THERE was a fierce wind blowing when Victoria got up the next morning, although the sun shone fitfully between scudding clouds. She crept along to the bathroom, put on slacks and a sweater and was tying back her copper hair with a velvet ribbon when Amabel came in.
‘You’re up early,’ she remarked. ‘What time is he coming?’
‘Nine—I’m going down to get tea, do you want a cup?’
Her sister got on to the bed and pulled the eiderdown round her. ‘Yes, please. Vicky, before the others come in—are you in love with him?’
Victoria turned to survey her sister—she and Amabel got on well together, but then Amabel got on well with most people. ‘Yes,’ she said at length, ‘I think I am, but I have to be sure, don’t I?’ She gave her hair a final, rather vicious tug. ‘And I don’t know about him—he’s quiet; I’m never quite sure what he’s thinking.’
‘I daresay he’s had a lot of girl-friends. How old is he? Thirty-five? Well, it stands to reason…but he’s nice. Do you think he likes us?’
‘He thinks you’re lovely, all of you—he said so.’ Victoria frowned a little, remembering. ‘He wanted to know why I was quite different.’
‘Yes, well, it is funny, isn’t it? You’re so much smaller and there’s your hair and you’re almost thin. And look at us, great creatures, all curves and lamppost high—no wonder when we’re talked about you’re always called the other one.’
Victoria smiled. Being the other one was a long-standing joke in the family. ‘Stay there, I’m going down to the kitchen.’
She padded through the still silent house and into the comfortable, cluttered kitchen. Mrs Dupres, the daily help, would be in later on to restore order and tidy up. Victoria put the kettle on, washed up the cups and saucers from the evening before and fetched an enormous teapot from the dresser. It was nice to be home again; she had enjoyed the previous evening, sitting around with the family, talking about hospital and making them laugh about poor old Sister Crow and telling them, rather cautiously, a little about Alexander. Not that she was able to tell them much, for she didn’t know much herself, but at least she had been able to satisfy her mother’s curiosity about where he lived and what he did and who his father was and how old he was.
Her mother had said: ‘He looks a very nice man—rather quiet, but I fancy if he were roused he could display a fine temper.’ And Victoria, remembering that time when he had knocked Jeremy Blake down with hardly a word and almost goodhumouredly, said she didn’t know about that but probably her mother was right, and got up to let in Mabel and George, the family cats, whose advent obligingly provided another topic of conversation.
Her father, a quiet man by nature and more so by virtue of the women milling around the house, had said almost nothing at all, only on their way to bed he had paused on the stairs so that she could catch up with him and had said: ‘I like your young man, or whatever the modern equivalent is these days, Vicky. He’s got a straight eye.’
The kettle boiled and she made the tea, loaded a tray with cups and saucers, laid a smaller tray ready for her father to fetch later, and went back upstairs. As she had expected, all three sisters were now in her room. Louise was sharing the eiderdown with Amabel, but Stephanie had got right into bed. She moved over as Victoria went in and patted the space beside her. ‘Here you are, Vicky—now come and tell us all about him.’
Victoria poured tea for everyone, opened the tin of biscuits she had found in a kitchen cupboard and asked with composure: ‘Who?’
Louise sipped tea. ‘Don’t tease, we’re all dying to hear about him. I think he’s the handsomest man I’ve ever seen. Father says he’ll have him in for dinner and I shall wear that new dress I bought last week, the one with the embroidery round the hem.’
Stephanie gave her sister a little push. ‘Oh, don’t be so silly, Louise, he wouldn’t notice you if you were in cloth of gold. He’s only got eyes for Vicky.’
‘Nonsense,’ said her eldest sister briskly, ‘and anyway, as far as I’m concerned he can look his fill at the lot of you.’ Which wasn’t in the least true.
She had breakfast almost ready by the time her mother, dressed for the day and not a hair out of place, came downstairs. They had the meal all of them together, laughing and talking and occasionally quarrelling a little until their mother begged for a little peace while she puzzled over the meals for the day. ‘Chicken,’ she ruminated, ‘no—a nice piece of beef—and then there’s lunch.’ She looked across the table at her eldest daughter. ‘Will you be in, darling, or is your young man taking you out all day?’
‘Mother,’ Victoria was laughing and protesting too, ‘he’s not my young man, and I don’t know.’
‘I shall ask him,’ her mother decided, and was howled down by all four girls. ‘Mother, you can’t—it’s like telling him he’s got to take her out to lunch! Why don’t you ask him here? or give them a picnic?’
Their mother brightened. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Vicky…?’
But Vicky, who had heard the bell peal just once, was already on her way to the front door. She had meant to take her time in answering it and greet him with a cool friendliness which would give away nothing of her real feelings; instead she flung the door wide and said joyously: ‘Hullo, come in—we’re a bit late, but I shan’t be a minute.’
He was wearing slacks and a sweater too and anyone less like the elegant successful doctor he was would have been hard to find. He came inside and shut the door behind him and said: ‘Hullo, Vicky,’ and kissed her so quickly and lightly that she wasn’t quite sure if he had. ‘That’s better,’ he said composedly, ‘it seems a long time since yesterday.’
She had no answer to this; only a secret, fervent agreement she had no intention of voicing out loud, but led him into the dining room where the family still sat. They were grouped around the table, her three beautiful sisters and her equally striking mother and father; she wished with all her heart that she could have been tall and fair like the rest of them, so that no man could fail to be stunned by her good looks.
But apparently Alexander could. He wished them a good morning politely, but showed no signs of being stunned, nor of being bowled over by the battery of blue eyes focused upon him. He declined coffee with firm politeness and when Mr Parsons observed: ‘I expect you two want to get off, the island’s lovely at this time of year,’ he replied with courteous brevity, ‘Yes, we should.’
Victoria’s father glanced at her. ‘Take a wind-cheater, Victoria,’ he advised, ‘even if you intend to walk. It’s chilly still and the forecast is for rain.’
‘Yes, Father,’ said Victoria, grateful to him for speeding them on their way, ‘I’ll get one.’
She flew upstairs and because she couldn’t find hers, took Amabel’s instead. It was much too large, but she didn’t care. She got downstairs in time to hear Alexander say: ‘About half past six, then, Mrs Parsons. I’ve got a picnic in the car, but if it’s too cold or wet we can get lunch out.’
She caught her mother’s eye and received a faint shake of the head. So her mother hadn’t asked—thank heaven for that! She gave her parents each a grateful kiss for different reasons, waved to her sisters and went outside with Alexander to where the Mini he had borrowed waited.
They seemed very close to each other in the little car, but then he was such a large man. He sent it down Havelet with the speed of a terrier after a rat and at the bottom turned away from the town, along Fort Road towards St Martins, turning once more presently to dawdle along a narrower road nearer the coast.
‘Pleinmont, I thought,’ he gave her a sideways smile. ‘Do you feel like a walk?’
Victoria nodded. ‘We went there when I was home a few weeks ago. I love it—it’ll be windy.’
She was right. The wind caught at them as they got out of the car and started along the cliff path, so that her hair streamed like a fiery banner around her head. The path was narrow and Alexander went in front, turning to give her a hand where he thought it needful, and she accepted it meekly, not telling him that she had walked the selfsame path since she could toddle and knew every inch of it. They paused presently, to gaze out to sea and watch the waves breaking on the rocks below.
‘Nice.’ Alexander’s voice was contented; he took her arm and went on: ‘If the wind lessens how about taking the boat over to Alderney tomorrow?’
‘Lovely—your friends won’t mind? Or will they come too?’
‘Not tomorrow. Do you know Alderney well?’
‘Yes, though I haven’t been for a year or so.’ She put an impatient hand up to her hair and then let it fall at his quiet: ‘No, let it be, I like it like that.’
She darted a look at him. ‘Just us?’
‘Just us,’ he smiled, and her heart beat faster; she voiced, idiotically, the thought which was uppermost in her mind. ‘We haven’t known each other long.’
He seemed to know what she meant. ‘No. I am an impatient man, Victoria, but for the first time in my life I am prepared to be patient.’
He pulled her close and kissed her cheek; the kiss was somehow reassuring and gentle, just as his touch had been, and yet it somehow gave promise of other kisses to come. Victoria stared up at him, her eyes alight with happiness, longing to put that happiness into words and unable to do so, aware too that there was no need to do so. He laughed a little, caught her by the arm and they went on together; presently he began to tell her about his home and the busy life he led in Holland.
They stopped for coffee at Portelet and walked again, this time along the sandy shore among the rocks, and only turned back unwillingly when the rain which had been threatening began to fall in earnest. Victoria was surprised to find that Alexander knew the island almost as well as she did herself; he tooled the car along the narrow lanes, weaving his way round the coastline until finally he turned towards St Peter Port once more.
‘We can’t picnic,’ he stated decisively. ‘We’ll go to La Fregate and have lunch and see what the weather’s like afterwards.’
Because of the bad weather and the earliness of the season, the restaurant wasn’t full; they had a table by the window and ate grilled lobster tails, followed by spring chicken and salad and lastly Crêpes Soufflés au Citron. They drank a white burgundy and Victoria talked a great deal—and it wasn’t only because of the wine; her companion had some quality which invited confidences; she found herself telling him things which she had never told before, not even to her sisters, and he listened gravely and when she demanded an answer or an explanation or criticism, gave them with a mild undemanding wisdom.
They were drinking their coffee when she stopped suddenly. ‘I talk too much—I must have bored you.’
He answered her seriously. ‘No, that would not be possible, dear girl. I want to know everything there is to know about you.’
‘Oh, do you? I—I want to know about you too.’ She blushed a little as she said it, but met his searching eyes with her own honest ones, and he leaned forward across the table and took one of her hands in his.
‘And so you shall, my darling. Some of it may shock you, no doubt, but I don’t believe in a marriage which isn’t honest.’
Victoria was unable to take her eyes away from his. Her thoughts raced round inside her head like mad things; he had called her his darling which could mean nothing at all—it was after all, a form of address used every hour of the day by people who had no feeling at all for each other—on the other hand, it could mean all the world. And marriage—what had he said about that? She felt bewildered and probably looked it too, for he said, ‘I’m going too fast, aren’t I?’ and let go of her hand, giving her a warm smile as he did so. His voice was gay when he asked:
‘How about going over to Herm—the rain’s stopped.’
It began to rain again on their way across the short stretch of water between the two islands, but they sat uncaring with the helmsman while he and Alexander discussed winds and tides and the pleasures of sailing. Herm seemed deserted when they landed; they told the boatman they would catch the last afternoon boat back and strolled off in the direction of the small group of shops close to the landing stage, to find them unexpectedly crowded with people anxious to come in out of the rain, so they followed the path instead, past the row of cottages and the pub, to the end of the tiny island, and then cut across the springy turf towards Shell Beach, very wet by now, but quite unheeding of it, they walked arm-in-arm while Alexander told Victoria about life in Holland.
When they reached the shore again they pottered about, looking for shells, until, battered by the great wind, Alexander suggested tea at the hotel. They went back across the centre of the island, past the fortified farmhouse with its tiny chapel, and went inside, although they both knew it well from past visits; outside once more, in the little garden before its door, Victoria murmured, thinking out loud: ‘It’s so peaceful, isn’t it?’ and smiled up at her companion, who didn’t answer her but took her in his arms and kissed her hard on her mouth, an action which gave her a thrill of delight and pleasure and left her bewildered by its violence. She uttered a weak ‘Oh’, and he smiled, still without saying anything, and after a moment she smiled too because there was really no need for words between them.
Tea was rather hurried, for they had been dilatory on their way to the hotel and there was no other boat if they should miss the one they had planned to catch. It was the same man at the helm; they sat, one each side of him, not minding the continuing rain at all, discussing their chances of a fine day on the morrow.
Alexander had parked the Mini on the Esplanade. As they got in Victoria said: ‘Mother will want you to come in for a drink.’
He flipped the car into gear and sent it along the road and round the corner and up the hill towards her home. ‘I should like that,’ he sounded very relaxed, ‘if your mother won’t object to my sodden appearance.’
‘I’m wet too—look at me,’ invited Victoria.
‘A tempting invitation, but not on this hill, my girl.’ He swung the car through the gates leading to her home and drew up before the door, which was flung open with such promptitude that she was forced to the conclusion that someone had been on the look out for them. It was Stephanie who welcomed them and Mrs Parsons’ voice, very clear and compelling from the sitting room, bade them go straight in and never mind what they looked like. Everyone was home—the room, lighted by a bright fire and a couple of table lamps, looked homelike and welcoming and Mr Parsons was already on his feet, pouring sherry. He received Victoria’s kiss with fatherly fondness and said over his shoulder:
‘Perhaps you would prefer whisky, Alexander? I may call you that?’
‘Please do, sir, and yes, whisky, I think.’ He went to sit with Mrs Parsons and Victoria settled by her father, while her sisters sat together on the sofa, making a breathtakingly beautiful trio, engrossed in their visitor. Only Louise found time to say in a loud whisper:
‘Vicky, you look like a half-drowned witch,’ and it was unfortunate that she chose to speak at a moment when there was a momentary lull in the talk so that everybody heard it and Alexander looked across the room at Victoria, his eyes dancing. ‘Yes—it’s rather becoming, isn’t it? We seem to have a habit of being out in the rain together.’ He smiled at her, including her in his world with an air of her already being a part of it, anyway, so that her heart sang. ‘We thought we might go to Alderney tomorrow, though they don’t seem to think much of the weather—we can decide in the morning.’ He hadn’t taken his eyes off Victoria’s face; now he lifted enquiring eyebrows and she nodded happily. ‘Shall we use the Sea King?’ she wanted to know. ‘Isn’t it a bit big for two of us to handle?’
He shook his head. ‘No, not a bit of it, she’s a marvellous boat and easy…!’ His remark started off a lively discussion about sailing and he didn’t get up to go for half an hour or more, and then reluctantly.
Stephanie got up with him. ‘I’ll see you out,’ she declared, and Victoria who had been on the point of doing just that, was forced to wish him a cool goodbye from her chair, annoyed to see that he didn’t seem in the least put out because it was Stephanie and not herself who was to see him off the premises. He turned back at the door for a final look and she scowled at him.
Stephanie came dancing back within a minute. She was, thought Victoria, eyeing her little sister smoulderingly, becoming a very pretty girl indeed. By the time she was twenty she would put the rest of them in the shade.
Stephanie met her gaze with a disarming one of her own. ‘You didn’t mind, did you, Vicky? You said this morning that he wasn’t yours…’
‘That will do, Stephanie,’ remarked her mother repressively, ‘and another time remember it’s for Victoria to take Alexander to the door—he was her guest.’
Stephanie made a face. ‘Oh, well—I just wanted to see what he was like, really like, without everyone else there.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘He wasn’t any different.’
From behind his paper her father’s voice came dryly. ‘Naturally not, my dear. When you’re a little older you will discover that men are only different with—er—certain people.’
‘Girl-friends?’ enquired his daughter.
‘Possibly—supposing you wait and find out for yourself?’
Stephanie went and sat down by the fire. ‘Well, anyway, he’s the nicest man I’ve ever met and terribly good-looking. He sends me!’
Her father snorted. ‘The appalling language which I am forced to listen to from you young women! Now go and tell Mrs Dupres that we’re ready for dinner, or I shall send you myself.’ A remark which caused all four of his daughters to burst into laughter and declare him to be a dear old-fashioned creature.
Victoria woke during the night and lay listening to the wind sighing around the trees in the garden and the rain lashing the window. There would be no Alderney in the morning, she thought sleepily; they would have to think of something else. She was almost asleep again when she decided to take Alexander to visit Uncle Gardener.
The weather was, if anything, a little worse when she got up. Perhaps Alexander wouldn’t come that morning because of it. She went down and got the tea again because no one else seemed to be about, but when she got back to her room, it was to find her sisters crowded on her bed. She wished them good morning a little tartly and pointed out that it hadn’t been her turn to get the tea, but she was interrupted before she had half finished.
‘Now do tell us, Vicky, we want to know,’ demanded Louise, ‘does he fancy you? Are you going to get married?’
Victoria drank tea with maddening slowness. ‘If you mean Alexander, I have no idea to both questions. He—I told you, he just happened to be coming here for the weekend and it happened to be the one I had asked for…’
‘Liar,’ said Stephanie succinctly. ‘I saw the way you looked yesterday when I went with him to the door…you’re crazy about him.’ She added, unusually gentle. ‘If I’d known, Vicky, I wouldn’t have teased you.’
Victoria smiled at her. ‘No, love, I know you wouldn’t, only don’t ask me any questions yet—I don’t know myself.’
Amabel said in her gentle way: ‘You’re going out again today.’
‘Well, we can’t go sailing, can we? I thought we might go and see Uncle Gardener.’
Victoria had spoken lightly, hoping with all her heart that he would come that morning and still not quite sure that he would. Breakfast seemed to take an unnecessarily long time; she had finished long before anyone else and engrossed herself in the morning’s paper, reading not a word of it while her ears strained for the sound of the door bell, and her family, with fond sympathy, listened with her even though they were all talking at once as they usually did. When the bell did at last go, she put the paper down with a slowness which didn’t deceive those around her, saying: ‘I’ll go, shall I, since I’ve finished,’ and slipped from the room.
He was very wet, although he seemed unaware of it. He cast off his rainproof jacket as he came in, caught her close and kissed her, so that rain or no rain, the world became a perfect place on the instant.
‘Come walking, dear girl?’ he asked. She moved a little way away from him because she had the absurd idea that if she stayed near to him he would hear the thudding of her heart against her ribs.
‘Yes, of course, but I wondered if you would like to come to Castle Cornet with me—the curator is an old friend of my father’s and we’ve known him all our lives. I usually go and see him when I’m home.’ She started for the stairs. ‘Everyone’s in the dining room if you like to go in.’
She was back within minutes, well wrapped against the weather, to find Alexander standing chatting to her father, seemingly oblivious of the eyes focused upon him, but once outside, walking beside her up Havelet to Hauteville, he made the remark that not only were her three sisters remarkable in their looks; their stares were even more devastating.
Victoria laughed. ‘They’re only curious about you,’ she defended them. ‘Did I hear Mother asking you back for drinks?’
He gave her a sidelong glance from his blue eyes. ‘Yes—she asked me for dinner too.’
She met his eyes and smiled a little. ‘That’ll be nice.’ They were going down the steps from Hauteville, leading them towards the Market, and he caught her hand because they were steep and slippery, but at the bottom she withdrew it gently and walked on beside him, looking sedate.
Uncle Gardener was delighted to see them. Despite the awful weather they found him on the ramparts, lovingly tending his flowers, and when Victoria introduced Alexander, he said, ‘Ah, yes—the young man in the yacht, isn’t it? We watched you…’ He shot a mischievous glance at Victoria, who frowned at him repressively. ‘We were interested in the boat—a nice thing.’ The two men started an easy, casual conversation about sailing and she strolled away, poking at the flowers and leaning over the ramparts to watch the sea boiling below. Presently they joined her. ‘Magnificent, isn’t it?’ asked Uncle Gardener. ‘Very exhilarating, but bad for my flowers. Are you much of a gardener, Doctor van Schuylen?’
The three of them leaned against the old stone wall, happily discussing bulbs and their treatment and becoming drenched with the rain. Neither of the men took any notice of the weather at all and Victoria, already wet, her hair plastered to her head under her scarf, was perfectly happy to stand between them listening, although when Mr Givaude suggested coffee she was glad to follow him through the familiar Prisoners’ Walk and round the corner to his house, where she threw off her wet things and went to the kitchen where Mrs Watts, the housekeeper, was making the coffee. She made shift to dry her hair by the fire and as it was hopeless to put it up she borrowed a shoelace from the accommodating Mrs Watts and tied her still damp hair back and went to join the men.
They were poring over charts, of which Uncle Gardener had a great many, but they got up politely when she went in, to return to them with obvious relief when she said: ‘Don’t stop whatever it is you’re doing, I’m going to sit by the fire and get my feet dry.’ She poured their coffee and carried it over to the table where they were sitting, together with some of Mrs Watts’ splendid cake, and then went back to drink her own and toast her stockinged feet by the fire’s warmth. The two men drank their coffee absentmindedly and she refilled their cups without asking them, for they were so deeply engrossed that she doubted if they would have heard her anyway. She demolished two slices of cake, drank her second cup of coffee and lulled by the quiet voices of the men and the peace of the little room, closed her eyes, to open them presently upon Alexander’s smiling face and Uncle Gardener’s slightly puzzled one.
‘Bless my soul,’ said that gentleman, ‘you’ve been to sleep, child. Do you feel all right?’
Victoria sat up. ‘Yes, of course, Uncle. It was so warm and pleasant I nodded off.’ She looked enquiringly at Alexander to see if he was ready to go, but Mr Givaude intercepted the glance and said diffidently:
‘Vicky, I wondered if you would like to stay to lunch, the two of you. There’s bound to be plenty and the truth is, Alexander and I are having a most interesting discussion.’
She smiled at his serious face. ‘I’d love to,’ she said promptly, ‘that is if Alexander hasn’t anything else…?’
She stole a quick glance at the doctor as she spoke and was reassured by his face. She picked up the coffee cups, stacked them neatly on the tray and said: ‘I’m going to see if there’s anything I can do for Mrs Watts while you finish your talk.’ She made for the door and Alexander went to open it for her, the smile on his face such that she all but danced to the kitchen.
Over lunch Uncle Gardener wanted to know when they were returning.
‘Tomorrow,’ Victoria told him. ‘It was only a weekend, you know.’ She didn’t say any more, but pressed him to some more of his own rhubarb pie, hoping that he wouldn’t comment on her reasons for coming home again when she had only just returned from a week’s holiday. He passed his plate for some more pie and addressed the doctor instead.
‘Of course you naturally wanted to meet Vicky’s parents,’ he observed, a remark which caused her to colour up delightfully—it made Alexander sound as though he were on trial; she hoped that he didn’t feel as embarrassed as she did. It seemed he didn’t.
‘That’s right,’ he agreed calmly, ‘that was my main reason for coming. I shall be rather tied up with work when I get back.’ He caught Victoria’s eyes. ‘I had other reasons for coming too,’ he added, and she had the impression that this time he was speaking to her.
They went to the cinema in the afternoon, and sat, her hand in his, watching a mighty Hollywood epic which afterwards Victoria couldn’t remember anything of, although her memory played no tricks when it came to remembering the feel of Alexander’s hand, large and gentle, holding hers.
They walked home arm in arm along the Esplanade with the unrelenting wind and rain buffeting them, talking about films and Uncle Gardener and their journey back the next day. At the door she asked if he would like to come in, but he shook his head, saying casually that he would be back around seven and bidding her so casual a farewell that her peace of mind was seriously disturbed.
The evening was a success, though, for the doctor was an amusing talker and a very good listener besides. Victoria, sitting beside her mother as they drank their coffee in the charming drawing room, was forced to admit that he was a very charming man and knew to a nicety just how much attention her three sisters expected, and it was obvious too that her parents liked him. She became a little silent, content to watch him covertly, and when from time to time he looked at her and smiled, she smiled happily back, feeling secure once more.
They started back the next morning with the family there to see them off. They stayed on deck watching Guernsey fading slowly into the grey seas and sky around them, and then walked the decks, undeterred by the rough wind and the boat’s heaving, something which didn’t impair their appetites in the least. They ate their lunch in an almost empty restaurant and then walked again until Weymouth harbour closed in on them.
The Mercedes was waiting for them on the quayside, something Victoria hadn’t expected, and when she mentioned it to Alexander he looked faintly surprised, as though the possibility of having to go and fetch it for himself hadn’t occurred to him. She got into the car while he paid off the garage hand who had driven it down, reflecting that he was a man who expected and obtained the best out of the material things of life while at the same time perfectly able to shift for himself should he need to. He got in beside her, eased the car away from the medley of vehicles around them and said: ‘We’ll stop for tea as soon as we get the other side of Dorchester, shall we? Wimborne, I should think. There’s a place in Cobham where we can have dinner.’
They stopped in Wimborne as he had suggested and had their tea in a pleasant, old-fashioned hotel in the little town’s square, and then drove on again, not much worried about the time, for as Victoria had explained, as long as she was on duty by half past seven in the morning nothing else mattered overmuch. All the same Alexander made good speed towards London, and it was well before eight o’clock when he slowed down in Cobham and turned into the grounds of the Fairmile Hotel. It was a pleasant country house, rather full because it was Sunday evening, but by the time she returned from seeing to her hair and face, a table had been found for them and the doctor had ordered drinks. She sat down opposite him and began diffidently: ‘It’s been a lovely weekend—thank you for taking me, Alexander,’ and was disconcerted when he replied blandly:
‘But, my dear girl, surely you know that the weekend was planned entirely to suit my own wishes? How else was I to make your family’s acquaintance?’
This remark Victoria found difficult to answer, she sipped her Dubonnet trying to look as though she had understood and failing. And it became obvious to her that he had no intention of enlightening her either, for he said with a half smile: ‘I’m going over to Holland tomorrow.’
She noticed that he didn’t tell her at what time, nor did he ask her if she would be free. ‘I’ve got a lot of work to get through in the next few weeks,’ he went on. ‘My secretary has remorselessly filled every day for me.’
She said lightly to cover her hurt: ‘She sounds a dragon, but I expect you couldn’t do without her. Have you had her long?’
‘Years—how quickly the days went, Victoria.’
She wasn’t going to let him see how she felt. ‘They always do,’ her voice was still light, ‘but I expect if we had too much free time we shouldn’t enjoy it half so much. We’re lucky at St Judd’s though, once we’re trained we get a long weekend every month as well as six weeks’ holiday.’ All of which, she thought sourly, he must already know.
‘And can you leave if and when you want to?’
‘Well, no, we have to give a month’s notice. I suppose if there were some really good reason for going, it could be arranged. I’ve never had occasion to ask. Do you plan to do any sailing in Holland?’
He didn’t answer at once, for a waiter came to take their order and there was the business of choosing what to eat. They were eating their iced melon when he said: ‘About sailing—yes, I shall spend most weekends on the Loosdrechtsche Plassen, I expect.’ And when she wanted to know where that was he explained: ‘Near Utrecht. I’ve a little house—a cottage really, on the lakeside in Loenen. It’s delightful there in the early summer before the tourists come.’
He went on to talk about the village and the river Vecht running close by and the histories of some of the old houses lining its banks, and Victoria listened to every word, treasuring them up to remember later because he was going away and he hadn’t said that he was coming back. He talked with gentle inconsequence while they ate their Aylesbury duckling, Crêpes Suzettes, and sampled the cheese board which followed, and because he didn’t seem to want to talk about themselves at all, she followed his lead and became a little gay, telling him amusing stories of hospital life. It was rather an effort even though the claret they were drinking had cheered her up a little. They lingered over coffee and it was after ten when they left the hotel and once more got into the car, and because Alexander drove fast and the London streets were almost empty she found herself outside the hospital long before she wished. She had her hand on the car door ready to get out as she embarked on her thanks; a hotch-potch of lovely dinners, heavenly weekends and good trips which he sliced off abruptly by saying mildly: ‘Don’t chatter, girl, I’m coming in.’
He got out before she could move and opened her door for her, then walked, as they had walked before, through the hospital’s entrance, past the porter in his box, along the passage to the quadrangle, to fetch up silently before the Home door, where the doctor put a purposeful hand on its handle so that she couldn’t go inside.
‘Will you miss me?’ he asked, and Victoria frowned in the dark because he had sounded so lighthearted, as though he were sure of her answer. She longed to say no, not in the least, but her treacherous tongue answered ‘Yes, of course,’ before she could stop it. She wished she had curbed it when he said ‘Good,’ in what she considered to be an odiously placid voice. Only the beginnings of a fine temper prevented her from bursting into tears when he bent down and kissed her lightly on one cheek and said: ‘Goodnight, Victoria.’ He opened the door for her then, leaving her no choice but to go through. She flounced past him, quite bewildered. ‘Goodnight,’ she managed in a voice vibrant with emotion. She didn’t look at him.
It was Sister Crow’s day off and the ward was busy in a muddled sort of way. By dinner time Victoria had dealt with three admissions, an outburst of temper on the part of the Major, a nurse with toothache which necessitated her going off duty, sundry visits from physiotherapists, Path Lab staff, social workers, not to mention Johnny Dawes and Matron, who, for some reason best known to herself, stopped and spoke to every single patient on the ward. Victoria came back from her dinner cross and a little untidy with the prospect of a long afternoon before her. She flung open the office door, having sent all but one nurse to dinner, and found Alexander sitting on the side of the desk, staring out of the window and whistling cheerfully. Delight at seeing him again when she had spent most of the night telling herself that he had disappeared for ever out of her life mingled strongly with an uprush of rage because she wasn’t looking her best and because all the awful things she had been thinking about him were probably not true after all. She crashed the door to with a fine disregard for the notice on it requesting quiet at all times, and said loudly: ‘Well, what a surprise!’
Alexander had got off the desk to lean against it, his hands in his pockets, his face bland, although his blue eyes were studying her keenly.
‘You’re surprised,’ he observed, and she saw with annoyance that he was quite unimpressed by her strong feelings. ‘I can’t think why,’ he went on reasonably. ‘I didn’t say goodbye to you—you surely didn’t think that I would go away without doing that?’
She stayed where she was by the door, chained by bad temper. ‘You didn’t say you were going to…’
He smiled then and stood up straight, towering over her in the small room. ‘I have to go,’ he said, ‘and perhaps it’s a good thing, for I see that you are in no mood to while away an idle moment. Had a bad morning?’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Your hair’s coming down,’ he observed cheerfully. ‘I won’t keep you, then you’ll have time to do something to it before you start your afternoon.’
He had come very close to put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Dear girl,’ his voice was gentle and very understanding of her black mood, ‘I shall come back, quite soon, remember that.’ She saw the gleam in his eyes as he bent his head to kiss her, with most satisfying thoroughness, on her mouth.
He had gone before she had time to say anything. She sat down at the desk, making no attempt to tidy herself, going over his words several times, as though by doing so she could make more of them. Presently she sighed and smiled and went to the small mirror on the wall and made shift to pin up her hair under her cap, before going into the ward to see what the nurse there was about.
The days were empty after he had gone; even the arrival of more flowers—red roses in an overwhelming abundance this time—did nothing to help matters. The week toiled to its close with its admissions of new patients, its discharges of old ones; Sir Keith Plummer’s stately rounds and Johnny Dawes’ harassed ones because Doctor Blake was on holiday, and always the daily round of medicines, treatment, injections and bedmaking, interlarded with the checking of laundry. A dull week, thought Victoria, glad to see it go, despite her pleasant day off with Uncle Gardener’s sister, a widowed lady of formidable appearance and the disposition of a lamb, who lived in a severe-looking terrace house in Pimlico.
The house was as deceiving in its appearance as its owner, for once inside, it revealed a pleasant, somewhat shabby comfort, a very small, well-kept garden at the back and a semi-basement kitchen, which for all its inconvenience was extremely cosy. Martha, Mrs Johnson’s house-hold help, spent her days there, cooking delicious food which Victoria did full justice to when she visited her friend. She had spent some time there when she had gone that week, sitting on the kitchen table, sampling Martha’s little cakes while she evaded the sharp questions her hostess put to her. Uncle Gardener, it seemed, had written to his sister and told her all about Alexander. Victoria had parried the questions with vague answers which she could see didn’t satisfy either of her elderly listeners in the least; she was forced to bring the interrogation to a close by declaring that she was starving, a plea which served as a good red herring and forced her to eat an enormous meal which she didn’t really want, because Mrs Johnson declared that she had no doubt that Victoria never had quite enough to eat in hospital, ‘Although,’ she added cunningly, ‘I daresay that nice doctor takes you out and gives you a good meal whenever he can.’
‘We went out once or twice,’ admitted Victoria, spooning up Martha’s delicious onion soup, ‘but he’s left England now, you know. I daresay we shan’t see each other again.’ She spoke with a careless lightheartedness which she felt sure would deceive her listeners. Mrs Johnson’s only comment was: ‘That’s as may be, Vicky dear,’ and pressed her to a mouth-watering portion of Martha’s steak and kidney pudding. Alexander wasn’t mentioned for the whole of the rest of the day, but Victoria had been very conscious of his ghostly bulk in the little house.
She thought about him—when did she not?—on her way back to St Judd’s that evening; he hadn’t written, but she hadn’t expected him to. She knew enough about members of the medical profession to realise that letter-writing came very far down on the list of their personal activities. He could have telephoned, but there again, he hadn’t struck her as a man to talk trivialities into a telephone; she fancied he used that instrument as a means to an end and not for pleasure. That left little choice, in fact, only one—to return as he had said he would. But perhaps he hadn’t meant what he had said. She was aware that this idea did him less than justice, but on the face of things it could be possible. Rather irritably, because she could feel a headache coming on, she decided not to think about him any more, then perhaps, in time, she might forget him.
She was mortified and disturbed to find that this undoubtedly sensible course of action wasn’t as easy as she had supposed. She hadn’t known that loving someone could absorb so much of her being. She struggled to obliterate him under a variety of activities; the cinema whenever her friends were free to go with her, table tennis—which she loathed—several quite unnecessary shopping expeditions to Regent Street, which had proved expensive and not very successful, and of course a stern application to work which delighted the Old Crow and badly disconcerted the nurses on the ward, for although she was a splendid worker anyway, always willing to roll up her sleeves and tackle any job which needed doing, she had begun, over the last few days, to show an alarming tendency to go around looking for work. Even the Major noticed it and reproved her in no uncertain terms. ‘There’s no need to go around looking for jobs, girl,’ he observed testily. ‘Most of the time you’re run off your feet—besides, it’s very disturbing.’
Victoria begged his pardon quite humbly; she had had no idea that she had been quite so zealous. She would have to watch it or she would develop into another Sister Crow. She closed her beautiful eyes for a second, visualising herself in her navy uniform and frilled cap, sitting in the office, ordering staff nurse to go and count the laundry. It seemed so improbable that she laughed and the Major rumbled. ‘That’s better—more like you.’
Even Johnny noticed the difference in her and asked in a brotherly fashion what was eating her. ‘Not yourself, are you, old girl?’ he observed. ‘Nothing but frowns and thoughts far away—I might just as well not do a round.’
She turned on him. ‘That’s not fair! I’ve not forgotten anything to do with the patients, have I? Or have I?’ she added weakly.
‘No, ducky, nor are you likely to, only you’re a bit down in the mouth, aren’t you?’
Jeremy Blake, back from leave, noticed too, although his remarks weren’t so kind. ‘A little sour this morning, Staff,’ he enquired. ‘Too many late nights perhaps—oh, I forgot, it’s more likely to be a lack of them, isn’t it?’ He smiled. ‘Or am I guessing wrong?’
‘Guess what you like,’ said Victoria coldly, ‘I couldn’t care less.’
He had smiled again, a mean little smile which hardly curved his lips, and gone away, leaving her indignant.
It was Wednesday evening when the overdose came in, an hour or so before the night nurses were due on. It had been a busy day; Sister Crow had gone off duty at five o’clock, there was a student nurse on days off and the part-time nurse who helped out in the evenings had telephoned to say that she couldn’t come. Victoria was left with Nurse Miller, a second-year student nurse, and Nurse Bentley, just out of preliminary training school, and, a timid girl by nature, still inclined to become petrified when addressed by any of her seniors. Victoria, struggling to get the medicine round done before suppers came up to the ward, as well as innumerable injections, felt impatience welling up within her even while she preserved her usual calm, quiet front towards her two helpers as well as the patients. She was dealing with suppers when she had the message about the overdose and dispatched Nurse Miller to get a bed ready and everything necessary for the putting up of a drip. He was far gone, a cheerful voice informed her from the Accident Room, and although the overdose was of cannabis, it was thought that he might have taken something else besides, but they wouldn’t know for certain until the Path Lab had done its bit.
The patient was a well-built young man of nineteen or so, deeply unconscious and already, Victoria was thankful to see, on a drip. She saw him put into bed by the porters and then went to meet Johnny as he came through the ward doors. ‘This one’s a bit of a puzzle,’ he said worriedly. ‘He’s taken something else—probably the hard stuff.’ He glanced round the ward. ‘A bit thin on the ground, aren’t you?’
Victoria explained about the part-time nurse not coming and Nurse Bentley, who had retired to the sluice, apparently under the impression that out of sight would be out of mind. ‘You need a male nurse,’ said Johnny. ‘Any chance of getting one—this character might cut up rough.’
Victoria considered. ‘No—there’ll be two or three on for night duty, but Mr Cox and Mr Williams are both off. I saw them at tea.’
‘Keep an eye on him, anyway, Victoria.’ Johnny spoke in such a fatherly tone that she giggled and then said soberly: ‘Yes, I will—and I’ll ring the office and see if I can get someone else up here.’ She glanced at him. ‘Will you be handy if I need anything for him?’
‘In the common room—and I’ll pop up from time to time, but he looks pretty deep at the moment. Put him on a fifteen-minute pulse and pupil reaction, will you.’
She nodded. ‘Yes—Nurse Miller can do that while Bentley gets the ward straight—thank heaven it’s not visitors this evening.’
They took a final look at the boy and went back into the office, where Johnny wrote up the charts she had ready for him, and then went off, down the corridor, whistling cheerfully.
There was too much for her to do for any hope of going to supper; she sent Nurse Bentley and, when she came back, Nurse Miller. The boy was still quiet and although he was still unconscious, everything seemed satisfactory. Victoria and Nurse Bentley went round the ward, tidying the beds and making ready for the night, and presently when these chores were done, she sent the nurse to filling water jugs while she fetched the Kardex from the office and began to write it up at the boy’s bedside.
She was perhaps halfway through it when Nurse Bentley came to tell her that the Major, was, as usual, being difficult about being got into bed. Victoria sighed, for she was tired and dispirited and the Major was a handful she didn’t feel able to cope with. Nevertheless, she put down the Kardex, instructed Nurse Bentley to stay by the boy’s bed, and walked up the ward.
The Major was determined to be nasty; it took a few minutes of her persuasive cajoling to get him out of his dressing gown and sitting on the side of his bed. She had just achieved this happy state of affairs when she heard Nurse Bentley’s voice, high with fear, calling her. The Major, to his disgust, was left where he was and Victoria hurried down the ward. The boy was coming to; he had an arm round poor little Bentley, whose appearance reminded Victoria forcibly of a rabbit in the clutches of a boa-constrictor. ‘Get help,’ she said rapidly, unwrapping the petrified girl. ‘Telephone the lodge, say it’s urgent.’ She warded off a flying arm, only to be caught up by his other hand. This, she thought bitterly, would happen, and so much for the office and their promise of speedy help.
The other arm came up and clamped her round the waist and she disentangled herself with difficulty. While she was doing it the boy opened his eyes and despite her good sense and sound training she shuddered at their blind, mad stare. She loosened his arm at last and said with all the calm she could muster: ‘Lie still and try to keep quiet.’ She was unprepared for the sudden lunge he made; it brought him out of bed, and although she was a strong girl, not easily frightened, she knew that she would be powerless to hold him. All the same, she warded him off and even managed to pin one arm to his side.
‘And now, back into bed,’ she said with firm authority. ‘You’re disturbing the other patients.’
He spoke then, not loudly—if he had, some of the nearer patients, shut off by the cubicle curtains, might have heard him and shouted for help—but in a harsh whisper, using language which Victoria, used as she was to the sometimes rough language from some of the men who came into the ward, could only guess at. But whatever he was saying, it was obvious that he was in a nasty mood. She made the mistake of slackening her hold on his arm for a split second and in the next moment he had her by the throat.
Even if she had wanted to scream—and how could she with old Mr Parker dying in the next bed?—she had no breath to do so. She gathered her strength and fought back more or less silently, sure that help was on the way.
Help had been delayed, though. Nurse Bentley, shaking with fright and aware that this was something the training school hadn’t given her any lectures about, dialled the telephone with fingers which shook so much that she got the wrong number the first time, and when she did get it right, there was no answer. She stood listening to the faint burr-burr at the other end, willing someone to answer and put an end to her dilemma. Tears which she was quite unable to prevent filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She was on the point of throwing the receiver on the desk, running out of the hospital and going home and never coming back again, when Doctor van Schuylen spoke from the doorway.
‘Hullo, Nurse—in trouble? Can I help?’
She didn’t know him from Adam, but he was a man and large and presumably a match for the patient. ‘Oh, do hurry,’ she gasped, ‘he’ll kill her!’ A vague fragment of some half-forgotten lecture filtered through her muddled head—‘Always give a clear and concise report whatever the circumstances, Nurse’—‘Staff,’ she almost wailed at him, ‘in the ward—there’s a drug overdose—first bed inside…’
He had gone. She picked up the receiver and in a quavering voice besought the porter who answered to send help.
Victoria fought steadily to remove her patient’s hands from her throat; part of her mind told her that she had only to hold out for a very short time, but even as her mind registered this heartening fact, his grip tightened and she found herself fighting for breath. She became aware that her heartbeats sounded very loudly in her ears, her eyes ached, so did her arms. The beat changed to a steady drumming and she closed her eyes because they hurt her, then a moment later opened them again because the hands had gone from her throat, leaving her gasping for air.
‘Get down on the ground, my darling,’ said Alexander in a cool, no-nonsense voice, ‘and breathe.’
She did as she was bid—indeed, her legs wouldn’t support her any way; they folded up obligingly under her, and she lay, drawing painful little breaths, aware of the doctor’s nicely polished shoes within an inch of her face and taking great comfort from them. There seemed to be a great deal of scuffling going on, but she really didn’t care; just to lie and breathe was nice. Presently she became aware of more feet and then of Nurse Bentley, dripping tears on to her face and whispering: ‘Oh, she’s dead, she’s dead!’ She tried to contradict this ridiculous statement and found that not only was her throat extremely painful but that she couldn’t speak, either. A funny little croak escaped her lips, but before she could try to improve upon it, she was scooped up into Alexander’s arms and carried out of the ward, along the corridor and down the stairs and into the Accident Room, where he laid her carefully on one of the couches. She wanted to say ‘Don’t go’, but the words wouldn’t come; it was a relief when he took one of her hands in his and smiled down at her with such tenderness that her heart, which had steadied nicely in the past few minutes, began to thump again.
‘I won’t leave you, dear girl,’ he assured her. ‘You’ll be all right presently.’
Victoria felt safe and secure. She smiled at him with something of an effort and closed her eyes. Incredibly, she dozed off.