FIFTY-FIVE
When Watson emerged from his drug-induced exile, it was as if he had been launched from the seabed like a projectile. One minute he was admiring the luminescent blobs floating around him, giant versions of the tadpoles that swam across his retinae in bright sunlight, the next he was propelled from this warm, enervating soup into a harsh reality. It was like a bucket of cold water to the face and, for a few seconds, he kicked against it.
‘Major Watson, calm yourself.’
‘Can’t speak, can’t speak,’ he gasped.
‘Hold on, let me take this off.’
He sucked at the air while his tumbled senses realigned themselves. Slowly, his brain began to tick off a checklist, as if going through an inventory of goods.
He was in the transfusion tent. Electric lights had been installed, hence the brightness. He had been wearing an oxygen mask. That really was Staff Nurse Jennings. His throat was terribly parched.
‘Can I have some water?’ he croaked.
‘Of course.’ Staff Nurse Jennings slid a hand under his head and tilted it while she put the glass to his lips. It tasted marvellous, like fine Islay or cognac. But he knew that was always a reaction to finding yourself, against all better judgements, alive. For a few precious moments the nervous system was capable of heightened responses, as if under the influence of some opiate, before they calmed down, back to normality. This was probably why his neck was tingling to Staff Nurse Jennings’s touch.
‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.
She spoke softly, as if to a child. ‘Me? I work here, Major. At the Casualty Clearing Station.’
‘I know that. But you’d gone. With Myles . . .’
Staff Nurse Jennings laughed. Why was everyone trying to pair her off with Myles? ‘I’m sorry, Major Watson. The sedatives haven’t worn off.’
‘Dinner! You wanted me to accompany you . . .’
‘Dinner?’ She furrowed her brow, before she realized what he was referring to. ‘Oh, yes. That’s right. But then I had news that my brother was in Boulogne. He was at a hospital there, awaiting transport. Sister Spence kindly let me go to him, but on condition I didn’t shout about it. I don’t think she wanted anyone to think she’d gone soft.’
Brother. Yes, Sister Spence would feel sympathy for a nurse with an injured brother. Had she not lost her own to a ‘relapse’? But he could see she might not want others to know she had a tender spot in her iron soul.
‘But what of Myles?’
‘I have no idea. Is that why Mrs Gregson was questioning me about him? On your behalf?’ She sounded extremely annoyed.
‘Not at my behest. Mrs Gregson is her own woman.’
‘You can say that again,’ she said. She bit her lip, as if she wanted to add more.
‘And, forgive me, about Caspar Myles . . . ?’
Jennings shrugged. ‘There was talk of him going back to his unit.’
‘He hasn’t.’
‘Oh.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘But by all accounts he did clear out without a by-your-leave to Major Torrance. Who is none too pleased with him. More water?’
‘Thank you.’
After another sip, Watson lay back on the pillow and licked his lips. ‘Do you knit, Staff Nurse Jennings?’
‘Knit? Yes. But not for a while. Not much time for it over here. Why, what do you need?’
He waved the subject away. ‘How long have I been here?’
‘Since just before I returned. The best part of three days. You missed Field Marshal Haig. Mind you, most of us did.’ What a storm in a teacup that turned out to be. Although it was a storm captured by cine cameras for the newsreels.
‘Three days!’ Watson threw back his blankets.
‘Stop that! You are lucky to be here at all,’ interrupted Miss Pippery. ‘George carried you in over her shoulder and virtually demanded the entire CCS stop what it was doing and tend to you.’
‘I must thank her,’ said Watson.
‘She’s not here,’ said Jennings. ‘Gone back to take up other duties at Bailleul.’
Watson frowned. There was a reason she had not wanted to go back there. Something about having burned her bridges. ‘And Captain de Griffon?’
‘With his men once more.’
‘I need to . . .’ He could feel a fatigue building. ‘I need to find out something. There was a man there. The one who locked me in the barn . . . set off the gas . . . the dead man.’
‘Yes, well, I think you had better ask the Military Police about that,’ said Staff Nurse Jennings. ‘They have been here once, asking questions, but asked to be notified when you were strong enough to answer any. Are you?’ Watson nodded. ‘In that case I shall send a message to the Military Police barracks at Camar. Tell them Major Watson will be well enough to answer questions later on today.’
‘Very well,’ said Miss Pippery. ‘To whom shall I address it?’
Jennings hesitated. ‘I suppose you’d better contact Lieutenant Gregson.’
‘Gregson?’ Watson asked. It was a common enough name, but even so. ‘Any relation to Mrs Gregson?’
Jennings shrugged, but in a way that suggested she knew more than she was letting on. ‘I think you’d better ask her that, Major.’