The Mersey Daughter (Empire Street #3)(81)
He was so lost in thought that for a moment he didn’t register the sound of the air-raid warning. Damn, there hadn’t been much in the way of raids for ages – well, one last week, but that wasn’t over the Bootle docks, more towards the other side of the city. He looked around but wasn’t sure where the nearest shelter was. Never mind. He felt lucky. He’d chance it and carry on walking. He would see Kitty soon and nothing, not even the Luftwaffe, could dampen his spirits.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The war-ravaged streets of London sped past the window of the car, but Laura scarcely noticed. Her mind was racing, her heart hammering in her chest. The admiral had seen to it that a car had been sent for her to bring her to the hospital where Peter lay fighting for his life. What did it mean? The message had been abrupt and gave nothing away, but surely she wouldn’t have been summoned if he was still in grave danger. She tapped her fingers against her scratchy uniform skirt in impatience. It was only a short ride away, but seemed to go on for hours – and of course the most direct route was impossible as a building had collapsed and all the traffic had to take a detour. So many small things, unimportant on their own, added up to this war taking its toll in so many ways.
The driver had barely acknowledged her, and she wondered if the woman, in the uniform of a Wren of her own rank, knew what any of this was about. It was strange to be driven about, to sit in the back seat as Peter had done so many times in the past few months. Laura thought it was as if she was cocooned, safe from the dangers outside on the streets, the bombs, the injured people, the food shortages. Even so, she couldn’t wait for the journey to end.
At last they pulled up in the driveway in front of the hospital’s front door. This time there was no problem getting in. A nurse was waiting for her. ‘Miss Fawcett? This way please.’
Laura glanced around, half expecting the formidable matron to descend upon them, although common sense told her that such a senior nurse would have far better things to do. ‘How is Captain Cavendish?’ Laura breathed, desperate to know and yet fearful of learning the truth.
The nurse escorting her along the corridor didn’t break her stride. ‘Oh, haven’t they told you?’ she asked cheerfully. ‘Well, I expect they wanted the captain to tell you himself.’
Laura wanted to stand still and take that in, but the nurse walked briskly on and she had to keep up. ‘So he’s conscious?’ she asked.
‘You’ll soon see for yourself,’ the nurse said in her no-nonsense way. ‘Right, do you know where you are now? Just at the end of the corridor, the door on the left. Better make the most of it, you won’t have long.’ She pointed along to the familiar set of French windows. Laura nodded her thanks and made her way down the corridor, her footsteps echoing on the immaculately clean floor. There was a faint scent of disinfectant.
She hesitated outside the door. Already she was flooded with relief that he was alive, and must be well enough for visitors, but now she didn’t know what she would find when she saw him. Was he going to be angry with her for that near-fatal choice of route? Would he be his usual aloof self, or would she see that other side to him, the one she’d only known so briefly that desperate night?
There was only one way to find out. She tapped on the wooden panel of the door, and waited.
‘Come in.’ It was Peter’s voice – weaker than usual but definitely his. She turned the brightly polished doorknob and walked in.
He lay propped up in bed, three or four pillows behind him, bright white sheets tucking him in tightly. A large bandage was visible at the neck of his pyjamas and his skin was nearly as pale as the sheet, although no doubt Marjorie and Kitty would still have called him rather good looking. Laura found that thought simultaneously irritating and only too true. Then his face broke into a smile. ‘Fawcett. You came.’
Laura wanted to exclaim in relief, but understood that wouldn’t be of any help to anyone. So instead she said, ‘Of course, sir. I always obey orders, you know that.’
His eyes crinkled. ‘I think we both know that isn’t the case. Such as when you are explicitly told to leave the scene of a major fire and you go and do the very opposite.’
Laura shrugged. ‘Just the one time then, sir.’
‘Come, sit down,’ he said, indicating the ladder-back chair to one side of the bed. Obediently Laura perched on it. ‘That’s better. I don’t have to look up at you now. Well, I understand that you and a friend tried to visit me before but I was otherwise occupied. Most kind of you, I’m sure. I hear you’ve met my uncle. He told me you were most determined and you almost caused a security incident by bluffing your way in.’
Laura shuffled uneasily. ‘Not quite that bad, surely. I just thought I should come to see how you were. Everyone was saying different things, you know how it is, like Chinese whispers, so I thought it best to find out for myself. I didn’t realise …’ she broke off, swallowed hastily and then continued, ‘… didn’t realise quite how ill you were. I was very sorry to hear that.’ She gazed at him, trying to gauge how he felt.
‘Oh, it’s been a bit of a nuisance,’ he said lightly. ‘This dratted wound to the chest got infected. They told me if it had been in a limb they’d have cut it off. As it was, they just had to clean it up and hope for the best.’