With its dark red and blue brick exterior, tall narrow windows with bars across them, the original hospital, which housed the psychiatric wing, looked more like a Victorian workhouse or an asylum. It had probably been both in its time. The sooner she got Mitch out of the place the better.
She turned the brass knob at the centre of the heavy oak door and pushed. It didn’t open. She tried again. When it didn’t open the third time, she rapped on the door sharply. A second later she heard a key in the lock, followed by what sounded like a second key and the scraping of a bolt. The door opened.
‘Mrs Mitchell?’ Before Claire had time to answer the nurse said, ‘The receptionist rang through and told us you were on your way. I am looking after the Captain,’ she said. ‘Nurse Bryant.’ She put out her hand and Claire shook it. ‘Please come in.’
‘Where is my husband? Why was he kept in overnight?’
‘He became upset during his treatment and had to be sedated.’
‘Upset? His treatment was yesterday. Why wasn’t I told?’
‘I don’t know. Professor Puel will explain everything to you.’
Claire followed Nurse Bryant along a short corridor into a room with several easy chairs facing a table with a wireless on it.
‘Where is he? Where’s Captain Mitchell?’
‘He’s asleep at the moment. I thought you might like to wait in here. It’s more comfortable--’
‘I don’t want to wait anywhere, I want to see my husband. When Professor Puel’s secretary telephoned me, she said I should come at once.’
‘Ah!’ The look of displeasure on the nurse’s face told Claire that the secretary had no business contacting her. ‘I’ll take you to him right away.’
Claire had noticed wards one to six when she arrived; seven was next to the small waiting room, eight was opposite. Nurse Bryant crossed the corridor, pushed open the doors and went in. Claire followed. At first glance, the ward looked like any other hospital ward. Some beds had metal rails at the side, which, Claire thought, was to stop elderly patients from falling out. On closer inspection, she noticed leather straps across several of the beds and looking up she saw iron bars across the windows. The ward had six beds, three on each side of the room, but only one patient - her husband.
‘When Captain Mitchell wakes he’ll be very pleased to see you.’ Nurse Bryant stood at the top of Mitch’s bed, her head tilted on one side. ‘Poor Captain. He kept calling for China. At first, I thought he was talking about the country, but then he said he was sorry, asked China to forgive him, and said he loved her.’ The nurse looked sympathetically at Claire. ‘Do you know anyone called China?’
Claire neither felt like making polite conversation nor like telling a nurse she had never met before that China had been part of the code name she’d been given by the Special Operations Executive in the war when she and Mitch worked in German-occupied France with the French Resistance. Not that it would matter now. The war had been over for years.
Besides, any Canadian would be proud of the part their armed forces had played in driving Hitler and his army out of Europe and securing peace. Even so, her training had taught her to be cautious. You never knew who you were talking to.
Claire could see Nurse Bryant was curious. Telling her something would stop her from speculating. ‘Yes,’ Claire said, eventually, ‘it’s what my husband calls me sometimes. It’s his pet-name for me. It’s my eyes,’ she said, looking squarely at the nurse. ‘They’re a similar colour blue to a well-known china we have in England.’
‘Ah... I thought it must be something like that,’ the nurse cooed. ‘Oh!’ she said, turning on the spot as if she had only just noticed Claire was standing at the foot of her husband’s bed. ‘Let me get out of your way. Here?’ She took a chair from against the wall and placed it at the top of the bed. ‘I’ll fetch you a cup of tea. Milk and sugar?’
Claire said just milk, sat down and took Mitch’s hand in hers. ‘Darling, what have they done to you. Mitch? Alain? Can you hear me?’ she asked, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. He didn’t respond.
Sometime later, Claire had no idea how long, Nurse Bryant returned with the promised cup of tea and a biscuit. Refusing the biscuit, Claire took the cup and while the nurse checked Mitch’s pulse and temperature, she sipped the hot beverage.
‘Good!’ the nurse said, taking the thermometer from under his arm, shaking it, and checking it against the fob-watch on her uniform. ‘Almost back to normal.’ She looked at the fob again. ‘He should wake up soon. When he does, I’ll be at the nurse’s station.’ She pointed to a table with drawers down one side and two chairs, one in front and one behind, at the far end of the ward. ‘Give me a wave.’
‘Will I be able to take him home when he wakes up?’
‘Yes, if Professor Puel says you can,’ the nurse said, looking under long dark eyelashes at Claire and blushing slightly.
‘Thank you.’ Claire leant forward, lifted Mitch’s hand to her cheek and watched him sleeping.
Suddenly aware that a light was shining through the tall barred window above Mitch’s head, Claire looked at her watch. It was half-past-five. She had been sitting at her husband’s bedside for almost three hours. She wondered if Aimée was all right. She hadn’t been without one or other of her parents since arriving in Canada. She’ll be fine, Claire told herself. By now she’ll be having tea
