Authors: Elizabeth Gilzean
“It
’
s different in a way and yet in lots of thing
s
you
’
ll recognize the counterpart of what you see over here. Just as in the villages in this country life
’
s much slower than in the cities, so it is at home.
You could say the average American is much the same as the average Englishman if you scrape away the top covering. I like it over here but I like it back home too.”
They were leaving the houses behind now. The pavements were dwindling into footpaths and the street lamps had vanished. Green fields with grazing cattle had replaced the parks and cricket pitches. John was driving at a fraction of his usual speed as if trying to soak up some of the richness of high summer.
“Guess I never did care for cities much ... not in hot weather. My family lives near New York City now ... about twenty miles out. But most summers, as long as I can remember, we
’
ve had a cottage down at Cape Cod—and it always seemed that the days were long and always sunny and a cool breeze blew in from the sea that was blue as blue could be and it meant lying on the hot sand or swimming or sailing or fishing. Of course lately I could only get down for the odd week or maybe a weekend.”
Sally tried to visualize the appropriate page in her old school atlas. “But wouldn
’
t it be too far?” she objected.
“Far? Yes, as you reckon miles in
this
country. But not back home where if you want to get to places quick you take the superhighways and you really hum along.”
“Sounds horrid ... nothing but exhaust smoke and the rear of the car in front.” Sally shuddered.
“Couldn
’
t agree with you more. Why do you think I like mooching along these little English lanes? Take a squint at the map, Sally, and tell me where we turn off. We should be getting near Kingswood.”
Sally found their location on the map after some searching. “If you carry on through Walton-on-the-Hill we can get there through Mickleham and Camilla Lacey and you turn off just before you get to Dorking toward Ranmore Common.”
“What gorgeous names you people have! Some are obvious but other make you wonder ... like Friday Street or Forty Green or Ickwell. Sometimes I run through the names on a road map just for the fun of it.”
“Turn right at the next crossroad, John.” Sally brought him back to the present.
“Okay, honey. You be the guide from now on. I haven
’
t explored these parts. I guess I got discouraged too soon. Funny how we
’
ve only seen one car since we left the main road.”
“Not really. Many of the people around here work in London and it
’
s too early for them to be home yet. For the farmers it
’
s getting on for milking time. So it only leaves summer visitors who will probably be having tea or types like ourselves who don
’
t work regular hours.”
“Sally, you seem to know a lot about the country. I never got round to asking where you lived. I suppose I guessed it would be London, but now I
’
m not so sure.”
Sally chuckled. “Don
’
t laugh, but I live just outside a place called Much Over and there is a Little Over nearby and there
’
s even a Middle Over but there
’
s not much left
of it ...
only an old mill that someone has transformed into a restaurant for Londoners with expensive tastes ... and a few tumbledown cottages that have been condemned but they haven
’
t found anywhere else for the villagers to live yet. It
’
s all a nice quiet backwater and a bit dreary in winter but Daddy loves it and Mother
’
s used to it by now. Daddy says he used to be something in London until he had sense enough to unhitch himself from the darned treadmill. Now he grows strawberries under glass and orchids and so on for silly Londoners. Slow down, John, we
’
re just coming
to it ...
that
’
s it by the old oak tree.”
“What
’
s this place called, honey?”
Sally kept her face straight. “Why, it
’
s the Old Oak Tree of course.”
“Sol should have guessed. You English are either so obvious or else you wrap it up so well that a poor Yankee isn
’
t sure whether he
’
s being insulted or being paid a compliment!”
“What
’
s the matter? Don
’
t you like the English?” Sally pretended to be huffy.
John parked the car carefully and then he turned and looked at Sally very deliberately. “Would you be trying to make me mad or something?”
Sally shook her head. “Not intentionally. You see, some of the phrases you use make me wonder whether you like us at all or whether you
’
re just puzzled. I know both countries are supposed to speak the same language, but it doesn
’
t seem to work out that way in practice.”
“Come on, Sally, lead me to that tea you
’
ve been promising me and we
’
ll see what we can do to straighten out Anglo-American relations, eh?”
She was pleased to see that there weren
’
t very many people having tea and that her favorite table under the tree overlooking the millpond was vacant. She led the way and greeted the waitress with a smile.
“Good afternoon, Mollie. I
’
ve brought an American friend to sample a real English tea.” She turned back to John. “Willing to leave yourself to our mercy? I promise you won
’
t be disappointed.” John nodded. He was watching the swans who were making hissing noises. Obviously they thought they weren
’
t receiving a fair share of attention or tidbits.
“You come here often?”
“Yes ... it
’
s not so far from home, you know,” Sally said casually.
“So you know all the spots around here, I guess. I thought I was showing you something different the other morning.” He sounded disappointed.
“I hadn
’
t been to that common. I expect I would have thought the hill a bit steep to bike up,” Sally explained.
Mollie was bringing their tea—hot, freshly baked scones tucked inside a napkin, farm butter and jam with whole fruit in it, two dishes stacked with raspberries and a jug of thick cream, and a sponge cake glistening with sugar.
“Good job I was too busy to eat much lunch, I guess. Is this your ordinary tea or a special one you keep for Sally and her friends?”
Mollie smiled shyly. “It
’
s the ordinary tea, sir. Will that be enough?”
“Yes, thanks.” Sally began to pour the tea. “Is that too strong for you, John?”
She was discovering that she felt far safer with him when she was on her own ground in the theater. Here it was almost like entertaining someone she didn
’
t know very well. Perhaps she was missing the security of the
precious
system
...
“That will do me fine. Got any brothers and sisters, Sally?”
“No, I
’
m the only child. That
’
s what makes it harder.”
“Harder for what?”
“Oh, to get
away ...
travel and go places and so on.” Sally spread some jam on her scone. “I don
’
t mean they try to stop me, but they look pained as if the very idea of my wanting to suggests to them that they
’
ve failed to make home attractive enough.”
“I get you. It
’
s something like that back home. I had a brother who died at a young age. Mother never really got over it and I guess she thinks if I get out of earshot I mightn
’
t come back. She
’
s not very strong and takes things pretty hard because of that. Dad sort of spoiled her to try and make up and it riled him a bit when I moved away because it made life not so cozy for him.”
“I
’
m sorry,” Sally said softly.
“Gosh, you don
’
t have to be sorry, honey. It
’
s over and done with
.
But I guess the older people are, the slower they forget.”
“How long are you over for, John?”
He chuckled. “Trying to ship me back already, eh? I took leave of absence for a year and a half. The other partners threaten to fire me if I stay away any longer.”
Sally looked puzzled. “I thought you worked in a hospital.”
“I do, but it
’
s our hospital. We have a sort of syndicate and each doctor has his own specialty. I suppose you could say it was something like your
Outpatients ...
a patient can be referred from one partner to another and so on.”
“But won
’
t it cost him too much?” Sally objected.
“Heck, we have medical insurance too, you know,” John said in an aggrieved tone.
“Sorry ...
I didn
’
t mean it that way. Another cup of tea?”
“Couldn
’
t manage another swallow of anything, thanks. That was some tea and how. What about you? Or can I chuck some of the scraps to the swans?”
At last they went reluctantly toward the car.
“It seems a shame to take you back when you
’
ve got a half-day, John,”
Sally objected. “You can put me on a bus...”
“Whatever for?” John demanded crossly. “If I didn
’
t know you
had to go on duty I could be thinking you had another date. That reminds me. Are you fixed up for the dance yet?”
“What dance?” Sally asked stupidly.
“And yo
u
work at St. Bride
’
s and don
’
t know what goes on!”
“When is it?” Sally knew there must be some reason it hadn
’
t registered in her mind.
“A week this Friday. Gosh, you must know about it. The Founders
’
Day Ball or something.”
Sally blinked. “But that
’
s not for the nurses ... it
’
s for all the
big names ... to r
aise funds for the hospital and so on.” She sounded so awed that John laughed.
“I
’
ve got an invitation.”
“But then you rank as a consultant,” Sally objected.
“Only a courtesy one, don
’
t you forget, and my card says,
‘
and partner.
’
You
’
d be that, wouldn
’
t you, if I asked you?”
“I daren
’
t!” Sally gasped.
“And why not? Do you really mean you
’
re afraid?” he asked in disbelief.
How could she explain that if she went with him to the Founders
’
Ball it would be more labeling than the announcement of an engagement in
The Times
—and that was the last thing she wanted?
“I can
’
t go,” Sally said flatly.
“You mean because you don
’
t want to go or because you
’
re on nights? I happen to know that you night hawks are allowed to have your pals stand in for you for dances and things.”
“It isn
’
t that. I can
’
t go because I won
’
t be at St. Bride
’
s a week on Friday,” Sally said with barely concealed triumph. Bless Matron for giving her the perfect
out...
“Got another date or something?” John asked suspiciously. “But you
’
re on nights ... stop talking in riddles and give, won
’
t you?”
“I
’
ll be on holiday ... that
’
s why,” Sally said slowly.
“Holidays? Who
’
s taking my session? You can
’
t go off! Just tell the matron it
’
s not convenient.”
“John, it
’
s all arranged. Staff Nurse Smithers is relieving me for nights off and holidays. She
’
s very good and you
’
ll like her.”
“But she hasn
’
t got black hair like a witch, or blue eyes dark as midnight and bubbling over with mischief. And I
’
m not reckoning on taking her to the Founders
’
Ball. Say, if you
’
re on holiday you can come! I can nip down to Much Over wherever it happens to be and collect you. It will be as easy as wink.”
Sally
’
s heart sank. She had been afraid he would work around to that answer in the end.
“I still can
’
t go.”
“You mean you
’
re going away?”
Sally wished she had the nerve to tell one little white lie, but with those light blue eyes boring relentlessly into her very thoughts she couldn
’
t.
“No, I
’
m not going away.”
“If it
’
s all brass hats at the ball they won
’
t recognize you all dolled up. You don
’
t look the same out of that fancy uniform, you know.”
For a brief moment Sally wavered—but then she saw the accusing faces of her set, George
’
s hurt expression, the mocking smiles of her
few enemies ...
No, she couldn
’
t do it.
“It isn
’
t that,” she said slowly.
“Sorry to be so slow on the uptake. Get in, honey, and I
’
ll run you back.”
She didn
’
t have to look at the expression on his face to realize what conclusion he had arrived at, and if she tried to explain he might think she was taking him too seriously and that would be even worse.
They drove back through the warm summer
’
s evening and a silence had fallen on them that was as chill and unfriendly as a November wind.
Sally was more than grateful that John took a wrong turning on the journey back to the hospital and got himself tied up in such a snarl of traffic that it needed all his skill and attention. They moved so slowly that she was beginning to wonder whether it might be quicker to walk when John saw an opening and shot through into a side street and managed to deposit her on the steps.
Sally jumped out. “Thanks for taking me out, John. Sorry about the other.”
The knowledge that she had only ten minutes left for changing into uniform and getting on duty made her sound breathless, but she could tell from the stillness of his face that he, was thinking something else. With quick pity she added, “See you later
...”
H
e looked at her steadily. “That you won
’
t, honey. I
’
m off tonight. Remember?”
Sally could only smile and run, but her feet didn
’
t take her away so swiftly that she couldn
’
t hear his softly spoken, “Thanks
a lot ...
thanks for everything, honey. Think about me occasionally
...”
She fled up the stairs, thankful that she hadn
’
t looked back. She knew that the wistful expression in his eyes would have made her heart turn over. Why did it have to be like this just when there was a chance that her American dream might come her way after all? Of course Aunt Agnes mightn
’
t even like her,
but...
Sally was glad to find a couple of emergencies waiting for her when she got on duty. It would help to cut the time she had for thinking and for dreaming and
for being sorry...
The theater emptied and Sally was left surrounded by a debris of wet plaster and all its attendant mess. She had got the first layer off by the time George shoved his head around the door.
“Do I have to drink the tea all by myself?” He sounded rather plaintive.
Sally grinned at him. “I was getting rid of the worst of the mess in case you were casting that net.”
She followed him into the little kitchen and saw that he had poured two cups.
“So you knew I
’
d come,” she teased him.
“I didn
’
t know. I merely hoped.”
Sally looked at him sharply. “What
’
s eating you, George?” She knew, but she also was aware that it would have to be sorted out between them. George had been too good a friend for too long not to warrant that.
“I
’
m not sure, as I haven
’
t felt this way before. But I think it
’
s a bad case of old-fashioned jealousy,” he said slowly.
Sally sighed. “You
’
re even worse than John,” she said thoughtlessly.
George looked blank for a moment. “You mean
he
’
s
jealous of me?” he asked incredulously.
Sally sighed again. “Something silly like
that ...
sort of
—
”
“Then you don
’
t like him better than me?”