Her whole appearance this morning gave away her suppressed excitement as she entered the office and closed the door carefully behind her. As she seated herself at her desk, her expression was tense and a wisp of her greying hair, usually so neatly hidden, had escaped from beneath her white frilled cap.
"Nurse Dene ... before you go on the ward, I've something to tell you," she began fussily.
Considering it wise not to betray any previous knowledge, Felicity listened to Sister's tale without interruption. It was largely what Diana had already told her; her friend's information had apparently been entirely correct.
"You see, Nurse, we must do some thinking-some organizing, Mr. Brenton must have every attention. It means rearranging the work, you are my Senior, I shall want all the help you can give me."
"Of course," Felicity murmured, then went on, "what do you suggest, Sister?"
"We are terribly short-staffed as it is-" Sister Robinson frowned as she considered the problem, then went on, "I think you ought to take on the nursing, I mean as 'Special'. I don't want Mr. Brenton to have half a dozen different nurses attending him, you know how upsetting to a patient that can be. We are a male nurse short as it is, but Mr. O'Brien must find time to assist you." She leaned forward in her chair. "Now, do you think you'll be able to manage?"
"Yes, that will be all right, Sister." Felicity's lips curved into a smile as she added: "I don't think that Mr. Brenton will be a very easy patient, do you?"
"No, dear, I don't." With that happy air of friendliness which she could always adopt when occasion demanded, Sister Robinson returned Felicity's smile. "I fancy he'll be very trying, but there, the poor laddie, we won't have to mind that!"
Felicity choked back a groan. 'Poor laddie!' How awful! How could Sister refer to Guy Brenton like that. It was typical of the way her mind worked; fit and well, he had been the all-important Honorary Surgeon, the most respected of persons; as a patient He immediately became in her mind nothing but an ailing child. Felicity could only pray that at least in his presence Sister would make a supreme effort to smother that maternal feeling. "I expect we'll manage," Felicity commented briefly.
"Now for this morning's arrangements," Sister Robinson went on briskly. "Mr. MacFarlayne from the Memorial Hospital it attending Mr. Brenton-and incidentally will take over the ward during his illness. He wants the case in the theatre at nine, he is setting and plastering the arm and further X-rays will be taken in the theatre. See to the preparations for taking the patient down. Mr. MacFarlayne will do the ward round as soon as he has finished operating."
A few minutes later, Felicity with some trepidation entered the small private room at the end of the ward, but Guy Brenton was still in a semi-conscious condition and was certainly not aware of anything going on around him. It was an odd sensation for Felicity to look down on those immobile features. She felt that it was the first time she had seen Guy Brenton properly, certainly the first time she had really studied his face; she had merely accepted the impression that he was attractive without the temerity-or perhaps the opportunity-to consider him at leisure. Although the lips were drained of colour, his skin appeared tanned against the dead white of the pillow, and his dark hair, usually so carefully brushed back, had fallen across his forehead. Although the lids were lowered, Felicity could picture the deep brown eyes which could be so scathing in their glance and the firm, mobile lips which rarely smiled, yet when they did so changed the whole expression of his face. A streak of light through the half-drawn curtains outlined the strong contour of chin and jaw which in their stillness could have been carved of stone. With an instinctive gesture, Felicity smoothed back the hair from the high forehead with gentle fingers, but as he stirred uneasily beneath her touch, she quickly dropped her hand, and with an almost furtive movement hid it palm upward behind her back. What had possessed her to do that? Angry with herself, she turned away and busied herself preparing the pre-anaesthetic injection. Why on earth should she have felt so guilty about a simple and quite natural impulse, she chided herself, a sympathetic touch of her fingers which she had bestowed upon her patients more times than she could number. After all, this man was her patient and she'd got to make up her mind to treat him as she would any other, it was absurd to get herself all tied up in emotional knots.
With the Irishman O'Brien's help, Guy Brenton's inert body was lifted to the trolley and wheeled to the theatre. The routine was familiar, Felicity had done it all so many times before. Diana Weste, Staff Theatre Nurse, had never dashed out quite so quickly to assist to wheel a stretcher into the anaesthetic room, she usually left that to a more junior nurse, but today no one was allowed to forestall her.
"Well?" she stooped to whisper to her friend. "What's happening ... are you to nurse him ... are they getting him moved? Go on, tell me? How did old Robinson take it? Is she in a flap ... the story soon got round hospital, everyone knows now, even Theatre Sister is as rattled as if she were preparing to receive royalty!" Diana glanced down at Guy Brenton's unconscious form. "Goodness, he's handsome, nicer asleep than awake, I wouldn't mind finding that sort of face on my pillow!"
"Don't be silly," Felicity urged. "There isn't anything to tell you, besides we can't talk now, but as far as I know he is in Mason for keeps and I'm in charge."
Accustomed to the sight of Guy Brenton's tall, upright figure, Mr. MacFarlayne, wrapped round in a white gown which gaped badly at the back fastenings, looked grotesquely short and plump. His round, florid face as yet unmasked, had a cheerful smile as 'he entered with Sister at his side. His easy manner both with Theatre Sister and the students gathered round, showed that he would be popular on any ward: to work for him would present no problems. Unconsciously Felicity lowered her eyes to the still figure on the trolley; how hard, working for Brenton had been, only her pride and determination had saved her many a heartache over his complete indifference to her feelings, and she had been luckier than most and she'd known many a pro leave the ward in tears. She stifled a sigh, he might have been difficult, but she unashamedly admitted to herself that it had all been worth while, it had been exciting tempering her steel against his, she'd miss him terribly, and MacFarlayne with his bland smile and easy manner left her completely unmoved.
The atmosphere beneath the wide arc lamps felt more suffocating than usual, and it seemed to Felicity that the operation was endless. There were one or two ugly lacerations to stitch on the upper arm, and the lower arm to be set in plaster. MacFarlayne was reputed to be good, but Felicity was certain that Brenton would have finished the job in half the time.
With a sense of utter relief she watched the surgeon remove his gloves and turn from the table; so it was over at last. She felt completely exhausted, why, she couldn't imagine, she had stood at many a longer session than that.
"Come and have a coffee. O'Brien has come down for the trolley and one of our nurses will help him back with it MacFarlayne won't be going up to Mason s yet, Sister is giving him a coffee, so you've got time," Diana urged. "Come on, it's all ready, we'll ring the ward and tell them you'll be back in a few minutes."
Felicity felt too tired to protest and allowed Diana to lead her into her own little sanctum next to Theatre Sister's room, which, as Staff Nurse, Diana had managed to wangle for her own use. Diana always managed to wangle things, both scruples and rules went to the wind if she could add in any way to her personal comfort. Felicity looked round the tiny room appreciatively. "You are lucky to have a corner to hide yourself in."
"Don't you believe it! The hide-out was discovered pretty quickly. Just look what's coming in."
As Diana spoke half a dozen or more students were already crowding into the restricted space, clamouring for coffee. Diana had, it appeared, been well prepared and in a moment they were sitting, standing or leaning as space allowed, but all enjoying hot, strong coffee. Philip Elver, Brenton's houseman, had been squeezed up close to Felicity in the crush and now seated himself on the arm of the chair she had been lucky enough to annex.