Читать книгу A Suitable Match - Betty Neels, Бетти Нилс - Страница 7

EUSTACIA bit into her toast, poured herself another cup of tea, and turned her attention once again to the job vacancies in the morning paper. She had been doing this for some days now and it was with no great hope of success that she ran her eye down the columns. Her qualifications, which were few, didn’t seem to fit into any of the jobs on offer. It was a pity, she reflected, that an education at a prestigious girls’ school had left her quite unfitted for earning her living in the commercial world. She had done her best, but the course of shorthand and typing had been nothing less than disastrous, and she hadn’t lasted long at the boutique because, unlike her colleagues, she had found herself quite incapable of telling a customer that a dress fitted while she held handfuls of surplus material at that lady’s back, or left a zip undone to accommodate surplus flesh. She had applied for a job at the local post office too, and had been turned down because she didn’t wish to join a union. No one, it seemed, wanted a girl with four A levels and the potential for a university if she had been able to go to one. Here she was, twenty-two years old, out of work once more and with a grandfather to support.

She bent her dark head over the pages—she was a pretty girl with eyes as dark as her hair, a dainty little nose and a rather too large mouth—eating her toast absentmindedly as she searched the pages. There was nothing… Yes, there was: the path lab of St Biddolph’s Hospital, not half a mile away, needed an assistant bottle-washer, general cleaner and postal worker. No qualifications required other than honesty, speed and cleanliness. The pay wasn’t bad either.

Eustacia swallowed the rest of her tea, tore out the advertisement, and went out of the shabby little room into the passage and tapped on a door. A voice told her to go in and she did so, a tall, splendidly built girl wearing what had once been a good suit, now out of date but immaculate.

‘Grandpa,’ she began, addressing the old man sitting up in his bed. ‘There’s a job in this morning’s paper. As soon as I’ve brought your breakfast I’m going after it.’

The old gentleman looked at her over his glasses. ‘What kind of a job?’

‘Assistant at the path lab at St Biddolph’s.’ She beamed at him. ‘It sounds OK, doesn’t it?’ She whisked herself through the door again. ‘I’ll be back in five minutes with your tray.’

She left their small ground-floor flat in one of the quieter streets of Kennington and walked briskly to the bus-stop. It wasn’t yet nine o’clock and speed, she felt, was of the essence. Others, it seemed, had felt the same; there were six women already in the little waiting-room inside the entrance to the path lab at the hospital, and within the next ten minutes another four turned up. Eustacia sat there quietly waiting, uttering silent, childish prayers. This job would be nothing less than a godsend—regular hours, fifteen minutes from the flat and the weekly pay-packet would be enough to augment her grandfather’s pension—a vital point, this, for they had been eating into their tiny capital for several weeks.

Her turn came and she went to the room set aside for the interviews, and sat down before a stout, elderly man sitting at a desk. He looked bad-tempered and he sounded it too, ignoring her polite ‘Good morning’ and plunging at once into his own questions.

She answered them briefly, handed over her references and waited for him to speak.

“You have four A levels. Why are you not at a university?’

‘Family circumstances,’ said Eustacia matter-of-factly.

He glanced up. ‘Yes, well…the work here is menial, you understand that?’ He glowered across the desk at her. ‘You will be notified.’

Not very hopeful, she considered, walking back to the flat; obviously A levels weren’t of much help when applying for such a job. She would give it a day and, if she heard nothing, she would try for something else. She stopped at the baker’s and bought bread and then went next door to the greengrocer’s and chose a cauliflower. Cauliflower cheese for supper and some carrots and potatoes. She had become adept at making soup now that October was sliding into November. At least she could cook, an art she had been taught at her expensive boarding-school, and if it hadn’t been for her grandfather she might have tried her luck as a cook in some hotel. Indeed, she had left school with no thought of training for anything; her mother and father had been alive then, full of ideas about taking her with them when they travelled. ‘Plenty of time,’ they had said. ‘A couple of years enjoying life before you marry or decide what you want to do,’ and she had had those two years, seeing quite a lot of the world, knowing only vaguely that her father was in some kind of big business which allowed them to live in comfort. It was when he and her mother had been killed in an air crash that she’d discovered that he was heavily in debt, that his business was bankrupt and that any money there was would have to go to creditors. It had been frightening to find herself without a penny and an urgent necessity to earn a living, and it had been then that her grandfather, someone she had seldom met for he’d lived in the north of England, had come to see her.

‘We have each other,’ he had told her kindly. ‘I cannot offer you a home, for my money was invested in your father’s business, but I have my pension and I believe I know someone who will help us to find something modest to live in in London.’

He had been as good as his word; the ‘someone’ owned property in various parts of London and they had moved into the flat two years ago, and Eustacia had set about getting a job. Things hadn’t been too bad at first, but her typing and shorthand weren’t good enough to get a job in a office and her grandfather had developed a heart condition so that she had had to stay at home for some time to look after him. Now, she thought hopefully, perhaps their luck had changed and she would get this job, and Grandfather would get better, well enough for her to hire a car and take him to Kew or Richmond Park. He hated the little street where they lived and longed for the country, and so secretly did she, although she never complained. He had enough to bear, she considered, and felt nothing but gratitude for his kindness when she had needed it most.

She made coffee for them both when she got in and told him about the job. ‘There were an awful lot of girls there,’ she said. ‘This man said he would let me know. I don’t expect that means much, but it’s better than being told that the job’s been taken—I mean, I can go on hoping until I hear.’

She heard two days later—the letter was on the mat when she got up, and she took it to the kitchen and put on the kettle for their morning tea and opened it.

The job was hers—she was to present herself for work on the following Monday at eight-thirty sharp. She would have half an hour for her lunch, fifteen minutes for her coffee-break and tea in the afternoon, and work until five o’clock. She would be free on Saturdays and Sundays but once a month she would be required to work on Saturday, when she would be allowed the following Monday free. Her wages, compared to Grandfather’s pension, seemed like a fortune.

She took a cup of tea to her grandfather and told him the news.

‘I’m glad, my dear. It will certainly make life much easier for you—now you will be able to buy yourself some pretty clothes.’

It wasn’t much good telling him that pretty clothes weren’t any use unless she had somewhere to go in them, but she agreed cheerfully, while she did sums in her head: the gas bill, always a formidable problem with her grandfather to keep warm by the gas fire in their sitting-room—duvets for their beds, some new saucepans… She mustn’t get too ambitious, she told herself cautiously, and went off to get herself dressed.

She got up earlier than usual on Monday, tidied the flat, saw to her grandfather’s small wants, cautioned him to be careful while she was away, kissed him affectionately, and started off for the hospital.

She was a little early, but that didn’t matter, as it gave her time to find her way around to the cubbyhole where she was to change into the overall she was to wear, and peep into rooms and discover where the canteen was. A number of people worked at the path lab and they could get a meal cheaply enough as well as coffee and tea. People began to arrive and presently she was told to report to an office on the ground floor where she was given a list of duties she was to do by a brisk lady who made no attempt to disguise her low opinion of Eustacia’s job.

‘You will wear rubber gloves at all times and a protective apron when you are emptying discarded specimens. I hope you are strong.’

Eustacia hoped she was, too.

By the end of the first day she concluded that a good deal of her work comprised washing-up—glass containers, dishes, little pots, glass tubes and slides. There was the emptying of buckets, too, the distribution of clean laundry and the collecting of used overalls for the porters to bag, and a good deal of toing and froing, taking sheaves of papers, specimens and the post to wherever it was wanted. She was tired as she went home; there were, she supposed, pleasanter ways of earning a living, but never mind that, she was already looking forward to her pay-packet at the end of the week.

She had been there for three days when she came face to face with the man who had interviewed her. He stopped in front of her and asked, ‘Well, do you like your work?’

She decided that despite his cross face he wasn’t ill-disposed towards her. ‘I’m glad to have work,’ she told him pleasantly, ‘you have no idea how glad. Not all my work is—well, nice, but of course you know that already.’

He gave a rumble of laughter. ‘No one stays for long,’ he told her. ‘Plenty of applicants when the job falls vacant, but they don’t last…’

‘I have every intention of staying, provided my work is satisfactory.’ She smiled at him and he laughed again.

‘Do you know who I am?’

‘No. I don’t know anyone yet—only to say good morning and so on. I saw Miss Bennett when I came here—she told me what to do and so on—and I’ve really had no time to ask anyone.’

‘I’m in charge of this department, young lady; the name’s Professor Ladbroke. I’ll see that you get a list of those working here.’

He nodded and walked away. Oh, dear, thought Eustacia, I should have called him ‘sir’ and not said all that.

She lived in a state of near panic for the rest of the week, wondering if she would get the sack, but payday came and there was nothing in her envelope but money. She breathed a sigh of relief and vowed to mind her Ps and Qs in future.

No one took much notice of her; she went in and out of rooms peopled by quiet, white-coated forms peering through microscopes or doing mysterious things with tweezers and pipettes. She suspected that they didn’t even see her, and the greater part of her day was concerned with the cleansing of endless bowls and dishes. It was, she discovered, a lonely life, but towards the end of the second week one or two people wished her good morning and an austere man with a beard asked her if she found the work hard.

She told him no, adding cheerfully, ‘A bit off-putting sometimes, though!’ He looked surprised, and she wished that she hadn’t said anything at all.

By the end of the third week she felt as though she had been there for years—she was even liking her work. There actually was a certain pleasure in keeping things clean and being useful, in however humble a capacity, to a department full of silent, dedicated people, all so hard at work with their microscopes and pipettes and little glass dishes.

She was to work that Saturday; she walked home, shopping on her way, buying food which her grandfather could see to on his own, thankful that she didn’t have to look at every penny. In the morning she set out cheerfully for the hospital. There would be a skeleton staff in the path lab until midday, and after that she had been told to pass any urgent messages to whoever was on call that weekend. One of the porters would come on duty at six o’clock that evening and take over the phone when she went.

The department was quiet; she went around, changing linen, opening windows, making sure that there was a supply of tea and sugar and milk in the small kitchen, and then carefully filling the half-empty shelves with towels, soap, stationery and path lab forms and, lastly, making sure that there was enough of everything in the sterilisers. It took her until mid-morning, by which time the staff on duty had arrived and were busy dealing with whatever had been sent from the hospital. She made coffee for them all, had some herself and went to assemble fresh supplies of dishes and bowls on trays ready for sterilising. She was returning from carrying a load from one room to the next when she came face to face with a man.

She was a tall girl, but she had to look up to see his face. A handsome one it was too, with a commanding nose, drooping lids over blue eyes and a thin mouth. His hair was thick and fair and rather untidy, and he was wearing a long white coat—he was also very large.

He stopped in front of her. ‘Ah, splendid, get this checked at once, will you, and let me have the result? I’ll be in the main theatre. It’s urgent.’ He handed her a covered kidney dish. ‘Do I know you?’

‘No,’ said Eustacia. She spoke to his broad, retreating back.

He had said it was urgent; she bore the dish to Mr Brimshaw, who was crouching over something nasty in a tray. He waved her away as she reached him, but she stood her ground.

‘Someone—a large man in a white coat—gave me this and said he would be in the main theatre and that it was urgent.’

‘Then don’t stand there, girl, give it to me.’

As she went away he called after her. ‘Come back in ten minutes, and you can take it back.’

‘Such manners,’ muttered Eustacia as she went back to her dishes.

In exactly ten minutes she went back again to Mr Brimshaw just in time to prevent him from opening his mouth to bellow for her. He gave a grunt instead. ‘And look sharp about it,’ he cautioned her.

The theatre block wasn’t anywhere near the path lab; she nipped smartly in and out of lifts and along corridors and finally, since the lifts were already in use, up a flight of stairs. She hadn’t been to the theatre block before and she wasn’t sure how far inside the swing-doors she was allowed to go, a problem solved for her by the reappearance of the man in the white coat, only now he was in a green tunic and trousers and a green cap to match.

He took the kidney dish from her with a nice smile. ‘Good girl—new, aren’t you?’ He turned to go and then paused. ‘What is your name?’

‘Eustacia Crump.’ She flew back through the swing-doors, not wanting to hear him laugh—everyone laughed when she told them her name. Eustacia and Crump didn’t go well together. He didn’t laugh, only stood for a moment more watching her splendid person, swathed in its ill-fitting overall, disappear.

Mr Brimshaw went home at one o’clock and Jim Walker, one of the more senior pathologists working under him, took over. He was a friendly young man and, since Eustacia had done all that was required of her and there was nothing much for him to do for half an hour, she made him tea and had a cup herself with her sandwiches. She became immersed in a reference book of pathological goings-on—she understood very little of it, but it made interesting reading.

It fell to her to go to theatre again a couple of hours later, this time with a vacoliter of blood.

‘Mind and bring back that form, properly signed,’ warned Mr Walker. ‘And don’t loiter, will you? They’re in a hurry.’

Eustacia went. Who, she asked herself, would wish to loiter in such circumstances? Did Mr Walker think that she would tuck the thing under one arm and stop for a chat with anyone she might meet on her way? She was terrified of dropping it anyway.

She sighed with relief when she reached the theatre block and went cautiously through the swing-doors, only to pause because she wasn’t quite sure where to go. A moot point settled for her by a disapproving voice behind her.

‘There you are,’ said a cross-faced nurse, and took the vacoliter from her.

Eustacia waved the form at her. ‘This has to be signed, please.’

‘Well, of course it does.’ It was taken from her and the nurse plunged through one of the doors on either side, just as the theatre door at the far end swished open and the tall man she had met in the path lab came through.

‘Brought the blood?’ he asked pleasantly, and when she nodded, ‘Miss Crump, isn’t it? We met recently.’ He stood in front of her, apparently in no haste.

‘Tell me,’ he asked, ‘why are you not sitting on a bench doing blood counts and looking at cells instead of washing bottles?’

It was a serious question and it deserved a serious answer.

‘Well, that’s what I am—a bottle-washer, although it’s called a path lab assistant, and I’m not sure that I should like to sit at a bench all day—some of the things that are examined are very nasty…’

His eyes crinkled nicely at the corners when he smiled. ‘They are. You don’t look like a bottle-washer.’

‘Oh? Do they look different from anyone else?’

He didn’t answer that but went on. ‘You are far too beautiful,’ he told her, and watched her go a delicate pink.

A door opened and the cross nurse came back with the form in her hand. When she saw them she smoothed the ill humour from her face and smiled.

‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you, sir. If you would sign this form…?’ She cast Eustacia a look of great superiority as she spoke. ‘They’re waiting in theatre for you, sir,’ she added in what Eustacia considered to be an oily voice.

The man took the pen she offered and scrawled on the paper and handed it to Eustacia. ‘Many thanks, Miss Crump,’ he said with grave politeness. He didn’t look at the nurse once but went back through the theatre door without a backward glance.

The nurse tossed her head at Eustacia. ‘Well, hadn’t you better get back to the path lab?’ she wanted to know. ‘You’ve wasted enough of our time already.’

Eustacia was almost a head taller, and it gave her a nice feeling of superiority. ‘Rubbish,’ she said crisply, ‘and shouldn’t you be doing whatever you ought instead of standing there?’

She didn’t stay to hear what the other girl had to say; she hoped that she wouldn’t be reported for rudeness. It had been silly of her to annoy the nurse; she couldn’t afford to jeopardise her job.

‘OK?’ asked Mr Walker when she gave him back the signed form. He glanced at it. ‘Ah, signed by the great man himself…’

‘Oh, a big man in his theatre kit? I don’t know anyone here.’

Mr Walker said rather unkindly, ‘Well, you don’t need to, do you? He’s Sir Colin Crichton. An honorary consultant here—goes all over the place—he’s specialising in cancer treatment—gets good results too.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Make me some tea, will you? There’s a good girl.’

She put on the kettle and waited while it boiled and thought about Sir Colin Crichton. He had called her Miss Crump and he hadn’t laughed. She liked him, and she wished she could see him again.

However, she didn’t, the week passed and Saturday came again and she was free once more. Because it was a beautiful day—a bonus at the beginning of the winter—she helped her grandfather to wrap up warmly, went out and found a taxi, and took him to Kew Gardens. Supported by her arm and a stick, the old gentleman walked its paths, inspected a part of the botanical gardens, listened to the birds doing their best in the pale sunshine and then expressed a wish to go to the Orangery.

It was there that they encountered Sir Colin, accompanied by two small boys. Eustacia saw him first and suggested hastily to her grandfather that they might turn around and stroll in the opposite direction.

‘Why ever should we do that?’ he asked testily, and before she could think up a good reason Sir Colin had reached them.

‘Ah—Miss Crump. We share a similar taste in Chambers’ work—a delightful spot on a winter morning.’

He stood looking at her, his eyebrows faintly lifted, and after a moment she said, ‘Good morning, sir,’ and, since her grandfather was looking at her as well, ‘Grandfather, this is Sir Colin Crichton, he’s a consultant at St Biddolph’s. My Grandfather, Mr Henry Crump.’

The two men shook hands and the boys were introduced—Teddy and Oliver, who shook hands too, and, since the two gentlemen had fallen into conversation and had fallen into step, to stroll the length of the Orangery and then back into the gardens again, Eustacia found herself with the two boys. They weren’t very old—nine years, said Teddy, and Oliver was a year younger. They were disposed to like her and within a few minutes were confiding a number of interesting facts. Half-term, they told her, and they would go back to school on Monday, and had she any brothers who went away to school?

She had to admit that she hadn’t. ‘But I really am very interested; do tell me what you do there—I don’t mean lessons…’

They understood her very well. She was treated to a rigmarole of Christmas plays, football, computer games and what a really horrible man the maths master was. ‘Well, I dare say your father can help you with your homework,’ she suggested.

‘Oh, he’s much too busy,’ said Oliver, and she supposed that he was, operating and doing ward rounds and out-patients and travelling around besides. He couldn’t have much home life. She glanced back to where the two men were strolling at her grandfather’s pace along the path towards them, deep in talk. She wondered if Sir Colin wanted to take his leave but was too courteous to say so; his wife might be waiting at home for him and the boys. She spent a few moments deciding what to do and rather reluctantly turned back towards them.

‘We should be getting back,’ she suggested to her grandfather, and was echoed at once by Sir Colin.

‘So must we. Allow me to give you a lift—the car’s by the Kew Road entrance.’

Before her grandfather could speak, Eustacia said quickly, ‘That’s very kind of you, but I daresay we live in a quite opposite direction to you: Kennington.’

‘It couldn’t be more convenient,’ she was told smoothly. ‘We can keep south of the river, drop you off and cross at Southwark.’ He gave her a gentle smile and at the same time she saw that he intended to have his own way.

They walked to the main gate, suiting their pace to that of her grandfather, and got into the dark blue Rolls-Royce parked there. Eustacia sat between the boys at the back, surprised to find that they were sharing it with a small, untidy dog with an extremely long tail and melting brown eyes. Moreover, he had a leg in plaster.

‘This is Moses,’ said Oliver as he squashed in beside Eustacia. ‘He was in the water with a broken leg,’ he explained and, since Eustacia looked so astonished, said it for a second time, rather loudly, just as though she were deaf.

‘Oh, the poor little beast.’ She bent to rub the unruly head at their feet and Sir Colin, settling himself in the driving-seat, said over his shoulder, ‘He’s not quite up to walking far, but he likes to be with us. Unique, isn’t he?’

‘But nice,’ said Eustacia, and wished she could think of a better word.

It was quite a lengthy drive; she sat between the boys, taking part in an animated conversation on such subjects as horrendous schoolmasters, their favourite TV programmes, their dislike of maths and their favourite food. She found them both endearing and felt regret when the drive was over and the car drew up before their flat. Rolls-Royces were a rarity in the neighbourhood, and it would be a talking-point for some time—already curtains in neighbouring houses were being twitched.

She wished the boys goodbye and they chorused an urgent invitation to go out with them again, and, conscious of Sir Colin’s hooded eyes upon her, she murmured non-committally, bending to stroke Moses because she could feel herself blushing hatefully.

She waited while her grandfather expressed his thanks for the ride, and then she added her own thanks with a frank look from her dark eyes, to encounter his smiling gaze.

‘We have enjoyed your company,’ he told her, and she found herself believing him. ‘The boys get bored, you know; I haven’t all that time at home and my housekeeper is elderly and simply can’t cope with them.’

‘Housekeeper? Oh, I thought they were yours.’

‘My brother’s. He has gone abroad with his wife, a job in Brunei for a few months. They are too young for boarding-school…’

They had shaken hands and he still held hers in a firm grasp.

‘They like you,’ he said.

‘Well, I like them. I’m glad I met them and Grandfather has enjoyed himself. He doesn’t get out much.’

He nodded and gave her back her hand and went to open the rickety gate, and waited while they went up the short path to the front door and opened it. Eustacia turned as they went inside and smiled at them all, before he closed the gate, got back into his car and drove away.

‘A delightful morning, my dear,’ said her grandfather. ‘I feel ten years younger—and such an interesting conversation. You are most fortunate to be working for such a man.’

‘Well, I don’t,’ said Eustacia matter-of-factly. ‘I only met him because he came down to the path lab for something. He goes to St Biddolph’s once or twice a week to operate and see his patients, and as I seldom leave the path lab except when there is a message to run we don’t meet.’

‘Yes, yes,’ her grandfather sounded testy, ‘but now that you have met you will see more of each other.’

She thought it best not to argue further; she suspected that he had no idea of the work she did. Sir Colin had been charming but that didn’t mean to say that he wished to pursue their acquaintance; indeed it was most unlikely. A pity, she reflected as she went to the kitchen to get their lunch, but they occupied different worlds—she would probably end up by marrying another bottle-washer. A sobering thought even while she laughed at the idea.

It was December in no time at all, or so it seemed, and the weather turned cold and damp and dark, and the shops began to fill with Christmas food and a splendid array of suitable presents. Eustacia did arithmetic on the backs of envelopes, made lists and began to hoard things like chocolate biscuits, strawberry jam, tins of ham and a Christmas pudding; she had little money over each week and she laid it out carefully, determined to have a good Christmas. There would be no one to visit, of course. As far as she knew they had no family, and her grandfather’s friends lived in the north of England and her own friends from school days were either married or holding down good jobs with no time to spare. From time to time they exchanged letters, but pride prevented her from telling any of them about the change in her life. She wrote cheerful replies, telling them nothing in a wealth of words.

On the first Saturday in December it was her lot to work all day. Mr Brimshaw arrived some time after she did, wished her a grumpy good morning and went into his own office, and she began on her chores. It was a dismal day and raining steadily, but she busied herself with her dishes and pots, made coffee for Mr Brimshaw and herself and thought about Christmas. She would have liked a new dress but that was out of the question—she had spent more than she could afford on a thick waistcoat for her grandfather and a pair of woollen gloves, and there was still something to be bought for their landlady, who, although kindly disposed towards them as long as the rent was paid on time, needed to be kept sweet. A headscarf, mused Eustacia, or perhaps a box of soap? She was so deep in thought that Mr Brimshaw had to bawl twice before she heard him.

‘Hurry up, girl—Casualty’s full—there’s been an accident in Oxford Street and they’ll be shouting for blood before I can take a breath. Get along with this first batch and then come back as fast as you can.’

He had cross-matched another victim when she got back, so she hurried away for a second time with another vacoliter and after that she lost count of the times she trotted to and fro. The initial urgency settled down presently and Mr Brimshaw, crosser than ever because he was late for his lunch, went home and Mr Walker took over, and after that things became a little more settled. All the same, she was tired when the evening porter came on duty and she was able to go home. It was still raining; she swathed her person in her elderly raincoat, tied a scarf over her hair and made for the side entrance. It being Saturday, there wouldn’t be all that number of buses which meant that they would be full too. She nipped smartly across the courtyard, head down against the rain, and went full tilt into Sir Colin, coming the other way. He took her considerable weight without any effort and stood her on to her feet.

‘Going home?’ he wanted to know gently.

She nodded and then said, ‘Oh…’ when he took her arm and turned her round.

‘So am I. I’ll drop you off on my way.’

‘But I’m wet, I’ll spoil your car.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ he begged her nicely. ‘I’m wet too.’

He bustled her to the car and settled her into the front seat and got in beside her.

‘It’s out of your way,’ sighed Eustacia weakly.

‘Not at all—what a girl you are for finding objections.’

They sat in a comfortable silence as he turned the car in the direction of the river and Kennington. That he had only just arrived at the hospital intent on having a few words with his registrar, when he saw her, was something he had no intention of revealing. He wasn’t at all sure why he had offered to take her home; he hardly knew her and although he found her extremely pretty and, what was more, intelligent, he had made no conscious effort to seek her out. It was a strange fact that two people could meet and feel instantly at ease with each other—more than that, feel as though they had known each other all their lives. Eustacia, sitting quietly beside him, was thinking exactly the same thing.

He smiled nicely when she thanked him, got out of the car and opened the gate for her and waited until she had unlocked the door and gone inside before driving himself back to the hospital, thinking about her. She was too good for the job she was doing, and like a beautiful fish out of water in that depressing little street.

He arrived back at St Biddolph’s and became immersed in the care of his patients, shutting her delightful image away in the back of his mind and keeping it firmly there.