Cobweb Morning

‘One can never tell with retrograde amnesia,’ said Mr Thrush. ‘A month, perhaps longer, who knows. You’ll do all in your power, I know, Sister.’ He moved to the other side of the bed. ‘I think I’ll just go over her reflexes.’

Alexandra, off duty at last—for even after the men had gone, she had to add everything to her report—went first to the hospital entrance. Anthony had asked her to meet him there at six o’clock, and it was already half past that hour and she was still in uniform. He was there all right, walking up and down and looking impatiently at his watch every few seconds, and when she reached him and began to explain why she was late, he hardly listened, nor did he give her a chance to finish what she was saying.

‘I must say,’ he began furiously, ‘that you have no thought for my convenience at all—here have I been waiting for the last forty minutes—the least you could have done would have been to send a message. And I can’t for the life of me see why you needed to stay; the girl won’t die if you leave her to someone else,’ he pointed out nastily.

Alexandra sighed. She was tired and it would have been nice if she could have told him about the girl regaining consciousness and how pleased everyone was; she repressed the thought that when Anthony had been late on more than one occasion she had been expected to wait for him uncomplainingly and then listen to his weighty explanations afterwards. But he was tired too, she mustn’t forget that, so she said now in a reasonable voice, ‘Oh, I know that, but it helped Mr Thrush if I stayed on for a bit, because I was there when she became conscious and he wanted to know exactly what had happened. You see, she’s got a retrograde amnesia—she can’t remember anything, not even her name. We’re going to call her Penny Bright.’

His lip curled. ‘I suppose you wasted more time thinking that one up?’

She answered without thinking. ‘As a matter of fact, I didn’t, it was Doctor van Dresselhuys.’

‘Now I know why you’re late—hanging around after that Dutchman. I’ve seen you staring at him.’

She was cold with rage, but she kept her voice reasonably still. ‘That’s a silly thing to say; we don’t even like each other, but you know as well as I do that you can work quite well with someone, even if you don’t get on well. And I don’t look at him.’

They were standing at the door, and people going in and out looked curiously at them. There was a fearful draught too and she shivered. ‘Look, shall I go and change?’

She really had no wish to go out now, her evening had been spoilt and Anthony was in a vile mood, and so, she had to admit, was she.

‘Don’t bother,’ he told her with a nasty little sneer. ‘Why not go back to that fellow… I must say, Alexandra, that your behaviour is hardly what one would expect of a doctor’s wife.’

That really was the last straw, the reasonableness exploded into healthy rage. ‘Whose wife?’ she demanded. ‘I wasn’t aware that I had made any plans to be a doctor’s wife, and even if I had, I haven’t any more,’ she went on rapidly, getting a little mixed by reason of her strong feeling, ‘and how dare you talk to me about my behaviour—the utter gall…’ she choked on her temper, turned on her heel and crossed the hall, straight into the solid seventeen or eighteen stones of Doctor van Dresselhuys.

He caught her by the shoulders and set her back on her feet and then with his hands still there, said softly: ‘Oh, dear, what a nasty habit I have of intruding into your love life!’

‘It’s not my love life,’ she muttered in a fine rage. ‘I haven’t got one, and I wish you wouldn’t keep…’ She stopped and sniffed, aware that at any moment she was going to burst into tears. ‘If you would let go of me,’ she besought him, and when he did, tore off through the hospital until she reached the haven of her room. A hearty burst of tears relieved her feelings enormously, and thankful that there was no one else off duty, she went along to make a pot of tea and then, very much refreshed, had a bath. By the time her friends came off duty after supper, she looked very much as usual and was able to join in their talk as though she hadn’t a care in the world. It was only after all the various doors had closed and it was quiet and dark that she got out her writing case and found a pen.

Miss Trott showed considerable astonishment when Alexandra, her written resignation in her hand, presented herself in the office the following morning. She heard her rather feeble reasons for leaving without comment and only when she had finished did she remark: ‘This is a great surprise to me, Sister Dobbs, I had come to regard you as one of my more permanent senior nurses. Naturally, I had expected that you might leave in order to get married…’ She paused expectantly, but Alexandra had nothing to say to that, and she frowned slightly, thwarted out of the speech she had intended to make so that Alexandra might be persuaded to change her mind. She sighed. ‘Who is to take your place?’

‘Well, Staff Nurse Thorne is very good, Miss Trott, she’s been my right hand for more than two years, she would be perfectly capable of taking over the unit, and everyone likes her.’

‘You are determined to leave, Sister Dobbs?’

‘Yes, quite determined, Miss Trott.’

‘And not, I fancy, entirely for the reasons which you have given me?’

‘No, Miss Trott.’

‘Well, in that case I must accept your resignation, although with the greatest reluctance. And I will consider Staff Nurse Thorne for the post.’ She smiled faintly in dismissal. Alexandra was one of her favourites, although she was careful not to show partiality for any one of her staff. That she was labouring under strong feelings was obvious to Miss Trott’s experienced eye, trained to notice such things. Equally obvious was the fact that she was to be told nothing but a string of flimsy reasons as to why she wished to leave. She sighed and pulled a sheaf of papers towards her, aware of a number of half buried, wistful thoughts.

Alexandra’s thoughts were neither wistful nor half buried; they were angry and a little frightened; she had burnt her boats behind her for the silliest of reasons and on an impulse. She had surely made it clear to Anthony that she didn’t wish to marry him; they could have continued to be friends and he would have found another girl, more amenable than she so that she could have stayed on in the unit and everything would have been settled in a nice, civilized fashion, but upon reflection, it wouldn’t have done at all. Anthony wasn’t the kind of man to accept her as a friend once all idea of marriage between them had been scotched and meeting him each day would have been embarrassing to them both. Not only that, she reminded herself, he had been unreasonably ill-tempered, shouting at her and making snide remarks about Doctor van Dresselhuys. Not that she had any sympathy with that gentleman, always poking his large arrogant nose into her affairs.

With difficulty she brought her mind back to her own problems; she had a month in which to find another job—time enough, indeed, a few weeks at home while she looked around might be a good thing—just what she needed to cure the vague restlessness she had felt for the last few days.

She quickened her footsteps, back to the ICU, confident that she had her future well in hand.

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