Бетти Нильс – The Silver Thaw (страница 3)

He didn’t kiss her, even though there wasn’t anyone around to see; he had pointed out gravely when they had first become engaged that he didn’t mix work with his private life, and they were both on duty, and she had accepted that although she hadn’t agreed with him entirely. He smiled back at her now and asked: ‘Busy?’

‘Not really—just finishing off the bits and pieces. Tom, can you get a week’s leave?’

He was reading up some case notes, but he put them down again to look at her. ‘Yes, I think so—why?’

Amelia explained about the fishing trip and went on: ‘It seemed a good idea—we don’t see all that much of each other: we could have a week’s peace and quiet—we’ll have to see something of father, of course…’

He looked surprised. ‘Well, of course; I don’t know much about fishing, but I’m sure I shall enjoy trying my hand at it, but isn’t it a bit late in the year for that part of the world?’

‘Well, Father doesn’t seem to think so—it’ll be chilly, and dark in the evenings, I suppose, but he says the hotel is quite comfortable. He suggested that we could go off for local trips if we wanted…’

‘Oh, I don’t suppose we’ll want to do that,’ said Tom easily, and didn’t see the little gleam of temper in her eyes. ‘I mean, a week isn’t very long, is it? You can go off sightseeing when you’re on your own.’

She stifled a wish to tell him that she didn’t want to go anywhere on her own, only with him; their times together were nearly always bound by the need to get back on duty and if they went away they would have every day in which to do exactly what they wanted. ‘Yes, of course,’ she agreed quietly.

She went home again on her next days off, this time driving herself in the Mini, to find her father deep in preparations for the trip, his whole interest concentrated on fishing rods, hooks, bait and all the paraphernalia of the dedicated fisherman, so Amelia spent a morning with Badger, packing a case with the right sort of clothes for her father, and then went away to her own room to render herself the same service.

It was a lovely day, clear and blue-skied and sunny, and if it hadn’t been for the leaves all over the lawns and the trees changing their colours she might have supposed it was summer. She went and sat on the window seat and looked out on to the flower beds below, watching Job carefully taking off the dead roses. It was his boast, and no one had disputed it, that he could pick roses until Christmas; he certainly took great care of them. She got up presently and went to her clothes closet and began to look through it; no dressing up, her father had said. She chose two pairs of cord slacks, some thick sweaters and a quilted jacket with a hood and a pair of wellingtons, thick gloves too and a couple of scarves, and then because there might be a tiny chance of wearing something else, she added a pleated skirt and matching bolero and two blouses to go with them and as an afterthought a jersey dress in a warm burgundy. She found a pair of shoes, some tough ankle boots she wore when she went walking, and packed them into her Gucci case, filling in the corners with undies and night clothes and stockings. She would be coming on holiday in a few days, but it seemed a good idea to be packed and ready before then—there wouldn’t be much time. They were to travel on a morning flight to Bergen and she wouldn’t be able to get home before late evening before that. She put the case tidily in the closet and went downstairs to find her father.

She had only four days to do before she went on holiday, but they were busy; Mr Thomley-Jones, due to go the day before her, had suddenly become determined to do twice as many cases as he usually did, which left them all stretched to their limit. Fortunately, the new student nurse, after her first disastrous day, was shaping very well, and Nurse Knollys, who had been off sick for several weeks, was back again. A large, ungainly girl with no looks to speak of, she was utterly dependable in theatre. Amelia, wishing her nurses a cheerful good morning on the last day before her holiday, sighed thankfully that all her staff were there. Sybil could be relied upon to keep them all up to scratch, and Mary Symes would be able to cope—Mr Thomley-Jones wouldn’t be there and the other four surgeons who operated were calm, quiet men who seldom raised their voices…

She went to scrub presently. The morning’s list was a long one and there were a couple of laparotomies, and heaven only knew what Mr Thomley-Jones might find or what he would say if he found anything… She sighed, got into the gown a nurse was offering on the end of the Cheatles and stood while it was tied.

Mr Reeves, the Registrar, was scrubbing too. ‘Going on holiday today?’ he wanted to know. ‘Tom said something about a fishing trip…’

Amelia was putting on her rubber gloves. ‘Yes—he’s only got a week, though. I’ve got three—still, a week’s better than nothing. I’m looking forward to it.’

‘So’s he, I imagine.’ He glanced at her carefully drawing the cuffs of her gloves over the sleeves of her gown. A nice girl and very pretty. Plenty of money too—and a good theatre Sister; he’d never seen her hesitate or falter or lose her temper for that matter, although he fancied that she could do that on occasion. A little cool for his taste, though—no, cool wasn’t quite the word; reserved was better. He wondered if she was like that with Tom Crouch; it seemed to him that the pair of them hardly struck sparks…

Mr Thomley-Jones’ voice, thick with annoyance, cut through his thoughts. ‘Here I am, working my fingers to the bone and nothing ready,’ he said as he entered the scrubbing up room.

It was Amelia who spoke, on her way out to the theatre, ‘Everything is quite ready, sir,’ she said briskly, and, ‘Good morning, sir.’

‘Oh, pooh, you’ve always got an answer, haven’t you? Where’s that fool of a young Phillips?’

‘Your house surgeon is in theatre, sir.’

‘Wretched girl, why are you smiling?’

‘I think it’s relief, sir, because we’re quite ready for you.’

He laughed then and started to scrub. ‘Go away, Amelia—in another minute I shall be in a good temper, and that’ll never do!’

But miraculously, he stayed positively sunny for the entire morning. Even the discovery that the first laparotomy exposed a diverticulitis of magnitude and the second revealed a nasty patch of gangrene which he instantly removed made no difference. The list ran late, of course, and Amelia got no dinner in consequence, but that hardly mattered; there was only the afternoon’s list to get through and Sybil would be relieving her at five o’clock. Amelia gobbled toast and drank mugs of tea in her office and went to scrub up.

The afternoon list wasn’t a long one. They were finished by five o’clock and by half past that hour she had bidden Sybil goodbye, gone to the home for a cup of tea and then up to her room. She was driving herself down that evening, for Tom was still on duty and would meet them at Heathrow in the morning. She had snatched a brief moment with him on the way to the home and they had been able to make last-minute arrangements. She dressed now happily enough. A week in Tom’s company would be lovely and give them a chance to talk; sometimes she wondered uneasily if, even when they were together, they talked about the right things. When they had first become engaged, they had discussed the future pretty thoroughly, but now it was as though having said it all once, there was no need to mention it again. Once or twice she had tried to persuade Tom to get married at once, but although he had been patient and understanding, he had been quite adamant—perhaps being together would help to change his mind.

She got into the sage green tweed Jaeger suit she had bought only a week ago, quite forgetting that she wasn’t going to wear anything new for a while. It had a pleated skirt and was warm enough to travel in with the matching cashmere sweater underneath. She had already filled her handbag with all the things she would require on the journey. She sprayed herself with Miss Dior, pushed her feet into beautifully made brown leather brogues, found her gloves and went down to the corner of the courtyard where the staff kept their cars. It was dark by now and in the headlights the hospital looked grim and very gloomy. Amelia swung the Mini out of the front gates and edged it carefully into the evening traffic.

Bonny had a late supper waiting for her. She ate it from a tray on a small sofa table in the drawing room while her father sat opposite her outlining his plans for the next three weeks. He had got them rooms at the hotel, he told her, arranged for the hire of a boat and had worked out some sort of an itinerary. ‘We might as well see something of the country while we’re there,’ he told her. ‘Not too far,’ he added hastily, ‘the best fishing is in that part, I’m told.’

It all sounded delightful. Presently Amelia went to bed, to sleep soundly until she was roused in the morning by Fred, her father’s labrador, who expected to be taken for a quick walk before breakfast.