Diana and Bill having now caught up with the other two joined in the conversation. "Those ghouls of nurses will want all the gory details about old Brenton; give them good value, what you don't know, make up!"
"The Kettle" was a favourite rendezvous of the staff, and most evenings groups from St. Edwin's could be seen chatting over cups of tea or coffee, and as the four friends entered and seated themselves at a corner table they were greeted on all sides.
How right she had been, Felicity thought with inward amusement as, before they had even ordered their drinks, two housemen from the medical side had approached the table. "What's this we hear about Brenton?" the taller of the two enquired, turning questioningly to Philip. "They say it's serious, he won't be back on the job for months?" "Garner says he was at the 'op' this morning and he wonders if he'll ever operate again," the other joined in before Philip had a chance to reply.
"I wasn't at the 'op' and I don't know," Philip responded briefly; he turned to Felicity and with a sly wink added: "You were there, Felicity, you are nursing him too, you ought to have all the low-down."
"Mr. Brenton has recovered from the operation and is progressing as well as can be expected," Felicity announced as if reading a bulletin.
"Hi, Nurse, come off it!" Garner exclaimed. "We are only making a polite enquiry."
Ignoring the newcomers, Felicity addressed her companions at the table. "And I thought you said the nurses were ghouls?" she queried meaningly, but she had spoken too soon, almost before the words were out of her mouth two nurses from the women's surgical side came up.
"I say, Dene, any news about Brenton, what's the latest?" one of them enquired.
"Now, young ladies, hop it," Bill stated without ceremony. "Nurse Dene is just not talking, so that's that!"
"Oh come on, Dent, tell us, be a sport! He must be a hell of a patient, I don't envy you nursing him. I know it would kill me." She giggled. "They say he is engaged too, have you seen the girl?" she asked with ill-concealed curiosity.
The waitress arriving at that moment to take the order caused a momentary diversion, the eager questioners gathered round the table fell aside to let her pass but immediately pressed round again and there was a chorus of "Have you seen the girl, what's she like?"
As Felicity merely shook her head in negation, Diana's clear slow voice broke in. "They say she is a beauty, but you saw her in Out Patients; didn't you, Phil?"
"Yes, she's a corker," he admitted. "Nothing wrong with Brenton's taste, couldn't have picked better myself!"
"How any girl could put up with his curt manner I don't know," a nurse sitting at the next table now joined in. "I can't imagine him bothering with any girl; not even a fiancée!"
Suddenly Felicity felt completely detached. It was as if her three friends were no longer beside her and the men and girls standing at the table had faded completely from her vision. In her imagination she was back in that small white-walled room where only the deep sound of her patient's breathing had broken the silence until with little more than a whisper he had murmured a name. "Alaine." Surely no deeper proof was needed that during those long hours of unconsciousness she alone had remained vivid in his mind.
The return of the waitress balancing a tray again caused a distraction and after an unmistakable hint from Diana that they'd like their tea in peace, the unwelcome questioners returned to their own tables.
"Thank the Lord for that!" Bill murmured fervently. "Go on, Di, pour out, Felicity seems to be finishing her doze!"
"Sorry!" Felicity laughed as she recalled herself to the present and took the proffered cup from Diana's hand. Accepting a cake from the selection on the dish which Philip offered her, she spoke. "I say, Phil, this rumour that's going round-I heard it first at lunch in the Nurses' Hall, then again at tea-the idea that Brenton might never get back the full use of his hand, is there any truth in it?"
"Can't say at all, I doubt if even MacFarlayne knows for certain. I'm darned sorry that such a thing should have happened to him."
"That's something I can't understand," Bill Newlyn remarked. "All the male staff are genuinely concerned for Guy Brenton-the patients too, so they tell me-but except for a sense of vulgar curiosity, I don't believe one of the nursing staff seriously care one jot."
"That's not quite true," Diana protested. "In a way you are right, but-"
"Just a moment, Di," Philip interrupted. "Bill is right. All we chaps, housemen, students and the rest, admire Guy Brenton. He is a damn good teacher, sympathetic and understanding with the patients too, but I've never heard a sister or nurse say a good word for him."
"The answer is easy." Diana leaned her elbows on the table and confronted her companions. "I'm in theatre and see plenty of him-too much at times." She twisted her red lips into a grimace to express her feelings. "He has got the patience of Job-and some of those students are enough to drives one distracted. But haven't you noticed what he is like with us? With Sister and me for example, he hardly gives us a civil word, just as well perhaps"-she gave vent to a long-drawn-out sigh-"we'd drop dead with surprise if he did!" She turned to Felicity. "It's exactly the same on the ward; isn't it?"
"Yes," Felicity admitted. "But I think it's because the nurses show they are scared of him."
"I think you are both quite wrong," Philip spoke with conviction. "I believe it's Brenton that's scared of you!" The statement brought a howl of laughter, it was such a ridiculous statement and Philip had been quite solemn about it. Regaining her composure, Felicity spoke. "You might explain that one, Phil, you've just left us guessing!"
"Can't explain it, but one day I bet I'm proved right," Philip responded.
"I really :believe you've got something there," Diana admitted calmly. "Anyway, Guy Brenton has managed to get himself engaged, so I suppose there's at least one girl of whom he is not scared."
They all smiled at Diana's remark, then after a little more good-natured chatter, Philip rose to his feet. "We must be moving. I'm 'on' tonight and with an important patient like Brenton in the ward, I'd better be available."
After a brief walk they turned in to the Hospital gates. The wide, tiled entrance hall always seemed to Felicity completely changed at night, no hurrying feet, no visitors making anxious enquiries at the porter's desk, no nurses and white-coated students and doctors hurrying hither and thither, the tiles ringing with the echo of, their footsteps. One even missed the clanging of the lift gates which, during the busy day, never for one moment seemed to be at rest.
As they entered the porter approached. "Mr. Elver, sir, Night Sister's bin ringing you from 'John Mason', she'd like you to look in before you goes to Residents, says she wants a word with you about Mr. Brenton, she didn't seem too happy like, she'd like ter see you soon as she can."
"O.K., Bates, I'll go right over." He turned to his companions. "Good night all, I'd better hurry over and see what the old girl wants."
Felicity had never been so glad to reach the sanctuary of her own room and close the door behind her. She felt suddenly dog tired and was relieved that she need no longer keep up any pretence of gaiety. With a sigh of relief she slipped out of her clothes and into the cool, loose comfort of her nightgown. It was sheer luxury to stretch her limbs beneath the sheets and lay her head back against the pillow. In spite of the comfort of relaxation a nagging sense of worry persisted. What was Night Sister concerned about? Could anything have gone wrong with her patient, any unforeseen contingency arisen? With tremendous will power Felicity shut out all the disquieting answers which crowded her imagination but even as she composed herself for sleep she realized that this must be the very first time that she had gone to bed longing for the morning, counting the hours until she could return to her ward and shoulder again the responsibilities of her work.
CHAPTER FIVE
As Felicity had anticipated she had no difficulty in getting up the following morning, in fact she only remembered two former occasions when she had reported for duty early and then it had been due to her clock being fast, a fault which she had wasted no time in setting right. It was, however, disturbing to find that, in spite of her own timely appearance, Sister Robinson was already on the ward. Although not visible, her red-lined cloak thrown across her office chair, and her opened letters lying on the desk, proclaimed her presence.