Nightingales at War (29 page)

‘
HE’S ASKED YOU
out? Oh, that’s wonderful. Of course, I knew he would. I told you he liked you, didn’t I?’

Cissy was as pleased as Eve had known she would be. All morning she had waited to tell her friend the good news, hugging the secret to herself until they were sitting in the students’ kitchen, watching Sister Parker the Sister Tutor demonstrating how to make various invalid drinks.

‘When?’ Cissy wanted to know. ‘Where is he taking you? Do you know what you’re going to wear?’

Eve laughed, fending off the questions. ‘I don’t know,’ she confessed. ‘I think we’re going out to dinner.’

‘Dinner, eh? I bet it’ll be somewhere posh.’

‘Do you think so?’ Eve chewed her lip anxiously.

‘Don’t look so worried about it.’ Cissy grinned at her. ‘I bet there are a lot of girls who’d love the chance of a romantic dinner with Dr Jameson!’

‘But I’ve never been out with anyone before. How will I know what to do, what to say? What if I make a fool of myself?’

‘You won’t.’ Cissy patted her hand kindly. ‘You’ve got me to help you, haven’t you? We’ll meet up one night after work and talk about it. We can decide what you’re going to wear. I expect I’ve got something you can borrow . . .’

Eve went back to her notes, feeling pleased with herself. Truth be told, she had been more excited about the prospect of telling Cissy that Simon Jameson had asked her out than actually going on the date. The idea of going out with the handsome houseman filled her with dread.

But Cissy was pleased, which was the main thing. Eve basked in the glow of her friend’s approval.

Once Sister Parker had taught them the intricacies of beef tea, peptonised milk and Imperial drink, it was time to return to the Casualty department. As they stepped out into the crisp January day, Cissy whispered, ‘Actually, I’ve got some news myself. Can you keep a secret?’

Eve looked at her, intrigued. ‘You know I can. What is it?’

‘I’m engaged.’

Eve stopped dead. ‘What? When?’

‘Paul telephoned me last night. I know it’s not exactly a romantic proposal, but he wants us to get married on his next leave.’

‘When’s that?’

‘I don’t know, that’s the trouble. He won’t know either, until the last minute. But it probably won’t be until the spring at least.’ Laughter burst out of her. ‘Can you imagine? I’m getting married!’

‘I’m so pleased for you, I really am. But why do you want to keep it a secret?’ Cissy had waited so long for Paul to pop the question, Eve imagined she would want to shout the news to the world.

Cissy’s pretty face creased in a frown. ‘It’s Jennifer,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure how she’ll take the news. She’s been in such a funny mood lately.’

‘You haven’t told her?’ Cissy shook her head. ‘But I thought she’d be the first to know.’

‘She would have been – once. But you know what she’s like. I can’t even talk to her these days.’

Jennifer Caldwell had come back to work a fortnight ago, but in all that time they’d hardly seen or spoken to her. She kept herself to herself. They didn’t even see her at mealtimes, as she only came to the dining room when most of the nurses had gone.

Cissy had tried to be friendly, chatting to her and inviting her out with them when they went to the pictures. But Jennifer always refused, and in the end Cissy had given up asking.

‘But surely she’ll be pleased for you, if she’s your friend?’ Eve said.

‘I’d like to think so, but I’m just not sure.’ Cissy looked wistful. ‘We’d always talked about getting married, you see, and how we’d have our weddings at the same time. Although between you and me, I reckon Jen always thought she’d be the first. She was always the first to do everything, you see.’ She smiled sadly. ‘But now, after what’s happened to her – I’m just worried she’ll be hurt, that’s all.’

‘She’s bound to find out sooner or later.’

‘I know, but I want to wait until I can find the right way to break the news to her. You promise you won’t say anything?’

‘Cross my heart.’

Cissy grinned. ‘At least I can talk to you,’ she said. ‘I’ve been dying to have a good natter to someone about it. You know me, I’m not one to keep things to myself!’

The next minute they were deep in discussion about dresses, and flowers, and what kind of wedding Cissy wanted. But excited as she was, all the time Eve was painfully conscious that Cissy would rather have been discussing all the details with Jennifer.

She liked to think she had finally won Cissy’s friendship, but Jennifer’s larger-than-life presence still loomed like a shadow over them. If they were at the pictures or visiting the fair, Cissy would say, ‘Oh, Jen would love this,’ or, ‘That was always Jen’s favourite.’ Or, if they were having a heart-to-heart, she would chime in with, ‘Jen always used to say . . .’ as if Jennifer’s opinion was the only one that counted. Eve tried not to mind, but at the same time she couldn’t help feeling resentful that Cissy missed Jennifer so much. It made her feel as if she wasn’t quite good enough to fill the other girl’s shoes.

After they’d finished for the day, Eve returned to the vicarage. The Stantons were out visiting family in Essex, except for Oliver, who was at work. But as usual Mrs Stanton had left Eve a cold supper in the kitchen.

She smiled at the sight of the snowdrops sticking out of the tiny bud vase that Mrs Stanton had set on the tray for her. She had grown so fond of the Stantons in the four months she had been living with them. Her aunt still regularly reminded her that she wasn’t part of their family and had no right to be there, but Eve still couldn’t help feeling as if she belonged. Given from Christian charity or not, it was the closest to a loving home she had ever known.

Now she was a fully fledged student nurse at the Nightingale, and the training school had returned to London from the country, Matron had offered Eve the option of moving in to the students’ home. Usually it would have been compulsory for all students to live in, but the war had changed that as well as everything else. The hospital was short of accommodation, thanks to all the bomb damage, so nurses living locally could have the choice of staying at home if it suited them.

Eve had decided to stay at the Stantons’. She had been nervous about asking them, convinced they would want to be rid of her. But to her surprise Mrs Stanton had said, ‘Well, of course you must stay, my dear. We’d be sorry if you left us.’

And then there was Aunt Freda to think about. She had entrusted her niece to the Stantons’ care, and would be furious if Eve left without her permission.

Eve put down her fork and pushed her plate away. The thought of her aunt was enough to rob her of her appetite.

After four months in the convalescent home, Aunt Freda had recovered her strength enough for the doctors to consider discharging her. She was already making plans, writing to various London estate agents to enquire about finding a place for them to live.

Eve knew her aunt couldn’t stay an invalid for ever, but the thought of returning to her old life made her feel ill.

She had already half planned that if that day came, she would take the chance of moving into the students’ home. She knew Aunt Freda wouldn’t be pleased about it, and would do her best to stop her. But the past few months had taught Eve that she was strong enough to resist her aunt’s bullying.

At least, she hoped she was.

After she’d finished her supper and washed up her dishes, Eve set about the mending Mrs Stanton had left for her. The vicar’s wife had been insistent that she didn’t expect Eve to work for her keep – ‘We’re just pleased to have you here, my dear’ – but Eve liked to feel she was contributing something. And using her sewing skills was something she could do very easily.

But it wasn’t just the family’s mending she did. After seeing how she’d transformed that old jumble dress for the Christmas dance, Muriel and Mrs Stanton had asked her to perform the same magic on their old clothes. She’d reshaped dresses, added sleeves and hemlines, and had even turned an old tablecloth into a work blouse for Muriel. She was currently refashioning a worn-out pair of Reverend Stanton’s trousers into a skirt, unpicking the seams and adding contrasting panels of fabric from a remnant Mrs Stanton had picked up at the market.

Eve had set up her machine in the attic room, so her work wouldn’t disturb the rest of the family. Oliver also sometimes used it as a studio. He’d obviously been working there before he left for work because his easel was set up in a corner, with a canvas propped on it. It was a picture he’d been working on for weeks, and even though Eve knew he didn’t like anyone looking at his work before it was finished, she couldn’t resist creeping across the room to take a peek.

She expected to see one of his landscapes. Oliver had produced some hauntingly beautiful sketches of the bombed-out buildings of London, perfectly capturing the pathos and dignity of the ruined city. But this time it was a portrait.

A portrait of her.

Or rather, a portrait of the girl she used to be, before Cissy taught her to curl her hair and she’d spent her wages on the last lipstick in Woolworth’s. Before she had become the girl she wanted to be.

She was sitting at her sewing machine, working. Her head was bent, and her hair hung limply on either side of her pale face. Even her posture seemed apologetic, her shoulders hunched as if she had no right to occupy too much space.

Eve stared at the picture, repelled and enraptured at the same time. No one had ever painted a portrait of her before. She couldn’t imagine anyone taking that much interest in her yet Oliver had captured her in every line.

But what he had captured, what he had exposed on the canvas, made her feel angry and vulnerable. It reminded her too much of the person she was trying to forget. She wished he could have painted her as she was now, pretty and confident, with a smile on her face. Not the old, scared Eve she had once been.

There was a paint-stained cloth lying on the table. She picked it up and threw it over the picture. But as she worked at her machine, she could feel the old Eve taunting her from behind her veil.

Oliver came home from duty at the hospital an hour later. Eve heard him coming up the stairs to the attic, but kept her eyes fixed on the seam she was sewing.

He stopped in the doorway. ‘Oh! I didn’t realise you’d be here.’

‘I had some sewing to finish.’

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him move towards the easel.

‘You’ve seen the picture, then?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘I was going to show it to you, but I wanted to wait until it was finished.’ He was silent for a long time, and Eve could feel the question burning inside him, wanting to be spoken. Finally, he said, ‘What did you think?’

Eve considered it for a moment. ‘It’s very good,’ she replied. There was no denying the skill that had gone into creating it. ‘But it isn’t very flattering, is it?’

‘What do you mean?’

She looked up at him. He was standing at the easel, frowning at the picture as if he were seeing it for the first time.

‘I look so ugly and unhappy.’

‘Not to me. I think you look beautiful.’

She looked at him sharply, wondering if he was making fun of her. But his face was sincere.

‘It’s a picture of how I used to be before . . .’

‘Before you started trying to be someone else?’ he finished for her.

‘Before I changed,’ Eve corrected him firmly. ‘Anyway, why shouldn’t I try to be someone else, if it makes me happy?’

‘Does it make you happy?’

How could he even ask that question? She was the happiest she had ever been in her life, surely he could see that?

‘I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with changing who you are,’ Oliver went on. ‘As long as you’re not doing it to please anyone else.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Aren’t you? It seems to me you’ve turned into Cissy Baxter’s pet.’

Eve gasped, outraged. ‘Cissy’s my friend!’

‘Only because you do everything you’re told. Everything you do, the way you act, even the way you dress – it’s all approved by her, isn’t it?’

Eve wanted to deny it, but she knew it was true. ‘So what if it is? She’s only giving me her advice.’

‘Is that what you call it?’ Oliver’s mouth curled. ‘What kind of friendship is it when you’re only allowed to do what’s acceptable? A true friend should care about you whatever you’re like.’

Eve suddenly thought about Cissy, so worried about Jennifer’s feelings even though she’d done nothing to deserve her friendship.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Oliver said, ‘Cissy doesn’t care about you, anyway. She’s just using you because she’s fallen out with Jennifer and she needs to have a new stooge.’

His comment was like a blow to the stomach, hurting Eve so much that she couldn’t speak for a moment. Oliver must have realised he’d gone too far, because he said, ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It was hurtful.’

Eve didn’t speak. She carefully finished the seam she was sewing, then broke off the thread and folded her work away.

All the time she could feel him watching her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, truly. I just wanted to make you understand, Cissy doesn’t have your best interests at heart.’

‘And you do?’ she snapped at him. ‘You know what’s best for me, do you?’

‘I want you to be happy—’

‘I am happy.’

‘Only because you’re pretending to be someone you’re not. Can’t you see, Eve? There’s nothing wrong with who you are.’

His words haunted her as she lay in bed that night, staring into the darkness, unable to sleep.

There’s nothing wrong with who you are.

What did he know about it? Perhaps she was trying to be someone else, but what was wrong with that, if it made her happier and more confident?

She thought about the unhappy wretch in the picture, all defeated eyes and hunched shoulders.

There’s nothing wrong with who you are.

He was wrong, she thought. There must have been something terribly wrong with who she was, if her own flesh and blood couldn’t find it in their heart to love her.