The Awakened Heart. Betty Neels

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      ‘Neither—I had a good sleep, and it’s a quiet night, thank heaven.’

      ‘If you say so,’ said Gill. ‘I haven’t won the pools—something much more exciting. That lovely man is operating at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I have offered to lay up for Sister Tucker—’ there was a burst of laughter ‘—just so that everything would be ready for him, and I shan’t mind if I’m a few minutes late off duty.’ She smiled widely. ‘Especially if I should happen to bump into him.’

      Joan Middleton, in charge of men’s medical, the only one of them who was married and therefore not particularly interested, observed in her matter-of-fact way, ‘Probably he’s married with half a dozen children—he’s not all that young, is he?’

      ‘He’s not even middle-aged,’ said Gill sharply. ‘Sophie, you’ve seen him. He’s still quite young—in his thirties, wouldn’t you think?’

      Sophie looked vague. ‘Probably.’ She took another piece of toast and reached for the marmalade.

      Gill said happily, ‘Well, I dare say he falls for little wistful women, like me…’ And although Sophie laughed with the rest of them, she didn’t feel too sure about that. No, that wouldn’t do at all, she reflected. Just because he had taken her for a drive didn’t mean that he had any interest in her; indeed, it might be a cunning way of covering his real interest in Gill, who, after all, was exactly the type of girl a man would fall for. Never mind that she was the soul of efficiency in Theatre; once out of uniform, she became helpless, wistful and someone to be cherished. Helplessness and wistfulness didn’t sit happily on Sophie.

      Sophie saw nothing of the professor for the few nights left before she was due for nights off. She heard a good deal about him, though, for Gill had contrived to waylay him in Theatre before she went off duty and was full of his good looks and charm; moreover, when she went on duty the following night there had been an emergency operation and he was still in Theatre, giving her yet another chance to exchange a few words with him.

      ‘I wonder where he goes for his weekends?’ said Gill, looking round the breakfast-table.

      Sophie, who could have told her, remained silent; instead she observed that she was off home just as soon as she could get changed, bade everyone goodbye, and took herself off.

      She showered and changed into a rather nice multi-check jacket in a dark red with its matching skirt, tucked a cream silk scarf in the neck, stuck her feet into low-heeled black shoes, and, with her face carefully made-up and her hair in its complicated coil, took herself to the long mirror inside the old-fashioned wardrobe and had an appraising look.

      ‘Not too bad,’ she remarked to Mabel as she popped her into her travel basket, slung her simple weekend bag over her shoulder, and went down to the front door. It was ten o’clock, and she didn’t allow herself to think what she would do if he wasn’t there…

      He was, sitting in his magnificent car, reading a newspaper. He got out as she opened the door, rather hampered by Miss Phipps, who was quite unnecessarily holding it open for her, bade her good morning, took Mabel, who was grumbling to herself in her basket, wished Miss Phipps good day, and stowed both Sophie and Mabel into his car without further ado. He achieved this with a courteous speed which rather took Sophie’s breath, but as he drove away she said severely, ‘Good morning, Professor.’

      ‘I suspect that you are put out at my businesslike greeting. That can be improved upon later. I felt it necessary to get away quickly before that tiresome woman began a conversation; I find her exhausting.’

      An honest girl, Sophie said at once, ‘I’m not put out; at least, I wasn’t quite sure that you would be here. As for Miss Phipps, I expect she’s lonely.’

      ‘That I find hard to believe; what I find even harder to believe is that you doubted my word.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘I told you that I would be outside your lodgings at ten o’clock.’

      ‘I don’t think I doubted you,’ she said slowly. ‘I think I wasn’t quite sure why you were giving me a lift—I mean it’s out of your way, isn’t it?’

      ‘I make a point of seeing as much of the English countryside as possible when I am over here.’

      She wasn’t sure whether that was a gentle snub or not; in any case she wasn’t sure how to answer it, so she made a remark about the weather and he replied suitably and they lapsed into a silence broken only by Mabel’s gentle grumbling from the back seat.

      Sophie, left to her thoughts, wondered what would be the best thing to do when they arrived at her home. Should she ask him in for coffee or merely thank him for the lift and allow him to go to wherever he was going? She had phoned her mother on the previous evening and told her that she was getting a lift home, but she hadn’t said much else…

      ‘Would you like to stop for coffee or do you suppose your mother would be kind enough to have it ready for us?’

      It was as though he had known just what she had been thinking. ‘I’m sure she will expect us in time for coffee—that is, if you would like to stop…’

      ‘I should like to meet your parents.’ He sounded friendly, and she was emboldened to ask, ‘How long will you be in England?’

      ‘I shall go back to Holland in a couple of weeks.’

      A remark which left her feeling strangely forlorn.

      They were clear of the eastern suburbs by now and he turned off on to the road to Chipping Ongar. The countryside was surprisingly rural once they left the main road and when he took a small side-road before they reached that town she said in surprise, ‘Oh, you know this part of the country?’

      ‘Only from my map. I find it delightful that one can leave the main roads so easily and get comfortably lost in country lanes.’

      ‘Can’t you do that in Holland?’

      ‘Not easily. The country is flat, so that there is always a town or a village on the horizon.’ He added to surprise her, ‘What do you intend to do with your life, Sophie?’

      ‘Me?’ The question was so unexpected that she hadn’t a ready answer. ‘Well, I’ve a good job at St Agnes’s…’

      ‘No boyfriend, no thought of marriage?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘And it’s none of my business…’ he laughed. ‘Tell me, is it quicker to go through Cooksmill Green or take the road on the left at the next crossroads?’

      ‘If you were on your own it would be best to go through Cooksmill Green, but since I’m here to show you the way go left; there aren’t any villages until we get to Shellow Roding.’

      It really was rural now, with wide fields on either side of the road bordered by trees and thick hedges, and presently the spire of the village church came into view and the first of the cottages, their ochre or white walls crowned by thatch, thickening into clusters on either side of the green with the church at one side of it, the village pub opposite and a row of small neat shops.

      ‘Charming,’ observed the professor and, obedient to Sophie’s instruction, turned the car down a narrow lane beside the church.

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