Fate Is Remarkable

Fate is Remarkable

Betty Neels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

IT WAS QUIET in the consulting room, if the difficult, rasping breaths of the patient were discounted. From somewhere behind the closed door came the steady, subdued roar of a great many people, interrupted at intervals by a nurse’s voice calling the next in line. Sister Sarah Ann Dunn stood quietly, holding layers of woolly garments clear of the patient’s shoulders, so that Dr van Elven could get at them in comfort. He was a large man, and very tall, and the patient was fat. He bent, his handsome grizzled head an inch or so from the starched bib of Sarah’s apron, his grey eyes looking at nothing while he listened and tapped, then listened again. Presently he came upright with the deliberation which characterised all his movements, said, ‘Thank you, Sister,’ and turned his back, as he always did, while she dealt with hooks and eyes and zips. She fastened the last button, gave its owner a reassuring little pat and a friendly smile, and said, ‘Mrs Brown is ready for you, sir.’ It was one of the nice things about her, that she never forgot people’s names, however hard pressed she was. Patients were still people to her, and entitled to be treated as such. Dr van Elven strolled back from the X-rays he had been studying, glanced at her briefly from eyes half shut, and nodded. It was her cue to leave him with his patient for a few minutes—an arrangement which suited her very well, for it gave her time to have a quick look round OPD and make sure that everything was going smoothly.

The hall was still quite full, for it was the orthopaedic consultant’s afternoon as well as the gynaecologist’s clinic and the medical OP she was taking. Both staff nurses were busy, but she could only see one student nurse. She made her way along the benches and turned into the narrow passage leading to the testing room. There were two nurses in it, carrying on such an animated conversation that they failed to see her for several seconds. When they did, they stopped in mid-sentence, their eyes upon her, presenting very much the same appearance, she imagined, as she had done when she had been caught in a similar situation as a student nurse. She said now, half smiling:

‘If you two don’t do your work, we shall all be late off duty, and there’s no point in that, is there? If you’re not doing anything here, go back to Staff Nurse Moore, please.’

She didn’t wait to hear their apologies, but gave them a little nod and went back the way she had come, hurrying a little in case Dr van Elven was waiting. All the same, she stopped for a brief word with several of the patients sitting on the benches, for after three years as OPD Sister, she was on friendly terms with a number of them.

Mrs Brown was on the point of going as she went into the consulting room, and the doctor said at once:

‘Ah, Sister, I have been suggesting to Mrs Brown that she should come in for a short time, so that I can keep an eye on this chest of hers—I daresay you can fix a bed? In three or four days, I think; that will give her time to make arrangements at home.’

He was looking at her steadily as he spoke and she said immediately:

‘Yes, of course, sir. I’ll get someone to write and tell Mrs Brown which day to come.’ She smiled at the elderly, rather grubby little woman sitting in front of the doctor’s desk, but Mrs Brown didn’t smile back.

‘It’s me cat,’ she began. ‘‘Oo’s going ter look after ‘im while I’m in?’ She sat silent for a moment, then went on, ‘I don’t see as ‘ow I can manage …’

‘Perhaps the RSPCA?’ suggested Sarah gently.

Mrs Brown shook her head in its shapeless hat. ‘‘E’d pine. I’m sorry, doctor, for you’ve been ever so kind …’

He sat back in his chair, with the air of a man who had all day before him, and nothing to do. ‘Supposing you allow me to—er—have your cat while you are in hospital, Mrs Brown? Do you feel you could trust him to my care?’

Mrs Brown’s several chins wobbled while she strove for words. It was, to say the least, unusual for an important gentleman like a hospital specialist to bother about what became of her Timmy. She was still seeking words when he continued, ‘You would be doing me a great favour—my housekeeper has just lost her cat after fifteen years, and is quite inconsolable. Perhaps looking after your Timmy for a week or so might help her to become more resigned.’

The old lady brightened. ‘Oh, well now, that’s different, doctor. If ‘e’s going ter make ‘er ‘appy, and it ain’t no trouble …’

She got up, and he got to his feet too. ‘No trouble—I’ll see that your cat is collected just before you come in, Mrs Brown. Will that do?’

Sarah ushered her out, competently, but without haste, laid the next case history on the doctor’s desk, put up the X-rays, and waited. He finished what he was writing, closed the folder and said in his rather pedantic English:

‘A pity Mrs Brown wasn’t referred to me earlier. There’s very little to be done, I’m afraid. Chronic bronchitis, emphysema, and congestive heart failure, not to mention all the wrong diet for I don’t know how many years.’ He picked up the next folder, frowning. ‘If her home conditions were not too bad, I could patch her up enough to get her back there for a little while …’