A Nightingale Christmas Wish (38 page)

Veronica wondered if she’d heard correctly. And she wasn’t the only one, judging by the stunned expressions all around her.

‘But it’s been decided,’ Mrs Tremayne said through taut lips. ‘You were all in favour, as I recall?’

‘I’ll admit I was,’ Miss Fox conceded. ‘But I was unwell at the time, and that clouded my judgement.’

‘Nevertheless . . .’

‘Nevertheless, I’ve had time to reflect on my decision since then. And I’ve realised we are in danger of making a grave mistake.’

Her footsteps faltered slightly as she approached the table, and Malcolm Eaton gallantly offered her his chair. Mrs Tremayne didn’t move, Veronica noticed. She sat rigid and upright, regarding Miss Fox through narrowed eyes.

‘And may I ask what’s brought you to this shattering conclusion?’ she asked.

Kathleen Fox took a moment, gathering her thoughts. ‘As you know, during my recent illness I’ve been spending time in a ward, and it’s given me the chance to get to know many of the patients very well. I’ve come to realise how much this hospital means to them,’ she said. Mrs Tremayne rolled her eyes but said nothing. ‘This isn’t just a building, it’s a beacon to them. A place they’ve known all their lives, somewhere they trust.’

‘Hear, hear,’ Veronica mumbled gruffly.

‘There are other hospitals,’ Mrs Tremayne put in briskly.

‘Not like this one,’ Kathleen Fox said. ‘Look at it from their point of view, Mrs Tremayne,’ she appealed. ‘These people are facing great changes in their lives. They’re likely to be seeing their loved ones sent off to fight soon, and won’t know if they’ll ever return. One day the people we serve may even lose their homes, all their worldly possessions. They need something they can rely on. They need us,’ she urged.

Veronica felt dampness on her cheeks, and was mortified to realise tears were sliding down her face.

Even Mrs Tremayne seemed slightly moved. She cleared her throat. ‘That’s all very well,’ she said, pulling herself together, ‘but we have to think of the staff. We can’t very well make them stay, can we?’

‘Have you asked them if they want to stay?’ Kathleen asked her.

‘Well, no, but obviously no one would want to put themselves in danger.’ She abruptly stopped talking as Kathleen raised her hand.

‘If you’ll excuse me a moment?’ she said. Her voice was quiet but they still watched her, transfixed, as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a thickly stuffed envelope.

‘What’s this?’ Mrs Tremayne eyed it suspiciously.

‘It’s a letter, signed by the staff, urging you to reconsider this decision.’ Miss Fox went to hand it to her but Mrs Tremayne drew back sharply, as if it were a dead rat. Instead Reginald Collins took the envelope and tore it open.

‘There are a great deal of signatures on here,’ he said, scanning the contents.

Miss Fox turned her calm grey eyes to Mrs Tremayne. ‘Everyone has signed it,’ she said. ‘All the ward sisters, the consultants and the registrars, right down to the probationers and the junior housemen. All of them have put in writing their willingness to stay at the Nightingale, come what may.’

Veronica Hanley gave up trying to hide her tears, and sniffed loudly. ‘With your permission, Matron, I should like to add my name to that list,’ she said.

Kathleen smiled graciously at her. ‘I should very much like that too, Miss Hanley,’ she replied.

‘Perhaps we could come to some kind of compromise?’ Malcolm Eaton suggested.

‘A compromise?’ Mrs Tremayne fixed him with a withering stare.

Malcolm nodded, refusing to be daunted. ‘Perhaps move the non-emergency staff and departments out of London, but keep the rest open?’

There was a lengthy silence. Constance Tremayne must have known she was beaten, but she wasn’t the type to go down without a fight. ‘It’s out of the question,’ she said. ‘I refuse to consider it.’

‘Pardon me, Mrs Tremayne, but you’re not the only one of the Trustees with a say,’ Reginald Collins spoke up. ‘In light of these developments, I think we should put it to a vote, don’t you?’

Veronica beamed at him. How could she ever have thought him feeble? In her eyes he had suddenly become a dragon-vanquishing hero. But not as great a hero as Matron, who sat looking calmly about her, smiling at the mayhem she’d created.

As if she knew she was being watched, Miss Fox glanced up and caught Veronica’s eye. To the Assistant Matron’s astonishment, she winked.

And to her even greater astonishment, Veronica Hanley found herself winking back.

‘MARRIED?’ CONSTANCE TREMAYNE
said icily. ‘You want to get married?’

Helen kept her eyes fixed on the Turkey rug at her feet. She didn’t dare look at Christopher.

They were having tea with her parents at the Vicarage on a sunny Saturday afternoon, and it was every bit of excruciating as Helen had expected it to be.

Poor Christopher, she thought. He must be wondering what he’d got himself into. Her parents couldn’t be more different from the kindly, boisterous Dawson family.

Her father was as welcoming as always, and did his best to make Chris feel at home. Her mother, by contrast, looked as if someone had shoved a particularly sour lemon in her mouth.

‘Married,’ repeated Constance Tremayne, shaking her head slowly. ‘Well, this is the first I’ve heard of it.’

‘That’s why we’re telling you now,’ Chris replied cheerfully.

Helen sent him a shocked glance, which he ignored. Hadn’t she warned him not to answer her mother back? Silence until Constance had finished expressing her opinions was always the best policy, in her experience.

But he didn’t pay any attention to her warnings. He’d started off on the wrong foot when he breezed in, gripped her mother’s hand in a manly handshake and said, ‘Nice to meet you, Connie.’ He’d then added to his sins by sitting down without waiting to be invited, drinking spilled tea out of the saucer and not using the jam spoon in the correct manner.

Helen turned imploringly to her father, who leaped into action.

‘Well, that’s marvellous news, isn’t it? Absolutely first rate.’ He stood up, slapped Christopher on the back and shook hands with him enthusiastically. ‘We couldn’t be happier, could we, my dear?’

All eyes turned to Constance. She inhaled a long breath, and Helen waited.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘We’re very happy for you, Helen.’

Beside her Helen heard Chris’s sigh of relief, but she could only stare at her mother. She felt odd, almost let down, though she wasn’t sure why.

‘You see?’ he whispered to her. ‘I told you she wouldn’t be able to resist my charm!’

Helen smiled weakly back, but she could hardly take it in. Her mother must be sickening for something, it was the only explanation.

Helen got the chance to question her further when her father took Christopher out into the garden to show off his roses.

‘Are you sure you’re all right about Chris and me getting married, Mother?’ Helen asked.

Constance smiled benignly. ‘Of course, why shouldn’t I be? He seems like a very pleasant young man,’ she said. ‘Very – what’s the word? Confident.’

Full of himself, in other words, Helen thought. She was surprised her mother hadn’t slapped him down.

‘I hope you don’t feel it’s too sudden?’ she tried again.

‘Hardly sudden, dear. You’ve known each other several months. It’s not as if you only met him a fortnight ago, is it?’

Helen stared at her in frustration. ‘You do know he’s Charlie’s cousin?’ she burst out.

Constance leaned over and laid a hand on her daughter’s arm, silencing her. ‘I know you’re concerned about my feelings, dear, but don’t be. I’ve learned my lesson,’ she said. ‘I took against Charlie when you first met him, and as you know I’ve always regretted not giving him more of a chance. I don’t intend to make the same mistake again, I assure you. Besides,’ she went on, ‘you’re a woman now. More than old enough to make up your own mind.’

Helen stared at her, stunned. She had just turned twenty-five years old, and in all her life she had never heard her mother say she was old enough to make up her own mind about anything.

So why had she chosen now, of all times, to decide that Helen could make her own decisions?

‘Besides,’ Constance said, ‘I’m far too tired for another argument. I’ve already had one bruising encounter this week, and I simply can’t face another.’

‘A bruising encounter, Mother?’ Helen said, amused.

‘There’s nothing funny about it!’ Constance snapped. ‘Thanks to Matron’s overdramatic intervention, the Nightingale is now having to stay at least partially open, instead of closing entirely as I’d planned.’

Helen nodded. ‘Yes, Dr McKay told us the good news.’

‘Good news?’ Constance’s lip curled. ‘It’s hardly good news as far as I’m concerned, Helen. And don’t mention that man’s name to me either,’ she added. ‘I partly blame him for the situation we find ourselves in. If he hadn’t got the Trustees talking about this in the first place—’

‘Dr McKay is only doing his job, Mother. He happens to be very conscientious.’

‘He’s a troublemaker!’ her mother said. ‘He and Matron have set out to humiliate me.’

‘Don’t you think you’re taking this too personally?’ Helen reasoned. ‘They only want what’s best for the hospital.’

‘And I don’t?’ Constance raised her eyebrows. ‘Really, Helen, I’m very disappointed in you, taking sides with that man. I’m beginning to wonder if it was a mistake for you to move to Casualty in the first place.’

‘I like it there.’

‘All the same, perhaps it would be better for you to move back to Theatre.’

Before Helen had a chance to reply, the two men came in from the garden through the French windows, laughing together like old friends.

‘Well, Helen, your young man can certainly tell a good story!’ Timothy Tremayne chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t mind going to sea myself after listening to some of his tales!’

Helen looked at Chris, who winked back at her. He seemed so relaxed, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But she could tell he was trying hard to make a good impression, for her sake.

‘We’ve been talking about the wedding,’ her father went on.

Chris’s grin widened. ‘Your dad’s offered to marry us in your church,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d like that?’

‘What a lovely idea,’ Helen said absently, her mind still on what her mother had said.

‘It’s just a matter of finding a date,’ her father continued. ‘Christopher says you want to marry as soon as possible?’

‘Well—’

‘We seem to have weddings every weekend at the moment. Lots of couples wanting to get married before the men are called up, I suppose,’ Timothy sighed. ‘But as luck would have it, a bride’s mother rang me up this morning and said her daughter’s decided on a register office wedding instead.’

‘And we all know why that is, don’t we?’ Constance said with a knowing look.

‘Quite, my dear.’ Reverend Tremayne gave his wife a patient smile. ‘Anyway, it means I have an afternoon free next month, if that’s of any interest to you?’

‘Perfect,’ said Chris. ‘Eh, Helen?’

But before she could reply, her mother chimed in with a very sharp, ‘Out of the question. It will take much longer than that to plan even the simplest wedding. And besides,’ she went on, ‘if you marry with such indecent haste, everyone will think you’re doing it for a reason.’ Her gaze dropped meaningfully to Helen’s narrow waist.

‘Mother!’ Helen blushed.

‘I’m only telling you what everyone else will think.’ Constance sniffed. ‘But as I’ve told you, you’re old enough to make your own decisions.’

Helen looked at Chris. ‘What do you think?’

‘It’s up to you,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘You know I’d like to get wed as soon as possible, but it’s your big day, and I don’t want to spoil it for you.’

‘That’s settled then,’ Constance interrupted them. ‘You can get married later.’

Helen smiled at her mother. So much for being able to make her own decisions!

‘
CALL YOURSELF A
doctor? You didn’t even know your own wife was expecting.’

David McKay laughed at his friend. After weeks of Jonathan Adler’s saying his wife was under the weather and in need of a tonic, the true cause of Esther’s mystery illness had finally revealed itself.

Jonathan had the grace to look abashed. ‘How was I to know? After two years of marriage and no sign of pregnancy, it wasn’t exactly expected,’ he defended himself.

‘Well, I couldn’t be happier for both of you,’ David said warmly. ‘How is Esther?’

‘Blooming, now she’s over the sickness and lethargy.’

His wife might have recovered, but Jonathan didn’t look as if he would ever get over the shock. His dark eyes had a dazed expression, and his face was pale in contrast to his black beard. He looked like a man in need of a stiff drink.

‘We’ll have to celebrate,’ said David. ‘But before you say anything, I’m not inviting myself to supper again,’ he went on, as his friend opened his mouth to speak. ‘I wouldn’t expect Esther to slave over a hot stove in her condition.’

‘You’re surely not inviting us to that hovel of a doctors’ house?’ Jonathan laughed.

‘No, I thought we could go out for dinner to the Café de Paris. My treat.’

‘In that case, I’m sure my wife and I would be delighted to accept your invitation.’ Jonathan inclined his head graciously. ‘Will the lovely Rebecca be there?’

‘I daresay.’ David caught his friend’s searching look. ‘So I’m sure Esther will be able to sit and scrutinise us at her leisure,’ he said.

‘We’re just interested in how you’re getting on, that’s all. You’ve been seeing each other a few months now, haven’t you? How is it going?’

‘She’s – delightful.’

Jonathan sent him a shrewd look. ‘That doesn’t sound too promising. She doesn’t make your heart skip a beat, then?’

‘No, and I’m rather relieved about that. I don’t know why you should think cardiac arrhythmia is a good sign,’ said David. ‘Hearts skipping a beat are generally considered dangerous, medically speaking.’

Without thinking, his gaze strayed across the Casualty hall, to where Helen was checking a batch of newly sharpened hypodermic needles.