Guardian Nurse (17 page)

‘Good afternoon, Nurse.’ She became aware that the great man was leaving, and she put out her hand to his extended one.

When he had gone she stood at the window a moment, ashamed of her little sense of pique. I’ve worked so hard on Jason, she was thinking, I’ve broken down his reserve, his
—
his ‘nothing’, I’ve brought him to a nearly normal lit
tl
e boy, and now
…
now...

‘Tears of joy, Nurse, I sincerely hope?’
Burn
West had entered silently. He stood at the other end of the window considering her.

The ‘Nurse’ that he had addressed her by irritated Frances.

‘Is one joyful,’ she said quite irrationally, but somehow unable to stop herself, ‘at being pushed out?’

‘By
w
hat?’

‘There’s going to be a physio. Mr. Gildthorpe has ordered one.’

‘As a matter of interest he didn’t, not originally.
I
did. But he did concur.’

‘You
—
you wanted one?’

‘
Certainly. Jason’s after-treatment entails much more than you can give.’

The words were said barely, more barely than
Burn
West intended, but her crumpled little face had surprised and upset him, and man-like he could only think of one reaction: a harshness to hide his deep emotion.

‘Thank you.’ Her tears were gone now, she was mistress of herself again. ‘Are you sure I’m needed at all? After all, Jason receives his real education by correspondence, and everyone knows a physiotherapist can take over most of the requirements of nursing, but a nurse can’t take over physiotherapy.’

‘Getting sorry for yourself now?’

‘Certainly not, but I do like to know where I stand.’

‘Then know that you stand where your contract tells you, and that is in my employ for the next month at least. That surprises you, doesn’t it? Like many of your type you never read the small print.’

‘If you’d like to get out of it
—
’ she said coolly.

‘I wouldn’t like. I’m perfectly satisfied with your teaching and your nursing.’

‘But nothing else?’

There was a silence, and then he said deliberately, ‘No, Miss Peters, I am
not
satisfied with anything else.’

‘Then
—
’

‘But until this stint of therapy is finished and Jason is normal again, I want you around—if nothing else to aid the therapist. It’s a very demanding post, isn’t it, often it requires a helping hand.’

‘Yes,’ Frances admitted, ‘the manipulations demand considerable energy, but then a man can naturally call upon greater strength.’

He looked at her coolly. Then, because they were in a verandah-type annexe, he reached for his smokes. She watched as he moulded, rolled and lit.

‘But I,’ he said at last, ‘will be employing a woman.’ The match had ignited and in the blue weave of smoke he looked at her obliquely. ‘Does that disappoint you?’

‘Of course not. Why should it?’ As he did not answer, she retaliated, ‘Does another woman at West of the River please you?’

‘You’re ahead of yourself. How can I say that until I’ve seen her?’ He exhaled lazily. ‘Which I shall do
now,’ he added. ‘They were
sending
for
her
as I came out. Shall we meet Jason’s
new Girl
Friday
together?’
He actually extended his arm.

Angry
.
.
.
and angry
with
herself for being angry
.
.. Frances pushed
past him and
went back to
the room.
But she got no further than
the
door.

A very lovely dark-haired young woman
was seated
on the table with Jason,
her
arm around him, and he was actually
.
.. that cool little frog of a boy ... leaning his frail weight on her.

‘Oh, hullo, France,’ he greeted casually, ‘this is Jenny. Jenny gave me my
tea.
You’ ...
accusingly
... ‘weren’t there.’

‘I’m sorry, darling, I’ll do it next time.’

‘No, I like it from Jenny. She tells
good stories,
much better stories than yours, France.’

‘I’m glad of that, Jason.’

‘I’m glad, too, because I knew your
stories and I
don’t know Jenny’s. Tell me again, Jenny, tell
me
about the boy you once had who
—
’
His
eager little
voice rambled on.

B
ut Frances did not hear about
the boy.
By
that
time she was out in the garden and quite
ridiculously
angry. It was only the
patient
who
mattered.
How often had she known and
practised
that? Yet here
she
was resenting this charming young woman
who
already, it
seemed,
had
done
remarkable
things
for Jason West.

I
’
m jealous, she knew. All nurses feel as I am feeling when someone takes over where they have to leave off. I’m jealous because I’ve come
to
love that stubborn little fellow. Jealous because
..
.
Halfway between
a
bed of poppies and
a
strip of awn Frances stopped abruptly. No, she denied.
No.
But it was true
..
. though ne
ve
r
again must she admit
it to herself. I’m jealous because someone else is taking over—
Burn
West’s son.

But in the weeks that followed, for it was almost a month before Frances with Jenny, Jason and Mrs. Campbell returned to West of the River, Frances’ shamed jealousy, though it still persisted, was pushed to the background by Frances’ instinctive friendship with the charming girl. Even more than friendship, Frances had to admit, almost an affection. You just couldn’t help liking Jennifer. No wonder Jason had taken to her at once. No wonder his father
—

How far had
that
instinctive friendship gone before Burn had preceded them to West of the River? Frances sometimes thought. She only knew that Jenny and Burn spent much time together, though that, of course, could have been put down to their mutual interest: Jason. But Jason was also Scott’s interest, but apart from the liaison only to be expected between a medico and a physiotherapist Frances believed there was little else.

Scott, she could also see, was unmistakably unhappy. It grieved Frances. He was too fine a man for what showed now in his kind honest eyes. It did not need any word from the doctor to tell Frances that things ... his own things, not Jason’s ... were not going well with him.

But when he came the night before he returned to Mirramunna he told her himself.

‘You’re going back, Scott?’ she asked.

‘My hospital leave is up. Even if it were not, what
’
s the use?’

‘Hasn’t it gone right between you and Pamela?’

‘I haven’t seen Pamela.’

‘But
...’
Frances was silent. She had imagined that
on every occasion Scott had been away he had been with this girl he had told her about.

‘I haven’t seen her,’ Scott now repeated himself wretchedly. ‘I’ve stood at the Meldrum Clinic a hundred times ... she worked as her father’s secretary before ... but she can’t be there now. I even waited on the other side of the road to her home in the hope of seeing her, but she never came.’ His voice trailed dully away.

‘But, Scott, you could ask ... surely you could ask..
.’

‘Go to the reception desk and blurt “Where’s Pamela?” No, I couldn’t, Fran. I told you before there was nothing between us. We’d barely spoken together.’

‘But it was enough for
you,
wasn’t it, Scott?’ Frances’ voice was gentle.

‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘But what do I know of her feelings, if any, except something I probably only imagined anyway because I so desperately wanted it there? I know nothing, Fran. I knew nothing. And I’ll never know anything because she’s gone—overseas, perhaps, or in some flat of her own. How could I barge in and ask: “Where is Pamela? I must know because
—
” ’

‘Because I love her,’ finished Frances for the doctor. ‘Yes. How could I ask that?’

‘There are other approaches.’

‘Look, Fran, Mr. Meldrum made me this offer. I accepted it, then later, because of Pamela, because I didn’t feel free, feel right for Pamela until I was clear with you, I turned it down. How do you think he would feel about me now?’

Frances nodded.

‘Then what are your plans, Scott?’

‘I’ll
finish my term at Mirramunna, and after that, I don
’
t know where I’ll go.’ He sounded despondent.

Frances knew he was despondent. Instinctively she went across to him and pulled his head down on her shoulder. He let her do it, though she knew that it afforded him little comfort. Poor Scott
!

‘Now that’s what I call a farewell!’ Burn West drawled from the door. ‘I only trust I’ll be afforded a similar adieu when I also leave a week from now. Sorry I can’t take you down, Doctor’ ... to Scott now ... ‘but I still have some affairs to wind up.’

As Scott dismissed the apology, Burn went on to say smoothly that he had not intended to interrupt anything but that he came with a message from Mrs. Campbell. Tea was served.

‘The cup that cheers,’ he said suavely. ‘Look at the cheerful faces
!’

Frances, angry for Scott who was anything but cheerful and angrier still for herself because she knew what Burn was thinking about the little scene he had walked into, brushed past the man and into the room where already Jenny was taking tea, and Jason, without the fuss Frances always encountered, milk.

Talk was general as they all ate and drank. Scott told Jennifer he was returning to Mirramunna in the morning and the physiotherapist nodded back at him. ‘Then I’ll be seeing you there, Doctor.’

Frances gave a little start which she hoped she concealed by pretending to retrieve a fallen table napkin. She had not anticipated Jenny going, too, to the Riverina, though she should have expected it after what the specialist had said. As she might have known, Burn read through her quick evasion. His narrowed eyes bantered hers as he said, ‘Quite a medical staff for the sonno—one doctor, one physiotherapist, one nurse
!’

Parents
would be better, Frances thought futilely, a mother for Jason as well as a father. Also a father who
is
a father, not just someone who, though he addresses his son as sonno, to the boy is never Father or Dad but Burn.

She let the talk drift around her, then, when the men had gone out, Mrs. Campbell gone back to her kitchen, she asked Jenny, who was rising with the obvious intention of a therapy session with Jason and Jason not objecting because it was Jenny, if she could help.

Certainly,’ beamed Jenny. ‘Right now Jason and I are working on some lazy muscles, aren’t we, sonno?’

... Sonno! Frances found herself resenting ... ‘While I check Jason’s associated reactions you can watch his localised muscle-work.’

But when she stood beside the little boy with Jennifer, Frances was so absorbed that she forgot her resentment.

‘Weak muscles,’ demonstrated Jenny, ‘can only be strengthened by voluntary action against maximum resistance, since this both static and active muscle work is essential.’ She demonstrated, Jason showing a little pain which the physio told France was because pain will nearly always affect voluntary movement since the patient is not really willing to move a painful area.

‘
But he’s a good boy for his Jenny,’ she; praised sincerely, and Jason looked adoringly at her.

‘
I can’t understand it,’ Frances said as they gave Jason a break at his beloved window. ‘In a few days you’ve got from him more than I ever could.’

‘Physiotherapy goes beyond the treatment of injury by the use of exercise, massage, mechanical and electrical forces, it entails a knowledge of the mind as well.’ There was a pause, then Jenny said, ‘Besides that I
—
’ Then she stopped.

Frances waited for her to begin again. She wanted to hear what it was besides knowledge of human problems that gave Jenny her advantage.

But Jenny was beginning manipulations again, and Frances was called upon to make herself a kind of bar against which Jason could firm and then limber himself. He cried out a few times, and Jenny explained that it was an inflammation in a nerve sheath.

‘He’s going wonderfully,’ she praised. ‘He’s my brave boy.’ Not a brave boy, not even
our
brave boy.
My
brave boy. Frances felt the resentment again, not helped by the pleasure of achievement in Jason’s pale little face.

Scott left the next morning, and on her first free period Frances went to the Meldrum Clinic. She had planned what she was going to say. Once she got past the receptionist she was not so sure of herself, but she would leave that to come instinctively.

As it happened nothing came instinctively, or had need to. Within several minutes Frances was back on the street again. She had implied to the girl at the desk that she was an old school friend of Pamela’s, now looking her up.

‘Then I can’t help you,’ regretted the receptionist. ‘Knowing her, you’ll know how impetuous she is. She’s gone off leaving no address. Her father is furious, of course, but not surprised. That’s Pamela! If you care to leave an address if she does breeze in ...’

No, Frances had said, I’ll just run into her again...