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Emily dropped the notes she was holding and said with a snap, ‘There, look what you’ve made me do!’ and then she remembered who she was talking to.
Her, ‘Sorry, sir,’ was polite but insincere, and she got down on to the floor and started to pick up the scattered sheets.
He got down beside her, taking up so much room that the Office seemed very small indeed. ‘Surprised to see me?’ he asked.
‘Yes—well, yes, of course I am. I never imagined—you could have told me…’ She took the papers from him and got to her feet. ‘I’m not supposed to talk to you. Sister Cook will…’
‘No, she won’t.’ He had taken the notes from her again and was arranging them tidily in their folder. ‘Do you like this ward?’
‘Yes, thank you, sir.’
He stared down at her, neat and rather prim. ‘I can see that if we are to get anywhere conversationally, it will have to be away from this place. I’ll be outside at eight o’clock this evening; we’ll go somewhere and eat and exchange our life histories.’
Emily goggled up at his placid face. ‘But we can’t! Besides,’ she added with some spirit, ‘I haven’t a life history.’
When he didn’t say anything, only smiled at her, she went on, ‘This just won’t do, you know. I must go back on the ward…’
He opened the door for her. ‘Eight o’clock,’ he reminded her as she edged past him.
CHAPTER TWO
EMILY HAD NO intention of doing anything of the sort; she told herself that a dozen times during the day. It was absurd anyway—how could she possibly go out with anyone in the elderly coat she wore to work? She would have had a long day and she would be tired and her hair would look awful. He must have been joking—but just to be on the safe side, she would go out through the side entrance. She would have to nip across the back of the entrance hall to reach it, but no one would see her.
All the same, she rushed back to her room during her three hours off after midday dinner, saw to Podge, washed her hair and, while it was drying, did her nails. Not because she had any intention of accepting Mr van Tecqx’s surprising invitation, indeed she still wasn’t sure if it was a joke. And she was far too busy to speculate about that during the evening; there were arms and legs to prepare ready for operation in the morning and supper to serve, and since both staff nurses were off duty and she was on with Sister Cook, there was the added complication of keeping out of that lady’s way as much as possible.
At length she was allowed to go, and skipped through the corridors and down the stairs to the cloakroom, where she bundled on her coat and with no thought as to her appearance, hurried down the back stairs to the back of the entrance hall. It was empty, although she could see Briggs’ bald head in his lodge. Quelling a wish to go out of the entrance and have supper with Mr van Tecqx even as, she strongly suspected, he wouldn’t be waiting for her, Emily nipped across the hall and opened the side door used by the staff and those fortunate enough to travel in their own cars.
The Bentley was parked exactly outside the door and Mr van Tecqx was leaning against its bonnet. Emily would have bounced back inside, only he was beside her before she could do so.
‘I am much encouraged,’ he told her, ‘to find that we think alike—you, that you would escape by this door, and I quite certain of it. Come along, now, I’m hungry.’
Emily stood outside the door, his hand on her arm. ‘Look, Mr van Tecqx, this really won’t do—you’re a consultant and I’m not even trained…’
A silly sort of remark, she realised as soon as she had uttered it. She tried again. ‘I can’t possibly go out with you in this.’ She waved a hand at her coat.
‘Well, of course you can’t. I’ll drive you to your lodgings and wait while you tidy yourself. You can have ten minutes; I’ve booked a table for half past eight.’
She made no effort to move. ‘You were sure I would come?’
‘No, that’s why I waited here.’ He smiled at her suddenly, which somehow made it perfectly normal to be going out to supper with him, although she was convinced that when she had the time to think about it she would be horrified. ‘Student nurses just don’t go out with consultants,’ she voiced her thoughts out loud.
‘There is always a first time.’
He popped her into the car and got in beside her.
Outside her gate she said, ‘I’m sorry I can’t ask you in—I’ve only got one room…’
For answer he got out of the car and went to open the door for her. ‘Ten minutes,’ he reminded her carefully.
Emily fed Podge, washed her face and made it up rather sketchily, then tore into her only decent dress—navy blue needlecord, bought in a C & A sale. Her coat was navy blue too, almost as elderly as the one she wore to work but neatly brushed and pressed. Her hair she brushed and tied back with a ribbon, as there was no time to pin it up. She thrust her feet into her one pair of high-heeled shoes, caught up her handbag and gloves, patted Podge and told him to be a good boy, and went out of the house followed by Mrs Winter’s shrill voice.
‘Got yerself a boyfriend, dearie? ’Ave a nice evening!’
If Mr van Tecqx heard her he gave no sign, merely remarked that punctuality was a virtue he seldom met with among his female acquaintances and stowed Emily into the car again.
He took her to Bubb’s, just off the Farringdon Road and only a short distance away from Pearson’s, and she was relieved to find that the people dining there were dressed very much as she was. The navy blue outfit, dull though it was, had the virtue of being inconspicuous. But she forgot to be shy in her companion’s placid company; he talked as easily as anything about this and that, ordered her a sherry and told her to order what she fancied, and when she tried to make a bewildered choice, offered to do it for her: salmon mousse on a bed of lettuce, breast of chicken in an aspic glaze, accompanied by a variety of vegetables, followed by nougat glacé with strawberries and topped with cream.
The good food loosened her tongue, and, skilfully drawn out by her companion, Emily talked, something she hadn’t done so freely with anyone for a very long time, but somehow her companion gave the impression of being a comfortable listener, putting questions just at the right moment, saying little. She was carried away, what with the delicacies which she was offered, the wine she was drinking and Mr van Tecqx’s gentle interest. She was on the point of telling him her plans for her father when common sense took over and she stopped in mid-sentence.
Mr van Tecqx studied her face, on which a look of shocked wariness had settled. ‘Yes?’ he prompted softly.
‘Oh, nothing—I can’t remember what I was going to say, it wasn’t in the least important. I hope I haven’t bored you, Mr van Tecqx; this wine doesn’t taste as strong as the bottle we got from the supermarket when Staff Nurse had her birthday…but I’m not used to drinking wine…’
Mr van Tecqx preserved an admirable calm. To anyone who compared the very expensive Chablis Grand Cru with something cheap probably chosen because of its pretty label, he would have been scathing in his opinion of such gross ignorance, but all he did was agree with her blandly, and when she added in her sensible way, ‘I’m afraid it made me talk too much,’ said politely,
‘Not at all, Emily—you don’t mind if I call you Emily?’
She shook her head. ‘Everyone does.’ She hesitated. ‘Why did you ask me to have dinner with you, Mr van Tecqx?’
‘I’m a stranger in a strange land, and you have a kind appearance, Emily.’
It seemed to her that he was quite at home in London; his English was only very faintly accented, he knew his way around the city and if Staff Nurse was to be believed, he delivered scholarly lectures at hospitals other than Pearson’s. She stared at him across the table. Because of the wine she had drunk his handsome features were slightly fuzzy round the edges, but even so, he was by far the most magnificent man she had ever met. She said now, ‘You must have a great many friends.’
‘Indeed, I have. Now, Emily, what was it you were going to tell me?’
‘Oh, I can’t remember…’
‘About your father?’ he prompted gently.
Her denial was instant, ‘No, no, it wasn’t anything…’
He had already discovered where she lived, now he observed, ‘You must miss village life—Pearson’s is situated in very drab surroundings. You look forward to your days off, I expect.’
Emily poured them more coffee. ‘Oh, yes—only I don’t go home each week.’ She stopped again, her wretched tongue tripping along ahead of her wits. She expected him to ask, ‘And why not?’ Only he didn’t, knowing that she wasn’t going to tell him anyway.
He said easily: ‘It is always a surprise to me that there is such charming country so close to London. Even in London itself—Hampstead and Richmond—one could almost be living in the country.’
She was on safe ground again; they did discuss London and its environs, until she said diffidently that she had to be in by eleven o’clock. ‘I haven’t an outdoor key, and Mrs Winter is very strict about us being in by then unless we make special arrangements.’
‘There are other people living there?’
‘Oh, yes, there are six rooms—she calls them flatlets and she’s fussy about the tenants.’
‘And you have a flatlet?’
There was no point in pretending. ‘Well, no. Just a room—it’s the attic really. But I’ve a sink and a little stove. It’s quite cosy.’ She uttered the lie cheerfully, relieved to see that he accepted it without comment, paid the bill and settled her in the car once more.
At her gate she said, ‘Please don’t get out—there’s no need.’
A waste of breath, for he went with her up the path and opened the street door, to be confronted by Mrs Winter standing at the top of the basement stairs. ‘There you are—I was jus’ wondering?’ She eyed Mr van Tecqx with belligerence. ‘Me tenants ‘as ter be in by eleven o’clock unless there’s an arrangement made.’
‘Very wise,’ said Mr van Tecqx. ‘I am relieved to hear it. One cannot be too careful.’ He looked down at Emily, standing silently beside him. ‘Thank you for a delightful evening, Emily.’
She was very conscious of Mrs Winter’s interested eyes. ‘Thank you for my dinner, Mr van Tecqx, I enjoyed the evening very much. Goodnight.’
He answered her unsmilingly, bade Mrs Winter goodnight and went away, shutting the door quietly behind him. Mrs Winter secured the bolts.
‘Wot did yer ’ave ter eat?’ she asked.
Podge was waiting impatiently when Emily reached her room. She gave him his warm milk, got ready for bed and made a pot of tea while she told him about her evening. He sat, tidying his whiskers, his round eyes on her face, and when she observed in a puzzled voice, ‘I can’t think why he asked me out; Podge, even if he was lonely. I’m quite sure he must know lots of pretty girls with the right clothes…’ he jumped on to her lap and butted her with his round head, offering a sympathy he felt was needed.
‘Although,’ went on Emily, thinking aloud, ‘I ought to feel over the moon, oughtn’t I?’
She got into bed, and with Podge curled up on her feet, went to sleep at once. In the morning, hurrying through the usual routine, the previous evening seemed like a distant dream.
That was how it was going to stay, she decided sensibly. She had let her tongue run away with her and told Mr van Tecqx far too much about herself, while he had remained reticent about himself. She blushed at the thought.
Even if she had wanted to, she was given no opportunity of saying so much as a ‘Good morning, sir,’ for the best part of the week. True, he appeared at his rounds, but she was not on duty for all of them, and when she was, she did no more than hand case sheets, hovering on the fringe of the group making its steady way from bed to bed, and once or twice when she had seen him as she hurried to the dispensary or the laundry at Sister’s command it had seemed to her that he had deliberately not seen her. She had plenty of good sense; she told herself that it was only to be expected. Just because he had taken her out—no doubt on a sudden whim—it didn’t mean to say that he had any interest in her. They didn’t move in the same circles, a fact brought home to him when he had accompanied her to her lodgings. With good sense Emily bundled all thought of him to the back of her head, and even though his image popped out again far too often for her peace of mind, she thrust it back where it belonged—with her vague daydreams of the future.
The ward was full and a number of patients needed careful and constant nursing. Two burly young men who had fallen from a scaffolding on a high-rise block of flats had fractured spines, both with a degree of paralysis; they were nursed on ripple beds and had to be turned every two hours; no easy task and a continuous drain on the nurses’ time, and, more than that, they had to be kept cheerful until such time as the paralysis should give way to the return of sensation. At the other end of the ward there was another young man recovering from the laminectomy which Mr van Tecqx had recently performed. A sprinkling of broken arms and legs and three fractured skulls made up the ward’s inhabitants, most of them recovering nicely, but it was heavy work, and several times Emily saw Sister Cook looking at her in a thoughtful way, measuring her small person against the immovable arms and legs and backs and doubtless wondering if Emily would hold out. Which made Emily work all the harder, but it was worth it. She was learning as she worked, and even though she hadn’t laughed all the way to the bank on pay-day, at least she smiled widely when she saw her nest-egg swell with the latest contribution.
What made it even more worth while was the discovery that one of the spinal fractures wiggled his toes as she was bed-bathing him. Even Sister Cook smiled at her and observed with slightly less acidity than usual that Emily had been most observant in her work. The Registrar was sent for and he in his turn requested the presence of Mr van Tecqx.
It was after he had finished his examination and expressed his opinion that his patient was on the mend, standing at the foot of the bed with Sister, his Registrar and, since Staff Nurse wasn’t available, Emily, that he addressed her. ‘You are to be commended for your sharp eyes, Nurse.’ She gave a slight smile and he gave her a kindly smile as he walked away.
Emily went pink and a nearby patient with his leg slung up on a Balkan Beam said indignantly, ‘Well, I’ll be blowed! ‘E could at least ’ave given you a pat on the shoulder, ducks.’
Emily gave him a severe look. ‘Certainly not, Mr Crump, that wouldn’t do at all—besides, any one of us could have been me.’
Upon which muddled speech she tucked him in with a brisk motherliness and started off down the ward. She was met half-way by one of the first-year nurses. ’emily, you’re to go to Sister’s Office—’ She paused to take a breath. ‘He’s there!’
‘Who’s he?’ But Emily knew without being told. Was she going to be ticked off about something she should or should not have done? She was casting round anxiously in her mind as she pushed open the door of the Office to find Sister, Henry Parker, looking amused, and Mr van Tecqx, looking bland.
It was Sister who spoke. ‘Nurse Grenfell, Mr van Tecqx has made a suggestion to me which I’m sure will gratify you. It seems that he has to drive past your home on your day off—tomorrow—and offers to give you a lift. It’s most kind of him, and I’m sure you will be delighted to accept his most generous offer.’
Emily cast a quick look at him. He was gazing out of the window at the vista of chimneypots, just as though the conversation had nothing to do with him. She felt tempted to refuse since his offer, given second-hand as it were, held no vestige of interest, but on the other hand an unexpected chance to go home wasn’t to be missed. She said with polite woodenness, ‘Thank you, Sister, I shall be most grateful to have a lift home.’
Mr van Tecqx turned away from his scrutiny of the hospital’s environment. There was a faint tremor at the corners of his firm mouth which might have been the beginnings of a smile. ‘My pleasure, Nurse. No doubt Sister will be kind enough to give you the details at her convenience.’
Sister Cook gave a regal nod. ‘Certainly, sir. You may go, Nurse.’
Emily went.
She had to wait until the evening, when she was about to go off duty, before Sister Cook sailed down the ward towards her. ‘Trouble on the way,’ warned a patient sotto voce. The patients liked her, she was such a scrap of a thing and yet nothing was too much trouble for her. She pinched out a cigarette from a patient’s hand and turned a calm face to her superior.
‘I smell smoke,’ declared Sister Cook, and cast a suspicious look around her. She allowed smoking on the ward, but only at hours dictated by herself.
‘It’s always rather smoky at this time in the evening,’ volunteered Emily in her calm way. ‘I suppose it’s all the chimneys and people coming home from work. Shall I close the windows, Sister?’
Sister Cook had a thing about fresh air, even though it wasn’t all that fresh in that part of London. She said no quite sharply and added, ‘I have a message for you, Nurse Grenfell. Mr van Tecqx will be outside your flat a half past eight in the morning. Don’t keep him waiting, Nurse. He’s a busy man.’
Emily was ready and waiting when she saw the car stop before her lodgings in the morning. She picked up her overnight bag, took a grip of Podge’s basket, and went down to the front door. Mr van Tecqx was on the step, searching in vain for a bell or a knocker. She wished him good morning politely and he said sharply, ‘For heaven’s sake stop calling me Sir with every other breath!’
She got into the car and watched him stow Podge on the back seat. ‘Why ever not?’ she asked him. ‘I’m expected to do so.’
‘Not by me, you’re not, not when we are away from Pearson’s. I must say I find it very tiresome having to ignore you or at best look through you when I’m on my rounds.’
A remark which surprised Emily so much that she stayed silent while he settled beside her and drove off. As though he had read her thoughts he went on, ‘If I were to show the least sign of interest in you, Sister Cook would pounce. In her eyes, consultants and student nurses don’t mix; the fact that they are men and women as well has no bearing on the matter from her point of view.’
Emily said, ‘Oh, yes,’ rather inadequately.
‘So next time I ignore you on the ward you will know why.’
She sought for a suitable reply and came up with, ‘Oh—really?’
She heard him sigh and sought for a topic of conversation. Manners mattered, her mother had always told her, and she had always tried to remember that. ‘Are you going to Dover?’ she asked.
‘No—I have friends in Biddenden.’
The silence lasted a little too long. Emily tried again. ‘The country around there is charming, and Biddenden is charming too…’
They were going down the A20 towards Swanley; the road was moderately free from traffic and Mr van Tecqx was driving fast. ‘Tell me about your father?’ he invited.
‘My father?’ repeated Emily stupidly. ‘What do you mean—what do you know about him? I never…’
‘My dear girl, I have ways of finding out the things I wish to know. How long has he been waiting for hip replacements?’
Emily ignored him. ‘What do you know about my father—how dare you snoop…?’
‘My dear girl, I never snoop—I have no need to do so. I had occasion to discuss a patient with your father’s doctor and in the course of conversation mentioned that you were a nurse at Pearson’s and that he might know you. He told me of your father’s condition.’
Emily cast him a quick look. His profile was calm, his voice had been uninterested, there was no reason to doubt his word. She said reluctantly: ‘I’m sorry. He’s been waiting for more than a year and it will be another year before there’s a bed for him.’
‘That is the National Health?’ asked Mr van Tecqx gently.
‘Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘As a matter of fact, I found out how much it would cost for him to be a private patient—it would save a year of waiting.’
‘So he will go privately?’
‘Well, yes…’
‘As soon as you have saved the money?’ Mr van Tecqx’s voice was so quiet she barely heard it.
‘Yes.’
He nodded. ‘Do you know your doctor’s number?’
‘Yes, of course.’
