A House for Sister Mary by Andrews Lucilla

Author:Andrews, Lucilla [Andrews, Lucilla]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Maggie Hope, Jean Fullerton, happy ending, nurses, medical romance, Nadine Dorries, 1960s, doctors and nurses, maternity unit, Donna Douglas, hea, midwife, hospital romance, Nightingales series, happy ever after, second chances, nursing
Publisher: Wyndham Books (Medical Romance)
Published: 2018-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

ROBERT MAKES TEA

The ambulance men were called John and George. They were youngish, muscular, neat, and very kind. They were Astead men and knew Dr. Stock well. When they discovered Robert was in medicine and I was a nurse they made mild little jokes about busman’s holidays, and when Nick was in the ambulance and Dr. Stock in his car George assured me privately I did not have to worry about my young gentleman as John would take care of him lovely and Dr. Stock would do a real good job on his eye. ‘He knows his trade, miss. You’ll see.’

Dr. Stock overtook the ambulance before it was out of Wylden. I said, ‘It was nice of him to wait with us.’ Robert nodded. ‘How much was off?’

‘About half. Marcus Stock should be able to fix it back on.’ He did not add unless the retina was wholly detached by the time Nick reached the theatre, and had deteriorated beyond hope of saving, which could happen very quickly once it was right off, as we both knew that danger, and he was not a man to waste breath underlining accepted facts. I used to find his habit of silence irritating and callous. Previously, when I had a problem, I had wanted to talk about it, to go into every aspect, to scare myself with the worst that could happen, in the hope that the person to whom I was unburdening would be able to produce the right soothing answers to prove I did not have to worry at all. Having been, as I now realised, exceedingly lucky, I had never had to deal with any problems of this present nature. No one close to me had ever been more than mildly ill. I was accustomed to seeing great anxiety for a patient at second-hand, or feeling the kind of anxiety I had for Tom Elkroyd, but nothing had affected me personally as I was now affected by Nick. I felt hollow with anxiety, and the last thing I wanted to do was discuss it. I did not know if Robert realised that or not, but his silence no longer irritated me. It was restful.

He followed me round to the back and into the kitchen, I assumed to collect his borrowed ophthalmoscope and leave. Instead he looked in the cold teapot, which was still with the other tea things on the table. ‘What’s the tea situation, Anna?’

‘Oh ‒ good, the caddy’s full. Why? Want some?’

‘Yes, please. Don’t you?’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Treating me for shock?’

‘If I was I wouldn’t use tea; you know that’s aged therapy. I just want some. I always do. You must remember that’ ‒ he filled and plugged in the kettle ‒ ‘after the quantities you, Dave, and I drank together.’

‘I remember.’

He could have been being unnecessarily tactless, yet in a peculiar way I found his reminder comforting. It made me remember we knew each other too well for me to have to bother with entertaining him.

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