Amy (19 page)

‘An officer,’ Helen said, smiling. ‘I wonder which one it is. I wonder which one you want it to be.’

Amy shook her head at her. She went to the dressing-table and checked the neatness of her hair and straightened her cuffs.

W
HICH
one was it? Both of them wrote to her from time to time. Dan’s letters were the same as ever, warm but non-committal. Johnny’s were full of flying, of new aircraft, of sorties over enemy lines and being shot at from the trenches. Sometimes she could hardly bear to read them. He didn’t mention the kiss. She wondered if he even remembered it.

She walked down the staircase. Johnny, tall and in his Flying Corps uniform, stood out among the uniforms below. He was standing with his back to her, looking out of the window. She felt a glow that rose through her body and flushed her cheeks. It’s been a year, she thought. I haven’t seen him for a year. For a year she had wondered every day whether he was alive. She had waited every day for a letter, telling her that he was well. His letters had arrived at irregular intervals,
sometimes
two or three together. They were always full of life. He even sounded as if he were enjoying himself. She had wondered often whether she would ever see him again, not because he was dead, God forbid, but because he may not want to see her, because the kiss might have been one of those passing things that happen in wartime,
impulsive
and meaningless. The memory of the day he took her flying had, for some time, seemed unreal, like a dream, but unlike a dream,
retaining
clearly every detail. She paused for a moment on the stairs. She just wanted to look at him, to reassure herself that he was really there, and to compose herself. He had not seen her yet.

She went on down the stairs and walked to him across the hall. ‘Hello Johnny.’

He turned to her, a smile lighting his face. ‘Amy!’ She held out her hand and he took it in both of his and held it, enclosed in his own. He looked down at her, laughter in his eyes. ‘You do remember me, don’t you?’

She laughed back up at him. ‘Of course I do.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it.’ He looked at her in silence for a moment. ‘It’s been a long time. Too long.’

She nodded. After a few moments she gently took her hand away, conscious of the many pairs of eyes around them. The hall was thronged, nurses and men and visitors and a man from the post
bringing
in letters and parcels.

He grinned at her. ‘A bit like Piccadilly Circus.’

She nodded and smiled. ‘Even more crowded than that. It’s lovely to see you, Johnny.’

‘I’m sorry to just appear like this,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t let you know I was coming. All a bit of a rush. I’m just glad you were here.’ He grinned. ‘Not out with your ambulance rescuing some other admirer.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘It’s so lovely to see you.’ She led him to one of the sofas. ‘How long have you got? How long will you be in Paris?’

He made a rueful face. ‘About half an hour. I’ve got a new posting. I’m between trains.’ He was looking at her intently as if trying to remember the details of her face. ‘I wanted to see you, even if it’s only for a few minutes. Do you realize I haven’t seen you for nearly a year?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I know.’ She glanced around at the busy hall. It was impossible to have more than a casual conversation, or one that appeared to be casual. She looked into his eyes, looking for any sign of strain, of that slow, gradual breaking down that so many of the men carried in their eyes, the wearing down of constant danger and stress. It did not seem to be there. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Enjoying myself, actually. Flying’s still the
greatest
thing in the world. I’m flying a BE2. It’s a nice machine and the observer has a machine-gun, but I think there is something better in the pipeline – single seaters with guns for the pilots.’

Amy chose to ignore the guns. She didn’t want to think about it. She nodded. ‘It was wonderful wasn’t it, that day? I never thought I’d be
going up in an aeroplane.’

‘So you remember?’ His look settled briefly on her mouth. ‘All of it?’

‘Of course I do,’ she said. ‘All of it.’

He looked around him and laughed, a short, humourless laugh. ‘It’s like a bear garden here. I can’t even touch you.’

She blushed and glanced around her. ‘No.’ One of the sisters walked by, starched apron rustling. One of the patients, balanced on crutches, winked at her.

‘How have you been?’ he said. ‘What have you been doing?’

She gestured with her hand around the hall. ‘Just the same, day after day. It never stops, does it? It never shows any sign of coming to any kind of end. I don’t know how long the men can go on taking this – this carnage.’

‘What about you?’ He touched her hand again briefly. ‘Can you go on taking it?’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll go on till the end, as long as I’m needed. We all will.’

He took out his cigarette case. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Nearly all the men smoke.’ A year, she thought, and we can’t say anything that we really want to say.

He lit his cigarette and leant back against the sofa. ‘I think about that day a lot,’ he said. ‘When I’m up there on my way home over our
territory
and there’s nothing interesting going on. It’s a favourite memory.’

‘All anybody has now is memories,’ she said. ‘Normal living has gone. When will it end? How long…?’

‘God knows.’ He drew deeply on his cigarette. ‘You can see it all from up there. You can see the shells exploding, men running and men falling and bodies hurled into the air. The noise is incredible, even over the engine. Sometimes you can even feel it, the plane shaking and vibrating. Sometimes you think that everybody down there must be dead. You wonder how anyone could survive it. I can fly away from it when I’ve done my job. Those men have got to stay there.’

‘I’m glad you’re flying, then,’ she said. ‘At least you can sleep in a bed at night.’

He said nothing and for the first time she saw a fleeting glimpse of that look in the eye, that horror, that wasteland. He looked around for an ashtray and stubbed out his cigarette. He wouldn’t fear death, she knew that. For him and probably all of them, there could be worse
things than death. A month ago they had admitted a pilot, rescued from his crashed, exploding aircraft and horribly burned. She dragged her mind away from it. Johnny seemed to be looking into some kind of empty distance. He lit another cigarette.

She smiled brightly. ‘Look at us,’ she said. ‘We’ve only got a few minutes and we’re talking about the war.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and smiled the smile that so touched her. ‘No more war. I’m due some leave, probably in June. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of you getting leave then too? I want to see you in England again. We could go out, have some fun. We might even be able to go out in the evening on our own. I believe the insistence on
chaperons
has gone by the board.’

‘That would be wonderful,’ she said. ‘I’ve almost forgotten what fun is. Send me some dates, and I’ll try.’

He glanced at his watch and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. ‘I’ll have to go, Amy. Write to me.’ He looked down into her eyes. ‘And promise me you’ll be in England in June.’ They stood up together and he solemnly shook her hand and laughed. ‘Very formal,’ he said. ‘I’m guarding your reputation, you see.’

She had a sudden image of the aircraft she and Helen had seen, no one knowing whether they were friend or enemy.

She put her hand on his arm. ‘Johnny, have you got something on your aircraft now, some sign, so that everybody knows you’re British? We’ve heard of our aircraft being shot at from our own lines.’

He grinned. ‘We’ve got a big bright circle of red, white and blue. We’ve had it for some time. The Germans have got a big black cross. Appropriate, don’t you think?’

‘That’s one worry less then. But I see you’re carrying a pistol.’

He nodded. ‘A Webley. Just in case.’

In case of what, she wondered. She didn’t have to voice the
question
, it was written on her face.

‘Don’t worry so much,’ he said. ‘I’ll be fine. And if I’m downed, the Germans are being very decent to pilots.’ He glanced at his watch again. ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Look after yourself,’ she said.

He put on his cap and looked down at her, and then, very briefly, touched her face. He left then, striding out into the street, and away.

She hurried back into the ward to help with the dressings. Dr
Hanfield was in the ward talking to Sister.

‘Amy,’ she said, ‘could you come to my office this evening after dinner? There’s something I want to talk to you about.’

Amy’s heart missed a beat. Now what? Surely Dr Hanfield couldn’t have found out. If she had, what would she do about it? Make her leave? Amy tried to read her face. She didn’t look disturbed or annoyed, but she wouldn’t show her feelings. Maybe it was something else.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll be there.’

She met Helen for lunch in the dining-room, worried now about Dr Hanfield; thinking and worrying about Johnny. It was busy, as usual, the maids bustling about with trays and plates.

‘Meat and potato pie today,’ Helen said. ‘And carrots and swede. It’s very good.’

The good smell of the food was underlined by that inescapable odour of the hospital. The staff seemed to carry it about with them, no matter how much they bathed or washed their clothes. Amy sat down and Helen looked at her, bright enquiry on her face.

‘Well?’ she said.

Amy couldn’t control her broad smile. ‘It was Johnny.’

‘I know that.’ Helen laughed. ‘Everybody knows that. He caused quite a stir. Apparently Dr H. and Sister spotted him before you went down and said hello. He’s one of their great successes.’

The maid brought Amy’s lunch.

‘Well?’ Helen said again.

‘He was just passing through,’ Amy said. ‘He only had a few minutes.’

Helen looked at her in silence for a moment, then she shook her head, eyes cast up. ‘Most women would give their eye teeth.’

Amy laughed. ‘Not in public they wouldn’t. The place was seething. Dozens of pairs of eyes.’

‘In private then.’

Amy ate some of her pie. ‘This is good.’

‘In private then,’ Helen persisted.

‘He wants to meet me in England.’ Amy said. ‘He’s got leave in June. I don’t know if I can get leave then.’

‘You can try,’ Helen said. ‘God knows we’re all due for it. I want to meet up with Peter….’

Two nurses crossed the crowded room and sat down to share their table.

‘Talk to you later,’ Helen mouthed.

After dinner Amy went to Dr Hanfield’s office. She tried to prepare herself for what she presumed was the coming embarrassing
discussion
about her future. Would she be thrown out, or would Dr Hanfield believe her, accept that Bulford was a misogynist and a power-mad bully. And how had she found out? She supposed, wearily, that she would have been found out sooner or later. She would just have to face it out.

Dr Hanfield smiled as she came in. ‘Sit down, Amy.’ Amy sat down in front of her desk. It reminded her sickeningly of sitting in front of the General Medical Council. ‘I wonder,’ Dr Hanfield said, ‘whether you would be prepared to take on some more duties in theatre. Two of the nurses are leaving – problems at home, I believe, and there are staff needing leave.’

Amy stared at her trying to disguise her surprise and relief.

‘You do seem to have a talent for this kind of work,’ Dr Hanfield went on, ‘And I’m sure you could do the job. What do you think?’

Amy wanted to lean across the desk and hug her, give three rousing cheers, dance around the room. ‘I’d be very happy to do that,’ she said calmly.

‘Good. I thought you would.’ Dr Hanfield paused. ‘You do realize that it would mean handling other parts of the body, severed limbs, perhaps?’

Amy nodded. ‘I know. That wouldn’t be a problem at all. I’d like to do it very much.’

‘Excellent.’ Dr Hanfield smiled, a tired, weary smile. ‘We’ll start you in a few days then. We’ll have to give you some training – how to scrub up, sterilize instruments, do swab counts, that sort of thing. We’ll see how you get on, what you can do. Is that all right?’

Amy nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘Thank you, Amy.’ Dr Hanfield looked relieved.

Amy stood up. ‘Thank you, Dr Hanfield. I shall look forward to it.’

Outside the door she gave a huge sigh of relief, and not only relief. Not by a long way. She was going to be in theatre again. She would be part of it again, eyes and ears open to observe and learn every new fact
and technique that came along. And there were many. Hideous though it was, the injuries and diseases that raged through a war were an unequalled stimulus to medical advance and change. She made her way slowly up the stairs. New things were happening all the time. American doctors had enormously improved blood transfusion
techniques
and they were already being given in some of the Regimental Aid Posts or Clearing Stations. One of their patients had been
transfused
at an Aid Post and it had saved his life. There was a tetanus
antitoxin
, a typhoid vaccine, Madame Curie with her X-rays. So many things. Now perhaps she’d be able to keep up with at least some of the changes. She might even be able to read some of the medical journals without arousing suspicion. It really was a huge change for the better, and a huge joy to her. And today, she had seen Johnny. Her heart began to lift.

Helen was waiting in the hall. ‘What did she want?’ she said.

Amy took her arm. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’ They sat down on their beds. ‘She wants to know if I’ll do more work in theatre. Apparently they’re a bit short of staff.’

‘Do you really want to do that?’ Helen looked doubtful. ‘I’m not sure I would, handling all those things. It’s bad enough on the wards.’

‘I want to do it.’ Amy tried not to sound too enthusiastic. ‘It’ll be much more interesting.’

‘It’ll be a change, anyway.’ Helen stared out of the window. She looked and sounded unsettled, restless.

‘Are you getting sick of it, Helen? Or just dreadfully all round tired? Are you thinking of giving up?’

Helen shook her head vigorously. ‘No, of course not. It’s just….’ The words seemed to burst out of her. ‘I want to see Peter. We hardly ever see each other. It’s not fair!’ Her mouth twisted. ‘It isn’t fair for anybody, is it?’