Fleur flew across to Rowena's bed, flinging instructions over her shoulder as she went. She was standing beside Rowena, the blankets tossed aside, applying pressure to the newly gaping wound when Sister wheeled a trolley across to the bed.
'Something warm, a hot towel,' Fleur ordered, and the auxiliary, who had recovered a measure of calm, ran to find one.
Fleur had probed the wound gently and discovered a ruptured artery, and was pinching the ends together to stop the flow of blood. She pressed the towel over the wound and her hand, while Sister rearranged the blanket across Rowena's legs. Both knew that direct warmth would help the coagulation, and Sister sent the auxiliary to fetch more towels.
When the emergency doctor arrived, Fleur was concentrating so hard on what she was doing she barely noticed it was Russell who had appeared at her side.
He swiftly applied clamps while Sister reported what had happened, then spoke quietly to Fleur.
'Keep those in place while we transfer her to theatre.'
Fleur nodded, he and Sister carefully transferred Rowena to a trolley, and she walked beside it as they went to the lift.
'Scrub up and help me, please, Fleur, we're short staffed,' Russell ordered as the anaesthetist began to work on Rowena, and Fleur nodded wordlessly, then rapidly prepared for theatre.
She worked with him in utter absorption, swabbing, handing him instruments, then threading needles for him first to sew up the artery, then once more to close the operation wound.
When Rowena had been taken back to the ward Fleur felt free to go home. She was drained, both from the nervous energy always expended when there was such a crisis, and her emotions as she had watched Russell straining to save the life of the girl he loved. Some aloof part of her admired his skill, and worked with dedication to provide all the assistance he needed, while a different part of her mind was numb with despair, knowing all was over between them. Whatever little there had ever been, she reminded herself wearily as she waited for the bus, peering to see its light through a thick fog which had developed during the day.
Russell, to her relief, had merely spoken quickly to her as she had left the theatre.
'Rowena's father is due here in an hour or so. I must stay to put him in the picture, so forgive me if I can't see you again tonight. If it's not too late after he gets here I may be able to phone you, but I'll see you tomorrow.'
*
Late as it was when she got home, Fleur spent an hour painting, longing for his call, yet dreading it. What could they say? If Russell had been intending to amuse himself with her while they were both on duty over the Christmas holiday, and Rowena was safely at home, this was now completely changed. He would certainly wish to spend all his spare time with Rowena, and be in no mood for cynical, casual love-making with another woman.
Christmas Eve was especially busy for Fleur. They were working with the minimum of staff over the holiday. The ward was half empty, which helped reduce the regular workload, but the need for frequent observations on Rowena's condition, the transfusion and monitoring of fluid balance, and then the care of another emergency patient who was brought in with jaundice, stretched them to the uttermost.
Mr Kingsley's plane had been delayed by the fog, Fleur heard, and was expected later that day. But Rowena was making rapid progress, and would be out of danger within days. She was very weak, but taking notice of what went on. She smiled wanly when Russell came in to see her, and clung to his hand to retain him when he moved to leave.
Fleur had avoided him, dodging into the sluice when she saw him enter the ward, and then making an excuse to go on an errand to the pharmacy before he was able to detach himself from Rowena's possessive clasp. On returning she remained out of sight until he had seen his other patients and left the ward.
As she was about to go for lunch an hour later Sister Reynolds came up to her with a worried frown on her face.
'My dear, night sister is off sick, gastric flu, and I need to rearrange the rota, but we're desperately short staffed. Would it be possible for you to go off now and report back for night duty this evening? I need someone reliable in charge, and you're the most senior staff nurse I've got during Christmas.'
'Of course,' Fleur said at once. She knew how difficult it would be to make satisfactory arrangements at the present time.
'I've already tried the agencies but all their staff are covering for holidays,' Sister said apologetically. 'I hope it doesn't spoil your plans. Can you sleep this afternoon? I'll stay and cover till then, so you'll have time for eight hours.'
'I can sleep in Jenny's room,' Fleur said quickly. 'I've got her key, as I'm looking after her plants, so there's no need for me to go home. I'll be quite relieved not to,' she added, glancing out of the windows where the fog had become even more dense. And Russell could not contact her, she thought.
*
The ward was exceptionally quiet when Sister Reynolds handed over to her. All the patients were asleep, and the noise of the traffic was muted by the fog. When several church bells rang out at midnight Fleur jumped slightly, it was so unexpected.
An hour later she was helping the junior nurse to turn one of the elderly patients when a slight noise by the doorway caused her to glance over her shoulder, then with a quiet word to the other girl she went swiftly along the ward.
Mr Kingsley, looking indescribably weary, stood there with the tall blond man Fleur had seen before. He nodded slightly to Fleur and looked round anxiously for his daughter.
'She's much better,' Fleur said softly. 'Over here.'
She led them to Rowena's bed, and as they looked down at the sleeping girl, Fleur touched him lightly on the arm.
'I'll make you coffee, and you can read her notes in my office,' she suggested, and he threw her a brief, grateful smile.
A few minutes later she was pouring three cups of coffee from a large jug, and handing the two men a plate of biscuits. Mr Kingsley sipped his coffee, and visibly relaxed.
'Thank you Staff Nurse Tremaine. I needed that. My plane was diverted to Birmingham because of the fog and I've had a horrendous journey by coach down the M1. There were no trains being Christmas Eve, and no cars for hire. Thank goodness Peter was able to meet me at Victoria. Do you know Peter Burroughs?'
The tall young man smiled at her and held out his hand.
'We haven't met formally,' he said in a deep, attractive voice, 'but Russell told me how much I owe you, he said Rowena might not have pulled through if you hadn't taken such prompt action yesterday. We both owe you a great deal.'
Fleur was confused. So he was not Rowena's brother, she was thinking. Who was he? Could he be a friend of the family? And who did he mean by that 'both'? Had he referred to himself and Mr Kingsley, and if so why, or had he been including Russell, and if so again why? In what way were they associated?
Her reflections were interrupted as Mr Kingsley, intently reading his daughter's notes, asked a few questions and then, draining his cup of coffee, shook his head when she offered more.
'Thank you, but no. I can see Rowena is in good hands, and I must get some sleep. Peter will drive me home and we'll come in later this afternoon. Goodnight, my dear. Tell Russell I've been. When I phoned him he told me he was on call and said he'd pop in during the night. Are you ready, Peter?'
'Yes, indeed. Thank you, Staff Nurse Tremaine. I can quite see why Russell is so taken with you.'
*
By now thoroughly bewildered, Fleur watched them leave, then turned her attentions to writing up some notes. It was difficult to concentrate, and after a fruitless half hour she went round the ward, checking everything, then handed over to the floating auxiliary nurse while she went for a meal. When she returned she was unsure whether to be sorry or relieved to find Russell had paid his promised visit during her absence.
'Mr Delaney seemed pleased with Miss Kingsley's progress,' the nurse reported. 'I told him her father had been in to see her, and he said to call him if there was any change.'
The rest of the night was peaceful, but Fleur was exhausted when she handed over. Sister Reynolds eyed her with concern.
*
'I do wish I hadn't had to ask you to do the night duty,' she said apologetically, 'but night sister is better and insists she'll be OK tonight, so go and sleep now, have a good Christmas dinner, and I'll see you back here tomorrow morning as usual. Two more days and you can forget it all while you celebrate New Year. I'll be thankful for a break myself.'
The fog was still thick, and Fleur was sleepily emerging from the main doors before she realised there would be very few buses on Christmas morning. She sighed wearily. If it had been a bright frosty morning she would have enjoyed a brisk walk home, but it would be damp and depressing in this weather.
She took a few steps foward, then jumped nervously as a hand grasped her arm.
'The car's over here,' Russell said, and she permitted him to help her in, too weary to protest.
He drove slowly, for the fog drifted in confusing eddies and it was sometimes difficult to tell where they were going. Russell spoke no more, and Fleur could think of nothing to say until he swung into a driveway and stopped outside a tall, brick building she did not recognise.
'Where's this?' she asked, rousing herself from the lassitude that had possessed her. 'It's not the flat.'
'I live here. You're going to sleep in my spare room. I can't trust you not to wear yourself out painting all day and all night, if I let you go,' was the astonishing reply.
'I can't!' Fleur protested, but he ignored her, came to open her door, and she knew she would be unable to resist him. Part of her mind clung to every last second in his company, despite the knowledge she would only be hurt more by it.
He led her into an expensively carpeted foyer, greeted a uniformed porter, and guided Fleur into a lift. It shot rapidly to the top floor. Inside the flat was a large hallway, and through wide double doors she could see a bright, high ceilinged living room with deep leather chairs at one end, and on a raised dais at the other a dining table and chairs.
The room had a spacious but lived in air. There was a thick white carpet and brightly patterned rugs. Books lined one wall, an elaborate stereo system another, and at both ends long green velvet curtains concealed what must be huge windows. Russell opened another door on the opposite side of the hall.
'The kitchen's through there,' he said briefly, indicating another door. 'Help yourself if you need anything. That's my room, and as much as I'd appreciate your company, my sweet, I'm prescribing eight hours sleep,' he went on, drawing her into a large twin bedded room decorated in a delicate shade of blue. 'Then breakfast in bed and a long soak in the tub. Your bathroom's through there and you'll find a robe and some new toothbrushes, though no nightdresses, I'm afraid,' he added with a grin. 'Later we'll have a quiet dinner. I've arranged for one to be sent up from the restaurant here. Sleep well, my darling.'
*
He was gone, the door closing gently behind him, and Fleur pinched herself.
She was not dreaming, unless one could feel pain in a dream, she decided, and then, too weary to try and sort it out, she hastened to make ready and fall into one of the inviting looking beds.
She awoke hours later as the door clicked to. There was a delicious fragrance of coffee, and as she tried to think how she came to be in this strange bed she turned her head to see a tray, with orange juice, coffee and toast, on the bedside table.
She sat up, discovered her nakedness, and as recollection flooded back thought gratefully of Russell's tact in not waiting in the room until she awoke. Revitalised by the deep sleep, she was soon relaxing in the bath, enjoying the unashamed luxury of the thickly carpeted, fully tiled bathroom, which she had barely noticed the night before, and the circular bath.
Regretting she had no clean clothes, only the old blue woollen skirt with matching sweater she had worn the previous two days, she dressed. Then, with some trepidation, for she was so confused by Russell's actions she had no idea what she was going to say to him, she went into the living room.
He was sitting in one of the armchairs, glancing at a copy of the Lancet, but he sprang up and came forward to pull her into his arms and kiss her lingeringly.
'You looked like a child, snuggled up in bed,' he said with a rather uneven laugh as he finally released her. 'It took all my resolution to leave the room. Happy Christmas, my darling. Come and sit beside me.'
How could he behave as though he loved her, as if Rowena did not exist, she thought with a sudden spurt of annoyance. Then the memory of her night duty returned, with its further puzzles.
'Who is Peter Burroughs?' Fleur asked as he pulled her down onto a settee, his arm around her shoulders.
'Peter? We were at a school together. Why do you want to know about him?'
'He came last night, with Mr Kingsley, and I had assumed when I saw him with Rowena's mother earlier that he was her brother.'
Russell laughed. 'Oh, no. He and Rowena are engaged.'
*
Fleur sat abruptly upright. She must be dreaming!
'He's engaged to Rowena?' she almost squeaked.
'That's what I said. Why are you so surprised? Why shouldn't he be?'
'But – but you are!' she said faintly.
He stared at her in astonishment.
'Why on earth should you think that? Did you believe that silly rumour? There was nothing in that. I've never been engaged to Rowena, and would never wish to be. Is that why you've been so cold these last few days,' he went on slowly, 'why you've seemed so bewildered? Did you really think I would be taking you out, and making it so plain I loved you, if I were engaged to someone else?'
A warm glow was spreading through Fleur's limbs. There were still some things she did not understand, though.
'I couldn't entirely believe you were pretending,' she said slowly. 'Yet from all I'd heard it seemed – well, as though you were either heartless, or very skilled at pretending, so that you had deceived me!'
'My reputation!' he groaned. 'And those wretched rumours! But I'd have thought you knew better than to believe all the rumours you hear at Chad's after what they said about you.'
Fleur smiled up at him. 'Your fault,' she accused fondly. 'At the time I could cheerfully have forgotten all about trying to save life, and murdered you! I'm still wondering why Sister Beasley never reported me.'
'Oh, didn't I tell you?'
She looked puzzled.
'What could you have had to do with it?' she asked.
He grinned, and took both her hands in his.
'Just a precaution,' he murmured, holding her tightly. 'I had an inexplicable recurrence of my concussion,' he said reminiscently, his eyes gleaming with laughter. 'Much against my normal inclinations, I assure you, unless I was delirious and thought she was you, I somehow found myself kissing Sister. Thank heavens Chad's grapevine never got hold of that, or the rumour would have had me so desperate I needed to restore my ego by taking out every nurse that enters the place!'
After an astonished gasp, Fleur suddenly giggled.
'No wonder she went off duty, and didn't report me,' she giggled. 'You devil! But thank you, rather belatedly.'
'You owe me a few kisses in compensation,' he warned, and proceeded to collect a number of them.
Much later, he spoke. 'What else, apart from rumour, gave you the idea I was engaged to Rowena?'
'It was something else,' Fleur said slowly, her mind in a whirl, 'something which I didn't think could be explained away. I came into her office a few days ago, when she was in Mr Havelock's room. I overheard her saying she was sorry, asking for another chance. Then you came out of the room, but you didn't see me, and when Rowena came out she looked so happy. She'd been in a dreadful temper before that, everyone assumed it was because her engagement to you had been broken off.'
'Her engagement, but not to me, had been broken. She was telephoning Peter. I was there because I had bullied her into making the first move. They're both stubborn as mules, and someone had to to something.'
Fleur took a deep breath. 'I see, but why should it matter to you? And you were so concerned, when you heard she'd been injured, and you came to see her so often, and when she had that relapse, I was sure you loved her! Why were you so involved? Just because Peter is a friend of yours?'
'A little more. I'm very fond of her and was concerned on my own account. Rowena's my cousin, you see. Her mother and mine are sisters.'
'No one at Chad's knows that,' she said slowly.
'We didn't advertise that fact when I came to Chad's, because I couldn't endure it to be thought any promotions I received might be due to my relationship with Mr Kingsley. Now are you willing to believe I love you, my darling, and only you? And I don't wish to be engaged to anyone but you? In fact, I'm not too sure I want to be engaged at all, I'd far sooner be married!'
Fleur, for a very satisfactory reason, was unable to reply to this. His kisses had never been so sweet, and at last she could abandon herself to the joy of responding fervently to his lips as they explored hers. She could forget all her doubts, and accept the incredible fact that he loved her.
It was some considerable time later, while Fleur was laughingly and somewhat breathlessly trying to persuade Russell that much as she wanted to marry him that very day as he wished, it was impracticable, that a ring on the doorbell announced the arrival of the Christmas dinner Russell had ordered.
Fleur tried desperately to smooth her ruffled hair as the trolley was wheeled in, then Russell produced a bottle of champagne and poured two glasses.
'Happy Christmas,' he said softly.
'Oh, my present is at the flat,' Fleur remembered, dismayed.
'It can wait, you're my best ever Christmas gift. And I have to confess I've no Christmas present for you yet, my sweet, but I want to buy you a pendant to match your engagement ring, as soon as the shops open. Then I'm driving you home to make wedding plans with your parents. To us, my darling. May we have many more Christmasses together.'
Marina Oliver has written over 60 novels, and has converted most of them to Ebooks. Others have been or are being published as Ebooks by other publishers.
For the latest information please see Marina's web site:
You might enjoy other contemporary novels by Marina Oliver:
Pippa, an American, wants to prove to her protective family that she can stand on her own feet. She is reluctant to return to the States after a few months in England and do as they and her father's partner expect, marry the partner's son Frank.
Defying Frank, she accepts a job in Minorca as secretarial assistant to a former film star who is planning to write his memoirs. These promise to be explosive, and both his last wife and his nephew Juan try to persuade him to abandon the idea.
*
Nicola has just graduated in French, and takes a summer job in the New Forest as tutor/companion to the wealthy seventeen-year-old Sarah Frayn, before she starts a bi-lingual secretarial course.
Unpredictable and volatile, Sarah rebels against the harsh rules imposed by her half-brother Robert, especially his prohibition on meeting her boyfriend.
Nicola has clashed with Robert before, but when various calamities afflict the family, she is thrown into closer contact with Robert.
*