Fate Is Remarkable

Fate is Remarkable

Betty Neels

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CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS QUIET in the consulting room, if the difficult, rasping breaths of the patient were discounted. From somewhere behind the closed door came the steady, subdued roar of a great many people, interrupted at intervals by a nurse’s voice calling the next in line. Sister Sarah Ann Dunn stood quietly, holding layers of woolly garments clear of the patient’s shoulders, so that Dr van Elven could get at them in comfort. He was a large man, and very tall, and the patient was fat. He bent, his handsome grizzled head an inch or so from the starched bib of Sarah’s apron, his grey eyes looking at nothing while he listened and tapped, then listened again. Presently he came upright with the deliberation which characterised all his movements, said, ‘Thank you, Sister,’ and turned his back, as he always did, while she dealt with hooks and eyes and zips. She fastened the last button, gave its owner a reassuring little pat and a friendly smile, and said, ‘Mrs Brown is ready for you, sir.’ It was one of the nice things about her, that she never forgot people’s names, however hard pressed she was. Patients were still people to her, and entitled to be treated as such. Dr van Elven strolled back from the X-rays he had been studying, glanced at her briefly from eyes half shut, and nodded. It was her cue to leave him with his patient for a few minutes—an arrangement which suited her very well, for it gave her time to have a quick look round OPD and make sure that everything was going smoothly.

The hall was still quite full, for it was the orthopaedic consultant’s afternoon as well as the gynaecologist’s clinic and the medical OP she was taking. Both staff nurses were busy, but she could only see one student nurse. She made her way along the benches and turned into the narrow passage leading to the testing room. There were two nurses in it, carrying on such an animated conversation that they failed to see her for several seconds. When they did, they stopped in mid-sentence, their eyes upon her, presenting very much the same appearance, she imagined, as she had done when she had been caught in a similar situation as a student nurse. She said now, half smiling:

‘If you two don’t do your work, we shall all be late off duty, and there’s no point in that, is there? If you’re not doing anything here, go back to Staff Nurse Moore, please.’

She didn’t wait to hear their apologies, but gave them a little nod and went back the way she had come, hurrying a little in case Dr van Elven was waiting. All the same, she stopped for a brief word with several of the patients sitting on the benches, for after three years as OPD Sister, she was on friendly terms with a number of them.

Mrs Brown was on the point of going as she went into the consulting room, and the doctor said at once:

‘Ah, Sister, I have been suggesting to Mrs Brown that she should come in for a short time, so that I can keep an eye on this chest of hers—I daresay you can fix a bed? In three or four days, I think; that will give her time to make arrangements at home.’

He was looking at her steadily as he spoke and she said immediately:

‘Yes, of course, sir. I’ll get someone to write and tell Mrs Brown which day to come.’ She smiled at the elderly, rather grubby little woman sitting in front of the doctor’s desk, but Mrs Brown didn’t smile back.

‘It’s me cat,’ she began. ‘‘Oo’s going ter look after ‘im while I’m in?’ She sat silent for a moment, then went on, ‘I don’t see as ‘ow I can manage …’

‘Perhaps the RSPCA?’ suggested Sarah gently.

Mrs Brown shook her head in its shapeless hat. ‘‘E’d pine. I’m sorry, doctor, for you’ve been ever so kind …’

He sat back in his chair, with the air of a man who had all day before him, and nothing to do. ‘Supposing you allow me to—er—have your cat while you are in hospital, Mrs Brown? Do you feel you could trust him to my care?’

Mrs Brown’s several chins wobbled while she strove for words. It was, to say the least, unusual for an important gentleman like a hospital specialist to bother about what became of her Timmy. She was still seeking words when he continued, ‘You would be doing me a great favour—my housekeeper has just lost her cat after fifteen years, and is quite inconsolable. Perhaps looking after your Timmy for a week or so might help her to become more resigned.’

The old lady brightened. ‘Oh, well now, that’s different, doctor. If ‘e’s going ter make ‘er ‘appy, and it ain’t no trouble …’

She got up, and he got to his feet too. ‘No trouble—I’ll see that your cat is collected just before you come in, Mrs Brown. Will that do?’

Sarah ushered her out, competently, but without haste, laid the next case history on the doctor’s desk, put up the X-rays, and waited. He finished what he was writing, closed the folder and said in his rather pedantic English:

‘A pity Mrs Brown wasn’t referred to me earlier. There’s very little to be done, I’m afraid. Chronic bronchitis, emphysema, and congestive heart failure, not to mention all the wrong diet for I don’t know how many years.’ He picked up the next folder, frowning. ‘If her home conditions were not too bad, I could patch her up enough to get her back there for a little while …’

Sister Dunn said nothing, for she knew that nothing was expected of her. She had been working for Dr van Elven for a number of years now; he was rather a taciturn man, kind to his patients, considerate towards the nursing staff, and revealing on occasion an unexpected sense of humour. She was aware that he was not, in fact, addressing her, merely speaking his thoughts out loud. So she stood quietly, patiently waiting for him to rid his mind of Mrs Brown. The little pause in the day’s work did not irk her in the least; indeed, it gave her the opportunity to decide which dress she would wear that evening for dinner with Steven—the newish black would have been nice, but she particularly wanted to look young and gay. It would have to be the turquoise crêpe again. He had seen it a good many times already, but it suited her and she thought he liked it. Besides, it made her look a lot younger than her twenty-eight years … she looked a little wistful for a moment, although there was not the slightest need, for she looked a lot younger anyway, and was possessed of a serene beauty which she would keep all her life.

Her face was oval, with wide grey eyes, extravagantly lashed by nature; she had a delicious nose, small and straight, and a soft curving mouth. Her hair curled a little and she wore it neatly pinned when she was in uniform, and loose in an unswept swirl around her neck when she was off duty. She had a pretty figure too, and a quiet, pleasant voice—everyone who knew her or had met her wondered how it was that she had reached the age of twenty-eight without getting married. She sometimes wondered herself; perhaps it was because she had been waiting for someone like Steven to come along—they had known each other for three years now, and for the last two she had taken it for granted that one day he would ask her to marry him. Only he hadn’t—she knew that he wanted a senior post, and just lately he had been talking about a partnership. Last time they had been out together he had observed that there was no point in marrying until he was firmly established.

She frowned a little, remembering that last time had been more than a week ago. He had telephoned twice since then to cancel the meetings they had arranged. He was Surgical Registrar at St Edwin’s, and she had always accepted the fact that his work came first and because of that she had made no demur and no effort to waylay him in the hospital; but tonight should really be all right—she hoped that they would go to that restaurant in Monmouth Street where the food was good and the company gay. She suddenly wanted to be gay.

She came out of her brown study with a start to find Dr van Elven staring at her with thoughtful eyes. She smiled.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said. ‘Do you want the next patient? It’s old Mr Gregor.’

The doctor went on staring. ‘Yes. I have studied his X-rays, and read his notes through twice, Sister.’ His voice was dry.

She went faintly pink. She liked Dr van Elven very much; they got on well together, although she sometimes felt that she didn’t know him at all. She knew from the hospital grapevine that he was unmarried, that he had had an unhappy love affair when he had been a young man, and that now, at forty, he was a prize any woman would be glad to win. Rumour had it that he had plenty of money, a flourishing practice in Harley Street, and a beautiful house in Richmond. Sarah considered privately that the reason that they got on so well was because they had no romantic interest in each other. But now she had annoyed him.

‘I really am sorry, sir,’ she said with a genuine humility, because his time was precious and she had been wasting it. ‘I—I was thinking.’

‘So I could see. If you would perhaps postpone your thoughts we could get finished and you will be free to enjoy your evening.’

The pink in her cheeks deepened. ‘However did you know I was going out?’ she demanded.

‘I didn’t,’ he answered blandly. ‘I was thought-reading. And now, Mr Gregor, please, Sister.’

The rest of the afternoon passed smoothly. The last patient came and went; Sarah started to pile X-rays and Path. Lab. forms and notes in tidy heaps. Dr van Elven rammed his papers untidily into his briefcase and stood up. He was almost at the door when Sarah asked:

‘Are you really going to look after Mrs Brown’s cat, sir?’

‘You doubt my word, Sister?’

She looked shocked. ‘My goodness, no. Only you don’t look as though you like cats …’ She stopped, fidgeting with the papers in her hands.

He said in surprise, ‘Have you looked at me long enough to form even that opinion of me?’ He laughed in genuine amusement, so she was able to laugh too.

‘You look like a dog man,’ she observed pleasantly.

‘You’re quite right, Sister. I have two dogs—it is my housekeeper who is the cat-lover. But my dogs are well-mannered enough to tolerate Mrs Brown’s cat.’ He turned on his heel. ‘Goodnight. I hope you have a pleasant evening.’

His remarks diverted her thoughts into happy channels. She hurried up with her work, sent the nurses off duty and closed the department for the day. Tomorrow they would be busy again, but now she was free. She walked briskly across the courtyard in the direction of the Nurses’ Home, and halted halfway over to allow Dr van Elven’s car to pass her. It whispered past, as elegant as its driver, who lifted a gloved hand in salute. She watched it slide through the big double gates, and wondered for the hundredth time why the doctor should need a car as powerful as an Iso Grigo to take him to and from his work. Maybe he took long trips at weekends. She felt suddenly rather sorry for him, because she was so happy herself, with an evening in Steven’s company before her, while Dr van Elven had only a housekeeper to greet him when he got home.

When she went down to the Home entrance half an hour later, she could see Steven’s car outside the gates. She had put on the blue crêpe and covered it with an off-white wool coat against the chilly March wind. She walked to the Mini Cooper, wondering why he hadn’t come to the Home as usual; but when he opened the door for her to get in beside him, she forgot everything but the pleasure of seeing him again. She said, ‘Hullo, Steven,’ and he returned her smile briefly and greeted her even more briefly. She looked at his dark good-looking face and decided that he was probably tired; which was a pity, because she was looking forward to their evening out. He started the car and said with a cheerfulness which seemed a little forced:

‘I thought we’d go to that place you like in Monmouth Street,’ and before she could reply launched into an account of his day’s work. When he had finished she made a soothing reply and then, thinking to amuse him, told him about Dr van Elven’s offer to look after Mrs Brown’s cat. He was amused, but not in the way she had intended, for he burst out laughing and said to shock her:

‘Good lord, the man’s a fool—bothering about some old biddy!’

Sarah breathed a little fast. ‘No, he’s not a fool—he’s just a kind man, and Mrs Brown’s going to die in a month or so. The cat’s all she has!’

Steven glanced at her with impatience. ‘Really, Sarah darling, you’re just as much a fool as your precious old van Elven. You’re not going to get very far if you’re going to get sentimental over an old woman.’

He applied himself to his driving, and she sat silent, biting back the sharp retort she would have liked to make. They had often argued before, but now it was almost as if he were trying to make her angry. He parked the car, and they walked the short distance to the restaurant, talking meanwhile, rather carefully, of completely impersonal things. It was warm in the small room but relaxing and carefree. They had a drink and ordered entrecôte mon Plaisir, which was delicious, and then cherry tart, and all the while they continued to talk about everything and everyone but themselves. They were drinking their coffee when Sarah said:

‘I’ve got a week’s holiday soon. I’m going home—I wondered if you’d like to drive me down and stay a couple of days,’ and the moment she had said it, wished it unsaid, for she had seen the look on his face—irritation, annoyance and even a faint panic. He said far too quickly:

‘I can’t get away,’ not quite meeting her eye, and she felt a cold hand clutch at her heart. There was an awkward silence until she said in a level voice, ‘Steven, you’re beating about the bush. Just tell me whatever it is—because that’s why you brought me here, isn’t it, to tell me something?’

He nodded. ‘I feel a bit of a swine …’ he began, and looked taken aback when she said briskly, ‘I daresay you do, but you can hardly expect me to be sympathetic about it until I know what the reason for that is.’

She looked calm and a little pale; her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, out of sight. She knew, with awful clarity, that Steven was about to throw her over; a situation she had never envisaged—no, that wasn’t quite correct, she told herself honestly. She had wondered a great deal lately why he never mentioned marriage any more.

He said sulkily, ‘I’m going to be married. Old Binns’ daughter.’ Mr Binns was his chief. The sensible side of Sarah’s brain applauded his wisdom—money, a partnership, all the right people for patients …

‘Congratulations.’ Her voice was cool, very composed. ‘Have you known her long?’

He looked astonished, and she returned the look with calm dignity, the nails of one hand digging painfully into the palm of the other. If he was expecting her to make a fuss, then he was mistaken.

‘About eighteen months.’

Her beautiful mouth opened on a gasp. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Or was I being held as a second string?’ she wanted to know in a kind of interested astonishment which made him say quickly:

‘You don’t understand, Sarah. We’ve had a lot of fun together, haven’t we? But you always thought in terms of marriage, didn’t you? You must see—you’re not a child. If I want to get on—and I do—I must get some money and meet the right people.’

‘Do you love her?’ asked Sarah.

He blustered a little. ‘I’m very fond of her.’

She looked down her exquisite nose and said with feeling, ‘Oh, the poor girl! And now I should like to go back, please—I’ve a heavy morning tomorrow.’

On the way to the car, he asked in a surprised voice, ‘Don’t you mind?’

‘That’s a question you have no right to ask as it’s of no consequence to you. In any case, I certainly don’t intend answering you.’

‘You’re damned calm,’ he answered on a sudden burst of anger. ‘That’s the trouble with you—calm and strait-laced; we could have had a grand time of it, if it hadn’t been for your ridiculous moral upbringing!’

Sarah settled herself in the car. ‘It’s a good thing in the circumstances, isn’t it?’ she observed with icy sweetness.

But she wasn’t icy when she got to her room. She went along for a bath, and exchanged the time of day with the other Sisters she met in the corridor, refusing a cup of tea on the plea of being tired, and finally shut her door so that at last she was alone and could cry her eyes out. She cried for loneliness and misery and the thought of the empty future and the wasted years, and, because she was a nice girl, she cried for Miss Binns.

The next day was nightmarish, made more so by the fact that it was Mr Binns’ out-patients and Steven would be with him that afternoon. She went to her dinner, white-faced and heavy-eyed, and encouraged all those who asked in the belief that she was enduring a heavy cold. She allowed Mr Binns to think the same when he remarked upon her jaded looks, carefully avoiding Steven’s eye as she did so. She went about her work with her usual briskness, however, talking to Steven, when she had to, in her usual friendly manner and uttering calming platitudes to the patients as they came and went.

Mr Binns was a brilliant surgeon, but he was a thought too hearty in pronouncing judgment—no one likes being told that some vital organ is in need of repair—and Mr Binns, she suspected, tended to lose sight of the person in the patient. She wondered sometimes if he was quite so cheerfully abrupt with his private patients, and thought it unlikely. She studied him, sitting behind the desk, a shade pompous, faultlessly dressed and very sure of himself, and the unbidden thought streaked through her mind that in twenty years’ time Steven would be just like him. This thought was closely followed by another one—most unexpectedly of Dr van Elven, who, although just as sure of himself and dressed, if anything, even more immaculately, had never yet shown himself to be pompous, and whose patients, however trying, he always treated as people.

The day ended at last. She went over to the Home, had a bath and changed out of uniform and went along to the Sisters’ sitting room. As she went in, there was a sudden short silence, followed by a burst of chat. She smiled wryly. The grapevine was already at work; it was something she would have to face sooner or later. Luckily she knew everyone in the room very well indeed; she might as well get it over and done with. She caught Kate Spencer’s eye—she had trained with Kate; they had been friends for a number of years now—and said cheerfully, ‘I expect the grapevine has got all the details wrong—it always does, but the fact remains that Steven is going to marry Mr Binns’ daughter. It isn’t anyone’s fault, just one of those things. Only it’s a bit awkward.’

She sat down on one of the easy chairs scattered about the pleasant room and waited quietly for someone to say something. It was Kate who spoke.

‘Of course it’s Steven’s fault. I bet,’ she continued with her unerring habit of fastening on the truth, ‘he’s not in love with her. She’s Dad’s only daughter, isn’t she? There’ll be some money later on, and a partnership now.’

She glanced at Sarah’s face, which was expressionless, and said with devastating candour, ‘I’m right, aren’t I? Sarah? Only you’ll not admit it.’

She made a small snorting noise, indicative of indignation and echoed by everyone else in the room, because Sarah was liked and Steven had played her a rotten trick. A small dark girl who had been curled up by the fire and had so far said nothing got to her feet.

‘There’s a new film on at the Leicester Square. Let’s all go—if we’re quick we can just manage it, and we can eat at Holy Joe’s on the way back. It’s only spaghetti for supper anyway.’

Her fortitudinous suggestion was received with a relief everyone did their best to conceal. They were all sorry for Sarah, but they knew her enough to know that the last thing she wanted from them was pity. They went in a body to the cinema, sweeping her along with them, and afterwards had a rather noisy supper at Joe’s. It was after ten as they walked back through the mean little back streets of the East End to the hospital. It was a long walk, but they had agreed among themselves that it would be a good idea to tire Sarah out, so that she would sleep and not look quite so awful in the morning as she had done all day.

But she didn’t sleep that night either—she still looked beautiful when she went on duty the next morning, but she had no colour at all, and her eyes were haggard. She would have to see Steven; work with him, talk to him until dinner time. It was Mr Peppard’s surgical OP, and Steven would naturally be there too. She could of course tell one of the staff nurses to take the clinic and make herself scarce at the other end of the department, but pride forbade her. She did the usual round, making sure that patients were being weighed, tests done, X-rays fetched, and Path. Lab. forms collected. It was almost time for the clinic to open when she had done. She went into her office—she would have time to sketch out the off-duty rota before nine o’clock. She had barely sat down at her desk when Steven came in. Sarah looked up briefly, said ‘Good morning’ with quiet affability and went on with her writing. He stood awkwardly by the door, and when she didn’t say anything else, said sulkily:

‘I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t know you were so serious about it all—I mean, we were only good pals, after all. I never said I’d marry you …’

Sarah put down her pen at that, gave him a haughty look, and said with deliberation, ‘Aren’t you being just a little conceited, Steven? No, you never asked me to marry you, so aren’t you anticipating my answer? The one I might have made, that is. There’s no point in raking over a dead fire, is there?’ She had gone rather red in the face, and was regrettably aware that her lip was trembling. She went on sharply, ‘Now do go away; I want to get this done before Mr Peppard comes.’

He went then, and she was left to sit alone, staring in front of her, the off-duty rota forgotten.

She went to first dinner, leaving Staff to finish Mr Peppard’s clinic. Dr van Elven had his OP at one-thirty—he liked his patients ready and waiting when he arrived, and as he didn’t keep other people waiting himself, Sarah did her best to achieve this state of affairs, although it often meant a wild race against time between the clinics. It was one of her lucky days, however. She was ready to start, with the first patient waiting in the little dressing room and the nurse outside already hovering over the second, and there were still five minutes to go. She had had no time to tidy herself. She began feverishly to do so now—showering powder over her pretty nose in a vain effort to cover its redness, and putting on far too much lipstick. She was tucking her hair into a neat pleat, her mouth full of pins, when Dr van Elven stalked in. He was never early—she was so surprised that she opened her mouth and all the pins scattered on the floor. He put down his case on the desk and went and picked them up for her and handed them back gravely. He gave her a quick, searching glance as he wished her good afternoon; a look which she was convinced saw right through the powder. She was annoyed to feel herself blushing—not that it mattered, for he was standing, half turned away from her, reading up the first patient’s notes.