Excerpt of Cobweb Morning by Betty Neels

THE hospital dining-room was almost empty save for the
maid on duty, wiping down tables in a belligerent manner
and in an ever-increasing circle around the one occupied
table, whose three occupants watched her warily between
their mouthfuls of the wholesome if unimaginative fish pie
which had been all that was left on the day's menu. She
returned their looks with a cross one of her own and spoke
sourly.

"There ain't no afters, it'll 'ave ter be cheese and
biscuits."

The eldest of the three ladies, a thin person in her
forties with an ill-tempered face and wearing a ward
Sister's uniform, merely frowned, while the small, pretty
creature sitting opposite her, also in Sister's uniform
but looking somehow unaccustomed to it, looked
apologetically at the speaker and murmured that it didn't
matter. It was left to the third member of the party to
turn a pair of fine eyes in the maid's direction and
request her in a crisp voice to bring the cheese and
biscuits. "And I have no doubt," she went on in her
pleasant voice, "that you can find us a pot of tea, can't
you, Bertha?"

She smiled with such charm that the grumpy Bertha smiled
back, flung down her cloth, and although muttering, went
away to fetch what had been requested of her, while the
Sister who had spoken sat back in her chair and began a
desultory conversation with her two companions. She was a
very pretty young woman, with a creamy skin and abundant
hair, as dark as her eyes, and with a delightful nose
which tilted ever so slightly at its tip above a
generously curved mouth and a small determined chin. She
was a tall, well-built girl, whose figure showed off to
perfection the uniform she was wear-ing — that of a
hospital Sister, too, but rather different from the
others, and decidedly better fitting, moreover, the neat
coil of hair above her neck was crowned with the frilled
and goffered cap of one of the famous London hospitals,
its strings tied in a bow under her chin; a piece of old-
fashioned nonsense which vastly became her.

The cheese and biscuits and a large pot of tea arrived,
were consumed hurriedly, and the three ladies prepared to
leave. It was already two o'clock as they rose from the
table and the November afternoon had dwindled into a wet,
grey prospect which promised an even worse evening.
Alexandra Dobbs twitched her bows into a more comfortable
position with a well-kept hand and looked out of the
window as they crossed the large, comfortless room. There
was nothing to see outside; a hotchpotch of walls and
annexes and a few trees beyond; she would have liked to
have been back at her own hospital, with the traffic
thundering past in a subdued roar and the prospect of a
pleasant evening in the Sisters' sitting-room when she
went off duty, or what was more likely, a meal out with
one of the Medical Registrars, Anthony Ferris — a young
man who, at thirty, was climbing up his particular ladder
successfully enough and had lately given her to believe
that he would like her to climb with him. Indeed, she had
wondered once or twice in the last few days if she would
decide to marry him; she had, since the age of seventeen —
ten years ago — been the recipient of a number of
proposals of marriage, and while refusing them politely,
had taken none of them seriously, but Anthony was
different; he was ambitious, he wanted a consulting
practice, a good income and a suitable wife. The only
reason that she hadn't encouraged him so far was because
she had a niggling feeling that she wasn't suitable.
Besides, when she really thought seriously about it, she
wasn't sure that she wanted to marry him; she had told
herself that it was silly to indulge in childish fancies,
Anthony and she were well suited — everyone who knew them
told her that — and yet she had the oddest feeling that
somewhere in the world there was a man waiting for her — a
man about whom she would have no doubts at all.

This nebulous figure was at the back of her mind now, as
she walked back with her companions to the new Intensive
Care Unit, recently opened at the hospital — a small unit
of two beds, for the hospital was small, too; serving a
provincial town and its surrounding rural west country
area. It was this unit which was the reason for her being
there; she had been Sister-in-Charge of the large, always
busy unit at St Job's for several years now, and had been
seconded to the hospital in order to instruct its staff:
Sister Baxter, who had no wish to be trained, anyway, not
because she didn't want to run the new unit, but because
she considered that no one could instruct her about
anything; she knew it already, and Sister Pim, very young
and inexperienced and quite frankly terrified of Sister
Baxter. A fine setup, Alexandra considered as she went
over the apparatus just once more. It was the third day of
her visit and she was due back in the morning; it was a
pity, without wishing anyone any harm, that a patient
needing intensive care couldn't be admitted, so that she
could judge for herself if Sister Baxter knew what she was
about. She very much doubted it, and Sister Pim, although
a charming girl, had had no experience at all; she had
barely qualified when she had been offered the post. On
her own she might do very well, but with Sister Baxter
bullying her she would turn into a yes-woman, doing what
she was told whether it was right or not.

A pity, mused Alexandra, who had never been a yes-woman in
her life, partly because she had an elder brother and two
younger ones, all of whom had made it their business to
see that she could stand up for herself. Her mother,
watching her lovely little daughter climbing trees,
swimming like a fish and giving as good as she got when it
came to holding her own against her brothers, had at times
worried that she might grow up a tomboy, but Alexandra
hadn't; she had become a charming girl with nice manners,
a willingness to help at church bazaars and other rural
events, a pleasant way with children, and an endless
patience with the elderly and their foibles. The perfect
wife, Mrs Dobbs had told herself, well satisfied, and had
spent the next eight or nine years wondering why Alexandra
didn't get married. Instead the dear girl had carved a
career for herself in the nursing profession and had shown
no signs of wanting to marry at all, although just lately
Mrs Dobbs had been more hopeful; Alexandra had mentioned,
more and more frequently, Anthony Ferris. Mrs Dobbs, an
incurable romantic, allowed herself to plan a wedding
outfit, but took great care to keep her hopes to herself.

The short afternoon slid into dusk and then dark. Sister
Baxter went to her tea, taking the meek little Lucy Pim
with her, and Alexandra, due off duty when they returned,
set about making a final check before she left. She still
had to see the Senior Nursing Officer, but that wouldn't
take long — she would pack that evening, she told herself
contentedly, and catch an early morning train back to
London.

The other two had returned, and she was on the point of
leaving them when there was the sound of a car, driven
hard and braking to a halt outside the hospital entrance.
It was followed, after the shortest possible interval, by
the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor towards
them, and an imperative voice issuing instructions.
Alexandra, hearing it, felt a pang of sympathy for the
elderly porter on duty — he liked to do things in his own
time and it was obvious that just for once, he wasn't
being given that chance.

The owner of the voice appeared seconds later, an
immensely tall man and powerfully built, making light of
the burden he was carrying — an unconscious girl. He
paused momentarily as he entered and asked without
preamble: 'Who's in charge here?"

Sister Baxter, bristling with authority, answered him. "I
am, but this isn't the Casualty Department; there isn't
one at this hospital, you must go to..."

She wasn't given the chance to finish; the man had laid
the girl down gently on a couch and was bending over
her. "I know, I know," he said impatiently, "but this
girl's been in a car crash and she needs to go on to a
ventilator at once. I've no intention of travelling
another five or six miles to have the Casualty Officer
tell me that she will have to be brought back here for
treatment. Kindly summon the officer on duty and give me a
hand." He added as an afterthought: 'I'm a doctor."

He lifted his head and looked at Sister Baxter with
scarcely concealed impatience, his blue eyes passing from
her to Sister Pim and thence to Alexandra. He was a
handsome man, in his thirties, with a straight nose and a
mobile mouth. His hair, now grizzled, must have been very
fair when he was younger. Alexandra noted these things as
she stepped forward; it wasn't her department and she
wasn't in charge, but Sister Baxter was being tiresome and
little Lucy Pim was, for the moment, unable to cope. She
said calmly: 'Would you prefer the Cape? The Bird's is
here if it's only for a short time — is she very bad?" She
turned her head and spoke to Lucy, ignoring Sister
Baxter's outraged face. "Will you get Mr Collins? He's on
duty, I believe."

She was competent at her work; she and the strange doctor
had the Cape ventilator going by the time Mr Collins and
Sister Pim arrived, and within a few minutes, after they
had prepared the girl for examination, the two men set to
work. Alexandra had been surprised that Mr Collins had
raised no objection to the strange doctor's obvious
assumption that he should take charge of the case, it was
really quite unethical, but he had murmured something with
a good deal of respect when the stranger had introduced
himself, so briefly and softly that she, to her annoyance,
had been unable to hear a word of it. But there was no
time to speculate about anyone else but the patient for
the moment, for she was in a bad way.