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‘You have been busy?’
‘Well, yes—people have accidents all the time, you know, Father.’
‘Indeed yes—I read only recently a most interesting article… Do you not wish to marry, Octavia? How old are you?’
‘Twenty-seven, Father.’
‘Your mother had been married five years… You have had the opportunity, I imagine?’
‘Oh, yes—several times. But I never seem to meet the right man.’ She got to her feet. ‘I’ll go and make some coffee, shall I?’
‘That would be nice. I should like you to be married, Octavia. I’ve never been very good with money, as you know, what little I have is getting used up rapidly.’ He frowned. ‘Books have become increasingly expensive… There won’t be much left for you, my dear.’
She smiled at him fondly. ‘Don’t worry, Father dear; I’ve got a good job, and I earn enough to keep myself—just you go on buying all the books you want. Anyway, you get fees for your articles, don’t you, and all that coaching you do.’
He brightened. ‘Ah, yes—I’d forgotten. What a comfort you are, Octavia. Your mother would have been proud of you.’
While she made the coffee she thought rather wistfully of her mother who had died ten years ago or more; a pretty, still young woman who had known how to manage her husband without him realising it; it was only since her death that he had become so withdrawn. A pity I haven’t got a brother thought Octavia. She and her father got on splendidly and were devoted to each other, but sometimes she reflected that he would have managed quite well without her. Her fault perhaps for working away from home, but she had a good job now, with a chance of stepping into Sister Moody’s shoes when that lady retired; the thought was somehow depressing. While she drank her coffee she reviewed the various men who had wanted to marry her; none of them were exactly what she was looking for. She wasn’t quite sure what that was, herself, but she supposed she would know when she met him. She sighed gently and went to the kitchen to wash the supper things and then to bid her father a quiet goodnight before going upstairs to bed.
It was over breakfast the next morning that Mr Lock wanted to know why she didn’t change her job. ‘I realise that you would have to remain in nursing, because you don’t know what else to do, do you? But why not strike out, my dear? Go abroad, travel, see something of the world.’
She stared at him, a little surprised, ‘Me? Father, where would I go? There are jobs enough in the Middle East, but I don’t want to live there, and it’s not all that easy to go to Australia or New Zealand now—work permits, and so on, you know. I’d love to travel, though.’ She wrinkled her forehead in thought. ‘I could get a job with some rich elderly type who wanted to travel, but I should be bored in no time. I think I’ll stay where I am.’
Her parent passed his cup to be refilled. ‘Until you marry,’ he commented.
Her father’s unexpected interest in her ruffled the serenity of her weekend just a little. She did the shopping in the little town without her usual interest and although she accepted an invitation to have coffee with a chance acquaintance, she had to make an effort to take an interest in the conversation. Perhaps, she reflected uneasily, she had been drifting along and getting into a rut and should make an effort to get out of it before she no longer wanted to. She pondered about it during Sunday too, sitting beside her father in church, looking attentively at the vicar while he preached his sermon and not hearing a word of it.
She went back to London in the early evening, leaving her father quite happily immersed in his books, although he paused in his reading long enough to wish her a good journey back and expressed the hope that she would be home again soon. He said that every time she went home and she smiled at him now and said that yes, she would be back again in two weeks provided Sister Moody didn’t want to change her weekend.
She reached the hospital just as most of her friends were coming off duty and because she was still feeling a little unsettled, she went along to the Sisters’ sitting room to share their after supper tea. It had been a busy weekend, Sister Moody told her gloomily, although that lady’s idea of business and her own didn’t quite agree. ‘I shan’t come on until one o’clock tomorrow,’ declared Sister Moody. ‘I could do with a morning in bed—you’ve an evening, haven’t you? So there’ll be two of us on until five o’clock, it usually quietens down by then.’
Octavia agreed pleasantly; she hadn’t found that Casualty ever quietened down, but she didn’t say so. Presently she went to sit with her own particular friends, to listen to the day’s gossip and talk the inevitable shop. It was as they were drinking the last dregs of their tea that Connie Wills, the junior Sister on Men’s Medical, remarked: ‘That nice old Charlie—you remember, Octavia? He’s going on Thursday.’
Octavia put down her cup. ‘He can’t be—he’s not fit—where’s he going?’
‘Well, it all turned out rather well. I know he’s not fit, but someone—some man or other has offered him a job, living in—caretaking and so on. It’s just up Charlie’s street, and he’s promised that Charlie shall be looked after and not allowed to work until he’s quite well. Marvellous, isn’t it?’
‘That’s funny,’ chimed in the Sister, on Women’s Surgical. ‘Remember that little lady you sent us the other evening—the one you’ve been visiting? Well, she’s got somewhere to go to, too. She’s not to be discharged yet, but when she is, she’s been offered this job helping the housekeeper in some house or other. All very vague, but quite OK, so John Waring tells me.’
‘That’s wonderful!’ Octavia forgot her own vague problems in the pleasure of knowing that the unfortunate pair were to have more cheerful futures, after all. ‘Tell Charlie I’ll come to say goodbye, will you? I’ll never get away in the morning—Monday…’ she wrinkled her pretty nose, ‘but I’ll pop up and see Mrs Stubbs in the evening.’
They all went to their rooms after that, stopping to chat as they went, reluctant to bring their brief leisure to an end until Sister Moody, passing Octavia and a handful of the younger sisters still chatting outside their rooms, remarked sourly: ‘Don’t forget it’s Monday tomorrow.’
They exchanged speaking glances and when she was safely in the bathroom with the taps running, Octavia observed: ‘Do you suppose we’ll be like her in twenty years’ time?’
‘Not if I can help it,’ declared Connie. ‘I votes we get married.’
‘Chance is a fine thing,’ said Octavia.
They all looked at her. ‘You’ve no reason to complain, Octavia, there’s always someone or other dangling after you. It’s us plain ones who worry.’
They all laughed as they broke up, but in her room, sitting on the side of her bed, Octavia mulled over that remark and felt a vague disquiet again. She was lucky, she knew that, but only because she was pretty—she knew that too, without conceit—but there would come a time, she supposed, when no one would dangle after her any more. Perhaps, she decided, hopping into bed, she should take the very next chance that came her way.
CHAPTER TWO
CASUALTY remained busy for the next few days; over and above the steady stream of broken bones and heads, street accidents, small children with beads up their noses and down their ears, and elderly persons with aches and pains with which they hadn’t liked to bother their doctors, there was a bad fire in a high rise block of flats close to the hospital, and as well as some of its badly injured inmates, there were a number of firemen to be treated for the effects of smoke. Sister Moody, beside herself at having to work really hard, with little or no chance of taking refuge in her office, became as cross as two sticks, and because of that vented her vexation on the nurses. Octavia kept a tight hold on her patience and temper and breathed a sigh of relief when her superior took herself off for her weekend. True, they were now short of her services, but since these had been both grudgingly and sparingly given in the first place, it really didn’t matter. Peace and harmony reigned once more even though they were all run off their feet.
It was Sunday evening, as Octavia sat writing up the books, when the Sister on Men’s Medical put her head round the door. ‘Still here?’ she wanted to know. ‘Who’s relieving you?’
‘Gill Sedgewick.’
‘Her?’ said Rhona ungrammatically. ‘Let’s hope she remembers. Ever since she got married and took to part-time, she seems to think she’s conferring a favour coming at all.’ She came right in and perched on the desk. ‘I say, Octavia—remember Suzy Preston?’
Octavia ruled a neat line and without glancing up said calmly: ‘Well, of course I do, seeing she was a friend of mine—still is. I heard from her the other day—somewhere in Yorkshire, where she lives—she’s gathering a wardrobe together and up in the clouds over that new job.’
‘Well, she’s not now. I just happened to be in the office this evening and Miss Bellamy and Mr Yates were in her office with the door open and I couldn’t help over-hearing—actually, I did have to strain my ears a bit—Suzy’s got an appendix and can’t join the ship, and he was trying to persuade Miss B. to let him have someone in her place.’
‘He’ll be lucky. Poor old Suzy.’ Octavia closed the Casualty book with a flourish. ‘Where is she?’
‘At home. Of course Mr Yates will get his own way—he always does; I mean having a brother who’s a director of the shipping company helps a lot, and they always have our nurses, don’t they? It’s only a week before sailing time, besides, they think it impresses the passengers if they have one of us. After all, St Maud’s is one of the best teaching hospitals in the country.’
Octavia piled her books neatly and got up. ‘Oh, well, good luck to him. I must telephone Suzy, though. What rotten luck; she was so thrilled about it, too.’ She sighed and glanced at her watch. ‘I’m famished. I hope Gill comes soon. I must just see if the nurses are OK.’
She was with them when her relief arrived, and ten minutes later she was speeding out of the department, intent on getting away before another patient arrived.
Over supper there was a good deal of discussion about Suzy. She had caused quite a sensation when she had resigned to take a post as ship’s nurse, besides stirring up a good deal of envy in her colleagues’ bosoms; now the whole thing had fallen through and there was a good deal of conjecture as to what would happen. Rhona, repeating the conversation she had overheard, declared that one of them would find themselves on board the SS Socrates before the next week was out. ‘For depend upon it,’ she pointed out, ‘old Yates will get his way, he always does—you know how he cuts his way through red tape and official forms when he’s a mind to do so.’
They all left the table presently and wandered upstairs to the Sisters’ sitting room in the nurses’ home, to drink their bedtime tea and gossip, and Octavia went off to telephone Suzy, primed with enough questions and messages to keep her going throughout the night. But few of the questions were uttered; Suzy was in hospital, said her mother, under observation. She had had to give up her new job and expected to have the offending appendix removed within the next twenty-four hours. She had high hopes of being given a chance to re-apply for the job when she was well again.
Octavia offered sympathy, sent the most suitable of the messages and went back to the sitting room, where she told her news and settled down to write to Suzy. Everyone had messages, so she scratched away busily for several minutes, begged a stamp from someone and went along to post her letter.
The postbox by the hospital entrance hadn’t been emptied yet; she slid the envelope inside, passing the time of day with Henry the night porter, and started back through the hospital. She had reached the back of the entrance hall when the Consultants’ room door was flung open as she drew level with it, and Mr Yates came out. She wished him a polite goodnight without slackening her pace and then was halted in her tracks by his: ‘Sister Lock—the very person I wanted to see. Will you come in here a minute?’
He held the door open and she went past him with a wordless calm which showed nothing of her sudden panic of mind while she tried to think why he should wish to see her at such a strange hour. Had something gone wrong in Casualty? She cast her mind back through the day and tried to remember if anything really awful had happened. True, she had had words with the laundry, and she had told one of the porters off for wanting to go to his dinner in the middle of transporting a patient to the operating theatre—surely he hadn’t gone on strike? Her unease grew when Mr Yates lifted the receiver and asked for Miss Bellamy; something must be hideously wrong, but when that lady entered the room there was nothing in her impassive features to offer the smallest clue. She felt a little better when they both sat down and invited her to do the same, but she was quite unprepared for Mr Yates’s opening remark.
‘We are wondering if you would agree to taking Sister Preston’s place on board the SS Socrates, Sister Lock. Probably you know that she is to have an appendicectomy tomorrow and at such short notice the shipping company are quite at a loss. My brother has asked my help in the matter and naturally I have discussed the matter with Miss Bellamy.’ He paused to glance at the lady, who returned the look with an imperturbable one of her own. ‘You seem to be the most suitable person to fill the gap; you have had a good deal of experience in theatre and the wards, and your record in Casualty is excellent.’ He glanced at Octavia and then at the ceiling. ‘A fortnight, you understand, and very pleasant work, I believe. After that time they should be able to find a nurse to take over until such time as Sister Preston can return to her duties.’
Octavia felt a surge of excitement at her learned companion’s proposition, but she didn’t allow it to show. ‘Would I have to take the fortnight as part of my annual leave, Miss Bellamy?’
‘Certainly not, Sister. You are to take two weeks’ unpaid leave, as of course you will be paid while you are on the ship, and if you are worrying about Casualty, Sister Phipps can take over for that time; it just so happens that there will be no Sisters for her to relieve then.’
Octavia still hesitated and Mr Yates said briskly: ‘No need to think it over, Sister, it’s all quite straightforward—besides, you will see something of the world.’ He coughed. ‘The Mediterranean is delightful at this time of the year, pleasantly warm, and so much of interest to see.’
Just as though he were offering me a cruising holiday, thought Octavia, and said aloud: ‘Clothes?’
‘Uniform will be provided. I understand that the nurses and ship’s doctors get a certain amount of shore leave.’ Mr Yates looked vague. ‘I’m sure you will know what to take.’
She cast him an amused glance and suddenly, for no reason at all, felt lighthearted about the whole affair. After all, why not? Life hadn’t been much fun lately, she never met anyone…oh yes, she had, though, the bad-tempered giant in Casualty; he had arrived with no warning and gone again before she could discover anything about him. Oh, well, ships that pass…her thoughts were arrested by Miss Bellamy’s calm voice asking her if she wished to accept the offer.
She heard herself doing just that, a little surprised because she hadn’t really been thinking about it at all. ‘But I should like a day or two in which to get ready,’ she stated. ‘When do I go?’
Mr Yates’s: ‘The Socrates sails on Saturday and you are to report for duty on Friday, you will be told when and where,’ rather took her breath.
‘I will arrange for you to leave your duties here on Tuesday evening, Sister. That will give you two days in which to prepare yourself.’ Miss Bellamy smiled very faintly and when Octavia said: ‘Yes, Miss Bellamy,’ in a suitably meek voice, dismissed her graciously.
Once on the other side of the door, Octavia took to her heels. No nurse, and certainly no Sister, ran in corridors or wards unless there was fire or haemorrhage, but for once she forgot rules. She nipped up staircases and down passages at a splendid speed until she reached the Sisters’ sitting room once more. They were all still there; Octavia closed the door behind her with a flourish and cried: ‘Guess what?’
Everyone turned to look at her as she went on: ‘I’m to stand in for Suzy on the Socrates…’
There was an immediate outburst of surprised voices as she went to perch on the arm of a chair. ‘It’s true,’ she assured them, ‘as I was passing the Consultants’ room…’ she plunged into her story.
Sister Moody took the news sourly and so, for that matter, did John Waring. Octavia’s conciliatory: ‘But it’s only for two weeks,’ was useless in the face of his unexpected annoyance, almost as though he had made up his mind that she was going away to spite him. She felt bewildered by it, because they had been good friends but never anything more, and her lack of conceit didn’t allow of her realising that he was considered something of a celebrity in the doctors’ quarters because he had been dating the beautiful Sister Lock for quite some time. She told him briskly not to behave like a crusty old man and was glad for once when their snatched conversation was brought to a close by the ambulance siren.
She had spent a wakeful hour or two during the night laying her plans; she would have to do some shopping; Mr Yates had been right when he had said that she would know what to take—well, of course she would; any girl would, but it hadn’t entered his learned head that perhaps she hadn’t a wardrobe geared to take two weeks on a cruise ship in its stride. She wouldn’t need much, for she was sensible enough to know that shore leave would be on a rota system and probably brief, but lying in bed mentally surveying the summer clothes she hadn’t expected to wear again that year, she had come to the conclusion that they would require one or two additions. Cotton dresses and perhaps, although she was doubtful about this, a new evening dress. She should have asked about meals on board; did the nurses eat with the passengers or on their own? and surely if they did eat with everyone else, they would have to dress as they did? No one, she concluded, would want to eat his dinner opposite or beside a uniformed nurse. She closed her eyes, glad that she had decided what to do, and had then opened them again to review, hazily, her bank balance. There would be enough. She closed her eyes again and went to sleep.
Monday and Tuesday slid past at a great rate, she went off duty on Tuesday evening, late and tired and grumpy because Sister Moody had meanly taken an evening for herself and left her to work until nine o’clock, but late though it was there was something she had to do. She went first to Men’s Medical and found Charlie still awake.
‘Jist the gal I wanted,’ he told her perkily. ‘I’m going the day arter termorrer. Got a job, jist like yer said.’
Octavia settled silently on to the bed. ‘Tell me about it,’ she whispered. ‘Is it in London? I hope it’s not heavy work…’
He grinned at her, showing terrible teeth. ‘Don’t yer fret, lady—it’s a real good job, ’andyman in a big ’ouse. I ’ain’t seen the boss yet, only some gent ’o’s acting for ’im. A real gent, too, coming ter fetch me an’ all…’
Octavia frowned, ‘Yes, but Charlie, you ought to know something about it first…’
‘Not ter worry, Sister. Doctor Toms, ’e says ’e knows the boss personal and ’e’s a real bloke.’
She looked at Charlie’s face; it would never be youthful again, but at least it had filled out nicely and his eyes were bright and hopeful. She smiled and asked: ‘How much are they going to give you?’
Charlie told her and he grinned again, as his bony frame seemed to swell with pride.
‘Smashing, Charlie, the best of luck. I’m going away for a couple of weeks, but do let me know how you get on.’
They shook hands like old friends and Octavia slipped from the darkened ward and made her way to Women’s Surgical; there was still Mrs Stubbs to say goodbye to.
That lady was sitting up in bed, her bedside light on, her spectacles on her nose, mending a pair of tights. ‘That poor young nurse,’ she explained, ‘comes on duty and trips against one of those nasty trolleys and ruins her tights; I’m just catching the ladder before it gets too bad.’ She chuckled gently. ‘Night Sister won’t be round for another half an hour.’
‘Well, it’s splendid to see you looking so fit, Mrs Stubbs. When are you going to your new job, and where is it?’
‘Day after tomorrow, love, ’elping the ’ousekeeper, that’s what I’m going ter do. The gent what’s engaged me ’as several ’omes, so I don’t rightly know where I’ll be. That nice Mr Yates knows him, so I’m ever so ’appy. It’s an ill wind that don’t blow no one no good. I’ve been ever so ’appy ’ere, but it’ll be nice to be doing something again.’ She snipped a thread and glanced at Octavia. ‘And you’re off late? ’Ad a busy day, I’ll be bound.’
‘Well, so-so. I’m going away for a couple of weeks, so I’ll say goodbye, Mrs Stubbs, but I hope I’ll see you again; you must come and see us all, you know, once you’re settled in.’ She held out her hand and bent to kiss the elderly cheek. ‘I’m so glad everything’s turned out so well for you and I hope you’ll love your job—whoever gets you is jolly lucky.’
And that was true, she thought, as she made her way to the Nurses’ Home. Nowadays, nice cosy little women like Mrs Stubbs were few and far between, and she would be handy to have about the house, mending and ironing and doing a little plain cooking and baby-sitting on the side. Octavia wondered fleetingly if the family she was going to was a large one. She had forgotten to ask, not that Mrs Stubbs seemed to know much about it—nor had Charlie for that matter. It seemed strange, but then if Mr Yates and Doctor Toms vouched for them… She opened the sitting room door and went in to cries of: ‘There you are—where have you been? It’s half past nine… We saved some tea… Have you done your packing?’
She had decided to go home on Thursday afternoon and shop before she went; it seemed strange to hear everyone trooping off to breakfast the next morning and know that she was free to lie in bed if she wanted to. Not that she had the time for that; she bathed and dressed and got herself a sketchy meal in the little pantry at the end of the corridor and hurried out. Fenwick’s, she had decided, or perhaps Wallis’s, or even Dickins and Jones.
She spent a busy morning and an even busier afternoon; the shops were full of autumn clothes and cotton dresses were hard to find. The departments selling cruise clothes had plenty but at prices which hardly seemed justifiable for the brief hours she expected to spend off duty. She found two finally; not quite what she wanted, but she was clever with her needle and there would be time to alter them to suit herself. The evening dress was a good deal easier to find, indeed, the choice was so wide that she found it difficult to choose. She settled finally for a pastel patterned organza, very plainly cut and costing a good deal more than she had intended to pay, so that by way of righting this, she purchased a pair of gold sandals, flimsy things with high heels; it was only when she got back with them that she found herself wondering if they weren’t quite practical for on board ship. ‘But who wants to be practical?’ she asked herself out loud. Probably she would spend most of her day in sensible lace-ups and a uniform.
She tried on the new outfits that evening before an audience of most of her friends, and everyone agreed that the sandals had been an absolute must with the new dress; such an expensive garment would have been ruined with anything less—besides, one might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb. Octavia went to bed pleased with her day and tomorrow she would go home and tell her father about her temporary job. Probably he would forget all about it the moment she left the house, but she would send him a card from the first port of call just to remind him.
There was a letter for her in the morning, though she had no time to read it until she was in the train on the way to Alresford, and indeed she had quite forgotten it until the passenger opposite her in the carriage began to read a letter of his own. She opened the bulky envelope to discover that she was to report for duty at Southampton Docks at six o’clock on Friday evening. It went on to detail her duties, her free time and her salary; it also informed her of the itinerary—Malta, Athens, Rhodes, Alexandria, Sicily…it sounded marvellous provided she had a chance to go on shore, but that, it seemed, was left to the discretion of the senior ship’s doctor. She folded the missive and put it back tidily in its envelope, hoping that that gentleman would be easy to work for and that there would be no dire emergency while she was on board. She was highly trained, skilled in theatre work, midwifery and children’s ailments, as well as capable of dealing with the nastiest casualties, but there was always something… She shook off her apprehension, telling herself that she was twenty-seven years old and perfectly able to deal with anything which might come her way. ‘And let’s hope that the other nurses are friendly,’ she told herself silently, ‘as I suppose we see rather a lot of each other.’ She reassured herself with the thought that it was only for a fortnight, anyway.
She had telephoned her father on the previous evening, but there was no one at the station. She took a taxi home and opened the front door calling: ‘It’s me, Father,’ and Mrs Lovelace stuck her head round the kitchen door to say: ‘Miss Octavia, what a surprise! I didn’t know…will you be here for lunch? I was just going to dish up.’
Octavia put down her case. ‘I telephoned Father yesterday—I expect he forgot to tell you, Mrs Lovelace. I’m just here until tomorrow afternoon, and don’t worry about lunch, I’ll have something cold.’
Mrs Lovelace looked shocked. ‘Indeed you will not! I made a nice little steak and kidney pie for your father, there’ll be enough for the two of you if I do some more veg. Just you go and see him while I see to it.’
Professor Lock was deeply engrossed in a book when she went in. He looked up briefly and murmured: ‘Octavia—how very nice to see you,’ and returned to his reading until she leaned over and took the book from him.
‘Hullo, Father—I telephoned you yesterday evening, but I expect it slipped your mind. I’m going again tomorrow.’
‘Your weekends seem to get shorter and shorter, my dear.’
‘This isn’t a weekend, my dear. It’s only Thursday, but I thought I’d better let you know that I shall be away for a couple of weeks. I’m taking a temporary job as ship’s nurse because they want someone in a hurry.’
He took the spectacles off his nose and looked at her. ‘My dear child, I had no idea that you had lost your job at St Maud’s!’
‘I haven’t, Father,’ she smiled at him in a motherly fashion. ‘Mr Yates, the Senior Consultant Surgeon, asked me if I would fill in for the nurse who’s been taken ill. I’m to go to Southampton tomorrow and join the SS Socrates there. It’s a Mediterranean cruise—I hope I’ll see something of the places we’ll visit.’
Her father brightened. ‘Athens? Delightful, Octavia, quite delightful, there are several places which you must visit.’
‘If I get shore leave,’ she reminded him gently.
He waved an airy hand. ‘Surely that will be granted if you particularly wish to see something…let me see…I must write a list of the more interesting monuments.’
‘Yes, dear, and I’ll do my best to look at every one of them.’ Privately she thought it very unlikely that she would have the chance to see more than a modicum of them, but it was nice to see her absentminded parent so interested. She left him happily embarked on his list and went off to her room to get ready for lunch.
She told Mrs Lovelace all about it while she helped her dish up and then wrote down directions as to how she might be reached in an emergency, and Mrs Lovelace, while expressing her doubts about telephoning a ship in the middle of the sea, miles from anywhere, promised to carry them out if occasion should arise. ‘Though Doctor Dodds was here only last week,’ she observed comfortably, ‘having dinner with your pa, and he told me that he was in fine shape, Miss Octavia. But don’t you worry, I’ll look after him.’
Octavia spent the rest of the day re-packing her case, listening patiently to her parent’s instructions as to what she should and should not see, deeming it a waste of time to point out to him that probably she would have no chance to see any one of them. They had their tea together in his study and presently she went along to the kitchen to cook their supper which Mrs Lovelace had so carefully prepared.
She spent the next morning visiting some of her numerous friends and after lunch bade her father goodbye, took a taxi to the station and began her journey to Southampton; not a long one, but it meant changing at Winchester and getting a taxi from the station to the docks.
She sat back in the cab as it made its way through the crowded streets feeling excited and faintly worried that she might not like the job, or worse, the people she was to work with wouldn’t like her, but nothing of this showed on her face. She looked calm and very pretty in the coffee-coloured blouse and skirt with their matching suede jerkin that she had chosen to wear, under the mistaken impression that the outfit made her look older and rather staid. She could see the ship now, lying alongside the Customs building, she looked huge; and Octavia wondered if she would find her way round it easily. She would have to get hold of a plan and learn it off by heart.
There weren’t many cars or taxis around, although there were men loading the ship and several figures going up and down the gang-ways. Octavia got out of the taxi and paid the driver and found a porter at her elbow almost at once. ‘The Socrates?’ he asked. ‘Ship’s company, miss?’
She supposed that was what she was, so she told him yes and found herself ushered through Customs with the minimum of fuss and with the porter still carrying her case, waved towards the aft gangway. There was an officer at the top, a nice, pleasant-faced man, with a wrinkled face and bright blue eyes, who gave her an enquiring look and waited for her to speak.
‘Octavia Lock,’ she told him in a matter-of-fact manner. ‘I’m to replace the nurse who’s gone off sick.’
He glanced at the papers in his hand. ‘Welcome aboard, Miss Lock.’ He turned to a passing steward. ‘Take Nurse to her quarters, will you?’ He dismissed her with a kindly nod. ‘The other two are already aboard, so you’ll be able to get acquainted before the doctors arrive.’
She followed the steward down two decks and then along a corridor lined with doors, crossed a foyer and plunged through a small door into another smaller passage. It was quite short and held only four doors, at the first of which the steward stopped and knocked. A voice told him to go in and he opened the door, put Octavia’s case inside and stood aside to let her enter.
The cabin was quite large with two bunks against one wall and a third facing them. There was a good sized window, a dressing table, built-in cupboards and two chairs, over and above these there were two young women in the cabin. They turned to stare at Octavia as she stood just inside the door and she returned their look pleasantly, smiling while she studied them in her turn. The younger of the two was smiling at her from a round youthful face framed with soft light brown hair; she looked about twenty-two or so and was dressed rather untidily in a jersey dress which did nothing for her. Octavia took to her at once and her smile widened as the girl got to her feet and put out a hand. ‘Hullo—I’m Mary Silver, the junior nurse. You’re Octavia Lock, aren’t you? This is Joan Wise, she’s the senior ship’s nurse.’
