The Magic of Living Page 11

  ‘Hot buttered toast,’ said Nanny. ‘You make it, Miss Arabella, and I’ll make the tea.’

  It was pleasant sitting before the old-fashioned fireplace, toasting bread on the brass fork which had always hung on the wall by the fire. Nanny waited until the toast had been eaten and second cups of the strong tea she favoured had been poured. ‘And now, Miss Arabella, I’ll hear what there is to hear,’ she pronounced in a no-nonsense voice.

  And Arabella told her, right from the beginning, and when she had finished the rather jumbled account of the accident and the doctor’s house and the children, all woven round a perpetually recurring doctor, she said sadly: ‘You see, Nanny, I haven’t a chance. I told you that—do you remember? Only it didn’t seem to matter then because I never liked the men Hilary liked. But now it’s different.’

  ‘Mr Right,’ said Nanny in a vibrant voice, and nodded her head vigorously and with great satisfaction.

  ‘Yes, he is—for me, but you see, Nanny, I’m not the girl he wants, though I did begin to think that he liked me a little. But not any more—and besides, Hilary has told him some silly nonsense about Bertie, though I’m not sure what.’ Two tears ran down her cheeks and she sniffed, and just as she used to do when she was a little girl, she buried her head in Nanny’s lap.

  ‘Nothing like a good cry,’ observed Nanny soothingly as she stroked the mousy topknot, and she was right; after a few minutes Arabella sat up again, mopped her face, and declared herself to feel much better and even suggested a third cup of tea. She was on the point of pouring it when there was a tap on the door and she put the teapot down again.

  ‘Oh, Nanny, don’t let anyone in, I look so awful!’

  Nanny surveyed her. ‘Not awful, dearie, just a girl who’s been crying. Turn your back and we’ll see who it is.’

  The doctor stood in the doorway. He said with grave courtesy: ‘You must forgive me; I saw the light under the door and I guessed it was the nursery and I remembered…’ His eyes flickered briefly towards Arabella’s hunched shoulders.

  Nanny’s small sharp eyes had missed nothing of him. ‘Come in, young man, since you are here,’ she invited him in a voice which brooked no refusal. ‘You would like a cup of tea.’

  He walked slowly towards them. ‘Very much, Miss Bliss, but perhaps…?’ He looked again at Arabella, staring into the fire, her back towards him.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Nanny, just as though he had said nothing at all. ‘Miss Arabella shall make you some toast—proper toast, not that nasty stuff out of a toaster.’ She waited until Arabella had speared a slice of bread and held it to the glowing coals, then went to the old-fashioned dresser and fetched a cup and saucer and plate.

  The doctor sat himself down, a little to one side of Arabella but behind her still, and when she asked in a small voice if he liked plenty of butter, replied with easy friendliness that really buttery toast was one of his favourite foods.

  Nanny poured his tea, expressed her approval of his partiality for wholesome food, gave him three lumps of sugar when he asked for them, and asked: ‘Well, and did you enjoy your day, young man?’

  He didn’t quite answer her question, but: ‘The country around here is delightful—we went to the coast.’ He glanced at Arabella’s rigid back. ‘This toast is delicious,’ he added, with so much enthusiasm that she picked up the toasting fork again.

  ‘Shall I do you another piece?’

  ‘Please.’ His quiet gaze took in the cosy, shabby room. ‘How peaceful it is here.’

  Nanny nodded contentedly. ‘Always has been and always will be while I’m here,’ she stated. ‘I doubt if you’ve known anything like it in those foreign parts.’ Her tone conjured up Whirling Dervishes, cave dwellers and multitudes of rough people who had never eaten buttered toast or enjoyed the privilege of speaking the English language.

  The doctor made a small sound which might have been a chuckle and Arabella said hastily: ‘Nanny dear, the doctor lives in a lovely old house as peaceful as this one—it’s beautiful there and very—very civilised.’

  The doctor’s voice was very quiet. ‘How nicely put, Arabella,’ and she, forgetful of her blotchy, tear-stained face, turned round to look at him. ‘You have a lovely home,’ she assured him. ‘The people who have lived in it must have been happy…’

  He smiled. ‘I believe that too, only it is a little empty, isn’t it? It needs children—the house came alive while Sally and Billy were there, and…’ He left the sentence unfinished, took the toast she offered him and began to munch.

  ‘Where did you go today?’ he asked presently.

  ‘For a walk.’ She had turned her face away again.

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Nanny spoke unexpectedly. ‘Don’t you think Hilary is just about the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘Undoubtedly.’ His voice was bland.

  ‘Such a lovely child she was,’ went on Nanny, ignoring Arabella’s surprised look, ‘and clever too. Highly thought of at that hospital, so I’m told. We saw her on the telly the day those poor children went to Holland; talking to a man from the BBC she was, saying how she doted on them. They said she was in charge of the bus, but of course that was a mistake. People make mistakes sometimes. I didn’t see you, Miss Arabella.’

  ‘I went to find something for Sister Brewster just as they started filming,’ said Arabella uneasily. ‘It was natural that the reporter should get confused.’

  ‘I was confused myself the first time I set eyes on her,’ stated the doctor cheerfully. ‘I imagine she has that effect on everyone—even a confirmed middle-aged bachelor such as myself.’

  Nanny gave him a shrewd look. ‘The older you are, the harder you fall,’ she informed him sternly, ‘just so long as it’s the right one. But there, I can see there’s no need to give advice where there’s no need for it.’ She got to her feet. ‘There’s that apple chutney in the kitchen. I’ll be back in a jiffy, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Doctor.’

  The doctor ushered her out of the door and closed it behind her.

  ‘And now you may tell me why you were crying.’

  ‘I wasn’t c-cry…well,’ Arabella felt peevish, ‘I suppose I can cry if I want to.’

  ‘I would rather you didn’t,’ he said mildly. The very mildness of his voice stirred the peevishness to rage.

  ‘It’s none of your business! Oughtn’t you to find Hilary? She’ll wonder where you are.’

  ‘Probably. I had thought…I had been looking forward to a talk with you.’

  ‘What about?’ she snapped, her mind full of Hilary and Nanny being so unkind—why had she said all those nice things about her cousin?

  ‘There is no use in asking you to come back with me tomorrow evening?’

  Arabella ignored the wheedling tones. ‘None at all,’ she told him in a high artificial voice. ‘I don’t want to go back until I must.’

  The doctor got to his feet. ‘No, of course not. Will you thank Miss Bliss for her delightful tea? I shall see you later, I have no doubt.’

  He took himself quietly off, leaving her sitting there without saying a word in reply. She was still staring at the fire when the door opened again and this time it was Hilary.

  ‘There you are—I met Gideon on the stairs. What a charmer he is, Bella. I expect he thought you’d been left out—we didn’t mean to stay away all day, but we were enjoying ourselves so much, and I told him you wouldn’t mind, because of Bertie.’

  Arabella said heatedly: ‘That was a rotten low-down thing to say, Hilary! I haven’t got him—I hate him, you know I do.’

  Her cousin’s eyes sparkled. ‘I know, love, but you see, Gideon doesn’t know that, he thinks you’re quite happy—with Bertie. That leaves him free to take me out all he wants without feeling mean about it.’ She sat down in Nanny’s chair. ‘I could fall for him, Bella—all that money, and so good-looking.’ She stared at Arabella. ‘What a pity it wasn’t I who went on th
at wretched trip,’ she ruminated. ‘I would have had him hooked by now.’

  Arabella winced. ‘What about Mr Thisby-Barnes?’ she wanted to know coldly.

  Hilary shrugged. ‘Oh, he’s getting too serious—wants a divorce. Besides, he’s getting to be a bore.’

  Arabella persisted: ‘But you made me go on the trip because you wanted to go out with him so much!’

  Her cousin eyed her with a kind of tolerant contempt. ‘Really, darling, you’re what Nanny would call a green girl, aren’t you? I suppose when you fall in love, it will be for ever and ever.’ She yawned and got to her feet. ‘Well, Gideon’s taking me out to dinner—he asked if you’d come to, but I told him not to suggest it to you because you were spending the evening with Bertie—you don’t mind, do you?’ She tripped to the door, not noticing Arabella’s dumbfounded face. ‘Don’t be surprised to find that we’re engaged by the time we get back— I work fast once I’ve made up my mind, and Gideon’s a walk-over.’ She saw Arabella’s face at last. ‘You don’t need to look like that, Bella—I’ll be an awfully good wife—why not, with all the furs and clothes and jewels he’s going to give me.’

  ‘Going to give you?’ asked Arabella, breathless.

  ‘Silly—he doesn’t know that yet. ’Bye.’

  Arabella didn’t move for quite some minutes, but when she did she got up briskly, went to her room, packed her case in minutes, rammed on the mackintosh and went back to the nursery. Nanny Bliss was back in her chair again, knitting. She raised her eyes briefly as Arabella went in, settled her spectacles more firmly and said: ‘You’re going back, Miss Arabella? Did they telephone for you?’

  ‘Yes—yes, Nanny. Aunt’s out, isn’t she, fetching the twins—I’ve just time to get to the station—I’ve got a taxi coming. Please will you tell her? They’re—they’re short of s-staff.’

  She kissed the old lady; if she had had a little more time she would have asked her why she had talked to the doctor as she did, but she had to get away from the house before Hilary or the doctor came downstairs. ‘I’ll be back,’ she said uncertainly, not caring much whether she did or not. She would have to go to Wickham’s because she had nowhere else to go; perhaps if she could think up something to tell Miss Trenchard, she would be able to go on duty in the morning.

  She whiled away the dull journey, thinking up a suitable story.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IT SEEMED unlikely that Miss Trenchard would believe the cock-and-bull story Arabella had dredged up from a mind which could think only of Gideon van der Vorst. Certainly her various friends did not; she gave the vaguest of answers to their questions, and it was only after they had gone to their rooms and she was left sitting on Anne’s bed, ostensibly to hear from that young lady’s own lips of the success of the bridesmaid’s hat, and the more feminine details of the wedding, that she divulged some, at any rate, of the truth.

  Anne heard her out with sympathy. ‘Well, ducky,’ she said finally, ‘there’s nothing you can do, is there? I mean, we all know what your cousin’s like. Your only hope is that she’ll get tired of him as quickly as she got tired of our Mr Thisby-Barnes, and then you might be able to pick up the pieces.’

  ‘I have no wish to pick up the pieces,’ stated Arabella flatly. ‘I don’t think I want to see him again—not ever.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to if Hilary gets him,’ advised her friend, ‘unless you go to the ends of the earth—and you haven’t got your Finals yet.’

  Arabella got off the bed, brushed back her curtain of hair with an impatient hand and said: ‘Oh, well, there’s always work. Is Men’s Surgical busy?’

  ‘Up to its eyes and overflowing, and that wretched Smithers is staffing.’

  Arabella yawned. ‘Oh, lord—she hates me too. I’d better get some sleep, I suppose.’

  She wandered off to her room and got into bed, but didn’t sleep at all.

  Anne had been right; Men’s Surgical was overflowing, with beds down the middle and the up patients sleeping out in less busy wards and having to be made comfortable for the day when they returned to spend their waking hours in the day room. Arabella, glad to have so much work to do that she had no time to think, went from patient to patient, doing dressings, escorting those destined for the theatre or X-Ray, and fetching them back again when the surgeon had dealt with them. In this work she was ceaselessly harried by Staff Nurse Smithers, a bespectacled young woman, very full of her own worth, and brimming over with self-importance, both of which virtues prevented her from doing her share of the work on the ward. She had an ingratiating manner however with her superiors, and was generally supposed by them to be an excellent staff nurse, who would one day make a good Ward Sister. None of her colleagues on the ward subscribed to this view; they disliked her and made no secret of the fact, even while they were forced to do as she told them.

  Long before the day was over, Arabella was almost regretting her impulsive flight; she went off duty at last, too weary to do more than kick off her shoes and sprawl on her bed, drinking strong tea with those of her friends who were also off duty, until it was time to go to supper. But at least she slept that night, and the following morning woke to the realization that Hilary would have returned the night before and sooner or later she would meet her somewhere about the hospital. She would have to listen to her cousin’s triumph, and that would be the least of it.

  Arabella, kept unceasingly on the go by the horrible Smithers, prayed feverishly that she wouldn’t have to meet Hilary—not just yet, anyway. And in a way her prayers were answered, for when she did encounter her cousin, she was bringing a patient back from theatre and was unable to stop. All Hilary could say was: ‘Bella, such a heavenly time— I’ll tell you all about it.’ She had been laughing and was prettier than ever. Arabella, intent on her patient, who showed a nasty tendency to stop breathing, could do no more than nod her head. She wasn’t off until eight o’clock that evening; Hilary would be sure to be going out—with Gideon, perhaps? It gave her a day’s respite from hearing the news she wanted with all her heart never to hear.

  She didn’t see Hilary all the next day either. Private Patients was in the opposite wing of the hospital; unless they deliberately sought one another out, they might not meet for days. By the end of her fourth day back, Arabella had made up her mind to seek Hilary out. She wasn’t off until eight o’clock and perhaps Hilary would be out, but at least she could go along to her room and find out, and if she was she could ask her about Gideon, because now she knew that if she didn’t get him out of her mind, life was going to be difficult. If she knew…she wrenched her mind away from her own thoughts and went along to the dressings room, where Staff Nurse Smithers was waiting to chivvy her.

  Hilary was in her room when Arabella went along after eight o’clock to see her, but when she caught sight of her cousin she said impatiently: ‘Oh, darling, not now. I’ve a date and I’m already late for it.’

  ‘With Gideon?’ asked Arabella, trying to sound casual.

  ‘Lord, no, more’s the pity, for he would have taken me somewhere decent. No, I’m going out with that wretched Andrews man. I stood him up last week, and I can’t do it again—besides, it will do Gideon good—it would never do for him to suppose there was no competition.’ She smiled at her reflection.

  ‘Didn’t he ask you to marry him?’ asked Arabella in a kind of calm despair that turned to sudden hope as she realized what her cousin had said. The hope didn’t last, her heart dropped to her feet again at Hilary’s careless: ‘I fended him off for a few days—I’m not going to be too easy.’ She turned her head this way and that, studying her face, and her eyes met Arabella’s in the mirror. ‘Do you like him, Bella?’

  With a great effort Arabella managed not to stammer. ‘He’s very kind and wonderful with children.’

  ‘Oh, stuff,’ said Hilary impatiently. ‘Didn’t you get to know him at all? Didn’t he…? Not that you’d know.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Or would you, Bella?’

  ‘No, I wouldn�
�t,’ said Arabella, marvelling at her powers of deception and thinking guiltily and with delight of the lovely time she had spent beside the doctor while they drove round the Dutch countryside, and the delights of exploring Arnhem with him. At least she had memories and Hilary would never know of them. She turned to go. ‘Is everything all right at home?’ she asked.

  ‘I imagine so. Nanny didn’t feel well—very crabby she’s getting. Father should pension her off.’

  Arabella looked at her cousin in horror. ‘But he couldn’t! Nanny has been with us all her life, she’s not old—it would kill her. And where would she go?’

  Hilary shrugged her shoulders. ‘Who cares? Zip me up, Bella, before you go, will you?’

  An unsatisfactory conversation, Arabella decided as she went back to her side of the Home. She would have to find out about Nanny, whom she dearly loved, and she must try even harder to forget Gideon—a resolution which largely accounted for a wakeful night.

  It was theatre day again—Sir Justin Gold had a list as long as his arm and a heavy one at that; they would all be kept on their toes for the entire day. And her off duty had been changed; she was to go off at six, a circumstance she had that girl Smithers to thank for, because Smithers had discovered that there would be too much work to do if she were left on the ward with three junior nurses. With Arabella there as well she would be able to retire into Sister’s office and leave Arabella to get on with it. Arabella grumbled half-heartedly, not really caring. She had no plans for the evening, but she could always find someone who would go to the cinema with her, she supposed. She bustled efficiently through her busy day, and when six o’clock came went off the ward thankfully.

  She was half way down the stairs when she met Gideon coming up. It was impossible to avoid him; one simply did not turn tail and run, even if one felt like it—besides, her feet were aching. She slowed her pace and wished him a prim good evening. ‘Hilary’s on the other wing,’ she told him helpfully.