“You disposed of your aunt very quickly.”

She shot the Professor a cross look. “I haven’t—she left her scarf in the restaurant, and she wants it this minute.”

“Do I detect a slight vexation? Where is your sunny disposition, Jenny Wren? Snappish, and no gratitude for your rescue, either,” he said.

She made an effort to work her way around him. “Well, I haven’t had the time….”

“To express your deep obligation to me? But this will take very little time, my dear.”

The Professor had kissed her soundly before she could dodge him, and then disconcerted her utterly by standing aside without another word, to let her pass.

Jenny lingered unnecessarily in the restaurant so that he would have already left by the time she went back, and she was quite put out to find that that was exactly what he had done.

About the Author

Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of BETTY NEELS in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

Grasp a Nettle
Betty Neels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Tender-handed stroke a nettle And it stings you for your pains; Grasp it like a man of mettle And it soft as silk remains.

—Aaron Hill

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

THE WINDING stone staircase in the corner tower was gloomy excepting for the regular patches of sunlight from the narrow slit windows set at intervals in its thick stone walls, but the girl running up the worn steps thought nothing of the gloom; she was well accustomed to it. She paused now, half way up, to peer out of one of the windows, craning her neck to look along the back drive to Dimworth House. It was almost two o’clock and the first of the visitors were already driving slowly down the narrow, ill-made lane which ran for a mile or more on its way from the main road.

The girl turned her bright coppery head to look down at the wide gravel path bordered by lawns and herbaceous borders, to where, beyond the open gate at its far end, the field used as a car park was waiting, empty, for the cars to fill it. It promised to be a good day in terms of entrance fees; although Dimworth House was one of the smaller stately homes open to the public, it was doing quite nicely, although it meant hard work for the family, and indeed, for everyone connected with the estate. The girl left the window presently, ran up the last curve of the narrow staircase, and pushed open the arched door at its top. It led to a small circular lobby, panelled and empty of furniture. She crossed this, opened the door in the opposite wall and entered a short, carpeted corridor, the walls hung with paintings and with a number of doors in its inner wall. There was a rather fine staircase half way along it, leading to the floor below, and a long latticed window lighting the whole, although not very adequately. The girl hurried along with the air of one familiar with her surroundings and knocked on the end door, and on being bidden to enter, did so.

The apartment was large, low-ceilinged and panelled, furnished with a variety of antique furniture, presided over by an enormous fourposter bed, and was occupied by a very upright elderly lady, sitting at a writing table under the window. She looked up as the girl went in, said: ‘Ah, Jenny,’ in a commanding voice and laid down her pen.

The girl had a charming voice. ‘I found Baxter, he was in the water garden. He’ll do the tickets—he’s putting on a tie and washing his hands, and Mrs Thorpe says she’ll take over from me at four o’clock.’ She glanced at the carriage clock on the desk. ‘I’d better get down to the hall, the cars are starting to arrive, Aunt Bess.’

‘Dear child!’ declared her aunt. ‘I can’t imagine what we shall do when you go back to that hospital tomorrow.’ She coughed. ‘I’m afraid it hasn’t been much of a holiday for you.’

Her niece smiled. ‘I’ve loved it,’ she assured her relation, ‘it’s been a nice change from theatre, you know. I’m sorry I can’t stay here for the rest of the summer.’ She had wandered to the window to look out, and the sunshine shone on her bright hair, tied back loosely, and her pretty face, with its hazel eyes, thickly fringed, little tiptilted nose and generous mouth. She was of average height, nicely rounded and gloriously tanned with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

The Hon. Miss Elizabeth Creed, her mother’s sister and a lady of forceful disposition, smiled as she watched her, for she was the only one, bar her great-nephew, for whom she had any affection. Jenny had never allowed her aunt’s caustic tongue to worry her; and although she had been left an orphan at an early age, she had never once asked for money or help of any kind. True, she had a quite adequate income of her own from the trust set up for her by her parents, as well as her salary, but that was chickenfeed compared to the annual revenues enjoyed by her aunt and the very generous allowance given to her dead cousin’s widow and small son, Oliver, who would one day inherit Dimworth and a handsome fortune with it. In the meantime, however, his mother chose to live in Scotland with her parents, and the house was run by his great-aunt until such time as he was considered old enough to do this for himself.

Jenny, who spent her holidays with Aunt Bess, thought it a great pity that the little boy didn’t live at Dimworth, for it was a beautiful place and peaceful, and her cousin, who had died in an air crash a year or so after his marriage, had loved it dearly and would surely have wanted his son to have been brought up there, but Margaret, his widow, had never liked it over-much; she came to stay from time to time, but always made it clear to the rest of the family that she was glad to go again. She would be coming within a few days, bringing the little boy with her, and Jenny had every intention of spending all her days off at Dimworth while he was there, for the two of them were the greatest of friends, and Margaret, beautiful and languid and not particularly maternal, soon tired of his youthful high spirits.

Jenny, leaving her aunt to her writing, skipped down the staircase, crossed the landing below and opened a carved oak door on to a richly furnished sitting room overlooking the front of the house, and through which she threaded her way without loss of time, to go through a small, very old arched door cut into one of its walls. It led to another staircase, a very small one, down which she trod, to open an even smaller door at the bottom opening directly into the entrance hall of the house. There was a large table set in the centre of this vast area, laid out neatly with brochures, postcards, small souvenirs, pots of homemade jam and the like, and she made for the chair at its centre and took her seat just as the first of the visitors poked enquiring heads through the open doors.

The next two hours went fast. Jenny had been right, there were a good number of visitors, and when she had done her stint in the hall and Mrs Thorpe, the vicar’s wife, very correctly dressed in her best summer two-piece and a good hat, had taken over from her, she went across to the old stables, converted into a tea-room, and found that it was nicely filled with family parties, tucking into their cream teas. Florrie, the indispensable housekeeper, and her niece Felicity were managing very well between them, so Jenny made her way back to the house, to enter it by a small door at the side, which led via a back hall into the last of the chain of rooms on view to the public—the dining room, sombre and panelled in oak, its refectory table and massive oak chairs protected by crimson ropes, and the silver goblets and plates on the great table protected by a burglar alarm which no one could see; they gleamed richly against the dark wood.

There were a dozen people there, standing about staring at the treasures around them, gazing without a great deal of interest at the dark oil paintings on the walls—family portraits, and not very colourful ones, although if any of them had studied them closely they would have noticed that most of them portrayed a variety of people with coppery hair, just like Jenny’s.

The next room leading from the dining room was crowded, as it usually was; it was a small apartment, its walls lined with bookshelves, and arranged on a number of small tables was the collection of dolls which Aunt Bess had occupied herself in collecting over the years. This small room led in its turn to the blue drawing room, lofty and rather grand with its ornate ceiling and silk-hung walls, and furnished with gilded chairs and tables and a magnificent harpsichord. The little anteroom leading from it was far more to Jenny’s taste; panelled in pinewood and rather crowded with Regency furniture, surprisingly comfortable to sit on. The family sometimes used the room in the summer, but once the evenings became chilly it was more prudent to stay in the private wing, for a small staircase led from the anteroom, up and down which the wind whistled, leaving anyone silly enough to sit there chilled to the bone.

Jenny didn’t pause, but went up the staircase to cast an eye over the three bedrooms on view. No one had used them for very many years now. Their fourposters were magnificent, the heavy tables and mirrors and chests worth a fortune, but they held little comfort. There were quite a few people here too; she mingled with them, answering a few questions and cautioning people that the stone staircase leading down to the hall was worn in places and needed care before slipping away again, this time to go through yet another of the small doors which peppered the house, into the private wing. It was cosy here, with thick carpets underfoot, damask curtains at the mullioned windows, and a nicely balanced mixture of period furniture. Jenny’s room was down a narrow passage, a roomy apartment with a small sitting room adjoining it and a bathroom on its other side. She had always occupied it, ever since, as a small child, she had spent her holidays at Dimworth.

She went straight to the wall closet now, gathered an armful of clothes and began to pack with speed and neatness. She intended leaving early the next morning, driving herself in the Morgan two-seater which Aunt Bess had given her for her twenty-first birthday; she had had it for four years now, and drove it superbly, making light of the journey to and from London, a journey she made at least twice a month. She would have liked to have spent all her days off at Dimworth, but she had a great many friends in and around the hospital—besides, Toby Blake, the elder son of Aunt Bess’s nearest neighbour, might feel encouraged to propose to her yet again if she went down there too often. She frowned now, thinking about him; she supposed that sooner or later she would marry him, not because she was in love with him, but because they had known each other for such a long time and everyone expected them to. She was aware that this was no reason to accept him, but he did persist. ‘Water wearing out a stone,’ she commented to the room around her as she shut her case, took a cursory look in the mirror and went to find her aunt.

Tea was a meal which, on the days when the house was open to the public, was a moveable feast in the small sitting room on the ground floor. Anyone who had the time had a cup, and old Grimshaw, the butler, made it his business to tread to and fro with fresh tea as it was required. He was on the lookout now for Jenny and as she gained the lower hall, said in his fatherly fashion: ‘I’ll bring tea at once, Miss Jenny,’ and disappeared through the baize door beside the stairs, kitchenwards.

Jenny called after him: ‘Oh, good,’ and added: ‘I’m famished, Grimshaw,’ as she opened the door and went in. Her aunt was sitting by the open window, her tea on the sofa table beside her chair.

‘I must have an aspirin,’ she declared in a voice so unlike her own that Jenny hurried over to her. ‘I have the most terrible headache.’

‘You’ve been working too hard, Aunt Bess. I’ll get them…in your room?’

Her aunt nodded and she sped away to return at the same time as Grimshaw with the teapot. She poured her aunt another cup and shook out two tablets and offered them to her. ‘Do you often get headaches?’ she enquired, casting a professional eye over the elderly white strained face.

‘I’ve never had a headache in my life before,’ observed Miss Creed sharply, ‘only these last few weeks…’

‘And aspirins help?’

‘Not really.’ She was sitting back in her chair, her eyes closed.

‘Then let’s get Doctor Toms to see you.’

Miss Creed opened her eyes and sat up very straight. ‘We will do no such thing, Janet. I’m never ill. You will oblige me by not referring to it again.’

‘Well,’ said Jenny reasonably, ‘if you have any more headaches like this one, I shall certainly refer to it. Probably you need stronger glasses.’

Her aunt turned her head to look at her as she stood at the table, pouring herself her tea. ‘H’m—perhaps that’s it. You’re a sensible girl, Jenny.’

Jenny smiled at her; her aunt always called her Janet when she was vexed, now she was Jenny again. They began to talk of other things and her aunt’s indisposition wasn’t mentioned again that day. Only the next morning when she went along to her aunt’s room to wish her goodbye did that formidable lady declare: ‘If ever I should be ill, Jenny, I should wish you to nurse me.’ And Jenny, noting uneasily the pallor of the face on the pillows, said hearteningly: ‘You’re never ill, my dear, but if ever you are, yes, I’ll look after you—you know that.’ She bent to kiss the elderly cheek. ‘You’ve been father and mother to me for almost all of my life, and very nice parents you’ve been, too.’ She went to the door. ‘I’ll be back in ten days’ time and I’ll telephone late this evening unless anything crops up.’

London at the end of summer was crowded, hot, and smelled of petrol. Jenny wrinkled her nose as she drove across its heart and into the East End. When she had started her training as a nurse, her family, particularly Margaret, had been annoyed at her choice of hospital. With all the teaching hospitals to choose from, she had elected to apply to Queen’s, large and old-fashioned and set squarely in the East End; not the type of place which, since she had insisted on taking up nursing, a Creed or a Wren should choose. But Jenny had had her own way, for despite her pretty face she was a determined girl with a quite nasty temper to go with her hair, and she had done her three years general training, followed it with a midwifery certificate and now held the post of Junior Theatre Sister. Her family still smiled tolerantly at the idea of her having a career, thinking no doubt of Toby Blake waiting in the wings, as it were; sure that very soon now she would realise that to be married to him would be pleasant and suitable and what was expected of her. But Jenny had other ideas, although she wasn’t able to clarify them, even to herself. There would be someone in the world meant for her; she had been sure of that ever since she was a little girl, and although there was no sign of him yet, she was still quite certain that one day she would come face to face with him, and he would feel just as she did—and in the meantime she intended to make a success of her job.

Queen’s looked grey and forbidding from the outside, and indeed, on the inside as well, but she no longer noticed the large draughty entrance hall, nor the long dark passages leading from it. She plunged into them after a cheerful exchange of greetings with the head porter, and presently went through a door, painted a dismal brown, across a courtyard overlooked by most of the hospital’s wards, and into the Nurses’ Home, an old-fashioned building which had been altered and up-dated whenever there had been any money to spare, so that it presented a hotchpotch of styles and building materials. But inside it was fairly up-to-date, with the warden’s office just inside the door and a wide staircase beside the two lifts. Jenny wished the warden, Miss Mellow—who wasn’t in the least mellow—a staid good morning, for it had barely struck noon, and started up the stairs, taking the handful of letters Miss Mellow had wordlessly handed her with her.

Three of them were from Toby; he was a great letter writer; his handwriting small and neat and unmistakable. Jenny sighed as she saw it and glanced at the others; from friends who had married and left hospital, inviting her severally for a weekend, to dinner, and to meet for coffee one day soon. She read them as she wandered upstairs, for she wasn’t on duty until the following morning and she had plenty of time to unpack and get her uniform ready. But Toby’s letters she didn’t open, not until she had gained her room on the third floor, put her case down, kicked off her shoes and curled up on her bed.

There was nothing to say in any of them which she didn’t know already, and why he had to write on three successive days to point out the advantages of marrying him was a mystery—besides, she had seen him only four days ago, and when, as usual, he had asked her to marry him she had said quite definitely, with the frankness of an old friend, that it just wouldn’t work. She put the letters down after a while and went along to the pantry to make a pot of tea. Clare Brook was there, putting on the kettle, having had a free morning from Women’s Surgical, and she greeted Jenny with a cheerful ‘Hullo,’ and went on in mock dismay: ‘You’re on call tonight, ducky. Old Hickory (Miss Dock, the Theatre Superintendent) is off with toothache, Maureen’s got days off and Celia being Celia and left in charge doesn’t feel she should.’ She raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Our Celia is getting too big for her boots, just because Mr Wilson likes the way she hands him the instruments… So there you are, Jenny Wren, and for sure there’ll be a massive RTA and you’ll be up all night.’

Jenny spooned tea into the pot. ‘Well, I’ve been away for two weeks,’ she observed, ‘so I suppose it’s fair enough, though it’s beastly to come back to.’

Clare eyed her with interest. ‘Had a good time at that ancestral hall of yours? Seven-course dinners every evening, I suppose, and a dress for each one…’ She spoke without rancour; everyone liked Jenny and nobody grudged her her exalted background. ‘Not engaged to that Toby of yours yet?’

Jenny spooned sugar into their mugs and reached for the biscuit tin. ‘No—it’s silly of me, but I just know we wouldn’t suit. Well, what I mean is…’ she frowned, wishing to make herself clear: ‘We’ve known each other simply years and years, and there’s no…no…’

‘Spice? I know what you mean—you’re so used to each other you don’t even quarrel.’

‘He has a very even temper…’

‘Huh—so there’s nothing for you to sharpen your bad moods on, is there? You need someone with a temper as fine as yours, my dear, without an ounce of meekness in him, to give as good as he gets.’

‘It doesn’t sound very comfortable,’ protested Jenny.

‘Who wants to be comfortable? Chris and I fight quite a bit, you know, and we’re only engaged. Heaven knows what it’ll be like when we marry, but it’ll never be dull.’ Clare handed her mug over for more tea. ‘Which reminds me, I saw the sweetest wedding dress the other day…’

The pair of them became absorbed in the interesting world of fashion.

Jenny had to get up during the night, not for the massive RTA which Clare had prophesied, but for a little boy who had fallen out of his bedroom window to the pavement below; it took hours to patch him up and his chance of survival was so slim as to be almost non-existent. Jenny, going back to bed at three o’clock in the morning, lay awake worrying about him for another hour, so that when she got down to breakfast at half past seven her pretty face was pale and tired, but the news that the child was still alive cheered her up and she ate her breakfast with a fair appetite, wishing, as she always did, that she was back at Dimworth, having her breakfast in the little sitting room overlooking the water garden, with Aunt Bess sitting opposite, reading indignant pieces from the newspaper and calling everybody, impartially, a fool.

There was a heavy list for the morning and Celia Drake, assuming the mantle Miss Dock had temporarily laid down, was at her most trying; if the morning’s work was to run smoothly, then both of them would have to work, sharing the cases. But Celia, topheavy with importance, had elected to take the easiest of the list and leave the long-drawn-out ones to Jenny, which meant that Jenny wasn’t going to get off duty punctually; the list would drag on until after dinner and there would be a wild scramble to get the afternoon list started on time, and although it wasn’t a long one, Jenny guessed who would be scrubbing for it.

She eyed the cases she was expected to deal with and frowned heavily, her lovely hazel eyes dark with temper, while her coppery hair seemed to glow. Celia had retired to the office, probably to sit at the desk and dream of the day when she would—perhaps—be Theatre Superintendent. Jenny poked her indignant head round the door and gave her a fuming look.

‘Come on out and do your share, Celia,’ she invited waspishly. ‘You’re not in Old Hickory’s shoes yet, you know. We’ll share this list, half and half, and if you don’t like the idea, I’ll drop everything and go off sick.’

Celia might hand the instruments with éclat, but her wits weren’t all that quick. ‘Go off sick?’ she wanted to know. ‘But you’re not…’

Jenny nodded her bright head vigorously. ‘Oh, but I am—sick of you. What’s it to be?’

‘Oh, all right,’ declared Celia peevishly, and added nastily: ‘I don’t see why you should have it all your own way just because there’s a baron in your family.’

‘I’ve got his red hair,’ Jenny pointed out, ‘and his nasty temper.’

The day was long and hot and tiring; the cases ran over their times and small complications cropped up which no one could have foreseen; consequently by the end of the morning’s list the surgeons were a little edgy, the housemen ravenous because they hadn’t had a coffee break, and the nurses’ dinnertime hopelessly late. Jenny saw the last case out of theatre, sent as many nurses as she could spare to their meal, drank a hasty cup of tea with the surgeons, and aided by the one nurse she had kept back, started on getting ready for the afternoon’s list. Her staff nurse would be back in time to scrub for the first case, and the list was a straightforward one. She might even have time to eat a sandwich and have another cup of tea.

She did, while Staff took the cholestectomy, and as she made her hasty meal she wrote up the books and then put the rest of the paper work on one side before going into theatre to scrub for the rest of the list. They were finished by five o’clock, but there was still the desk work to get through. Celia, with a much shorter list, had already gone off duty, and Jenny sat in her office, writing swiftly in her rather wild handwriting, one ear cocked at the various familiar sounds coming from the theatre unit. She had two nurses on now, and a part-time staff nurse coming on duty at six o’clock. With luck, she would be finished by then.

It was too late to go out by the time she got off duty, and besides, she was tired; she took a bath and put on slacks and blouse and went to her supper, then sat around in the Sisters’ sitting room, talking over the inevitable cups of tea. She was on the point of going to her bed when Miss Mellow arrived to request her presence in the telephone box in the hall. She spoke grudgingly, for she disliked what she called running messages, and she disliked Jenny too, partly because she was a pretty girl and partly because she came from that class of society which Miss Mellow always referred to as They. Jenny, who didn’t like Miss Mellow either but had the good manners not to show it, thanked her nicely and went without haste to the callbox; it would be Toby—she sighed as she picked up the receiver. But it wasn’t Toby, it was Doctor Toms. His voice, as mild as usual but carrying a note of urgency, surprised her. He wanted her at Dimworth. Miss Creed was ill and was asking for her.

‘Now?’ asked Jenny.

‘Yes, my dear. Your aunt is very insistent that you should come.’

‘Those headaches!’ she exclaimed, remembering.

‘Very severe—I want her to be seen by a specialist, but she says she’ll do nothing until you’re here.’

‘Blackouts?’ asked Jenny.

‘Two today—probably she’s had others and has told no one.’

Jenny glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll come at once, just as soon as I can fix things here. Will you ask someone to leave the side door open please—I ought to be with you by two o’clock.’

‘Good girl! I shall be here, Jenny, with your aunt.’

She rang off and raced out of the home and across to the hospital, Night Super would be on duty by now, but heaven knew how far she had got with her first round. Jenny took five precious minutes tracking her down, and ran her to earth at last in the children’s ward, where she held a hurried whispered conversation with her. Mrs Dent was a sensible, kindly woman, who listened without interruption before saying that of course Jenny must go at once and she would see that all the right people were informed in the morning. She even asked Jenny if she had enough money and if she would like a hot drink before she went. Jenny said yes, thank you and no, thank you with real gratitude and went back through the quiet hospital to her room, to fling clothes into a bag, explain her sudden departure to Celia, and go to the car park behind the hospital where she kept the Morgan.

She thanked heaven silently as she turned into the almost empty street that she had filled up on her way into London; there was enough petrol in the tank to get her to Dimworth. It was getting on for eleven o’clock by now, but once clear of London she made good time on the motorway; the clock tower bell chimed two as she stopped the car outside the private wing of the house. There was a light showing through the transom over the side door, and when she turned the handle, it opened silently under her hand. She stopped to bolt it before running up the stairs and along the corridor to her aunt’s room. The door was slightly open and when she pushed it wide she saw Doctor Toms there, sitting in an arm-chair by the bed. He got up when she went in, but before he could speak Aunt Bess, her commanding voice a mere thread of hesitating sound, spoke.

‘Jenny! You made good time. Don’t let Doctor Toms frighten you. All this fuss about a headache…’

Jenny went to the bed and looked down at her aunt. She didn’t like what she saw. Her aunt had looked off colour when she had left only two days earlier, but now she looked ill; her breathing was bad, her colour ghastly, and the pupils of her pale blue eyes were fixed and small. All the same, the lady of the house hadn’t lost any of her fire. She spoke now in a snappy voice. ‘Doctor Toms wants me to be seen by some puffed-up professor or other—he happens to be staying with him. I won’t hear of it.’

‘Why not, Aunt Bess?’

‘He’s a foreigner for a start,’ Miss Creed’s voice was slightly slurred. ‘He’s bound to be too big for his boots and make something out of nothing and then charge me a small fortune.’

Jenny had perched on the bed beside her aunt. Now she took one of the hands lying idle on the coverlet and held it between her own. ‘Look,’ she said persuasively, ‘why not let this man take a look at you? If you don’t like him you can say so and then you need not see him again—and as for the small fortune, you know quite well that you could pay a dozen professors and hardly notice it.’ She lifted her aunt’s hand up to her cheek for a moment. ‘To please me?’ she coaxed.

‘Oh, very well,’ agreed her aunt grumpily. ‘You’re just like your mother, she could charm water from a stone. But mind you, if I don’t like him, I shall tell him so.’ She stared at Jenny for a moment and added in a confused way: ‘I don’t feel very well, Jenny.’

‘No, I know, my dear, but you will feel better, I promise you, and I’ll stay with you. Now will you rest for a little while? I’m going to talk to Doctor Toms for a few minutes and then I’ll come back and sit with you.’

Miss Creed nodded, seeing nothing unusual in the fact that someone should forgo their night’s sleep in order to keep her company; she wasn’t a selfish woman, but she had been used to having her own way and people to carry out her wishes without question for so long that the idea that it might be inconvenient for them to do so never crossed her mind.

Jenny waited until her aunt had closed her eyes and then followed the doctor out of the room, closing the door softly for her aunt had sharp ears.

‘She’s ill, isn’t she?’ she whispered, and when the doctor nodded. ‘Can you get this professor quickly?’

Doctor Toms nodded again. ‘By sheer good fortune he happens to be spending some days with me—we’ve been friends for some years and he has been lecturing at Bristol; he still has several lectures to give, so he won’t be going back for a week or so.’

‘Back where?’

‘Holland. He’s Dutch.’

Jenny frowned, her mind vaguely filled with windmills, canals and bottles of gin. ‘Oh—Is he all right? Clever, I mean.’

‘Brilliant,’ said Doctor Toms. ‘You know what I suspect your aunt has?’

‘Subdural haematoma,’ hazarded Jenny.

He looked surprised and then said: ‘Of course you come across them pretty often. I’m not sure, of course, that’s why I would like Professor van Draak te Solendijk to see her.’

Jenny’s eyes opened very wide. ‘Good grief, what a frightful name!’

The doctor smiled faintly. ‘Everyone calls him van Draak.’

‘Thank goodness for that. Aunt may not like him.’

Her companion smiled again. ‘I fancy she will. Now I must get back home. I’ll be here round about nine o’clock in the morning, but telephone if you’re worried. What about your sleep?’

‘I’ll doze and get Florrie up between six and seven—that’ll give me a chance to have a bath and breakfast.’ She smiled at him. ‘Thanks for letting me know, Doctor Toms. Poor Aunt Bess, we must get her better.’

Her aunt was dozing restlessly when she went back into the room. Jenny settled herself in a chair, kicking off her shoes and arranging the table lamp so that it didn’t disturb the bed’s occupant. She was hungry and longed for a cup of tea, but she would have to wait for it. She had no intention of disturbing Florrie or anyone else at that hour. They must have had a busy, worrying time of it—besides, she had told Aunt Bess that she would stay with her. She settled herself as comfortably as possible and prepared to sit out the rest of the night.

CHAPTER TWO

MISS CREED SEEMED a little better in the morning, but Jenny, making her ready for the day, wasn’t too happy about her, but there were things she had to do. She left Aunt Bess in Florrie’s capable hands and went away to unpack her things, have a bath and change her clothes. Doctor Toms arrived just as she was finished breakfast and took her back upstairs with him while he examined his patient again, made a few non-committal remarks which only served to make her snort indignantly and then took Jenny aside to explain worriedly that there was an urgent maternity case he had to go to, but that the professor would be over at the earliest possible moment on his return from Yeovil hospital where he had been delivering a series of lectures to post-graduates. He went away then, warning Jenny that it seemed very likely that her aunt would have to go to hospital herself.

Jenny set about making her aunt as comfortable as possible while she kept an ever watchful eye on her condition. There was no dramatic change, but certainly it was deteriorating steadily. Soon after one o’clock Florrie came to relieve her for her lunch, and stayed while Jenny did a brisk round of the old house, making sure that everything was ready for the visitors. The clock tower chimed twice as she went through the door in the entrance hall and up the circular stairs which led to the lobby on the next floor, and the private wing.

There was someone in the lobby and the small apartment seemed crowded by reason of the vast size of the man standing there, and he wasn’t only large, but tall too, with iron-grey hair and bright blue eyes, and although he wasn’t young he was nonetheless handsome. Jenny spared a second to register that fact before saying pleasantly:

‘I think you must have missed your way; this leads to the private part of the house.’

She was affronted by his cool: ‘I am well aware of that, young lady—perhaps you would tell whoever is looking after Miss Creed that I am here. Professor van Draak.’

‘Te Solendijk,’ added Jenny, who had a splendid memory for names. ‘I’m looking after her, I’m her niece, Janet Wren, so perhaps you’ll tell me anything I should know when you’ve seen her—treatment and so on,’ she pointed out kindly, for he looked so surprised.

His thick eyebrows lifted. ‘I hardly think I need to discuss these things with you, Miss…er…it is surely not your business.’

He had a deep voice, probably a delight to listen to when he was in a good mood, which he was not, Jenny decided. She turned her head to look out of the window at the small groups of people coming along the drive towards the entrance and spoke over her shoulder. ‘Of course it’s my business; Miss Creed is my aunt and I shall be nursing her. You have no reason to be so cross, you know.’

He stared down his arrogant nose at her. ‘I am not cross, young lady. I do not allow my feelings to take control of me at any time.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You poor soul,’ she exclaimed warmly, ‘it must be like walking about in a plastic bag!’

He didn’t smile, although his eyes gleamed beneath their heavy lids. ‘You are foolish, Miss Wren, for in that case I should be dead.’

‘That’s what I meant.’ She delivered this telling shot with a sweet smile and opened the door. ‘If you would come with me, Professor…’

He stalked down the corridor beside her, making no attempt to speak, and Jenny, keeping up as best she could, was quite relieved when they reached her aunt’s room. At the door, before she opened it, he said evenly: ‘You do understand that Doctor Toms was unable to come with me—it is a little unusual…’

‘Not to worry,’ Jenny told him cheerfully, ‘he’s an old family friend, you know. Aunt Bess won’t mind,’ she paused, ‘unless you do?’

‘It is usual for the patients’ own doctor to be present,’ he pointed out in his almost faultless English. ‘I am a foreigner—your aunt…’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that.’ She spoke reassuringly. ‘She doesn’t like foreigners as a rule, but I expect she’ll like you.’

She was about to open the door when his hand came down on hers, preventing her. ‘Why do you say that?’

She smiled at him, wishing he didn’t look so unfriendly. ‘You look the part,’ she told him, and when he took his hand away, opened the door.

Florrie, with a few urgent whispers to Jenny, went away, and Miss Creed said sharply from the bed: ‘Jenny? Where have you been? And when is that foreigner coming?’

‘He’s here now,’ said the Professor, his manner so changed that Jenny looked at him in surprise. He didn’t look angry and withdrawn any more, but calm and assured, a rock for any patient to lean upon and pour out their symptoms. His voice was gentle too and although nothing could alter the masterful angle of his nose, his manner was such to win the confidence of the most cantankerous of patients. He had walked across the room, to stand by the bed in full view of his patient while Jenny introduced him, returning Miss Creed’s fierce stare with a mild look which Jenny found hard to believe.

‘You will forgive me,’ said the Professor suavely, ‘that I should come in this fashion without our mutual friend Doctor Toms. I believe he has explained the circumstances to Miss…er…’ He paused and looked enquiringly at Jenny, who gave him a stony stare and didn’t utter a sound; if he wanted to call her Miss Er for the rest of their acquaintance, then let him! She got her own back presently, though.

‘Doctor Toms has told Professor van Draak—oh, dear what a very long name—te Solendijk all about you, Aunt Bess. Do you want me to stay?’

Two pairs of blue eyes were turned upon her, two mouths, firm to the point of stubbornness, snapped: ‘Of course.’ They should get on famously, the pair of them, thought Jenny, casting her own eyes meekly downwards.

The Professor took his time; he was not to be hurried by Miss Creed’s voice, bossy still though weak and slurred, telling him what to do and what not to do. When at length he was finished, she snapped: ‘Well, what’s the matter with me? Or is it just a headache—though I daresay you’ll make the most of it, whatever it is.’

The Professor ignored that, straightening himself slowly and eyeing her with calm. ‘Yes, it is a headache, but that is only a symptom of its cause. I should like to operate on you, Miss Creed. Would you go into hospital?’

‘No. To be mauled about and pay hundreds of pounds for something an aspirin will cure.’

He said impassively: ‘I’m afraid aspirin won’t cure this headache.’ He gave her a long, considered look and she stared back at him defiantly, although it obviously needed an effort; Aunt Bess was pushing herself to her limit. He went on deliberately: ‘If I don’t operate, Miss Creed, you will die.’

‘Plain speaking.’

‘I don’t think you will listen to anything else. I shouldn’t myself.’

‘You will tell me exactly what I have wrong with me and what my chances of living are.’

‘Certainly. You wish Miss…?’

‘Er,’ murmured Jenny helpfully. ‘I’m a nurse and I shall be looking after my aunt, Professor van Draak.’

‘Ah, yes—just so. Then I will explain.’

Which he did very nicely; a minute haemorrhage in the brain, at present only causing severe headaches; difficulty with speech, with breathing, blackouts…‘You will have had those, of course?’ he asked offhand, and nodded when Aunt Bess said quite meekly that yes, she had had several. ‘I shall find the site of the haemorrhage,’ said the Professor, not boastfully but as a man who was quite sure that he would, ‘repair it, and provided you do exactly as you are told, you will be as good as new within a very short space of time.’

Miss Creed considered his words. ‘It sounds reasonable enough,’ she said drowsily, ‘but I’m too tired to decide today—come and see me tomorrow.’

He put his handsome head on one side, contemplating her. ‘I should like to operate tonight,’ he told her calmly.

The lined, elderly face on the pillow lost some of its firmness. ‘Tonight?’

He nodded. ‘The sooner the better. I can arrange through Doctor Toms to have the use of the theatre at Cowper’s,’ the local cottage hospital and not so very far away. ‘You would have to remain there as a patient, but I promise you that the moment you are fit enough to move, you shall return here.’

‘Jenny?’ Miss Creed suddenly sounded very elderly indeed. ‘What shall I do, Jenny?’

‘Just what the Professor asks, Aunt Bess,’ Jenny had been standing at the bedside, opposite the Professor, but she had taken no part in the conversation. Now she came a little nearer. ‘Doctor Toms says that Professor van Draak is a brilliant man, and you know you will only have the best—besides,’ she went on cunningly, ‘you’ll be as right as a trivet by the time Oliver comes to stay.’ Which wasn’t quite true, but she judged that a small fib was justified in the circumstances.

She watched her aunt thinking about it and nobody spoke until Miss Creed said: ‘Get on with it, then.’ Her voice was suddenly strong and autocratic. ‘And be sure and make a good job of it.’

The Professor assured her levelly that he would do just that, adding: ‘Might I have a few words with Miss…your niece? Perhaps someone could be fetched to sit with you for a short time.’

‘Do what you like,’ said Miss Creed rudely. ‘I can see that you’re a man who always wants his own way. Jenny, don’t let him flatten you.’

As they walked back along the corridor, Jenny said: ‘Aunt Bess doesn’t feel well…’ and was cut short by his patient: ‘My dear young lady, no one with a subdural haemorrhage feels well, and if you are referring to her remark that you should not allow me to flatten you, I rather imagine that there would be little possibility of that.’

She stopped so suddenly that he, walking a little behind her and to one side, bumped into her and was forced to catch her by the shoulders to steady her. She brushed him away with a wave of one beautifully kept hand. ‘I can’t imagine why you are so rude, Professor. Do you dislike the English, or just women? Whichever it is, isn’t going to help Aunt Bess very much.’

‘My dear Miss…’

‘Look,’ she interrupted him impatiently, ‘the name’s Wren—quite easy and so much nicer than Er.’

He laughed then, and for the first time she realised with a little shock that when he laughed he looked quite different—years younger; someone she would like to know… She squashed the thought at once and prompted: ‘You were saying?’

He had stopped laughing and was looking down his nose again, holding the door open for her at the head of the little staircase. ‘Merely that I do not dislike the English, nor, for that matter, women. I hope your curiosity is satisfied?’

‘Pooh!’ exclaimed Jenny, and ran down the stairs very fast, but despite his size, he was at the bottom only inches behind her, to open the door and usher her politely into the entrance hall. ‘Where can we talk?’ he asked abruptly.

She led the way through the small groups of people wandering round, out of the door and turned down a little flagged path which led to the tiny church adjacent to the house. Through the churchyard gate, among the ancient tombstones, she said: ‘Here.’

Rather to her surprise he remarked: ‘A peaceful and quite beautiful spot,’ and then leaned himself against the old grey walls of the church, crossed his elegantly shod feet, dug his hands into his jacket pockets and went on: ‘Your aunt is very ill; the thing is to get to the haemorrhage before it does any further damage; any moment it could worsen, although somehow I don’t think it will, but we mustn’t take chances. If I can operate quickly she has a very good chance of recovery.’ He glanced at the paper thin gold watch on his wrist. ‘It is now three o’clock. I have already spoken to Cowper’s; the theatre is available at six o’clock. Doctor Toms will be there, of course, and I have an excellent anaesthetist standing by as well as an extremely able assistant. Will you telephone for an ambulance and bring Miss Creed to the hospital at once? I presume that you will stay there until the operation is over.’

‘Of course. I must see Mrs Thorpe—the vicar’s wife, you know, and our housekeeper…’ Jenny was half talking to herself and he looked amused. ‘The ambulance first, of course, but don’t I have to have your authority for that?’

‘I talked to them a short time ago; they are more or less expecting a call for an urgent case, so there should be no difficulty.’

She eyed him curiously. ‘You were so sure—you had everything arranged.’

‘I like to be prepared—besides, I respect Doctor Toms’ judgment, I merely confirmed what he strongly suspected.’

She said inanely: ‘Yes, well…I suppose so. Have you a car here?’

He nodded in the direction of a magnificent Panther J72 drawn up on the gravel sweep outside the entrance and she opened her eyes wide. ‘Is that yours? I thought…that is, I…’

‘An unlikely car for a not-so-young Dutchman.’ He smiled faintly.

‘No—yes—I mean, she’s a beauty.’ She was suddenly a little breathless. ‘And you’re not even middle-aged!’

‘Forty, as near as not—and you, Miss Wren?’

‘Me? I’m twenty-five.’ She hadn’t meant to tell him that. ‘Where shall I take Aunt Bess?’

‘They will be expecting her. The usual routine before operation—nothing to eat or drink—but of course you know that.’ They were walking towards his car as he spoke and after the briefest of goodbyes, Jenny went indoors to telephone and then see Florrie and Mrs Thorpe. There was no time to lose, but even in her haste she found herself wishing that she could have spared a moment to watch the Professor drive off his splendid car.

Florrie grasped the situation within minutes; Jenny knew that she would be able to leave everything in her capable hands. The same couldn’t be said for Mrs Thorpe, who wasted precious minutes exclaiming: ‘There, I only said to Mr Thorpe yesterday,’ and ‘Well, I never,’ and ‘It’s to be hoped—’ She would have gone on for some time in this tiresome manner if Jenny hadn’t cut her politely short, begged her to organise the visitors on the following afternoon and arrange for Baxter to sell tickets again.

‘Probably I shall be back by then, Mrs Thorpe, but I’ll let you know. Mrs Trott’—Trott was the elderly lodge-keeper-cum-handyman—‘said she would help out if it was necessary at any time, and I’m sure she will—it will only be for a day or two while I’m with my aunt.’

Mrs Thorpe looked important. ‘Now, don’t worry about anything, Jenny, I’ll see to everything.’ Her bosom swelled alarmingly. ‘None of us would dream of letting Miss Creed down.’

Jenny thanked her nicely, glad that her aunt couldn’t hear her doing it, for she had no opinion at all of the vicar’s wife, although she used that lady’s services quite unscrupulously whenever it suited her to do so, and hurried back to her aunt’s room. Miss Creed hadn’t been told that she would be leaving almost immediately; the ambulance Jenny had telephoned for would be arriving very shortly. She sent the devoted Florrie away, found an overnight bag, rammed in what she considered necessary for her aunt’s comfort and approached the bed.

Aunt Bess had her eyes shut, but she spoke immediately in a slurred voice. ‘Don’t imagine that I don’t know that you’re arranging something behind my back, Jenny, because I’m perfectly aware of it.’

‘Yes, Aunt Bess, I’m sure you are, but it’s nothing you haven’t been consulted about. The Professor wants you in hospital—he told you that just now—and I’m packing your bag to take with you. The ambulance will be here in a few minutes.’

‘I’m perfectly able…’ began Miss Creed.

‘No, dear, you’re not—not just at present. I’m coming with you and I shall stay for a bit. Everything’s arranged, so there’s no need for you to worry about a thing.’

‘I’m not worried,’ stated her aunt drowsily. ‘You’re sure that that enormous man knows what he’s doing?’

‘Yes, Aunt, I am.’ Jenny, to her own surprise, discovered that she really was sure about that, which seemed a little silly considering that she had never seen him operate.

And hours later, when he came straight from theatre, still in his green smock and trousers, his grey hair hidden by his cap, to find her in Sister’s office, waiting, she was just as sure.

He said without preamble: ‘Your aunt will be all right. She’s very fit for her age and should make a good recovery, although she will have to take reasonable care. Do you want the details?’

‘Please.’

He gave them at some length and then said: ‘Miss Creed should regain consciousness shortly. She will want to see you, will she not? You are prepared to stay?’

‘Of course. They’ve very kindly arranged for the night.’

‘Good. I’ll be around for a while and I shall be in early in the morning. Doctor Toms had to go straight from theatre. He’s quite satisfied.’

She looked at him rather shyly. ‘Thank you, Professor van Draak, I’m very grateful,’ and felt snubbed when he replied coldly: ‘You have no need to be; it is my work.’ He opened the door, preparatory to leaving. ‘Someone will fetch you very shortly.’

He had gone, leaving her feeling that even if he didn’t like her, and it seemed that he didn’t, he might have been a little less terse. But he hadn’t been terse with Aunt Bess, he had been kind and patient and moreover clever enough to see exactly how contrary she was, and deal with it in the only way she would accept. Jenny had seen her aunt make mincemeat of those who crossed her will too many times not to know that she was the last person to listen to cajoling or persuasion. She got to her feet and walked up and down the little room. Well, the man was a professor of surgery; presumably professors had that little extra something that set them above the rest. She stopped in front of a mirror and poked at her hair in an absent-minded fashion. All the same, he was arrogant and much too indifferent in his manner. She wondered if he were married and if so, if he were happy, although it was no business of hers. Only it had been providential that he happened to be staying with Doctor Toms, for Cowpers, excellent though it was was too small to have consultants attached to its staff and it would have meant her aunt travelling miles to Bristol or Poole or Southampton. As it was he had been allowed to make use of the small hospital’s theatre. She had noticed that he was known to the staff there, too. Possibly he had stayed with Doctor Toms before and come to know the staff there—she would have to ask Doctor Toms.

A nurse came to fetch her then and she went along to the back of the hospital, where the three private rooms were. Miss Creed was in the first of these, surrounded by a variety of equipment, looking very shrunken and frail. She opened her eyes as Jenny went in, smiled a little and closed them again, but presently she said in a thread of a voice: ‘All over?’

Jenny sat down by the bed. She had been keeping a tight check on her feelings, for Aunt Bess loathed emotion or tears. Now she could have wept with sheer relief, but she managed a steady: ‘Yes, my dear, and very satisfactory, too,’ aware as she said it that the Professor had come in silently and was standing behind her. He said something low-voiced to the nurse and went to the foot of the bed. Miss Creed opened her eyes again. ‘Pleased with your handiwork?’ she asked in a woolly voice.

‘Yes, I am, Miss Creed, and you will be too in a very short time. Nurse is going to give you an injection and I should like you to go to sleep again.’

His patient submitted an arm. ‘No choice,’ she muttered, and then: ‘Don’t go, Jenny.’

‘No, Aunt Bess, I’ll be here when you wake.’

So she sat in the chair through the night’s long hours, fortified by cups of strong tea the nurses brought her from time to time, trying to keep awake in case Aunt Bess should wake and want her. But her aunt slept on and towards morning Jenny let her heavy lids drop over her tired eyes and dozed herself, to be wakened gently by the Professor’s hand on her shoulder, and his voice, very quiet in her ear. ‘Your aunt’s regaining consciousness.’ And when she sat up, her copper head tousled and no make-up left on her face at all, he whispered, ‘You’re tired. You will go to bed when your aunt has spoken to you; I would send you away now, but of course she won’t remember those few brief moments directly after the operation. You can return later on.’ And when she would have protested: ‘They will let you have a bed here for a few hours.’

It had been worth the long tedious wait. Aunt Bess opened her eyes and spoke in a normal voice. ‘Good girl,’ and then: ‘Where’s that man?’

‘Here,’ answered the Professor quietly. ‘Everything is quite satisfactory, Miss Creed. I want you to sleep as much as you can. Jenny must go to bed now, she has been up all night.’

‘We’re fond of each other,’ said Aunt Bess in a quite strong voice. ‘I’d do the same for her. But send her to bed, by all means.’ Her voice faded a little and then revived. ‘You will anyway, whatever I say.’

‘Yes. She shall come back when she has rested; you will feel more like talking then.’

Jenny found herself whisked away to an empty room in the pleasant nurses’ home adjoining the hospital. She wasn’t sure of the time, and she was too tired to care. She had a bath, drank the tea one of the nurses brought her, and fell into bed, asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.

She was wakened by one of the day Sisters. ‘Your aunt is asking for you,’ she was told. ‘I’m sorry to wake you like this, but she’s being a little difficult—you could come?’

Jenny shook the sleep from her head. ‘Yes, of course. Is she worse?’

‘No—just unable to settle and not very operative. Here’s a dressing gown and slippers—you don’t mind? We can go through the passage.’

Jenny wrapped herself in the voluminous garment, several sizes too big for her, and thrust her feet into equally large slippers and allowed herself to be led through the covered way to the hospital. ‘What’s the time?’ she asked, half way there.

‘Not quite midday. If you could persuade your aunt to have an injection… We’ll bring you a light meal and you could go to sleep again. You must be worn out.’

‘I’m fine,’ declared Jenny sturdily, and stifled a yawn as she lifted dark, delicately arched brows at the sound of her aunt’s voice, raised in wrath.

And indeed she was in an ill humour; flushed as well, sitting up against her pillows, her blue eyes brilliant under her bandaged head. ‘There you are!’ she cried imperiously. ‘And where have you been, may I ask—leaving me to these silly girls? And where’s that foreigner? I thought he was here to look after me? Heaven knows I shall be expected to pay him a king’s ransom.’

Jenny perched beside the bed. ‘I was having a nap, Aunt Bess—I sat with you during the night and I was a bit sleepy. And Professor van Draak was here for most of the night too, he must have been tired after operating. What’s worrying you, Aunt?’

Miss Creed moved her head restlessly. ‘I want to go home,’ she stated. ‘I’m sick and tired of these people, all shouting at me to have an injection; I do not want to sleep.’

Jenny sighed soundlessly. ‘Look, dear, you’ve had an operation and of course you don’t feel quite the thing, and until you have a nice long sleep you won’t feel much better. We know you don’t feel sleepy, but the injection will send you off in no time…’

‘And what’s he doing here?’ interrupted Miss Creed, looking past Jenny’s shoulder.

The Professor had loomed up beside Jenny. He said now in his calm way: ‘I’ve come to give you your injection, Miss Creed—your niece has explained why you should have it.’ He nodded to Jenny to hold her Aunt’s arm firmly and slid the needle in without further ado.

‘I’m not accustomed to being treated in this manner,’ his patient began angrily. ‘I like my own way…’

‘And so do I,’ agreed the Professor pleasantly. ‘You will feel much more yourself when you wake up—tired and not inclined to do much, but much more comfortable in your head.’

‘Bah…’ began Aunt Bess, the lids falling over her tired eyes, ‘I don’t believe…’

Jenny heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Poor dear, she must be feeling ghastly,’ she said softly, and went on sitting where she was, overcome by tiredness once more. She yawned hugely, pushed up the sleeves of the ridiculous dressing gown and lifted her arms to sweep back her tide of hair, hanging all over the place. She would have gone to sleep then and there if the Professor hadn’t said in a cold voice, ‘Go back to your bed, Miss Wren. I see that you are still in need of sleep.’ His tone was so very icy that she opened her eyes to take a look at him. His face looked icy too, the brows drawn together in a frown.

‘Fallen down on the job, have I?’ she asked pertly, tiredness forgotten for the moment in a wish to annoy him. He had been up most of the night too, but he didn’t look as though he had; he was probably one of those iron-willed men who didn’t allow himself to feel tired or happy or sad or anything else… She opened her mouth to tell him so, but yawned instead and fell asleep, sitting upright, swaying a little.

The Professor looked more annoyed than ever. ‘Will you open the door, Nurse?’ he asked the student left to sit with Miss Creed, and swept Jenny up into his arms as though she were a tiresome child and carried her back down the covered passage, to put her gently on her bed and pull the blanket over her. Jenny, dead to the world, rolled over. If she had been awake to hear his: ‘Troublesome girl, to plague me so,’ uttered in a cold voice, she would most certainly have answered him with spirit. As it was she gave a delicate snore.

CHAPTER THREE

JENNT DIDN’T WAKE until almost four o’clock and then lay for a few minutes gathering her still sleepy wits. She supposed she should get up; she had had another three hours’ sleep and possibly, if her aunt was better, she would be able to go back to Dimworth later on in the evening.

But when she found her way to Aunt Bess’s room presently, she found Sister there once more, and as she stood in the doorway, wondering if she should go in or not, she was lifted neatly out of the way by the Professor, who took no notice of her at all, but went straight to the bedside, where he bent over Miss Creed, murmuring to Sister with an infuriating softness, so that Jenny, very worried by now, couldn’t hear a word. She was on the point of asking what was the matter when he spoke without turning his head. ‘Come in, Miss Wren. I have something to say to you.’

She went to stand by him, looking first at his face and then at her aunt’s, calm and unconscious. The look on her face caused him to say quickly: ‘No need to get alarmed; your aunt has had a relapse. We’re going to give her some more blood and change the electrolytes—I think that should put things right. She hasn’t been as quiet as she should.’

‘No danger?’ asked Jenny anxiously.

‘I think not.’ He gave her a considered look and she said at once:

‘May I stay here with her? I’ve had a good sleep, perhaps if I’m here when she comes round, I could persuade her to take things easy for a few days. She’s rather strong-willed.’

He smiled faintly. ‘Sister has had quite a difficult time of it this afternoon, I’m sure she will be glad of your help.’ He glanced across the bed to where Sister stood. ‘Perhaps Miss Wren could have a meal now and relieve you and nurse? I see no reason why she shouldn’t sit up with her aunt, she has had a good rest.’

Jenny’s charming bosom swelled with indignation. A good rest, indeed! Two periods of sleep of barely three hours on top of a night sitting up in a chair after driving down from London—the man wasn’t only made of iron himself, he expected everyone else to be the same. She was willing to stay up for an endless succession of nights for Aunt Bess, she conceded illogically, but he assumed too much. She was in two minds to refuse a meal, just to show her independence, but she would probably be famished if she did. She said, outwardly meek, ‘I’ll be glad to do that, Sister, if you agree to it.’

So she was given her meal and installed in a chair by Aunt Bess’s bed, primed with instructions and with the promise of relief for half an hour round about midnight. There wasn’t much chance to sit down, though, what with half-hourly observations and keeping an eye on the drips. Adjusting them, Jenny thought that when her aunt wakened, she would want to know about those and probably do her best to remove them. Marking up her charts neatly, she sincerely hoped not.

The evening passed quietly. Aunt Bess showed no sign of rousing. The Professor arrived again about nine o’clock, this time with Doctor Toms, examined his patient, nodded distantly to Jenny and went again.

‘And good riddance,’ declared Jenny as the door shut quietly behind him, and then jumped visibly as it opened again. ‘I heard that,’ declared the Professor in his turn.

The hospital was quiet; the nights usually were, for casualties went to Yeovil and the patients, for the most part, slept for the greater part of the night. The night staff, small but efficient, managed very well, calling up the day nurses if anything dire occurred. About midnight Night Sister put her head round the door. ‘Everything OK?’ She smiled in acknowledgement of Jenny’s nod and whispered: ‘Someone will relieve you in a few minutes,’ and went her soft-footed way, to be followed almost at once by a student nurse. Jenny ate a hurried meal and went back once more and the nurse, whispering that the patient hadn’t stirred, crept away.

It was two o’clock in the morning, just as Jenny was changing a drip, that her aunt opened her eyes and said in a normal voice ‘You should be in bed,’ and then: ‘I feel a great deal better.’

‘Good,’ said Jenny, ‘and so you will if you stay very quiet, Aunt Bess. And I’ve been to bed, so don’t bother about me.’ She smiled down at her aunt, trying to be matter-of-fact and casual, because Aunt Bess hated tears or a display of emotion. ‘How about a drink?’

She was giving it when the Professor came silently into the room, smiled at his patient and put out a hand for the charts.

He studied them carefully, grunted his approval and gave them back to Jenny without looking at her. ‘You’re better,’ he told Aunt Bess, ‘well enough for me to explain why you must lie quiet for a little longer.’ And he explained very simply, in a quiet voice before adding: ‘I should like you to go to sleep again now, but if you find that impossible will you lie still and relax, then there will be no need to give you another injection at present. Your niece will prop you up a little more, I think…’

‘Don’t you go to bed either?’ asked Aunt Bess.

‘Oh, certainly.’ He smiled again and strolled to the door. ‘I’ll be in to see you again after breakfast.’ His hand was on the door handle when he said: ‘Miss Wren, will you hand me the charts? There are one or two things I should like to alter. Sister will return them presently.’ He barely glanced at her and she supposed that she deserved it.

Aunt Bess went to sleep after that, remarking with some of her old tartness that Jenny and the Professor didn’t seem to be on the best of terms, and Jenny, sitting in her chair once more, trying to keep awake for the last hours of the night, couldn’t help but agree with her.

She was in bed and asleep very soon after the day staff came on duty, so that she missed Professor van Draak’s visits in the morning, and in the afternoon he brought Sister with him, just as though Jenny were a visitor, and waited pointedly until she had gone out of the room before he examined her aunt. However, he joined her presently in the corridor, reassured her as to her aunt’s condition, gave it as his opinion that she was now out of danger, and suggested that there was no need for Jenny to stay the night. ‘I shall be passing Dimworth as I return to Doctor Toms,’ he remarked without much warmth. ‘I could give you a lift.’

It would have been nice to have refused him, but she hadn’t much choice; there would be no one free at Dimworth to fetch her and she had no intention of telephoning Toby. She thanked him with a chilliness to equal his own and went back to sit with Aunt Bess.

Her aunt didn’t seem to mind her going—indeed, she began to give a great number of messages, repeated several times in a muddled fashion, and added a list as long as her arm of tasks to be done at Dimworth, falling asleep in the middle of it. Jenny kissed the tired, still determined face and went out to where the Professor would be waiting for her. He got out and opened the car door for her and she had barely settled in her seat before he was driving away.

Jenny, having difficulty with her safety belt, said crossly: ‘You don’t like me at all, do you, Professor?’ and was furious at his laugh.

It was a nasty laugh, full of mockery and the wrong kind of amusement, and his: ‘My dear girl, you flatter yourself, and me too—I have no interest in you at all, although to be quite honest I must admit that I haven’t much time for tart young women with red hair.’

‘I expect you pride yourself on being plain-spoken,’ said Jenny sweetly. ‘I call it rude. Just by way of interest, what kind of girl do you like?’

He allowed the car to slow and shot a sidelong glance at her. ‘Tall, calm, sweet-tempered—with good looks, of course; fair hair, blue eyes, a pleasant voice…’

‘A cardboard creature,’ cried Jenny, ‘and even if you did find her, she’d be a dead bore as a wife.’A thought struck her. ‘Have you found her? Perhaps you’re married.’

‘What an impertinent girl you are.’ He spoke quite pleasantly. ‘No, I am not married. When do you intend to visit your aunt again?’

A neat snub, if ever there was one. ‘I’ll drive over after breakfast. When do you return to Holland?’

‘Wishful thinking?’ he enquired. ‘When your aunt is recovered.’

Jenny shifted in her seat, uncomfortably aware that she hadn’t expressed nearly enough gratitude. ‘Oh no…well, I’d like to thank you for what you’ve done for Aunt Bess. I know you saved her life and I’m deeply grateful—I hope it hasn’t spoilt your holiday here.’

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