Grasp a Nettle. Бетти Нилс
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She was on the point of asking what was the matter when he spoke without turning his head. ‘Come in, Miss Wren. I have something to say to you.’
She went to stand by him, looking first at his face and then at her aunt’s, calm and unconscious. The look on her face caused him to say quickly: ‘No need to get alarmed; your aunt has had a relapse. We’re going to give her some more blood and change the electrolytes—I think that should put things right. She hasn’t been as quiet as she should.’
‘No danger?’ asked Jenny anxiously.
‘I think not.’ He gave her a considered look and she said at once:
‘May I stay here with her? I’ve had a good sleep, perhaps if I’m here when she comes round, I could persuade her to take things easy for a few days. She’s rather strong-willed.’
He smiled faintly. ‘Sister has had quite a difficult time of it this afternoon, I’m sure she will be glad of your help.’ He glanced across the bed to where Sister stood. ‘Perhaps Miss Wren could have a meal now and relieve you and nurse? I see no reason why she shouldn’t sit up with her aunt, she has had a good rest.’
Jenny’s charming bosom swelled with indignation. A good rest, indeed! Two periods of sleep of barely three hours on top of a night sitting up in a chair after driving down from London—the man wasn’t only made of iron himself, he expected everyone else to be the same. She was willing to stay up for an endless succession of nights for Aunt Bess, she conceded illogically, but he assumed too much. She was in two minds to refuse a meal, just to show her independence, but she would probably be famished if she did. She said, outwardly meek, ‘I’ll be glad to do that, Sister, if you agree to it.’
So she was given her meal and installed in a chair by Aunt Bess’s bed, primed with instructions and with the promise of relief for half an hour round about midnight. There wasn’t much chance to sit down, though, what with half-hourly observations and keeping an eye on the drips. Adjusting them, Jenny thought that when her aunt wakened, she would want to know about those and probably do her best to remove them. Marking up her charts neatly, she sincerely hoped not.
The evening passed quietly. Aunt Bess showed no sign of rousing. The Professor arrived again about nine o’clock, this time with Doctor Toms, examined his patient, nodded distantly to Jenny and went again.
‘And good riddance,’ declared Jenny as the door shut quietly behind him, and then jumped visibly as it opened again. ‘I heard that,’ declared the Professor in his turn.
The hospital was quiet; the nights usually were, for casualties went to Yeovil and the patients, for the most part, slept for the greater part of the night. The night staff, small but efficient, managed very well, calling up the day nurses if anything dire occurred. About midnight Night Sister put her head round the door. ‘Everything OK?’ She smiled in acknowledgement of Jenny’s nod and whispered: ‘Someone will relieve you in a few minutes,’ and went her soft-footed way, to be followed almost at once by a student nurse. Jenny ate a hurried meal and went back once more and the nurse, whispering that the patient hadn’t stirred, crept away.
It was two o’clock in the morning, just as Jenny was changing a drip, that her aunt opened her eyes and said in a normal voice ‘You should be in bed,’ and then: ‘I feel a great deal better.’
‘Good,’ said Jenny, ‘and so you will if you stay very quiet, Aunt Bess. And I’ve been to bed, so don’t bother about me.’ She smiled down at her aunt, trying to be matter-of-fact and casual, because Aunt Bess hated tears or a display of emotion. ‘How about a drink?’
She was giving it when the Professor came silently into the room, smiled at his patient and put out a hand for the charts.
He studied them carefully, grunted his approval and gave them back to Jenny without looking at her. ‘You’re better,’ he told Aunt Bess, ‘well enough for me to explain why you must lie quiet for a little longer.’ And he explained very simply, in a quiet voice before adding: ‘I should like you to go to sleep again now, but if you find that impossible will you lie still and relax, then there will be no need to give you another injection at present. Your niece will prop you up a little more, I think…’
‘Don’t you go to bed either?’ asked Aunt Bess.
‘Oh, certainly.’ He smiled again and strolled to the door. ‘I’ll be in to see you again after breakfast.’ His hand was on the door handle when he said: ‘Miss Wren, will you hand me the charts? There are one or two things I should like to alter. Sister will return them presently.’ He barely glanced at her and she supposed that she deserved it.
Aunt Bess went to sleep after that, remarking with some of her old tartness that Jenny and the Professor didn’t seem to be on the best of terms, and Jenny, sitting in her chair once more, trying to keep awake for the last hours of the night, couldn’t help but agree with her.
She was in bed and asleep very soon after the day staff came on duty, so that she missed Professor van Draak’s visits in the morning, and in the afternoon he brought Sister with him, just as though Jenny were a visitor, and waited pointedly until she had gone out of the room before he examined her aunt. However, he joined her presently in the corridor, reassured her as to her aunt’s condition, gave it as his opinion that she was now out of danger, and suggested that there was no need for Jenny to stay the night. ‘I shall be passing Dimworth as I return to Doctor Toms,’ he remarked without much warmth. ‘I could give you a lift.’
It would have been nice to have refused him, but she hadn’t much choice; there would be no one free at Dimworth to fetch her and she had no intention of telephoning Toby. She thanked him with a chilliness to equal his own and went back to sit with Aunt Bess.
Her aunt didn’t seem to mind her going—indeed, she began to give a great number of messages, repeated several times in a muddled fashion, and added a list as long as her arm of tasks to be done at Dimworth, falling asleep in the middle of it. Jenny kissed the tired, still determined face and went out to where the Professor would be waiting for her. He got out and opened the car door for her and she had barely settled in her seat before he was driving away.
Jenny, having difficulty with her safety belt, said crossly: ‘You don’t like me at all, do you, Professor?’ and was furious at his laugh.
It was a nasty laugh, full of mockery and the wrong kind of amusement, and his: ‘My dear girl, you flatter yourself, and me too—I have no interest in you at all, although to be quite honest I must admit that I haven’t much time for tart young women with red hair.’
‘I expect you pride yourself on being plain-spoken,’ said Jenny sweetly. ‘I call it rude. Just by way of interest, what kind of girl do you like?’
He allowed the car to slow and shot a sidelong glance at her. ‘Tall, calm, sweet-tempered—with good looks, of course; fair hair, blue eyes, a pleasant voice…’
‘A cardboard creature,’ cried Jenny, ‘and even if you did find her, she’d be a dead bore as a wife.’A thought struck her. ‘Have you found her? Perhaps you’re married.’
‘What an impertinent girl you are.’ He spoke quite pleasantly. ‘No, I am not married. When do you intend to visit your aunt again?’
A neat snub, if ever there was one. ‘I’ll drive over after breakfast. When do you return to Holland?’
‘Wishful thinking?’ he enquired. ‘When your aunt is recovered.’
Jenny shifted in her seat, uncomfortably aware that she hadn’t expressed nearly enough gratitude. ‘Oh no…well, I’d like to thank you for what you’ve done for Aunt Bess. I know you saved her life and I’m deeply grateful—I hope it hasn’t spoilt your holiday here.’
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