Tulips for Augusta. Betty Neels

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СКАЧАТЬ a peculiar shade of pale copper, but it was soft and fine and her nose was nice enough, even if it did turn up the merest bit at the end, and as for her mouth, large it might be, but it was a good shape and curved sweetly at the corners. She was no beauty, but on the other hand, she wasn’t plain—and she had most satisfactory eyes…vividly green, fringed and browed silkily with a deep coppery brown. But she would have liked to have been taller and slimmer—as a child she had been plump, and although the plumpness had melted away, leaving curves in the right places and a slim waist, it was only in the last few years that she had weaned her family from the habit of addressing her as Roly—even now, they occasionally forgot.

      Sister Cutts spoke. ‘Now, Staff Nurse, if we run through the Kardex together—twenty rooms, as you know—three empty at the moment, but there are two appendices coming in this afternoon under Mr James. I’ll start with Room One. There are several patients who are not seriously ill—you appreciate that, of course.’

      Augusta made a small sound of agreement. PP always had its quota of patients with mild chest infections, or needing a check-up; for there were still those who could afford the fees to lie in comfort while various tests were carried out, instead of going to Out-Patients and waiting their turn; just as there were those who preferred to come into hospital while they had a course of antibiotics. They were quite entitled to their beds and they paid heavy fees; all the same Augusta felt vaguely sorry for them, for if only they weren’t so rich and had jobs, they wouldn’t have so much time to worry about themselves.

      ‘Marlene Jones,’ said Sister Cutts in a no-nonsense voice. ‘T’s and A’s.’

      It took quite a time to go through the Kardex; Augusta listened carefully and then followed Sister out into the corridor which stretched on either side of the office; the patients’ rooms on one side of it; a long line of windows overlooking a wide vista of chimney pots, church spires and a distant view of St Paul’s, on the other. Augusta gazed out upon this urban scene and wondered for the hundredth time why she had ever come to London in the first place. She had a sudden longing to be home, in the paddock behind the house, with the dogs and Bottom, the old pet donkey, and a pleasant smell of baking coming from the kitchen. She wondered, fleetingly, if Sister Cutts was considerate about days off… She caught that lady’s eye, and hastily opened the door of Room One.

      The occupant was rolling about in the bed, screaming—a small girl of six or thereabouts, very pretty and quite obviously spoiled. The child’s mother was standing by the bed, looking helpless, but when she saw them come in, she spoke at once and quite nastily.

      ‘Really, Sister, surely someone…darling Marlene has such a sore throat…I should have thought that a nurse…’

      ‘Did you ring, Mrs Jones?’ asked Sister Cutts briskly.

      ‘Well, no…all the same, the nurses should have heard her crying—or at least come and see Marlene every few minutes or so.’

      Sister Cutts received this observation with faintly lifted eyebrows.

      ‘There is considerable noise in a hospital, Mrs Jones—the nurses go about their work, and only stop what they are doing when a bell is rung, unless the patient is too ill to ring it, in which case other arrangements are made. In any case, you, Marlene’s mother, are here.’

      She went over to the bed without hurry. ‘Stop crying, Marlene, for that will make your throat more sore, you know, and then you won’t be able to go home—let me see—the day after tomorrow, isn’t it?’

      Marlene snivelled grumpily, eyeing Sister Cutts with the malevolence of the angry young and a certain amount of respect.

      ‘Ice cream for tea,’ remarked Sister. ‘This is Staff Nurse Brown who will look after you when I’m not here.’

      She turned away, leaving Augusta to go to the bed, where she was studied fixedly before Marlene said, in a voice thickened by tears and soreness, ‘You’ve got green eyes.’ And then, ‘Do you have ice cream for tea?’

      ‘No such luck,’ said Augusta cheerfully. ‘I shall come and see you eat yours instead.’ She smiled at the red, tear-stained face, smiled again, briefly, at Mrs Jones, and followed Sister Cutts out of the room.

      The patient next door was an old man—very old, very ill, and, said Sister, as they closed the door upon him; very rich. His wife was still a young woman—too young, observed Sister, darkly.

      The third patient was of more interest, though not from a medical point of view. Miss Dawn Dewey, a film starlet, was suffering from a feverish cold which she referred to, rather grandly, as Coryza; she also talked vaguely about threatened complications. But Augusta, standing primly beside Sister, thought that she looked remarkably healthy…indeed, she found the patient’s condition far less interesting than the ruffled and ribboned nightgown she was wearing. She went nearer the bed to greet the young woman in it, and decided that the lace was real…something to tell the girls when she went to dinner. But despite the gorgeous nightie and the quantities of flowers about the room, Miss Dewey looked discontented and a little vapid, although as Augusta reminded herself, the poor dear did have a very nasty cold.

      She followed Sister in and out of four or five rooms, saying ‘How do you do?’ to their occupants and studying them with her bright green eyes. Some of the patients were ill, and her pleasant face softened with sympathy, for she was a soft-hearted girl who hated to see suffering and pain—which was why, of course, she was such a good nurse.

      They retraced their steps presently to the other half of the corridor beyond Sister’s office, calling first upon a charming middle-aged woman with a pretty, weak face and a gushing manner—a chronic alcoholic, who came in regularly in vain attempts to cure her. Next to her was the Brigadier… Sister had warned Augusta about him, for he was peppery in the extreme, and prone to use Army language if annoyed, and that, it seemed, was often. Augusta rather liked him. But it was the next patient who caught her fancy: Lady Belway, a bad-tempered old lady in a lace nightcap and a marabou cape, who lay in bed with a fractured neck of femur, looking like a chained lioness. She lifted a lorgnette on a gold chain to stare at Augusta as Sister introduced her, and said in a commanding voice:

      ‘She’s only a child—far too young to look after me—or anyone else for that matter.’

      Augusta, who had great-aunts of her own, allowed herself a faint smile and said nothing, leaving Sister to answer. ‘Staff Nurse is a most capable member of our staff, Lady Belway—highly thought of by the consultants.’

      Augusta blinked at this generous testimonial, and the old lady grunted. ‘How old are you?’

      Augusta blinked again with her sable lashes. ‘Twenty-three.’

      Lady Belway stared rudely at her. ‘Extraordinary hair,’ she remarked. And before she could say anything more:

      ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ agreed Augusta coolly, ‘but it makes no difference to my nursing, Lady Belway.’ She smiled kindly, her eyes twinkling, and after a long second, the old lady smiled back.

      ‘I’ve a filthy temper,’ she observed with complacence, ‘but I suppose you’re trained to ignore it.’

      Augusta considered this remark. ‘If you mean do we let that sort of thing upset us—no, we don’t, but that doesn’t mean we ignore the patients.’ She smiled again and followed Sister to the door, and the old lady called after them, ‘Come back and talk to me, Nurse Brown,’ which command Augusta acknowledged with another non-committal smile, and Sister with the acid remark that Lady Belway was mistaken; Nurse Brown was Staff Nurse Brown…

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