A Surgical Affair Page 6

  She went into the common-room. It was empty, except for Bill Evans, who was snoring in an armchair, surrounded by newspapers scattered all over the floor.

  So she went up to her room. She wasn’t really sorry she had missed seeing Richard. It was a pity he’d come all that way for nothing, though. She would write and thank him for the chocolates. He knew she loved them.

  Diana put on her black velvet housecoat and switched on the fire. Although it was the first day of spring, she suddenly felt chilly. She sat on the sofa and cut a piece of the birthday cake her parents had sent her.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Come in!” she called.

  The door opened, and there was Mark.

  “I hear it’s your birthday,” he said, smiling. “I thought we might celebrate, with some champagne. Here are the glasses.”

  Diana stood up. She wondered if he guessed how pleased she was to see him. “What a wonderful idea! How did you know about it?”

  He sat on the sofa and she gave him some of the iced fruit cake. “You told Sister this morning and she’s just told me. I met her on the stairs. You kept it to yourself, didn’t you? What presents have you had?”

  “This cake and a check from my parents, and an enormous box of chocolates from Richard. He came all the way from Norwich, where he’s working at the moment.

  She wondered why she had said that so defiantly, almost as if she were trying to prove something.

  “It’s a long way to come,” Mark agreed, chewing the cake. “I like your hair today.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. He’s not really my type of man, though,” Diana added quietly, almost to herself.

  “What is your type of man, Diana?” he asked casually.

  She turned away and gazed down at the fire.

  “I’m not sure. Kind, clever; thoughtful but amusing. And black hair, he must have black hair. Isn’t that silly?”

  “No,” he said, getting up. “I can’t stand blondes. I’ll go and get the champagne.”

  Mark strolled out of the room. She felt very lonely and longed for him to come back. He returned with the bottle, closed the door, and they sat together on the sofa.

  He said, “Why haven’t we done this before? You’re good for me. Denise didn’t feel like theater tonight. Neither did I. So we called it a day.”

  Diana realized that she was happy now. When Richard was with her, she was on edge, restless; but now, relaxed and calm, she felt she had known this man for a long time.

  Mark opened the bottle with a loud bang that sent the cork flying across the room and then filled their glasses.

  “Here’s looking at you,” he said, as their glasses touched, “and to tying knots.” he added, with a grin.

  “To all my birthdays to come!” said Diana, smiling. “May they be as happy as this one has been.”

  They sat in contented silence for a few minutes, until she said, “I shouldn’t tell you this, but it’s worrying me. Sister told me this morning that she’s been getting sudden bouts of pain, right in the middle of her stomach, especially when she bends over or coughs. She’s seeing Mr. Cole about it tomorrow.”

  Mark frowned. “What sort of pain? How long has this been going on?”

  “She says it’s like a knife sticking in her. It only lasts a few minutes. She’s felt it about six times in the last three weeks. And she becomes very tired all the time, which isn’t usual for her, is it?”

  He shrugged. “It could be so many things. If it’s anything surgical, I guess she’ll want Cole to do it.”

  “Of course.” She looked at him anxiously. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

  He looked at her thoughtfully. “You’re always afraid of things, aren’t you, Diana?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have the feeling you’re afraid of life. For one thing, I’ve noticed you never argue with anybody, and you were afraid you’d faint in the theater”—he was looking into his glass—“and you were afraid when I kissed you.”

  Diana looked at him curiously, and realized that she was seeing a different side of Mark’s character. Tonight he was not flirting and flippant; he was serious and sincere. She liked what she saw.

  “Being ill again, that’s the only thing I’m really afraid of,” she told him. “It made me realize how important it is to have good health. All the little problems we worry about seem very trivial when we’re ill.”

  Mark didn’t answer, but put down his glass on the table and turned toward her. There was a sad, solemn expression in his brown eyes that she had never seen before. As he took her hand in his own she trembled. His hand was warm and strong, and it gripped her with an intensity that frightened her, so that she drew, away.

  “Let me,” he pleaded. "Why not?”

  “I—I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I have a feeling that you’ve had so many girl friends.”

  Mark shook his head firmly. “You’re quite wrong, and I don’t see why you should think that. I’ve been out with girls, since I was married—”

  “What happened to your marriage?” Diana asked quietly.

  He lay back, staring up at the ceiling. “Lots of things went wrong, not just one thing. We were living in a small town on the west coast of Australia, hundreds of miles from everywhere. I liked it there, because I had my work. I was doctor, dentist, surgeon, anesthetist—the only one in the whole place. Mary—that was my wife’s name—complained about the heat and the loneliness. She cooked me enormous hot meals, which I couldn’t eat. That annoyed her. And she hated me arriving home late from visits and going around the house without shoes on. But it was so hot!”

  “What did she do before you were married?”

  “She was a Sister in the hospital in Sydney, where I had my first job. She ordered all the doctors about, and they were terrified of her.” He shrugged. “I guess I thought I’d show them I was different.”

  Diana did not speak; she was content to listen to him talking, to learn all about his life.

  “Mary was beautiful in a cold, marble kind of way, with blonde hair she kept up in pins. I used to take them out every night. The crazy thing was, she was very rich. I didn’t find that out until we were married.”

  “Did you leave her?”

  A pained expression came over Mark’s face. “No. I don’t think I could ever have done that. We had a row,” he said slowly. “A big one. The first really big one, we’d had. She ran out of the house, slamming the door, and drove off in the car. It was dark, and she crashed into a tree, about 200 yards away. She was killed instantly.

  There was a moment’s silence, before Diana said apologetically, “I’m sorry ... I didn’t realize ... I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “It’s all right. Nobody here, except Cole, knows that my wife died. I think the rumor has gone around that I went off with an heiress and left her with three children. You know how hospital gossip gets exaggerated.” He was smiling now.

  Diana sighed and sipped her champagne. “Perhaps one day you’ll find somebody else, and it’ll work out better.”

  “Maybe.” He shrugged. “I know that at the time all I wanted to do was get away, ‘running away’ I suppose you’d call it. I went to America and had a few jobs at New York hospitals.”

  “And you’ve been blaming yourself for your wife’s death ever since?”

  “I suppose so, in a way. If we hadn’t been arguing, it would never have happened.” Mark sighed. “Anyway, I haven’t the money to marry, even if I wanted to. When I came to London I spent almost every penny I had on beer and cheese sandwiches, that’s when I was working for my Fellowship. Nothing else seemed to matter then, except that exam. It made me forget everything that happened back home.”

  “Are you sure that’s not just an excuse, to avoid marriage?” Diana asked, smiling.

  “Perhaps. Mary and I were too alike, temperamentally, I mean. It’s like living with yourself, you get on each other’s nerves.”

  “But you had the same
interests,” Diana reminded him, cutting some more cake.

  “What’s Richard like?”

  “He’s not like me. He’s an extrovert, talks a lot and is very energetic. Always rushing around. But our backgrounds are the same. Born in London, then boarding school and university.”

  Mark smiled sadly. “You should make an ideal couple.”

  “I know, but perhaps you can’t make rules about that sort of thing.”

  “One thing’s for sure,” said Mark quietly. “If I ever marry again, she’ll have to be Australian. Any other girl would probably start grumbling about the food or the heat or the people, as soon as she stepped off the boat.”

  Diana gazed into the fire and knew he was right. Only a great deal of love could hold two people together who belong on opposite sides of the world. A girl must be very sure of the man she loves, and of herself, to leave her parents and friends for a strange, distant country.

  “What work will you do, when you go home?” she asked.

  “Cancer surgery interests me. My father died of cancer when I was 16, after two operations that didn’t seem to make him any better.” Mark clenched his fist. “If he’d been alive today, I’m sure they could have lengthened his life. There’s so much we didn’t know then, and such a lot still to learn.”

  Diana didn’t speak, but sat thinking how much Mark’s mother must have depended on him after his father’s death, and how she must be missing him now.

  Mark suddenly looked very tired. He was fit and strong, a surgeon had to be. But she knew that without seven hours sleep he would be no use in the morning, and they had a long list in front of them.

  “I mustn’t be seen leaving here too late. What about your reputation?” he said, as if he had read her mind.

  They stood up, laughing. “The time seems to have gone so quickly,” sighed Diana, feeling pleasantly sleepy.

  “I like the way your eyes screw up when you laugh,” Mark told her quietly. “Do you know something? You’re very pretty. I’ve just noticed it for the second time. The first time was at Tony Spring’s party.” He put a firm hand on her arm. “If I stay any longer, I might be tempted to kiss you.”

  He was not smiling now, his face was serious.

  “I—I like talking to you,” Diana said weakly, confused and unable to think clearly when he touched her.

  “Is that all?” Mark looked at her intently for a moment and then added, “does Richard make love to you?”

  She replied calmly. “No. In fact he doesn’t ever kiss me, properly,” amazed that she should have told him this.

  “That’s what I like about you, Diana. You’re asked a straight question, and you give an honest answer. No evasive replies, no pretending to be something you’re not. It’s rare in a woman.” At last his hand left her arm, and she regained her composure.

  “Thank you for our little party. I’ve had a lovely birthday.”

  “See you in the morning,” he said dreamily.

  At she was getting into bed, Diana stepped on something hard on the carpet. Looking down she saw it was the champagne bottle cork. She picked it up and put it away in the drawer of the table. “I’ll always keep that, whatever happens,” she thought. Lying in the silent darkness, it comforted her to be near Mark. Diana imagined how pleasant it would be to spend the rest of her life at Mansion House Hospital, working for Mr. Cole, with Mark Royston as her registrar.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Three weeks passed, weeks that drew Diana and Mark together. They were often in the theater for an emergency operation before the early morning sun had risen. Or, in the middle of the night, awakened from a sleep not two hours old, they were treating the broken, mutilated leg of a boy, another victim of the motorcycle. During the day there were hernias to repair, cancerous growths to remove, appendixes to take out, more varicose veins to strip off and always fractures to set.

  Each week Diana learned more, and Mark had to explain less. In the theater, she was able to anticipate his next move and knew he could rely upon her to assist him well. She copied the way he examined the patients and made the diagnosis. It always followed the same pattern and soon became a habit with her. The trust and confidence Mark inspired in his patients was soon shared by Diana.

  Together so much, they came to know one another well, and jokes and secrets were shared. If one of them was tired or sad, the other would always notice. When a patient died, sometimes after they had struggled for weeks to save her, both of them, without speaking of it, understood the intense disappointment, sadness and frustration, which the other was feeling.

  Diana hoped that nobody was aware of this bond that had grown between them, that to everybody in the hospital they were Mark Royston and Diana Field, registrar and houseman, conscientious, hard-working.

  But she wasn’t sure. Perhaps Sister Baker had seen the color appear in her cheeks when a remark, was made about Mark?

  Things were different, though, when they were all off duty. Diana would often see Mark, changed into his gray suit, run downstairs two steps at a time and disappear into the night.

  Maybe he went to see Alec Neal? “He’s a surgical registrar like me,” Mark once told Diana, “but he lives outside his hospital, in an apartment in Hampstead. We talk for hours ... about work, jobs, the future. I’ll always be grateful to him. He helped me when I was working for the Fellowship. We went over old exam papers together, and he cooked my meals. I couldn’t afford to have them at a restaurant.”

  Sometimes Mark would visit Denise. There might be a dinner party at her Chelsea apartment. She invited models, photographers, all her friends connected with the glossy magazines, and they sat on the floor to eat her special Chinese dishes. Mark had to admit to Diana that she could cook “swell.”

  Denise would sit in the middle of the room, probably dressed in tight velvet trousers and her favorite red satin blouse and dominate the conversation. He never left before two or three in the morning; and Diana usually knew when Denise had one of her parties—because Mark didn’t come down to breakfast the next day.

  Diana was not really interested in this other life of Mark’s. He often told her about it, and she would listen quietly, but she cared more for the Mark she knew, the man she worked with and understood. Perhaps she was afraid to know too much about him in case the picture was spoiled, like finding a hideous monster on the other side of the moon.

  Diana was surprised and excited one day to receive an invitation from Mr. Cole to dinner at his home, more so because Mark had been asked as well.

  “Aren’t we honored, Sister!” Diana said, as the three of them met in the ward office on the appointed day.

  “But I’m going too.” replied Sister. “I’m asked regularly every year. Mr. Cole’s thank-you offering to me—for services rendered.”

  “Very nice, too,” Mark said.

  “What’s his wife like?”

  “Dictatorial, but extremely kind. Sounds impossible, doesn’t it? But you’ll see what I mean when you meet her.”

  “Can’t say I’m looking forward to this dinner. I’ll probably say all the wrong things and lose my chance of a good reference at the end of the year. Anyway, I’ll give you both a lift,” Mark told them.

  Sister raised her eyebrows. “A car, Mr. Royston? Have you been left some money?”

  “No such luck. A friend lends me one, from times to time.” Mark was gazing out of the window.

  “You seem to have very obliging friends,” remarked Sister drily, looking enquiringly at Diana.

  “It’s the thin edge of the wedge,” he murmured. “Sooner or later—you have to do something in return.”

  “Do you?” Diana asked flatly. “There are some people who manage to get through life always taking and never giving.”

  Mark turned around and looked sadly at her. “Yeah, but I guess they’re not the happy ones.” He walked to the door. “We must be getting up to the theater, Diana. We’ll meet you in the front hall, six-thirty. Okay, Sister?”

  �
�I’ll be there.”

  It was a short operating list that afternoon, and afterward Diana had time for a hot, leisurely bath before changing for dinner. She wished that she was being taken out by Mark, just the two of them, to dinner at an expensive restaurant, and then to seats in the dress circle at Covent Garden. She had never had this feeling before and was glad he couldn’t read her thoughts. He would probably leave the hospital on the spot if he suspected his house surgeon wanted to go out with him.

  “Things must stay as they are,” Diana decided, as she brushed her hair vigorously. “It’s better that way. It must be strictly a surgical affair, as Mark once said.”

  She could hear “What is this thing called love?” come from Mark’s room. “Denise is different,” she told herself. “She’s playing a game with him, which she enjoys. She must know she’s being hurt, but doesn’t seem to mind. Her tantrums on the telephone, her screams of “Never leave me!” are all a part of the act, forgotten 24 hours later, so Mark said.”

  When he came to call for her she had left her door ajar, so he knocked twice and pushed it open. She was standing at the mirror wearing her high-necked white cotton dress. She knew the tight-fitting bodice outlined her figure, and the flared skirt and black pumps gave her an extremely youthful appearance.

  Without looking around, she said, “I’m ready,” because in some strange, unaccountable way, Diana was overcome by shyness.

  Mark stood in the doorway, and she could feel him gazing in admiration. He gave a long low whistle. “You look very pretty," he told her quietly.

  She smiled happily and knew that she did.

  Collecting her jacket from the chair, Diana walked out of the door, and Mark followed, saying, “What a perfume!” She realized that was the second time he had noticed her perfume and thought how ironic it was ... Richard’s Christmas present, another of his lavish gifts to her, presented with such flourish—what a success it was having!