by Betty Neels
‘We didn’t have an evening out,’ she told him in a wooden voice.
‘Humphrey on call? Hard luck.’ He sounded so cheerful that she could have thrown something at him.
‘No, he was free,’ she said deliberately. ‘He—we had a difference of opinion…’
‘Oh, Mother. Am I right?’
‘Well, partly.’ She turned round to look at him. ‘Humphrey didn’t want me to go in the first place—I told you that.’
‘I hadn’t forgotten. But surely, since you came back safely, virtue intact and your pretty head unturned by the soft living and the easy life, he felt like celebrating?’
She blushed faintly. ‘Well, he didn’t. But I expect he’ll feel better about it by the time we see each other again.’ She asked politely: ‘And you, sir? Did you have a pleasant evening?’
‘Not so much pleasant as interesting. By the way, I have something for you. Mrs Clarence asked me to let you have it once we were back in England.’ He took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘Open it.’
She obeyed him, although if she had had time to think about it she would probably have refused on principle. The letter inside was brief, the cheque accompanying it of a size sufficient to make her open her lovely eyes very wide indeed. ‘I can’t possibly…’ she began, to be interrupted by Mr Grenfell’s firm:
‘Yes, you can. The Clarences would be deeply hurt if you don’t. See it from their point of view—you helped save her life, and they want to thank you for that.’ He stretched out a hand and took the letter from her unresisting hand. ‘Just as I thought—you’re to spend it upon yourself. Quite right too. It’s obvious to me that instead of spending money on clothes, you’re saving it towards something dull like a washing machine or a fitted wardrobe, and since this cheque is over and above your salary, you’re quite at liberty to fling it away on a pair of shoes or something similar.’
‘A pair of shoes?’ gasped Eugenia. ‘Why, good heavens, I can buy a whole new outfit and have something over!’
‘Can you? Miriam mentioned the sum she had spent on the shoes she was wearing the other evening—a similar amount to this cheque, but I believe her to be extravagant.’
Eugenia forgot for the moment that he was a senior consultant. ‘Do you really think that I could spend this on me? There’s the Spring Ball…’ Her eyes shone with anticipation and she saw him smile a little.
‘An excellent chance to splash out. I shall expect to be dazzled, Eugenia.’
He had gone, closing the door softly behind him, before she could answer that. Just as well, perhaps.
She tucked the cheque and the letter away and went back to work; time enough to decide just what she would buy. She was going home that evening, spending the night there, and coming on duty at two o’clock in the afternoon, so that Hatty could have a well deserved long weekend. She would tell her father and the twins and give them each a present, but somehow she had no urge to tell Humphrey. He would do either one of two things; insist that she should return the cheque, or insist, just as firmly, that she should put every penny of it into the bank towards their future.
It was lovely to be home, sitting in the shabby, comfortable sitting room, listening to the news Bruce and Becky were intent on giving her; their GCSE papers, and exactly what they had written, and what did she think of their chances of passing? And her father, telling her amusing little stories about the children at his school, and presently she told them about the cheque. ‘Should I put it in the bank?’ she asked her father.
‘Certainly not. It’s a gift, over and above your salary, and Mrs Clarence most certainly would wish you to use it for your own pleasure. Buy some pretty clothes, Eugenia; you’ve had nothing for some months.’
‘That’s what Mr Grenfell said.’
Her father glanced at her. ‘Then he’s a sensible man. Fit yourself out, and spend every last penny of it.’ He added firmly: ‘And don’t feel you have to tell Humphrey first—give him a nice surprise.’
Eugenia paid the cheque into the bank on her way back to St Clare’s in the morning, her head full of what she would buy. She had a half day on the Tuesday after Hatty got back; a good day on which to shop. She made several lists over the weekend, whittling them down to her final choice, impatient for Tuesday.
‘You look pleased with yourself,’ observed Humphrey, pausing on his way to the Medical Wing as she came back from dinner on Monday. ‘Won the pools or something?’
She felt instantly guilty, as the remark was so near the mark. Indeed, she might have told him about the cheque, only at that moment Mr Grenfell wandered out of a door towards them and commandeered Humphrey about some patient on the medical side he had been asked to see later that day.
She didn’t see Humphrey again that day, and she didn’t waste time looking for him on Tuesday; she handed over to a refreshed Hatty, and ignoring her dinner, flew to her room, changed rapidly and hurried to catch a bus to Regent Street. She had four precious hours in which to spend her cheque, and she had every intention of doing just that.
It wasn’t difficult, of course. It was marvellous what money in your pocket did for you. She found the dress she wanted almost at once—a rich burgundy taffeta with a wide skirt and what was, for her, a daring neckline. Humphrey wasn’t going to approve and his mother would probably faint with outraged modesty. It would make a nice change, thought Eugenia, prowling around the shoe department for matching satin sandals; nothing but straps and a three-inch heel and an outrageous price; but exactly what she wanted.
There was still money to spend. She found a jacket and skirt in an impractical pale blue and then searched for a knitting pattern and wool. She was an expert knitter and it would cost a quarter of the prices asked by the shops for the tempting sweaters and tops on display. She counted her change; enough for a pair of shoes if she didn’t lose her head completely. She chose court shoes, plain and elegant and high-heeled—too high-heeled, she remembered as she stopped on the pavement and checked her list. She and Humphrey were exactly the same height; with heels like those, she would top him, even if only by an inch, and he wouldn’t like that. All the same, she wasn’t going to change them. Suddenly economically minded, she had decided to have tea in a small and rather seedy tea-shop and then she took herself back to St Clare’s. It had been a lovely afternoon. She had spent almost every penny of the cheque and bought the kind of clothes which she had rejected for the last year or two because they were too fashionable and wouldn’t last for more than a year.
She got off the bus, laden with her parcels, and walked across the hospital forecourt, slap into Mr Grenfell, who withstood her person with calm, studied her carefully and enquired unnecessarily, ‘Been shopping?’ He eyed her packages. ‘No kitchen stove, no vacuum cleaner? Splendid! Probably I shan’t recognise you at the Spring Ball—if I don’t, be sure to give me a prod.’
He took most of the parcels from her and turned to walk back to the hospital entrance with her. ‘I’m so glad you took my advice.’
‘Yes, well, I asked my father and he agreed with you…’
‘And Humphrey?’ Mr Grenfell’s voice was very bland.
Eugenia paused to look up at him. ‘I haven’t told him, and I feel terrible about it.’
‘Well, don’t. Just give him a delightful surprise at the Ball.’ He handed the parcels over to a rather surprised porter who was passing. ‘Take these over to the nurses’ home for Sister Smith, will you? You can leave them in the warden’s office there.’
Eugenia gaped at him. ‘You can’t do that!’ she hissed urgently. ‘Porters aren’t allowed to do things for us…’
‘Perhaps not, but I’ve yet to learn that they can’t do things for me.’ He then stood there, making no attempt to go, looking down at her. ‘Are you free this evening?’
Eugenia felt sudden delight at the idea of going out with him, and then common sense took over. ‘No—no, I’m afraid not—Humphrey’s taking me out.’
His eyebrows rose a fr
action and the corner of his mouth twitched. ‘Then I must wish the pair of you a very pleasant evening, Eugenia.’
He turned away, and she started towards the corridor leading to the nurses’ home, aware of regret and doing her best to stifle it. She hadn’t gone a dozen steps before Mr Grenfell’s large person confronted her once more.
‘I can’t resist the temptation to tell you you’re a poor liar, Eugenia, and remind you that Humphrey is always on call on a Tuesday evening. I’m surprised that he—and you—have forgotten that. It would have been just as easy for you to have said you had no wish to spend the evening with me.’
She looked up at him, into his blandly smiling face, his eyes hooded, so that she had no idea what he was really thinking. And because she was an honest girl she blurted out: ‘I should have liked to have gone out with you, Mr Grenfell—very much—only I don’t think it’s a very good idea. I couldn’t think of any other excuse. I’m sorry.’
His smile widened. ‘So am I. Ah, well, I suppose I’ll have to make do with Miriam.’
Upon which outrageous remark he turned on his heel and walked away, this time through the door. Eugenia waited for a few moments, absurdly hoping that it would again open and that he would come back, but of course, he didn’t.
Her heart should have leapt at the sight of Humphrey, obviously in a tearing hurry, white coat open, stethoscope stuffed in its pocket, a wodge of papers under one arm. That he had no time for her was obvious, only as he went past he gave her a look of utter surprise. She had smiled at him, but there was no answering glimmer on his face. Up to his eyes, poor dear, she thought, and felt guilty because she should have been overjoyed to see him, even for a moment, and all she had felt was a vague interest that he was there. Perhaps, she mused a little sadly, making her way up to her room, that was how one got when one had been engaged for too long with the prospect of marriage still in a future which seemed to become more and more remote.
It was the Spring Ball in four days’ time, and there was a good deal of coming and going in the nurses’ home. Evening finery was altered, ironed, added to, lengthened and shortened, and in some cases borrowed. Eugenia had kept quiet about her new dress. She had worn the only other one she had for so long that her friends had rather given up asking her what she would wear, and as for Humphrey, she saw him on the day following her shopping expedition, but he was far too busy telling her the ins and outs of a complicated case on one of the medical wards to do more than ask her why she had had so many parcels when they had met, and since he didn’t wait for her to answer but began to explain just how he had counteracted the serious symptoms of his patient, she had remained silent.
All the more fun, she thought, dressing on the evening of the ball, because really the dress was quite something. She had had a busy day and it would have been nice to have had an hour or so leisure before getting ready. As it was, she had rushed off the ward as soon as she had given the night nurses the report, had a quick shower and got dressed. She didn’t waste a great deal of time on her face and hair, she didn’t use a great deal of make-up anyway, and she had washed her hair on the previous evening. She fastened the dress and studied herself in the wall mirror. Humphrey wasn’t going to like that neck; the thought that Mr Grenfell was far more likely to appreciate it she instantly dismissed as frivolous. The sandals were lovely too; useless scraps of satin which filled her with the greatest pleasure. She switched out the light and went along to see if anyone else was ready.
The reception given to her appearance was more than gratifying. She was asked if she had robbed a bank, come up on the pools—even if she had broken off her engagement to Humphrey. ‘He’ll get a surprise, won’t he?’ demanded someone. ‘I bet he’ll marry you out of hand!’
Eugenia thought it unlikely. Humphrey never did anything on the spur of the moment or before he had carefully deliberated it; all the same, she was bursting to see his face when he saw her. They had arranged to meet just inside the door of the lecture hall where the dance was being held, and she saw him waiting as she went in. He had his back to her, but he turned as she walked towards him, his astonishment giving way to a frowning sternness which made her slow her steps. There was no one close by. He came very near to her and said in an angry voice: ‘Eugenia, what on earth are you wearing? You aren’t decent—and where did you get it?’
A small flame of anger made her beautiful eyes sparkle. ‘Don’t you like it? I bought it.’ She lifted her skirts and showed him the ridiculous sandals. ‘These too.’
‘We agreed to spend as little as possible on clothes until we had all we want for a home of our own. These must have cost a small fortune, and you look ridiculous!’
She lifted her chin. She hadn’t expected this; she had thought he might have been a little put out at first and then understood when she had explained to him, but Humphrey hadn’t even asked her…’ Don’t worry,’ she told him tartly, ‘I haven’t used a farthing of my savings, and since you don’t approve of me, then I’ll find someone who does!’
She swept past him and joined a group of Sisters and housemen watching the dancing, and when a moment later, the younger of the surgical housemen asked her to dance, she did, turning her head away from Humphrey, standing like the wrath of God where she’d left him.
She was well liked by the younger housemen as well as the consulting staff, and she didn’t lack for partners. It was an hour or more before she saw Mr Grenfell with his Miriam, and for once she felt equal to the occasion; her dress, while by no means haute couture, was a worthy match for Miriam’s black satin sheath. She had, Eugenia considered, about as much shape as a runner bean and her shoulders were thin angles instead of being nicely rounded. She looked away quickly, though, not wanting Mr Grenfell to see her.
But he had. When the music started up again, he was there at her elbow, not even asking her if she wanted to dance, but whisking her off into the crowd on the floor.
He danced well. Eugenia, for all her size, was a good dancer too and followed him easily while she tried to think of something coolly firm about not having been asked. A waste of time, as it turned out, for Mr Grenfell said laconically: ‘Don’t bother, Eugenia; why bother with asking you to dance with me when I’m certain you’d like to?’
‘Well,’ she breathed, ‘you really are the limit!’
He considered carefully. ‘No. But I like my own way.’
They danced for a few minutes in silence. ‘I haven’t seen you dancing with Humphrey.’ His voice was silky. ‘Had a little lovers’ tiff?’
‘Don’t be vulgar, Mr Grenfell!’ and then, because she felt at ease with him and she wanted to unburden herself to someone: ‘He doesn’t like my dress, he says it’s not decent—and that I shouldn’t have bought it when we’re saving for a home.’
‘It is,’ said Mr Grenfell in measured tones, ‘a charming dress. I don’t quite know what he considers decent—up to the chin and cut like a tent, perhaps? You have a glorious shape, Eugenia, and I can see no reason to hide it.’ He glanced down at her. ‘You seldom blush, but when you do, it’s very fetching. I hope you spent the rest of the money on something as pretty as this dress.’
‘Oh, I did, and I loved every minute of spending every penny. Father thought it was a good idea too.’
There was a decided gleam in Mr Grenfell’s eyes. ‘We older men can sometimes come up with good advice,’ he told her. ‘Have you had supper yet?’
‘No. Harry said something about it…’
Mr Grenfell came to a beautifully controlled halt as the music stopped. ‘Oh, he won’t mind,’ he observed, and took her by the arm. ‘I’m hungry, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, but what about your fiancée?’
He waved a careless hand. ‘Oh, the men are round her like flies round a honeypot.’
The dress had done something strange to Eugenia; Mr Grenfell had become Gerard and not the eminent surgeon she worked for. ‘But don’t you mind?’ she demanded.
‘Not particularly.’
She digested this in silence as they went down the corridor to the committee room where the food was. ‘Well, no, perhaps not,’ she said finally. ‘I daresay you’re very proud of her—I mean, because she attracts men…’
‘I expect that’s it,’ he said blandly, and handed her a plate.
The tables were as yet only half filled; they sat down at a small one for two in the corner and ate their supper, talking about nothing much. They had almost finished when Harry came across the room.
He was on good terms with his chief and said, ‘Hullo, sir,’ in a manner both affable and polite, and then: ‘Eugenia, I thought you were having supper with me.’
‘I knew you wouldn’t mind, Harry,’ said Mr Grenfell cheerfully. ‘Besides, the night is young. I daresay Eugenia will have worked up another appetite in an hour or two.’ He added shamelessly: ‘We had some things to discuss—a working supper, as it were.’ He smiled widely: ‘Draw up a chair and pile a plate—the food’s very good.’
So the three of them sat there for another half hour until Harry suggested that Eugenia might like to dance again. ‘Shake down that supper,’ he observed. ‘You don’t want to burst the seams of that dress—I must say it’s quite something. You’re really quite a pretty girl.’
Eugenia’s spirits had risen. Mr Grenfell might talk a lot of nonsense, but it had been soothing nonsense, and now here was Harry whom she had known for some years now and treated like a brother paying her compliments too. She went back to the hall and danced for the rest of the long evening, never lacking partners. Of Humphrey there was no sign, but what with the dress and the sandals and the traditional hospital cup she had been plied with, she hardly gave him a thought.
She didn’t come across Mr Grenfell again. Once or twice she saw him, partnering the wives of other honoraries, and then with Miriam. She was a little uneasy at the manner in which she had talked to him. It was a good thing there was a round in the morning so that they could slip back into their impersonal relationship. She felt a twinge of regret at the idea, and a guilty regret too, because she and Humphrey had quarrelled on what should have been a very pleasant evening for them both. She remembered uneasily that they were to spend the next weekend with his mother; but perhaps by then Humphrey would have got over his annoyance. By the time she got into bed she was too sleepy to give much thought to it.