Chapter Seven
Seven
‘What is it you want?’ asked Matron.
We were sitting at the nurses’ desk. She’d done her handover and her cape was on, but instead of leaving she opened the desk drawer and took out a small glass and the bottle of brandy she kept there. She filled the glass and drank, then filled it again.
‘What I can’t have,’ I said, eyeing the brandy with intent.
She put the bottle away. ‘Can you be more specific?’
Dr Henning was at the other end of the ward and I thought that in another context, we might have watched him for a minute and shared an appreciation of his well-defined jaw, his straight nose, the boyish flop of hair that fell forward each time he bent to a patient.
His hands. He had beautiful hands. I wouldn’t mind being his patient, Matron might have said.
We would have laughed, and in that moment I would have determined to get his attention before she did.
But we were not in another context, we were in the German ward, in the middle of a war.
‘Oh, you know,’ I said. ‘Peace.’
‘Everyone wants peace, Nurse Taylor, it’s hardly worth mentioning, though it’s the first thing each and every debutante says.’
‘I’m no debutante.’
‘Obviously.’
‘What’s the second thing they say?’
‘It varies. Some say they want to be useful, others admit they want an adventure. They’re answers from a catalogue.’ She paused and scrutinised my face. ‘Which would you offer up?’
‘I don’t need the adventure.’
‘I suspect you’ve had plenty.’
‘But I do want to be useful.’
‘Pfft. We all do. But why are you here and not over there?’ She cocked her head towards England.
‘Like I said when we first met, I had nothing better to do and I figured there would be more parts for me in the theatre of war than in any theatre in Britain.’
She considered this and smiled, but it was the kind of smile that comes from figuring out a clue in the cryptic crossword. It was for herself, not me. She sipped the brandy.
‘You want to be admired,’ she said.
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘Then what did you mean?’
What did I mean? When I’d left the WSPU I’d missed the attention it had brought – good or bad, it fed me, just like applause after a good performance.
When I told people I was going to France, some had called me brave, others fussed and feared, and many said it was something they could never do.
At the time it did feel like applause, so maybe Matron had a point, but that feeling had long faded.
‘Well?’
‘I don’t want to sit back and watch.’
‘How frustrating that would be for a woman like you.’ She considered me for a while then took another sip of her brandy.
When she spoke she gestured with the glass, moving it between us.
I longed for a drink, but she never offered.
‘Perhaps we could go for a walk together one day,’ she said.
‘When we both have a few hours off. You could invite your friend, the one with the sketchbook.’
I smiled. ‘Iso.’
‘A name, excellent. I don’t like having strangers on the ward and she’s always popping in. A proper introduction is overdue. Will you invite her?’
‘I’ll bring Iso if you bring the brandy.’
She smiled. ‘Of course.’