THE DAY BEFORE Julia’s holiday, she had a free evening. It had meant a rush from St Anne’s to the flat to change rapidly, ram Wellington into his basket, pick up her case and nip down to the main street to find a taxi. It would have been nice if Nigel had been free to run her to Waterloo in his car, but he had had a long list in the afternoon and when she went off duty, theatre was still busy. She got into a cruising taxi, thankful to have found one so quickly and sat back with a sigh of relief, casting a quick look at the hospital as they passed it. There was a lot of traffic, she had barely ten minutes in which to catch her train but the queue for tickets was short and the Salisbury train was already at a nearby platform. She had paused to get a firmer grip on Wellington’s basket when she saw Professor van der Wagema, coming towards her, and with him the same girl she had seen outside the cinema. He was the last person she had expected to see there and there was no way of avoiding him and his companion. She pinned a small smile on to her face and sped past them. The professor hadn’t looked in the least surprised and Martha had glanced at her in a casual way without remembering her.
Julia was wrong there, the girl said at once, ‘That’s the redhead you spoke to the other evening.’
The professor took her arm to cross the street to where his car was parked. ‘Sister Mitchell,’ he agreed calmly. ‘I’ll drop you off if you don’t mind—I’ve a round to do in the private wing.’
He didn’t appear to notice his companion’s pout.
Julia sprinting down the platform to find a seat, had hardly given the incident a second thought, it was only when the train was well under way and she sat, looking out into the autumn dusk, that she wondered what the professor was doing there—putting his wife on a train, meeting her? Perhaps she had been to see the boy at school. She looked very young to have a schoolboy for a son. She was quite lovely too. Julia sighed without knowing why, perhaps because it would be nice to have a son and be beautiful and have, too, the professor for a husband. She sat up straight at the thought, really, she was letting her imagination run away with her. She turned her thoughts to her holiday, dwelling happily on the days ahead. She would garden and go shopping for her mother and go riding and catch up on her reading, and when Nigel came for his free day, they would go for a long walk. There were miles of country in which to stretch their legs. She sighed again, this time with content, closed her eyes and dozed until they reached Salisbury.
The drive from the station was taken up with family gossip. Madge would be over to spend a day; Jason and Gregory were in their house football teams, and her mother had bought a new winter coat, Jane the donkey had had her hooves trimmed. Julia sitting with Wellington in his basket balanced on her knee, enjoyed every word of it.
Her mother welcomed her warmly and then stood back and gave her a good look. ‘You’re getting thin,’ she declared, eyeing Julia’s magnificent shape. ‘Why?’
‘Well, I didn’t know that I was,’ Julia found herself making excuses. ‘And anyway I’m huge, Mother—I feel like a mountain—you’ve no idea how slim most of the nurses are…’
Her mother, still what her father described with pride as a fine figure of a woman, gave her a tolerant smile. ‘Well, it won’t hurt you to put on a pound or two, darling, you’ll lose it again when you get back to St Anne’s.’
The hospital seemed another world by the end of her first day at home; the weather had looked kindly upon her and although it was chilly in the early mornings, it had been a lovely hazy day in which she had done almost nothing, she wandered off to her bed feeling relaxed, her head pleasantly empty of serious thoughts. And the moment she laid it on the pillow she was asleep, Wellington curled up tidily beside her.
She was in the kitchen the next morning, standing at the table, rolling pastry for the plum pie they were to have for lunch while her mother busied herself with something or other at the sink.
‘Here’s your father. There’s someone with him. Heavens, was that—what a man! Julia do look. Well over six feet tall and enormous with it. He looks quite…’ She broke off as Julia, nipping across to peer out of the window spoke.
‘What on earth is he doing here?’ she demanded a trifle wildly. ‘It’s his round…’
‘Who is he?’ asked Mrs Mitchell in a placid voice, just as though she hadn’t guessed. ‘And what round, darling?’
‘Professor van der Wagema,’ hissed Julia, ‘his ward round.’ She went back to the table and started slapping dabs of butter down on her pastry, if it didn’t puff it would be too bad. From the brief glance she had allowed herself, the two gentlemen had been on the best of terms, deeply engrossed in conversation.
The kitchen door opened and her father and the professor came in.
‘My dear,’ said Mr Mitchell, ‘here is Professor van der Wagema come to arrange for his son to have extra tuition in Latin. Luckily I can fit him in with the other boys I have…’ He looked across at Julia. ‘You know Julia, of course.’
The professor, shaking hands with Mrs Mitchell, agreed pleasantly that he did indeed. ‘My hard-working right hand,’ he murmured with a bland kindliness which set Julia’s teeth on edge. ‘And very deserving of a holiday.’ He added politely, ‘Cooking is your hobby?’
Before Julia could find her tongue her mother had answered. ‘Oh, Julia’s a splendid cook—she has a light hand with pastry too. You must stay to lunch, Professor?’
It annoyed Julia very much indeed when he accepted and was presently borne away by his host to sample a rather splendid dry sherry.
‘What a charming man,’ observed Mrs Mitchell, rapidly peeling more potatoes. ‘How old is his son?’
‘He’s eleven years old apparently.’
‘Any more children?’ asked her mother chattily, ‘and I wonder what kind of a wife he has.’
‘I have no idea,’ said Julia crossly and slapped her pastry down on to the fruit in the pie dish. Probably it would be as tough as leather and serve him right. She put the dish in the oven.
Her mother said,
‘Do go and talk to the men love—only take that apron off first.’
‘They’ll be quite happy on their own, Mother, exchanging Latin tags and swapping Greek verbs. I’m going to lay the table and tidy myself.’
Her mother gently prodded the leg of lamb in the oven with her cooking fork. ‘Well, well,’ she said softly, and then: ‘Oh, dear I do hope…’ She closed the oven door gently and went upstairs to make sure that her appearance befitted the arrival of a visitor.
The table laid, Julia wandered up to her room, where she did her face, combed her hair into coppery neatness, wasted five minutes trying to make up her mind if she should change her dress, and deciding against it, went downstairs again.
‘In your father’s study, dear,’ called her mother and after a moment’s hesitation, she joined them. They were sitting round the fire with Maud, Muffin and Gyp with Wellington curled up between her paws, sitting tidily on the shabby hearth rug. The professor, sitting opposite her father, got to his feet, smiling a little. ‘Will you sit here, Julia?’
‘Don’t get up, please.’ She fetched a glass of sherry which her father had poured out for her and curled up in a corner of the sofa.
His smile widened a little as he sat down and resumed his talk with her father. Not Latin or Greek but education for boys; from time to time Mrs Mitchell and Julia were drawn into their talk and she had to admit that the professor was behaving beautifully; her father doubtless delighted to find someone as intelligent as himself, was enjoying himself, and her mother, she could see, was intrigued. Bursting to ask questions but unable to do so although probably she would discover a way to do that before long. She went to the kitchen presently to take a look at the lamb and was brought up shortly by her mother’s voice as she went back into the study.
‘And your wife, Professor? She lives in London too?’ Mrs Mitchell’s question was put so pleasantly that no one could take exception to it.
The professor looked over her shoulder to where Julia stood in the doorway. ‘My wife died eight years ago, Mrs Mitchell. Nicholas and I are taken the greatest care of by my housekeeper. Martha has been with us for a long time now.’
Happily, Julia was unable to see her face, but the professor, watching her surprise, allowed himself a smile. ‘Not,’ he said smoothly, talking to Julia now, ‘the young lady you met outside the cinema, Julia.’
‘Well, I’m sorry,’ said Mrs Mitchell, not feeling sorry at all, ‘but how nice that you’ve someone to look after you so well. George, will you come and carve?’ She swept her husband away. ‘Finish your drink, Julia—perhaps the professor would like another…’
Julia scarcely heard her mother. After a moment alone with him in the quiet room, she said thoughtfully. ‘How strange—I didn’t know a thing about you all these years at St Anne’s and then Mother asks a couple of questions…’ She picked up her glass and finished her sherry. ‘I won’t tell anyone,’ she promised him kindly.
‘I would have said nothing if I had for one moment imagined that you would,’ he told her crisply. ‘You must have gathered by now that my private life is private.’
‘Oh, indeed, yes. Tell me, Professor, why did you pick on Father to give your son extra lessons? Did you know that he was my father?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Naturally I knew—you yourself mentioned it.’
She said with a frown, ‘Oh, did I? I’m sure I never meant to…’
He laughed then. ‘No, I imagine not. I shall be bringing him over to meet your father in a few days’ time—on his half day, but if you do not care to meet me I will give you ample warning.’
She said coolly, ‘Why shouldn’t I want to meet you? After all, I’m always meeting you on the ward.’
‘So you are, but in rather different circumstances. You tell me that you knew nothing about me in all the years we have been at St Anne’s and now I realise that I knew nothing of you, Julia—the real you.’ He smiled and she found herself smiling back at him. ‘Making pastry and keeping an eye on the roast.’ He paused. ‘And I think that’s the real you, isn’t it?’
She answered him seriously: ‘Yes, I think so. I like my work very much, I want to be a success at it, but there is so much more…’
He said quietly, ‘I like my work too, but as you say there is so much more. And at the end of the day you know what that is, Julia? To love and be loved. Just that.’
She put her glass down carefully thinking what a pity it was that one couldn’t ask any of the questions crowding into her head. Why was he talking to her like this? Was it an oblique reference to the lovely girl he had been with? Was he hinting that he was going to marry again? And why bother to tell her anyway? True, in the last few weeks they had become friends in a guarded way, but why should he suppose that she was interested in his love life? She was saved from wondering what to do next by her mother’s cheerful voice, bidding them to come to lunch.
At that meal the professor’s manner towards her was so reminiscent of that of one of his more good-humoured rounds that Julia’s splendid appetite was almost ruined by her bewilderment.
He left soon after lunch, promising to bring his son within the next few days and complimenting Mrs Mitchell on her delicious cooking. He gave Julia the briefest of nods and a careless, ‘We shall see each other before long I have no doubt.’
‘Well, of course we shall,’ declared Julia sharply to his departing form, now out of earshot. ‘Twice a week on the ward, not counting the odd visits when he takes a fit into his head…’
Her mother tucked an arm into hers, ‘Such a nice man—but I expect he can be tiresome sometimes.’
Julia looked at her parent and encountered an innocent look. ‘He’s a very nice man,’ she conceded, ‘he likes his own way which I suppose is allowable seeing that he is an eminent physician, but he can be more sarcastic than you would ever believe, and he has a nasty temper. Just like me.’
Her mother smiled. ‘How interesting darling. Let’s do the washing up.’
Professor van der Wagema returned three days later, bringing his son with him. Julia was in the paddock behind the house, rubbing down Star while Jane edged backwards and forwards, not wanting to be left out. Julia was wearing an elderly corduroy skirt and a cotton sweater which had seen better days, and she hadn’t bothered overmuch with her face or her hair, which she had tied back loosely and now it was very untidy. She looked up when she heard voices and her first wish to go somewhere and do her hair was swallowed up in indignation that the professor should take her unawares.
He then fetched up beside her and began to pull at Jane’s ears. ‘Hullo, Julia, I’ve brought Nicholas to meet you before he is introduced to your father! It’s his half day.’ He put a great arm on his son’s shoulders. ‘And Nicholas, this is Miss Julia Mitchell, my ward sister at St Anne’s.’
Julia wiped a rather grubby hand on her skirt and held it out. ‘Hullo, Nicholas, is my father waiting for you or would you like to take a look at Star and Jane?’
The boy was like his father, with the same direct dark gaze, and he had his smile too. ‘May I?’ He looked up at his father who said casually, ‘I don’t see why not, I have to have a talk with Mr Mitchell, I might just as well have it now as later if he finds that convenient. Ten minutes?’
Julia and Nicholas nodded in unison. ‘Do you ride?’ she asked the boy. He nodded. ‘Oh, yes—Father and I go riding early in the mornings when we’re in the country. I’ve a pony of my own. I like Jane.’
‘She’s a sweetie, isn’t she? She doesn’t do much now, though, she’s quite elderly, but she loves to be with Star.’ She thrust her hand into a pocket. ‘Here, give her this carrot, will you and here is some sugar for Star. We’d better go to the house I think.’
They stroked the animals’ noses, bade them be good and started back across the paddock. ‘Are you coming here for your tuition or having it at school?’ asked Julia.
‘I’m to have it at school,’ he told her, ‘but Mr Mitchell said that I could come over on my half days if I liked and have a lesson then.’
‘That’ll be nice—other boys have done that from time to time. I expect you are looking forward to the holidays?’
‘Rather, only Father has to work most days, but when he is free we go out—that’s when we are in London.’
Julia’s curiosity got the better of her. ‘You said you had a pony in the country…’
‘I have, we’ve got a cottage just outside Winchester, when Father can get away, we go there with Martha—I like it much better than London.’
‘You like school?’
‘Oh, yes. I shall be a doctor when I grow up, of course.’
‘Well, yes… We’ll go in through the kitchen, then we can wipe our feet.’
She ushered him into the hall and poked her head round the study door. ‘I’ve brought Nicholas—shall he come in?’
Her father peered over his glasses. ‘Yes, my dear. You’re rather untidy, Julia.’
‘Star needed his hooves seen to.’ She didn’t look at the professor, although she was very conscious of him watching her. ‘Here’s Nicholas.’
She went upstairs and met her mother coming down. ‘Darling, your hair.’ Her parent paused on the top step. ‘They’ll stay to tea,’ she suggested.
Julia tugged off her hair ribbon. ‘I’ve no idea. Is Nicholas to have a first lesson today? If so you’ll have to entertain the professor.’
‘I’ll get the tea,’ observed her mother and gave her a limpid look. ‘You can entertain him, after all you must have a great deal to talk about; patients and so forth…’
‘Mother,’ began Julia and then laughed. ‘Well, he’ll have to entertain himself until I get down.’
She didn’t hurry. She put on a silk shirt blouse and a tweed skirt and sat down before her dressing table to make up her face carefully and brush her hair into a loose roll. She secured the last pin, took a keen look at her reflection and then went downstairs. There was no sign of the professor, either in the sitting room or the dining room; she could hear the faint drone of voices coming from her father’s study, perhaps he was there. She went along to the kitchen and opened the door. ‘He’s gone,’ she began and saw him, hands in his pockets, leaning against the old-fashioned dresser, watching her mother cut up one of her seed cakes.
‘No, he’s here,’ observed the professor at his most urbane. ‘There’s something about a kitchen which makes for conviviality.’ He eyed her splendid proportions with an appreciative eye, and Julia, always so calm and collected, suddenly felt awkward.
‘Oh, indeed? By the same token there’s something about a hospital ward which makes for sarcasm and ill humour.’
He allowed himself the faintest of smiles, and she said quickly, ‘I wouldn’t dare to say that on the ward.’
‘I should hope not, indeed, but feel free to speak your own mind in your own home, Julia.’
‘Shall we have tea?’ interposed Mrs Mitchell, ‘you can argue so much more comfortably sitting round a table. Be a dear and carry in the tray, will you, Professor? Julia, you bring that plate of scones, I dare say those two will be hungry after all that Latin.’
The professor laughed and after a minute, so did Julia. She didn’t know why he was amused; she had laughed at the very idea of the professor being told to carry the tray, something she suspected he seldom did in his own home.
Mr Mitchell, still muttering Latin tags under his breath, and Nicholas looking pleased with himself, joined them round the table; Mrs Mitchell had always made a point of setting a good old-fashioned tea before her family, even when the boys weren’t home, it made a pleasant break in the late afternoon and still left a leisurely evening before supper.
Nicholas sitting beside Julia at the large round table, eyed the food with pleasure and needed no urging to make a good tea. And his father, Julia noticed, ate equally heartily. Of course, he was a very large man and perhaps he hadn’t had much lunch…
The talk was light hearted and general and everyone joined in. Nicholas had nice manners and although he was a little shy, held his own well enough when called upon to take his share in the conversation. They sat over the leisurely meal until the professor looked at his watch.
‘I am reluctant to say that we must go—I have to hand Nicky over before half-past seven, and it will take us twenty minutes or so to drive back.’
They all went into the hall and Nicholas hung back to say to Julia, ‘I hope I may come again, I like it here and I like you.’
‘Why thank you, Nicholas.’ She was touched by his friendly overture, ‘I expect we’ll see each other again—I’m on holiday for another week.’
The professor wasn’t a man to hang around saying endless goodbyes. He shook hands, complimented Mrs Mitchell on her delicious cakes, thanked Mr Mitchell for his kindness in seeing Nicholas, waited while the boy made his own polite farewells and ushered him out to the car, pausing only a moment to mutter ‘Haec olim meminisse juvabit’ into her surprised ear.
‘And what did that mean?’ she asked her father, watching the big car slide away down the lane.
‘It will be a joy to us to recall this some day.’ Her father added in some satisfaction, ‘A scholar—let us hope that Nicholas takes after him.’
Julia wasn’t listening. ‘Now why on earth should he say that?’ she asked herself and followed her mother indoors. Her mother who had listened with interest, didn’t feel called upon to answer her.
Nigel came for the weekend, driving himself down; he looked tired and vaguely worried and Julia guessed that he had had a busy time at the hospital. She took him out into the garden to a sheltered sunny corner and carried out the coffee tray. ‘Mother and Father have gone into Salisbury but they’ll be back for lunch.’
She had hoped that he would have wanted to discuss their future but she squashed that idea at once; he wasn’t in the mood. She plied him with coffee and her mother’s cake and listened with a sympathetic ear to his account of the week’s work, commenting suitably when he paused for breath. But presently he enquired, ‘And you? What have you been doing, Julia?’
‘Oh, rides on old Star and then helping Mother and doing a bit of gardening.’ For some reason she didn’t want to tell him about the professor’s visit; her father would almost certainly mention it anyway.
She went in presently to get lunch, leaving him in the sunshine. But when Mr and Mrs Mitchell returned he came indoors and they all sat around talking, plying him with questions about his new job.
‘So now you can think about getting married,’ declared Mrs Mitchell.
‘Well, perhaps,’ he smiled at her indulgently. ‘I must find my feet first and we ought to wait for an opening for Julia… There are a couple of posts vacant in the early summer.’
Mrs Mitchell said nothing and he went on defensively, ‘We thought that she could go on working for a time. She’d be bored alone all day, anyway.’
‘I was never bored,’ declared Mrs Mitchell sharply, ‘but then I had the housework to do and the shopping and then the children. One is never bored with children—frustrated—ill-tempered, tired to death with them, but never bored.’
Julia thought it prudent to go into the kitchen and make the salad. She didn’t want to take part in the argument, however reasonably it would be conducted; she had a feeling that she might be unreasonable if someone asked her what she felt about it.
Over lunch Mr Mitchell mentioned the professor’s visit.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ said Nigel, ‘who would have thought it? How very domestic too…’
‘You’re not to tell anyone,’ said Julia firmly. ‘He’s—he’s a very private person and I don’t think he’d want the whole of St Anne’s to know that he’s been married and that he has a son.’
‘Why ever not?’ Nigel was laughing at her.
‘Father told you because you’re almost family—you should respect his confidence.’ She added almost pleadingly. ‘Please promise you won’t tell anyone, Nigel?’
He shrugged. ‘Okay—if it makes you happy. And that’s funny coming from you—you spend your time biting each other’s heads off.’
‘I don’t see that that has anything to do with it. He’s my boss and I must be loyal to him, you must see that.’
‘All right, although I think you’re taking things too seriously. What’s the boy like?’
‘Eleven years old. Rather like his father…’
‘Clever too,’ put in her father. ‘Sharp as a needle. I’m interested to see how he gets on with the other boys when I go next week.’
Nigel had lost interest. He began to talk about Bristol again and Julia, relieved to have skimmed over the little matter of the professor’s visit, encouraged him.
The weekend went quickly. Nigel didn’t ride, but they went for long walks and to church on Sunday. The vicar, standing at the door after the service beamed at them. ‘And when are we to have the wedding?’ he asked jovially.
It was Nigel who answered him: ‘Not just yet, Vicar. Perhaps in the early summer.’
The vicar looked rather surprised, then laughed uncertainly. ‘Just so—“Marry in haste…” I am always cautioning young people of this parish.’
Julia smiled at him because he was doing his best. She wanted to remind him that neither she nor Nigel were young people but that would have been unkind. She said cheerfully, ‘A summer wedding is the nicest I think.’
Nigel went back on Sunday evening and they still hadn’t talked much about the future. She had tried but each time he had changed the subject and she wasn’t sure if it had been intentional. Perhaps when she got back to the hospital they would have a quiet evening in her flat and she would try and make him see her point of view.
They waved him away from the porch and Julia found herself thinking of the professor’s departure. One day, she promised herself, when he was in a good mood, she would ask him what he had meant, quoting that Latin tag to her.
It seemed very quiet on Monday with Nigel gone and her father away at the two prep schools he visited. He wouldn’t be home until the evening for they were some miles away. She and her mother made short work of the chores, crammed the washing machine and set it going and sat down to drink their coffee.
Her mother sipped reflectively. ‘Darling, don’t think I’m prying but I can’t quite understand why Nigel is so keen on you working once you’re married, and why wait until next summer? He’s got the job and a place to live and neither of you are… What I mean is, you’re both sensible enough to manage very well.’
Julia stirred her coffee for the second time. ‘I don’t quite understand either, Mother.’ She sounded forlorn. ‘I—I don’t seem able to make Nigel understand that I’m not getting any younger. Even if we married now…’ She gave a rueful little laugh. ‘I’ll be a very elderly Mum. Perhaps he hasn’t thought about that; when I get back we must have a talk and get things straight.’
‘Yes, dear. What do his people think about it I wonder?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ Julia gave her mother a direct look, her eyes very green. ‘I’ll have to find that out, won’t I?’
‘It’s not really anyone’s business but yours, darling. Do we want to do anything today?’
‘Let’s be lazy. I thought I’d take Star for a good trot tomorrow; he’s getting too fat. I’ll go down and see to the pair of them now, shall I?’
The day was peaceful. It was still fine but getting chilly now, Julia pottered contentedly until it was time to help her mother with supper and when her father came home they sat around the log fire over drinks, discussing their day. ‘I’ve asked that boy of Professor van der Wagema’s over for a while at half term,’ Mr Mitchell told his wife. ‘His father’s working it seems and there is no point him going home to a more or less empty house. He jumped at the idea—wanted to know if he could ride Star?’ He turned to Julia. ‘A pity you won’t be here, Julia; we could borrow Ben Stratton’s mare and you and Nicholas could have a good ride together.’
‘When is his half term?’ she asked idly. And when he told her, ‘That’s my weekend, I’m almost sure. I’ll come home of you like,’ she grinned. ‘In fact I’ll come home whether you like it or not; it’ll be nice to get away from St Anne’s for a couple of days.’
‘Could Nigel get free too?’ asked her mother.’
‘He’ll be in Bristol. That’s the weekend he starts there.’
She passed her plate for a second helping. ‘He plans to go to his parents on the Saturday and Sunday and report for work on Sunday evening ready for Monday morning.’
‘Oh, well, then that fits in beautifully, love, you’ll be glad to have something to do. You’re bound to miss him…’
Julia nodded. The prospect of long winter evenings on her own wasn’t inviting; she could always spend them with her friends, of course, but one couldn’t go to the cinema or the theatre on every free evening. There would be letters to write of course, and then Wellington for company and the odd weekend spent with friends who had married. She should be content, but she wasn’t, it worried her a bit.
They breakfasted early so that her father could go into Salisbury to take a class, and the housework done, Julia saddled Star and rode at a leisurely pace along the country lanes and bridle paths. Because it was overcast and chilly she had donned slacks and an old, out-at-elbows sweater and tied a bright scarf over her red head, but once she had urged the pony to a smarter pace, she glowed with warmth, so that her cheeks were a bright pink and her hair became loose under the scarf and escaped in thick waving tresses. They turned for home at last, Star ambling the last mile, glad to get back to his stall and Jane, but determined not to hurry too much.
He gave a happy little snort as Julia swung herself out of the saddle and Jane replied. She led him inside the old barn he shared with the donkey and then stopped suddenly. The professor was sitting comfortably on a truss of hay against one wall with Jane as close as she could get while he rubbed her ears.
‘Well,’ said Julia, letting out a held breath, ‘you could have coughed or something—I had the fright of my life.’
‘Do I frighten you, Julia?’ And then, in quite a different voice, ‘I was on my way back from seeing Nicky and I called in to see if I could give you a lift back—you return on Friday, don’t you? I shall be passing about tea time if that suits you?’
He had got off the hay and was unsaddling Star in a businesslike way.
‘Well, thank you, I’d be glad of a lift, it would help as it would save Father having to drive me in to Salisbury, and tea time would be just right.’ She eyed his elegant clothes. ‘Look—I’ll do this, you’ll get in a mess and that’s a good suit. Has mother asked you to stay for lunch?’
The professor’s mouth twitched at its corners. ‘Yes, but I must refuse her kind offer, I have to get back as soon as possible.’
She was surprised to feel disappointment. ‘Oh, well—I’ll walk with you to the house.’
‘No need. I will tell your mother you are back—ten minutes?’
‘Yes, and many thanks for the offer of a lift. It—it was kind of you to think of it.’
He said gravely, ‘Occasionally I give way to these generous impulses. Till Friday.’
She watched him walk away. Even from the back he looked distinguished.
Friday came too soon as the last day of a holiday always does. Julia went for a last early morning ride, groomed Star and Jane, ate the lunch her mother had been at such pains to cook for her, and went away to pack and get herself dressed. An hour later she descended, looking quite different in a knitted jacket and skirt and a tucked silk blouse, all in a soft grey which did full justice to her hair, now very neatly coiled at the back of her head. She hadn’t bothered overmuch with make-up while she had been at home, but now she had done her face with great care.
‘Smashing,’ declared her mother. ‘You’re wearing the Gucci shoes.’
‘Well, I thought I might as well.’ The whole outfit looked what her mother called vogue-ish and she said so, carefully not betraying her interest in her daughter’s reasons for taking such pains. Mrs Mitchell, who had taken to the professor and had a strong romantic streak, wondered what complications lay ahead.
‘I’m sure the professor will have a cup of tea,’ she observed comfortably. ‘I’ve made some cress sandwiches, and there’s that chocolate cake you made yesterday.’
Professor van der Wagema, when he came, professed himself delighted to stay for tea. He had greeted his hostess with a charm which started off the romantic thoughts once more, said hullo in a casual way to Julia and went to shake Mr Mitchell by the hand, that gentleman having just come in from his school visits.
Tea was a pleasant meal but they didn’t linger over it. They were at the door saying their goodbyes when Mrs Mitchell asked, ‘When will you be home again, darling?’
Julia was deliberately vague. ‘I’m not sure, Mother—I’ll give you a ring—it won’t be for a couple of weeks, anyway.’ She gave her parent a final kiss and got into the Rolls, feeling for once that she was dressed in a style befitting its subdued luxury. The professor put her case in the boot, Wellington in his basket on the back seat, and then got in beside her.
‘You don’t mind getting back early?’ He wanted to know as he took the road to Salisbury. ‘I’ve a date this evening and I must get home to change.’
That horrible girl, thought Julia and said airily, ‘It suits me very well: Nigel’s free this evening and we’ll have an hour or two together.’
This wasn’t really true and she didn’t know when he was free but she didn’t suppose that her companion knew either and bringing him into the conversation put, she considered, the professor nicely in his place. She felt quite pleased with herself for having been so ready with an answer and the professor, well aware that Mr Longman was on duty until midnight, saw no reason to disabuse her. He glanced sideways at her. ‘You look quite different out of uniform, Julia.’ His voice was pleasant and rather cool and she answered him just as coolly.
‘Do I? I expect we all do—nurses you know.’
They were through Salisbury before she broke the silence. ‘How is Nicholas?’
‘Happy. He’s enjoying his extra lessons. And he’s got into the house rugger team.’
‘Oh, good for him. Jason and Gregory are in different houses, of course, but Jason’s in the school team and Greg’s in his house team this term.’
‘A common talking point if the three of them should ever meet,’ commented the professor.
They didn’t at any time talk much and not a word about the ward or St Anne’s. It was already dusk turning rapidly to dark by the time he drew up outside the flat. Julia thanked him for her lift and put out a hand to open the door. His hand came down over hers. ‘I’ll bring up your case,’ he told her, ‘and stay where you are.’
He got out and opened her door, fetched Wellington’s basket, ushered her on to the pavement and fetched her case.
‘There’s no need,’ protested Julia. ‘You’ll be too late for your date.’
‘Time enough.’ He sounded casual as he opened the shabby street door and followed her upstairs.
The flat looked poky when she opened her door. She went straight to the window and opened it, letting in much-needed air redolent of petrol fumes and the fish and chip shop on the corner.
‘Oh dear.’ She smiled at him ruefully, ‘after all that fresh air and lovely silence. I’ll have to get used to it again…’
‘Not for long, perhaps. The country around Bristol is quite charming and rural.’
She said wistfully, ‘But we shall have to live in a flat attached to the hospital. It’ll be more convenient.’
He had put down her case and closed the door and when she opened Wellington’s basket he got out at once and went sniffing round the room. ‘He’s looking for Gyp,’ said Julia, ‘they formed a lasting friendship.’
She looked uncertainly at the professor, looming there in the middle of the room. ‘Don’t let me keep you, you’ve been most kind and I am grateful.’
He stared back at her. ‘Has it struck you that the tone of our conversation has altered during the past few weeks? So polite, almost if I might say so, friendly. We must do our best to correct that, mustn’t we? Our years of cut and thrust have become a habit, haven’t they?’
She kept her eyes on him. She didn’t think that he was serious, but one could never tell. She said cautiously, ‘If you say so, Professor.’
She sidled to the door, ready to usher him out. ‘Ah, speed the parting guest,’ observed the professor in what she always thought of as his nasty voice.
She returned kindly, ‘Oh, no—I was thinking of your date.’
He took the door handle from her, towering over her and leaving precious little room for the pair of them in the doorway. He said softly, ‘I hope that you dressed yourself to kill on my account, Julia,’ and bent and kissed her. He was half way down the first flight of stairs before she could get her breath and then it was only a squeak.