Wish with the Candles Page 15

  Mrs Hastings looked surprised. ‘But, Emma, I should have come anyway. As it was, Justin saw to everything—it made it all so easy.’ She got up and kissed Emma. ‘I’m going before that nice Brenda turns me out.’

  It was refreshing to be bathed, even in bed, and have one of her own nighties on again. Emma, faintly apprehensive, swung her legs over the side of the bed and with Brenda beside her, was stood up on cottonwool legs, walked to a chair and sat in it, where she submitted to having her hair brushed and her dressing-gown put on, which done:

  ‘There you are,’ said Brenda encouragingly. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Hollow.’

  ‘That wears off, ducky. I’ll get a paper for you to read and here’s the bell if you want anyone. There’ll be a little light something on a tray presently.’ She made for the door. ‘Be seeing you!’

  Emma read the paper slowly from front to back, not taking in a word because her mind was full of Justin. Surely he could have looked in on her before the list started, or even sent a message? She swallowed a ridiculous desire to burst into tears, telling herself it was because she felt so stupidly weak, and read, for the second time, the sporting page, not a line of which made any sense to her.

  She had pecked without appetite at the little something on a tray, and the nurse had taken it away again when the door opened once more and because she was feeling drowsy Emma didn’t open her eyes when she heard the crisp swish of Brenda’s apron and her light laugh; but the laugh was echoed. Emma opened her eyes and saw Mr Phillips and Justin following her friend into the room. They came and stood in front of her chair and Mr Phillips said, ‘Very nice—I like pink,’ which was so unexpected a remark that a little of that colour washed over Emma’s pale cheeks. He took her pulse, peered at her knowledgeably over his spectacles, asked a few questions pertinent to the removal of an appendix and then strolled back to the door, professing himself entirely satisfied. ‘Busy,’ he mumbled as he went. ‘Talk to you later,’ and went away.

  Emma hoped that Brenda would go with him, but she stayed where she was beside Justin, who stood with his hands in his pockets looking down at Emma with a detached air. He inquired politely after her health and then stood silently while Brenda rattled on cheerfully, laughing a little at her because she was amusing as well as remarkably pretty. Emma, watching her, felt pale and uninteresting and a little peevish and talked hardly at all. Only as her visitors turned to go did she bring herself to say, ‘It was kind of you to fetch my mother, Professor Teylingen. Thank you.’

  He looked as though he was going to laugh. ‘My dear girl, it was the least I could do—I had to make amends, did I not? Supposing your excuses to be merely excuses when all the while they were genuine. I apologize handsomely, if only to prevent you from calling me Professor Teylingen in that redoubtable fashion.’ He didn’t look amused any more, only concerned. ‘You were very brave, Emma—it must have needed a great deal of courage to have stood there as long as you did. It certainly gave the patient a fair chance. I’m very much in your debt.’

  He smiled, and Emma, fighting a second, much stronger desire to cry, stared at him wordlessly while he wished her a quick goodbye and made for the door, saying that he was already late.

  He came again at five o’clock, when Emma was back in bed, looking washed out, half listening to her mother’s soothing inconsequential chatter. He came alone this time, a pile of magazines under one arm and an extravagant bouquet of roses under the other, and laid his offerings on her bed, observing apologetically that he would have brought them sooner but that the list had been a heavy one. His voice was light, but Emma, looking at him, could see that he was tired, so that she, full of remorse for forgetting his hard day, said warmly, ‘Thank you, Justin, how lovely and how kind you are.’ She smiled at him rather tremulously and as he smiled back, the tiredness somehow disappeared.

  ‘Feeling better?’ he wanted to know, then picked up her hand and held it between his own, and although his voice hadn’t changed, his touch was firm and comforting. Emma, her hand fast held between his, felt suddenly that everything was right once more and said cheerfully, ‘Oh, yes—heaps better.’

  ‘Good. I’ve come to take your mother home.’ He glanced across to Mrs Hastings, Emma’s hand still in his. ‘Unless you want to spend another night here?’ he wanted to know.

  Mrs Hastings shook her head. ‘Emma’s all right now, isn’t she? I can’t thank you enough for fetching me, Justin, and I feel awful about you driving all that way now after a hard day’s work. Are you sure…?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ his voice was unconcerned. ‘I find driving relaxing after standing for hours in the theatre.’

  ‘Then I’ll just go and say goodbye to that nice Brenda and get these flowers into water.’ She gathered them up as she spoke, smiled at Justin and then at Emma and disappeared.

  ‘Still cross with me, Emma?’ Justin asked as he seated himself on the side of her bed. He looked kind and friendly and she said at once:

  ‘Have I been beastly? I’ve no reason to be—you’ve been so kind…’

  ‘But I didn’t come until after the morning list, did I?’ he prompted, his eyes twinkling.

  She pinkened. ‘There wasn’t any need—I didn’t expect…’

  ‘No? I’m disappointed.’

  Emma eyed him warily; probably he was teasing her. He wasn’t. The pink deepened delicately as he lifted the hand he had been holding and kissed it gently and she said a trifle breathlessly, ‘I thought I heard your voice—before I was quite conscious—but when I opened my eyes you weren’t there.’

  ‘I came to have a look at you with Mr Phillips after they had put you back to bed. You were almost round, but I couldn’t wait—there was a patient…’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Emma, and repeated without much originality, ‘you’re so kind.’ Two tears trickled untidily down her cheeks and she wiped them away with the back of her free hand.

  ‘Surely no reason for crying?’ the professor wanted to know.

  She swallowed at the tears crowding her throat and after a moment faltered, ‘I don’t know why I’m crying,’ and managed a watery smile as her mother came back into the room.

  She put the flowers on the bedtable. ‘Aren’t they gorgeous, Emma? I do hope you thanked Justin nicely.’

  ‘I was just going…’ began Emma when the professor interrupted with:

  ‘On the very point of doing so, were you not, Emma?’ and bent down, his eyes twinkling wickedly. She kissed his proffered cheek meekly under her mother’s pleased eyes, submitted to a careful maternal embrace and watched them go through the door together, not sure whether to laugh or cry. She was still making up her mind when she fell suddenly asleep.

  Being young and healthy, she slept with only the briefest of wakeful periods until the junior night nurse brought her an early morning cup of tea and then returned presently to escort her to the wash-basin in the corner of the room. Emma, walking a little gingerly still, decided that although she was still vaguely sore and uncomfortable walking wasn’t too bad; all the same, she was glad to get back into bed and brush her hair—she had meant to do something to her face too, but the effort was too great, so she lay back thankfully against the pillows and picked up the first of the glossy magazines the professor had brought. She was still poring over it when Brenda came in at eight o’clock.

  ‘Hullo,’ said Emma. ‘I do feel a fraud. I slept like a top, too—and I walked over to the basin.’

  ‘Very nice too,’ said Brenda cheerfully, ‘but to save any further argument, you’re here for eight days, ducky, and then you’ll get at least three week’s sick leave—and don’t tell me that’s too long, for remember, you’ll be on your feet most of the day once you’re back in that theatre of yours, working all hours, and no one will listen if you plead tired. You had a nasty appendix, you know, and for all your brave words, you look like skimmed milk.’ She smiled widely. ‘Now I must go and take the report—I’ll come back presently and we’ll have co
ffee together and that’ll give me a chance to cast an eye over these.’ She nodded towards the magazines. ‘Who’s the generous donor? The professor, I suppose—did he give you the roses too? I thought so. Nice work, little Emma—he must prize you highly.’

  Emma bit her lip. ‘As a theatre sister, yes, I think he does. He’s nice to work for, you know.’

  Brenda chuckled. ‘I thought perhaps he was. I imagine he’s just as nice when he’s not working. I think I’ll have a try for him—he might be fun. You don’t mind?’

  ‘Mind?’ echoed Emma lightly, minding very much indeed. ‘Why on earth should I mind? Go ahead and I’ll study your technique from my bed, heaven knows I could use it.’ She even managed a smile as Brenda, chuckling, went away.

  The professor didn’t come until after tea, with Brenda, looking magnificent, beside him, and Emma, her eyes sharpened by love, watched every look and gesture her visitors made and listened to every word which was said, twisting the most commonplace remarks into double meanings, an operation of doubtful value brought to an end by the professor saying suavely, ‘Don’t let me keep you, Sister, I’m sure you must be waiting to get back to the ward. I’ll see you before I go, I daresay.’

  They went to the door together and Emma shut her eyes and when she opened them again he was on the point of sitting on the bed.

  ‘Not so well?’ he inquired kindly.

  ‘I feel very well, thank you,’ said Emma in a stiff little voice.

  He gave her a considered glance and smiled faintly, and his voice was bland. ‘What a lovely girl your friend is—so lovely that I’m frightened of her.’

  Emma considered this piece of nonsense before replying; for nonsense it was. ‘Brenda’s quite beautiful.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree with you more. And now tell me, how do you feel?’

  Emma stole a look at him. He was examining his well-kept hands and had his head lowered; he looked up at that moment and she said hurriedly:

  ‘I told you—I feel simply marvellous.’

  ‘That’s better. Do you suppose that the magnificent Brenda will allow me to come again this evening and bring two more visitors with me?’

  Her eyes flew to his placid face. ‘Two? Who are they—when will they come?’

  ‘Yes, two, and I don’t intend to tell you who, so don’t ask.’ He got up, smiling at her. ‘I’ll be back, Emma.’

  After he had gone she sat back amongst the welter of magazines, going over their brief conversation. It was a little difficult to know if he had been teasing about Brenda. Apparently he hadn’t, for Brenda, coming in an hour later, sat down comfortably on the end of the bed, observing goodnaturedly, ‘Well, my technique failed, didn’t it? Your professor’s charming, but I didn’t make much impression on that bland mask of his.’

  Emma felt a warm glow of satisfaction at these words, but because she liked Brenda she remarked placatingly:

  ‘Well, if you failed I can’t see anyone else succeeding.’

  Brenda gave her an amused look. ‘Care to have a try yourself?’

  Emma shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t know how,’ she said, and meant it.

  ‘Maybe that’s the answer,’ Brenda murmured. ‘Lend me that Vogue, Emma.’

  She went away presently, the magazine under one arm, and left Emma to her supper.

  It was eight o’clock when the professor returned, bringing Little Willy and Kitty with him. Her sister looked radiant, Emma observed as Kitty darted across the room to hug her, dropping a paper parcel and some flowers on the bed as she did so.

  ‘Emma—you poor dear! Fancy you with an appendix and Justin says you were ever so brave about it.’ She caught sight of the roses and asked, ‘Who’s the boy-friend? Just look at those, anyone would think you were a film star. I’ll put mine in a vase, shall I—there’s a spray in the parcel—Chantilly, darling, so’s you can sit in a cloud of fragrance.’

  Emma decided to ignore the remark about the boy-friend. The men were talking together, but the professor had sharp ears. She went red in the face, hoping he hadn’t heard, and asked, ‘But Kitty—your exams—I thought…’

  ‘One today, darling, and another tomorrow, but Will’s taking me back. I’ll be home at the end of the week, though, and Mother and I’ll cosset you. How long will they give you to recover?’ She didn’t wait for an answer but repeated her question to Justin, who had come to lean against the end of the bed, watching her.

  ‘Three weeks,’ he answered casually as Will approached the bed and said awkwardly, ‘Hullo, Emma. Hard luck, old girl—nice to see you better, though.’

  Emma thanked him nicely and when it became obvious that he had no more to say on the subject, asked, ‘Been busy, Will?’

  ‘Lord, yes, Staff’s pretty good, though, and now there’s someone called Sister Luce. She keeps asking Justin if he’s got the right instruments. It’s a bit wearing, if you don’t come back quickly we shall be old men before our time. Where did they dredge the creature up from anyway?’

  Emma giggled. ‘She was theatre sister for a week or two while I was still a staff nurse—long before your time,’ she added severely, ‘but they decided that she was unsuitable—but if there is no one else they’d have put her back in theatre; after all, she is trained for it. Perhaps you frighten her.’

  Will cast her an indignant look and Justin roared with laughter. ‘You’re mistaken, Emma. We are frightened of her, aren’t we, Will? But don’t worry, dear girl, we shall hold up the tricky cases until you’re back again.’

  ‘You’re not!’ Emma sat up too quickly and winced. She looked quite pretty by reason of the splash of colour in her still pale cheeks. ‘How very mean—supposing I still feel poorly? I might not be able to stand for hours on end, you know.’

  ‘In which case,’ interposed Justin smoothly, ‘we shall just have to go on waiting, shan’t we?’

  He walked over to the door and picked up a parcel he had dropped on a chair and brought it back to the bed. ‘Maybe these will help you to hasten your recovery, Emma.’

  There were four books, of a sort to keep Emma amused and interested for hours. She examined them with delight and said happily.

  ‘Thank you, Justin. The days are rather long, you know. You’re very kind—’ She bit her lip because each time she saw him she seemed to have said that, and he was looking amused now. But he didn’t say anything, merely turned to Kitty and reminded her that if Will was to get her back to hospital in time for a good night’s sleep she had better be going, whereupon she hugged Emma once more, besought her to take care of herself, signified her readiness to leave with Will immediately and then darted across the room to fling her arms round Justin’s neck and kiss him soundly. ‘Keep an eye on our Emma,’ she commanded him as she went.

  There was a little silence when they had gone and Emma, after a darting glance at the professor, began to leaf through the books with an almost painful interest. When he spoke his voice held the hint of a laugh.

  ‘How fortunate,’ he said, ‘that I am sufficiently Kitty’s slave to do exactly as she wishes.’

  ‘Do what?’ asked Emma, pretending not to know.

  ‘Why, keep an eye on you, Emma, what else? How did the day go?’

  She told him, although there wasn’t much to tell. ‘It seems strange with nothing to do—but I shall be getting up longer tomorrow and the next day I’m to dress.’

  ‘And then three weeks’ holiday—I may be gone before you return, Emma.’

  She hadn’t thought of that. ‘No—you can’t. I mean,’ she amended hastily, ‘it isn’t as soon as that, is it? How time flies!’ She paused, aware that he had no intention of answering this foolish remark. ‘Will you go back to Holland?’

  She stared at his passive face, feeling sick at the thought of it.

  ‘Why, yes, for it is my home and my work is there.’

  ‘I’ll not take any more of your cases, then.’

  ‘Probably not.’ He sounded far too cheerful about it. ‘I don’t expect
to return to this hospital in the immediate future, and in the meantime much could happen, Emma.’

  He was staring hard at her and all she could think of to say was, ‘Yes?’

  ‘I intend to marry, Emma.’

  She felt the colour leave her face, which didn’t matter overmuch, for she was still pale from the operation, but it was important to keep a politely interested expression on her face at all costs. Inside her was desolation, to be ignored until she was alone and could weep in a decent solitude. She said now in a bright voice, ‘That’ll be nice for you. I hope you’ll be happy.’ And then because she couldn’t help herself, ‘Do I know her?’

  He hadn’t stopped staring, but now he smiled. ‘Very well, Emma,’ he began, and was interrupted by Mr Phillips, who wandered in with an absentminded air of not quite knowing why he had come, but when he caught sight of the professor he said at once, ‘The very man I want—there’s a case…’ He broke off and turned his attention upon Emma, sitting like a small statue against her pillows, willing him to go away again because Justin had been on the point of telling her something and now probably the opportunity would never occur again.

  ‘Emma Hastings,’ said Mr Phillips, ‘how are you?’ He wandered over to the bed and peered at her in a kindly fashion. ‘I must say you’re not a very good colour. I’d better get the Path. Lab. people to see about your haemoglobin—a trifle anaemic, perhaps. I’ll see Matron in the morning. Three weeks’ sick leave, I said, didn’t I? You may go home the day after your stitches come out. When’s that?’

  Emma told him.

  ‘Yes, well—you’ll do, have to take care of one of our best Sisters, won’t we? A lifetime of work ahead of you, I fancy.’

  He smiled at her kindly, patted her shoulder and said to Justin:

  ‘Ah, yes, there’s a woman—the X-rays show something in her chest. I’m not sure—I’d like you to take a look.’

  Emma sat and watched the professor, without any apparent disappointment at having to leave her, agree to accompany Mr Phillips. His casual good-night to her as they went through the door held no hidden meaning, nor did he give her any but the briefest of glances. When the door had closed behind them, she burst into tears.