The Nurse's War (35 page)

Their journey back down the hill was slow. They found themselves stopping every few minutes simply to look at each other. Grayson cared for her, she thought. He cared for her passionately. The words thrummed in her mind. His reticence, his seeming indifference, had been anything but. He had seen her beleaguered and stood back. He hadn’t wanted to disturb her, but she’d wanted
to be disturbed, it seemed. Very much. It was the best of remedies for a conflicted mind and a bruised heart and, wrapped in his arms, she’d known unequivocally where she belonged. It was with him and with nobody else.

Gerald had not been the man she’d thought him, had never been that man. He’d not deserved her help or her sympathy, yet she had given him both. Now he was dead and she must let him go out of her heart and out of her mind. As for Anish, the wound was deeper. But Grayson was right. If she wanted to slay that particular dragon, she must return to India once the war was over. With Grayson by her side, she was sure she could lay to rest the last of her hurt.

They were only yards from the end of the bridleway when they saw the bus disappearing into the distance. But on this golden day nothing bad could happen and, minutes later, a farmer passed and offered them a lift in his cart. Sitting side by side on straw bales, they trundled into the centre of Brighton, still smiling dazedly at each other.

‘I wish my mother were here. I’d love to see her face,’ Grayson joked, as the cart swung from side to side down the Steine. ‘I’ve a feeling she might be envious of our ride.’

‘Really?’ From the little she knew of Mrs Harte, Daisy thought it unlikely.

‘Yes, really. She’s a lot of fun. I hope you’ll think so too.’

She said nothing, the old uncertainty rushing back in force.

‘She wants very much to meet you,’ he continued. ‘She’s been nagging me for weeks to invite you to tea.’

He was trying to make her feel better, she knew, trying to smooth the way for what would be a difficult meeting. If it ever took place.

‘I’ve talked about you. Actually, I’ve talked a lot about you,’ he confessed. ‘And it would cheer her enormously to have you visit. She tries to keep busy but, like everyone else, the war is getting her down. Her closest friend was killed in last month’s raid.’

‘I’m sorry.’ It was a dutiful murmur.

‘So you’ll come?’

He was not going to let her fudge. He wanted an answer and he was right. It was time to confront the fears she’d buried deep, fears that were as old as she. They were insidious, eating away at her over the years: the dread of being unworthy, of not knowing who she was, of not being quite good enough. But with Grayson by her side, she could surely win through. He loved her and that had to be enough.

The hay wagon drew up outside the front entrance of the hotel, a strange sight even in these strange times. A breeze was blowing from off the sea and her dark hair tangled in its wake. She shifted on the straw bale to face him, her eyes seeking his. ‘I’ll come,’ she said firmly.

He squeezed her hand and helped her down from the cart.

The bill was paid, the cases collected, and they made their way to Grayson’s parked car. It was only yesterday morning that she’d seen the vehicle waiting for her outside Barts, but since then the world had shifted irrevocably. She was sure now of where she was going and who she wanted with her. Grayson tossed the bags into the boot and held the passenger door open.

‘Back to London?’

‘Back to London,’ she repeated.

‘But this time, things will be different.’ He bent his head to kiss her, uncaring of the passers-by who turned to look.

They were in their seats and ready to go, but he didn’t start the engine immediately. Instead, he laid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.

‘We belong together,’ he said, his face against hers. ‘We always have. Since the first moment I saw you on board
The Viceroy.
You were travelling to India to marry another man and, when I learned that, it was a dreadful blow. It didn’t stop me wanting you though.’

She said nothing and he disentangled himself and turned in his seat. He took both her hands in his, and then kissed them finger by finger. ‘Do you know, Daisy,
that you were the very first thing in my life that didn’t go right for me?’

She reached up, her palm stroking his cheek and coming to rest on his chin. A smile played on her lips. ‘Do you know, Grayson, that you are the very first thing in
my
life that did?’

Read on for an exclusive extract of

DAISY’S LONG ROAD HOME—

follow Daisy as she uncovers some long-hidden secrets about the family she never knew …

Sussex, March 1948

Daisy ignored the doorbell when it rang. It had been a bad day and she’d no wish to entertain her prying neighbour. Half her nurses were down with influenza, but the ward was so crowded she’d had to order the few still on their feet to make up beds in the corridor. The row with Matron had been the last straw.

The bell rang again and she shut her ears to it. Until the third chime. Then she marched to the front door and flung it wide in exasperation. A man leant nonchalantly against the doorpost and she stared in amazement at him.

‘Grayson?’

‘It’s nice to see you recognise me.’ She didn’t think he meant it as a jest. And why would he? It was months since they’d seen each other.

She tried to pull her thoughts together. ‘But why are you here?’

‘I needed to see you. Can I come in?’

‘Yes, of course.’

There had been a momentary hesitation and he was quick to catch it. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not staying. I have a train to catch back to London.’

But why had he needed to visit, and without warning? There had been no letter, no telegram. That was worrying and she wondered what was coming. She hadn’t been wrong about the edge to his voice though. He was the man she’d loved, perhaps still loved, yet after so long apart, neither had made any attempt even to touch hands. He followed her into the small kitchen that gave straight on to the road and looked around him. She’d been here for nine months and this was the first time he’d walked through her door.

‘It’s cosy,’ he decided.

‘It’s affordable.’

‘Is Brighton so very expensive?’

He settled himself at the shabby wooden table. As always, he was completely relaxed. Only the slightly deeper creases around his mouth and the few grey hairs at his temple spoke the passing of years.

‘Not by London standards, no, but salaries here are low.’

‘And how is the job?’

She didn’t answer immediately, but put the kettle on to boil. She knew the job was a source of irritation to him and she couldn’t even boast that it was going well. Today had been the worst by far, culminating in a vitriolic exchange with her superior. For the first time, she’d answered the woman back and known immediately
she’d done the wrong thing.

‘Beecham’s is a small hospital,’ she said, arranging cups and saucers on a tray. She was prevaricating, but if she showed her true feelings, she’d have to acknowledge the mistake she had made in coming to Brighton.

‘So?’

‘It can be a little insular, that’s all. Trifles can become too important. And the work itself is hardly challenging.’ She was willing to confess that much, but she wished she didn’t sound quite so weary or quite so frustrated.

‘I imagine the lack of challenge is inevitable. After the war, most nursing will seem humdrum.’

She poured the tea, trying to lose herself in the routine action, conscious she should fight any desire to confide in him. They were almost strangers now. Since she’d made the move to Brighton, they’d met only once. She’d gone up to London to spend the day with him just before Christmas. It had been a forlorn attempt to rekindle a love that had once burnt brightly. In determined fashion, they’d made their way around old haunts, exchanged opinions on the city’s new landmarks, chattered a little too much, told a little too many silly jokes, but there had been a hollowness to the day that neither could ignore. They hadn’t repeated the experiment. And now he was here and she didn’t know how she should feel.

‘You could be right about the war,’ she said, carrying the tray to the table, her finger jabbing at a small spill of tea on the plastic tablecloth. ‘It was an extraordinary experience.’

She sat down opposite him and felt his eyes fixed on
her. His gaze made her shift uneasily in her seat.

He knew she wasn’t happy, she thought. As always he knew and she could feel herself getting ready to confess the truth.

‘Brighton might have been a mistake,’ she blurted out.

There, she’d said it, but his eyebrows barely rose at the admission. ‘I got the promotion I wanted, but the nursing is fairly basic and though the patients are wonderful and most of my staff are well enough…’ The words were tumbling forth now…’ ‘It’s the pettiness that gets me down. It’s a small town and the hospital is a very small community.’

‘And who is being particularly petty?’ He was as perceptive as ever.

She allowed herself a small sigh. ‘Miss Thornberry—the Matron.’

‘Ah!’

She read his exclamation rightly. A hospital’s matron was always key. They could be fearsome women, but most were dedicated to their work and fair in their dealings. This one, though, had beaten her. The woman was constantly niggling, sly remarks that suggested that Daisy, as a newly promoted Sister, wasn’t quite up to the job. For months she’d taken the criticisms in silence, but today she’d had enough and let fly.

‘I expect the latest trouble will blow over.’ Her voice had a false brightness to it.

Grayson stirred his tea and waited for her to go on. He knew there was more to say and so did she. The job had certainly proved a disappointment, but the real heaviness
in her heart came from elsewhere. For years, she’d lived a solitary life and felt proud of her independence. But a moment had come, and quite recently, when she’d had to accept the truth. She wasn’t just alone, she was lonely. A thirty-year-old woman who still hadn’t got life right. She missed the camaraderie of wartime—though it had taken a while to realise it—and missed the comfort of a good friend. If Connie were here, she could have confessed her loneliness. But Connie was now Mrs Lawson and living a new life in Canada with her doctor husband. Together they’d decided the old Empire offered better prospects than a ravaged and debt-ridden England. And then there was Grayson. How long had that taken before she recognised how large a void he’d left in her life? But that was something else she wouldn’t admit.

He’d been silent all this time and she felt impelled to speak, to fill the empty air with words, any words.

‘I’m sorry. None of this is important and you haven’t travelled miles to hear me moan. It’s only that today has been particularly difficult.’

‘Don’t give it a thought.’ His gaze finally relaxed. ‘Why have friends if you can’t complain to them?’

There was a studied emphasis on the word ‘friends’, and she was trying to think how best to respond, when a loud burst of music clattered through the adjoining wall.

‘Your neighbour?’

‘She has a gramophone and she likes to play it.’

‘Noisy as well as nosy then. She watched me as I walked along the road, you know, every step of the way.’

Next door Peggy Lee was delivering her final flourish, making it impossible for them to speak. But when the last strains of ‘Mañana’ had died away, Grayson nodded his head towards the drab cream wall that separated the two cottages. ‘I take it you’ve tried to negotiate?’

‘I have, but it made little difference and unless I’m to have a stand-up row with her—look, Grayson, forget my neighbour, instead tell me why you’re here. You said nothing about coming.’

He rocked back on the hard chair, his hands in his pockets. ‘If I’d given you advance warning, you might have made an excuse for not seeing me.’

‘I wouldn’t have done that.’

He looked fixedly at her once more and she found herself lowering her eyes. ‘Things haven’t been good between us, you must admit,’ he said. ‘And I wasn’t sure I’d see you. It was important that I did.’

‘You’re seeing me now.’