Nurse Angela Page 11

  And after she had gone, Helen Lindsay sat for a long time gazing into the fire. Then she got out her writing case and wrote a letter to Suzette LeFeure.

  “Well, Sister, did you have a good holiday?” Matron asked as Angela, once more in uniform, stood before her desk ready to take the report.

  “Yes, thank you, Matron.”

  Matron looked at her shrewdly. “I understand you went alone. Weren’t you lonely?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Hm. You’re about as communicative as Dr. LeFeure. We don’t even know where he went. In fact, his holiday doesn’t seem to have done him much good. He was almost rude this morning when I asked him about it.”

  Angela felt her heart begin to beat uncomfortably and was glad when she saw Matron shrug her shoulders, dismissing the subject, and drop her eyes to the report book.

  “Well, I expect you’ll soon get to know the new patients, Sister. There are quite a few new children, but there’s nothing seriously wrong with them. Most of them are from the Royal and are convalescent. I’ve asked the day sisters to leave the new case sheets out for you. Oh, and by the way, I’ve been busy on the change list while you’ve been away. There’s a rough draft in my drawer if you want to look at it. I shall want your report on your present staff.” She rose. “Well, good night, Sister. Dr. LeFeure will be on the night round and I wish you luck.”

  Angela smiled. She had ceased to be shocked or surprised at Matron’s lack of professional ethics.

  “Good night, Matron. I only hope he gives me time to do a proper round. It will take me a little longer tonight.”

  When Matron had gone, Angela read the report and made a few notes, then started off on her round. It was a full, but enjoyable one. The nurses seemed pleased to see her back and all asked interested questions about her holiday. So also did those of the patients whom she knew. Mrs. Taylor, the heart case, had gone home and John Baslow, the case of osteomyelitis who had been discovered to have diabetes, was up and about, helping the night nurse give out drinks.

  “Well, John, how goes it?” she asked. “I see you’re rid of the splint.”

  He grinned. “Yes, rather. That’s cleared up now. And thanks to you, I don’t need insulin for the diabetes. That is, if I stick to my diet, which I shall do. I’m going home day after tomorrow. I’m glad I’ve seen you before I go.”

  “It’s been a long time, John.”

  “Yes, I know. But you can’t hurry these things if you want a decent future.”

  “Very sensible. I wish all patients thought like that. And what about your job? Do you have one to go back to?”

  He shook his head. “But I’m young, Sister. I shall soon get going again. Actually, I had just passed my A.E. Mech. I exam when this trouble started. And I’ve managed to save a little money, strangely enough. It’s astonishing how you can save when attending school almost every night.”

  “No girlfriend?”

  His eyes wrinkled into a new smile. “Oh, yes, rather. We had a night out about once a week. She was going to night school too, that is, in the winter. She’s interested in languages—works in a travel agency.”

  “Well, good luck to you both, John, and I’m very glad you’ve done so well.”

  The two operation cases of that morning were fairly comfortable and it looked like a quiet night ahead, but one never knew. When she reached her office again, Simon was sitting in the small armchair in the corner smoking his pipe. He smiled and half rose as she entered.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting, Doctor,” she said. “But of course, being away, it took me longer than usual to do the round.”

  He waved her apology aside. “Don’t worry, Sister. I’ve not been waiting long. I’ve read the report. There’s nothing particularly exciting is there?”

  “No, not really.” She stood by the desk, uncertain.

  “Do sit down ... Angela,” he said quietly.

  She avoided his gaze, feeling somehow unnatural and awkward in his presence after those last few days in Paris. When she spoke, her voice sounded cool and distant.

  “It feels very good indeed, Doctor, and there are some aspects of Paris I would very much rather forget.”

  As the last words came out, she was surprised herself. It was as if they had sprung unbidden from some hidden recess in her brain. The muscles around Simon’s mouth hardened and the hand holding the pipe stiffened, showing white at the knuckles.

  Then the telephone shrilled and when she lifted the receiver, Roger’s voice reached even Simon’s ears quite distinctly over the wire. He turned and strode out of the office leaving his tea untouched.

  “Are you there, Angela?” came Roger’s voice.

  “Yes, yes, I’m here.”

  “Oh, you were so quiet, I thought you’d gone somewhere,” he laughed.

  “Actually, Dr. LeFeure was still here. You’re a little early aren’t you?”

  “No, I don’t think so. It’s 11 and you’re usually finished by now. Anyway, surely Simon doesn’t mind my phoning now that you’re friends?”

  “But we’re not.”

  “Why is that. Have you had an argument or something?”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s just that ... well, we’re back on duty now, that’s all.”

  “Oh, well, I must say your profession is beyond me. Even you’re beyond me at times, darling. But when am I going to see you, that’s the main thing.”

  “Not tomorrow, Roger. I hardly ever feel up to going out after my first night on duty.”

  He did not reply immediately, then she heard voices and he muttered, “Damn.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Debbie and Milly have just come in. I’ll give you a call tomorrow, darling. Same time. Bye—”

  She was going to ask him to wait until she phoned him, but hearing Debbie’s affected voice, she changed her mind and just bade him good night.

  When Angela went off duty the next morning, she decided to give Roger a call from the public telephone in the residence, choosing a time when everybody was on duty and the place virtually deserted.

  Roger was surprised. “Hello, darling. Is there anything wrong? I was going to call you tonight.”

  “No, there’s nothing wrong, and I expected you would call tonight, but I didn’t want you to phone while Simon was in the office. Not that you would do it deliberately, of course,” she said hastily, feeling that she was making heavy weather of it. “But I didn’t want to take the risk.”

  “I don’t understand. Does it mean you don’t want me to phone you at nights at all now?”

  “No, of course it doesn’t. But I don’t want Simon—and I must start calling him Dr. LeFeure again—to think I’m presuming on our rather forced friendship in Paris.”

  “Darling,” Roger said in a puzzled voice. “Surely he hasn’t been making things ... well, awkward for you since you came back? It all seems to me like a lot of fuss about nothing.”

  “Roger, you don’t understand,” she said desperately. “It’s a matter of professional etiquette, that’s all.”

  Roger laughed briefly. “Well, all I can say is, I hope I never do understand it.” He paused. “When is your night off?”

  “Next Monday, and Tuesday, of course.”

  “Oh, what a pity you haven’t one this week. I have two complimentary tickets for the ballet. It’s on this week at the Empire.”

  “Sorry, Roger. This week is hopeless for me. Why not take Milly?”

  “Um, I don’t know. I wanted to take you. When can you come to the apartment? It seems ages since I saw you properly. Couldn’t you come to tea, if you go to bed right now? In fact, if you give me a call when you wake up, by the time you’re ready, I can be around to pick you up.”

  “That’s good of you, Roger. Thank you. I’ll do that.”

  She had a bath and got into bed, putting out a notice to be called at four-thirty. Having had no sleep the previous day, she fell asleep immediately and did not open her eyes again until t
he maid brought her a tray of tea—a privilege accorded to her as night sister, which she so appreciated. She took a few sips to waken her, then phoned Roger as promised.

  She was walking down the drive toward the gate where Roger had arranged to wait when she caught up with Sister Hughes. “Good afternoon, Sister. Is it your day off?”

  Sister Hughes gave her a brief, cool glance before muttering, “Afternoon.”

  Her lips barely moved, and Angela looked at her in surprise. She knew Grace Hughes had no great liking for her, but her attitude at the moment amounted almost to a snub.

  Angela had been about to offer her a lift into town in Roger’s car, but Sister Hughes quickened her pace as if to shake her off. They were nearing the gate, so Angela let the thought pass. Roger was waiting and the unfriendliness of the older woman was forgotten in the midst of his gay, infectious humor.

  “Well?” he said as they drove along. “Has Paris finally settled your craving for excitement?”

  “Who said I had any craving for excitement?” she protested laughingly. “I merely went for a holiday. In fact, I think it would be a good idea to go abroad for a holiday every year,” she finished defiantly.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Is that so?”

  “Yes, that’s so,” she mimicked, adding “I need to broaden my outlook.”

  Roger laughed wickedly. “You can broaden your outlook right here in Lockerfield. You need only mix with some of the gang. And there’s me—”

  “Wolf! I said broaden my outlook, not my mind. In any case, there’s nothing any of your ‘gang" can teach me that I really want to know.”

  “Ho, ho—”

  “Roger, I didn’t mean—”

  “Darling, I know you didn’t. They’re not a bad crowd, really. A bit unconventional, perhaps, but—”

  “Debbie and Milly came around to the apartment last night, didn’t they?”

  “Yes. I like Milly, but Debbie ... well, she was particularly catty last night.”

  “What about?”

  “Your trip to Paris mostly.

  Angela gave him a look of inquiry, but he was staring straight ahead and made no attempt to elaborate.

  “Did it upset you?” she asked.

  “No, not really. But, of course, I’m madly jealous of Simon LeFeure.”

  She laughed. Roger’s refreshing honesty always seemed to take the sting out of things.

  “You surely aren’t serious about that?”

  He looked at her. “I suppose not, really. From what you said on the phone this morning, I gather I don’t need to be any longer.”

  “No, you don’t ... even if you ever did,” she said, a queer ache in her heart.

  At the apartment, Roger showed her some new drawings—humorous ones to illustrate an unusually witty article in a magazine. Among them were some serious ones of Milly.

  “Just practice,” he told her. “You know, Milly might have gone to Paris with you if you’d asked her.”

  “Did she say so? I wish I’d thought of it, but it never occurred to me.”

  It was not until he drew up outside the hospital gates in time for Angela to change into her uniform for duty that he said, “Simple but serious question coming up, Angela. Are you going to marry me, and if so, how soon?”

  Angela caught her breath. She had not thought to have to make this decision so quickly.

  Roger put his hand on hers. “You don’t have to answer this minute. I’m going away for a day or two. If you could see me next Monday evening and let me know then?” He stared ahead for a minute. “I know you’ve been undecided, but I think the time has come to know one way or the other. I’m not finding it easy, and I’d rather know the worst ... or, I hope, the best.”

  “Of course. Roger. I understand.”

  He looked at her. “Still not sure, are you?” he said wryly. “Well, I’ll call for you about one o’clock Monday. All right?”

  “Yes. And thank you, Roger. You are a dear, really.”

  He gave her a long, quizzical look, then gave her arm a gentle squeeze and said good night.

  Since her return from Paris Angela had shrunk subconsciously from making this decision. She had thought, in a vague kind of way, to first cure herself of the infatuation she felt for Simon, for that, she told herself firmly, was all that it was. Perhaps once she had made up her mind about Roger it would be easier to fight this thing. She was fond of Roger—many women had married on less feeling. Love would grow, she felt sure, once she could forget Simon. She was more than fond of Roger; she could almost say she loved him. There was not a single thing about him that she didn’t like. He had intimated that he wanted their wedding to be soon, a honeymoon in October or November. Her heart gave a sickening twist and something like a sob escaped her. Angrily she wiped away the tears that threatened to spill as she made her decision to say “yes” to Roger.

  Her cloak over her shoulders and her small, personal case in her hand she walked in to the hospital.

  "Good evening, Sister,” Matron said with unusual coolness and an even cooler look.

  Angela wondered what was wrong. “Good evening, Matron.” Matron gave her a brief report of the day, then startled her by saying, “I hear you and Dr. LeFeure were in Paris together, Sister.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Angela caught her breath. “What ... what did you say, Matron?”

  Matron pursed her lips. “You heard perfectly well what I said, Sister. It was brought to my ears this morning. I daresay that, by now, the whole hospital is talking. And I don’t like it, Sister. Not one bit.”

  “It was brought to you this morning? But how could it be? I don’t understand.”

  “You should be more careful when you’re talking on the telephone. But that is unimportant...”

  Angela’s mind flew back to her telephone conversation with Roger that morning. There had been no one in sight at the time. In any case, who would go tattling to Matron?

  “The important thing is,” Matron was saying, “that there has been unsavory gossip in the hospital about two people in positions of authority. Yourself and Dr. LeFeure.”

  “I’ve heard nothing of it.”

  Matron gave her a sharp look. “Of course you haven’t. You’ve been asleep in bed most of the day. In any case, the person—or persons—gossiped about are the last ones to hear it. It was a most unwise and indiscreet thing for you to do, to say the least. Going off to Paris like that—”

  Angela wondered exactly how much Matron knew, or thought she knew. There had certainly been no details in her telephone conversation.

  “—and I told Dr. LeFeure so myself,” Matron concluded.

  “So you spoke to Dr. LeFeure about it?” Angela murmured.

  “Naturally, though not until a great deal of damage had been done. Why you had to be so mysterious about everything, I don’t know. I don’t listen to gossip as you know, Sister—” Angela could barely suppress a smile at this, agitated though she was. “But,” Matron continued, “I have a right to know what is going on in my own hospital. As a matter of fact, Sister, had it not been for Dr. LeFeure telling me about your engagement, I would have asked for your resignation.”

  “My ... my engagement?” How did Simon know she was about to become engaged to Roger? He must have guessed. But in any case—

  “Yes,” Matron broke once more into her thoughts. “And I suppose I must congratulate you, but why you had to keep it so quiet is a mystery to me. You don’t even wear a ring.”

  “Well ... I ... we haven’t got around to that yet.” It rather looked as though her mind had been made up for her, she thought. Roger would be delighted. “In any case, Matron, I wouldn’t wear it on duty.”

  Matron shrugged and reached for her cloak.

  “Well, it’s very regrettable that it should have come out in this way. Besides, I hate changes, especially in my Night Sister and you’ll probably be leaving soon. Unless, of course, he doesn’t mind his wife working. But then, there’s always a chanc
e of starting a family, so you’re bound to leave sooner or later. The whole thing is most upsetting, anyway, and I do think you might have told me yourself. Ah well, good night to you, Sister.”

  “Good night, Matron.”

  Angela sat down at the desk and stared with unseeing eyes at the report. So in spite of their attempt to keep quiet about the journey to Paris, it had leaked out, and of course, it had been greatly embellished. And Simon had told Matron she was engaged. That too, no doubt, would be all over the hospital by now. She suddenly wanted to cry. Not because the hospital would be buzzing with news of her engagement to Roger, but because it was Simon himself who had put the final word to the end of their chapter.

  She forced her eyes to read the report on the desk, and noted thankfully that there was very little change. She would do a quick round and be in the office tonight before Simon came. Not that she wanted any lengthy discussion on the matter, she thought wretchedly, but there was sure to be some small explanations called for. Suddenly she colored. Supposing he thought she herself had talked about their time in Paris? It. would depend on what Matron had told him. It was true they had never actually discussed the necessity of not letting people know they were traveling to Paris together, but she had taken it for granted that he would not want it talked about.

  Pausing on the children’s wards only long enough to ask the two night nurses if the children were all right, she went swiftly from ward to ward, lingering solely at the beds of the very ill patients. There was no way of knowing if any of the gossip had reached the night nurses. They were as polite and respectful as always.

  Only Nurse Hodgson gave her an odd look when Angela said, “Nurse, don’t bring in my tea tonight or any other night in future until Dr. LeFeure has gone.”

  “But, Sister, how shall I know—”