Where the Heart Lies (27 page)

Julie twisted her hands in her lap. ‘So you do think there might be something to worry about?’

He smiled his gentle smile and rose from his chair to come and sit on the corner of the desk. ‘I think you’ve worried yourself enough and now it’s time to get an expert opinion. Whatever the outcome, you’ll feel much better for it.’

‘You’re right,’ she replied softly. ‘I’ve barely slept all weekend.’

He grinned and returned to his chair. ‘I know just how you feel,’ he replied, reaching for the telephone. ‘But try not to worry. I’ll call Sam Watson now and see if he can fit you and William in later today. Why don’t you go and make yourself a cup of tea, and I’ll come and find you when I have some news.’

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, ‘but could we keep this to ourselves? I don’t want your father or Eunice using this as an excuse to dismiss me.’

‘Good heavens,’ he spluttered. ‘You’re far too
valuable to dismiss – and William’s care is a private thing. Don’t you worry, Julie, anything you say to me in here will go no further. Now make that tea and try to relax.’

Julie left his room and headed for the small staff kitchen which was on the other side of the large square hall.

‘You look much happier,’ said Maud as she carried the bucket to the sink and poured the dirty water down the drain. ‘Had a face like a wet weekend, you did earlier.’ She grinned up at Julie, her dentures slipping. ‘Dr Michael’s lovely, isn’t he? Ever so kind, and I reckon he’s taken quite a liking to you, young Julie.’

Julie had no intention of getting drawn into this and merely returned her smile. ‘A cup of tea, Maud?’ she asked instead, reaching for the cups and saucers.

‘Better not,’ Maud replied with a grimace. ‘That Eunice will be here in a minute and I haven’t finished tidying the waiting room.’ The bucket clanged as she stowed it beneath the sink, and then, armed with duster and polish, she waddled off.

Julie made a pot of tea and took a cup to Michael, who acknowledged it with a nod as he carried on talking on the telephone. She left him to it and returned to the kitchen, her nerves in tatters.

Having drunk two cups of tea, she felt slightly better, and, rather than hanging about doing nothing, which would give her too much time to think, she began the Monday morning ritual of checking the contents of her medical bag. She replaced cotton
wool and gauze, scrubbed her instruments until they shone, changed the lining in the bag and buffed up the leather. Old habits die hard, and she found some comfort in the familiar weekly task.

She heard Eunice come in and head straight for the waiting room, where it sounded as if poor Maud was getting a tongue lashing for leaving smears on her desk. Then she heard Michael’s voice, and his purposeful footsteps approaching across the hall, and suddenly all her nervousness returned.

He came into the kitchen and placed his cup and saucer on the drainer. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he said kindly. ‘I’ve spoken to Sam Watson, and he’ll see you and William at five-thirty in his hospital consulting room.’

‘How much will it cost?’ she asked fearfully.

‘His initial consultation will cost nothing.’ He smiled at her look of surprise. ‘We were at med school together, and he owes me several fairly hefty favours which I’ve called in.’ His smile became a grin. ‘Sam was a bit wild back then, and I could tell a tale or two, but he’s turned into a first-class paediatrician who specialises in ears, nose and throat.’

‘Thanks ever so,’ she murmured.

‘Would you like me to come with you? Only I know how daunting these consultations can be, and it’s likely you’ll be so tense, you won’t take in half of what he tells you.’

‘Would you really?’ she breathed. ‘You don’t mind? But what about your evening surgery?’

‘I’ve already spoken to Father, and he’s agreed to do it.’

Without thinking, Julie grasped his hand. ‘Thanks, Michael. I really appreciate everything—’

‘Sister Harris.’ Eunice appeared in the kitchen doorway, her expression stony as her gaze latched onto the entwined hands, which swiftly flew apart. ‘You have a busy day and there is no time for dawdling,’ she snapped. ‘Dr Michael, your first patient is waiting.’ Turning sharply on her heel, she stomped away.

Julie blushed as she caught Michael’s twinkling eyes.

‘Oops,’ he said. ‘I think we’ve upset our estimable Sister Beecham. We’d better get on, or we’ll never hear the end of it.’

Julie knew for certain that Eunice would make her pay for that little indiscretion and steeled herself for the awkward moment when she’d have to face her again. ‘I’ll meet you outside the hospital at five-fifteen,’ she replied quietly.

Michael strode off and Julie took a moment to compose herself before picking up her medical bag and following him. The waiting room was already packed, the redoubtable Eunice behind her desk. Julie noted the frosty glare but hoped Eunice was too much of a professional to start an argument in front of the patients.

She took the list from Eunice and quickly scanned through it, noting it was even longer than usual. ‘I
will need to finish me round by four o’clock this afternoon,’ she said firmly. ‘These six patients can either be dealt with by the volunteers or wait until tomorrow.’

Eunice’s cold blue eyes regarded her for a long, silent moment. ‘Why do you need to leave early?’

‘I have something important to do and can’t be late.’

‘Nothing is more important than your patients, Sister Harris.’

‘Maybe not, but in this instance, it’s vital I finish early.’

‘Why?’

‘That,’ said Julie quietly, ‘is none of your business.’

The gaze was steely. ‘I do not approve of your conduct,’ Eunice said, quietly, obviously aware they could be overheard, ‘and if I see you behaving in that way with Dr Michael again, I will have you dismissed.’

Julie didn’t flinch beneath that glare. ‘Please rearrange me schedule, Sister Beecham,’ she said flatly, ‘or I will be forced to do it meself.’

Eunice’s mouth thinned as she snatched the list and turned her attention to adjusting all three schedules. She handed it back with little grace and Julie hurried out of the waiting room as Dr Sayers Senior buzzed for his next patient.

Both babies were yelling fit to bust, and as Harvey sought refuge in the cellar from the noise, Peggy
and Mrs Finch hurried to change their nappies as the formula warmed. Blessed silence fell as Rose and William greedily latched onto their feeding bottles and both women sighed with relief.

‘There are times,’ said Mrs Finch, ‘that I’m glad I don’t have that new hearing aid. I’d forgotten how a baby’s cry can go right through one’s head.’ She softly ran her finger over William’s fair hair and smiled tenderly. ‘But it is rather lovely having these young ones in the house. Reminds me of when mine were little.’

Peggy smiled and nodded as she hugged Rose, but she could see the wistfulness in the older woman’s eyes and knew she still yearned for her own sons and their families. It must have been very hard for her when they’d left for Canada – harder still now there were grandchildren she would never see. Families could break your heart, she thought sadly.

Harvey had obviously deemed it safe to return and was now slumped by Peggy’s feet, his watchful gaze flitting between the two women.

She looked down at him fondly, knowing he’d taken on the role of guardian to the babies, and that he spent a good deal of his time lying by the pram as they slept. ‘Good boy, Harvey,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll give you a treat when I’ve finished here.’

He waggled his eyebrows and thumped his tail on the floor in anticipation.

Peggy looked back at Mrs Finch. She’d been worried that it all might be too much for the old
lady, but she’d rolled up her sleeves and willingly joined in the endless round of feeding, changing and washing, and now seemed very contented as she fed William. ‘I tried to get the new hearing aid mended,’ she said. ‘But it’s beyond repair.’

‘I’m so sorry, Peggy. It was terribly clumsy of me, and I know how expensive it must have been, but my pension comes through next week, so I can pay you back.’

Peggy knew how meagre that pension was. ‘No you won’t,’ she said quickly. ‘It was a gift, and I’ll not take a penny for it.’

Mrs Finch eyed her over her half-moon glasses rather sternly, and then broke into a warm smile. ‘Then I’ll just have to find another way of paying you back.’ She looked down at William, who’d fallen asleep, and took the half-empty bottle away. ‘He doesn’t eat enough,’ she fretted, lifting him to her shoulder and patting his back. ‘No wonder he’s so small.’

Peggy watched as Mrs Finch rubbed the tiny back and elicited a burp from William. He was small, but he seemed healthy and contented enough. ‘Julie’s not very big either, and from what she’s told me, William’s mother was very tiny.’

‘You don’t think . . . That’s to say . . . He’s not really Julie’s, is he?’

Peggy shook her head as she took the empty bottle from a drowsy Rose. ‘Julie made a point of showing me his birth certificate.’

Mrs Finch sighed as she carefully wrapped the
soft blue blanket round William. ‘He’s a dear little thing, but Julie will be heartbroken if his father turns up and carts him off. There’s nothing worse than losing a child once you’ve loved it.’

Peggy frowned as she set Rose over her shoulder and tried to wind her. ‘You said that as if you’ve experienced such a terrible thing.’

‘I had a little girl,’ Mrs Finch replied softly, her gaze settled on the sleeping baby in her arms. ‘She died shortly after she was born, but I’ll never forget her – never.’ She blinked rapidly and took off her glasses. ‘You’ll have to take William and put him in the pram,’ she said rather briskly. ‘I can’t get out of this damned chair without both hands free.’

Peggy cocooned Rose in her own pink blanket and placed her gently in the old family pram before gathering up William and putting him beside her. Drawing a soft sheet over the pair of them, she wheeled the pram into the hall. They looked so sweet lying there – one so fair, the other so dark.

Harvey sauntered into the hall and made himself comfortable by the pram. He would stay there now until Ron took him out for their usual walk across the hills.

Peggy reached into the pocket of her apron and gave him two dog biscuits, which he began to chew with alacrity. She returned to the kitchen just as Ron came up the cellar steps and dumped an armful of firewood onto the floor. ‘Ron,’ she protested. ‘I’ve just cleaned the lino.’

He began to stack the small logs in the basket by the range. ‘Time we had new lino in here anyway,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll see what I can find.’

Peggy doubted very much that there was any lino to be had in Cliffehaven – but then Ron and Jim were always surprising her with the things they managed to find. ‘That would be nice,’ she sighed, ‘but I don’t want it if it isn’t come by honestly.’

He looked up at her as he knelt by the range, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘Now, Peg,’ he said, ‘as if I’d do anything like that.’

She giggled as she sat down and lit a cigarette. ‘You already have,’ she retorted, ‘but there’s obviously little point in me trying to keep you on the straight and narrow.’

‘Marrow?’ said Mrs Finch. ‘I thought we were having brisket tonight?’

Peggy assured her they were, and watched as the old woman gathered up her vast knitting bag. Mrs Finch loved knitting, but her arthritic hands made it difficult, and she kept dropping stitches and making a right mess of it all. The matinee jacket she’d started six months ago had never been finished and now she was trying to follow a complicated pattern for a jumper, which she planned to give Ron on his birthday. By the look of things, that wouldn’t be finished either.

Ron finished stacking the wood and swept up the bits from the worn lino before making a pot of tea.
He sat down with a grateful sigh, waiting for the tea to steep, and then poured them all a cup.

Peggy watched this unusual display of domesticity and wondered what he was after. She carried on smoking her cigarette, knowing she’d find out sooner rather than later.

Ron sipped his tea and fiddled about with his pipe and tobacco. ‘Peggy,’ he said eventually, ‘there’s something I wanted to ask you.’

She smiled. ‘I thought there might be. What is it, Ron?’

‘What do you know about Eileen Harris?’ he asked flatly.

His question startled her, and she was immediately wary. ‘Not much. Why?’

‘Did she and Rosie fall out over something? Was there a scandal some time ago which involved the pair of them?’ He left his tea to cool as he regarded her steadily through the pipe smoke.

This was dangerous ground, for she’d thought that old scandal long dead and buried. ‘Has Rosie said something about it, Ron?’ she asked carefully.

‘Not in so many words, but enough to make me curious, and I’ll not be having my Rosie upset for anything.’

‘Oh, Ron, I’m sorry, but it’s not me you should be asking. Rosie and Eileen did fall out, but it was some years ago, and picking away at old sorrows does little good. I’d advise you to let it rest. There’s nothing you can do about it – not now.’

‘So you do know what happened?’ he persisted.

Peggy nodded. ‘But I made a promise to Rosie, and I’m not going to break it, Ron. If she decides to tell you, then that’s up to her. But I doubt she will – she’s too wise to pick over old bones.’

He was about to reply when there was a loud rapping at the door. Harvey began to bark, Rose Margaret began to wail and Mrs Finch dropped her knitting.

‘I’ll see to Rose, you get the door,’ said Peggy, rushing into the hall.

Ron stumped moodily after her and flung the door open, ready to give whoever it was a piece of his mind for interrupting such an important conversation.

One look at his eldest son told him this was no social call, and he went cold with dread. ‘What is it, Frank?’ he rasped.

‘It’s . . . It’s . . . ,’ he stuttered, the tears welling, his handsome face lined with grief as he stepped into the hall and silently handed his father the telegram.

Ron’s hands shook as he drew the single sheet of paper from the brown envelope. The words, so terse and cruel, struck at his heart.

DEEPLY REGRET TO REPORT DEATH OF YOUR SONS SEAMUS AND JOSEPH REILLY ON WAR SERVICE * LETTER FOLLOWS * COMMODORE RNR BARRACKS CHATHAM