A Match for Sister Maggy (4 page)

Maggy was buckling the straps when Dr Doelsma came over to do his part.

‘Are you not off duty, Sister?' She glanced up in surprise.

‘How did you know?'

‘That pretty little staff nurse of yours told me. Shall I get her in so that you can go?'

She tightened a buckle slowly. ‘Why not?' she asked coolly. ‘Though I'm afraid Staff won't be able to come for long. But Nurse Sibley shall relieve her; she's the pretty blonde with green eyes—I'm sure you will have noticed her.'

She didn't look up to see what effect her words had had, but finished what she was doing, sent for Williams to take her place, and went to the ward. By the time she had done a round it was almost eleven. She decided to have coffee in the Sisters' Home, but when she got there it didn't seem worth while. Dinner would be at twelve-thirty. She flounced into the sitting room, feeling pettish and more than a little sorry for herself, and buried herself in the papers for the next hour or so. There weren't any other Sisters off; she wished she had not bothered to go off duty at all, though that, she decided, would not have pleased Dr Doelsma, for then he would have had to have put up with her for the whole morning.

 

She returned on duty after lunch, her frame of mind by no means improved. The ward was fairly quiet. She sent Nurse Sibley to her dinner, and Williams to her afternoon with the faithful Jim. That left little Nurse Sims whom she sent into the ward to tidy it for visitors; she herself went into Sep until Sibley should return. Both doctors had gone to lunch; her patient was sleeping. She studied the charts and then started to pick up the papers littered around the doctor's chair. They were closely written in a foreign language—Dutch, she supposed; in any case, they would have been unintelligible in English. She made a tidy pile, then went to open the window wider. It was a lovely late
August day; she would have liked to have been home, tramping the hills with the dogs. The door opened, but she didn't turn round at once, but said,

‘You should have taken your full hour, Nurse; I'll not need to go until two o'clock.'

She looked over her shoulder. Dr Doelsma was standing in the doorway.

‘You're at lunch,' she said stupidly.

He ignored this piece of foolishness, but strolled into the room.

‘Ah. I'm glad you're back on duty,' he said.

She frowned. Really, she thought, after his obvious anxiety to get rid of her that morning—' Did something go wrong?' she asked.

‘No, no. Nurse Sibley was most competent, but I must admit that I prefer you here, Sister.' He stared at her. ‘You needed to go off duty this morning, you were tired.'

She went pink; it was an unpleasant experience having her thoughts read so accurately. She asked, curiosity getting the better of discretion, ‘Why do you prefer me here, Doctor?'

He considered his reply. ‘I am a big man, Sister. People tend to stare at me as though I were something peculiar. You don't stare, presumably because you are such a big woman yourself. A purely selfish reason, you see.'

This truthful but unflattering description of herself did nothing to improve Maggy's mood, and the more so because she could think of nothing to say in reply. Nurse Sibley's return saved her from this difficulty, however. She handed over to her, and left the room with great dignity, feeling twelve feet tall, and very conscious of the largeness of her person.

The visitors, laden with flowers and fruit and unsuitable
food, began to straggle in, and Maggy was kept busy answering questions and making out certificates. Madame Riveau's husband and son hadn't arrived; she would have to see them that evening. She sat down at her desk and began the off-duty rota for the following week. It was an absorbing and irritating task, trying to fit in lectures, study days, and special requests for days off. She became immersed in it, then looked up to find the doctor standing by her. She stopped, pen poised.

‘Did you want me, sir?'

He didn't answer her question, but said shortly, ‘My mother's asleep.' He stretched out an arm and took the off duty book from her and studied it carefully. Maggy asked in an annoyed voice,

‘Is there something you wish to know, Dr Doelsma?'

‘Yes, there was,' he answered cheerfully, ‘but I've seen all I want, thank you.' He gave the book back into a hand rendered nerveless with vexation, but made no effort to go.

Maggy filled in another name and then asked, ‘Would you like tea, sir? It's early, I know, but perhaps in Holland you drink tea at a different time from us.'

‘Probably. But I must point out to you that I am a Friesman, and not a Hollander, and proud of the fact—just as you, I imagine, are proud of being a Scotswoman. The Friesians and the Scots have mutual ancestors, you know.'

Maggy didn't know, and said so, adding, ‘How interesting' in a cold voice which he ignored.

‘How's Mrs Salt?' he enquired.

Maggy put down her pen in a deliberate manner. He seemed bent on engaging her in conversation, however unwilling on her part, so she said civilly, ‘The path lab results came back yesterday—and the X-rays show an infiltration into the oesophagus—a blueprint of your lecture.'

‘May I see her notes?' He was serious and rather remote now. She got the notes and X-rays and answered his questions sensibly. At length he handed them back to her, saying, ‘A blueprint indeed, Sister, which bears out your question, does it not?'

She nodded. ‘It's strange that a condition as rare as this one should coincide with your lecture.'

They discussed technicalities for a few minutes, and she surprised him with her sharp brain and knowledge used with so much intelligence.

‘Could you spare time to come and see Mrs Salt?' he suggested. ‘Not to examine her, just a social visit.'

They walked down the ward to the old lady's bed. She had no visitors—she had been a patient for so long that the novelty of coming to see her had worn off—and she hailed Dr Doelsma with delight.

‘Cor, if it ain't Dr Dutch ‘isself!' She extended a hand, which he observed had become more transparent, and if possible thinner than it had been a week ago. Her lively black eyes snapped at him, however.

‘Don't feed me a lot of codswallop about getting better, doctor. I ain't a fool, no more I'm a cry-baby, though I'll be fair mad if I don't 'ave me birthday.' She turned her penetrating gaze on to Maggy. ‘Goin' to 'ave a cake, ain't I, love?'

Sister MacFergus, replying to this endearing form of address, smiled and said, ‘Yes, Mrs Salt, a cake with candles, so you'd better be good and do as you're asked so that you'll be able to blow them out. There'll be presents too.' she added.

The old lady brightened. “Oo from?'

Maggy smiled. ‘That's a secret, but I can promise that you're going to get quite a lot of parcels.'

‘Suppose I don't last, love?'

Maggy didn't hesitate. ‘Mrs Salt, I promise you that you shall have a birthday party.'

The old lady nodded, satisfied. ‘Right yer are. You're coming, young man?' She turned briskly to the doctor.

His eyes widened with laughter. ‘No one's called me young man for years! How nice it sounds. For that I shall bring you a birthday present. Will you choose, or shall it be a surprise?'

‘I'll 'ave a pink nightie with lots of lace,' she replied promptly. ‘It'll cost yer a pretty penny; d'yer earn enough to buy one?'

He didn't smile, but answered gently, ‘Yes, Mrs Salt, I do, and you shall have it—on condition that you wear it at the party.'

‘O'course I shall! A bit of a waste on an old woman like me, ain't it? but I always wanted one—more sense ter give it ter Sister 'ere. She'd look nice in it, I reckon.'

Maggy kept her eyes on the counterpane, and concentrated on not blushing, but was well aware that Dr Doelsma was studying her with interest and taking his time about it.

‘Yes, very nice, Mrs Salt,' he murmured, ‘but she'll have to wait for her birthday, won't she?'

He said goodbye then, and they turned away. Madame Riveau, in the next bed, had visitors. Her husband and son sat one on each side of her; they looked, Maggy thought, as though they were guarding the woman in the bed. She wished them a good afternoon as she passed, and was surprised when they both got up and walked over to her. Subconsciously she recoiled and took an instinctive step towards the doctor, who looked faintly surprised but remained silent.

The older man spoke. ‘I wish to take my wife home. You will arrange it?' It wasn't a request but a demand, couched in an insolent tone and awkward French.

Maggy stopped. ‘I'm sorry, Monsieur Riveau; you must arrange that with the doctor. Your wife is almost better; please let her stay for another week.'

The younger man had joined his father. ‘My mother is not to have her teeth X-rayed or drawn.' There was an ill-concealed dislike in his voice.

Maggy glanced at him briefly, refusing to be intimidated. Dr Doelsma had remained silent, but his presence gave her a good deal of courage.

‘Your mother is in pain; surely she may decide herself?'

His small black eyes glared at her. She couldn't understand what he said, but evidently the doctor could. He stopped him and began to speak in a voice Maggy hadn't heard him use before; it was cold and hard and full of authority. He spoke in fluent French which she couldn't hope to follow, and she watched the two men cringe under it. When the doctor had finished, they made no reply but looked at Maggy with hate in their eyes, and went back to the bed.

Maggy stood irresolute, but Dr Doelsma tapped her on the shoulder in a peremptory fashion, and she found herself, rather to her own surprise, walking meekly beside him down the ward. By the time they had reached her office, however, she had begun to feel a slight indignation. He had had no right to interfere when she was discussing her own patients; the fact that she had been very glad to have him there while he talked with those two awful men had nothing to do with it. Standing by her desk, she said stiffly,

‘Thank you for your help, although I am usually judged capable of dealing with matters concerning my patients.'

She was vexed to hear her voice shaking. She was enraged still further when he laughed.

‘How pretty you are when you are angry! I'm sorry you are annoyed with me. Was I very high-handed? You didn't
understand what that man was saying, did you? Shall I tell you, or will you take my word for it that he was crude and disgusting? If we had been anywhere else but a hospital ward, I should have knocked him down.'

She looked startled and contrite. ‘I didn't understand him, you were kind to…to stop him. Thank you.'

‘Why are you afraid of them?'

‘Oh! How did you know—did they see…?'

‘No, they did not. I don't blame you for disliking them. I found them most repulsive.' He smiled. ‘Am I forgiven?'

‘Yes, of course, sir. I'm sorry I was rude.' She looked at him anxiously. He was still smiling—she remembered that he had smiled on the day of the lecture and said quickly in a brisk fashion, ‘Now I'll be helping Nurse with the teas. The visitors will be going…' She got as far as the door.

‘My mother complains bitterly that she has hardly seen you all day. Could not the green-eyed blonde help with teas while you come into Sep? She has proved a poor substitute for you, Sister.'

She bristled. ‘Nurse Sibley is a very competent nurse.'

Their eyes met; his were dancing with laughter.

‘Indeed yes, Maggy. But that isn't what I meant.'

She found she had been ushered out of the office and across the landing into Sep and heard herself telling Nurse Sibley to go the ward and help with teas. She seemed to be doing exactly what the doctor wished her to do. She remembered Sir Charles' words, and made a resolve to be very much firmer in the future.

D
R
D
OELSMA
went back to Holland during Sunday night, and the ward seemed a very dull place without him. Maggy felt a thrill of excitement when Sir Charles mentioned in a casual manner that Paul would be visiting his mother at the end of the week. Nevertheless she felt constrained to change her off-duty so that she would be absent from the ward on that day. Staff Nurse Williams looked at her as if she was out of her mind.

‘Sister! Dr Doelsma's coming—he'll get here about two o'clock and he's going again in the evening. You'll miss him.'

‘Well, that can't be helped,' said Maggy reasonably. ‘I promised I would go and see this friend of my mother's and it just so happens that she wants me to go on Friday.' She smiled at Williams. ‘You can cope with anything that may crop up, and Mevrouw Doelsma is so much better now, I think she'll do. Besides, Dr Doelsma thinks you're a very pretty girl, and you know you're delighted to be seeing him.'

Williams giggled, ‘Well, Sister, he is marvellous!'

So Maggy spent her day with elderly Miss MacIntyre, who hadn't seen her for a number of years and treated her like a schoolgirl; they went for a walk in the park, and changed the library books and discussed knitting patterns,
and she went back to the hospital in the evening, wondering if she would be like Miss MacIntyre in forty years' time.

Rather to her surprise, the next morning, Williams gave her the report without mentioning Dr Doelsma, but as Maggy closed the report book her staff nurse opened a cupboard and produced an opulent box of Kersenbonbons, and laid it on the desk.

‘He brought these,' she breathed. ‘I said you weren't here, and he said how nice it was to see me again, and he gave me these and I told him I'd give them to you, and he said No, they're for the nurses, Sister will get something next time I come—but we thought we'd save them for you all the same.'

A small lump of hurt feelings settled in Maggy's throat, but she swallowed it resolutely.

‘That was sweet of you all, but you take them and divide them up amongst you—Dr Doelsma might feel hurt in his feelings if ye didna' do as he asked.' She got up from her chair. ‘Sit down now, Staff, and do it this minute.' She smiled at the other girl. ‘I'm off on my round.'

As she went she told herself that it was her own fault anyway that she hadn't been on duty. Staff had said that he was coming again on the following Sunday—it was her free weekend in any case. The thought put her in mind of the amount of work she had to do, and she resolutely put all thoughts of the doctor out of her mind.

When she got to Mrs Salt's bed, she found that old lady in a gossiping mood.

‘Yer missed 'im,' she informed Maggy. ‘And now it's yer weekend, ain't it, love, so yer won't see 'im then either. But I 'eard 'im asking Staff if you was on duty next Thursday evening, and she said Yes, and 'e says Good, I'll be along then. So you'll see 'im then.'

Maggy straightened a pillow. ‘Is that so, Mrs Salt? And I've just remembered that I'll have to change my off duty on Thursday. Isn't that a pity?'

She turned to the next bed, and found Madame Riveau sitting up in a chair. She would be going home very soon now, but she looked ill and spiritless. Maggy eyed her swollen jaws but remained silent. It was to be hoped that the woman would go to her own dentist as soon as she got home. She asked a few questions of her, but her answers were surly and unwilling, so she left her and went on down the ward and finally into Sep.

Mevrouw Doelsma smiled at her from her pillows, and Maggy thought how pretty she was now that she was better and had some colour in her cheeks, and a faint sparkle in her eyes.

‘Maggy, Paul missed you yesterday. He expected you to be on duty.' Maggy went across the room and adjusted the blind, then said, with her back to her patient,

‘I changed my off-duty at the last minute.' She smiled over her shoulder.

‘And you won't be here tomorrow either?'

‘No, it's my weekend, but Staff is very efficient…'

Mevrouw Doelsma looked at Maggy's rather nice back view. ‘I wouldn't dream of asking you to lose a minute of your free time, but I'm selfish enough to like you here all the time. Oh well, he'll be over again on Thursday. You'll be here then, won't you?'

Maggy hesitated; she didn't like telling lies. ‘Well, I usually am.' She achieved the half truth, feeling guilty.

She spent the weekend trying to think of a good excuse for changing her evening off. It was nothing short of a miracle that Williams should come to her during Monday and ask if she could possibly have Wednesday evening
free. Maggy breathed a sigh of relief and, taking care not to appear too pleased, agreed.

Wednesday evening was fairly quiet. She did the medicine round and started the report before going to supper, and when she came back went to see Mevrouw Doelsma, who was sitting up in bed, ready for someone to talk to. She looked rather excited, Maggy thought, as she tidied her pillows, she supposed that she was pleased because she was making such good progress. Another two weeks and there would be talk of her going home. It was almost eight-thirty. She switched off the ceiling light, leaving the little bedside lamp burning, and went to the door and opened it, then turned round again to say,

‘I'm going to give the report, Mevrouw Doelsma. Ring if you want anything; I'll be in to say goodnight later.' She stepped backwards on to a foot, and didn't need to hear the chuckle above her left ear to know whose it was. A very large gentle hand clipped her round the waist.

‘And do you number me among your enemies that you trample me so ruthlessly under foot? At best a poor way of greeting me after almost two weeks!'

She stood within the circle of his arm, fighting to breathe normally.

‘Ye ken well you're no enemy of mine, Dr Doelsma—and I didna' expect ye.'

He dropped his arm and she turned to face him with what dignity she could muster.

He smiled at her. ‘No, you didn't, did you, Sister MacFergus? I should have warned you not to try the same trick twice.'

She opened her mouth to speak, but only succeeded in making a small choking sound.

‘That's right,' he said kindly. ‘I wouldn't say anything
you may regret later. And if you want to know how I found out, I have no intention of telling you.' He looked down at his well brushed shoes. ‘Aren't you going to say you're sorry? I'm in great pain…'

Maggy laughed, ‘Oh, Dr Doelsma, what's to be done with you?'

‘I'm open to suggestions,' he murmured.

Maggy frowned. ‘Yes, well,' she said briskly, ‘I'll away to give the report.' She smiled at Mevrouw Doelsma and swept past him without a glance.

He went over to the bed then, kissed his mother, and tumbled a pile of books on to the bed-table. ‘I've been to see Uncle Charles,' he said. ‘He's very satisfied, Mother. If we can get Maggy to accompany you home, I should think you could go in a fortnight. You'll have to lead a quiet life for several weeks, you know.'

He drew up a chair, and they became immersed in plans.

There was a subdued hum of voices coming from behind the shut door of the office. Maggy opened the door and stood looking around her, too surprised to speak. The night nurses as well as Sibley and Sims were there, feverishly arranging a vast number of red roses into vases. Sibley looked up when the door opened, and said. ‘Sister, Dr Doelsma asked us to put them in water—he brought them for you.'

Maggy closed her mouth, which had dropped open. ‘But there are dozens. They can't all be for me, there must be some mistake.'

‘No, Sister. He said, “These are all for Sister MacFergus.” There's six dozen of them,' she added in an awed voice.

‘How nice.' Maggy's voice sounded faint in her own ears. ‘Thank you for arranging them.' She sent the day
nurses off duty, and sitting in a bower of roses, gave the report. After she had done a round with the night nurse she went back to the office. The little room smelled delicious, she crossed the landing to Sep and went in. The doctor unfolded himself from his chair.

‘I hear that my mother's progress is excellent, Sister.' He looked and sounded exactly like any other consultant—friendly, cool and remote.

She answered suitably, sedately, wished her patient a good night and went back to the door, feeling awkward. He opened it for her, and stood back politely, waiting for her to pass through. She stopped in the doorway, and raised her eyes to his, she sounded breathless.

‘The roses are beautiful, thank you, Doctor. But I think the nurses mistook your message to me. They'll be for all of us and the ward too?'

‘Your nurses made no mistake, Sister. The roses are for you.'

‘But there are six dozen of them, Doctor; ye canna mean to give me seventy-two roses?' She looked at him, bewildered.

‘Indeed I do mean it, Sister MacFergus.'

‘I've never had such a lovely bouquet in my life before,' she said naïvely. ‘I love red roses.'

‘I'm glad. There's some charming poetry written about red roses,' he observed.

She was very conscious of him watching her while she thought. It didn't take her long to remember. She went pink and said,

‘Aye, I expect so; I don't read poetry much—no time, that is.' She was becoming incoherent.

‘Oh, come,' he said easily, ‘everyone learns poetry at school. What about, “My love is like a red red rose”?'

‘Well, yes, I'd—' She had been going to say that she had
forgotten it; but she hadn't. ‘There must be any number…such a lovely colour…and long stems…' She looked rather wildly at him.

‘Maggy, you're babbling.' He was laughing at her. She didn't know whether to laugh with him or cry; she felt unaccountably like doing both. He stopped laughing and said quite seriously,

‘I want to talk to you. Will you be here next Wednesday?'

She nodded and said goodnight in a low voice, then fled through the door and over to her office, and stood amongst the roses until she heard him shut the door. Then she picked a bunch of roses from one of the vases and went over to the Sisters' Home.

Maggy lay awake a long time trying to think sensibly. But good sense had no chance against the wisps of wild dreams floating in and out of her head. She wondered what he wanted to see her about, and then caught the tatters of her common sense about her, and told herself sharply to stop behaving like a lovesick schoolgirl and go to sleep.

In the morning the first thing she saw was the bunch of roses, and she remembered what Sister Beecham had said when they had met on the way to her room the night before.

‘Red Roses, MacFergus? Who's in love with you?'

‘In love with me?' She must have sounded stupid, for the older woman had answered impatiently, ‘Of course. You must know that men send red roses to the girls they love.' She had sniffed. ‘Still, perhaps they don't do it nowadays.'

At the memory of her remark, Maggy said ‘Nonsense' very loudly and got out of bed, deliberately filling her mind with thoughts as practical as the uniform she was putting on.

 

She had little time for private thoughts during the next few days. Mrs Salt, prostrate after a sudden bout of pain and sickness, needed a great deal of encouragement and attention if she was to survive to celebrate her birthday. It took the combined skill and cunning of the nursing staff, coupled with pep talks from Sir Charles and the house physician, to get her sitting up against her pillows again.

Maggy had another problem on her hands too— Madame Riveau, due to go home in a couple of days, looked increasingly ill. Despite this, her husband and son asked sullenly each time they came if she could leave immediately. To her surprise, Madame Riveau had consented to have her teeth X-rayed on the morning of her discharge, but Maggy guessed that she had not told either her husband or her son. If she could persuade them to wait until the day the doctor had agreed upon for her discharge she could be seen before they called to fetch her home. The woman had been a lot of trouble and she would be glad to see her go.

Wednesday came at last. When she went into Sep, Maggy was greeted by Mevrouw Doelsma, whose manner was faintly tinged with excitement, but she chatted guilelessly while Maggy helped her out of her armchair and back into bed. When she was once more sitting back comfortably against the pillows she gave a contented sigh.

‘It's wonderful to get up each day now, but bed is so delightful afterwards. I'm doing well, aren't I, Maggy?'

She was answered by a muffled voice from under her bed, where Maggy was lying, plugging in a second lamp. Sep, as Maggy had so often said, had been designed by a man with no imagination. The wall plugs were all ground level, behind the bed, and the nurses had long ago discovered that it was both quick and easy to reach them by getting under the bed rather than to pull the bed out from
the wall, and then push it back again. Mrs Doelsma, having seen this operation performed countless times, thought nothing of the shapely pair of legs sticking out from under the side of her bed, but continued to address them.

‘Do you suppose I shall be able to go home soon? I've been very happy here, but now I feel almost well again, and I should like to go back to Oudehof.'

Her voice tailed off. Her son was standing in the doorway; he gave a half smile in greeting and raised an eyebrow at the legs, but made no attempt to come into the room. There was a click, as the lamp was switched on.

‘Of course you'll be going home soon, Mevrouw Doelsma.' Maggy spoke in a comforting voice. She had heard the slightly wistful note in the little lady's voice. She slid from under the bed and stood up. For all her size, she was a very graceful young woman; she gave herself a shake, twitched her apron bib straight, smiled at Mevrouw Doelsma, and turned in a leisurely fashion to the door. The sight of the doctor brought her up short. She blushed, to her own annoyance, and said in a rather weak voice. ‘Oh! Have you been there long?' She looked at him anxiously, but there was nothing to read from his face. Perhaps he had just that minute arrived.