"After all, it's an orthopaedic ward, the natural place for him to go." Felicity demurred while she silently considered the import of Diana's revelation. There seemed to be so many disquieting aspects of the news. It affected her strangely that Guy Brenton, consulting surgeon to the orthopaedic section, should now lie ill in his own particular ward. Apart from that, somehow Felicity found it difficult to visualize him anything but fit and virile, he was so essentially the dominating factor of the ward, stand-offish and aloof as he might be, one remained very much aware of his personality during his daily visits. To think of him as sick, helpless, seemed incredible. Her thoughts were brought to an abrupt close as Diana resumed.
"I'm asking you, can you imagine Sister Robinson nursing him?" This time Diana laughed outright at the thought. "It really will be a riot."
"I admit Mr. Brenton can be pretty rude at times to the nurses but he always seems to be reasonably polite to Sister," Felicity protested defensively, as, having now apparently given up any idea of stripping the bed, she compromised with a perfunctory pat to the pillows and pulling up and smoothing the sheets.
"Oh, yes, he is all right with her on the ward, after all she is very efficient, but he has never been her patient. I wonder if he has any idea what he is in for? Do you think she will adopt that maddeningly childish attitude with him that she does with the other patients? Can you imagine how Brenton will take it if she starts patting him on the back and saying, 'There, be a good boy and do as we tell you, now do try, just to please Sister'."
Diana had mimicked Sister Robinson's high-pitched manner so well that Felicity found herself forced to join in her friend's laughter. "She just couldn't!" she exclaimed. "You know, last night when she gave the old man in number three his injection, she tackled him like a kid, spoke of a 'teeny weeny' prick, I thought the old chap would have a stroke!" Her tone became more serious. "She is a good sort, anyway, easy to work with; luckily she doesn't do much actual nursing, she'd get on any patient's nerves. I expect with Brenton she'll only superintend and fuss around a bit."
"That's just it!" Diana spoke forcefully, compelling her friend's attention from the mirror where she had returned to fix her white starched cap. "Don't you realize that as Senior the actual job will probably fall on you. Imagine it if you can, nursing Brenton, why, the very idea is surely a nightmare!"
Felicity swung round from the mirror, an expression of wry amusement on her face. "Heavens above! I hadn't thought of that!"
"Well, you have now!" Diana replied with her customary calm. "Can you imagine it? He is difficult enough to please when he is fit, can you think what he'll be like ill? He'll be ticking you off and criticizing everything you do. Heaven help you!"
Felicity relaxed as she turned back to the mirror and arranged the small tendrils of hair which peeped from beneath her cap. Just enough to be becoming but not enough to attract Sister's notice. "Perhaps it would be as bad as you think ... maybe he will be moved to another ward. Oh, I don't know, but it's no use worrying before we really know." Felicity spoke with considerably more confidence than she was feeling.
"There is another thing, I really must tell you"-Diana broke off to glance at Felicity's bedside clock-"yes ... we've just a moment, then we'll have to rush. She leaned forward in her seat and continued in almost conspiratorial tones. "You know how reticent Brenton has always been about his personal affairs, none of the staff appear to know anything about him. Well, it seems he is engaged to be married, at least Miss Kent said his fiancée was in the car with him, she was brought along to Out Patients last night with Brenton; she was discharged O.K., only, a few scratches. Molly Kent says she is a smasher-mink coat type and terribly smart. Seems like our friend Brenton is a good picker although the contemptuous indifference with which he treats us poor nurses made me think that the weaker sex was entirely beneath his notice!"
"Maybe we lack glamour," Felicity suggested, but her thoughts were preoccupied by the news of the accident and the fact that Guy Brenton should be engaged. Some girl then must have found a different and sympathetic side to his nature; she felt intrigued to know what kind of girl this was who had managed to pierce that apparently impenetrable armour.
"Lack glamour!" Diana echoed derisively. "Some may, but I know plenty who don't." She glanced meaningly at her friend, then added. "Come on, hurry up, we must get down to breakfast."
As the two girls threaded their way between the long tables already set for the morning meal, Felicity's thoughts were still in a turmoil. The whole tale of the accident and its outcome still seemed unreal and from the quiet demeanour of the few nurses scattered in various groups at the tables, it was obvious that Diana was right and the news was not as yet generally known. She swallowed her food hurriedly, then rising from the table pushed back her chair. "I'll be getting along, I may see you later. I believe we've got a couple of 'op' cases this morning so I expect I'll be bringing them down."
"Well, slip into Theatre Sister's office for some coffee at eleven, I shall expect to hear all the latest then."
With a murmured promise, Felicity walked across the expanse of the dining hall and let the glass doors swing shut behind her. She nodded a mechanical greeting to the nurses who passed her as she made her way down the long corridors leading to John Mason Ward. Glancing at the electric clock on the wall she hurried her steps, it was getting late and she had wanted particularly to be in good time this morning, there were so many odd jobs to see to. Yesterday's emergency must have that extension adjusted, there was John Brigg's plaster to be cut ... and oh, yes, number three must have his dressing changed before Brenton's round at ten. She mentally enumerated the items, then stopped with a smothered gasp. Guy Brenton wouldn't be making his round at ten! The thought was incredibly disturbing, some other surgeon would no doubt take his place but the idea gave no actual sense of compensation.
From her position outside the Sister's office, Felicity could see one or two probationers on duty; the cleaners too, were already on the ward. Night staff had gone and the day's work was beginning. Turning the handle of the door, Felicity entered Sister's office, it was always her first job of the morning to see that everything was in order on Sister's desk and that, no message demanded immediate attention. She removed a vase of drooping flowers and filed away a few X-rays left from the previous evening's round, then tore the top leaf from the almanac. As she screwed the slip of paper in her hand, she glanced at the date on the calendar-April first; it was as if her heart had missed a beat, relief flooded her whole being. It was a joke, of course it was a joke, she had been thoroughly fooled, that's all there was to it!
Anxious to stifle a last lingering doubt Felicity flicked through the Night Sister's report, then suddenly stopped as the entry lay exposed. 'John Briggs, restless, morphia at three a.m.' Her eyes travelled down the list. 'At 3.15 Mr. Guy Brenton admitted to Private Cubicle. Multiple injuries.' Felicity closed the book and stared down unseeingly at the dingy cardboard cover upon which her hands still rested. So it was true. A wave of disappointment enveloped her, then, conscious of Sister's approaching footsteps, Felicity placed the report book tidily in its place and stood back to await her entry.
CHAPTER THREE
Sister Robinson was a woman of uncertain age. She had a pleasant manner and was generally considered by the nurses to be easy to work for, understanding and helpful, her staff liked her and consequently gave their best. No one knew quite how long she had been nursing but at some period of her career she had been attached to a children's hospital; for that particular work her temperament must have been ideal and many were left wondering why she had ever made the change. Mannerisms, no doubt dating from that period, had persisted through the years, with the result that to Sister Robinson every patient was a child and should be cajoled and generally treated as such; the effect was unfortunate, especially on an adult, male ward. She appeared entirely unaware of the titters and smothered laughter which followed her round the ward, perhaps it didn't matter, it was good-natured laughter and no patient or staff bore her any real ill will.