Children's Ward Page 8

  She looked up at him, at the familiar face she had once found so exciting, and thought vaguely, he’s a nice man. I wish – I wish I could have cared for him –

  ‘How are things, Harriet?’ Paul said awkwardly. ‘I’m not prying – really I’m not. But I’m fond of you, you know. A friend. I just wondered – you’re looking a bit peaky.’

  ‘Just fatigued,’ Harriet smiled at him a little shyly. ‘Just a bit tired, that’s all. Occupational hazard with nurses, isn’t it? But I’m fine –’

  ‘I suppose it is,’ he said soberly. ‘Though it isn’t like you to look quite so – bothered. Look, Harriet –’ He stopped, and then said with shyness that sat oddly on his handsome face, ‘Don’t forget that I am your friend, will you? I’m interested in you, and if I can ever be of any help – well, just ask.’

  She managed a bright smile that stretched her stiff lips a little painfully. ‘Help? What sort of help would I need, Paul? I’m fine – really I am –’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. You look so – hag-ridden. As though you’ve got to carry the world and his wife on your back. It doesn’t suit you. So if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, I’ve got a pair of the most absorbent shoulders in the business –’

  ‘Thank you, Paul,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll remember,’ and with a curt nod, he turned and went, disappearing through the double doors with a flick of his white coat.

  For a moment, she wanted to run after him, to accept his offer, to rest her tired head on his broad shoulder and tell him of her misery, of what had happened that morning with Tod and Gregory, to throw all her worries on to him, to relax in the sure comfort of his affection for her.

  And then she shook herself a little impatiently. It’s no good, she told herself. Gregory is my problem, and no one else can help me but Gregory himself.

  For a while, she sat with her chin propped on her fists staring unseeingly at her reflection in the glass wall of her office, trying to decide what to do. But her thoughts went round in circles, persistently coming back to the same point. I’ll have to talk to Gregory about it – ask him – make him tell me how Tod knew his name, force him to explain. I can put up with just so much secretiveness and no more. He’ll have to explain.

  She pulled her eyes down, to look at the ’phone beside her elbow, sitting black and mute waiting for her to pick it up. With a conscious physical effort she reached out her hand, and started to dial the mess number, then stopped. I don’t want to have to ask someone to get him for me, she thought. If I have to sit here and hold on while they get him, I’ll hang up – I won’t have the courage to wait. Instead, she dialled the switchboard, and asked the impersonal voice at the other end to put Gregory’s call lights on, and then hung up, to sit staring at the panel above the ward door as it started to flick a red light on and off, the red light that would tell Gregory to contact switchboard.

  After a long moment, the light stopped, and then the ’phone rang, shrilly, beside her. She looked at it, and with her heart beating with a sick thumping that made her want to run away, she picked up the receiver.

  ‘You wanted me?’ Even with the distortion of the ’phone, his voice carried deep tones that made her shiver with pleasure.

  ‘Yes – yes,’ she managed. ‘Gregory – I want to see you.’

  ‘Is something wrong with that intussusception child?’ His voice was distant, a little unfriendly.

  ‘No. He’s fine. Round from his anaesthetic and sleeping quietly. This – this is something else. I must see you.’

  There was a long silence, so long that she said, ‘Gregory?’ a little uncertainly.

  ‘I’ll meet you by the gate to the Nurses’ Home garden. In ten minutes. Will that do?’ he said.

  ‘Half an hour would be better,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to give the report to the night staff –’

  ‘Very well,’ he said shortly, and hung up, leaving her listening stupidly to the high buzz of the dialling tone.

  She waited for the night staff, giving them the report, telling them what to do about the postoperative child and the gassed children with her usual efficiency, while a heavy lump of fear pressed thickly in her chest. The coldness of Gregory’s voice, the chill that had come through the ’phone at her, made her feel icy herself. He will tell me to mind my own business, she thought miserably, tell me that I have no right to question him. And that will be the end of everything. All he wants from me is patience, an unquestioning patience, and now I’m nagging him, and he won’t ever want to take me out again, and the future will be empty. That will be the end.

  And then her basic common sense asserted itself, made her feel strong again. I have every right to question him, she told herself firmly. Whatever the explanation is, I have a right to ask for it. Quite apart from our relationship, there’s Tod to consider. And right now, he matters more than my feelings.

  So it was with a strong step that she made her way towards the Nurses’ Home, her cape pulled closely round her against the cold night air. No high emotion, she promised herself. No accusations. I’ll just ask him, calmly, to explain.

  He was leaning against the gate as she got there, his face lit with the glow of a cigarette. He dropped it as she arrived, to grind it out under his foot, and after a momentary pause, followed her through the gate.

  The garden was empty, the faint rattle of dry branches in the trees making the only movement there was. Harriet led the way to one of the wooden benches that a grateful patient had donated to the hospital, and sat down in a corner, to huddle herself even deeper into her cape. He sat down at the other end of it and she could feel his eyes on her in the darkness.

  ‘We won’t be interrupted here,’ she said, her voice high and thin. ‘And I must talk to you.’

  ‘Well.’ There was no question in his voice, no apparent awareness of her tension, her anxiety.

  She bit her lip, putting out her hand towards him for a moment. Then, when he made no attempt to move, no sign that he had seen her gesture, she dropped it, and said evenly, ‘It’s about Tod.’

  ‘Well,’ he said again.

  ‘Gregory, not so very long ago, you told me – asked me to be patient with you. You – you gave me some reason to believe that you felt a little about me as I do about you, but you made it clear that I would have to wait for some time before – before you could talk to me, either about your own feelings, or mine. And I accepted that.’ She stopped, and looked across at him, at the faint glimmer of his white coat in the darkness, the dull gleam of the stethoscope that was sticking out of his pocket. He made no move, sitting there still and silent, his eyes still on her.

  Painfully, she began to speak again. ‘Well, that was all right. I – I care enough for you to wait. But now – now it would seem that other factors are involved. When it was just a matter of you and me – just my own unhappiness, I could cope, could manage not to question you. No one suffered but me. Now – it’s different.’ She leaned forwards, trying to see some flicker of response in his dark face. ‘Don’t you see, Gregory? This child knows you. He’s a lost child – no one seems to care about what happens to him. And if he knows you, it’s obvious you know him. And however much you may deny it, it’s pretty obvious to me that this – acquaintanceship between you has some bearing on the situation as it stands between us.’

  Still he made no answer, no movement.

  ‘Gregory – help me!’ she let her unhappiness show in her voice, despite her promise to herself that there would be no high emotion in this conversation. ‘Give me credit for some understanding, Gregory! Don’t shut yourself away from me! Tell me what it is – tell me who this child is, what he is to you, who he is! I’m not just asking you for my own satisfaction, Gregory, believe me I’m not. If you don’t want to tell me about whatever it is that makes you so secretive, I don’t want to know. But this child – he matters, Gregory! I’ve got to know who he is, where his mother is, find out why he’s been abandoned. He’s not just a – a cipher. He’s a person – and a bitterly lo
st person at that. In all decency, Gregory, you’ve got to tell me!’

  In the silence that followed, she seemed to be able to hear every tiny movement in the dark garden, the faint chatter of dry branches, the soft whisper as the wind moved the leaves of the flowers in the dark beds lining the lawn, and beyond, the ever present muted thunder of traffic on the main road that flanked the hospital. Then, he moved.

  ‘I told you this morning that I had never seen this child in my life before, Harriet. You don’t believe that.’ It was a statement, not a question.

  ‘How can I?’ she asked miserably. ‘How can I? It can’t be mere coincidence. If yours was a common name, perhaps – perhaps it could be. But Gregory isn’t a common name – and he said “Greg” as clearly as it could be said. And his recognition of you was the first sign of any – any real response he had made. That, and your name – obviously he knew you! You must see that. And how could he know you if you never saw him before?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ his voice was still flat, still cold. ‘I’m as mystified as you are.’

  ‘Oh for Christ’s sake!’ she was angry now, bitterly angry. ‘Do you take me for a complete idiot, man? Do you think I’m the sort of besotted creature that will accept everything without question? I may have made myself look a fool, may have grovelled in front of you – but I haven’t lost every vestige of intelligence just because I’m stupid enough to love you –’

  He moved then, leaned towards her, ‘Don’t, Harriet, don’t – please.’

  But she was too angry now to heed the sudden note of pain in his voice. ‘You – you, a doctor! You’re supposed to care for people, you’re supposed to be giving your life to caring for the sick. And all you care about is your own self-centred need! Never mind what happens to other people – as long as Gregory Weston can live his life safely wrapped up away from other people, the rest can go to hell! What you’re doing to me is bad enough – but I’m damned if I’ll let you get away with treating this child as you are. And I’m warning you, Gregory. Either you tell me right now who this child is, or I find out myself – somehow. I’ll find out – and I don’t care if you do get hurt in the process –’

  Suddenly he was close beside her, his hands on her shoulders, gripping her through the thick fabric of her cape so hard that she winced.

  ‘Listen to me – listen to me, Harriet! You must believe me! I don’t know who this child is. He’s a complete stranger to me. Selfish I may be – but even I couldn’t lie about this. I have – I haven’t ever seen him before –’

  She looked up at him, at his face so close to her own, closer than it had ever been.

  ‘But – but you must have some idea –’ she said a little uncertain now, convinced almost against her will by the urgency of his tone, the note of truth that burned in his words.

  He dropped his hands then, and said, ‘Perhaps – but the idea I have won’t help. I – even if I knew his mother once, it’s been a long time. I had thought – oh, what’s the use.’ He turned his head away from her, to stare up at the trees. ‘It’s over now. Finished. Whatever happens now, it’s finished. I can’t see you again, Harriet. I’ll have to leave here, now. I couldn’t bear to go on seeing you about the hospital, and not be able to – ever see you outside it. And I can’t – not now.’

  Her heart twisted sharply at the sense of loss he transmitted in his voice, and without thinking, she put her arms round him, pulling him close to her, so that his head came down to rest on her shoulder.

  For a moment he resisted, and then, almost as though against his will, his own arms went round her, and his cold lips were on hers, kissing her with a hunger, a need, that seemed to cry aloud in the silence.

  For a long moment, they clung together, locked in an embrace that carried Harriet away, made her whole body seem to melt in a rush of sensations she had never felt before.

  He raised his head then, to pull her roughly against him, to murmur brokenly into her ear words she couldn’t hear, words that didn’t matter. All she knew was that she loved him, that she needed him.

  And then, with a suddenness that left her gasping, he stood up.

  ‘It’s no good, Harriet,’ his voice was harsh again. ‘No good. It won’t work –’

  She stared up at him, and said softly. ‘But it will. It must. I love you, Gregory. And you love me. You can’t escape that –’

  ‘Yes – I love you,’ he said hopelessly. ‘But I’ll have to get over that – somehow. I’m sorry, Harriet.’

  She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No. Whatever it is that makes you so – so unhappy, you’ll have to tell me. And you might as well tell me now. Nothing is as bad as it seems if it’s put into words –’

  But she was talking to empty air. He had turned and gone, his lean body melting into the shadows of the garden, leaving her alone on the wooden bench, her mouth still feeling his kiss, still hurting from the roughness of the urgent passion she had felt in him.

  For a long time, she sat there. And all she could think was ‘Tod. He still hasn’t told me. What do I do about Tod?’

  Chapter Nine

  She spent a miserable sleepless night, tossing and turning through the long hours, grateful when the Sisters’ maid arrived with her early tea, one of the few extra privileges the Sisters at the Royal enjoyed. She was still undecided, still not sure what she should do about Tod, as she pinned her apron round her, fixed her cap on her head with unsteady fingers. As she dusted powder on her face, trying to cover the blue shadows under her eyes, the little porcelain girl on the dressing table looked out into the room, her delicate face seeming to hold an aloofness that suddenly made Harriet angry. With a childishness she recognised in herself, a childishness that somehow made her even angrier, she thrust the pretty thing and its laughing-eyed companion into the top drawer, hiding them under her handkerchiefs. Gregory’s gifts seemed to mock her now, and she couldn’t bear even to look at them.

  On an impulse, she decided to call in at the theatres as she went on duty. With luck, Sally would have a few moments to talk to her, and Harriet felt a very definite need of some of Sally’s calm good sense.

  The theatres were humming with activity as she came through the swinging double doors, nurses already in the tight caps and light cotton dresses and white socks and plimsolls they would wear through the day’s operations. As Harriet took in the atmosphere of the place, the gleaming green tiles, the huge instrument cupboards glowing with the cold chrome of equipment, the bubbling of the sterilisers in the annexe, she wished for a moment that she, like Sally, had decided to work in the theatres. No patients to get involved with, she thought bleakly. Just things – and no one can get unhappy about things. People are more complicated.

  Sally was checking a tray of instruments, chivvying a rather scared junior as she counted them.

  ‘You’ll need twelve haemostats of this size, Nurse. Do you suppose Mr Best will wait about for you to boil up more in the middle of the operation? And for heaven’s sake, girl, what size clamp do you call this? We’re removing an appendix, not a horse’s guts –’ The junior flushed miserably under her mask, and scuttled off to correct her errors, as Sally caught sight of Harriet standing at the door, and came over to her.

  ‘I don’t know where Matron finds these girls, really I don’t,’ she grumbled. ‘Nurses today haven’t the wit they were born with. When we were in training –’

  ‘Bully,’ Harriet said, smiling at Sally’s cross face in spite of herself. ‘You were just as dumb as they are now – and you know it.’

  Sally grinned back. ‘I suppose so. Now, ducky. To what do I owe the honour of your presence? If you want to borrow the sucker again, we’re using it till ten –’

  ‘No –’ Harriet followed her into the anaesthetic room, and watched Sally as she began to check the machines, sending gas hissing through the connections as she expertly turned each cylinder on and off. ‘I need a bit of advice.’

  ‘Ask away –’ Sally said, and stumbling a litt
le over her words, Harriet told her of what had happened, of Gregory’s flat denial that he knew anything about Tod, despite Tod’s obvious recognition of him. Told her everything except of Gregory’s kiss the night before, his statement that he would have to leave the Royal. That episode was too personal, and its implications too confused even to think about, let alone talk about, even to Sally.

  Sally listened in silence, and when Harriet’s voice died away, she looked up at her friend shrewdly and smiled at her. ‘You don’t really want my advice, Harriet. What you want is for me to listen while you tell me what you’re going to do about this business. So tell me. I’m listening.’

  Unwillingly, Harriet said, ‘I don’t want to start anything I can’t control, Sal. I mean – suppose I do tell Dr Bennett what Tod said – and he puts the police on to Gregory? However I felt about him – if he was no more to me than just a member of the staff, I’d hate to do that when he so obviously doesn’t want me to.’

  ‘It would be a bit – sneaky,’ Sally admitted. ‘But aren’t you being a bit schoolgirlish about this? What matters most? Tod, or an old fashioned notion of honour that if you follow it will leave Tod just where he is – unknown and unwanted? That’s the real crux.’

  Harriet nodded unhappily, and began to walk towards the door. ‘I’d better get on duty,’ she said. ‘I suppose you’re right, Sal. I just wish there was another way to find out – on my own, without going running to Dr Bennett and through him to the police.’

  Behind her, Sally said with a diffidence that Harriet could almost feel. ‘I – I suppose you’ve realised what this could mean, Harriet? You know so little about Gregory, don’t you? He – Tod could be – related to him,’ she finished awkwardly.

  Without turning, Harriet said evenly, ‘You mean Tod could be his child? Yes, I’ve thought about that. It’s that that makes it – worse, somehow.’

  ‘I imagine it would,’ Sally said dryly. ‘If I were you, I’d want to cut your precious Gregory’s throat for him. But as I’ve said before, you and me – we just don’t function in the same way.’