A Blessing In Disguise by Elvi Rhodes Page A

me out of the way. ‘I’ll ring you from the hospital,’ I call out to Sonia as we drive away.
    Nigel is a fast driver and doesn’t say much but I’m glad of his company, and especially glad when we arrive since the car park looks totally full, but he knows exactly where we can find a place. He parks swiftly and neatly, switches off the engine, and says, ‘I’ll come in with you.’
    â€˜No need,’ I say, though it would be warmer for him than sitting in the car.
    Nigel grins. ‘I really think I’d better,’ he says. ‘They don’t know you. You’ll not be what they’re expecting. If I may say so, you don’t look in the least like a Vicar, especially in that charming get-up! You might need me to vouch for you!’
    â€˜Oh, I’m sure I’ll be OK!’ I tell him.
    We go through the swing door and present ourselves at the desk.
    â€˜Hello, Doctor Baines,’ the receptionist says. Then she gives me a doubtful look. Am I a patient he’s bringing in, or am I a girlfriend he doesn’t want to leave?
    â€˜Hello, Hazel,’ Nigel says. ‘This lady is the Vicar of St Mary’s, Thurston. She’s been called to a patient in Spring Ward, a Mrs Mary Parker.’
    Hazel consults the notes on her desk.
    â€˜Oh yes, we’re expecting the Reverend Venus Stanton.’ She looks at me again, as if she thinks I might be working an illegal entry.
    â€˜That’s right!’ I tell her.
    â€˜I must say . . .’ she begins, taking in my clothes, my make-up, my hairdo.
    â€˜I told her she might need me to vouch for her,’ Nigel says, laughing. ‘It’s OK. She’s who she says she is! Shall I show her the way to Spring Ward?’
    â€˜If you wouldn’t mind, Doctor Baines,’ she says. ‘We’re short-staffed – as ever.’ I get the feeling she’d have been loath to let me wander around unaccompanied.
    We walk along a corridor, take the lift, get out at the second floor, and the short corridor to Spring Ward is in front of us. Staff Nurse walks towards us.
    â€˜Hello, Doctor Baines,’ she says. ‘I’m not expecting you, am I?’
    â€˜No, not me,’ he says. ‘This lady is the Vicar of St Mary’s, Thurston.’
    She looks, for the moment, thrown – much as the receptionist did.
    â€˜Can I leave my coat with you?’ I ask. ‘It’s deliciously warm in here.’
    When I take off my jacket I see her note my dress.
    â€˜I was at a dinner party,’ I explain.
    â€˜Oh! What a shame!’ she says – and then she’s all professional efficiency again. ‘Mrs Parker is quite ill. She had a heart attack at home and her family called the ambulance. She’s been seen by a doctor. She’s very poorly. I hope you can do something for her.’
    â€˜I’ll do whatever I can,’ I promise.
    Mrs Parker’s bed is right by the entrance to the ward. Floral-patterned curtains are drawn around the drama of life, and possibly death, which is taking place behind them, cutting it off from the patients in the ward. Staff Nurse ushers me through the curtains and immediately draws them close again.
    â€˜This lady is the Vicar of Thurston,’ she says. ‘I’ll leave her with you for a little while. I’ll be quite close if you want me.’
    The man and woman sitting by the bedside, at a guess they’re the patient’s husband and possibly her daughter, give me a brief nod. They show no surprise at how I’m dressed. They have more important things on their minds.
    Mrs Parker looks terrible. Her face is waxy, a yellowy colour. She is propped up in bed with tubes and wires attached to her. Her eyes, blue-lidded, are closed.
    â€˜It’s the new lady Vicar, Mum!’ the young woman says. ‘You wanted to see the Vicar, didn’t you?’
    Mrs Parker’s eyelids move fractionally. I