A Surgical Affair (6 page)

“Was I all right?” She looked at him anxiously.

“You were fine. But you should practise tying knots.”

Diana sighed. “I know. I was too slow over them.”

He took some string from the desk and sat down in front of her. “Look, I’ll show you how to tie a first-rate surgical knot. Hold out your arm.”

For five minutes they tied knots on each other’s arms, until Diana was making them quickly and firmly.

“Spend five minutes in your room each night, practising knots. I’ll know if you do, because your next appendix should take half as long,” said Mark, smiling.

Diana said gratefully, “It’s very nice of you to help me.”

He looked strangely embarrassed and avoided meeting her gaze. “If I don’t show you these things, nobody will.”

And she decided that to Mark it was just a part of his work. There was nothing “nice” about the help he was giving her. Then Diana remembered there was a question she had wanted to ask him for weeks and this seemed a good opportunity.

“Have you ever fainted at an operation?”

He looked at her, puzzled. “Once. I’d been up most of the night and had no breakfast. I keeled right over, when my chief was doing a
parotid
. Why?”

“Well, since I was ill, two years ago, I’ve nearly fainted three times; never in the theater, though, and I don’t go right out. I just see stars. Everything swims around, and I have to sit down.” She was looking at him anxiously. “I’m always afraid it might happen during an operation. If it did, I think I’d be so ashamed, I’d give all this up ... and go on the stage.”

They both smiled at the desperate threat she had made, then Mark’s face became serious. He put his hand firmly on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. Diana felt some of his strength transmitted to her own body, and when he spoke she knew that he was right.

“Don’t be a silly girl. You’re not going to faint.”

At that moment Bill Evans ambled into the office and grinned at them both. “I’m sorry to interrupt this touching scene, but I’m anesthetizing for the next case. Your last patient hasn’t regained consciousness, and Pallie is sitting with her.”

“A boy of 11, with a small piece of glass buried in his hand,” Mark told him briefly. When Evans left the room, he said, “Do you think that man tries to be offensive, or can’t he help it?”

Diana sat at a table opposite Mark, as he cut across the palm of the boy’s hand. While she held the two flaps of skin apart, he probed and searched, slowly and methodically, among the narrow tendons that glistened under the overhead light; all of them looked infuriatingly like hundreds of tiny pieces of glass. The X-ray gave
Mark only an approximate idea of where to find the glass, and after an hour he had drawn a blank.

Diana looked crossly at Evans, who kept sighing impatiently. “It’s here somewhere. I know I’m in the right place,” Mark murmured. Only Diana heard him.

“There’s no hurry, is there?” she asked softly.

“We’ll stay here all night, if we have to.”

Then they heard a very faint click. Gently, he held aside one of the tendons with a metal retractor. They saw the tiny glinting piece of glass. He picked it up carefully and threw it in a dish. “That’s it,” said Mark, sitting back. “We’ll sew up.”

Of all the operations they performed together, Diana always remembered that one. Mark had been so patient and calm.

She joined Dr. Pallie in the anesthetic room. Every five minutes he placed a mask over Miss Stevens’s face and patiently squeezed oxygen from the rubber bag into her lungs.

“Any change?” Diana asked.

He shook his head gravely. “Not yet. She is having a long sleep. I think she was too sensitive to the muscle-relaxing drug I gave her. All we can do is wait.”

Diana assisted Mark with an amputation, followed by two emergency operations. Then she snatched a quick bite to eat in the dining room before returning to relieve Dr. Pallie.

It was a lonely vigil. The theater, the office and the corridors were empty. Only Miss Stevens’s rhythmical breathing disturbed the silence. Down in Charity Ward, the patients must have been wondering why the appendix case was still up in the theater; the girl’s parents had probably phoned to inquire about her.

When Dr. Pallie returned, his face strained and tired, Diana asked him anxiously, “When do you think she’ll come around?”

He shrugged. “It is difficult to say. Maybe soon, maybe not for hours.”

They sat in silence for some time. Then Diana said, “I’ve just remembered. I must congratulate you—on your engagement.”

Dr. Pallie took the rubber bag from Diana. “Oh? Kate has told you.”

“Well, she knew we’d all find out eventually.”

He smiled contentedly. “I am very lucky. I do not make friends easily, but with Kate, I find I talk and laugh. She makes me more alive. Before, I think I was only half alive.”

Diana suddenly thought of Mark. “Yes, I know that feeling. I think if you find somebody who does that to you, it’s a very precious thing.”

Then Dr. Pallie saw Miss Stevens’s head move. Quickly, he went up and shook her shoulder.

“Miss Stevens! Miss Stevens! Wake up!”

Her mouth moved, and then the eyes opened.

He looked up at Diana and smiled. “It is all right now. Would you send for the porters, Dr. Field, please?”

Diana walked wearily through the door of the residents’ quarters late that night, longing for a hot bath and the “cool friendliness of clean sheets.”

Suddenly she collided with a girl wearing a red dress and black high-heeled shoes; it was the nurse she had overheard in the ward that morning. Before Diana had time to say, “Hello, Nurse Edmonds! We always seem to be bumping into each other!” the girl had run out through the door.

As she walked onto her room, a nagging, unpleasant thought came into Diana’s head, which became more
painful when she saw the light shining under Mark’s door.

“Why shouldn’t he entertain a nurse in his room?” she asked herself, as she prepared for her bath. “It’s against hospital rules, that’s the only reason why not. She’s pretty, he’s been working hard all day. Even if Mark did kiss me, it was only frivolously, at the end of a party. We’re friends, that
’
s all. Of course he sees other girls. I must concentrate on my work,” she told herself firmly, “and on the first part of my Fellowship exam. How stupid of me to be upset. As if Mark ever thinks about me!”

Lying in bed that night, Diana thought of Richard, always
faithful, always there if she needed him. Earnest, excitable, confident Richard, whose love she could always rely upon. But would he ever really understand her passionate interest in surgery, her desire to spend every moment she could in the operating theater? She thought not. He didn’t fit into this new life she was leading, where every day brought a new adventure, another experience to strengthen her ambition to be a surgeon. And how could she explain it all to him?

Before Diana fell into a heavy sleep, she willed the telephone by her bed not to ring that night, so she could wake free from the weariness that had suddenly come over her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

M
ark opened his eyes. He gazed at Diana, who was sitting opposite him.

“The unpleasant thing about sleeping after lunch,” he told her wearily, “is this ghastly feeling when you wake up.”

They were alone in the common-room. They had come off duty at one o’clock, and the whole afternoon lay before them.

Mark stretched out his hand and turned the knob of the radio. The soft, rhythmic beat of a Latin-American rumba filled the room.

Then he jumped up and threw open the window. Diana could feel a strange warmth in the air. It was the first day of spring.

“I’m suddenly longing for home,” he said, almost to himself, as he stared at the clouds rolling by. “To eat a real steak again, under the stars. To sail a yacht in Sydney harbor. To feel the sun on my back, as I come in on the surf. And I’d like to see my sister’s baby daughter. I only know her from photos.”

“But you’re in England,” Diana told him quietly. “So what are you going to do?”

Mark turned and sat down. Then he told her exactly what he was going to do.

He had a date with Denise up in London. Yes, she was a model. She would be as smart and well-groomed as ever, her golden hair perfectly waved and probably wearing a neat, black suit. She was taller than Mark, and very beautiful. That was the trouble with her. She was perfect—until she started to speak. Then Mark found that he soon became bored.

Diana thought, “How right I was! Just as I imagined her.” Then Mark was imitating Denise. “Don’t you realize how I adore you?
”
she would ask him. “I think you’re so clever, being a surgeon. I just feel quite ill at the sight of blood. You dance divinely, and I’m such a silly-billy on my feet.”

This sent Diana into a fit of giggles.

Once a week, or once every ten days, he found Denise was fun to be with. Anyway, she had a blue Cadillac, with a leopard-skin interior. They were going to see
Roll up the Carpet,
the new musical in the West End.

“Outside the theater after the show she’ll probably slip a carefully manicured hand through my arm and say, ‘Where to now, Mark?’ And I’ll say, ‘Get off my back, Denise. Tonight anyway.’ She’ll understand.”

“Perhaps that’s why you get on well together,” Diana said. “You don’t make demands on each other.”

Mark said Denise knew plenty of men. Most of them wanted to marry her. He had the feeling that from the moment they first met, at Alec Neal’s party, she had set out to add him to her collection of admirers.

“I can see why,” Diana thought. “She was fascinated by his shyness and reserve. It’s strangely mixed with independence and bluntness.”

“She soon found I was different from the others,” Mark went on.
“She doesn’t attract me and I’ve never pretended she does.” They sat in silence for a moment.

Then Mark said, “Can’t think why I’ve been boring you with all this. I guess it’s because you’re a good listener. You manage to look interested, even if you’re not. What are you doing today?”

Diana hesitated for a moment. Should she tell him it was her birthday? 27 years old! Surely she was beyond the stage when a birthday is celebrated? The less said about it the better. And anyway, of what possible interest could it be to Mark? Denise was probably very young, and he’d think 27 awfully old.

S
o she told him she had an appointment at the hairdresser (which was true) and then she had some letters to write.

Suddenly, Mark remembered he had to give the ward some instructions about a patient and rushed off.

When Diana arrived back at the hospital, very self-conscious about the new shorter hair style she had treated herself to, the hall porter presented her with a large parcel.

“A young man brought it in, Dr. Field. He was sorry to find you out. He couldn’t wait. Seemed in a hurry.”

“That was Richard,” thought Diana. “Why could he not have phoned to say he was coming?”

“Came all the way from Norwich, he said.”

She opened the parcel and found the largest box of chocolates she’d ever seen. It was done up with a beautiful pink bow. A note inside, in Richard’s large handwriting, said; “Sorry if I miss you when I call at the hospital. Am terribly busy with work at the moment. Have a very happy birthday, Di, if that’s possible stuck inside a hospital. I’ll call you when I can. Love, Richard.” Diana walked slowly upstairs. She remembered the birthday parties she used to have as a little girl. Jellies, a huge cake with colored candles, a new dress and black dancing pumps. There would be games with prizes and lots of balloons everywhere; paper hats for everybody.

She went into the common-room. It was
e
mpty, 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 sa
ys
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.”