Hospital Circles Read online

  Hospital Circles

  Lucilla Andrews

  Copyright © The Estate of Lucilla Andrews 2018

  This edition first published 2018 by Wyndham Books

  (Wyndham Media Ltd)

  27, Old Gloucester Street, London WC1N 3AX

  First published 1967

  www.lucillaandrews.com

  The author has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, organisations and events are a product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organisations and events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Cover artwork images © Yuri Shevtsov / Robert Hackett (Shutterstock)

  izusek (istockphoto.com)

  Cover artwork design © Wyndham Media Ltd

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  Also by Lucilla Andrews

  from Corazon Books

  The Print Petticoat

  The Secret Armour

  The Quiet Wards

  The First Year

  A Hospital Summer

  My Friend the Professor

  Nurse Errant

  Flowers from the Doctor

  The Young Doctors Downstairs

  The New Sister Theatre

  The Light in the Ward

  A House for Sister Mary

  One Night in London (The Jason Trilogy Book 1)

  A Weekend in the Garden (The Jason Trilogy Book 2)

  In an Edinburgh Drawing Room (The Jason Trilogy Book 3)

  Wyndham Books is reissuing

  all of Lucilla Andrews’s novels.

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  by signing up to our free newsletter.

  Go to www.lucillaandrews.com

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Preview: Also by Lucilla Andrews

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  Preview: A Doctor’s life by Robert Clifford

  Chapter One

  ONE SATURDAY NIGHT IN HOSPITAL

  I slept through our floor maid’s call that evening. I was still asleep when Aline came in with my postcard from Margaret.

  ‘Jo, it’s a quarter past. The first supper bell’ll go in ten minutes.’ She shook me. ‘Can you hear me?’

  I groaned. ‘Aline, be a dear sweet girl and go away and let me die in peace. If only for another five minutes.’

  ‘Mind you only make it five. Don’t forget what the Night Super said to us last night about the next girl to come in after she’s arrived to read the register.’

  ‘The woman’s a sadist.’ I turned on my face. ‘She beats us up for kicks.’

  ‘She’s not beating me up. I’m going over now.’ She put my card on my dressing-table. ‘Don’t go back to sleep.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I promised, and was asleep again before the door closed after her. The next thing I knew was Gwenellen, shaking me violently.

  Aline and Gwenellen were in my set. They were my greatest friends in Benedict’s, and had rooms on either side of mine. ‘Jo, it’s twenty-five to!’

  ‘It can’t be! Aline was only in five minutes ago!’

  ‘Aline’s over having supper. She said you’d woken, but when you didn’t turn up I thought I’d better come back to investigate.’ She shook me again. ‘Up, love! Don’t forget Night Super’s warning to send the next late-comer straight to Matron.’

  ‘Must you remind me of that traumatic experience?’

  Gwenellen said placidly, ‘There’s another you’ve got coming, love,’ and heaved up the side of my mattress. I landed on the floor. ‘With luck, you’ve fifteen minutes before she gets in.’ She made my bed for me and wound Little Ben as I hurtled into uniform. ‘I’ll now return to my shepherd’s pie.’

  ‘Gwenellen,’ I said breathlessly, ‘thanks.’

  She handed me Little Ben, advised me not to let Home Sister catch me leaving it so late, and took herself off.

  Little Ben was an aged, ugly, and apparently indestructible pocket watch that had cost my paternal grandfather five shillings when he was a Benedict’s houseman. He had given it to his youngest daughter, Margaret, when she trained as a nurse at Benedict’s just after the last World War. When I started in the Preliminary Training School two and a half years ago my aunt had passed Little Ben on to me and had my name engraved beneath hers and grandfather’s on the back. I was very attached to Little Ben, and even more so to Margaret. I looked at her card as I did my hair.

  It read: ‘Should be off my case and home in six days. Dickie breaks up Monday week. Is it that Monday or the one after your holiday starts? Either will suit us fine. Love. M.’

  Yawning, I pushed the card into my apron bib to answer during the night. I was night relief nurse in Hope, a women’s acute medical ward, and tonight was one of the rare nights when all three Hope night nurses were on together. Hope was generally busy, but with the three of us I should be able to snatch the time for a letter in the small hours.

  Margaret was a widow. Dickie, her only child, was twelve. Being another only child, and as my father’s job had kept my parents in Singapore for the last two years, I now spent most of my holidays with my aunt and cousin, timing them to come in Dickie’s school holidays. My coming summer holiday started on the same day as my cousin’s, and I was much looking forward to it. I had enjoyed Hope and the work we did at night, but I detested working at night, as I had never managed to sleep well during the day. Usually it was late afternoon before I tossed myself into the near-coma from which Gwenellen had just woken me. I was tired of feeling tired.

  I was ready inside the fifteen minutes. The unnatural silence in the Home showed I was last out. I should make the dining-room before the Night Superintendent, providing, as Gwenellen had advised, I escaped Home Sister. She was a nice old soul, but she had once been Sister Hope for twenty years, as she never ceased to inform us. If she caught me now in the front hall she would waste a good ten minutes warning me that I was risking tuberculosis and a gastric ulcer by being too late to eat a proper meal quietly, and probably throw in the chances of my poisoning a patient with the wrong drug before the night was out through carelessness induced by my own lack of blood-sugar. ‘Believe me, Nurse Dungarvan, I well remember a sad case in Hope. Such a nice girl, but …’

  I went down the back stairs, meaning to use the back door. It was never locked before 9 P.M. It was that night. I cursed, crept towards the front hall, then stopped dead as I heard voices. They belonged to Home Sister and, of all people, the Night Super. Hell, I
thought, now what? Then I remembered the new subway.

  This was being built under the main road that divided the three nurses’ homes and the medical-school library from the hospital. One of my Hope patients was married to one of the subway workmen. She had told me the tunnels had now been connected up and the workmen used the subway constantly as a private short cut. On the hospital side it opened into the basement under the Out Patients Department, which itself stood directly opposite our dining-room. It would save me minutes. I hurried back softly to the basement stairs.

  Our basement had been out of bounds since the work started, as a large sign on the stairs informed me. The stairs were roped off. I climbed over and went on down. The new tunnel opened on the left a few yards from the foot of the stairs. It was lit by hurricane lamps, and it too was roped off and had another ‘No Entry’ sign. I patted it as I went by. The air smelt of damp and cement, but was not unpleasant, and round the bend from our tunnel where it was joined by the library tunnel the air was much fresher. In the main subway itself, a few more yards on, there was much more light, as there were lamps hanging from hooks on the walls as well as lining the floor. Despite my soft soles, my steps had an extraordinary echo. It so fascinated me that I stopped in the middle of the subway. The echo went on. Then a man’s voice behind me called, ‘One minute, please, Nurse.’

  I did not recognize the voice. I recognized the man in the long white coat directly I turned. I took a deep breath. ‘Good evening, Mr Leland.’

  ‘Evening.’ He caught me up. ‘What are you doing down here?’

  ‘Taking a short cut to supper.’

  ‘Supper?’ He held up his wrist to look at his watch by the nearest lamp. ‘Night nurse?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Leland.’

  ‘Why come this way? Surely you know this subway is out of bounds?’ His tone was mild, but, having heard of his reputation, I did not let that deceive me.

  ‘Yes. I’m afraid I do.’ I looked up at his face and braced myself for the inevitable blast.

  None came. He merely looked back at me in a rather peculiar silence.

  He had been our Senior Surgical Officer for about four months. He was a Benedict’s man, and, as was a Benedict’s custom, had spent some years in other hospitals before returning to his present appointment. As I had been on the medical side since he came back, this was the first time he had spoken to me, or probably seen me. I had seen him around, frequently. Taking note, and stock, of new senior residents was something all nurses did within twenty-four hours of that resident’s arrival in a hospital.

  He was a tall, thin man, but with the shoulders to carry his height. He had a strong-featured face that was attractive without being strictly good-looking, and hair that was the colour of deep copper. As a student he had been nicknamed Red Leland. He was now Old Red to all Benedict’s ‒ behind his back.

  When he first returned, my friends on the surgical side had made themselves fresh caps daily and spent hours on their faces before going on duty. A couple even went on diets. When he first returned. Now, when the surgical girls mentioned him, it was usually between their teeth.

  I wished he would get on and get it over. And then, since weeping was something I could do fairly easily, providing I thought hard enough on a sad theme, I should see if a few womanly tears would be a good ploy. Despite his reputation and the general theory that doctors were impervious to tears because they saw so many shed, I had noticed that the way our men reacted to weeping females depended mainly on their ages. Roughly, those over thirty-five, and I put him in that group, reacted with a mixture of impatience, embarrassment, and guilt. Those under, as likely as not, burst into tears themselves. I had been wept on by so many boyfriends that, had Home Sister known, she would have warned me of the dangers of pneumonia every time I went out on a date.

  It might work on Old Red, I decided, summing him up. He was looking correctly grave, but his mouth was sensitive and he was a lot bigger than I was, in addition to being years senior. As any girl knew, that gave her the ace.

  He broke the silence to ask, still mildly, if I had previously used the subway. ‘No? Good. Don’t use it again until it’s open and properly lighted. It’s far too lonely. We’ve had the occasional report of undesirable characters lurking round the hospital. One could easily get down here. That’s actually why I’m here now. Not that I’ve seen anyone. Have you?’

  ‘No. I never thought of that angle.’

  ‘You will,’ he said, ‘next time. What’s your name, Nurse?’

  I stiffened. Was he going to report me? ‘Nurse Dungarvan.’

  His quick smile was astonishingly attractive. ‘I thought so. Obviously related to Margaret Dungarvan?’

  ‘Her niece.’ (God bless Margaret!) ‘You knew her?’

  He said he remembered her well, hoped she was flourishing, and had I not better get off to my supper?

  ‘Yes, Mr Leland.’ I smiled. ‘Thank you.’

  Nine struck as I reached the dining-room. A junior Night Sister frowned, but by some miracle the Night Super’s chair was still empty. I had time to eat my shepherd’s pie and tell my table about meeting Old Red before she appeared and apologized to us all for being late. ‘You’ll forgive me if I have a cup of tea before reading the register, Nurses?’

  ‘Just this once, Sister,’ I murmured. ‘Well, girls?’ I asked the table. ‘And what’s all this codswallop you’ve been feeding us about Old Red’s being foul to nurses? He’s not. He’s cute.’

  ‘Cute!’ Aline choked and had to be banged on the back. ‘Jo, are you sure you haven’t dreamed all this up? We know what your imagination’s like. And we girls in the surgical block know our Old Red!’

  Aline worked in Stanley, Gwenellen, in Marcus. Stanley was male general surgical. Marcus was a male major-accident ward. I said, ‘I have not imagined this! He honestly was cute! He asked if I was related to Margaret.’

  Aline said, ‘Maybe you reminded him of his long-lost youth.’

  ‘That’s it! I awoke an avuncular instinct!’

  ‘Well, don’t count on it,’ she warned, ‘if you meet him on duty. He’ll never let you get away with anything in a ward even if he’s been pining with unrequited love for your aunt for God knows how many years.’

  I nodded absently, thinking of Margaret. ‘I wonder why he’s never married? Since most men had acquired wives before they reached the stage of being an S.S.O. ‒ and Benedict’s, having yet to appoint its first female house-surgeon, never had any but male S.S.O.s ‒ a bachelor S.S.O. was regarded as an unexpected bonus and fair game for the entire nursing staff. In his four months in residence Old Red had done a great job of dashing girlish hopes.

  Gwenellen hopefully suggested he might have a secret mistress. Aline disagreed. ‘Mistresses demand time and money. Where’s the hospital resident with either?’

  I sighed. ‘Poor Old Red. What a grim life!’

  ‘No-one has to be an S.S.O.,’ protested Aline. ‘The grind may be tough, but it doesn’t last for ever. Couple of years from now he’ll be a pundit surgeon. Think what pundits earn and dry your tears.’

  ‘But think of the way pundits have to work for years and years to earn that money. Time they get it they’re good as past it! No, I still think Old Red has a tough life. I must ask Margaret if she remembers him.’

  ‘Do that,’ urged Gwenellen, ‘and ask if she knows why he’s never married. A man his age needs a wife.’

  That had already occurred to me. The Night Superintendent clapped her hands for silence. Before she reached my name I had chosen the wife for Old Red; when Gwenellen Jones answered I had also chosen my bridesmaid’s dress, asked Matron for an extra holiday, coaxed our fare money out of my father, and was flying out to Singapore with Dickie.

  Margaret had married one Simon Ellis, a junior orthopaedic registrar, in her fourth year. I barely remembered my uncle, as he had been killed rock-climbing when Dickie was a few months old. I had never understood why Margaret had not remarried. My mother said that was
because one married whom one met. ‘And whom does Margaret meet? Her patients, whom she is far too much of a professional nurse to regard as anything but patients, married couples with children of Dickie’s age, married G.P.s, and your little boyfriends, Jo. If only she could meet some really suitable older man. Trouble is, of course, they’re already married. It’s only the oddities who make elderly bachelors.’

  Old Red was no oddity. Nor was he really all that elderly. Middle-aged, perhaps, but so was Margaret. And very suitable. Also, the biggest point in his favour was the way he remembered her so well that he not only had not minded admitting it to me, but had been very nice in the process. I claimed no personal credit for that, since, like most girls, I could always tell when I had lit a spark in a man at sight, and vice versa. Nothing like that had just happened in the subway. Though Old Red had looked at me so keenly, I would be prepared to swear on oath that he had not seen me at all. Margaret and I were still very alike. I had been wearing the uniform in which he must remember her. He had looked at me and seen her. And God bless him for that.

  I hoped Margaret liked red hair. I thought his a fascinating colour, but personally preferred dark-haired men, even though myself a brunette. Should I ask Margaret outright? No. Too obvious. I must get them together again first; I had no idea how, yet. I would work on it. Right now I was too busy working on where he could take her for a honeymoon. Spain? Italy? Ireland?

  Aline kicked me under the table. ‘She’s talking about you,’ she murmured, without using her lips.

  The night’s ward-changes were being announced. I just caught ‘… from Hope Ward to Marcus Ward as special.’

  ‘Me ‒?’ I mouthed, and my table nodded.

  I was furious. I had to wait until after grace. ‘What’s the old bag playing at, Gwenellen? Aren’t there three of you in Marcus tonight, and one a senior staff nurse? Why can’t you special your own patients? I belong to Hope!’

  ‘Have you forgotten it’s Saturday night, Jo? Mid-July? And that we’ve had no rain since Tuesday, and it started getting hotter yesterday?’