The Gemel Ring. Betty Neels

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ her hair, it was so vivid, and somehow the simple knot she wore above her slender neck made it all the more so. A vague longing to change her into someone smaller and meeker and less spectacular entered his head, to be instantly dismissed as treason; Charity was a darling girl; he made the thought positive by asking: “How about coming out this evening? I’m sick of canteen food.”

      She slapped the notes tidily together and smiled across the desk at him. “I’d love to—how I loathe coming back—it seems worse than usual.”

      “Meet anyone interesting?” he asked her idly, and because she sensed that he didn’t really want to know, she was able to say composedly: “Father’s friends.” Her ear had caught the sound of feet. “Here’s Mr Howard.”

      The round went off well; Mr Howard was in good spirits, which meant, naturally enough, that those who accompanied him were in good spirits too, even though they were forced to listen to his often-told jokes, but better that than the sharp questions he fired at them; medical students who so often regrettably gave the wrong answers.

      There were no operations that day; the routine of dressings, getting patients up who didn’t want to get up, and keeping in bed those who were determined to get out of it, conducting Miss Evans, the Principal Nursing Officer, round the ward, dealing with various house-men, physiotherapists, visitors and those of her staff who wanted her private ear for some reason or other, kept Charity busy until she went off duty at five o’clock. She was to meet Clive at seven; there was plenty of time to bath and change, so she went along to the sitting-room and ate her tea in company with such of her friends who were off duty too, talking shop as usual, and presently went upstairs to her pleasant little room.

      Clive hadn’t told her where they were going, she supposed it would be the quiet little restaurant close to the hospital where they had been several times before. She chose the lime green wild silk with its matching jacket and brushed her chestnut hair until it shone, before running downstairs to meet him at the Home entrance. She hoped uneasily that he wasn’t going to ask her to marry him; he had started to once before and she had gently dissuaded him, knowing that she was only postponing the inevitable.

      She wasn’t even sure what she was going to say when he did propose; she was attracted to him, perhaps she was a little in love with him, but she didn’t think the feeling was enough to last a lifetime. Love, she felt sure, should sweep one off one’s feet, and leave one uncaring about anything or anybody else, and Clive hadn’t done that—besides, she wasn’t even sure that he loved her. She had no conceit, but she couldn’t help but be aware that she was a striking-looking girl, one whom men liked to be seen out with; she was also aware that she had intelligence as well as looks. She sighed and shrugged and then smiled at Clive waiting patiently in the hospital courtyard.

      They dined pleasantly together, and over coffee he asked her to marry him, and looking at his earnest face across the table, she very nearly said yes. Only a fleeting memory, the tail-end of a dream, of a laconic giant of a man who didn’t like her accent, prevented her. But because Clive was so persistent, she did promise to think it over.

      “I have to be quite certain,” she told him. “You see, when I marry it will be for the rest of my life—oh, I understand that sometimes divorce is inevitable, but perhaps it could sometimes be prevented if the people concerned had been quite sure before they married.” She grinned engagingly. “Aren’t I a pompous ass? I’m bossy too, you know—you might hate that.”

      She hoped that he would say something about making sure that she would never get the chance to boss him, but he didn’t, only smiled and said that he wouldn’t mind—a remark which strangely disquieted her.

      It was when they were leaving the restaurant that a girl ahead of them fell in the foyer. Both Charity and Clive went to help her, for the girl’s companion was elderly and stout and past bending. The girl was a wisp of a thing, slim and golden-haired and blue-eyed, who to Charity’s faint disgust, gave way at once to easy tears even as she assured Clive prettily that she had only tripped and not hurt herself in the least. And Charity, glancing at Clive’s face, could see that he rather liked this feminine display of helplessness, a disquieting thought, for she had been brought up to control her feelings in public and reserve her tears for the privacy of her own room, something she had sometimes found difficult when she had longed to have a good cry without having to wait until she was by herself, when quite often, by that time, she had no wish to weep any more. But this pretty little creature she was supporting now had no such inhibitions; she cried with ease and charm so that Charity felt compelled to suggest that they should retire to the powder room and repair the damage, if there was any.

      The girl cheered up under Charity’s kindly eye, introduced herself as Margery Cross, and after a few minutes of re-doing her face, followed Charity back into the foyer where the two gentlemen were chatting quite happily together. There was another round of introductions before Margery thanked Clive with all the fervour of one who had been rescued from untold horrors, and with several backward glances, accompanied the stout gentleman, who it turned out was her doting father, to the taxi waiting for them. Charity stood patiently beside Clive while he waited on the pavement, staring after it until it had disappeared round a corner, before taking her arm and starting on their walk back to the hospital.

      “Poor child,” he remarked. “It’s so unusual to find someone so sensitive in these days; most girls are so self-sufficient.”

      “They have to be,” said Charity mildly.

      He glanced at her quickly. “You were a dear, taking her under your wing like that—her father was most grateful. That’s what I like about you, Charity, you always know what to do.”

      But she didn’t, she told him silently; she didn’t know if she wanted to marry him, did she? And if she had known what to do at Vlissingen, she would have found a way of talking—even for a few minutes—to that doctor who remained so persistently in her thoughts, just to convince him that she wasn’t a priggish English girl, boastful about her knowledge of German and resentful of his criticism. She admitted now that it was his complete unawareness of her which had so annoyed her, and if she were to be quite honest, she might as well admit at the same time that she didn’t dislike him. On the contrary.

      “You’re very silent,” observed Clive. “I expect you’re tired, Charity.”

      She agreed with him; not tired in the least, but it would be easier to agree than try to explain that she felt, all of a sudden, dissatisfied with life. They parted at the entrance to the Home and Clive kissed her goodnight, and although she enjoyed it, as any normal girl would, she felt no stirring within her. The fact frightened her a little as she got ready for bed. Perhaps she would never love anyone; some people had no great depth of feeling, supposing she should be one of these unfortunates? She went to sleep finally, worrying about it.

      She had been back for two weeks when Miss Evans sent for her soon after eight o’clock on a day which bade fair to be both hot and busy. Theatre day, and the temperature already in the seventies. Charity muttered under her breath, bade the invaluable Lacey Bell take over, and sped through the hospital to its very heart where the PNO had her office, ringed about by lesser nursing officers whose duty it was to hold back those too eager to take up her time. But today Charity received no rebuff, no delay even, she was swept through to Miss Evans’ sanctum before she had time to do more than straighten her cap and adjust her cuffs. She had no idea why she had been sent for and there had been no moment in which to review the happenings of the last few days to discover what she had done wrong. She braced herself, took up her position before the desk and wished her superior a good morning.

      It was a surprise when Miss Evans smiled at her, a rather vinegary smile, it was true, but still a smile. It was still more of a surprise when she was bidden to take a chair.

      “I СКАЧАТЬ