Yankee Surgeon (18 page)

“I
’
m going into town one day with my aunt to do some shopping, but I expect it will be before then. It might be better if you phoned
first ...
just in case.”

“Okay. I
’
ll do that little thing. Friends, Sally?”

She smiled wanly at him. “Friends, John.”

He made a move toward her and thought better of it and contented himself with a wave of farewell. “Don
’
t bother to see me off. I
’
ll say good-bye to your
folks as I go through.”

Sally let him go feeling a little sad and yet, strangely, glad that she had kept her defenses intact. If she knew John better she might know how to interpret his actions. Was he just playing with her, kissing her because she hadn
’
t stopped him, or did she really mean something to him? And if she did why did the thought make her feel so miserable?

Her father came and joined her. “I like that doctor of yours. He
’
s got some ideas of his own tucked away under that casual manner.”

Sally glanced at him. “Has he, Daddy? I don
’
t see very much of him unless there
’
s an emergency or something.”

“He and your aunt seem to hit it off. I left them talking sixteen to the dozen. He thinks quite a lot of you as well, I would say.” Mr. Conway busied himself filling his pipe.

Sally scuffed a little hole in the gravel path. “What makes you think that? Don
’
t say it
’
s because you
’
re a man,” she warned him fiercely.

Her father chuckled. “A man of his position doesn
’
t come to visit a nurse from as big as hospital as St. Bride
’
s unless he thinks she
’
s something special.”

Sally slipped off her sandal and emptied out the stones. “I expect he was bored or something.”

“I don
’
t think he was,” her father said quietly.

“Let
’
s talk about something else,” Sally said a trifle crossly.

“How much do you want to go to America?” Mr. Conway tossed his surprise at her feet.

Sally stared at him. “Would you mind too much if I said more than anything in the world?”

Mr. Conway studied his pipe and struck another match. “I
’
d mind very much but I wouldn
’
t put anything in your way,” he said thoughtfully.

“What about Mummy?” Sally held her excitement tightly in check.

“I think now that she and Agnes have made up, she doesn
’
t feel that America is quite so far away—and it might even happen that we
’
ll take a trip that way ourselves,” he answered carefully.

“Oh, Daddy!” Sally stood on tiptoe and hugged him, pipe and all. “How did you
know ...
about my wanting to go, I mean?”

He laughed. “When a sister-in-law I scarcely know starts fussing over me and asking leading questions in such a casual manner I
’
m left with the conclusion that either she
’
s losing her mind or she
’
s up to something. It
’
s a game two can play, and one of
my
leading questions caught an answer.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “When are you thinking of going?”

It was Sally
’
s turn to chuckle. “Don
’
t rush me on to the ship, Daddy. There
’
s a lot to arrange first.”

“If it
’
s money, I
’
ve got some tucked away,” Mr. Conway offered.

“Daddy, you
’
re an angel. That
’
s for your old age, but there may be a traveling scholarship available, Matron said.”

“So you
find it easier to discuss your dreams with a stranger than with us,” her father said a little sadly.

“It was only because she asked me, Daddy, and the reason I didn
’
t say anything to you and Mummy was that I was sure you
’
d mind so much that I wouldn
’
t want to go and now you don
’
t and I can go!” Sally burbled on happily.

“I see,” Mr. Conway said rather dryly. “What about yo
ur
—American
friend
? Does he know?”

“He only knows that I want to go ... not that I
’
m going, and that was only because he overhead George teasing me about it when he first came up to the operating theater. And I don
’
t want him to know until I
’
ve got it all fixed,” Sally explained.

“Why? Afraid he
’
ll stop you?”

“Not quite. I don
’
t want him to think—” Sally began, “—that you
’
re either chasing him or running away, eh?”

“Something like that,” Sally admitted candidly.

“What about George? Where does he come in?”

Sally giggled. “Daddy, don
’
t! You make it sound far worse than it is. George only knows as much as John and he hasn
’
t a clue that I might really be going. It
’
s one of the standard St. Bride
’
s jokes according to him.”

“Hmm ... it sounds as if you like the two young men and aren
’
t in love with either,” her father pronounced judgment. “So it looks as if we
’
re only losing our daughter to a country and not to any particular young man.”

“Does it? How does one know when one
’
s really and truly in love?”

“If you were, you wouldn
’
t be asking that question. I can only speak as a mere man, but you often think you
’
re in love but when you are, you know, and that
’
s the difference. Sometimes the first turns into the second.”

On the Thursday Sally went to town with her aunt. Agnes tried on anything that took her fancy, and occasionally she persuaded Sally to try on something that looked “just too cute.” Sally was beginning to feel decidedly weary but her aunt was still as fresh as when they had started.

“Come on, Sally. I saw some evening dresses here the other day and I was simply too rushed to stop and try them on. We
’
ll go and have tea afterward, I promise.”

Sally followed her aunt up the winding stairs. There were showcases filled with evening frocks—every landing had its display—and there were glimpses of rooms with even more special creations. Sally had never seen so many quite so lovely clothes grouped together. She slowed down in front of one outfit. It was the soft pink of a newly opened rose. The skirt was layer upon layer of fine chiffon draped over a stiff underskirt, and the bodice was delicately curved folds of the same material pleated like the inner petals of the cluster of white roses fastened to one slender shoulder strap.

Agnes glanced back over her shoulder to see what was delaying Sally. “That
’
s kind of sweet. Like to try it on just for the fun of it?”

Sally nodded, afraid to speak in case the longing showed too clearly in her voice. Once in the fitting room she allowed the assistant to help her into it and she spun slowly around, regarding her reflection in the many mirrors. It couldn
’
t be Sally Conway looking back at
her ... t
hat dark-haired princess with faintly flushed cheeks to match the pink of the dress and eyes that held a shine to put sapphires to shame. She glanced toward her aunt who was busy trying on one of her own choices.

“
Aunt Agnes, how do I look?” she asked dreamily.

“Like a million dollars, and I
’
d give the same to look half as good in this rag,” the other woman said crisply. “How would you like to go ahead to the restaurant and order our tea? It
’
s on the fourth floor. I
’
ve got a few more to wriggle in and out of before I make up my mind.”

Sally took the elevator and walked into the crowded restaurant. A busy hostess finally found her a table for two not too far from the door. She studied the menu and having given her order, sat back and surveyed the colorful scene. She came into central London seldom enough to appreciate it, and here in this luxury shop she would be regarding the cream of the smarter set. As she regarded their eager animated faces and caught the snippets of their conversation, she realized how much life at St. Bride
’
s set one apart. Her aunt joined her just as the tea came.

“You pour, honey. I haven
’
t got the strength after struggling in and out of hundreds of dresses.” Agnes Raynor sank into her chair.

“Did you get what you wanted after all that?” Sally smiled at her aunt.

The older woman nodded. “I wouldn
’
t be here yet if I hadn
’
t,” she said grimly. “Luckily I liked the last one I tried on. They
’
ll send
it
out tomorrow with a couple of other little items I fancied.” She glanced at Sally. “Hope you haven
’
t become too bored dragging around at my heels. It can
’
t have been much fun for you.”

“I
’
ve loved every moment of it,” Sally said frankly. “I know St. Bride
’
s is in London really, but it
’
s far enough out to make something like this a real treat.”

“Are you really keen on nursing, Sally?”

Sally considered the question. “I
’
ve been looking around at the women
’
s faces and they make me darned glad I
’
m doing something I really love. They
’
re only pretending they
’
re enjoying themselves and hoping they
’
re fooling the other person more than half as well as they
’
re fooling themselves. It
’
s silly, isn
’
t it?”

“I don
’
t know whether it
’
s silly but at least it
’
s pathetic they don
’
t even know they
’
re missing something. Back home women like that join so many committees, clubs, and societies that they don
’
t even have a minute to wonder whether they like what they
’
re doing or even if they
’
re alive. Just count yourself lucky to have found what you want so soon. It
’
s taken me a lot of years to do the same.”

Sally was busy wondering whether she could honestly say she wasn
’
t really ready to get out of bed yet when she heard someone calling her.

“Sally! Sally! You
’
re wanted on the phone!”

Sally threw off the final wisps of sleep and snatched up her housecoat and stumbled down the stairs.

“Sally Conway speaking.” She knew then that she was really on holiday—otherwise she would have automatically answered,
Staff Nurse Conway speaking.

“And who
’
s a sleepyhead this morning! How are you keeping, honey?”

It could only be John, and stupidly her heart began to pound away for no reason at all.

“Oh, hello, John. I
’
m very well and how are you?”

“Polite and all that and just out of bed! Honey, you
’
re a girl after my own heart. Could you bear it if I dropped over this afternoon?”

Sally thought rapidly. He probably wouldn
’
t stay long and it wasn
’
t likely that George would come today ... he hadn
’
t said
when...

“Yes, come about tea time and you can tell me all the news.”

“That all you want to see me for, honey?” John
’
s voice took on a pleading note.

“Friends, John?” Sally said hastily.

“Okay. I get you,” he said gloomily. “See you between four and five.
‘
Bye for now.”

Sally put down the phone and went slowly back up the stairs. She glanced at her rumpled bed but she couldn
’
t very well make any excuse for returning to it now. John
’
s call had reminded her of something that had happened yesterday just as she and her aunt were coming out of the restaurant. There had been a line at the cashier
’
s desk and as they waited their turn Sally had picked up a fragment of conversation:

“I know he
’
s going. He didn
’
t tell me but I managed to find out, but I haven
’
t got a clue as to whom his partner is ... probably one of his American friends.”

The speaker had been hidden behind one of the pillars but there had been something vaguely familiar about that voice. Sally had shrugged it
away ...
possibly it could have been one of the patients she had had over on the private wing. She was always meeting people who were vaguely like someone she knew and she never could remember where or under what circumstances she had last seen them.

Sally pushed away the recollection. It couldn
’
t have been Claris anyway ... she wasn
’
t off on a Thursday
afternoon...

The rest of the morning passed quickly and there was a flurry of excitement when a van brought Agnes Raynor
’
s purchases.

When John arrived he seemed full of suppressed excitement and Sally didn
’
t know quite what to make of him. He greeted her and then went to say something to her aunt. Sally didn
’
t catch what was said but she saw her aunt nod her head.

Mrs. Conway came in with the tea and Sally had to keep her curiosity unsatisfied.

John brought Sally a cup of tea and sat down beside her.

“You doing anything tonight, honey?” His tone was elaborately casual.

Sally glanced at her mother and then shook her head. “Not as far as I know. Why?” She made her voice as casual as his.

“Like to come dancing?”

Sally
’
s thoughts did a quick survey of her wardrobe, “As long as it isn
’
t anything too formal, I
’
d love to.”

“Depends upon what you call formal. Will you come to the Founders
’
Ball with me tonight?” He stood up and made her an impressive bow. “Please say yes even if you did say no last time.”

Sally
wavered. She did want to go now but ...
“John, I don
’
t know what to say. I would like to go but I haven
’
t got anything to wear that would be up to that standard, and I
’
m not being silly about it.” The disappointment in her eyes matched the expression on John
’
s face.

“Oh, Sally, do you really mean that?”

There was a hesitant cough from Agnes Raynor who had been talking to Mrs. Conway. “Sa
ll
y, sorry to bother you,
but would you mind bringing a packet down for me? It
’
s on my bed.”

Sally hid her astonishment at the interruption and ran upstairs. On the bed was only one thing
...
an enormous dress box bearing the name of the luxury shop where they had been yesterday. What held her eyes was the name on the label: “Miss Sally Conway.”

Her fingers trembled as she slipped off the string that held the lid. It couldn
’
t
be ...
but it was. There it lay in folds of tissue
paper ...
the dream dress she had tried on yesterday.

There were tears of joy clinging to her lashes as she ran back down the stairs and flung her arms around her aunt.

“How can I ever thank you enough?” she whispered.

“By wearing it tonight and being the belle of the ball,” Agnes Raynor said practically, but her voice wasn
’
t quite steady.

“I take it you
’
re coming then, honey,” John made a bid for her attention.