“You don’t know a thing about it!”

Christina spoke in anger and disappointment, but Duert answered her smoothly.

“Oh, but I do. I was standing at my window yesterday when you saw Adam leaving with that woman.” He added with curious intentness, “And why should you be so sure he doesn’t love you just because he was taking out a girl he has known for years?”

Christina smiled sadly. “He told me he was going back on duty. He lied.” She said, suddenly fierce, “Oh, why can’t you just leave me alone? How could you possibly understand? You don’t know what it is to love someone!”

He gave her a quick look from under half-shut lids. “I’m sorry you think that,” he said, “but I won’t say any more about it now.” His words seemed loaded with meaning Christina couldn’t understand….

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.

Not Once but Twice
Betty Neels

MILLS & BOON

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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

IT HAD BEEN raining heavily from a leaden sky, so that the late September afternoon was already settling into an early dusk. People were hurrying home from work, their faces for the most part ill-tempered, for the morning had been fine and umbrellas had seemed unnecessary. The bus queues were long, impatient to get home; surging to and fro to avoid the fine sprays of dirty water thrown up by the traffic. The girl who joined the queue outside St Athud’s Hospital sighed gently; if she hadn’t been so late off duty, she would have missed the evening rush hour and been home by now; as it was the shops were already shut and she would have to change her plans for the evening meal. She frowned a little, debating the advantages of sausages over macaroni cheese. Sausages were quick of course…a sharp prod in her back reminded her that the queue was moving, but there were so many people ahead of her she had little chance of getting on the bus. Indeed, she was at the steps when the conductor came rattling down the stairs, bellowing ‘Full up!’ and rang the bell. At the same time he saw her and swung her on board just as the bus pulled out.

‘Cor, Sister, almost left yer be’ind,’ he declared cheerfully. ‘Yer should ’ave shouted…’

She smiled at him and shook her head. ‘That was nice of you, Mr Collins. How’s the chest?’

He handed out a few tickets before he answered her and she listened gravely, her fine grey eyes on his cheerful face. They were quite beautiful eyes, heavily fringed with curling dark lashes, redeeming an ordinary face from plainness, for her mouth, though sweetly curved, was too wide and her nose tiptilted, and her light brown hair was drawn back too severely from her face, although the damp air had allowed one or two curling tendrils to escape. But the conductor could see no fault in her. When he had been stricken with asthma, unable to breathe and scared to death, it had been she who had been ready with the ephedrine when the wheezing started, and if it grew worse, the aminophyline injections, and she who had calmed him down, assured him that he wasn’t going to die, restored his cheerful Cockney humour. He thought of her as an angel and good looks didn’t come into it.

He went on down the bus presently, leaving her standing crushed against the door with an over-large woman flattening her on the other side, a circumstance so common to her that she hardly noticed. She was a serene young woman with plenty of common sense and while not quite content with her lot, prepared to accept it—indeed, she had reminded herself on several occasions, she hadn’t much choice. She was twenty-seven, and while not exactly unkissed, certainly unwed and as far as she could see, likely to remain so.

Her journey was a short one. She got off at a busy junction and turned into a road of mid-Victorian houses, their uniformity broken here and there by a shop and occasionally by a small block of modern flats. It was a depressing road, still respectable and reasonably quiet, but she had never quite got used to it. At the end of the second terrace of houses there was a crossroads and she turned into the left-hand road, to stop a few doors down before a house which was rather better maintained than its neighbours and whose door bore a brass plate with ‘Doctor G. H. Forbes’ engraved upon it. It was still ajar, for although evening surgery was over the receptionist would be tidying up and getting things ready for the morning. The bleak little lobby opened on to a narrow hall carpeted in a useful brown and brightly lighted, showing a door on either side, shut, and one at the end, half open. She shut the door behind her and her brother’s voice called: ‘Christina, I’m in the study.’

She went to the half-open door and into the room beyond, a small room, its walls lined with books, two elderly chairs by the empty fireplace, and a desk in one corner. Her brother was sitting behind it, a serious-looking man in his thirties, bearing the good looks which had passed his sister by. He smiled at her as she came in and she saw then that there was someone with him; a young man sitting easily in one of the chairs. He got up as she stood looking at him and smiled at her, and she, usually so calm and sensible, felt her heart lurch and thunder against her ribs. Here was the man, she told herself wildly, the one she’d been waiting for, tall and slim, with the kind of good looks one imagined and never saw… His eyes were the bluest she had ever seen and his hair, very dark, curled elegantly over his collar. She became aware that her mouth was a little open, so she closed it with a rush and smiled back at them both, once more her sensible self.

‘I’m late,’ she offered, ‘sorry about that,’ and waited to be introduced.

‘This is Adam ter Brandt, he’s over here to do a short course of anaesthetics—we met in Brussels last year at that seminar.’ And as she held out a hand: ‘Adam, this is Christina, my sister—she’s Medical Ward Sister at St Athud’s, and she housekeeps for me.’ As he spoke Christina noticed a strange expression cross his face and wondered what it was. She must remember to find out later; George Henry was worried about something and she wondered what, but only for a second. Their visitor was speaking, asking her questions about her work in fluent accented English, looking at her with an obvious admiration which quite threatened to take her breath.

Presently she said: ‘How about coffee? It won’t take a minute.’ At the door she asked: ‘Supper, too, if you care to stay? Nothing exciting—macaroni cheese—the shops were shut.’

The coffee was accepted but supper declined on the grounds of a prior engagement. And if I’d been offered macaroni cheese, I’d have had a prior engagement too, thought Christina, getting coffee in the kitchen behind the stairs, and she fell to wondering about their visitor. He looked a lot younger than George Henry; probably younger than herself. She paused in measuring out the coffee to take a quick look in the small mirror over the wall cupboard. She looked every day of her twenty-seven years, in no time at all she’d have wrinkles and grey hairs. There wasn’t time to have a good look now, but she would when she went to bed—there was that wildly expensive cream one of the older Sisters had been talking about, guaranteed to hold back the advancing years… But at least she was slim, although she could have wished to have been a little taller.

She made the coffee and carried it back to the study where she sat down and poured it out with a serenity she was far from feeling.

Adam ter Brandt went shortly afterwards, and because George Henry plainly had work to do at his desk, Christina collected up the coffee cups and went into the kitchen to get their supper. The receptionist had gone by now and the house was quiet as she started her cooking. With it safely in the oven she went upstairs to her room, tidied herself and then sat down before the dressing table again, to take down her hair once more and pin it in a different style so that the little curls had a chance to show themselves and she looked—she hoped—younger. She told her reflection that she was being silly as she did it, but all the same she left it like that and went on sitting, suddenly faintly discontented. The room, she decided, glancing round her, was nice enough, but it wasn’t pretty. When she had first come to live with George Henry, he had already furnished the house and in the three years she had been with him she hadn’t liked to change anything; it was his, and although she was his sister, she had no right to alter his home.

She had been glad at the time to join forces with him. Their mother had died so very soon after their father, leaving Christina lonely in the small Somerset cottage. She had been nursing in the nearby town then, going home very often, not bothering overmuch about the future, but left on her own there had been no point in staying there—besides, she had discovered that the house and most of the small amount of money which had been left had gone to George Henry. It had shocked her when he had told her that he was going to sell it, although she could quite see the sense in that; a young GP, just setting up on his own, needed money behind him. She had never let him see how much she had minded leaving the country, but had fallen in with his idea of getting a job in London and sharing his house. She had found a good job, too; going to and fro hadn’t been all that difficult, there was a splendid little woman who came in to clean three times a week and she supposed that in time, if she really tried, she would get to like London; the London they lived in—in a road like thousands of other roads, where no one knew anyone else and all the houses looked alike. The birds couldn’t be heard above the traffic and there wasn’t much sky to be seen.

She had gone back to Somerset several times to stay with friends, not trusting herself to look at her old home, hating to come back, but she had said nothing to George Henry. He was content with his work, determined to get on and buy another practice in a better part of London, but only when he was ready for it. He was a good doctor and worked hard and he was a kind brother. At least she had someone.

She went downstairs and took a look at the macaroni cheese, then went into the dining room to lay the table. It was a small rather gloomy room and furnished in the modern style which Christina didn’t really care for; she liked old pieces, not necessarily matching each other, and bits and pieces of china and silver lying around. Of course, she reminded herself loyally, that would never do for George Henry, for Mrs Tate wouldn’t have the time to dust them. The sitting room led out of the dining room and always reminded her forcibly of a show window in a furniture shop; modern again and quite uncluttered. She wandered in and out of it again, not quite knowing why, her head regrettably full of Adam ter Brandt. It seemed a great pity that having actually met a man to stir her well-balanced heart, she should be forced to lose sight of him immediately.

She laid the table in a careless fashion and, reminded of supper by a strong whiff of cheese, went to the kitchen again.

George Henry wasn’t working when she went to call him to his meal, just sitting staring in front of him, but when she asked if there was something the matter, he assured her that there wasn’t, ate a hearty supper while he regaled her with his day’s work, and then excused himself with the plea that he still had some notes to write up. ‘So I’ll say goodnight, Christina,’ he finished as he hurried from the room—almost, she thought, as though he were avoiding her.

They met at breakfast, but only briefly—it was far too early in the morning to talk. She had to leave the house at a quarter to eight, and he had his surgery at half past eight. Christina cleared the table with speed, left the dishes piled up for Mrs Tate and left the house. It was a splendid autumn morning. She looked at the drab road and thought of the glowing trees and the wisps of smoke from bonfires and the hedges full of sloes and the cottage she still missed so abominably. In a few years, perhaps, when George Henry was well and truly established, they would buy a little house and spend their weekends there. He showed no signs of wanting to marry; she had asked him that so often and he had laughed and told her that he wasn’t the marrying kind and weren’t they perfectly content to stay as they were? And until now she had been. She quickened her pace towards the bus stop, telling herself sharply that it was ridiculous to allow a brief meeting with someone to unsettle her well ordered life.

Once at the hospital there was little chance of daydreaming. The changing room, a small dark room hidden away under the stairs which led up to the Medical Wards, was already occupied by Beryl Frith, the Women’s Medical Ward Sister, and two part-time staff nurses who worked for her. They all exchanged brief good mornings and got on with the difficult business of putting on caps and getting into uniforms in as small a space as possible. Christina, sliding out of a jersey dress and into a navy blue cotton one, listened with half an ear to the other girls’ gossip, while she mentally reviewed the day ahead of her. Nurse Trent had a day off, and one of the student nurses had a lecture at ten o’clock and it was Dr Robinson’s round; they’d have to scuttle round to be ready by eleven o’clock… Her thoughts were interrupted by Beryl, who had been talking to her and hadn’t got an answer.

‘What I said was,’ she repeated patiently, ‘Freddy took me to that new restaurant in Greek Street last night—heavenly food, though I’m not sure what I was eating not that it mattered,’ she went on dreamily, ‘with Freddy there. You ought to try it some time, Chrissy.’

‘It sounds great,’ Christina agreed cheerfully. ‘I must find someone to take me.’ She bent to see into the tiny mirror and arrange her cap, and Beryl gave her a quick look. Chrissy was such a dear, always so calm and self-possessed and good-tempered a touch too matter-of-fact, though. And so capable and practical. Men liked a girl to be a bit helpless about things like unblocking sinks and changing electrical plugs and not knowing which bus to catch, but Chrissy could do all those things without fuss, taking them for granted in the nicest, most unassuming way, which probably was why the few men of her acquaintance, while liking her, tended to ask her advice and then go out with some feather-witted blonde.

Christina made her way upstairs to the top floor of the medical wing, exactly on time as she always was. During her training she had suffered long waits to go off duty in the morning because the Ward Sister had been late, and she had vowed then that if ever she became a Ward Sister she would make a point of arriving on the dot.

The two night nurses were waiting for her now, pale and heavy-eyed from eleven hours of duty. Christina bade them good morning, sat down composedly at her desk and listened to the night report without interruption. At the end of it she made one or two necessary comments, made a note or two and sent them off duty before her day staff nurse, Carole Pring, put her head round the door and was bidden to come in. Carole did so, bearing two mugs of tea and shutting the door neatly behind her with a foot.

‘That new man, Sister,’ she began at once, ‘his BP’s too low. Would you take a look presently? And young Tate is complaining about his head again.’

Christina cast her eyes over the report once more. ‘Ah yes—the night staff mention it too. I’ll get Dr Fisher to have a look before Dr Robinson comes—he can take a look at Mr Truscott too. We’ll alter his observations to half-hourly, don’t you think?’ She took a sip of tea. ‘They’re getting the patients ready for X-ray? Good, and there’s Mr Soames’s barium swallow at half past nine. You take Nurse Bates with you until she goes to lecture; the other two can make beds and get people up, that leaves Mrs Toms to take patients down to the departments.’ She swallowed the rest of her tea while she sorted the post on her desk. ‘I’ll do my round.’ She smiled at the girl opposite her, her grey eyes twinkling. ‘Oh, and you’d better take Mr Soames down, Carole—Ken’s on duty this morning.’

Carole blushed and giggled. She was twenty-one and pretty and she and the assistant radiographer spent all their free time together. ‘I say, thanks awfully, Sister!’ She added happily: ‘He’s taking me to see Private Lives this evening.’

Christina watched her go: that was twice in less than half an hour—first Beryl with her Freddy, and now Carole with Ken. She didn’t know that she sighed as she got up and went into the ward.

It was a long ward of twenty-eight beds, not yet modernised, so that the beds faced each other in rows against the walls. There were two side rooms too where the very ill were nursed or occasionally a private patient, although they had a wing of their own in the centre block.

Christina went into the first of these now, to greet the old man sitting up in bed, glasses askew on his beak of a nose, reading The Times. He looked up as she went in and without saying good morning began a forceful summing up of what the government should do immediately. Christina listened quietly, her intelligent face very calm while she looked him over. He had been in hospital for more than a week with cardiac asthma and wasn’t improving. It was a pity that he had no family to bother about him; his wife had died years ago and his two sons were both abroad and not in the least interested. She had tried once to get him transferred to the Private Wing, but he had objected so strongly that she had given it up; she supposed she would have him for a very long time, giving extra work to her nurses, wanting things they hadn’t got, demanding attention while he read out long articles from The Times when there were a thousand and one jobs waiting to be done…

‘I expect you’re right,’ she commented. ‘These people can be so exasperating, can’t they? Here are several letters for you, I daresay they’ll make pleasanter reading.’ She added: ‘How do you feel today?’

‘Not bad—couldn’t sleep, though.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll get your pills changed. You shall have a good night tonight, Colonel.’ She smiled and slipped from the room and into the next one. The young man with the headache was there. She saw that he looked ill and strained and when she spoke to him he answered drowsily. Not so good, she decided; the sooner Dr Fisher saw him the better. His pulse was too slow and although he hadn’t been vomiting since his admission less than two days ago, she was prepared to bet her month’s money on a cerebral tumour. He was due for X-ray that morning, but he wasn’t fit to move. He’d been admitted for observation and it had been decided to give him a day’s bed rest before starting on a number of tests, and although she had suggested an X-ray when he was admitted, Dr Fisher, who knew everything, had told her importantly that rest was far more important. Well, he had better think again, she thought as she whipped back into the office and asked the lodge to get him urgently.

He was inclined to be ill-tempered when he turned up ten minutes later. He had been up several times during the night and after a far too brief nap was about to sit down to a hearty breakfast, and instead of that here he was facing a calm-eyed young woman, telling him without heat to do something quickly. ‘And I do mean quickly,’ said Christina, not losing one ounce of her habitual serenity. ‘Dr Robinson will be here at eleven o’clock and if he finds Mr Tate like this heaven knows what he’ll do to you.’ She urged him towards the bed, saying softly: ‘It’s just my guess, but do you suppose it could be a cerebral tumour?’

John Fisher didn’t much like Christina. He respected her judgment, admired her cool which she never seemed to lose, and agreed with everyone else that she was a thoroughly splendid nurse as well as a loyal friend; perhaps it was because of these that he adopted a cocksure attitude towards her and why he said now: ‘I’ve thought that all along. Get him to X-Ray at once, will you, and let me have his notes.’

She did both, forbearing to mention that beyond the bare fact of Mr Tate’s admission there was precious little else written up. When she came back presently from seeing the patient safely to X-Ray, it was to find that Dr Fisher had filled a page with meticulous observations and added a query cerebral tumour at the end.

She finished her round after that before getting down to the task of having the ward ready for Dr Robinson, who had a fiend’s temper concealed behind his urbane appearance. But the round went off very well. Dr Robinson had most of the beds and behaved rather as though he had all of them, making a kind of royal progress down the ward. But nothing could fault his manner towards his patients; he was pleasant, reassuring and listened patiently while they talked. Some of them rambled on at length, telling him things they had told him on the previous round, but he never said so. Christina rather liked him; his temper didn’t worry her very much and since he had discovered that she wasn’t in the least afraid of him, he seldom vented it upon her, and if he sometimes flew into a rage with one of her nurses, then she stood up for her with a cool determination which he had found difficult to dispose of. On the whole, the two of them got on very well. He was on the point of leaving the ward when he turned suddenly and addressed her. ‘I suppose it was you who diagnosed Mr Tate for us, Sister?’

Her grey eyes were very clear. ‘Dr Fisher was concerned about him,’ she told him quietly. ‘He told me when he came to examine him early this morning that he had suspected a cerebral tumour, sir.’

Dr Robinson nodded, swivelling his eyes behind their glasses to look at Dr Fisher, as red as a turkey-cock.

‘That’s what I thought you’d say. Well, he’s got a chance now he’s transferred to the surgical side. Thanks to you,’ he added sotto voce.

The day was uneventful after that. Christina went down to her dinner presently, sharing a table with several of her friends, talking shop interlarded with clothes, boy-friends and holidays. Everyone seemed to be going abroad. She looked round her quite nonplussed when someone asked her where she was going for her winter leave.

She said slowly: ‘Well, I don’t know—I hadn’t given it a thought. I expect George Henry will want to stay at home, and I might go down to Somerset. It’s nice at this time of year, though I’ve no holidays until the beginning of October.’

She thought about it once or twice during the afternoon. It would be fun to go away, abroad, perhaps, even Scotland or Wales. Perhaps she could persuade George Henry to come with her, she was sure he hadn’t made any plans.

She couldn’t have been more mistaken. They had had their supper and for once he had followed her into their small sitting room instead of going to his study and it seemed an opportunity to bring the matter up, but before she could start he said with unusual brusqueness: ‘Chrissy, I want to talk to you… I’ve been meaning to tell you for a week or two, but somehow…I’m going to get married.’

He paused to look at her and was reassured to see that she was looking at him with a serene face. The light was dim, so he couldn’t see how pale she had gone.

‘You know her—Hilary Woods. We’ve had an understanding for some time now and last week we decided to marry as soon as possible. There’s no point in waiting—she’ll give up her job, of course, and live here.’

Christina had the extraordinary feeling that she was having a dream. The room didn’t seem quite real, nor did George Henry, talking away so earnestly about getting married—and to Hilary Woods, a social worker with a puffed-up sense of her own importance. She knew, without her brother saying a word, that she would have to leave before Hilary put a foot over the doorstep. She said in her calm way: ‘George Henry, how super for you! I’m so glad—Hilary will make you a splendid wife and she’ll be so understanding.’

George Henry eyed her carefully. ‘Then you don’t mind? I’ve been worried—you know, wondering if you’d mind—I mean, finding somewhere else to live. Hilary said you’d be able to get a room at St Athud’s without any trouble at all. I daresay you’d like it better— you’d be independent and have a great deal more time for your own amusement.’

Briefly, she wondered what she would do with all the extra time. Perhaps it would be better if she could find a bedsitter or a tiny flat, but there would be lonely meals to eat and no one to talk to. She wasn’t going to feel sorry for herself but facts would have to be faced.

‘Well, of course I can—the Sisters’ rooms are pretty good, you know, and I can take up tennis again and I’ve always wanted to join the Social Club.’ She uttered the thumping lie without blinking and saw George Henry relax. ‘When are you thinking of getting married?’ she asked.

‘Well, actually, in a month’s time. We’ve already been about the licence. It’s to be a quiet affair—just a few friends and Hilary’s parents. You’ll come, of course, Chrissy.’

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world! I’ll go and see someone about getting a room. Hilary will want to make some changes here, I expect, and it’ll be much easier if I’m not here.’

‘We don’t want to turn you out.’

‘You’re not, my dear, and I’m delighted for you both—when you see Hilary tell her that, won’t you? I wouldn’t like her to be worried on my account.’ Christina got up and went to look out of the window into the dull street beyond, suddenly filled with the crazy desire to leave it all; go somewhere far away, start again in another job, perhaps meet someone who would want to marry her—someone like Adam ter Brandt.

She went the next day to ask about living in. There was a room free, she was told, and she went to look at it. It was nicely furnished in an impersonal way with a view over the streets around the hospital, but the idea of living there, probably for years, appalled her. It was sheer good luck that at dinner time Linda Soames, one of the Accident Room Sisters, announced that she was leaving in a month’s time and did anyone want to take over her bedsitter. ‘It’s five minutes’ quick walk from here,’ she observed, ‘and on the top floor. The street’s fairly quiet and there’s a kind of kitchen in a cupboard and you share the bathroom.’

When Christina said that she was interested, the entire table turned to stare at her.

‘But you live with your brother,’ exclaimed Beryl. ‘Has he sold the practice, then?’

‘No, he’s getting married.’

‘But, Chrissy…’ someone started, and then stopped as she went on:

‘I’m so glad, I was beginning to think that he was a confirmed bachelor.’

There was a little silence until someone else said: ‘Who’s the lucky girl?’

‘Hilary Woods—she’s a social worker.’ She added: ‘Ideal for a doctor’s wife.’

She told herself that several times during the next day or two. Hilary came to dinner and Christina didn’t allow herself to be annoyed at any of the remarks that young lady made. It was obvious that George Henry was very much in love and if he was happy that was more important than anything else. She listened with composure while Hilary made suggestions about her future, giving advice where none was sought, and to give her her due, unaware that she was being unspeakably bossy. Christina replied suitably to all the sensible suggestions put to her and offered no information, nor did she show her annoyance when Hilary criticised the way in which the beef had been cooked, the arrangement of the furniture in the sitting-room and the cheerful clutter of ornaments scattered round it. The latter Christina intended to remove when she left; most of them were hers, anyway, treasures from a happy childhood and bits and pieces which had belonged to her mother. As to the tables and chairs, Hilary was welcome to do what she liked with them, and that went for the beef too. She endured another half an hour of patronage while they washed up and then went thankfully to her room, on the plea that she had a long day before her.

Carole had gone off sick the evening before and the only way to get round that was to do an eight-till-eight herself; there was no one available to take over from her if she went off duty, and she didn’t really mind. All the same, she was tired when she got home just before nine o’clock to find a note from George Henry saying that he had taken Hilary out to dinner. Christina went into the kitchen and looked in the fridge. She couldn’t face the beef, not after Hilary’s expert criticism. An egg, she supposed, and some toast. The front door bell rang as she was getting out the bread and she went to answer it—if it was a patient they would have to telephone Dr Howes who shared emergency calls with George Henry, after eight o’clock.

Adam ter Brandt was on the doorstep. In one smooth movement he had kissed her surprised face, come inside and shut the door behind him.

‘Hullo,’ he said with a devastating charm which left her speechless. ‘Is George Henry in?’ And when she shook her head, ‘Good—pleased to see me? Where is he? On a case?’

She found her voice and she hoped it sounded as cool and matter-of-fact as usual. ‘He’s gone out to dinner with his fiancée.’

He pulled a face which made him look more devastating than ever.

‘Going to marry? What about you?’ He grinned at her. ‘You’ll never stay here as an uneasy third, will you?’

‘Certainly not. I shall go into the Nurses’ Home at the hospital or find a bedsitter.’

His blue eyes smiled into hers. ‘But you don’t want to, do you? Tell you what—let’s go and have dinner somewhere and you shall tell me all about it?’

‘I was just going to…’ she began feebly, aware that she was ready to fly out of the door at that very moment.

‘Never mind that. Get a jacket and powder your nose—we’ll go now.’

He drove a rather showy Mercedes Benz 450SL, and he drove fast, but Christina didn’t mind. She was blissfully happy; Adam had turned up again, quite miraculously, and for the moment the future didn’t matter a row of pins.

But in the little Greek restaurant, over kebab and a bottle of wine, she found herself telling him everything, something which astonished her, for she hadn’t confided in anyone, not even her closest friends, for years. She ended abruptly saying in a shamed voice: ‘I’m sorry, Adam, I’ve been boring on, why on earth didn’t you stop me?’

‘I didn’t want to. Besides, I’ve just had a perfectly splendid idea. How about coming to Holland and working for six months or a year?’

‘Me? But I can’t speak a word of Dutch!’

‘That won’t matter—you will be given a crash course. Do you speak any languages at all?’

‘Not fluently. I did French and German for A levels…’

He switched to French. ‘Do you have a liking for languages? Are you a quick student?’

She answered him in rather hesitant but correct French. ‘Yes, I think so, but how would I manage while I was learning?’

‘Everyone speaks English, especially in the hospitals, and almost all the medical terms are the same, only pronounced differently. You would get help.’

‘I think I might like it very much.’

He was speaking German now. ‘And I think you would do very well, Chrissy. Will you do it? I would like you to come very much.’ His blue eyes sparkled and she smiled back at him.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she told him in German.

‘And not too long.’ They were speaking English now. ‘It will be necessary for my partner—he’s my brother, and the senior and Directeur of the hospital—to agree.’

‘Oh, is he likely to object?’

Adam laughed. ‘Not at all likely. He objects almost never—he is a calm man, so calm that sometimes one does not know what he is really thinking about, but I have no doubt that he will be glad to have you on the hospital staff. I shall be going to den Haag this weekend, I’ll talk to him about it and let you know when I get back.’

She felt breathless. ‘Yes, well—it does sound rather super.’

‘Then that’s settled. I shall be back in Holland in a few weeks now, but we’ll see plenty of each other then, darling.’

Christina’s cheeks pinkened, but she said with composure: ‘Will you tell me something about Holland?’ And while he talked she watched him, unable to take her eyes from his face. She was behaving like a teenage idiot, she admonished herself as they drove back, and she was enjoying it. And when Adam kissed her goodnight at her brother’s door, she enjoyed that too.

CHAPTER TWO

THERE WERE three days until the weekend and Adam had said that he would return on the Monday, but Christina didn’t allow herself to get excited. She went steadily about her work, and if in the solitude of her room she spent rather longer than usual doing things to her face and trying out different hair-styles that was her business and no one else’s.

She remained calm, outwardly at least, when Monday came and went and there was no sign of Adam. She reminded herself of all the very good reasons why he hadn’t come and went home on the Tuesday evening, telling herself that he would be there when she arrived, or telephone or even write…

He had done none of these things. Moreover, Hilary was there, making it plain that Christina was making a quite unnecessary third, hinting plainly that there was a splendid film on at the Odeon and wouldn’t she like to see it.

‘Funny you should have said that,’ said Christina in a bright voice. ‘I’m meeting some of the others in an hour, we’re going to eat first, there’s just time before the second house.’

So she went to her room and changed, wished them a pleasant evening and left the house. The last thing she wanted to do; she was tired and depressed and hungry, and worst of all, supposing Adam came while she was out? She took a bus to Tottenham Court Road and sat through a film she wasn’t in the least interested in, eating a packet of sandwiches in the dark, because she hated going into cafés by herself.

She could hear voices from the sitting room as she let herself in later, so she shut the door loudly enough for them to hear her and then went in. George Henry and Hilary were sitting side by side looking at patterns of curtain material; obviously there had been no visitors. Christina said she’d had a lovely evening, wished them goodnight and whisked herself out of the room to make herself a pot of tea and carry it up to her room, together with the remains of a macaroni cheese from the fridge. It was quite late by now and it seemed rather a waste to fuss over her face and hair, because Adam wasn’t coming. Probably the senior partner had overruled him, probably too he himself had thought better of it. Life, she reflected, was full of small disappointments, but it didn’t do to grieve over them. She got into bed and went to sleep almost at once.

She wasn’t on until ten o’clock the next morning, which gave her time to rush out and do some household shopping before she went on duty. She had two days off, starting on the next day, and she occupied herself in deciding what to do. Usually she had spent a good part of them at home, keeping George Henry company at meals and quite often going out in the evening if he was free, but now he had Hilary… A day’s shopping, she thought; something new would be good for her and she could lunch at one of the big stores. She hadn’t been to Harrods for a long time; she could spend the afternoon there and have tea, and since Beryl’s steady had gone to Scotland for a week, she might spend the evening with her. There was another day to plan, of course, but that would do for the present.

The day seemed endless. The ward was full and several patients were very ill, so it was long after eight o’clock when she got off duty. She had to wait for a bus too and it had begun to rain a little as she walked the last stage of her journey. As she put her key in the door she thanked heaven that Hilary had gone to see her parents in Highgate. George Henry would have had his supper long since; she would boil herself an egg and would spend half an hour with him. She closed the door behind her and crossed the hall to the study; the vague murmur of voices would be the television—George Henry had the habit of switching it on and then walking away and forgetting all about it. She opened the door and went in.

Adam was there; she didn’t see anyone or anything else for a few moments. Her face lighted up with her delight and she cried ‘Adam, I thought you weren’t coming…’ before she realised that besides him and George Henry there was someone else in the room.

He had risen to his feet as she paused at the door, a tall man, taller than Adam and, unlike him, heavily built. He had the same handsome face, but his mouth was firm and his nose high-bridged; moreover, although his eyes were blue, they were pale and very clear. Christina wasn’t sure about his hair; it was so fair that it could have been grey or just flaxen. He wasn’t all that young either, in his thirties, and dressed with a conservative good taste very much in contrast to Adam’s rather flamboyant clothes. She had the instant impression of quietness before George Henry spoke.

‘Chrissy, how late you are. Adam has brought his brother to visit us to see you, actually.’ He frowned a little. ‘You didn’t tell me you were considering taking a post in Holland.’

She smiled at him. ‘Well, love, it seemed a bit silly to say anything before I knew more about it.’

She shook hands with Adam and turned to the other man. ‘This is Duert—I told him about you, and he decided he might as well come back with me and see you.’ Adam was still holding her hand and she pulled it away gently, to be engulfed in a very large firm one.

‘So much more satisfactory than writing letters and filling in forms.’ His voice was deep and pleasant and he had a nice smile. He was looking at her in what she considered to be a vague fashion. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t give you a reasonable warning that we were coming perhaps we might meet and discuss this matter of a job?’

His straight eyebrows rose in faint query and she answered seriously: ‘Of course. I have a free day tomorrow.’

‘We can have lunch,’ interposed Adam. ‘I’ll be free for a couple of hours.’

‘Then perhaps you could spare me an hour in the afternoon?’

Christina gave him a long calm look. ‘You mean there’s a chance of me getting a job at the hospital?’

‘There is a strong possibility, but we do need to talk about it.’ He gave her a lazy smile, friendly enough but not very interested. And she could hardly blame him; she must look pretty awful with damp hair and her face still wet from the rain. She said formally, ‘That would suit me very well, Dr ter Brandt, if you would tell me where I am to meet you.’

‘Oh, I’ll pick you up directly after you’ve lunched with Adam.’

George Henry had been sitting back listening. Now he said: ‘You’re sure you want this, Chrissy? It’s not just because Hilary and I are getting married? You said that you had the chance of a bedsitter or a room at St Athud’s…’

‘Oh, yes, I know,’ she answered him with her usual calm air, ‘but you see I wasn’t sure, it was only a suggestion on Adam’s part, but I really want to go, George Henry. A change will do me good—I’m getting in a rut.’

The three men looked at her, her brother with surprise because she had never before even hinted that she was dissatisfied with her job, Adam with lighthearted amusement, and Duert ter Brandt with a bland face and thoughtful eyes.

It was he who broke the silence with a casual: ‘Well, we’ll talk about it tomorrow, shall we?’

He held out a hand. ‘I hope we haven’t trespassed for too long upon your leisure. Goodnight, Miss Forbes.’ He shook hands with George Henry too and Christina barely had the time to say goodbye to Adam before they went. Duert ter Brandt could at least have given them the chance to talk for a few minutes, instead of which he swept Adam out of the house with an authority, which although not apparent was nonetheless very real.

After they had gone she remembered that Adam hadn’t told her where and when they were to meet for lunch. She was still digesting this when George Henry observed: ‘I like him—Adam’s brother, a nice unassuming chap.’

She answered him tartly: ‘A bit too suave for me, but I’m not likely to see much of him if I get the job. He’s the hospital director and presumably he does his directing from some office or other.’

George Henry fiddled with a pen lying on his desk. ‘Have you any details of the job? The ward you’ll be on, off duty, salary and so on?’

‘None at all. Adam told me that there were vacancies at the hospital and that I might suit, but it was for Dr ter Brandt to decide. He wanted to know if I could speak French or German and he seemed quite satisfied with my efforts. It was really to see if I had any aptitude for languages, I think it seems you’re given a crash course in Dutch.’

Her brother frowned. ‘You really want to go, Chrissy?’

She turned an eager face to his. ‘Oh, George Henry, yes!’

She was aware that her enthusiasm was largely due to the likelihood of seeing Adam again, and quite often too. She told herself sternly that she would have to be sensible about that, but that didn’t prevent her, when she was getting ready for bed, from taking a long look at her face, close up to the dressing table looking-glass and with a bright light showing it up. Her eyes were all right, but the rest of her was mediocre; she had a creamy unblemished skin, but she didn’t consider that that helped at all—and her teeth were good, but she couldn’t be expected to smile all the time. Her nose was unimportant and her mouth was wide and her hair, inclined to curl if left to itself, had been pulled back severely for so long now that it had grown like it. She peered anxiously at herself and wondered what Adam saw in her, if indeed he saw anything at all. But he had squeezed her fingers when they had shaken hands and smiled at her in a way to make her wonder if he liked her a little. Perhaps she would know tomorrow.

‘Well, what do you think of her?’ asked Adam as he drove the BMW too fast away from the dull streets towards the West End.

His brother said slowly: ‘She seems a sensible young woman.’

Adam laughed, ‘And plain with it, but the most gorgeous eyes—but perhaps you didn’t notice them. I bet she’s never been chatted up in her life—and she’s not so young either. Very rewarding material to work on.’

Dr ter Brandt said evenly: ‘Do not make the mistake of thinking that she is like the rest of your girlfriends, Adam. She is unsophisticated, I grant you; she is also calm and matter-of-fact. Moreover, I have it from her brother that she is a very capable Ward Sister and thought highly of at the hospital. As you so ungallantly point out, she is neither very young nor pretty, and definitely not your cup of tea.’ He added, still without heat: ‘I think you should leave her alone.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, Duert, I haven’t got designs on the girl, but she doesn’t seem to have had much fun. A few dinners and an occasional evening out will do her the world of good. You’ll consider her for a job?’

‘Yes, I think I may. It rather depends on what experience she’s had in the Accident Room and surgery.’ The big man heaved his bulk out of the car as Adam stopped in front of Brown’s Hotel and then turned to ask: ‘Where are you taking her to lunch?’

‘Oh, a little Greek place in Soho—’ Adam gave its name and at the look of surprise on his brother’s face added testily: ‘Well, she’s not used to the Ritz or Claridge’s, she might feel awkward.’ He looked away from the pale blue eyes staring at him so steadily. ‘What time will you meet us?’

‘I will be there at half past two. I think I may go back in the evening so see that you’re punctual. What time do your afternoon lectures start?’

‘A quarter to three.’ Adam sounded sulky.

‘In that case you had better be outside this place by two-fifteen.’

Dr ter Brandt turned on his heel and went into the hotel without looking back.

Adam telephoned quite early the following morning so that Christina had plenty of time in which to decide what she should wear. None of her clothes were very exciting, although they were good and in excellent taste. It was cool and cloudy so that she felt justified in wearing the suit she had bought only a few weeks earlier. It was grey flannel with a pleated skirt and a neat little jacket and she had a silk blouse in a pale silvery grey to go with it. She dressed with care, made sure that George Henry’s lunch was ready for him, and left the house. Adam had said he couldn’t fetch her, so she took a bus to Oxford Street and then walked the rest of the way through the crowded Soho streets.

The restaurant was small and faintly shabby as to paint, but it had tubs of flowers each side of the door and the net curtains at the windows were a pristine white. She was aware of a vague disappointment and the thought shot through her head that she need not have put on her new suit; she felt overdressed, what with the silk blouse and the patent leather shoes and handbag, when as far as she could see every other girl in sight was wearing jeans or some long flowing garment with a lot of bracelets.

But she forgot all that as Adam crossed the pavement to meet her and took her arm. ‘What a punctual girl!’ he greeted her. ‘I was afraid you might be late, girls so often are—and I have to be gone again by a quarter past two.’ He saw the look of doubt on her face and added: ‘Oh, it’s all right, Duert will be here to collect you and put you through your paces.’

They had gone inside and been given a little table at the back of the little restaurant, and when Christina put her hands on the table, Adam had covered them with his own so that all the questions she was going to ask him flew out of her head. All the same, she didn’t allow herself to get carried away, although her heart was thundering in her ears. After a moment she gently withdrew her hands and looked around her. The place was a lot nicer inside than it was outside, she decided, and the waiter who served them was quick and attentive. She chose a fish salad and a fresh fruit salad and drank the wine she was offered without knowing what it was.

Adam didn’t talk about the possibility of her getting a job, only discussed in a charming if vague fashion the various places he intended to take her to once she was in Holland. She was too sensible to believe quite all he said, although she would have liked to, but even if they only did half the things he was enthusing about, the future seemed to her to be an enchantment not to be missed. The time slid away too quickly and it was Adam who looked at his watch and said: ‘Oh, lord—it’s time we went.’

She put down her coffee cup in an unflurried manner. ‘Very well. I’m going to powder my nose.’

‘Must you?’ He sounded irritable, but at her look of surprise he said: ‘Sorry—I didn’t mean to snap, but don’t be too long, will you?’

The wine had flushed her cheeks a little, but otherwise she looked as well groomed as when she had left home that morning. She poked at her hair, put on more lipstick and rejoined Adam.

Dr Duert ter Brandt was standing on the edge of the pavement outside, his back to the restaurant. It was a very large back and very straight in its beautifully tailored jacket. He must have had eyes at the back of his head, for he turned round before they reached him, wished her a friendly good afternoon, said something in a soft voice to Adam and lifted his hand at a passing taxi. Once more barely given time to say more than goodbye to Adam, Christina found herself sitting back beside Dr ter Brandt.

‘I thought that we might walk in Green Park,’ his voice was quiet and slow after Adam’s quick, accented English. ‘You understand that there are a number of questions I must ask you? And if we are both satisfied I shall require references.’

She said yes a little breathlessly; funny to think that only a few days ago she had been contemplating a dull future in a bedsitter. But she hadn’t got the job yet.

It was pleasant in the park; they strolled through its comparative peace while the doctor asked questions. A great many questions, thought Christina, answering them in her sensible manner, giving him facts and taking care not to boast or pretend about anything.

‘And surgery?’ he wanted to know.

‘Not for the last two years, I’m afraid. I had the Women’s Surgical Ward for two years before I got my present post, and before that I was in Casualty and the Accident Room, a year as Second Sister and previous to that about a year as a staff nurse.’

‘You like accident work?’

‘Yes, very much. I should have liked to have stayed on there, but I was advised that I should get all-round experience. I haven’t been at St Athud’s all the time, you know. I came to London when my parents died and took the job I have got now. Before then I was living near Yeovil. I worked at the hospital there, but I trained at Bart’s.’

They had stopped to watch an old man feeding the birds and presently Dr ter Brandt said: ‘The post I have to offer you is that of Third Sister in the Accident Department at the Theofilus Hospital. We operate three shifts in the twenty-four hours, and you would be expected to work each shift in turn. You would have two days off each week, six weeks’ holiday in the year and for the first few months at least, attend classes in Dutch. You may live in the hospital if you wish or rent rooms or a flat close by.’ He mentioned a salary which, changed into English money, seemed generous.

‘But perhaps the cost of living is higher?’ asked Christina, sensibly.

‘About the same, I think.’

She said composedly: ‘I may apply for the post?’

‘Yes. I have an application form with me, which we will fill in presently. The post is vacant now, but of course you will have to resign—a month, I take it?’

The old man had gone and so had the birds. A cool wind rustled the trees around them and a few leaves fluttered on to the grass. Christina said in her sensible way: ‘I have more than two weeks’ holiday due to me, which means that I can leave in about ten days’ time.’

‘That would suit us very well.’ He paused and added thoughtfully: ‘But of course you would like to stay here until your brother’s marriage?’

‘No.’ Her voice was level and quiet. ‘That doesn’t matter. I should explain that my brother and I are very fond of each other and we get on very well. I’m delighted that he’s marrying, but his fiancée and I—well, we don’t get on very well. I think it might be easier for all of us if I’m not at the wedding.’ She added slowly, ‘We haven’t quarrelled or anything like that, but George Henry feels a bit mean because I’m having to find somewhere else to live and it would be a good thing if I’m not there to remind him…’

The doctor’s smile was kind. ‘I’m sorry, but thank you for telling me; I’m sure it’s a sensible solution. These unfortunate occasions do arise, but I’ve found that time does much to improve them.’

‘That’s what I thought. By the time I get back to England it will be forgotten.’ They had been strolling along, but now she stopped. ‘I’ve taken up your afternoon, Dr ter Brandt. If there’s nothing more I need to know, I’ll say goodbye. I’m sure I can manage the form and I’ll get the references and send them on to you.’

For answer he took her arm. ‘A cup of tea, I think, and we can fill in the form at the same time.’

He walked her back across the park and into Piccadilly, crossed the street and ushered her through the splendid entrance of the Ritz. ‘Tea here?’ she asked uncertainly.

‘It’s the nicest place I know of for tea,’ he told her as they were led to a table by the window.

Christina had gone past the hotel many times since she had been in London, but never been inside. It was splendid and elegant and everything she had imagined it would be, and she was glad that she was wearing the grey suit; there wasn’t a pair of denims in sight, the atmosphere was peaceful and restful, and having taken it all in she said forthrightly: ‘This is delightful. I’ve often wondered what it was like inside, and now I know.’

And when the tea came she poured it with a dignified self-assurance which gave the lie to Adam’s theory that she might feel ill at ease in such plushy surroundings. The doctor, plying her with wafer-thin cucumber sandwiches, little iced cakes and tiny meringues, looked at her with approval. She was no fool, this rather plain girl with the lovely eyes; she had a delightful voice and nice manners and a sensible head on her shoulders. And he liked the way she dressed too. She had a good figure and small, well kept hands. After a time, he mused, one forgot her lack of looks and probably, given enough incentive, she could improve on those.

He had an uneasy feeling that Adam was going to provide that incentive, and although, as he had said before, she seemed capable of looking after herself, she was too honest and nice a girl to be hurt. Of course, Adam might be serious about her; she was so very different from the usual kind of girl he fell in love with, it might be possible. Time would tell.

He asked casually: ‘Are you meeting Adam this evening, Christina?’

She shook her head. ‘No, he’s got a lecture and he had to catch up on something he missed—and tomorrow he has a study day at Birmingham.’

The doctor sat back, his eyes on her face. ‘I have to stay in London until tomorrow evening. Perhaps we might have lunch together, then if there are any snags or problems we can sort them out.’

‘Thank you, I should like that.’ Her gaze met his and she smiled. ‘Should I fill in that form?’

They did it together, laughing a little while Christina tried to remember dates and how tall she was and the exact date upon which she had started her training. It was finished at last and she was surprised to find that they had been sitting over their tea for more than an hour. And she had enjoyed herself; her companion had turned out to be nicer than she had expected; rather reserved, perhaps, but he must be a good deal older than Adam. He would be comfortably married, of course; she had taken that for granted. She would have like to have asked him if he had any children, but she had already formed the impression that his private life was very much his own business.

They took a taxi back to George Henry’s house after that, but the doctor, politely opening the door for her, refused her invitation to come in, pleading an evening engagement and wishing her a pleasantly impersonal goodbye as he went. Christina stood in the hall, listening to the coughs and murmurs coming from the waiting room, already stuffed with the evening surgery patients. She felt as though a door, briefly opened on to another world, had been gently but inexorably closed again.

‘It’s not my world anyway,’ she reminded herself sensibly, and went upstairs to change the grey suit for a skirt and jumper and then went along to the kitchen to see about supper.

Hilary came that evening and displayed an unflattering amazement that anyone should want to take Christina to the Ritz for tea. She said, her rather prominent blue eyes narrowed: ‘Well, really, whatever next? Was he trying to impress you?’

Christina considered the question. ‘No—he’s not that kind of man. I think it was because the Ritz was close by and it was tea time and I had to fill in a form. We had to have a table, you see.’

Hilary gave her a suspicious glance, but Christina appeared to be serious, so she gave a reluctant nod. ‘Dead set on this job, aren’t you? Supposing you hate it when you’re there?’

Christina allowed herself a silent giggle. Hilary’s face showed very plainly that she wished she hadn’t said that; supposing Christina said that she would return home and expect to live with her and George Henry until she found another job to suit her? She said gently: ‘Well, you know, Hilary, I’m a bit slow about making up my mind about places and people—other people know within seconds if they like something or someone, but not me.’ She remembered very clearly that she had known within a second that she liked Adam, but of course there was always the exception to every rule… ‘I shall enjoy the experience,’ she finished.

Hilary agreed with eager enthusiasm and hardly concealed her pleasure when Christina mentioned that it wasn’t likely that she would be at the wedding. George Henry, Christina decided, must be very in love not to notice, but that was a good thing. She was a firm believer in love, herself unloved.

‘You won’t come back,’ observed Hilary in a satisfied voice.

‘Probably not, and certainly not to London.’ Christina beamed at them both. ‘Have you decided what you would like for a present?’ she asked.

Dr ter Brandt came for her at noon the next day, keeping the taxi waiting outside while he chatted amiably with George Henry, who had just come in from an emergency call. Which gave Christina time to take another quick look at herself in the old-fashioned wardrobe mirror. She was wearing the suit again because it seemed suitable in the elegant company of the doctor, and she wondered where they were to lunch.

She hadn’t included Claridge’s in her guessing. She got out of the taxi and looked up at its solid imposing front, then she looked at the doctor.

‘Will I do for a place like this?’ she asked simply.

He looked her up and down very deliberately. ‘Very well indeed,’ he assured her, and she said matter-of-factly:

‘Oh, that’s all right, then. I shouldn’t like to let you down.’

They had a table by the window again, shown to it by the manager of the restaurant, who greeted the doctor with the smiling respect due to a regular visitor. There was a band playing softly somewhere and the restaurant was elegant and quiet. Christina sighed as she sat down.

‘This is very delightful,’ she observed, ‘and a bit exciting to me. I expect you come here a lot?’

‘From time to time. What would you like to drink?’ And when she hesitated: ‘A dry sherry would give us an appetite, if you’d care for that?’

‘Please.’ She added with disarming frankness: ‘I don’t know much about drinks.’

‘Then you’ll allow me to guide you.’ He took the menu he had been offered and glanced across at her, already studying hers.

‘I’m famished,’ he told her placidly. ‘I shall have a steak, but how about a starter? Avocado, perhaps?’ and when she agreed, relieved to have some guidance through the enormous selection of food, ‘If you like fish, I can recommend the salmon, or perhaps lobster?’

‘Salmon, please.’ She wasn’t absolutely sure what you did with a lobster. She sat back and looked around her and the doctor looked at her. She had self-possession, that was evident, and no pretence. He had expected her to tell him that she didn’t know what to do with a lobster and he was quite disappointed because she hadn’t. She wasn’t gauche, he decided, merely deprived of the usual opportunities most girls had of going out and picking up these useful pieces of information. He would warn Adam not to make the mistake of taking her to a second class restaurant again. She would be able to cope with Buckingham Palace if necessary because she had sense and natural good manners and an honesty which he found rather touching. He couldn’t think of any of his women friends, offhand, who would have stopped outside a restaurant in order to ask if they would do.

He elaborated upon the job she had applied for while they ate their way through the most delicious lunch she had ever tasted, and watching the light-as-air profiteroles being piled on to her plate, she remarked: ‘It all sounds quite splendid—but the thing is, I’m so taken up with this gorgeous food I don’t think I’m appreciating it as I should.’

The doctor gave a great booming laugh. ‘Then I shall have to send you a job description leaflet when I get back.’

Which reminded her to ask: ‘You’re going this evening?’

‘Yes, I must.’ He didn’t tell her that he had stayed another day so that he might take her out to lunch. He had been sorry for her, but he wasn’t any more. She was one of those calm, sensible girls who didn’t allow themselves to become flustered. Adam would try and charm her out of that calmness, but Duert doubted if he would succeed. He would make sure that he didn’t anyway; she was too nice a girl to have her heart broken by the carefree Adam. There were plenty of girls who could play his game and not get hurt. The doctor, whose own tastes ran to sophisticated women whose witty conversation kept him mildly amused and who were never surprised or excited about anything at all, glanced at Christina with puzzled eyes. There was absolutely nothing about this dab of a girl to interest him, so why had he taken her out to lunch? To save her from the disappointment of not seeing Adam, he supposed idly.

‘Adam will be back tomorrow,’ he told her, and watched her face light up. ‘He has only three more weeks here; you will be quite at home in den Haag by then.’

She poured their coffee with a steady hand while she contemplated her exciting future. ‘So I shall,’ she told him. ‘When will I know? I have to resign…’

‘Oh, do that tomorrow, will you?’ and at her look of surprise, ‘I’ve recommended you for the post and I’m the director of the hospital, so the job’s yours, Christina. Let me know when you can come and I’ll arrange to have you met. You’ll need a passport, of course; I’ll see about your work permit. Have you enough money for your fare or would you like an advance?’

‘I’ve enough, thank you.’

‘Good—well, we’ll see how you get on, shall we? If at the end of a month you’re not happy, let me know.’

‘And if I don’t suit?’ she prompted.

‘Then I shall let you know.’

She wouldn’t like that to happen. He seemed such an easygoing man, but she suspected that upon occasion he could be icy-tempered, venting his rage in a cold voice on whoever had been hapless enough to incur his displeasure. Christina hoped most sincerely that she would never be unlucky enough to do that, and anyway, she wouldn’t see much of him once she was there. She didn’t know much about hospital directors, but she hardly thought he would do anything else but administrative work.

There didn’t seem much more to say after that. She finished her coffee, invented a meeting with one of the Sisters from the hospital, wished him a pleasant journey back home, thanked him for her delightful lunch and assured him that she really had to go. She wasn’t surprised when he at once asked for the bill, paid it and ushered her out of the restaurant; indeed, she was a little worried as to whether she had lingered too long, which made her goodbyes rather brisk.

‘I’ll get you a taxi,’ offered the doctor, and when she said no, thank you, she would walk as it was close by, and he asked where, his eyes gleamed with amusement when she said wildly: ‘Oh, Piccadilly Circus,’ which wasn’t close by at all.

He stood on the pavement and watched her walk briskly to the corner and into Davies Street, on her way to the crowds and bustle of Oxford Street. He very much doubted if she was going to meet anyone.

Christina got on a bus when she reached Oxford Street and went home; it was mid-afternoon, George Henry was out on his afternoon visits and she had the house to herself. She sat down at the dining room table and made a list of all the things she had to do within the next few days, then she wrote a letter of resignation ready to hand in in the morning, made a cup of tea, washed her hair and then sat down again and allowed herself to indulge in daydreams just a little. Adam cropped up in all of them.

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