An Orphan’s War. Molly Green
struggling to sit further up in his bed. Maxine automatically went to help him. ‘I’m all right, Nurse – honestly.’
The doctor whom she’d never seen before didn’t give the boy a glance. As if he’d never spoken. Instead, the steely eyes alighted on Maxine.
‘No excuses – there’s work to do, so get on with it.’ He swung away.
Maxine stared after his departing figure marching along the basement corridor, burning with fury. Even Matron never spoke to her so rudely. Where was Matron this morning anyway? She knew, if anyone did, that Maxine barely wasted a minute. What an overbearing … She couldn’t think of a strong enough word to describe him. Who did he think he was?
She tried to carry on with her normal duties but her heart quickened with annoyance every time she thought of the auburn-haired doctor. He obviously had no respect for nurses whatsoever, no bedside manner, no understanding that a little human contact which made them feel special and individual played a crucial part in a patient’s recovery. She needed to find out if he’d been temporarily transferred to her ward or, God help them, was going to be there permanently. If so … She didn’t want to think further, except that if he was, she was in for an even greater daily challenge.
But to Maxine’s surprise, not everyone thought the same way about the new addition to the department.
‘Isn’t he a dreamboat?’ Bennett’s eyes danced mischievously as she was about to take temperatures. She looked at Maxine. ‘You have met him, haven’t you?’
‘Met who?’ Maxine replied innocently, though she knew perfectly well now who Bennett was talking about.
‘Red.’
‘Red?’
‘You know. The new doctor.’ Bennett looked surprised Maxine didn’t seem to know who she was referring to.
‘It’s Mr Blake, as it happens,’ Sister admonished as she swept past to supervise the new probationers.
The two young women grinned at one another.
‘A surgeon, no less,’ Bennett said, her hand to her mouth to stifle the ready laugh. ‘Even better.’
‘No wonder he’s on his high horse,’ Maxine commented.
‘What makes you say that?’ Curiosity flickered across her colleague’s face.
‘He told me off for chatting to Tom. And when Tom tried to stick up for me he completely ignored him and carried on at me in a most arrogant manner. I thought he was horrible.’
‘Mmm.’ Bennett shot a look at her watch. ‘We need to continue this conversation this evening when we have some privacy.’
The buzz in the temporary canteen the Red Cross had organised after the bombings was even greater than usual. Maxine caught the name ‘Red’ several times from some giggling trainees at the next table.
‘Wonder if he’s as red hot as his name.’ A girl with bright golden curls escaping her cap laughed and gave a huge wink to her colleague opposite.
Maxine glared at them before burying her head in her book at the same time as eating her stew and dumplings, though it was difficult to concentrate with the volume of noise around her.
‘Is this seat taken?’
It was a deep voice, educated, richly coating the few words.
‘No, please … She barely looked up beyond the white coat buttoned to the neck, recognising his voice. She dropped her eyes to her book again, hoping he would leave her in peace.
‘Oh, didn’t I meet you earlier … in the men’s ward, wasn’t it?’ He set his tray on the table, removed the plate and cutlery, and propped the tray up against the table as he sat down, his piercing grey eyes fixed firmly upon her.
Damn. The arrogant surgeon. She was tempted to tell him it was the exact opposite of ‘wasting time’ that he’d accused her of, but she raised her head a few inches and looked directly at him.
‘I believe you spoke to me when I was with Mr Jansen.’ Ice dripped from the words as she made a pretence of dropping her eyes back to her book.
‘And your name?’
What a rude man. She bit her tongue to stop herself from giving him a sharp reply. She must never do anything, say anything, to get in the way of her Nightingale Badge. Be polite. However he tries to get your goat.
She placed her finger on the paragraph she was reading to let him know this was only going to be a brief interruption. ‘I’m Nurse Taylor.’ Immediately the image of Johnny sprang to her mind. She blinked.
‘Christian name?’ he practically barked.
Her hands made a fist underneath the table. ‘Maxine.’
‘Maxine,’ he repeated and jerked his head towards her book. ‘What are you reading?’
She looked across at him, irritation bubbling to the surface. ‘Out of Africa.’
‘Oh, Isak Dinesen’s memoir. How do you find it?’
He would know Karen Blixen’s Danish name. Try as she might, she could never recall it.
‘I like to read about a determined woman who is doing what she loves most against all odds,’ she returned coolly.
‘Is that what you are? A determined woman?’ He raised his eyes to the ceiling, then caught her eye and smiled in a self-satisfied way. ‘Are you working at St Thomas’ against all odds?’
How dare he?
‘I don’t think there’s any comparison between a nurse in a hospital and Karen Blixen running her farm single-handedly.’ She deliberately looked down at her book again.
Why doesn’t he go away and leave me alone?
‘Impossible to concentrate, I should say, in this madhouse.’ He gazed towards the heaving tables.
The annoying thing was that this time he was right. She snapped her book closed.
‘By the way, I’m Edwin Blake.’
If he thought she was going to curl up in deference to his godly presence, he was wrong. She hid a smile. She’d have a little game with him.
‘How do you do, Dr Blake.’
Quick as a flash he answered, ‘It’s Mr Blake, actually.’
Maxine’s hand flew to her mouth in mock dismay. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’
If Anna had been with her at that moment and caught her eye they would not have dared look at each other for fear of breaking into giggles for pulling the great man down a few pegs. She looked innocently at him.
There was a moment’s pause. Her heart beat a little too rapidly. Have I gone too far?
‘I suppose I deserved that.’ A smile hovered, softening the hard line of his lips.
She picked up her knife and fork again and made a pretence of finishing her meal, but each swallow stuck in her throat. This was awful. She wasn’t enjoying the stew at all with him staring at her, while he hadn’t even touched his food.
‘You may begin, Mr Blake,’ she emphasised, tackling a piece of brownish potato. She looked up and smiled. ‘Sorry, but you were staring.’
Her remark seemed to draw him back an inch or two. Then what looked like a flicker of respect passed across his face. ‘Was I really? I didn’t mean to.’
He began to eat, grimacing every so often and inspecting the contents of his fork before continuing. He broke the awkward silence.
‘How long have you been at St Thomas’?’
Oh,