wasn’t until I was properly relaxed that I realized how tense and wound-up I had been. I had been getting a lot of headaches.
By Sunday evening, I was effectively back on duty. I met briefly with Osborne, who informed me that the weekend had been ‘uneventful’. During the twenty minutes or so we spent together, he did nothing to make me revise my first impressions. He was irritating throughout. At one point, Jane Turner walked by and he nudged me with his elbow: ‘It’s always a pleasure to work with Nurse Turner.’ He clearly expected me to reciprocate, to make some crass remark about her prettiness or figure, but I ignored him. As he was leaving, he called out, ‘Richardson, do you play golf?’
‘No,’ I replied.
‘Pity.’ He swung an imaginary five iron. ‘I could have got you into my club. I’m on the membership committee. You don’t want to end up like Palmer. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’ Before I could deliver a suitably barbed response he was chuckling loudly – ‘See you in a few weeks.’ I was very glad to see the back of him.
Jane Turner was going about her business on the ward. I took the liberty of occupying her chair and pretended to find something of interest in Alan Foster’s notes.
‘Has Dr Osborne gone?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Why?’
‘Oh, nothing important.’
I looked up. ‘He’s very . . .’ I paused to select a suitable euphemism. ‘Confident, don’t you think?’ I invested my chosen adjective with enough scorn to make its purpose quite transparent.
She looked around, as if to make sure that we weren’t being overheard. ‘Lillian thinks he’s quite suave.’
‘Suave!’ I had repeated the word much louder than intended.
Jane perched herself on the side of the desk and crossed her legs. ‘Well, I can see why Lilly might think that. Sometimes he wears a cravat.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘Of Dr Osborne? I think he’s rather full of himself.’
‘I’m inclined to agree.’
‘Still, he can be quite funny – at times – and he’s better company than the other doctor from Saxmundham.’
‘Kenneth Price? He seemed a decent enough fellow to me.’
‘Yes, but he’s a little . . .’ Her features contracted.
‘Dull?’
‘Either that or very shy.’ She peeked over the top of the folder to see whose notes I was reading. ‘Alan Foster?’
‘Yes. I can’t see anything about Sister Jenkins’s ring.’
‘That’s because it hasn’t arrived yet. Actually, Sister Jenkins gave him a laxative only yesterday.’
‘Is that so?’
‘But still no luck.’
‘Well, some things can’t be hurried.’
She laughed – a rather musical laugh – and pushed herself off the desk. I stood up and gestured for her to sit in the empty chair.
‘Did you have a nice weekend?’ she asked.
‘Nice enough. I managed to go for a walk – along the beach and across the marshes.’
‘That doesn’t sound terribly exciting.’
‘Perhaps not.’
She curled a wayward lock of blonde hair behind her flawless ear. ‘It’s nicer here in the summer.’
We carried on talking in a casual, easy manner, and occasionally our exchanges became mildly flirtatious. After nine o’clock, for the sake of maintaining some vestige of propriety, I dragged myself away.
Before retiring, I thought that I should check that all was well in the sleep room. The trainee nurse (whose name I had since found out to be Mary Williams) was on duty. As I entered I noticed that Mary was looking fixedly in my direction, as if she had been waiting for me to enter. She looked worried – perhaps even fearful – and this expression was sustained until a spark of recognition appeared in her eyes. Relief was followed by a broad smile. I felt a pang of sympathy for her, supposing that she had been expecting the redoubtable Sister Jenkins. As I advanced, she stood respectfully and made some small adjustments to her bib.
‘Good evening, Mary.’
‘Good
By Sunday evening, I was effectively back on duty. I met briefly with Osborne, who informed me that the weekend had been ‘uneventful’. During the twenty minutes or so we spent together, he did nothing to make me revise my first impressions. He was irritating throughout. At one point, Jane Turner walked by and he nudged me with his elbow: ‘It’s always a pleasure to work with Nurse Turner.’ He clearly expected me to reciprocate, to make some crass remark about her prettiness or figure, but I ignored him. As he was leaving, he called out, ‘Richardson, do you play golf?’
‘No,’ I replied.
‘Pity.’ He swung an imaginary five iron. ‘I could have got you into my club. I’m on the membership committee. You don’t want to end up like Palmer. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’ Before I could deliver a suitably barbed response he was chuckling loudly – ‘See you in a few weeks.’ I was very glad to see the back of him.
Jane Turner was going about her business on the ward. I took the liberty of occupying her chair and pretended to find something of interest in Alan Foster’s notes.
‘Has Dr Osborne gone?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Why?’
‘Oh, nothing important.’
I looked up. ‘He’s very . . .’ I paused to select a suitable euphemism. ‘Confident, don’t you think?’ I invested my chosen adjective with enough scorn to make its purpose quite transparent.
She looked around, as if to make sure that we weren’t being overheard. ‘Lillian thinks he’s quite suave.’
‘Suave!’ I had repeated the word much louder than intended.
Jane perched herself on the side of the desk and crossed her legs. ‘Well, I can see why Lilly might think that. Sometimes he wears a cravat.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘Of Dr Osborne? I think he’s rather full of himself.’
‘I’m inclined to agree.’
‘Still, he can be quite funny – at times – and he’s better company than the other doctor from Saxmundham.’
‘Kenneth Price? He seemed a decent enough fellow to me.’
‘Yes, but he’s a little . . .’ Her features contracted.
‘Dull?’
‘Either that or very shy.’ She peeked over the top of the folder to see whose notes I was reading. ‘Alan Foster?’
‘Yes. I can’t see anything about Sister Jenkins’s ring.’
‘That’s because it hasn’t arrived yet. Actually, Sister Jenkins gave him a laxative only yesterday.’
‘Is that so?’
‘But still no luck.’
‘Well, some things can’t be hurried.’
She laughed – a rather musical laugh – and pushed herself off the desk. I stood up and gestured for her to sit in the empty chair.
‘Did you have a nice weekend?’ she asked.
‘Nice enough. I managed to go for a walk – along the beach and across the marshes.’
‘That doesn’t sound terribly exciting.’
‘Perhaps not.’
She curled a wayward lock of blonde hair behind her flawless ear. ‘It’s nicer here in the summer.’
We carried on talking in a casual, easy manner, and occasionally our exchanges became mildly flirtatious. After nine o’clock, for the sake of maintaining some vestige of propriety, I dragged myself away.
Before retiring, I thought that I should check that all was well in the sleep room. The trainee nurse (whose name I had since found out to be Mary Williams) was on duty. As I entered I noticed that Mary was looking fixedly in my direction, as if she had been waiting for me to enter. She looked worried – perhaps even fearful – and this expression was sustained until a spark of recognition appeared in her eyes. Relief was followed by a broad smile. I felt a pang of sympathy for her, supposing that she had been expecting the redoubtable Sister Jenkins. As I advanced, she stood respectfully and made some small adjustments to her bib.
‘Good evening, Mary.’
‘Good
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