Nightingales on Call (47 page)

The waitress arrived with their tea. They sat in strained silence until she’d walked away. Then Clarissa said, ‘Where did you go, anyway? Timbuctoo?’

‘Nearly.’ His expression was rueful. ‘I got as far as Europe, then I boarded a steamer bound for the Far East. I didn’t know what I was doing, I just wanted time to think, to plan my next move. I desperately wanted to make things right, to come up with a way to get us out of this awful mess.’

‘But instead you landed us in an even worse one.’

Bernard nodded. ‘You must understand, I never wanted this to happen,’ he said. ‘When I borrowed the money for that deal, I truly expected it to pay off. I’ve taken many such gambles before, and they’ve always worked out.’

Clarissa said nothing as she picked up the teapot. She poured a cup for her husband first, Lucy noticed. Perhaps that was a good sign?

‘Why didn’t you tell us what was happening, Father?’ she asked.

‘I didn’t want to worry you at first,’ he admitted, looking down at the tablecloth. ‘And then, when it all went wrong, I felt so ashamed. I knew you both looked up to me, expected me to be the strong one, and I couldn’t do it.’

Lucy turned to her mother. Clarissa was staring at the door.

‘I’m surprised you bothered to come back,’ she said stiffly. ‘After all, the business is gone, there’s nothing for you here.’

‘I came back for you.’

It was such a simple, honest admission, but Lucy had never seen her father so sincere. And it worked on her mother far better than any of the expensive gifts he’d ever bought her.

Clarissa looked startled. ‘I – I don’t understand,’ she faltered.

‘I came back because I missed you, Clarissa. You and Lucy. Being away from you made me realise I don’t care about the business, or how much money I’ve lost. I don’t even care if I spend the rest of my life in a debtor’s prison, so long as I have the love of my wife and daughter.’

Lucy looked at her mother. Clarissa eyed him warily. ‘I wish I could believe you mean that,’ she said.

‘Then I’ll just have to try to prove it to you, won’t I? If you’ll let me, that is.’

He put out his hand towards his wife, and this time she didn’t turn away.

A MONTH LATER,
at half-past ten on a wet October morning Lucy lined up with the rest of her set to collect her hospital badge from Matron. As everyone had predicted, she was also awarded the Nightingale Medal for the most outstanding student in her set.

Her parents were there to see her collect her award. It gave her a jolt to see them talking animatedly, heads close together. She had never known them be more than civil to each other the whole time she’d been growing up.

They were waiting for her in the courtyard after the ceremony, when the rest of the students had dispersed. Matron had generously allowed them all the rest of the day off to celebrate their success.

‘Lucy, darling!’ Clarissa greeted her, enveloping her in a perfumed embrace. ‘You were simply marvellous. We’re so proud of you.’

‘Very proud,’ her father agreed quietly. ‘You’ve worked very hard, my dear.’

‘Thank you, Father.’ Lucy touched the tiny Nightingale crest nestling just beneath her starched collar. Once upon a time she’d longed for nothing more than her father’s approval. But the last few months had taught her how wrong she’d been to place him on a pedestal. How could he help but topple down from such a dizzy height?

Now she no longer needed his attention or his approval. It was enough that she was proud of herself and the person she had become.

But although she didn’t live in awe of her father since his spectacular fall from grace, she loved him even more. Now he had revealed himself to be an ordinary man with failings and weaknesses like any other, she was no longer afraid of him.

‘Now, I thought we might go to the Ritz to celebrate your . . .’ He caught sight of his wife’s disapproving frown, and sighed. ‘I’m sorry. Old habits die hard.’

‘You’ll get used to it, dear.’ Clarissa gave his arm a comforting pat.

‘But not for long, I hope.’ With Gordon’s help, her father was slowly rebuilding his business, using the contacts he’d made in the Far East to import new goods. Lucy knew it was difficult for him, especially as he had to work very hard to regain the trust and goodwill of the banks. But this time her mother was at his side. Far from stepping back and allowing him to run everything, Clarissa was taking part. She showed a new interest in her husband’s business, advising him on the most fashionable lines to import from the East, and helping to secure contracts with some of the smartest shops in the West End. She’d also firmly squashed Bernard’s plan to rent a larger, more showy home in Belgravia.

‘I don’t care what everyone thinks, we must live within our means,’ she’d insisted. ‘Besides, I find I rather like Kentish Town.’

And as it turned out Bernard rather liked it too. He also liked the idea that his wife had become something of a celebrity among the smart set, and that no home was complete without the artistic flair of Clarissa Lane. Lucy could see the quiet pride in his face as he looked at his wife.

‘And see who else is here.’ Clarissa nodded past Lucy’s shoulder. She turned round to see Leo Alderson, looking sickeningly tanned and athletic in a tweed sports jacket, a trilby set rakishly on his fair hair. He looked like he’d stepped straight from an advertisement for a gentlemen’s outfitters.

But for some reason the sight of him didn’t irritate Lucy quite so much as it might once have done.

‘Hello there,’ he said. ‘I hope you don’t mind me turning up like this? Only your mother was kind enough to invite me.’

Of course she did, Lucy thought, trying not to smile. Her mother was utterly determined to throw Leo in Lucy’s path at every opportunity. And much as she hated to admit it, Lucy didn’t mind at all.

‘How’s the novel coming along?’ she asked him.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘But y’know, I’m still struggling with that ending. I just can’t make up my mind whether the fellow gets the girl in the end or not.’ He tilted his head enquiringly. ‘Maybe you could decide for me?’

‘I’d be glad to help,’ she said.

‘I have an idea,’ Clarissa jumped in. ‘Why don’t you two take that table at the Ritz? It would be such a shame to waste it, wouldn’t it?’

Sir Bernard looked puzzled. ‘But I thought you said we couldn’t afford . . .’

‘Some investments are worthwhile, darling.’ His wife threaded her arm through his. ‘Come along, we’ll catch the bus back to Kentish Town.’

Dora left the other students celebrating and walked back towards the nurses’ home. Millie, Katie, Daphne and a few of the others were going off to the local café for a treat, but she didn’t feel like following them.

Six weeks after the fair had returned to London, and Nick still hadn’t come home. Dora was angry with herself for thinking he would, but even so couldn’t stop herself from scanning the audience as she went up to collect her badge from Matron.

He’s gone, she told herself firmly. If he was going to come home he would have been here today. Or perhaps he’d forgotten that this was the day she officially qualified. Perhaps he’d never given her a second thought since leaving her behind.

The attic room seemed sad and empty as she packed her things, ready to move to the staff nurses’ home. Looking around, she thought about the day she’d arrived, almost three years ago, so nervous about what to expect. She remembered her first bruising encounter with Sister Sutton, and how kind Helen had been to her, helping her with her collar and pinning on her cap for her. She remembered how she had sat in the dining room, her stomach too tied up in knots for her to eat, looking around at the other students and wondering how she would ever survive.

But survive she had. And, in spite of her worst fears, the last three years had been the happiest Dora had ever known. She had made real friends, including some she could never have imagined making. She’d met some extraordinary people and learned a great deal, and not just about nursing.

And she had fallen in love. Dora pushed the thought from her mind as she stuffed her shoes into the corner of her suitcase. She had to stop thinking about Nick, otherwise she would send herself mad.

Think about the future instead, she told herself. Now Nick Riley was out of her life, she could stay on as a nurse. She had already made up her mind to apply for the Children’s ward when she had her interview with Matron the following day.

Three months ago she would never have believed she could contemplate working for Sister Parry. But they’d reached an understanding over the past few weeks. They’d stopped clashing heads since Dora began to realise that the ward sister wasn’t the heartless dragon she’d imagined her to be.

A lot had changed in three months, Dora realised.

She looked up as there was a knock on the door. It was Pearl, the maid.

‘Sister Sutton says to let you know there’s a message for you at the Porters’ Lodge.’

Dora’s heart skipped in her chest. ‘A message? Who’s it from?’ she asked.

The poor maid looked blank. ‘Dunno, miss. Sister just told me to tell you,’ she whispered.

Dora abandoned her packing and hurried down to the Lodge. Mr Hopkins saw her coming, and a broad grin spread over his face.

‘I’ve got some good news for you, Nurse,’ he said.

Dora shoved her hands into the folds of her skirt to stop them from trembling. He was here. He’d come back for her after all.

But before she could say Nick’s name, Mr Hopkins went on, ‘Your brother’s wife had a baby boy this morning.’

It took her a moment to register what he was saying. ‘Oh,’ was all Dora could reply.

‘I’ve sent Peter home to be with his wife,’ Mr Hopkins said, looking pleased with himself. ‘But he asked me to pass on the good news. He thought you’d want to know?’

‘Yes – thank you, Mr Hopkins,’ Dora managed to say politely.

‘I daresay you’ll be wanting to go over and see them yourself, since you’ve got the day off?’ he went on. ‘Now you’ve got two things to celebrate, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, Mr Hopkins.’ Dora kept a smile fixed on her face until she was alone in her room again. Only when she’d closed the door behind her did she allow herself to cry.

But after a while she realised Mr Hopkins was right. She had so much to be thankful for, she had to stop moping and get on with it. And a visit to Griffin Street to see her new nephew might be just what she needed.

The baby was beautiful, born that morning at home. There was never any question of Lily going into hospital, even though the Nightingale had a brand new maternity department. Most of the East End women Dora knew preferred to rely on the services of Granny Hatton, who turned up whenever a birth or a death was imminent.

The baby boy was as sturdy as his father, but he’d inherited his mother’s dark colouring rather than the Doyles’ ginger curls.

Lily settled back against the pillows, her baby in her arms, while the rest of the family cooed and fussed over him.

Nanna, of course, had to have her say about the new arrival.

‘Simon?’ She grimaced to Dora. ‘What kind of name is that for a baby? We ain’t never had a Simon in this family.’

‘About time we did then, ain’t it?’ Peter said. ‘Anyway, my missus likes it, and that’s good enough for me.’

Dora grinned at her big brother. He looked dazed with happiness.

Downstairs Rose dismissed the tea Nanna had made and sent Bea down to the Rose and Crown with a tin jug for filling.

‘We need to wet the baby’s head properly,’ she announced. ‘And we mustn’t forget our Dora’s good news either. Who’d ever have thought we’d have a nurse in the family?’

Rose smiled warmly at her daughter. Dora looked away, feeling suddenly shy. The Doyles didn’t go in for fussing over each other much, and all the attention embarrassed her.

‘Where’s Bea with that beer?’ Nanna interrupted gruffly, bringing them all back down to earth. ‘I wouldn’t put it past her to go off and spend that money you gave her.’

‘Leave her alone, Mum,’ Rose said. ‘She ain’t that bad.’

‘Not that bad? She brought that bugger Alf Doyle back to our doorstep, didn’t she?’

The mention of his name caused a ripple of tension in the room. Dora saw her mother’s face stiffen, her dark eyes growing cold. She glanced across at Josie, who was busy stoking the fire. She had her back turned to them, but her shoulders were rigid.

‘Still, at least he didn’t stay long,’ Nanna went on. ‘Dunno why he bothered to show his face in the first place.’

‘Nor do I,’ Rose muttered.

Ten minutes later, Bea returned with the jug of beer and the party carried on late into the evening. Dora sat in the midst of it, her troubles forgotten as she laughed and joked with the rest of the family. Even Bea seemed to forget to be surly as she ran up and down the stairs, checking on the baby and not giving poor Lily a minute’s peace. Dora was pleased for her sister. Whatever anyone else might have thought about Alf Doyle, Dora knew Bea had loved him. Hopefully becoming an auntie to baby Simon would stop her fretting too much about Alf leaving again.

‘It’s just like old times, ain’t it?’ Nanna said with satisfaction, looking around her.

‘It’s better than old times,’ Josie said. Dora caught her sister’s eye across the room. She understood what Josie meant. For as long as she could remember, the shadow of Alf had hung over all their happy family occasions. Even when everyone else was having fun together the two eldest girls would be tense and watchful, dreading what might follow. They would watch Alf larking around with the rest of them, a knot of fear gathering in their stomachs, knowing that later on one of them would hear his heavy tread outside the door.

Dora had been worried about her sister since she had plucked up the courage to confess everything to their mother. But seeing the way Rose put her arms around Josie tonight and hugged her fiercely, Dora could tell that it had changed things between them – for the better.

At half-past nine Dora finished her drink and said her goodbyes.

‘Do you have to go, love?’ Rose looked disappointed.

‘Sorry, Mum, I’m back on duty at seven tomorrow. And I don’t think the Home Sister will be too pleased if I’m caught coming back late on my last night in the students’ home!’