Roses for Christmas

‘Why not?’ Eleanor beat her brother by a short head with the question.

‘She considers it rather remote.’

Eleanor nodded understandingly. ‘Well, it is—no shops for sixty miles, no theatres, almost no cinemas and they’re miles away too, and high tea instead of dinner in the hotels.’

Fulk turned his head to look at her. ‘Exactly so,’ he agreed. ‘And do you feel like that about it, too, Eleanor?’

She said with instant indignation: ‘No, I do not—I love it; I like peace and quiet and nothing in sight but the mountains and the sea and a cottage or two—anyone who feels differently must be very stupid…’ She opened her eyes wide and put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon—I didn’t mean your Imogen.’

‘Still the same hasty tongue,’ Fulk said mockingly, ‘and she isn’t my Imogen yet.’

It was fortunate that Henry created a welcome diversion at that moment; wanting to climb a tree or two before teatime, so that the rest of the afternoon was spent doing just that. Fulk, Eleanor discovered, climbed trees very well.

They played cards again until supper time and after their meal, when the two gentlemen retired to the pastor’s study, Eleanor declared that she was tired and would go to bed, but once in her room she made no effort to undress but sat on her bed making up her mind what she would wear the next day—Fulk had only seen her in slacks and a sweater with her hair hanging anyhow. She would surprise him.

It was a pity, but he didn’t seem in the least surprised. She went down to breakfast looking much as usual, but before lunchtime she changed into a well cut tweed suit of a pleasing russet colour, put on her brogue shoes, made up her pretty face with care, did her hair in a neat, smooth coil on the top of her head, and joined the family at the table. And he didn’t say a word, glancing up at her as she entered the room and then looking away again with the careless speed of someone who had seen the same thing a dozen times before. Her excellent appetite was completely destroyed.

It served her right, she told herself severely, for allowing herself to think about him too much; she had no reason to do so, he was of no importance in her life and after today she wasn’t likely to see him again. She made light conversation all the way to Tomintoul, a village high in the Highlands, where they stopped for tea. It was a small place, but the hotel overlooked the square and there was plenty to comment upon, something for which she was thankful, for she was becoming somewhat weary of providing almost all the conversation. Indeed, when they were on their way once more and after another hour of commenting upon the scenery, she observed tartly: ‘I’m sure you will understand if I don’t talk any more; I can’t think of anything else to say, and even if I could, I feel I should save it for this evening, otherwise we shall sit at dinner like an old married couple.’

His shoulders shook. ‘My dear girl, I had no idea… I was enjoying just sitting here and listening to you rambling on—you have a pretty voice, you know.’ He paused. ‘Imogen doesn’t talk much when we drive together; it makes a nice change. But I promise you we won’t sit like an old married couple; however old we become, we shall never take each other for granted.’

She allowed this remark to pass without comment, for she wasn’t sure what he meant. ‘You were going to tell me about Imogen,’ she prompted, and was disappointed when he said abruptly: ‘I’ve changed my mind—tell me about Henry instead. What a delightful child he is, but not, I fancy, over-strong.’

The subject of Henry lasted until they reached Edinburgh, where he drove her to the North British Hotel in Princes Street, and after Eleanor had tidied herself, gave her a memorable dinner, managing to convey, without actually saying so, that she was not only a pleasant companion but someone whom he had wanted to take out to dinner all his life. It made her glow very nicely, and the glow was kept at its best by the hock which he offered her. They sat for a long time over their meal and when he at last took her to the hospital it was almost midnight.

She got out of the car at the Nurses’ Home entrance and he got out with her and walked to the door to open it. She wished him goodbye quietly, thanked him for a delightful evening and was quite taken by surprise when he pulled her to him, kissed her hard and then, without another word, popped her through the door and closed it behind her. She stood in the dimly lit hall, trying to sort out her feelings. She supposed that they were outraged, but this was tempered by the thought that she wasn’t going to see him again. She told herself firmly that it didn’t matter in the least, trying to drown the persistent little voice in the back of her head telling her that even if she didn’t like him—and she had told herself enough times that she didn’t—it mattered quite a bit. She went slowly up to her room, warning herself that just because he had given her a good dinner and been an amusing companion there was no reason to allow her thoughts to dwell upon him.

CHAPTER TWO

THE MORNING WAS dark and dreary and suited Eleanor’s mood very well as she got into her uniform and, looking the very epitome of neatness and calm efficiency, went down to breakfast, a meal eaten in a hurry by reason of the amount of conversation crammed in by herself and friends while they drank tea and bolted toast and marmalade.

She climbed the stairs to Women’s Medical, trying to get used to being back on the ward once more, while her pretty nose registered the fact that the patients had had fish for breakfast and that someone had been too lavish with the floor polish—the two smells didn’t go well together. Someone, too, would have to repair the window ledge outside the ward door, and it was obvious that no one had bothered to water the dreadful potted plant which lived on it. Eleanor pushed the swing doors open and went straight to her little office, where Staff Nurse Jill Pitts would be waiting with the two night nurses.

The report took longer than usual; it always did on her first day back, even if she had been away for a short time; new patients, new treatments, Path Lab reports, news of old patients—it was all of fifteen minutes before she sent the night nurses to their breakfast, left Jill to see that the nurses were starting on their various jobs, and set off on her round. She spent some time with her first three patients, for they were elderly and ill, and for some weeks now they had all been battling to keep them alive; she assured herself that they were holding their own and passed on to the fourth bed; Mrs McFinn, a large, comfortable lady with a beaming smile and a regrettable shortness of breath due to asthma, a condition which didn’t prevent her wheezing out a little chat with Eleanor, and her neighbour, puffing and panting her way through emphysema with unending courage and good humour, wanted to chat too. She indulged them both; they were such dears, but so for that matter were almost all the patients in the ward.

She spent a few minutes with each of them in turn, summing up their condition while she lent a friendly ear and a smile; only as she reached the top of the ward did she allow a small sigh to escape her. Miss Tremble, next in line, was a cross the entire staff, medical and nursing, bore with fortitude, even if a good deal of grumbling went on about her in private. She was a thin, acidulated woman in her sixties, a diabetic which it seemed impossible to stabilize however the doctors tried. Painstakingly dieted and injected until the required balance had been reached, she would be sent home, only to be borne back in again sooner or later in yet another diabetic coma, a condition which she never ceased to blame upon the hospital staff. She had been in again for two weeks now, and on the one occasion during that period when it had been considered safe to send her home again to her downtrodden sister, she had gone into a coma again as she was actually on the point of departure, and it was all very well for Sir Arthur Minch, the consultant physician in charge of her case, to carry on about it; as Eleanor had pointed out to him in a reasonable manner, one simply didn’t turn one’s back on hyperglycaemia, even when it was about to leave the ward; she had put the patient back to bed again and allowed the great man to natter on about wanting the bed for an urgent case. He had frowned and tutted and in the end had agreed with her; she had known that he would, anyway.

She took up her position now at the side of Miss Tremble’s bed and prepared to listen to its occupant’s long list of complaints; she had heard them many times before, and would most likely hear them many more times in the future. She put on her listening face and thought about Fulk, wondering where he was and why he had come to Edinburgh. She would have liked to have asked him, only she had hesitated; he had a nasty caustic tongue, she remembered it vividly when he had stayed with them all those years ago, and she had no doubt that he still possessed it. She could only guess—he could of course be visiting friends, or perhaps he had come over to consult with a colleague; he might even have a patient… She frowned and Miss Tremble said irritably: ‘I’m glad to see that you are annoyed, Sister—it is disgraceful that I had to have Bovril on two successive evenings when my appetite needs tempting.’

Eleanor made a soothing reply, extolled the virtues of the despised beverage, assured Miss Tremble that something different would be offered her for her supper that evening, and moved on to the next bed, but even when she had completed her round and was back in her office, immersed in forms, charts and the answering of the constantly ringing telephone she was still wondering about Fulk.

But presently she gave herself a mental shake; she would never know anyway. Thinking about him was a complete waste of time, especially with Sir Arthur due to do his round at ten o’clock. She pushed the papers to one side with a touch of impatience; they would have to wait until she had checked the ward and made sure that everything was exactly as it should be for one of the major events in the ward’s week.

She ran the ward well; the patients were ready with five minutes to spare and the nurses were going, two by two, to their coffee break. Eleanor, longing for a cup herself, but having to wait for it until Sir Arthur should be finished, was in the ward, with the faithful Jill beside her and Mrs MacDonnell, the part-time staff nurse, hovering discreetly with a student nurse close by to fetch and carry. She knew Sir Arthur’s ways well by now; he would walk into the ward at ten o’clock precisely with his registrar, his house doctor and such students as had the honour of accompanying him that morning. Eleanor, with brothers of her own, felt a sisterly concern for the shy ones, whose wits invariably deserted them the moment they entered the ward, and she had formed the habit of stationing herself where she might prompt those rendered dumb by apprehension when their chief chose to fire a question at them. She had become something of an expert at mouthing clues helpful enough to start the hapless recipient of Sir Arthur’s attention on the path of a right answer. Perhaps one day she would be caught red-handed, but in the meantime she continued to pass on vital snippets to any number of grateful young gentlemen.

The clock across the square had begun its sonorous rendering of the hour when the ward doors swung open just as usual and the senior Medical Consultant, his posse of attendants hard on his heels, came in—only it wasn’t quite as usual; Fulk van Hensum was walking beside him, not the Fulk of the last day or so, going fishing with Henry in an outsize sweater and rubber boots, or playing Canasta with the family after supper or goodnaturedly helping Margaret with her decimals. This was a side of him which she hadn’t seen before; he looked older for a start, and if anything, handsomer in a distinguished way, and his face wore the expression she had seen so often on a doctor’s face; calm and kind and totally unflappable—and a little remote. He was also impeccably turned out, his grey suit tailored to perfection, his tie an elegant under-statement. She advanced to meet them, very composed, acknowledging Sir Arthur’s stately greeting with just the right degree of warmth and turning a frosty eye on Fulk, who met it blandly with the faintest of smiles and an equally bland: ‘Good morning, Eleanor, how nice to be able to surprise you twice in only a few days.’

She looked down her nose at him. ‘Good morning, Doctor van Hensum,’ she greeted him repressively, and didn’t smile. He might have told her; there had been no reason at all why he shouldn’t have done so. She almost choked when he went on coolly: ‘Yes, I could have told you, couldn’t I? But you never asked me.’

Sir Arthur glanced at Eleanor. ‘Know each other, do you?’ he wanted to know genially.

Before she could answer, Fulk observed pleasantly: ‘Oh, yes—for many years. Eleanor was almost five when we first met.’ He had the gall to smile at her in what she considered to be a patronising manner.

‘Five, eh?’ chuckled Sir Arthur. ‘Well, you’ve grown since then, Sister.’ The chuckle became a laugh at his little joke and she managed to smile too, but with an effort for Fulk said: ‘She had a quantity of long hair and she was very plump.’ He stared at her and she frowned fiercely. ‘Little girls are rather sweet,’ his voice was silky, ‘but they tend to change as they grow up.’

She all but ground her teeth at him; it was a relief when Sir Arthur said cheerfully: ‘Well, well, I suppose we should get started, Sister. Doctor van Hensum is particularly interested in that case of agranulocytosis— Mrs Lee, isn’t it? She experienced the first symptoms while she was on holiday in Holland and came under his care. Most fortunately for her, he diagnosed it at once—a difficult thing to do.’ His eye swept round the little group of students, who looked suitably impressed.

‘Not so very difficult in this case, if I might say so,’ interpolated Fulk quietly. ‘There was the typical sore throat and oedema, and the patient answered my questions with great intelligence…’

‘But no doubt the questions were intelligent,’ remarked Sir Arthur dryly, and the students murmured their admiration, half of them not having the least idea what their superiors were talking about, anyway.

They were moving towards the first bed now, and Eleanor, casting a quick look at Fulk, saw that he had become the consultant again; indeed, as the round progressed, his manner towards her was faultless; politely friendly, faintly impersonal—they could have just met for the first time. It vexed her to find that this annoyed her more than his half-teasing attitude towards her when he had entered the ward. He was a tiresome man, she decided, leading the way to Mrs Lee’s bed.

That lady was making good progress now that she was responding to the massive doses of penicillin, and although her temperature was still high and she remained lethargic, she was certainly on the mend. Sir Arthur held forth at some length, occasionally pausing to verify some point with the Dutch doctor and then firing questions at random at whichever unfortunate student happened to catch his eye. Most of them did very well, but one or two of them were tongue-tied by the occasion. Eleanor, unobtrusively helping out one such, and standing slightly behind Sir Arthur, had just finished miming the bare bones of the required information when she realized that Fulk had moved and was standing where he could watch her. She threw him a frowning glance which he appeared not to see, for the smile he gave her was so charming that she only just prevented herself from smiling back at him.

Perhaps he wasn’t so bad after all, she conceded, only to have this opinion reversed when, the round over, she was bidding Sir Arthur and his party goodbye at the ward door, for when she bade Fulk goodbye too, he said at once: ‘You’ll lunch with me, Eleanor,’ and it wasn’t even a question, let alone a request, delivered in a silky voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

‘I’m afraid that’s impossible,’ she began coldly, and Sir Arthur, quite mistaking her hesitation, interrupted her to say heartily: ‘Nonsense, of course you can go, Sister—I’ve seen you dozens of times at the Blue Bird Café’—an establishment much favoured by the hospital staff because it was only just down the road and they were allowed to go there in uniform— ‘Why, only a couple of weeks ago you were having a meal there with young Maddox, although how he managed that when he was on call for the Accident Room I cannot imagine.’

He turned his attention to Fulk. ‘The Blue Bird isn’t exactly Cordon Bleu, but they do a nice plate of fish and chips, and there is the great advantage of being served quickly.’ He looked at Eleanor once more. ‘You intended going to your dinner, I suppose? When do you go?’

She didn’t want to answer, but she had to say something. ‘One o’clock,’ she told him woodenly and heard his pleased: ‘Excellent—what could be better? Van Hensum, we shall have time to talk over that case we were discussing.’ He beamed in a fatherly fashion at Eleanor, fuming silently, and led the way down the corridor with all the appearance of a man who had done someone a good turn and felt pleased about it. Fulk went with him, without saying another word.

Eleanor snorted, muttered rudely under her breath and went to serve the patients’ dinners, and as she dished out boiled fish, nourishing stew, fat-free diets, high-calorie diets and diabetic diets, she pondered how she could get out of having lunch with Fulk. She wasn’t quite sure why it was so important that she should escape going with him, because actually she liked the idea very much, and even when, as usual, she was battling with Miss Tremble about the amount of ham on her plate, a small part of her brain was still hard at work trying to discover the reason. All the same, she told herself that her determination not to go was strong enough to enable her to make some excuse.

She was trying to think of one as she went back to her office with Jill, to give her a brief run-down of jobs to be done during the next hour—a waste of time, as it turned out, for Fulk was there, standing idly looking out of the window. He had assumed his consultant’s manner once more, too, so that Eleanor found it difficult to utter the refusal she had determined upon. Besides, Jill was there, taking it for granted that she was going, even at that very moment urging her not to hurry back. ‘There’s nothing much on this afternoon,’ she pointed out, ‘not until three o’clock at any rate, and you never get your full hour for dinner, Sister.’ She made a face. ‘It’s braised heart, too.’

Fulk’s handsome features expressed extreme distaste. ‘How revolting,’ he observed strongly. ‘Eleanor, put on your bonnet at once and we will investigate the fish and chips. They sound infinitely more appetizing.’

Eleanor dabbed with unusually clumsy fingers at the muslin trifle perched on her great knot of shining hair. ‘Thanks, Jill, I’ll see.’ She sounded so reluctant that her right hand looked at her in amazement while Fulk’s eyes gleamed with amusement, although all he said was: ‘Shall we go?’

The café was almost full, a number of hospital staff, either on the point of going on duty or just off, were treating themselves to egg and chips, spaghetti on toast or the fish and chips for which the café was justly famous. Fulk led the way to a table in the centre of the little place, and Eleanor, casting off her cloak and looking around, nodded and smiled at two physiotherapists, an X-ray technician, and the senior Accident Room Sister with the Casualty Officer. There were two of the students who had been in Sir Arthur’s round that morning sitting at the next table and they smiled widely at her, glanced at Fulk and gave her the thumbs-up sign, which she pointedly ignored, hoping that her companion hadn’t seen it too. He had; he said: ‘Lord, sometimes I feel middle-aged.’

‘Well,’ her voice was astringent, ‘you’re not—you’re not even married yet.’

His mouth twitched. ‘You imply that being married induces middle age, and that’s nonsense.’ He added slowly: ‘I imagine that any man who married you would tend to regain his youth, not lose it.’

She gaped at him across the little table. ‘For heaven’s sake, whatever makes you say that?’ But she wasn’t to know, for the proprietor of the Blue Bird had made his way towards them and was offering a menu card. He was a short, fat man and rather surprisingly, a Cockney; the soul of kindness and not above allowing second helpings for free to anyone who was a bit short until pay day. He stood looking at them both now and then said: “Ullo, Sister, ’aven’t met yer friend before, ’ave I?’

‘No, Steve—he’s a Dutch consultant, a friend of Sir Arthur Minch. Doctor van Hensum, this is Steve who runs the café.’

The doctor held out a hand and Steve shook it with faint surprise. ‘Pleased ter meet yer,’ he pronounced in gratified tones. ‘I got a nice bit of ’ake out the back. ’Ow’d yer like it, the pair of yer? Chips and peas and a good cuppa while yer waiting.’

A cheerful girl brought the tea almost at once and Eleanor poured the rich brew into the thick cups and handed one to Fulk. ‘Aren’t you sorry you asked me out now?’ she wanted to know. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever had your lunch in a place like this before.’

He gave her a thoughtful look. ‘You’re determined to make me out a very unpleasant fellow, aren’t you? I wonder why?’ He passed her the sugar bowl and then helped himself. ‘No, I’ve never been in a place quite like this one before, but I’ve been in far worse, and let me tell you, my girl, that your low opinion of me is completely mistaken.’

‘I never…’ began Eleanor, and was interrupted by the arrival of the hake, mouthwatering in its thick rich batter coat and surrounded by chips and peas; by the time they had assured Steve that it looked delicious, passed each other the salt, refused the vinegar and refilled their cups, there seemed no point in arguing. They fell to and what conversation there was was casual and good-humoured. Presently, nicely mellowed by the food, Eleanor remarked: ‘You were going to tell me about Imogen.’

He selected a chip with deliberation and ate it slowly. ‘Not here,’ he told her.

‘You keep saying that—you said it in the car yesterday. Do you have to have soft music and stained glass windows or something before she can be talked about?’

He put his head on one side and studied her face. ‘You’re a very rude girl—I suppose that’s what comes of being a bossy elder sister. No, perhaps that’s too sweeping a statement,’ he continued blandly, ‘for Henry assured me that you were the grooviest—I’m a little vague as to the exact meaning of the word, but presumably it is a compliment of the highest order.’

‘Bless the boy, it is.’ She hesitated. ‘I’d like to thank you for being so kind to him—he’s a poppet, at least we all think so, and far too clever for his age, though he’s a great one for adventure; he’s for ever falling out of trees and going on long solitary walks with Punch and tumbling off rocks into the sea when he goes fishing. We all long to tell him not to do these things, but he’s a boy…having you for a companion was bliss for him.’

‘And would it have been bliss for you, Eleanor?’ Fulk asked in an interested voice, and then: ‘No, don’t answer, I can see the words blistering your lips. We’ll go on talking about Henry—he’s not quite as strong as you would like, your father tells me.’

She had decided to overlook the first part of his remark. ‘He’s tough, it’s just that he catches everything that’s going; measles, whooping cough, mumps, chickenpox—you name it, he’s had it.’

He passed his cup for more tea, eyed its rich brown strength, sugared it lavishly and took a sip with an expressionless face. ‘I shudder to think what this tea is doing to our insides,’ he remarked lightly. ‘Have you a good doctor?’

‘Doctor MacClew. He’s quite old now, but he’s been our doctor all our lives. He’s a dear and so kind, although I daresay he’s old-fashioned by your standards.’

‘My standards?’ He looked quite shocked. ‘My dear Eleanor, you’re at it again, turning me into someone I’m not. Why should you suppose that I would set myself up above another doctor, probably twice my age and with at least twice my experience, and who has had to improvise, make decisions, take risks, diagnose without X-rays and be his own Path Lab in an emergency? I, remember, have the whole range of modern equipment and science behind me—I need not open my mouth until all the answers have been given me.’