“I’m taking medicine to her and the other patient who came in with her.”
“Good play. Always need a reason to make a second impression. Or so I’ve been told. Never gotten a chance to make one myself.”
“The fact that I’m treating them for wounds makes no never mind.”
“Of course, that too.” Gerard tossed his towel in the bin with the other used ones and followed Wynn out of the washroom and into the carpeted hall where nurses bustled with supply trollies. “Is she staying nearby?”
Wynn stopped himself from nodding. Svetlana had taken great pains to hide her family, to the point of foregoing their titles, and had been terrified at his discovery. Whatever hunted them, they were safe enough at the church. Yet he had no desire to usher in needless fear by giving them away.
“Near enough. Seems to be quite a few of her countrymen on the run.”
“Who can blame them? The people are revolting, and their tsar abdicated to a mob who is keeping him and his family locked in a palace like prisoners. The whole country is in turmoil. I hope they set it right again and soon before Germany takes advantage of the chaos. The Allies need stabilizing in this war.”
They rounded the corner to the administrative hall. Hotel staff once operated within these small offices that were now overrun with dead-on-their-feet medical staff. Wynn opened the door to their designated office, switched on the light, and immediately regretted it. Ignoring the mounds of paperwork was easier in the dark.
“Speaking of stable, that first lieutenant who was brought in from machine-gun wounds has a heart stutter,” Wynn said.
“He took six bullets to the chest. I’d be surprised if he didn’t.”
“I don’t feel right about it.”
“I doubt he does either.” Walking around his desk, Gerard slumped into his chair. “Look, I know what you’re thinking, but you need to keep your head down about this cardiac development. The surgeons around here aren’t keen on these newfangled ideas.”
Wynn scoffed as he did anytime those white-haired naysayers halted progress for the sake of tradition. “Just because we don’t completely understand cardiology doesn’t invalidate its imperative need. We as doctors should not fear it. If anything, we should work harder to refine a procedure that doesn’t involve stopping a patient’s heart. Permanently.”
“You want to take that risk to your career? You’re the best surgeon I know, Wynn, but even you have your limits.” Gerard scratched his freckled hand through his red hair, sticking it up like needles in a pincushion. “Enough of the heavy. I’m off shift, but I’ll see you at supper. If you can make it away from your prettier patients, that is.”
Wynn grinned. “A fact I will not argue. Now go on with you.”
Despite the anticipation of seeing Svetlana again, the predicament of his heart patient ate away at Wynn’s peace of mind. There had to be an explanation he couldn’t yet ascertain. Slipping into the white coat that signaled to one and all his doctoral status, he climbed the staircase to the third-floor post-operation recovery ward. After the Somme push two years prior, the existing walls of individual rooms had been knocked down to accommodate the influx of wounded. Privacy was at a premium and reserved for the most severe cases that needed more one-on-one attention, but here the patrol of nurses could march from one end of the corridor to the other with an attentive eye on the whole of their domain.
A nurse dressed in the pristine white apron of the Red Cross looked up from her small desk by the landing. “Good afternoon, Doctor MacCallan.”
“Afternoon, Sister. I’m here to make a small round with particular interest to Lieutenant Harkin.”
“He’s been put halfway down the left wing next to the window.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice. “While in good spirits, he’s been complaining about a dull ache in his chest.”
“Yes, that’s what I’m here to see about. Thank you, Sister.”
Afternoon sunlight filtered through the evenly spaced windows, casting the ward and its lined hospital beds into a haze. Patients swathed in all manner of bandages from head to broken toes lay sleeping or reading quietly. More than one stared blankly at the wall with the haunted look that chased them from the trenches.
Wynn made a quick round of the more concerning cases and found there was nothing his measly skills could do to improve upon the nurses’ tender and thorough care. Finally, he came to Harkin’s bed. Wrapped from neck to waist in bandages, the man held a letter written in flowery script. He looked up as Wynn scanned the status clipboard hanging from the end of his bed.
“Afternoon, Doc.” Harkin’s voice was rusty from the trauma inflicted on his lungs.
“Good afternoon. How are you feeling?”
“Better than yesterday when I had more than one hole in my bellows to breathe through.” A wheezing laugh tumbled out. Harkin grimaced and clutched his chest.
Setting down the clipboard, Wynn came around the side of the bed and placed a steady hand on the man’s shoulder. He skimmed the bandages for pinpricks of blood. “Take it easy. We don’t want those wounds splitting open on account of humor. In this case laughter is not the best medicine.”
“Still got pains, Doc. Right here.” Harkin pointed to his heart. “Like a dull ache pressing on me.”
“How often are the pains coming?”
“Steady as a second hand on a clock.”
Wynn pulled out his stethoscope and placed it over Harkin’s heart. Nothing but a steady beat. Uneasiness pitted in his stomach. He motioned over the ward matron. “Sister, send Lieutenant Harkin for an X-ray. I want to see what’s going on in there.”
She nodded. “I believe Major Reynolds was having a spot of trouble with it this morning. New technology is always troublesome, but he assured me it would be operational by later this afternoon, if not tomorrow morning.” She made a note on her clipboard. “I’ll send one of the VADs to check the status right away.”
“Notify me at once with the results.”
“Of course, Doctor.”
Wynn gave Harkin his best reassuring smile. “We’ll get this cleared up. Don’t worry.”
Harkin glanced down at the letter in his hand as a shadow crossed his face. “I ain’t a croaker yet, am I?”
“You were mowed down by a machine gun and survived. Everything else is a walk in the park.”
Or so Wynn hoped. He never lied to his patients. It promoted distrust in his sworn duties as a healer, an oath he did not take lightly, though there were times to hold back the truth. Patients often needed a glimmer of hope to cling to and if that rested in Wynn’s silence, then so be it.
Signing off duty, Wynn stopped by his rented room and buttoned into a fresh shirt that didn’t smell of carbolic lotion. He added a drop of eau de cologne that had nothing whatsoever to do with the woman he was about to visit.
Patient, he corrected. The patient he was about to visit.
Mayhap she would smile today. He’d never given much thought to making a woman smile. Certainly he’d endeavored to offer a pleasant evening to whichever debutante his mother cajoled him into escorting to the season’s balls or theater outings, but the experiences never left a lasting impression. This woman had. Her sadness and the stubborn way she tried to overrule it tugged at him in a way he never expected. All he wished to do was relieve her of the burden.
With the challenge set before him, Wynn headed down the street to Alexander Nevsky Cathedral. Thick white clouds formed overhead, blocking out the mid-summer sky. With any luck a light rain shower would cool down the temperatures and keep the Tommies from heat exhaustion. There was nothing more embarrassing for an experienced soldier than to be brought into hospital with sunburns instead of a stray bullet.