would take all day to go round to either of the smaller staircases used by the nurses, and the lifts were out of the question. Anyway, she disliked lifts.
The round had started; Charity, peering cautiously round the ward doors, met Sister’s frowning gaze and then, obedient to her beckoning finger, and very aware of her size and bursting good health, walked just as cautiously down the ward between the beds occupied by a variety of limp-looking ladies with pale faces who gazed at her with a kind of disbelief that anyone could be as pretty and full of life. Miss Hudson would have been more suitable, thought Charity, gaining the group of solemn-looking people round a patient’s bed, and doing her best to hide herself behind the social worker.
‘Ah, good morning, Miss Graham,’ observed Professor Wyllie-Lyon, yards away from her and with eyes in the back of his head. ‘If you will be ready to take notes at the next patient’s bed, if you please.’
He hadn’t turned round as he spoke, so that she addressed his white-coated back with a polite, ‘Certainly, sir,’ while admiring what she could see of him—which wasn’t much, what with his registrar and housemen and a clutch of earnest medical students. Sister had the best place, of course, at his elbow, ready with X-Rays, forms and the proper answers to his questions. Charity wondered what it would be like to be clever enough to know what he was talking about and what to say in reply. She allowed her thoughts to wander. It was a pity that she was really too old to train as a nurse, although she wasn’t sure if she would be much good at it—the actual nursing that is; she enjoyed learning about the various conditions and ailments she typed about each day, but she wasn’t so sure about the practical side of them.
She became aware that there was a general movement towards the next bed and hastily held her pencil at the ready. A good thing, too, for Professor Wyllie-Lyon began at once. ‘Now, this is Mrs Elliott, whose case we might discuss, with her permission.’ He sat himself down on the side of the bed and spoke to the elderly lady lying in it. She smiled and nodded and he then turned to address the students round him.
‘You are ready, Miss Graham? Now, this patient is suffering from a comparatively rare complaint…’
Charity, standing close by so that she wouldn’t miss anything, kept her mind on her work. And again, a good thing that she did; she was grateful when he paused to ask her if she had got Thrombocytopenic Purpura down correctly. A few more tongue twisters like that and she would throw her notebook at him and gallop out of the ward.
She hoped that she had got everything down correctly, as she hurried back to the office; Miss Hudson would be in a fine state, for she was missing part of her dinner time. Charity, short of breath from running down the passage, was greeted by her irate superior, even more irate by reason of the delightful picture Charity made: cheeks pink from her haste, her magnificent bosom heaving.
‘Ten minutes,’ snapped Miss Hudson. ‘I said to be back on time…’
‘Well,’ said Charity reasonably, ‘I couldn’t just walk away before Professor Wyllie-Lyon had finished, could I? I’ve run all the way back.’
Miss Hudson sniffed. ‘I shall take the ten minutes out of your dinner time. I don’t see why I should suffer. Really, you young women, you have no sense of responsibility.’ She flounced out, leaving Charity to make sense of this, and since she couldn’t she sat down at her desk, polished off the Path. Lab reports awaiting her attention and then turned to her shorthand notes. Professor Wyllie-Lyon hadn’t said that he wanted them at once but she had no doubt that he did.
Miss Hudson was as good as her word. She came back ten minutes late, viewed the fresh pile of work which the porter had just brought to the office with a jaundiced eye and asked, ‘Have you finished those notes, then? There’s more than enough to keep us busy until five o’clock.’
The phone rang and she answered it, then said crossly, ‘You’re to take Professor Wyllie-Lyon’s notes down to Women’s Medical as soon as they’re ready. I must say he’s got a nerve…’
‘He is the senior consultant,’ Charity pointed out in her reasonable way. ‘I expect he’s got the edge on everyone else. Anyway, I’ve almost finished; I’ll drop them in as I go to dinner.’
‘Toad-in-the-hole,’ said Miss Hudson, ‘and they’ve overcooked the cabbage again.’
Charity, who was famished, would have eaten it raw.
Women’s Medical was settling down for the afternoon. There was the discreet clash of bedpans, scurrying feet intent on getting done so that their owners could go off duty, and the faint cries of such ladies who required this, that or the other before they could settle for their hour’s rest period. Charity knocked on Sister’s office door and went in.
Sister was at her desk. She was a splendid nurse and a dedicated spinster with cold blue eyes and no sense of humour. Her ward was run beautifully and her nurses disliked her whole-heartedly.
Professor Wyllie-Lyon was sitting opposite her, perched precariously on a stool much too small to accommodate his vast person. He looked up as Charity went in, put down the notes he was reading and got to his feet. Sister gave him a surprised look.
‘What do you want, Miss Graham?’ she asked.
‘I was told to leave these notes, Sister.’
The professor took them from her. ‘Ah, yes. Splendid. Good girl. You never let me down, do you? But shouldn’t you be at your dinner?’
‘Oh, that’s all right, Professor. I’m on my way now…’
‘It is desirable for the smooth running of the hospital catering department that staff should be punctual at mealtimes,’ interrupted Sister severely.
‘In that case, Miss Graham, run and get your coat and we’ll go and find a sandwich somewhere. I’m even more unpunctual than you are.’
Sister’s disapproval was tangible. ‘That does not apply to you, Professor Wyllie-Lyon, although I’m sure that you are joking.’
He was at the door, waiting for a bemused Charity to go through it.
‘No, no. How could I joke about such an important matter? I must set a good example, must I not? I’ll be back during the afternoon, Sister, and thank you.’
On the landing Charity said, ‘That was very…’ And then she closed her mouth with a snap and blushed.
‘Go on,’ he encouraged.
She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I forgot who you were; I can’t say things like that to senior consultants, I’d get the sack.’
He was propelling her gently away from the ward. ‘No, you won’t—I promise I won’t tell.’
She shook her head again, suddenly shy. ‘I must go—I’m late…’
He said patiently, ‘Well, we’ve already discussed that, haven’t we? Get your coat, there’s a good girl, I’m very hungry.’
‘Yes, but…’
‘I shall call you Charity, a pleasant name. Also I still haven’t been told what went wrong.’ He gave her a gentle shove and she went back to the office and fetched her coat, muttered about shopping to an inquisitive Miss Hudson, and found him waiting where she had left him.
She
