Tulips for Augusta. Бетти Нилс

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СКАЧАТЬ at the strength of the squeeze he gave it. He had stood the operation very well. Presently she was relieved by another nurse and went along to the dining room for her dinner, but she was late and it had been kept hot for her and tasted of nothing at all. She went back to the ward and made tea, and then, revived, set about the afternoon’s work. The day seemed very long, perhaps because the sun was shining so brightly out of doors and she was imprisoned. She felt a little mean, thinking it; probably the patients felt just as she did, and with far more reason. But they could at least give vent to their discontent—and did. The worst of them was Lady Belway, who refused to be satisfied by anything at all, from the colour of her pills to the arrangement of the vast number of flowers in her room, and it was no use telling her that the staff had too much to do anyway… Augusta had just returned from the old lady’s room for at least the sixth time, and was making a tardy start on the report, when there was a knock on the door. Without looking round, she said in a resigned voice, ‘If that’s the Brig’s drip stopped again…’

      She looked over her shoulder and met pale blue eyes. He stood just inside the door, as elegant and self-possessed as always, smiling.

      ‘What do you want?’ she wanted to know ungraciously, firmly ignoring the rush of excitement at the sight of him.

      He came a little further into the room. He was holding the largest bunch of tulips she had ever seen in her life—on his way to visit Lady Belway, no doubt. She glowered at him because she was tired and hungry and her hair needed doing.

      He said blandly, ‘You make me feel so welcome. There’s an old song; something about “There is a lady sweet and gentle”—or was it kind? I expect you are too, only I seem to be on the wrong wavelength.’

      He laid the tulips in all their profusion on the desk, to blot out the Kardex and charts and laundry lists and forms. ‘These are for you—tulips for Miss Augusta Brown, because the sun has shone all day, and I doubt if she has encountered even one sunbeam.’

      He turned on his heel and at the door said over one shoulder:

      ‘By the way, do your thumbs prick each time we meet? It seems to me that they should.’

      He shut the door quietly, leaving her speechless.

      The tulips caused a good deal of comment from the night nurses when they came on duty. She explained, with a heightened colour, that one of the patients’ visitors had left them for her, without mentioning who it was—and bore goodnaturedly with a little mild teasing before going off duty clasping their magnificence to her starched bosom.

      She was halfway down the stairs when he caught up with her. She had known who it was, if not by the pricking of her thumbs, then by some sixth sense, but she didn’t turn round, indeed, she contemplated breaking into a run, only to discard the idea as being undignified, so he caught up with her easily enough, observing mildly, ‘What—too tired to run away?’

      She smiled frostily and answered shortly, ‘No,’ and then remembered that he had, after all, been kind enough to give her the tulips.

      ‘The flowers are lovely,’ she said in a slightly less frigid voice. ‘It was kind of you.’

      They had reached the bottom of the stairs; she added ‘I go this way.’ She smiled a little and turned away, to be instantly caught and held by the large hand on her shoulder and twiddled round to face him again.

      ‘Since we are saying goodnight—’ he said softly, and bent to kiss her.

      She spent a wakeful night, rehearsing the cool manner in which she would greet him when they next met. It was a pity that her lack of sleep was wasted, for he didn’t come. After a week she was forced to admit to herself that the tulips had been in the nature of a farewell gesture, and that he was now probably building bridges or discovering oil wells in some far-flung spot of the globe. That he was no longer in London at least was obvious, because the dark-haired girl still came to visit Lady Belway, and Augusta had seen her leave the hospital, driving herself in a rakish little sports car. On the eighth day, she threw away the last of the tulips, designating, as it were, his memory to the dustbin of her mind. She had plenty of other things to fill it…the Brig, making good progress, was none the less very difficult, especially on the days when the cricketing news wasn’t good. Miss Dawn Dewey, recovered rather reluctantly from her cold, had gone, to be replaced by a minor statesman with tonsilitis…and there had been a fresh batch of T’s and A’s in. Lady Belway, organised at last with a nurse to take her home and stay, was due to go. Augusta had been invited—rather, commanded, to visit her and take tea; something she was loath to do, but perhaps the old lady was lonely, and it would be interesting to see where she lived—somewhere off Knightsbridge, in one of the squares.

      She had been surprised one day when the girl had stopped her as she left Lady Belway’s room, and said, ‘It’s silly the way we see each other every day and don’t know each other’s names—at least, I know yours. I’m Susan Belsize—Lady Belway’s niece.’ She put out a hand, and Augusta shook it and said politely and a little absentmindedly, ‘How do you do?’ because she was thinking about Mrs Bewley the alcoholic, who had the first symptoms of pellagra; she was already having nicotine acid, but it obviously wasn’t sufficient…she would have to telephone Dr Watts. She smiled vaguely at Miss Belsize, who, it seemed, wasn’t in a hurry, for she went on, ‘You’ve been very kind to my aunt. I expect you know that she wanted you to go home with her—but Matron said you were indispensable.’ She added with a rather gushing sympathy, ‘You must get so tired, and I’m sure you don’t get much fun.’

      Augusta thought she detected pity, and anyway what sort of fun did the girl mean? She said, a little extravagantly, that yes, she had quite a lot of fun, and edged towards the office door. But her companion, with time on her hands, seemed incapable of realising that there were those who worked. She observed archly:

      ‘Of course, this place is stuffed with doctors, isn’t it?’ She shot a playful look at Augusta. ‘We saw you out the other evening.’

      Augusta blinked, trying to think of a mutual social background. Not a bus queue, surely, and certainly not the cheapest seats at the cinema, and the little café where Archie sometimes took her for coffee was hardly the kind of place Miss Belsize would be seen in. She said carefully, ‘Oh? I don’t think…’

      ‘You were with one of the doctors—I’m sure I’ve seen him around. We passed you both as we were leaving one evening, rather late, but you didn’t see us.’

      ‘Us,’ thought Augusta, ‘the man with straw-coloured hair.’ She murmured politely, her hand on the office door which she opened an inch or two, and her companion said with animation:

      ‘You meet so many people, don’t you? But I daresay you forget them…ships that pass in the night and all that stuff.’ She laughed. She had a pleasant laugh.

      ‘Oh, definitely,’ said Augusta, her mind still on Mrs Bewley. ‘I really must get on…you’ll forgive me if I…?’

      Miss Belsize said at once with a genuine concern, ‘Oh, my poor dear, I’m keeping you from your work, aren’t I absolutely beastly?’ She giggled. ‘I expect I shall see you again.’

      She floated away down the corridor, leaving a faint delicious whiff of Chanel Number 5 on the air. Augusta gave an appreciative sniff before going to the telephone, and then forgot all about her, for the time being at least.

      It seemed quiet on PP after Lady Belway had gone home. Augusta missed the old lady’s caustic tongue and the autocratic voice demanding this, that and the other thing. She had been a trying patient, СКАЧАТЬ