Love for the Matron (13 page)

He took the cup. “I
’
m afraid I
’
d feel the cure was worse than the complaint. My wife doesn
’
t like having her routine upset.”

Elizabeth smiled at him. “And yet wife used to mean helpmeet or helpmate!”

Anthony Hingston nodded. “The war set women free from that conception ... or necessity
... o
r call it what you will, and men like myself don
’
t seem to have got back on the right foot since
.
”

“I
’
m not sure that the women appreciate that freedom. I have a feeling they
’
re as lost as you are. You could always try laying down the law. Your not feeling well is as good a reason as any for starting it,” Elizabeth suggested gently.

“They say men are the stronger sex, but I doubt it. I
’
m certainly not going to claim it for myself. I find it isn
’
t worth the fuss.”

“Perhaps you haven
’
t made the fuss long enough
...
you know faint heart never won fair lady,” Elizabeth pointed out.

He looked startled. “I think you
’
re in the wrong game, Matron. You should have been a marriage counsellor.”

Elizabeth laughed. “They say the onlooker always sees more than the players. It horrifies me sometimes to see how lightly some women
...
and that goes for men as well
...
take their marriage or bother with the arts that would make it a happy one. It takes so little and the rewards are so great,” she ended more seriously.

The phone rang and thrust an alien note into the int
i
macy of their conversation. Anthony Hingston nodded towards it.

“You
’
d better answer it, Matron. It
’
s probably one of your boy-friends wanting to put your theories to the test.”

Elizabeth picked up the receiver reluctantly. “Matron speaking.”

It was switchboard who answered. “An outside call for you, Miss Graham. Shall I put him through?
”

For a momen
t
Elizabeth was tempted to say she was otherwise engaged. “Yes, please.”

Stuart
’
s voice came through strongly. “I suppose I
’
ve chosen the wrong time again, Elizabeth, but I
’
ve got to see you. Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

“What
’
s the matter? I did tell you the child isn
’
t worrying about the situation.” Elizabeth said carefully, very much aware of her senior surgeon watching her.

“I suppose that means you
’
re not alone. It isn
’
t Susan this time. It
’
s Robin, and he
’
s in a flat spin. I gather he rather blotted his copybook last night.”

“I don
’
t think his father is holding that against him, and why bring me into it—or yourself, for that matter? Surely it
’
s something to be settled between the two of them.” Elizabeth tried to be reasonable.

“Must you take it so for granted that I
’
ve no concern for anyone but myself? Please come, Elizabeth. I wouldn
’
t ask you if I didn
’
t think you could help. The boy likes you. Seven o
’
clock be all right? Shall I collect you?”

Elizabeth sighed. “Seven o
’
clock, and I
’
ll walk, thank you.”

“You
’
re an angel, Elizabeth. I
’
m the first house past Castleford.”

Elizabeth put the phone down impatiently and then caught Anthony Hingston
’
s eyes and managed to smile.

He smiled back, but there was a quizzical expression on his face. “You told me it took so little, and yet it
’
s very obvious that you were finding it very difficult to give even that little
...”

Elizabeth frowned. “But since I
’
m neither married to him nor likely to be, I don
’
t see the parallel at all.”

Anthony Hingston got to his feet. “Perhaps not. I
’
ll go home and try your recipe for happiness ... not that it
’
s likely to work at this late date.”

Elizabeth escorted him to the door and refrained from suggesting that the fresh vitality which seemed to have sprung up in him couldn
’
t be entirely due to the coffee. As she accepted his thanks she wondered if Miriam Brown had done things like this ... fed not only the physical hunger of those under her care at St. Genevieve
’
s but also ministered to their more spiritual needs
...
That could account for her own odd moments of inspiration that seemed so entirely out of character.

She didn
’
t go back to her desk. There was her round to finish, a visit to Sister Winsley to make so that she could thank her for her co-operation and ensure that all was ready if they got another call upon their emergency resources. If Miss Selby had been there before her there might be ruffled feelings to
smooth. It was surprising that William Gregory hadn
’
t offered to straighten out that path as well. For a moment her anger welled up afresh and then it subsided, leaving her slightly ashamed of her ingratitude. She must remember that her time at St. Genevieve
’
s was not yet a week old and he had helped, no matter how much she had upset the comfort of his settled rut.

He couldn
’
t be finding life too easy. His duties at St. Genevieve
’
s must use up much of his time and energies and there was little peace and quiet at Castleford for him to go home to. He was used to Dear Emily, but no one could call her either restful or efficient, and often her attempts to protect him against interruptions only made things worse. Robin and Susan, for all their delightful qualities, couldn
’
t be easy responsibilities to carry for a man of William
’
s nature. Idly she wondered what his recreations were apart from his books. There were lawns around Castleford and daffodils growing in profusion under the trees and roses climbing up over the grey stone walls, but none of it entailed more than the weekly attention of a jobbing gardener. There had been mention of a golf course, but that had been in connection with Stuart. He had talked about walks, but they had been with his wife and she had died when Susan was too young to remember her. Elizabeth caught at the drift of her thoughts and tidied them away. She was supposed to be running a hospital, not organizing the off-duty of her senior physician. Why was Stuart worried about Robin? She supposed she would have to wait until this evening.

Elizabeth found herself tiptoeing past Castleford, to her amused astonishment. Was there some reason why she didn
’
t want the Gregory
’
s to know she was dining with their bachelor neighbor? How silly! As if it mattered at her age where she went or what she did provided she behaved with a dignity that befitted the Matron of St. Genevieve
’
s
!
She discovered that the Gate House was nearly a duplicate of her own, but the modernization must have been done by a different hand and at a later period. Picture windows had been cut in the vast thickness of the walls and their wide expanses of glass caught the dancing reflections of trees and rippling river and racing clouds. An elderly housekeeper answered her knock and led her up the short staircase into a large room where a log fire threw its flickering pattern on white walls and polished furniture.

“If you
’
ll just take a seat, Miss Graham, Mr.
Nichols won
’
t be long. He
’
s seeing to the wine.” The housekeeper spoke in a voice as thin and old as herself and rustled herself off as soon as Elizabeth was seated.

Elizabeth looked around the room with interest. The architect had worked with boldness and had removed all the inner dividing walls; it was difficult to believe that all this spaciousness was contained within the same dimensions as her own house. The kitchen must have been put down on the lower level and the bedrooms up above instead of being all on the same floor as the Matron
’
s house. It lost the cosy intimate look of her own rooms, but this was more suited to a man
’
s
living...

Stuart came in carrying a tray of glasses. “Sorry I wasn
’
t here to greet you, Elizabeth, but Gladys is no earthly good at wines and I prefer to do them myself, anyway. May I say how attractive you
’
re looking, or isn
’
t that included in the new book of words?” His eyes were warm with admiration and perhaps something more.

Elizabeth colored under his gaze. “Thank you,” she acknowledged his compliment politely. “But I didn
’
t come here to talk about me. You said you were worried about Robin,” she reminded him pointedly.

Stuart poured out two drinks from the cocktail shaker he had brought in. “I hope you
’
ll like this White Lady ... it
’
s a special recipe. Yes, I know I asked you here to discuss the problem of Robin, but I also wanted the pleasure of your company. May I suggest that we leave Robin until after dinner?” He handed her a glass. “Try that and tell me what you think of it.”

Elizabeth accepted it warily. She was beginning to wish she hadn
’
t been so ready to say yes to his invitation. Of course if Anthony Hingston hadn
’
t been in her office when Stuart had rung she could have made the situation perfectly clear there and then.

She sipped her drink. “It
’
s very nice, Stuart.”

He smiled at her limited praise. “I remembered that you didn
’
t like the taste of gin, so I was careful with my blending.
’
”

Elizabeth glanced at him in a startled fashion. “Why should you remember things like that
?
Two years is a long time.”

“Don
’
t I know it! And I never appreciated what I had allowed to slip through my fingers until it was too late ... not that I
’
m sure I had any right to grasp the butterfly.”

“What do you mean
?
” she asked curiously.

Stuart hesitated and then shrugged his shoulders. “Do I mean anything? I don
’
t know. Sometimes I think that some men are meant to go it alone and at other times I resent finding myself included among the hermits, a benevolent uncle to other men
’
s children. How about you, or are you content with your state in life because it
’
s your own choice?”

It was Elizabeth
’
s turn to hesitate. She wasn
’
t sure that she trusted Stuart in this philosophical mood and yet she felt capable of dealing with him ... or was the smooth richness of her cocktail blurring the fine edge of her caution?

“I think I
’
m content,” she said finally.

He jumped on her phrase. “You only think, Elizabeth! What a waste of golden years if you
’
ve been deluding yourself ... and me ... all this time
.
”

She was astonished by his bitterness “But you were never really serious, Stuart,” she protested. “I know you used to mention marriage now and again, but always in the same tone as you talked about the latest play or the newest book ... a mixture of scorn and envy and a dash of doubt as to whether anything man-created could last in this day and age.”

He stared at her. “Are you trying to tell me that if I
’
d gone down on bended knees with my hand on my heart to convince you of my serious intent that you would have said yes
?
”

Elizabeth shook her head and sipped at her drink. “No,” she admitted, “it wasn
’
t only you that I wasn
’
t sure of, but myself as well.”

“Do you know the answer now
?
” he shot at her.

“I know now that I wasn
’
t in love with you,” she said quietly.

“And does that go for the future
as
well
?
” There was a little smile twisting the
corner
s of his mouth, and yet it didn
’
t hold as much of the mockery as she remembered.

She was reluctant to hurt him because giving pain was not one of her joys. “I
f
I
’
m honest the answer is yes. Our outlooks on life are too entirely different, Stuart.”

“I see,” he said absently, as if he no longer really cared what her reply might be. “Let me give you another drink.”

Elizabeth accepted it, not because she wanted another but because having refused one thing it seemed ungracious to refuse another. She could always leave it on the table if dinner was announced before she had finished it.

Stuart seemed to have tired of personal questions and went on to tell her something of the program of plays put on by the local repertory company.

“Of course they haven
’
t the smooth performance of the London stage, but sometimes you catch an exciting flash of promise that makes you think you might be on the verge of discovering another Richard Burton.”

“You mean you take part in the production?”

“Not quite ... I go along to the rehearsals and act as a supernumerary critic, you might say. They seem to appreciate my opinion and it
’
s something to do that could be called useful.”