Sun and Candlelight. Betty Neels

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СКАЧАТЬ in Mr van Diederijk’s face when she had accepted his invitation.

      Alethea was half way through her breakfast the next morning when she paused, a fork half way to her mouth. How could she possibly have forgotten to pay Mr van Diederijk the money she, or rather, Nick, owed him?

      Her friends stared at her. ‘Alethea, what’s up? You look as though you’ve remembered something simply frightful,’ and someone said cheerfully: ‘She’s left the weights off someone’s Balkan Beam…’

      There was a little ripple of laughter and Alethea laughed with them. ‘Much worse!’ but she didn’t say more, and they, who had guessed that something had happened between her and Nick, carefully didn’t ask what it was.

      She would be bound to see him within the next day or so, perhaps even this very day, Alethea decided as she set about the business of allocating the day’s work, but she didn’t. There was no sign of him. Sir Walter came surrounded by his posse of assistants, talking to Nick, discussing his cases, but of Mr van Diederijk there was no sign. Alethea, with a half day she didn’t want, took herself off duty and spent it washing her hair, writing letters and going for a brisk walk through the rather dingy streets around the hospital. She might just as well have taken a bus and gone up to Oxford Street and at least gone out to tea, but she had no heart for doing anything. Nick hadn’t bothered to look at her during the round, and it dawned on her painfully that he really had finished with her, that he had meant it when he had declared that he wasn’t going to waste time on her. He had called her prissy too. The thought roused her to anger, so that she glared at a perfectly blameless housewife, loaded with shopping, coming towards her on the pavement.

      She walked herself tired and returned in time for supper at the hospital, and her friends, seeing her bleak face, talked about everything under the sun excepting herself.

      ‘That charmer’s gone,’ observed Philly Chambers, a small dark girl who was junior sister in the orthopaedic theatre. ‘Much in demand he was too, and I’m not surprised—he should have been a film star.’

      ‘You mean that giant who was wandering round with Sir Walter?’ asked Patty Cox, senior sister on Women’s Surgical. ‘Very self-effacing despite his size, never used two words when one would do. I hear he’s in charge of some new hospital in Holland where they combine orthopaedics with osteopathy; surgeons and osteopaths work hand in glove, as it were. Sir Walter’s interested, that’s why he’s been over here. He’s coming back…’

      ‘You know an awful lot about him,’ commented Philly, and looked across at Alethea. ‘You’re the one who ought to know all the gen, Alethea,’ she cried, and went on unthinkingly: ‘Nick must know all about him…’ She stopped, muttered: ‘Oh, lord, I’m sorry,’ and then: ‘I’ll fetch the pudding, shall I?’

      Alethea had gone rather pale, so that her already pale face looked quite pinched. She said in an expressionless voice: ‘I don’t know anything about him,’ and realised that she only spoke the truth; he had told her nothing of himself, indeed, she could remember nothing of their conversations, perhaps she hadn’t been listening… She added: ‘He seemed very nice, though.’

      There was a little burst of talk with everyone doing their best to change the conversation. There had been a good deal of gossip about Alethea and Nick Penrose. No one had actually found out exactly what had happened, but the hospital grapevine was loaded with rumours. That they had quarrelled was a certainty and it looked as though their romance was at an end, judging from Alethea’s face and unhappy air. Besides, Sue had told the staff nurse on Women’s Surgical, who had told Patty in her turn, that Nick Penrose was ignoring Alethea when he came on the ward; he had always had coffee with her after his round in the mornings, and they had smiled a good deal at each other and although their conversations had been brief anyone could have seen that they were wrapped up in each other—but not any more. Besides, Patty had seen with her own eyes Nick strolling down the theatre corridor with the theatre staff nurse, a pretty girl who made no secret of the fact that she was out to get a member of the medical profession as a husband. He had looked remarkably carefree and pleased with himself too.

      She finished her pudding, saw that Alethea had merely spread hers round her plate, and suggested that it might be worth going to the rather dreary little cinema a stone’s throw from the hospital. ‘There’s that film on that I’ve been longing to see,’ she declared, ‘but I won’t go alone—Alethea, keep me company, there’s a dear, and what about you, Philly?’

      She gathered a handful of friends round her and by sheer weight of numbers persuaded Alethea to accompany them. It was unfortunate that on their way out they should meet Nick Penrose, arm in arm with the theatre staff nurse.

      Alethea went home for her days off at the end of the week, travelling down to the little village near Dunmow in her rather battered Fiat 500 on Friday evening, happy to shake off the hospital and its unhappy memories for a time at least. Once clear of London and its suburbs, the newly green and peaceful Essex countryside soothed her feelings. She had purposely left the main road at the earliest moment and had kept to the narrow lanes. It took a good deal longer, but the evening was a pleasant one and although she had told her grandmother that she was coming she had mentioned no special time. She reached Great Dunmow about seven o’clock and took the country road which would lead her eventually to Little Braugh, resolutely thinking about anything and everything except Nick. She had been a fool, she reflected, quite unable to keep to her resolution; Nick was an ambitious man and she had nothing to offer him but a pretty face and the qualities of a first-class nurse—he would want money too, for without that he would take twice as long to reach the top of his profession, and, whispered a small voice at the back of her head, Theatre Staff Nurse Petts was the only daughter of a rich grocer. She shook her head free of its worrying and concentrated on the road. But Nick’s image remained clear behind her eyelids and no amount of telling herself that she was well rid of someone who had had no real regard for her could dispel it.

      But there was no sign of her worrying when she drew up outside a small cottage on the edge of the scattering of houses which was Little Braugh. It was a pretty little place with a hedged garden and a brick path to its solid front door, set squarely into its plain front. But the porch was a handsome one and the paint on its window frames was immaculate and a neat border of spring flowers testified to a careful gardener. Alethea beat a tattoo on the door knocker and opened the door, calling out as she went inside, and her grandmother, a brisk upright woman in her late sixties, came from the back of the house to greet her.

      Mrs Thomas kissed her granddaughter with pleasure. They were much of a height and her keen eyes stared into Alethea’s large brown ones with faint worry in their depths, but she didn’t make any remark about Alethea’s still too pale face, instead she enquired as to the journey, observed that there was steak and kidney pie for supper and expressed the hope that Alethea was hungry enough to do it justice.

      It wasn’t until the meal, served by Mrs Thomas’s devoted housekeeper, Mrs Bustle, was over and they were sitting round the small log fire in the comfortable, rather shabby sitting room, that Mrs Thomas asked casually: ‘You’ve been busy? You look washed out, Alethea.’ She frowned a little. ‘I sometimes wish you would give up that job at Theobald’s and get something nearer here in a small hospital where the work isn’t so exacting.’

      Alethea picked a thread off her skirt. ‘I enjoy my work, Granny, even when I’m tired, but if you would like me to get something locally, I’ll do that.’

      Mrs Thomas’s frown deepened. ‘Indeed you will not, my dear. I wouldn’t dream of spoiling a promising career through my selfishness.’ She stopped frowning, picked up her knitting and went on in a carefully casual way: ‘You have no intention of getting married? You must meet any number of men…’

      ‘Yes, СКАЧАТЬ