by Betty Neels
luck is on my side, girls; he's operating at halfpast eight this morning, so I shall forget something and go back to Theatre and chat him up.'
`I must say, you're keen,' said someone. `Don't any of us get a look-in?'
Gill beamed round the table. `Let's face it, I'm just his type; big men like little women.'
Sophie, her mouth full of scrambled egg, said nothing.
She saw the Bentley parked in the consultant's parking space as she left the hospital. He would be operating by now and doubtless Gill had found an excuse to go back to Theatre on some pretext or other. It was probably true, reflected Sophie, walking back to her flatlet in the teeth of a nasty little wind, that big men liked small girls. If so, why did he bother to see her? To go to the trouble of meeting her mother and father, take her for brisk walks for her health's sake? She pondered the problem and she couldn't find an answer. A conceited girl might have concluded that it was her strikingly pretty person which attracted him, but she wasn't conceited; three brothers had seen to that. She bade
Miss Phipps an absent-minded good morning and gained the solitude of her room to find Mabel waiting for her with impatience. She fed her, had a bath, made herself a mug of cocoa, and went to bed trying not to think how pleasant a brisk walk in Epping Forest would have been. Tomorrow, she told herself sleepily, she would take a bus and tramp round Hyde Park even if it poured with rain. She closed her eyes and, lulled by Mabel's gentle purr, she slept.
A disgruntled Gill toed her as they sat at their midnight meal that although she had gone back to the theatre with some excuse the professor had already started to operate and hadn't finished until the early afternoon. `And on top of that,' she went on, `he's gone to France-a last-chance op on a little girl with a brain tumour. There are several more cases lined up for him here, so he's bound to come back.' Her blue eyes were screwed up with annoyance. `I wish I were on day duty. On the other hand, I'd see more of him at night.'
`Only if some poor unfortunate came in with severe head injuries, and who would want that?' Sophie had spoken tartly, and Gill gave her a searching look.
`Well, no, of course not. Sophie, I do believe that you haven't a spark of romance in you. If you weren't so large yourself you'd have the men falling about to get at you.'
There was a burst of laughter; `large' hardly described Sophie's magnificent shape, and several voices pointed this out, while she, unperturbed, spooned her milk pudding, aware that a gratifying number of men had proposed to her and professed themselves in love with her. She had liked them all, but not enough to marry them-the only one she had felt differently about was a dim memory now, and she wasn't sure if she believed in love any more... Her thoughts were interrupted by her bleep and she sped away to deal with a very drunkk man who had fallen through a glass door. His injuries weren't serious but needed a good deal of stitching, and it took some time to get his address and get his wife to come and fetch him home. It was the worst hour of the long night by now-almost four o'clock, when the desire to sleep was strong, to be countered by cups of tea and the hopeful tidying-up of the accident room and Casualty, although Sophie couldn't remember a morning when there hadn't been at least two patients arriving just as everything was pristine and ready for the day staff.
True to the promise she had made herself, she spent an hour in Hyde Park that morning, walking at a good pace and actually rather enjoying it. The weather had improved too and the air there was fresh, and the Serpentine gave an illusion of the country. She took a bus back to her lodgings, made her cocoa, had a bath, and fell into bed to sleep at once and not wake until Mabel, impatient for her food, roused her with an urgent paw.
Three more days, thought Sophie, diving into her clothes while the kettle boiled, and it's nights off again.
The night ahead of her, did she but know it, was going to be a very busy one, and at the end of it she was too tired to eat her breakfast; she pushed cornflakes round her plate, drank several cups of tea, and got up from the table.
`You've had a busy night,' observed the men's medical ward sister, who hadn't. `You must be dying for your bed.'
`It was rather much-luckily it isn't like that every night. There was this rally about something or other, and they always end up in a fight...!"
'Nights off soon?' asked someone.
`Three more nights, and I've been promised a male student nurse; as long as Ida doesn't go off sick again, the future looks rosy. Bye for now.'
She went along to change, flinging her clothes on anyhow, something she would never dream of doing normally, but now all she wanted was her bed.
The professor was just outside the door as she went through it. He took her arm and marched her across the forecourt, opened the Bentley's door, and urged her inside. Only when they were sitting side by side did he say, `Good morning, Sophie, only I see that it isn't for you. You've had a bad night?'
She found her voice, indignant but squeaky with tiredness. `Yes, and if you don't mind I want to go home and go to bed-now.' She added as an afterthought, `Good morning, Professor.'
`So you shall. Did you eat your breakfast?"
'I'm not hungry.' As she spoke she was aware that if she went to bed without a meal she would wake after an hour or two and not sleep again, but that, she considered, was her business.
The professor edged the car out into the street. `First we will see to Mabel, then we will go together and have breakfast, and then you shall go to bed.'
`I don't want-' began Sophie.
`No, of course you don't, but just be a good girl. and do as I say.' He had stopped before her door and was already helping her out. 'I'm coming up with you.'
She stood where she was. `Indeed you're not. Miss Phipps '
'Sophie, I beg you to stop fussing; just leave everything to me.'
He opened the street door and pushed her ahead of him. `Go on up,' he told her and turned to Miss Phipps, already with her head round the door.
Sophie did as she was told, vaguely listening to his deep voice. He sounded serious and she could hear Miss Phipps making sympathetic noises. She wondered what he had said to earn that lady's concern as she unlocked her own door, flung her bag on the divan, and went to get Mabel's breakfast. She was spooning the cat food into a saucer when the professor knocked and came in. The room was cold and he lit the gas fire, took the tin from her to finish the job, and told her to wash her face and comb her hair. `And no hanging about, I beg you; I'm famished.'
She paused with a towel over her arm on the way to the bathroom. `Don't they give you breakfast at St Agnes's?"
'Oh, yes, if I asked for it. I came over on a night ferry and came straight to the hospital.'
`An emergency?'
`If you are an emergency, then yes. Go and wash your face, Sophie.'
She went through the door and then poked her head back round it. `Haven't you been to bed?'
`No, I drove down to Calais.'
Her dark eyes, huge with a lack of sleep, stared across the room at him. `But why...?' she began, only to be told at once to do something to her face. `For I refuse to take you out looking "like patience on a monument".'
"`Smiling at grief',' muttered Sophie, hurrying down the stairs.
She returned five minutes later, her face washed and made-up after a fashion. She had brushed her hair too, so that it was tidy in front, although the coil at the back was in need of attention.
`Take the pins out and tie it back,' sighed the professor, which she did, finding a bit of ribbon in her work basket and making a neat bow.
He settled Mabel in her basket, switched off the fire, and opened the door. `You shouldn't hide your hair,' he said as she went past him.
She looked at him in astonishment. `I couldn't possibly go on duty with it hanging down my back.'
He only smiled down at her, and, for some reason feeling awkward, she added, `I don't always bother to put it up when I'm at home.'
`Oh, good,' said the professor, pressing his vast person against the
wall so that she might pass him.
He whisked her past Miss Phipps with a brief, `We shall be back presently, Miss Phipps,' before that lady could so much as open her mouth, and gently bundled Sophie into the car. Catching her breath as he drove away, she asked, `Where are we going?'
`To my house to eat breakfast; it should be ready and waiting for us.'
`Your house? I thought you lived in Holland...'
`I do.' He didn't offer any more information and somehow she didn't like to ask and sat silent while he drove across the city, but as he threaded his way through the one-way streets in the West End she ventured, `You live in London?'
He turned the car into one of the narrow fashionable streets of Belgravia. `Oh, yes.' He slowed the car and stopped before a terrace of Regency houses. `Here we are.'
The houses were tall and narrow with bay windows and important doors gleaming with paint and highly polished doorknockers. He urged her across the narrow pavement, fished out a bunch of keys, and opened his door.
The hall was long and narrow, and as they went in a man came to meet them.
'Mornin', guv,' he said cheerfully. `There's a nice bit of breakfast all ready for you and the lady.'
He was youngish, with nondescript hair and a round face in which a pair of small blue eyes twinkled, and he was most decidedly a Cockney.
The professor returned his greeting affably. `This is Percy, who runs the place for me together with Mrs Wiffen. This is Miss Blount, as famished as I am.'
'Okey-doke, guv, leave it to me. Pleased to meet you, miss, I'm sure.'
His little eyes surveyed her and he smiled. `You go right to the table and I'll bring in the food.'
He took Sophie's coat and opened a door. 'Gotta lotta post, guv,' he observed. `It's in yer study.'
The professor thanked him. `Later, Percy let me know if there are any phone calls.'
The room they entered was at the front of the house, not over-large but furnished with great taste, its mulberry-red walls contrasting with the maple-wood furniture. The table was circular, decked with a white damask cloth, with shining silver and blue and white china, and the coffee-pot Percy was setting on the table was silver, very plain save for a coat of arms on one side. Sophie took the seat offered by the professor and cast a quick look round her. She came from a family in comfortable circumstances, but this was more than comfort, it was luxury, albeit understated. There was a bracket clock on the mantelpiece which she was sure was eighteenth-century, perhaps earlier; it suited the room exactly, so did the draped brocade curtains at the bow window and the fine carpet, almost threadbare with age, on the floor. The professor interrupted her inspection.
`Pour the coffee, will you, Sophie? Do you want to talk about your night or shall we lay plans for our next meeting?'
A remark which rather took her breath. She had it back by the time Percy had served them with a splendid breakfast and then gone away again. `Are we going to meet again?'
He handed her the toast rack. `Of course we are; what a silly remark. When do you have your nights off?"
'I have three more nights to work.'
`Good. I'll drive you home, but shall we see if we can spend a little time together first? Could you manage to spend the afternoon with me before we go? Go to bed for a few hours and I'll fetch you about one o'clock; we can have lunch somewhere and walk for a while.'
She speared a mushroom and ate it thoughtfully. She was feeling quite wide awake now and eyed him uncertainly. `Well, yes, I could, but why?"
'Because some exercise will do you good and Epping Forest is on our way to your home.' Which didn't really answer her question.
She crunched a morsel of perfectly cooked bacon. `Well, all right. It's very kind of you. I'd like to be home by suppertime, though.' She paused, looking at him. `Perhaps you would like to have supper with us before you drive back here?"
'That,' said the professor gravely, `would be most kind if your mother has no objection.'
`No. She'll be delighted. She likes you,' said Sophie matter-of-factly, not seeing the gleam in her companion's eyes. She applied herself to her breakfast with unselfconscious pleasure while they talked about nothing much, undemanding chat which was very soothing. It was a lovely house, she thought, welcoming and warm-one could live very happily in it...
She could have lingered there, uncaring of sleep, but the silvery chimes of the clock reminded her of her bed and she glanced at the professor, who nodded his handsome head just as though she had spoken.
'I'm going to take you back now,' he told her. `Go to bed and sleep, Sophie, ready for another night.'
Percy came then to help her with her coat, and she thanked him for her breakfast. `I hope it didn't give you too much extra work.'
`Lor' no, miss. Nice ter 'ave a bit of company. Me and Mrs Wiffen and the cat get lonely when the guv's away.'
In the car she asked, `Why does Percy call you guv? I mean, it's a bit unusual, isn't it? He's the houseman or valet or something, isn't he?"
'Ah, but Percy is unusual. I removed a tumour from his brain some five years ago and at the time he said that he would look after my interests until either he or I should die. I took him at his word and he is splendid at his job and always cheerful. As far as I'm concerned, he may call me what he likes. Did you like him?"
'Yes-I imagine you could trust him completely.'
`Indeed I do. There isn't much he can't do or arrange even at a moment's notice. I can go to and from Holland knowing that he will look after things for me.'
He had stopped the car outside Miss Phipps's house, and for a moment Sophie compared it with the house they had just left. A foolish thing to do, she reminded herself bracingly, and got out as the professor opened the door for her.
Nothing could have been brisker than his manner as he saw her to the door and bade her goodbye.
`I suppose that was his good deed for the day,' said Sophie to an inattentive Mabel.
During the next three nights she heard a good deal about the professor. He was operating each day and Gill reported faithfully what he did and said to her and what she had said to him and thought about later; none of it amounted to much. There was no sign of him, though, and she went home to the flat at the end of her last night's duty feeling uncertain. True, he had said that he would drive her home, true also that he was calling for her at one o'clock and taking her out to lunch, but supposing he had forgotten or, worse, had issued a vague invitation, not meaning a word of it?
Common sense told her that that was unlikely; she went to bed as soon as she got to her room, with rather a nice tweed skirt and needlecord jacket with a washed-silk blouse to go under it lying ready to get into when she got up.
She set her alarm for half-past twelve, got up rather reluctantly, dressed, and, with her face nicely made-up and her hair in its smooth, intricate coils, urged Mabel into her basket, swung her shoulder-bag over her arm, and went downstairs.
The Bentley was outside with the professor at the wheel, reading a newspaper. He got out as she opened the door, dealt with the bag and Mabel, and settled her beside him.
`Lunch first?' he asked. `I've booked a table at that place at Ingatestone.'
They talked in a desultory fashion as he drove, pleasant talk which required no effort on her part, and over their lunch he kept their conversation easygoing and rambling, not touching on any topic that was personal. Sophie, refreshed by her short sleep, agreed readily to a dish of hors-d'oeuvres, grilled Dover sole and sherry trifle and enjoyed them with an appetite somewhat sharpened by a week or more of solid hospital cooking and snatched sandwiches.
`That was delicious,' she observed, pouring their coffee.
`Splendid. We have time for an hour's walk before we need drive on to your home.'
A short drive brought them to Epping Forest. He parked the car and they started along one of the well marked paths running between the trees and dense shrubbery, almost leafless now, quiet and sheltered, winding away out of sight. Presently th
ey came to a small clearing with an old crumbling wall overlooking a stretch of open country, and by common consent paused to lean against it and admire the view. The professor said quietly, `May I take it that we are now good, firm friends, Sophie?'
She had had a sleep and a delicious lunch and the quiet trees around her were soothing. She smiled up at him; he was safe and solid and a good companion. `Oh, yes.'
`Then perhaps you know what I am going to say next. Will you marry me, Sophie?'
Her smile melted into a look of utter surprise. `Marry you? Why? Whatever for?'
He smiled at that. `We are good friends; have we not just agreed about that? We enjoy doing the same things, laughing at the same things... I want someone to share my life, Sophie, a companion, someone to make my house a home, someone to be friends with my friends.'