shop. It was as they were drinking the last dregs of their tea that Connie Wills, the junior Sister on Men’s Medical, remarked: ‘That nice old Charlie—you remember, Octavia? He’s going on Thursday.’
Octavia put down her cup. ‘He can’t be—he’s not fit—where’s he going?’
‘Well, it all turned out rather well. I know he’s not fit, but someone—some man or other has offered him a job, living in—caretaking and so on. It’s just up Charlie’s street, and he’s promised that Charlie shall be looked after and not allowed to work until he’s quite well. Marvellous, isn’t it?’
‘That’s funny,’ chimed in the Sister, on Women’s Surgical. ‘Remember that little lady you sent us the other evening—the one you’ve been visiting? Well, she’s got somewhere to go to, too. She’s not to be discharged yet, but when she is, she’s been offered this job helping the housekeeper in some house or other. All very vague, but quite OK, so John Waring tells me.’
‘That’s wonderful!’ Octavia forgot her own vague problems in the pleasure of knowing that the unfortunate pair were to have more cheerful futures, after all. ‘Tell Charlie I’ll come to say goodbye, will you? I’ll never get away in the morning—Monday…’ she wrinkled her pretty nose, ‘but I’ll pop up and see Mrs Stubbs in the evening.’
They all went to their rooms after that, stopping to chat as they went, reluctant to bring their brief leisure to an end until Sister Moody, passing Octavia and a handful of the younger sisters still chatting outside their rooms, remarked sourly: ‘Don’t forget it’s Monday tomorrow.’
They exchanged speaking glances and when she was safely in the bathroom with the taps running, Octavia observed: ‘Do you suppose we’ll be like her in twenty years’ time?’
‘Not if I can help it,’ declared Connie. ‘I votes we get married.’
‘Chance is a fine thing,’ said Octavia.
They all looked at her. ‘You’ve no reason to complain, Octavia, there’s always someone or other dangling after you. It’s us plain ones who worry.’
They all laughed as they broke up, but in her room, sitting on the side of her bed, Octavia mulled over that remark and felt a vague disquiet again. She was lucky, she knew that, but only because she was pretty—she knew that too, without conceit—but there would come a time, she supposed, when no one would dangle after her any more. Perhaps, she decided, hopping into bed, she should take the very next chance that came her way.
CHAPTER TWO
CASUALTY remained busy for the next few days; over and above the steady stream of broken bones and heads, street accidents, small children with beads up their noses and down their ears, and elderly persons with aches and pains with which they hadn’t liked to bother their doctors, there was a bad fire in a high rise block of flats close to the hospital, and as well as some of its badly injured inmates, there were a number of firemen to be treated for the effects of smoke. Sister Moody, beside herself at having to work really hard, with little or no chance of taking refuge in her office, became as cross as two sticks, and because of that vented her vexation on the nurses. Octavia kept a tight hold on her patience and temper and breathed a sigh of relief when her superior took herself off for her weekend. True, they were now short of her services, but since these had been both grudgingly and sparingly given in the first place, it really didn’t matter. Peace and harmony reigned once more even though they were all run off their feet.
It was Sunday evening, as Octavia sat writing up the books, when the Sister on Men’s Medical put her head round the door. ‘Still here?’ she wanted to know. ‘Who’s relieving you?’
‘Gill Sedgewick.’
‘Her?’ said Rhona ungrammatically. ‘Let’s hope she remembers. Ever since she got married and took to part-time, she seems to think she’s conferring a favour coming at all.’ She came right in and perched on the desk. ‘I say, Octavia—remember Suzy Preston?’
Octavia ruled a neat line and without glancing up said calmly: ‘Well, of course I do, seeing she was a friend of mine—still is. I heard from her the other day—somewhere in Yorkshire, where she lives—she’s gathering a wardrobe together and up in the clouds over that new job.’
‘Well, she’s not now. I just happened to be in the office this evening and Miss Bellamy and Mr Yates were in her office with the door open and I couldn’t help over-hearing—actually, I did have to strain my ears a bit—Suzy’s got an appendix and can’t join the ship, and he was trying to persuade Miss B. to let him have someone in her place.’
‘He’ll be lucky. Poor old Suzy.’ Octavia closed the Casualty book with a flourish. ‘Where is she?’
‘At home. Of course Mr Yates will get his own way—he always does; I mean having a brother who’s a director of the shipping company helps a lot, and they always have our nurses, don’t they? It’s only a week before sailing time, besides, they think it impresses the passengers if they have one of us. After all, St Maud’s is one of the best teaching hospitals in the country.’
Octavia piled her books neatly and got up. ‘Oh, well, good luck to him. I must telephone Suzy, though. What rotten luck; she was so thrilled about it, too.’ She sighed and glanced at her watch. ‘I’m famished. I hope Gill comes soon. I must just see if the nurses are OK.’
She was with them when her relief arrived, and ten minutes later she was speeding out of the department, intent on getting away before another patient arrived.
Over supper there was a good deal of discussion about Suzy. She had caused quite a sensation when she had resigned to take a post as ship’s nurse, besides stirring up a good deal of envy in her colleagues’ bosoms; now the whole thing had fallen through and there was a good deal of conjecture as to what would happen. Rhona, repeating the conversation she had overheard, declared that one of them would find themselves on board the SS Socrates before the next week was out. ‘For depend upon it,’ she pointed out, ‘old Yates will get his way, he always does—you know how he cuts his way through red tape and official forms when he’s a mind to do so.’
They all left the table presently and wandered upstairs to the Sisters’ sitting room in the nurses’ home, to drink their bedtime tea and gossip, and Octavia went off to telephone Suzy, primed with enough questions and messages to keep her going throughout the night. But few of the questions were uttered; Suzy was in hospital, said her mother, under observation. She had had to give up her new job and expected to have the offending appendix removed within the next twenty-four hours. She had high hopes of being given a chance to re-apply for the job when she was well again.
Octavia offered sympathy, sent the most suitable of the messages and went back to the sitting room, where she told her news and settled down to write to Suzy. Everyone had messages, so she scratched away busily for several minutes, begged a stamp from someone and went along to post her letter.
The postbox by the hospital entrance hadn’t been emptied yet; she slid the envelope inside, passing the time of day with Henry the night porter, and started back through the hospital. She had reached the back of the entrance hall when the Consultants’ room door was flung open as she drew level with it, and Mr Yates came out. She wished him a polite goodnight without slackening her pace and then was halted in her tracks by his: ‘Sister Lock—the very person I wanted to see. Will you come in here a minute?’
He held the door open and she went past him with a wordless calm which showed nothing of her sudden panic of
