Island Hospital (19 page)

He got out of the wheelchair rather awkwardly with Alan holding the weight of the plaster shell. “Bar the occasional headache, not too bad, thanks. I’ll be thankful to get out of this contraption. It interferes with a chap’s freedom.”

Alan chuckled. “It’s about the only way we can stop your leaping up that mountainside when our backs are turned. Sheila will agree with me when I say that one trip is enough for this week.”

Sheila unwound the bandages with steady hands. Alan eased their patient out of the shell and on to the couch.

“Just this way a shade, Philip. That’s it. Now turn your head a little to the left. Hold it.”

Sheila passed Alan the forceps and a preparation swab.
“Mm-mm
...
that’s nice and cool. Surprising how itchy it gets when new hair is growing in.”

Alan laughed. “You can thank your lucky stars you had your operation on a mountain top and only lost a patch of hair. Any self-respecting hospital would have had the lot.” He glanced across at Sheila. “I shan’t need the syringe.” His fingers moved lightly over the fracture area. “No sign of pressure anywhere. Right, Philip, you can have your contraption for souvenir purposes now. Just remember not to shake your head too violently, and you’re better with one pillow for the present. A small dressing will do it.”

Sheila had finished clearing up when Alan came back.

“That young man was fortunate to get away with his life. I don’t mind telling you that I thought we’d bought it up yonder.” He and Sheila went along the corridor together. Sheila caught a glimpse of Alan’s face as they stopped outside the new patient’s door.

“Carry on, Sheila.” He hesitated briefly and looked at her in a baffled fashion. “I’m worried about Clare ... really worried.” He opened the door and went in.

Sheila stood where he had left her, feeling curiously numb. Perhaps Clare knew what she was doing after all and was making a successful bid to gain Alan’s undivided attention. She moved slowly, wondering why it was suddenly so important whether Alan cared for Clare or not.

CHAPTER TEN

Sh
eila moved to the sitting room in a daze. Perhaps there was a simple explanation for Alan’s behavior other than the obvious one that
w
as hammering at her brain. A man could worry about a girl for other reasons than love. After all, they had been friends a long time, but that didn’t fit in with Clare’s announced intention of bringing Alan back in line.

Sheila went through the doorway and stopped abruptly. A strange girl with big brown eyes was sitting there talking to George. She caught sight of Sheila and her conversation faltered.

George stood up and brought the girl forward with a curiously protective gesture. “Sheila, this is Judy.”

Sheila stared and then recognized the girl who had come with Max Wheeldon. She smiled and her gray eyes were friendly. “George has been telling me how kind you were to him, Judy.” There was something disarming about her very casualness that made the other girl relax. “Are you here on holiday?”

“I’m staying over on the island,” Judy said shyly. “Mr. Wheeldon is at my hotel, and when he was hurt, I knew George was here, so we came over.” Her eyes went to George as if seeking approval.

Sheila was quick to notice that he had lost most of his nobody-cares-for-me attitude and his voice lacked its usual brittle defensiveness. She wondered whether Joyce would approve of Judy for her son, or was Clare the missing piece of that particular jigsaw puzzle?

Sheila crossed to the table and poured herself some tea. George and Judy had excused themselves and disappeared on a tour of exploration. She was restless and uneasy. Every time that she and Alan managed to get some sort of footing where they weren’t at loggerheads ... where she didn’t feel completely useless ... Clare always managed to upset the balance. Sheila sighed. Clare must be some sort of unnamed catalyst responsible for biochemical reactions that no one had got around to mentioning yet.

The next few days made her feel that by some unhappy chance she was sharing the vortex of a whirlpool with Clare. All around there seemed to be watchful eyes. She was aware of Alan’s eyes, which seemed to be pleading with her for an understanding beyond her powers to give, then they would change their expression to one of resentment as they followed Clare’s madcap capers. She couldn’t miss Matron’s gentle sympathy that seemed to accompany her wherever she went. She was puzzled by Clare’s attitude; she seemed to be going around with her head in the air, but there was a don’t-scold-me look on her small face that was almost as astonishing as the wondering softness that had strayed into her green eyes. Was their private patient, Max Wheeldon, the reason? Sheila couldn’t be sure as she saw little of him. Matron had assigned Clare to the case, and no doubt she had her reasons for it.

Sheila wondered why Max Wheeldon hadn’t been discharged. His plaster cast was awkward, but not enough to keep him in bed or even in hospital. She knew that Alan had told him bluntly that he was free to go whenever he wanted to. But he seemed content to spend his time about, talking to Clare whenever she was free, or looking for her if she had been called away to help with something else.

Sheila was there when Alan tried again.

“Wouldn’t you be happier back at your own hotel, Mr. Wheeldon? I’m afraid we can’t offer you much here.”

Max smiled with all the assurance of the man who always got everything he whistled for. “That’s all right, Doctor. I’m quite happy here. Besides, I like having a nurse handy in case things go wrong.”

Sheila watched Alan turn away in the grip of an anger all the harder to control because he was helpless. Max Wheeldon was paying for his room and there was no other patient in need of the bed. She found herself feeling sorry for Alan, but she couldn’t help being secretly glad that Clare’s attention was being taken up by someone other than Alan.

If it hadn’t been for the tension set up by the clash of personalities she would have enjoyed the situation more. Max Wheeldon’s friends came over every day from the island resort and the corridors rang with their merry laughter. The hospital wasn’t busy and the few patients were mainly convalescent, so both staff and patients benefited by the breath of healthy young life sweeping through the place. To Sheila’s astonishment even Matron seemed to be enjoying the change and was “at home” most afternoons to all who came, poured tea and handed out iced fruit drinks, and chatted with some of the energy and enthusiasm she normally reserved for the very ill.

The young people found her good fun, told her their troubles and their joys, accepted her advice or congratulations or hospitality with equal enthusiasm. Sheila watched George come out of his shell and show a capacity for fun and sheer
joie de vivre
that startled her almost as much as it did his mother. Judy moved through the throng at his side wearing a look of utter happiness that transformed her into a creature alive with a glowing loveliness. George was so touchingly proud of her and so eager to share his joy with everyone.

He found Sheila alone. “To think I might never have known if you hadn’t put me wise! How could you tell without even meeting Judy?”

Sheila laughed to cover her embarrassment at his overwhelming gratitude. “That’s a woman’s secret, and we don’t tell! When are you and Judy getting married?”

George’s thin face softened. “Just as soon as we get a place to live. Judy’s going to start looking as soon as she goes back to Vancouver. As soon as I can find someone to take my place here, I’m going to ask Alan to release me. He won’t mind, as I’m not really much use to him. He needs someone as keen on general surgery and the baby racket as himself.” George looked at Sheila for a moment. “When are you and Alan going to do something about it?”

Sheila went very pale and her eyes darkened. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s only Clare that Alan worries about,” she said bitterly.

“Don’t be too sure about that. You could be sorry a long time.”

Sheila was silent. That was twice she had been told the same thing. Had George and his mother been discussing her, or were they more alike than they knew?

Sheila could never remember very clearly the events of the next few days. Perhaps if her own thoughts had been in less of a muddle, she might have attached more importance to each separate happening at the time of its occurrence.

Matron had departed abruptly from the breakfast table, a letter clutched tightly in her hand. An apprehensive Mary had appeared a few minutes later with a summons for Alan.

“Matron says would you please come at once, Doctor.”

Alan raised his eyebrows but disappeared on the double and never returned to finish his breakfast. Sheila caught a glimpse of him later. She could not read his expression, but he threw her a look that set her pulses hammering.

It was Jim who gave her a clue. “It’s the old
doctor
...
Doctor Graham, I mean. He’s upped and died at that hospital in Vancouver. The Matron’s proper upset. Her friends, the ones with the speedboat, are coming to fetch her any minute now. And her son has to go too. Lucky for him Miss Judy’s going to catch the steamer this afternoon ... proper inseparable those two. Best thing that could happen to him ...
m
ade him more humanlike.”

Sheila saw Clare talking very persuasively to Judy who looked rather apprehensive; Judy finally nodded and Clare went away looking like the cat that had stolen the cream. One of the assistant nurses told Sheila that she’d heard Max Wheeldon was being discharged at last.

“About time, too. He’s been setting the place by the ears with all these comings and goings. That shoulder of his needs no more attention than you of I. If I were Miss Boothby I’d be bored to tears.” She went back to her work with an expressive shrug of her shoulders.

The hospital seemed very quiet after the steamer had gone. Clare was busy packing up her patient’s belongings, and there was nothing happening on the wards.

Alan came in late to lunch and Sheila got the impression that he was bursting to tell her something, but the side door bell rang and she went to deal with the first of the afternoon’s outpatients.

Matron returned the next morning looking pale, and Sheila wondered if she’d been weeping. She sent for Alan and he was with her rather a long time.

Clare, who was waiting to see her, became impatient. “Any other time Matron would have finished with him in five minutes,” she said crossly.

Sheila looked at her. It must be more than irritation to bother Clare. Her green eyes were shining, but it wasn’t anger that stirred in their depths. The door opened and Alan sailed past them, his head obviously in the clouds.

“H’mm, I wonder what’s pleased him?” Clare knocked and went in.

Clare came out again, looking very pleased with herself. “Matron says I can have the rest of the day off. What a piece of luck! She’s even going to do my call for me.” Clare departed, humming softly to herself.

Sheila wondered if Matron would give
her
anything she asked for. She sighed. The only thing she might have wanted wasn’t within Matron’s power to give her. She took one look at Matron’s face as she came, out of her office and saw that the time of giving was over. Matron’s expression implied trouble. She went around being unreasonable, knowing full well that she was.

Clare, busy with last-minute preparations for Max’s departure, began to wear a hurt expression, and even Sheila’s placid calm became ruffled after the fourth time Matron found fault with some simple action.

She must have shown it because Matron remarked with asperity, and a return to her more domineering manner: “For goodness sake, why don’t you go with Doctor Greenwood to see his case and let me get on with things in peace?”

Alan only grinned as soon as Matron’s back was turned. “Come on, Sheila, that’s an order by the sound
of it ... u
nless of course you don’t want to come.”

Something in his voice made Sheila look at him quickly. His eyes regarded her thoughtfully with an intentness that stirred her strangely.

“But I would like to come,” and there was enough conviction in her voice to satisfy him.

He nodded. “Good. Meet me at the landing in ten minutes. Better bring a jacket, we may be late.”

Sheila went off to her room. The feeling of expectancy that had haunted her for the past few days was stronger than ever. But this time it was personal, not borrowed from George and Judy, or Clare, or even from Alan. What could happen? After all, they were only going out on another case; they had been before, and no doubt would be going on many more. Would Alan stay on now that Doctor Graham was dead? Perhaps that was what he wanted to tell her. Sheila frowned. She didn’t even know whether he had heard any more about the seaplane he wanted to buy. How little she really knew about this man who seemed to be taking up rather more than his fair share of her waking thoughts: red hair that never stayed tidy, brown eyes that could be serious, angry, gentle, amused, mocking, or plain thoughtful, a skill for surgery that put him well above the average surgeon category, an interest in people as keen as his intolerance for anything slipshod or lack of attention to their needs, a touch of idealism that was firmly tethered by his practical urge to get
things done, and ... Sheila paused for further thought and a tender smile touched her lips ... a very special way with mothers and their new babes.