A Nurse's Duty (31 page)

‘Please, Robert, don’t press me. It’s too soon,’ begged Karen. ‘I can’t think properly about anything just now, I need time.’

‘But that’s it. There just isn’t any time, is there? With the child …’ He broke off what he was saying when he saw the hunted expression on her face. ‘No, you’re right, I shouldn’t press you now, I know I shouldn’t. I’ll go, but you’ll let me come back next week, won’t you? Perhaps you’ll give me my answer then?’

‘Robert, I don’t know, I really don’t. Everything is such a muddle in my head. Go on, go home, you’ll be late for surgery.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry. Of course I’ll go. Just …’ He moved closer to her and bent his head and she lifted her face to him, thinking he was going to kiss her on the cheek. But evidently he thought better of it for he turned abruptly to his car. He started the engine with his starting handle and when it fired he climbed into the driving seat before smiling ruefully at her. ‘Goodbye, Karen. God keep you safe until I come back.’

She stared after him as the car laboured up the track and disappeared round the bend. Dear God, she agonized, why couldn’t I have loved him? Why is everything so complicated? Slowly, she walked back to the house. Gran was in the kitchen boiling up vegetable peelings for the pigs. She looked up as Karen came in and gave her a shrewd glance.

‘I knew fine and well that lad has a fondness for you,’ she observed. ‘It’s there for anyone to see.’

‘Oh, Gran, don’t,’ said Karen helplessly. ‘Robert is just a good friend, that’s all.’

‘Aye, I’m sure. But remember, lass, it’s hard bringing up a bairn on your own. You could do worse than marry a lad like Robert Richardson. There’s many a one has to settle for the one they can get, not the one they want. It usually works out fine in the end.’

Chapter Nineteen

SURELY PATRICK FEELS
as I do? thought Karen. He could not cut her out of his life, forget about her altogether. He loved her, she knew it in her being. It was you ran away from him, not he from you, she told herself. You don’t want him to come, you know it will ruin his life. Forget, that was what she had to do, forget all about him.

She was standing by the yard gate. Beside her the rowan tree was coming into full leaf. It was summer already, the winds were light and warm. But still she couldn’t stop her heart racing every time she heard the familiar rumble of the cart or the roar of an engine on the road at the end of the track.

She couldn’t help the aching need within her either, the deep physical ache which sometimes threatened to consume her. She placed her hands on her stomach and concentrated on the baby. At least she had the baby, Patrick’s son. Or maybe his daughter, a girl who would look at her with Patrick’s clear grey eyes ringed with dark lashes, and that way she would always have something of Patrick with her.

On Saturday Robert came back to see her and they drove down into Stanhope and on, across the ford over the River Wear and up the steep fell-side to Bollihope Common, the great breadth of moorland which divides Weardale from Teesdale. He stopped the car about halfway between the dales and they sat quietly, looking out over miles and miles of heather and bracken to where the distant horizon lay shrouded in a shimmering mist. Robert had put down the car hood and Karen could feel the sun on her head and neck, pleasantly warm. Sheep baa-ed all around them as they
cropped
the turf which edged the heather and a curlew cried mournfully close by. They were too near to its nest probably, thought Karen abstractedly, it was worried. Its cry sounded so human, so sad, it brought ready tears to her eyes.

Quickly she looked out over the moor, away from Robert, until the moment passed. A peewit flew low over the ground only a few yards away, trying to draw the intruders away from its nest. It too was worried for its young. And what of her young? She had the baby to think of. She had to provide for it and protect it, even though Patrick was gone from her life. Oh, why had she listened to Sean? Why had she not stayed a little longer at least? She and Patrick were meant to be together. Dear God, she cried silently, give me strength.

‘Karen?’

She looked at Robert who was turned sideways in his seat, watching her anxiously. ‘If you are sure you want me, I’ll marry you, Robert,’ she said. ‘But I have to be sure you want the baby an’ all, you can see that, can’t you?’

Robert smiled and the smile lit up his face so that it glowed. He took hold of her hand and lifted it to his lips. His kiss was as soft as thistledown.

‘The baby is part of you, isn’t it?’ he murmured. ‘How can I not want your baby?’ He drew her to him and held her close, kissing her lips. His arms were strong about her and he smelled cleanly masculine and familiar. She closed her eyes and leaned against him. Oh, it was good to have a man such as Robert to lean on, and she would play her part, she wouldn’t let him down, oh no, she would not. She could feel his heartbeat against her breast and he ran his hand up and down her spine. His breathing quickened and suddenly his hand was on her breast, cupping it, and his thumb brushed across the nipple. Abruptly, instinctively, she pulled away from him, as far away as she could get, and huddled against the door of the car. For he was not Patrick.

‘Karen? I’m sorry, really I am. I got carried away …’ Robert’s voice trailed into silence. She forced herself to sit up and move into a more natural position beside him, giving him a tremulous smile as she did so.

‘Are your breasts sore? I’m sorry, I should have known they would be with the baby. It was just … oh, I’m so happy Karen, this is the happiest day of my life. I got carried away, I’m sorry.’

‘They are sore,’ she said, jumping at the excuse. ‘But don’t be sorry, Robert, please. You have nothing to be sorry about.’

‘Let’s go down into Barnard Castle and buy the ring,’ he said, reassured. He started the car and they set off across the moor, descending slightly all the way now as they moved closer to Teesdale. ‘We’ll have to begin planning now, won’t we?’

Karen felt herself carried along on his enthusiasm and indeed it was pleasant for her to leave everything to him and relax. But she still had a feeling of guilt, as though she was taking an unfair advantage of his love for her.

‘I’ll make you a good wife, really I will,’ she said impulsively and reached out and put her hand on his arm.

They got to the jeweller’s just before closing time and chose a ring.

‘I don’t want a betrothal ring, please, Robert,’ she whispered urgently to him when he began looking at a tray of diamond rings in the window. ‘A wedding ring, that’s all, please.’

He smiled euphorically. ‘Anything you say, my love. I can always buy you a diamond ring later.’

They decided on a plain gold band and the jeweller put it in a box which Robert stowed in his waistcoat pocket.

‘We’ll call the banns tomorrow,’ he said as they drove back up the moor. ‘I’ll speak to Father tonight. We can be married in three weeks.’

Three weeks! Panic fluttered in Karen, almost closing her throat. ‘Maybe we should wait a week or two,’ she managed to say.

‘Best do it now. Don’t worry, dearest, everything will be fine. I will look after you now.’

‘But I have no proof that Dave is dead.’ Relief swept over Karen. She couldn’t get married unless she could prove her first husband was dead, could she?

‘I’ll telephone Australia House tomorrow,’ Robert answered cheerfully. ‘I’ll ask them to confirm the death in writing, there should not be any trouble.’

They drove across the ford at Stanhope and on up to the farm. As they came into the yard they saw Gran standing in the doorway.

‘So you’re back,’ she called over to them, ‘have you had a good time?’

‘We have indeed, Mrs Rain, and we have news –’ Robert broke off what he was saying as the sound of a cart coming round the bend in the track made them all turn to look.

‘The carrier,’ said Gran. ‘He’s late today. Someone with him an’ all. Eeh, two visitors in one day, aren’t we doing well?’

Karen didn’t hear her, she was standing stock still, her face frozen.

‘Mind the cart, Karen.’

Robert grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her back towards the rowan tree, out of the way. The cart trundled past them and she followed its path, her gaze riveted on the passenger in the front seat.

Not again, she was thinking dully, not again. Her senses must be deceiving her and she couldn’t bear it: that the elation should rise in her only to fall flat as a stone when she realized she was mistaken. She had forgotten Robert altogether. All she could see was the stranger in the dark suit, tall, black-haired, slimly built. The cart came to a halt and she watched him climb down and stand quietly beside it, his eyes only for her. She was not mistaken this time.

‘Who’s this?’ said Gran. She looked at the stranger and then at
her
granddaughter and was taken aback by Karen’s expression. She glanced quickly at Robert and away again; his distress showed much too plainly for outsiders to see. He too was watching Karen as she stared at the new arrival. Gran felt desperately sorry for Robert. It had only been a few seconds and the carrier hadn’t noticed anything as yet, he was busy fitting a nosebag of oats to his horse.

‘Come in, Amos, I have the kettle on the bar and I just baked scones this morning,’ she said, hustling the startled carrier into the house despite his protests of work still to be done.

Karen went on staring at Patrick, still unsure if she was seeing aright. I must be dreaming, she thought. Everything seemed to have gone into slow motion. Had the sun gone to her head? She closed her eyes but when she opened them again Patrick was still there, his grey eyes drinking in the sight of her.

‘Karen,’ he said at last, in a quiet contented sort of tone, as though he had finally found what he was seeking. He crossed the yard slowly, steadily, ignoring the angry hoot of the gander who spread his wings in threatened attack. And then he was standing before Karen, not touching her, just searching her face. The moment seemed to last forever before he broke into her trance by stepping forward and taking her into his arms.

‘Patrick,’ she breathed, and he held her head in the crook of his arm as they swayed together. She drank in the remembered smell of him and the baby moved in her womb as though in recognition and approval. They gave themselves up to the overwhelming sense of peace and belonging which washed over them.

She had forgotten all about Robert until he took hold of her arm and pulled her away from Patrick. Surprised, still bemused, she looked up at him. ‘Robert,’ she said with a twinge of sadness, but he seemed remote somehow. She couldn’t yet think of anyone but Patrick. ‘I’m sorry, Robert.’

‘Sorry? Why are you sorry, Karen?’

Patrick was suddenly alert. Though he spoke to her he was staring at Robert. He was still, strangely still, his eyes intent.

‘Karen has promised to marry me,’ said Robert flatly, still holding her arm. She made an involuntary movement away from him then stopped.

‘Robert, please,’ she said, but he didn’t hear her. All his attention was on Patrick.

‘She’s mine now, she is going to marry me,’ Robert said again. His head held high, his shoulders back, he glared at his adversary over his nose. ‘You deserted her,’ he added.

‘I’m here now,’ said Patrick.

‘Karen?’ said Robert, still looking at Patrick. She could feel the tension between the two men. It was so strong she could almost see it.

‘Please, Robert,’ she said. ‘I love him.’

Robert slumped, seeming to fall in on himself. Without another word he got into his car and drove off up the lane, and they waited until the sound of his engine faded along the top road. Then Patrick took her arm and they went into the house together.

Earlier in the evening Patrick had descended from the train at Old Morton village and began to look for Chapel Row. He had tried to get her address from Annie but in the end had had to go to the hospital. It was Doctor Clarke who had searched the hospital files and found the address for him, but only after weeks of opportuning. Patrick was on the point of leaving for County Durham to look for her on his own account. After all, there couldn’t be many mining villages such as the one she had described to him, could there?

‘I’m making a mistake, I know,’ Doctor Clarke had said as he handed the information over. Patrick thanked him profusely and rushed away, and within two days he had left Essex for the North-East, leaving without any further discussion with his superiors.

The countryside looked quite pleasant in the evening twilight; much to his surprise, not at all what he had expected. He thought it would only take a few minutes to find out where Chapel Row was. This was a small village, after all. The platform of the tiny station was deserted but for the man who took his ticket.

‘Is it far to the village?’ Patrick asked him, gazing around at the empty fields.

‘About ten minutes’ walk, sir,’ the man answered, looking curiously at him. Strangers were not too common in Old Morton.

Patrick thanked him and set out to walk along the road. His long legs soon covered the distance to the village but when he arrived there he looked around him in perplexity. There was a village green complete with pond and an old stone church with a square tower instead of a spire. On the opposite side of the green to where he stood he could see what looked to be an inn. Perhaps that would be the best place to make enquiries, he thought, and walked over to it.

Inside there was a small group of men clustered around a darts board in the corner and a stoutish man polishing glasses behind the bar. The place had the familiar smell of beer and tobacco of most public houses, but the atmosphere was welcoming in spite of the fug.

‘Evening,’ said the barman, nodding laconically at him while continuing to polish a glass.

‘I’ll have a small whisky,’ said Patrick, adding hopefully, ‘Would you be having the Irish whiskey now?’

‘Aye, we would,’ said the barman, and produced a bottle of Jamieson’s from beneath the bar. Patrick was surprised. Irish whiskey had been practically unobtainable in Essex yet here it was in a tiny village in the remote north-east of the country.