Читать книгу Heidelberg Wedding - Бетти Нилс - Страница 7

IT WAS dinner time before Eugenia remembered with horror that she hadn’t told Humphrey she wouldn’t be off duty until the evening. She was halfway through her milk pudding when the thought struck her, and she leapt up from the table, to the surprise of her companions.

‘I’ve just remembered,’ she gabbled, and tore off to the porter’s lodge, where she got old Belling to ring the Residents’ flat. Humphrey’s ‘Yes?’ was terse, and then: ‘Oh, it’s you— I’ll be ready in half an hour.’

‘Not me—I won’t, Mr Grenfell’s doing a teaching round and wants me on the ward…’

‘At such short notice? I never…’

‘It’s my fault,’ said Eugenia meekly. ‘I forgot to tell you—he asked me a couple of days ago. You know he always insists on the Ward Sister being there when he’s got students.’

‘You forgot to tell me,’ observed Humphrey nastily. ‘Have I become so unimportant to you? First you ignore my special wishes for you to diet and now you ruin my half day!’ Before she could speak, he added: ‘I shall go home to Mother.’

It was quite unforgivable of Eugenia to giggle; the sound of the phone slammed down in her ear made her realise that. She went back to the ward, feeling guilty, incredibly mean, and at the same time vexed. Humphrey need not have been quite so cross about it—after all, it wasn’t as if they were going to do anything special. Perhaps, she reflected, if they bought something from time to time, it would make their window-shopping more interesting. Her own nest-egg was piling up slowly in the bank, and she had no doubt that his was as well, but there was such a thing as inflation. By the time they actually married, probably they wouldn’t be able to afford the things that he was so anxious that they should have.

Mr Grenfell, with a number of students trailing behind him, arrived, as usual exactly on time, and for the next hour or so she had no thought for anything but her work. Barbara was doing well now, so was Mrs Dunn, and so for that matter was the elderly lady with the chest injuries. He spent a long time with each of them, asking courteous questions of them and waiting, equally courteously, for the students to make observations. There was the usual know-all ready to answer everyone else’s questions as well as his own, the usual slow thinker, who, given enough time, came up with the right answer and would probably in the course of time make an excellent surgeon. There were two women students today; both young and pretty and, Eugenia suspected, more interested in Mr Grenfell than the patients. He was good at getting the best out of them though, disregarding the know-all unless it was his turn, waiting patiently for the slower ones to give their answers, ignoring the two girls fluttering their eyelashes.

Eugenia, at her most professional, with Nurse Sims to back her up, took down dressings, sat patients up and laid them down again, whipped back bedclothes, adjusted drains and handed notes at the exact minute they were required, and doing all these things with a calm friendliness towards the patient so that the alarming sight of half a dozen strange people staring at the bed’s occupant was tolerable after all. Unfortunately it was quite late by the time the round was over. She offered tea, but Mr Grenfell refused politely, dismissing his students with the observation that there were one or two notes he wanted to write. Eugenia led him to the office, handed over the charts he required and beat a retreat. As she reached the door he said quietly: ‘You enjoyed yourself the other evening, Sister?’

She opened the door a little way, having no wish to discuss it with him. ‘Yes, thank you, sir.’

‘But you didn’t stay long?’

‘Well, no. Humphrey had a busy day ahead of him.’ She thought as she said it that Mr Grenfell had had a busy day ahead of him too, but he had been dancing with every sign of enjoyment when they left.

‘Ah, yes, of course,’ said Mr Grenfell smoothly. ‘You were celebrating? Your birthday, perhaps?’

‘Not mine—his.’

She spoke sharply because he was looking at her unsmilingly, although she had the uneasy feeling that he was finding something amusing.

‘Two safely engaged people, aren’t we, Sister?’ He sounded thoughtful. ‘There is, of course, many a slip between the cup and the lip.’

‘We’ve been engaged for eighteen months, sir.’ She said it coldly.

‘Indeed?’ Just as though he didn’t know. ‘So you’ll be marrying very soon?’

‘In two years’ time.’

‘A long time to wait?’ He raised his eyebrows.

‘Humphrey—that is we, want everything bought and paid for before we marry.’

Mr Grenfell drew a large cat with handsome whiskers on her blotting pad. ‘You do? Now that’s something I can’t understand.’

‘I don’t suppose you can,’ said Eugenia tartly. ‘I daresay you have everything you could possibly need and are able to get married when you like.’

‘Oh, indeed, yes.’ He was quite unruffled by her crossness. ‘But that doesn’t mean to say that I shall.’ He added a yachting cap and wellington boots to the cat, admired his handiwork and added a cigar. He looked up to smile at her. ‘Don’t let me keep you from your work, Sister.’

Eugenia flounced out of the office, rather pink in the cheeks. Mr Grenfell was excessively tiresome at times!

Somehow she didn’t see Humphrey during the next day or two, she was off duty on the evening before her days off, and before she left the hospital she went along to the porter’s lodge and asked to see him if he was available. It seemed that he wasn’t; so she left a message, picked up her overnight bag and went to catch her bus. It was a pity she couldn’t have seen him; occasionally he sulked, but she had always been able to get round him; she wasn’t unduly worried, she had no doubt that when she got back to St Clare’s everything would be smoothed over.

It was marvellous being home again. She was welcomed boisterously by the twins, invited to cook supper, and gently greeted with affection by her father. ‘It seems a long time since you were home,’ he commented vaguely.

‘About ten days ago, Father. I quite often have to change my free days. And we’ve been busy.’ She kissed the top of his head. ‘Found any more books lately?’

Supper was delayed while he told her about a splendid copy of Milton’s Paradise Lost which he had unearthed in some small, out-of-the-way bookshop.

Eugenia helped the twins with their homework after supper and then sat with her father in the cosy, shabby sitting room, discussing their future and ways and means; they were clever, the pair of them, bound to go to university, and the money would have to be found somehow. Even with grants there would be expenses. Eugenia said thoughtfully: ‘Well, Father, Humphrey doesn’t want to get married for at least two years; there’s no reason why I shouldn’t use some of the money I’ve saved to help out.’

Her father shook his head. ‘My dear, Humphrey depends on those savings, I daresay.’

‘Oh, he does, but we can wait another year—we shall have waited so long by then that I can’t see that it will matter if there is a little delay.’

‘It’ll matter very much. It’s not my business, Eugenia, but I can’t agree with his ideas at all. You’re both young and he has a good job—you could be quite happy in a small flat for a year or two. You could even go on working for a time.’

‘Yes, I know, I’ve told him that, but he’s set his heart on having just about everything before we marry. And then there’s his mother…’

‘What has she to do with it?’

‘Well, she’s not a very independent person, Father, she does depend on him quite a bit.’

Mr Smith made a derogatory sound. ‘He’s a grown man, a professional man, he has his own life—and your life—to lead, my dear.’

‘Yes—well, I suspect it will all sort itself out.’ She was suddenly weary; she seldom allowed herself to think too deeply about the future; Humphrey had told her so many times that he had it all sewn up and that she wasn’t to worry, so she just let the months slide by—perhaps it needed something drastic to happen to job them out of the rut they seemed to have got into…

It happened on the very morning that Eugenia returned to work. Mr Grenfell strolled into the ward, unexpected and unannounced, stood silently while she removed a chest tube and then followed her still silently down the ward to the sink, waited while she scrubbed her hands and then said: ‘I want to talk to you, Sister Smith.’

Eugenia dried her hands and then led the way to the office. He probably wanted extra beds put up down the centre of the ward, or an emergency to be filtered into an already overflowing list. She sat herself down behind her desk, cast a lightning glance at the clock and asked politely: ‘Yes, sir?’

‘You may not know that from time to time I’m called into consultation in other countries. I’ve been asked if I’ll examine, and if necessary operate on, the wife of a British diplomat in Lisbon. In actual fact they have a villa in the Algarve where she is at the present time. From what I hear from her doctor she has the signs and symptoms of a new growth of lung. If that’s so then surgery is indicated, which I should carry out on the spot. It’s required that I bring a nurse with me, conversant with the treatment of such a case, to see the patient through the first few days and demonstrate to a nurse there exactly what should be done. I should be obliged if you would accompany me, Sister. We should be away for a week if everything is satisfactory, ten days at the most, as I have commitments here. There’s a small private hospital in the area where I should operate and where the patient will remain until she’s convalescent. I imagine you’re capable of demonstrating the post-operative treatment within two or three days, and you would, of course, return with me when I consider the patient to be out of danger.’

Eugenia had sat, her pretty mouth slightly agape, during this lengthy speech. After a moment of silence during which they looked at each other wordlessly, she said: ‘When would you want to go, sir?’

‘Two days’ time, certainly no longer than that. A day sooner, if that could be arranged. I should like your answer now.’

‘How long for? Ten days at the longest, you said…’ She thought rapidly. She was to have spent her next days off with Humphrey’s mother, who she felt sure would take it as a personal insult if anything should prevent that. On the other hand, it was her job—she was there to carry out Mr Grenfell’s instructions, and this was, in effect, an order.

‘What about the ward?’ she asked.

There was a satisfied gleam in Mr Grenfell’s half-closed eyes. ‘I imagine Hatty could cope for a few days. Besides,’ he continued with an entire lack of conceit, ‘I shan’t be operating, so it won’t be all that busy.’

‘Very well, I’ll come with you, Mr Grenfell. Perhaps you’ll let me know when exactly we’re to leave and what I shall require to take with me. I do have a passport valid until the end of the year.’

‘Good. I’ll either see you this evening or send you a note.’ He opened the door he had been leaning against. ‘I’ll arrange things with the Office,’ he told her, and was gone before she could answer him.

Hatty had to be told, of course, and her father telephoned during her dinner hour. But she didn’t say anything to anyone until she was summoned to the Office and given official permission to go with Mr Grenfell.

Over tea in the Sisters’ room she mentioned it, aware that if she didn’t the hospital grapevine would get hold of the news and pass it on, highly distorted.

‘Whatever will that fiancée of his say to that?’ demanded Chloe Watkins, who was in charge of the Men’s Chest Unit on the other side of the landing. ‘I wouldn’t imagine she would take kindly to competition.’

‘But I’m not competing,’ offered Eugenia mildly, ‘just doing a nursing job.’

‘She won’t believe that. You’ll probably find her there as well, seeing fair play.’

Eugenia chuckled. ‘We don’t even like each other; I think Mr Grenfell’s a super surgeon, and I suppose he finds me adequate as a nurse. Besides, we’re both going to be married…’

‘Can’t think why he waits so long,’ said a voice, ‘I mean, he’s not exactly lacking this world’s goods, is he?’

‘Cold feet,’ said someone else, and raised a laugh. And then: ‘What will your Humphrey say, Eugenia?’

‘I don’t know—at least, he won’t object. It’s a job, like everything else, isn’t it?’

‘Well, I for one,’ said that same voice, ‘wouldn’t mind going instead of you, Eugenia. Mr Grenfell is worth cultivating.’

‘Well, if he is, I haven’t got very far, and I’ve worked for him for three years now.’ Eugenia got to her feet. ‘I’m going back, there’s still a case in theatre.’

The patient, an elderly woman with a stove-in chest; came back to the ward very shortly and Eugenia dealt with her needs with her usual calm. She had checked the two tubes and the blood transfusion, and made sure that the patient was as well as could be expected and was writing up the chart when Mr Grenfell came on to the ward. He spent a few minutes checking his patient’s condition, nodded his satisfaction and asked Eugenia to go with him to her office. Eugenia finished her writing, whispered a few instructions to Nurse Sims, positioned by the bedside, and led the way down the ward.

‘We go tomorrow evening by charter plane—five o’clock from here. I’ll pick you up at the entrance. One small case, and take uniform. You can wear ordinary clothes for the flight, of course. Don’t bother about money—I’ll see to that, but remember your passport. We shall fly straight to the Algarve and be met at the airport, examine the patient during the evening and again in the morning, and if it’s necessary arrange to operate that same day. You’ll probably be very busy; not much time to sleep and no time off.’ He started for the door. ‘Anything else you want to know?’

Quite a bit, she thought, but as none of it was relevant to their actual journey there seemed little point in giving utterance to them. She said: ‘No, I think not, sir,’ and added, ‘Goodnight,’ and he nodded briefly and went.

Eugenia sat down again and made a list of what she would need to take with her. And then, of course, there was the question of telling Humphrey. He might be a bit sticky, she reflected, although he had no reason to be. All the same he would have to be told, and as soon as possible. She was off duty that evening, and he might be free for an hour or so; they might go to a pub for something in a basket instead of supper in the hospital.

Later that evening she had neither seen nor heard from him, so as she went off duty she went along to the porter’s lodge and asked old Evans to find out where he was.

“ere yer are, Sister,’ said Evans, and handed her the receiver.

Humphrey was free for the evening, and from the sound of his voice, still on the sulky side.

‘A drink and a sandwich?’ suggested Eugenia. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

‘Well, if it’s important,’ he agreed grudgingly.

They met an hour later in the entrance hall and she could see at once that he was still sulking. Her heart sank, and she spent the ten minutes’ walk to the pub getting him into a good humour again. Over their chicken and chips in a basket and beer, she took heart and told him. The chicken and chips hadn’t been enough; she watched him grow remote, sorry for himself and finally critical. ‘I can’t think why you have to go,’ he observed coldly. ‘There are plenty of other nurses—your staff nurse, for instance. What’s so special about you?’

‘Nothing, only I know his routine inside out and the nurse there will have to be shown what to do. Why are you making a fuss, Humphrey?’

He said with dignity: ‘I am not in the habit of making a fuss, Eugenia. I merely remarked that I can’t see the need for you to go. Have you accepted?’

‘Yes,’ said Eugenia calmly.

‘Without consulting me?’ He was definitely sulking again.

‘Well, Humphrey, I didn’t see the need for that. After all, I’m going on a nursing job, not a weekend at Brighton. And we’re not married, you know.’

‘We are engaged,’ he reminded her, ‘and I expect my wishes to be observed whenever possible.’ He added, to make her quite savage, ‘Mother wouldn’t like it at all.’

Eugenia swallowed rage and hurt and annoyance. ‘Humphrey, I’m sorry if you’re annoyed about it—I never imagined you would be. And I can’t think why.’ She asked in a conciliatory voice: ‘Don’t you like Mr Grenfell?’

‘That’s beside the point,’ said Humphrey loftily. ‘You’re going against my wishes.’

‘How can I be doing that?’ she asked reasonably. ‘When Mr Grenfell asked me you didn’t know anything about it.’

‘You can at times be a very stubborn young woman, Eugenia. However, we’ll say nothing more about it. Presumably you’ll be back in time to spend the weekend we’d arranged with Mother?’

Her heart sank at the very thought, but she said gently: ‘Of course, dear. Mr Grenfell said a week, and our weekend is still a fortnight away.’

‘I wouldn’t want to disappoint Mother,’ said Humphrey repressively. ‘If you’ve finished, we might as well be getting back to St Clare’s—I have a busy day ahead of me.’

‘So have I,’ said Eugenia, faintly waspish.

Sitting beside Mr Grenfell in his Turbo Bentley, being whisked towards Heathrow on the following afternoon, Eugenia wondered how on earth she had managed to be where she was. The ward had been extra busy, one of the part-time nurses hadn’t turned up, Barbara had started running a temperature, and she had been at odds with the diet clerk as well as X-ray—not a good day, and she had gone off duty wishing she had never agreed to go with Mr Grenfell. She showered and changed, shut the one small case she was taking with her, checked her handbag for money and passport, and went down to the hospital entrance. He had been waiting for her, and after the briefest of greetings had put her case in the boot, ushered her into the front seat and got in beside her. And now here she was, a little edgy and tired, wishing she hadn’t come. Humphrey had been right, as he so often was; she should have told him first before agreeing to go and taken his advice.

‘Cold feet?’ asked Mr Grenfell, hitting the nail on the head so accurately that she jumped.

‘Yes. Humphrey didn’t want me to come…’

He swooped past an articulated lorry. ‘Why not?’ He sounded interested, but only in a vague way.

‘Well, I don’t know—he didn’t say.’ She added thoughtfully: ‘Perhaps because we’re engaged…’

‘I’m engaged,’ observed Mr Grenfell carelessly, ‘and as far as I know Miriam had no qualms.’

‘Didn’t you ask her?’ Eugenia was curious.

‘Certainly not. She has no interest in my work, indeed she finds it extremely boring.’

She had a momentary picture of him going home after a day’s successful operating, bursting to tell someone about it, and not being able to say a word. Fleetingly she was sorry for him. She said carefully: ‘Well, I daresay it’s restful for you not to talk about your work when you get home.’

‘Bunkum,’ said Mr Grenfell. They were driving through the complexities of the airport now and a moment later he stopped outside Terminal Two. ‘This is where we get out.’

There was a man waiting to take the car, presumably to garage it. Mr Grenfell picked up her case, handed his own and his case of instruments to a porter; and walked briskly into the booking hall. The formalities, which she had been rather dreading, took no time at all. She was ushered upstairs, told to sit down and not walk away until he returned. Which he did presently, with two cups of coffee and an armful of magazines and papers.

‘About twenty minutes before our flight is called,’ he told her, and opened The Times.

He didn’t hurry when their flight was called, so that Eugenia became quite nervous about missing the plane altogether and longed to tell him to hurry up. They were some of the last to go on board, and she was secretly pleased that they were in the first class compartment. Not that she could see much difference between that and the rest of the plane, only it would sound so much better when she told everyone about it when she got back.

She didn’t much care for flying, but since Mr Grenfell’s impassive face betrayed no emotion whatsoever, she took care to sit very still, her insides knotted up, her hands clasped together on her lap.

‘You can unwind now,’ said Mr Grenfell laconically, ‘we’re airborne.’ She had no intention of answering him, but gave him what she hoped was a cool smile and began on the pile of magazines, to be interrupted very shortly by the stewardess with food and drink. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but it passed the time very nicely and made everything so normal that she peeped out of her window into the dusk below. It was quite a surprise when they were asked to fasten their seat-belts because they were about to land; it was even more surprising when Mr Grenfell, who had barely spoken throughout the flight, took her hand in one of his large firm ones, and held it comfortingly until they were safely on the ground.

They were met at the airport, and since there were not many passengers Customs formalities took only a few minutes. The Customs officer was young and dark and eyed Eugenia with appreciation as he asked Mr Grenfell why he was travelling. He went on looking at her while Mr Grenfell told him, but now his glance was tinged with respect. She heard the word Medico, and the man took another look at both their passports, said surprisingly: ‘I wish you good luck, sir and madam,’ and smilingly waved them both on.

The stout dark man who had met them picked up their bags and led them to where a large Cadillac was parked. ‘One hour,’ he said cheerfully, and swept Eugenia into the back seat while Mr Grenfell stowed his case, got in beside her and settled back in his corner. ‘I shall take a nap,’ he told her, and he did, while she tried to see where they were going in the almost dark. Tantalising glimpses of villages with small houses bordering the road, signposts which she never quite managed to read as they tore past, and now and then the lights of villas standing back from the road. The car slowed and Mr Grenfell, sitting beside her, stirred. ‘We’re going to Portimao, I understand the house is just outside the town.’ He yawned. ‘I’ve never before met a girl who’s so incurious—I find it so refreshing.’

Eugenia could see the lights of a town now and the glimmer of water. They crossed a bridge and drove along a wide boulevard with fishing boats crowding its edge, and the town on its other side. But they didn’t stop, only drove on out of the town again, still with the river on their left, and after a while the car was turned into a narrow road and then into a drive overhung with trees. It opened on to a sweep before a house with lights shining from almost every window and the chauffeur got out, opened the car door and gestured from there for them to mount the steps and go through the open door. They had reached it when a man came hurrying towards them.

‘Mr Grenfell? And your nurse.’ He held out a hand. ‘I’m Clarence—my wife’s upstairs—in bed, of course. You have no idea how glad I am to see you! The doctor is with her now—we’ve had a bad day…’

He was a tall, thin, distinguished-looking man, and at the moment worried to death; as well he might be, thought Eugenia, shaking hands and then standing discreetly behind Mr Grenfell.

‘You must be tired…’ began Mr Clarence.

‘Not in the least,’ Mr Grenfell spoke for them both, and Eugenia felt indignation at his high-handedness. ‘You would like us to see your wife as soon as possible, naturally. If we might have ten minutes to tidy up…?’

‘Of course. The housekeeper has put you both on the first floor, opposite each other, in case you need each other during the night.’

Eugenia heard Mr Grenfell mutter and chose to ignore it. She said calmly: ‘I’ll get into my uniform and be with you in ten minutes, Mr Grenfell.’

She was led away by a hovering maid, a pretty dark-haired girl dressed in black, to a room at the side of the house, nicely furnished with heavy dark bed, chest and dressing table, and with a shower room leading from it. Her case was already there; she fished out her uniform, spent five minutes in the bathroom and then got into her uniform and went downstairs again, very neat and fresh and looking reassuringly efficient.

Mr Grenfell looked at her from under heavy lids. ‘Ah, yes. Do you speak any French?’

She opened her lovely eyes in surprise. ‘A little—why?’

‘Probably we may find it easier to talk in that language, the doctor and I.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ she told him sedately, and followed him up the stairs behind Mr Clarence.

Mrs Clarence was in bed in a large room with a huge bay window draped extravagantly in brocade, a thick carpet underfoot and some massive dark furniture. She was a small, fair woman, quite lost in the big bed and very ill. She looked at them both with obvious relief as they went in, and so did the doctor with her. He went forward and shook Mr Grenfell’s hand, and then Eugenia’s. ‘A pleasure to see you, Mr Grenfell,’ he said in slow, correct English, ‘and I know that my patient is just as pleased that you could come.’

Mr Grenfell went to the bed and took Mrs Clarence’s hand. Eugenia admired his bedside manner before being introduced herself, then stood quietly while the two men exchanged a few words. Presently Mr Grenfell said: ‘Dr da Marcos and I would like to have a short talk. Would you stay with Mrs Clarence, Sister Smith?’

So Eugenia drew up a chair and engaged her patient in gentle chat about nothing in particular. ‘I feel better already,’ declared Mrs Clarence, ‘just seeing you sitting there in that nice uniform. My husband insisted on getting Mr Grenfell,’ her eyes flickered towards Eugenia, ‘he’s quite certain that he can cure me.’

‘He’s a very good and famous surgeon,’ said Eugenia. ‘I’m sure he’ll put things right.’

‘He’ll have to operate? Dr da Marcos said I had a bad infection of the lung.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t want to go into hospital—they’re not like hospitals at home, you know.’

‘If you go, just for whatever tests and treatment Mr Grenfell wants you to have, I’ll come with you, Mrs Clarence. And probably you’ll be back here for your convalescence. Here they come back again; I expect Mr Grenfell will want to examine you and have a little chat.’

The examination took a long time, and when he had finished, he asked a great many questions. At length he said gently: ‘I think it will be better for you if I operate, Mrs Clarence. Dr da Marcos has seen to all the arrangements, so there’s no reason why we should delay. I’m going to take away part of your lung, and that means hospital for a day or two, but Sister will be with you and so will I, and you shall come home here within a few days. You’ll be up on your feet within a week, feeling very much better. Suppose we say tomorrow afternoon? I’ll make all the arrangements and Sister will know exactly what has to be done. Dr da Marcos is going to give you something to make you sleep, and I’ll see you again in the morning.’

He went away with Dr da Marcos and left Eugenia to make Mrs Clarence comfortable for the night, see that she took her pills and then sit quietly until Mrs Clarence dozed off.

It was getting late by now. Eugenia left a small lamp on in the room and went downstairs, where she found the three men sitting in the enormous living room, talking quietly. ‘She’s asleep?’ asked Mr Clarence.

‘Yes. I’ll go and take another look presently. Is there a night nurse?’

‘We had one, but my wife didn’t like her—I sat with her last night, but now that you’re here, she may sleep peacefully until the morning…’

‘I shall want you in theatre tomorrow, Sister, so you must get a good night’s sleep yourself. Perhaps there’s someone reliable who would stay within call and rouse me if necessary?’ Mr Grenfell sounded unworried, almost casual, but she knew better than to argue with him. There was a maid, an elderly woman, very trustworthy, said Mr Clarence; he would see to it, and in the meantime would they have the meal that was awaiting them?

Eugenia, quite sleepy by now, wasn’t sure what she ate. It tasted delicious, though, and afterwards someone brought her a tray of tea, and when she had finished it, Mrs Clarence still asleep, Mr Grenfell said in a no-nonsense voice: ‘Go to bed, Sister. If you’re needed you’ll be called. Be ready to take over at seven o’clock, will you?’

She said goodnight and went up to her room, had a quick shower and fell into her bed, to sleep at once, dreamlessly.

She awoke to a bright morning, with the sun shining from a blue sky. A beautiful day, she thought, dressing quickly and going along to Mrs Clarence’s room. The elderly woman who had spent the night there went thankfully away and Eugenia set about making her patient comfortable, so that by the time Mr Grenfell arrived at eight o’clock she was nicely propped up against her pillows and had drunk the tea which she was allowed to have. She had slept well too, and answered him cheerfully enough when he asked her if she was ready to go into hospital. ‘This morning, I think,’ he said kindly. ‘There’ll be several tests to do, and if they’re satisfactory I’ll operate this afternoon. We shall keep you there for a few days and Sister will nurse you, and at the same time there’ll be a Portuguese nurse there whom she’ll instruct, so that when we go you’ll have exactly the same treatment.’

Mrs Clarence nodded. ‘That’s kind of you,’ she said weakly. ‘To tell you the truth, I feel so rotten I don’t really mind what happens.’

‘All the more reason to go ahead as quickly as we can,’ said Mr Grenfell soothingly. ‘I shall leave you with Sister Smith and very shortly an ambulance will take you in to Portimao.’

Eugenia was thankful that she hadn’t unpacked her case; she was given barely ten minutes in which to collect her things together when the ambulance arrived and Mrs Clarence was loaded carefully into it. It was a low-slung vehicle with a blaring horn and a turn of speed that outstripped Mr Clarence’s Cadillac, following behind.

Portimao looked interesting under the bright sunshine; Eugenia looking out of the small window, hoping she might have time to explore it, but that seemed unlikely.

The hospital was small, tucked away in the centre of the town, but the room they were led to was bright and airy, and Eugenia lost no time in making her patient comfortable. Dr da Marcos came with Mr Grenfell presently, accompanied by another older man, who was introduced as the anaesthetist. They stood around talking pleasantly, taking it in turns to examine Mrs Clarence, making cheerful remarks as they did so. ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t return to England soon,’ observed Mr Grenfell. ‘You have two boys at school, I believe?’

Mrs Clarence’s pale face lighted. ‘Oh, do you really think so? I should love that—and to feel well again.’

He smiled gently. ‘I can see no obstacle. It will be up to you, once the operation is over, to get fit as quickly as possible. In three weeks’ time you should be fit to travel.’

He got up from the side of the bed. ‘We’ll leave you to Sister, now. Presently she’ll go away for a little while to have her lunch, but in the meantime Dr da Marcos will bring you your other nurse, Amalia Deniz, so that you can get to know each other. She speaks English.’

He went away, and presently Dr da Marcos came back with a pretty dark girl with a smiling face, who shook hands with Eugenia and then with her patient. The three of them talked for a few minutes and then Eugenia took her on one side. ‘Shall I explain Mr Grenfell’s methods now?’ she asked. ‘And may I call you Amalia, and you call me Eugenia if you will,’ and when the other girl agreed readily: ‘Good, now here are the charts—I’m to stay with Mrs Clarence until midnight, but I’m only next door, so don’t mind calling me if you’re worried or need help—it’s so much easier with two. I’ll give you a hand with the bed and so on in the morning before you go off at eight o’clock. Now this is what Mr Grenfell intends to do…’

Amalia was quick; she grasped the main points at once. ‘I have never seen this operation,’ she observed. ‘They always go to Lisbon.’

‘Yes, I know, but Mrs Clarence is too ill to stand such a long journey. You’ll go back with her to her home, won’t you? I shall be there for a day or two, but we have to go back to England in a week’s time.’

Someone came to take her to lunch presently, an early meal so that she would have time to get Mrs Clarence ready for theatre. She wasn’t very hungry and she sat alone in a small dining room filled with tables, presumably where the hospital staff had their meals. She ate the fish and rather sweet custard tart and drank some black coffee, then went back to Mrs Clarence, fretful now and a little frightened. Luckily it was time to give the pre-med Eugenia and Amalia put on gowns, tied back their hair, talking gently the while, and then put on Mrs Clarence’s gown and slid the needle expertly into the thin arm.

An hour later Eugenia was in theatre, gowned and masked and scrubbed up and decidedly peevish. Mr Grenfell had omitted to tell her that she was expected to scrub for the operation. She had supposed that there would be a theatre nurse to do that, and indeed the nurse in charge had scrubbed as well, explaining cheerfully to Eugenia that she had never seen open chest surgery—all such cases went to Lisbon, and although she was eager to assist she was glad Eugenia was taking the case. Eugenia didn’t share the gladness; she hadn’t scrubbed for quite some time. It would serve Mr Grenfell right if she made a mess of it.

She didn’t, of course. They worked together, speaking rarely, relaxed and at ease with each other. Mr Grenfell worked without haste and finally stood back to allow his assistant to finish the stitching. ‘She’ll do,’ he said, and then: ‘Thank you, Sister.’ He began to pull off his gloves. ‘I’ll see you in the room they’ve set up for intensive care. Go with the patient.’

He sounded coldly polite, and Eugenia, peeling off her own gloves wondered why she should feel unhappy about that.