Damsel in Green

Betty Neels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

THE CHURCH CLOCK across the street chimed the half hour, and Miss Georgina Rodman, already walking down the corridor leading to Casualty, put on a sudden desperate turn of speed. There was a chance—a faint one—that she might arrive on duty before Staff Nurse Gregg; if she didn’t, it would mean the third time late on duty in a week, and Gregg would probably report her to Sister. It would be of no use making excuses, for Gregg never needed to make excuses for herself, and couldn’t understand why anyone else should either. Nurse Rodman wasted precious breath on a sigh as she ran, for her excuses were good ones—on Monday it had been the ward maid falling downstairs with that large pan of porridge; the porridge hadn’t been hot, but extremely sticky; thinking about it, Georgina couldn’t see how she could have ignored the girl’s cries for help. She had been late on Thursday too, when she had met a rather down-trodden old lady who had been told to attend for a barium meal at seven-thirty in the morning, and didn’t know where to go. It had only taken a very short time to walk with her to X-Ray—just long enough for Staff Nurse to remark triumphantly:

‘Late again, Nurse! You should know better—how can you hope to set a good example to the juniors? And you waiting for the results of your Finals!’

Her tone had implied that Georgina need not expect good news. And now it was Saturday, and she was late again, for she had stopped to ask Payne the head porter how his wife was feeling; the poor soul had been ill for weeks, and Payne had been looking sad. She pulled up outside Cas swing doors and drew a breath. It was a pity that life didn’t allow you time to dawdle a little on the way. She opened the doors, to find Staff Nurse Gregg waiting for her—doing the dispensary, of course, because that was her particular job in the mornings; but she had dragged the basket into the center of the room so that she wouldn’t miss Georgina.

She looked pained. ‘Late again, Nurse Rodman—the third time this week. I shall have to report you to Sister—there might have been a terrific emergency on.’

Georgina said, ‘Yes, Staff’ because it was expected of her, and went to twiddle the knobs of the sterilizers in an expert way and count the packets of dressings and instruments CSD had just sent down. The two junior nurses had already prepared the cubicles for the day. She slipped quietly in and out of them, making sure that everything was just so. The first contained a tired-looking boy, a bare, grubby foot on the stool before him, clutching his shoe and sock.

‘Trodden on a rusty nail?’ asked Georgina in a friendly voice. She was already busy cleaning it up.

‘How did you know?’ asked the boy.

‘We get a great many—it’s a common accident. It’ll be fine in a day or two—you won’t need to stop work, but I’ll have to give you an injection.’ She gave him a nice wide smile and went to find Staff. She wasn’t a trained nurse yet—she couldn’t give ATS without getting permission. Gregg gave it with the air of conferring a great honour.

‘Why didn’t you leave the boy? It’s nothing urgent,’ she wanted to know.

‘He’s on night work, it would be a shame to keep him from his bed.’

Staff frowned. ‘You’ll never make a good nurse,’ she grumbled, ‘you’re so impetuous.’

Georgina gave the injection, wondering why she was impetuous. Surely it was plain common sense to clear the cubicles of the minor cases as quickly as possible, otherwise there would be such a bottleneck later on in the morning. She wrote up the boy’s card, filled in the day book, tidied up neatly and went into the last cubicle. Both nurses were in it, as she had guessed they would be. They grinned cheerfully at her, and the youngest and prettiest said, “Oh, George, isn’t she in a foul mood?’

Georgina grinned back. ‘It’ll be worse if you don’t get a porter to change the oxygen in Two … and there aren’t any dressings in Four.’ There was a hurried movement for the door and she added, ‘I’ve seen to the dressings, but it’ll look better if you report the oxygen.’

They stopped at the door. ‘George,’ said the nurse who had forgotten the dressings, ‘we wish you were staff.’

‘That’s nice of you both, but I expect I’ve failed my State, you know.’

She turned to the tiny mirror on the wall to straighten her cap. She had fine, silky hair, and the cap needed a great many pins to keep it at a dignified angle. It was pretty hair, too, light brown and long, and she screwed it up into a severe plaited knob at the back because it was quick to do and stayed tidy that way. She looked at herself in the little square of glass while she re-planted some pins. The face that looked back at her was a good-looking one; not pretty—the nose was a trifle too large and the chin a thought too square, but the brown eyes were large and clear, like a child’s; their lashes long and curling and thick. The mouth was large too, a generous mouth with corners that turned up and smiled readily. She was neither tall nor short and a little on the plump side and looked considerably younger than her twenty-three years. She gave the bib of her apron a tweak and made for the door—it was time to dish the bowls.

She had just put the last two in their appointed places when Sister appeared in the doorway. She said, ‘Good morning, Nurse,’ in a voice which gave Georgina no clue as to her mood. She returned the greeting and wasn’t at all surprised when Sister went on, ‘Come into the office, will you, Nurse Rodman?’

Georgina put the Cheatle forceps back in their jar and followed Sister across the wide expanse of Casualty to the little office. She shut the door behind her and stood in front of the desk, waiting to be told off.

‘Sit down,’ said Sister surprisingly. She put her hand in her pocket and handed Georgina a letter. ‘I thought you would like to have this as soon as possible,’ she said, and smiled. ‘If you would rather open it alone, I’ll go outside.’

Georgina turned the envelope over and looked at its back; it told her nothing, so she looked at the front again. ‘Please don’t go, Sister,’ she said at last. ‘If I open it quickly it won’t be so bad.’

This piece of female reasoning was obviously one to which Sister could subscribe, for she nodded and said:

‘That’s quite true—the quicker the better.’

Georgina undid the envelope with fingers which shook a little, and read the letter therein, then she folded it tidily and put it back in its envelope. When she spoke it was in a tone of great surprise.

‘I’ve passed,’ she said.

‘Well, of course you have, you silly girl,’ said Sister bracingly. ‘No one expected you to do otherwise.’ She smiled kindly, because it wasn’t all that time ago that she had felt just the same herself. ‘You’d better go to Matron, hadn’t you, Nurse?’

Georgina got to her feet. ‘Yes, Sister, of course. Thank you for letting me come in here to read it.’

She got to the door and had the handle in her hand when she was astonished to hear Sister say, ‘Congratulations, George. You deserve it.’

Everyone called her George; it was inevitable with a name like hers. The housemen probably didn’t know she had another name anyway, and even an occasional consultant had occasionally addressed her so; but no Sister had ever done so before. She flashed a delighted smile across the little room. It was, she realized, a very nice compliment.

She was the last in the queue outside Matron’s office—a gratifyingly long one. There was an excited and subdued hum of voices; everyone had passed; no one had let St Athel’s down. They went in one by one, and came out again in turn, looking pleased and slightly unbelieving. When it was at last her turn, Georgina knocked, entered and stood, as she had stood so many times before, in front of Matron’s desk, only this time she was bidden to take a chair.

Matron congratulated her with just the right mixture of motherliness, authority and friendliness and then asked:

‘Have you any plans, Staff Nurse?’

Georgina gave this careful thought. She hadn’t dared to plan—there was some dim idea at the back of her head that she would like to go abroad—but there was Great-Aunt Polly to think of. She said finally, ‘No, Matron.’

‘Splendid. I feel sure that when you have had a little more experience we shall be able to offer you a Sister’s post.’

Georgina so far forgot herself as to goggle. ‘Me?’ she uttered, regardless of grammar. ‘A Sister? Would I do?’ she asked ingenuously.

Matron smiled benevolently. ‘You will do very well. Think about it—I believe you have a splendid career before you.’

Georgina found herself out in the corridor again. There was no one in sight, so she felt free to execute a few skips and jumps and relieve the excitement Matron’s words had engendered. Even in these days of the nursing shortage, it was a signal honour to be offered the chance of a Sister’s post within half an hour of becoming State Registered. She paused by one of the tall narrow windows overlooking the busy street outside. Matron had said, ‘A splendid career’. It occurred to Georgina at that moment that she didn’t much care for the idea. At the back of her mind was a nebulous dream of a husband and children—an indistinct group rather like an out-of-focus family portrait hanging on some distant wall; the children indefinable in number and vague in appearance, and the man even more so, for she had no idea for whom she sought. Certainly she had not found him so far, and even if she did, she would have to wait and see if he felt the same way … Her train of thought was brought to an abrupt halt by the sound of the ambulance siren, joined within minutes by a second. Her interesting speculations were wiped from her mind as she sped along the corridor in the direction of Cas. There was still no one about, so she did the last few yards at a frank run, with the uneasy thought that nurses never ran except for fire and haemorrhage; well, there was no fire as far as she knew, but there was very probably haemorrhage. Sister was at the outer double doors, already thrown back and fastened. Georgina checked the trolleys; it was vital to have everything in a state of readiness. Minutes, even seconds, counted with someone badly injured. The ambulances, very close together, their blue flashers on, turned into the bay before the doors.

‘I’ll take the first, Staff. Take the second—Staff Nurse Gregg is off until two, so is Jones; but we’ve got Beamish, and Peck’s on at ten.’ She turned away as the first case was carried in and laid carefully on the first of the trolleys. A man, Georgina saw, before she gave her full attention to the second stretcher—another man, not a very young one either and in bad shape as far as she could see. He looked very blue.

She said, ‘Good morning, Bert—’Morning, Ginger’ to the ambulance men, then, ‘Wait a second.’ She opened the flaccid lips and felt around inside them with a gentle finger, then said comfortably, ‘Let’s have these out of the way’, and put the false teeth on the pillow. The unconscious face lost its blueness; she turned it to one side and said, ‘OK.’ And they wheeled the trolley into the second of the cubicles. ‘RTA?’ she asked.

Bert nodded. ‘Lorry and a car—the other two’s not too bad, I reckon, but these chaps—they’ve copped it. T’other went through the windscreen, this chap’s had the wheel in his chest.’

They were in the cubicle by now, and the two men were already busy easing off the man’s boots while Georgina turned on the oxygen and fixed the catheter in one pale, pinched nostril. She regulated its flow very precisely and then started to cut away the man’s clothing to reveal the bloodstained shirt beneath. The ambulance men had already slipped an emergency dressing pad beneath it—they drew small hissing breaths of sympathy as her scissors snipped through the last few inches of sodden vest and exposed the patient’s chest. Exactly in its center there was an irregular depressed wound, several inches in diameter, still bleeding freely. Georgina began to swab it gently—it was a wonder that the man was still alive. She had almost completed her task when a man’s voice said from behind her:

‘Let’s have a needle and syringe, George, and get him cross-matched for some blood—he’s going to need it. Get some ATS into him too, and let’s have the rest of his clothes off and take a look at the damage.’

The owner of the voice had come to stand beside her and was already feeling with careful fingers. Georgina, quite undisturbed by the spate of orders, handed him a syringe and needle and started to unscrew the lid of the Path Lab bottle. ‘Hallo, Ned,’ she said quietly. She liked the young Casualty Officer; he was keen on his work and clever enough at it not to pretend that he knew everything. He said now:

‘This one will need ICU—if we can patch him up sufficiently to get him there.’

They worked steadily. The ambulance men had gone after an exchange of cheerful goodbyes. They had just got the blood transfusion going, not without difficulty, when the Surgical Registrar joined them. Georgina liked him too; he was resourceful and tireless and quiet. She had often thought that he and Sister were well suited, and had several times suspected that they shared that view themselves. She hoped so. He stood between them now, looking down at the patient. ‘Intensive Care, Ned, and then theatre—there may be something we can do.’ He went on, ‘Congratulations, George. What a way to celebrate!’

She was clearing up the small place with an urgent, methodical speed. She said, ‘Thank you,’ but had no time to say more, for Ned interrupted:

‘George, you’ve passed—wonderful! We knew you would, but it’s nice to see it in writing, isn’t it?’ He laughed over at her, and she spared a moment to smile back. He really was rather a dear.

She turned away to help the porters lift the patient on to the trolley which would take him to the ICU. ‘I’ll go up with him,’ she murmured. ‘That blood will need an eye on it.’

When she got back, the other patient had been warded too, and Ned was dealing with the other two men who had been in the crash. She started to work methodically through the waiting patients.

The morning wore on. They snatched their coffee as and when they could get it; indeed, Georgina had barely tasted hers when she was called away to take a toddler to X-Ray; its young, distraught mother insisted on going too, very white-faced and passionately remorseful. She repeated over and over again, ‘Oh, if only I hadn’t left those safety pins on the table!’

Georgina was holding the small boy carefully; they hadn’t been able to discover if the pin had been closed when he had swallowed it—a large one would have stuck, but apparently this one had been very small, small enough to go down a long way before it would begin to do any damage.

‘Try not to worry,’ she said kindly. ‘Children swallow things all day and every day, you know. There’s no reason to suppose he won’t be as right as rain in a day or two. He’ll be quite safe in the children’s ward, and you can stay with him if you like.’

The young woman cast her a look of gratitude out of all proportion to her words—perhaps it was the kindness in Georgina’s voice. When they parted at X-Ray she managed a smile and Georgina found herself promising to go and see how the small boy was doing when she went off duty that evening. She hadn’t really time to do so, she reminded herself ruefully, as she sped back to Cas. It was her day off the next day, and she had a train to catch at seven that evening; but the woman had looked so lost …

She was very late for dinner, but the theatre staff were late too, so that there were half a dozen of them sitting at the table. Two of them had taken their exams with Georgina, and, like her, had passed, but unlike her they were leaving to get married just as soon as they could. Listening to their happy chatter, she felt a small shiver of apprehension; supposing Matron’s ‘splendid career’ was to be her lot in life? She pulled herself together with an effort, aware of a discontent quite alien to her nature. She was a very lucky young woman, and Great-Aunt Polly would be delighted.

Gregg was on duty when she got back, and half an hour later Sister went for her rather tardy half day. Georgina was putting a collar and cuff bandage on a small cyclist who had broken a collar-bone and Ned was washing his hands while she did it. Sister had popped her head round the door as she went and wished them a quiet day, and when she had gone he said in the most casual of voices:

‘They’ll make a wonderful pair.’

‘Who?’ she frowned an enquiry as she tucked in loose ends.

‘Good lord, George, do you go around with your head in a bag? Sister and old Bingham, of course.’

Georgina helped the boy on with his coat and tucked the useless sleeve tidily in the pocket, then sent him outside to the clerk’s desk before she replied, ‘They’re going to be married, you mean? I knew they were friends.’ Although now she thought about it, the Registrar did come very often and sometimes unnecessarily to Cas. She took the towel from Ned and dried her own hands, and said gloomily, ‘I’m glad, they’re both dears, but Gregg will be Sister.’

He gave her a quick look. ‘I shouldn’t be too sure of that, George.’

She had straightened the couch, and now began to refurbish the trolley.

‘You know, Ned, this ought to be a marvelous day, and it isn’t. I feel at least forty, with nothing left to live for.’

He turned at the door, laughing. ‘You need a husband, my girl. Who shall he be? Tall, dark, rich and handsome; clever of course, and ready to buy you all the tea in China.’

She made a face at him. ‘That’ll do splendidly to go on with.’

‘Good. In the meanwhile, talking of tea, I’m going to get some—there’s sure to be a cup going in Men’s Surgical. That’s where I’ll be if I’m needed.’

Georgina nodded understandingly. Ned had a roving eye, which had settled, for the time being at least, on the pretty staff nurse on Men’s Surgical. She hoped that there wouldn’t be anything much in, so that he could get his tea in peace.

She went off duty half an hour late and on the way along the corridor to the Nurses’ Home remembered her promise to the mother of the pin-swallowing baby, and had to turn and fly back again and up two flights of worn stone steps to the children’s ward. As she suspected, he had been operated upon that afternoon in order to preclude perforation. He was lying in his cot, still drowsy from the anaesthetic, and his mother was sitting with him. Georgina spent several minutes listening to her troubled little voice, nothing in her relaxed manner betraying her impatience to be gone.

She caught the train by the skin of her teeth. Great-Aunt Polly lived in a small village in Essex, some miles from Thaxted. It had been Georgina’s home, since she had gone to live with Aunt Polly; that had been when she had been a little girl of nine. Her father, a schoolmaster, had died suddenly and unexpectedly from ‘flu, and her mother had died a week or two after him, leaving a bewildered little daughter, as frightened as she was unhappy. Great-Aunt Polly had carried her off to live with her in her small timbered cottage, and had been father and mother to her ever since. Georgina sat in the train, looking out of the window at the dreary London suburbs, thinking about the old lady. She would be able to repay her now with a hundred and one small comforts … She lost herself in a daydream which lasted until the train slowed down at Thaxted. She picked up her case and jumped out, an attractive girl in her well-fitting corduroy coat and high boots.

The small, rather ramshackle local bus from Thaxted, the last from that town for the day, took her to within a stone’s throw of the cottage. The cottage stood a little way down a narrow lane leading off the village street. There was an ancient hornbeam on the corner, and on the opposite side the apple trees at the end of her aunt’s garden, even on a dark November evening, combined to make a lovely picture in the cold moonlight. She unlatched the little gate and walked, a great deal faster now, up the brick path and beat a tattoo on the Georgian brass door-knocker before opening the door and going in. The passage was brick too, a little worn in places and covered with an Afghan rug, also worn, but still splendid. The back door faced her and each wall held two doors, from one of which a plump elderly woman bustled.

‘Miss Georgina! It’s nice to see you, that it is. Miss Rodman’s had her supper and I’ve kept yours hot … put that bag down, and go and see her. Did you pass?’ She peered at Georgina anxiously and was swept into a violent hug.

‘Yes, Moggy, I did. Isn’t it wonderful? I’ll tell Aunt Polly.’

She opened another door and went into the sitting-room where her aunt was waiting. She sat, as she always did, in a stiff-backed chair, her almost useless legs on a little Victorian footstool, her sticks on either side of her, so that she need not ask for help if she should want to get up. She hated to ask for help—Georgina had been almost sixteen when Great-Aunt Polly had been stricken with polio, and could still remember very clearly the look on the old lady’s face when her doctor had told her that it was not very likely that she would walk again. She belonged to a generation who didn’t discuss their ailments; she hadn’t discussed them then, but over the following years she had progressed from wheelchair to crutches, and finally, to sticks. Georgina and Mrs Mogg, who had been with them for as long as she could remember, had watched her struggles and said nothing, knowing that that was what she would wish, but the day Aunt Polly took her first awkward steps with her two sticks Georgina had gone down to the Three Bells in the village, and come back with a bottle of hock under one arm, because she wasn’t sure what to buy anyway, but quite obviously the occasion called for celebration. She crossed the little room now and slid on to her knees beside her aunt’s chair and hugged her, just as she had hugged Moggy, only with a little less vigour because Aunt Polly was a small dainty person despite her will of iron.

‘I’ve passed,’ said Georgina, knowing that that was what her aunt wanted to hear.

Aunt Polly smiled. ‘Yes, dear. I knew you would, of course, but congratulations all the same—I’m very proud of you.’

Mrs Mogg had come in with a tray on which was Georgina’s supper—steak and kidney pudding and a nice assortment of vegetables and a little baked custard for afters. Georgina got up and took the tray from her, put it on the floor and sat down beside it, and Miss Rodman said:

‘Mrs Mogg, will you get the glasses and the Madeira? We must drink to Miss Georgina’s health—and you eat up your supper, child, you must be hungry.’

Georgina fell to. She had an appetite and enjoyed good food. Mrs Mogg came back with the wine, and they sat, the three of them, drinking it from very old, beautiful glasses which she fetched from the corner cupboard. Presently, when she had disposed of the steak and kidney, Georgina told them what Matron had said and Aunt Polly nodded and looked happy, then glanced at her sharply and said, ‘But is that what you want, dear?’

Georgina polished off the last of the custard. ‘Yes, of course, Aunt Polly,’ she said stoutly, and remembered rather clearly that Ned had said that what she wanted was a husband. She turned her back on the thought. ‘Ned told me that sister and old Bingham are going to get married,’ she went on, anxious to talk about something else. ‘That means that Gregg will get Cas, I suppose. I expect I shall get a Junior Night Sister’s post to start with anyway, and that won’t be for quite while yet, I shall hate working with Gregg.’

‘You might marry,’ said Mrs Mogg chattily, Georgina gave her a wide smile. ‘Oh, Moggy, who? I only meet the housemen, and they’re far too busy and penniless to marry, and if you’re thinking of rich consultants, they’re all married. Besides, it will be nice to earn some real money at last—it’s time I did my share, you know.’

Miss Rodman straightened an already straight back. ‘That is very good of you, dear Georgina, but Mrs Mogg and I are old women. We need very little, and we manage. You’ve worked hard, the money is yours to spend. Why don’t you go abroad?’

Georgina lied cheerfully, ‘I really don’t want to, Aunt Polly. Perhaps later on when I’ve had more experience—I think I’ll stay at St Athel’s for a year or two and get that Sister’s post, then see how I feel.’

She got up and carried her tray out to the kitchen where she put it on the scrubbed wood table, then took the dishes to the sink and washed up, singing cheerfully in a clear voice so the occupants of the sitting-room would hear how happy she was.

CHAPTER TWO

ST ATHEL’S looked grim and grey on Monday morning, Georgina walked into the cold, well polished hall of the Nurses’ Home and started to climb the stairs to her room on the top floor. She fought, as she always had to, against homesickness. The contrast between the impersonal atmosphere of the home and the little cottage was too great. She paused on a landing and looked out of the window. There was a plane tree close by, quite a nice one; she closed her eyes and saw her beloved hornbeam, then, despising herself for being childish, hurried on up the last flight. Once she was on duty she would be all right again. But somehow she wasn’t, despite the fact that Gregg had a half day. She told herself that it was reaction after all the excitement and was glad that the steady stream of patients kept her busy—too busy to think on her own affairs. Sister went off duty at five o’clock and Ned telephoned to say that Bob Baker would be standing in for him until midnight, and would she let the night staff know before she went off duty. She put down the receiver with a grimace. She disliked Baker—he was on the medical side, which didn’t prevent him from knowing all there was to know about Casualty. When she finally got off duty at nine, she was in a thoroughly bad temper, what with Mr Baker delivering lectures about the art of diagnosing, while pronouncing an obvious concussion fit to go home, and calling a Colles’ fracture a Potts’. She had asked him crossly if he hadn’t learned the difference between an arm and a leg, and roundly declared that the concussed patient was to be warded, and he had retaliated by refusing to leave his supper to write up an X-ray form for an old man with a very obviously fractured hip. He came at length, and signed his very ordinary name with a great flourish, demanding to know where Gregg was.

‘Days off,’ snapped Georgina. ‘I’ll tell her you were asking for her when she comes back,’ and had the satisfaction of seeing him look terrified. Gregg made no secret of the fact that she intended to marry a doctor, and Mr Baker would serve her purpose as well as any, she supposed.

He backed to the door. ‘I merely wished to know,’ he stated coldly, ‘because I’m not completely satisfied with your work.’

‘I’ll repeat that, word for word, to Sister in the morning,’ she said with equal coldness. ‘I’m sure she will arrange for you to be replaced by one of the other housemen—she wouldn’t like to think that our standards aren’t up to yours.’ She flounced to the door, took the handle from his unresisting hand, gave him a gentle push, and shut the door with great firmness upon his astonished face.

When she got to her room, it was to find several of her friends there with a large pot of tea and a variety of mugs. Somebody had found a bottle of milk and Georgina rooted around in her wardrobe and produced some sugar and a large homemade cake, pressed upon her that morning by Mrs Mogg. The cake disposed of, and the mugs replenished, the conversation turned, as it always did, to the future. It seemed to Georgina, listening, that everyone there but herself was on the point of doing something exciting. One was going into the QAs, two were going to Canada, the remainder were either on the point of getting married or engaged.

A voice said, ‘George, you haven’t told us what you’re going to do.’

‘Well,’ she began; she wasn’t sure if she should mention about getting a Sister’s post, ‘I thought I’d stay here …’

‘Did Matron dangle a Sister’s cap before you?’ someone wanted to know.

‘Later on … it was all a bit vague. Perhaps I’ll do my Midder.’ She had only just thought of that, but at least it was a future.

Her immediate future was to be taken care of, though. The next morning Matron wanted to see her. There was no chance to change her apron; she turned it inside out, hoping the stains wouldn’t show through, and presented herself, outwardly composed, at Matron’s office. She came out again within a couple of minutes. Night duty—four weeks of it in Cas; valuable experience, Matron had said, by way of sugaring the pill. It meant nights off too, several days at home each fortnight. She brightened at the thought of not having to work with Gregg, and brightened still more when she met Ned and told him, and he said, ‘Thank God! That woman who’s on now calls me for the merest scratch—besides, you’re nice to have around.’

Georgina chuckled. ‘Go on with you, Ned,’ she said comfortably. If she had had a brother, she would have used the same tone of voice she was using now. ‘But I promise not to call you for scratches!’

They started on their separate ways and as they went he called over his shoulder, ‘Are you on tonight?’

She went on walking away from him. ‘No, tomorrow,’ she replied, thinking that she must remember to ring Aunt Polly.

Night duty on Cas followed a pattern, she discovered, after she had been on for a few nights. Until eleven she was kept busy by a steady influx of people who ‘didn’t like to bother the doctor’; toothache, teething babies, bruises it was best not to enquire too deeply into; boils and headaches, cut fingers and ingrowing toenails; they crowded into the benches, confident that someone would do something for them, and in the meantime it was pleasant to have a natter. After the pubs closed, it was the turn of the drunks, cheerfully escorted by a constable, who as often or not gave a helping hand. There was seldom very much wrong with them, but they wasted everyone’s time, for they invariably needed stitches.

After the first night, when there were two or three waiting for scalp wounds to be sutured, Ned suggested that she should give a hand, and after that she added stitching to her duties; of course he did the complicated cuts, but very often it was only a case of one straightforward stitch, which the patient was frequently far too drunk to notice. The crashes followed a pattern too—round about midnight and five or six in the morning, so that Georgina quite often ate her dinner at two o’clock in the morning and had to miss tea altogether, but that was something you expected if you worked on Cas, and it didn’t occur to her to grumble about it. She slept like a log during the day, and there were nights off to look forward to.

On this, the fifth night, however, she had gone on duty tired after an almost sleepless day. She smiled at the waiting patients as she passed them and went on into the office to take over from Sister, who was looking, surprisingly, quite different from usual. She gave Georgina one or two police messages in an abstracted sort of manner and told her that Ned would be on duty, and that Mr Bingham would be available at ten o’clock. There was something in the way she said this that made Georgina look at her carefully. Sister was excited, and excitement had turned her into a very pretty woman. She caught Georgina’s eye and said almost diffidently, ‘Mr Bingham and I are going out to dinner—to celebrate. I might as well tell you, Staff. We’re going to be married.’

Georgina put down her cloak and bag. ‘Sister, how wonderful! I am glad, and wish you every happiness. What a pity Mr Bingham has to be on duty—it’s his night on call, isn’t it?’

Sister got up and draped her cloak around her shoulders. ‘Well, yes, Staff, it is. But we shan’t be long—if anything big comes in, Ned can get help and send for Mr Bingham—there’s the phone number on the pad.’

She smiled dreamily, said goodnight, and slipped away. Georgina rolled up her sleeves and put on her frills, thinking about Sister and Mr Bingham. Sister would leave, of course. She went across to the cubicles and checked their contents with practiced speed, not because she didn’t trust the day staff to leave everything in a state of readiness, but because each one of them did it when they came on duty—it was a kind of unwritten rule no one forgot. This done, she began on the patients.

The benches were half cleared when she heard the ambulance. The two cubicles nearest the door were empty; she pushed back the double doors and wheeled two trolleys as near as possible to them, and found time to warn the waiting patients that they would be delayed. It was Ginger on duty. He drew up with a little rush and got out to join his mate.

‘Evening, Staff,’ he called politely. ‘Got an RTA here. Two kids and a man.’ He had opened the ambulance door and was pulling out the first stretcher. ‘Head injuries—broken legs for the little boy—man’s a walking case.’

She flew to the telephone and dialed the doctors’ quarters and waited a long minute while Ned was fetched. She said merely, ‘An RTA, Ned,’ and went to the first cubicle where the little boy was. He was still on the trolley and unconscious, and she thought that that was a good thing when she whisked back the blanket and looked at his legs. Nothing much to see, but there were already bruises showing between the splints—probably both femurs. He didn’t look too bad, and his pulse was good. The second child was a little girl, semi-conscious and bleeding from head wounds. She had long straight fair hair, hopelessly tangled and matted with blood. Georgina took her pulse too and hoped that she was right in thinking that she wasn’t badly injured. The third patient came in on his feet, looking rather white. He was holding his right hand against his chest, and said surprisingly, ‘I’m sorry to give you this trouble. The children?’

Georgina said quickly, ‘The doctor will be here in a moment—he’ll have to examine them first. Come and sit down. When we’ve seen to them and I’ve a second, I’ll get a sling for that arm of yours. It looks like a collar-bone.’

She smiled at him, her brown eyes soft with sympathy. He was about her own age or a little younger; very good-looking, with fair hair and blue eyes and a mouth that looked as though it could laugh a lot in happier circumstances. She left him sitting, and went at once to the small boy, to be joined at once by Ned. He stood looking at him while she cut away the clothes from the quiet little body, and then at a word from her, steadied each leg as she eased off the shoes and socks.

Ned explored them gently. ‘This is a job for old Sawbones—’ he meant Mr Sawbridge, the senior orthopaedic surgeon. ‘I’ll get Bill Foster down.’ Bill was his registrar. ‘Get him on the phone, George. What’s the lad’s pulse like?’

She had been taking it while he was talking. ‘A hundred and ten—strong, steady. I’ll get him on a half-hourly chart, shall I? And I suppose you’ll want skull X-rays as well as legs?’

She didn’t wait for an answer but went to the telephone for a second time to get Bill Foster, and then to send a message to the Night Super to see if she could spare the junior runner; it wasn’t very likely, and she was used to managing alone for the greater part of the night. She left Ned with the little boy and went to look at the girl. The ambulance men had stayed with her and she thanked them gratefully. ‘I’m sorry I can’t stop to make you a cup of tea, Ginger, but you’re welcome to make yourselves one—you know where everything is.’

But they thanked her and said, no, they’d go. There was sure to be some more work for them some time. They collected their blankets and said ‘Cheerio’ because it would have been silly to have said anything else when they would probably be seeing her several more times during the night. They said goodnight to the young man, however, and he wished them a good night in return and then asked them their names. They gave them awkwardly, and just as awkwardly received his quiet thanks. On the whole, not many people remembered to thank them, understandably enough, but it was nice when they did.

Georgina had taken the little girl’s pulse again. It was good, and she started to ease off her clothing. She was wearing a beautifully made topcoat; the dress beneath it was good too, but stained and torn. The child moaned softly and opened her eyes for a moment, and Georgina waited until she had lapsed into unconsciousness again before looking for injuries. There was a dull red mark on one cheek and another one on a shoulder—they would be livid bruises in a day or so. She covered her little patient with the blanket again and started to examine the small head. There were a number of cuts, none of them serious, but needing stitches. She started to swab them one by one, carefully cutting the long hair away from each small wound. The child was still unconscious when she had finished. She pulled the curtain back, hurried across to where the man sat and fastened a sling around his arm, then took an X-ray form along to Ned for him to sign. When she got back, she said, ‘Do you think you could manage to get to X-Ray? We’re a bit pushed for staff—it’s only just across the passage. I’ll fill in your name presently.’

‘The children?’ he asked again.

‘The orthopaedic surgeon will be in presently—I’m afraid the little boy has both legs broken,’ she said gently, ‘but his general condition is quite good. The little girl has a cut head—I can’t tell you anything else until the doctor has examined them.’

He stood up. ‘How kind you are,’ he said, and smiled so that she felt a small glow of pleasure. He took the form she was holding out to him, and walked away to X-Ray.

Bill Foster came then and joined Ned and Night Super followed him. She ran a practiced eye over everything and said, ‘You can manage, can’t you Staff? We’re two nurses short tonight and Men’s Medical is up to its eyes. They really need the runner there—I’ll try and send someone down to help you clear up later.’ She went away again, exuding confidence and encouragement.

Georgina went back to her patient. The trolley was set; it was just a question of waiting until Ned could get along to do the stitching. She took the child’s pulse, was satisfied, and began to draw up the Novocaine. It was while she was doing so that she became aware of the man standing in the doorway.

Her first impression was that he was enormous. She put the syringe, with its needle stuck in the top of the Novocaine bottle, on to the trolley top, and took another look. She had been right; he wasn’t just tall; he was massive as well, so that he dwarfed the small cubicle. He was handsome too, with fair hair brushed back from a high wide forehead, a patrician nose, and a mouth that looked kind. She couldn’t see the colour of his eyes, but she thought that they were blue—they were staring at her now, and she made haste to say something.

‘Is this moppet yours? If you wouldn’t mind going to the cubicle at the end, the Casualty Officer is there—I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you calling in to see her.’ She smiled kindly at him. ‘She’s not too bad, although she looks … The boy, is he yours too?’

He smiled faintly. ‘Yes, Staff Nurse, they’re—mine.’ He had a deep voice, but she had expected that; any other would have sounded absurd coming from the great chest. ‘I’ve seen the Casualty Officer. May I come in?’

He suited the action to the word and went to stand by the couch. But he didn’t just stand; he raised the child’s eyelids to test for pupil reaction, examined the small ears and nose carefully and took her pulse. ‘Has she been conscious at all?’ he wanted to know.

Georgina said, ‘Yes, twice, for a few moments,’ and stopped, astonished at herself. The man was a stranger and she was meekly answering his questions just as though he was one of the hospital doctors. She shot him a look of mingled annoyance and perplexity which she was sure he didn’t see. Apparently he had eyes at the back of his head as well, for he said apologetically, ‘I’m sorry. You’re quite right to be vexed with me. I should have said that I am a doctor. Your excellent young man here suggested that I might like to stitch Beatrix while we wait for Mr Sawbridge’s verdict.’ He straightened, missing the ceiling by an inch or so. ‘He will—er—vouch for me if you would care to ask him.’

She hesitated. It didn’t occur to her to doubt him; he wasn’t that kind of a man. Indeed, she was struck by the thought that she had met him a bare five minutes ago, and on the strength of this short acquaintance was quite prepared to take his word on anything. All the same, perhaps she should ask his name. She was saved from making up her mind about this by Ned, who put his head round the curtain. He took no notice of her at all, but said with marked politeness:

‘Mr Sawbridge has just arrived, sir, if you’d care to see him? I could be having a quick dek—er—look at the little girl in the meantime.’

The big man nodded. When he had gone and Ned had started a careful examination, Georgina burst out, ‘Ned, for heaven’s sake, why are you so polite? Who is he?’ She passed him the ophthalmoscope. ‘Her blood pressure’s normal—her pulse is a bit fast too—a hundred and twelve, but nice volume. Who is he?’ she repeated.

Ned gave her back the ophthalmoscope and took the auroscope she was holding out. He peered down it and muttered, ‘Can’t see anything much wrong—better have her X-rayed, though, when she’s stitched. He’ll do it I expect, while the boy’s in X-Ray.’

‘Who’s he?’ Georgina tried again. She was used to doctors, who tended to get away from the point.

‘George, don’t you ever read those nursing papers of yours, or listen to the grapevine? He’s been here several times. He lectures us—he goes to most of the teaching hospitals. He’s Professor van den Berg Eyffert.’

She opened her pretty brown eyes wide. ‘What a name! Not English, surely. What’s he professor of?’

Ned frowned. ‘Your grammar’s a bit sloppy, isn’t it, old lady? Anaesthetics. Right in the front row, he is. Knows all the answers.’ He went to the door. ‘I’m going to X-Ray to look at that clavicle.’

He went, and the big man came back. He said nothing about the little boy, merely, ‘Shall we start, Staff Nurse?’

He took off his coat and white scarf, and stood in all the magnificence of white tie and tails, looking for somewhere to put them. Georgina took them from him and hung them behind the door, and his tail coat too while he rolled up his shirt sleeves. He was almost ready when she said hastily, ‘Before you start, sir, would you like me to send a message to your wife? I can telephone her … you could speak to her.’

He looked as though he was going to smile, but he answered gravely, ‘Thank you, but I have no wife.’

‘Oh, how awful for you—I am sorry,’ said Georgina, and went scarlet. Would she never learn to think before she spoke? she thought remorsefully, and plunged deeper. ‘I mean—it’s horrid for children when something like this happens, and there’s no mo …’ she stopped again, and met his eyes watching her quizzically from the other side of the trolley.

‘The young man with them—is he yours too?’

This time he did smile. ‘Yes, more or less. A cousin. I have seen him in X-Ray.’ He looked suddenly forbidding. Perhaps, thought Georgina, it would be a good idea not to ask him any more questions.

‘Shall I hold her in my arms in case she comes round?’ she asked. ‘If I sit on the side of the couch with her head over my arm—there’s a stool you could use, otherwise your back will ache,’ she added in a practical voice.

He did as she suggested and started to stitch. Two of the cuts had been closed when the little girl began to whimper, and they waited without speaking until she opened her eyes. Georgina said at once:

‘Hullo, Beatrix.’

The child looked at her for a long moment. ‘Who are you, please?’

‘Oh, a nurse,’ said Georgina, and turned herself round so that her patient could see the man on the stool. The small face lighted up.

‘Cousin Julius! I knew you’d come!’ She started to smile and then, because her scratched face was sore and stiff, began to cry instead. Georgina held her close, murmuring comfort, while the man sat impassive, showing no impatience. In a minute or two, Georgina produced a hanky to mop the large blue eyes and said firmly:

‘Hush now! If we tell you what has to be done to make your head better, will you be a brave girl while it’s done?’

She didn’t wait for an answer but waited for Professor Eyffert to explain. He said gently, ‘You’ve cut your head, Beatrix, and I’m stitching the cuts together again. I shall have to prick you once or twice and we don’t mind if you want to cry; only stay still on Nurse’s lap.’

She was sleepy again. She murmured, ‘Yes, Cousin Julius,’ and made no demur when he picked up the syringe again. He had almost finished when she said:

‘I know you’re a nurse, but what’s your name?’

‘Georgina,’ said Georgina.

The child repeated it. ‘That’s a nice name. Does everyone call you that?’

‘Well, no, not always.’

‘What?’ the small voice was persistent.

‘Actually,’ said Georgina, ‘I get called George.’ She felt faintly embarrassed.

‘I shall call you George. That is, if you don’t mind? I like you.’

Georgina was aware that the Professor had finished his handiwork and was just sitting on the stool, listening. She looked up and caught his eye and frowned in a repressive fashion at him because she found his presence unsettling. She said, ‘Thank you, Beatrix. I like you too,’ then laid the child gently back on to the couch, made quick work of spraying each small cut with Nebecutane and then said to no one in particular:

‘I think I shall be needed to take the small boy …’

‘Cornelis,’ said a small voice from the pillow. ‘He’s my brother.’

‘Cornelis,’ repeated Georgina obediently, ‘to X-Ray.’ She stood up and looked fleetingly at the man sitting so quietly. ‘Shall I find a nurse to sit with Beatrix, or will you …?’

‘Stay? Yes, of course. But please ask Mr Sawbridge if he would spare a moment.’

She went down the row of cubicles to where the little boy lay, and passed the young man on the way. He was sitting on one of the stiff wooden chairs, staring ahead of him, but he smiled fleetingly as she halted before him.

‘All right?’ she enquired. ‘I’ll see to you just as soon as I can—it won’t be long now. Your—er—cousin is in the cubicle with the little girl if you like …’

He interrupted quite fiercely, ‘Thank you, Nurse—if my cousin wants me, he’ll send for me.’

She blinked at this; it would have been nice if she could have spared the time to learn a little more about the Professor. Instead, she made all haste to where an impatient porter was waiting to go to X-Ray.

Ten minutes later, while they were taking the lateral views, Mr Sawbridge, Bill Foster and the Professor came in. They went straight to the darkroom, where she could hear them muttering together over the wet films until the radiographer had finished his work and went to join them. They all came out together very shortly, and Mr Sawbridge said, ‘All right, Staff, take him back. I shall want the theatre in twenty minutes, please. Ask Theatre Sister to telephone me here as soon as possible. Oh, and put a figure-of-eight on Mr van den Berg Eyffert.’

She did as she was bid, but before starting on the bandaging she filled in a case sheet for Cornelis and got Bill Foster to write it up. There was the little matter of the pre-med. When she got back it was to find that the runner had got down at last; she left her to get the little boy ready for theatre and whisked into a cubicle where she had bidden the young man sit. ‘Now,’ she breathed, ‘let’s get you done.’ She was rolling cotton wool into a pad as she spoke and had eased him out of his shirt when a voice said placidly, ‘Shall I get a pull on his shoulders for you, Staff Nurse?’ He didn’t wait for her relieved murmur, but got behind his cousin and drew his shoulders firmly back.

The young man went white. ‘Revenge is sweet!’ he muttered.

‘I imagine you don’t mean that, Karel,’ the big man spoke patiently with no trace of ill-humour. He eased the injured shoulder up a little so that Georgina could arrange the pad, and she heard her patient say, ‘Sorry, Julius—I apologise.’

No one spoke again until she had finished her bandage. She nodded with satisfaction at the neatness of it and said briskly, ‘I should like particulars of you all, please, but I’ll get you a cup of tea first.’

She peeped in at Beatrix as she passed the cubicle; the little girl was asleep with Ned sitting beside her, writing up notes. He looked up and said crossly, ‘There you are! Wherever do you go?’

‘Round and about,’ said Georgina soothingly. ‘Is this one to be warded too?’

He nodded. ‘After X-ray, yes. Twenty-four hours’ observation.’ He nodded towards the benches, where a few of the hardier patients were still waiting. ‘Better run through that lot, hadn’t we?’

She nodded. ‘All right. Nurse can make the tea, then stay with the boy until he goes to theatre. I’ll take this one to X-Ray; that’ll leave her free to help you.’

She went back again after she had primed the runner about the tea, and the Professor, who was standing with his hands in his pockets, looked up and said vaguely, ‘Ah, yes,’ and walked away, leaving her patient to answer her questions. She began to fill in the cards and only just restrained herself from speaking when he gave the address as being very near Debden, which was only a few miles from her own home. Dalmers Place, he had said; she dimly remembered cycling through the village years ago. There had been several old Tudor houses in the neighbourhood—it must be one of those. She had barely finished taking the particulars when they came for the boy from theatre. She left him to drink his tea while she went with the child, and wasn’t in the least surprised to find the Professor, gowned and capped, waiting by the anaesthetic trolley.

She left the patient in the care of the theatre staff and sped back to Cas. The young man and Ned had joined forces over their tea. Ned said, ‘Ward the little girl, will you, ducky, and I’ll fix a taxi for Mr Eyffert.’

She came back to find Ned impatient to finish the diehards on the benches, and the younger Mr Eyffert on the point of departure. He wished her goodbye, thanked her charmingly and hoped to see her again, and it warmed her to think that he really meant it. He explained, ‘I’d like to stay, but Julius told me to go round to the hotel.’ Apparently Julius gave the orders and expected them carried out. She shook his sound hand and said soothingly, ‘That’s a fine idea; a good night’s sleep will do you a world of good. I’m sure Professor Eyffert will let you know how things go.’

‘Lord, yes. You see, the accident wasn’t my fault, but I am to blame. I decided to come to town for the evening and the kids got into the back of the car for a lark, so I brought them with me for the ride.’ He saw her astonished eyebrows. ‘I know it sounds silly. It was. Julius wiped the floor with me, and I deserved it.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Poor chap, saddled with four children and me—but he’s a wonderful guardian.’

Georgina felt a peculiar lifting of her spirits. ‘Guardian? I thought he was their father.’

He laughed again, ruefully. ‘He’s not had much chance to think about getting married. Well, so long, Staff Nurse. I shall see you again.’

She agreed lightly, aware that it was unlikely—nearly all patients said that. She didn’t see the Professor again, either. He had called in on his way back from theatre while she was at her meal and expressed regret at missing her. She was surprised to find that she minded not seeing him again very much, but she was far too busy to ponder the matter.

She called in to the children’s unit on her way off duty in the morning. Beatrix was sitting up in bed, eating her breakfast; rather battered but apparently none the worse for her experience, and delighted to see her. Cornelis had regained consciousness an hour or two earlier and Georgina was invited to go along and see him. His eyes were closed; his face looked small and white and lonely on the pillow, as though it had nothing to do with the two legs in their Thomas’s splints.

‘They made a good job of them,’ commented the staff nurse who was with Georgina. ‘Sliding traction—they were both nice clean breaks. He’ll be as good as new in a few months’ time.’

He opened his eyes then, and asked, just as his sister had done, ‘Who are you?’

‘Hullo, Cornelis. I saw you last night when you were brought here.’

He nodded, staring at her. ‘I like you. What’s your name?’

‘Georgina Rodman.’

‘Mine’s Cornelis van den Berg Eyffert. You may call me Cor if you like.’ He added, ‘I shall call you George,’ and added again, very politely, ‘That’s if you don’t mind.’

There was no need to reply, for he had dropped off to sleep again. George went back to Beatrix and reiterated her promise to see her again, then ran downstairs to the dining-room, where she ate her meal rather dreamily without contributing greatly to the conversation. She was wondering if she would ever see Professor Eyffert again, and even if she did, whether he would remember her. In the No Man’s Land of muddled thoughts before she slept, she remembered that the children had called him Julius. A nice name, she thought sleepily, for a nice man. She slept.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE WENT every evening and morning to see the two children. Cor didn’t talk a great deal, unless it was to ask endless questions as to how long it would be before he could walk again, but Beatrix would sit up in bed, her face wreathed in smiles, and chatter for as long as she was allowed. It was from her that Georgina heard that her guardian had been every day to see them, and that she was to go home the next day, although Cor would have to stay.

‘Will you come and see Cor when he’s left behind?’ she wanted to know.

‘If he wants me to, of course I’ll come,’ said Georgina.

‘Julius said you would,’ said the little girl, ‘but I just wanted to make sure.’

Georgina let out a suddenly held breath. So he hadn’t forgotten her! She smiled, then frowned at her silliness in supposing that he remembered her in any other context than that of nurse.

She said goodbye to the little girl with real regret; she would herself be going on nights off in two days’ time, but Cornelis would still be there when she returned. She explained this carefully to him, and was astonished at the storm of protest it triggered off. Only by promising to write to him every day was she able to calm him down to coherency.

‘You’ll have your guardian to see you,’ she observed in conciliating tones, ‘and your other—er—uncle.’

‘He’s not my uncle, he’s my stepbrother,’ said the huffy little voice from the bed.

She looked surprised. ‘Oh, is he? I thought that he—they—were both your uncles.’

‘You’ll listen carefully if I explain?’

‘Of course.’ She willed herself to stay awake and interested, while she longed above all things to get a meal and go to bed for an hour or two before going home.

‘Well, it’s like this, you see. Cousin Julius’s mother and Karel’s mother were sisters; only Cousin Julius’s mother was almost grown up when Karel’s mother was still a little girl … and she married Julius’s father and he was Dutch. Her sister—my mother—died when Beatrix was born. My father was married before he married my mother—to Karel’s mother …,’ he broke off. ‘You do see, don’t you?’

Georgina blinked. ‘Yes, I think so. But you’ve all got the same name.’

He eyed her with youthful scorn. ‘Well, of course. My father and Cousin Julius’s father were brothers.’

She gathered woolly wits together. ‘Two brothers married two sisters. But why do you live in England if you are Dutch?’

‘We live in Holland sometimes. My father lived in England for years; his first wife was English. Cousin Julius says we’re all half and half. So are Franz and Dimphena.’

Georgina stifled a yawn. ‘So stupid of me—I feel I should know who they are.’

‘My brother and sister, of course; Franz is twelve and Dimphena is almost grown-up—she’s sixteen.’ He eyed her through the ordered tangle of cords and pulleys fastened to the Balkan frame over his bed. ‘Are you sleepy?—your eyes are closed.’

She smiled, ‘I am, I’m afraid, but thank you for explaining so clearly about your family—are they all as nice as you and Beatrix?’

‘You’ve met Cousin Julius—he’s super, absolutely wizard.’ He seemed to feel that this was sufficient answer. She thought tiredly that it would be interesting to know more about Julius, but as she wasn’t likely to see him again, there wasn’t much point in pursuing that train of thought. She got off the side of the bed, where she shouldn’t have been sitting anyway, bade him goodbye and went, very late, to the dining-room.

She got home at teatime. The fragrance of buttered crumpets filled the little house as she closed the front door behind her. She breathed it in and sighed contentedly. She had six days of freedom.

It was incredible how the days flew by. On one of them, she coaxed Jim Bale to lend her the car and took Aunt Polly for a gentle drive, suppressing a great desire to go to Debden and look for Dalmers Place. Instead, she turned the car’s nose in the direction of Elmdon, where Great-Aunt Polly had a friend. The two old ladies gossiped gently over their tea, and Georgina left them together and went for a stroll past the Tudor cottages with their carved bargeboards and elaborate plaster bands, and went into the church and peered at Tudors perpetrated for ever on its brasses. They were very large families, depicted in graduated heights and according to age, on either side of their stiffly robed parents—the sight of them reminded her of Cor and Beatrix. She had written to Cor every day, as she had said she would, and rather to her surprise had received one or two highly coloured postcards from him, each one asking her when she would be returning. She went into the village shop on her way back, bought a postcard and wrote it then and there, and posted it in her turn. She would have liked to have sent one to Beatrix too, but the Professor might think that she was trying to curry favour. She was rather silent on the way home and when Aunt Polly asked if she was sorry to be going back in two days’ time, she agreed hastily, knowing that that really wasn’t the reason. She had been thinking about Professor Eyffert—indeed, she was forced to admit to herself that she had been thinking about him a great deal—a useless waste of time, she kept telling herself, at the same time making no attempt to check her thoughts.

The following day it rained—a cold drizzle which depressed her usually cheerful spirits. She spent the morning pottering about the little house, and while her aunt took her after-lunch nap, went upstairs to put away the ironing. She had her head in the cupboard on the tiny landing, counting pillowcases, when she heard the front door knocker, and a moment later Mrs Mogg opened the door. Georgina withdrew her head long enough from the cupboard to call:

‘If that’s Mr Payne, Moggy, would you ask him to let us have some more eggs—tomorrow if he can.’

She didn’t wait for an answer, but fell to sorting the sheets, and it was quite some minutes later when Mrs Mogg called to her from the hall below.

‘Miss Georgina, will you come down? You’re wanted in the sitting-room.’

She ran down the stairs and opened the sitting-room door, went in and stopped short, saying foolishly:

‘Oh, it’s you!’ at the same time very aware of her hair hanging in a ponytail and her rather elderly slacks and sweater—the sweater was a deep orange, faded now, but still becoming; it made her eyes seem very bright and dark and emphasized the soft brown of her despised ponytail. She was positive that she looked as plain as a pikestaff, unconscious of the fact that she had never looked so pretty.

Professor Eyffert had been sitting beside her aunt’s chair, but he got up now, the low-ceilinged little room accentuating his height, so that she had her mouth open to warn him to stoop, then desisted when she saw that there were still several inches to spare.

She said primly, ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ frowned heavily and went pink when his brows rose and his mouth twitched at its corners.

‘I was afraid that you might have forgotten me,’ he remarked mildly.

‘No, of course I haven’t forgotten you. How could I when Cor quotes you at me night and morning?’ She stopped, struck by a thought. ‘They’re all right, aren’t they? Beatrix and Cor?’

‘It is about Cor that I have come,’ he said slowly, and her heart checked its crazy pace. Of course the reason for his coming hadn’t anything to do with her! ‘You must forgive me for calling like this, but I have a favour to ask of you.’

She thought she knew what it was then—that she should go back a day sooner because Cor wanted her. ‘If I can help in any way …’ she began, and was interrupted by Aunt Polly.

‘Take Professor Eyffert into the dining-room, child, so that he can discuss whatever it is with you.’

‘I should prefer to remain here if I may,’ he said decidedly. ‘You see, I imagine Miss Rodman will wish to tell you of my plans.’

‘Sit down then, both of you,’ said Great-Aunt Polly. ‘I’m all agog.’

So was Georgina. She was trying to think what plans he could have which would include herself. She sat down in the little crinoline chair opposite her aunt and left the Professor to dispose his bulk in the sturdy old Windsor chair between them.

‘I propose to take Cor home.’ At his words Georgina opened her pretty mouth to protest, then closed it hastily under his amused look.

‘I quite agree, Miss Rodman. An awkward and difficult business, involving complicated transport, portable X-rays, fixing of a Balkan frame, nursing care … I should like you to undertake the nursing care.’

She blinked at him. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘I seldom say things I don’t mean,’ he countered placidly. ‘I have given the whole matter a great deal of consideration—Cor is eating his young heart out at the moment. We are a very united family.’ He gave her a quick glance. ‘I daresay Cor or Beatrix have already told you that they have no parents?’

She nodded. ‘Oh, yes. I thought you were their father, so your cousin explained a little, and then Cor told me. I—I have a rough idea.’

He laughed. ‘Very rough, I should imagine. You’ll come?’

Georgina stared at him. He quite obviously expected her to say yes. He stared back at her with a self-confidence which wasn’t quite arrogance. She would assert herself; it would be ridiculous to say yes in such a weak fashion. She swallowed—then said yes, and added, to justify her weak and instant acceptance, ‘But I shall need to know a great deal more about the whole thing.’

And he said in a tone of voice to make her cheeks burn and her pulses race, ‘Oh, my dear girl, I thought that you were going to refuse.’ He smiled briefly and brilliantly, and then, as though he wished to forget what he had said, went on in a businesslike way, ‘I will explain what I intend to do, and then you can ask as many questions as you wish.’ He turned to Aunt Polly. ‘We do not bore you, I hope, Miss Rodman?’

‘On the contrary, young man, I am diverted.’ She smiled and nodded to her niece, ignoring the look of horror on her face. Georgina hoped that the Professor had not noticed that he had been called ‘young man’ although she felt this to be extremely unlikely. She suspected that very little escaped those cool blue eyes … or, for that matter, those sharp ears.

She folded her hands in her lap, looking, despite the slacks, very demure, emptied her head of the ridiculous but delightful notions which had been filling it, and said in a brisk voice, ‘Yes, sir,’ and was quelled when he said, ‘As we are not in hospital, Miss Rodman, I feel that there is no need for you to call me “sir” with every other breath.’

Her cooling cheeks took fire again. ‘Just as you wish, … Professor.’

She thought for a moment that he was going to object to that too, but he let it pass and went on blandly:

‘It is now the eighth of November—I believe that you finish night duty on the eighteenth. Am I right?’ He barely gave her time to nod. ‘You will have Cor as your sole care, you understand, but you will of course take reasonable time off each day as well as a completely free day each week.’

He stopped, and turned to look at her, gravely waiting for her to speak. It seemed ridiculous to mention it, but she said diffidently:

‘I’m a staff nurse in Casualty, and I hadn’t intended to give in my notice.’

‘Ah, a point I forgot to mention. I have not yet spoken to your Matron; I wished to see how you felt about my proposition before doing so, but I believe that I may have you on loan for a reasonable time—it has been done before. If you will leave that to me?’

She went on doggedly, ‘And the surgeon? Will Cor be under Old Saw … Mr Sawbridge? And shall I be responsible to him?’

‘Yes, most certainly you will. Old Sawbones—and do not scruple to call him by that name, Miss Rodman, for I have known him for many years and he has never been called anything else—has agreed to visit Cor as often as necessary, and will arrange for X-rays, special treatment and so forth.’

‘I see. Very well, Professor—provided that Matron has no objection.’

‘I see no reason why she should,’ he replied coolly. ‘Do you drive?’

‘We haven’t a car, but I have a licence.’

‘Good. There is a car you may care to use while you are with us.’

Aunt Polly spoke. ‘Splendid! Georgina, you’ll be able to come home each week; it’s only a few miles. How very pleasant that will be!’ She caught Georgina’s eye. ‘Perhaps you would ask Mrs Mogg to bring in the tea, dear? You’ll stay for a cup, I hope, Professor?’

Georgina went to the kitchen, feeling somehow that she had been got at without exactly knowing how it had happened. She helped Mrs Mogg carry in the tea things and arranged them on the small table by her aunt’s chair, and would have taken a cup and saucer over to the Professor, but he forestalled her, and she found herself sitting in the crinoline chair again being waited upon by the Professor, who most certainly would not have been expected to lift a finger in hospital. She took a sandwich and caught his eye, and he smiled and said, ‘The boot is on the other foot, is it not, Miss Rodman—it makes a nice change.’ He spoke with a lazy good nature and his smile was so kind that she laughed.

He proved to be an excellent companion. Georgina watched her aunt sparkle, exchanging a gentle repartee with her guest and enjoying every minute of it. He got up to go presently, and as he shook hands he said:

‘I do hope that we shall meet again, Miss Rodman,’ at which Aunt Polly smiled.

She said without a trace of bitterness, ‘I’m always here,’ she gestured towards her sticks. ‘Come when you like, if you care to.’ She inclined her head. ‘Georgina will see you to the door, Professor.’

So Georgina found herself at the front door, standing beside him, contemplating with some awe the Silver Shadow drophead coupé in the lane outside. However, she had little time to do more than recognize it for what it was before he said briskly:

‘Well, goodbye, Miss Rodman.’ He shook hands in a no-nonsense fashion and added as an afterthought, ‘Just one thing. I shall require you to wear your uniform at the times while you are with us. Not of course when you go out in your free time.’

Georgina, who had forgotten about the slacks and sweater, was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of them again. With the fine impulsiveness for which she had received many a reprimand in hospital, she blurted out:

‘But I don’t always look as scruffy as this!’

He eyed her coolly. ‘Did I say that you looked scruffy?’ he wanted to know. ‘I can assure you that my wishes on the matter have no bearing on your present—er—most sensible garments.’ He allowed his gaze to travel from top to toe of her person. ‘Charming, too,’ he murmured.

She gaped at him. This from a man wearing tweeds, which, although not new, bore the hallmark of Savile Row! He was joking, of course. She said so.

‘Did I not say a short time ago, my dear girl, that I seldom say anything which I do not mean?’

Georgina blushed. ‘Oh,’ she said faintly. ‘May I know why—I mean about the uniform?’ She looked up at him, looming beside her in the early dusk; it was difficult to read the expression on his face, but his voice was decisive.

‘No, you may not,’ he said blandly. ‘Goodbye for the present.’

He went so quickly down the path that he would never have heard her reply, which was a good thing, for her voice had been an astonished squeak. At the gate he turned. ‘Beatrix and Cor send their love.’ The next minute he had got into the car and driven away.

Back in the sitting-room, Aunt Polly put down her book. ‘A delightful young man,’ she said in positive tones. ‘While you were getting tea he told me something about himself.’ Georgina smiled. Aunt Polly had her own methods of extracting information—she could, when it pleased her, be a remorseless and relentless interrogator. ‘He’s not married.’

Georgina rattled a tea cup in its saucer, and said ‘Oh,’ in what she hoped was a non-committal voice.

‘But he intends to marry in the near future. I wonder who she is? He spends quite a lot of time in Holland—he has a home there too; perhaps she is a Dutch girl—after all, he is a Dutchman himself.’

She settled her elegantly rimmed glasses on her small nose. ‘Will you pass me my knitting, please, dear?’ She started on one of the complicated patterns she favoured—not because she liked them overly, but because they forced her to concentrate and saved her from other, sometimes unhappy thoughts. ‘Shall you like nursing the little boy?’ she asked.

Georgina had picked up the tray and was on her way to the door. ‘Oh, yes, Aunt. Of course I shall.’ She spoke quietly, aware that she was going to like being in the Professor’s house very much indeed, although perhaps not for the right reasons.

Georgina had been back on duty for several nights before she met Professor Eyffert again. She knew that he had been to the hospital each day because Cor told her when she paid her morning and evening visits, but the little boy said nothing about going home and she forbore from mentioning it. When they did meet, it wasn’t quite half past seven in the morning. She had had a busy night and was clearing the last of the trolleys ready for the day nurses. She was tired, and because she was tired, she was cold. Her hair hung wispily where it had escaped the pins she had had no time to deal with; her nose shone with chill and lack of powder. As she saw him come into Casualty, she thought peevishly that they always met when she was looking at her worst. She scowled and said, ‘Good morning, sir’ without warmth, and felt, unreasonably, even more peevish when he smiled sympathetically and said, ‘Good morning, Staff Nurse. You’ve had a busy night. Do you never have help?’

She was scrubbing instruments at the sink. ‘Yes, but we had an overdose in at midnight and another at five. They make a lot of extra work on the wards—the runner hasn’t had a minute.’ She rinsed the tube and funnel of the wash-out apparatus and cast him a look full of curiosity, and he said to disconcert her, ‘Yes, I’m very early, am I not? But the first overdose isn’t responding as she ought—Dr Woodrow telephoned me an hour or so ago—I think she is out of the wood now.’

The door opened and the day nurses trooped in, with Gregg in the rear, urging them on. They looked curiously at the Professor, said good morning politely and plunged at once into the early morning ritual of cleaning and sterilizing and making ready. Only Gregg lingered. She ignored Georgina and smiled bewitchingly at the Dutchman, conscious that her make-up was perfection and her hairstyle immaculate. She said, at her most charming, ‘Night Nurse is off duty—perhaps I can help you, sir?’

Georgina swallowed rage. Night Nurse indeed! She was just as trained as Gregg was herself, but in the circumstances, powerless to do anything about it. The Professor wasn’t, however. He flashed her a look, and if she hadn’t known that her tired eyes were playing her false, she could have sworn that he winked. His voice, when he spoke, was silken. ‘Good for you—er—Nurse. You allude to Staff Nurse Rodman, I believe. Yes, indeed you may help, if you please. Be kind enough to take over from her at once—I have something I wish to discuss with her.’

His smile dismissed her. Georgina found herself walking to the door rolling down her sleeves as she went, and putting on hastily snatched up cuffs. Outside in the corridor he said pleasantly, ‘I thought that we might as well divulge our plans to Cornelis; that is, if you can spare the time?’ She nodded merely, being far too busy keeping up with his long legs. Halfway up the stairs to Children’s he stopped and said apologetically, ‘I forget that I cover the ground somewhat faster than most people—and you must be tired.’

She admitted that she was, tried to imagine him being tired himself and failed utterly. They heard Cornelis long before they saw him—apparently there was something he didn’t fancy for breakfast. He was, in fact, on the point of hurling a bowl of porridge at the attendant nurse when he saw them coming down the ward. His small, intelligent face brightened and he thrust the offending food at the nurse as he shouted a greeting at them. ‘Cousin Julius—George! How super to have you both at once. I say, George, do tell Nurse to take this beastly stuff away—I won’t eat it.’ He was peeping at his guardian as he spoke.

The Professor said nothing at all, indeed, there was a faint smile on his face, although his brows were raised in mild enquiry. Georgina put the bowl down on the bedtable in front of Cor, and said with the cunning of one versed in the treatment of childish tantrums:

‘You’ll grow into a very small man, you know.’ She put the spoon in his hand.

‘Why?’

‘Because if you don’t eat, you don’t grow, and some things make you grow more than others. Porridge, for example. You said the other day that you intended to be as big as your guardian.’

‘You mean Cousin Julius?’ He was watching her under lowering brows.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Why don’t you call him Julius?’

‘Well …’ she cast a look at the Professor, who was standing, hands in pockets, watching with what she considered to be unnecessary enjoyment. He said now, without looking at her, ‘You’re not being polite, Cor. In fact, you are being particularly unpleasant. You will apologise, please.’ His blue eyes surveyed his small cousin, and Georgina, watching, could see the affection in them. ‘Look old chap, we know your legs are uncomfortable and you’re hating every minute of lying strung up like this, but that’s no excuse for being rude.’ He smiled, a wide kind smile that made her heart bounce against her ribs.

Cor smiled too. ‘Sorry, Cousin Julius,’ he said, all at once cheerful. ‘I was a rude pig, wasn’t I?’ He repeated himself, delighted with the words. ‘George, darling George, I’m truly sorry, I was a rude …’

She interrupted him. ‘All right, Cor. We know you didn’t really mean it. Now eat up your porridge so that we can talk.’

He started to spoon the cooling nourishment. ‘All of us?’ he enquired, his mouth full. ‘Why are you so early, Cousin Julius?’

‘I had some work to do here—it seemed a good idea to kill two birds with one stone.’ He caught Georgina’s expressive eye and said on a chuckle, ‘What a singularly inept remark!’

She replaced the empty bowl with a boiled egg and some bread and butter, and sat down thankfully on the stool the Professor had fetched for her. She turned her attention to Cor and kept her eyes on him while the Professor talked.

‘I’ve news for you, Cor. It’s the seventeenth today—the day after tomorrow you are coming home.’ He put a large, well-kept hand, just too late to prevent the bellow of delight from Cor. ‘Let me finish—I’ve work to do, even if you haven’t, and unlike you, I’ve not yet had my breakfast; nor has Nurse. You’ll have all this rigging until after the New Year. You know that, don’t you? And there will be X-rays at intervals and Uncle Sawbones to see you from time to time. Staff Nurse Rodman will look after you.’

Cor put down his bread and butter and stared at his guardian as though he couldn’t believe his own small ears. ‘George? Coming home with us all? Julius, you’re absolutely super. I’ll be home for Christmas … I’ll be so good … Julius, dear Cousin Julius, I love you!’

The big man’s eyes were very kind. ‘Yes, I know, old man. We all miss you, you know—you’ll have to stay in your room; but we can all come in and out, and Miss Rodman will be with you for a great deal of the time.’

Cor turned a starry gaze on Georgina. ‘You’ll like coming, won’t you, George?’ he asked anxiously.

‘I’m thrilled. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.’ She found to her astonishment that she meant it—indeed, her delight at the prospect left her startled at its intensity. She went off into a brown study, watched by the Professor with no expression on his face at all, and by Cor with considerable bewilderment. She looked up and smiled at him, so that her tired face was touched with beauty. ‘I was just thinking of the fun we’ll have getting you on your feet again,’ she said cheerfully, and was rewarded by his grin.

She stayed a little longer while the Professor told her his arrangements. She was to be at the ambulance bay at four o’clock on the nineteenth, with whatever luggage she would require. He politely deplored the fact that she would be unable to have a full day’s sleep, but assured her that she should go to bed as early as she wished on reaching Dalmers Place. He himself would be unable to accompany them, but Mr Sawbridge would make sure that everything was in order before they left the hospital and had agreed to be at the house by the time they arrived in order to supervise the re-erection of the Balkan frame with its attendant weights and pulleys.

‘Why don’t you do it, Cousin Julius?’ Cor demanded.

‘My dear fellow, I haven’t a clue; I daresay Staff Nurse Rodman knows more about it than I do.’ He smiled at her, and she gave an answering chuckle, well aware that he was perfectly capable of putting up twenty Balkan frames if he so had the mind. He got to his feet.

‘Go to bed. How thoughtless of me to keep you like this!’ His eyes searched her face. ‘We are all happy to have you with us. Beatrix is longing to see you again.’

Georgina said quickly, ‘Oh, is she? I am glad. I wanted to write to her, but it didn’t seem—that is, I didn’t care to …’ she came to a halt awkwardly.

‘My dear girl, I understand, although your fears were groundless. You are the last person I would accuse of pushing yourself forward.’

She looked relieved. ‘Beatrix didn’t think I had forgotten her?’

‘No,’ he assured her gravely, ‘never that.’

She said goodbye to them then, and went first to Cas, ignoring a furious Gregg to give a brief report to Sister, and then to the dining-room, where, as she so often was, she was the last. She was barely seated at the table before a voice enquired, ‘What’s all this, George—dating handsome consultants in Children’s before eight o’clock in the morning!’

Another voice chimed in, ‘Obviously he likes the early bird.’ There was a shriek of laughter, and Night Super, sitting with her sisters at the other end of the dining-room, raised her eyebrows and smiled. It was tacitly agreed that the night nurses needed to let off steam when they came off duty; she went on with her breakfast, and wished that she was with them, sharing the fun.

Georgina spooned sugar into her tea with a lavish hand. ‘It’s my early morning charm,’ she explained imperturbably, though her cheeks were pink. ‘There’s nothing like a red nose and wispy hair to enhance my type of good looks.’

‘Yes. But why choose Children’s—it’s the least romantic of places,’ asked the Night Staff from that ward. ‘Give us the facts, George.’

Over several slices of toast, lavishly loaded with butter and marmalade, she told them. When she had finished, there was a silence lasting at least ten seconds until someone said, ‘How funny—the other day we were all taking—remember?—and George said she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do, and now it’s all cut and dried. Take some pretty clothes,’ she added.

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