Fate Is Remarkable

He nodded. ‘I feel a bit of a swine …’ he began, and looked taken aback when she said briskly, ‘I daresay you do, but you can hardly expect me to be sympathetic about it until I know what the reason for that is.’

She looked calm and a little pale; her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, out of sight. She knew, with awful clarity, that Steven was about to throw her over; a situation she had never envisaged—no, that wasn’t quite correct, she told herself honestly. She had wondered a great deal lately why he never mentioned marriage any more.

He said sulkily, ‘I’m going to be married. Old Binns’ daughter.’ Mr Binns was his chief. The sensible side of Sarah’s brain applauded his wisdom—money, a partnership, all the right people for patients …

‘Congratulations.’ Her voice was cool, very composed. ‘Have you known her long?’

He looked astonished, and she returned the look with calm dignity, the nails of one hand digging painfully into the palm of the other. If he was expecting her to make a fuss, then he was mistaken.

‘About eighteen months.’

Her beautiful mouth opened on a gasp. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Or was I being held as a second string?’ she wanted to know in a kind of interested astonishment which made him say quickly:

‘You don’t understand, Sarah. We’ve had a lot of fun together, haven’t we? But you always thought in terms of marriage, didn’t you? You must see—you’re not a child. If I want to get on—and I do—I must get some money and meet the right people.’

‘Do you love her?’ asked Sarah.

He blustered a little. ‘I’m very fond of her.’

She looked down her exquisite nose and said with feeling, ‘Oh, the poor girl! And now I should like to go back, please—I’ve a heavy morning tomorrow.’

On the way to the car, he asked in a surprised voice, ‘Don’t you mind?’

‘That’s a question you have no right to ask as it’s of no consequence to you. In any case, I certainly don’t intend answering you.’

‘You’re damned calm,’ he answered on a sudden burst of anger. ‘That’s the trouble with you—calm and strait-laced; we could have had a grand time of it, if it hadn’t been for your ridiculous moral upbringing!’

Sarah settled herself in the car. ‘It’s a good thing in the circumstances, isn’t it?’ she observed with icy sweetness.

But she wasn’t icy when she got to her room. She went along for a bath, and exchanged the time of day with the other Sisters she met in the corridor, refusing a cup of tea on the plea of being tired, and finally shut her door so that at last she was alone and could cry her eyes out. She cried for loneliness and misery and the thought of the empty future and the wasted years, and, because she was a nice girl, she cried for Miss Binns.

The next day was nightmarish, made more so by the fact that it was Mr Binns’ out-patients and Steven would be with him that afternoon. She went to her dinner, white-faced and heavy-eyed, and encouraged all those who asked in the belief that she was enduring a heavy cold. She allowed Mr Binns to think the same when he remarked upon her jaded looks, carefully avoiding Steven’s eye as she did so. She went about her work with her usual briskness, however, talking to Steven, when she had to, in her usual friendly manner and uttering calming platitudes to the patients as they came and went.

Mr Binns was a brilliant surgeon, but he was a thought too hearty in pronouncing judgment—no one likes being told that some vital organ is in need of repair—and Mr Binns, she suspected, tended to lose sight of the person in the patient. She wondered sometimes if he was quite so cheerfully abrupt with his private patients, and thought it unlikely. She studied him, sitting behind the desk, a shade pompous, faultlessly dressed and very sure of himself, and the unbidden thought streaked through her mind that in twenty years’ time Steven would be just like him. This thought was closely followed by another one—most unexpectedly of Dr van Elven, who, although just as sure of himself and dressed, if anything, even more immaculately, had never yet shown himself to be pompous, and whose patients, however trying, he always treated as people.

The day ended at last. She went over to the Home, had a bath and changed out of uniform and went along to the Sisters’ sitting room. As she went in, there was a sudden short silence, followed by a burst of chat. She smiled wryly. The grapevine was already at work; it was something she would have to face sooner or later. Luckily she knew everyone in the room very well indeed; she might as well get it over and done with. She caught Kate Spencer’s eye—she had trained with Kate; they had been friends for a number of years now—and said cheerfully, ‘I expect the grapevine has got all the details wrong—it always does, but the fact remains that Steven is going to marry Mr Binns’ daughter. It isn’t anyone’s fault, just one of those things. Only it’s a bit awkward.’

She sat down on one of the easy chairs scattered about the pleasant room and waited quietly for someone to say something. It was Kate who spoke.

‘Of course it’s Steven’s fault. I bet,’ she continued with her unerring habit of fastening on the truth, ‘he’s not in love with her. She’s Dad’s only daughter, isn’t she? There’ll be some money later on, and a partnership now.’

She glanced at Sarah’s face, which was expressionless, and said with devastating candour, ‘I’m right, aren’t I? Sarah? Only you’ll not admit it.’

She made a small snorting noise, indicative of indignation and echoed by everyone else in the room, because Sarah was liked and Steven had played her a rotten trick. A small dark girl who had been curled up by the fire and had so far said nothing got to her feet.

‘There’s a new film on at the Leicester Square. Let’s all go—if we’re quick we can just manage it, and we can eat at Holy Joe’s on the way back. It’s only spaghetti for supper anyway.’

Her fortitudinous suggestion was received with a relief everyone did their best to conceal. They were all sorry for Sarah, but they knew her enough to know that the last thing she wanted from them was pity. They went in a body to the cinema, sweeping her along with them, and afterwards had a rather noisy supper at Joe’s. It was after ten as they walked back through the mean little back streets of the East End to the hospital. It was a long walk, but they had agreed among themselves that it would be a good idea to tire Sarah out, so that she would sleep and not look quite so awful in the morning as she had done all day.

But she didn’t sleep that night either—she still looked beautiful when she went on duty the next morning, but she had no colour at all, and her eyes were haggard. She would have to see Steven; work with him, talk to him until dinner time. It was Mr Peppard’s surgical OP, and Steven would naturally be there too. She could of course tell one of the staff nurses to take the clinic and make herself scarce at the other end of the department, but pride forbade her. She did the usual round, making sure that patients were being weighed, tests done, X-rays fetched, and Path. Lab. forms collected. It was almost time for the clinic to open when she had done. She went into her office—she would have time to sketch out the off-duty rota before nine o’clock. She had barely sat down at her desk when Steven came in. Sarah looked up briefly, said ‘Good morning’ with quiet affability and went on with her writing. He stood awkwardly by the door, and when she didn’t say anything else, said sulkily:

‘I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t know you were so serious about it all—I mean, we were only good pals, after all. I never said I’d marry you …’

Sarah put down her pen at that, gave him a haughty look, and said with deliberation, ‘Aren’t you being just a little conceited, Steven? No, you never asked me to marry you, so aren’t you anticipating my answer? The one I might have made, that is. There’s no point in raking over a dead fire, is there?’ She had gone rather red in the face, and was regrettably aware that her lip was trembling. She went on sharply, ‘Now do go away; I want to get this done before Mr Peppard comes.’

He went then, and she was left to sit alone, staring in front of her, the off-duty rota forgotten.

She went to first dinner, leaving Staff to finish Mr Peppard’s clinic. Dr van Elven had his OP at one-thirty—he liked his patients ready and waiting when he arrived, and as he didn’t keep other people waiting himself, Sarah did her best to achieve this state of affairs, although it often meant a wild race against time between the clinics. It was one of her lucky days, however. She was ready to start, with the first patient waiting in the little dressing room and the nurse outside already hovering over the second, and there were still five minutes to go. She had had no time to tidy herself. She began feverishly to do so now—showering powder over her pretty nose in a vain effort to cover its redness, and putting on far too much lipstick. She was tucking her hair into a neat pleat, her mouth full of pins, when Dr van Elven stalked in. He was never early—she was so surprised that she opened her mouth and all the pins scattered on the floor. He put down his case on the desk and went and picked them up for her and handed them back gravely. He gave her a quick, searching glance as he wished her good afternoon; a look which she was convinced saw right through the powder. She was annoyed to feel herself blushing—not that it mattered, for he was standing, half turned away from her, reading up the first patient’s notes.

For some reason which she couldn’t understand, she didn’t want him to know about Steven. Of course, in time, he was bound to find out—news leaked through even to the most exhalted of the senior staff. He had been one of the first to know when she had started going out with Steven; she remembered with awful clarity how he had asked her lightly if she would like being a surgeon’s wife. She thought that she had no more tears left, but now, at this most awkward of moments, they rose in a solid lump into her throat. She swallowed them back resolutely and heard his calm voice asking her to fetch in the first patient. He looked up as he spoke and gave her a long steady look, and she was all at once aware that he knew all about it. She lifted her chin and went past him to the door to bring in his patient.

The clinic was a long one that afternoon. The medical registrar was on holiday; it meant that one of the house physicians was dealing with blood samples and blood sugars and any of the various tests Dr van Elven wanted done at once. He was nervous and therefore a little slow; when they stopped for five minutes to snatch a cup of tea cooling on its tray, there was still a formidable number of patients to see. Of these, two had to be admitted immediately, and several were sent to X-Ray, which meant that Dr van Elven had to sit patiently while the wet films were fetched by a nurse. It was six o’clock by the time the last patient had gone. Sarah had never known him so late before, and even now he evinced no desire to go home. He sat writing endless notes, and even a couple of letters, because the secretary had gone at five-thirty. Sarah cleared up the afternoon’s litter around the department locking doors and inspecting sluices and making sure that there were no patients lurking in the cubicles. When she got back, he had apparently finished, for the desk was cleared of papers, and his case was closed. He got up as she went into the consulting room.

‘Mrs Brown is to come in the day after tomorrow, I believe, Sister?’

Sarah said yes, she was, and had he fetched the cat.

‘Not yet,’ he answered seriously. ‘I wonder if you would do me the favour of coming with me to Mrs Brown’s—er—home? It seems to me to be a good idea if we were to take her to Richmond with the cat; she could meet my housekeeper and then go on to hospital. If you were there too … I believe that you are free on Saturday mornings?’

She was always free on Saturday mornings—she wondered why he asked, because after all these years he must surely know. But she had nothing to do; it would fill the hours before she came on duty after dinner. She replied:

‘Yes, certainly, sir. Shall I meet you there?’ She thought a moment. ‘Mrs Brown lives in Phipps Street, doesn’t she?’

The doctor nodded. ‘Yes. But I will fetch you from the Home. Would eleven o’clock suit you?’

He waited only long enough for her to murmur a rather surprised Yes before he went, calling a brief goodnight over his shoulder.

She went to the front door of the Home exactly on the hour on Saturday morning to find him waiting. The Iso Grigo looked sleek and powerful, and it was very comfortable. Dr van Elven got out and walked round and opened the door for her—something Steven had seldom done. Her spirits lifted a little, to drop to her shoes as the car slid to the gate and purred to a halt to allow Steven’s Mini to pass them, going the other way. She had a glimpse of his face, gazing at her with a stunned surprise, then he had passed them and they themselves were out in the street. She remembered then that it was Steven’s habit to play squash each Saturday and that he invariably returned at eleven. She wondered if the man beside her knew that, and decided that he didn’t, but her flattened ego lifted a little—the small incident would give Steven something to think about.

She felt all of a sudden more cheerful and was able to utter a few pointless remarks about the weather, to which Dr van Elven made courteous replies in a casual voice. He was so relaxed himself that she began to relax too and even to feel pleased that she had dressed with such care. She had read once, a long time ago, when such advice seemed laughingly improbable, that it was of the utmost importance for a girl who had been jilted to take the greatest pains with her appearance. Well, she had. She had put on her new tweed suit—a rather dashing outfit in tobacco brown—and complemented it with brown calf shoes and handbag. She felt pleased that she had taken such sound advice, and pondered the advisability of getting a new hat until, obedient to the doctor’s request, she peered out of the window to look for number 169. Phipps Street was endless, edged with smoke-grimed Victorian houses, the variety of whose curtains bore testimony to the number of people they sheltered; the pavements were crowded with children playing, housewives hurrying along with loaded baskets, and old men leaning against walls, doing nothing at all. Sarah said on a sigh, ‘How drab it all is—how can they live here?’

The doctor eased the car past a coal cart. ‘And yet you choose to work here.’

‘Yes. But I go home three or four times a year—I can escape.’ She broke off to point out the house they were making for, and he brought the car to halt between a milk float and an ice-cream van with a smooth action which earned her admiration. They had barely set foot upon the pavement before a small crowd had collected. The doctor smiled lightly at the curious faces around them and applied himself to the elderly knocker upon the front door. Several faces from various windows peered out, and after a good look, the windows were opened. The nearest framed a large man with a belligerent eye. ‘‘Oo d’yer want?’ he enquired without enthusiasm.

Dr van Elven said simply, ‘Mrs Brown.’

‘Ah,’ said the man, and disappeared, to reappear a moment later at the door. ‘You’ll be the doctor,’ he remarked importantly. ‘Second floor back. Mind the stairs, there’s a bit of rail missing.’ He stared at them both and then stood back to let them pass him into the small dark hall. ‘I’ll keep an eye on that there car,’ he offered.

‘Thank you.’ The doctor had produced some cigarettes from a pocket of his well-cut tweed suit and offered them silently. The man took one, said, ‘Ta’ and waved a muscled arm behind him. ‘Up there.’

They mounted the stairs with a certain amount of caution, the doctor restraining her with a hand on her shoulder. She remembering the missing rail. They were on the first landing when Sarah said:

‘You don’t smoke cigarettes—only a pipe.’

He paused, a step ahead of her, and smiled over his shoulder.

‘How—er—observant of you. They’re useful to carry around in these parts; they smooth the way, I find.’