Promise the Doctor (20 page)

No one spoke as, with Quentin hovering behind her like a guardian angel, his hands ready to catch her if she fell, Lana made a slow but definite and deliberate progress along the garden until with a sound which was half a sob, half stifled, slightly hysterical laughter, she was caught safely in Michael’s arms. He winced as he touched her, the precious papers falling unheeded on the grass.

‘I’ll take her, Michael,’ Quentin told him gently. ‘She’ll be quite all right now,’ and they all knew that he was not simply referring to the events of that night.

‘You go with Joy. I’ve my bag in the car. She’ll give you emergency treatment for those hands of yours, then, later, I’ll run you up to St Lucy’s.’

Sam Bainbridge, in the chair beside the one Lana had so unexpectedly left vacant, looked up at Aileen, and he was not ashamed that anyone should see his eyes were misted with tears.

‘He’s safe,’ he muttered, over and over again. ‘I’ve been given a second chance ... I’ll make it up to him, all the things I said and didn’t mean ... he’s always been a good son, and I haven’t been fair.’

Aileen smiled. She was wanting to shout her own, good news, her own reward of patient, faithful and loving care aloud to a world whether they wanted to hear or not. She wanted to tell them all: ‘She walked, Lana walked! She didn’t know what she was doing, but she walked ... it’s true what the doctors have said all the time. When she lost Tony she thought she had lost the love of her life, and she didn’t want to try ... she didn’t really want to go on. Now she’s found a new love, a better love than the old, and it’s love that’s worked the miracle, love that’s given my girl the use of her limbs again, the promise of a new, full life with the man she loves.’

But she said nothing of this, not one word. She took Sam gently by the arm and literally led him into the warm living-room of Fernbank, where Jenny, anticipating Aileen’s intention, was already busily laying out cups and saucers, along with a pile of cakes and buns, biscuits and all sorts of things she had baked during the week.

‘Eric’s got the kettles on, Mrs. Benyon,’ she looked up from her activities to report. ‘I thought maybe the firemen would welcome a cup too.’

‘Quite right, Jenny,’ Aileen nodded. ‘Thank you.’

‘You made a better boss than I’ll
ever
make, love,’ Sam fondled her hand for a moment, his eyes wistful. ‘You’ll have to teach me not to bully and shout, then people might do things I want them to do without my asking.’ He gave a short, hard laugh. ‘That is, if you’re still willing to try and teach an old dog new tricks?’

‘It’s never too late to learn, Sam,’ Aileen told him lightly. ‘Now you just relax, before Quentin has you up in that hospital or a nursing home to make sure you do! I’ll be back with you in a moment.’

Left with Jenny, Sam looked at the old woman who had served the people of Fernbank for so many years, and for no reason at all he wished with all his heart that he had accepted Miss Muriel’s refusal of his offer to buy Fernbank and not bothered Sister Benyon about it when he discovered the place had been left in her care. He cleared his throat noisily and looked at Jenny from under lowered lids.

‘Do you think you could find Sister Benyon and get her to come and have a word with me, while there’s no one else about ... please?’ he asked, almost forgetting this was a request and not an order.

‘I’ll try.’ All her life Jenny had distrusted what she thought of as ‘sudden changeabouts’. She had never witnessed a successful one yet, she thought scornfully. Look at that Hitler at the time of Munich! Still, everyone seemed to think well of the remainder of the Bainbridge family, and if anyone could reform a character as set in his ways as Sam Bainbridge, then the most likely people to do it were Sister Benyon and her mother. ‘I’ll see where she is,’ she offered, and went out in search of Joy, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts.

CHAPTER XX

Joy was exactly where Jenny had expected to find her. The large back kitchen had been cleared and was being used as a dressing station. Michael, his hands bandaged, leaned back in an old rocking chair with Lana by his side, obviously still shaken both by her own experience and his dicing with death. As Jenny came in Joy emptied the deep enamel basin which she had sterilized and used for a mixture of Milton, warm water and sodium bicarbonate which had been utilized for the making of compresses, then she turned and looked, for once without her customary smile, at the housekeeper.

‘What is it, Jenny?’ she asked. ‘We’ve just about finished here, and the firemen will all be in for their tea as soon as they’ve finished whatever it is they’re doing outside.’

‘It’s Mr. Bainbridge, Miss Joy.’ Jenny sounded disapproving, though she strove to disguise her tone. ‘He asked if you’d see him for just a minute, while there’s nobody else around.’

‘I’ll be through in a minute,’ Joy told her. ‘Whatever it is it will keep until then.’

Jenny left them, and it was very quiet in the kitchen for the next few moments, then, without a word being spoken, but as though each already knew and understood the other’s thoughts, Lana and Michael rose, Lana’s hand linked through Michael’s arm, careful not to touch the bandaged hands.

‘We’ll go first, Joy,’ Lana said quietly. ‘We want to tell Michael’s father ... and our mother ... that we plan to be married, just as soon as it can be arranged.’

‘I’m very happy for you both,’ Joy said stiffly. She could not look at Quentin, who was busily packing his bag and did not so much as turn his back as Lana made the announcement. He must feel awful, she thought sadly. He had done so much to help, so much to make certain Lana would one day be the bright, happy and whole girl she had been before the accident happened.

‘Thanks,’ Michael said briefly. ‘And thank
you,
Quentin, for everything! I never thought you’d keep our secret right to the end. We didn’t anticipate such a spectacular finale, so to speak, but maybe it wouldn’t have worked for a long time yet, if fate hadn’t taken a hand.’

‘Maybe not,’ Quentin agreed, still not turning round. ‘But I’m glad everything’s worked out well for you both. I’ll have to keep an eye on those burns ... and on Lana too, just for a while, but you should both be all right from now onwards.’

They went out, and again silence fell in the kitchen. Joy busied herself about all sorts of little tasks which were by no means imperative or important. She was wondering just what she could say to the man who had just seen the girl he had literally coaxed back to real life walk off and into the arms of someone else, and try as she might there didn’t seem any appropriate words which could be said.

Suddenly Quentin snapped his bag closed and took his cigarette case from his pocket, proffering it.

‘Well, Sister Benyon,’ he began lightly, and although he was smiling she saw that for the first time since she had known him, the smile did not reach his eyes. ‘He
is
hurt,’ she thought miserably, ‘and I don’t know how to help him.’ He applied the flame of his lighter to the tips of the two cigarettes, looking closely into her eyes as he asked: ‘How does it feel to know that one’s dream is more or less in one’s grasp, as it were? Your mother and Sam will be married before Christmas. So will Lana and Michael. Cousin Emma and the Wrenshaws can manage this place and care for the twins, if we all keep an eye on things. And I heard this morning there’s a vacancy for an Assistant Matron coming up next quarter at St Luke’s, just a few miles along the coast. Want Father to put a word in for you?’

Joy tried to speak, but couldn’t. All at once the words she wanted to say came tumbling out, without her even being aware she was going to utter them.

‘I don’t care,’ she said suddenly. ‘I’m not interested, not just at the moment. I can’t think about that, not just now. Oh, Quentin, I could see this coming, and I didn’t know how to warn you! Lana isn’t really mercenary, it isn’t just the money, please don’t think that ... she really loves Michael. Anyone watching them when he was swinging in that bucket thing, his face all black with soot and fire smoke, and his hands all blistered, could see for themselves what they meant to each other. It was because of Michael she
walked
!’

‘My dear—‘Quentin’s casual mask was gone and he left his bag, his cigarette burning away unnoticed in the ash tray, and came to take both her hands in his own. ‘What are you trying to say to me, Joy?’ he asked tenderly. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t mean what you said, about going on with your job, wanting to be an Assistant Matron and then a Matron? Is that what you’re trying to say?’

‘I ... it was Lana, you see.’ Joy was trembling and it took all her courage to meet his gaze bent so earnestly on her own. ‘She’s so lovely. No man could help but love her. She’s beautiful, charming, well read ... she knows how to talk to everyone...’

‘And you know only how to
care
for everyone, to love everyone with that outsize heart of yours, is that it, little Joy?’ Quentin asked very close to her hair. ‘No wonder I’ve thought you didn’t care,’ he murmured, half to himself. ‘No wonder I thought you were a career woman, first and foremost. I should have known better.’

‘Then you’re
not
upset now that Michael and Lana are going to be married?’ Joy persisted, and was amazed when he threw back his head and burst into a shout of genuine laughter.

‘Upset?’ he echoed. ‘I’m delighted. It’s what I ... we’ve worked for all these months, Hugh Tate, Amy Calvin and myself. We knew we could do it, once Lana met Michael and they fell in love. She had an incentive then, to try and make herself do all the things we all knew she could do, that there was nothing really to prevent her doing, nothing except the fact that her own emotional state had prevented her from allowing herself to let her limbs and body function normally, and everything was stiff, unused to co-operating. It took love to work the miracle,’ he said softly. ‘Do you think it might yet work on me?’

Joy looked up at him, still bereft of words. It was too much to be true, she must be dreaming, but before she had gathered herself together Sam Bainbridge was at the kitchen door, leaning against the door jamb and looking in on them.

‘There’s tea poured for the both of you out here,’ he told them, ‘and a good supper Jenny’s knocked together as well. I don’t know that I want to talk business in front of everyone there, so I thought I’d better come in here and say what I have to say. You neither of you seem to want to come in and find out what it is...’

‘I’m sorry, Mr. Bainbridge,’ Joy apologized at once. ‘We’ve been a little busy.’

‘I can understand that,’ Sam growled, suddenly smiling and looking, as Joy said later, almost likeable, ‘but will you listen to me for a minute? I’m not going to fight you any more, girl. It wouldn’t be worth it, not even after the insurance is paid and everything is settled and done with. I don’t want to start on that particular site all over again. But I’m going to marry your mother,’ he shot the words at Joy as though issuing a challenge. ‘She’s agreed,’ he told her, ‘so I don’t think there’s any more to be said.’

‘Congratulations to you both.’ Joy and Quentin said the words almost together, and unexpectedly Sam began to laugh.

‘And let’s hope I can say the same to you two before the night’s ended,’ he observed. ‘Don’t wait until it’s too late, or until something happens to make you feel you might lose the one you love, the one who means everything to each of you...’

He turned away and left the door of the kitchen. Wordlessly they looked at one another.

‘You kept your promise, Joy,’ Quentin said gently, ‘you can always be proud of that. Now, would you like to make one to me?’

‘I will if I can, Doctor,’ she told him, and suddenly her eyes were dancing, and to Quentin she looked more beautiful than the girl who was her sister and the recognized beauty of the family. Here, he thought, was love, devotion, loyalty, all the womanly virtues as well as the beauty of heart, mind and character which enhances the beauties of physical charms and which outlasts them through all the years which lay ahead. Gently he drew her into his arms.

‘Give the house to Cousin Emma, Joy,’ he suggested. ‘You could make it a sort of trust, to be handed on to the twins, one or both of them, when Emma’s done with it. I want you to give me another promise, darling, a promise of a very different kind. Sister Benyon’—he put one finger under her chin and tilted her mouth towards his own—‘will you promise to love, honour and obey me, till death do us part, so long as we both shall live?’ he asked gravely, and the twins, watching unseen but wide eyed through the little side window where they had halted on their way in from the garden, afterwards swore they had caught the faint whisper of Sister Benyon’s solemn ‘I will.’