‘My view is that we don’t want to pick too large a town. Under twenty thousand inhabitants – that’s ideal. We can make things hum there. Look at a map of the West Midlands. You’ll find scores of industrial towns served by four or five doctors who are politely at each other’s throats, where the good old MD drags out half a tonsil one morning and sludges mist. alba the next. It’s just there that we can demonstrate our idea of specialised co-operation. We won’t buy ourselves in. We just, so to speak, arrive. Lord! I’d like to see their faces, Doctor Brown and Jones and Robinson, I mean. We’ll have to stand waggon loads of abuse – incidentally, we may be lynched. Seriously, though, we want a central clinic – as you say – with Hope’s lab. attached. We might even have a couple of beds upstairs. We won’t be very grand at first – it means conversion rather than building, I suppose – but I’ve a feeling we’ll take root.’ Suddenly aware of Christine’s glistening eyes as she sat following their talk he smiled. ‘What do you think about it, ma’am? Crazy, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she answered a trifle huskily. ‘ But it’s – it’s the crazy things that matter.’
‘That’s the word, Chris! By God! This does matter.’
Andrew bounced the cutlery as he brought down his fist. ‘The scheme’s good. But it’s the ideal behind the scheme! A new interpretation of the Hippocratic oath; an absolute allegiance to the scientific ideal, no empiricism, no shoddy methods, no stock prescribing, no fee-snatching, no proprietary muck, no soft-soaping of hypochondriacs, no – Oh! for the Lord’s sake, give me a drink! My vocal cords won’t stand up to this, I ought to have a drum.’
They talked on until one o’clock in the morning. Andrew’s tense excitement was a stimulus felt even by the stoic Denny. His last train had long since departed. That night he occupied the spare room and as he hurried off after breakfast on the following day he promised to come to town again on the following Friday. Meanwhile he would see Hope and – final proof of his enthusiasm – buy a large scale map of the West Midlands.
‘It’s on, Chris, it’s on!’ Andrew came back triumphant from the door. ‘Philip’s as keen as mustard. He doesn’t say much. But I know.’
That same day they had the first inquiry for the practice. A prospective buyer arrived and he was followed by others. Gerald Turner came in person with the more likely purchasers. He had a beautiful flow of elegant language which he even directed upon the architecture of the garage. On Monday, Doctor Noel Lowry called twice, alone in the morning and escorted by the agent in the afternoon. Thereafter Turner rang up Andrew, suavely confidential:
‘Doctor Lowry is interested, doctor, very interested I may say. He’s particularly anxious we don’t sell till his wife has a chance to see the house. She’s at the seaside with the children. She’s coming up Wednesday.’
This was the day on which Andrew had arranged to take Mary to Bellevue but he felt the matter could be left in Turner’s hands. Everything had gone as he anticipated at the hospital. Mary was due to leave at two o’clock. He had fixed up with Nurse Sharp to accompany them in the car.
It was raining heavily as, at half past one, he started off by driving to Welbeck Street to pick up Nurse Sharp. She was in a sulky humour, waiting but unwilling, when he reached no 57a. Since he had told her he must dispense with her service at the end of the month her moods had been even more uncertain. She snapped an answer to his greeting and stepped into the car.
Fortunately he had no difficulty with Mary. He drew up as she came through the porter’s lodge and the next moment she was in the back of the saloon with Nurse Sharp, warmly wrapped in a rug with a hot bottle at her feet. They had not gone far, however, before he began to wish he had not brought the sulky and suspicious nurse. It was evident that she considered the expedition far beyond the scope of her duties. He wondered how he had managed to put up with her so long. At half past three they reached Bellevue. The rain had now ceased and a burst of sun came through the clouds as they ran up the drive. Mary leaned forward, her eyes fastened nervously, a little apprehensively, upon the place from which she had been led to expect so much.
Andrew found Stillman in the office. He was anxious to see the case with him at once for the question of pneumothorax induction weighed heavily on his mind. He spoke of this as he smoked a cigarette and drank a cup of tea.
‘Very well,’ Stillman nodded as he concluded. ‘We’ll go up right now.’
He led the way to Mary’s room. She was now in bed, pale from her journey and still inclined to apprehensiveness, gazing at Nurse Sharp who stood at one end of the room folding up her dress. She gave a little start as Stillman came forward.
He examined her meticulously. His examination was an illumination to Andrew, quiet, silent, absolutely precise. He had no bedside manner. He was not impressive. He did not, indeed, resemble a physician at work. He was like a business man engaged with the complications of an adding machine which had gone wrong. Although he used the stethoscope, most of his investigation was tactile, a palpation of the inter-rib and supra-clavicular spaces as if, through his smooth fingers, he could actually sense the condition of the living, breathing lung cells beneath.
When it was over he said nothing to Mary but took Andrew beyond the door.
‘Pneumothorax,’ he said. ‘There’s no question. That lung should have been collapsed weeks ago. I’m going to do it right away. Go back and tell her.’
While he went off to see to the apparatus Andrew returned to the room and informed Mary of their decision. He spoke as lightly as he could yet it was evident that the immediate prospect of the induction upset her further.
‘You’ll do it?’ she asked in an uneasy tone. ‘Oh! I’d much rather you did it.’
‘It’s nothing, Mary. You won’t feel the slightest pain. I’ll be here. I’ll be helping him! I’ll see that you’re all right.’
He had meant actually to leave the whole technique to Stillman. But as she was so nervous, so palpably depending upon him and as, indeed, he felt himself responsible for her presence here, he went to the treatment-room and offered his assistance to Stillman.
Ten minutes later they were ready. When Mary was brought in he gave her local anaesthesia. He then stood by the manometer, while Stillman skilfully inserted the needle, controlling the flow of sterile nitrogen gas into the pleura. The apparatus was exquisitely delicate and Stillman undoubtedly a master of the technique. He had an expert touch with the cannula, driving it deftly forward, his eye fixed upon the manometer for the final ‘snap’ which announced perforation of the parietal pleura. He had his own method of deep manipulation to prevent the occurrence of surgical emphysema.
After an early phase of acute nervousness Mary’s anxiety gradually faded. She submitted to the operation with increasing confidence and at the end she could smile at Andrew, completely relaxed. Back again in her room she said:
‘You were right. It was nothing. I don’t feel as if you’d done anything at all.’
‘No?’ He lifted an eyebrow; then laughed. ‘That’s how it should be – no fuss, no sense of anything terrible happening to you – I wish every operation could go that way! But we’ve immobilised that lung of yours all the same. It’ll have a rest now. And when it starts breathing again – believe me! – it will be healed.’
Her glance rested upon him then wandered round the pleasant room, through the window to the view of the valley beyond.
‘I’m going to like it here, after all. He doesn’t try to be nice – Mr Stillman, I mean – but somehow you feel he is nice. Do you think I could have my tea?’
Chapter Nineteen
It was nearly seven o’clock when he left Bellevue. He had remained longer than he had anticipated, talking to Stillman on the lower verandah, enjoying the cool air and the quiet conversation of the other man. As he drove off he was pervaded by an extraordinary sense of placidity, of tranquillity. He derived that benefit from Stillman whose personality, with its repose, it’s indifference to the trivialities of life, reacted fav
ourably upon his own impetuous disposition. Moreover, he was now easy in his mind about Mary. He contrasted his previous hurried action, her summary dispatch into an out-of-date hospital, with all that he had done for her this afternoon. It had caused him inconvenience, a great deal of troublesome arrangement. It was quite unorthodox. Though he had not discussed the question of payment with Stillman, he realised that Con was in no position to meet the Bellevue fees and that, in consequence, the settlement of the bill would fall upon himself. But all this became as nothing beside the glowing sense of real achievement which pervaded him. For the first time in many months he felt that he had done something which, to his own belief, was worthy. It pervaded him warmly, a cherished thought, the beginning of his vindication.
He drove slowly, enjoying the quiet of the evening. Nurse Sharp once again sat in the back seat of the car but she had nothing to say and he, with his own thoughts, was almost unconscious of her. When they drew into London, however, he asked where he should drop her and, on her reply, drew up at Notting Hill Tube Station. He was glad to be rid of her. She was a good nurse but her nature was repressed and unhappy. She had never liked him. He decided to post her month’s salary to her the next day. Then he would not see her again.
Strangely, his mood had altered as he came along Paddington Street. It always affected him to pass the Vidlers’ shop. Out of the corner of his eye he saw it – Renovations Ltd. One of the assistants was pulling down the shutters. The simple action was so symbolic it sent a shiver through him. Subdued, he reached Chesborough Terrace and ran the car into his garage. He went into his house with a curious sadness pressing upon him.
Christine met him joyfully in the hall. Whatever his mood might be, hers was vivid with success. Her eyes were shining with her news.
‘Sold!’ she declared gaily. ‘Knocked down, lock, stock, and basement. They waited and waited for you, darling – they’ve only just gone. Doctor and Mrs Lowry, I mean. He got so agitated,’ she laughed, ‘ because you weren’t here for the surgery that he set to and did it himself. Then I gave them supper. Then we made more conversation. I could almost see Mrs Lowry deciding that you’d had a motor smash. Then I began to worry! But now you are here, dear! And it’s all right. You’ve to meet him at Mr Turner’s office tomorrow at eleven to sign the contract. And – oh! yes – he’s given Mr Turner a deposit.’
He followed her into the front room, where the supper had been cleared from the table. He was pleased, naturally, that the practice should be sold, yet he could not, at present, summon any great show of elation.
‘It is good, isn’t it,’ Christine went on, ‘that it should all be settled up so quickly. I don’t think he expects a very long introduction. Oh! I’ve been thinking so much before you came in. If only we could have a little holiday at Val André again, before we start work – it was lovely there, wasn’t it, darling – and we had such a wonderful time –’ She broke off, gazing at him. ‘Why, what’s the matter, dear?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ he smiled, sitting down. ‘I’m a little tired, I think. Probably because I missed my dinner –’
‘What!’ she exclaimed, aghast. ‘ I made certain you’d had it at Bellevue, before you left.’ Her glance swept round. ‘And I’ve cleared everything away, and let Mrs Bennett out to the pictures.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘But it does. No wonder you didn’t jump when I told you about the practice. Now you just sit there one minute and I’ll bring up a tray. Is there anything you’d especially like? I could heat up some soup – or make you some scrambled egg – or what?’
He considered.
‘The egg, I think, Chris. Oh! but don’t bother. Well, if you like, then – and perhaps a bit of cheese afterwards.’
She was back in no time with a tray on which stood a plate of scrambled eggs, a glass of celery heart, bread, biscuits, butter and the cheese-dish. She placed the tray upon the table. As he pulled in his chair she brought out a bottle of ale from the sideboard cupboard.
While he ate she watched him solicitously. She smiled.
‘You know, dear, I’ve often thought – if we’d lived in Cefan Row, say a kitchen and one bedroom, we’d have fitted in perfectly. High life doesn’t agree with us. Now I’m going to be a working-man’s wife again I’m awfully happy.’
He went on with his scrambled egg. The food was certainly making him feel better.
‘You know, darling,’ she continued, placing her hands beneath her chin in her characteristic way, ‘ I’ve thought such a lot these last few days. Before that my mind was stiff, somehow, all closed up. But since we’re together – oh, since we’re ourselves again everything has seemed so clear. It’s only when you’ve got to fight for things that they really become worth while. When they just drop into your lap there’s no satisfaction in them. Don’t you remember those days at Aberalaw – they’ve been living, simply living in my mind all day – when we had to go through all those rough times together. Well! now I feel that the same thing is starting for us all over again. It’s our kind of life, darling. It’s us! And oh, I’m so happy about it.’
He glanced towards her.
‘You’re really happy, Chris?’
She kissed him lightly.
‘Never happier in my life than I am at this moment.’
There was a pause. He buttered a biscuit and lifted the lid of the dish to help himself to cheese. But there was anti-climax in the action which revealed, not his favourite Liptauer but no more than a barren end of cheddar, which Mrs Bennett used for cooking. The instant she saw it Christine gave a self-reproachful cry.
‘And I meant to call at Frau Schmidt’s to-day!’
‘Oh! it’s all right, Chris.’
‘But it isn’t all right.’ She whipped the dish away before he could help himself. ‘Here am I mooning like a sentimental schoolgirl, giving you no dinner at all – when you come in tired – starving you. Fine sort of working-man’s wife I’d be!’ She jumped up, her eye upon the clock. ‘I’ve just time to rush across for it now before she closes.’
‘Don’t bother, Chris –’
‘Please, darling.’ She silenced him gaily. ‘I want to do it. I want to – because you love Frau Schmidt’s cheese and I – I love you.’
She was out of the room before he could protest again. He heard her quick step in the hall, the light closing of the outer door. His eyes still were faintly smiling – it was so like her to do this. He buttered another biscuit waiting for the arrival of the famous Liptauer, waiting for her return.
The house was very still: Florrie sleeping downstairs, he reflected, and Mrs Bennett at the cinema. He was glad Mrs Bennett was coming with them on their new venture. Stillman had been great this afternoon. Mary would be all right now, right as rain. Marvellous how the rain had cleared off this afternoon – beautiful it had been coming home through the country, so fresh and quiet. Thank God! Christine would soon have her garden again. He and Denny and Hope might get themselves lynched by the five doctors in Muddletown. But Chris would always have her garden.
He began to eat one of the buttered biscuits. He’d lose his appetite if she didn’t hurry up. She must be talking to Frau Schmidt. Good old Frau; sending him his first cases. If he’d only gone on decently instead of – oh, well, that was finished with now, thank God! They were together again, Christine and he, happier than ever they had been. Wonderful to hear her say that a minute ago. He lit a cigarette.
Suddenly the door-bell rang violently. He glanced up, laid down his cigarette, went into the hall. But not before the bell had been wrenched again. He opened the front door.
Immediately he was conscious of the commotion outside, a crowd of people on the pavement, faces and heads interwoven with the darkness. But before he could resolve the mingling pattern, the policeman who had rung the bell loomed up before him. It was Struthers, his old Fife friend, the pointsman. What seemed strange about Struthers was the staring whiteness of his eyes.
‘Doctor,’ he breathed w
ith difficulty like a man who has been running. ‘Your wife’s got hurted. She ran, oh! God Almighty! She ran right out of the shop in front of the bus.’
A great hand of ice enclosed him. Before he could speak the commotion was upon him. Suddenly, dreadfully, the hall was filled with people. Frau Schmidt weeping, a bus conductor, another policeman, strangers, all pressing in, forcing him back, into the consulting-room. And then, through the crowd, carried by two men, the figure of his Christine. Her head drooped backwards upon the thin white arch of her neck. Still entwined by its string in the fingers of her left hand was the little parcel from Frau Schmidt. They laid her upon the high couch of his consulting-room. She was quite dead.
Chapter Twenty
He broke down completely and for days was out of his mind. Moments of lucidity there were when he became aware of Mrs Bennett, of Denny, and, once or twice, of Hope. But for the most part he went through life, performed the actions demanded of him in sheer automatism, his whole being concentrated deep within himself in one long nightmare of despair. His frayed out nervous system intensified the agony of his loss, by creating morbid fancies and terrors of remorse from which he awoke, sweating, crying out in anguish.
Dimly he was conscious of the inquest, the drab informality of the coroner’s court, of the evidence given so minutely, so unnecessarily by the witnesses. He stared fixedly at the squat figure of Frau Schmidt upon whose plump cheeks the tears kept rolling, rolling down.
‘She was laughing, laughing all the time she came into my shop. Hurry, please – she kept on telling me – I don’t want to keep my husband waiting –’
When he heard the coroner expressing sympathy with Doctor Manson in his sad bereavement he knew that it was over. He stood up mechanically, found himself walking upon grey pavements with Denny.
How the arrangements for the funeral were made he did not know, they all came mysteriously to pass without his knowledge. As he drove to Kensal Green his thoughts kept darting hither and thither, backwards through the years. In the dingy confines of the cemetery he remembered the wide and wind-swept uplands behind Vale View where the mountain ponies raced and reared their tangled manes. She had loved to walk there, to feel the breeze upon her cheeks. And now she was being laid in this grimy city graveyard.