A Surgical Affair (4 page)

At first Diana was bewildered. Then she saw blood pouring through the glove of his finger and realized she had pierced it with the towel clip.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she said quickly.

“It was an accident. When he had recovered from the sudden acute pain, he heaved a long sigh of exasperation, ripping off the glove. “Was that a punishment for my bad behavior this evening?”

“No. It was an accident, I said,” pleaded Diana unhappily.

“All right, I believe you. But you’re a dangerous house surgeon to have.” He looked closely at the finger, frowning. “I think that slip went in one side and came out the other.”

For a moment she wondered if he was joking, but there was no sign of a smile on his face. She repeated anxiously, “I can only say I’m sorry, terribly sorry. What else can I say?”

“Forget it,” he said tersely, strolling away to wash his wound at the basin.

Later, back in her room, Diana wrote on a piece of notepaper: Dear Mark:

“I’m desperately sorry I caught your finger in my towel clip. I shall have no sleep tonight, with the sound of your scream ringing in my ears.

“If the finger becomes infected, and they have to amputate your hand, I will support you for the rest of your life!

Diana

She read it through, with a smile of satisfaction, hoping that Mark’s sense of humor would overcome his annoyance.

Diana went into the silent corridor. Twice she put the note into the side of Mark’s door, but each time it fell down.

Diana hesitated. She had left Mark up in the theater and badly wanted him to know how upset she was about his injury, especially as it had come at the end of such a tir
ing
, difficult day.

So she knocked softly, opened the door, and switched on the light.

His sitting room was smaller than her own and looked out over the forecourt and the main road. She noticed the single row of surgical textbooks and a few magazines about music. A large iron trunk stood in one corner, and stereo record player, with its loudspeaker looking like a miniature radar installation, in another corner. Behind the door was a desk, covered in letters, papers and scribbled telephone numbers and, underneath it, three large boxes of records.

The window was open and Diana shivered in the cold. She still wore her shapeless white theater gown; it had seemed unnecessary to change to ordinary clothes before going to bed. Carefully, she propped the note against the telephone, deciding that Mark was certain to see it there.

The roar of the traffic had drowned the noise of his approach. He entered the room, and they stood looking at each other.

Diana blushed. “I’ve left you a note—it’s about your finger.”

He went over and picked it up. “I like being sent notes. Reminds me of my schooldays.”

Mark laughed loudly as he read it, then examined his finger carefully. “It’s too early to know yet if I’ll lose the hand, but I’ll keep you informed.” He was grinning at her.

Diana smiled with relief because he was not annoyed with her and walked back to the door. She noticed a painting hung above the desk; a beautiful Chinese woman, wearing a green, high-necked dress, and holding a fan.

“I like that,” Diana said appreciatively.

“I’m glad.” He was gazing at it thoughtfully.

“Who’s the artist?”

“My wife. She painted quite well.”

He had spoken the words flatly, without emotion. Diana had the feeling that one day he would tell her about his wife. She was prepared to wait. For the moment she felt curiously pleased that Mark had confided in her about something so personal.

“I must go,” she said quietly. “Goodnight.”

Mark touched her sleeve, grinning mischievously. “Say, I’ve always wondered—does the hospital provide official underwear with this gown?”

“I don’t think I’ll answer that question.” Diana was trying to look shocked, but could not help smiling.

He laughed. “Good night. Go straight home.”

CHAPTER FOU
R

T
he small tea shop in Barnley village was full. There were only four tables, and at one of these sat Diana and Sister Baker, beside a blazing log fire.

They had been to visit Larkspur Cottage. Diana was fascinated by its tiny rooms with their oaken beams, and the wild, scented yard sloping down to the river. They spent the afternoon taking measurements for curtains and carpets; then they took a long walk around the country lanes, exhilarated by the winter sunshine and sharp cold air after being confined in the hospital.

“I can’t wait to move in, now it’s really mine. I’ve been saving up for years, and it’s all going to leave me quite broke, but I don’t mind.” Sister poured herself another cup of tea, her face flushed and happy. “Have another toasted scone. Aren’t they delicious?”

“You’re lucky to be setting up a home,” said Diana wistfully, taking a scone. “The trouble with these hospital jobs is the living-in part. But you can’t get anywhere on the surgical ladder unless you do them.”

Sister peered over her spectacles. “You might decide to marry and settle down.”

Diana was gazing into her cup, thinking of Richard. “I don’t think so, at the moment. There is somebody who wants to marry me, but he’s—he’s too sure of me.” She looked up. “Do you see what I mean, Sister? He thinks he owns me already. I feel smothered.”

“I think I see. But isn’t it nice to know you can rely on a man always to be around?”

“I suppose so, if you’re sure he’s the right one. But I’m not sure. The only thing I can do is to get away from him and see how I manage on my own. You see, I’ve known him for so long—since we were at Oxford together. If he’s always there, I can’t judge him— or myself.” Diana found herself wondering why Sister had never married.

As if in answer to the unspoken question, Sister said quietly, “I was engaged once. He was a chartered accountant; Charles Buchan, his name was. I was a very junior nurse in a geriatric ward in a Plymouth hospital at the time. Charles used to visit his father, who was recovering from a stroke. He came every evening for months, so we grew to know each other fairly well. Soon he started bringing me flowers and chocolates. I began to look forward to his visits.” She stopped, her face sad and wistful.

“Go on,” Diana said softly.

“Well, we became engaged, although his father disapproved of me. He said I hadn’t the right background for his son. Charles was very easily influenced by him and kept saying we should postpone the marriage, because all this worry was making it harder for the old man to recover. Then, one evening, they had a huge argument about me; I could hear them shouting from the other end of the ward. Just after Charles left, his father died; quite suddenly. I never saw Charles again. I suppose he blamed me for his father’s death.”

Sister blew her nose. “It’s funny. The only other person who knows that story is my cousin Fay. I don’t often think about it.”

“Probably you’re in a reminiscent mood because we’ve been to the cottage. That is really almost a turning point in your life, isn’t it?”

“In a way I suppose it is. But I like to feel that I came to terms with life some years ago—put my frustrations behind me, I mean.”

Later, when they stepped out into the cold air and under a full moon, walked along the cobbled street, Sister said to Diana, “I’ll always remember this day. You must be one of my first visitors when I move in.”

Arriving at the hospital, Diana went quickly up to her room. It was the night of Tony Spring’s party, and she hated to be late.

She put on her black taffeta skirt with a black Italian blouse that showed off her smooth, pale shoulders. She clipped on the jade necklace her mother had given her and dabbed under each ear a little of the perfume in a gold box, Richard’s Christmas present. Diana wondered whether Mark would be taking a girl friend to the party and couldn’t help feeling a little envious of her. Then she wondered why she was taking such very special care to look attractive for this party.

She took a last look in the mirror and was satisfied with what she saw. How pleasant to be without a white coat for once, to feel so feminine!

Diana found Tony’s room crowded with housemen and registrars, wives and girl friends, all laughing and talking through a haze of cigarette smoke.

“You’re looking very beautiful tonight, if I may say so, Dr. Field.” Bill Evans, swaying slightly, was gazing at her with bleary eyes. “I never really approved of women doctors, but in your case I’ll make an exception.” The drink from his glass was spilling onto the carpet. “You see, a woman just hasn’t got the stamina.”

Diana, now pressed against the door, was glad when Tony Spring introduced her to his
fiancée
and offered to fetch her a sherry. She took the opportunity to escape with him and found Dr. Pallie standing alone in a corner.

“Do you know all these people?” she asked him.

“Oh, yes, most of them,” he replied, smiling. “Sister Baker and I must be the hospital’s two oldest inhabitants. We’ve watched people come and go for years, but neither of us ever seem to leave.”

“Did you qualify in England?”

“Yes, in London. I have never returned to India and do not think
shall now. It has changed so much since I was there.”

Diana decided that, in spite of the things Mark had said about Dr. Pallie, he seemed a charming but rather lonely man.

While they had been speaking, she noticed Mark standing at the end of the room. She knew that he had looked toward her twice.

“Once this crowd thins out, we can have some rock ’n’ roll.” said Mike Simons, who had appeared with a tray of cocktail savories. Somebody turned on some music from a tape recorder. Dr. Pallie bowed his head and told them he must do some reading—for his Fellowship examination.

Diana became aware of somebody standing behind her. A voice whispered in her ear, “You’ve had your hair done.”

She turned. There was Mark looking very smart in a light gray suit and, as usual, extremely young and boyish.

“So have you!” she replied, laughing, for his short hair was now even shorter.

Mark was looking seriously into her eyes. “I began to think you weren’t coming.”

She smiled. “Are you alone? No girl friend?”

“No. She never comes to the hospital,” he said flatly. “I can’t mix business with pleasure.”

For a moment, a great feeling of relief swept through Diana. “Have another drink,” Mark continued. “You’re too reserved. You should lose your inhibitions more often. We’re off duty tomorrow, so why not?”

She clutched her glass. “Not yet, thanks. I’m feeling a bit warm inside already. Do you know, when I was seven, my parents had to carry me out of a restaurant—after half a glass of cider.”

A few couples were dancing to
Night and Day.

“Let’s move around to this,” he said quietly, taking her glass and putting it down with his own.

Then he moved toward her. His arm slid around her waist, their hands came together. For a moment they did not move. That first tender contact released all the tension of the last few weeks, when they had been so close but never touching, so full of fascination for each other.

They danced. They were almost the same height, and when Mark’s cheek touched her hair he sighed contentedly. “You smell good.”

He held her nearer to him.

Diana noticed several people looking at them and pushed him away, laughing. “I’m a respectable house surgeon.”

Then Ella Fitzgerald was singing
Manhattan.
A nostalgic expression came into Mark’s face. “This song was the rage when I was working in New York. It always makes me wish I was back there.”

The great big city’s a wondrous toy,

Just made for a girl and boy.

We
’ll
turn Manhattan into an Isle of Joy.

“Do you know, you’re the first Australian I’ve met?” said Diana. “Are they all like you?”

Mark shrugged. “There’s no such thing as a typical Australian. My grandmother was from the Isle of Skye.” There was a hint of pride in his voice. “Most of us can find a European ancestor somewhere along the line.”

“Don’t you miss the sun? I can’t stand this climate. I’d love to live somewhere hot.”

“The suns’s all right if you can lie on Bondi Beach all day, but it’s no good to work in.”

Diana sensed that Mark was rather puzzled by her. She had always known she was reserved and yet full of warmth. He had realized this.
He must have been feeling unusually carefree and contented because, after a few minutes, he asked lightly, “When would you like to listen to my records?”

Diana looked at him, sensing the direction in which their relationship was moving.

She laughed. “Isn’t that rather like saying, ‘Come up and see my etchings’.”

She wanted time to think, to decide what to do. She felt she was rushing into something that would bring despair, not happiness.

He seemed to ignore her remark and grinned. “Do you know something? You’re very attractive.”

“But you hardly know me!” protested Diana, thinking he must be joking, or merely flirting.

Mark looked shocked. “Don’t you believe in love at first sight?”

“I—I don’t know,” she replied vaguely, feeling that the conversation was getting out of hand. “He can’t be serious,” she thought.

They had stopped dancing now and stood at the side of the room, gazing intently at each other, unaware of the people around them.

“I think I’d like to kiss you,” Mark said calmly, in the same matter-of-fact tone he would use to comment on a book he’d read.

Diana decided the time had come to speak plainly. “Look. I’ve led a very sheltered life really, compared with yours. I was at boarding school until I was 18. I fell madly in love—well, infatuated—with a man at Oxford, but he went to live in Kenya, nothing came of that. Now Richard, he’s a lawyer, wants to marry me. Those are the only men I’ve really known.”

Diana suddenly wondered why she was telling him all this.

“I suppose Richard wears a bowler hat and carries a rolled umbrella?” he asked, grinning, making this sound like a crime.

“Yes, he does as a matter of fact,” she replied, almost apologetically, but was glad the conversation had taken a different turn and was less personal.

They began dancing again and did not talk any more. Soon the room was empty, except for Tony Spring and his
fiancée
who were clearing up some glasses. Diana saw them both leave, and she was left facing Mark in the dimly lit room.

“Please,” he said softly.

Then they came together. And into that long, hard, searching kiss went all their desire for each other. In that precious moment of discovery, Diana knew a surge of happiness.

“I’d better go,” she whispered, trembling slightly.

“Yes, perhaps you should,” he said quietly.

Then he smiled. “Do you know, you’re the first female house surgeon I’ve ever had? And you’re as efficient and tough as any of the men. That day we were both up at five for an emergency operation, I followed right on with the morning’s list, no breakfast, nothing to eat until lunch time, just to see if you could stick it. And you did, without a murmur. Well, one thing’s for sure. You’re not going to get hurt. From now on, our relationship will be strictly a surgical affair.”

Diana walked slowly back to her room, stunned and bewildered. She had to admit that she found Mark Royston attractive, intelligent, interesting. But it was quite clear he was only intent on having a flirtation with her and didn’t mean to let his feelings involve him in anything deeper. She had tried to show him that she was not interested in that sort of thing. Anyway, what did he mean by,
“You’re not going to get hurt”?
That was a strange thing to say.

When she fell in love, it would be with a man who was in love with her, who would ask her to marry him. Diana suspected that for Mark marriage was the one thing above all else to avoid, that his relationship with women was always frivolous and superficial.

Diana wondered why this should trouble her so much. After all, she had come to the hospital to work, not to worry about her registrar.

But she could still feel the thrill and, at the same time, the deep contentment that had filled her body, when Mark held her in his arms. Nobody else had ever made her feel quite like that.