Consulting Surgeon (11 page)

Obedient as a child she turned away, only to find that he was following her out of the ward. His striding figure was a step or two behind her as they passed along the corridors beyond, down the wide stone staircase to the main hall. There Ursula paused, meaning to bid him good night before going across to the nurses’ quarters.

“You are going straight to bed?” he demanded.

She nodded, unable to speak.

“On second thoughts, you’re not, until you’ve had something warm and stimulating inside you.” He fingered his chin thoughtfully. “Where can I take you to see that you get it? The nursing staff isn’t allowed in the medical staff common room; I shouldn’t be
persona grata
in yours. Could you come back into town if I drove you there and back?”

“Not after I’ve signed back into hospital, and I have. I should have to get a special pass.”

“Then that’s out. Where then? The visitors’ canteen? Is there likely to be a night staff on duty there?”

“The night porter makes tea for any visitors coming to emergencies.”

“Then he shall make tea, for us—strong and potent. Come along.”

In the visitors’ room, which was empty, they sat drinking tea from thick white cups, in a brief intimacy which would have meant heaven to Ursula, had she been able to savor it. She found herself looking furtively across at Matthew, wondering how she could not have known until today that she loved him. Now she found his every mannerism of gesture and of tone implicit with meaning to her love; he had but to turn his head and he could set a tinder to every nerve of her being. Danger lay that way, she knew. Every new day of the future she would have to school herself to meet him as a colleague—and still a stranger. Tomorrow she must walk guarded against that danger. But tonight she could not care—
she could not care.

One thing that she knew she loved in him was that for him there was no half light of opinion. He condemned as forthrightly as he praised, and she heard him saying now:

“Absurd—this segregation of the sexes within hospital. What is one supposed to do, placed as we were just now?”

She smiled wanly. “It wasn’t foreseen that a consulting surgeon should want to take tea with a ward sister, except in her office, where apparently it is a legitimate pastime,” she said.

“You mean that it
was
foreseen—and was duly guarded against,” he retorted. “Nevertheless it is absurd. I shall take up the matter with Matron. More social contacts between the staffs could do no harm. Don’t you agree?”

“They would be pleasant—if they weren’t abused,” she said carefully. “In such a large community—”

He shrugged impatiently. “Oh, everything good risks abuse by someone. Don’t tell me that you are content with this sort of thing as a social makeshift?” He indicated the table without a cloth, the characterless earthenware.

Her heart cried,
‘
Content? With you, Matthew, I could be content with a crust and a horn platter.
’
But he was saying with something of the old raillery: “Perhaps I shouldn’t have tried to enlist your sympathies for social amenities that lesser folk sometimes feel in need of. You make it rather clear that for you they are not necessary.”

‘
Tonight,
’
she thought,
‘
he cannot even goad me. Yesterday I should have flared info defence at that. Does that mean then that loving him so hopelessly is to make me abject, to sap my whole character?
’

She did not know that, at the thought, her eyes had dulled, nor that Matthew, mistaking the sign for that of a besetting weariness which would force her to sleep, decided that it was time they made a move.

He walked across with her to the nurses’ quarters. Then: “Good night,” he said. “And don’t worry. I believe your Ned is going to be all right.” Surprisingly he set a forefinger beneath her chin, tilting her face to his, looking momentarily straight into her eyes. Then he turned upon his heel and was gone.

Was it always going to be like this? The light mockery, the careless misjudgment, the stern partnership of work, each lighted only rarely by an unexpected gentleness which the eager hopefulness of love longed to misinterpret into a meaning it did not hold? Well, tomorrow she would begin to build a barrier of indifference to it all. Tonight should keep its dreams.

CHAPTER SIX

BEFORE GOING on duty next morning she found time to slip in to Miller ward to see Ned, but though he was just conscious he was still hazy from the drug, and she did not stay. Halfway through her morning’s work, however, she was told that Mr. Bayert, the surgeon attending Ned, wished to see her.

With a heart that was beating with apprehension she returned to Miller. She was glad Ned was Mr. Bayert’s patient, for the surgeon, a Czech who had fled from persecution, was highly skilled, and his patience and the clear, careful English in which his directions were given were appreciated by the nursing staff.

He was waiting for her in Sister Arnock’s office, and he told her that though Ned was now fully conscious, he was still worried about his condition.

“We are taking him in to the Theatre for the setting of the femur this afternoon. That cannot be delayed. But that fracture is less serious than the possible effect of the head injuries which, I ought to warn you, could even lead to some degree in delayed paralysis—”

“He might
remain
paralyzed?”

The surgeon glanced at her shocked face. “A possibility only, Sister, but one which I considered you should be aware of, as I understand you are engaged to marry the patient?”

“Engaged to him? Oh, no, Mr. Bayert, that’s not so.”

Had she been less shocked herself, she might have seen the humor of Ned’s being the second fiancé to be thrust upon her in the course of a few weeks!

“It is not? How is that?”

“Sister Arnock knew Professor Primrose to be a friend of mine, but I think you may have misunderstood her to say we were engaged.”

Mr. Bayert, a short man, bridled slightly at the implication that he was not conversant with plain English. He said crisply: “Pardon me, but it is my patient who tells me so, not Sister Arnock at all.”

“
Professor Primrose
told you? But—!”

“There is, I see, a misunderstanding—only it is not mine! Let us then be clear about this, Sister, for something about this engagement, which you say does not exist, is worrying my patient, and that I cannot have—in his own interest. I think, from what he says, it is a triviality—no more than the fact that, in asking you to marry him, he forgot to provide himself with a suitable ring. But to him it is a thing of enormous proportions. These matters have importance with you ladies, I know”—Mr. Bayert bowed and almost clicked his heels—“but I sent for you to beg your comfort and reassurance for him, telling him that until he is well he is not to worry. And now you say that there is not only no ring, but no engagement either! That is disaster indeed.”

Ursula stammered: “The Professor’s head injuries, sir—is it possible they could cause—loss of memory?”

“That is so. Though in this case the memory appears clear enough to afford worry to himself.”

“But that’s just it. It isn’t really clear, or not completely so,” protested Ursula. “You see, the Professor
asked
me to marry him only an hour or two before his accident. And I refused.
That
is what he has forgotten. We—we agreed to remain good friends instead.”

Frowning, Mr. Bayert moved the few articles on Sister Arnock’s desk into a symmetry of tidiness which pleased him. He said: “This is worse still.” He paused again for thought. Then: “This is so bad that I must ask your co-operation. My patient is under the illusion that he is engaged to you—that is, that he has your support and love on which he can rely for strength. That, if possible, is an illusion he must be allowed to keep for a while. Only you can see that he does.”

“But—”

“The matter of the ring—it is nothing. A gentle assurance from you that you did not expect a ring, that you are glad he waited to consult you about the stone—anything will serve. But the other— no, I do not want him disillusioned about that. In his present state I would not answer for the consequences. Now, Sister, about ways and means?” He had taken her consent for granted. “How many people know of this no-engagement?”

“No one but myself.”

“No one here? Sister Arnock—you said not, I think?”

“No one knows. Sister Arnock, neither one way nor the other.”

“Then it could remain a secret between you and me alone?”

“Yes, I suppose so, Mr. Bayert.”

“Then no one else must be told
—no one,
you understand? While he remains in danger, you remain his fiancée . I look to you to play that part, and no word to the contrary shall go from me to anyone. You will do this for him? Agreed?”

What could she do but agree? To ensure Ned’s safety she would do anything within reason. So far as the surgeon knew, this
was
within reason. There was nothing for it but to accept.

Her quiet asking of permission to go to Ned gave her consent. Mr. Bayert’s answering nod of confidence was his sealing of their pact. But when she went on to the ward she found that Ned had slipped back into unconsciousness.

She stood looking down at him, grateful for the respite. Now she would probably not be called to him again until after he had been taken in to the Theatre and had come round from the anaesthetic. That should give her time to prepare her side of the fantastic make-believe. Though perhaps his clouded memory would clear quickly, and it would not be necessary after all. Even for his own good she hated to deceive him. Hated even more the thought of giving to Ned, whom she liked dearly but did not love, the tacit troth which her heart had already pledged to Matthew.

But even after he came round, and was able to talk a little, Ned did not remember her refusal of him. When she went to see him, the victim of an enormous erection of weights and pulleys which were supporting his injured leg, he asked some bewildered questions as to how he came to be where he was, then said worriedly: “You know, I felt awful about not getting a ring for you, Ursula, dear. I couldn’t forget it, and I’ve been dreaming about it ever since.” He passed a hand across his eyes which were pathetically vague for the want of his spectacles. “Say you don’t mind too much? I meant to get one, but I forgot...”

How would she have replied to him, if this situation had been real instead of false? She would have teased him, of course. So that was what she must do now. She said laughingly: “Knowing you, Ned, one could expect nothing else! At least you didn’t offer me the formula for a new detergent or something choice in nuclear physics instead!”

“You’re not angry.” Ned lay back and sighed with relief. “All the same, they’re likely to keep me trussed here for a good while yet. That means that you won’t have a ring at all, unless you’d choose one for yourself. Or would you really not mind waiting until we could choose it together?”

She bent over him. “I’d
much
rather wait until you are better,” she assured him, hoping that her tone did not sound evasive. When she left him a few minutes later she had managed not to lie directly to him, but only to deal gently with the assumptions that he made. But on her way out she was waylaid by Sister Arnock, who had an accusing twinkle in her eye.

“For a lass of as fair and open a countenance as yours, Craig,” she said, “I will say you’ve all the makings of as dark a horse as I’ve met! What’s this about your being a ‘friend of yon Professor’s, when you’d come but fresh and hew from getting yourself engaged to him?”

“I couldn’t stay to explain, the night before last. I was too upset,” evaded Ursula.

“Yes, well, I can imagine. So I’ll forgive you and look after him for you. When’s the wedding to be?”

“All this will postpone it, naturally—” Only the fact of Sister Arnock’s being called away just then saved Ursula further embarrassment. How long must this mockery continue, she wondered as she hurried off the ward. How long before Mr. Bayert considered Ned well enough to accept the truth? Or would memory dawn first upon Ned himself?

She prayed that before either thing happened she would not find herself so involved in a tissue of falsehood that she could not escape without shame for herself and irreparable hurt to Ned. Sometimes she wondered what was Matthew’s opinion of the “engagement” ruse advised by the other surgeon. But as, after that first evening, he had not mentioned Ned’s case to her, she could only hope that he did not think too badly of her for her share in the deception.

Her preoccupation with Ned had further postponed her promised visit to Shere Court. But on her next whole free day she was to go there for luncheon, tea and dinner, Mrs. Damon promising to have her driven back to hospital afterwards.

Meanwhile, she knew that Coralie was at Shere Court almost daily with Averil. A strange friendship that, Ursula reflected more than once. It was opposites who were supposed to be attracted, but Coralie and Averil Damon were oddly alike. Both were self-centered and both were given to dramatizing themselves, although Averil’s worldly poise was more than a match for Coralie’s youthful vivacity. As Ursula knew from long experience of her stepsister, and from a single unfortunate encounter with Averil, both brought more passion than dignity to their affairs. A quarrel between them was likely to be dangerously charged, so perhaps it was as well that, so far, the friendship seemed to have survived the intimacy asked of it.

But how wrong she was in supposing so, she was to learn sooner than she expected.

On the day before she herself was due at Shere Court she was called to the telephone when a rush of work needed her attention on the ward, and upon hearing Coralie’s voice her own tone was unwontedly brusque.

“Coralie, dear, I’m very busy,” she protested.

“Bear, you simply mustn’t be cross with me. I’ve got to see you!” There was urgency behind Coralie’s plea, and Ursula’s fears flew at once to Mrs. Craig.

“Coralie—it’s not—Mama?”

“Mummy? Why should it be? She’s all right. It’s—oh, it’s no good, Bear. I must talk to you. When are you free?”

“I’m having two hours this afternoon. But won’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“No, it won’t. I’ll meet you for tea in the town. You
must
come.”

When Coralie herself came to the rendezvous she looked pale and strained, and she made no more than a faint attempt to share the tea which Ursula had ordered. She ate nothing, drank only a little in reluctant gulps, and at her stepsister’s gentle question: “What is the matter, Coralie?” her cup rattled noisily into its saucer before being pushed aside.

Her eyes were hurt and her mouth puckered like a child’s as she said: “It’s—Averil and—Matthew.”

“What about them?” Ursula’s throat felt dry and tight as she put the question.

“They—they’re in love with each other. They are going to be married as soon as Averil is out of mourning.” Coralie glanced up quickly, misread something which she saw in her stepsister’s face and accused: “I believe you knew! And you hadn’t the decency to tell me!”

“I knew nothing, dear. You must believe that—”

“But you did! I see it all now. Even when I asked you what they were to each other you tried to put me off. You knew then and you wouldn’t tell me.” Coralie’s eyes narrowed. “I may even have been right when I thought in London that perhaps you wanted Matthew
for yourself
!”

‘It is sheer unhappiness that is sharpening her tongue to cruelty,’ thought Ursula as she took the shock of that last accusation. For she knew that her own secret had been guarded too well—even from herself!—for Coralie to be able to guess how near the truth she came.

“Dear,” she tried again gently, “I couldn’t hold back from you something I didn’t know. After all, Averil loved her husband, and lost him no more than a few weeks ago. How could I have supposed that she could bring herself to turn so soon to—his cousin?”

There was silence. Then Coralie said with slow significance: “Averil didn’t love Foster.”

“Coralie, you can’t know that—!”