Sue for Mercy - Veronica Heley Page 0,3

you’re entitled to know how your man’s getting on.”

She swept me back to the empty office and stood over me while I dialled. I giggled a little, feeling daring. I tracked my quarry down to the Men’s General Ward. The Sister’s voice on the other end of the line was distant and tinny.

“Mr. Ashton, you mean? As comfortable as can be expected, what with concussion and his hand... This is Mrs. Ashton speaking?”

“No, I just found him and brought him to the hospital.”

“I’m afraid we’re not allowed to give information to anybody but his family. Visiting hours are from seven to eight. Prompt.” She was a busy woman, and I was wasting her time.

“Oh well, if I could phone his family, perhaps?”

“I have no idea where they might be. He says they are away. They certainly haven’t been enquiring for him.”

“What no one? No one’s been to see him?”

“His employer phoned, and his landlady, but no one has been to see him. Seven to eight sharp, mind.” She put the phone down.

I relayed the information to Bessie, adding that the Sister had seemed to think I would visit him, since no one else had. Bessie seemed to take it for granted that I would, too.

“He’s your very own patient, isn’t he? But for you, he’d be dead. At least give him the opportunity to thank you for saving his life.”

“Don’t exaggerate! But I could drop in for five minutes on the way to evening classes, I suppose.”

I had to admit to some curiosity. I took along a box of After Eight mints. If I didn’t think it necessary to give them to him, I could always eat them myself.

“Mr. Ashton?” repeated a nurse in mid-flight. “Far end on the left.”

He was staring up at the ceiling, not expecting visitors. His hair had been brushed back and away from his forehead; bright and halo-like against the white of the hospital pillow, almost like a Burne-Jones saint. His face was greenish-white, there were heavy shadows under his eyes and the deep line of a frown divided eyebrows which were many shades darker than his hair. His left arm lay across his chest, the hand heavily bandaged. He looked barely conscious and as if he had a cracking headache. I was standing over him before he realised anyone had come to see him, and his eyes focused on me slowly and with difficulty.

“I’m Sue Stephens,” I said, helpfully. “I found you after the car crash, and brought you here.”

His eyes were the true light grey not often seen without some adulteration of green or brown flecks. His brows were levelled with pain.

“Sue!” he repeated. I thought I could detect pleasure in his voice. “That’s nice,” he said, and I felt myself relax into a smile. I sat down and put the box of chocolates on the bed near his right hand.

“Do you like them?” I asked. “Because if not...” He moved his head, and then wished he hadn’t, judging by the way his eyelids contracted against pain.

“Shall I fetch someone for you?” I asked, looking round for a nurse. The ward was filling up with visitors carrying sheaves of chrysanthemums and potted plants, women with heavy overcoats muffling their shapes, carrying shopping baskets filled with goodies for their menfolk. Mr. Ashton’s locker was bare except for a huge basket of fruit; a professionally arranged job. I tried to see if I could read the card with it, but it was turned away from me.

“No — better in a moment” he said. “I don’t like dope, anyway. Makes it difficult to concentrate.” He moved his head again, this time to see my face. Helpfully I pulled my chair forward, closer to the bed. “You found me?”

“Half in and half out of the car, soaking wet and reeking of whisky.” I couldn’t help sounding censorious; I didn’t admire people who lost self-control enough to get drunk. Mind you, this lad didn’t look a weakling. It had probably been a rare event with him.

“Drunk, was I?” He seemed to have some difficulty in taking in the sense of what I had said.

“Very drunk. Don’t you remember?”

“Nothing. I remember locking up on Friday night at Whitestones, and I think I can remember driving away, but...” His eyes flickered and drooped.

“It was late on Monday night that I found you. No, after midnight on Monday, so it was really Tuesday morning. This is Tuesday now, you know.”

“So they tell me,” he said, still dreamily. “It’s a side effect