Never the Time and the Place

The next morning, being theatre day, was busy, but after the trauma of getting Mrs Prosser away Josephine welcomed the business with relief. Dr Macauley, the anaesthetist, had seen the patients on the previous evening and now they lay in their beds, looking strangely alike in their white theatre gowns and caps. Mrs Prior was to go first, Josephine drew up the pre-med, and went along to Mrs Prior, lying meekly, waiting uncomplainingly for whatever was about to happen to her. She slowed her steps as the ward door at the far end opened and Mr van Tacx came unhurriedly in. He was dressed impeccably, the very picture of a successful consultant in his dark grey suit and subdued tie and he brought with him a distinct air of assurance and at the same time a feeling of ordinariness so that the three ladies, waiting, outwardly calm and inwardly wishing with all their hearts that they might jump out of their beds and go home, were instantly put at rest. His ‘good morning, Sister,’ was uttered in the casual tones of one greeting the milkman on his round and when he sat down on the end of Mrs Prior’s bed, she gave him a look which Josephine could only describe to herself as adoring.

He talked to each one of them in turn, in a calm, pleasant voice which she could only admire. The thought crossed her mind that if she had to have an operation at any time, then Mr van Tacx would do very nicely for the surgeon. The three ladies obviously felt the same way, for they smiled and nodded and Mrs Prior hardly noticed when she slid the premed into her arm.

Josephine took them to the theatre, leaving Joan in charge, something she had started when she had taken over the ward, for she had discovered soon enough that the patients, semi-conscious as they were, were wheeled away with quieter minds if they knew that she was with them. Once in the anaesthetic room and the patient out cold within seconds of the anaesthetist’s skilful insertion of the needle, she handed over to a Senior Student Nurse.

She felt regret at having to do this, she would dearly have loved to have watched Mr van Tacx operating. She went back to the ward and set about the daily routine until they phoned from the Recovery Room to say that Mrs Prior was ready to be fetched and would she send up the next case please.

She whisked the next lady up to the anaesthetic room; a placid person, already half asleep and uncaring, and then went to supervise the return of Mrs Prior.

Mrs Prior seemed to have shrunk, her small pale face smaller and paler than ever. Josephine received her instructions from Fiona, the Recovery Room Sister, nodded briskly and saw her safely back to the ward and into her bed, detailing a Student Nurse to take fifteen minute observations and report if she was worried. ‘And you nip off to dinner,’ she told Joan, ‘and take Nurse Thursby and Nurse Williams with you, there’s still Mrs Gregory to go up but she’s a straightforward Colpol—and Mrs Clark shouldn’t take more than an hour. With luck we’ll be clear by five o’clock…’

‘Your dinner, Sister?’

‘Oh, I’ll have a sandwich and a pot of tea later on.’

The day wore on, Mrs Clark came back, smiled vaguely at Josephine as she gave her an injection and she went peacefully to sleep, leaving her free to do a round of her patients and check Mrs Prior once more. There was a little colour in her cheeks now and Josephine checked the blood transfusion and cast an eye over the nurse’s observation board. Joan was back by now with the two nurses, and Josephine sent the Senior Student Nurse to her dinner; she would have to wait for her own pot of tea; Mrs Gregory had been gone for some time and she must be on the ward when she came back.

They rang shortly afterwards and she went along to collect her patient; ‘straightforward,’ whispered Fiona, ‘and what a duck Mr van Tacx was to work for. Lucky you,’ she added and winked over her mask.

‘That’s as maybe,’ hissed Josephine peevishly, ‘I want a meal—I missed coffee and it’s gone two o’clock.’

‘We stopped for coffee after Mrs Prior,’ said Fiona smugly, ‘and I managed a sandwich before Mrs Gregory.’

Josephine was getting that lady settled in her bed and giving instructions to Nurse Thursby at the same time. A good little nurse, reliable but uncertain of herself. She listened now, repeating Josephine’s instructions rather apprehensively.

‘And don’t be scared,’ begged Josephine, ‘the bell’s there, I or Staff will come at once and in any case I’ll be popping in and out to see how things are.’

She became aware that Nurse Thursby’s eye had strayed to a spot behind her and looked over her shoulder. Mr van Tacx was there, immaculate again just as though he hadn’t spent the morning in theatre gear and rubber boots. Indeed, he had all the appearance of a prosperous stockbroker or something executive in the city, accustomed to a pen in his hand and not the scalpel. He nodded to Josephine, smiled at Nurse Thursby and bent over his patient, who opened her eyes blearily and closed them again.

‘She’s had her morphia?’

‘Not yet, sir,’ Josephine’s voice was quiet but it had a faint edge. ‘Mrs Gregory has just returned to the ward and been put to bed.’

He nodded again. ‘The other two?’

Josephine went with him to Mrs Clark, still peacefully sleeping and then to Mrs Prior. He stood for a minute looking at her, read her chart, took her pulse and held the curtain aside for Josephine to go past him.

‘Your office, Sister?’

She led the way, pausing to tell Joan to give Mrs Gregory her injection. Despite her busy day she looked serene and very beautiful, even if a little untidy about the head.

In the office she sat down behind her desk and Mr van Tacx sat down cautiously in the canvas chair which sagged and creaked under his weight.

‘Could we have a pot of tea?’ he enquired. ‘It’s rather late for lunch and I have a teaching round in half an hour.’

She beamed at him. ‘I’m so glad you’ve asked. I missed coffee and dinner, too. Just a sec.’

She left him sitting and crossed the landing to the kitchen where Mrs Cross, the ward orderly, was getting the tea trolley ready for the patients’ teas. She looked up as Josephine went in and left the trolley to turn the gas up under the kettle. ‘Not ’ad yer dinner,’ she said accusingly, ‘I can ’ear yer stomach rumbling from ’ere. Tea and a sandwich or two—you go back ter the office and I’ll bring it.’

‘You’re a dear, Mrs Cross, and could you put on another cup and saucer? Mr van Tacx missed his lunch and he’s famished as well as thirsty.’

‘Is ’e now? A fine body of a man like ’im needs ’is food. If yer was to ring them so-and-so’s in the kitchen, they could send up a bit of ’am.’

Mr van Tacx was lying back at his ease with his eyes shut. Josephine lifted the receiver but he didn’t open them.

‘Mr van Tacx has missed his lunch. Will you send up some ham for sandwiches please, right away…’

‘Cheese?’ He asked softly with his eyes still shut.

‘And cheese,’ she added firmly, ‘and please be quick. He has a teaching round very shortly.’

‘I can see that we are going to get on very well together.’ His eyes were still closed.

‘I hope so, sir.’

He opened one eye. ‘A whole month—do you suppose we shall be able to keep this affability up?’

She gave him a wary look. ‘I cannot see why not, sir.’

‘I hope that if and when we meet out of working hours, you will refrain from addressing me as sir.’

‘If you wish that—but we are very unlikely to meet.’

‘There is a divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them how we may.’ He opened the other eye. ‘Your William Shakespeare, or to put it more simply, “Nothing is so certain as the unexpected”.’

And while she was still staring at him.

‘Mrs Prior…’ He was businesslike now. ‘I’m afraid we may be too late there but we’ll do what we can. She is married? Husband? Children?’

‘A husband. There’s a son in Australia.’

‘Would she be cared for if we sent her home?’

‘I doubt it. Mr Prior was concerned about himself when he talked to me. He may have been worried, of course.’

‘I’ll see him. If necessary we’ll send her to a convalescent home and she can come back for radiotherapy in a week or two.’

Mrs Cross came in then, bearing a loaded tray which she dumped on to Josephine’s desk. ‘There yer are, Sister, there’s enough for the pair of yer—as nice a bit of ’am as I seen for a long time and real cheese, not that stuff they send us for the diabetics when we ’ave ’em. On account of you being important,’ she explained kindly to Mr van Tacx who was looking at her with a fascinated eye. ‘Now eat up and there’s more tea if yer fancy it.’

Josephine thanked her and when Mrs Cross had gone said demurely, ‘She doesn’t mean to be familiar—she’s above rubies and has been here for heaven knows how many years. She has never gone on strike or gone slow and once or twice when there’s been a flap on, she’ll just stay in the kitchen making tea to keep us going.’

She poured the tea, a strong, dark brew which she milked generously before she passed it with the sugar bowl.

Mr van Tacx helped himself lavishly and sipped appreciatively. ‘I have acquired the habit of drinking tea,’ he remarked. ‘In Holland we drink coffee, and tea is milkless and much weaker. This would drive a train.’

He settled into his chair and Josephine said severely, ‘If you don’t sit still the chair is going to collapse. Have a sandwich.’

They sat for a moment in a pleasant companionship but presently Mr van Tacx started to discuss the patients and Josephine became at once a Ward Sister who knew exactly what was expected of her. She replenished their cups, passed the sandwiches to his side of the desk and got out her pen; like Mr Bull, he fired off instructions at an alarming rate and she couldn’t hold all of them in her head.

Presently he got up to go. ‘I’ll be in later,’ he told her, ‘and ring down to the lodge when Mr Prior gets here. You’re on this evening?’

She didn’t tell him that she should have been off duty at five o’clock but as so often happened on theatre day, she had stayed on duty.

‘Yes,’ she said quietly, ‘I’m on until eight o’clock, Mr van Tacx, and I’ll phone down for you. But will you be here?’

He said coldly, ‘Did I not make myself clear, Sister?’

A remark which effectively wiped away the faint liking she had begun to admit to.

At supper, when she was at last off duty, several of her friends wanted to know why she hadn’t gone off duty. ‘How’s that new man?’ they wanted to know. ‘Slow?’

She shook her head. ‘Oh, no, but the first case took about twice as long as he had expected and then I stayed on because that particular patient’s husband was coming to visit. He was a bit difficult yesterday. Mr van Tacx came up to see him…’

‘And what’s Malcolm going to say to that?’ asked a voice, ‘staying on duty just to oblige a consultant and him too good looking to be true.’ The speaker sighed gustily. ‘I wouldn’t mind being in your shoes, Jo…’

Josephine put her knife and fork carefully together on her plate. She didn’t like the girl who spoke; the Medical Ward Sister, a good nurse but spiteful at times. ‘You can jump in any time you like,’ she said calmly, ‘for my part you can have carte blanche, and as for Malcolm, since we are no longer engaged, he has no say in the matter.’

She got up from the table and walked out of the canteen and the hapless girl who had spoken was attacked from all sides. To her cries that she hadn’t known and she hadn’t meant any harm anyway she met with a forthright warning to hold her silly tongue in future and mind her own business.

Josephine went to her room, took off her cap, wrapped a tweed coat over her uniform, pulled her leather boots over her black tights, and left the nurses’ home by the side door nearest the car park used by the staff. She wasn’t very clear as to what she intended to do or where she was going—it was already dark, a nasty blustery evening and chilly. She wanted above all things to go home but that was too far. She unlocked the Mini and got into the driver’s seat and sat there, her mind a miserable blank.

‘And where are you going?’ asked Mr van Tacx gently, and poked his head through the open window.

She had let out a squeak of fright which she covered in a dignified but breathless, ‘Out, Mr van Tacx, and I do not care to have the wits scared out of me…’

‘Sorry.’ He sounded not in the least sorry and he made no attempt to remove his head from the window. ‘Feeling low, aren’t you? It’s unpleasant to be jilted…’ She muttered furiously and he went on calmly, ‘Oh, several persons have told me, you’re a nine days wonder you know. You’ll get over it.’

‘I do not care to discuss my affairs with you, Mr van Tacx and I cannot think of what possible interest they can be to you anyway.’

‘Well, no—why should you? All you really need now is a shoulder to weep into and someone to listen. I haven’t felt the need of a shoulder myself but I’m willing to lend you mine—you’ll feel better when you’ve talked about it.’

She said furiously, ‘How could you possibly know?’

‘Because I’ve been jilted myself.’ He opened the door. ‘Move over, I’ll drive somewhere where we can have coffee or a drink.’

She opened her mouth to refuse, realised that it would be useless anyway and found herself squashed into the other seat. The small part of her brain that wasn’t numbed by surprise, noted that a Mini really wasn’t a car for a man of his size.

‘Do you mind where we go?’ He didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘Is the tank full?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. We’ll keep to this side of town shall we? Do you know Epping Forest? Buckhurst Hill—the Roebuck—we can get something there.’

He didn’t speak as they took the little car through Hackney and on to the dreary bricks of Leyton and Wanstead, but then going north towards Epping Forest, he began to talk. Later she couldn’t remember what he had said, but his voice had been pleasantly soothing and she had relaxed. By the time they reached the Roebuck she had pulled herself together, even felt a little ashamed of herself. Next time, she promised herself, she would be armed against being taken unawares, and anyway, by the morning the whole Hospital would know…

The pub was very much to her taste, actually a country hotel with a comfortable bar nicely filled. Mr van Tacx parked the Mini and marched her briskly inside and sat her down at a table in a quiet corner.

‘Coffee and a brandy with it and sandwiches?’

She nodded, suddenly remembering that she was still in uniform and that she had done nothing to her hair or her face. It was disconcerting when he observed, ‘You look quite all right and no one can see the uniform.’

He wandered off then to the bar and came back presently with coffee and the brandy, followed a moment later by a plump smiling girl with the sandwiches.

‘I went to supper,’ said Josephine.

‘Did you eat anything?’

‘Well, no…’

‘Eat up, we can’t have you wilting away while Mr Bull’s gone—I need all the help I can get.’

She didn’t believe that; he looked the kind of man who would never need help, certainly not with his work. She said, searching for a safe topic, ‘There’s a long waiting list…’

‘I know.’ He bit into a sandwich. ‘Drink your brandy. What do you intend to do?’

Her eyes watered as she sipped. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t be a dim girl. Get him back? Forget him and dedicate yourself to nursing for ever and ever? Or turn your back on him and start again? There are plenty of fish in the sea, you know, and you’ve the looks to pick and choose.’

Later on, she thought, when she had the time to think about it, his words were going to annoy her very much, but at the moment nothing seemed quite real. She took a sip of coffee to counteract the brandy and said with dignity, ‘I prefer not to discuss it with you. I appreciate your kindness in bringing me here, I really do, but my—my private life can be of no interest to you…’

‘Don’t be so priggish. What you mean to say is mind your own business. How old are you?’

Really, there was no end to the man’s arrogance. ‘Twenty-five almost twenty-six.’ She hadn’t meant to answer him, normally she wouldn’t have done but she wasn’t quite herself, it was, after all, only five days since she and Malcolm had split up and somehow the hurt of it was biting deeper now than it had done to begin with. She had her mouth open to remind him that that wasn’t his business either when he observed casually, ‘At least you’re not an impetuous young girl,’ and ignoring her affronted glance at this, ‘I’m thirty-four, a good age for a man to marry should he find the right girl.’

Josephine bit into another sandwich. Temper had sharpened her appetite.

‘That sounds very cold blooded…’

‘Indeed not, I enjoy female companionship, I enjoyed, too, falling head over heels in love—unfortunately the young lady in question threw me over for a man with rather more worldly goods than I…’

Josephine asked the obvious question. ‘Was she pretty?’

‘Delightfully so.’

‘And—and you loved her very much?’

‘Very much.’

She was a kind-hearted girl. She said warmly, ‘I’m sorry, I really am, you must feel awful.’

‘One learns to live with it.’ He got up. ‘I’ll get more coffee.’ She watched him cross to the bar. He didn’t look like a man with a broken heart, but she supposed that he was a man who kept his feelings hidden. She sipped the rest of her brandy and felt it warm her cold insides. It loosened her tongue, too. She said chattily as he sat down, ‘I don’t suppose that’s why, you’re so—so… You were awfully rude when we met—I daresay you hate all women. I didn’t like you, you know, I’m not sure if I do now.’

She drank some coffee; perhaps she shouldn’t have said that. She glanced at Mr van Tacx, staring at her from across the table, and was reassured to see that he was smiling. All the same she said uncertainly, ‘I didn’t mean to be rude,’ and then like a child, ‘I’m not used to drinking brandy.’

His voice was bland. ‘You’ll sleep well after it. Drink your coffee, we’re going back.’

She felt pleasantly tired as he drove away from the Roebuck. She closed her eyes and slept soundly until he stopped the car in the car park, and lifted her head from the shoulder she had rested it on. He studied her sleeping face for a few moments before setting her upright, smiling faintly. He said briskly, ‘Wake up, Josephine…’

She opened her eyes at once and blinked round and then at him. ‘Oh, we’re back—I’m sorry, I fell asleep. Oh, dear, what must you think…’

He leaned over and opened her door. ‘Jump out while I lock the car.’

He sounded abrupt and she made haste to do as he asked and then took the keys from him. ‘Thank you,’ she began in a rush, ‘I do appreciate your kindness…’

He then looked at her unsmiling. ‘Good night, Josephine!’ And when he had nothing more to say, she stood uncertainly for a moment and then went away.

CHAPTER THREE

EATING A hasty breakfast the next morning, she came to the conclusion that she felt a bit shy about meeting Mr van Tacx again, a needless worry, as it turned out, for he made a lengthy round during the morning and never once was his manner anything other than remotely pleasant. The round finished, he and Matt spent ten minutes drinking coffee in the office while they changed treatments and drugs, discussed the next intake and gave Josephine instructions as they did so. And when they finally went he gave her a cool stare which left her feeling quite indignant. He might at least have smiled just once. After all, they had exchanged confidences on the previous evening—at least, she amended, most of it had been on her part although he had been full of advice.

She thumped a pile of charts on to the desk. Well, she wouldn’t take a word of it, she would do exactly as she wanted, she might even, if Malcolm saw fit to apologise, consider marrying him after all…

Even as she thought this, she knew in her heart that she would do no such thing and in any case, hadn’t he said that she wasn’t the girl he had thought she was? He couldn’t have loved her… ‘There is no good crying over spilt milk,’ said Josephine.

It was her weekend off at the end of the week; it seemed interminable, the days dragging themselves slowly from morning to evening and at the same time almost impossibly busy. Mr van Tacx came and went, stalking through the ward with Matt at his heels and Josephine making a third. He had little to say to her and that about the patients. It was as if they had never met outside the ward; she must have annoyed him in some way she decided, and she told herself that it did not matter in the least. Knowing quite well that it did, even though her heart was broken because Malcolm didn’t want to marry her. That wasn’t true either, it was she who had broken off their engagement; she felt quite guilty when she remembered that; when she got home she would explain it all to her mother and see what she had to say.

Operation day went off tolerably well but Mrs Prior worried her. She wasn’t picking up at all; she should have been out of bed by now, walking around a bit, taking an interest in her hair and face and swapping gossip with the other ladies. She did none of these things though, but lay quietly in bed, neither reading nor knitting, not repelling the other patients attempts at a chat, but certainly not encouraging them. It worried Josephine and she confided in Matt who must have in his turn, confided in Mr van Tacx for after the round on Friday he went straight to the office, sat down in the canvas chair, and said, ‘Now, Mrs Prior—I understand you’re not happy about her?’

‘No, I’m not, sir. I can’t put a finger on it but she doesn’t seem to mind if she gets well or not.’

‘Husband?’

‘He comes most evenings but never speaks to any of us.’

‘Make an appointment with him, will you? Monday evening, I’ll come here if you will give me a ring when he arrives.’

‘Very well, sir.’

‘She may not want to go home. Try and find out, will you? If that’s the case we’ll get her into a convalescent home. She’s not due for radiotherapy yet, is she?’

‘No, another two weeks…’

She refilled his cup and offered the biscuit tin to Matt. He took one and asked, ‘Off this weekend, Jo?’

For some reason she hadn’t wanted Mr van Tacx to know that. She said guardedly, ‘Well, yes,’ and then hurriedly, ‘How’s the baby, Matt?’

A happy turn in the conversation. Matt spent a minute or so describing his small nephew’s first tooth, before picking up his pen to write Mr van Tacx’s instructions on the pile of charts before him. Josephine, peeping at his absorbed face, thought that he hadn’t heard her anyway.

She caught an evening train and less than two hours later was hurrying down the platform at Tisbury to where her father was waiting. It was a raw evening, already dark and overcast, but as far as she was concerned it could snow or blow a gale; to be home, in any weather, was bliss.

They drove the few miles from Tisbury, through the narrow high hedged lanes with Cuthbert’s head thrust between them. In answer to her father’s query as to her week’s work, she admitted that they had been busy, ‘And how about you, Father?’ she wanted to know.

‘Oh, the usual at this time of the year, my dear—chests and varicose veins and one or two cases of flu—quite nasty ones…’

They were still arguing amicably over a flu epidemic when they reached the house and while her father put the car away she hurried into the kitchen with Cuthbert hard on her heels. Her mother was there stirring something in a saucepan and Josephine sniffed delightedly ‘onion soup and something tasty in the oven.’ She hugged her mother. ‘It’s heaven to be home.’

‘And lovely to see you, darling. Where’s your father?’

‘Putting the car in the garage. I’ll take up my bag…’

‘Supper’s ready.’ Her mother looked at her. ‘Tired, Jo?’ Her eye fell on her daughter’s ringless hand but she didn’t say anything.