The Hasty Marriage. Бетти Нилс

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СКАЧАТЬ insides went cold. It would be Joyce, to tell her that she was going to marry Reilof van Meerum, and she was so certain of it that when she heard her sister’s excited voice telling her just that, it wasn’t a shock at all, just a numbness which gripped her brain and her tongue so that Joyce asked sharply:

      ‘Laura? Are you still there? Why don’t you say something?’

      ‘It’s marvellous news,’ she managed then, her voice calm and pleasantly surprised, ‘and I hope you’ll both be very happy. Does Father know?’

      ‘Yes,’ bubbled Joyce, ‘and so does Uncle Wim, but you know what old people are, they hum and ha and sound so doubtful…’

      ‘Well, as long as neither of you is doubtful, I shouldn’t think there was anything to worry about, darling.’

      ‘We’ve opened a bottle of champagne—isn’t it all wildly exciting? Reilof’s here—he wants to speak to you.’

      Laura drew a long breath and thanked heaven silently that she didn’t have to meet him face to face. At least by the time they did meet again she would have her feelings well in hand. All the same, when she heard his quiet ‘Laura?’ in her ear, she had to wait a second before she could get out a matter-of-fact ‘hullo’.

      ‘Aren’t you going to congratulate me?’ he asked.

      ‘Of course, with all my heart.’

      ‘That’s nice to hear. I’m sure you’re going to be a delightful sister-in-law. A pity that you aren’t here to celebrate with us. You must be sure and have a free weekend next time I come over.’

      ‘Oh, rather.’ Laura was aware that she sounded far too hearty, she would be babbling if she wasn’t careful, any minute now her tongue would run away with her. ‘Such a pity I had to come back early,’ she chattered brightly, ‘but I’d promised ages ago…’

      His ‘Oh, yes?’ sounded faintly amused and a little bored; she was wasting his time, time he could be spending with Joyce. She held the mouthpiece a little way from her and called: ‘Okay, I’m coming now,’ and then spoke into it again. ‘So sorry, someone’s waiting for me—have a glass of champagne for me, won’t you? See you soon. ’Bye!’

      She hung up and went slowly back up the stone staircase, not going back to Ann’s room but into her own. But that wouldn’t do, sooner or later someone would come looking for her. She snatched up a towel and sponge and went into one of the bathrooms and turned on the taps, and presently when a voice asked her if she was in there, she was able to answer quite cheerfully that the telephone call had taken so long that it hadn’t seemed worthwhile going back to them all.

      ‘Not bad news, I hope?’ asked the voice anxiously.

      She forced her voice into just the right tones of pleased excitement: ‘Lord, no. Marvellous, actually—Joyce has got engaged. I’ll tell you all about it later.’

      Later was breakfast, a blessedly hurried meal, so that she barely had the time to repeat the news baldly, listen to the excited babble of talk when someone realised that Reilof was the dishy doctor who had been seen with Mr Burnett, admit that he had been visiting her home quite regularly for the past week or so, and gobble her toast before the hurried race to the wards.

      The four new cases kept her busy all day; none of them was very well and the two who were to go to theatre had to be prepped and doped and reassured, and once they had been wheeled away on their trolleys, there was everything to set in readiness for their return to the ward. Their wives came too, hurrying in from their suburban homes, leaving heaven alone knew what chaos behind them, to be sat in Laura’s office, given tea and sympathy and reassured in their turn. Presently, when they had calmed down, she took them along to the visitors’ room where they could sit in some comfort, with magazines to read and coffee and sandwiches served from time to time, although in Laura’s experience the magazines were rarely opened and the sandwiches and coffee were returned untouched.

      And this time it was worse than usual, for one of the men died only a short time after he had been returned to the ward from the Recovery Room; a sudden collapse which all their skills couldn’t cure. Laura, instead of going off duty, stayed with the bereaved wife until relations came to take her home, and then went over to the home, to her own room, so tired that she no longer had any very clear thoughts left in her head. Ann gave her a mug of tea after she had had her bath and she barely gave herself time to drink it before falling into bed and sleeping at once.

      But the rest of the week was better than that. The other three men improved rapidly, the poker players, their stitches out, went home, sheepishly offering her a large bunch of flowers as they went, and Mr Bates, to her great astonishment, gone home a week or more, returned one morning to offer his grudging thanks for the care he had received while he had been in the ward. Laura was so surprised that she could only stare at him and then, realising what an effort it must have been for him to have made such a gesture, she took him into the ward to see one or two of the patients he had known. They weren’t all that pleased to see him, for he had been unpopular with his fellow sufferers, but as one of them pointed out to Laura afterwards, his visit relieved the tedium of the long hospital morning.

      She was on duty that weekend, and towards the end of the week following it she telephoned Joyce and invented a mythical friend who had invited her out, for her sister had telephoned her earlier in the week to tell her that Reilof van Meerum would be coming once more, and made it clear that if Laura were to go home it would spoil their outings together, for he would be sure to invite her along too, out of politeness.

      ‘And I don’t see much of him, darling, do I?’ Joyce’s voice sounded vaguely discontented, and it was then that Laura had determined to make some excuse to stay in London, and on the Friday she telephoned to say that the girl from Physiotherapy who had got married a few months previously had asked her to spend the weekend…

      Joyce wasn’t really interested. ‘Oh, lovely for you,’ she observed carelessly. ‘Reilof’s coming next weekend too—flying over—but of course you won’t be free, will you?’

      Laura said no and what a pity, knowing that Joyce would have been furious if it had been otherwise. ‘But I’m coming home the weekend after that,’ she warned, ‘because I want some summer clothes from my room.’

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