Part 4

1

It took almost a week for Sister Langtry’s rigidly suppressed feelings of confusion and embarrassment over her weakness in the dayroom to evaporate. Thank God Michael didn’t seem to suspect anything, for he was his normal courteous, friendly self at all times. A great salve for her pride, perhaps, but not much help with the pain she suffered in other areas of her being. Still, every day she continued to survive was one day less ward X had to go, one day closer to freedom.

When she walked into the ward one late afternoon about two weeks after the incident in the dayroom, she almost collided with Michael coming out of the sluice room in a hurry, worn and dented metal bowl in one hand.

‘Put a cover over that, please, Michael,’ she said automatically.

He stopped, torn between the urgency of his mission and her seniority.

‘It’s for Nugget,’ he explained. ‘He’s got a terrible headache and he feels sick.’

Sister Langtry stepped around him and reached one hand into the sluice room, where some drab but clean cloths sat on the shelf just inside the door. She took the bowl from Michael and draped a cloth over it.

‘Then Nugget’s got a migraine,’ she said calmly. ‘He doesn’t get them very often, but when he does he’s quite prostrated, the poor little chap.’

She walked into the ward, took one look at Nugget lying very still on his bed, a cool damp cloth over his eyes, and drew up a hard chair noiselessly to the side of his bed.

‘Is there anything I can do, Nugget?’ she asked him softly, putting the bowl down very quietly on his locker.

His lips barely moved. ‘No, Sis.’

‘How long to go?’

‘Hours yet,’ he whispered, two tears trickling from under the cloth. ‘It’s just come on.’

She didn’t touch him. ‘Don’t worry, just lie quiet. I’ll be here to keep an eye on you.’

She remained sitting beside him for perhaps another minute, then got up and went into her office.

Michael was waiting there, looking anxious. ‘Are you sure he’s all right, Sis? I’ve never seen Nugget lie so still! He hasn’t even squeaked.’

She laughed. ‘He’s all right! It’s just an honest-to-goodness migraine, that’s all. The pain is so acute he doesn’t dare move or make a noise.’

‘Isn’t there something you could give him?’ Michael demanded, impatient at her callousness. ‘How about some morphine? That always does the trick.’

‘Not for migraine,’ she said positively.

‘So there’s nothing you’re prepared to do.’

His tone annoyed her. ‘Nugget is in no danger whatsoever. He’s simply feeling ghastly. In about six hours he’ll vomit, and that will relieve the worst of his pain immediately. Believe me, I’m very sorry for what he’s going through, but I do not intend to run the risk of making him dependent upon drugs like morphine! You’ve been here quite long enough to understand what Nugget’s real trouble is, so why are you making me out to be the villain of the piece? I’m not infallible by any means, but I do not appreciate being told my business by patients!’

He laughed heartily, putting his hand out to grip her arm and giving it a friendly little shake. ‘Good for you, Sis!’ he said, grey eyes alight with more than warmth.

Her own eyes lit up; she was consumed by an enormous rush of gratitude. There could be no mistaking the way he was now looking at her. In that moment all her doubts were resolved; she knew she loved him. No more misery, no more self-examination. She loved him, and it felt like the end of a journey she had not wanted to make.

He searched her face, then his lips parted to speak; dumb with longing, she waited. But he didn’t speak. She could literally see his mind working, watched the love driven out by… fright? Caution? The grip on her arm changed its quality, from a caress to a merely friendly touch again. ‘I’ll see you later,’ he said, and walked out the door.

Luce didn’t even give her the time to think about it; she was still standing numbed when he walked in.

‘I want a word with you, Sis, and I want it now,’ he said, white-faced.

She moistened her lips. ‘Certainly,’ she managed to say, and put Michael out of her mind.

Luce advanced until he stood before her desk; she went to her chair and sat down.

‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you.’

‘Sit down, then,’ she said calmly.

‘It’s not going to take long enough, pet,’ he said, lips lifted back from his teeth. ‘Why did you queer my pitch with little Miss Woop-Woop?’

Sister Langtry’s eyes opened wide. ‘Did I?’

‘You know bloody well you did! Everything was coming along beautifully, and now suddenly out of the blue she starts telling me that it isn’t proper for her to associate with the likes of Sergeant Luce Daggett, because your talk with her made her see a lot of things she didn’t see before.’

‘Nor is it proper for the two of you to associate in a clandestine manner,’ said Sister Langtry. ‘Officers do not engage in intimate relationships with men from the ranks.’

‘Oh, come off it, Sis! You know as well as I do that those rules are broken every night in this bloody place! Who else is there except men from the ranks? The MOs? There’s not an MO in Base Fifteen who could get it up for Betty Grable! The officer patients? The only ones left are crocks who couldn’t get it up for the Virgin Mary!’

‘If you must be cheap and vulgar, Luce, you might at least refrain from blasphemy!’ she snapped, her face set, her eyes hard.

‘But it’s a cheap and vulgar subject, sweetie, and I feel like doing a lot worse than blaspheming. What a prissy old maid you are! No gossip in the mess about Sister Langtry, is there?’

He leaned forward across the desk, hands on its edge, his face looming within inches of her own, as it had loomed once before, but with a far different expression now.

‘Let me tell you something! Don’t you ever dare to interfere with me, or I’ll make you wish you’d never been born! Do you hear? I was enjoying little Miss Woop-Woop in more ways than you’ll ever know, you dried-up scrubber!’

The epithet penetrated where he could not be sure that anything else he said did; he saw her flare of pain and outrage, and pressed home this unexpected advantage with all the venom he could summon.

‘You really are dried up, aren’t you?’ he drawled. ‘You’re not a woman, you’re just an apology for one. There you are, dying to go to bed with Mike, yet you can’t even treat the poor coot like a man! Anyone would think he was your pet dog. Here, Mike, heel, Mike! Do you really think you’ll get him to sit and beg for it? He’s not interested enough, sweetie.’

‘You can’t make me lose my temper, Luce,’ she said, coldly and slowly. ‘I prefer to treat your personal aspersions as not made at all. No exercise in the world is as futile as a post-mortem, and that’s what this is, a post-mortem. If Sister Pedder has thought better of her association with you, I’m glad for both your sakes, but especially for hers. Ranting at me is not going to change how Sister Pedder feels.’

‘You’re not an iceberg, Sister Langtry, because ice melts. You’re stone! But I’m going to find a way to pay you back. Oh, yes I am! I am going to make you weep tears of blood!’

‘What idiotic melodrama!’ she said contemptuously. ‘I’m not frightened of you, Luce. Disgusted and sickened by you, yes. But not frightened. Nor can you bluff me the way you do the others. I see through you; I always have seen through you. You’re nothing but a petty little confidence trickster!’

‘But I’m not bluffing,’ he said airily, straightening. ‘You’ll see! I’ve found something you think belongs to you, and I’m going to take great pleasure in destroying it.’

Michael. Her and Michael. But Luce couldn’t even begin to destroy that. Only Michael could. Or she could.