“Well, aren’t you going to ask me if I had a pleasant weekend?”

“I did want to,” she told him spiritedly, “but I didn’t feel like being snubbed.”

He moved very fast; he was beside her almost before she had finished speaking. She hadn’t bargained for it and he was far too near for her peace of mind, and that peace was wholly shattered when he kissed her quite fiercely on her mouth, all without saying a word. He was back in the hall again while she was still blinking over it.

“I’m going to have something to eat,” he then told her in a perfectly ordinary voice.

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.

Roses for Christmas
Betty Neels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

THE LOFT WAS warm, dusty and redolent of apples; the autumn sunshine peeping through its one dusty window tinted the odds and ends hanging on the walls with golden light, so that the strings of onions, cast-off skates, old raincoats, lengths of rope, worn-out leather straps and an old hat or two had acquired a gilded patina. Most of the bare floor was taken up with orderly rows of apples, arranged according to their kind, but there was still space enough left for the girl sitting in the centre, a half-eaten apple in one hand, the other buried in the old hat box beside her. She was a pretty girl, with light brown hair and large hazel eyes, extravagantly lashed and heavily browed, and with a straight nose above a generous, nicely curved mouth. She was wearing slacks and a thick, shabby sweater, and her hair, tied back none too tidily, hung down her back almost to her waist.

She bit into her apple and then bent over the box, and its occupant, a cat of plebeian appearance, paused in her round-the-clock washing of four kittens to lick the hand instead. The girl smiled and took another bite of apple, then turned to look behind her, to where a ladder led down to the disused stable below. She knew the footsteps climbing it and sighed to herself; holidays were lovely after the bustle and orderly precision of the ward in the big Edinburgh hospital where she was a Sister; the cosy homeliness of the manse where her parents and five brothers and sisters lived in the tiny village on the northernmost coast of Scotland, was bliss, it was only a pity that on this particular week’s holiday, both her elder brothers, James and Donald, should be away from home, leaving Henry, the youngest and only eight years old, recovering from chickenpox, with no one to amuse him but herself. She doted on him, but they had been fishing all the morning, and after lunch had been cleared away she had gone to the loft for an hour’s peace before getting the tea, and now here he was again, no doubt with some boyish scheme or other which would probably entail climbing trees or walking miles looking for seashells.

His untidy head appeared at the top of the ladder. ‘I knew you’d be here, Eleanor,’ he said in a satisfied voice. ‘There’s something I must tell you—it’s most exciting.’

‘Margaret’s home early from school?’

He gave her a scornful look, still standing some way down the ladder so that only his head was visible. ‘That’s not exciting—she comes home from school every day—besides, she’s only my sister.’

Eleanor trimmed the core of her apple with her nice white teeth. ‘I’m your sister, Henry.’

‘But you’re old…’

She nodded cheerfully. ‘Indeed I am, getting on for twenty-five, my dear. Tell me the exciting news.’

‘Someone’s come—Mother’s invited him to tea.’

Eleanor’s eyebrows rose protestingly. ‘Old Mr MacKenzie? Not again?’

Her small brother drew a deep breath. ‘You’ll never guess.’

She reached over for another apple. ‘Not in a thousand years—you’d better tell me before I die of curiosity.’

‘It’s Fulk van Hensum.’

‘Fulk? Him? What’s he here for? It’s twenty years…’ She turned her back on her brother, took a bite of apple and said with her mouth full: ‘Tell Mother that I can’t possibly come—I don’t want to waste time talking to him; he was a horrid boy and I daresay he’s grown into a horrid man. He pulled my hair…nasty arrogant type, I’ve never forgotten him.’

‘I’ve never forgotten you, either, Eleanor.’ The voice made her spin round. In place of Henry’s head was the top half of a very large man; the rest of him came into view as she stared, so tall and broad that he was forced to bend his elegantly clad person to avoid bumping his head. He was very dark, with almost black hair and brown eyes under splendid eyebrows; his nose was long and beaky with winged nostrils, and his mouth was very firm.

Eleanor swallowed her apple. ‘Well, I never!’ she declared. ‘Haven’t you grown?’

He sat down on a convenient sack of potatoes and surveyed her lazily. ‘One does, you know, and you, if I might say so, have become quite a big girl, Eleanor.’

He somehow managed to convey the impression that she was outsized, and she flushed a little; her father always described her as a fine figure of a woman, an old-fashioned phrase which she had accepted as a compliment, but to be called quite a big girl in that nasty drawling voice was decidedly annoying. She frowned at him and he remarked lightly: ‘Otherwise you haven’t changed, dear girl—still the heavy frown, I see—and the biting comment. Should I be flattered that you still remember me?’

‘No.’

‘Could we let bygones be bygones after—let me see, twenty years?’

She didn’t answer that, but: ‘You’ve been a great success, haven’t you? We hear about you, you know; Father holds you up as a shining example to Donald.’

‘Donald? Ah, the medical student. I’m flattered. What’s in the box?’

‘Mrs Trot and her four kittens.’

He got up and came to sit beside her with the box between them, and when he offered a large, gentle hand, the little cat licked it too.

‘Nice little beast. Don’t you want to know why I’m here?’ He chose an apple with care and began to eat it. ‘How peaceful it is,’ he observed. ‘What are you doing now, Eleanor? Still a nurse?’

She nodded. ‘In Edinburgh, but I’m on a week’s holiday.’

‘Not married yet?’ And when she shook her head: ‘Engaged?’

‘No—are you?’

‘Married? No. Engaged, yes.’

For some reason she felt upset, which was ridiculous, because for all these years she had remembered him as someone she didn’t like—true, she had been barely five years old at their first meeting and tastes as well as people change; all the same, there was no need for her to feel so put out at his news. She asked the inevitable female question: ‘Is she pretty?’

The dark eyes looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Yes, ethereal—very small, slim, fair hair, blue eyes—she dresses with exquisite taste.’

Eleanor didn’t look at him. She tucked Mrs Trot up in her old blanket and got to her feet, feeling, for some reason, a much bigger girl than she actually was and most regrettably shabby and untidy. Not that it mattered, she told herself crossly; if people came calling without warning they could take her as they found her. She said haughtily: ‘Tea will be ready, I expect,’ and went down the ladder with the expertise of long practice. She waited politely for him at the bottom and then walked beside him out of the stable and across the cobbled yard towards the house. She walked well, her head well up and with a complete lack of self-consciousness, for she was a graceful girl despite her splendid proportions and tall, although now her head barely reached her companion’s shoulder.

‘It hasn’t changed,’ her companion observed, looking around him. ‘I’m glad my father came just once again before he died; he loved this place. It was a kind of annual pilgrimage with him, wasn’t it?’

Eleanor glanced up briefly. ‘Yes—we were all sorry when he died, we all knew him so well, and coming every year as he did…’ She paused and then went on: ‘You never came, and now after all these years you have. Why?’

They had stopped in the open back porch and he answered her casually: ‘Oh, one reason and another, you know.’ He was eyeing her in a leisurely fashion which she found annoying. ‘Do you always dress like this?’

She tossed back her mane of hair. ‘You haven’t changed at all,’ she told him tartly. ‘You’re just as hateful as you were as a boy.’

He smiled. ‘You have a long memory.’ His dark eyes snapped with amusement. ‘But then so have I, Eleanor.’

She led the way down the flagstoned passage and opened a door, while vivid memory came flooding back—all those years ago, when he had picked her up and held her gently while she howled and sobbed into his shoulder and even while she had hated him then, just for those few minutes she had felt secure and content and very happy despite the fact that moments earlier she had been kicking his shins—she had lost her balance and fallen over and he had laughed, but gently, and picked her up…it was silly to remember such a trivial episode from her childhood.

The sitting room they entered wasn’t large, but its heterogeneous mixture of unassuming antiques and comfortable, shabby armchairs, handmade rugs and bookshelves rendered it pleasant enough. It had two occupants: Eleanor’s mother, a small, pretty woman, very neatly dressed, and her father, a good deal older than his wife, with thick white hair and bright blue eyes in a rugged face. He was in elderly grey tweeds and only his dog collar proclaimed his profession.

‘There you are,’ exclaimed Mrs MacFarlane. ‘So you found each other.’ She beamed at them both. ‘Isn’t it nice to meet again after all these years? Fulk, come and sit here by me and tell me all your news,’ and when he had done so: ‘Did you recognise Eleanor? She was such a little girl when you last saw her.’

Eleanor was handing plates and teacups and saucers. ‘Of course he didn’t recognise me, Mother,’ she explained in a brisk no-nonsense voice. ‘I was only five then, and that’s twenty years ago.’

‘A nice plump little thing you were, too,’ said her father fondly, and smiled at their guest, who remarked blandly: ‘Little girls so often are,’ and Eleanor, although she wasn’t looking at him, knew that he was secretly laughing. It was perhaps fortunate that at that moment Henry joined them, to sit himself down as close to him as possible.

‘Are you going to stay here?’ he enquired eagerly. ‘I mean, for a day or two? And must I call you Doctor van Hensum, and will you…?’

‘Call me Fulk, Henry, and yes, your mother has very kindly asked me to stay for a short visit.’

‘Oh, good—you can come fishing with us, Eleanor and me, you know, and there’s an apple tree she climbs, I daresay she’ll let you climb it too if you like.’

‘Eat your bread and butter, Henry,’ said Eleanor in the same brisk voice. ‘I’m sure Doctor van Hensum doesn’t climb trees at his age, and probably he’s not in the least interested in fishing.’ She cast the doctor a smouldering glance. ‘He may want to rest…’

She caught the quick gleam in his eyes although his voice was meek enough. ‘As to that, I’m only thirty-six, you know, and reasonably active.’

‘Of course you are,’ declared Mrs MacFarlane comfortably, and passed him the cake. ‘I can remember you fishing, too—and climbing trees—Eleanor used to shriek at you because you wouldn’t let her climb trees too.’ She laughed at the memory and her daughter ground her splendid teeth. ‘So long ago,’ sighed her mother, ‘and I remember it all so vividly.’

And that was the trouble, Eleanor told herself, although why the memory was so vivid was a mystery beyond her.

‘And now,’ interpolated her father, ‘you are a famous physician; of course your dear father was a brilliant man—you were bound to follow in his footsteps, and your mother was a clever woman too, and an uncommonly pretty one. I’m afraid that we none of us can hold a candle to your splendid career, although Eleanor has done very well for herself, you know; in her own small sphere she has specialized in medicine and is very highly thought of at her hospital, so I’m told.’ He added with a touch of pride: ‘She’s a Ward Sister—one of the youngest there.’

‘I can hardly believe it,’ observed Fulk, and only she realized that he was referring to her careless appearance; no one, seeing her at that moment would have believed that she was one and the same person as the immaculately uniformed, highly professional young woman who ruled her ward so precisely. A pity he can’t see me on duty, she thought peevishly, and said aloud: ‘Donald—he’s younger than I—is at Aberdeen and doing very well. He’s going in for surgery.’

She encountered the doctor’s gaze again and fidgeted under it. ‘He was in his pram when you were here.’

He said smoothly: ‘Ah, yes, I remember. Father always kept me up to date with any news about you; there’s Mary—she’s married, isn’t she?—and Margaret?’

‘Here she is now,’ said Mrs MacFarlane, ‘back from school—and don’t forget James, he’s still at boarding school.’ She cast a fond look at her last-born, gobbling cake. ‘Henry’s only home because he’s had chickenpox.’

There was a small stir as Margaret came in. She was already pretty and at twelve years old bade fair to outshine Eleanor later on. She embraced her mother, declaring she was famished, assured Eleanor that she would need help with her homework and went to kiss her father. She saw the doctor then and said instantly: ‘Is that your car in the lane? It’s absolutely wizard!’

Her father’s voice was mildly rebuking. ‘This is Fulk van Hensum, Margaret, he used to come and stay with us a long time ago—you remember his father? He is to stay with us for a day or so.’

She shook hands, smiling widely. ‘Oh, yes—I remember your father and I know about you too.’ She eyed him with some curiosity. ‘You’re very large, aren’t you?’

He smiled slowly. ‘I suppose I am. Yes, that’s my car outside—it’s a Panther de Ville.’

It was Henry who answered him. ‘I say, is it really? May I look at it after tea? There are only a few built, aren’t there—it’s rather like an XJ12, isn’t it? With a Jag engine…’

The big man gave him a kindly look. ‘A motorcar enthusiast?’ he wanted to know, and when Henry nodded, ‘We’ll go over it presently if you would like that—it has some rather nice points…’ He smiled at the little boy and then addressed Eleanor with unexpected suddenness. ‘When do you go back to Edinburgh?’

She looked up from filling second cups. ‘In a few days, Friday.’

‘Good, I’ll drive you down, I’ve an appointment in that part of the world on Saturday.’

She said stiffly: ‘That’s kind of you, but I can go very easily by train.’

Her mother looked at her in some astonishment. ‘Darling, you’ve said a dozen times how tedious it is going to Edinburgh by train, and then there’s the bus to Lairg first…’

‘I drive tolerably well,’ murmured the doctor. ‘We could go to Lairg and on to Inverness. It would save you a good deal of time, but of course, if you are nervous…’

‘I am not nervous,’ said Eleanor coldly. ‘I merely do not want to interfere with your holiday.’

‘Oh, but you’re not,’ he told her cheerfully. ‘I have to go to Edinburgh—I’ve just said so. I came here first because I had some books my father wanted your father to have.’

Which led the conversation into quite different channels.

It was a crisp, bright October morning when Eleanor woke the next day—too good to stay in bed, she decided. She got up, moving quietly round her pretty little bedroom, pulling on slacks and a sweater again, brushing and plaiting her hair. She went down to the kitchen without making a sound and put on the kettle; a cup of tea, she decided, then a quick peep at Mrs Trot and the kittens before taking tea up to her parents; and there would still be time to take Punch, the dog, for a short walk before helping to get breakfast.

She was warming the pot when Fulk said from the door: ‘Good morning, Eleanor—coming out for a walk? It’s a marvellous morning.’

She spooned tea carefully. ‘Hullo, have you been out already?’

‘Yes, but I’m more than willing to go again. Who’s the tea for?’

‘Me—and you, now you’re here.’

He said softly: ‘I wonder why you don’t like me, Eleanor?’

She poured tea into two mugs and handed him one, and said seriously: ‘I think it’s because you arrived unexpectedly—quite out of the blue—you see, I never thought I’d see you again and I didn’t like you when I was a little girl. It’s funny how one remembers…’

He smiled. ‘You were such a little girl, but I daresay you were right, I was a horrid boy—most boys are from time to time and you were bad for me; you made me feel like the lord of creation, following me around on those fat legs of yours, staring at me with those eyes, listening to every word I said—your eyes haven’t changed at all, Eleanor.’

Her voice was cool. ‘How very complimentary you are all of a sudden. You weren’t so polite yesterday.’

He strolled over and held out his mug for more tea. ‘One sometimes says the wrong thing when one is taken by surprise.’

She didn’t bother to think about that; she was pursuing her own train of thought. ‘I know I’m big,’ she said crossly, ‘but I don’t need to be reminded of it.’

He looked momentarily surprised and there was a small spark of laughter in his eyes, but all he said was: ‘I won’t remind you again, I promise. Shall we cry truce and take the dog for a walk? After all, we shall probably not meet again for another twenty years or even longer than that.’

She was aware of disappointment at the very thought. ‘All right, but I must just go up to Mother and Father with this tray.’

He was waiting at the kitchen door when she got down again, and Punch was beside him. ‘I must take Mrs Trot’s breakfast over first,’ she warned him.

They crossed the back yard together and rather to her surprise he took the bowl of milk she was carrying from her and mounted the ladder behind her while Punch, wary of Mrs Trot’s maternal claws, stayed prudently in the stable. The little cat received them with pleasure, accepted the milk and fish and allowed them to admire her kittens before they left, going down the short lane which separated the manse and the small church from the village. The huddle of houses and cottages was built precariously between the mountains at their back and the sea, tucked almost apologetically into a corner of the rock-encircled sandy bay. As they reached the beach they were met by a chilly wind from the north, dispelling any illusion that the blue sky and sunshine were an aftertaste of summer, so that they were forced to step out briskly, with Punch tearing down to the edge of the sea and then retreating from the cold waves.

Eleanor was surprised to find that she was enjoying Fulk’s company; it was obvious, she told herself, that he had grown into an arrogant man, very sure of himself, probably selfish too, even though she had to admit to his charm. All the same, he was proving himself a delightful companion now, talking about everything under the sun in a friendly manner which held no arrogance at all, and when they got back to the house he surprised her still further by laying the breakfast table while she cooked for Margaret before she left for school. Half way through their activities, Henry came down, rather indignant that he had missed the treat of an early morning walk, but more than reconciled to his loss when Fulk offered to take him for a drive in the Panther. The pair of them went away directly after breakfast and weren’t seen again until a few minutes before lunch, when they appeared in the kitchen, on excellent terms with each other, and burdened with a large quantity of flowers for Mrs MacFarlane, whisky for the pastor and chocolates for Margaret. And for Eleanor there was a little pink quartz cat, a few inches high and most beautifully carved, sitting very straight and reserved, reminding her very much of Mrs Trot.

‘We had the greatest fun,’ Henry informed his waiting family, ‘and I had an ice cream. We went to the hotel in Tongue—one of those with nuts on top, and the Panther is just super. When I’m grown up I shall have one, too.’

Eleanor, the little cat cradled in her hand, smiled at him lovingly. ‘And so you shall, my dear, but now you’re going straight up to the bathroom to wash your hands—dinner’s ready.’

The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough, and if she had subconsciously hoped that Fulk would suggest another walk, she had no intention of admitting it to herself. As it was, he spent most of the afternoon with his host and after supper they all played cards until the children’s bedtime.

She wakened at first light the next morning, to hear her brother’s excited whispering under her window, and when she got out of bed to have a look, it was to see him trotting along beside the doctor, laden with fishing paraphernalia—Punch was with them, too; all three of them looked very happy, even from the back.

They came in late for breakfast with a splendid catch of fish, which provided the main topic of conversation throughout the meal, and when they had finished Mrs MacFarlane said brightly: ‘Well, my dears, fish for dinner, provided of course someone will clean it.’ A task which Fulk undertook without fuss before driving Mr MacFarlane into Durness to browse over an interesting collection of books an old friend had offered to sell him.

So that Eleanor saw little of their guest until the late afternoon and even then Henry made a cheerful talkative third when they went over to visit Mrs Trot. It was while they were there, sitting on the floor eating apples, that Fulk asked her: ‘What time do you leave tomorrow, Eleanor?’

‘Well, I don’t want to leave at all,’ she replied promptly. ‘The very thought of hospital nauseates me—I’d like to stay here for ever and ever…’ She sighed and went on briskly: ‘Well, any time after lunch, I suppose. Would two o’clock suit you?’

‘Admirably. It’s roughly two hundred and fifty miles, isn’t it? We should arrive in Edinburgh in good time for dinner—you don’t have to be in at any special time, do you?’

‘No—no, of course not, but there’s no need…really I didn’t expect…that is…’

‘There’s no need to get worked up,’ he assured her kindly. ‘I shouldn’t have asked you if I hadn’t wanted to.’ He sounded almost brotherly, which made her pleasure at this remark all the more remarkable, although it was quickly squashed when he went on to say blandly: ‘I’ve had no chance to talk to you about Imogen.’

‘Oh, well—yes, of course I shall be delighted to hear about her.’

‘Who’s Imogen?’ Henry enquired.

‘The lady Fulk is going to marry,’ his big sister told him woodenly.

He looked at her with round eyes. ‘Then why didn’t she come too?’

Fulk answered him good-naturedly, ‘She’s in the south of France.’

‘Why aren’t you with her?’

The doctor smiled. ‘We seem to have started something, don’t we? You see, Henry, Imogen doesn’t like this part of Scotland.’

‘Why not?’ Eleanor beat her brother by a short head with the question.

‘She considers it rather remote.’

Eleanor nodded understandingly. ‘Well, it is—no shops for sixty miles, no theatres, almost no cinemas and they’re miles away too, and high tea instead of dinner in the hotels.’

Fulk turned his head to look at her. ‘Exactly so,’ he agreed. ‘And do you feel like that about it, too, Eleanor?’

She said with instant indignation: ‘No, I do not—I love it; I like peace and quiet and nothing in sight but the mountains and the sea and a cottage or two—anyone who feels differently must be very stupid…’ She opened her eyes wide and put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon—I didn’t mean your Imogen.’

‘Still the same hasty tongue,’ Fulk said mockingly, ‘and she isn’t my Imogen yet.’

It was fortunate that Henry created a welcome diversion at that moment; wanting to climb a tree or two before teatime, so that the rest of the afternoon was spent doing just that. Fulk, Eleanor discovered, climbed trees very well.

They played cards again until supper time and after their meal, when the two gentlemen retired to the pastor’s study, Eleanor declared that she was tired and would go to bed, but once in her room she made no effort to undress but sat on her bed making up her mind what she would wear the next day—Fulk had only seen her in slacks and a sweater with her hair hanging anyhow. She would surprise him.

It was a pity, but he didn’t seem in the least surprised. She went down to breakfast looking much as usual, but before lunchtime she changed into a well cut tweed suit of a pleasing russet colour, put on her brogue shoes, made up her pretty face with care, did her hair in a neat, smooth coil on the top of her head, and joined the family at the table. And he didn’t say a word, glancing up at her as she entered the room and then looking away again with the careless speed of someone who had seen the same thing a dozen times before. Her excellent appetite was completely destroyed.

It served her right, she told herself severely, for allowing herself to think about him too much; she had no reason to do so, he was of no importance in her life and after today she wasn’t likely to see him again. She made light conversation all the way to Tomintoul, a village high in the Highlands, where they stopped for tea. It was a small place, but the hotel overlooked the square and there was plenty to comment upon, something for which she was thankful, for she was becoming somewhat weary of providing almost all the conversation. Indeed, when they were on their way once more and after another hour of commenting upon the scenery, she observed tartly: ‘I’m sure you will understand if I don’t talk any more; I can’t think of anything else to say, and even if I could, I feel I should save it for this evening, otherwise we shall sit at dinner like an old married couple.’

His shoulders shook. ‘My dear girl, I had no idea… I was enjoying just sitting here and listening to you rambling on—you have a pretty voice, you know.’ He paused. ‘Imogen doesn’t talk much when we drive together; it makes a nice change. But I promise you we won’t sit like an old married couple; however old we become, we shall never take each other for granted.’

She allowed this remark to pass without comment, for she wasn’t sure what he meant. ‘You were going to tell me about Imogen,’ she prompted, and was disappointed when he said abruptly: ‘I’ve changed my mind—tell me about Henry instead. What a delightful child he is, but not, I fancy, over-strong.’

The subject of Henry lasted until they reached Edinburgh, where he drove her to the North British Hotel in Princes Street, and after Eleanor had tidied herself, gave her a memorable dinner, managing to convey, without actually saying so, that she was not only a pleasant companion but someone whom he had wanted to take out to dinner all his life. It made her glow very nicely, and the glow was kept at its best by the hock which he offered her. They sat for a long time over their meal and when he at last took her to the hospital it was almost midnight.

She got out of the car at the Nurses’ Home entrance and he got out with her and walked to the door to open it. She wished him goodbye quietly, thanked him for a delightful evening and was quite taken by surprise when he pulled her to him, kissed her hard and then, without another word, popped her through the door and closed it behind her. She stood in the dimly lit hall, trying to sort out her feelings. She supposed that they were outraged, but this was tempered by the thought that she wasn’t going to see him again. She told herself firmly that it didn’t matter in the least, trying to drown the persistent little voice in the back of her head telling her that even if she didn’t like him—and she had told herself enough times that she didn’t—it mattered quite a bit. She went slowly up to her room, warning herself that just because he had given her a good dinner and been an amusing companion there was no reason to allow her thoughts to dwell upon him.

CHAPTER TWO

THE MORNING WAS dark and dreary and suited Eleanor’s mood very well as she got into her uniform and, looking the very epitome of neatness and calm efficiency, went down to breakfast, a meal eaten in a hurry by reason of the amount of conversation crammed in by herself and friends while they drank tea and bolted toast and marmalade.

She climbed the stairs to Women’s Medical, trying to get used to being back on the ward once more, while her pretty nose registered the fact that the patients had had fish for breakfast and that someone had been too lavish with the floor polish—the two smells didn’t go well together. Someone, too, would have to repair the window ledge outside the ward door, and it was obvious that no one had bothered to water the dreadful potted plant which lived on it. Eleanor pushed the swing doors open and went straight to her little office, where Staff Nurse Jill Pitts would be waiting with the two night nurses.

The report took longer than usual; it always did on her first day back, even if she had been away for a short time; new patients, new treatments, Path Lab reports, news of old patients—it was all of fifteen minutes before she sent the night nurses to their breakfast, left Jill to see that the nurses were starting on their various jobs, and set off on her round. She spent some time with her first three patients, for they were elderly and ill, and for some weeks now they had all been battling to keep them alive; she assured herself that they were holding their own and passed on to the fourth bed; Mrs McFinn, a large, comfortable lady with a beaming smile and a regrettable shortness of breath due to asthma, a condition which didn’t prevent her wheezing out a little chat with Eleanor, and her neighbour, puffing and panting her way through emphysema with unending courage and good humour, wanted to chat too. She indulged them both; they were such dears, but so for that matter were almost all the patients in the ward.

She spent a few minutes with each of them in turn, summing up their condition while she lent a friendly ear and a smile; only as she reached the top of the ward did she allow a small sigh to escape her. Miss Tremble, next in line, was a cross the entire staff, medical and nursing, bore with fortitude, even if a good deal of grumbling went on about her in private. She was a thin, acidulated woman in her sixties, a diabetic which it seemed impossible to stabilize however the doctors tried. Painstakingly dieted and injected until the required balance had been reached, she would be sent home, only to be borne back in again sooner or later in yet another diabetic coma, a condition which she never ceased to blame upon the hospital staff. She had been in again for two weeks now, and on the one occasion during that period when it had been considered safe to send her home again to her downtrodden sister, she had gone into a coma again as she was actually on the point of departure, and it was all very well for Sir Arthur Minch, the consultant physician in charge of her case, to carry on about it; as Eleanor had pointed out to him in a reasonable manner, one simply didn’t turn one’s back on hyperglycaemia, even when it was about to leave the ward; she had put the patient back to bed again and allowed the great man to natter on about wanting the bed for an urgent case. He had frowned and tutted and in the end had agreed with her; she had known that he would, anyway.

She took up her position now at the side of Miss Tremble’s bed and prepared to listen to its occupant’s long list of complaints; she had heard them many times before, and would most likely hear them many more times in the future. She put on her listening face and thought about Fulk, wondering where he was and why he had come to Edinburgh. She would have liked to have asked him, only she had hesitated; he had a nasty caustic tongue, she remembered it vividly when he had stayed with them all those years ago, and she had no doubt that he still possessed it. She could only guess—he could of course be visiting friends, or perhaps he had come over to consult with a colleague; he might even have a patient… She frowned and Miss Tremble said irritably: ‘I’m glad to see that you are annoyed, Sister—it is disgraceful that I had to have Bovril on two successive evenings when my appetite needs tempting.’

Eleanor made a soothing reply, extolled the virtues of the despised beverage, assured Miss Tremble that something different would be offered her for her supper that evening, and moved on to the next bed, but even when she had completed her round and was back in her office, immersed in forms, charts and the answering of the constantly ringing telephone she was still wondering about Fulk.

But presently she gave herself a mental shake; she would never know anyway. Thinking about him was a complete waste of time, especially with Sir Arthur due to do his round at ten o’clock. She pushed the papers to one side with a touch of impatience; they would have to wait until she had checked the ward and made sure that everything was exactly as it should be for one of the major events in the ward’s week.

She ran the ward well; the patients were ready with five minutes to spare and the nurses were going, two by two, to their coffee break. Eleanor, longing for a cup herself, but having to wait for it until Sir Arthur should be finished, was in the ward, with the faithful Jill beside her and Mrs MacDonnell, the part-time staff nurse, hovering discreetly with a student nurse close by to fetch and carry. She knew Sir Arthur’s ways well by now; he would walk into the ward at ten o’clock precisely with his registrar, his house doctor and such students as had the honour of accompanying him that morning. Eleanor, with brothers of her own, felt a sisterly concern for the shy ones, whose wits invariably deserted them the moment they entered the ward, and she had formed the habit of stationing herself where she might prompt those rendered dumb by apprehension when their chief chose to fire a question at them. She had become something of an expert at mouthing clues helpful enough to start the hapless recipient of Sir Arthur’s attention on the path of a right answer. Perhaps one day she would be caught red-handed, but in the meantime she continued to pass on vital snippets to any number of grateful young gentlemen.

The clock across the square had begun its sonorous rendering of the hour when the ward doors swung open just as usual and the senior Medical Consultant, his posse of attendants hard on his heels, came in—only it wasn’t quite as usual; Fulk van Hensum was walking beside him, not the Fulk of the last day or so, going fishing with Henry in an outsize sweater and rubber boots, or playing Canasta with the family after supper or goodnaturedly helping Margaret with her decimals. This was a side of him which she hadn’t seen before; he looked older for a start, and if anything, handsomer in a distinguished way, and his face wore the expression she had seen so often on a doctor’s face; calm and kind and totally unflappable—and a little remote. He was also impeccably turned out, his grey suit tailored to perfection, his tie an elegant under-statement. She advanced to meet them, very composed, acknowledging Sir Arthur’s stately greeting with just the right degree of warmth and turning a frosty eye on Fulk, who met it blandly with the faintest of smiles and an equally bland: ‘Good morning, Eleanor, how nice to be able to surprise you twice in only a few days.’

She looked down her nose at him. ‘Good morning, Doctor van Hensum,’ she greeted him repressively, and didn’t smile. He might have told her; there had been no reason at all why he shouldn’t have done so. She almost choked when he went on coolly: ‘Yes, I could have told you, couldn’t I? But you never asked me.’

Sir Arthur glanced at Eleanor. ‘Know each other, do you?’ he wanted to know genially.

Before she could answer, Fulk observed pleasantly: ‘Oh, yes—for many years. Eleanor was almost five when we first met.’ He had the gall to smile at her in what she considered to be a patronising manner.

‘Five, eh?’ chuckled Sir Arthur. ‘Well, you’ve grown since then, Sister.’ The chuckle became a laugh at his little joke and she managed to smile too, but with an effort for Fulk said: ‘She had a quantity of long hair and she was very plump.’ He stared at her and she frowned fiercely. ‘Little girls are rather sweet,’ his voice was silky, ‘but they tend to change as they grow up.’

She all but ground her teeth at him; it was a relief when Sir Arthur said cheerfully: ‘Well, well, I suppose we should get started, Sister. Doctor van Hensum is particularly interested in that case of agranulocytosis— Mrs Lee, isn’t it? She experienced the first symptoms while she was on holiday in Holland and came under his care. Most fortunately for her, he diagnosed it at once—a difficult thing to do.’ His eye swept round the little group of students, who looked suitably impressed.

‘Not so very difficult in this case, if I might say so,’ interpolated Fulk quietly. ‘There was the typical sore throat and oedema, and the patient answered my questions with great intelligence…’

‘But no doubt the questions were intelligent,’ remarked Sir Arthur dryly, and the students murmured their admiration, half of them not having the least idea what their superiors were talking about, anyway.

They were moving towards the first bed now, and Eleanor, casting a quick look at Fulk, saw that he had become the consultant again; indeed, as the round progressed, his manner towards her was faultless; politely friendly, faintly impersonal—they could have just met for the first time. It vexed her to find that this annoyed her more than his half-teasing attitude towards her when he had entered the ward. He was a tiresome man, she decided, leading the way to Mrs Lee’s bed.

That lady was making good progress now that she was responding to the massive doses of penicillin, and although her temperature was still high and she remained lethargic, she was certainly on the mend. Sir Arthur held forth at some length, occasionally pausing to verify some point with the Dutch doctor and then firing questions at random at whichever unfortunate student happened to catch his eye. Most of them did very well, but one or two of them were tongue-tied by the occasion. Eleanor, unobtrusively helping out one such, and standing slightly behind Sir Arthur, had just finished miming the bare bones of the required information when she realized that Fulk had moved and was standing where he could watch her. She threw him a frowning glance which he appeared not to see, for the smile he gave her was so charming that she only just prevented herself from smiling back at him.

Perhaps he wasn’t so bad after all, she conceded, only to have this opinion reversed when, the round over, she was bidding Sir Arthur and his party goodbye at the ward door, for when she bade Fulk goodbye too, he said at once: ‘You’ll lunch with me, Eleanor,’ and it wasn’t even a question, let alone a request, delivered in a silky voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

‘I’m afraid that’s impossible,’ she began coldly, and Sir Arthur, quite mistaking her hesitation, interrupted her to say heartily: ‘Nonsense, of course you can go, Sister—I’ve seen you dozens of times at the Blue Bird Café’—an establishment much favoured by the hospital staff because it was only just down the road and they were allowed to go there in uniform— ‘Why, only a couple of weeks ago you were having a meal there with young Maddox, although how he managed that when he was on call for the Accident Room I cannot imagine.’

He turned his attention to Fulk. ‘The Blue Bird isn’t exactly Cordon Bleu, but they do a nice plate of fish and chips, and there is the great advantage of being served quickly.’ He looked at Eleanor once more. ‘You intended going to your dinner, I suppose? When do you go?’

She didn’t want to answer, but she had to say something. ‘One o’clock,’ she told him woodenly and heard his pleased: ‘Excellent—what could be better? Van Hensum, we shall have time to talk over that case we were discussing.’ He beamed in a fatherly fashion at Eleanor, fuming silently, and led the way down the corridor with all the appearance of a man who had done someone a good turn and felt pleased about it. Fulk went with him, without saying another word.

Eleanor snorted, muttered rudely under her breath and went to serve the patients’ dinners, and as she dished out boiled fish, nourishing stew, fat-free diets, high-calorie diets and diabetic diets, she pondered how she could get out of having lunch with Fulk. She wasn’t quite sure why it was so important that she should escape going with him, because actually she liked the idea very much, and even when, as usual, she was battling with Miss Tremble about the amount of ham on her plate, a small part of her brain was still hard at work trying to discover the reason. All the same, she told herself that her determination not to go was strong enough to enable her to make some excuse.

She was trying to think of one as she went back to her office with Jill, to give her a brief run-down of jobs to be done during the next hour—a waste of time, as it turned out, for Fulk was there, standing idly looking out of the window. He had assumed his consultant’s manner once more, too, so that Eleanor found it difficult to utter the refusal she had determined upon. Besides, Jill was there, taking it for granted that she was going, even at that very moment urging her not to hurry back. ‘There’s nothing much on this afternoon,’ she pointed out, ‘not until three o’clock at any rate, and you never get your full hour for dinner, Sister.’ She made a face. ‘It’s braised heart, too.’

Fulk’s handsome features expressed extreme distaste. ‘How revolting,’ he observed strongly. ‘Eleanor, put on your bonnet at once and we will investigate the fish and chips. They sound infinitely more appetizing.’

Eleanor dabbed with unusually clumsy fingers at the muslin trifle perched on her great knot of shining hair. ‘Thanks, Jill, I’ll see.’ She sounded so reluctant that her right hand looked at her in amazement while Fulk’s eyes gleamed with amusement, although all he said was: ‘Shall we go?’

The café was almost full, a number of hospital staff, either on the point of going on duty or just off, were treating themselves to egg and chips, spaghetti on toast or the fish and chips for which the café was justly famous. Fulk led the way to a table in the centre of the little place, and Eleanor, casting off her cloak and looking around, nodded and smiled at two physiotherapists, an X-ray technician, and the senior Accident Room Sister with the Casualty Officer. There were two of the students who had been in Sir Arthur’s round that morning sitting at the next table and they smiled widely at her, glanced at Fulk and gave her the thumbs-up sign, which she pointedly ignored, hoping that her companion hadn’t seen it too. He had; he said: ‘Lord, sometimes I feel middle-aged.’

‘Well,’ her voice was astringent, ‘you’re not—you’re not even married yet.’

His mouth twitched. ‘You imply that being married induces middle age, and that’s nonsense.’ He added slowly: ‘I imagine that any man who married you would tend to regain his youth, not lose it.’

She gaped at him across the little table. ‘For heaven’s sake, whatever makes you say that?’ But she wasn’t to know, for the proprietor of the Blue Bird had made his way towards them and was offering a menu card. He was a short, fat man and rather surprisingly, a Cockney; the soul of kindness and not above allowing second helpings for free to anyone who was a bit short until pay day. He stood looking at them both now and then said: “Ullo, Sister, ’aven’t met yer friend before, ’ave I?’

‘No, Steve—he’s a Dutch consultant, a friend of Sir Arthur Minch. Doctor van Hensum, this is Steve who runs the café.’

The doctor held out a hand and Steve shook it with faint surprise. ‘Pleased ter meet yer,’ he pronounced in gratified tones. ‘I got a nice bit of ’ake out the back. ’Ow’d yer like it, the pair of yer? Chips and peas and a good cuppa while yer waiting.’

A cheerful girl brought the tea almost at once and Eleanor poured the rich brew into the thick cups and handed one to Fulk. ‘Aren’t you sorry you asked me out now?’ she wanted to know. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever had your lunch in a place like this before.’

He gave her a thoughtful look. ‘You’re determined to make me out a very unpleasant fellow, aren’t you? I wonder why?’ He passed her the sugar bowl and then helped himself. ‘No, I’ve never been in a place quite like this one before, but I’ve been in far worse, and let me tell you, my girl, that your low opinion of me is completely mistaken.’

‘I never…’ began Eleanor, and was interrupted by the arrival of the hake, mouthwatering in its thick rich batter coat and surrounded by chips and peas; by the time they had assured Steve that it looked delicious, passed each other the salt, refused the vinegar and refilled their cups, there seemed no point in arguing. They fell to and what conversation there was was casual and good-humoured. Presently, nicely mellowed by the food, Eleanor remarked: ‘You were going to tell me about Imogen.’

He selected a chip with deliberation and ate it slowly. ‘Not here,’ he told her.

‘You keep saying that—you said it in the car yesterday. Do you have to have soft music and stained glass windows or something before she can be talked about?’

He put his head on one side and studied her face. ‘You’re a very rude girl—I suppose that’s what comes of being a bossy elder sister. No, perhaps that’s too sweeping a statement,’ he continued blandly, ‘for Henry assured me that you were the grooviest—I’m a little vague as to the exact meaning of the word, but presumably it is a compliment of the highest order.’

‘Bless the boy, it is.’ She hesitated. ‘I’d like to thank you for being so kind to him—he’s a poppet, at least we all think so, and far too clever for his age, though he’s a great one for adventure; he’s for ever falling out of trees and going on long solitary walks with Punch and tumbling off rocks into the sea when he goes fishing. We all long to tell him not to do these things, but he’s a boy…having you for a companion was bliss for him.’

‘And would it have been bliss for you, Eleanor?’ Fulk asked in an interested voice, and then: ‘No, don’t answer, I can see the words blistering your lips. We’ll go on talking about Henry—he’s not quite as strong as you would like, your father tells me.’

She had decided to overlook the first part of his remark. ‘He’s tough, it’s just that he catches everything that’s going; measles, whooping cough, mumps, chickenpox—you name it, he’s had it.’

He passed his cup for more tea, eyed its rich brown strength, sugared it lavishly and took a sip with an expressionless face. ‘I shudder to think what this tea is doing to our insides,’ he remarked lightly. ‘Have you a good doctor?’

‘Doctor MacClew. He’s quite old now, but he’s been our doctor all our lives. He’s a dear and so kind, although I daresay he’s old-fashioned by your standards.’

‘My standards?’ He looked quite shocked. ‘My dear Eleanor, you’re at it again, turning me into someone I’m not. Why should you suppose that I would set myself up above another doctor, probably twice my age and with at least twice my experience, and who has had to improvise, make decisions, take risks, diagnose without X-rays and be his own Path Lab in an emergency? I, remember, have the whole range of modern equipment and science behind me—I need not open my mouth until all the answers have been given me.’

She said indignantly: ‘Don’t exaggerate. That’s not true; a good physician doesn’t need any of those things—they only confirm his opinion. You know as well as I do that you could manage very well without them.’

He lifted his thick brows in mock surprise. ‘Why, Eleanor, those are the first kind words you have uttered since we met.’ He grinned so disarmingly that she smiled back at him. ‘Well, you know it’s true.’

He said slowly, watching her: ‘Do you know I believe that’s the first time you’ve smiled at me? Oh, you’ve gone through the motions, but they didn’t register. You should smile more often.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘How delightful it is not to be quarrelling with you.’

She eyed him with disfavour. ‘What a beastly thing to say! I’ve not quarrelled with you, I’ve been very polite.’

‘I know, I’d rather quarrel, but not now—let’s call a truce.’

She seized her opportunity. ‘Tell me about Imogen.’

He leaned back on the hard wooden chair. ‘What do you want to know?’

Eleanor was so surprised at his meek acceptance of her question that she didn’t speak for a moment. ‘Well, what does she do and where does she live and where will you live when you’re married, and is she very pretty?’ She added wistfully: ‘You said she was small…’

‘Half your size and very, very pretty—you forgot to ask how old she is, by the way. Twenty-six, and she doesn’t do anything—at least, she doesn’t have a job. She doesn’t need to work, you see. But she fills her days very nicely with tennis and swimming and riding and driving—and she dances beautifully. She lives in den Haag and I live near Groningen, about a hundred and fifty miles apart—an easy run on the motorway.’

‘But that’s an awful long way to go each weekend,’ observed Eleanor.

‘Every weekend? Oh, not as often as that, my dear. Besides, Imogen stays with friends a good deal—I did tell you that she’s in the south of France now and later on she will be going to Switzerland for the winter sports.’ His voice was very level. ‘We decided when we became engaged that we would make no claims on each other’s time and leisure.’

‘Oh,’ said Eleanor blankly, ‘how very strange. I don’t think I’d like that at all.’

‘If you were engaged to me? But you’re not.’ He smiled thinly. ‘A fine state of affairs that would be! You would probably expect me to sit in your pocket and we should quarrel without pause.’

‘Probably.’ Her voice was colourless. ‘I think I’d better go back to the ward, if you don’t mind…’ She was interrupted by the cheerful booming voice of Doctor Blake, Sir Arthur’s right-hand man, who clapped a hand on her shoulder, greeted her with the easy friendliness of a long-standing acquaintance and asked: ‘May I sit down? It’s Doctor van Hensum, isn’t it? I’ve just been with Sir Arthur and he mentioned that you might be here still—I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’

‘I’m just on my way back to the ward,’ said Eleanor, and wished she wasn’t. ‘I’m a bit late already.’ She smiled a general sort of smile and got to her feet. ‘Thanks for the lunch,’ she said quickly and hardly looking at Fulk. He had got to his feet too, and his ‘Goodbye, Eleanor,’ was very quiet.

She had no time to think about him after that, for Miss Tremble had seen fit to go into a coma and it took most of the afternoon to get her out of it again. Eleanor missed her tea and the pleasant half hour of gossip she usually enjoyed with the other Sisters and went off duty a little late, to change rapidly and catch a bus to the other side of the city where an aunt, elderly, crotchety but nevertheless one of the family, would be waiting to give her supper. It had become a custom for Eleanor to visit her on her return from any holidays so that she might supply her with any titbits of news, and although it was sometimes a little tiresome, the old lady had got to depend upon her visits. She spent a dull evening, answering questions and listening to her companion’s various ailments, and when she at last escaped and returned to the hospital, she was too tired to do more than climb into bed as quickly as possible.

It was two more days before she discovered, quite by chance, that Fulk had gone back to Holland only a few hours after they had shared their meal together in the Blue Bird Café, and for some reason the news annoyed her; she had been wondering about him, it was true, but somehow she had taken it for granted that he would come and say goodbye before he left, although there was no reason why he should have done so, but one would have thought, she told herself peevishly, that after making such a thing about taking her to lunch, he could at least have mentioned that he was on the point of leaving; he hadn’t even said goodbye. She paused in her reflections: he had, even though he hadn’t told her he was leaving; probably thinking it was none of her business, anyway—nor was it.

She glared at her nice face in the silly little mirror on the office wall and went back to her work once more, and while she chatted with her patients and listened to their complaints and worries, she decided that Fulk wasn’t worth thinking about, quite forgetting that she had told herself that already. She would most probably not see him again; she could forget him, and the beautiful Imogen with him. She finished her round and went back down the ward, the very picture of calm efficiency, and went into her office, where she sat at her desk, staring at the papers she was supposed to be dealing with while she speculated about Imogen; it was strange that although she had never met the girl and was never likely to, she should have such strong feelings of dislike for her.

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