Fate is Remarkable

Betty Neels

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CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS QUIET in the consulting room, if the difficult, rasping breaths of the patient were discounted. From somewhere behind the closed door came the steady, subdued roar of a great many people, interrupted at intervals by a nurse’s voice calling the next in line. Sister Sarah Ann Dunn stood quietly, holding layers of woolly garments clear of the patient’s shoulders, so that Dr van Elven could get at them in comfort. He was a large man, and very tall, and the patient was fat. He bent, his handsome grizzled head an inch or so from the starched bib of Sarah’s apron, his grey eyes looking at nothing while he listened and tapped, then listened again. Presently he came upright with the deliberation which characterised all his movements, said, ‘Thank you, Sister,’ and turned his back, as he always did, while she dealt with hooks and eyes and zips. She fastened the last button, gave its owner a reassuring little pat and a friendly smile, and said, ‘Mrs Brown is ready for you, sir.’ It was one of the nice things about her, that she never forgot people’s names, however hard pressed she was. Patients were still people to her, and entitled to be treated as such. Dr van Elven strolled back from the X-rays he had been studying, glanced at her briefly from eyes half shut, and nodded. It was her cue to leave him with his patient for a few minutes—an arrangement which suited her very well, for it gave her time to have a quick look round OPD and make sure that everything was going smoothly.

The hall was still quite full, for it was the orthopaedic consultant’s afternoon as well as the gynaecologist’s clinic and the medical OP she was taking. Both staff nurses were busy, but she could only see one student nurse. She made her way along the benches and turned into the narrow passage leading to the testing room. There were two nurses in it, carrying on such an animated conversation that they failed to see her for several seconds. When they did, they stopped in mid-sentence, their eyes upon her, presenting very much the same appearance, she imagined, as she had done when she had been caught in a similar situation as a student nurse. She said now, half smiling:

‘If you two don’t do your work, we shall all be late off duty, and there’s no point in that, is there? If you’re not doing anything here, go back to Staff Nurse Moore, please.’

She didn’t wait to hear their apologies, but gave them a little nod and went back the way she had come, hurrying a little in case Dr van Elven was waiting. All the same, she stopped for a brief word with several of the patients sitting on the benches, for after three years as OPD Sister, she was on friendly terms with a number of them.

Mrs Brown was on the point of going as she went into the consulting room, and the doctor said at once:

‘Ah, Sister, I have been suggesting to Mrs Brown that she should come in for a short time, so that I can keep an eye on this chest of hers—I daresay you can fix a bed? In three or four days, I think; that will give her time to make arrangements at home.’

He was looking at her steadily as he spoke and she said immediately:

‘Yes, of course, sir. I’ll get someone to write and tell Mrs Brown which day to come.’ She smiled at the elderly, rather grubby little woman sitting in front of the doctor’s desk, but Mrs Brown didn’t smile back.

‘It’s me cat,’ she began. ‘‘Oo’s going ter look after ‘im while I’m in?’ She sat silent for a moment, then went on, ‘I don’t see as ‘ow I can manage …’

‘Perhaps the RSPCA?’ suggested Sarah gently.

Mrs Brown shook her head in its shapeless hat. ‘‘E’d pine. I’m sorry, doctor, for you’ve been ever so kind …’

He sat back in his chair, with the air of a man who had all day before him, and nothing to do. ‘Supposing you allow me to—er—have your cat while you are in hospital, Mrs Brown? Do you feel you could trust him to my care?’

Mrs Brown’s several chins wobbled while she strove for words. It was, to say the least, unusual for an important gentleman like a hospital specialist to bother about what became of her Timmy. She was still seeking words when he continued, ‘You would be doing me a great favour—my housekeeper has just lost her cat after fifteen years, and is quite inconsolable. Perhaps looking after your Timmy for a week or so might help her to become more resigned.’

The old lady brightened. ‘Oh, well now, that’s different, doctor. If ‘e’s going ter make ‘er ‘appy, and it ain’t no trouble …’

She got up, and he got to his feet too. ‘No trouble—I’ll see that your cat is collected just before you come in, Mrs Brown. Will that do?’

Sarah ushered her out, competently, but without haste, laid the next case history on the doctor’s desk, put up the X-rays, and waited. He finished what he was writing, closed the folder and said in his rather pedantic English:

‘A pity Mrs Brown wasn’t referred to me earlier. There’s very little to be done, I’m afraid. Chronic bronchitis, emphysema, and congestive heart failure, not to mention all the wrong diet for I don’t know how many years.’ He picked up the next folder, frowning. ‘If her home conditions were not too bad, I could patch her up enough to get her back there for a little while …’

Sister Dunn said nothing, for she knew that nothing was expected of her. She had been working for Dr van Elven for a number of years now; he was rather a taciturn man, kind to his patients, considerate towards the nursing staff, and revealing on occasion an unexpected sense of humour. She was aware that he was not, in fact, addressing her, merely speaking his thoughts out loud. So she stood quietly, patiently waiting for him to rid his mind of Mrs Brown. The little pause in the day’s work did not irk her in the least; indeed, it gave her the opportunity to decide which dress she would wear that evening for dinner with Steven—the newish black would have been nice, but she particularly wanted to look young and gay. It would have to be the turquoise crêpe again. He had seen it a good many times already, but it suited her and she thought he liked it. Besides, it made her look a lot younger than her twenty-eight years … she looked a little wistful for a moment, although there was not the slightest need, for she looked a lot younger anyway, and was possessed of a serene beauty which she would keep all her life.

Her face was oval, with wide grey eyes, extravagantly lashed by nature; she had a delicious nose, small and straight, and a soft curving mouth. Her hair curled a little and she wore it neatly pinned when she was in uniform, and loose in an unswept swirl around her neck when she was off duty. She had a pretty figure too, and a quiet, pleasant voice—everyone who knew her or had met her wondered how it was that she had reached the age of twenty-eight without getting married. She sometimes wondered herself; perhaps it was because she had been waiting for someone like Steven to come along—they had known each other for three years now, and for the last two she had taken it for granted that one day he would ask her to marry him. Only he hadn’t—she knew that he wanted a senior post, and just lately he had been talking about a partnership. Last time they had been out together he had observed that there was no point in marrying until he was firmly established.

She frowned a little, remembering that last time had been more than a week ago. He had telephoned twice since then to cancel the meetings they had arranged. He was Surgical Registrar at St Edwin’s, and she had always accepted the fact that his work came first and because of that she had made no demur and no effort to waylay him in the hospital; but tonight should really be all right—she hoped that they would go to that restaurant in Monmouth Street where the food was good and the company gay. She suddenly wanted to be gay.

She came out of her brown study with a start to find Dr van Elven staring at her with thoughtful eyes. She smiled.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said. ‘Do you want the next patient? It’s old Mr Gregor.’

The doctor went on staring. ‘Yes. I have studied his X-rays, and read his notes through twice, Sister.’ His voice was dry.

She went faintly pink. She liked Dr van Elven very much; they got on well together, although she sometimes felt that she didn’t know him at all. She knew from the hospital grapevine that he was unmarried, that he had had an unhappy love affair when he had been a young man, and that now, at forty, he was a prize any woman would be glad to win. Rumour had it that he had plenty of money, a flourishing practice in Harley Street, and a beautiful house in Richmond. Sarah considered privately that the reason that they got on so well was because they had no romantic interest in each other. But now she had annoyed him.

‘I really am sorry, sir,’ she said with a genuine humility, because his time was precious and she had been wasting it. ‘I—I was thinking.’

‘So I could see. If you would perhaps postpone your thoughts we could get finished and you will be free to enjoy your evening.’

The pink in her cheeks deepened. ‘However did you know I was going out?’ she demanded.

‘I didn’t,’ he answered blandly. ‘I was thought-reading. And now, Mr Gregor, please, Sister.’

The rest of the afternoon passed smoothly. The last patient came and went; Sarah started to pile X-rays and Path. Lab. forms and notes in tidy heaps. Dr van Elven rammed his papers untidily into his briefcase and stood up. He was almost at the door when Sarah asked:

‘Are you really going to look after Mrs Brown’s cat, sir?’

‘You doubt my word, Sister?’

She looked shocked. ‘My goodness, no. Only you don’t look as though you like cats …’ She stopped, fidgeting with the papers in her hands.

He said in surprise, ‘Have you looked at me long enough to form even that opinion of me?’ He laughed in genuine amusement, so she was able to laugh too.

‘You look like a dog man,’ she observed pleasantly.

‘You’re quite right, Sister. I have two dogs—it is my housekeeper who is the cat-lover. But my dogs are well-mannered enough to tolerate Mrs Brown’s cat.’ He turned on his heel. ‘Goodnight. I hope you have a pleasant evening.’

His remarks diverted her thoughts into happy channels. She hurried up with her work, sent the nurses off duty and closed the department for the day. Tomorrow they would be busy again, but now she was free. She walked briskly across the courtyard in the direction of the Nurses’ Home, and halted halfway over to allow Dr van Elven’s car to pass her. It whispered past, as elegant as its driver, who lifted a gloved hand in salute. She watched it slide through the big double gates, and wondered for the hundredth time why the doctor should need a car as powerful as an Iso Grigo to take him to and from his work. Maybe he took long trips at weekends. She felt suddenly rather sorry for him, because she was so happy herself, with an evening in Steven’s company before her, while Dr van Elven had only a housekeeper to greet him when he got home.

When she went down to the Home entrance half an hour later, she could see Steven’s car outside the gates. She had put on the blue crêpe and covered it with an off-white wool coat against the chilly March wind. She walked to the Mini Cooper, wondering why he hadn’t come to the Home as usual; but when he opened the door for her to get in beside him, she forgot everything but the pleasure of seeing him again. She said, ‘Hullo, Steven,’ and he returned her smile briefly and greeted her even more briefly. She looked at his dark good-looking face and decided that he was probably tired; which was a pity, because she was looking forward to their evening out. He started the car and said with a cheerfulness which seemed a little forced:

‘I thought we’d go to that place you like in Monmouth Street,’ and before she could reply launched into an account of his day’s work. When he had finished she made a soothing reply and then, thinking to amuse him, told him about Dr van Elven’s offer to look after Mrs Brown’s cat. He was amused, but not in the way she had intended, for he burst out laughing and said to shock her:

‘Good lord, the man’s a fool—bothering about some old biddy!’

Sarah breathed a little fast. ‘No, he’s not a fool—he’s just a kind man, and Mrs Brown’s going to die in a month or so. The cat’s all she has!’

Steven glanced at her with impatience. ‘Really, Sarah darling, you’re just as much a fool as your precious old van Elven. You’re not going to get very far if you’re going to get sentimental over an old woman.’

He applied himself to his driving, and she sat silent, biting back the sharp retort she would have liked to make. They had often argued before, but now it was almost as if he were trying to make her angry. He parked the car, and they walked the short distance to the restaurant, talking meanwhile, rather carefully, of completely impersonal things. It was warm in the small room but relaxing and carefree. They had a drink and ordered entrecôte mon Plaisir, which was delicious, and then cherry tart, and all the while they continued to talk about everything and everyone but themselves. They were drinking their coffee when Sarah said:

‘I’ve got a week’s holiday soon. I’m going home—I wondered if you’d like to drive me down and stay a couple of days,’ and the moment she had said it, wished it unsaid, for she had seen the look on his face—irritation, annoyance and even a faint panic. He said far too quickly:

‘I can’t get away,’ not quite meeting her eye, and she felt a cold hand clutch at her heart. There was an awkward silence until she said in a level voice, ‘Steven, you’re beating about the bush. Just tell me whatever it is—because that’s why you brought me here, isn’t it, to tell me something?’

He nodded. ‘I feel a bit of a swine …’ he began, and looked taken aback when she said briskly, ‘I daresay you do, but you can hardly expect me to be sympathetic about it until I know what the reason for that is.’

She looked calm and a little pale; her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, out of sight. She knew, with awful clarity, that Steven was about to throw her over; a situation she had never envisaged—no, that wasn’t quite correct, she told herself honestly. She had wondered a great deal lately why he never mentioned marriage any more.

He said sulkily, ‘I’m going to be married. Old Binns’ daughter.’ Mr Binns was his chief. The sensible side of Sarah’s brain applauded his wisdom—money, a partnership, all the right people for patients …

‘Congratulations.’ Her voice was cool, very composed. ‘Have you known her long?’

He looked astonished, and she returned the look with calm dignity, the nails of one hand digging painfully into the palm of the other. If he was expecting her to make a fuss, then he was mistaken.

‘About eighteen months.’

Her beautiful mouth opened on a gasp. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Or was I being held as a second string?’ she wanted to know in a kind of interested astonishment which made him say quickly:

‘You don’t understand, Sarah. We’ve had a lot of fun together, haven’t we? But you always thought in terms of marriage, didn’t you? You must see—you’re not a child. If I want to get on—and I do—I must get some money and meet the right people.’

‘Do you love her?’ asked Sarah.

He blustered a little. ‘I’m very fond of her.’

She looked down her exquisite nose and said with feeling, ‘Oh, the poor girl! And now I should like to go back, please—I’ve a heavy morning tomorrow.’

On the way to the car, he asked in a surprised voice, ‘Don’t you mind?’

‘That’s a question you have no right to ask as it’s of no consequence to you. In any case, I certainly don’t intend answering you.’

‘You’re damned calm,’ he answered on a sudden burst of anger. ‘That’s the trouble with you—calm and strait-laced; we could have had a grand time of it, if it hadn’t been for your ridiculous moral upbringing!’

Sarah settled herself in the car. ‘It’s a good thing in the circumstances, isn’t it?’ she observed with icy sweetness.

But she wasn’t icy when she got to her room. She went along for a bath, and exchanged the time of day with the other Sisters she met in the corridor, refusing a cup of tea on the plea of being tired, and finally shut her door so that at last she was alone and could cry her eyes out. She cried for loneliness and misery and the thought of the empty future and the wasted years, and, because she was a nice girl, she cried for Miss Binns.

The next day was nightmarish, made more so by the fact that it was Mr Binns’ out-patients and Steven would be with him that afternoon. She went to her dinner, white-faced and heavy-eyed, and encouraged all those who asked in the belief that she was enduring a heavy cold. She allowed Mr Binns to think the same when he remarked upon her jaded looks, carefully avoiding Steven’s eye as she did so. She went about her work with her usual briskness, however, talking to Steven, when she had to, in her usual friendly manner and uttering calming platitudes to the patients as they came and went.

Mr Binns was a brilliant surgeon, but he was a thought too hearty in pronouncing judgment—no one likes being told that some vital organ is in need of repair—and Mr Binns, she suspected, tended to lose sight of the person in the patient. She wondered sometimes if he was quite so cheerfully abrupt with his private patients, and thought it unlikely. She studied him, sitting behind the desk, a shade pompous, faultlessly dressed and very sure of himself, and the unbidden thought streaked through her mind that in twenty years’ time Steven would be just like him. This thought was closely followed by another one—most unexpectedly of Dr van Elven, who, although just as sure of himself and dressed, if anything, even more immaculately, had never yet shown himself to be pompous, and whose patients, however trying, he always treated as people.

The day ended at last. She went over to the Home, had a bath and changed out of uniform and went along to the Sisters’ sitting room. As she went in, there was a sudden short silence, followed by a burst of chat. She smiled wryly. The grapevine was already at work; it was something she would have to face sooner or later. Luckily she knew everyone in the room very well indeed; she might as well get it over and done with. She caught Kate Spencer’s eye—she had trained with Kate; they had been friends for a number of years now—and said cheerfully, ‘I expect the grapevine has got all the details wrong—it always does, but the fact remains that Steven is going to marry Mr Binns’ daughter. It isn’t anyone’s fault, just one of those things. Only it’s a bit awkward.’

She sat down on one of the easy chairs scattered about the pleasant room and waited quietly for someone to say something. It was Kate who spoke.

‘Of course it’s Steven’s fault. I bet,’ she continued with her unerring habit of fastening on the truth, ‘he’s not in love with her. She’s Dad’s only daughter, isn’t she? There’ll be some money later on, and a partnership now.’

She glanced at Sarah’s face, which was expressionless, and said with devastating candour, ‘I’m right, aren’t I? Sarah? Only you’ll not admit it.’

She made a small snorting noise, indicative of indignation and echoed by everyone else in the room, because Sarah was liked and Steven had played her a rotten trick. A small dark girl who had been curled up by the fire and had so far said nothing got to her feet.

‘There’s a new film on at the Leicester Square. Let’s all go—if we’re quick we can just manage it, and we can eat at Holy Joe’s on the way back. It’s only spaghetti for supper anyway.’

Her fortitudinous suggestion was received with a relief everyone did their best to conceal. They were all sorry for Sarah, but they knew her enough to know that the last thing she wanted from them was pity. They went in a body to the cinema, sweeping her along with them, and afterwards had a rather noisy supper at Joe’s. It was after ten as they walked back through the mean little back streets of the East End to the hospital. It was a long walk, but they had agreed among themselves that it would be a good idea to tire Sarah out, so that she would sleep and not look quite so awful in the morning as she had done all day.

But she didn’t sleep that night either—she still looked beautiful when she went on duty the next morning, but she had no colour at all, and her eyes were haggard. She would have to see Steven; work with him, talk to him until dinner time. It was Mr Peppard’s surgical OP, and Steven would naturally be there too. She could of course tell one of the staff nurses to take the clinic and make herself scarce at the other end of the department, but pride forbade her. She did the usual round, making sure that patients were being weighed, tests done, X-rays fetched, and Path. Lab. forms collected. It was almost time for the clinic to open when she had done. She went into her office—she would have time to sketch out the off-duty rota before nine o’clock. She had barely sat down at her desk when Steven came in. Sarah looked up briefly, said ‘Good morning’ with quiet affability and went on with her writing. He stood awkwardly by the door, and when she didn’t say anything else, said sulkily:

‘I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t know you were so serious about it all—I mean, we were only good pals, after all. I never said I’d marry you …’

Sarah put down her pen at that, gave him a haughty look, and said with deliberation, ‘Aren’t you being just a little conceited, Steven? No, you never asked me to marry you, so aren’t you anticipating my answer? The one I might have made, that is. There’s no point in raking over a dead fire, is there?’ She had gone rather red in the face, and was regrettably aware that her lip was trembling. She went on sharply, ‘Now do go away; I want to get this done before Mr Peppard comes.’

He went then, and she was left to sit alone, staring in front of her, the off-duty rota forgotten.

She went to first dinner, leaving Staff to finish Mr Peppard’s clinic. Dr van Elven had his OP at one-thirty—he liked his patients ready and waiting when he arrived, and as he didn’t keep other people waiting himself, Sarah did her best to achieve this state of affairs, although it often meant a wild race against time between the clinics. It was one of her lucky days, however. She was ready to start, with the first patient waiting in the little dressing room and the nurse outside already hovering over the second, and there were still five minutes to go. She had had no time to tidy herself. She began feverishly to do so now—showering powder over her pretty nose in a vain effort to cover its redness, and putting on far too much lipstick. She was tucking her hair into a neat pleat, her mouth full of pins, when Dr van Elven stalked in. He was never early—she was so surprised that she opened her mouth and all the pins scattered on the floor. He put down his case on the desk and went and picked them up for her and handed them back gravely. He gave her a quick, searching glance as he wished her good afternoon; a look which she was convinced saw right through the powder. She was annoyed to feel herself blushing—not that it mattered, for he was standing, half turned away from her, reading up the first patient’s notes.

For some reason which she couldn’t understand, she didn’t want him to know about Steven. Of course, in time, he was bound to find out—news leaked through even to the most exhalted of the senior staff. He had been one of the first to know when she had started going out with Steven; she remembered with awful clarity how he had asked her lightly if she would like being a surgeon’s wife. She thought that she had no more tears left, but now, at this most awkward of moments, they rose in a solid lump into her throat. She swallowed them back resolutely and heard his calm voice asking her to fetch in the first patient. He looked up as he spoke and gave her a long steady look, and she was all at once aware that he knew all about it. She lifted her chin and went past him to the door to bring in his patient.

The clinic was a long one that afternoon. The medical registrar was on holiday; it meant that one of the house physicians was dealing with blood samples and blood sugars and any of the various tests Dr van Elven wanted done at once. He was nervous and therefore a little slow; when they stopped for five minutes to snatch a cup of tea cooling on its tray, there was still a formidable number of patients to see. Of these, two had to be admitted immediately, and several were sent to X-Ray, which meant that Dr van Elven had to sit patiently while the wet films were fetched by a nurse. It was six o’clock by the time the last patient had gone. Sarah had never known him so late before, and even now he evinced no desire to go home. He sat writing endless notes, and even a couple of letters, because the secretary had gone at five-thirty. Sarah cleared up the afternoon’s litter around the department locking doors and inspecting sluices and making sure that there were no patients lurking in the cubicles. When she got back, he had apparently finished, for the desk was cleared of papers, and his case was closed. He got up as she went into the consulting room.

‘Mrs Brown is to come in the day after tomorrow, I believe, Sister?’

Sarah said yes, she was, and had he fetched the cat.

‘Not yet,’ he answered seriously. ‘I wonder if you would do me the favour of coming with me to Mrs Brown’s—er—home? It seems to me to be a good idea if we were to take her to Richmond with the cat; she could meet my housekeeper and then go on to hospital. If you were there too … I believe that you are free on Saturday mornings?’

She was always free on Saturday mornings—she wondered why he asked, because after all these years he must surely know. But she had nothing to do; it would fill the hours before she came on duty after dinner. She replied:

‘Yes, certainly, sir. Shall I meet you there?’ She thought a moment. ‘Mrs Brown lives in Phipps Street, doesn’t she?’

The doctor nodded. ‘Yes. But I will fetch you from the Home. Would eleven o’clock suit you?’

He waited only long enough for her to murmur a rather surprised Yes before he went, calling a brief goodnight over his shoulder.

She went to the front door of the Home exactly on the hour on Saturday morning to find him waiting. The Iso Grigo looked sleek and powerful, and it was very comfortable. Dr van Elven got out and walked round and opened the door for her—something Steven had seldom done. Her spirits lifted a little, to drop to her shoes as the car slid to the gate and purred to a halt to allow Steven’s Mini to pass them, going the other way. She had a glimpse of his face, gazing at her with a stunned surprise, then he had passed them and they themselves were out in the street. She remembered then that it was Steven’s habit to play squash each Saturday and that he invariably returned at eleven. She wondered if the man beside her knew that, and decided that he didn’t, but her flattened ego lifted a little—the small incident would give Steven something to think about.

She felt all of a sudden more cheerful and was able to utter a few pointless remarks about the weather, to which Dr van Elven made courteous replies in a casual voice. He was so relaxed himself that she began to relax too and even to feel pleased that she had dressed with such care. She had read once, a long time ago, when such advice seemed laughingly improbable, that it was of the utmost importance for a girl who had been jilted to take the greatest pains with her appearance. Well, she had. She had put on her new tweed suit—a rather dashing outfit in tobacco brown—and complemented it with brown calf shoes and handbag. She felt pleased that she had taken such sound advice, and pondered the advisability of getting a new hat until, obedient to the doctor’s request, she peered out of the window to look for number 169. Phipps Street was endless, edged with smoke-grimed Victorian houses, the variety of whose curtains bore testimony to the number of people they sheltered; the pavements were crowded with children playing, housewives hurrying along with loaded baskets, and old men leaning against walls, doing nothing at all. Sarah said on a sigh, ‘How drab it all is—how can they live here?’

The doctor eased the car past a coal cart. ‘And yet you choose to work here.’

‘Yes. But I go home three or four times a year—I can escape.’ She broke off to point out the house they were making for, and he brought the car to halt between a milk float and an ice-cream van with a smooth action which earned her admiration. They had barely set foot upon the pavement before a small crowd had collected. The doctor smiled lightly at the curious faces around them and applied himself to the elderly knocker upon the front door. Several faces from various windows peered out, and after a good look, the windows were opened. The nearest framed a large man with a belligerent eye. ‘‘Oo d’yer want?’ he enquired without enthusiasm.

Dr van Elven said simply, ‘Mrs Brown.’

‘Ah,’ said the man, and disappeared, to reappear a moment later at the door. ‘You’ll be the doctor,’ he remarked importantly. ‘Second floor back. Mind the stairs, there’s a bit of rail missing.’ He stared at them both and then stood back to let them pass him into the small dark hall. ‘I’ll keep an eye on that there car,’ he offered.

‘Thank you.’ The doctor had produced some cigarettes from a pocket of his well-cut tweed suit and offered them silently. The man took one, said, ‘Ta’ and waved a muscled arm behind him. ‘Up there.’

They mounted the stairs with a certain amount of caution, the doctor restraining her with a hand on her shoulder. She remembering the missing rail. They were on the first landing when Sarah said:

‘You don’t smoke cigarettes—only a pipe.’

He paused, a step ahead of her, and smiled over his shoulder.

‘How—er—observant of you. They’re useful to carry around in these parts; they smooth the way, I find.’

They went on climbing and she wondered why he talked as if he was in the habit of frequenting similar houses in similar streets. Most unlikely, she decided, when he lived in Richmond and had rooms in Harley Street and a large private practice to boot.

The second landing was smaller, darker, and smelled. The doctor’s splendid nose flared fastidiously, but he said nothing. Sarah had wrinkled her own small nose too; it gave her the air of a rather choosy angel. The doctor glanced at her briefly, and then, as though unable to help himself, he looked again before he knocked on the door before them.

They entered in answer to Mrs Brown’s voice, and found themselves in a small room, depressingly painted in tones of spinach green and margarine, and furnished with a bed, table and chairs which were much too big for it. Mrs Brown was sitting in one of the chairs and when she attempted to get up, said breathily, ‘Well, well, this is nice and no mistake. I ain’t ‘ad visitors for I dunno ‘ow long.’ She beamed at them both. ‘‘Ow about a nice cuppa?’

Rather to Sarah’s surprise, the doctor said that yes, he could just do with one, and drew forward an uncomfortable chair and invited her to sit in it. The twinkle in his eye was kindly but so pronounced that she said hastily, ‘May I get the tea while you and Mrs Brown talk?’ and left him to lower himself cautiously on to the chair, which creaked in protest under his not inconsiderable weight.

Making the tea was quite a complicated business, for it involved going out on to the landing and filling the kettle from the tap there, which presumably everyone adjacent to it shared, and setting it on the solitary gas ring in a corner of the room. She found teapot, cups and sugar, and was hunting for the milk when Mrs Brown broke off her conversation to say:

‘In a tin, Sister dear, under the shelf. I can’t get down to the milkman all that easy, and tinned milk makes a good cuppa tea, I always says.’

The tea was rich and brown and syrupy. Sarah sat in the chair which the doctor had vacated and inquired for Timmy.

Mrs Brown put down her cup. ‘Bless ‘im, ‘e knows I’m going.’ Her elderly voice shook and Sarah made haste to say kindly, ‘Only for a week or so, Mrs Brown, and you’ll soon feel so much better.’

‘That’s as may be,’ Mrs Brown replied darkly. ‘I wouldn’t go to no ‘ospital for no one but Doc ‘ere.’ She drew a wheezy breath. ‘Timmy, come on out ter yer mum!’

Timmy came from under the bed—an elderly, lean cat with battle-scarred ears and magnificent whiskers. He climbed into the old lady’s lap, butted her gently with his bullet head, and purred.

‘Nice, ain’t ‘e?’ his owner asked. ‘Pals, we are—don’t know as ‘ow I wants ter go …’

Dr van Elven turned from his contemplation of the neigh-bouring chimney pots. His voice was gentle.

‘Mrs Brown, if you will consent to go to hospital now, and stay for two weeks, there will be no chance of you waking up one morning and not feeling well enough to get out of bed. You remember I explained that to you. What would happen to Timmy then? Surely it is better to know that he is safe and cared for now than run the risk of not being able to look after him?’ He picked up her coat from the bed. ‘Shall we go? You will be able to see where he will be and who will be looking after him.’

He sounded persuasive and kind and quite sure of what he was talking about. The old lady got up, and allowed herself to be helped into her coat, put on the shapeless hat with a fine disregard as to her appearance, and pronounced herself ready. When they reached the pavement, the small crowd was still there, kept firmly under control by the man who had opened the door to them. He accepted the remainder of the cigarettes from the doctor, shut the car doors firmly upon them and saluted smartly.

‘‘E’s me landlord,’ Mrs Brown informed them from the back of the car. ‘Real gent ‘e is. Let me orf me rent.’ She settled back, Timmy perched on her lap, apparently unimpressed by his surroundings. Sarah didn’t look at the doctor, but she had the feeling that they were thinking the same thing. She was proved right when he murmured:

‘Bis dat qui cito dat.’

She said. ‘Oh, Latin. Something about giving, isn’t it?’

The man beside her chuckled. ‘He who gives quickly, gives twice.’

‘That’s what I thought too, only in English. He didn’t look as though he’d give a crumb to a bird, and I don’t suppose he could really afford to lose the rent, even for a couple of weeks.’

Dr van Elven said briefly, ‘No,’ then glanced at his watch. ‘You’re on at half past one, are you not? It’s just gone half past eleven. Time enough; we’ll go by the back ways.’

He knew his London, that was evident; he didn’t hesitate once, but wove his way in and out of streets which all looked alike, until she wasn’t at all sure where they were. It was a surprise when they crossed the river, and she recognised Putney Bridge. They turned into Upper Richmond Road very shortly after, then into Richmond itself and so to the river. The doctor’s house was one of a row of Georgian bow-fronted houses set well back from the road, with their own private thoroughfare and an oblique view of the water, which was only a couple of hundred yards away. It was surprisingly peaceful. Sarah got out of the car and looked around her while the doctor helped Mrs Brown to get out. It would be nice to live in such a spot, she thought, only a few miles from the hospital, but as far removed from it as if they were upon another planet.

The doctor unlocked the front door with its gleaming knocker and beautiful fanlight and stood aside for them to go in. The hall was a great deal larger than she had thought from the outside, and was square with a polished floor and some lovely rugs. There was a satin-striped wallpaper upon which were a great many pictures, and the furniture was, she thought, early Regency—probably Sheraton. The baize door at the back of the hall opened and a woman came towards them. She was tall and bony and middle-aged, with dark brown eyes and pepper-and-salt hair; she had the nicest smile Sarah had seen for a long time. The doctor shut the door and said easily:

‘Ah, there you are, Alice.’ He glanced at Sarah and said, ‘This is my good friend and housekeeper, Alice Miller. Alice, this is Sister Dunn from the hospital, and this is Mrs Brown, of whom I told you, and Timmy.’ He threw his gloves on to a marble-topped wall table. ‘Supposing you take Mrs Brown with you and show her where Timmy will live, and discuss his diet?’

Sarah watched the two women disappear through the door to the kitchen and looked rather shyly at Dr van Elven.

‘Come and see the splendid view from the sitting room,’ he invited, and led the way to one of the doors opening into the hall. The room was at the back of the house, and from its window there was indeed an excellent view of the river with a stretch of green beyond. It was almost country, and the illusion was heightened by the small garden, which was a mass of primulas and daffodils and grape hyacinths backed by trees and shrubs. There was a white-painted table and several chairs in one corner, sheltered by a box hedge; it would be pleasant to sit there on a summer morning. She said so, and he replied, ‘It is indeed. I breakfast there when it’s fine, for it is difficult for me to get out of doors at all on a busy day.’

She didn’t reply. She was picturing him sitting there, reading the morning paper and his post—she wondered if he had any family to write to him. She hoped so; he was so nice. He had gone to the ground-length window and opened it to let in two dogs, a basset hound and a Jack Russell, whom he introduced as Edward and Albert. They pranced to meet her, greeted her politely and then went back to stand by their master.

He said, ‘Do sit down, won’t you? We’ll give them ten minutes to get to know each other. There are cigarettes beside you if you care to smoke.’

She shook her head. ‘No thanks. I only smoke at parties when I want something to do with my hands.’

He smiled. ‘You won’t mind if I light my pipe?’

‘Please do. What will you do about Mrs Brown, sir?’

‘What I said. Pull her together as far as we can in hospital and then let her go home.’

Sarah looked horrified. ‘Not back to Phipps Street?’

He raised his brows. ‘Phipps Street is her home,’ he said coolly. ‘She has lived there for so long, it would be cruel to take her away, especially as she has only a little of life left. I shall arrange for someone to go in daily and do everything necessary, and I think the landlord could be persuaded to clean up the room and perhaps paint it while she is away.’

Sarah nodded, highly approving. ‘That would be nice. Yes, you’re right, of course. She’d be lost anywhere else.’

He had lighted his pipe; now he stood up. He said, quite without sarcasm, ‘I’m glad you approve. I’m going to fetch Mrs Brown—will you wait here? I shan’t be long.’

When he had gone, she got up and began an inspection of the room. It was comfortable and lived-in, with leather armchairs and an enormous couch drawn up before the beautiful marble fireplace. The floor was polished and covered with the same beautiful rugs as there were in the hall. There was a sofa table behind the couch and a scattering of small drum tables around the room, and a marquetry William and Mary china cabinet against one of the walls. A davenport under one of the windows would make letter writing very pleasant … it had a small button-backed chair to partner it; Sarah went and sat down, feeling soothed and calmer than she had felt for the last two days or so. She realised that she hadn’t thought of Steven for several hours; she had been so occupied with Mrs Brown and the ridiculous Timmy—it had been pure coincidence, of course, that Dr van Elven should have asked for her help; all the same she felt grateful to him. He couldn’t have done more to distract her thoughts even if she had told him about the whole sorry business.

Her gratitude coloured her goodbyes when they parted in the hospital entrance hall, he to go off to some business of his own, she to take Mrs Brown to Women’s Medical. But if he was surprised by the fervour of her thanks, he gave no sign. It was only later, when she was sitting in the lonely isolation of OPD that the first faint doubts as to whether it had been coincidence crept into her mind. She brushed them aside as absurd at first, but they persisted, and the annoying thing was that she wasn’t sure if she minded or not. There was no way of finding out either, short of asking Dr van Elven to his face, something she didn’t care to do; for if she was mistaken, she could imagine only too vividly, the look of bland amusement on his face. The amusement would be kindly, and that would make it worse, because it would mean that he pitied her, a fact, which for some reason or other, she could not bear to contemplate.

She drew the laundry book towards her, resolutely emptying her mind of anything but the number of towels and pillow cases she could expect back on Monday.

CHAPTER TWO

SARAH WENT TO SEE Mrs Brown on Sunday. She went deliberately during the visiting hour in the afternoon, because she thought it unlikely that the old lady would have any visitors. She was right; Mrs Brown was sitting up in bed in a hospital nightie several sizes too large for her, looking very clean, her hair surprisingly white after its washing—a nurse had pinned it up and tied a pink bow in it as well.

‘How nice you look, Mrs Brown—I like that ribbon.’ Sarah drew up a chair and sat down, aware of the glances Mrs Brown was casting left and right to her neighbours as if to say ‘I told you so’. She made a resolve then and there to pop in and see her whenever she could spare a minute, and enquired after the old lady’s health.

Mrs Brown brushed this aside. ‘‘E sent a message,’ she stated. ‘Timmy’s ‘ad a good sleep, ‘e said, and eaten for two.’ She fidgeted around in the bed and all the pillows fell down, so that Sarah had to get up and rearrange them. ‘One of them young doctors told me this morning.’ She frowned reflectively. ‘They knows what they’re doing, I suppose? Them young ones?’

‘Yes, Mrs Brown.’ Sarah sounded very positive. ‘They’re all qualified doctors and they’re here to carry out the consultant’s wishes.’

‘So all them things ‘e did to me ‘e was told ter do by the doc?’

Sarah nodded. ‘That’s right. Now is there anything I can do for you while you’re here? Was anyone going to get your room ready for you to go back?’

The old lady looked astonished. ‘Lor’, no, ducks. ‘Oo’d ‘ave the time? Though I daresay someone’ll pop in and do me bed and get me in some stuff.’

Sarah made a noncommittal reply to this remark, and made a mental note to go round to Phipps Street one evening and make sure that there really was someone.

She didn’t see Steven again until Tuesday morning, when Mr Binns had an extra OP clinic. They had barely exchanged cool good mornings, when he was called away to the wards, and didn’t return until all but two of the patients had gone. It was already past twelve, and they were behind time. Dr van Elven had a vast clinic at one-thirty. For once she was glad of Mr Binns’ briskness; he took no time at all over the last patient—a post-operative check-up—thanked Sarah with faint pomposity, and hurried away with Steven beside him. She sent the nurses to dinner, had a few words with Staff, who had come on duty to take the gynae clinic, and then got on with the business of substituting Dr Binns’paraphernalia for that of Dr van Elven. She had almost finished when Steven returned.

He said abruptly as he came in, ‘Where the hell were you going on Saturday with old van Elven?’

Sarah’s heart gave an excited jump. So he minded! She stacked the case notes neatly and consulted her long list of names before she replied, in a calm voice she hardly recognised as her own:

‘Is it any business of yours? And if you refer to Dr van Elven, he’s not at all old, you know.’

He gave an ugly laugh. ‘You’re a sly one—pretending to be such a little puritan and playing the hurt madam with me! How long have you been leading him by the nose? He’s quite a catch.’

He was standing quite near her. She put down her list and slapped his face hard, and in the act saw Dr van Elven standing at the doorway. As he came into the room he said quietly, ‘Get out.’ His voice had the menace of a knife, although his face was impassive.

Sarah watched Steven standing irresolute, one hand to a reddened cheek, the look of surprise still on his face, and then turn on his heel and go. She had never expected him to brazen it out anyway. Dr van Elven was the senior consultant at St Edwin’s, and could, if he so wished, use his authority. She didn’t look at him now, but mumbled, ‘I’m late for dinner …’

‘Sit down,’ he said placidly, and she obeyed him weakly. She had gone very white; now her face flamed with humiliation and temper—mostly temper. She shook with it, and gripped her hands together in her lap to keep them steady. Dr van Elven went over to the desk in a leisurely fashion and put down his case. He said, not looking at her, in a most reasonable voice:

‘You can’t possibly go to the dining room in such a towering rage.’

He was right, of course. Sarah stared at her hands and essayed to speak.

‘You know about me and Steven.’

‘Yes. But I see no need to enlarge upon what must be a painful subject.’

Sarah choked on a watery chuckle, ‘I’m behaving like a heroine in a Victorian novel, aren’t I?’ She gave him a sudden waspish look. ‘I’m furious!’ she snapped, as though he hadn’t commented upon her feelings already. He said ‘Yes,’ again and gave her a half smile, then bent over his desk, leaving her to pull herself together. Presently he remarked:

‘That’s better. We have a large clinic, I believe. How fortunate—there’s nothing like hard work for calming the nerves. Might I suggest that you go to your dinner now? I should like to start punctually.’

She got up at once, unconsciously obedient to his quietly compelling voice. ‘Yes, of course, sir. I’ve been wasting time.’

She fled through the door, feeling that somehow or other he had contrived to make the whole episode not worth bothering about. She even ate her dinner, aware that he would ask her if she had done so when she got back and would expect a truthful answer.

There was not time to ask her anything, however. When she returned the benches were overflowing. The air rang with a variety of coughs, and as it was raining outside, the same air was heavy with the damp from wet coats and the redolence of sopping garments which those who had arrived first had had the forethought to dry out upon the radiators. Sarah went swiftly into the consultants’ room, saw that Dr van Elven was already sitting at his desk, adjusted her cuffs and said in her usual serene tones:

‘Shall I fetch in the first one, sir? Mr Jenkins—check-up after three weeks as in-patient.’

He gave her a brief, impersonal glance, nodded and returned to his writing. ‘I’ve seen his X-rays—I’ll want some blood though. Will you get Dr Coles on to it?’

She fetched in Mr Jenkins, waited just long enough to make sure that she wouldn’t be wanted for a moment, and flew to find the Medical Registrar. Dr Coles was tucked away in the little room near the sluice, going through Path. Lab. forms and various reports, so that later, when Dr van Elven wanted to know some detail about one of his patients, he would know the answer. He looked up as she went in and said pleasantly:

‘Hullo, Sarah. Is the chief already here? I’m still choking down facts and figures.’ He grinned and she smiled at him warmly. He was a nice man, not young any more, and apparently not ambitious, for he seemed content to stay where he was, working in hospital. He got on well with the consultant staff and was utterly reliable and invariably good-natured. He was reputed to be very happily married and was apt to talk at length about his children, of whom he was very proud. He got up now and followed her back past the rows of patients. Mr Jenkins was still describing the nasty pain that caught him right in the stomach, and Dr van Elven was listening to him with the whole of his attention. When the old man paused for breath, though, the doctor said, ‘Hullo, Dick’, and smiled at his Registrar. ‘What did you make of Mr Jenkins when he was in?’

The two men became immersed in their patient, leaving her free to make sure that the one to follow was ready and waiting in the dressing room, and that everything that Dr van Elven might want was to hand.

The afternoon wore on, the small room gradually acquiring the same damp atmosphere as the waiting hall. Sarah switched on the electric fan, which stirred up the air without noticeable improvement. She switched it off again and Dr van Elven said:

‘Don’t worry, Sister,’ and then, surprisingly, ‘I am a little ashamed that I can drive myself home, warm, and dry for I imagine, from their appearance, that quite a number of my patients haven’t even the price of a bus fare, and even if they have, won’t be able to get on a bus.’ He caught her eye and smiled. ‘How about tea?’

Over their brief cup, the men discussed the next case and Dr Coles told them about his eldest son, who was doing rather well at school. It was while Sarah was piling their cups and saucers on to a tray that Dr van Elven remarked quietly, ‘Mrs Brown tells me that you visit her regularly, Sister. That is good of you.’

Sarah whipped the next patient’s notes before him and said in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘Well, I don’t think she has any relations or friends to come and see her, sir. And you know how awful it is for a patient to be the only one in the ward without visitors.’

He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘I imagine it must be a miserable experience. She is responding very well, you know. I must see about getting her home.’

Sarah was on the way to the door. She paused and looked back at him.

‘How’s Timmy?’ she asked.

‘The perfect guest—his manners, contrary to his appearance, are charming.’

They finished at last—she sent the student nurses off duty, left Staff to clear up the gynae clinic on the other side of the department, and began her own clearing up. Dr Coles had gone to answer a call from one of the wards, and she was alone with Dr van Elven, who was sitting back in his chair, presumably deep in thought. She bustled about the little room putting it to rights and piling the case notes ready to take back to the office. She was trying not to remember that it was just a week since she had gone out to dinner with Steven, but her thoughts, now that she was free to think again after the afternoon’s rush, kept returning to the same unhappy theme. She had quite forgotten the man sitting so quietly at the desk. When he spoke she jumped visibly and said hurriedly:

‘I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t hear what you were saying.’

He withdrew an abstracted gaze from the ceiling, stared at her from under half-closed lids, and got up. At the door he said quietly:

‘It gets easier as the days go by—especially if there is plenty of work to do. Good night, Sister Dunn.’

Sarah stood staring, her mouth open. He was well out of earshot when she at length said ‘Good night’ in reply.

There was a message for her when she got over to the Home, from Steven, saying that he had to see her, and would she be outside at seven o’clock. To apologise, she surmised; but he could have done that in his note, and she had no intention of running to his least word. She changed rapidly; she had a good excuse to go out, and was glad of it. She would go and see about Mrs Brown’s room. There was actually plenty of time, but as Dr van Elven had said, being busy helped.

Phipps Street looked depressing; the rain had stopped, but the wind was fresh and the evening sky unfriendly. Sarah banged on the front door and the same man opened it to her. He looked at her suspiciously at first, perhaps because she was in a raincoat and a headscarf and looked different, but when he saw who she was he opened the door wide.

‘It’s you again, miss. Thought you’d be along. Come to ‘ave a look, I suppose, and do a bit o’ choosing. ‘Ow’s the old girl?’

Sarah edged past him. ‘She’s fine—and settled in very nicely, though of course she’s longing to come home.’

He lumbered ahead of her up the miserable staircase.

‘Well, o’course. ‘Oo wants ter stay in ‘ospital when they got a good ‘ome?’

They had reached the little landing and he flung open Mrs Brown’s door with something of a flourish. It was empty of furniture—of everything, she noted with mounting astonishment. Two men were painting the woodwork; one of them turned round as she went in, greeted her civilly and asked if she had come to choose the wallpaper. Her grey eyes opened wide and she turned to the landlord. ‘But surely you want to decide that?’ she wanted to know.

‘Lor’ luv yer, miss, no. What should I know about fancy wallpaper?’ He let out a great bellow of laughter and went out, shutting the door behind him. Sarah looked around her. The room was being redecorated quite lavishly. The hideous piping which probably had something to do with the water tap on the landing had been cased in: one of the men was fitting a new sash-cord to the elderly window frame he was painting. The paintwork was grey, the walls, stripped of several layers of paper, looked terrible. There were several books of wallpaper patterns in the centre of the room, on the bare floor. After an undecided moment, Sarah knelt down and opened the first of them. The man at the window said:

‘That’s right, ducks, you choose something you like; we’ll be ready to ‘ang it soon as the paint’s dry.’

She gave him a puzzled look. ‘Well, if there’s no one else.’

She was contemplating a design of pink cabbage roses when she heard someone running upstairs and the door was opened by Dr van Elven. He nodded to the two men, and if he was surprised to see Sarah, she had to admit that he didn’t show it. He said, ‘Hullo. What a relief to see you—now you can choose the wallpaper.’

She had to laugh. ‘It’s like a conspiracy—when I got here the landlord seemed to think that was why I had come, and so did this painter. I really only came to see if there was any cleaning to do before Mrs Brown came home.’

‘Not for ten days at least.’ His tone was dry.

She was annoyed to feel her cheeks warming. ‘Well, I wanted to get away from the hospital.’ She turned back to the pattern book, determined not to say more, and was relieved when he said casually:

‘That’s splendid. Have you seen anything you like?’

‘Mrs Brown likes pink,’ she said slowly, and frowned. ‘Surely if the landlord is having this done, he should choose?’ She looked up enquiringly, saw his face and said instantly: ‘You’re doing it.’ She added, ‘Sir.’

‘My name is Hugo,’ he said pleasantly. ‘You are, of course, aware of that. I think that after three years we might dispense with sir and Sister, unless we are actually—er—at work. I hope you agree?’

She was a little startled and uncertain what to say, but it seemed it was of no consequence, for he continued without waiting for her reply:

‘Good, that’s settled. Now, shall we get this vexed question of wallpaper dealt with?’

He got down beside her as he spoke, and opened a second book of patterns, and they spent a pleasant half hour admiring and criticising in a lighthearted fashion until finally Sarah said:

‘I think Mrs Brown would like the roses. They’re very large and pink, aren’t they, and they’ll make the room look even smaller than it is, but they’re pretty—I mean for someone who’s lived for years with green paint and margarine walls, they’re pretty.’

The man beside her uncoiled himself and came to his feet with the agility of a much younger man. ‘Right. Roses it shall be. Now, furniture—nothing too modern, I think, but small—I had the idea of looking around one or two of those secondhand places to try and find similar stuff. Perhaps you would come with me, Sarah. Curtains too—I’ve no idea …’

He contrived to look so helpless that she agreed at once.

‘Would eleven o’clock on Saturday suit you?’ he asked. She gave him a swift suspicious glance, which he returned with a look of such innocent blandness that she was instantly ashamed of her thoughts. She got to her feet and said that yes, that would do very well, and waited while he talked to the two men. When he had finished she said a little awkwardly:

‘Well, I think I’ll go now. Goodnight, everyone.’

The two workmen chorused a cheerful, ‘‘Night, ducks,’ but the doctor followed her out. On the stairs he remarked mildly:

‘What a shy young woman you are!’ and then, ‘Let me go first, this staircase is a death-trap.’

With his broad back to her, she found the courage to say, ‘I know I’m shy—it’s stupid in a woman of my age, isn’t it? I try very hard not to be; it’s all right while I’m working. I—I thought I’d got over it, but now I seem worse than ever.’

Her voice tailed away, as she remembered Steven. They had reached the landing and he paused and turned round to look at her. ‘My dear girl, being shy doesn’t matter in the least; didn’t you know that? It can be positively restful in this day and age.’

They went on down to the little hall and Sarah felt warmed by the comfort of his words; it was extraordinary how he put her at her ease, almost as though they were friends of a lifetime. She stood by the door, while he, in a most affable manner, pointed out to Mr Ives, the landlord, the iniquity of having a staircase in the house that would most certainly be the death of someone, including himself, unless he did something about it very soon. Mr Ives saw them to the door, and stood on the pavement while the doctor opened the car door for Sarah to get in. It was only when they were on their way back to St Edwin’s that she realised that there had been nothing said about taking her back. The doctor had ushered her into his car, and she had got in without protest.

She hoped he didn’t think she’d been angling for a lift. ‘I could have walked.’ She spoke her thoughts out loud. ‘You’re going out of your way …’

She looked at him, watching the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiled.

‘So you could. I’m afraid that I gave you no opportunity—you don’t mind?’

She said no, she didn’t mind, and plunged, rather self-consciously, into aimless chatter, in which he took but a minimal part. At the hospital, she thanked him for the lift.

‘I could have easily walked …’ she began, and stopped when she saw Steven standing outside the Home entrance. The doctor saw him too; he got out of the car in a leisurely way, and strolled to the door with her; giving Steven a pleasant good evening as they passed him. He opened the door, said ‘Good night, Sarah’ in an imperturbable voice, urged her gently inside and shut the door upon her.

Steven wasn’t at the surgical clinic the following day. Mr Binns had the assistance of Jimmy Dean, one of the house surgeons; he and Kate were in love, but he had no prospects and neither of them had any money. It would be providential if Steven left when he married Mr Binns’ daughter, so that Jimmy could at least apply for the post. He was good at his job, though a little slow, but Sarah liked him. But Steven was with Mr Peppard when he arrived to take his clinic on Thursday morning—and as soon as opportunity offered, he asked shortly:

‘Why didn’t you answer my note—or wasn’t I supposed to know that you had a date with van Elven?’

Sarah picked out the X-ray she was looking for. She said in a voice it was a little hard to keep steady because he was so near, ‘I had arranged to go out; not, as you suppose, with Dr van Elven—and anyway, what would be the purpose of meeting you?’

She walked briskly to the desk, and remained, quite unnecessarily, throughout the patient’s interview. She was careful not to give Steven the opportunity to waylay her again, a resolve made easier by the unexpected absence of a part-time staff nurse who usually took the ear, nose and throat clinic. She put a student nurse in her place because there was no one else, which gave her a good excuse for spending the greater part of the morning making sure that the nurse could manage. Mr Peppard went at last, with Steven trailing behind him. He gave her a look of frustrated rage as he went, which, while gratifying her ego, did nothing to lessen her unhappiness.

It was a relief to see Dr van Elven’s placid face when she came back from dinner. His ‘Good afternoon, Sister’ was uttered with his usual gravity, but she detected a twinkle in his grey eyes as he said it. Perhaps he was remembering that the last time they had seen each other, they had been kneeling side by side on a dusty floor, deciding that pink cabbage roses would be just the thing … but if he was thinking of it too, his manner betrayed no sign of it.

The clinic went smoothly, without one single reference to Mrs Brown or her rooms; it was as if none of it had happened. And he didn’t mention Saturday at all. Sarah decided several times during Friday, not to go at all, and indeed, thought about it so much that Mr Bunn, the gynaecologist, had to ask her twice for the instruments he required on more than one occasion—such a rare happening that he wanted to know if she was sickening for something.

She was still feeling uncertain when she left the Nurses’ Home the next morning—supposing Dr van Elven had forgotten—worse, not meant what he had said? But he hadn’t; he was waiting just outside the door. He ushered her into the Iso Grigo, and she settled back into its expensive comfort, glad that she was wearing the brown suit again.

He said, ‘Hullo, Sarah. I’m glad you decided to come.’

‘But I said I would.’

He smiled. ‘You have had time enough to change your mind … even to wonder if I would come.’

It was disconcerting to have her thoughts read so accurately. She went pink.

‘Well, as a matter of fact, I did wonder if you might forget, or—or change your mind.’ She added hastily, ‘That sounds rude; I didn’t mean it to be, only I feel a little uncertain about—well, everything.’

He sat relaxed behind the wheel. ‘That’s natural, but it won’t last.’ His mouth curved in a smile. ‘You look nice.’

Her spirits rose; she smiled widely and never noticed Steven’s Mini as it passed them. She had forgotten all about him, for the moment, at least.

The morning was fun. They chose the furniture for Mrs Brown with care, going from one dealer to the other, until it only remained for them to buy curtains and carpets. They stood outside the rather seedy little shop where Sarah had happily bargained for the sort of easy chair she knew Mrs Brown would like.

‘We’ll go to Harrods,’ said the doctor.

She looked at him with pitying horror. ‘Harrods? Don’t you know that it’s a most expensive shop? Anyway, it’ll be shut today. There’s a shop in the Commercial Road …’

Mindful of the doctor’s pocket, she bought pink material for the curtains, and because it was quite cheap, some extra material for a tablecloth. She bought a grey carpet too, although she thought it far too expensive and said so, but apparently Dr van Elven had set his heart on it. When they were back in the car she pointed out to him that he had spent a great deal of money.

‘How much?’ he queried lazily.

She did some mental sums. ‘A hundred and eighty-two pounds, forty-eight pence. If it hadn’t been for the carpet …’

He said gravely, ‘I think I can manage that—who will make the curtains?’

‘I’ll do those—I can borrow Kate’s machine and run them up in an hour or so. They cost a great deal to have made, you know.’ She paused. ‘Dr van Elven …’

‘Hugo.’

‘Well, Hugo—it’s quite a lot of money. I’d like—that is, do you suppose …’

He had drawn up at traffic lights. ‘No, I don’t suppose anything of the sort, Sarah.’

She subsided, feeling awkward, and looked out of the window, to say in some surprise, ‘This is Newgate Street, isn’t it? We can’t get back to St Edwin’s this way, can we?’

His reply was calm. ‘We aren’t going back at the moment. I have only just realised that you’ll miss first dinner and not have time for second. I thought we might have something quick to eat, and I’ll take you back afterwards. That is, if you would like that?’

She felt that same flash of surprise again, but answered composedly.

‘Thank you, that would be nice. I’m on at two today—I had some time owing.’

They went down Holborn and New Oxford Street and then cut across to Regent Street, and stopped at the Café Royal. Sarah had often passed it and wondered, a little enviously, what it was like inside; it seemed she was to have the opportunity to find out. They went to the Grill Room, and she wasn’t disappointed; it was pretty and the mirrors were charming if a trifle disconcerting. The doctor had said ‘something quick’; she had envisaged something on toast, but on looking round her she deduced that the only thing she would get on toast would be caviare. She studied the menu card and wondered what on earth to order.

‘Something cold, I think,’ her glance flew to her watch, ‘and quick.’

Quick wasn’t quite the word to use in such surroundings, where luncheon was something to be taken in a leisurely fashion. She caught her companion’s eye and saw the gleam in its depths, but all he said was:

‘How about a crab mousse and a Bombe Pralinée after?’ He gave the order and asked, ‘Shall we have a Pernod, or is there anything else you prefer?’

‘Pernod would be lovely.’ She smiled suddenly, wrinkling her beautiful nose in the endearing and unconscious manner of a child.

‘What a pity that we haven’t hours and hours to spend over lunch.’ She stopped, vexed at the pinkening of her cheeks under his amused look. ‘What I mean is,’ she said austerely, ‘it’s the kind of place where you dawdle, with no other prospect than a little light shopping or a walk in the park before taking a taxi home.’

‘You tempt me to telephone Matron and ask her to let you have the afternoon off.’

He spoke lightly and Sarah felt a surprising regret that he couldn’t possibly mean it. ‘That sort of thing happens in novels, never in real life. I can imagine Matron’s feelings!’

They raised their glasses to Mrs Brown’s recovery, and over their drinks fell to discussing her refurbished room, which topic somehow led to a variety of subjects, which lasted right through the delicious food and coffee as well, until Sarah glanced at her watch again and said:

‘Oh, my goodness! I simply must go—the time’s gone so quickly.’

The doctor paid the bill and said comfortably:

‘Don’t worry—you won’t be late.’ And just for a moment she remembered Steven, who was inclined to fuss about getting back long before it was necessary. Dr van Elven didn’t appear to fuss at all—as little, in fact, as he did in hospital. She felt completely at ease with him, but then, her practical mind interposed, so she should; they had worked together for several years now.

They didn’t talk much going back to the hospital, but the silence was a friendly one; he wasn’t the kind of man one needed to chat to incessantly. There wasn’t much time to thank him when they arrived at the Nurses’ Home, but though of necessity brief, her thanks were none the less sincere; she really had enjoyed herself. He listened to her with a half smile and said, ‘I’m glad. I enjoyed it too. I hope I’m not trespassing too much on your good nature if I ask you to accompany Mrs Brown when I take her home.’ He saw her look and said smoothly, ‘Yes, I know she could quite well go by ambulance, but I have to return Timmy, so I can just as well call for her on my way. Would ten o’clock suit you? And by the way, I’ve found a very good woman who will go every day.’

Sarah said how nice and yes, ten o’clock would do very well, and felt a pang of disappointment that once Mrs Brown was home again there would be no need for her to give Dr van Elven the benefit of her advice any more. She stifled the thought at once; it smacked of disloyalty to Steven, even though he didn’t love her any more. She said goodbye in a sober voice, and later on, sitting in the hollow stillness of OPD, tried to pretend to herself that any minute now Steven would appear and tell her that it was all a mistake and he wasn’t going to marry Anne Binns after all. But he didn’t come—no one came at all.

The week flew by. She saw Steven several times, but never alone; she took care of that—although she thought it likely that he didn’t want to speak to her anyway. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, he was ashamed of himself, although there was no evidence of it in his face. She went out a great deal in her off-duty too—her friends saw to that; someone always seemed to be at hand to suggest the cinema or supper at Holy Joe’s. She made the curtains and the tablecloth too, and took them round on Friday evening. Hugo van Elven had said nothing to her about Mrs Brown or her room—indeed, upon reflection, she could not remember him saying anything at all that wasn’t to do with work.

Mr Ives let her in with a friendly, ‘‘Ullo, ducks.’ Sarah responded suitably and was led up the stairs, pausing on the way to admire the repair work he had done. When they reached the top landing he opened Mrs Brown’s door with something of a flourish and stood back, beaming.

‘Nice little ‘ome, eh?’ he remarked with satisfaction. Sarah agreed; despite the pink roses, which seemed to crowd in on her the moment she set foot inside the room, and the superfluity of furniture, it was just what she was sure Mrs Brown would like. She undid her parcel and spread the cloth on the table, and gallantly helped by Mr Ives, hung the curtains. She had been to visit Mrs Brown several times during the week and had contrived to bring the conversation round to the subject of colours. Mrs Brown had been quite lyrical about pink. Sarah stood back and surveyed her handiwork and thought that it was a good thing that she was, because there was pink enough and to spare. Mr Ives obviously had no such qualms.

‘Nice taste that doc’s got—couldn’t ‘ave chosen better meself.’

She agreed faintly, thinking of the gracious house at Richmond with its subdued colours and beautiful furniture. She told Mr Ives the time they expected to arrive and he nodded, already knowing it.

‘Doc told me last night when ‘e was ‘ere. Brought a bottle of the best with ‘im too.’ He saw Sarah’s look of enquiry. ‘Brandy,’ he explained, ‘I’m ter keep it safe and give Mrs Brown a taste now and then like; just a teaspoon in ‘er tea. Brought me a bottle for meself too. I’ll keep an eye on the old gal like I promised; I got Doc’s phone number, case ‘e’s wanted.’

He led the way down the stairs again and bade her goodbye after offering to escort her back to St Edwin’s. ‘Don’t know as ‘ow the doc would like yer out at night,’ he observed seriously.

Sarah, a little overcome by such solicitude, observed in her turn that it was highly unlikely that the doctor would care a row of pins what she did with her free time, and in any case, it was barely nine o’clock in the evening. She spoke briskly, but Mr Ives was not to be deterred.

‘I dunno about that,’ he said in a rather grumbling voice, ‘but I knows I’d rather not be on the wrong side of the doc. Still, if yer won’t yer won’t. I’ll stand ‘ere till yer get ter the end of the street—yer can wave under the lamppost there so’s I can see yer.’

Sarah did as she was told. She had a sneaking feeling that she would prefer to keep on the right side of the ‘doc’ too.

Mrs Brown was sitting in a wheelchair in the ward, waiting for her when she went along to collect her on Saturday. She looked better, but thinner too—probably worry about Timmy and her little home and all the other small things that were important to old people living alone. Sarah sighed with relief to think that the old lady would have a nice surprise when she got home. Dr van Elven greeted them briefly at the entrance, stowed Mrs Brown in the back of the car, motioned Sarah to get in the front and released Timmy from his basket. Neither he nor Sarah looked round as he drove to Phipps Street. Mrs Brown’s happiness was a private thing into which they had no intention of prying.

There were several neighbours hanging around when they arrived, and it took a few minutes to get into the house. The doctor, without speaking, scooped up the old lady, trembling with delight and excitement, and trod carefully upstairs, leaving Sarah and Timmy and Mr Ives to follow in his wake. On the landing he nodded to Sarah to open the door.

Mrs Brown didn’t quite grasp what had happened at first, and when she did she burst into tears. It seemed the right moment to make a cup of tea. Sarah bustled around while Mrs Brown composed herself and began incoherent thanks which only ended when she sat in her new armchair with a cup and saucer in her hand. She had calmed down considerably by the time the door opened and a pleasant-faced, middle-aged woman with a cheerful cockney voice came in. Sarah had no difficulty in recognising her as the ‘very good woman’ the doctor had found, and it was obvious before very long that his choice had been a happy one; the two ladies were going to get on splendidly. They got up to go presently, and Dr van Elven drove Sarah back to the hospital, saw her to the door of the Home, thanked her politely and drove away again. It was barely twelve o’clock. Sarah went up to her room; a faint stirring of disappointment deep inside her which she refused to acknowledge as regret because he hadn’t asked her out to lunch.

She saw Steven on Monday—he came in at the end of Dr MacFee’s diabetic clinic. Dr MacFee had just gone, and the place was more or less empty when Steven walked in, taking her quite by surprise. She stood looking at him, waiting for him to speak first, and was inwardly surprised to find that the sight of him, though painful, was bearable.

‘I suppose you expect me to apologise,’ he began. ‘Well, I don’t intend to. All I can say is, I’m glad we split up before I found out what a …’

He caught her belligerent eye. ‘A what?’ she enquired with icy calm. ‘I should be careful what you say, Steven—I’ll not hesitate to slap you again!’

He flung away. ‘I wish you joy, that’s all I can say!’ he shouted, as he strode through the empty waiting hall. She watched him go. He was very good-looking, and when he wasn’t angry, charming too. She sighed and went to her dinner, wondering why he should wish her joy.

Dr van Elven’s clinic was, as usual, splitting at the seams. Sarah, nipping from one patient to the other, weighing them, taking them to the Path. Lab., to X-ray, helping them in and out of endless garments, wished that he wasn’t quite such a glutton for work. She’d had to send two of her nurses up to the wards for the afternoon because a number of the staff were off with ‘flu. Now and again, when she made a sortie into the waiting hall for another patient, she glimpsed Staff at the other end with the one junior nurse they had been left with; they were busy in Gynae too. She went back into the consulting room to find Dr van Elven dealing, with commendable calm, with the attack of hysterics which his patient had sprung on him.

Dick Coles went as soon as they had finished and Sarah began to tidy up, although she longed for tea. It would be too late to go to the Sisters’ sitting room; she would have to make her own when she got to her room.

The doctor was sitting at the desk, absorbed in something or other. Sarah supposed that he was in no hurry to go home—it wasn’t as if there was a wife waiting for him … She finished at length, picked up the pile of notes she intended dropping into the office on her way, and went to the door. When she reached it she said, ‘Good night, sir,’ then stopped short when he said ‘Come back here, Sarah, and sit down. I want to talk to you.’

She did as she was asked, because when he spoke in that quiet voice she found it prudent to obey him. She sat in the chair facing him, the notes piled on her lap; she was tired and thirsty and a little untidy, but her face was serene. She looked at him across the desk, smiling a little, because in the last few days she had come to regard him as a friend.

He sat back, meeting and holding her glance with his own, but without the smile. He said, ‘Sarah, will you marry me?’

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