Oriental Hotel (19 page)

The thought stirred faint nausea in her yet again and she was surprised. She had thought familiarity had at least dampened down her physical reaction. But it was hot in the hospital, in spite of the ventilators that funnelled down fresh air from the deck above and the fans that worked overtime to circulate it.

She left the ward and stood for a moment leaning limply against the door outside. The strain of what she had been doing for the last few hours had taken its toll; she could no longer think clearly, no longer fit the wounded she had been nursing into the jigsaw of war. They were just men who needed help and she had done her best to assist in patching them up. But the waste! Dear God, the waste! Handsome young men scarred for life. Others robbed of the use of an arm or a leg, their guts burning inside them from swallowed oil.

It was the stuff of which nightmares were made. She had never imagined she would be called upon to witness such suffering and she hoped fervently she would never have to do so again.

‘Gangway – gangway, for God's sake!'

The urgent voices came at her through the haze of her own weakness and she jerked up her head sharply to see another stretcher being manhandled down the narrow companion way.

Oh God, not more! she thought, then ashamedly suppressed the selfish reaction. As the stretcher approached she flattened herself against the wall to let it pass, wishing she did not have to see another agonised face yet unable to avert her eyes.

Then, as the stretcher drew level, her hand flew to her mouth, stifling the gasp of surprise.

This was no unknown sailor. It was John Grimly!

She gained one quick impression of a face completely drained of colour beneath slick black hair which had fallen across his forehead in untidy strands; his eyes were closed and a fringe of lashes, black as the hair, made dark shadows on the white. Even his lips were bloodless, merging into the general pallor.

Frozen with shock she stood there against the wall; if she moved away from it, she thought her knees would give way beneath her.

The hospital doors were open and the stretcher was carried inside and still she stood, eyes wide above her splayed hand.

Had she imagined it? She knew she had not. Little sense though it made, it was certainly John Grimly who had just been carried past – John Grimly who had lain there looking close to death, if not already dead …

She moved then and her knees did not give way though they trembled weakly as she pushed open the door. The stretcher-bearers and their burden had disappeared into one of the treatment rooms, she supposed, but Carter – the orderly who had originally taken her under his wing – was passing, pushing a trolley with carafes of water.

As she grabbed at it, the water slopped violently.

‘That man they've just brought in – what has happened to him?'

‘Steady on now, steady on!' Carter was tired too and his tone was impatient.

‘He's not from another ship. He's an Army officer. I know him …'

‘Calm down!' Carter ordered.

‘But …'

‘Steady!'

As she subsided, Carter said more kindly, ‘I thought the boss told you to go and get yourself a stiff drink?'

‘Yes, he did, but …' Even her lips were trembling. ‘ I passed them with John Grimly when l was on my way out. Can't you find out what has happened to him?'

‘Look, Mrs Sanderson, the doctor's with him and he'll do whatever's necessary. I'm not going in there asking damn fool questions and hindering them, not for you or anybody else. You will just have to wait.'

He went to move away, but she persisted. ‘The stretcher-bearers – they must know.' As she spoke she saw them emerging from one of the doorways and left Carter to hurry over to them.

‘What has happened to him? Can you tell me?'

The older of the two passed a hand across his chin. ‘ Caught by the boom derrick, wasn't he, Reg?'

The second nodded. ‘Young fool! He's been getting in everybody's way all the morning from what I could see. One of those who think's he's helping, when all the time he ought to leave it to those who know what they're about.'

‘But what happened? How badly hurt is he?' Elise asked.

‘He's lucky to be still in one piece,' the older man told her. ‘I've seen men chopped clean in two if they happened to be in the way when a boom derrick gives.'

‘Oh, for goodness' sake, do you have to talk in riddles?' Elise snapped. ‘I haven't got a clue what you're talking about.'

The two men exchanged glances. ‘The boom derrick is what we use to winch up the boats and life-rafts out of the water,' the younger one explained. ‘Nobody's thought of a better way yet, but sometimes it goes wrong. If there's a heavy swell, or if it catches wrong and there's too much strain on the rope, it gives. Then the end whips back. Like Bob says, it can cut a man in half, take off an arm, a leg, even a head without any trouble.'

‘Oh, my God!' Elise said, turning white.

‘He caught it lucky.' The older man jerked his head in the direction of the treatment room. ‘But he's still in a bad way, I should say.'

The two men nodded agreement, their grim faces confirming the seriousness of John Grimly's injuries.

Elise turned to Carter. The sickness was back now, not just in her stomach but a creeping malady chilling her whole body.

When he had been forever following her John Grimly had irritated her unbearably, but now, knowing he was lying critically ill, she felt oddly responsible for him. A few moments ago she had hoped never to have to nurse another wounded man as long as she lived; now she said: ‘Can I go in and help?'

‘Best not. Dr Walker's got trained help in there. You go and get yourself a drink of something and have a bit of a break from this place.'

Despite his fierce features, Carter had kind eyes. The expression in them now did more to convince her than any harsh words. She was in no fit state to carry on just now and he knew it.

But I
should be
! she thought. If I can't support and comfort someone I know, then what good am I?

‘Go and get a drink and then come back,' Carter continued. ‘Maybe we'll have a better idea by then how he is.'

She nodded mutely. This time she did not stop outside the hospital ward. As the door closed behind her it was like a weight lifting off her shoulders. She went up the companion way, drawing in deep breaths of the fresh air that was filtering down. It was so good to be able to breathe in and not be contaminated by the smell of blood, scorched flesh and disinfectant! The odours still clung faintly to her hair, it was true, but compared with the choking, nauseating odour in the hospital, it was nothing. And to hear the hum of the ship's engines rather than the men's groans – that was a freedom which lifted her until the tiredness fell away.

The ship was now coasting slowly away from the debris of the wreck, while look-outs with binoculars combed the sea to make sure no survivor remained clinging helplessly to some piece of wreckage. But there was a total emptiness about the blue: no more boats; no more survivors.

And no raider. With a sense of shock, she realised she had not thought about it for hours. Well, if it had intended to move in and strike, it surely would have done so by now.

She made her way to the Mess Room then, but in the doorway she hesitated. It was crowded with men, all restless because they were not used to having to take a back seat when there was action. She was suddenly acutely aware of the state she was in – both her cream dress and her white coat were stained just as Surgeon Lt. Walker's had been – and aware too that just now she did not want to talk to anyone who had not shared her experience in the hospital.

Besides … I can't sit up here and drink gin with John Grimly down there in a bad way, she thought. Whatever Carter said, there might be something I could do.

She turned and retraced her steps. As she went back into the hospital the smells hit her all over again, but this time she accepted them. The first person she saw was Joyce Lindsell, as tired and dishevelled as she was herself; good intentions forgotten, she said defensively, ‘They sent me off to get a stiff gin, but I couldn't face the crush in the Mess Room.'

Joyce's mouth twisted slightly, a weak parody of her old hostility. ‘No?'

‘No! I could use a drink, but I didn't want to talk about what we've been doing down here.'

In the doorway of the galley Joyce turned, looking over her shoulder. ‘I've just made some tea if you want it.' Her tone was as defensive as Elise's had been, as if she expected to be slapped down.

‘Thanks.'

In the galley they avoided one another's eyes, still awkward, still unsure of one another, yet for the first time meeting on the same footing.

Joyce, her back to Elise, spooned sugar into a mug before stirring it and passing it to her. Elise took it without protest; she did not like sugar in her tea but she had no intention of saying so and risking Joyce's antagonism again. Besides, tired and thirsty as she was, she thought any beverage, however sickly, would slip down and be welcome.

She gulped gratefully at the tea but as it reached her empty, smell-filled stomach she gagged, nauseated. In panic she dumped the mug and pressed her hand to her mouth. The sickness was rising in her again, a revolt against the strong tannin, and the sugar was cloying on her tongue and the roof of her mouth.

‘Hey – you all right?'

Gradually the sickness subsided and her stomach fell into place again. Without removing her hand, she nodded.

‘Sorry. There's nothing wrong with your tea. It's me …'

‘I know how you feel.' Joyce was not looking at her. ‘For God's sake don't throw up or I shall throw up with you.'

The vision of the two of them vomiting in the galley appealed unexpectedly to Elise's sense of humour and suddenly, without really knowing why, she was laughing, a chortle that was midway to being a sob. Her hand still pressed to her mouth, she laughed, her body folding painfully against the white galley worktop, and Joyce laughed with her.

‘Oh God, what a life!'

‘When I volunteered I never expected a day like today. And it's thanks to you I'm here. I would never have thought of it. Why on earth did you?' But there was no rancour in the remark.

The galley door opened and Carter looked in.

‘Oh – it's you two. I wondered what the heck was going on.'

The sight of him sobered Elise and all at once she remembered John Grimly.

‘Is there any news?'

‘About your young Army Captain? He's in a bad way, I'm afraid. They're doing what they can for him, but …' His rubbery mouth clamped into an expressive grimace and he moved his head slowly from side to side.

‘You don't mean …' she choked on the words. ‘Isn't he going to be all right?'

Carter's head moved imperceptibly from left to right and back again.

‘Hard to tell with internal injuries, and that's his main trouble. Mr Walker's operating now. He'll do his best – but all the same I wouldn't hold out much hope.'

‘Oh God!' Elise bent her head, biting on her lips. Then she looked up again, speaking to Carter. ‘I should like to stay. When he comes out of the operating theatre he'll need someone to be with him until the anaesthetic wears off, won't he? I should like it to be me.'

Carter's eyes on her face were shrewd. ‘ Something to you, is he?'

‘No.' There was no way she could explain that such a short time ago she had cursed him for a nuisance, told him in no uncertain terms to leave her alone. But she was remembering too clearly all the same; remembering the stricken look of him before he turned away, all fierce pride; remembering the sudden collapse and the pathetic figure she had left on deck that night.

I put him through hell, she thought. I didn't mean to; I just wanted him to leave me alone. But for some reason I touched on a raw nerve and it hurt him so much.

‘No – he's nothing to me in the way you mean,' she said. ‘But I did know him quite well and I would like it to be me.'

‘All right.' Carter rubbed his lantern jaw with large, squat fingers. ‘I'll tell the doctor when he's finished operating and see what he says. All right?'

‘Fine. How long?'

His expression stopped her in mid-sentence. ‘I couldn't say. As
long as it takes.
'
As long as it takes – and longer, or so it seemed to Elise. When
the tea was finished Joyce left her. ‘Do you mind if I go?' she asked
and Elise shook her head. There was no reason for her to stay
now, but Elise was touched all the same that she should have asked.

Others came and went in the galley, but for the most part they were too tired to talk and Elise waited, conscious of every passing minute though her watch had long since stopped and she had no way of counting time. She stood, leaning against the work surface; she sat on a high-backed stool; she paced. And after a while she made and risked drinking another pot of tea. Less strong and without sugar, it did not rake her stomach and revolt her mouth this time and actually refreshed her.

Finally, when she had almost decided everyone had forgotten she was there at all, the door opened and Surgeon Lt. Walker came in.

‘Mrs Sanderson. Carter told me you were here.'

‘How is he?'

‘It's serious. I've done what I can, but … Miracles do sometimes happen, it's true. However, after two years of seeing healthy young men die, I just don't believe in them any more.'

His weary defeatism transmitted itself to her. ‘You don't hold out much hope?'

‘We shall have to wait and see.' He moved abruptly. ‘Now, Carter said you had asked especially if you could continue to nurse him.'

‘Yes.'

‘And you're not emotionally involved?'

‘Not in the way you mean. I just know him quite well.'