Island Hospital (16 page)

Matron looked at her sharply. “Some women may make good surgeons, but I’m always happier when I see the scalpel in a man’s hand. Believe me, that’s a big admission coming from me.” She removed the anesthetic mask and slipped an airway deftly into the patient’s mouth. “Better put up another bottle of plasma, but run it in slowly. We can change it to saline later if Doctor Greenwood thinks he’s had enough.” She felt the patient’s pulse. “He’s better than I expected. Just as well Doctor Greenwood wasn’t held up on the way here. What is it, Mary?”

“They want you in the labor room, ma’am,” she said anxiously.

Matron got off her stool stiffly. “Tell them I’m coming, Mary. Then get Jim to give Miss Griffiths a hand with this patient.”

Sheila wondered what had gone wrong while she and Jim put
their patient back to bed. Would they want her to give them a hand? But of course they would call if they wanted her. Just then, the labor ward door opened and Alan came out alone. He looked dead weary and there was an unaccustomed droop to his big shoulders. He looked up as he felt Sheila’s eyes on him but he was beyond a smile.

“What’s gone wrong, Alan?”

He stared at her without answering for a moment as if searching for something that she hadn’t offered him.

“It’s the baby, I’m afraid. Perhaps I should have put on forceps earlier ... I don’t know. I thought she’d wait until I finished the other case. Guess I needed to be in two places at once. Pity old George isn’t a surgeon ... I’ll bet, too, it’s a long time since he’s looked at a baby.”

Sheila found her sympathy reaching out toward him unwillingly. “Couldn’t he have stood by?”

Alan shrugged heavy shoulders. “With a temperature of one hundred and four he’s safer where he is.” He came and sat down on a stool and rested his head on the operating table. “How’s your arm, by the way?” His voice sounded curiously muffled.

Sheila found herself resisting a craving to rest a hand on that red head that seemed so defenceless and so near. “Better, thank you,” she said in an oddly flat tone.

Alan lifted his head and his brown eyes stared moodily into hers. “Thanks for the
sympathy
.
”
He got to his feet. “I’d better see how they’re getting on.”

He had barely reached the door when Clare came running across the corridor. “Alan! It’s all right! Matron’s got the baby to breathe. Isn’t it wonderful?” Her hand rested on his arm and her green eyes were warm and glowing with emotion.

Sheila watched Alan’s arm come to rest across Clare’s shoulders. “Good! Come on, I want to
see
...
”

Sheila watched them walk away side by side, Alan’s arm still on Clare’s shoulders. She was aware of a cold anger that left her feeling a little sick. Why did Clare always have to spoil things? Honesty compelled her to admit that Alan had been as much in it this time as Clare. Would he have been quite so receptive to the other girl if she herself had not been so offhand when he had come seeking her sympathy?

With angry determination she finished oiling the instruments, shut them firmly in the cupboard and went in search of her tea. She found George sitting hunched up in a chair staring at a scone. As she approached he made an effort to get up.

Sheila pushed him back gently in his seat. “Don’t get up. Are you any better? You don’t look it.”

George smiled feebly. “I didn’t know I looked as bad as I felt. I was tired of tossing on my downy couch, so I got up.”

Sheila poured herself a cup of tea and refilled his. “I thought you were still running a temperature,” she said reprovingly.

“Don’t be like that,” George pleaded. “It was up this morning, but it’s down, honestly. I’d far rather be here talking to you.
”

She stirred her cup with unnecessary vigor. “Don’t be silly, George.”

“It’s bad enough having Joyce regard me with dubious pleasure without you joining in,” he burst out bitterly.

“I’m very sorry, George, that you feel like that ... I’m sure your mother cares very much ... much more than she lets on.”

A wry smile twisted George’s mouth. “Pity she doesn’t bother to show it.” He stared moodily into his cup. “As far back as I can remember she has cast a shadow of warm benevolence across my life, but that’s all.”

A pang of pity for the lonely man softened Sheila’s face. “If you watched her with the babies, you’d know that she must have cuddled you when you were too small to remember,” she said, with as much conviction as she could muster.

“Do you really believe that?” George reached out for one of her hands and pressed it against his cheek in a pathetic sort of gesture. “If only she had saved some of it for later, when I needed it.”

“George! You musn’t say that. She must have had her reasons. It couldn’t have been easy bringing up a small boy and working at the same time.”

To her embarrassment George turned her hand over and dropped a kiss in her palm.

“Any tea left in the pot?”

Alan’s voice behind them startled Sheila and she snatched her hand away. Hastily she began to add more hot water to the teapot.

“Steady on there! I like my tea strong. Remember?”

Sheila colored at the teasing note in Alan’s voice. Hadn’t he seen George’s action?

“Sorry. I’ll ask Mary to make some more.” She started to get up.

Alan pushed her back in the chair with a firm hand. “I’ll have it as it comes.” He reached across and cut himself a large slab of cake. “Well, George, how are you feeling? I must say you still look a bit peaked. Sure you aren’t still running a temperature?”

George flushed a little. “It was only 99 when I took it last. I’ll be all right by tomorrow.”

Alan took a large drink of tea. “I wouldn’t be too sure. ’Flu does queer things to people ... can make them delirious, you know.”

“
’Flu? I thought it was your vaccination giving you a reaction,” Sheila said in a puzzled voice.

George leaned his head on his hands. “I don’t know ... I don’t
know
...
”

“Good thing I didn’t shout for your help this afternoon. I was almost sorry I hadn’t, then. But we got away with it ... just.” Alan cut himself another piece of cake thoughtfully.

Sheila stood up hastily. “I must go. See you later.”

“Must you go, Sheila?” Alan and George found themselves joining in an involuntary duet.

Sheila stared at them uncomfortably. “Of course.”

She was busy with the ward routine when she heard Alan go striding past in the direction of his office. Had he and George been quarreling or was she attaching undue importance to the gesture of a sick man?

C
lare came in just as she was tidying up the sluice. “Finished?”

Sheila looked up. Why was the other girl looking so triumphant? “Yes, thanks. Have a good trip?” she asked with forced politeness.

Clare fiddled with her belt. “Wonderful, thanks, until you people called us back. Alan makes such a splendid companion for a trip like that, don’t you think? But I forgot. You’ve never been on one with him, so you couldn’t know, honey, now could you?” Her green eyes were full of doubtful innocence. “If you can manage without me, I’ll see if Alan will take me out to that new yacht in the bay.”

Sheila struggled for composure. “Are they friends of yours?”

Clare glanced at her and smiled slowly. “Not yet, but you never know, honey. Why don’t you try your luck with George? He’s more your speed, Sheila, and I’m pretty sure he’s got a thing about you.”

She
ignored Sheila’s gasp and slipped out through the door like an evil fairy.

Sheila picked up the scrubbing brush and scoured the draining board furiously. She knew a grim satisfaction as she rinsed off the scouring powder. She felt better for her directed violence and refused to admit, even to herself, that she had just been scrubbing mere boards.

She went to dinner reluctantly. She would only find George, and she didn’t feel equal to coping with his feeble advances without hurting him. The others might be back and it would be even worse dining in the shadow of Clare’s possessive claims on Alan’s attention.

To her astonishment Alan was sitting there alone, turning over the pages of a magazine with a sort of angry impatience. There was no sign of anyone else.

Alan glanced up. “Matron’s gone to Vancouver. Clare’s gone yacht-hunting. I’ve sent George off to bed; his temperature’s up again. So I’m afraid there’s only you and me. Sorry if it’s not the way you want it.”

He pulled out a chair for her, gestured to Mary to start carving and sat down opposite Sheila with deliberate intention so that he could watch her face.

“Come on, Sheila. Tell your Uncle Alan what’s biting you. Clare’s been hinting
things
...
”

Sheila looked at him miserably. “What things? I don’t know what you mean.” She knew she was only fighting for time. What had Clare been saying?

“Don’t you? I’m told you hate the sight of me. I’ve even been told that you and George are getting romantic ideas. Is that true?” He flung the words at her without warning.

“Of course not! It isn’t true!” Sheila protested frantically.

“Which? Both questions?”

Sheila began to feel cornered. “I think so ... I mean yes. Clare had no business
saying
...
”

“So you
were
discussing me
...
and George, eh?” Alan ground out the words.

Sheila tried desperately to remember. “Not
discussing...”
she said hesitantly. “I don’t know what to say.
”
How could she tell him what Clare had been saying?

“Don’t you? Shall I tell you?” There was a glint in Alan’s eyes that wasn’t anger.

CHAPTER EIGHT

S
heila stared at Alan in growing dismay. She didn’t want to be told what Clare had said ... not by Alan. She knew only too well what mischief that green-eyed girl could get up to.

Alan’s patience was running short and the look in his eyes was no longer soft. “Sheila, for the love of Mike, what
is
the matter?
”

“
I’m only trying to be fair and let you give your side of the story.” Sheila gave up all pretence of eating. Her mouth was too dry and her throat seemed to have an enormous lump in it. “It’s no use, Alan. There’s nothing to tell you ... nothing you would understand.”

Alan thrust back his chair with a restraint that was terrifying. A few steps brought him behind Sheila’s chair and his hands gripped her shoulders.

Sheila shrank down in her chair as if expecting him to hit her. Never was an interruption more welcome than when the door was flung open and Jim rushed in.

“Doc, come quickly! Chap says his mother’s been taken bad. Heart, he thinks. He’s got his boat.”

Alan lifted Sheila to her feet with a single quick movement. He ignored her startled protest. “Get your coat and some rugs ... hurry up! We’re needed
now
.”

Sheila, still trembling from reaction, met Alan at the side door. He snatched the bundle of rugs from her and thrust the small emergency case into her hands.

They found the fisherman waiting impatiently for them, his engine chugging protestingly. His pale face stared up at them in the fading light. “Thank heaven I caught you in, Doc. Mother’s real bad ... can’t get her breath. Hop aboard.”

The boat seemed to leap ahead as if it knew that no mere fish was involved this time. The fisherman speeded up that engine until the whole boat shook with the vibrations. Alan stood beside the man at the wheel, his broad shoulders blocking out the little that could be seen. Sheila remained huddled on the pile of rugs, her thoughts mercifully too blurred for conscious interpretation. She wanted action ... plenty to do ... so that awakening would be long delayed. Her shoulders still tingled where Alan had so rudely grasped them. What would he have done if Jim had not burst in? What had Jim thought of the apparently intimate scene he interrupted? The boat swerved violently and put a welcome end to her musings.

There was an exclamation from Alan. “Watch it! There’s another log to your left! Nasty things to meet in the dark. Do you suppose a log boom has broken loose?”

Again the fisherman took evasive action. He steadied the boat down to a lower speed. “Doubt it. Probably just a couple of strays from a back eddy now that the tide’s turned. Time was when a chap could make a comfortable living beachcombing the strays and selling them to the sawmills, but now even the small outfits brand their logs too carefully. It don’t pay a man any more. Used to be a regular pastime for the older chaps when weather got too rough for fishing. Reckon the coast is getting too civilized, what with summer folk and all.”

He peered intently through the window. “Can you go forward, Doc? You’ll find a pike pole lashed on top. Just catch hold of the nearest piles, will you?”

Sheila scrambled anxiously to her feet and stared into the darkness. The semicircle of the piles raised their rough outlines menacingly across the path. Alan's pike pole bit into the logs and the fisherman reversed cautiously and then shut off the engine.

“Fasten the mooring line to that cable loop, Doc. It’ll hold us for the time being.” He turned to Sheila and looked at her slight figure dubiously. “Reckon I better go first and then Doc can pass you up to me. Loop that rope around the rugs and you can sling ’em up. That’s the girl.”

Sheila felt very helpless and slightly ashamed as she waited. The fisherman had disappeared and she knew without turning that Alan was standing beside her. She shrank a little within herself when the fisherman’s hail came down to them. Alan thrust the rugs up out of sight. “Now your turn, Sheila.”

He picked her up as if she were a piece of driftwood and of no more account and lifted her upwards toward a dimly seen figure. Sheila caught her breath in momentary fright as she hung suspended in empty space.

“Brace your foot against the log piling, Nurse. That’s it. Heave-ho and up you come.” He released her and leaned over to hail Alan. “Right you are, Doc. All clear now.”

He turned back to Sheila. “I’ll shine the flashlight on my feet and that’ll show you the path ... it’s a bit rocky-like. Never did have time to hack out a decent rail. Ready, Doc?”