An Indecent Obsession by Colleen McCullough Page B

came to Matt he took four from the tin himself and placed them gently beneath one of the loose unseeking hands folded quietly on the table. Then he moved the mug of tea close enough to them for Matt to be able to locate it by the warmth it gave off. After which he sat down again next to Sister Langtry, smiling at her with an unshadowed liking and confidence she found very touching and not at all a reminder of Luce.
    The other men were still silent, watchful and withdrawn, but for once she didn’t notice; she was too busy smiling back at Michael and thinking how nice he was, how refreshingly devoid of the usual rich assortment of self-inflicted horrors and insecurities. She couldn’t imagine he would ever use her to further his own emotional ends the way the others did.
    Nugget emitted a loud groan and clutched at his belly, pushing his tea away pettishly. Oh, God, I’m crook again! Ohhhhhhhhh, Sis, it feels like me intussusception or me diverticulitis!’
    ‘All the more for us,’ said Neil unsympathetically, grabbing Nugget’s tea and emptying it into his own drained mug. Then he nipped Nugget’s four biscuits away and dealt them out deftly, as if he handled playing cards.
    ‘But, Sis, I do feel crook!’ Nugget mewed piteously.
    ‘If you didn’t lie on a bed all day reading medical dictionaries you’d feel a lot better,’ said Benedict with dour disapproval. ‘It’s unhealthy.’ He grimaced, gazed around the table as if something present at it offended him deeply. The air in here is unhealthy,’ he said, then got to his feet and stalked out onto the verandah.
    Nugget began to groan again, doubling up.
    ‘Poor old Nugget!’ said Sister Langtry soothingly. ‘Look, why don’t you pop down to my office and wait there for me? I’ll be with you as soon as I can. If you like, you can take your pulse and count your respirations while you wait, all right?’
    He got up with alacrity, clutching his belly as if its contents were about to fall out, and beaming triumphantly at the others. ‘See? Sis knows! She knows I’m not having you all on! It’s me ulcerative colitis playing up again, I reckon.’ And he sped away down the ward.
    ‘I hope it isn’t serious, Sister,’ said Michael, concerned. ‘He does look sick.’
    ‘Huh!’ said Neil.
    ‘He’s all right,’ said Sister Langtry, apparently unperturbed.
    ‘It’s only his soul that’s sick,’ said Matt unexpectedly. ‘The poor little coot misses his mother. He’s here because here is the only place that can put up with him, and we put up with him because of Sis. If they had any sense, they would have packed him off home to Mum two years ago. Instead, he gets backaches, headaches, gutsaches and heartaches. And rots like the rest of us.’
    ‘Rot is right,’ said Neil moodily.
    There was a tempest blowing up; they were like the winds and the clouds at this same latitude, thought Sister Langtry, eyes travelling from one face to another. All set for fair weather one moment, swirling and seething the next. What had provoked it this time? A reference to rotting?
    ‘Well, at least we’ve got Sister Langtry, so it can’t be all bad,’ said Michael cheerfully.
    Neil’s laughter sounded more spontaneous; maybe the storm would abort. ‘Bravo!’ he said. ‘A gallant soul has arrived in our midst at last! Over to you, Sis. Refute the compliment if you can.’
    ‘Why should I want to refute it? I don’t get too many compliments.’
    That cut Neil, but he leaned back on the bench as if perfectly relaxed. ‘What a plumping lie!’ he said gently. ‘You know very well we shower you with compliments. But for that plumper, you can tell us why you’re rotting in X. You must have done something.’
    ‘Yes, as a matter of fact I have. I’ve committed the terrible sin of liking ward X. If I didn’t, nothing compels me to stay, you know.’
    Matt got up abruptly, as if he found something at the table suddenly unbearable, moved to its head as surely as if