Honorary Surgeon (7 page)
Authors: Marjorie Moore
“
You
’
d better sit down again.
”
Mary was conscious of Sir Richard
’
s firm clasp as he forced her back on to the couch.
“
Put your feet up. You
’
d better stay quiet for a while.
”
Mary closed her eyes in meek obedience. She really had felt awful. Although she had never fainted in her life, she felt, somehow, that she had come very near to breaking that record. For a moment she wondered if she were really ill
...
not just over-tired and dispirited. At the thought a tear forced itself from beneath her closed lids. What would happen then? What on earth would
she do if her health, a matter which had never given her a moment
’
s anxiety, should fail her?
“
What
’
s worrying you?
”
Mary opened her eyes at the question, while a startled expression crossed her face. She had completely forgotten Sir Richard and for a few moments had thought herself alone. Without thinking, she found herself answering his question.
“
I was wondering what would happen if I really became ill.
”
“
Why consider that, possibility?
”
He laid his hand gently on her arm.
“
You won
’
t be ill, if you are sensible and do as you are told.
”
Mary glanced up and caught the twinkle in the eyes staring down at her. Yes, the nurses were right; this man had an undeniable attraction and a manner which was hard to resist. Well, the result of the combat seemed to have been taken out of her hands, and she was surprised at the delicious sense of contentment the knowledge afforded her. She hadn
’
t forgiven this man, she assured herself, not by any means; but still, since it was in his power to get her a few days
’
leave, she would be a fool to refuse it, she argued.
“
I
’
m not really worrying ... I only wondered,
”
Mary declared. Whatever happened, she wasn
’
t going to let Sir Richard know she was grateful for his suggestion.
“
If you think I
’
d better have sick-leave, I will. I don
’
t really mind,
”
she admitted, with as much indifference as she could muster.
“
I see
...”
Mary glanced up and caught an expression of amusement in her companion
’
s glance. It only served to irritate her and she felt her temper rising. Her eyes flashing angrily, she spoke:
“
What does it matter what
I
think?
You
’
ve already told me that I have no option but to do what I
’
m ordered. I ought to be glad to get away, glad to escape from the wretched time I
’
m having here
—
wretched because of your interference.
”
“
My interference? I don
’
t understand you. What do you mean?
”
“
It doesn
’
t matter what I mean ... I want to get away, quickly, quickly!
”
Mary
’
s voice rose hysterically.
“
I was pretending I didn
’
t want to go, pretending because I didn
’
t want to be grateful to you for anything.
I want a few days
’
respite from this place more than anything in the world.
”
Tears choked her voice.
“
Get me leave
...
please ... I must
...
I must get away.
”
She buried her face in her hands and, no longer able to control her tears, cried as if her heart would break.
Mary was scarcely conscious of Sir Richards restraining hand on her shoulder, or his gentle words of sympathy. It seemed as if the last threads of her control had deserted her, as if the pent-up emotions of the last few hours had reached the limit of resistance.
CHAPTER
FIVE
Mary dropped on her knees
beside her half-packed suit-case and carefully scrutinised its contents. Yes, everything was in; there only remained her frocks to be folded and placed on top. She lifted the case on to the bed and seated herself on a chair beside it, then, making no effort to continue her packing, she stared thoughtfully before her. Her eyes wandered slowly round the room, every detail of which was familiar. For a moment her glance rested upon a photograph which stood upon the dressing
-
table, the picture of a man, no longer young, but upright and military in his bearing. The eyes, the mouth, and the expression left no doubt as to the relationship of the-pictured figure to that of the young girl who sat dejectedly on the edge of the bed. Mary
’
s thoughts went back to her father. Could he ever have visualised the plight to which his unwise speculations would bring her? How fond he had been of her! Mary sighed. Almost too fond ... An only child, since her mother
’
s death she had been to him the centre upon which he had lavished all his love and devotion ... his idol, whose every whim he indulged. Always a gambler, a set-back on the stock market had caused him to plunge the more until, with reckless abandon, everything was lost. Mary recalled his last illness, a chill which developed so suddenly to pneumonia from which he appeared to make no effort to recover. It was left to his solicitors to explain to his daughter the true state of his affairs.
It had been Noel Mayton who had helped her to bear up during those dreadful weeks following the death of
her father. Unprotestingly she had allowed him to take charge of her affairs, and was guided entirely by him in the disposal of her home and possessions, the proceeds of the sale of which were entirely swallowed up by the outstanding debts. Only when Noel had offered her his heart and hand had Mary realized the immensity of his unselfishness, and, despite her fear of the unknown life before her, she had found strength to refuse what she had felt sure was no more than a quixotic impulse, further proof of his devoted friendship and consideration for her plight. She had eagerly accepted his suggestion of a job at the hospital, much as the prospect had frightened her. Anything was better than a marriage based on nothing more than friendship. It was only later, when her work at St. Jude
’
s brought her into closer contact with Noel, that she realized, almost with surprise, that, as far as he was concerned, his offer had not been wholly quixotic. His care and consideration and repeated offers of marriage during the past two years, had shown her that he had cared more deeply than she had ever believed, but it had also shown her that her feelings for him were still nothing more than the devotion to a dear, much-needed friend.
Mary lowered her eyes and plucked nervously at the starched edge of her apron. Noel was a dear; perhaps in time she could grow to lose him. Why, only two days before she had nearly given him the answer he longed to hear. What had prompted her? Had it only been the enchantment of the garden? Mary pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. Of course, it had only been those romantic surroundings, she argued. She had
wanted
to be in love. The scent of the flowers, the warm, still night; they had all combined to bewitch her. Why delude herself? She didn
’
t love him, but she couldn
’
t fight alone any longer, and Noel was the only road of escape. Mary slipped down from the bed and stood before her mirror. Her mind was made up. Her life at hospital had been hard enough before but, during the last twenty-four hours, it had become utterly unbearable. There was no alternative. Tonight, at once, she would write accepting his offer. She seating herself at the table, and drew towards her pen and paper. For a moment she sat undecided, with the pen poised uncertainly above the paper, then, as if anxious to be done, she leaned over the table and began to write with feverish speed. In a few minutes she sat back and carefully read the hastily written lines. Satisfied with the result, she folded the paper and placed it in an envelope and addressed it to Dr. Mayton. It was almost with surprise that she felt a warm tear drop slowly down her cheek. Wiping it away, she rose to her feet and with a determined effort turned to the packing which still awaited her. She had made but little progress when a light tap on the door was followed by her friend
’
s entrance.
Joan Howe, scarlet pyjamas showing beneath a brightly figured silk dressing-gown, stood inside the room and viewed the half-filled suitcase with disapproving eyes.
“
Well, I never. I thought you
’
d have finished by now. What have you been doing all this time? I didn
’
t come up until after you, and I
’
ve already undressed and had my bath.
”
Mary smiled apologetically
.
“
I don
’
t seem to be able to get started,
”
she admitted.
“
I
’
ve only just got out of my uniform. But I
’
m going to start now; I must finish tonight because I want to get the early train in the morning.
”
“
I
’
ll help you. I
’
m quite good at packing. Here, give me that frock. Got any tissue paper?
”
Mary handed over the dress she had taken from the cupboard and fumbled in a drawer for tissue paper.
“
I haven
’
t got much; you
’
ll have to go carefully,
”
she warned her friend as she handed her the paper.
“
O.K.
”
Joan glanced helplessly round the room.
“
Where on earth can I fold anything? Do you mind if I use the floor?
”
Without awaiting a reply, she dropped on her knees and spread the frock before her.
“
How many dresses are you taking with you?
”
“
I
’
m not sure
...
I am thinking of taking everything
...
I
’
m
...
I
’
m not certain that I shall be coming back
.
”
“
Mary!
”
Joan Howe sat back on her heels and stared at her friend, wondering if she had heard aright.
“
Not coming back! Darling, what on earth do you mean?
”
“
You know very well what I mean. I can
’
t stand it
...
I can
’
t face coming back here. You know what it
’
s been like today ... ever since Vickers spread the tale of yesterday
’
s happenings around
...
The hat affair was bad enough, but now they think it was due to Sir Richard
’
s favouritism that I
’
m getting leave I
’
ve been treated like an outcast
...
All the nurses shun me, as if I
’
d committed a crime ... I won
’
t stand it, Joan
...
I tell you, I won
’
t stand it!
”
she repeated heatedly.
“
I know it
’
s been awful for you. I
’
ve done my best
...
told them they
’
re a pack of fools; explained what really happened. But they know I
’
m your friend and imagine I
’
m just sticking up for you. They don
’
t believe it
’
s the truth, and nothing will convince them.
”
Joan Howe looked pleadingly at her companion.
“
You
’
re leaving tomorrow; by the
time you get back they
’
ll have forgotten. I
’
m sure they will.
”
“
Forgotten!
”
Mary repeated bitterly.
“
As if they
’
ll ever forget anything concerning Sir Richard. They never liked me because I refused to fall for his charms, but now they think I was only bluffing while I carried on with him behind their backs.
”
She made a gesture of helplessness.
“
Well, that
’
s more than they will ever forgive.
”
Mary paused for a moment, then, in quieter tones, continued:
“
Joan, it is strange what fools most of them make of themselves over that man. You don
’
t; you never have. I wonder why?
”
Joan laughed.
“
I quite like him. I think he is awfully attractive and a marvellous surgeon. I don
’
t behave like a silly schoolgirl because
...
well, because I think there are other men just as nice! Come on, pass me another frock,
”
she ended, with an abrupt change of subject.
Mary placed a linen dress
i
n her friend
’
s hands, but she was not to be so easily deterred.
“
What do you mean by that exactly?
...
Why, you
’
ve gone quite pink!
”
she exclaimed, laughing.
“
I do believe you
’
re blushing.
”
She leaned down and drew her friend round to face her.
“
Tell me, Joan, who is the special man who is just as nice?
”
“
Let me go; I
’
ll never finish this packing for you,
”
Joan threatened.
“
Heaps of men I know are nice; I didn
’
t mean anyone in particular.
”
“
You fibber
.
”
Despite Joan
’
s efforts, Mary refused to release her gr
as
p.
“
Confess! I won
’
t let you go until you do,
”
she insisted laughingly.
