weather but the afternoon was already fading, and she had promised to return the car by seven o’clock at the latest. They decided to drive straight home and have tea when they got in, and since it was still a clear afternoon they decided to take a minor road through Ilsington. Emma had turned off the main road on to the small country lane when her mother slumped in her seat without uttering a sound. Emma stopped the car and turned to look at her unconscious parent.
She said, ‘Mother—Mother, whatever is the matter…?’ And then she pulled herself together—bleating her name wasn’t going to help. She undid her safetybelt, took her mother’s pulse and called her name again, but Mrs Trent lolled in her seat, her eyes closed. At least Emma could feel her pulse, and her breathing seemed normal.
Emma looked around her. The lane was narrow; she would never be able to turn the car and there was little point in driving on as Ilsington was a small village—too small for a doctor. She pulled a rug from the back seat and wrapped it round her mother and was full of thankful relief when Mrs Trent opened her eyes, but the relief was short-lived. Mrs Trent gave a groan. ‘Emma, it’s such a pain, I don’t think I can bear it…’
There was only one thing to do—to reverse the car back down the lane, return to the main road and race back to Bovey Tracey.
‘It’s all right, Mother,’ said Emma. ‘It’s not far to Bovey…There’s the cottage hospital there; they’ll help you.’
She began to reverse, going painfully slowly since the lane curved between high hedges, and it was a good thing she did, for the oncoming car behind her braked smoothly inches from her boot. She got out so fast that she almost tumbled over; here was help! She had no eyes for the other car but rushed to poke her worried face through the window that its driver had just opened.
‘It’s you!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, you can help. Only, please come quickly.’ Dr. Wyatt didn’t utter a word but he was beside her before she could draw another breath. ‘Mother—it’s Mother; she’s collapsed and she’s in terrible pain. I couldn’t turn the car and this lane goes to Ilsington, and it’s on the moor miles from anywhere…’
He put a large, steadying hand on her arm. ‘Shall I take a look?’
Mrs Trent was a nasty pasty colour and her hand, when he took it, felt cold and clammy. Emma, half-in, half-out of the car on her side, said, ‘Mother’s got an ulcer—a peptic ulcer; she takes alkaline medicine and small meals and extra milk.’
He was bending over Mrs Trent. ‘Will you undo her coat and anything else in the way? I must take a quick look. I’ll fetch my bag.’
He straightened up presently. ‘Your mother needs to be treated without delay. I’ll put her into my car and drive to Exeter. You follow as soon as you can.’
‘Yes.’ She cast him a bewildered look.
‘Problems?’ he asked.
‘I rented the car from Dobbs’s garage; it has to be back by seven o’clock.’
‘I’m going to give your mother an injection to take away the pain. Go to my car; there’s a phone between the front seats. Phone this Dobbs, tell him what has happened and say that you’ll bring the car back as soon as possible.’ He turned his back on Mrs Trent, looming over Emma so that she had to crane her neck to see his face. ‘I am sure that your mother has a perforated ulcer, which means surgery as soon as possible.’
She stared up at him, pale with shock, unable to think of anything to say. She nodded once and ran back to his car, and by the time she had made her call she had seen him lift her mother gently and carry her to the car. They made her comfortable on the back seat and Emma was thankful to see that her mother appeared to be dozing. ‘She’ll be all right? You’ll hurry, won’t you? I’ll drive on until I can turn and then I’ll come to the hospital— which one?’
‘The Royal Devon and Exeter—you know where it is?’ He got into his car and began to reverse down the lane. If the circumstances hadn’t been so dire, she would have stayed to admire the way he did it—with the same ease as if he were going forwards.
She got into her car, then, and drove on for a mile or more before she came to a rough track leading on to the moor, where she reversed and drove back the way she had come. She was shaking now, in a panic that her mother was in danger of her life and she wouldn’t reach the hospital in time, but she forced herself to drive carefully. Once she reached the main road and turned on to the carriageway, it was only thirteen miles to Exeter…
She forced herself to park the car neatly in the hospital forecourt and walk, not run, in through the casualty entrance. There, thank heaven, they knew who she was and why she had come. Sister, a cosy body with a soft Devon voice, came to meet her.
‘Miss Trent? Your mother in is Theatre; the professor is operating at the moment. You come and sit down in the waiting-room and a nurse will bring you a cup of tea—you look as though you could do with it. Your mother is in very good hands, and as soon as she is back in her bed you shall go and see her. In a few minutes I should like some details, but you have your tea first.’
Emma nodded; if she had spoken she would have burst into tears; her small world seemed to be tumbling around her ears. She drank her tea, holding the cup in both hands since she was still shaking, and presently, when Sister came back, she gave her the details she needed in a wooden little voice. ‘Will it be much longer?’ she asked.
Sister glanced at the clock. ‘Not long now. I’m sure you’ll be told the moment the operation is finished. Will you go back to Buckfastleigh this evening?’
‘Could I stay here? I could sit here, couldn’t I? I wouldn’t get in anyone’s way.’
‘If you are to stay we’ll do better than that, my dear. Do you want to telephone anyone?’
Emma shook her head. ‘There’s only Mother and me.’ She tried to smile and gave a great sniff. ‘So sorry, it’s all happened so suddenly.’
‘You have a nice cry if you want to. I must go and see what’s happening. There’s been a street-fight and we’ll be busy…’
Emma sat still and didn’t cry—when she saw her mother she must look cheerful—so that when somebody came at last she turned a rigidly controlled face to hear the news.
Dr Wyatt was crossing the room to her. ‘Your mother is going to be all right, Emma.’ And then he held her in his arms as she burst into tears.
EMMA didn’t cry for long but hiccuped, sniffed, sobbed a bit and drew away from him to blow her nose on the handkerchief he offered her.
‘You’re sure? Was it a big operation? Were you in the theatre?’
‘Well, yes. It was quite a major operation but successful, I’m glad to say. You may see your mother; she will be semi-conscious but she’ll know that you are there. She’s in Intensive Care just for tonight. Tomorrow she will go to a ward—’ He broke off as Sister joined them.
‘They’re wanting you on Male Surgical, sir—urgently.’
He nodded at Emma and went away.
‘Mother’s
