most of its furniture was strictly of the sort found in furnished rooms, she was surprised to see what she took to be some good pictures on its walls, and several pieces of Wedgwood and Rockingham china on the mantelpiece. There was a desk in one corner of the room too—a beautiful piece of furniture which she thought to be Sheraton; it bore upon it a small ormolu clock and a pair of silver candlesticks which would probably have paid the rent for a year. It wasn’t her business, anyway. She set about looking for Podger.

He was squeezed under the bed, a large black cat with a worried expression on his moonlike face. She gave him bread and milk which he gobbled noisily and then looked at her for more. It was impossible to leave him alone, at the mercy of anyone who chose to remember him. She gathered him up easily enough and went downstairs and knocked on the landlady’s door. Podger cringed a little as it was opened and Tabitha said more firmly than she had meant to: ‘I’ll look after the cat. Perhaps you would be good enough to lock the door while…’

The woman eyed her with indulgent scorn. ‘Till ’is rent’s due I’ll lock it. After that it’s out with ’is things. I can’t afford to leave me rooms empty.’

Tabitha put a gentle hand on Podger’s bull neck. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll come back tomorrow evening—perhaps something could be arranged.’

She made her escape, and as she settled the trustful Podger beside her in the car her mind was already busy with the problem of what was to be done. The old man must be hard up, even though some of his possessions, if sold, would keep him in comfort for some time. She started the car, and still pondering the problem, went back through the city to the quiet street where she had her flat.

As she parked the car outside the little house, she could see Meg standing in the open door, and as she crossed the road, Podger under one arm, she heard her soft Dorset voice. ‘Miss Tabby, where have you been? It’s all hours—and what’s that you’ve got with you?’

Tabitha shut the street door firmly behind them and opened the door into the flat, then crossed the minute hall and went into the kitchen, where she put Podger on a chair. She said contritely: ‘Meg dear, I’m so sorry. I’ll tell you what happened, but I must feed this poor creature.’ She rummaged around and found some cold ham and gave it to the cat, explaining as she did so. When she had finished, Meg clucked her tongue just as she had always done when Tabitha had been a very little girl and she had been her nanny.

‘Well, what’s done can’t be undone,’ she remarked comfortably, ‘poor old man. Did you get your supper?’

‘No,’ confessed Tabitha, ‘not all of it,’ and was prevailed upon to sit down immediately at the table and given soup while Meg made sandwiches. With her mouth full, she said: ‘You spoil me, Meg. You shouldn’t, you know. You could get a marvelous job with an earl or a lord or someone instead of being cooped up here with me on a wage Father would have been ashamed to offer you.’

Her erstwhile nurse gave her a severe look. ‘And what would I be doing with earls and lords and suchlike? Didn’t I promise your dear mother that I’d look after you, and you didn’t think that I would stay behind when you left home, now did you, miss?’

Tabitha offered Podger a morsel of cheese and jumped up to hug Meg. ‘I’d be lost without you,’ she declared soberly, and then: ‘I don’t want to go to Chidlake on Friday.’

‘You must, Miss Tabitha. It’s your stepsister’s birthday party, and though I know there’s no love lost between you, nor yet that stepmother of yours, you’ve got to go. When you left Chidlake after your father married again you did promise him you’d go back, Christmas and birthdays and suchlike.’

‘Oh, Meg, I know, but Father was alive then. Stepmother and Lilith don’t really want me there.’

‘Maybe not, but it’s your home, Miss Tabby dear, whatever they say—you belong there and they never will. You can’t leave the old house to strangers.’

Tabitha went over to the sink with her plate. She loved her home very much; Meg was right, she couldn’t leave it completely. She said heavily: ‘Of course I’ll go, Meg. Now we’d better go to bed. I’ll take Podger with me, shall I, in case he’s lonely. And don’t get up early, Meg. I’m on at eight and I’ll have plenty of time to get something to eat before I go.’ But Meg was already laying the table for breakfast; Tabitha knew that whatever she said, the older woman would be down before her in the morning, fiercely insisting that she ate the meal she had cooked. She yawned, suddenly tired, ‘Today’s been beastly,’ she observed.

Meg gave her a shrewd look. ‘Tomorrow’s always a better day,’ she stated firmly. ‘Go and have your bath and I’ll bring you up some hot milk—there’s nothing like it for a good night’s sleep.’

But hot milk or not, Tabitha found sleep elusive, perhaps because she had been talking about her home, and doing that had awakened old memories. She had had a happy childhood, accepting her happiness with the blissful, unconscious content of the very young. She had had loving parents, a beautiful home and no cares to spoil her days. She had been happy at school too, and because Chidlake had been in the family for a very long time, she had known everyone in the village as well as a great many people in nearby Lyme Regis. She had been fifteen when her mother died and almost twenty when her father married again, and by then she was a student nurse, living in hospital in the cathedral city some thirty miles away, so that she came home only for days off each week. At least, it had been each week to begin with, but she had come to dread them, for her stepmother made no pretence of her dislike of her and lost no opportunity of poking sly fun at Tabitha’s lack of looks and young men, so that Tabitha, whose placid nature could turn to a fiery rage if sufficiently badgered, had made the journey home less and less frequently, and finally had thankfully qualified and with her increased salary and the small annuity her mother had left her, had set up house for herself in the tiny flat near the hospital. Her father had allowed her to choose enough furniture from Chidlake to take with her, and had raised no demur when Meg had announced that she had appointed herself housekeeper of the small menage.

Tabitha had continued to go to Chidlake from time to time, but after her father’s death she went less and less—and only then because she had promised her father that she would and because she loved the old house so dearly. Sometimes she wondered what would happen to it, for her stepmother disliked it and Lilith hated it; probably it would be sold. When Tabitha allowed herself to think of this she longed to have the money to buy it, for it was, after all, hers by rights and she had been given to understand that her father had asked her stepmother to leave it to his elder daughter when she died. But Tabitha was only too well aware that that would be the last thing she would do, for she had bitterly opposed Tabitha’s inheritance of a few small pieces of furniture and family silver and had ignored his request that she should make provision for Tabitha, although she had been powerless to prevent the payment of Tabitha’s annuity and Meg’s few hundred pounds.

Tabitha sat up in bed, switched on her bedside light and thumped her pillows into greater comfort. It was past twelve o’clock and she had to be up soon after six, but she had never felt so wide awake. She gazed around the room, soothed by its charm. Although small, the few pieces of furniture it contained showed up to advantage and the pink shade of the lamp gave the white walls a pleasant glow. She began to think about the weekend. Lilith’s party was to be a big affair, and although she disliked Tabitha almost as much as her mother did, she had invited her with an outward show of friendliness because, after all, Tabitha knew a great many people around Chidlake; they would find it strange if she wasn’t present. At least she had a new dress for the occasion—a green and blue shot silk with a tiny bodice, its low-cut neck frilled with lace and the same lace at the elbow-length sleeves. She had tried it on several times during the last week and had come to the conclusion that while she was unlikely to create a stir, she would at least be worth a glance.

Tired of lying awake, she rearranged her pillows once more, and Podger, who had settled at the end of her bed, opened a sleepy eye, yawned, stretched and then got up and padded across the quilt to settle against her. He was warm—too warm for the time of year, but comforting too. She put an arm round his portly little body and went to sleep.

She went to take a look at her newest patient as soon as she had taken the report the next morning, and found him more himself. He stared at her with his bright old eyes and said quite strongly: ‘I’ve seen you before—I’m afraid I wasn’t feeling quite myself.’ He held out a rather shaky hand and she shook its frail boniness gravely. ‘John Bow,’ he said.

‘Tabitha Crawley,’ said Tabby, and gave him a nice smile. ‘I’m glad to hear that you’ve had quite a good night—the surgeon will be along directly to decide what needs to be done.’

He nodded, not much interested. ‘Podger?’ he enquired.

She explained, glossing over the landlady’s observations and telling him that they would have a little talk later on, before she crossed the ward to Mr Raynard’s cubicle. He greeted her so crossly that she asked:

‘What’s the matter, sir? You sound put out.’

‘My knee’s the matter. I’ve hardly closed my eyes all night.’

Tabitha looked sympathetic, aware from the report that he had wakened for a couple of short periods only, but there was no point in arguing.

‘I expect it seemed like all night,’ she observed kindly.

‘Bah! I told that fool of a night nurse to get me some more dope and she had the temerity to refuse because it wasn’t written up.’

Tabitha took up a militant stance at the foot of his bed, ready to do battle on behalf of the night staff, who was a good girl anyway and knew what she was about.

‘Nurse Smart did quite right, and well you know it, sir. A fine pickle we’d all be in if we handed out pills to any patient who asked for them. And you are a patient, Mr Raynard.’

He glared at her. ‘When I’m on my feet I’ll wring your neck…’ he began, and stopped to laugh at someone behind her. She turned without haste; it would be George Steele, zealously coming to enquire about his chief—probably the new man had let him know what time the list would start and poor old George had had to get up early. It wasn’t poor old George but a stranger; a tall, well-built man with a craggy, handsome face, pale sandy hair brushed back from a high forehead and calm grey eyes. He was wearing slacks and a cotton sweater and she had the instant impression that he was casual to the point of laziness. He said ‘Hi there’ to Mr Raynard before his eyes moved to meet hers, and then: ‘Have I come all the way from Cumberland just in time to prevent you committing murder, Bill?’

Mr Raynard stopped laughing to say: ‘I threaten the poor girl all the time, don’t I, Tabby? This is Marius van Beek—Marius, meet Miss Tabitha Crawley, who rules this ward with a rod of iron in a velvet glove.’

Tabitha looked at him, her head on one side. ‘You’ve got it wrong,’ she observed. ‘It’s an iron hand in a velvet glove.’

Mr Raynard frowned at her. ‘Woman, don’t argue. Your hand isn’t iron—it’s soft and very comforting, if you must know.’

Tabitha said with equanimity: ‘Well, I never—how kind,’ and turned belatedly to Mr van Beek. ‘How do you do, sir?’ She half smiled as she spoke, thinking how delightful it would be if she were so pretty that he would really look at her and not just dismiss her with a quick glance as just another rather dull young woman wrapped up in her work, so she was all the more surprised when he didn’t look away but stared at her with a cool leisure which brought a faint pink to her cheeks. He said at length in an unhurried deep voice that held the faintest trace of an accent:

‘How do you do, Miss Crawley. You must forgive me for coming without giving you proper notice, but I was told it was so very urgent.’

He glanced at Mr Raynard, his sandy eyebrows raised, and Mr Raynard said hastily:

‘It is—you’re a good chap to come, Marius. Tabby, go away and whip up your nurses or whatever you do at this hour of the day and come back in half an hour. See that George is with you.’

Tabitha took these orders with a composure born of several years’ association with Mr Raynard. She went to the door, saying merely: ‘As you wish, sir. If you should want a nurse you have only to ring.’

She went away, resisting a desire to take a good look at Mr van Beek as she went. Half an hour later she was back again, her neat appearance giving no clue as to the amount of work she had managed to get through in that time. She stood quietly by George Steele, nothing in her plain little face betraying the delightful feeling of excitement she was experiencing at the sight of Mr van Beek, leaning against a wall with his hands in his pockets; he looked incapable of tying his own shoelaces, let alone putting broken bones together again. He half smiled at her, but it was Mr Raynard who spoke.

‘Tabby, let me have my pre-med now, will you? The list will start at ten o’clock, so take Mar—Mr van Beek to see the other cases now, straight away.’ He winced in pain. ‘Remember you’re coming to theatre with me, Sister Crawley.’

When he called her Sister Crawley like that she knew better than to answer back, even mildly. She said: ‘Of course, sir,’ and after passing on the news to Rogers, led the way into the ward with George Steele beside her and Mr van Beek strolling along behind as though he had all day.

She went straight to the cases which were already listed because she knew how Mr Bow would need to be talked over and looked at before it was decided if and when he was to have his bones set. She didn’t think they would keep him waiting long though, because now that he had come out of shock it would be safe to operate. Surprisingly, Mr van Beek, despite his lazy appearance, seemed to have a very active mind, for he grasped the salient points of each case as they were put forward, so that they were standing by Mr Bow’s bed much sooner than she had dared to hope. The old man opened his eyes as they approached the bed and a look of such astonishment came over his face that Tabitha glanced at the two men with her to find the reason, to find the same expression reflected upon Mr van Beek’s handsome features. He said an explosive word in a language which certainly wasn’t English and exclaimed: ‘Knotty, by all that’s wonderful! It must be years….’ He put out a great hand and engulfed Mr Bow’s gently in it and went on:

‘The last time I heard from you was—let me see, five years ago—you were in Newcastle, because I wrote to you there and never had an answer.’

Mr Bow smiled. ‘And now I’m here, and I hope you will be able to stick me together again.’

Mr van Beek gave him a long, thoughtful look. ‘Yes, we’ll have a long talk later, but now tell me what happened to you.’

He listened with patience to Mr Bow’s meticulous and long-winded account of his accident, which included a great deal of superfluous information about Podger and a corollary concerning Tabitha’s thoughtfulness of his pet’s welfare, during the telling of which Mr van Beek said nothing at all, but stared very hard at Tabitha when Mr Bow got to the part about her rescue of Podger. Only when the old man at last fell silent, he remarked kindly:

‘Well, don’t worry, we’ll get things sorted out for you—Podger is in good hands and I’m sure Sister will be able to arrange something about your rooms.’ And Tabitha’s heart warmed to him for making it sound as if Mr Bow rented something well-furnished in the best part of the city. The surgeon went on: ‘The important thing is to get this leg of yours seen to as soon as possible, Knotty.’

He turned to George Steele and they examined the X-rays together, then Tabitha turned back the bedclothes and they looked at the bony old leg under its cage. Finally Mr van Beek said: ‘We’ll do Mr Bow after Mr Raynard, Sister.’ He was writing as he spoke and when he had handed the chart to George Steele he looked directly at her. ‘An open reduction and plaster, I think,’ he glanced briefly at the Registrar and received a nodded agreement, ‘and I should count it as a favour if you would take Mr Bow to theatre, Sister—he’s a very old friend of mine.’

Tabitha rearranged the bedclothes. ‘Yes, of course,’ she answered matter-of-factly, aware at the same time that she would have to change her off duty with Staff Rogers to do so, but perhaps that was a good thing anyway, because then she could go to Mr Bow’s lodgings on her way home—there would be a better chance of seeing the landlady in the evening.

Mr van Beek disappeared soon after and Tabitha, caught up in the ward routine, had no time to think about him, but presently, on her way to theatre with a determinedly chatty Mr Raynard, he was brought to her notice by that gentleman remarking on the coincidence of Mr Bow being Marius’s tutor at Cambridge. ‘Lost touch with each other,’ droned Mr Raynard, faintly drowsy. ‘Marius tells me they used to do a lot of sailing together—that would be getting on for twenty years ago.’ He cocked a hazy eye at Tabitha walking beside the trolly. ‘Marius is thirty-eight,’ he offered.

‘Indeed?’ Tabitha wedged herself into the lift with the rest of the theatre party and sought for something to say. ‘Quite old,’ she ventured.

‘At the height of his not inconsiderable success and a distinguished career,’ snapped Mr Raynard, having a little difficulty with the long words. ‘How old are you, Tabby?’

She gave him a rather blank look and he added: ‘You can safely tell me, for I’m doped; I shall never remember.’

‘I don’t really mind if you do. I’m twenty-five.’

‘Just? Or almost twenty-six?’

Tabitha frowned. How like a man to make her feel older than she was! ‘Twenty-five,’ she repeated. ‘Today.’

The porters, who had been listening, chorused ‘Happy birthday, Sister’, and she thanked them; Mr Raynard, with a tongue rapidly becoming too large for his mouth, said: ‘Yes, yes, of course. I shouldn’t be surprised if you haven’t been given the best birthday present of your life.’ Which remark Tabitha took little notice of because, as he himself had said, Mr Raynard was doped. In the anaesthetic room a few minutes later, Mr van Beek, looking massive in a rubber apron, came to have a last word with his patient. Mr Raynard opened his eyes, said clearly, ‘Birthday’ and closed them again, and the anaesthetist, pushing a needle into his colleague’s arm, remarked, ‘What a way to spend it!’ Tabitha, gowned and masked, saw no reason to enlighten him as to whose birthday it was. He winked at her over his mask. ‘Coming in to hold his hand, Tabby?’ he wanted to know. ‘Hard luck on Mrs Raynard—she only went to her mother’s yesterday, didn’t she?’

Tabitha nodded. ‘Yes, and Mr Raynard didn’t want her to know, but I telephoned her just now while he and Mr van Beek were talking on the ward. He’ll kill me when he finds out, but someone had to tell her. She’s on her way back now—with any luck she’ll be here by the time he comes round from the anaesthetic. He’ll be very happy to see her.’

The anaesthetist nodded; Mr Raynard was a happily married man and made no secret of the fact, although Tabitha had often wondered privately if he growled and grumbled at his wife and children in the same way as he growled and grumbled at her.

They went into the theatre then and the white-clad figures rearranged themselves in a group around the operating table—rather like cricket, thought Tabby, taking up her prescribed place by the patient’s head and handing necessary odds and ends to the anaesthetist a second before he asked for them. She was very aware of Mr van Beek on the opposite side of the table, although she didn’t look at him. Instead, she concentrated on the operation and could only admire the way the surgeon wired the patella’s two pieces back into one again. Watching him, she found it strange that only an hour previously she had thought him lazy; he worked fast and neatly and without fuss while he carried on a casual conversation which had nothing at all to do with the work in hand. He was just as quick putting on the plaster too and far neater than Mr Raynard would have been, for he invariably became bad-tempered and tended to get plaster on everything and everyone around him, which Mr van Beek didn’t. When finally he had finished he said: ‘OK, Sister, you know what to do. I’ll be down later,’ and walked over to the sink without looking at her.

They were going to have coffee before the next case, and Theatre Sister, who was one of her closest friends, said: ‘I’ll give you a ring when we’re ready, Tabby—I say, I like the stand-in. Lucky you, seeing him every day. Is he married?’ She was helping Tabitha drape the blanket over the patient and smiled across at her, and Tabitha, looking at her, thought for a second time that morning that it would be nice to be pretty, even half as pretty as Sue, whose blue eyes were laughing at her now.

‘I don’t know,’ she answered, ‘but I should think so, wouldn’t you? I mean, he could take his pick, couldn’t he?’

Sue laughed. ‘I’m going to find out,’ she said as she went back into the operating theatre.

Tabitha was surprised to have a summons to bring Mr Bow to theatre within five minutes of her returning to the ward with Mr Raynard. She barely had time to see him safely into his bed and station a nurse at his side before she was accompanying Mr Bow in his turn. She had imagined that Sue, with her blue eyes and pretty face, would have been reason enough for Mr van Beek to spend at least ten minutes getting to know her better. Perhaps he was married after all.

She saw Sue for a few seconds when they reached theatre, and although they were unable to speak Sue frowned and made a face beneath her mask which Tabitha took to mean disappointment of some sort, but she dismissed the subject from her mind as the anaesthetist signaled her to hold Mr Bow’s arm steady. The operation took longer than she had expected, but both bones were broken and badly splintered and there was a lot of cleaning up to do before the wound could be partially closed and plaster applied to the leg. This time Mr van Beek made a little window above the wound so that it could be observed and dressed, and in the course of time, have its stitches out.

It was half past eleven by the time she returned to the ward for the second time and sent the next case up with Nurse Betts in attendance. She had a hasty word with Staff Rogers about off-duty, sent her to keep an eye on Mr Bow, and went herself to see how Mr Raynard fared. His wife, a small dark woman, pretty and elegant, had just arrived. She turned a worried face to Tabitha as she entered the cubicle and whispered: ‘Hullo, Tabitha—thanks for letting me know. Aren’t men awful sometimes?’

Tabitha didn’t answer, because she didn’t know enough about men to give an opinion, and in any case she imagined that Mrs Raynard’s idea of awful meant having a husband who loved her so much that he couldn’t bear to upset her when he fell down and broke his kneecap. She said instead:

‘Mr Raynard said you weren’t to be told, so he’ll probably be very annoyed when he comes round—not at you, of course. I’ll be close by if he wants to blast me.’

She went away again to confer with Rogers over Mr Bow, and then at Mrs Jeff’s insistence, to drink a quick cup of coffee while she wrote up the treatment book, telephoned the hospital laundry and spoke sternly about the lack of draw-sheets on the ward, ironed out the difficulties of the two junior nurses who both wanted the same day off, and then, with a resigned and quick look in the little mirror hanging on the wall of her office, went back into the ward. Mr Raynard had come round; she could hear his wife talking to him. She went into his cubicle and met his baleful, still cloudy eyes.

His tongue was still unmanageable, he mumbled: ‘You’re nothing but a despot, Tabby. I said…’

Tabitha interposed: ‘Yes, I know. I disobeyed you—I’m sorry, but isn’t it nice to wake up and find Mrs Raynard here?’

He closed his eyes. ‘Yes, dammit, it is.’ Mrs Raynard looked across the bed and smiled at her, and Tabitha took his pulse and smiled back.

Mr Bow was coming round too. Tabitha sent Rogers to get the ward cleared for dinner and to look at the patient just back from theatre, and went to see the next one safely on his way; there was only one more now, with any luck, they would all be back soon after one o’clock. She went back to Mr Bow and found his eyes wide open while he frowned at the big cradle in the bed, under which his plastered leg was drying out. ‘Hullo,’ said Tabitha cheerfully, ‘everything’s finished and you’re back in bed—your leg’s in plaster and I expect it feels a little strange.’ She took his pulse and was charting it when Mr van Beek came in. He nodded at her, half-smiling. ‘Everything all right?’ he wanted to know.

She told him in precise terms of pulse and temperature and blood pressure and he nodded again. ‘Good—I’ll just go and see Bill.’

‘His wife’s with him.’

‘Muriel? I thought I heard her voice. Splendid, I’ll have a word with her. Don’t come—you must have enough to do.’

She was serving dinners in the kitchen when he put his head round the door. ‘The last case will be back in twenty minutes, Sister. Steele’s doing it. I’ll come in again later on today. Steele will be around if you want anything.’

She nodded as she spooned fish on to the light diet’s plates. He asked: ‘When are you off?’

Tabitha added potato puree to the fish and said vaguely: ‘Oh, this evening—Staff Nurse Rogers will be here…’ She was interrupted by a subdued crash from the ward. ‘Go and see what that is, Nurse Williams,’ she said calmly, ‘and take a peep at Mr Bow on your way.’ She raised her eyes to the man waiting patiently at the door. ‘Staff will be on until nine o’clock—if you want anyone after that there’s Night Nurse…and Night Sister, of course.’ She was interrupted once more by Nurse Williams bearing a horrid mess of stew and broken plate on a tray.

‘Mr Bow’s fine, Sister. This is Mr Prosser’s and he’s very sorry. It slipped.’

Tabitha ladled stew, wondering why Mr van Beek still stood watching. ‘Do you want something, sir?’ she enquired politely, half her mind on dinners.

He gave her a pleasant smile. ‘Yes, Sister, but it can wait.’ He was gone, leaving her to fret over the prunes and custard as to what exactly it was that he wanted, and whether it was something she hadn’t got on the ward. Perhaps Sue would know; he might have said something to her. She would ask her at dinner.

Sue, although willing enough, was unhelpful. ‘I’ve no idea,’ she said. ‘He used the usual instruments; he’s fussy, but nice about it, and all orthopaedic surgeons are anyway. I tried to find out something about him, but he was closer than an oyster. He’s a dear, though—a bit quiet; a pity, because he’s got a lovely gravelly voice, hasn’t he? Are you on or off?’

‘On—I changed with Rogers because Mr Raynard wanted me to go to theatre—my morning was ruined!’

‘Never mind, Tabby, it’s your weekend.’

‘So it is,’ Tabitha replied gloomily.

The afternoon went in a flash. It was tea time before she had the opportunity to have a word with Mr Bow, who had made a surprisingly quick recovery from his anaesthetic and had asked for tea. She gave it to him, sip by sip, while they decided what to do.

‘I’ll have Podger,’ said Tabitha, ‘he’s no trouble. It’s your room I’m worried about. Do you want to keep it on?’

She could have bitten her tongue out the moment she had said it, because he answered with faint despair: ‘Where else can I go?’

Before she could make a satisfactory answer, Mr van Beek spoke from behind her.

‘I hope you’ll give me the pleasure of staying with me when you leave hospital, Knotty. We have several years to talk over, have we not? Besides, I need to pick your brains concerning several ideas which have been simmering…. Why not give up your room? I can easily arrange to have your furniture stored.’

Mr Bow looked bewildered. ‘But, my dear boy, I don’t even know where you live.’

‘Near enough,’ said the dear boy cryptically, ‘and when the time comes we can collect Podger.’

Mr Bow smiled. ‘It sounds delightful.’

‘Good—we’ll fix things for you, if you’ll leave it all to us. Now I’m going to ask Sister to get someone to settle you so that she can give you something for that niggling pain.’

He lifted a languid hand in salute and crossed the ward to Mr Raynard’s cubicle, and presently Tabitha heard him laughing there. He had a pleasant laugh, almost a chuckle. She sighed without reason, smiled at Mr Bow and went to find a nurse so that she could accompany Mr van Beek on his ward round. Afterwards, he went back to Mr Raynard again and Tabitha left them talking because it was time for her to go off duty and Rogers had to have the report. It didn’t take long, for Rogers had only been away for the afternoon hours; Tabitha gave her the keys, put on her cuffs, took off her apron, and with it tucked under one arm, wished everyone a good evening and started off down the corridor. She was a quarter of the way down its length when the ward door flapped open and shut behind her and Mr van Beek’s voice brought her to a halt. She turned round to face him and asked ‘Now what?’ in a resigned voice so that he smiled and said:

‘Nothing—at least nothing to do with the ward. I was wondering—’ he sounded diffident, ‘if you’re going to see about Mr Bow’s rent and so forth, if I might come with you. Perhaps the landlady…?’ He paused delicately and Tabitha thought that he must have possessed himself of quite a lot of inside information about Mr Bow’s circumstances. It would indeed be helpful if he were to parley with the landlady. She said thoughtfully:

‘Yes, I think it might be easier if you were to see her. I was going now, on my way home—I could give you a lift.’

‘Your car? Can you leave it here—we’ll use mine. Are you on duty early tomorrow?’

‘No, not until eleven. I suppose I could catch a bus.’

‘Right, that’s settled.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Twenty minutes’ time, then—the staff car park.’ He went back into the ward without waiting for her to answer.

Tabitha went to the changing room and changed into the pale blue jersey dress she had worn to work that morning, wishing at the same time that she had worn something more eye-catching. Not that she had any hope of Mr van Beek’s grey eyes resting on her for more than a few moments. How wonderful it would have been, she thought, if he had asked her out, not just to show him where Mr Bow lived, but because she was lovely to look at and amusing. She uttered an impatient sigh, tugged the pins impatiently from her hair and re-did it even tighter than usual, taking a perverse satisfaction in adding to the mediocrity of her appearance.