MR MITCHELL embraced his daughter warmly, took her bag and led her outside to where the car, an elderly Rover stood. ‘Your mother’s at home,’ he told her, ‘dishing up the fatted calf. It seems a long time since you were home, my dear.’
‘Four weeks, Father—Nigel had a weekend when I did and we went to his home, if you remember. I’m going to have ten days’ holiday in a couple of weeks, and he’ll come home for his weekend if you and Mother don’t mind.’
They had got into the car and her father was fiddling with his seat belt. ‘You know we love to have you. Madge ‘phoned to say she’d come over for the day and bring Harry with her.’
‘Oh, good, I haven’t seen him for ages. Has he any teeth yet?’
They exchanged small items of news as they drove out of the city and took the road to Stratford Bissett and the road along the Chalke Valley. It was almost dark by now and the car’s headlights shone on the hedges on either side of the road, presently they revealed a handful of cottages as they passed through a small village. Half a mile along the road Mr Mitchell turned the car in through an open gateway and stopped before his front door. The house was in darkness now, but Julia knew every inch of it; stone and flint with a low tiled roof and lattice windows and tall twisted chimneys and a solid door with a wide porch with seats on either side worn smooth by generations of use. She got out of the car and ran inside, down the flagstoned hall to the kitchen. Her mother was at the table, putting the finishing touches to supper and she looked up and smiled as Julia went in.
‘Darling, how lovely to see you. Is that the kitten your father was telling me about? He’ll be hungry, poor little scrap. We’ll shut the doors and he can have his supper with Gyp and Muffin and Maud. Take your jacket off, dear, supper’s just ready.’
Julia gave her mother a hug, tossed her jacket into a chair, shut the door and let Wellington out of his basket. Gyp, her father’s dog, had lumbered over to greet Julia, now she put her great head down and blew gently over the kitten who backed away and then crept up close to the dog.
Julia watched them. ‘Oh, good, Gyp will look after him. Isn’t it splendid that Nigel’s got his job at Bristol? Of course, I knew he would, all the same, it’s pretty super.’
Her mother agreed. ‘You’ll be able to get married now…’
‘Well, he wants to wait until next summer—so that he can get settled in.’
Julia was picking bits off the quiche lorraine her mother had just put on the table and she didn’t look up.
‘Surely…’ began her mother and changed it to: ‘That’ll give you nice time to find somewhere to live.’
‘Oh, there is a flat that goes with the job—furnished too.’
Julia could almost hear her mother thinking and changed the conversation smartly. ‘I’ve got ten days’ holiday, Mother. Will it be all right if I come home? In about two weeks’ time?’ She turned to smile at her father as he came into the room. ‘Nigel could get a weekend off, I expect.’
‘That’ll be lovely, darling. Do you want to go up to your room, or shall I dish up?’
‘Give me five minutes. Don’t let Wellington escape, will you?’
She slept soundly that night, but she always did in the country. Wellington curled up beside her; none the worse for meeting Muffin and Maud, who were both elderly anyway and tolerant of kittens. Besides, Gyp had taken him under her wing and he had eaten a splendid supper with the three of them.
The fine weather held, Julia got up early dressed in old slacks and a disreputable sweater and crossed the garden, and the small paddock beyond, to the stables where the old pony Star, and Jane the donkey lived. It was only just light but they were pleased to see her, she saddled Star and then rode him out of the gate and into the lane beyond to take the bridle path across the fields towards the village. There was no one about although she could hear a tractor in the distance and the church in the village striking the hour. She was utterly at peace, in a bubble of contentment, her thoughts so quiet as to be almost nonexistent. She gave Star a rest at the top of the slope behind the house and sat looking at the broad sweep of country before her, wide green fields, ploughed ones too and winding in and out between them the little river Nadder. She found herself shocked and surprised to discover that she was wishing that she could show it all to Professor van der Wagema. She had no idea why she should have thought of him and she forgot him almost as soon as they had turned for home. Star, with the prospect of a rub down and breakfast, trotted along sturdily, anxious to be back in the paddock with his companion and Julia let Jane out before she began on him. It was bright sunlight and pleasantly warm by the time she had finished with him and as she went back to the house she could smell bacon cooking. She wrinkled her lovely nose and sighed: there was a lot to be said for living in the country, on the other hand she loved her job…
The two days passed all too quickly, it seemed to her that in no time at all she was climbing the stairs to her flat with Wellington muttering in his basket; he was going to hate being cooped up in one room as much as she was. Perhaps Nigel was right in saying that he shouldn’t go to Bristol with them; he could always go to her home, he had settled down quickly enough there. On the other hand she wanted to keep him.
The room was stuffy and she opened a window and made tea before getting supper for the two of them and presently she went to bed.
There hadn’t been any admissions while she had been away and the two chest cases were a little better. Three patients would be going home before lunch and Dick Reed had already ‘phoned to say that he wanted the beds by the afternoon. Julia made sure that they were ready and after her usual round went to take a look at Mrs Collins. Decidedly better, wide awake and even trying to talk. Julia went off to her office, well pleased and rang Dick Reed to find out what exactly was coming into the empty beds.
‘A query coronary for observation, a nephritis and a leukaemia. I’ll be up to see them—let me know as soon as you’ve got them will you?’
They were all ill, indeed the leukaemia looked as though she wouldn’t last another day, but Julia had seen such cases before; a blood transfusion and rest and good food, and the patient would be able to carry on again at least for a time. She accompanied Dick Reed when he came to examine them and then left him in the office to write up his notes while she gave out the medicines. It was almost six o’clock by the time she got off duty and she was tired. But she shook the tiredness off as she walked back to the flat. Nigel would be coming round presently and she wanted to have a meal ready for him. It would have to be ham and salad, there wasn’t time to prepare more; she stopped at the delicatessen on the corner, bought what she needed and hurried to see Wellington, shower and change into a blouse and skirt and lay the table. The room looked pleasant with a small table lamp alight, highlighting the flowers she had brought back with her; the right setting for a talk about the future.
Nigel came a little after eight o’clock and she saw at once that he was tired. ‘You’ve had a busy day.’ Her quiet voice was sympathetic, ‘Sit down and have a glass of beer before supper.’
He went over his day’s work then; a tricky operation he wasn’t very happy about, a bad road crash which had upset the theatre list, one of the theatre nurses fainting…
‘A real Monday,’ commented Julia, ‘what a blessing it’s Tuesday tomorrow.’
He laughed and caught her hand and kissed her. ‘You’re too good to be true sometimes, Julia. I don’t think I know the real you underneath that serenity.’
It struck her forcibly that he didn’t; she had tried hard to batten down the occasional fiery moments of temper. It was a shock to realise that the only person who knew of her occasional flashes of rage was the professor, and that was because he was invariably the cause of them.
She didn’t mention their future while they had supper, only when she had cleared the table and put the coffee tray between them did she ask: ‘Heard any more about the new job?’
She shouldn’t have said it. He said irritably: ‘How could I possibly? You know as well as I do that it takes a couple of weeks at least for the official letter to be sent.’
He drank his coffee and sat back and presently his eyes closed and he slept. Julia, although disappointed, wasn’t in the least put out; he’d had a long day and things hadn’t gone right and probably he’d have to be up during the night as well. She sat quietly, allowing her thoughts to wander. Her own day had gone well enough and she’d had a weekend at home too. She smiled, remembering Madge and small Harry. Madge was five years younger than she, small and dark and pretty, they were so unalike that those who didn’t know them never believed that they were sisters. It will be nice to be married, mused Julia and have children and a home, although it might be some time before she had a home of her own choosing. Madge had gone straight to Jim’s farmhouse and spent a happy six months changing the curtains and carpets and polishing the furniture, handed down from one generation to the next and then, content with her surroundings, she had produced Harry. The first, she assured Julia, of the family she intended to have. ‘At least two boys,’ she had said seriously, ‘Jim’s buying more land and there’ll be something for them—and a girl or two to even things up.’ Julia felt a pang of envy; she doubted whether Nigel would want more than one child—two, perhaps, and she would have to have them quickly. She frowned fiercely, thirty was a depressing age…
Nigel had opened his eyes. ‘What’s the matter?’
She smiled. ‘Nothing, just that I remembered that I was thirty.’
‘A sensible age—they asked about you at Bristol—I forgot to tell you—they thought they might have a part-time job to offer you if you were interested. Two sisters will be retiring next summer; you could go full time if you wanted to.’
Julia sat up straight. ‘But Nigel, I don’t want to. You’ll be getting enough for us to live comfortably without me having to work, even part time. I want to be a housewife and have a couple of babies and cook…’
He said easily. ‘Hey, you don’t need to be so indignant about it, and there’s loads of time for a baby.’ He shrugged, ‘Of course if you’re dead set on doing nothing that’s fine. If you worked for a year, even, we could save all your salary and start buying a house…’ He leaned forward and dropped a kiss on her downcast face. ‘Anyway you’ve a matter of eight or nine months to decide, darling. And no one would guess what an old lady you are; you’re really the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.’
She saw that he didn’t want to discuss their future seriously. She uncurled herself from her chair and said a little too brightly: ‘I’ll get another cup of coffee, shall I? It’ll wake you up before you go.’
He laughed. ‘Being thrown out, am I?’
‘That’s right,’ she laughed with him, uneasily aware that even if she had let him, he didn’t want to stay. Not that she would have allowed him to but it would be fun to be tempted…
It was the professor’s round the next morning. Not in the best of tempers Julia decided as he stalked into the ward, his face a bland mask, his, ‘Good morning, Sister,’ so crisp it was positively terse. She instantly became very professional, reciting the information he required in a precise voice and handing forms, Path Lab reports and X-ray forms just half a second before he asked for them; she felt a wicked delight in doing it, for she knew it annoyed him. He brings out the very worst in me, she thought, watching him examining the woman with leukaemia, and yet the patients doted on him. He straightened his vast bulk and before he could put out a hand she had the Path Form ready. Just for the moment his eye met hers and she could have sworn that somewhere under those composed features he was laughing.
Inevitably the conversation turned to Nigel’s new job as Julia, the Professor and Dick Reed had their coffee after the round was over. ‘A flat with the job,’ observed the professor airily, ‘do you intend to get a job there, Julia?’
After his distant manner of the ward, the airiness seemed to Julia a bit much.
‘I’ve hardly had time to think about it,’ she told him, ‘time enough to decide…’
He gave her a long steady look. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, but you will have to find that out for yourself.’
She stared at him, for it seemed a strange thing to say and as far as she could see there was no point in answering him.
Nigel was on call until midnight and although some of her friends had asked her to go to a film with them, she had refused. A quiet evening, she had decided, in which she could have a good think. It was fast being borne in upon her that she and Nigel were drifting towards an uncertain future neither of them was quite happy about—at least, speaking for herself, she wasn’t happy.
She handed over to Pat soon after five o’clock, fetched her cloak and left the ward. It had been growing dark for the last half-hour or so—too dark for the time of year—a storm brewing; she hurried down the stairs and across the entrance hall just as the first heavy drops of rain fell. She paused at the doors, uncertain whether to make a dash for it and get wet or hang around until the storm was over. The whole sky was black now and it could last an hour or more. She decided to chance it and took a step outside to be plucked back by her cloak.
‘You’ll be drowned like a rat,’ said the professor matter-of-factly. ‘Wait here, I’ll get the car and then drive you back.’
He gave her no chance to answer but had gone, walking fast to the consultants’ car park close by, and when he drew up in front of the door a few moments later, she got in thankfully enough for the rain was streaming down and there had been a low grumbling of thunder.
‘Where to?’ asked the professor.
She told him and he nodded. ‘Close by. Better than living in I dare say.’
She agreed pleasantly. ‘Although the neighbourhood isn’t very inviting, but it’s reasonably quiet.’
There really wasn’t much time for more conversation. He stopped before the house and she had to admit that in the rain and under the grey, dreary sky, it looked uninviting. She thanked him and started to open the door.
His ‘Stay where you are,’ was uttered in a voice which was intended to be obeyed, so she didn’t move. If he chose to get wet that was his business.
He opened the door, said ‘Run for it,’ and shut the door behind her. On the doorstep she realised that he was beside her, opening the door and urging her inside just as a brilliant flash of lightening heralded a clap of thunder to shatter the eardrums. Julia, who was quite cowardly when it came to storms, caught the professor by the coat sleeves and buried her bright head in his chest. She remembered who he was at the last minute and shot away from him as though he had been red hot. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, ‘I don’t like lightning.’
He didn’t answer, merely held her lightly for a moment and then said, ‘Shall we go to your flat and you can take off that wet cloak? He pushed her gently towards the stairs. ‘At the top?’ he wanted to know.
She led the way and unlocked her door, to be met by a terrified Wellington, who frenziedly tried to climb up her legs. The professor shut the door behind him, removed the kitten gently, tucked him under one arm and went to close the curtains and turn on the lamp.
‘That’s better.’ He stood in the middle of the room, making it seem very small, looking around him. ‘This is where you live?’ he said softly. ‘I have often wondered.’
Julia had taken off her wet cloak and was pulling off her ruined cap. ‘They call it a flat,’ she told him, ‘but of course it’s really only one room with hot and cold and a cooking stove. But I’m happy here.’
‘Are you? Are you really, Julia? You are an outdoor girl. You should at least have a garden…’
‘Well, it’s not for ever. Would you like a cup of coffee?’
‘Yes, please.’ He sat down in the chair Nigel always used and looked completely at home in it and Wellington curled up against his waistcoat, the kitten’s small head buried against him. He stroked the kitten gently. ‘He doesn’t like storms either. Isn’t he lonely all day?’
Julia was filling the kettle. ‘I’m sure he is but I found him in the street a week or two ago, half starved. I took him home for my weekend and he loved it.’
The professor somehow seemed a different man, sitting there so very at ease, so much so that she was tempted to ask him if his wife wasn’t expecting him home, but perhaps Martha had learnt not to ask him questions like that. She searched around in her head for a safe topic of conversation and came up with, ‘Is your son happy at school?’
‘Yes. He’s just starting his second year. You know of the place, I expect?’ He mentioned a prep school.
‘Oh, of course, Father is the Latin coach there,’ she said at once.
‘Ah yes, you did tell me—a retired schoolmaster. Latin, Greek and Maths I presume?’
‘That’s right.’ She turned to look at him as she spooned Nescafé into two mugs, and almost dropped the jar as the room was lighted by a blaze of blue light and a crack of thunder made everything rattle. The professor got up, still with Wellington under one arm, and took the jar from her shaking hand. ‘Alarming,’ he observed soothingly, ‘but no damage done.’ He put the jar on a shelf and reaching for the boiling kettle said, ‘Sit down and take this creature, will you, while I see to this.’
She sat feeling a fool and saying so. ‘Rubbish,’ he told her firmly, ‘besides, it’s a sop to my ego that I’ve at last discovered a chink in your armour of chilly calm.’
She blinked at him. ‘Chilly calm,’ she echoed. ‘I’m not…’
‘The very epitome. The ideal ward sister in person, you wear the image like a second skin. I wonder what’s underneath?’
She said distantly: ‘I think you’re being rather rude.’
He handed her a mug of coffee and sat down again. ‘You’ve always thought that, haven’t you?’ His voice was silky.
She made haste to say: ‘The storm’s going away…’
He laughed softly: ‘How providential, Julia.’ He drank his coffee and got up. ‘I must go, Martha will wonder what has happened to me. No, don’t get up, I’ll see myself out.’
He had gone before she could think of anything to say.
The storm had rumbled away and presently she got up and fed Wellington and made herself some supper. She had been going to sit quietly and ponder the future, she reminded herself, but somehow she found it difficult to concentrate on it, instead she found herself thinking about the professor. Natural curiosity, she told herself, quite forgetting that until just lately she hadn’t been in the least curious about him, but then it was only just lately that he had ever bothered to talk to her. There had always been talk of a professional nature, of course, and polite nothings at Christmas and the annual hospital ball, when he had danced with her, very correctly, just once. It was a kind of unwritten law that the consultants should dance with their ward sisters and he had observed it although he had never been sufficiently carried away to repeat that performance. And as for the conversation while they drank their coffee after his rounds, that was almost always shop with the odd off-hand remark about the weather or whether she had enjoyed her holidays offered her with rather impatient politeness. He might be quite a different person, she considered, if one could get to know him and he wasn’t so rude. The faint suspicion that he was rude on purpose to annoy her crossed her mind and was instantly dispelled for there was no sense in it. She dismissed his image with difficulty and got pencil and paper and started to calculate just how much money she and Nigel would need to live on, she did it neatly, so that she could show it to him next time they were together, and prove that there was really no need for her to work.
She wasn’t on until one o’clock the next day, for Pat had a half-day before her days off. Nigel had an hour to spare too which meant that they could meet at the café down the street and have coffee together.
He was waiting when she got there, sitting at one of the plastic tables piled with the last customer’s coffee cups and plates of crumbs. The café owner came over as she sat down, swept the debris on to a tray, gave the table a token wipe, said, ‘Two coffees?’ without being told anything, and then went away to get them.
Julia wrinkled her lovely nose at the smell of hot vinegar and chips. ‘This place is a dump,’ she observed, ‘but at least it’s somewhere to go.’ She smiled as she spoke. ‘Did you manage a quiet night?’
‘Yes, not too bad. Can you get an evening tomorrow? I shall be free and there is that film we both want to see. There won’t be time to eat first but we can get a sandwich and coffee afterwards.’
‘Pat’s got days off but it just so happens that the part-time staff nurse asked if she could work from two until eight o’clock. Couldn’t be better, could it?’
Their coffee came, surprisingly good in its thick white pottery cups and they drank it slowly, talking idly. Nigel didn’t mention his new job and there really wasn’t time to have a serious talk about anything. They walked back to St Anne’s and parted at its entrance. Nigel’s, ‘See you, old girl,’ struck Julia as unromantic.
They met again the following evening, rather later than they had intended, so that there was only time to say hullo before hurrying to Nigel’s car and driving up to the West End. There were queues outside the cinema and they joined the shortest one even though it was for the more expensive seats. ‘I should have booked, but I forgot,’ said Nigel, ‘but I don’t suppose we’ll have to wait long.’
They didn’t talk much, for one thing there wasn’t much to talk about except their work which was hardly conversation for a public place, they exchanged a few remarks about nothing in particular and it struck Julia that other than their work they hadn’t a great deal in common, something which she had never realised before. She looked at Nigel for a reassurance she badly needed although she wasn’t sure why, and she got a casual smile. ‘It won’t be long now,’ he observed, ‘I only hope it’ll be worth the waiting.’
As it happened it was. Julia, coming out of the cinema a couple of hours later was still bemused with its splendour, and she hesitated on the pavement, momentarily separated from Nigel by the crowds.
‘Lost?’ Professor van der Wagema’s bland voice sounded quietly in her ear.
‘Certainly not. Nigel’s here, only I can’t see him for the moment.’
‘In that case, stay here and I’ll find him for you.’ He turned his head and said something to a girl behind him, then: ‘You can keep each other company until I get back.’
He disappeared into the crowd and Julia and the girl eyed each other warily. If this was Martha, and who else could it be, anyway, thought Julia, she had been sadly mistaken in her guessing. This girl was only a little younger than herself, exquisitely made up and beautifully dressed and very, very pretty although just at that moment she was frowning with annoyance. I suppose I’d frown too if my husband went off looking for someone I’d never met and left me with a woman he hadn’t even bothered to introduce, mused Julia and tried a smile on her companion. ‘Wasn’t it a splendid film?’ she essayed.
‘Not too bad if you like that kind of thing.’ The blue eyes rested on hers for a moment and then searched the crowd, dismissing her. Julia, whose manners were practised, tried again: ‘I’m sorry if you are being held up, I’m sure Professor van der Wagema won’t be long…’
He came towards them as she spoke, head and shoulders above the people still milling around, and he had Nigel with him. She thanked the professor nicely and his cool, ‘Not at all, Sister Mitchell,’ chilled her before he took the girl’s arm and cleaved a way through the crowds.
‘Sorry about that, old girl,’ said Nigel, ‘decent of van der Wagema to come looking for me.’ He took her arm. ‘There’s quite a good pub down the street, let’s get a sandwich.’
Julia ate her sandwich and drank lager with it although she longed for a cup of tea and all the while she was wondering what the professor was doing, probably eating a delicious supper at the Savoy or somewhere equally splendid and if not that, she decided, her imagination running riot, driving home where he and his Martha would sit by the fire in a splendid drawing room, the low table between them loaded with dainty sandwiches and vol-au-vents and a silver pot of coffee—she could almost smell its fragrance.
‘Hi!’ Nigel sounded amused. ‘You’re a long way off. Have another of these cheese sandwiches. Must keep up your strength you know. We’ve a list as long as my arm in the morning, can’t think where they all come from.’
She gave herself a mental shake and listened while he told her about the various cases and when he’d finished she asked suddenly: ‘Nigel, do you ever wish you were doing something else?’
His rather serious face broke into a smile. ‘Lord, no. What else could I do? And you? You wouldn’t want to be anything but a nurse, would you?’
‘Well, yes—I want to be a wife and have a family. Nigel I’m thirty years old…’
‘So what? You don’t look it for a start and time enough to settle down.’ He grinned at her, ‘I can’t wait to get my teeth into this new job.’
And I, thought Julia sadly, can’t wait to get married, only it looks as though I shall have to.
It was a good thing she was going on holiday soon, she decided the following morning, for she had no wish to go to work. The weather had broken and late summer had suddenly become chilly autumn. The grey damp sky had affected the patients too, true several of them were too ill to care what the weather was doing, but even Mrs Winter had lost her interest in her companions and lay back on her pillows, staring at nothing.
‘And what’s the matter with you?’ asked Julia on her morning round.
‘Me, fed up, I am, Sister. Nothing but ham and injections. Now if you was to offer me a bar of Cadbury’s fruit and nut…’
Julia laughed gently. ‘Mrs Winter I wouldn’t dare do such a thing—think of the work we’d have getting you stabilised again. Besides what would Professor van der Wagema say?’
Mrs Winter brightened a bit. ‘Would ‘e mind? If I was to go all unconscious?’
‘You bet he would, he’d probably throw me out without a reference too.’
Mrs Winter grinned. ‘Now that’s something ‘e won’t do, Sister. Not if I knows it.’
‘So no chocolate, Mrs Winter,’ warned Julia and went back to her office.
She had no sooner sat down than Pat put her head through the door. ‘Time for a cup of coffee?’ she asked. ‘I’ve sent Wells and the new student down to get theirs; and there is half an hour before the prof. comes.’
They were discussing the advantages of moving Dolly Waters to the far end of the ward where a young woman with pneumonia had been admitted. ‘It might do Dolly good to have someone cheerful to talk to her,’ said Julia. ‘Mrs Thorpe’s a dear soul, but she’s too ill to chat much, I think we’ll move her…’
She looked up as the door, after the most peremptory of knocks, was thrust open, and the professor walked in. His ‘Good morning’ was so blighting that it seemed probable that the weather had affected him too. She said at once, quite forgetting that she was never going to offer him refreshment again: ‘Would you like some coffee, sir?’
He fixed her with a black stare. ‘No, Sister, I would not. I came in to see Dolly Waters, but perhaps it’s not convenient?’
She disliked the silkiness of his voice but there was nothing she could do about it; open rebellion was out of the question. She put down her coffee mug and sailed to the door. ‘We were discussing,’ she informed him haughtily, ‘whether it would be a good idea to move her next to Mary Perkins. Mary isn’t very ill and might cheer up Dolly. Mrs Thorpe’s a marvellous patient but I fancy she depresses Dolly.’
He had held the door wide for her to go through. ‘I think that might be a sound idea, Sister.’
He spent some time with Dolly. It was remarkable thought Julia, standing on the other side of the bed watching him, that a man could make himself so disagreeable and within minutes switch on a charm and a warmth to put heart into the unhappiest patient. Which was the real man, she wondered. Only Martha would know that, she decided.
His examination finished, she accompanied him out of the ward and on the landing outside her office he paused long enough to remind her that he would be back to do his normal round in an hour’s time.
He didn’t smile but wished her a grave goodbye.
Back in her office Pat was sorting charts. ‘I’ll get some fresh coffee,’ she said. ‘I suppose he didn’t want a cup now?’
‘I didn’t ask him,’ said Julia with some heat. ‘There’s plenty of places in the hospital where he can get coffee if he wants it.’
Her staff nurse blinked in surprise. ‘Why, Sister—was he cross?’ She giggled. ‘I’ve always rather fancied him, even when he’s in a rage.’
‘He’s the most unfanciable man I know,’ declared Julia. ‘Let’s have that coffee, shall we?’
Professor van der Wagema arrived on the dot, Dick Reed was with him and a handful of medical students and the round took a good deal longer than usual as the professor spent rather more time with each patient, listening with bland impatience to his pupils’ halting answers to his questions. Julia felt sorry for the young men, standing there like schoolboys while he took them apart with a few biting phrases, though always out of earshot of the patients. It had always surprised her that to a man they liked him. They called him hard names behind his back, but let anyone say a word against him and they were immediately up in arms. And give him his due, his praise, though not given often, was worth something. He looked across at her as she was studying his face while he lectured, paused and smiled briefly at her.
She had been wrong—all these years she had been wrong; she didn’t dislike him, she liked him, she suddenly understood why the bunch of young men standing around the bed liked him too. She would have to tell Nigel when she saw him, for he had never understood why she didn’t share his respect for the professor. Not that she respected him, that was too strong a word. If anything she was vaguely sorry for him although she wasn’t sure why—she had no reason to be, he had his Martha and his son and more than likely a most comfortable home to live in.
She smiled back at him, probably they would be at odds within the hour, but that didn’t seem important. As it happened the rest of the round went smoothly and they drank their coffee, together with Dick Reed, in perfect harmony, the conversation exclusively about his patients.
Only as they were leaving did the professor observe, ‘You go on holiday shortly, Sister?’
She nodded. ‘Next week, sir. Staff Nurse Down will take over.’
‘And for how long?’
‘Ten days.’
He said surprisingly. ‘Wellington goes with you, of course?’
‘Of course.’
‘And Longman?’ His face was as bland as his voice and she mistrusted both. Besides, as one of the senior consultants at St Anne’s he must be fully aware of the comings and goings of the registrars and senior housemen. He had no need to ask her, anyway she was sure that he already knew.
‘If he is able to get a few days,’ she said with vague sweetness.
Watching his broad back going down the corridor, she had to admit that although she was still prepared to like him, he could be awfully tiresome.