Читать книгу At the End of the Day - Бетти Нилс - Страница 7

SHE WALKED AWAY from the professor as she waved, and stood watching the train out of sight; hopefully he would be gone when she turned round and started back down the platform.

Nothing of the kind; he was coming towards her and since she was at the end of the platform by now there was nowhere else to go, she had to walk back.

His ‘Good morning, Julia,’ took her completely by surprise; he had never called her anything other than Sister or Sister Mitchell. She said, ‘Good morning,’ in a rather faint voice and went on walking and he turned and walked with her, for all the world, she thought indignantly, as though he was sure of his welcome.

‘Why didn’t you go with Longman?’ he wanted to know.

She suppressed a strong wish to tell him to mind his own business.

‘He’s got an interview in Bristol for a registrar’s post. Of course, you know that already…’

‘Of course. I asked why you hadn’t gone with him.’

She had the ridiculous urge to tell him that Nigel hadn’t asked her to. ‘Well, I would have been on my own for most of the weekend…’ And that’s a silly thing to say she thought—she could expect some cutting remark about interviews only taking a couple of hours. But he didn’t say anything like that. ‘I’ve just seen my son off to school, will you have a cup of coffee with me?’

She stopped to look at him. ‘Well, it’s very kind of you—I’m on duty at one o’clock though.’

‘It’s just half-past ten,’ he assured her, grave-faced, ‘I’ve my car here, we can go somewhere quieter for ten minutes or so.’

‘Very well,’ said Julia, feeling her way; any minute he might change back into the coldly polite man she worked for, but he didn’t, he commented upon the splendid weather, the horror of large railway stations, the difficulty of parking and all she had to do was to murmur suitably.

She had seen his car before, of course, but only from her office window or sliding silently past her in the fore-court. This’ll be something to tell the girls, she thought as she got into the dark blue Rolls, only they’ll never believe me.

The professor drove through the streaming traffic with a monumental calm which aroused her admiration. She was an indifferent driver herself, driving the rather elderly Rover through the country lanes around her home, although she much preferred her bike or even her two feet. Ever since the time she had rammed the butcher’s van on a tricky corner, her nerve had suffered. Driving through London must be a nightmare; she said so now.

‘Indeed,’ agreed the professor politely, ‘but one gets used to it—one has to.’ They were driving down Gower Street and she wondered where they were going and wasn’t left long in doubt—the British Museum Coffee Shop. He parked by a vacant meter and ushered her through the book shop and the shop behind that which sold reproductions and into the restaurant itself. The two shops were quite full but the restaurant wasn’t. He pulled out a chair for her at a table for two and went to fetch their coffee. ‘Anything to eat?’ he asked over his shoulder.

She shook her head; she found him difficult to talk to, after years of being on her guard against his testy manner and cold politeness she had seldom been at a loss to answer him then, now she found herself tongue-tied. Common sense came to her aid as he sat down opposite her; she was used to difficult situations on the ward, dealing with awkward patients and visitors, wheedling new housemen to take her advice, listening patiently to the woes of a student nurse whose love life wasn’t working out. Did the professor have a love life, she wondered?

They passed each other the sugar and sipped their coffee. The professor sat at his ease, content to be silent, possibly waiting for her to take her share in the conversation. ‘How old is your son?’ she asked.

‘Eleven. I usually drive him back to school but I have several engagements this weekend. Martha had no time this morning to take him to the station and I could cancel a meeting I was to attend far more easily than she could leave the house.’

Martha, mused Julia, a suitable name for the wife of a man such as he, she would be mouselike with wispy hair and no dress sense and always do exactly what he wanted. Poor soul…probably there were several more children at home. Her imagination, which was vivid, conjured up a pitiful picture of a poor hard working Martha trying to please the professor. A hopeless task. She would have to talk about something else before she got too indignant.

‘You have a Dutch name,’ she observed and was halted by his silky reply.

‘But of course—I am a Dutchman.’ He sat back in his chair, looking at her. ‘And you, Julia, are very very English.’

‘Well, of course I am. What makes you say that?’

‘It would take too long to tell you. Dick Reed seems much happier about Mrs Collins.’

The sudden turn in conversation made her blink. All the same, she managed composedly. ‘Yes, he is! There’s still no news about her family though.’

‘We shall have to have patience.’

She drank the rest of her coffee and began to put on her gloves ‘The coffee was nice,’ she told him sedately, ‘thank you, Professor. You won’t mind if I leave you here.’

‘Yes, I do mind. I’ll drive you back to St Anne’s. I shall be going past the hospital in any case.’

There was no point in arguing, she got into the car again and he drove the short distance to the wide gates and leant across to open the door for her. He hadn’t spoken once since they had left the coffee shop. She thanked him quickly and got out on to the pavement, adding a brief goodbye.

His dark eyes rested on her for a moment. ‘It has passed an aimless hour,’ he said blandly and drove away. Julia, standing and watching the big car thrust its way smoothly through the traffic, very nearly stamped a foot. ‘An aimless hour, indeed,’ she muttered furiously, ‘I just happened to be handy, did I to while away a bit of time before he tools off to wherever he’s going? And why didn’t he go home and drink his coffee with the pitiful Martha?’ She was so busy thinking about it that she quite forgot Nigel. It was over their midday dinner that Fiona wanted to know at what time he was to have his interview; Julia found herself blushing with guilt because she hadn’t given it a thought. ‘Oh—two o’clock, I think,’ she said hastily, and nodded her head when Fiona observed that of course he would be ringing her later on that day. Nigel hadn’t said anything of the sort. But why should he? He had had a lot on his mind and she forgave him for forgetting. Very likely he would ‘phone from his parents’ house. The thought cheered her up as she went on duty.

There was plenty of work, medical wards might not be as dramatic as the surgical ones, but they were just as busy, more so, for there were treatments going on all the time and three medicine rounds a day. She missed Pat although she had a part-time staff nurse until five o’clock and a second staff nurse to come on until the night staff came on duty at eight o’clock. She was tired when she got off duty, but satisfied: Mrs Collins was definitely coming out of her coma and once she was fit to understand and speak a little, they would be able to find out who she was. It was going to be a long job, but well worth it; the nasal feeding, the bed bathing, the constant turning, the gentle physiotherapy. It was a good thing, thought Julia, that there weren’t many really ill patients in the ward, although as fast as one patient went home another took her place, and if she were a heart or chest case, then there would be several days of careful nursing on top of the constant routine.

The day which had been so fine had clouded over by the evening and it had begun to rain. There was a rumble of thunder too as she hurried back to her flat, with luck she would be indoors before she got soaked to the skin. She was going up the shabby steps to the front door when her eye caught a movement in the dusty patch of grass under the front window. She went down the steps again, oblivious of the rain, to see what it was. A kitten—a very small one—bedraggled and far too thin. She picked it up and it mewed soundlessly at her.

‘Lost are you?’ Julia tucked the animal under one arm and went up the stairs to her own small flat. It was no weather to go round knocking on doors asking if anyone had lost a kitten, indeed, she suspected that it had been dumped. She found a saucer, filled it with milk and watched the kitten drink. It was certainly half starved, its fur dirty and dull. She found an old woollen scarf and lined the lid of her work basket with it and put the little beast in it. It went to sleep at once leaving her free to get her supper.

It was while she was eating it that she decided to ‘phone Nigel and presently went down to the call box in the hall. She had to wait for a minute or so before anyone answered and it was his mother’s voice asking who was ringing.

‘Julia—I wondered if Nigel had got to you yet…’

‘Hours ago,’ said Mrs Longman, ‘he’s gone down to the pub with his father.’ She had a light voice which exactly suited her small slender person; when Julia was with her she felt like a carthorse. She said uncertainly: ‘I wondered—that is, did he get the job?’

‘Oh, my dear, yes. He did say something about ‘phoning you but by the time we had had tea, it must have slipped his mind.’

‘Well, that’s splendid news,’ Julia made her voice cheerful, ‘I can’t stay to talk now, have a nice weekend. Bye.’

She went back upstairs and washed her few dishes and since the kitten had woken up, gave him another saucer of warm milk and bread. ‘If no one wants you,’ she promised him, ‘I’ll have you. You’ll have to be alone quite a bit, but that’s better than sitting out in the rain, isn’t it?’

The evening stretched emptily before her, she turned on the TV and watched a programme without seeing any of it, her thoughts busy.

Next weekend she would go home and take the kitten in a basket; old Gyp her father’s labrador and her mother’s two cats would do him no harm and he might be glad of their company. She washed her hair and had a shower and sat down again in her dressing gown, the kitten on her knee. She gave it one of her fingers to nibble and allowed her thoughts to wander and was surprised to discover after a few minutes that she wasn’t thinking about Nigel at all but the professor—home with his wife, she hoped, he might even have taken her out for the evening—dinner somewhere rather grand and dancing afterwards. One didn’t expect someone with a name like Martha to dance well, but probably she was quite super at it. There would be a mother’s help or an au pair to look after the other children, of course, although surely with a Rolls Royce, the professor would be able to afford a Norland Nanny? She frowned; he wasn’t all that young, the boy he had seen off to school that morning could have been the youngest child, the others would be teenagers…

She got up and put the kitten back on the scarf. It was asleep again but she addressed it none the less; it was nice to have something to talk to. ‘I’m getting soft in the head,’ she observed, ‘sitting here doing nothing and thinking a load of nonsense. I shall go to bed.’

Which she did, to be joined presently by the kitten, who climbed laboriously on to the duvet and settled up against her.

She was up earlier than usual the next morning, so that she had time for a more leisurely breakfast before attending to the kitten’s wants and going on duty. The storm had left the streets fresh and revived the dusty shrubs and trees along the street. Being a Sunday, there was no one to be seen, even the main street, usually bustling with traffic by half-past seven, was deserted. Julia made her way up to the ward to be met by the night staff nurse with the news that Professor van der Wagema was on the ward.

‘In that case, I’ll just see what he wants,’ said Julia. Dick Reed had a weekend and perhaps there had been an admission during the night. She hung up her cape and asked the staff nurse.

‘No, Sister—it’s Mrs Collins—Peter Miller ‘phoned the professor and he came in. Peter came to see her about six o’clock because I asked him to. She opened her eyes and grunted.’

‘Good work, Staff. I’ll be back in a minute.’

She went down the ward, wishing her patients good morning as she went, and slipped behind Mrs Collins’ curtains. The professor, in slacks and a sports shirt and not looking in the least like a professor, was sitting on the end of the bed, writing Mrs Collins’ notes. He looked human as he sat there, so that Julia said, ‘Good morning, sir,’ with a good deal more warmth than normal. ‘Is there anything you want?’ she added.

He raised his eyes from his notes and she was struck by their cold darkness. ‘Thank you, no, Sister. Only to be left in peace. If I need anything or anyone, I will say so.’

There was absolutely no answer to that, although she could think of several remarks she longed to make. With a surge of annoyance she went back down the ward. Had he really called her Julia and given her coffee and driven her around in his beautiful Rolls? She must have dreamt the lot.

She took the report and sent the night nurses off duty and went back into the ward to check on the breakfasts. There would be a part time staff nurse on duty at nine o’clock and she had Nurse Wells, who was sensible anyway, as well as two student nurses. Leaving Nurse Wells in the ward she gave a quick report and sent them back to start on the morning’s chores before running through the report once more with Nurse Wells. It being Sunday there was less paperwork; no laundry to argue with, no Path Lab to make appointments with. She tidied her desk and went into the ward to help with the beds and presently, the treatments. It was almost an hour before the professor came down the ward. Julia, in the middle of an argument with an elderly heart patient who could see no good reason for getting out of her bed, was interrupted by his: ‘A word with you, if you please, Sister.’

She beckoned the staff nurse to take her place and walked with him to her office. Inside he waved her to her chair at the desk and sat down himself on the radiator. ‘Coffee?’ he enquired.

Julia, about to sit, got up again and crossed over to the kitchen where luckily Meg had the coffee ready. She bore the tray back with, her set it on the desk and sat herself down again, and since the professor had nothing to say she poured it out and handed him a cup.

‘I’ve had no breakfast,’ he observed, and as she remained silent, ‘Not that it is any concern of yours, Sister.’

‘None at all, sir. You wished to tell me something?’

His dark eyes gleamed beneath their lids. ‘Yes. But there is another matter. Mrs Collins roused sufficiently to tell me something of herself. I have the details here, they may not be accurate; it has taken me all of two hours to get them—she still has periods of unconsciousness. I’d be glad if you will get on to the police and do everything necessary. I shall want an accurate report of her periods of consciousness. Anything out of the normal run of things I wish to know at once. You have my ‘phone number.’

Julia sipped her coffee. ‘Yes, I have. Four hourly TPR, and blood pressure?’

‘Yes.’ He passed his cup and she refilled it. He asked abruptly: ‘You have heard from Longman?’

She hadn’t expected that and she was betrayed into saying no, before she said yes. At his raised eyebrows she added lamely, ‘I ‘phoned last night. He’s got the post.’

‘Yes. He seemed pleased…’

‘He ‘phoned you?’ she asked in surprise.

‘No—I happened to be with Doctor Lamborne when he rang him.’

He finished his coffee and stood up. ‘I suppose we shall be losing you very shortly.’

Her green eyes glinted. ‘You will find Staff Nurse Down will make an excellent sister.’

‘I shall look forward to that,’ he told her blandly as he went.

She had no time for anything but the ward for the rest of the day; the police came and so, after lunch, did the visitors and treatments and medicines had to be fitted in despite these interruptions. She went off duty late but satisfied; the police had unearthed a niece of Mrs Collins who would come the next day. She had sounded pleasant enough on the ‘phone and seemed concerned enough about her aunt. And Mrs Collins had gone steadily ahead. Julia shaking the dust of twenty-four patients from her feet went thankfully back to her flat, where the kitten, looking more like a kitten now, greeted her with pleasure, ate supper and curled up again on its scarf, while Julia showered and got into a cotton dress and cooked her own supper. Tomorrow evening she and Nigel would go out for a meal but just now she was content to spend a quiet evening and if she had half hoped that he would ring her she ignored the thought. He would be back sometime that evening, but he had warned her that it might be in the early hours of the morning. She read the Sunday papers, and paused every now and then to mull over the memory which nagged like a sore tooth; the professor was looking forward to someone else in her place, he couldn’t wait for her to go. She felt unreasonably hurt about that. Thank heaven that Nigel had got the job; they could have a quiet wedding soon, he would need only a couple of months to settle in and even if they had to find a flat outside the hospital, it shouldn’t take all that long; anything would do for a start, they would only be renting it and they could move if it didn’t suit them. She sat weaving plans for the future and presently, accompanied by the kitten, went to bed.

It was the professor’s round in the morning. She greeted him in a cool, wooden voice, agreed that Mrs Collins’ troubles seemed to be almost over, discussed Mrs Winter’s unfortunate habit of ignoring her diet, filled in a number of X-Ray forms and Path Lab requests and finally ushered her party out of the ward, where the lesser fry went about their business and the professor and Dick Reed went into her office where they continued their discussions and drank several cups of coffee while Julia sat between them, passing the biscuit tin to and fro and making notes obediently when told to do so. When finally they got to their feet the professor said: ‘Go on ahead will you, Dick?’ He glanced at his watch, ‘Sister Sedgewick will be expecting us—I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes.’

Julia was standing behind her desk, wondering what was coming next. She searched swiftly in her mind to discover what could have gone wrong for it must surely be that. The professor had been remotely civil and no more throughout the round and probably he was harbouring some petty grievance…

‘Yesterday,’ he told her smoothly, ‘I told you that I looked forward to seeing someone in your place; to dismiss any misunderstandings on that point, I should point out that it would not be for the reason which I feel sure springs instantly to your mind.’ He looked down his magnificent nose at her. ‘Women are illogical.’ He opened the door but turned to look at her, gaping at him, as he left. ‘Seen young Longman?’ he wanted to know.

She hadn’t, he hadn’t ‘phoned either and she had had no time to find out if he was back in the hospital. She said coldly. ‘No, I haven’t. Neither of us have much leisure…’

‘Sarcasm does not become you, Julia.’

When he had gone, she sat down at her desk again and stared down at the list of things, neatly tabled by Pat, that needed attention. Presently she picked up the ‘phone and began her daily battle with the laundry, but her heart wasn’t in it, there was too much on her mind.

She saw Nigel briefly on the way back from her dinner. He was so obviously delighted with himself that she hadn’t the heart to ask him why he hadn’t ‘phoned her. ‘Exactly what I want,’ he told her enthusiastically, his pleasant open face beaming. He plunged into details and when he at length paused she asked: ‘And is there a flat going with the job?’

‘Flat? Oh yes, there’s a house nearby with three flats—quite nice, I believe.’

‘Didn’t you go and have a look at it?’

‘No, love—the whole interview and so on took much longer than I had expected and I wanted to get home.’

‘Yes, of course. I rang your mother.’

‘She told me. I meant to give you a ring, but my father was keen to go down to the pub and talk about things…’

All quite reasonable thought Julia, so why was she feeling cross? ‘You’re off this evening?’

He nodded. ‘We’ll go out, shall we, and celebrate?’

She smiled widely at him. ‘Lovely. Seven o’clock by the porter’s lodge?’

She had talked too long, she hurried back to the ward, happy again.

She got off duty punctually because Pat, bless her, was never late on duty. She fed the kitten, showered and poked around in her wardrobe for something to wear. There was a green thing she hadn’t worn for quite a while, a straight sheath which showed off her figure to perfection, and highlighted her hair. She didn’t look too bad, she conceded and remembered to put on a pair of only moderately high heels. Nigel and she were exactly the same height but if she wore the high heels she preferred she topped him by an inch or so and he didn’t like it. She had plenty of time, she sat down for a little while, the kitten on her lap. ‘I must get you a basket tomorrow,’ she told him, ‘and give you a name.’ She thought for a minute, ‘I found you in this street, didn’t I? So you’ll be Wellington.’

She kissed his small furry head, picked up her purse and with her loose coat over her shoulders, went back to the hospital. Nigel was there and, most annoyingly, so was Professor van der Wagema, talking to him.

They paused in their talk to wish her a good evening, remark upon the delightful night, and then resume their conversation. Julia, standing between them, with Nigel’s hand on her shoulder, listened with half an ear. Nigel admired the professor and although they rarely had much to do with each other they seemed to have found a great deal to talk about. She was enlightened about this presently: ‘Professor van der Wagema knows my new chief very well,’ Nigel told her. ‘They were up at Cambridge together.’

‘How interesting.’ Julia, wanting her dinner, just managed not to look at the big clock on the wall in front of her, while the professor, listening with grave attention to what Nigel was saying, studied her charming person from under heavy lids.

When the conversation had broken up and Nigel and Julia went on their way, Nigel enthused about the professor while they drove through the busy streets to the small restaurant in Old Bailey which they invariably patronised. It was fairly near to the hospital for one thing and the food was French and fairly cheap and since they had been eating there for a year or more, they were given a corner table where they could talk in peace. Nigel was still extolling the professor’s brilliance as they sat down. ‘Pity you two don’t get on,’ he observed cheerfully, ‘although he has a great opinion of you as a nurse. Told me the ward wouldn’t be the same without you.’

‘Well,’ said Julia reasonably, ‘he’ll just have to get used to that, won’t he? Pat will step into my shoes when I leave.’

She broke off to study the menu; since this was by way of being a celebration she chose rather lavishly and sipped the iced Dubonnet she had asked for. ‘You always have sherry,’ commented Nigel.

‘I want something different this evening. After all, we’re celebrating, aren’t we?’

He beamed at her. ‘Rather. I start at the beginning of November, that gives them time to get another man to replace me. We could get married next summer.’

‘Next summer?’ The surprise in her voice made him look up. ‘But that’s months away. Why can’t we have a quiet wedding this autumn—it’s almost October already Nigel. Why do we have to wait?’

He smiled and took her hand on the table. ‘Look, darling, it’s good sense to wait a bit; I can save up a little and so can you and I can work my way in before you come—I’ll know a few people by then and you won’t be lonely.’

‘But I won’t be lonely with you,’ she protested.

‘I’ll be working hard all day, most days,’ he pointed out patiently. ‘Mother thought it a very good idea. I can go home for my weekends when I get them so I shan’t get bored.’

‘And me?’ asked Julia, forgetting her grammar in the urgency to make him see sense. ‘What about me?’

‘Well you can come down to Mother’s—you’ll be due some leave again soon, won’t you?’

It wasn’t at all what she’d planned; it seemed to her that their future was being taken out of their hands and arranged by his mother, but it was no good rushing her fences, she would have to think of something…

‘I dare say that would be a good idea,’ she said quietly and was rewarded by his contented smile.

They didn’t talk any more about their future that evening; Nigel still had a lot to tell her about his new job, it took up the whole of dinner, and he was still explaining the layout of the hospital in Bristol when he stopped the car outside her little flat.

‘Coming up for coffee?’ asked Julia, and added, ‘I’ve got a kitten, he’s called Wellington.’

‘You’ll have to find him a home when you come down to Bristol,’ said Nigel. ‘They don’t allow cats or dogs.’

The resentment which had been smouldering just below the surface all the evening gave her eyes an emerald glint. ‘Oh, indeed? In that case we’ll have to find somewhere else to live. I’ll not give him away.’

Nigel laughed tolerantly. ‘You’ll change your mind, darling—you can hardly turn your back on a flat with all mod cons for the sake of a cat.’

‘No?’ She put her head through the window and he kissed her. ‘Thanks for a lovely evening, Nigel. See you around. I’m going home this weekend.’

He hadn’t said he would come in for coffee and just at that moment she didn’t particularly want him to. She was being silly about Wellington, but he could at least have sympathised and tried to think of a way out. The kitten came to meet her as she opened her door and she picked him up and wandered restlessly round her room while he arranged himself round her neck, purring into her ear. ‘Don’t worry,’ she told him, ‘I’ll not part with you.’

In bed later, common sense came to her rescue; she had been edgy all the evening, they had got off to a bad start, from her point of view at least, with the professor making an unwelcome third at their meeting, and Nigel’s mother and her tiresome plans… No, it went back further than that; she had been put out because Nigel had gone off to Bristol on his own when she could so easily have gone with him if only he’d asked her in time. It’ll be all right tomorrow, she promised herself and slept on the thought.

She didn’t see Nigel at all during the next day; he would be operating for most of the day and she was kept busy with a couple of admissions and lengthy sessions with Mrs Collins’ niece, who, although kind hearted and sensible, quite obviously didn’t want the bother of arranging her aunt’s future.

‘It won’t be for some time yet,’ Julia pointed out reasonably, ‘Mrs Collins isn’t fit to move and won’t be for several weeks. We don’t expect you to make a home for her, the social worker attached to the hospital is willing to find out about some sort of accommodation for her, not too far from you, if possible. What we really want to get straight is if you could deal with her possessions and pay up her landlady and so on? Social Security will help you financially…’

It was a relief to have things settled at last; she told Dick Reed when he came on the ward later and went with him to see the two new patients. Chest cases both of them. He spent some time examining them, wrote up their notes, expressed the opinion that they would do well enough until the professor’s round on Thursday, and then went away again.

Julia, who loved her work, decided that evening that she needed a holiday, she was getting stale and vaguely discontented; not like her at all. There had been tentative plans for her to go to Portugal with Fiona and Mary, sometime in October, but she didn’t think that was what she wanted. Home would be the best place—a week or ten days pottering round with her mother, riding in the mornings, going to the rather staid dinner parties their elderly friends gave from time to time and spending days with friends of her own age who she so seldom saw nowadays. She thought about it all the next day, discussed it with Fiona and Mary and quite made up her mind. It only remained for her to tell Nigel and she could do that when they next spent an evening together; if he could manage it, he could spend a weekend…

Her plans buoyed her up all the next day and even the wet early morning dreariness of Thursday morning couldn’t depress her. She prepared for the professor’s round with more than usual briskness and greeted him cheerfully. His response, as usual, was coolly polite but she hardly noticed that. The round went well even if it was rather protracted and presently he and Dick Reed drank their coffee while they discussed their patient’s conditions, adding instructions to those Julia already had, handing her endless signed forms for her to fill in. They had just finished when Dick Reed was called away to an admission in Casualty. The professor made no move from the radiator where he was sitting. ‘Let me know if you want me, Dick,’ he advised and when the door had closed behind his Registrar: ‘You look tired, Julia, you need a holiday.’

She looked up from the notes she was tidying on the desk. ‘Well, I’m going to have one,’ she told him with satisfaction. ‘I’m going home for ten days in a couple of weeks’ time.’

‘And where is home?’ The question was so idly put that she answered without thought. ‘Near Salisbury—along the Chalke Valley—it’s a small village. Stratford Bissett…’

‘A delightful name. Your father lives there?’

‘Yes, he’s a retired schoolmaster, at least not quite retired, he takes boys in their holidays for cramming and visits two prep schools each week.’ She suddenly realised that she was giving away a whole lot of information to someone who couldn’t be in the least interested, and came to an abrupt halt.

Her companion didn’t seem to notice, he went on, almost lazily. ‘You have brothers and sisters?’

She reflected that they had known each other for more than three—almost four—years and never once had he evinced any interest in her as a person. She said ‘Yes,’ and that was all.

He couldn’t have been all that interested; he got up after a few moments, reminded her that he would be taking a teaching round the next afternoon and went away.

He was at his most remote when he arrived on the ward the following day accompanied by half a dozen students. And two can play at that game, she decided, though the students, all anxious to be at their best and nervous, must regard her as a martinet of the most horrifying kind. All the same, she managed to help them out when the professor wasn’t looking, with nods and winks to put them on the right track. At the end of the round the professor was kind enough to observe that they had done quite well, even allowing for Sister Mitchell’s well meant hints.

She had reddened delightfully at that, but had said nothing.

She had bought a basket for Wellington and in order to save time had packed an overnight bag on Friday morning before she went on duty, with any luck she would be able to get an evening train to Salisbury. If she ‘phoned home just before she left her father would meet her there. She went through the day happily enough, now that she knew she would be free in a few hours. She had seen Nigel at dinner time, just for a few minutes and suggested that he might get a weekend while she was on holiday and drive himself down to her home and he had seemed delighted with the idea. They had made a date for Monday evening when they would both be off duty, and she had returned to the afternoon’s work in a glow of contentment.

It had taken no time at all to hurry round to the flat once she was off duty, change into a jersey two-piece, cram Wellington into his basket and with her overnight bag in her other hand, take a taxi to Waterloo. It was still early evening and quite warm and the train was only half full. She sat with Wellington’s basket beside her, and allowed her thoughts to dwell on the future. It seemed rosy enough although there were one or two small pinpricks, silly ones really—her future mother-in-law loomed a little too large but she was the first to admit that probably she was making a mountain out of a molehill. She still could not see why she and Nigel shouldn’t get married before Christmas, perhaps if he spent a couple of days with her while she was on holiday she would be able to persuade him. Then there was the vexed question of her birthday. It had undoubtedly slipped Nigel’s mind, he had had a lot to think about just then, all the same, she had been hurt, still was… One day soon, she told herself bracingly, she would tell him about it and they would laugh together.

The train drew into Salisbury and she collected her bag and with Wellington’s basket in her hand, got out of the carriage. She saw her father at once, tall and thin and a little stooping and her heart gave a happy leap; for some reason she was glad to be well away from St Anne’s and her own problems, which already seemed remote and unimportant. She gave a small yelp of delight and hurried towards him.