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Last April Fair
Betty Neels
Mills & Boon presents the complete Betty Neels collection. Timeless tales of heart-warming romance by one of the world’s best-loved romance authors. She’d found…the perfect husband.Phyllida Cresswell had definite ideas about love. She knew she didn’t love Philip and couldn’t marry him. So when the chance of a nursing job abroad came up, she took it. Things didn’t go smoothly in Madeira and Phyllida found herself stranded.Fortunately, the dashing Pieter van Sittardt was on hand to rescue her. Pieter, Phylllida discovered, was a man she could love. In fact, she’d be happy to marry him. All he had to do was ask.



“You haven’t been around much, have you?” His voice was as gentle as his fingers.
She knew what he meant. “No, I suppose not, there’s not a lot of time for a social life—one comes off duty tired and only longing to kick off one’s shoes and make a pot of tea. I used to go out more often before I met Philip.”
“You didn’t go out with him?” Pieter sounded surprised.
“Well, yes, of course—I meant we didn’t go dancing or to shows or anything like that….”
There was no expression on her companion’s face. She gave another tug at her hand beneath his.
“No, leave it where it is. You’re a pretty girl, Phyllida. You should have your chance to play the field, meet people, and by that I mean men of your own age. Who knows? If you go into the wide world and fall in and out of love a few times, you may go back to your Philip after all.”
She didn’t fancy the idea somehow. Philip seemed far away, belonging to another world. The thought crossed her mind that it might be fun to fall in love with Pieter. Just a little, of course….
Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of Betty Neels in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

Last April Fair
Betty Neels



CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE
MRS GREGSON’S elderly voice, raised in its never-ending vendetta against the nurses making her bed, penetrated throughout the entire ward; it even penetrated Sister’s office, so that its occupant rose from her work at her desk with a sigh, opened the swing doors and made her way down the long ward to where her troublesome patient lay. She was a very pretty girl, tall and slim and nicely curved in her navy uniform. She had corn-coloured hair, cut short and swinging around her neck, with a fringe over her blue eyes and a nose which tilted very slightly above a softly curved mouth so that despite her twenty-six years she reminded anyone meeting her for the first time of a small eager girl wanting to be friendly with everyone.
She reached the bed just as its occupant, sitting in a heap in the middle of it clutching a blanket round her frail person, drew breath to begin on a fresh round of abuse. ‘Yer ter leave them blankets,’ she shrilled, ‘me bed’s fine—it don’t need making.’
‘And what is our Doctor Thorpe going to say when he comes presently and finds you in that untidy heap?’ Phyllida Cresswell’s voice was quiet and quite unworried by Mrs Gregson’s tantrums.
“E won’t saynothin’, ’e’ll be too busy looking at yer pretty face.’
Phyllida wasn’t in the least put out. ‘There you go again, making up stories. You just wait until I tell his wife!’
Mrs Gregson cackled happily. ‘Just me little joke, Sister dear, though you mark my words, some feller’ll come along one day and run orf with yer.’
‘It sounds exciting,’ agreed Phyllida. ‘And now how about this bed?’
‘Well, if yer say so…’
Phyllida smiled at the old lady, smiled too at the two student nurses and started off down the ward again. It was a good thing that Philip Mount was the Surgical Registrar and rarely came on to her ward; Mrs Gregson’s sharp eyes would have spotted that they were rather more than colleagues within minutes. Phyllida frowned slightly. Philip was getting a little too possessive just lately. It wasn’t as though they were engaged. Her frown deepened; perhaps it would have been better for them both if they had been, although she couldn’t remember that he had ever suggested it, merely taken it for granted that one day they would marry. And he was a good man; there weren’t many like him, she knew that; not particularly good-looking, but well built and pleasant-faced and rarely bad-tempered, ready to make allowances for everyone—she wasn’t good enough for him and she had told him so on several occasions. But he had only laughed at her, refusing to take her seriously.
She went back into her office and sat down at her desk again and picked up the telephone. There was the laundry to warn about the extra sheets she would need, the dispensary to argue with over the non-arrival of a drug she had ordered, the office to plead with for the loan of a nurse because one of her student nurses had gone off sick—she sighed and lifted the receiver.
The day went badly, with no nurse to replace the one who had gone off sick, two emergencies, Doctor Thorpe’s round and him in a nasty temper and not nearly enough clean linen returned from the laundry. Phyllida, a sunny-tempered girl, was decidedly prickly by the time she went to her midday dinner, a state of mind not improved by her friends wanting to know why she was so ratty, and made even worse by one of her friends demanding to know if she had had words with Philip.
‘No, I have not,’ she declared crossly, and thought suddenly that a good row with him would be better than his even-tempered tolerance when she was feeling illhumoured. She added rather lamely: ‘I’ve had a foul morning and Doctor Thorpe was in one of his tetchy moods; the round took for ever.’
The talk became general after that and presently, back on the ward, she regained her usual good nature so that Mrs Gregson stopped her as she was going down the ward to say: ‘That’s better, Sister dear. Black as a thundercloud yer’ve been all morning.’She grinned, displaying impossibly even false teeth. ‘We ain’t such a bad lot, are we?’
Phyllida had stopped to lean over the end of her patient’s bed. ‘You’re the nicest lot of ladies I’ve ever met,’ she assured her.
Mrs Gregson nodded, satisfied. ‘Going out this evening?’ she wanted to know.
Phyllida said that yes, she was and she still had a lot of work to do as she went on her way. She and Philip were going to have dinner with his elder brother and his wife. They lived in Hampstead in a pleasant house; privately she found them a dull couple with two dull children, but they seemed content enough and she had, upon occasion, detected a gleam of envy in Philip’s eye at the sight of their comfortable home with its neatly kept garden, well-behaved dog, gleaming furniture and shining windows. She frowned a little as she bent to take her newest patient’s blood pressure. It wasn’t that she didn’t like cleanliness and order and furniture polish, but somehow there was too much of it. She thought with sudden longing of her own home, an old rambling house in a village near Shaftesbury, standing on high ground so that it creaked and groaned in the winter gales and captured all the summer sun there was on its grey stone walls. Her father was the village doctor with a practice scattered miles in every direction and her mother ran the house with the help of old Mrs Drew who was really past it, as well as coping with the large untidy garden, two dogs, a variety of cats, an old pony and some chickens and over and above these such of her four children who might happen to be at home, and they usually brought friends with them.
It was late March, thought Phyllida, neatly charting her findings; the daffodils would be out and the catkins, and in the wilder corners of the garden there would be violets and primroses for the picking. She had a week’s holiday due to her, only a few days away now. The thought cheered her enormously and she felt guilty at the relief of getting away from Philip for a little while—perhaps while she was at home she would be able to make up her mind about him. And really, she chided herself as she went from bed to bed, with a nod and a word for the occupants, there should be no need of that. He was a splendid man, generous and honest and thoughtful—he would make a perfect husband. He would be dull too. She wiped the thought from her mind as unworthy and concentrated on his good points so that by the evening when she went off duty she was almost eager to see him.
She took extra pains with her face and hair as she changed out of her uniform and then poked around in her wardrobe. She had clothes enough, for unlike many of her friends she had no need to help out at home, but now she dragged out one dress after the other, dissatisfied with them all, until, pressed for time, she got into a grey wool dress with its matching long coat, tied a bright scarf round her neck, caught up gloves and handbag and skipped down the austere staircase of the Nurses’ Home. Philip was waiting in the hospital yard. That was another nice thing about him; he never kept her waiting and he never grumbled if she were late. She smiled widely at him as she got into the elderly Rover he cherished with such care.
‘I’ve had a foul day, Doctor Thorpe was as sour as vinegar and they sent up two chest cases. What about you?’ she asked.
‘Oh, quite a good list, one or two tacked on, of course, but Sir Hereward was in a good mood.’ He turned to smile at her. ‘Shall we go to Poon’s?’
Phyllida didn’t really like Chinese food, but she agreed at once. Poon’s was well away from the hospital and not expensive, and although Philip wasn’t mean, he hadn’t anything other than his salary. They drove through the City, cut into Long Acre and into Cranbourne Street and turned into the Charing Cross Road. There was a good deal of traffic as they turned into Lisle Street and found a parking meter, and the restaurant was crowded too. Phyllida sat down at the corner table found for them and let out a long contented sigh.
‘This is nice. I love my work, but it’s good to get away from it. I’ve got a week’s holiday in a few days, too.’
‘Going home?’ Philip was studying the menu.
She chose sweet and sour pork before she replied. ‘Yes.’ She gave him a questioning look.
‘I’ve a couple of days owing to me…’ His nice face beamed at her across the table.
‘Then come down for them. I’m going on Sunday evening—when can you manage to get free?’
‘Wednesday—until Friday midnight. Your mother won’t mind?’
Phyllida laughed. ‘You know Mother, she loves a house full—besides, she knows you well enough to hand you a spade and tell you to dig the garden—a nice change from whipping out appendices!’
They spent a pleasant evening together, although thinking about it afterwards, Phyllida had a feeling that they had both been trying too hard; trying in a self-conscious way to turn their rather vague relationship into something more tangible. She couldn’t think why, not for herself at any rate. She was fond of Philip but she was almost sure that she didn’t want to marry him, and yet her sensible brain told her that he was so right for a husband.
She lay awake for a long time thinking about it and then overslept so that her breakfast was a scrappy affair of tea and toast, and for all the good her sleepless night had done her, she might just as well not have given Philip a thought, and indeed she had no time to think about him at all during the morning. She still had no student nurse to replace the one who had gone off sick and one of the three remaining nurses had gone on holiday. She took the report with outward calm, had a few succinct words with Linda Jenkins, her staff nurse, picked up the pile of post for her patients and started off on her morning round, casting a practised eye over the ward as she went. They might be short-staffed, but the girls were managing very nicely; the beds were being made with all speed and those ladies well enough to get up were being settled into the armchairs arranged at intervals down the long ward, a scheme intended to encourage the convalescent ladies to get together and enjoy a nice chat among themselves. Phyllida had discovered long ago that they became so interested in swapping their illnesses that they forgot to grumble at their own aches and pains, the awful food, the tepid tea, the unfeeling nurses… None of which was true, but she quite understood that they had to have something to gossip about. She paused now by a group and listened to Miss Thompson, a pernicious anaemia who ruled the new patients with a rod of iron since she had been in and out of the ward for years now, describing the operation her sister-in-law had just had. Miss Thompson had the bloodcurdling and quite inaccurate details of it so pat that Phyllida’s lovely eyes almost popped out of her head. When Miss Thompson paused for breath she asked drily: ‘Did she recover, Miss Thompson?’
She knew that she shouldn’t have asked the question; now she would have to listen to a long-drawn-out blow-by-blow account of the unfortunate lady’s return to health and strength. She passed around her letters and began a mental assay of the off duty for next week while she stood patiently. When Miss Thompson had at last finished, Phyllida, mindful of hurt feelings, merely remarked that some people had remarkable experiences, admonished the ladies to drink their mid-morning coffee when it arrived and went on her way. She recounted it all to Linda over their own coffee later and chuckled her way into a good humour again, so that when she thought of Philip during a rare few minutes of leisure later that day it was with mild pleasure at the idea of him spending a couple of days at her home.
She only saw him once before she started her leave, and for so short a time that they could only exchange a brief remark as to when he would arrive. She still felt pleased about him coming, but her pleasure was a little dimmed by his matter-of-fact manner, and his ‘See you, then’ was uttered with the briskness of a brother. True, they had encountered one another in the middle of one of the busiest corridors in the hospital, with nurses, porters and housemen milling up and down, but, thought Phyllida, suddenly annoyed, ‘if he loved her as much as he said he did, he could surely have looked at her with rather more feeling?’ She left the hospital the following evening, glad that she hadn’t seen him again.
She drove down to her home in the neat little Vauxhall Astra, a present from her parents on her twenty-first birthday, five years ago, and although she could have afforded to exchange it she had never felt the need; it went well and she understood it as well as she would ever understand any car. She fastened her seat belt, gave a last glance at the rather grim hospital behind her and drove out into the busy street to meet the London traffic.
It took her quite some time to get out of London and on to the M3, but she was a good driver and not impatient. Once on the motorway she sent the small car racing along and at its end, took the A30 to Salisbury. It was almost empty of traffic by now and she made good time to the town, working round it to the north and picking up the A30 again on its further side. She was on home ground now and although it was getting on for ten o’clock, she didn’t feel tired. Just short of Shaftesbury she turned off on to the Tisbury road and then turned again, going through pleasantly wooded country and climbing a little on the winding road. Over the brow of the hill she slowed for a minute. The lights of Gifford Ferris twinkled at her almost at its foot, not many lights, for the village was small and off the main road. But it was by no means isolated; there were other villages within a mile or two on all sides; any number of outlying farms and main roads to the north and south. Phyllida put her foot down and sent the car scuttling down the hill and then more slowly into the village’s main street. It had a small market square with a stone cross in its centre, a handful of shops around it besides a comfortable hotel, and at the top of the hill on the other side one or two old stone houses. She stopped before one of these and jumped out, but before she could reach the door it had been flung open.
‘Your mother’s in the kitchen, getting your supper,’ observed her father placidly. ‘Nice to see you, my dear—did you have a good trip?’
She kissed him soundly. ‘Super—almost no traffic once I’d left London. Something smells good—I’m famished! I’ll get my case…’
‘Run along and find your mother, I’ll bring it in. The car will be all right there until the morning.’
Phyllida walked down the long narrow hall and opened the kitchen door at its end, contentedly sniffing the air; furniture polish, the scent from a bowl of hyacinths on a table, and fragrant cooking. They spelled home.
Her mother was at the scrubbed table in the middle of the room, cutting bread. She looked up as Phyllida went in, dropped the knife and came to meet her. ‘Darling—how lovely to see you, and how nice you look in that suit. There’s watercress soup and mushroom omelette and buttered toast and tea, though Father says you’re to have a glass of sherry first. He’ll bring it presently.’ She returned Phyllida’s hug and added: ‘Willy’s here just for a few days—half term, you know.’
The younger of her two brothers appeared as her mother spoke, a boy of fourteen, absurdly like his father, with tousled hair and an air of never having enough to eat. He bore this out with a brotherly: ‘Hi, Sis, heard you come, guessed there’d be food.’
She obligingly sat down at the table and shared her supper while their mother cut bread and wondered aloud how many more meals he would want before he settled to sleep.
‘I’m growing,’ he pointed out cheerfully, ‘and look at Phylly—she finished growing years ago and she’s stuffing herself.’
‘Rude boy,’ observed his sister placidly. ‘How’s school?’
Her father came in then and they sat around, all talking at once until Willy was sent off to bed and Phyllida and her mother tidied the kitchen, washed up and went to the sitting room with a tray of coffee.
It was a pleasant room; long and low-ceilinged and furnished with some nice pieces which had been in the family for generations. There was comfort too; easy chairs drawn up to the open fire, a vast sofa with a padded back and plenty of small reading lamps. Phyllida curled up on the sofa, the firelight warm on her face and dutifully answered the questions with which her mother bombarded her. They were mostly about Philip and cunningly put, and she answered them patiently, wishing illogically that her mother didn’t seem so keen on him all of a sudden. She had been vaguely put out after Philip’s first visit to her home by her mother’s reaction to him. ‘Such a nice young man,’ her parent had declared, ‘and so serious. I’m sure if you marry him he’ll make a model husband.’It hadn’t been the words so much as the tone in which they had been uttered, and ever since Phyllida had been worried by a faint niggling doubt at the back of her pretty head; a model husband sounded so dull. But this evening she could detect no doubt in her mother’s voice—indeed, her parent chattered on at some length about Phyllida’s future, talking about the wedding as though it were already a certainty.
Phyllida finished her coffee, observed rather tartly that no one had asked her to get married yet and when her mother remarked that she had understood that Philip was coming to stay for a couple of days, pointed out very quickly that it was only a friendly visit—it made a nice restful change after his work at the hospital. Mrs Cresswell agreed placidly, her still pretty head bent over some embroidery, and presently Phyllida went to bed.
Being home was delightful—pottering in the garden, helping her mother round the house, going for long bike rides with Willy, helping in her father’s surgery. Phyllida relaxed, colour came back into her London-pale cheeks, her hair seemed more golden, her eyes bluer. Her mother, looking at her as she made pastry at the kitchen table, felt certain that Philip would ask her to marry him when he came.
She was right; he did, but not at once. He wasn’t a man to rush his fences, and it wasn’t until the morning of his second day there that he suggested that they might go into Shaftesbury for her mother and do some shopping, and Phyllida, called in from fetching the eggs from the hen-house at the end of the garden, readily agreed. She had been glad to see Philip when he had arrived, but not, she confessed to herself, thrilled, but they had quickly slipped into their pleasant, easygoing camaraderie and he was an undemanding companion. She put a jacket on over her slacks, combed her fringe, added a little more lipstick and pronounced herself ready.
Shaftesbury was full of people and cars; it always was, probably because it was a small town and built originally on top of a hill and its shops were concentrated in two main streets. They had done their shopping, chosen a variety of cakes from the fragrant bakery hidden away in an alley where the two streets met, and sat themselves down in the buttery of one of the few hotels for a cup of coffee before Philip made any but the most impersonal remarks.
‘Wouldn’t you like to leave hospital and have a home of your own?’ he wanted to know.
Phyllida chose a bun, not paying as much attention as she should have done. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said casually, ‘I’d love it. Have a bun?’
‘Then why don’t you?’
She looked up then, suddenly realizing what he was going to say. ‘Don’t, Philip—please…’
He took a bun too. ‘Why not? You must know that I want to marry you?’
‘Yes—well, yes, I suppose I did, but not—not urgently.’
He was a very honest young man. ‘If you mean I’m beside myself with impatience to get married, you’re right. But I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought lately and I’m sure you’re the wife for me; we know each other very well by now and I’m more than half in love with you.’ He smiled at her across the table. ‘How about it, Phylly?’
She knew that she was going to say no. Perhaps, she thought desperately, she had never intended to say anything else, but it was going to be hard to say it. For one thing, she was strongly tempted to accept Philip’s matter-of-fact proposal. They would live together happily enough, she would take an interest in his work and he would be a kind and considerate husband, of that she was sure. She would have a pleasant enough life with enough to live on, a nice home, friends of her own sort and children. She would like several children; only she had the lowering feeling that Philip would want a neat little family of a boy and a girl. He would be a splendid father too and the children would be good, obedient and reasonably clever. In fact, life wouldn’t be what she had dreamed—a vague dream of a man who would sweep her off her feet, treasure her and love her and never on any account allow her to wear the trousers, and more than that, would fill his house with a brood of healthy, naughty children.
She sighed and said gently: ‘It wouldn’t work, Philip.’
He showed no rancour. ‘Why not? You must have reasons.’
She frowned. ‘I like you very, very much—I think for a while I was a little in love with you, but I’m sure that it’s not enough.’ She looked at him with unhappy blue eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Philip—and I don’t think I shall change my mind.’
He said calmly: ‘You’re in love with someone else?’
‘No. Oh, no, no one at all, that’s why it’s difficult…you see, you’re so right for me. I respect you and admire your work and the way you live, and I like being with you, only I don’t want to marry you.’ She added miserably: ‘It would be such a mistake, and the awful thing is I don’t know what I want.’
Philip finished his coffee with the air of a man who wasn’t in the least defeated. ‘I’m not taking no for an answer,’ he told her quietly. ‘I won’t bother you, but I’ll wait.’
‘But it won’t be any good.’ She looked like an unhappy little girl, her short upper lip caught between her teeth, her eyes enormous under the fringe. She felt suddenly peevish. If she could get away, right away, he would forget her because he didn’t love her, not with the sort of love which just didn’t want to go on living without her—he might even fall in love with someone else quite quickly. It struck her then that he was the kind of man who didn’t need to love like that; he was a calm, even-tempered man and too much love would choke him. When he only smiled and offered her more coffee she didn’t say any more, for what was the use?
Philip didn’t allow her refusal to make any difference between them. He spent the rest of the day with her, treating her with the same good-natured affection that he had always shown her. He went back to London that day after tea, saying all the right things to her mother and father and reminding Phyllida cheerfully that they would be going to the Annual Dance at the hospital together two days after her return: ‘Though I’ll see you before then,’ he had assured her.
She watched him go with mixed feelings; real regret that she didn’t love him and a faint touch of temper because he seemed so unmoved about her refusal—or was he so sure that she would give in? The thought made her even more peevish.
The moment he was out of sight her mother remarked: ‘Well, dear, are you going to marry him? I’m sure he must have asked you.’
Phyllida hadn’t meant to say anything about it—not just yet anyway, but she perceived now that her mother would go on gently asking questions until she got an answer.
‘Yes, he did, and I said no.’
‘Oh, good.’ Mrs Cresswell took no notice of her daughter’s surprised look. ‘He’s a very nice man, darling, but not your sort.’
‘What is my sort, Mother?’ Phyllida didn’t feel peevish any more.
Her mother washed a tea-cup with care; it was old and treasured like most of the china she insisted on using every day. ‘Well, he doesn’t have to be handsome, but eye-catching, if you know what I mean, the sort of man who would take command in a sticky situation and know just what to do—and not let you have your own way unless he thought it was good for you.’
‘A bigheaded tyrant,’ suggested Phyllida.
‘No, dear, just a man who would never take you for granted; take great care of you without you ever knowing it, and know exactly what he intended doing with his life—and yours, of course.’
‘A paragon. Mother, I never knew you were romantic—does Father know?’
‘He married me,’ observed her parent placidly. ‘What will you do about Philip? I mean, you can’t help but see him often, can you?’
Phyllida had piled the tea things on to a tray, on her way to putting them away in the carved corner cupboard in the sitting room. ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ she said slowly. ‘It would be sense to leave, I suppose.’
‘Well, think about it, darling.’ Her mother spoke briskly. ‘It could be done easily enough.’
Phyllida gave her a faintly mocking look. ‘Mother, you have no idea…’
‘No, dear, but things can always be done, however awkward, if only one applies oneself to them.’
Nothing more was said after that. Phyllida went back to London two days later, reluctant to give up a job she liked and go through all the fuss and bother of finding another one—and outside London, she supposed gloomily.
She didn’t see Philip until the evening of the dance; indeed, she had taken care to keep out of his way, going to great lengths to avoid their usual meeting places, keeping one eye on the ward door in case he should come to see a patient referred for surgery.
But she had to see him again eventually. They met in the entrance hall, shortly after the dance had started, he very correct in his black tie, she prettier than ever in a pearly grey chiffon dress and silver slippers.
Her hullo was a trifle awkward, but Philip didn’t seem to notice. He took her arm, asked her where she’d been during the last two days and suggested that they went into the big lecture hall, decorated for the occasion, and danced. It wasn’t until they had circled the place at least twice that he asked: ‘Had second thoughts, Phylly?’
‘About what?’ And then, despising herself for the remark: ‘No, I haven’t, Philip, and I’m not going to— truly I’m not.’
He laughed down at her. ‘No? Shall we wait and see? We meet most days, don’t we, so it won’t be a case of “Out of sight, out of mind”—you’re very used to me being there, aren’t you?’
She met his eyes. ‘Yes. You mean you’ll wear me away like water on a stone.’
‘Nicely put, although I wouldn’t describe you as stony. You’ll change your mind.’
Perhaps it was because he looked so smug and sure of himself that she resolved then and there to look for another job. She didn’t say anything though, but danced the night away, mostly with Philip but with all the other men she knew as well. She enjoyed herself too; tomorrow was time enough to think things out.
She hadn’t got much further by the following evening when she came off duty. It had been a busy day with several of her patients not doing as well as she had hoped, so that she felt too depressed to do more than take off her cap and put her feet up on the sofa in the Sisters’ sitting room. She closed her eyes the better to think and then opened them again as the door opened and Meg Dawson, Surgical Ward Sister and one of her closest friends, came in. ‘There’s a phone call for you, Phylly—your mum.’
Phyllida had taken her shoes off as well. She padded down the passage to the phone box at its end and picked up the receiver. Her mother’s voice, very youthful still, sounded very clear. ‘Phylly? Father wants to talk to you.’
Phyllida was surprised; she and her father got on splendidly, but he was a busy man, not given to telephone conversations unless they concerned a patient. She said cautiously: ‘Yes?’
Doctor Cresswell didn’t waste time. ‘You mentioned leaving, Phylly—if you do, there’s a job going in about three weeks’ time.’
A sign from heaven, thought Phyllida childishly. ‘I could leave then—I’ve still another week’s leave due, so I’d have to work three weeks notice…’She knew that her father was nodding his head even though he didn’t speak. ‘What sort of job?’
‘A patient of mine until I referred her to Sir Keith Maltby—I attend her parents too. A girl of eighteen with erythroblastic leukaemia—I wasn’t called in until she had been ill for some time, sent her straight to Sir Keith who got her into hospital; she was there two months, had several courses of cytotoxic drugs and has improved considerably, gained weight, taken an interest in life. Her mother came to see me today, says Gaby has set her heart on going to somewhere sunny—they want to take her on a short cruise—Madeira and the Canaries, but they want a skilled nurse to keep an eye on her and recognise the signs and symptoms if she should have a relapse. All expenses paid, and fare of course, and a decent salary—about three weeks, they think. Of course you realise that Gaby hasn’t very long to live. Sir Keith agrees with me that she should be allowed to do what she wants within reason—her parents are wealthy, fortunately. It would get you away, my dear, if that’s what you want.’ And when Phyllida didn’t answer: ‘I could arrange for you to see these people—the name’s de Wolff—they’ve booked for a cruise leaving on April the sixth, that’s not quite four weeks away.’
Phyllida heard herself say that yes, she would like to meet the de Wolffs and that provided they liked her, she would be prepared to take the job. ‘I’ve a couple of days off, but not till the end of the week, that would be too late to give in my notice—look, Father, I’m off at five o’clock tomorrow and on at one o’clock the next day. I’ll drive down in the evening, see them in the morning and drive straight back—I can just do it provided they’ll make an appointment early in the morning.’
‘Splendid, my dear. I’ll see to it and ring you back.’
So she found herself the next day rushing off duty, racing into her outdoor things and driving as fast as traffic permitted out of London. The appointment was for half past nine on the following morning and to save time she was to go to the de Wolffs’ house, as it was on the London side of Shaftesbury and she could drive straight on back to work after the interview. She hadn’t told anyone about it and she hadn’t seen Philip. She had toyed with the idea of going to the office and giving in her notice that morning, but there was always the chance that the job wouldn’t turn out to be what she expected. She got clear of London at last and belted for home.

CHAPTER TWO
MRS CRESSWELL was waiting with supper, and her father came from his study to talk to Phyllida while she ate it. ‘Gaby’s a nice enough girl, poor child—difficult at times, I gather from her mother, but it has to be remembered that she’s very ill. She has no idea how ill, of course, although her parents have been told. Not that they’ve accepted it well; they simply cannot believe that a girl of eighteen can die. They’re both energetic, social types and can’t understand why Gaby isn’t the same.’
Phyllida carved another slice of her mother’s home-baked bread. ‘You don’t like them,’ she stated flatly.
‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, shall I say that I regret their attitude towards illness and death—two inconvenient states they simply refuse to recognise, but I’m glad they’re so eager to take Gaby on this trip. Sir Keith tells me it’s only a question of three months or so.’
‘Oh, Father, how awful—isn’t there anything at all to be done?’
He shook his head. ‘You know that yourself, my dear. Thank heaven it’s extremely rare—other forms of leukaemia have a much more favourable prognosis these days.’
Phyllida left home after breakfast the next morning, to drive the few miles to the de Wolffs’home. She joined the main Salisbury road presently and then turned away on to a country road leading to Berwick St John, and after another mile came upon the house she was looking for. It was Edwardian, much gabled and ornamented with beams and plasterwork in an attempt to make it look Tudor. It was large too, spick and span as to paint-work and altogether too perfect for her taste. She thought with sudden nostalgia of her own home only a few miles away and so very different, its ancient oak door almost always open, its mullioned windows wide, with curtains blowing a welcome. There were no curtains to be seen here and no open windows.
She got out, crossed the gravel, so smooth that she felt guilty treading on it, and rang the bell. The man-servant who opened the door matched the house exactly; correct; unwelcoming and without any warmth. He begged her to enter, ushered her into a small panelled room furnished with expensive, tasteless furniture, and went away.
Both Mr and Mrs de Wolff entered the room a moment later, bringing with them an air of brisk efficiency and charm. They bade Phyllida seat herself, and without any preliminaries, proceeded to put her—as Mr de Wolff observed—in the picture. ‘You shall see Gaby presently,’ promised Mrs de Wolff, and smiled charmingly at Phyllida. She was a handsome woman, in her forties but not looking it by reason of exquisite make-up and beautifully cut hair, and a casual tweed suit which must have cost a great deal of money. She smiled a lot, thought Phyllida, and she quite understood what her father had meant when he had told her that neither she nor her husband wanted to accept the fact that Gaby’s illness was a terminal one.
‘The specialist takes a grave view, of course,’ said Mr de Wolff, teetering on his toes before the fireplace, like the chairman of a board meeting, ‘but we’re both so healthy ourselves we take a more optimistic view. This little holiday should do her the world of good, and she’s so keen to go.’
‘You will notify the ship’s doctor of her illness?’ asked Phyllida, ‘and I should want her medical notes with me so that they can be referred to if necessary.’
Mrs de Wolff frowned, and just for a minute all the charm had gone, but it was back almost at once. ‘Of course we’ll see to all that, Miss Cresswell, you can safely leave us to arrange everything just as it should be. We shall consult Sir Keith, of course—such a pity that he’s in Scotland, otherwise you could have gone to see him, but I’m sure your father has told you all there is to know about Gaby.’She got to her feet. ‘Would you like to see her now before you go? We do so hope you’ll come with us, but it’s for you to decide of course.’
She crossed the room and rang the bell and when the unsmiling manservant came, asked him to let Miss Gaby know that she was wanted in the morning room.
The first thing Phyllida thought when she saw Gaby was how very pretty she was, small and slim to the point of thinness and far too pale, with a cloud of dark hair to match her dark eyes. This thought was followed at once by a second one, that the girl looked far more ill than her parents had made out. She seemed a docile little creature too, replying meekly to her mother’s remarks about how much she wanted to go on holiday with them, and what she intended to do. But she offered no remarks of her own, although she smiled at Phyllida and went on smiling when her father said that she was a spoilt girl and had everything she could possibly want. He sounded very pleased with himself as he said it, and Phyllida wondered if he had stopped to think that having everything one wanted wasn’t much use if one wasn’t going to be alive to enjoy it.
She stayed for another half an hour, asking questions as discreetly as possible as to her duties. It would be mostly companionship, she gathered, and the giving of Gaby’s medicines and pills, as well as a number of small routine tasks—temperature and pulse and blood pressure and making sure that her patient slept well. She rose to go presently, reiterating that she would want the case notes with her, and reminding the de Wolffs that the ship’s doctor would have to be informed. Gaby had gone with some small excuse so that Phyllida could speak openly now. A little uneasy because of the de Wolffs’ casual attitude towards their daughter’s illness, she said gently: ‘You do know that Gaby is very ill? I know it’s hard to believe—and you’re quite happy about her making this trip?’
Mrs de Wolff’s charming smile slipped again. ‘Quite happy, Miss Cresswell,’ she said with finality. So Phyllida left it at that, only staying to arrange to meet them all on the morning of the sixth.
‘We shall be driving up,’ explained Mr de Wolff. ‘We’ll pick you up at the hospital, that will be the easiest way, I think.’
They wished her goodbye, and the manservant ushered her out into the chilly March morning. She had driven for ten minutes or so when she said out loud: ‘Well, they could at least have offered me a cup of coffee!’
She reached Salisbury by continuing along the same country road from the de Wolffs’ house, stopping on the way to have the cup of coffee no one had offered her, and once through Salisbury she made for London without waste of time.
At the hospital she had the leisure to change into uniform, write out her resignation and present herself at the office. The Senior Nursing Officer was considerably astonished, but in the course of her long and successful career she had learned when not to ask questions. Beyond expressing a sincere regret at Phyllida’s decision to leave, she said nothing other than to wish her a successful future and advise her to give the office due warning as to the exact date of her departure.
‘You have a week’s holiday still, Sister Cresswell, and I expect you can arrange to add your days off to that. I shall have to appoint someone in your place, but in the meantime I think that Staff Nurse Jenkins is quite capable of carrying on. Do you agree?’
‘She’s very good, Miss Cutts, and the patients like her. The nurses work well for her too.’
‘In that case I see no reason why she shouldn’t apply for the post.’ Miss Cutts nodded kindly in gracious dismissal.
Phyllida, speeding to the ward, felt intense surprise at what she had done. Probably if she had stopped to think about it, she would have decided against leaving, but now it was done she felt relief as well. She still had to see Philip and explain, but she would bide her time and choose the right moment for that.
But the matter was taken out of her hands. He came on to the ward to take a look at a suspected duodenal ulcer which would probably need operation, and instead of leaving at once he followed Phyllida to her office, shut the door behind him and asked her quietly: ‘What’s this I hear about you leaving?’
‘Oh, dear—so soon?’ She turned to face him across the small room. ‘I only saw Miss Cutts half an hour ago and I haven’t told a soul—I was going to talk to you about it, Philip.’ She pushed her cap away from her forehead. ‘Not now, though—I’ve heaps to do.’
‘You’re off at five o’clock? I’ll meet you at Tony’s at half past six.’ He went away without another word, leaving her to wonder for the rest of the day if she had made the mistake of her lifetime. Even now, if he overwhelmed her…she wondered at the back of her mind if he felt strongly enough about her to do that. With a tremendous effort she dismissed the whole thing and attacked her work; there was enough of that to keep her mind off other things; the duodenal ulcer not responding to medical treatment; Mrs Gregson springing a mild coronary upon them; the young girl in the corner bed with undulant fever, so depressed that no one knew what to do next to get her cheerful again, and the sixteen-year-old anorexia nervosa next to her, taking precious time and patience with every unwanted meal…
Tony’s was a small unassuming restaurant within five minutes’walk of the hospital and much patronised by the doctors and nurses. Phyllida arrived punctually and found a table for two by one of the windows. There was no view, only the drab street outside, and she sat staring at it until Philip slid into the seat opposite her.
His ‘Hullo—shall we have the usual?’was uttered in his normal calm way and when she nodded: ‘And now what’s all this nonsense about leaving?’
‘It’s not nonsense, Philip. I’ve given Miss Cutts my notice and I leave in three weeks’ time—just under, as a matter of fact. And I’ve got a job.’
Just for a moment his calm was shaken. ‘A job? So you’d arranged it all some time ago?’
‘No.’She explained carefully and added: ‘I’m sorry, Philip, I like you very much, I told you that, but the best thing to do is for us to stop seeing each other.’
He said with faint smugness, ‘You’re afraid I’ll wear you down.’
She stared at him, her blue eyes clear and honest. ‘I don’t know,’ she told him earnestly, ‘but if you did, it wouldn’t be right.’
The waitress brought them the soup of the day and Phyllida studied it as though it was something of vital importance. Presently she said: ‘It’s difficult to explain, but when I marry I want to be so in love with the man that nothing else matters; there’d be no doubts and no wondering about the future and where we’d live or how.’ She looked up from her soup and gazed at him from under her fringe.
‘And you don’t feel like that about me? Phylly, grow up! You’re living in a fairy tale—there’s no such thing as that kind of love, only in romantic novels. I’m surprised at you, I thought you were such a sensible, matter-of-fact girl, with no nonsense about you.’
Phyllida picked up her spoon and gave the Heinz tomato a stir. That was the trouble, she thought silently, he’d got her all wrong. She was romantic and full of nonsense; he had confused the practical, sensible young woman who ran the medical ward so efficiently with her real self, and looking at him now, she could see that he still thought it.
He was half way through his soup by now. ‘Well, trot off if you must,’ he told her cheerfully, ‘and come back when you’re ready. I daresay I’ll still be here.’
She sat silently while the soup was replaced by pork chops, frozen peas and a pile of chips which might have daunted any girl but her, who ate like a horse and never put on an inch. When the waitress had gone again, she said patiently: ‘I’m not coming back; this job is only for three weeks—I don’t know what I’ll do after that.’
It annoyed her that he still looked complacent, but to say more wasn’t going to help. Deeds, not words, she told herself silently.
‘What is this job?’ he wanted to know.
She told him, and being an opportunist, picked his brains. ‘I don’t know a great deal about it—I’ve never seen a case, though I’ve nursed one or two lymphoblastic leukaemias and they did rather well.’
‘This one isn’t likely to—it’s rare, so rare that there aren’t enough statistics, but it’s a terminal illness, I’m afraid. Have you got the notes yet?’
‘No. Sir Keith Maltby has been looking after her, but he’s in Scotland. Father will get the notes from him, though, he’s already telephoned him about it. He doesn’t object to Gaby going on this cruise—he says she can do what she likes provided her parents understand that the moment she shows signs of deterioration they must get her to hospital or fly her back without delay. The ship’s doctor will have all the facts; Mr de Wolff has undertaken to see about that. There’s plenty of money, I believe, so there’s no reason why anything should go wrong from that side of it.’
As she spoke, she wondered uneasily why she didn’t quite believe what she was saying. Perhaps because she had taken a faint dislike to Mr and Mrs de Wolff—quite an unfounded one, based entirely on his brisk attitude towards his daughter’s illness, and his wife’s calculated charm. Phyllida gave herself a mental shake, agreed with Philip that it would be interesting to see Madeira and the Canaries even if her chance to do so might be limited, and then applied herself to responding suitably to his unshakable friendliness.
It remained unshakable too for the next few weeks, and she felt guilty because she was unable to feel regret at her decision, largely because Philip made no secret of the fact that he expected her to come running once she had brought Gaby back home again.
‘Any ideas about the next job?’ he asked her airily. ‘A bit difficult while you’re away, isn’t it? It’ll mean an enforced holiday while you find something to suit you and then go after it. You might not get it either.’ He sounded so satisfied that she could cheerfully have thrown something at him.
Leaving the ward was harder than leaving Philip, she discovered; she had grown fond of it during the last few years; it was old and awkward to work in and there were never enough staff, but she had loved the ever-changing succession of patients, and some of those, like old Mrs Gregson, were so upset at her going that she had promised that she would come and visit them the moment she got back from the cruise. Unthinkingly she had mentioned that to Philip and been furious with herself for doing so when she saw the knowing little smile on his face, smugly sure that she was making an excuse to return to the hospital and see him. She managed not to see too much of him, though, going home for her days off so that she might collect Gaby’s notes and listen to her father’s sound advice, as well as root around in her bedroom to see what clothes she should take with her. It would be warm for most of the time and last year’s summer dresses looked depressingly dull. She decided to travel in a jersey suit and the silk blouse she had bought in a fit of extravagance, pack some slacks and tops and buy one or two things in London.
There was a nice selection of cruise clothes; her modest list lengthened as she went along the rails. In the end she left the shop with a new bikini, three cotton dresses, sleeveless and light as air, and because they were so pretty, two evening dresses, one in pink crêpe with not much top and a wide floating skirt, and the other of white organza. She wasn’t sure if she would have the chance to wear them, but there was no harm in taking them along. She already had a flowery-patterned long skirt and several pretty tops to go with it and a couple of short silky dresses from last year.
She packed her bags, arranged to have the rest of her luggage sent home, bade goodbye to her friends at a rather noisy party after the day’s work, and retired to bed, but not to sleep at once. There was too much to think about—Gaby and her treatment and the still vague disquiet because she didn’t know too much about it, although the notes were comprehensive enough and her father had primed her well. Presumably the ship’s doctor would keep a close eye on her patient, and after all, her parents would be there. Slightly reassured, Phyllida allowed her thoughts to turn to Philip. She had contrived to bid him good-bye at the party, with people milling around them so that there was very little chance to say much. She had tried to sound final, but he hadn’t believed her. It was annoying and she worried about it, getting sleepier and sleepier until she nodded off at last.
She left the hospital in some state, for the de Wolffs arrived for her in a chauffeur-driven Cadillac; it took up a lot of room in the forecourt and Phyllida, turning to wave to such of her friends who had managed to spare the time to look out of their ward windows, saw their appreciative grins. She got in beside the chauffeur after a final wave and caught Mrs de Wolff’s eye. It didn’t look in the least friendly and she wondered why, but she smiled at Mr de Wolff, and spoke to Gaby, who answered her eagerly and with encouraging warmth. Phyllida, a charitable girl who seldom thought ill of anyone, supposed Mrs de Woolff had had a trying time getting ready for their holiday. She settled herself in her seat, resolving to do her best to see that Gaby wasn’t only well looked after, but kept amused too, so that her parents could enjoy themselves too.
They arrived at the dock with only a very short time to spare before embarking—done deliberately, Mr de Wolff explained, so that there would be no delays for Gaby in getting on board. Phyllida took her patient’s arm as they walked slowly up the gangway, for Gaby looked exhausted, then followed the steward up to the Sun Deck. They were to share a de luxe cabin and she looked around her with deep satisfaction; she was used to the normal comforts of life, but this was luxury. She sat Gaby down in a comfortable chair, noted with satisfaction that their luggage was already waiting for them, and took a quick look round.
The cabin was large, even for the two of them, with beds widely spaced, a comfortable sofa, a table and two easy chairs. The window was large and the lighting well arranged and the adjoining bathroom all she could have wished for. It only needed a pleasant stewardess to offer to unpack for them to complete her satisfaction, but she declined this service and asked instead if they could have a tray of tea, for Gaby looked as though she could do with something of the sort. It was barely midday and Mr de Wolff had told her they would be going to the second sitting for their meals, still an hour and a half away; ample time to unpack, check unobtrusively that Gaby was fit to go to the restaurant, and try to get to know her better.
They drank their tea without interruption. The de Wolffs hadn’t appeared; probably they realised that Gaby was tired and needed to rest. Phyllida unpacked for both of them, not bothering her patient to talk. After lunch she would search out the doctor, show him the notes and ask for any instructions he might care to give her. Gaby could rest on her bed in the mean-time. The girl looked fagged out and Phyllida frowned a little; the job was full of uncertainties and Gaby was a very sick girl. She wondered again if it had been wise of her parents to allow her to come on the cruise and then conceded that if the girl had set her heart on it and had so little time to live, they were only doing what any loving parents would want to do. It was a pity that Sir Keith hadn’t seen Gaby for some weeks, but the de Wolffs had said that he had agreed to the trip, so it must be reasonably safe for Gaby to go. Phyllida dismissed her gloomy thoughts and started to chat quietly, hanging away her patient’s lovely clothes as she did so.
They shared a table with Mr and Mrs de Wolff at lunch, both of whom dominated the conversation, talking animatedly about the places they were to visit, the various entertainments on board and how splendid it all was for Gaby, who ate almost no lunch, replied docilely when she was spoken to, and attracted a good many admiring glances from the surrounding tables.
Phyllida did too, although she wasn’t aware of it; she was too concerned about her patient.
The meal was a leisurely one, passengers serving themselves from a long buffet of cold meats and salads, arranged in mouthwatering abundance. Gaby’s parents didn’t seem to notice that she was drooping with fatigue, so that Phyllida took affairs into her own hands and when the steward brought the coffee, excused both herself and Gaby, whisked her to their cabin, tucked her up on her bed, and went in search of the doctor’s surgery.
It was three decks down, adjacent to a small hospital. The doctor was at his desk, a young man with a pleasant open face, talking to the ship’s nurse. Phyllida took a dislike to her on sight and felt that the feeling was reciprocated; she didn’t like heavy make-up and brightly tinted nails on a nurse, nor did she fancy the hard blue eyes and tight mouth in what should have been a pretty face. However, her errand wasn’t with the nurse. She introduced herself briskly, stated her business and waited for the doctor to speak.
He looked bewildered. ‘But I haven’t heard…’ he began. ‘I’ve had no information about this Miss deWolff. Perhaps you’ll tell me about her, Miss—er—Cresswell.’
It took a little time, although she gave the information concisely and without personal comment. When she had finished he said thoughtfully: ‘Of course I’ll look after her and do everything in my power to help. You say she’s entered a period remission? Then it’s quite possible that she’ll be able to enjoy this cruise, to a limited extent, of course—and return home at least none the worse. May I keep these notes and study them? I’ll see that you get them back. Perhaps if I were to call and see Miss de Wolff…this evening, or later this afternoon after tea?’
Phyllida agreed. ‘I thought we’d have tea in the cabin and then dress without hurrying.’
‘Very wise. I think you should suit your activities to her mood. You say she insisted on coming on this holiday?’
‘Well, yes, so her parents told me—perhaps it was just a flash in the pan; she’s not shown anything but a— a kind of docile acceptance.’
The doctor rose to his feet. ‘Would you like me to talk to her parents?’
Phyllida considered. ‘If when you’ve seen her you think it necessary, yes, please.’ She hesitated. ‘They seem to think that this cruise will put her on her feet again. They can’t accept…’
‘I know—it’s hard for people to realise. Miss de Wolff has no inkling?’
‘None that I know of, but I don’t know her very well yet. I’ll tell you if I think she has.’
They parted in friendly fashion and Phyllida started off down the long corridor taking her to the other end of the ship, to be overtaken almost at once by the nurse.
‘I thought I’d let you know that you’d better not expect too much help from me,’ she began. ‘I have quite a busy time, you know, and I have to be on call round the clock.’
Phyllida stopped to look at her. ‘That’s OK, I’m sure you must be pretty busy. I don’t expect I’ll need any help, thanks all the same.’
The other girl gave the suggestion of a sniff. ‘If you need any advice…’ she began.
Phyllida’s large blue eyes flashed. ‘I expect I’ll be able to cope,’ she said gently. ‘I’ve been Medical Ward Sister at St Michael’s for four years.’She smiled widely, added ‘goodbye’ and went on her way, her blonde hair flying round cheeks which were a little pinker than usual, by reason of her vexation.
The doctor was very good with Gaby, matter-of-fact and friendly, taking care not to alarm her by questions which might give her reason to think. And afterwards, on the pretext of fetching some pills in case Gaby felt seasick, Phyllida went back to the surgery.
He said heavily: ‘Well, Miss Cresswell, if she’d been my daughter I’d never for one moment entertained the idea of her coming on a trip like this, however much she’d set her heart on it. And she’s not wildly enthusiastic about it, is she? Is she spoilt? She didn’t strike me as being so.’
Phyllida shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. She’s very quiet and agrees with everything her parents suggest.’ She didn’t add the unspoken thought that Gaby appeared to be in considerable awe of her parents and anxious, almost painfully so, to please them.
‘Well, I’ll have a word with them and take a look at her each day. You’ll come to me at once if you think it necessary, won’t you?’
Phyllida felt better after that, and after due thought went along to the de Wolffs’ cabin. It surprised her to discover that they were put out over her visit to the doctor. ‘There was really no need,’ declared Mrs de Wolff sharply. ‘Gaby is a little tired, but otherwise she’s recovering very well. We don’t want ideas put into her head.’
‘I don’t think anyone will do that, Mrs de Wolff— after all, she’s been under a doctor for so long now, she can’t find it strange if the ship’s doctor pays her a visit.’ She turned to Mr de Wolff. ‘I thought you were going to tell him about Gaby—he knew nothing at all about her.’
‘I considered it unnecessary.’ Mr de Wolff spoke pompously and looked annoyed. ‘After all, if Sir Keith gave his consent to this cruise, I hardly suppose that we lesser mortals need to interfere.’
Phyllida went pink. ‘I have no intention of interfering, Mr de Wolff, but Gaby has a severe illness and you asked me to look after her and I intend to do so. How long ago is it since Sir Keith Maltby actually saw her?’
Her employer went a rich plum colour. ‘That’s beside the point, Miss Cresswell. All we ask is that you carry out your duties.’
Phyllida drew a calming breath. She was wasting time; he had no intention of telling her. ‘Where would you like us to meet you before dinner?’
She heard his sigh of relief. ‘Oh, in the Neptune Bar—about eight o’clock.’
Gaby seemed better when Phyllida got back to their cabin, and became quite animated over the choice of the dress she should wear. She decided on a plain, long-sleeved blue silk sheath, for no one would dress on the first night at sea, and Phyllida put on one of last year’s dresses, a very plain one; she considered it made her look just as a nurse out of uniform should look.
The evening went off very well after all. The doctor had introduced himself to the deWolffs in the bar, offered his services should they be required and went away before the two girls arrived, and if Gaby didn’t eat a good dinner, at least she seemed to be enjoying herself. All the same, she went quite willingly to bed when Phyllida suggested it, and Phyllida, quite tired out, went too.
The days formed a pleasant pattern; they breakfasted in their cabin and then spent a leisurely morning sitting on deck, and if Phyllida regretted not being able to join in the deck games and wander off to chat to some of the other passengers, she didn’t admit it, even to herself. It worried her that they saw so little of Gaby’s parents, who seemed to think that meeting their daughter at lunch and dinner was sufficient, nor did they express anxiety over her condition or ask Phyllida how she was progressing. Luckily the weather was calm and getting warmer, so that by Sunday morning they were able to wear cotton dresses and lie in the sun for a time. It was while they were doing this that the doctor joined them for their mid-morning beef tea and Phyllida, in a casual voice masking her worry, mentioned Gaby’s headache. ‘Quite a troublesome one,’ she added lightly, ‘it just doesn’t go away.’
‘Ah, yes—one of those sick headaches, I expect,’ observed the doctor, taking his cue smartly.
Gaby nodded listlessly. ‘Yes, I was sick in the night—Phylly had to get up—that’s why I feel so dozy now.’
The doctor didn’t stay long, and presently, while Gaby slept, Phyllida went in search of him. ‘Do you think it’s infiltration of the meninges?’ she asked anxiously. ‘My father told me about that. Should I tell her parents? She seemed so much better—we haven’t done much, but she was beginning to eat a little and take an interest in things.’
‘Where are her parents?’
‘They play bridge a good deal of the time and they’ve made a good many friends.’
‘They don’t see much of Gaby? Not enough to notice if she’s better or worse?’
‘No.’
‘I’ll have a word with them if you like, and I’ll have another look at her later on. I don’t like the headache and sickness, it may possibly be what you suggest.’
By the evening Gaby was worse, the headache was persistent now and so was the sickness, and she had become irritable, so that nothing Phyllida could say or do was right. And when the doctor came to see her just before dinner he looked grave. ‘I’m going to advise you to disembark at Madeira,’ he said. ‘There’s a good hospital there, and while I don’t think she needs to go there at the moment, if you were to stay in an hotel she could be moved quickly. Better still, her parents could fly her back home straight away. I don’t think she should stay on board, we haven’t the facilities.’
Phyllida nodded. ‘You’ll see Mr and Mrs de Wolff? Shall I say nothing to Gaby until it’s all arranged?’She paused. ‘I shall have to pack.’
‘Yes, of course, I’ll go and see them now.’
She went back to the cabin and sat down with a book. Gaby wasn’t sleeping, but she didn’t want to talk either. It was half an hour before Mrs de Wolff opened the door and came in.
‘Well, here’s a fine state of affairs!’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘All our plans changed just because Gaby feels a little under the weather! Still, the doctor knows best, I suppose. My husband’s radioed for rooms for you both at Reid’s Hotel and we’ll see you safely there tomorrow before we get back to the ship.’
Phyllida stared at her. ‘But aren’t we all going ashore?’
‘Good heavens, no. We’ve planned it all nicely—we shall go on to the Canaries and pick you up on our way back next Saturday. Gaby will be better by then. We’ve talked to the doctor, so you have no need to worry, Miss Cresswell. We feel confident that you can look after Gaby very well until we return—it’s only five days and we simply can’t miss any of this cruise and there’s no need for us to do so. Besides, we’ve been looking forward to it for some time.’
She went and peered down at Gaby. ‘You do look a little pale, darling. You’ll feel better on dry land, I expect, and you girls can have a few days’ fun on your own.’She patted Gaby’s head and Phyllida saw the girl wince. ‘We’ll leave you plenty of spending money.’
When she had gone Gaby said wearily: ‘Mummy always thinks that if she gives me enough money everything will be all right.’
‘I expect you’ll enjoy it just as much as being on board ship,’ said Phyllida soothingly. ‘Now, I’m going to pack our things, and suppose we have dinner here this evening? You choose what you’d like to eat and get a long night’s sleep. Now I’m going to take these books back to the library.’
She went to see the doctor too, and he wasn’t in the best of tempers. ‘I’ve made it plain to Gaby’s parents that she’s extremely ill and possibly heading for a relapse, and I suggested that you should all fly back from Madeira tomorrow, but they won’t hear of it—told me that if the specialist considered her fit enough to take a holiday that was good enough for them, that we’re probably over-anxious. They agreed readily enough to Gaby going ashore with you—said they’d pick you up at the end of the week. Are you at all worried?’
‘I’m in a flat spin,’ confided Phyllida. ‘Anything could happen, couldn’t it? And here we are, thousands of miles away from home and her parents refusing to face up to her being ill. Do you think she’ll be all right? I’ll take the greatest care of her.’
‘If she keeps quiet and with you to look after her she might get over this bad patch, but she really needs to be flown home and taken to hospital, but her parents utterly refuse. They say that this has happened before and she’s always got over it.’He sighed. ‘At least Mr de Wolff has all the particulars of her case and I’ve written a covering letter; he’s promised to deliver it himself at the hospital and arrange for a doctor to call and see Gaby—probably tomorrow in the evening or the following morning. We shall be back here on Saturday and if Gaby is no better, I’ll do my best to persuade her parents to fly her back.’

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