“I am not one of your women!” said Katrina in a furious rush.

“Oh, no, you don’t resemble any of the girls I know—they’re slim and small and mostly plaintive.”

“I’m not surprised,” she snapped.

He had a nice laugh. “I think we’re going to enjoy getting to know each other, Kate.”

They were in Highgate Village now, close to Uncle Ben’s house, and as he slowed and stopped before its gate she had what she hoped was the last word. “Think what you like, Professor van Tellerinck, but I have no wish to get to know you.”

He only laughed again.

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.

When May Follows
Betty Neels

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

THE LONG LOW room gleamed in the firelight and the soft light from several lamps, giving a patina to the few pieces of well-polished yew and apple wood and glancing off the beams, blackened with age, which supported the ceiling. The room was full of people; the steady hum of talk and the frequent laughter witness to the success of the gathering.

The two men, latecomers, paused in the doorway to look around them and the elder of them, a short stout man with a fringe of grey hair surrounding a bald head, gave a rich chuckle. ‘Dear Alice, she only gives two parties a year, you know, and everyone for miles around comes to one or both of them.’

He turned to look at his companion, a tall man with broad shoulders but lean nonetheless, elegantly turned out too in a superbly tailored suit, which, while not drawing attention to itself in any way, caused the discerning to realise that it had cost a great deal of money. He was a handsome man too, with a narrow face and a wide forehead, dark hair silvered with grey, an aquiline nose above a firm mouth, and heavily-lidded blue eyes.

He smiled now and said in a rather sleepy voice: ‘It was good of you to bring me—I shall be delighted to meet Mrs Bennett.’

‘And her daughters,’ finished his companion, and waved to someone in the room. ‘Here’s Alice now.’

Mrs Bennett came towards them smiling; she was a small pretty woman in her mid-fifties but looking younger. She planted a kiss on the older man’s cheek and said happily: ‘Ben, how lovely!’ Her eyes took in his companion. ‘And you’ve brought someone with you.’

‘Ah, yes, my dear—may I present Professor Baron van Tellerinck,’ he added simply: ‘His name’s Raf.’

‘Dutch,’ said Mrs Bennett, and beamed at them both. ‘On account of the “van”, you know. I shall call you Raf.’ She shook hands and rambled on: ‘You sound very important—are you?’

‘Not in the least, Mrs Bennett,’ he ignored the other man’s look, ‘and I shall be delighted if you will call me Raf.’

Mrs Bennett tucked a hand into each of their arms. ‘Come and meet a few people,’ she invited. ‘I’ve three daughters and they’re all here. Ah, Ruth…my youngest—she’s just become engaged—so suitably too.’

Her daughter laughed and her mother added: ‘This is Raf, dear, he’s Dutch and says he’s not important, but I don’t believe him.’

Ruth shook hands. She was a pretty girl, on the small side, with brown curly hair and large hazel eyes. She said, ‘Hullo, Raf, nice to meet you.’ She put out a hand and caught hold of a girl on the point of passing them. ‘Here’s Jane.’

They were very alike: Jane had more vivid colouring, perhaps, but they were the same height and size. The Dutchman shook hands and they stood talking for a few minutes until Mrs Bennett said that he must meet more of her friends. ‘Katrina is around somewhere,’ she told him vaguely. ‘That’s my eldest, of course.’

She plunged into a round of introductions, saw that he had a drink and presently left him. She was back within a few minutes a tall, splendidly built girl beside her. ‘Here she is; Katrina, this is Raf, he came with Uncle Ben.’

Katrina offered a cool hand and smiled politely, and then the smile turned into a cheerful grin as she saw the look of faint surprise on his face. ‘I’m the odd one out,’ she told him. ‘Five feet ten inches and what’s known as a large lady, no one ever believes that I’m one of the family. I take after my father, he was a big man and tall, almost as tall as you.’

She waited for him to speak and when he didn’t felt disconcerted.

‘Would you like another drink? I’ll get…’

‘Thank you, no.’ His sleepy eyes were on her face, a pretty face with regular features and dark eyes, heavily fringed with long lashes. It made her feel even more disconcerted, so that she turned to the window and looked out, away from him. Outside the chilly March day was giving way to an even chillier evening; the pretty garden already glistening with a light drizzle. Katrina sighed and the Dutchman said: ‘Your English spring is unpredictable, isn’t it?’

She looked at him over her shoulder. ‘Yes, I suppose that’s why it’s so delightful—though I prefer the autumn.’

His thick brows lifted and she went on, talking at random: ‘Bonfires and apples and coming home to tea round the fire. Do you live in the country?’

‘Oh yes, and I must agree about the bonfires and the apples; unfortunately we are not addicted as a nation to taking tea round the fire. I shall have to try it.’

She decided that he was difficult to talk to and sought feverishly for another topic of conversation and failed. ‘I quite like the spring,’ she observed idiotically.

His glance was grave, but she had the strongest suspicion that he was laughing at her. ‘Ah, yes—” Oh, to be in England now that April’s there”. And a much nicer bit about May following…’

“‘And after April, when May follows, and the white-throat builds and all the swallows,’” Katrina quoted.

‘You like Browning?’

‘Well, yes, though I’m not all that keen on poetry.’ She answered warily; if he was going to throw an Anthology of English Verse at her she was sunk. She said quickly: ‘Do you have any Dutch poets?’

‘Several, but none of them are much good at writing about the weather.’

She saw the smile at the corner of his firm mouth and thanked heaven silently as someone called her from across the room. ‘Oh, there’s someone…shall I introduce you to…?’

She looked up into his face and saw his eyes twinkling. ‘I’m very happy to remain here. I enjoyed our little talk about the weather—to be expected, of course—an English topic and so safe.’

Katrina felt her face pinken and was annoyed; he was laughing at her again and because he was a guest she couldn’t tell him what she thought of him. She looked down her beautiful straight nose and said coldly: ‘I hope you enjoy the rest of your visit to England, Professor,’ and left him, feeling surprise at her feeling of regret that she would never see the tiresome man again. Just so that I could take him down a peg, she told herself as she joined a group of young people all talking at once. Their conversation seemed a little brash after the Professor’s measured observations, but then of course he was much older; at least thirty-six or seven; she would find out from Uncle Ben.

It was later, when all the guests had gone and they were sitting round the fire drinking tea and eating the left-overs from the party for their supper, that Ruth observed: ‘That was quite someone—the man Uncle Ben brought with him. If I weren’t engaged to Edward I could go for him—he’s a bit old, though.’

Katrina, to her surprise, found herself protesting. ‘Not all that old, love. I daresay he’s on the wrong side of thirty-five…’

‘He’s thirty-eight,’ said her mother, ‘I asked Ben. What were you talking about, Kate?’

‘The weather.’ Three pairs of blue eyes looked at her in surprise, and she frowned. ‘Well,’ she muttered, ‘I’m so large—men don’t chat up big women…’

‘But you looked quite small beside him,’ comforted her mother, ‘and it must have been very nice for him not to have to bend double in order to talk to someone.’ She looked puzzled. ‘But the weather, darling?’

‘I found him difficult to talk to.’ Katrina yawned. ‘Let’s do the washing up and then I’m for bed; I must be off early in the morning.’

‘When is your next holiday, dear?’ Her mother piled cups and saucers and smiled across at her.

‘Well, I can’t be quite certain; Uncle Ben’s got a backlog as long as my arm and as fast as there are a couple of beds empty they’re filled by emergencies. I expect I’ll wait until he’s worked off most of his cases and decides to take a holiday himself.’

Katrina got to her feet and carried the tray down the stone-flagged passage to the kitchen where Amy, who had been with the family since she could remember, sat dozing by the Aga. She woke up as Katrina went in and said crossly: ‘Now, Miss Kate, there’s no call for you to be doing that.’ She got out of her chair, a small round person with a sharp nose and small boot-button eyes.

Katrina put the tray down and gave Amy a hug. ‘Go on with you!’ she declared robustly. ‘I’ve been standing around all the evening; a bit of washing up is just the exercise I need. Go to bed, Amy dear, do, and for heaven’s sake call me in good time in the morning.’

Amy made only a token remonstrance. ‘And you’ll not go before you’ve had one of my breakfasts,’ she declared. She sniffed. ‘I daresay they starve you at that hospital.’

Katrina peered down at her splendidly proportioned person. ‘Not so’s it shows,’ she observed.

She left soon after eight o’clock, driving herself in her rather battered Mini. The rain had ceased and it was a chilly morning with a pale sky holding a promise of spring. The house, standing back from the narrow street, looked delightful in the clear light, its grey stone walls softened by the ivy climbing them, its garden showing colour here and there where the daffodils were beginning to open; Katrina was reluctant to leave it and still more reluctant to leave her mother and sisters; they had always got on well, doubly so now that her father was dead. She waved to the various heads hanging from windows and turned into the street. There was no one much about; she passed the boys’ school and turned into the main street through the town and presently joined the A30. London wasn’t all that distance away and she had all the morning. She slowed through Shaftesbury and took the Salisbury road; she had done the trip so often that she knew just where she could push the little car to its limit and where it was better to slow down. She had time in hand by the time she reached Salisbury, and once through it, she stopped at Winterslow and had coffee, and not long after that she was on the M3, on the last leg of her journey.

Benedict’s was an old hospital in name but very modern in appearance. The original building, empty now and awaiting demolition, lay on the north side of the river, strangled by narrow streets of ugly little houses, but now it was housed in a magnificent building, very impressive to look at, and fitted out with everything modern science could conceive of. It was a pity that there wasn’t enough money left to staff it fully, especially as the nurses complained that it took them all their time to get from one part of the building to the other, for its corridors were endless and staff weren’t supposed to use the lifts.

Katrina, in charge of the men’s surgical ward on the fourth floor, glanced up as she swept the Mini into the forecourt and housed it in the roomy garage to one side. It would be take-in week in the morning, she remembered: The ward had been full when she had left two days ago for her days off. Just for a moment she thought longingly of her home in the placid little Dorset town, which only bustled into life once a week on market day, but she had chosen to be a nurse and to train at a London teaching hospital, and she loved her work enough to stay in the city even though she disliked its rush and hurry.

She got her bag from the boot and crossed to the side entrance, to climb to the second floor and cross by the covered bridge to the nurses’ home. She had a bed-sitting room there in the airy corridor set aside for the ward Sisters with its own door to shut them away from the student nurses, and a tiny kitchen as well as a generous supply of bathrooms, and above all, it held a nice sense of privacy. Katrina unlocked her door and went in. She had time enough to change, time to go to lunch if she wished, but she wasn’t hungry; she set about the business of turning herself from a well-dressed young woman to a uniformed ward Sister, and while she did it, thought about the man Uncle Ben had brought with him to last night’s party. She hadn’t meant to think about him, and it annoyed her that somehow he had managed to pop into her head and wouldn’t be dismissed. She forgot him presently, though, going back on duty a little early so that she could have a cup of tea before plunging into the rest of the day’s work.

The ward was still full; true, two patients had gone home, but three had been admitted, which meant that there was already one bed in the middle of the ward and with take-in imminent, it would certainly be joined by several more.

Her senior staff nurse, Julie Friend, was on duty and Katrina breathed a sigh of relief; her second staff nurse, Moira Adams, was a tiresome creature, a self-important know-all, who bullied the nurses whenever she had the chance and irritated the patients, Katrina found her much more trying than all the patients put together and had told her so on various occasions, she had told the Senior Nursing Officer too, and that lady, although sympathetic, had pointed out that Adams would be leaving in a couple of months’ time to take up a post in a surgical ward and she needed all the experience she could get. Katrina had thrust out her lower lip at that and wanted to know why the girl couldn’t be transferred to the female block, only to be told that Adams would ride roughshod over Sister Jenkins. Which was true enough; Jilly Jenkins was a small sweet person and a splendid nurse, but she could be bullied…

Julie Friend was a different kettle of fish entirely. Katrina gave her a wide smile as she came in with the tea tray and put it on the desk, and Julie returned it. She was a pretty girl, good at her job and popular, and saving hard to get married. Katrina, in her rare fits of depression, envied her wholeheartedly; Julie’s Bill was a nice young man, a chemist in the hospital pharmacy and neither he nor Julie had any doubts about their future together, whereas Katrina had to admit to herself that she had any number of doubts about her own. She had had the opportunity enough to marry; she was a striking-looking girl and besides that, she had a little money of her own, a wide circle of the right kind of friends, and a comfortable home. She was quite a catch; it was a pity that those who had wanted to catch her were all small men. She hadn’t had deep feelings about any of them, but she wondered from time to time if one of them had looked down at her instead of up, if she would have accepted him.

She poured their tea and listened to Julie’s careful report, and after that, as Julie tactfully put it, there were one or two things…

They took half an hour to sort out: the laundry cutting up rough about extra sheets; the pharmacy being nasty about a prescription they couldn’t read, the CSU calling down doom upon her head because a pair of forceps were missing from one of the dressing packs, and one of the part-time nurses unable to come because of measles at home. Katrina dealt with them all in a calm manner and turned her attention to Julie’s report again. Old Mr Crewe, who had been admitted as an emergency hernia four days ago and not quite himself after the operation, had been making both day and night hideous with his noisy demands for beer. Julie had reported that she had allowed him one with his lunch and been told, for her pains, that he had three or four pints at midday and the same again in the evening. Katrina chuckled and then frowned; she would have to think of something. She twitched her cap straight and got up to do a round.

It was one of the quietest times of the day; dinners were over and visitors wouldn’t be coming just yet, the men were dozing or reading their papers or carrying on desultory conversations. Katrina went from bed to bed, stopping to chat with their occupants, filling in a pools coupon for a young man who had his right arm heavily bandaged, listening with patience and every appearance of interest while someone read her a long account of startling goings-on as reported in one of the more sensational newspapers; some of the patients were sleeping and two were still not quite round from anaesthetics. She checked their conditions carefully, gave soft-voiced instructions to one of the student nurses, and went on her way unhurriedly. She never appeared to hurry, and yet, as one nurse had observed to another, she was always there when she was needed.

Her round almost over, she tackled Mr Crewe, eyeing her belligerently from his bed. ‘And what’s all this about beer?’ she asked composedly.

She let the old man have his say and then said reasonably: ‘Well, you know if you have eight or nine pints of beer each day, we simply can’t afford to keep you here. Have you anyone at home to look after you?’

‘Me wife.’

‘Anyone else?’

‘I’ve got a daughter lives close by. Sensible she is, not like the old girl.’

Katrina thought for a bit. ‘Look, let’s make a bargain; you can have a pint at dinner time and another with your supper and I’ll see if we can get you home a couple of days earlier. Mind you, you’ll have to behave yourself.’

His promise was of the piecrust variety, she knew that, but at least it meant temporary peace.

A peace they needed during the next few days; it seemed as though everyone in the vicinity of the hospital was bent on falling off ladders, tripping over pavements or being nudged by buses. Usually there were broken bones involved, but for some reason this week it was cuts and bruises and concussion, so that none of the victims went to the orthopaedic block but arrived with monotonous regularity in the surgical ward.

It was on the last day on take-in, with the cheering prospect of Mr Crewe going home very shortly and a hard week’s work behind them all, when things began to go wrong. Julie went off sick for a start, which meant that Katrina wouldn’t be able to have her days off and Moira Adams, taking advantage of Julie’s absence and Katrina’s preoccupation with her patients, began chivvying the junior nurses. Katrina, coming upon a tearful girl behind the sluice door, had to take Moira into her office and rake her down, pointing out as she did so that she was having to waste time which could have been spent to much greater advantage on the patients. Moira pouted and argued until Katrina said sharply, ‘That’s enough, Staff, you should know better, and you’ll never get anyone to work for you if you bully them.’ She glanced at her watch and saw with relief that it was after five o’clock and Moira was due off duty—better still, she had days off as well. Katrina felt relief flood through her, but none of it showed; she said with quiet authority: ‘Go off duty, Staff.’

It was lucky that she had two second-year student nurses on duty, both good hard-working girls, as well as the tearful little creature who was still apparently in the sluice. Katrina swept through the ward, her eyes everywhere; nothing seemed amiss. She reached the sluice and found Nurse James, washing a red, puffy face under the cold water tap. ‘The thing is,’ began Katrina without preamble, ‘you have to learn not to mind, Nurse James. There’ll always be someone you can’t see eye to eye with, someone who’ll try and upset you. Well, don’t let them—you’re a very junior nurse at present, but if you work hard you’ll be a good one one day and these upsets will have been worth while. Now come into the ward with me; we’re going to do the medicine round together.’

The evening went swiftly after that, there was so much to do: cases from the morning’s list needing to be settled; dressed in their own pyjamas again, given drinks, gently washed and when they could be, sat up. The four of them had to work hard but by first supper, Katrina was able to send the two senior girls to their meal; there was only one case which bothered her and she had already sent a message to the registrar to come and see the man the moment that he was free. The man had been admitted that morning after an accident in which he had had an arm crushed so badly that it had been amputated. He had come round nicely from the an-aesthetic and the surgeon had seen him and pronounced himself satisfied, and although Katrina could see nothing wrong she thought that the man looked far more poorly than he should. It was no joke, losing an arm, but he was a powerfully built young man and healthy. They had settled him nicely against his pillows and he had had a cup of tea and the drip was running well. All the same she was uneasy. Leaving Nurse James to trot round the ward, making sure that the men were comfortable, she went along to write the report in her office, only to go back again to the man’s bedside on the pretext of checking his chart. He looked worse, so much so that she drew the curtains around the bed and bent over him with a cheerful: ‘Sorry to disturb you, I just want to make sure that your dressing’s nice and firm, still.’

The dressing was all right, but there was an ominous red stain seeping through the bandage. There was a tray on the locker by the bed with everything needed for just such a happening. Katrina put on a pad and bandage, binding it firmly and pretended to adjust the drip while she watched. Something was very wrong; already the blood was oozing through the package she had only just put on.

‘How do you feel?’ she asked the man. ‘There’s a little bleeding and you may feel a bit faint, but it’s nothing to worry about.’ She smiled reassuringly at him and called softly: ‘Nurse James!’

She was busy re-packing yet again when she heard the girl behind her. ‘Go to the office, please, Nurse,’ she said in her usual unhurried manner, ‘and tell the porter to get Mr Reynolds at once. He must come here immediately. Tell them it’s urgent. If he’s not available then any house surgeon will do. Be quick and come back as fast as you can.’ She hadn’t turned round, she heard Nurse James say: ‘Yes, Sister,’ and added: ‘Is the ward OK?’

‘Quite OK,’ said Uncle Ben from behind her. ‘In trouble, Sister?’

She was applying pressure now and didn’t look up. Dear Uncle Ben, arriving just when she needed him most. ‘An amputation this morning; he recovered well, but his blood pressure has been dropping very slowly. Mr Reynolds came to see him this afternoon and found everything satisfactory. This has just started—five—six minutes ago.’

Uncle Ben gave a little cough. ‘Well, we’d better have a quick look—got some forceps handy?’

She turned back the towel covering the tray and was on the point of taking up the scissors when a large hand took them from her.

‘That’s right, Raf—let’s get this off and see the damage. Sister, send your nurse to theatre and tell them I want it ready in five minutes. I shall want four litres of blood too—get on to the Path Lab, will you?’

Nurse James had come back with the news that there was a major accident just in and there was no one available right away. ‘Never mind, Nurse—Sir Benjamin is here, so we’re all right. Now go to theatre, will you…’ She passed on Uncle Ben’s wishes and turned back to the patient. He was semi-conscious by now and the bandages and dressing were off. ‘Dear, dear,’ observed Uncle Ben in his mildest voice. ‘Apply pressure, Sister, will you? Raf, can you get at it with the forceps while I swab?’

Professor van Tellerinck, in waistcoat and shirt sleeves, somehow contrived to look elegant despite the messy job he was doing. He was very efficient too; Katrina’s head was almost fully occupied with what she was doing, but a tiny corner of it registered that fact, and another one too, that she was pleased to see him again, which seemed strange since she hadn’t liked him over-much. Probably it was just relief at his timely help. He hadn’t spoken to her, indeed, she wasn’t sure that he had even looked at her; in the circumstances that was to be expected. He had found the slipped ligature and had put on a Spencer Wells and the two men were carefully checking that there was no further trouble.

Uncle Ben unbent slowly. ‘Something big in the Accident Room, did I hear Nurse say? In that case, Raf, be good enough to give me a hand, will you?’

The theatre trolley and the two student nurses arrived together. Katrina told one of them to go with the patient to theatre and with the help of the other nurse, started to clear up; it took some time to get everything clean and ready for the man’s return and it was time for the nurses to go off duty when they had done. Katrina sent them away and greeted the night nurses with the suggestion that they should get started with their evening routine while she got down to the report. She had written it, read it to the night staff nurse and was back in her office when the patient came back, and because the two nurses were changing a dressing and there was no one else available, she saw him safely back into his bed, still groggy from the anaesthetic. She was checking the drip when Uncle Ben arrived and wanted to know why she was still there and when she explained, he gave a snort of impatience and walked off to the Office to telephone.

Katrina hadn’t realised that the Professor was there too, standing quietly watching her. His silence was a little unnerving, and, as she knew that despite the fact that she had cleaned herself up as best she could she looked a mess, her pretty features assumed a haughtiness which sat ill upon them.

‘I wouldn’t have believed it,’ observed the Professor suddenly. ‘When we met I assumed you to be a young lady of leisure with nothing more on her mind than the latest fashions and the current boy-friend.’

She gave him a cross look and said peevishly: ‘Indeed? Just as I was amazed to find that you were a surgeon.’

He looked amused. ‘Oh, should I look like one?’

She ignored that. ‘I had the strong impression that you did nothing at all.’

‘Oh, dear—we seem to have started off on the wrong foot, don’t we?’

Several rather pert answers flashed through her tired mind. Luckily she had no opportunity of uttering any of them, for Mr Crewe, his supper pint already forgotten, was demanding more beer. ‘Excuse me,’ said Katrina austerely, and went into the ward to do battle, telling the junior night nurse to stay with the man until he was quite round from his anaesthetic. She subdued Mr Crewe quietly but briskly, did a quick round to wish her patients goodnight and went back to the Office, where she tidied her desk and thought about the Professor. She had to admit that she had been surprised to discover that he was a surgeon, he had given all the appearance of the man of leisure and she had gained the impression, quite erroneously, as it had turned out, that he was—well, lazy, at least easygoing, but he had done a very neat job without fuss. And so he ought, if he’s anything of a surgeon, she muttered to herself as she swept the last lot of papers into a drawer, yawning widely as she did so; it had been a long day.

And not over yet, it seemed. Uncle Ben, coming in as she was on the point of going out, stopped her with a brisk: ‘Finished, Kate? You’ll have had no supper, I’ll be bound—I’ll take you back with me for a meal. Go and clean yourself up and be downstairs in ten minutes.’

Professor van Tellerinck had followed her uncle. He was leaning against the wall now, smiling a little, which needled her so much that she said far too quickly. ‘That’s awfully kind of you, Uncle Ben, but I can get something on my way to the home. It’s far too late to bother Aunt Lucy. Will the man do?’

‘I think so. We found another slipped ligature, but he’s well and truly tied now. By the way, I asked Night Sister to send someone along to keep an eye on him for a few hours. Now hurry up, girl, or your aunt will nag me.’

Katrina chuckled. Aunt Lucy was a dear little dumpling of a woman who had never nagged anyone in her life; she had the kindest of hearts and a sunny disposition and spoilt Uncle Ben quite shamelessly.

‘All right, I’d love to come if I won’t be a nuisance.’

She parted with the two men at the ward doors, sternly recommended by Uncle Ben not to be more than the time he had stated, and not quite sure whether she should say goodbye to his companion or not. She compromised with a social smile and a little nod.

She showered and changed into a silk blouse and a pleated skirt and topped them with a thick knitted jacket. With her hair unpinned from the rather severe style she wore under her cap, and hanging about her shoulders, she looked prettier than ever, but she wasted little time on either her face or her hair. With barely a minute to spare she raced through the hospital to the front entrance, to find Uncle Ben there and the Dutchman as well. She wasn’t sure if she was pleased or annoyed about that, but she was given no time to decide. Uncle Ben caught her by the arm and hurried her across the courtyard to fetch up beside a Bentley Corniche.

Katrina, breathing rather rapidly because she had had to hurry, and looking quite magnificent, let out a loud sigh.

‘Uncle Ben, is it yours? It’s super!’

‘Don’t be a fool, my dear, it’s Raf’s.’

She glanced at the Dutchman and found him watching her, his sleepy eyes alert beneath their lids. She said rather lamely: ‘Oh, how nice,’ and watched his smile as he opened the door and ushered her into the front seat. Probably he drove abominably, she told herself as Uncle Ben made himself comfortable in the back and the Professor got behind the wheel. But he didn’t, he drove superbly, placidly unconcerned with the traffic around them, taking advantage of every foot of space, using the big car’s power to slide past everything else. Katrina allowed herself to relax thankfully and just for a moment closed her eyes.

‘Never tell me you’re tired,’ murmured the Professor in a hatefully soft voice, ‘a great strapping girl like you.’

‘I am not…’ began Katrina in a strangled voice, and stopped; he was trying to make her lose her temper, and she wasn’t going to. ‘You’re not exactly a lightweight yourself,’ she observed sweetly.

‘For which I am profoundly thankful,’ he assured her. ‘I like to look down on my women.’

‘I am not,’ said Katrina in a furious rush, ‘one of your women!’

‘Oh, no, you don’t resemble any of the girls I know—they’re slim and small and mostly plaintive.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ she snapped, ‘if they know you.’

He had a nice laugh. ‘I think we’re going to enjoy getting to know each other, Kate.’

They were in Highgate Village now, close to Uncle Ben’s house, and as he slowed and stopped before its gate she had what she hoped was the last word. ‘Think what you like, Professor van Tellerinck, but I have no wish to get to know you.’

He only laughed again.

CHAPTER TWO

UNCLE BEN’S HOUSE was a Regency villa standing in its own immaculately kept garden, well back from the road. Aunt Lucy flung the door wide as they got out of the car and began to speak almost before they had got within earshot.

‘Katrina, how lovely—your supper’s waiting for you. Ben dear, how fortunate that it was something I was able to keep hot. Raf, you must be famished!’

She bustled them through the hall and into the sitting-room, furnished with easy chairs and sofas and a number of small tables, loaded down with knitting, books and newspapers. ‘Mary’s just dishing up—you’ll have time for a drink.’

Katrina had her coat whisked from her and was sat in a chair and a drink put into her hand. ‘Ben said on the phone that you’ve had a busy evening,’ went on Aunt Lucy, happily unaware of what the business entailed. ‘I was a bit put out when the men were called away just as we were about to sit down to table, but this makes up for it. How is your dear mother?’

The men had taken their drinks to the wide french window at the end of the room after responding suitably to Aunt Lucy’s greeting, and now she cast them an indulgent glance. ‘I suppose they’ll mull over whatever it was for the rest of the evening, which means that we can have a nice gossip.’

Aunt Lucy’s voice was soothing and the sherry gave Katrina an uplift she badly needed, and by some domestic magic conjured up by the cook, the meal which they sat down to presently was delicious. Katrina, thoroughly famished, fell to with a good appetite, avoiding the Professor’s eye and only addressing him directly when he spoke to her.

Which wasn’t often, and then with a casual politeness which she found annoying, despite the fact that she had decided that she really didn’t like him at all. She was taken completely off guard presently, when, dinner over and coffee drunk in the sitting room, she murmured to her aunt that she would have to go. The two men were standing together, discussing some case or other, but the Professor interrupted what he was saying to observe;

‘I’ll run you back, Katrina.’

‘There’s no need, thank you—I’ll get a taxi.’

‘I have to go back anyway to pick up some instruments.’ He spoke blandly, ignoring her reply, and Aunt Lucy at once backed him up.

‘Well, of course, if you’re really going that way—so much nicer than a taxi at this time of night, Kate—someone to talk to, as well,’ she added happily.

Katrina thought of that remark ten minutes later, sitting beside the Professor in the Bentley, trying hard to think of some topic of conversation. She scowled horribly when he observed placidly: ‘Considering that it will be April in a few days’ time, the evenings are surprisingly chilly.’

‘Why are you in England?’ asked Katrina, not bothering with the weather.

‘Interested? I’m flattered. Your uncle and I are old friends—he knew my father well. When I come to England I like to see him.’

Which hadn’t answered her question. ‘You’re a surgeon, too?’

‘Yes.’ He turned the car into the hospital yard and parked it. ‘No, stay there,’ he told her, and got out and opened the door for her. ‘Such a pleasant evening,’ he murmured. ‘Goodnight, Kate.’

She suspected that he was amused about something again. Her goodnight was civil but nothing more. Going slowly up the stairs of the nurses’ home to her room, she reflected that she wouldn’t see him again and was surprised at her glum feelings about that. She had hoped, with conventional politeness, that he would enjoy the rest of his stay in England, and all he had said was that he was quite sure that he would.

‘Oh, well,’ she said crossly as she opened her door, ‘who cares? I shan’t be seeing him again, anyway.’

She saw him the very next afternoon. It had been a simply beastly morning, with Mr Knowles doing a round of his six beds and spinning it out to a quite unnecessary length of time, so that dinners were late, nurses didn’t get off duty on time, and Katrina herself had had to be content with cheese sandwiches and a pot of tea in the office. And if that wasn’t enough, she had been waylaid by Jack Bentall, one of the house surgeons, and badgered into a reluctant promise to go out to dinner with him in a couple of days’ time. Despite the fact that she had never encouraged him, he waylaid her on every possible occasion, making no secret of his feelings, even allowing it to be bruited around that she was quite bowled over by him. Katrina had never lacked for invitations; she was a delightful companion and sufficiently lovely for men to like to be seen out with her, but she had never taken any of them seriously. For one thing, as she had pointed out so many times to her mother and sisters, she was so large…

But Jack Bentall didn’t seem to mind that; he was a rather short, thickset young mam, and conceited, and nothing Katrina could say would convince him that she didn’t care two straws for him. Usually she fobbed him off, but today she had been tired and put out and had lost some of her fire, and even though she regretted it bitterly already, she was far too honest to invent an excuse at the last minute. But it would be the last time, she promised herself, as she gobbled up the sandwiches and went back to the ward.

The nurses were tidying beds before the visitors were admitted and had prudently left Mr Crewe until the last. They had just reached him as Katrina opened the doors and her ears were assailed at once by his voice raised in anger. ‘A pint ain’t enough,’ he bellowed. ‘I wants me usual—’alf an alf an’ a couple more ter settle the first pint.’

‘You’ll be lucky,’ observed Katrina,’ and I thought you wanted to go home? Here you are lying in bed—if you’re not well enough to sit out in your chair, Mr Crewe, then you’re not well enough to have a pint of beer. You promised me…’

‘Pah,’ said Mr Crewe grumpily, ‘I want ter go ‘ome.’

‘Yes, I know that, Mr Crewe, and I promised you that you should go a day or two earlier if you kept your side of the bargain—which you’re not.’

Mr Crewe opened his mouth to say, ‘Pah,’ again and changed it to, ‘Oo’s that—I see’d ‘im yesterday…’

He was staring down the ward, for the moment forgetful of his beer. ‘Big chap,’ he added, and Katrina’s head, before she could stop it, shot round to take a look. Professor Baron van Tellerinck, no less, coming round to take a look down the ward with unhurried calm. He wished her good afternoon gravely, and just as gravely greeted Mr Crewe, who said rudely: “ullo—’oo are you?’

‘A colleague of Sir Benjamin,’ the Professor told him equably, ‘and as I have business with Sister I’m sure you will do as you are asked and sit in your chair and—er—keep quiet.’

And much to Katrina’s astonishment, Mr Crewe meekly threw back the bedclothes and got into the dressing gown one of the nurses was holding.

‘You wished to see a patient?’ asked Katrina, at her most professional.

‘Please. Sir Benjamin can’t get away from theatre at present, he asked me if I would check up on Mr Miles.’

She liked him for that; so many surgeons came on to the ward and asked: ‘Sister, I’d like to see that gastric ulcer you admitted,’ or: ‘How is that lacerated hand doing?’ for all the world as if the ward beds were occupied by various portions of anatomy and not people.

‘He’s coming along nicely,’ she observed, quite forgetting to be stiff. ‘His BPs down and he’s eating well. We’ve had him out of bed for a little while this morning.’

The Professor spent five minutes or so with the patient, expressed himself satisfied with his progress, wished him a polite good day, and started up the ward towards the office. ‘If I might just write up the notes?’ he enquired, and when she opened the door and then turned to go: ‘Please stay, Sister.’

So she stayed, waiting silently while he scrawled on the chart, added his initials and then got to his feet. ‘Doing anything this evening?’ he asked her.

‘Me?’ she was so surprised that she had no words for a moment. ‘I’m off at five o’clock,’ she added stupidly.

‘Yes, I know that,’ and when her eyes looked a question, ‘I looked in the off duty book on my way in,’ he explained blandly, and waited for her to answer.

‘Well…’ she paused. ‘It’s very kind of you, but I’m not sure…’

He interrupted her: ‘That’s why it would be a good idea if we got to know each other,’ he observed placidly. A remark which left her totally bewildered, and before she could answer: ‘There’s a rather nice place in Ebury Street we might go to—a bistro, perhaps you know of it?’

She shook her head, still trying to think of something to say.

‘La Poule au Pot, although you might prefer to go somewhere else?’

She found herself saying just as meekly as Mr Crewe had acted: ‘It sounds very nice. Is it a dressy place?’

He smiled, ‘No, I think not,’ and watched her, still smiling while one corner of her brain was turning over her wardrobe for a suitable dress. ‘I’m sure you’re thinking that you’ll have nothing to wear, women always do, don’t they? I’m equally sure that you have. Shall we say seven o’clock at the entrance.’

He smiled again as he left the office, leaving Katrina to wonder if she had actually said that she would go out with him. She didn’t think that she had, but it was a little too late for that now.

She got off duty late; it had been that sort of a day, and her nerves were jangling with a desire to allow her ill humour to have full rein, instead of having to present a calm good-tempered face to patients and nurses alike. But a leisurely bath did her a power of good, by the time she had found a dress to her liking—a sapphire blue silk jersey, very simply cut—done her hair in a low roll round her head in an Edwardian hair-style, and got into a pair of high-heeled black patent shoes, she felt quite herself again. She picked up a velvet jacket and took a last look at herself in the mirror. For some reason she wanted to look nice this evening; she had told herself that it was because she didn’t like the Professor, which to her at least made sense in a roundabout way, and at least, she told herself as she started downstairs, she could wear high-heeled shoes without being in danger of towering over her escort.

She was ten minutes late, but he was waiting for her with no sign of impatience, only smiled gently as he glanced at her from hooded eyes.

‘Ah, the wardrobe wasn’t quite empty, I see.’

Katrina found herself smiling too and uttered her thought out loud without thinking. ‘You have no idea how nice it is to go out with someone who’s taller than I—even in low heels I loom over most people.’

He glanced down at her elegant feet on their three-inch heels. ‘I have the same difficulty, only in reverse; I find it so tiresome to bend double each time I want to mutter sweet nothings into my companion’s ear.’

‘Well, you won’t need to worry about that,’ declared Katrina sharply.

‘Oh, I wasn’t,’ he told her silkily as he opened the car door. ‘I need only bend my head to you, Kate.’

She peeped at him to see if he was laughing, but he looked quite serious and she frowned; it was a remark which she found difficult to answer, so she said nothing, but got into the car, to be instantly lulled by its comfort as they edged into the evening traffic, and her feeling of pleasure increased as they went along; it was decidedly pleasant to be driven in a shining black Bentley towards a good meal. Moreover, the Professor was laying himself out to be pleasant, talking about nothing much in an amusing manner; she almost liked him.

She wondered later, as she got ready for bed, what exactly she had expected of their evening, but whatever it was, it hadn’t happened. Her host had been charming in a coolly friendly way and they had talked… She stopped to remember what they had talked about—everything under the sun, and yet she knew nothing about him, for he had taken care not to tell her anything and when she had asked from which part of Holland he came, he had said merely that his family came from the north—Friesland, but he lived within striking distance of Leiden. Whether he was married or no, she had no idea, and although it had been on the tip of her tongue to ask just that, she had stopped herself just in time. She had, she reflected as she brushed her hair, absolutely no reason for wishing to know.

The restaurant had been charming, cosy and warm, with blazing fires at either end of the quite small room and soft candlelight to eat their dinner by. And the food had been delicious; smoked salmon, noisettes d’agneau Beauharnais with artichoke hearts and pommes de terre Berny, followed by a purée of sweet chestnuts with whipped cream. Katrina smacked her lips at the thought of them and jumped into bed. They had sat over their meal and it was past midnight now, but the evening had flown and when she had said goodbye to him at the hospital entrance, she had felt regret that it couldn’t last longer. Perhaps, she mused sleepily, she rather liked him after all. ‘Such a pity,’ she muttered, ‘because I’ll never know now; he didn’t say he wanted to see me again. I expect he was being polite because he knows Uncle Ben.’

If the Professor was being polite then he was carrying it to excess. He accompanied Uncle Ben on his round the next day and when Katrina escorted them to the ward door and took a formal leavetaking of them, he asked her, with Uncle Ben looking on, if she would care to go to the theatre with him that evening.

Katrina’s mouth was forming ‘No,’ even as her heart sang ‘Yes,’ but she had no chance to utter, for Uncle Ben said at once: ‘What a splendid idea—just what you need, Kate, after a hard day’s grind.’ He asked the Professor: ‘What’s on?’

‘I’ve got tickets for The King and I.’ The hooded eyes were on Katrina’s face. ‘That is, if Kate would like to see it?’

A show she had wanted to see more than anything else, but how could he possibly know that?

‘Going all tarted up?’ enquired Uncle Ben with interest.

‘Er—I thought we might have supper and perhaps dance afterwards.’

My almost new organza, thought Katrina wildly, and those satin sandals. Aloud she said: ‘Well, I don’t know…’

‘Rubbish,’ said Uncle Ben stoutly. ‘You know you like dancing, Kate.’

The two of them stared at her without saying anything more, so that in sheer self-defence she said: ‘Well, it would be nice…thank you.’

‘Half past seven at the entrance,’ said the Professor briskly. ‘We’ll just have time for a drink and a bite to eat before the theatre.’

She asked meekly: ‘And am I to come all tarted up?’

‘Oh, definitely—that’s if you feel like it…’ He was laughing at her again, although his face was bland.

‘Well, that’s settled, then,’ declared Uncle Ben. ‘Raf, there’s that woman I want you to see—the accident that came in during the night…’

Katrina excused herself and left them deep in some surgical problem. She had problems of her own; it was so much simpler to either like or dislike someone, but with the Professor she was unable to make up her mind. Most of the time, she had to admit, she liked him very much, but every now and then he annoyed her excessively. She went back into the ward and found to her annoyance that Jack Bentall had come in through the balcony doors and was doing a round with Julie. He had, he explained carefully, one or two things to write up for Mr Knowles and could he use her office for a few minutes, and as Julie left them: ‘You haven’t forgotten that we’re going out tomorrow evening?’ he asked her, looking quite revoltingly smug. She had, but she was too kind-hearted to say so.

He was disposed to linger, hinting at the delights of their evening out so that she had to draw his attention to several jobs awaiting her. He had looked at her like a small spoilt boy and said grumpily: ‘Oh, well, don’t let me keep you…’

She wished with all her heart that she had refused his invitation in the first place. She had been a fool, but there was no help for it, she would go, but for the last time, she promised herself, and then forgot all about him, going from one patient to the next, adjusting drips, checking dressings, making sure that BPs had been taken on time.

She was a little absentminded at dinner time and her friends wanted to know why, and when she shook her head and denied it, Joan Cox from Women’s Surgical said vigorously: ‘I bet our Kate’s got herself a date with that super man who’s doing the rounds with Sir Benjamin,’ and the entire table gave a howl of laughter when Katrina went a delicate pink.

‘Didn’t I say so?’ cried Joan triumphantly, and then thoughtfully: ‘You went out yesterday evening too.’

‘Well, yes, I did—just to a bistro…’

‘And is it to be a bistro tonight?’ several voices chorused.

‘The King and I.’ Katrina poured tea from the large pot just put on the table.

‘And dinner afterwards, I expect, and a spot of dancing?’

‘Well, the Professor did say something about it…’

There was another howl of laughter. ‘Kate, you don’t call him Professor, do you? What’s his name—what do you talk about?’

‘The weather,’ said Katrina guilelessly.

The afternoon went quickly. She handed over to Julie at five o’clock, did a final round to wish the patients goodnight, and went off duty. She had plenty of time, time to lie for ages in the bath, make up her lovely face at her leisure and wind her hair into its intricate chignon before putting on the organza dress. It was a lovely thing, patterned in shades of amber and brown with a square yoke and a waist tied by long satin ribbons, its balloon sleeves ending in tight bands at her elbows. Her slippers were exactly right with it, as was the brown marabou stole she dug out from the back of the wardrobe.

He had said half past seven, and she took care to be on time this evening, even though she was held up for a few minutes by some of her friends who had come to inspect her outfit. Their cheerful teasing voices followed her down the stairs and then were abruptly shut off by the nurses’ home door. It was quiet as she went through the hospital corridors: it was visiting time again and nurses would be at first supper while the rest finished the tidying up for the day. The sudden lack of voices worried her. Supposing he wasn’t there? Supposing she had made a mistake in the evening—supposing he hadn’t meant it? All silly ideas, but all the same they loomed large. Just until she came in sight of the entrance, to see him standing there, enormous, reassuringly calm and very elegant indeed.

His hullo was friendly, as was his: ‘How charming you look, Katrina, and punctual too.’

She wondered fleetingly if he said that to all the girls he took out, for undoubtedly there must be girls… She said, ‘Thank you,’ in a guarded tone, and he laughed and said ruefully: ‘It doesn’t matter what I say, does it? You see a hidden meaning in every word I utter.’

They were walking to the car, but now she stopped. ‘Look, we can’t possibly start the evening like this— I—didn’t mean…that is, I was only wondering if you said that to all the girls you take out.’

‘Would you mind if I said yes?’

She said haughtily: ‘Of course not,’ and spoilt it by asking: ‘Do you go out a great deal?’

They were in the car now, but he hadn’t started the engine. ‘Yes, quite a bit, but work comes first. What about you, Katrina?’

‘Well, I go out—I like my work too,’ she added with a bit of a rush.

‘We share a common interest, then.’ He started the car. ‘We have time for a drink if you would like one.’

He took her to the Savoy and gave her a glass of Madeira, and when she confessed that she had had no tea, a dish of salted nuts and another of potato crisps.

She crushed her way very nearly through the lot and then said apologetically: ‘I’m making a pig of myself. It was stew for lunch and I got there late.’

His winged nostrils flared. ‘Tepid and greasy, no doubt.’ He lifted a finger and when the waiter came, asked for sandwiches. She consumed them with the unselfconscious pleasure of a child—smoked salmon and pâté de foie gras and cucumber. But she refused a second glass of Madeira because, as she explained to her companion, she wanted to enjoy every moment of the play.

Which she did, sitting up straight in her seat, her eyes glued to the stage, and the Professor, sitting a little sideways so that he could watch her as well as the stage, allowed himself a faint smile at her obvious pleasure. They went back to the Savoy when it was over and had supper—caviar, poularde Impératrice, and for Katrina a bûche glacée, while the Professor contented himself with Welsh rarebit. And because, as he had gravely pointed out to her at the beginning of the meal, they had both had a tiring day, a bottle of champagne seemed the best thing to drink.

Katrina, her head still full of romantic music, would have happily drunk tap water; as it was, she drank two glasses of champagne and enjoyed them very much. There was a faint worry at the back of her head that she was liking her companion much more than she had intended. Perhaps it was the combination of romance and champagne which had dimmed her good sense, but certainly he seemed really rather nice. When he suggested that they might dance she got up at once. She might be a big girl, but she danced well and was as light as a feather, and the Professor was pretty neat on his feet too. They danced for a long time, going back to drink their coffee and then taking to the floor again. It was past one o’clock when Katrina asked him the time, and gave a small screech when he told her.

‘I’m on in the morning, and it’s Mr Knowles’ round and take-in.’

He didn’t try to persuade her to stay but drove her back to the hospital without fuss and saw her to the door, and when she thanked him for her lovely evening, observed placidly that he had enjoyed it too, then he wished her goodnight and opened the door for her.

Katrina went through feeling let down; not so much as a hint that he wanted to see her again, let alone the kiss which she had come to expect at the close of an evening out. The horrid thought that he had asked her out because Uncle Ben had suggested it crossed her mind; Uncle Ben knew how shy she was about going out with men who weren’t her size, and here was one who positively towered over her. He hadn’t said goodbye, she mused as she tumbled into bed; a clever girl would have known how to find out when and where he was going…and anyway, she asked herself pettishly, why was she worried? She didn’t like him, did she? Or did she? She was too sleepy to decide.

The morning began badly with two road accidents being admitted just after eight o’clock, and it got worse as the day wore on, so that when Jack Bentall rather fussily examined Mr Knowles’ patients during the afternoon, demanding unnecessary attention and calling for things he didn’t really need, she found her patience wearing thin. The urge to cry off the evening’s entertainment was very strong, but she was a kind-hearted girl and she had refused to go out with him on so many occasions she couldn’t avoid this one without hurting his feelings. Not that she minded about that over-much; he was a young man of unbounded conceit and she doubted if even the severest snub would affect him for more than a few minutes.

She dressed unwillingly and went just as unwillingly to the car park where Jack had asked her to meet him. He drove a souped-up Mini, very battered and uncomfortable and he tended to regard the road as his. She felt a pang of relief as he stopped with a teeth-jarring suddenness in front of a Chinese restaurant in the Tottenham Court Road. It was unfortunate that Katrina didn’t like Chinese food and that Jack hadn’t thought to ask her. Now if it had been the Professor, with all his faults, she added mentally, he would have made it his business to find out. And even if he hadn’t, she mused with surprise, she would have felt quite at liberty to have told him that she loathed sweet and sour pork and could have asked him if they could go somewhere else. But Jack would either laugh at her and tell her that she didn’t know good food when she saw it, or worse, sulk.

She ate her way through a great many dishes without once betraying her dislike of them, listening to Jack, carrying on about the other housemen and their inefficiencies, what Mr Knowles had said to him and he had said to Mr Knowles; he droned on and on and Katrina’s thoughts turned more and more to the previous evening. Professor van Tellerinck might annoy her, although she wasn’t sure why any more—but he didn’t bore her. She came out of a flurry of half-formed thoughts to hear Jack say:

‘Well, what about it? Everyone else does it these days and getting married seems a bit silly until I’ve reached the top, and you’re not all that keen on it, are you? You can’t be—you must have had plenty of chances, but after all, you are twenty-seven.’

She gave him a look of such astonishment that he added querulously: ‘Well, you don’t have to look like that—I thought we understood each other.’

As well as being astonished she was furiously angry, but she discovered at the same time that she simply couldn’t be bothered to explain to him just how wrong he was. She could of course have said: ‘I am a clergyman’s daughter and old-fashioned in my views about matrimony’; instead she heard herself saying in a reasonable voice: ‘I really should have told you sooner, Jack, but I didn’t realise…’ She left the sentence hanging delicately in mid-air. ‘I’ve resigned—I’m going abroad in a few weeks’ time.’ She paused, trying to think of a country as far away as possible: ‘The Gulf—a lovely job.’ Her imagination was working well by now. ‘One of those new hospitals, a fabulous salary and a flat of my own…’

He looked at her gobbling with rage. ‘Well, you could have told me before we came out to dinner!’ he said furiously. He put a hand up for the bill. ‘I don’t suppose you want coffee.’

They tore back to Benedict’s through the almost empty streets and as he came to a squealing halt in the forecourt: ‘I hope you get what you deserve!’ he hissed at her.

Just as though I’d led him on, thought Katrina as she went into the nurses’ home, and giggled. She stopped giggling almost at once, though. She would have to resign in the morning; she had done herself out of a job and banished herself to the Gulf to boot. Jack would tell everyone, he was a noted gossip, and really there was nothing she could do about it but leave; even if she explained to him why she had done it, he wouldn’t understand but would merely think that she had been playing hard to get and would pester her more than ever. She lay awake for a long time getting more and more worried, and fell asleep at last with her mind in a dither.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE WAS STILL dithering when she got reluctantly out of bed a few hours later, but by the time she had dressed she knew for a certainty that she would go to the office directly after breakfast and tender her resignation to Miss Bowles. She stopped doing her hair and sat down on the edge of the bed to write out her resignation, then finished dressing in a rush so as to be in time for breakfast. As it was, she was late, which was a blessing for no one had time to ask her any questions.

Miss Bowles asked questions, though. She was a small peppery lady well into her fifties, who ruled the hospital with a rod of iron whatever the National Health Service said. There wasn’t much that she approved of, and certainly not Katrina going off to the Gulf. She demanded all the details of the mythical post, too, and Katrina was forced to say firmly that she was still waiting for all the details.

‘Well, Sister,’ said Miss Bowles, in an ill humour now because one of the best ward Sisters was leaving, ‘I hope you know what you’re about. You have a good post here and prospects of promotion in the future. I only hope you’re not throwing security away for some pipe dream in the desert.’

Katrina longed to tell her that it was a pipe dream, but the repercussions if she did weren’t to be contemplated. She would go home for a holiday and then set about getting another job, well away from London. Abroad, perhaps? There was surely no reason why she should think of Holland?

She didn’t tell any of her friends straight away; for one thing, she had no opportunity, it was that evening when she went off duty that she told them as they sat around in their sitting-room, mulling over the day among themselves.

‘But you can’t!’ they chorused. ‘Kate, why? There must be some reason…’

‘I need a change,’ she told them, ‘I’m going to have a holiday at home and then go abroad. The Gulf,’ she added vaguely, mindful of the hospital grapevine and Jack, not to mention Miss Bowles, who in her own dignified manner would allow the news to seep through the upper strata of admin staff.

She had a few days’ holiday due to her, which meant that she could leave in just about three weeks’ time. She would go home on her next days off and explain to her mother, and until then she would go on with her work in a normal manner. Easier said than done; she worried a good deal about her future, trying to make up her mind just where she wanted to go and she still had to tell Uncle Ben, not a real uncle at all, but he had been her father’s closest friend and had kept an eye on them ever since her father’s death.

But not just yet, it seemed. Uncle Ben had a severe cold and couldn’t operate or do his rounds; his registrar coped in his absence until a nasty traffic accident, full of complications, made it needful for him to call in a consultant.

Katrina supposed she wasn’t surprised to see Professor van Tellerinck with the registrar at his heels, come down the ward. She had imagined him back home in his own country, but she had no means of knowing where he was; probably he’d been close at hand all the time. She greeted him civilly, led him to the patient and waited quietly while he went over the man’s severe injuries. The leg could be saved, he thought, given a few hours’ repair work in theatre, but he wasn’t sure about the arm. He arranged for the man to go to theatre that afternoon, and made his way to the door, the registrar beside him, Katrina, one pace behind, ready to bid him good-day at the ward door.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.