Part 17 (1/2)
”John,” she said, ”I wish I'd gone with you instead of Mrs. Rankin.”
”I wish to G.o.d you had. Everything's all right when you're with me, and everything's all wrong when you're not.”
”How do you mean, wrong?”
He shook his head, frowning slightly, as a sign for her to stop. Sutton had come into the room.
”You needn't go,” he said, ”I've only come for my coat and my case. I've got to help with the operations.”
He slipped into the white linen coat. There were thin smears of blood on the sleeves and breast. He groped about the room, peering short-sightedly for his case of instruments.
”John, was Mrs. Rankin any good?” she asked presently.
John lay back and closed his eyes as if to shut out the sight of Mrs. Rankin.
”Don't talk to me,” he said, ”about that horrible woman.”
Sutton had turned abruptly from his search.
”Good?” he said. ”She was magnificent. So was Miss Bartrum. So was McClane.”
John opened his eyes. ”So was Charlotte.”
”I quite agree with you.” Sutton had found his case. His face was hidden by the raised lid as he peered, examining his instruments. He spoke abstractly. ”Magnificent.”
When he left the room Charlotte followed him.
”Billy--”
”Well--”
He stopped in his noiseless course down the corridor.
”What was it?” she said. ”What happened?”
He didn't pretend not to understand her.
”Oh, nothing. Conway and Mrs. Rankin didn't hit it off very well together.”
They spoke in low, rapid tones, conscious, always, of the wards behind the shut doors. Her feet went fast and noiseless beside his as he hurried to the operating theatre. They came out on to the wide landing and waited there by the bra.s.s lattice of the lift.
”How do you mean, hit it off?”
”Oh well, she thought he didn't come up quick enough with a stretcher, and she pitched into him.”
”But he was dead beat. Done. Couldn't she see that?”
”No. I don't suppose she could. She was a bit excited.”