The Year 1949.
Doctor Turner had come across the name of Shelagh Mannion again even before he arrived in Poplar. He had seen it in an article by the research group led by Doctor Aubrey Tracy. "The possibilities of using weakened polio virus for immunization: the results from long-term experiment on rats." By A. Tracy, S. Winifred, C. Hatton and S. Mannion.
Doctor Tracy had indicated that this Mannion was the former Nurse Mannion, also the former Sister Bernadette. During his brother's engagement to Cynthia Franklin, Timothy and Jane had written some sentences about Shelagh, who wasn't a nun anymore. He had shrugged his shoulders. Not any concern of his.
The years in Africa and America had taught him resilience and self-confidence. He had learned the American manner of small talk where you could continue speaking with strangers with ease. He was glad to accept the invitation to the London research group and the name of Mannion certainly did not deter him.
Besides, it was nice to be in England together with Jane and James. The people at the London and Poplar were friendly and welcomed him, especially the Musgroves and Franklins because of Cynthia and Timothy, poor things.
James had invited him to join their communal Sunday lunches. "We have maintained an old habit from the wartime. On Sundays we all gather together for a Sunday lunch at the Nonnatus House Common Dining Hall. Those who are not on a duty at the hospital. Mrs. Musgrove kindly takes care of cooking, provided we give her our ration cards the previous Thursday. That way we will have a proper feeding at least once a week. "
"So, who comes to these lunches?" Patrick had asked.
"Oh, Doctor Mount, our visiting researcher, a great character."
"And a good-looking girl."
"Stop it, Jane. Tom and Trixie Musgrove visit often with their children. You know that Tom is now the Vicar of Poplar. They are wild to see you."
Patrick chuckled. He remembered Nurse Franklin, a fearsome blonde. How had she settled into that marriage? Cynthia had been very different, he had gathered.
"Nurses Hayter and Harville and the medical students Winifred and Hatton. The Crofts from the Lab. Shelagh Mannion, of course."
Of course. She would be there. No problem. He'd better get used to this proximity."All right, I will be there."
Their first meeting was auspiciously neutral. Doctor Tracy introduced Doctor Turner senior to the staff at the London. Doctor Turner nodded when Aubrey said "This is Miss Mannion, whom you have met before." Their eyes met. Then a lab meeting continued in the normal manner.
She noticed that his frame was more robust, his stature not so boyish anymore, and that his face was more lined. All in all, his manner was still the same. There was the same moderation in his speech and there were occasional humorous quips. His active eyebrows still had a habit of popping up.
Although he seemed outwardly a person at peace with himself, Shelagh felt that there was a certain kind of heaviness in it. Was he a happy person? She did not know.
The second meeting was more informal. Shelagh had heard that Doctor Turner had promised to join the Sunday lunches at The Nonnatus House. It was impossible to avoid small talk.
Despite his nonchalance, Patrick had similar anxiety, too. What are you supposed to say to a woman with whom you have spent a night your arm around her, to a woman who never answered your letters, to a woman who used to be a nun?
"Hello. So you are not a nun anymore. How about that?"
When he met her in the dining hall of the Nonnatus House, he managed to imply an air of perfect indifference.
"So, you have moved on from nursing to medical research?"
"Haven't you moved on from obstetrics to virology and neurology?" she responded.
"Yes. But I was always going there. You were going to be a nun."
"There was a war. It is like a serious disease. It changes things."
There it was again. That directness of speech executed with such a splendid flash from her blue eyes that it felt...rather a sweet blow.
"Yes, doesn't it." He wasn't going to be the first to list the changes.
Shelagh was at loss. There was nothing to say. Fortunately Fred and Doctor Mount approached them.
"Doctor Turner, meet our newest recruit. Doctor Patsy Mount has some experience on tropical diseases as well as polio. She is a visiting researcher from Australia for six months."
"Indeed. That is interesting. Where did you study?"
"Singapore war camps, University of Melbourne and a stint at the Queensland clinic of Sister Kenny."
"Oh, that Sister Kenny. I have heard of her work in Minnesota. Physical therapy for polio patients. My brother has written about her...Doctor Mount, would you mind having a cigarette with me at the balcony?"
They retreated to the balcony maintaining a friendly conversation on the latest news in the medical research on polio.
Doctor Appelbee couldn't help commenting this in his jovial manner. "That was quick. For Patrick, I mean".
"James, you know how he is with his research interests." Yet also Jane added: "They look good together. Both so tall and handsome."
"She really is something, that girl. Her CV is rather impressive."
Shelagh sighed. She vanished to the kitchen. Even there, from an open window, she could hear the baritone voice laughing a little and Patsy explaining something eagerly with her deep contra-alto.
Shelagh had become quite a specialist "in the art of knowing our own nothingness". It had become just not a necessity for her. It had become her forte.
Yet the next Sunday lunch was worse than the first one. Trixie and Tom Musgrove sailed in with their two adorable children and with a not unnatural curiosity about the man who might have been their brother-in-law. Jane Applebee Thornton was a dear, but they had already spent hours with her. Patrick Turner was a novelty, even though Trixie had met him a few times in the year 1941.
Tom's amiable temper pleased Patrick and they got on well, even though he was no believer in the Anglican Church. Quite a lot of talk was about Timothy, but Trixie in her determined manner led the discussion to other topics. Shelagh knew that behind all that bravado, she was mushy when it came to Cynthia and her fate.
Shelagh decided to focus on Trixie's and Tom's children, Angela and Teresa, aged four and two. She even offered to take care of Teresa's nap time in the general after-lunch drowsiness. That way she didn't have to take part in the social scene. What she accidentally heard when she was in the kitchen fetching a mug of milk for Teresa was a blow. Thankfully, Trixie and Doctor Turner didn't seem to notice her.
"So what do you think of our Shelagh, Doctor Turner? Didn't you work together for quite a while in 1941?" Trixie was in her full conversational force.
"Yes, we did. "
It was clear that she was waiting him to elaborate his answer. He had only a brief acquaintance with Trixie but naturally the engagement of his brother to her now dead sister meant for her that intimate subjects were allowed to be taken up and he was required to answer them. To her credit, Trixie did not know what she was asking of him. She continued to chatter in a confessional manner:
"I am glad that she has taken up medicine studies again. She needs a new focus in her life. She is even a research assistant at the London. Do you think she looks well?"
Her looks. Being under the spell of those blue eyes, even with the Diamante glasses, was his Achilles heel. The old feeling of being ill-used flared up in Patrick.
"Yes, she does. A little stern. Older. But then I mostly saw her in a veil in 1941, so perhaps I am not a good judge of her looks."
"Oh, Doctor Turner, you are a harsh observer, I see. Quite unlike Timothy."
Shelagh felt like she had been punched to the stomach.
"We all hope her every success in her studies. Doctor Tracy thinks very highly of her," Trixie continued.
"I know Doctor Tracy well. I think you can rely on his word."
"Thank you, I am pleased to hear that," Trixie purred.
In the loneliness of the guest room, a breathless Shelagh went over and over again his words in her mind. There was certainly a feeling behind them. Her silence to his letters must have hurt him. It still hurt him? Was that possible?
Even if he was hurt by her actions, he was capable of not letting his feelings cloud his judgment. Even if he could not think of highly of her, he was ready to concede that someone else, in a professional capacity, could. She was thankful for that. She had to gather these small crumbs of his good opinion, for her sanity.
At a third Sunday lunch, Shelagh had a glimpse of the Doctor Turner she had previously known.
She had been preparing the pudding at the kitchen when Angela Musgrove, a four-year-old blessed with her mother's tenacity and temperament hugged her legs forcibly from behind and begged to be taken into her lap.
"Please, Angela, I can't. I have a cream jar in my hands. Let go. There will be an accident if you don't behave."
The grip of that little girl was surprisingly hard. She knew how to demand.
Suddenly Shlelagh felt how the grip was loosened and she was eased of the little girl's weight. Doctor Turner had taken Angela and had withdrawn with her to the farthest corner of the sitting room, singing "Humpty Dumpty" to her loudly. Clearly he didn't want her to acknowledge in any way what he had done. Probably, if he would have been at liberty to express himself, it would have been:" Now get that bloody pudding ready, woman." Nothing else.
She relived painfully some of his earlier kindnesses to her in her memory. He was capable of kindness still. Just not to her, except when a pudding was in danger.
On the fourth Sunday, Shelagh had sat for a long time alone at the bay window, reading a Lancet copy while the others cracked jokes and created pictures of a world free of polio, painting themselves as the benevolent saviors of the humankind. Then she had left her place to fetch a cup of coffee and to exchange a few words with Sandy Winifred and Tom Musgrove.
When she came back, some of the guests had already left and the room was suddenly quiet. Doctor Turner sat at the bay window and leafed through that Lancet copy absentmindedly. She had to shuffle her feet to make him notice her.
"I beg your pardon. This was your seat". His manner was detached and distant. He left without waiting for an answer.
Oh, anything is better than this cold politeness.