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His brows rose. ‘You seemed to be resting when I looked at you. You were talking to Sally for quite some time.’
Olivia moistened her dry lips. ‘She didn’t ever come to the house while you were ill, did she?’ she queried in a casual voice—too casual?
‘Only once, I think,’ Rick answered thoughtfully. ‘It was probably your day off.’
‘Oh, that one,’ Olivia teased.
‘Cheeky!’ he grinned at her.
‘Well, Olivia’s days away from you haven’t exactly been numerous,’ Natalie reasoned.
‘Go on, she’s loved every minute of it.’
‘Yes, I have,’ she agreed warmly.
‘Don’t tell him that,’ Natalie groaned. ‘He’ll be unbearably conceited about it.’
‘And I thought you loved me?’ he groaned.
‘I do—sometimes,’ she added coolly.
‘Thanks!’
‘I think you asked for that one, Rick,’ Olivia laughed.
‘Probably,’ he grimaced.
Oh, she was going to miss this family! That fact was brought home to her even more as she ate a lighthearted meal with them that evening. Clara and Eric had insisted that she ate all her meals with them, treating her like another daughter they had suddenly acquired. Five more days and she would be leaving this happy family group to take care of an elderly lady, and the contrast between the two households would be extreme. But she had chosen her profession, enjoyed it, and if she was sometimes lonely then that was her fault; the offer of boy-friends had been there often over the years. But none of those men had ever measured up to Marcus—–
Marcus! Couldn’t she get away from thoughts of him today? It would seem not, as she heard Rick mention Sally Hamilton to his father.
‘Sally’s back from Switzerland,’ he told him.
‘And Marcus?’ Eric enquired.
‘I think he’s back too. I know her grandmother is with her,’ Rick remarked casually.
Sybil—Sybil Carr, Marcus’s mother-in-law. Olivia had met the other woman, had found her reception to be frosty, although in the circumstances that was perhaps understandable. The absent Mr Carr was a wealthy businessman—what else, with Ruth’s air of breeding!—and he had been in America on business during the brief months Oliva had been in Marcus’s life.
‘To stay or just to visit?’ Clara asked interestedly.
‘To stay, I think,’ her son shrugged.
‘Poor Marcus,’ Clara said softly. ‘Still, I don’t suppose there’s much point in Sybil staying in Switzerland now that Gerald is dead.’
So Sybil Carr was now a widow. Olivia somehow couldn’t envisage the haughtily sophisticated woman as a grieving widow, stricken by her loss. No, that role didn’t suit the other woman at all.
‘I’m sorry, Olivia,’ Clara spoke to her in her gentle voice; she was a prettily vague woman who somehow managed to carry on in her own sweet way, never hurting anyone or anything, and her family drew peace from her serenity. Olivia liked the older woman immensely. ‘It’s rude of us to discuss people you don’t know,’ she smiled her apology.
‘Olivia met Sally today,’ Natalie put in, spending more time here than in her own home with her parents.
‘Did you, dear?’ Clara gave one of her vague smiles. ‘She’s a nice girl, isn’t she?’
‘She seemed to be,’ Olivia nodded, then stood up to excuse herself. ‘I have some reading to do before I go on to my next case.’
‘Of course, dear,’ Clara nodded understandingly.
Olivia lingered at Rick’s side. ‘Will you be all right?’
‘Why?’ he grinned. ‘Are you offering to come and tuck me up in bed later?’
‘She’d better not!’ his girl-friend threatened.
‘Why not? She has done for the last three months,’ he mocked.
Natalie looked up at her appealingly. ‘Olivia—–’
‘He’s only teasing you,’ she smiled at the other girl. ‘Most of that time I put him in the bed, not tucked him into it!’
She left the room to the sound of teasing laughter and mocking comments, all of them directed at Rick. And at least now the subject of Sally and Marcus had been forgotten.
But not by her. It was all back with a vengeance, all the love, the disillusionment, and finally the pain.
Being a nurse had seemed so romantically glamorous when she was eighteen, a sort of modern-day Florence Nightingale, soothing a patient’s brow and he or she instantly recovered, and every doctor just longing to fall in love with, and marry, a nurse.
Reality had been less of an ideal, and after six months’ training, three months of it actually working on a ward, the other three in the classroom, Olivia had been forced to acknowledge that there was little romance attached to the profession, only gruelling hard work, and even the lowliest doctors treated her as being beneath their notice, romantically or otherwise. Oh, she had no doubt that a few of the senior nurses had relationships with some of the doctors, but they rarely, if ever, led to anything permanent.
Her first ward had been a children’s, and while some of the children there had been very ill, on the whole it had been an enjoyable time, and death had never touched her.
Her second ward had been something else completely—female medical, a mixture of all ages over twelve, although the younger patients seemed to recover quicker and leave after only short stays with them. Some of the older patients, their healing process not always as healthy, made much longer stays.
It was in this way that she had become fond of Mrs Bateson, a woman in her seventies. It had become part of Olivia’s daily routine to spend several minutes out of her busy day talking with Mrs Bateson about the olden days, her fifty years of marriage to Bert, her six children, twenty grandchildren, and four greatgrandchildren. Emily Bateson was fascinating to talk to, to listen to, and with the lack of a closeness to her own parents Olivia became very fond of the elderly lady.
In fact the first time she had ever seen Marcus she had been standing at Mrs Bateson’s bedside talking to her about the expected visit from her frail husband, for the old lady was never happier than when her husband was going to keep her company for a time, most of her day spent in bed because of her illness.
Emily looked down proudly at the gold band on her wedding finger, worn thin with time. ‘Never been off my finger since the day Bert put it there,’ she glowed.
Olivia found the love the elderly couple still had for each other, even after fifty years of marriage, very beautiful to witness. During visiting time the couple would hold hands like two teenagers, and they never seemed to be angry with each other. Mr Bateson was always bringing a small gift for his wife, even if it was only a small container of talcum powder.
‘Curtains, Nurse,’ Sister Marton said briskly from behind her.
Olivia gave a guilty start and turned selfconsciously, only to collide with the person standing directly behind her. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured, her lids fluttering up to meet frosty grey eyes, no sympathy for her embarrassment in the hard face as the man brushed past her to begin examining Mrs Bateson.
She beat a hasty retreat, joining the other nurses who had disappeared into the clinic-room at the advent of a consultant.
‘I see they’ve brought in the big man himself,’ Katy Barnes said softly.
‘Who is he?’ Olivia demanded of her fellow student-nurse in a whisper. As the two most junior nurses they were still a little shy about joining in conversations with the older girls.
‘Marcus Hamilton!’ Katy told her, scandalised that she hadn’t recognised him. ‘Gorgeous, isn’t he?’
He certainly was, as handsome as he was reputed to be. Olivia had heard the hospital gossip about the attractive Mr Hamilton, the hospital’s top surgeon, and having now seen him she had to agree with the majority view—he was devastatingly handsome! He was very tall, with dark brown hair, kept short and tinged with grey at his temples, the face strong and dominating; the grey eyes piercing, the nose long and straight, his mouth stern and forbidding, the jaw angled squarely. As a consultant, high above the level of a doctor, he wore no white coat to identify him, and his dark three-piece suit was superbly tailored to his powerful body, his legs long and muscled.
He was breathtaking, and even Mrs Bateson was later full of her ‘handsome young doctor’, although Marcus Hamilton was obviously in his early thirties. That must have seemed young to Mrs Bateson, although it seemed very mature to Olivia.
After that initial encounter she saw Marcus about the hospital several times, occasionally with other consultants or doctors, but usually alone. He seemed a very solitary man, his aloofness from the rest of the hospital staff making him a prime target for gossip, although it was the same aloofness that made it difficult to find out too much about him. And Olivia was very interested in knowing about him, suffering from her first crush ever on an older man.
It was one day two weeks after their first meeting that Marcus actually spoke to her—and in the circumstances she would rather he hadn’t.
Mrs Bateson had been looking anxiously at the open ward door all during visiting time, and finally it was Marcus Hamilton who came through it and walked to her beside, pulling the curtains about the bed himself, emerging ten minutes later, when all the visitors had gone from the ward, with his face set in harsh lines.
‘Nurse!’ he called Olivia over from where she had been hovering, worried by this strange turn of events.
‘Yes?’ She looked up at him with wide green eyes, so nervous she was shaking. ‘Sir,’ she added belatedly.
He seemed not to notice the drop of etiquette. ‘Would you go in with Mrs Bateson for several minutes? I don’t want her to be alone, one of her daughters should be in soon.’
‘Er—Of course,’ she looked startled. ‘What—–’
‘Her husband has just died.’
Olivia didn’t wait to hear any more, but hurried to the elderly lady’s bedside with a strangulated cry of pain. The light had gone from Mrs Bateson’s eyes, and all she could do was clutch on to Olivia’s hand as if she never wanted to let go. She didn’t even cry, although Olivia felt as if she needed to. Sister Marton looked in a few minutes after Marcus had left, nodding approvingly before quietly leaving again.
Time seemed to stand still after that, the time passing although neither of them seemed aware of it; there was no conversation between them, the elderly lady seeming to draw comfort from Olivia being at her side.
Suddenly Mrs Bateson spoke. ‘We always said we wanted to go together,’ she murmured softly.
‘Mrs Bateson—–’
‘I can’t go on without Bert,’ the old lady told her sadly. ‘One day you’ll understand, Olivia,’ she used her first name without conscious thought, although Olivia couldn’t remember ever telling it to the other woman, the familiarity not really being allowed. Not that she thought anyone would object in the circumstances! ‘I’ve loved Bert all my life, and without him I just don’t want to live.’ She lay very still in the bed.
‘Mrs Bateson, you mustn’t talk this way—–’
‘Nurse King!’
Olivia looked up to see Marcus Hamilton standing just outside the slightly opened curtains that were still pulled about the bed, gently releasing her hand from Mrs Bateson’s to go to him. ‘Yes, sir?’ she queried softly, amazed that he knew her name.
‘How is she?’ His expression was intent.
It was a strange question for a consultant to ask a junior nurse—after all, he was the expert. ‘Er—she’s very shocked—sir,’ she moistened her lips in her nervousness. ‘Although she seems to be coming out of that now,’ she frowned her concern.
‘Yes?’ Marcus Hamilton sensed her worry.
‘She’s talking about dying.’
‘God! Sorry, Nurse King,’ he was at once the controlled consultant once again, ‘I’m going in to talk to her for a few minutes—the family have been delayed, it’s been a great shock to them too. But Sister Marton tells me you have a special relationship with Mrs Bateson?’ His eyes were narrowed.
Colour flooded her cheeks. ‘Er—yes, I—I like to think I do,’ she nodded.
‘Then I would appreciate it if you would continue to sit with her once I’ve left.’
‘Yes, Doc—er—sir. Of course.’ She felt no hesitation, although they both knew she should have been off duty hours ago. Or perhaps he didn’t know; he was hardly likely to know the hours of a first-year nurse. But it didn’t matter anyway, she had no intention of leaving the elderly lady.
Marcus Hamilton nodded dismissively. ‘Get yourself a cup of tea and something to eat while I’m with Mrs Bateson. You have about ten minutes,’ he told her arrogantly.
Miraculously Sister Marton had arranged a hot meal and drink for her. ‘You should have gone hours ago,’ she tutted as she supervised the meal. ‘But Mr Hamilton has been most insistent that you stay with Mrs Bateson. I must say that in the circumstances, I agree with him.’
The consultant strode from the ward exactly ten minutes later, his jaw rigid as Olivia hurried past him to return to the elderly lady’s bedside.
‘He’s a nice young man,’ Mrs Bateson sighed, ‘but he doesn’t understand a love like Bert’s and mine.’
‘He’s married—–’
‘Separated, he told me.’ She shook her head. ‘You young people take your marriage vows so lightly nowadays!’
‘I’m not married, Mrs Bateson,’ Olivia reminded her gently.
‘You will be.’ Mrs Bateson nodded approvingly. ‘And your husband is going to be a lucky man. You’re a lovely child, Olivia, so wait for the right man to come along—like I did.’
Shortly after that the elderly lady fell asleep, although Olivia still remained at her side, the gnarled work-worn fingers curved trustingly about hers. It had been dark for several hours when Marcus Hamilton appeared again, and considering what a busy man he was Olivia was touched by his concern for his patient. It couldn’t have been the most pleasant of duties to tell her about her husband.
Olivia easily released her hand this time, making her way outside the curtains to speak to him.
‘How is she?’ His expression was grim.
‘Asleep,’ she whispered, as the rest of the ward settled down for the night. ‘Where are her family?’
‘The daughter who was coming to sit with her mother collapsed in Emergency,’ he frowned. ‘Quite understandable. But unfortunately we didn’t make the connection between them until a few minutes ago. I’ve just come to check Mrs Bateson before letting her in to see her mother.’ He went in to see his patient.
He was gone for several minutes, a hand to his temple as he left the bedside. ‘You may as well go, Nurse King,’ he told her curtly. ‘There’s nothing more you can do here.’
Olivia pushed past him, not caring in that moment who or what he was, her panicked gaze fixed on the still figure of Mrs Bateson. ‘I—You—She isn’t dead,’ she choked. ‘She can’t be!’
‘She is.’ His hands steadied her as she would have swayed and fallen. ‘About an hour ago, I would say. She just seems to have stopped breathing.’
‘No!’
‘Nurse King—–’
‘Leave me alone!’ She wrenched out of his arms and ran from the ward, the tears falling unchecked.
She ran from the building and into the grounds, stumbling her way through the built-up garden towards the nurses’ home, unaware that she had been followed until strong arms stopped her progress, swinging her round so that she found her face buried against a hard chest.
‘I’m sorry,’ Marcus Hamilton murmured, letting her cry for several minutes into his snowy white shirt, smelling slightly of some tangy aftershave. ‘That’s enough, Olivia!’ He finally shook her gently as she couldn’t seem to stop the tears.
She raised a tear-wet face to him. ‘It doesn’t seem fair. She was so nice—they both were.’
He produced a snowy white handkerchief and gently began to dry her cheeks. ‘You haven’t looked at this from her point of view, you know,’ he said softly, concentrating on his task.
