A Promise Is for Keeping Read online

  "I'll stay until I can hand over to her," Fay promised quietly.

  With a quick movement Mark removed his mask and smiled at her. It made him look so much more himself that Fay's heart gave a sickening little lurch.

  "Thanks, Sister," he said, and then with a glance at the patient and a tightening of his lips he went on, "Some drunken fool who got off scot free ran into him broadside on, it seems. Doesn't it make you sick that a young life can be jeopardised by sheer, selfish irresponsibility?"

  For the first time Fay looked closely at the patient's face

  and an involuntary little "Oh!" escaped her. She felt Mark's glance shift to her quickly.

  "Know him?" he asked laconically.

  "No—not exactly," Fay explained, studying the handsome young face under its swathe of bandages, "but I've seen him down at the skating club—he's very good."

  "Well, poor devil, he'll never skate again." Mark spoke through compressed lips.

  "Is he badly hurt?" Fay asked. "I haven't had a chance to see the notes yet."

  "About as bad as he can be," came the bitter-sounding reply. "We've done what we could, but it's too early yet to assess his chances. There's a metal splinter in his head that we've not been able to tackle yet. Don't know how deep it is —a lot will depend on that. Sir Brian will be coming over in the morning—in the meantime we've got to do our darnedest to keep him alive."

  Silence fell for a few seconds as they stood on either side of that inert figure in the bed. Mark's ravaged face was bent on his patient, but Fay's eyes were on the surgeon.

  "Fellowes was the anaesthetist," Mark said at last. "He'll be over in a few minutes to have a look at him, and we'll both be on call if we're needed. Goodnight, Sister."

  "Goodnight," she answered quietly, and hoped that she had not actually spoken the last word of the salutation aloud. But his name echoed in her heart.

  It was late by the time Fay reached the Sisters' dining room that night, and a very indifferent meal awaited her. However, she was too tired to care what she was eating and enjoyed most the cup of coffee which finished the meal. While she was still drinking it one of the Theatre Sisters came in. "Hullo, Gabriel—how's the accident case? You've got him on Stanhope, I hear."

  "Not in very good shape," Fay told her, "but just about holding his own."

  "I never want to see another afternoon like this one's been. What on earth's this supposed to be?" Sister Miles was referring to the congealed mess on her plate. "Not shepherd's pie again?"

  " 'Fraid so. There was a roast, but it didn't last long. Have you had a rough time in theatre today, then?"

  "I'll say we have ! Didn't you hear about it?"

  "Only that you'd had two cases from the same car crash."

  "That's only the beginning," Sister Miles attacked her meal grimly. "Haven't you heard about Mr. Snow's collapse?"

  "No !" Fay paused with her cup half way to her lips. "Mr. Snow? What happened?"

  "Well, we were dealing with the man—they'd taken the girl into the other theatre and were getting her cleaned up a bit, but the man couldn't wait, they said. And he was a mess, I can tell you. Fortunately Snow was still here—and we were all on our toes. He decided to tackle the pelvis first—the head plates hadn't come through so we didn't know how bad that was. Snow had just got going when all of a sudden he stopped with the knife in his hand. Osborne was the other side of the table, and he looked up at the pause, and suddenly yelled at me 'Grab him!' "

  Fay, who had done a good stint of theatre work at the Commemoration Hospital, could well imagine just what sort of panic must have supervened under the tense efficiency which characterised a theatre when an unplanned operation was in progress. All the housemen crowding to see what the first incision would reveal and the younger nurses tense as they always were at first—fearful lest the patient should die on the table. "Go on," she implored as Miles stopped for a mouthful of food. "What did you do?"

  "What could I do?" the other Sister replied laconically "I did as I was told and grabbed Snow round the middle. Fortunately he's a small man and I'm pretty hefty, so I managed to stop him falling forward across the table, but he let the knife slip and it punctured the skin on the patient's diaphragm—"

  "What on earth—! Had he fainted or something?"

  "Or something, I should think. Looked more like a slight seizure to me. The housemen got him out and I suppose the physicians took care of him. And Osborne took charge of the operation—he looked a bit shaken too, I thought, but he worked like an angel. If that young man survives he'll have Mark Osbome to thank for it."

  "What about Mr. Snow?" Fay asked. "Has he ever done anything like that before?"

  "No, but he's had us all a bit worried more than once," Sister Miles confessed. "He's getting old, you know—I should think this will just about finish him as a surgeon."

  "It will be hard for him to give up," Fay said sympathetically, but Sister Miles cut her short, sensibly, but rather callously, Fay thought.

  "Surgery's a job where you can't afford to get old," she philosophised. "You've got to be a hundred per cent fit or else you're out. He's had a good innings. Time he made way for a younger man," she chatted on, tucking into her unappetising meal. "Shouldn't be surprised if this isn't young Osborne's chance."

  "Mr. Osborne? But he hasn't got his Fellowship yet, has he?"

  "No—but he would have had it if he hadn't dashed off to rescue his grandmother or some such relative who'd had a slight stroke in Italy a few months back just as he was due for his finals. But there's no doubt about his getting his Fellowship and the Board wouldn't let that stand in the way. I bet they'll jump at the chance of giving him a Junior Consultancy and tying him down to St. Edith's for a bit longer. Of course—" Sister Miles finished her meal and her interest in the subject at the same time, "of course if young what's-his-name survives it'll be another feather in Osborne's cap, for he was as nasty a mess as I've seen—so it's up to you, Gabriel!"

  It was no more than hospital gossip perhaps, the sort of conversation which was bandied about the nurses' common rooms and dining rooms from time to time without much real foundation. But Sister Miles did have a great-uncle who was on the Board, Fay had heard, so perhaps she did know what she was talking about.

  At any rate, when she went on duty the next morning, and, according to custom, looked first at the night report sheet, her eyes flew to the bottom name instead of the top. Geoffrey Wentworth ... condition maintained.

  She went into the ward and paid her first call at the bed of last night's emergency admission. Night Sister, she thought,

  had been perhaps a little over-cautious in her report. The young man looked a better colour than he had done last night, although the drip was still up. But his breathing was less shallow and there seemed to be a stronger pulse under her fingers.

  She was just about to leave the bedside when the patient opened his eyes. They were grey eyes, and just then very puzzled grey eyes.

  Then it seemed as though he caught sight of Fay, and after a moment in which the puzzlement in his eyes turned to complete bewilderment and then satisfaction, Geoffrey Wentworth smiled, and then a faint whisper came from his lips. "Always—wanted to know you—" he whispered. "—Never thought I would—you a nurse?"

  Fay bent down to catch the faint words and now she patted his hand. "That's right, Mr. Wentworth. You're in hospital—had a bit of an accident in your car. But we'll soon have you right again—nothing for you to worry about. Just rest all you can."

  She had been so delighted at the improvement in her patient's condition that she had not noted the shadow which had fallen across the bed as someone came between it and the window on the far side. She looked up to see Mark Osborne standing there and looking—not at the patient as she might have expected—but at her.

  "Good morning, Mr. Osborne," she was crisply professional in a moment. "There seems to be some improvement, I think, sir."

  He nodded, a little impatiently, she thought. "So
I see. Speech clear—how about his eyes—was he focusing?"

  "Yes, very well."

  "Good, looks as though that splinter must be quite superficial, then. We shall know more when Sir Brian's seen him. How's the blood pressure?"

  "Coming on nicely," Fay told him, and produced the relative charts.

  Mark nodded. "We'll pull him through," he said.

  They did pull Geoffrey Wentworth through, but it was a long haul and even after the worst was over there were repeated visits to the theatre, necessary because the bone of his

  right leg, which had been exposed, had become infected and twice had to be chipped, so that although his other injuries were a remarkable testimony to the surgeon's skill Geoffrey Wentworth had to face a long spell of hospitalisation.

  "Faith, Sister dear, if you could be on duty all the time we'd have young Wentworth fit and well again in no time at all, for the dear boy fair dotes on the sight of you," Staff told Fay.

  Fay frowned a little at the words. She was not on duty all the time and when she was she had twenty-five other patients under her care, all equally demanding of her time.

  True, she had a special feeling for Geoffrey Wentworth. Right from the first she had been determined to save him—for Mark's sake. But she had a special feeling for him for his own sake too. She admired the courage with which the young man had faced the future in the knowledge that his splendid physique was gone for ever, that he would no longer be able to take part in all those sports which he loved and at which he had excelled. He would have a permanent limp at the very best, she knew that.

  She felt sorry for him too because although in due course he became the "oldest inhabitant" of the word he was never exactly in his element there. Most of the other patients were older men of the artisan type, while Geoffrey was an educated man, more interested in books and music than public house stories or racing results. He got on well enough with the other patients, but it always seemed to Fay that he was lonely. She wished that Mark would offer him friendship, which would have meant a great deal to him, she felt sure. But in this case Mark, although he did everything in his power to aid recovery, showed no inclination to step over the dividing line of the doctor-patient relationship, and when Fay once suggested that the young man's recovery might be speeded up if he were given some therapeutic consideration, he only suggested that he might be transferred to a medical ward. But this suggestion Fay soon disposed of. The medical wards were more full of old chronics and hopeless cases than the surgical and would certainly have a depressing rather than a cheering effect on her young patient.

  Geoffrey had his visitors, of course, but not very many

  of them. His parents lived in Worcestershire and came down for a weekend once a month, and his reputed "girl-friend," a very attractive but rather cold girl, was in a ballet company and on tour.

  He spent a great deal of his time reading, and Fay often recommended books to him, but the hospital library had its limitations.

  "Why don't you try writing one yourself?" she suggested one day, more than half in jest.

  Geoff, however, took her seriously and looked up with interest. "D'you think I could?" he asked. "I'd like to—more than anything else in the world—but I've never had time."

  "Then now's your opportunity," she said enthusiastically, glad at last to have hit on something which would give him a lively interest.

  "I should only make a fool of myself," he shook his head lugubriously. "I'd never dare to submit it to a publisher."

  "Why not? You may turn out to be very good—and now's the time to find out, anyway. When you get back to your bank job you won't have the time ... I tell you what—" she offered, letting her enthusiasm run away with her, "I'll vet it for you when you've done a few chapters. I used to do a lot of reading for my father, who was a publisher."

  "Was he? Would you really? Oh, Sister, you've made my day !" the young man fairly bubbled over. "Where can I get pens and paper—will the trolley have some?"

  "If they haven't I'll get you some," she promised, and busily straightened his counterpane before going down the ward to meet Shorty and Mark who had just come in. To her annoyance she felt her cheeks warm as she greeted him, though her "Good morning, Mr. Osborne," was cool enough. But although no word was said, Mark's glance made her feel that she had in some way been guilty of unprofessional conduct in showing an interest in Geoff's affairs.

  Mark was still Registrar, although for many weeks he had been doing a consultant's work. As expected after his temporary collapse Mr. Snow had resigned from his appointment, and now another one had been made. Common room gossip had it that the vacant post had been offered to Mark and that he had turned it down. "Must be out of his tiny mind,"

  had been Sister Miles' opinion. "He's consultant standard —and he knows it."

  "What reason did he give?" Fay asked, since the subject had been broached.

  "I don't know. Someone said that he wanted to get his Fellowship first, then maybe he'd consider it. That's daft, of course, because they can't wait that long. Another tale is that he said he didn't want to tie himself to another three years at St. Edith's. And that's funny too," Sister Miles said thoughtfully, "because he's always seemed pretty happy here."

  Fay wondered too at Mark's decision and the reason for it. But she did not allow her speculations to go very far. She never did where he was concerned. Their relationship was very much a matter of day-to-day activities, and it had to be that way.

  She was not even sure whether she was glad or not that he had refused the consultancy. If he had accepted it would have meant that she would have been working with him in the same community, perhaps seeing him most days, for the next three years. She was not sure whether she wanted that or not, for in the bitter-sweet taste which characterised their relations she was not sure which was the paramount ingredient.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SPRING came and Fay found this, her first English spring, a wholly delightful experience. There was a freshness in the air with the promise of warmth to come in the golden sunshine, and such a feeling of upsurge everywhere that sometimes she came on to the ward feeling that she wanted to dance down it instead of maintaining the dignified gait which her position demanded.

  The London parks, to her so small, were like a tapestry woven in bright colours and fragrant with the all-pervading smell of wallflowers and lilac blossom.

  The ward, too, was a positive bower of flowers which it was her delight to arrange each morning.

  "Sure, Sister dear," Staff Nurse remarked as she watched her for a moment, "it's as lovely as the flowers themselves, so ye are. There's not many Ward Sisters nowadays can spare the time to do the vases, but you make a sight for sore eyes, and your fingers so nimble. Now if I was to take the job over from you it's turning to ramrods all those tulips would be."

  "Nonsense, Staff, you'd do them beautifully, I'm sure, and I'm afraid I'm being a bit selfish hogging the job all to myself—you must do them tomorrow."

  "No, thank you, Sister—I'll not be showing off me lack of artistic skill. There'd be trouble in the ward from Master Geoff if anybody but Sister arranged his flowers !"

  Geoffrey Wentworth loved flowers and it was he who had sent Fay to Kew when the daffodils were in bloom, and later to see the bluebells there. He had said, "Kew at these times

  is a must for me. I've always loved it, you see, and it has always been a kind of pilgrimage. I'll have to miss it this year, but I should like you to see it. Will you go and see it for me?"

  It had been a simple request and one which it gave her great joy to fulfil. She even took in her stride his rather strange condition that she should go alone. And when she recounted her visit to him, in short interrupted snippets when she was doing her ward round, his face lighted up.

  "I knew you would love it," he said. "I was there with you." But it still looked like being a very long time before Geoff Wentworth would be able to go to Kew for himself.

  "How's the book coming on?" she asked
, moving his writing things in order to straighten his bed.

  "Slowly—very slowly," he sighed. "You see you never give us any peace here for two minutes together. I know it seems as though we lie here all day with nothing to do. It seems like that until you've really got something to concentrate on, and then you realise just how many interruptions there are in a day. Washing, feeding, dressings, injections, library trolley, doctor's round, patients' chatter—"

  "And you want to do the thing properly and have a nice quiet study for the great man's muse to get to work—with a whacking great DO NOT DISTURB on the door," Fay teased him, picking up the pad at the same time.

  Years of practice in reading MSS had made her a quick reader and assessor of style. She liked the few paragraphs she read under the title "Life's Beginning."

  "Is this going to be your own life story?" she asked.

  "No, not altogether—" Geoff's eyes searched her face. "It won't be biographical—a bit is me and a bit fiction."

  Fay scanned a page or two and then gave a professional reaction. "Don't write in the first person. Publishers have a slight prejudice against it unless it's the autobiography of a well-known person. And besides, it restricts you to your own factual knowledge—and you can only present your characters from recorded observations of them or from things they say and do in your hearing. As an author, on the other hand, you can be omniscient, and what's even better, you can make

  your characters behave as you want them to behave. Have you got far?"

  She looked at her patient to find that he was staring at her as though he had just had a great illumination. Before he spoke he suddenly seized the looseleaf pad he had been using and ripped off the top pages.