Promise the Doctor (6 page)

‘There isn’t anyone at home we can telephone,’ Pete was beginning to protest again, but Joy smiled, meeting Quentin’s glance again and feeling once more that strange sense of ‘belonging’ she had felt even at the moment of first meeting him.

‘Mr. Anderson, at the end of Cranberry Terrace, lets us use his telephone if we want to,’ she put in. ‘He always says we can ring him too if there is any message we wish to have taken home. He’s a free-lance journalist on the local paper,’ she explained to Quentin. ‘A very pleasant man, and often he’s found typing jobs and so on for Mother. He’s very friendly, and he doesn’t go to bed very early, so I know we shouldn’t be disturbing him unduly. And I know Mother won’t rest until she’s certain we are safe.’

‘That settles it, then,’ Quentin decided. ‘Mr. Anderson it is, and he can deliver the message to your mother. Will you follow me?’ He turned to Pete, but there was not even a shadow of doubt in his voice as he spoke, and without turning his head he got into his own green Jaguar and flashed his lights, waiting for Pete to fall in behind with his own smaller vehicle.

Pete’s jaw was set grimly as he obediently swung into line behind the doctor’s car, but he made no comment, only answered in the briefest of monosyllables as Joy talked to him on the short journey up the road towards home. Their excursion ended as Quentin swung into a wide, gently curving driveway bordered by wallflowers in full bloom, their scent rising and entering the car as they passed.

‘Here we are.’ Quentin halted outside the wide, white porch and went ahead of them into the house. ‘Come in, please,’ he invited, then they could hear his voice in a further part of the house calling for his mother.

‘In the kitchen, dear,’ Celia Moyser called gently. ‘I’ve just put the kettle on, and there’s coffee perking.’

Quentin advanced into the kitchen and closed the sound proofed door gently behind him, smiling at the bright-eyed, brown-haired woman who was his mother and, as he so often told her, his truest friend.

‘We’ll decide in a moment, Mother,’ he told her. ‘When we find out which our visitors prefer. She doesn’t know it yet, and I don’t know what obstacles there may be in me way—including a young man who’s with her right now—but there’s the girl in our lounge I intend to make my wife. You’re always urging me to “settle down” ... now come and see if you approve of my choice!’

CHAPTER
VI

If Celia Moyser was surprised by her son’s declaration there was no trace of any such emotion on her pleasant, smiling face as, a moment or so later, she followed him into the lounge. Joy, who was accustomed to assessing people as and when she met them, liked her at once. She seemed so tiny beside her tall, broad-shouldered son, and the way in which she whisked about, brewing the tea they all declared they would prefer in place of the—coffee, bringing out a tray of biscuits and cakes, all obviously home-baked, reminded Joy, amusedly, of a bright, alert little robin.

‘I suppose your father will be able to tell us something about the unfortunate young man when he comes in.’ She was speaking in reply to Quentin’s story of the accident to which he had been called and at which he had found Joy helping and herself and Pete as witnesses. ‘He’s still at the hospital,’ she concluded.

Joy leaned slightly forward, acutely conscious of Quentin sitting opposite to her and watching her intently.

‘Would that be St Lucy’s or the General?’ she asked.

‘St Lucy’s.’ Quentin’s attention was arrested now. Surely he wasn’t going to be so lucky as to have this unknown girl suddenly thrust into the midst of his working life?’ The General is just out of the town,’ he explained. ‘St Lucy’s isn’t far away. You must have passed the entrance road on your way up.’

‘Then it can’t be very far from Fernbank?’ Joy asked further. ‘The house the late Miss Barnes lived in?’

‘And all her family before her for a generation or two gone by. I believe it was built by her grandfather,’ Mrs. Moyser contributed. ‘No, St Lucy’s more or less overlooks Fernbank, in a manner of speaking. That is to say St Lucy’s is at the top of the hill above the road where Fernbank stands, on what is known locally as “the shore road”. What made you ask?’ she went on. ‘Have you been visiting Mrs. Wrenshaw?’

The question, Joy knew, was not one of idle curiosity. She had learned a great deal during her talks with the late Miss Barnes, and one thing she had learned had been the wonderfully closely knit community which made up the select residential section of Vanmouth.

‘It all seemed to begin in the war years,’ Miss Barnes had reminisced. ‘Somehow, when the first evacuees came along, right through every alert, every raid, even in other parts of the country, we all tended to draw nearer together. It was as though we drew comfort and assurance from one another just by being together ... not in those awful shelters, you understand. But by sort of banding together as a community, and, thank heaven, although that sort of thing is now looked upon as being a little old-fashioned and isn’t in keeping with what I’ve seen of the modern world of today, a great deal of that spirit has been left with those families who grew up together at that time, and I, at any rate, am thankful for it. We’re all
interested
in what happens to the rest of us, whether it be good or bad. If it’s good then we like to rejoice along with the fortunate ones, and if it’s bad ... well, it’s surprising what can be done to help even in the most hopelessly stricken cases, if only there’s more than one person to cope.’

Now, remembering her old friend’s words, Joy knew the question for what it was, merely a friendly interest, and she felt a sudden warm glow of pleasure as she replied. It had made her feel she was already accepted as one of the community.

‘We have been visiting,’ she said now, ‘but only because Miss Barnes surprised me by leaving Fernbank and its contents to my care. I never expected any such thing...’

‘Then you must be the Sister she wrote to Mrs. Wrenshaw about,’ Celia said, nodding as though satisfied by something. ‘I never heard your name, my dear, but I know you made dear Muriel as happy as she possibly could be, so far away from everyone she knew and who knew her.’

‘I ... thought she was entirely alone in the world,’ Joy confessed. ‘No one seemed to come and see her. There was one young man, I remember, one visiting afternoon, but that was all.’

‘That would be young Mr. Napier, Mr. Belding’s articled clerk, or rather one of them.’ Celia nodded as though this explained everything. ‘That was when Muriel had the will drafted out for her signature. We should have all gone to see her, but she had expressly said she didn’t want anyone she loved to see her in what she called “the state of health to which I am now reduced”, and so, of course, none of us went to see her, not even Mrs. Wrenshaw, though she would have willingly walked there if she had not realized how upset Miss Muriel would be!’

‘That would be why you said “at least until the end of the month” when you told me who you were,’ Quentin put in. ‘I take it you intend to move into Fernbank, then?’

‘All being well.’ Joy’s smile, Quentin decided, seemed to do strange thi
ngs to the emotions which so far
he had never suspected existed where he was concerned. ‘There’s an awful lot to do and to plan first, though.’

‘If there is anything I or my family can do to help at this end of affairs, you have only to say so,’ Celia offered. ‘I know just how difficult it can be to cope with hospital routine and attend to one’s private affairs if they don’t happen to be on the doorstep. Are you,’ she asked so casually that again Joy knew there was no curiosity as such in the question, merely a friendly interest, ‘a large family?’

‘Not really. There’s Mother. She’s the prop and mainstay of the household. We ... lost my fattier in an accident fifteen years ago. The same accident which robbed Pete’—she smiled in his direction, knowing he was feeling excluded from the conversation to some extent and knowing also how hurt and upset he was likely to be as a result—‘of both his parents. He has lived with us ever since then,’ she concluded, ‘but until he can find suitable employment in or around Vanmouth we shall have to leave him to follow when he can.’

‘What kind of opening are you looking for, Mr. Bradley?’ Celia was determined to be both friendly and helpful, although Pete’s expression showed his definite desire to be on his way. She nodded as he told her of his recently acquired qualifications, frowning slightly, then nodding again as though satisfied. ‘If you are prepared to go into industrial accounting,’ she observed, ‘there ought to be an opening for you somewhere. I should advise your taking the
Vanmouth Advertiser.
Almost everybody advertises in there if they require the services of anyone in a professional capacity.’

‘And you were looking for another position, Sister Benyon?’ Quentin asked directly, his smile deepening as Joy nodded. ‘I don’t think you’ll have much trouble here,’ he said. ‘We always seem to be short of nurses and Sisters in the winter time. Height of summer, everyone is thrilled to be here, but it’s a very different story when the winter gales are raging, especially at St Lucy’s. Being so close to the coastline and so high up they get the full benefit of every storm. The General is a little more sheltered, but somewhat off the beaten track when it comes to what little gaiety there is in Vanmouth in the winter months, but a great deal depends on how close you wish to be to home. I’ve no doubt you’ll be welcomed with open arms at either hospital, and now that I’ve seen you in action’—he grinned suddenly, making his somewhat serious-looking face suddenly boyish—‘I can add my own personal recommendation to whatever others you may have.’

‘I think St Lucy’s would be the best from my point of view,’ Joy told them, suddenly feeling that with Doctor Moyser and his mother she could be perfectly frank. ‘I have an invalid sister, you see,’ she explained. ‘At least, she isn’t exactly an invalid, but she can’t walk. She was involved in an accident three years or so ago, and since then she appears to have lost the use of her legs, although we have been to several specialists and they all say there’s no physical reason why she should have done.’

‘Then let’s hope that by coming to Vanmouth you’re able to find the impetus needed,’ Quentin said cheerfully.
‘My father is the consultant pathologist at St Lucy’s. We might see what he can suggest. That’s if you care to, of course.’

‘I’d try anyone, anything,’ Joy said rashly but meaning
every
word. ‘Lana is such a lovely person, and until this happened she was also a lively, happy person as well. Now it seems’—she hesitated a moment then, sure of being understood, plunged on—‘as though she has shut herself up inside with her injury ... she doesn’t seem to be able to make any effort. I know depression is something we have to fight separately from the injury itself, but it worries all of us, Mother, the twins, myself and’—she smiled at Pete again, trying to draw him into the circle of conversation—‘Pete too.’

‘I’m sure it does.’ Celia spoke firmly. ‘It must make life quite a strain all the time. Does that mean you would prefer not to live in at the Nurses’ Home?’

They talked on throughout another cup of fresh tea and the time it took for them to smoke through a cigarette, then they heard the sound of another car outside and the slam of the outer door. There was a quick, brisk tread along the hall and into the lounge, and they were face to face with Lionel Moyser, Quentin’s father and the husband of Celia.

Lionel Moyser was a well-set-up figure of a man, giving a living promise of what his son might reasonably become in the years which lay ahead. There were the same broad shoulders, the same height and the same thin face with the curiously slanting eyes, and there lay the greatest difference, apart from that of age, between father and son. Lionel’s eyes were of a steel-blue, but his son’s were a replica
of Celia Moyser’s bright, hazel brown ones.

Introductions were quickly made, and they were all relieved to hear that the young man on the bicycle was making ‘satisfactory progress’, a term which meant little to Pete but appeared to content the others. They chatted together for a few minutes longer, but Lionel had just finished a long, hard day and was tired, and Joy and Pete were only too conscious of the drive home which lay ahead of them.

‘I’ll telephone Mr. Anderson again as soon as you’re on the road,’ Quentin promised. ‘He said he wouldn’t be going to bed for hours and that when you left, if I phoned again he would tell your mother so that she would know approximately what time to expect you.’

Joy thanked him, took her place beside Pete, very conscious of Quentin’s eyes which seemed to promise so much of excitement and who knew what else in the future, then the little car was speeding down the drive and out on to the main road on the first stage of the journey back to Wilborough.

They drove in silence for some distance. Joy took two cigarettes from her case in her handbag, although she had already smoked the quota she allowed herself daily, lit them and passed one to Pete. Apart from a murmured ‘thanks ‘there was still no word between them, until she felt she must break the silence, must talk to someone about these strangers who had entered so unexpectedly into their lives and who, she felt, would make an impact in some way which would be, so far as she was concerned, quite unforgettable.

‘Friendly people, aren’t they?’ she said lightly. ‘And I liked the Wrenshaws too. I’ve a feeling we’re going to be amongst real friends when we eventually settle in Vanmouth.’

‘They’re a sight too friendly, considering we’ve only just met them, so far as I’m concerned,’ Pete said in an antagonistic voice so unlike his usual cheery tones that Joy felt herself turn automatically in his direction, in some concern. ‘I didn’t like the way that young doctor was looking at you,’ Pete growled. ‘I suppose they’re all alike, so used to all you nurses and Sisters and what-have-you looking up to them as though they’re little tin gods or something...’

He broke off as Joy’s merry laughter rang out, startling him. She had been thinking of the two house surgeons with whom she had dealt for the greater part of her time at Wilborough General, the one married and with a wife so fond of a gay time that he was always worried about how to keep up with her, the other disappointed in love and vowing for the future that the only women who would interest him would be exceptional surgical cases.

‘You’ve got entirely the wrong idea, Pete,’ she told him. ‘I suppose Doctor Quentin—he did tell us to call him that so’s we didn’t get mixed up between him and his father, didn’t he?—was only looking at me, if indeed he looked at all, because I’d acted with what he would consider “due promptitude” when the accident happened to that unfortunate boy on the bicycle.’

‘That wasn’t how it seemed to me.’

Pete was by no means mollified, and for a time they continued to drive along in silence once more. There was very little traffic. Occasionally the odd heavy
long-distance
lorry passed them, and when Joy made the comment that ‘knights of the road or not, they certainly know how to make those, monsters move ‘Pete’s only answer was another non-committal grunt.

Joy did not mind. She was content to sit quietly beside him, watching the road ahead in the beam of Pete’s headlights, flunking of her unexpected meeting with Quentin Moyser and not allowing herself to dream too much about what she thought—and secretly hoped—she had read in his intent gaze.

‘Don’t be an idiot, Joy Benyon,’ she told herself severely. ‘For all you know he might well have a girlfriend or a
fiancée
—or maybe even a wife—tucked away somewhere, an attractive man like that!’

A girl friend or even a
fiancée
might well be a surmountable obstacle, but if he were married...

‘It doesn’t seem likely,’ she thought, but she shivered slightly as the idea sped through her mind, ‘not when he’s obviously living at home with his parents.’

‘Cold, Joy?’ Pete had noted the shiver as, she thought in some compunction, he appeared to notice any and everything which might be adversely affecting any one of the family.

‘Not really, thanks.’ She took the rug he dragged from the back of the car and tucked it about herself to satisfy his instinct for caring for someone in his care. ‘Just ... how do they say it? Someone walked over my grave.’

Pete gave her a curious glance but made no comment, and the remainder of their journey passed in almost companionable silence, except that Joy, for the first time in all the years Pete had been with them during which time she had driven thousands of miles by his side, felt a sense of strain and tension which had never before been present.