RACHEL WASN’T unduly worried when she heard nothing from Melville; she had the roses to reassure her and he had told her that he would be away. Besides, she had a lot on her mind. Mr Sims and Mr Jolly both had heavier lists than usual and both theatres were in use. It wasn’t until three more days had gone by that she went on duty feeling vaguely worried. Surely Melville would have had time at least to telephone her? She could always ring his office but he disliked her doing that, so even if she knew where he was there wasn’t much she could do about it.
It was Professor van Teule’s list that morning. It would be a long hard day, for he rarely finished before the early afternoon and although Norah would be there to take dentals, one of the student nurses, Nurse Smithers, a steady, conscientious worker to be relied upon, had days off and Nurse Walters had asked for an evening, which left Rachel with little Saunders. Mrs Crow would be in to take over at five o’clock and the pair of them would manage well enough. Rachel shut the off duty book and looked out of the window. The view wasn’t really a view; the forecourt and beyond it the busy street and a vista of small houses and shabby little shops, but it was a May morning, the sky was blue and the sun shone. It was her weekend off—she would go home even if it meant not seeing Melville. The garden would be lovely and she and Mutt would walk miles and come home to one of her mother’s splendid teas…
‘Nothing better to do than daydream?’ asked the Professor mildly as he came in. He glanced out of the window in his turn. ‘And it has to be daydreaming with a view like this one.’
She turned to wish him good morning. ‘I was thinking how nice it will be to go home this weekend.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘What about Melville? Surely he will want you to stay in town?’
‘He’s—he’s away…’
‘He’ll be back,’ observed the Professor easily. ‘Take him home for the weekend.’
‘Oh, well, yes— He might find it a bit quiet…’
‘Surely not if you are there, Rachel?’
She eyed him thoughtfully. ‘You think so? He might have other plans.’
He sauntered to the door. ‘Remember what I told you? Stick to it, dear girl. I’ll be up in ten minutes or so.’
He didn’t refer to their conversation again. For one thing there was little opportunity to talk and for another, although he was his usual placid self, he was remote, so that even if she had had the chance to say anything she would have hesitated to do so.
At the end of the day, with him gone and the theatre once more ready for use at the drop of a hat, she had time to think about his suggestion. Going off duty presently she decided to take his advice, if and when Melville phoned, and if he was reluctant she would go home all the same.
There was a phone call for her while she was at supper and, quite forgetful of the Professor’s advice, she tore along to the phone in the nurses’ home. ‘Melville!’ she was breathless with delight. ‘I’m so glad you’ve phoned, it seems ages…’
‘You’ve missed me, darling girl?’ He sounded pleased, smug almost.
‘What shall we do this weekend—I hope you’re free?’
‘I’m going home.’ She said it quickly before she could change her mind. ‘Why don’t you come too?’
He was silent for so long that she had time to regret her words, then, ‘Why not? I could do with a breath of country air. I’ll drive you down, darling—Friday evening—but I’ll have to get back on Sunday evening.’
‘I’ll be ready about six o’clock,’ she told him happily, ‘and I don’t mind coming back early. Have you been very busy?’
‘I’m exhausted; you have no idea how hard I work—nose to the grindstone and all that—but it’s going to be a smash hit when it’s finished.’ There was a pause before he said, ‘Must go, darling, there’s a meeting I have to attend—plans for next week and so on. See you on Friday.’
She went back to her supper, cold on the plate by now. She put it on one side and poured herself a cup of tea. ‘You look like a cat that’s been at the cream,’ observed Lucy, eyeing her across the table.
‘I’m going home for the weekend—Melville’s driving me down.’
‘Oh, very nice. Do I hear wedding bells?’
Rachel went pink. ‘Heavens, no. He’s up to his eyes in some new production; he never has a moment to himself.’
They left the table together and Rachel went to phone her mother.
Mrs Downing expressed herself delighted to be seeing Melville, concealing her real feelings in a masterly fashion; moreover she assured Rachel that her father would be equally delighted.
‘What will I be delighted about?’ asked Dr Downing, coming into the room as she put down the receiver.
‘Melville is bringing Rachel down for the weekend, dear. I said you’d be delighted to see him.’
‘Well, I won’t,’ declared the doctor vigorously. ‘I don’t like him and never shall—can’t think what Rachel sees in the fellow. Conceited pompous ass.’ He sat down at the table to eat a delayed supper. ‘Why couldn’t she fall in love with a man? That Professor who brought her down a week or two ago—nice chap. Got a wife already, I suppose.’
His wife murmured suitably. The Professor would do very nicely for Rachel, she thought fondly, and she didn’t believe that he was married; he had looked at Rachel once or twice… ‘Oh, well,’ she said comfortably, ‘things always turn out for the best.’
Her husband grunted; he didn’t think that it would be for the best if Rachel married Melville. He was an old-fashioned man; he couldn’t think why they weren’t engaged if he was so keen on her—she was keen enough on him, more was the pity.
The fine weather held, Friday was a warm day and it was still lovely as Rachel hurried to the hospital entrance just after six o’clock. Melville was there, waiting for her. He didn’t get out of the car. ‘Hello, darling. Sling your bag in the back and hop in. Do we stop for a meal on the way or have something when we get to your home?’
If she had expected a rather more love-like remark, she suppressed her disappointment. ‘Mother will have supper for us,’ she told him and was mollified by his kiss. ‘What a heavenly evening—I’m so looking forward to the weekend.’
‘So am I. Off we go then.’
Too fast as usual, he narrowly escaped the Professor’s Rolls as he turned on to the street. Rachel caught sight of the Professor’s face as they shot past. He didn’t smile; in fact, he looked so stern that she hardly recognised him.
Melville liked to drive fast. Rachel liked to drive fast, too, but she thought privately that sometimes he took risks, overtaking with no regard for oncoming traffic and getting very impatient when he got held up. She wasn’t quite as calm as usual by the time they arrived, but the sight of her mother at the open door quietened her frayed nerves. Melville stopped with a flourish and jumped out, opened her door for her and helped her out, keeping a hand on her elbow as they went the short distance to the door.
Clearly calculated to impress me, thought Mrs Downing, and I’m not impressed. But she greeted him charmingly, kissed Rachel warmly and led the way indoors.
Rachel paused in the doorway though and gave a great sniff of delight.
‘Can’t you smell everything growing?’ she demanded happily.
Melville glanced round him; it wasn’t quite dark and a faint breeze rustled through the trees behind the house. ‘Absolutely heavenly, darling—paradise after town.’
The doctor was in the sitting-room; he kissed his daughter, shook hands with Melville and offered them drinks. Melville embarked on a witty description of his work—he was good at it and they listened with apparent interest, wanting to hear about Rachel’s share in the emergency over the rioting. But there was no chance. Melville held the stage and was of no inclination to allow anyone else on it. He had, allowed Mrs Downing, a certain attraction: an amusing way of putting things, a good line in melting looks, too. My poor Rachel, she thought, don’t let her get too hurt.
Rachel was happy. Melville was at his most amusing; surely her mother and father could see what a successful man he was, and how attractive. She followed her mother to the kitchen presently to help carry in the supper and, once there, ‘You didn’t mind me bringing Melville, Mother?’
‘Not a bit,’ said Mrs Downing stoutly. ‘It was a very good idea of yours, darling.’
‘Actually, it was the Professor who suggested it to me,’ said Rachel, incurably honest, so that her mother, who had been harbouring gloomy thoughts, suddenly felt quite cheerful.
‘The papers were full of that riot.’ She withdrew a steak and kidney pie from the oven. ‘Were you very busy, darling? You said very little over the telephone.’
Thinking about it it didn’t seem quite real. ‘Well, yes, I was, but so was everyone else. I got up at two o’clock and we worked right round until the evening.’
‘And then you went to bed, I hope,’ prompted her mother.
‘Well, no.’ Rachel was dishing young carrots. ‘Melville came round—he didn’t know, you see—but I was too tired to go out. The Professor took me to his house and gave me supper and brought me back to the hospital.’
‘How kind.’ Her mother bent her head over the potatoes she was mashing. Prayers get answered, she reflected vaguely.
‘Supper’s ready,’ she said aloud. ‘Will you fetch the men, darling?’
Melville continued to entertain them during supper, and when Mrs Downing managed to insert some remark about the rioting and the subsequent state of emergency at the hospital, he paused only long enough to say lightly, ‘Yes, these demonstrations can be so tiresome, Mrs Downing. It’s best to ignore them.’
She was too polite to question that; it was Dr Downing who said gravely, ‘That’s all very well, but if the hospital staff had ignored the casualties, there would have been several deaths—there were some serious injuries, you know.’
‘I’m sure you are right, sir,’ agreed Melville. ‘What would we do without our ministering angels?’
He smiled with charm at Rachel, who smiled back but couldn’t forbear from remarking, ‘Well, we wouldn’t have been much good without the medical staff.’
‘Ah, yes, we must give credit where credit is due, but don’t let’s get gloomy, darling. You’re home now in this lovely old house.’ Melville took the conversation into his own hands again and the hospital wasn’t mentioned again—at least, not until Rachel and her mother had gone up to bed, leaving the doctor to entertain their guest.
Rachel was brushing her hair when her mother came in, sat herself down on the bed and said, ‘Now, darling, I want to hear all about what happened that night, and don’t leave anything out…’
It was nice to be able to talk about it to someone who listened and was really interested. Rachel started at the beginning and recited the night’s events, skating over the bit when Melville had come to take her out for the evening, making the excuse that he had been working all day and hadn’t known anything about the rioting. Mrs Downing, who had her own ideas about this, merely said, ‘Of course, darling. How kind of the Professor to see that you had a meal and went to bed. You must have been exhausted.’
Rachel put down her hairbrush. ‘Yes. I do believe that I was. He’s got a charming house in a quiet little street with trees, and a nice man called Bodkin who runs it; his wife does the cooking.’
Her mother bit back the obvious remark that he wasn’t married. ‘When one has been going full tilt for a long time, it’s very nice to have someone there to get one back on one’s feet,’ she observed. ‘Now, jump into bed, love, and have a good sleep. Do you and Melville plan to do anything tomorrow?’
Rachel plumped her pillows into maximum comfort. ‘I don’t know; he didn’t say. I’d like to go for a good walk and take Mutt; I dare say that’s what we’ll do.’
They went for a walk, but not the kind of walk that Rachel had hoped for. Melville pointed out after a mile or so that he wasn’t wearing shoes fit for country lanes. It hadn’t rained for several days and Rachel had happily set out along a rutted track, its winter mud turned to a powdery dust, her feet sensibly shod, happily oblivious of Melville’s discomfort. She was instantly contrite and led the way back to the road, much to Mutt’s annoyance. ‘Little Creed is just down the road,’ she told Melville. ‘It’s the prettiest place and we can take the lower road home.’
‘Darling girl, what a great healthy creature you are. It sounds lovely but I’ve just remembered that I promised to phone my producer.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Can we get back to your place in twenty minutes or so?’ He took her arm and kissed her cheek. ‘I’d forgotten all about it but what do you expect when I’m with the most beautiful girl in the world?’
She was far too sensible to believe that, but it sounded delightful all the same. While she whistled to the disgruntled Mutt and turned for home, she thought she would have to get used to Melville’s work constantly disrupting his free time, but she quite understood. His was an important job and it had to come first. She left him to his telephoning and went in search of her mother.
‘Back so soon?’ asked that lady, in the kitchen busy with getting the lunch.
‘Well, yes. Melville remembered that he had to phone someone. Shall I make coffee?’
They spent the rest of the day indoors, playing two-handed whist and, after lunch, listening to Melville’s amusing conversation. Rachel sat enthralled, taking in every word; it wasn’t until she was getting ready for bed that night that she suppressed regret at a wasted day. Well, not wasted, she hastened to correct herself—it could never be that while she was with Melville—only it had been so glorious out and she was able to see so little of the country. Her final waking thought was the hope that he wouldn’t mind going to church.
To her surprise he didn’t. He had a pleasing tenor voice and sang the hymns with great feeling, listening with great attention to the sermon, his handsome profile uplifted to the pulpit, and when they left the church he took her arm in a protective fashion, smiling at anyone who caught his eye. Her heart swelled with pride as they walked back to the house. Her mother, some way behind with her father, voiced her feelings quite fiercely.
‘He is not the right man for her, dear. That was an act in church—all that pious singing and charm. I bet he hasn’t been in a church for years. But it was an audience, and he has to have that. My poor Rachel. I can’t think what’s got into the girl.’
Her husband patted the hand on his arm. ‘She’s infatuated, my dear, and naturally. She’s been working at that hospital for years and the only men she has met have been doctors. Then along comes this Melville with his man-about-town manners and sweeps her off her feet. But it won’t last; she’s going to come a cropper, poor girl, but she’ll be none the worse.’
‘That Professor she works for… Do you suppose…’
‘Shall we wait and see, my dear?’
It was a warm, sunny afternoon. Rachel pottered in the garden while Melville lay in a deck chair, his eyes closed. He had a busy week ahead of him, he had assured her, and needed to relax. They went back after tea and as they drove he made various plans for meeting her. No definite dates, he warned her, his work wouldn’t permit that, but he hoped that when he did manage to get free she would be free, too.
She would do her best, she told him earnestly, remembering uneasily that Norah had a week’s holiday and that neither Mrs Pepys nor Mrs Crow could be expected to cover for her at a moment’s notice.
‘A lovely weekend,’ he told her when they arrived at the hospital. ‘I enjoyed every moment of it, darling. Life is so empty when you aren’t with me.’ He kissed her. ‘Now I must dash—I’ve work to catch up on.’
She remembered uneasily what the woman at the party had said and dismissed the thought as disloyal. ‘When shall I see you?’ she asked.
‘As I said, darling, I can’t say at the moment. But the minute I’m free I’ll give you a ring.’ He drove off and she picked up her bag and went through the hospital, back to her room, to phone her mother and then to gather in Lucy’s room with such of her friends as were off duty and to drink tea. She had no reason to feel depressed, she told herself; it had been a marvellous weekend and Melville had been simply great. Perhaps it was because they had to meet at odd moments whenever he was free, and so often, when he was, she wasn’t. If only they could spend more weekends at her home. But the disquieting thought that he might be bored refused to go away; he was a man who liked living in London; he liked parties and theatres and crowds of people, and she supposed that given time, she would get to like them too. Just at the moment, though, she was homesick for her parents and Mutt and the peace of the country. Bed would be the best place and a good night’s sleep.
But she slept badly, waking often with a vague worry at the back of her mind. It was a relief to get up and somehow comforting to eat breakfast in the company of her friends, talking shop, the outside world for the moment forgotten. It was equally comforting to find the Professor sitting at her desk, studying a pile of Path Lab forms. His ‘good morning’ was friendly and his casual enquiry as to whether she had enjoyed her days off uttered in such a placid tone that she heard herself saying, ‘Not very. At least, the weather was heavenly and it was so nice to be at home… It was a bit quiet for Melville…’
‘With you there?’ He sounded surprised. He abandoned the Path Lab forms and sat back looking at her. ‘I have a very strong feeling that you ignored my advice; you probably agreed to every word he uttered and sat about doing nothing much while all the time you were longing to stretch your legs.’
‘Well, yes. You see, he hadn’t got the right shoes to go walking…’
The Professor allowed a small sound to escape his lips. ‘Ah, that of course might make things difficult.’ He examined his beautifully kept nails. ‘You will not of course take my advice—why should you? But refuse his next invitation, Rachel.’
‘Why? He asks me out because he—he likes me to be with him.’
‘That is why.’ He got up, sweeping the papers before him into a neat heap. ‘I shall be in X-Ray if anyone wants me. We start at nine o’clock, do we not?’
He was gone with a careless nod.
His list was fairly straightforward which, seeing that Norah wasn’t there, was a mercy. Nor did he waste much time over his coffee once they were finished, only discussed the cases with George, thanked her with his usual politeness, and wandered away to look at his more recent cases on the surgical wards. Rachel sent Mrs Pepys, who had just come on duty, to her dinner with two of the student nurses, and cleared the theatre with Nurse Saunders’s help. George had a couple of minor operations for the afternoon and Mrs Pepys could scrub for them while Rachel got on with the books and forms. When that lady came back from her meal, Rachel went down to the canteen to eat roast lamb and two vegetables and treacle tart for afters. For some reason she had lost her appetite, and her friends sitting with her made sure they lost no opportunity to make pointed remarks about being in love. They teased her gently and didn’t believe her when she said that she didn’t know when she and Melville would be going out again.
After the ordered urgency of the morning’s list, the afternoon seemed dull. She did her books, carried on mild arguments with the CSU and the pharmacy, and a more heated one with the laundry, saw Mrs Pepys off duty and went into the theatre to check any instruments which might need repair. Mrs Crow, coming on duty at five o’clock, sent her thankfully off duty in her turn, to have a late tea in the sisters’ sitting-room, and then sit around, gossiping until it was time for supper. A dull evening, she reflected, yawning her head off as she got ready for bed. An evening without Melville… It would have been lovely to go out. Never mind what the Professor said; if he phoned and asked her out, she would go. She lay in bed, deciding what she would wear.
Mrs Crow preferred to have an evening duty, so Rachel was free after five o’clock for the rest of the week, but it wasn’t until three days had passed that Melville phoned. He had tickets for a concert, he told her, and how about coming?
Any faint remnants of the Professor’s advice flew from her head. Of course, she would love to go; she bubbled over with eagerness and Melville laughed in her ear. ‘My goodness, what’s come over you, darling? You’re usually tied up and here you are bursting with enthusiasm. I’m flattered.’
A tiny doubt had crept into the back of her mind; had she been too eager? But it was too late now; she agreed to be ready by seven o’clock that evening and to meet him in the entrance hall. ‘And what shall I wear?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Oh, something pretty. We’ll have a drink first; the concert doesn’t start until half past eight.’
‘What sort of concert?’
‘Oh, a bit highbrow, darling, but everyone who’s anyone will be there.’
She wore a silk jersey dress she hoped he didn’t remember and arrived at the front door exactly on time—a mistake, because Melville wasn’t there. But Professor van Teule was, strolling in, presumably to cast an eye over his patients. She stood there and he stopped when he saw her and shook his head.
‘Oh dear, oh dear. I fear you have cast wisdom to the winds again, Rachel. A quiet dinner or is it dancing?’
She caught the amused gleam in his eye and frowned. ‘We’re going to a concert and really, Professor van Teule, you have no right to question what I do in my free time.’
He didn’t answer her, only smiled gently. ‘Take-in from midnight, isn’t it? But of course you will be back in the hospital by then, and here is, er, Melville.’
Melville’s ‘darling’ was a bit too fervent but Rachel didn’t mind; it would give the Professor something to think about. He said so little, she thought worriedly, and yet he disquieted her. She wished him goodnight in a cold voice and smiled brilliantly at Melville, quite certain that the evening was going to be marvellous.
They went to a small bar in Soho and she enjoyed every minute of it, even though Melville remembered the dress, adding kindly, ‘But of course it was too short notice for you to pop out and get something new.’
One day, she resolved firmly, she would explain to him that she simply couldn’t buy a new dress every time she went out with him. Luckily he forgot it very quickly, plunging into an amusing anecdote about a well-known film star whom he had met that very morning.
The concert was well patronised; the hall was filled with fashionably clad women and men smoking cigars. They had seats in the stalls and Melville didn’t hurry to reach them, stopping to greet people as they went. And once they had settled down, he spent the time pointing out the various famous people around them. ‘I may have to leave you now and again, darling,’ he told her and squeezed her hand. ‘Must show my face, you know.’
The orchestra filed in and presently began to play. Rachel liked music, with a bias towards Rachmaninov’s concertos and Debussy, Chopin and Grieg, but she was quite unable to understand the weird sounds coming from the orchestra. ‘Brilliant composer,’ whispered Melville. ‘Modern music is the only thing worth listening to. He’s all the rage.’
Rachel could hardly bear it. To take her mind off the strange sounds she began to work out the off duty for the next fortnight in her head, and, that done to her satisfaction, did a mental check of the extra instruments the Professor would need in the morning, which led to wondering what he was doing at that moment. Whenever she met him off duty he was either going to or coming from the surgical wards or theatre. Surely he must enjoy some leisure? And he had vaguely mentioned that he hoped to marry… His fiancée must be a long suffering girl. And a lucky girl; the thought had flown into her head quite unbidden.
Melville left her during the first interval. ‘I shan’t be a moment, darling,’ he explained. ‘There are one or two people I must speak to. I’ll bring you a drink.’
She sat, feeling lonely, until the lights dimmed and he reappeared, to catch her hand in his. ‘Darling, I’m so sorry—I couldn’t get away. Have you been very lonely without me? We’ll go to the bar after this next concerto, I promise you.’
The thought of a drink sustained her through the next half-hour of weird sounds and when the lights went up at last she followed him to the bar, already packed with people.
They found a corner and he went in search of drinks, to come back presently with two glasses. ‘Martini, darling,’ he told her and she felt a little prickle of irritation that he hadn’t asked her what she wanted; she loathed Martini.
He had taken barely two sips when he exclaimed, ‘Good heavens! There’s Guy. I simply must have a word with him.’ And he had gone again, disappearing into the dense crowd around them. She put her untouched drink down on a convenient ledge and looked around her. Women in ultra-fashionable dresses hemmed her in, escorted by men who, unlike Melville, didn’t keep dashing off to see someone or other. She couldn’t see him anywhere, and presently she edged her way out of the bar and went back to her seat, feeling hard done by. The evening, from her point of view, wasn’t being a success; the music was frightful and she might just as well have been on her own. Which wasn’t quite true but she was in no mood for niceties. When Melville rejoined her she said coldly, ‘Guy must have had a lot to say.’
‘Darling, you’re cross.’ He took her hand in his. ‘And I’m grovelling, really I am. We’ll have supper somewhere to make up for it. I’m truly sorry; do forgive me.’
And of course she forgave him. She loved him, or she thought that she did. They sat through the last excruciating medley of sound and then, with only the minimum of pauses while Melville greeted the people he knew, they got into the car and drove to the Ivy Restaurant. It was full of well-known faces, Melville told her gleefully, and presently there would be even more. ‘And choose what you like, my angel, I can put it on the expense account.’
A remark which upset her. Would he have taken her to this expensive place if he had had to pay for it out of his own pocket? It was a question which bothered her throughout the meal so that she was rather quiet.
‘A bit out of your depth?’ asked Melville kindly. ‘Rubbing shoulders with the famous is a bit awe-inspiring until you get to know them, as I do.’
She swallowed an oyster patty, not liking it overmuch. ‘Do you really? Know all of them?’ It was difficult not to be impressed, although she had no wish to meet any of them. ‘Do you enjoy meeting them?’ she asked.
‘My dear girl, of course I do. Success—successful people—they matter.’
She wasn’t sure what prompted her to say, ‘And people like Professor van Teule, who is very successful as a surgeon, although he never appears in public…’
Melville laughed. ‘You don’t quite follow me, darling. I’m talking about the success which brings you before the public eye. I dare say your Professor is clever enough in his way, but who wants to know about his work? I mean, it’s something one doesn’t talk about, isn’t it?’
Which, she had to admit, was true.
He took her back to the hospital soon afterwards, kissed her fervently, assured her that he would see her soon, and drove off. She got ready for bed slowly, mulling over her evening. The music had been awful and it had been a pity that Melville had had to spend so much time with his friends and leave her alone, but he had been an attentive and amusing companion and she was quite sure that she loved him to distraction.
‘A pleasant evening, I hope?’ enquired the Professor suavely as he went to scrub before his list. ‘Where was the concert?’
She told him briefly and he said, ‘Ah, that new conductor—all the fashion at the moment, I believe. Modern music, was it?’
‘Very,’ said Rachel and went back to her trolleys, subduing a strong desire to tell him just how awful she had found it. He would have listened and, even if he was a devotee of the stuff, he would have given her his full attention.
The list was an exacting one. The Professor, as he always did, carried on a desultory conversation with his companions, touching on a variety of subjects, but music wasn’t mentioned, nor did he refer to it while they had their coffee break. When at length he had finished, he bade them all good day, added his thanks, and went unhurriedly away. For some reason Rachel felt frustrated; she had prepared herself for his observation about her evening, and steeled herself against the advice he gave so readily. It was a bit of a let down.
At dinner Lucy warned her that there was a badly injured child in. ‘Fell off a high wall, face downwards. Professor van Teule has had a look and he wants to operate; he was talking to George when I came to dinner. You’ll get the good news when you get back.’
He was waiting for her, standing with his back to the office, looking at the chimney pots. He turned round when she went in.
‘There’s a child for a splenectomy. Can you be ready in twenty minutes or so?’
‘Certainly, sir. Boy or girl?’
‘A little boy—ten years old—fooling around on a demolished block of flats.’
‘Oh, the poor lamb. Is his mother with him?’
‘No, she hasn’t been traced. There doesn’t seem to be a father.’
‘Someone must look after him—love him.’
‘They’re looking for his granny; she works somewhere in the Mile End Road.’
‘Doesn’t it make you furious?’ She had gone to stand by him, sharing the deplorable view. ‘Can you keep him as long as possible?’
‘Yes. He can go to the country branch when he’s fit again and we must see what we can do about Granny. A temporary job close by, perhaps?’
‘The world’s a funny place.’ Rachel was voicing her thoughts, hardly aware that she was sharing them with him. ‘All these dressed-up people yesterday evening, listening to that frightful music, and being what they call successful. They’re not, you know; they don’t do anything that matters.’ She gave a great sigh. ‘You do.’
She didn’t see his slow smile and the gleam in his eyes.
‘Thank you, Rachel. But it takes all sorts to make a world. I take it that you didn’t altogether enjoy your evening?’
‘The thing is,’ she told him seriously, ‘Melville is so popular. When we go out he meets so many friends he has to stop and talk to.’
‘But you must meet a number of famous people?’
‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘You see, he thinks—quite rightly—that I wouldn’t have much in common with them.’
‘I feel sure that he is right.’ He glanced down at her and walked to the door. ‘You’re off duty at five o’clock?’
She was already unpinning her cap. ‘Yes, sir.’ She followed him out and went to theatre to make sure that it was ready for use; the nurses had done very well. With that she went to scrub and presently, standing by her trolleys, she watched him, gowned and masked, join those waiting for him round the table. He asked, ‘Ready, Sister?’ in his unhurried voice and she handed him a scalpel, reflecting how nice he was to work for.