Fate Is Remarkable

‘Hullo, Sarah. Is the chief already here? I’m still choking down facts and figures.’ He grinned and she smiled at him warmly. He was a nice man, not young any more, and apparently not ambitious, for he seemed content to stay where he was, working in hospital. He got on well with the consultant staff and was utterly reliable and invariably good-natured. He was reputed to be very happily married and was apt to talk at length about his children, of whom he was very proud. He got up now and followed her back past the rows of patients. Mr Jenkins was still describing the nasty pain that caught him right in the stomach, and Dr van Elven was listening to him with the whole of his attention. When the old man paused for breath, though, the doctor said, ‘Hullo, Dick’, and smiled at his Registrar. ‘What did you make of Mr Jenkins when he was in?’

The two men became immersed in their patient, leaving her free to make sure that the one to follow was ready and waiting in the dressing room, and that everything that Dr van Elven might want was to hand.

The afternoon wore on, the small room gradually acquiring the same damp atmosphere as the waiting hall. Sarah switched on the electric fan, which stirred up the air without noticeable improvement. She switched it off again and Dr van Elven said:

‘Don’t worry, Sister,’ and then, surprisingly, ‘I am a little ashamed that I can drive myself home, warm, and dry for I imagine, from their appearance, that quite a number of my patients haven’t even the price of a bus fare, and even if they have, won’t be able to get on a bus.’ He caught her eye and smiled. ‘How about tea?’

Over their brief cup, the men discussed the next case and Dr Coles told them about his eldest son, who was doing rather well at school. It was while Sarah was piling their cups and saucers on to a tray that Dr van Elven remarked quietly, ‘Mrs Brown tells me that you visit her regularly, Sister. That is good of you.’

Sarah whipped the next patient’s notes before him and said in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘Well, I don’t think she has any relations or friends to come and see her, sir. And you know how awful it is for a patient to be the only one in the ward without visitors.’

He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘I imagine it must be a miserable experience. She is responding very well, you know. I must see about getting her home.’

Sarah was on the way to the door. She paused and looked back at him.

‘How’s Timmy?’ she asked.

‘The perfect guest—his manners, contrary to his appearance, are charming.’

They finished at last—she sent the student nurses off duty, left Staff to clear up the gynae clinic on the other side of the department, and began her own clearing up. Dr Coles had gone to answer a call from one of the wards, and she was alone with Dr van Elven, who was sitting back in his chair, presumably deep in thought. She bustled about the little room putting it to rights and piling the case notes ready to take back to the office. She was trying not to remember that it was just a week since she had gone out to dinner with Steven, but her thoughts, now that she was free to think again after the afternoon’s rush, kept returning to the same unhappy theme. She had quite forgotten the man sitting so quietly at the desk. When he spoke she jumped visibly and said hurriedly:

‘I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t hear what you were saying.’

He withdrew an abstracted gaze from the ceiling, stared at her from under half-closed lids, and got up. At the door he said quietly:

‘It gets easier as the days go by—especially if there is plenty of work to do. Good night, Sister Dunn.’

Sarah stood staring, her mouth open. He was well out of earshot when she at length said ‘Good night’ in reply.

There was a message for her when she got over to the Home, from Steven, saying that he had to see her, and would she be outside at seven o’clock. To apologise, she surmised; but he could have done that in his note, and she had no intention of running to his least word. She changed rapidly; she had a good excuse to go out, and was glad of it. She would go and see about Mrs Brown’s room. There was actually plenty of time, but as Dr van Elven had said, being busy helped.

Phipps Street looked depressing; the rain had stopped, but the wind was fresh and the evening sky unfriendly. Sarah banged on the front door and the same man opened it to her. He looked at her suspiciously at first, perhaps because she was in a raincoat and a headscarf and looked different, but when he saw who she was he opened the door wide.

‘It’s you again, miss. Thought you’d be along. Come to ‘ave a look, I suppose, and do a bit o’ choosing. ‘Ow’s the old girl?’

Sarah edged past him. ‘She’s fine—and settled in very nicely, though of course she’s longing to come home.’

He lumbered ahead of her up the miserable staircase.

‘Well, o’course. ‘Oo wants ter stay in ‘ospital when they got a good ‘ome?’

They had reached the little landing and he flung open Mrs Brown’s door with something of a flourish. It was empty of furniture—of everything, she noted with mounting astonishment. Two men were painting the woodwork; one of them turned round as she went in, greeted her civilly and asked if she had come to choose the wallpaper. Her grey eyes opened wide and she turned to the landlord. ‘But surely you want to decide that?’ she wanted to know.

‘Lor’ luv yer, miss, no. What should I know about fancy wallpaper?’ He let out a great bellow of laughter and went out, shutting the door behind him. Sarah looked around her. The room was being redecorated quite lavishly. The hideous piping which probably had something to do with the water tap on the landing had been cased in: one of the men was fitting a new sash-cord to the elderly window frame he was painting. The paintwork was grey, the walls, stripped of several layers of paper, looked terrible. There were several books of wallpaper patterns in the centre of the room, on the bare floor. After an undecided moment, Sarah knelt down and opened the first of them. The man at the window said:

‘That’s right, ducks, you choose something you like; we’ll be ready to ‘ang it soon as the paint’s dry.’

She gave him a puzzled look. ‘Well, if there’s no one else.’

She was contemplating a design of pink cabbage roses when she heard someone running upstairs and the door was opened by Dr van Elven. He nodded to the two men, and if he was surprised to see Sarah, she had to admit that he didn’t show it. He said, ‘Hullo. What a relief to see you—now you can choose the wallpaper.’

She had to laugh. ‘It’s like a conspiracy—when I got here the landlord seemed to think that was why I had come, and so did this painter. I really only came to see if there was any cleaning to do before Mrs Brown came home.’

‘Not for ten days at least.’ His tone was dry.

She was annoyed to feel her cheeks warming. ‘Well, I wanted to get away from the hospital.’ She turned back to the pattern book, determined not to say more, and was relieved when he said casually:

‘That’s splendid. Have you seen anything you like?’

‘Mrs Brown likes pink,’ she said slowly, and frowned. ‘Surely if the landlord is having this done, he should choose?’ She looked up enquiringly, saw his face and said instantly: ‘You’re doing it.’ She added, ‘Sir.’

‘My name is Hugo,’ he said pleasantly. ‘You are, of course, aware of that. I think that after three years we might dispense with sir and Sister, unless we are actually—er—at work. I hope you agree?’

She was a little startled and uncertain what to say, but it seemed it was of no consequence, for he continued without waiting for her reply:

‘Good, that’s settled. Now, shall we get this vexed question of wallpaper dealt with?’

He got down beside her as he spoke, and opened a second book of patterns, and they spent a pleasant half hour admiring and criticising in a lighthearted fashion until finally Sarah said:

‘I think Mrs Brown would like the roses. They’re very large and pink, aren’t they, and they’ll make the room look even smaller than it is, but they’re pretty—I mean for someone who’s lived for years with green paint and margarine walls, they’re pretty.’

The man beside her uncoiled himself and came to his feet with the agility of a much younger man. ‘Right. Roses it shall be. Now, furniture—nothing too modern, I think, but small—I had the idea of looking around one or two of those secondhand places to try and find similar stuff. Perhaps you would come with me, Sarah. Curtains too—I’ve no idea …’

He contrived to look so helpless that she agreed at once.

‘Would eleven o’clock on Saturday suit you?’ he asked. She gave him a swift suspicious glance, which he returned with a look of such innocent blandness that she was instantly ashamed of her thoughts. She got to her feet and said that yes, that would do very well, and waited while he talked to the two men. When he had finished she said a little awkwardly:

‘Well, I think I’ll go now. Goodnight, everyone.’

The two workmen chorused a cheerful, ‘‘Night, ducks,’ but the doctor followed her out. On the stairs he remarked mildly:

‘What a shy young woman you are!’ and then, ‘Let me go first, this staircase is a death-trap.’

With his broad back to her, she found the courage to say, ‘I know I’m shy—it’s stupid in a woman of my age, isn’t it? I try very hard not to be; it’s all right while I’m working. I—I thought I’d got over it, but now I seem worse than ever.’

Her voice tailed away, as she remembered Steven. They had reached the landing and he paused and turned round to look at her. ‘My dear girl, being shy doesn’t matter in the least; didn’t you know that? It can be positively restful in this day and age.’

They went on down to the little hall and Sarah felt warmed by the comfort of his words; it was extraordinary how he put her at her ease, almost as though they were friends of a lifetime. She stood by the door, while he, in a most affable manner, pointed out to Mr Ives, the landlord, the iniquity of having a staircase in the house that would most certainly be the death of someone, including himself, unless he did something about it very soon. Mr Ives saw them to the door, and stood on the pavement while the doctor opened the car door for Sarah to get in. It was only when they were on their way back to St Edwin’s that she realised that there had been nothing said about taking her back. The doctor had ushered her into his car, and she had got in without protest.

She hoped he didn’t think she’d been angling for a lift. ‘I could have walked.’ She spoke her thoughts out loud. ‘You’re going out of your way …’

She looked at him, watching the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiled.

‘So you could. I’m afraid that I gave you no opportunity—you don’t mind?’

She said no, she didn’t mind, and plunged, rather self-consciously, into aimless chatter, in which he took but a minimal part. At the hospital, she thanked him for the lift.

‘I could have easily walked …’ she began, and stopped when she saw Steven standing outside the Home entrance. The doctor saw him too; he got out of the car in a leisurely way, and strolled to the door with her; giving Steven a pleasant good evening as they passed him. He opened the door, said ‘Good night, Sarah’ in an imperturbable voice, urged her gently inside and shut the door upon her.

Steven wasn’t at the surgical clinic the following day. Mr Binns had the assistance of Jimmy Dean, one of the house surgeons; he and Kate were in love, but he had no prospects and neither of them had any money. It would be providential if Steven left when he married Mr Binns’ daughter, so that Jimmy could at least apply for the post. He was good at his job, though a little slow, but Sarah liked him. But Steven was with Mr Peppard when he arrived to take his clinic on Thursday morning—and as soon as opportunity offered, he asked shortly:

‘Why didn’t you answer my note—or wasn’t I supposed to know that you had a date with van Elven?’

Sarah picked out the X-ray she was looking for. She said in a voice it was a little hard to keep steady because he was so near, ‘I had arranged to go out; not, as you suppose, with Dr van Elven—and anyway, what would be the purpose of meeting you?’

She walked briskly to the desk, and remained, quite unnecessarily, throughout the patient’s interview. She was careful not to give Steven the opportunity to waylay her again, a resolve made easier by the unexpected absence of a part-time staff nurse who usually took the ear, nose and throat clinic. She put a student nurse in her place because there was no one else, which gave her a good excuse for spending the greater part of the morning making sure that the nurse could manage. Mr Peppard went at last, with Steven trailing behind him. He gave her a look of frustrated rage as he went, which, while gratifying her ego, did nothing to lessen her unhappiness.

It was a relief to see Dr van Elven’s placid face when she came back from dinner. His ‘Good afternoon, Sister’ was uttered with his usual gravity, but she detected a twinkle in his grey eyes as he said it. Perhaps he was remembering that the last time they had seen each other, they had been kneeling side by side on a dusty floor, deciding that pink cabbage roses would be just the thing … but if he was thinking of it too, his manner betrayed no sign of it.

The clinic went smoothly, without one single reference to Mrs Brown or her rooms; it was as if none of it had happened. And he didn’t mention Saturday at all. Sarah decided several times during Friday, not to go at all, and indeed, thought about it so much that Mr Bunn, the gynaecologist, had to ask her twice for the instruments he required on more than one occasion—such a rare happening that he wanted to know if she was sickening for something.

She was still feeling uncertain when she left the Nurses’ Home the next morning—supposing Dr van Elven had forgotten—worse, not meant what he had said? But he hadn’t; he was waiting just outside the door. He ushered her into the Iso Grigo, and she settled back into its expensive comfort, glad that she was wearing the brown suit again.

He said, ‘Hullo, Sarah. I’m glad you decided to come.’

‘But I said I would.’

He smiled. ‘You have had time enough to change your mind … even to wonder if I would come.’

It was disconcerting to have her thoughts read so accurately. She went pink.

‘Well, as a matter of fact, I did wonder if you might forget, or—or change your mind.’ She added hastily, ‘That sounds rude; I didn’t mean it to be, only I feel a little uncertain about—well, everything.’

He sat relaxed behind the wheel. ‘That’s natural, but it won’t last.’ His mouth curved in a smile. ‘You look nice.’

Her spirits rose; she smiled widely and never noticed Steven’s Mini as it passed them. She had forgotten all about him, for the moment, at least.

The morning was fun. They chose the furniture for Mrs Brown with care, going from one dealer to the other, until it only remained for them to buy curtains and carpets. They stood outside the rather seedy little shop where Sarah had happily bargained for the sort of easy chair she knew Mrs Brown would like.

‘We’ll go to Harrods,’ said the doctor.

She looked at him with pitying horror. ‘Harrods? Don’t you know that it’s a most expensive shop? Anyway, it’ll be shut today. There’s a shop in the Commercial Road …’

Mindful of the doctor’s pocket, she bought pink material for the curtains, and because it was quite cheap, some extra material for a tablecloth. She bought a grey carpet too, although she thought it far too expensive and said so, but apparently Dr van Elven had set his heart on it. When they were back in the car she pointed out to him that he had spent a great deal of money.

‘How much?’ he queried lazily.

She did some mental sums. ‘A hundred and eighty-two pounds, forty-eight pence. If it hadn’t been for the carpet …’

He said gravely, ‘I think I can manage that—who will make the curtains?’

‘I’ll do those—I can borrow Kate’s machine and run them up in an hour or so. They cost a great deal to have made, you know.’ She paused. ‘Dr van Elven …’

‘Hugo.’

‘Well, Hugo—it’s quite a lot of money. I’d like—that is, do you suppose …’

He had drawn up at traffic lights. ‘No, I don’t suppose anything of the sort, Sarah.’

She subsided, feeling awkward, and looked out of the window, to say in some surprise, ‘This is Newgate Street, isn’t it? We can’t get back to St Edwin’s this way, can we?’

His reply was calm. ‘We aren’t going back at the moment. I have only just realised that you’ll miss first dinner and not have time for second. I thought we might have something quick to eat, and I’ll take you back afterwards. That is, if you would like that?’

She felt that same flash of surprise again, but answered composedly.

‘Thank you, that would be nice. I’m on at two today—I had some time owing.’

They went down Holborn and New Oxford Street and then cut across to Regent Street, and stopped at the Café Royal. Sarah had often passed it and wondered, a little enviously, what it was like inside; it seemed she was to have the opportunity to find out. They went to the Grill Room, and she wasn’t disappointed; it was pretty and the mirrors were charming if a trifle disconcerting. The doctor had said ‘something quick’; she had envisaged something on toast, but on looking round her she deduced that the only thing she would get on toast would be caviare. She studied the menu card and wondered what on earth to order.

‘Something cold, I think,’ her glance flew to her watch, ‘and quick.’

Quick wasn’t quite the word to use in such surroundings, where luncheon was something to be taken in a leisurely fashion. She caught her companion’s eye and saw the gleam in its depths, but all he said was:

‘How about a crab mousse and a Bombe Pralinée after?’ He gave the order and asked, ‘Shall we have a Pernod, or is there anything else you prefer?’

‘Pernod would be lovely.’ She smiled suddenly, wrinkling her beautiful nose in the endearing and unconscious manner of a child.

‘What a pity that we haven’t hours and hours to spend over lunch.’ She stopped, vexed at the pinkening of her cheeks under his amused look. ‘What I mean is,’ she said austerely, ‘it’s the kind of place where you dawdle, with no other prospect than a little light shopping or a walk in the park before taking a taxi home.’

‘You tempt me to telephone Matron and ask her to let you have the afternoon off.’

He spoke lightly and Sarah felt a surprising regret that he couldn’t possibly mean it. ‘That sort of thing happens in novels, never in real life. I can imagine Matron’s feelings!’

They raised their glasses to Mrs Brown’s recovery, and over their drinks fell to discussing her refurbished room, which topic somehow led to a variety of subjects, which lasted right through the delicious food and coffee as well, until Sarah glanced at her watch again and said:

‘Oh, my goodness! I simply must go—the time’s gone so quickly.’

The doctor paid the bill and said comfortably:

‘Don’t worry—you won’t be late.’ And just for a moment she remembered Steven, who was inclined to fuss about getting back long before it was necessary. Dr van Elven didn’t appear to fuss at all—as little, in fact, as he did in hospital. She felt completely at ease with him, but then, her practical mind interposed, so she should; they had worked together for several years now.

They didn’t talk much going back to the hospital, but the silence was a friendly one; he wasn’t the kind of man one needed to chat to incessantly. There wasn’t much time to thank him when they arrived at the Nurses’ Home, but though of necessity brief, her thanks were none the less sincere; she really had enjoyed herself. He listened to her with a half smile and said, ‘I’m glad. I enjoyed it too. I hope I’m not trespassing too much on your good nature if I ask you to accompany Mrs Brown when I take her home.’ He saw her look and said smoothly, ‘Yes, I know she could quite well go by ambulance, but I have to return Timmy, so I can just as well call for her on my way. Would ten o’clock suit you? And by the way, I’ve found a very good woman who will go every day.’

Sarah said how nice and yes, ten o’clock would do very well, and felt a pang of disappointment that once Mrs Brown was home again there would be no need for her to give Dr van Elven the benefit of her advice any more. She stifled the thought at once; it smacked of disloyalty to Steven, even though he didn’t love her any more. She said goodbye in a sober voice, and later on, sitting in the hollow stillness of OPD, tried to pretend to herself that any minute now Steven would appear and tell her that it was all a mistake and he wasn’t going to marry Anne Binns after all. But he didn’t come—no one came at all.

The week flew by. She saw Steven several times, but never alone; she took care of that—although she thought it likely that he didn’t want to speak to her anyway. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, he was ashamed of himself, although there was no evidence of it in his face. She went out a great deal in her off-duty too—her friends saw to that; someone always seemed to be at hand to suggest the cinema or supper at Holy Joe’s. She made the curtains and the tablecloth too, and took them round on Friday evening. Hugo van Elven had said nothing to her about Mrs Brown or her room—indeed, upon reflection, she could not remember him saying anything at all that wasn’t to do with work.

Mr Ives let her in with a friendly, ‘‘Ullo, ducks.’ Sarah responded suitably and was led up the stairs, pausing on the way to admire the repair work he had done. When they reached the top landing he opened Mrs Brown’s door with something of a flourish and stood back, beaming.

‘Nice little ‘ome, eh?’ he remarked with satisfaction. Sarah agreed; despite the pink roses, which seemed to crowd in on her the moment she set foot inside the room, and the superfluity of furniture, it was just what she was sure Mrs Brown would like. She undid her parcel and spread the cloth on the table, and gallantly helped by Mr Ives, hung the curtains. She had been to visit Mrs Brown several times during the week and had contrived to bring the conversation round to the subject of colours. Mrs Brown had been quite lyrical about pink. Sarah stood back and surveyed her handiwork and thought that it was a good thing that she was, because there was pink enough and to spare. Mr Ives obviously had no such qualms.

‘Nice taste that doc’s got—couldn’t ‘ave chosen better meself.’

She agreed faintly, thinking of the gracious house at Richmond with its subdued colours and beautiful furniture. She told Mr Ives the time they expected to arrive and he nodded, already knowing it.

‘Doc told me last night when ‘e was ‘ere. Brought a bottle of the best with ‘im too.’ He saw Sarah’s look of enquiry. ‘Brandy,’ he explained, ‘I’m ter keep it safe and give Mrs Brown a taste now and then like; just a teaspoon in ‘er tea. Brought me a bottle for meself too. I’ll keep an eye on the old gal like I promised; I got Doc’s phone number, case ‘e’s wanted.’

He led the way down the stairs again and bade her goodbye after offering to escort her back to St Edwin’s. ‘Don’t know as ‘ow the doc would like yer out at night,’ he observed seriously.

Sarah, a little overcome by such solicitude, observed in her turn that it was highly unlikely that the doctor would care a row of pins what she did with her free time, and in any case, it was barely nine o’clock in the evening. She spoke briskly, but Mr Ives was not to be deterred.

‘I dunno about that,’ he said in a rather grumbling voice, ‘but I knows I’d rather not be on the wrong side of the doc. Still, if yer won’t yer won’t. I’ll stand ‘ere till yer get ter the end of the street—yer can wave under the lamppost there so’s I can see yer.’

Sarah did as she was told. She had a sneaking feeling that she would prefer to keep on the right side of the ‘doc’ too.

Mrs Brown was sitting in a wheelchair in the ward, waiting for her when she went along to collect her on Saturday. She looked better, but thinner too—probably worry about Timmy and her little home and all the other small things that were important to old people living alone. Sarah sighed with relief to think that the old lady would have a nice surprise when she got home. Dr van Elven greeted them briefly at the entrance, stowed Mrs Brown in the back of the car, motioned Sarah to get in the front and released Timmy from his basket. Neither he nor Sarah looked round as he drove to Phipps Street. Mrs Brown’s happiness was a private thing into which they had no intention of prying.