Nurse Angela Page 2
“Are you going back to the hospital, Sister?” asked Simon. “If so, I could give you a lift.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Angela turned to Roger. “I’ll go back with Dr. LeFeure; then you can return to the others.”
Roger smiled resignedly. “All right, I’ll give in. I’ll phone you before Saturday, darling. Goodbye, Doctor. If we ever meet again, I hope it won’t be when you’re in your professional capacity.”
“I hope not, too,” Simon responded gravely.
As they drove through the town, he said: “I’ve seen your ... friend before, actually. I’ve seen you and he together often. Are you engaged?”
“No, just friends,” Angela told him.
“But he called you ‘darling.’”
“That’s just his way.”
“He looks like an artist.”
“As a matter of fact, he is. He’s a cartoonist and illustrator.”
“A cartoonist?" echoed Simon with interest. “He surely isn’t the same fellow who does the ‘Pickering Family’ series in the Evening Echo?”
“The very same.”
“He shows a wonderful understanding of human nature and has a great capacity for seeing the lighter side of life.” Then he said abruptly, “I envy him.”
“Do you? Why?” asked Angela in surprise.
As a traffic light changed to red he turned and gave her a strange look. “That, my dear Sister Lindsay, would take quite a long time to tell—quite a long time.”
CHAPTER TWO
Angela went slowly to her room puzzling over Simon’s remark. Why on earth should he be envious of Roger? Surely his was the more worthwhile job? It didn’t make sense. Perhaps he envied Roger his gift of seeing the lighter side of life or his apparently carefree way of living? But surely he had a sense of vocation for his own job. Otherwise, why had he become a doctor at all? She found herself wondering why he had chosen this position at Kirkwhite. Perhaps he wanted administrative experience. According to Matron, he had joined the staff of the General as a physician of some experience and had applied for his present position after qualifying as a surgeon. It was rumored, as his name implied, that he was half-French. Apart from that, Simon LeFeure seemed to be something of an enigma. Had his father been a doctor, she wondered, and how much of his life had been spent in France? He had very little sign of an accent.
She drew the bedroom curtains against the midday sun and climbed into bed. How lovely to go to France—Paris—one day, she thought sleepily as she closed her eyes. She had somehow never got around to thinking of going abroad.
The thought was still with her when a maid brought her a tea tray at seven o’clock that evening. She would be due for some vacation in August. Why not spend a couple of weeks in Paris? The idea brought a sparkle to her eyes.
“I don’t know how you manage to look so fresh on night duty,” Matron said when she had given Angela the day report. “You couldn’t have got to bed much before one—I saw you come in.” She gave Angela a look of mingled curiosity and speculation. “How did you come to be with Dr. LeFeure, Sister? I thought he had an appointment in town with one of the members of the board.”
Angela smiled. Matron was a born gossip. “I don’t know anything about that. Matron. He just happened to drop into the cafe where I was having coffee with some friends. He and I left at the same time, so he offered me a lift back to the hospital.”
Matron looked disappointed. “Oh, I see. Still, you don’t need me to tell you how quickly rumors start in a hospital.”
“No Matron. But of course, the soil is so fertile, isn’t it?” Angela could not resist the retort.
“All the more reason for discretion, Sister,” Matron said huffily, sensing personal criticism in Angela’s remark but not wanting to admit that it could fit herself.
Angela wondered vaguely if Dr. LeFeure had ever given anyone a lift before. She always felt there was something dishonest about being “discreet.” In the days of her training she had often felt tempted to heap fuel deliberately on the fire of gossip. If there was nothing wrong in one’s doings, there was nothing to hide or fear and no need for discretion. But she had learned that, no matter how one felt personally about these things, there was always the other person to consider.
However, she told herself, as far as Simon LeFeure and herself were concerned, no such question arose.
She began her round of the wards.
If last night had been quiet this one was not to be; at least, the early part. On the children’s wards she found harassed nurses trying to cope with sick, crying children. This sort of thing often happened on visiting days. The visits of parents unsettled the smaller children and some mothers fed their offspring cookies and cakes unknown to the sister or nurse in charge. Angela comforted the crying ones while the nurses attended to the others.
“I’ll look in again, Nurse, after I’ve been upstairs,” she said when there was comparative quiet and the lights were dimmed once more.
On the ward that had been named George the Sixth, Angela stopped at the bed of the admission of the previous day: the young man who, his arm stuck out in a splint, was suffering from osteomyelitis. He was a lean-faced, studious-looking boy, rather pale, with straight black hair and serious brown eyes. “Comfortable, Mr. Baslow?” she asked smiling.
John Baslow gave a wry smile. “As comfortable as I can be with this contraption, I suppose. I have a terrific thirst though, Sister. Do you think I could have a jug of water on my locker to save bothering the nurse too often?”
“Of course. You should have asked Nurse James; she would have brought you one.” She eyed him thoughtfully. “Have you been thirsty, for a long time?”
“Yes, I suppose I have really, but I’ve noticed it more acutely since I’ve been in the hospital. I expect I drank more when I was home. In fact, come to think of it, I always seemed to be drinking—continual cups of tea, the occasional glass of beer, even water sometimes,” he added with a twinkle.
Angela smiled. “Well, of course we’ve plenty of water, but you’ll get nothing stronger than tea, I’m afraid.”
She continued down the ward with the night nurse.
“Get Baslow’s card out for me, will you, Nurse?” she said thoughtfully.
Nurse James brought it and Angela studied it for a moment; then she gave some instructions, adding, “Test it right away, Nurse and bring the result down to my office immediately. Fix him up with a jug of water afterward too—not fruit juice, just plain cold water.”
“Yes, Sister.”
Angela glanced at the sullen face of the nurse and guessed that she resented being given the extra task.
“It won’t take long really, Nurse,” she said quietly. “And if what I suspect is true, that young man will be grateful to you for the rest of his life. I’d like the result in my office before Dr. LeFeure comes.”
“Very well, Sister.”
“Thank you, Nurse.”
Angela continued on her way upstairs to the medical wards. Nurse James was a good nurse, but being a little older than herself, she seemed to resent taking orders from someone younger.
On Evelyn Pearce, she found Mrs. Taylor, the heart case, on the point of a severe attack. Angela helped to fix up the oxygen apparatus.
“Did you have any visitors today, Mrs. Taylor?” she asked when the woman was breathing more freely.
“Yes, Sister. My husband and daughter.”
“I expect they’re missing you. How were the rest of the family?” A frown appeared on Mrs. Taylor’s brow. “Jimmy, the youngest, is fretting, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, I see.” Angela sat on the edge of the bed and took the woman’s hand. “Now, Mrs. Taylor, you must try not to worry about them back home. They’re bound to miss you. Jimmy will fret less and less as the weeks go by. You’ll see.”
Mrs. Taylor’s face cleared slightly, then became distressed again.
Angela watched her thoughtfully. “It’s your husband you’re really worrying about,
isn’t it, my dear?” she asked quietly.
The patient sighed deeply. “Yes, Sister. To tell the truth, it is.”
Angela turned to the nurse who was standing by. “You can carry on, Nurse. I want to talk to Mrs. Taylor for a little while.” She waited until the nurse was out of earshot; then she said in a low voice, “Now, my dear, I don’t want you to talk a lot, but I think there’s something on your mind. Would you like to tell me about it?”
Mrs. Taylor nodded and her eyes filled with tears.
Angela pressed her hand. “You know what I think? You’ve been having these attacks quite often when you were alone in the house, but you kept the fact to yourself. You didn’t even tell your husband. He doesn’t realize how much you need this rest and he’s been asking you to come home. Am I right?”
Mrs. Taylor squeezed the hand that held hers. “That’s about it. I did have occasional attacks when he was at home of course, but mostly they came on if I rushed the housework too much. By the time my husband came home I had usually managed to rest a while. He saw a little of the aftereffects, naturally. That’s why he called the doctor, but he didn’t know how bad it was. I didn’t even tell the doctor how many attacks I’d been having and he couldn’t understand it. Now, I don’t like to tell my husband. I don’t know what he’ll think of me for deceiving him.”
Angela’s eyes softened. “I understand, but you know it’s just as important that your mind is at rest as well as your heart. How would it be if I asked Dr. LeFeure to have a word with your husband next visiting day? Just to pave the way for you to tell him. He’s sure to understand that you didn’t want to worry him. That was so, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Taylor nodded. “I thought so, and I’m sure that when your husband and family know the truth, they’ll be only too anxious for you to stay here until you’re really better.”
“Oh yes, Sister. I’m sure they will. Thank you. They can manage without me for a week or two. Better a little while now than longer perhaps later. Jim said I could rest at home, but...”
Angela smiled. “It’s pretty near impossible where there’s a family, isn’t it?”
She stood up and felt the patient’s pulse. “Ah, much better. Nurse will bring you your tablets and a drink presently; then you’ll sleep. Good night.”
“Good night, Sister. And thank you again.”
When at last she reached her office, Simon was seated at her desk reading the report. He stood up as she entered, brushing aside her apology.
“I expect you’ve been busy. Nothing seriously wrong I hope?”
“Well, the usual visiting-day maladies on the children’s wards. I helped the nurses to settle some of them. Then I had quite a chat with John Baslow, the osteomyelitis case, and with Mrs. Taylor. Mrs. Taylor has just had an attack, but she’s fairly comfortable now.”
There was a tap on the door and Nurse James entered, a slip of paper in her hand. She looked rather startled.
“This is the test you asked me to do, Sister. I’m sorry I’ve been so long, but I was so surprised at the result that I took another specimen and did it again. I also took the percentage.”
Angela glanced at the paper. “Thank you very much, Nurse. You’ve done very well.”
As the nurse went out Angela handed the slip of paper to the doctor.
“Something young Baslow told me prompted me to have that done. The result is startling, isn’t it?”
Simon looked at the report. “Good heavens! Three and a half percent sugar! But the test on admission was negative. Poor devil. But what a mercy you found it out, Sister.”
“Somebody would have discovered it sooner or later.”
“Perhaps. And in the meantime he would have gone on getting worse. This means the osteomyelitis will clear up much more quickly of course. We can only hope the diabetes can be controlled by diet. I hate to think of a chap that age being tied to an insulin syringe.”
“Yes, indeed.”
Nurse Hodgson came in with a tea tray and Angela poured out two cups, one for herself and one for Simon. They sipped in silence for a moment.
“You’re to be congratulated, Sister,” Simon said presently. “What made you have this test done? It isn’t normally the night staffs work is it?”
“No, unless a patient is admitted during the night—then it’s routine; or when a patient is on four hourly tests. Baslow wasn’t of course, there being no abnormalities on admission.” She explained how John had complained of excessive thirst. “He had been drinking pretty liberally at home and didn’t notice it as much. I suppose that’s why he didn’t think to mention it when he was admitted. He wouldn’t consider it of any importance in any case.”
“No, that’s true. And of course, that may well be why his test didn’t show any sugar on admission. Well, I’m very grateful to you, Sister and I’m sure the patient will be.”
Angela smiled, conscious of an extraordinary pleasure in his praise.
“This seems to be a night for finding out things. I’ve made a discovery about Mrs. Taylor too.”
She repeated the conversation she had had.
“That’s wonderful, Sister,” Simon said warmly. “It takes a good deal of sympathetic understanding to get that kind of information out of a patient. I’ll certainly see the husband and have a talk with him. I’ll put it as tactfully as I can.”
“More tea, Doctor?”
He put down his cup. “No thank you, but you have another by all means. I know what you nurses are for your tea.” He smiled and Angela felt her heartbeat quicken.
She hesitated before pouring herself another cup of tea, expecting him to leave at this point. There was nothing further to discuss with regard to the patients, but to her surprise he took out his pipe and after the formality of asking her permission, he lit it.
Angela suddenly became aware of a tension in the atmosphere. Simon was looking at her in a way that made her pulses race.
“You’re looking very fresh,” he said, “in spite of being up half the day as well as all of last night.”
She poured herself another cup of tea with fingers that shook. “I was really only up until lunchtime. A couple of hours either morning or evening is night staffs official duty. Life would be very dull if we worked all night and slept all day.”
“Yes, I agree.”
He stood up then, and Angela rose to see him off. She moved toward the door but he made no attempt to follow her. “Sister—”
She turned. “Yes, Doctor?”
“There’s something I want to ask you,” he said softly.
She went closer to him, and her heart beat furiously as he put a hand on her shoulder.
“Tell me, Sister,” he said softly, “Would you marry a man who had—say—something in his life of which he was ashamed or afraid. Something perhaps that a man’s father might have done, and which might be handed down to his son?” His gray eyes searched hers intently.
“I ... but of course I would. That is, if I loved him enough,” she said in a trembling voice.
He smiled. “Wouldn’t you want to know what it was before giving your answer?”
She moved away from him and leaned on the desk.
“But naturally, I’d want to know all about it. There must be complete honesty between two people who are getting married, otherwise it would be a marriage under false pretenses, wouldn’t it?”
He looked at her and sighed. “It’s a big risk for a man though, Sister, to tell everything. If he tells all he might lose her.”
“But she might find out one day. Then she would never be able to trust him fully ever again. And if her love wasn’t strong enough he might still lose what he had.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” He looked at her uncertainly for a moment, then said, “Sister, would you come out with me for an evening, say on your next night off? I’d like to discuss the matter with you further.”
Angela’s heart leaped. “I ... that’s very kind of you, but I’m afraid I already have an engagement for Satur—”
Then he was gone before she had a chance to say any more. She had been going to say that she had an engagement for Saturday but was free on Sunday, but he had behaved as if he had immediately regretted asking her.
Her mind was in turmoil as she picked up her cloak and went over to the nurses’ residence to lock up.
What had he meant by it all? Why had he asked her such a thing? Did he mean that he himself had a past of which he was ashamed? Had he merely been asking her advice or...
CHAPTER THREE
Angela tried to dismiss the matter, ashamed of the trend of her thoughts, but her mind merely focused instead, on Simon’s unexpected invitation and his abrupt manner. It was impossible to figure him out. Perhaps the way she had worded her reply had misled him; but then, his conversation and the suddenness of his invitation had so completely shaken her. Perhaps he would not ask her again. He could scarcely be expected to. She found herself fervently hoping that he would, then scolded herself for having no sense of pride.
She went on her round of the residence, putting the bars across fire escape doors, tapping on the doors of nurses who still had lights burning, and putting out bathroom and corridor lights. Some of the Sisters were still in the sitting room, so she went in.
“Hello, Lindsay,” someone called out. “Come and have a cup of tea.”
Though she had just had tea, she accepted a cup and sat down. She liked to keep on friendly terms with the day sisters, and the night nurses knew where to find her if they wanted her.