by Betty Neels
Kitty got in and started the engine and said yes, she’d be very careful and took the little car out of the hospital forecourt with a spurt of speed which caused Emma to close her eyes. Kitty always had the car when she went home unless she herself was using it. One day, Emma promised herself, opening her eyes again to watch her sister go round the corner, she would have a new car—something low and sporting, a Sprite perhaps. She went back into the hospital, passing the consultants’ car park as she went and pausing by the professor’s Rolls to see if she could make out any signs of damage on its polished perfection. She could see nothing at all, but probably Rolls-Royces were inspected for damage with magnifying glasses. She patted its bonnet and then rubbed where she had patted in case she had spoilt the polish. As she turned round she found Professor Teylingen standing behind her watching, so that, taken by surprise, she said weakly, ‘Oh, hullo. I—I was looking to see if anything showed, you know—from the bump I gave you.’ She gave him a direct look and went on in a carefully matter-of-fact voice, ‘I should like to have the bill, so that I know how much…?’ Her voice tailed away under his cool stare.
‘I’ve no idea at the moment, Miss Hastings, I imagine it will reach you in due course.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Who was the pretty girl who drove away in your car?’
And where was he hiding to see us? thought Emma crossly. ‘My sister,’ she told him shortly.
‘Oh? Also a nurse?’
‘No—she’s a medical student. She’s very clever as well as being pretty.’
‘And she borrows your car?’
‘Well, of course,’ explained Emma patiently. ‘She comes down from London and drives home from here, then brings the car back on her way to catch the train.’
It sounded a little complicated, but all he said was simply, ‘Why?’
She wasn’t going to tell him it was cheaper that way, so she said, faintly irritated at his persistence, ‘It’s easier that way,’ and glared at him in case he should dispute the explanation. ‘Besides,’ she said with finality, ‘it means she’s free to go where she likes or take Mother out.’
‘And so you walk until the car is returned?’
‘I have good legs,’ observed Emma rashly, and went pink as he said quickly, ‘Yes, you have, quite delightful,’ and when she made a small sound, said in the most casual way imaginable, ‘Don’t let me keep you.’
She wished him good night rather stiffly and walked through the hospital and out of a small door at its back, crossed the inner courtyard to the Nurses’ Home, where she joined her fellows round the TV and drank tea she didn’t want, and tried not to think about Professor Teylingen.
They met a good deal during the following days, but always in a professional capacity. If they had exchanged half a dozen words of ordinary conversation during that time, it would have been a generous estimate. Margaret and Madge had fared better—he had lingered for tea with each of them when he had visited his patients during the afternoons and they had gleaned, between them, quite an amount of information about him, none of which, however, cast any light upon his private life. Nor did he show any sign of dating Madge or Sybil, who had contrived to meet him too. Consultant staff weren’t in the habit of asking members of the nursing staff to go out with them, but it didn’t seem quite the same with the professor; he was a foreigner for a start, which for some reason made a difference, and as far as they knew, he was unmarried—but there again, they weren’t sure. It was annoying; it also gave them an unending topic of conversation.
It was a couple of days later that Emma, not on duty until one o’clock, decided to go out and buy herself a dress. She had no money to speak of and the need for a new dress wasn’t actually pressing—it was merely that she wanted to cheer herself up. She had tried telling herself that there was no reason why Professor Teylingen should take an interest in her; she was perfectly aware that she was neither particularly exciting as a companion or even passably good-looking, which was probably why she was on such excellent terms with most of the men she worked with, all of whom were prone, if they talked to her or took her out, to spend a great deal of time telling her about their girl-friends. Even the occasional outings she had with Little Willy were like going out with a brother and just about as exciting, and she had never forgotten that on one occasion when she had listened sympathetically to some minor upheaval in his day, he had told her that although she was a homely little body, she was one of the nicest girls he knew. He had said it so nicely that she hadn’t had the heart to be annoyed. She had taken a good look at herself in the mirror when she got back to her room and been forced to admit to herself that he was probably right about her being homely—a detestable word, she raged, tearing her clothes off and bouncing into bed—just because she hadn’t got great blue eyes and masses of curly hair; but her rage hadn’t lasted long, for Little Willy so obviously liked her.
She walked across the hospital forecourt now, trying to decide what colour she should have and how much she could afford to spend, and half-way over the Rolls overtook her and slowed to a halt.
‘May I give you a lift?’ Professor Teylingen’s voice was casually friendly and when she said, ‘No, thank you,’ surprised her by asking her why not.
‘Well, you don’t know where I’m going,’ she stated, rather at a loss.
He opened the car door. ‘Naturally not. You can tell me as we go.’ His voice sounded patient, but Emma still hesitated. ‘The thing is,’ she said at length, ‘I’m not sure where I’m going myself—it’s shopping.’
He nodded in an understanding way. ‘Ah, no, of course not—how could you? Suppose I take you into town and you can tell me where to drop you.’ He added suavely, ‘Unless you dislike my company?’
Emma’s usually serene face became animated with surprise so that she looked suddenly pretty. ‘Dislike you?’ she repeated parrot fashion. ‘Why should I dislike you? Of course I don’t.’
‘Then get in.’
It seemed foolish to waste any more time; she got in and he leaned across her and shut the door, and without bothering to say any more, guided the car sleekly through the gates and on to the main road. They were well into the city before he spoke again.
‘Could you spare time for a cup of coffee? I’m going to the Dolphin, I can leave the car there.’
It seemed churlish to refuse—besides, suddenly the new dress didn’t seem important any more. Emma thanked him nicely as he turned the car into the arched entrance to the hotel and allowed herself to be led into one of the large bow-windowed rooms facing the street. Afterwards, thinking about it, she was unable to remember what they had talked about while they drank their coffee, only that the professor had maintained a steady flow of easy talk which required very little answering. When she at length rose with a garbled little speech in which thanks were rather wildly mixed with a quite unnecessary description of the shops she intended to visit, she was interrupted by his quiet, ‘I shall be in town myself until midday. I’ll wait for you here.’
‘Oh, will you?’ asked Emma, astonished. ‘But I can go back by bus—they run every ten minutes.’
‘I daresay they do,’ observed the professor, not very much interested in the local transport service. ‘I shall wait for you here.’
She arrived back at five minutes past the hour, without the dress because she had been unable to put her mind to the task of searching for it with the proper amount of concentration such a purchase deserved.
‘I’m late,’ she began, breathless, to which the professor replied with calm, ‘For a woman who has been shopping, I imagine you are remarkably punctual. Where do you lunch?’
She hadn’t given lunch a thought—she would make a cup of tea in the Home and there were biscuits in a tin somewhere or other. She didn’t answer as he wove the car like a gleaming black silken thread through the fustian of delivery vans and long-distance transports.
‘No lunch?’ he queried. ‘We must arrange things better next time.’ He glanced at her sideways and she ca
ught the gleam in his green eyes. ‘And where’s the shopping?’
‘I wanted a dress,’ said Emma, ‘but I didn’t see one I liked.’
‘Hard to please?’ He sounded mocking.
She heard the mockery and was stung into replying, ‘Of course I’m not. I saw plenty I should have liked…’
‘You have just said you hadn’t seen one you liked,’ he reminded her silkily.
‘Well,’ explained Emma patiently, ‘it’s no good liking something you can’t afford, is it?’ and added hastily in case he should pity her, which was the last thing she wanted, ‘I don’t really need a dress, anyway.’
He laughed at that, but it was kindly laughter and presently she laughed with him. It was as they were turning into the hospital forecourt that he asked, ‘When does your sister return your car?’
‘Saturday morning, so that I can go home for the week-end. It’s a bit of a scramble really, for she has to get the midday train up to London.’
‘What does she do? Leave the car at the station?’
‘No, she brings it here and parks it and leaves the key at the lodge unless I can manage to slip down.’
‘Box and Cox, I see.’ He opened the door for her to get out and smiled and she smiled too. ‘Yes, it is rather, but it works quite well. Thank you for the lift.’
It wasn’t until she was scrubbing up for the first case that afternoon that she began to wonder why he had asked all those questions about Kitty. Perhaps he wanted to meet her—he had had a glimpse of her when she had fetched the car. A sharp pain pierced her at the thought so that she stopped scrubbing for a moment to wonder at it. The pain was replaced by a dull ache which, when she thought about the professor, became worse. It was still there ten minutes later when, already in the theatre laying up the Mayo’s table, she watched him stroll in with Little Willy, gowned and gloved and masked. There was nothing of him to be seen excepting his green eyes and the high arch of his preposterous nose, but that didn’t matter. She realized all of a sudden that she knew every line of his face by heart, just as she knew every calm, controlled movement of his hands when he operated or drove the car or picked up a cup of coffee; she knew every inflection of his voice as well. She clashed two pairs of tissue forceps together as the realization that she had fallen in love with him hit her like a blast from a bomb. Such a foolish thing to do, she chided herself silently as she laid the necrosis forceps down with precise care, especially as she still owed him for the repair of his car—it didn’t seem right to fall in love with someone to whom she owed money. He wished her good afternoon with pleasant friendliness and she replied in like vein, glad of her mask to cover the flush which crept up her cheeks. They plunged into their work after that and there was no more time for thoughts other than those to do with the job on hand. And when the afternoon was over, he went away with a careless good-bye, scarcely looking at her.
CHAPTER THREE
THERE was no theatre on Saturday morning; at about half past eleven Emma slipped down to the car park to see if Kitty had got back with the Ford. She had; she was standing by the little car with Professor Teylingen on one side of her and Little Willy on the other and they were laughing together like old friends, but the moment Kitty saw her she started to meet her, her pretty face alight with pleasure.
‘Emma darling, how lovely! I hoped you’d escape for a minute or two. I was just standing here doing nothing when these two—’ she turned a smiling face to the men, ‘came along and they knew who I was at once because we’re so alike. Have you been busy? Mother’s looking forward to seeing you.’
They had joined the two men as she was speaking and Emma said in her pleasant voice, ‘Hullo, Willy,’ and then, ‘Hullo, sir.’ She gave him a friendly glance as she spoke and tried not to notice how hard her heart was beating.
‘Gosh,’ said Kitty, ‘do you call him sir? He said his name was Justin.’ She turned to look at the professor, standing with his hands in his pockets, a half smile on his face. ‘Do you mind?’ she asked. ‘Of course you’re someone important, aren’t you?’
‘None of us is important on our own, I imagine,’ he observed mildly, ‘and I very much prefer to be called Justin.’ His green eyes flickered across to Emma, who went a little pink because they held laughter in their depths and she suspected that he was amused because she was always so careful to call him sir with the formality due to him. She said hastily, ’Kitty, shouldn’t you be going? I hate to hurry you, but if you miss the bus you’ll miss the train too.’
‘No, she won’t,’ the professor’s answer was prompt, ‘I’ll run her down.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Only it had better be now.’
Kitty flashed him a dazzling smile. ‘Oh, good—I did hope you’d think of that. Good-bye, Will—I hope we meet again. Emma, you’ve a long weekend in a fortnight, haven’t you? I’ll come down and meet you here and we can go home together.’
She embraced her sister with loving speed. ‘The keys,’ she added breathlessly, and thrust them at Emma, ‘and thank you for the car, Emma.’
Emma stood beside Little Willy watching her sister skip along beside the more dignified professor to where the Rolls was parked, then waved as they got in and drove away. When she looked sideways at Little Willy she was surprised to see a look on his face which she had never seen before—excitement, disappointment and determination all mixed up together.
He turned to face her. ‘I didn’t know,’ he began, ‘your sister—what a lovely girl she is. I’ve never met anyone like her, only you.’
Emma understood him very well. ‘We’re not really alike,’ she said kindly, ‘only the shape of our faces and our mouths. I’m—I’m a kind of dim copy of Kitty, aren’t I? She is lovely, and she’s very clever too.’
They started to walk slowly back into the hospital while she told him just how clever Kitty was, because it was obvious to her understanding eye that he wanted most desperately to know.
But he wasn’t the only one who was interested. On Monday morning as she was wrestling with the off-duty in the office while Staff got the theatre ready, Professor Teylingen strolled in, bade her a good morning, made a few brief remarks about the day’s work ahead of them, and then without further beating around the bush, began to talk about Kitty. It was apparent, after a few minutes, that Kitty had talked to him like an old friend, and Emma, sitting quietly in her chair listening to him, wondered uneasily just what she had said, for Kitty, although a darling, was a chatterbox. But presently Emma relaxed a little; it seemed that her sister, while disclosing their ages, dislikes and various childish episodes, had remained reticent about their finances. Emma, for some reason which she didn’t care to define, didn’t want this man who had come so suddenly into her life to know how they had to count every penny and what an effort it was for her mother to live on her tiny income even with Emma’s help—and least of all did she want him to know how much both her mother and sister depended on her earnings.
She looked up to find him watching her narrowly. ‘Did you ever want to be a doctor?’ he asked.
But she wasn’t going into all that. ‘Goodness me, no,’ she lied briskly, ‘I’ve no brains to speak of,’ and hoped she had sounded convincing because he smiled non-committally. But he couldn’t have known—Kitty wouldn’t have told him, and anyway it was all water under the bridge a long time ago.
She allowed a small sigh to escape her and he said, ‘You make a very good Theatre Sister, anyway. Now that Sister Cox is no longer with us, you must be rather overworked. How do you manage about off-duty?’
She explained carefully about long weekends and short weekends and Staff taking the short lists.
‘So this was your short weekend?’ he wanted to know, and when she nodded, asked, ‘And how long is a long weekend?’
‘Thursday evening, if I can get away, until Monday afternoon. Staff takes the morning list and we plan—that is, you plan, if you don’t mind—all the heavy stuff for the afternoon so that we’re both on. It works very well. Now S
ister Cox isn’t here, Staff will alternate with me so that theatre’s covered, and we’ve a part time staff nurse too, who’s on with Staff. Collins and I try to be on together for the heavier lists.’
‘But surely with Sister Cox away, you’re working shorthanded?’
Emma gave him a level look. ‘Yes, but it’s not for ever and Staff’s very good indeed.’
He smiled at that and got to his feet. ‘As long as you can manage.’
‘Of course we can manage,’ her voice was stiff, ‘but if you have any doubts…’
She was interrupted by his quiet, ‘Don’t get me wrong. I believe you to be capable of running the theatre with your hands tied behind you if you had to, but you should have adequate staff.’
He smiled again, this time quite differently so that her heart gave a lurch despite her outward composure. ‘That’s kind of you to think about us. If I find I can’t manage, I’ll tell you, Professor.’
‘Please do. Now I must find Lunn and have a word with him—I’ll see you later.’
He was gone. She listened to his unhurried footsteps going down the corridor and presently the gentle swish of the theatre unit doors as they closed behind him. But instead of picking up her pen again, she allowed her thoughts to idle; she would have to get used to seeing the professor each day, drinking coffee with him, listening to his quiet, deep voice, watching his face and the way he smiled, seeing the little wrinkles come at the corners of his eyes when he laughed, steel herself to meet their penetrating green when he looked at her. She supposed it would be possible to do all that and it wouldn’t be for long. She was a sensible girl, she told herself it had been coincidence that had thrown them together—what else could it be? as her mother had been eager to point out when she went home that weekend. Kitty had told her all about their meeting by the car and Mrs Hastings had been full of carefully put questions—almost, Emma thought with wry amusement, as if her mother had expected something of the sort to happen; certainly she had seemed to think that this unexpected meeting would be the beginning of friendship. Indeed, she had suggested to Emma that she might like to invite the professor for a weekend, ‘So that he can see something of the country, dear,’ observed Mrs Hastings guilelessly. ‘Besides, I could give him some good wholesome food with our own eggs and vegetables.’
