Gradually, though, time softened the edges and Fay settled down into the life of St. Edith's. Dates in plenty came her way, and whenever it was possible she chose those which included another couple. Foursomes were safe and would hurt nobody, she felt. If she did accept a solo date she took care that it was an isolated occasion and so she managed to steer clear of an entanglement. She even began to enjoy herself a little, since this was her first visit to London and there were so many things for her to see.
The only exception she made to her self-imposed rule of not getting too friendly with any one of the housemen was Shorty Shaw. He was anything but short and was the sporting type. He it was who took Fay along to the ice-skating club of which he was a member and there discovered that she was almost professional class, particularly in the field of dancing. After that their communal interest excused a succession of dates, though as she became established as a
member of the club, Fay often went there without an escort at all. But whenever it was possible for their free periods to coincide she and Shorty were usually to be found at the club at least twice a week.
One morning, expecting a letter from Australia, she went along to the porter's desk in the main building to see if there were any letters for her. There was one, but not the one she had expected, so tucking it in her bib she was on her way back to the ward when she ran into Shorty. He was not looking pleased with life as he waylaid her.
"It's a damn rotten shame !" he announced.
"What is?" Fay demanded.
"I can't keep our date tonight. Sorry and all that—but blame my new boss."
"Oh?"
"Yes," the scowling young man went on. "You know I told you I was being switched to a surgical firm—well, I would get stuck with the stuffiest of the lot. My new Registrar tells me I'm expected to stand by on call all this week and half of next—just in case there's a theatre call."
"Well, that's reasonable, isn't it?" Fay enquired mildly.
"No, it isn't!" Shorty denied forcefully. "Not when I've been switched a week before I was due—just to suit their convenience—and considering my date with you was fixed before I knew that. He's just being his silly pompous self—it isn't as if he hadn't got two other housemen attached to hold his hand if need arises."
"Oh well, never mind—there'll be plenty of other times. And he wasn't to know, was he?"
"Yes, he was," Shorty was not going to give up his grievance easily. "I told him all about—who and where and why —I told him you'd got to get in a lot of practice if we're to stand a chance in the club championships—but that didn't budge him From the look on his face I thought he was going to tell me that a surgeon's life had to be a dedicated one—"
"Well, so it has," Fay pointed out.
"Oh, yes—" said the young man impatiently, "but—" he broke off suddenly. "Strewth! There is his lordship, and I'm due in Stanhope to do his round with him. Be seeing you—"
and Shorty was off at as near a run as his long legs and the slippery corridor permitted.
In the staff kitchen of Anderson Ward she found that with five minutes to spare she had time to read the letter she had tucked into her apron. It was from Toni and seemed to be in answer to the bread and butter letter which Fay had addressed to her weeks before. Toni's handwriting was firm and clear, but many of her sentences trailed off unfinished and a lot of the matter was unintelligible because of non sequiturs. Obviously Toni was no better, rather worse, and the realisation made Fay a little sad.
One paragraph was unmistakably clear, however. It ran: "Have you been seeing much of Mark lately? I do so want you two to like one another." Fortunately, Fay thought, she didn't have to answer that question, for the rest of the letter made it abundantly clear that Toni would have forgotten she had ever asked it long before a reply could reach her.
She sighed as she put the letter back in her pocket. Life was queer.
Flip came into the room as she was preparing to leave. "What's all that in aid of?" she demanded. "You in love or something, sighing like that?"
"Definitely not," Fay told her sharply.
"Just as well," the other girl opined. "There's another hoo-ha on with Registry. Sister's in the ward and yelling for you to sort it out."
In the ward Sister Browning was coping with a new admission—or rather, a readmission who rejoiced in the name of Paul Jones.
"Oh, there you are, Staff," Sister greeted her. "They've sent this child up without any notes. Registry say they can't find them and that therefore I must have them." Sister Browning was not renowned for her methodical habits and was at perpetual loggerheads with Registry. "But I haven't —I returned them about three months ago when he was discharged. I must have them because Dr. Fisher will be up to do her rounds in less than an hour. Chase them up for me, will you, Staff, and tell them that I'm quite sure I haven't
got the notes. I've checked. And please don't come back without them!"
Fay set out on her task rather unwillingly—she would far rather have stayed in the ward and settled little Paul in, but she knew why she had been picked to go to Registry rather than one of the younger nurses whose job it more properly was. It meant that Sister Browning was not really at all sure of the whereabouts of that file. Fay sighed as she obediently made the trek over to the main building on what she knew would probably be a difficult mission.
Registry were not very helpful. The clerks there had had more than one battle with Sister Browning and were not disposed to alter the verdict which had already been given—the file for Paul Jones had been booked out to Sister Browning.
"Yes, I know," Fay argued. "That was when the child was in before, but Sister sent the file back here when he was discharged about three months ago."
"Yes—and then she asked for it again—"
"Of course she did—when the child was readmitted today. That's when you told her the file was out," Fay repeated the details she had been given.
Grumbling, the clerk went away and came back with another who carried on the argument. "Sister Browning asked for the file yesterday and we sent it up to her."
"Well, it didn't arrive in the office yesterday, of that I'm quite sure," Fay stated firmly. "I did the office work yesterday myself and tidied up before night staff went on, and there was no file for Paul Jones there."
This seemed to be deadlock, and in desperation Fay suggested, "Could you perhaps have sent it to another ward by mistake?"
Registry did not admit to making mistakes, and only after persistent pressing did the clerk reluctantly agree to look up yesterday's list to see who else had requested files just before and just after Sister Browning.
This time there was a considerable pause, during which some telephoning took place. Eventually the first clerk came back. "I'm sorry, Staff Nurse," she said grudgingly, "it seems that the file on Paul Jones must have got caught up with
another batch that was going to Mr. Osborne. We'll get it back and let you have it up later."
"But it's wanted now," Fay persisted. "Dr. Fisher will be starting her round almost immediately and Sister wants that file."
"Well, there's only two of us here now and I can't spare anyone to send over for it. Perhaps you'd like to go yourself? It's on the desk in Mr. Osbome's office."
"Where's that?" Fay had no objection to getting the file for herself so long as she got it back to the ward in time for the doctor's round.
"It's one of the offices on the main corridor—near Theatre One. You'll see it—it's got his name on the door. You can just go in and pick it up if there's no one there."
Fay had heard about the privilege accorded to some of the Senior Registrars of having an office put at their disposal. Years ago before the accident wing had been added there had been a number of small examination rooms on the main corridor, and when these were no longer needed for that purpose they were made available to some of the Registrars. She must have passed the doors more than once on journeys through the main corridor without ever noticing the names on the white-painted doors. However, she found Mr. Osborne's without difficulty and tapped on it.
A familiar voice called "Come in !" and when she went in Fay was surprised to see Shorty Shaw sitting behind the desk.
"Hullo, what d'you want?" he said with a grin when he saw who it was.
"Hullo," Fay responded, "I thought this was Mr. Osborne's office—what are you doing here?"
"Using his desk to catch up on my homework," Shorty told her unashamedly. "What can I do for you?"
"Registry say there's a file here—Paul Jones is the name. It ought to have come to us, but there's been some muddle. Can I look to see if it's here?"
"It is—somewhere. Registry just rang through about it. I expect it's got under some of my junk, though."
Fay moved over to the desk to help in the search, and in
doing so a filing' cabinet on the short side wall came into her view. For a moment her busy seeking hands paused in their search as she stared at a large photograph on top of the cabinet.
"What's the matter?" Shorty asked, noticing her absorption. "Oh, that—" he followed her gaze, "they're Osborne's kids. Keeps their photograph always on view as a form of protection against the onslaughts of you nurses—"
"Oh, here's the file—" Fay interrupted a little breathlessly.
"Well, don't dash off," Shorty protested. "Stay and natter a bit—looking for a file covers a multitude of sins !"
"Sorry," Fay mumbled, "this one's wanted urgently." And before he could try to detain her longer she was outside in the corridor.
Automatically and almost blindly her feet took her down the main corridor and across the grounds back to her own ward without any conscious effort.
All her faculties just then were needed to assimilate the fact that the children whose picture she had just seen in Mr. Osborne's room were Mark's children. The photograph was a larger reproduction of the one she had seen in Mark's wallet.
A series of crises in the ward kept her too busy for the rest of the day to do more than dully record the fact that Mark was here—somewhere in St. Edith's—part of the same organisation as herself. It was only when she went off duty and back to her room in the Nurses' Home that she began to see things which might have given her a clue. Toni had explained Mark's sudden disappearance from Beechcroft at Christmas by saying that he had been sent for from the theatre. She could not think now why, with her training, it had never so much as crossed her mind that Toni was referring to an operating theatre. It explained too that remark in Toni's letter—not so wide of the mark after all. Indeed it was almost strange that in her two months at St. Edith's she had never accidentally run across Mark. True, their paths did not really cross—and she would see to it that they did not in future.
Just for a moment she allowed her mind to go back to Beechcroft and Christmas. She was trying to remember whether in any of their conversations she had mentioned her profession to Mark. Certainly she could not recall having done so—and she was equally sure that he had never mentioned his work to her. Looking back now it seemed strange how little they had spoken of themselves, their past, their backgrounds. It was as though fate, knowing there was no future for them, had given them that one little island of time in which to know one another so well without knowing anything at all about one another.
Fate was still being kind to her, Fay thought, as she remembered thankfully how separate was life in the "Seminary" from the main hospital. Forewarned was forearmed, and she would take care in future to avoid the vicinity of the Registrars' offices in the main building.
Life settled down to its usual uneventful course again and one day, one week, followed another with plenty of work and plenty of interest. Fay, although once or twice her heart beat a little faster than was normal as some tall, slim figure swung into the corridor ahead of her, never did catch sight of Mark, and she gradually grew more relaxed. She even told herself that it was silly to be apprehensive.
Sister Browning was very pleased with her new staff nurse, and told her so. "I can't think how I ever got on without you. You won't be asking for a transfer, will you?"
"Certainly not," Fay assured her. "I'm very happy here."
At the back of her mind she knew that one day she would want to take on the responsibilities of a Ward Sister again—but that was not yet. Not for a long while.
Transfers however were very much in the air, and the younger nurses could think of little else. Most of them had done their three months' stint and were either due for a change of ward or else for a return to full-time studies.
Everyone was waiting anxiously for the lists to be posted and keeping their fingers crossed that they would get the transfer they wanted.
"If I don't get a surgical this time I shall go and see Matron!" Flip threatened. "I've done two medicals, geriatric,
pediatric and psychiatric, so it's about time she gave me something interesting."
"Men's surgical for preference, I suppose?" Fay teased her.
"Yes, of course," Flip undisguisedly admitted. "Hard luck you don't get a change—but then you seem to like the old Brown Cow."