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Sun and Candlelight
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.“My children need a mother, but I do not need a wife.” Dr Sarre van Diederijk did a lot to restore Alethea’s damaged pride when Nick Penrose badly hurt and humiliated her, so when, after a short time her asked her to marry him and go to Holland to live, she accepted. Sarre was, after all, a very nice, kind man, and Alethea might have been happier with him than she would have been with Nick, even though there was no love on either side.But all she found in Holland was a different kind of unhappiness – rejection by the children, and rejection by Sarre. That, she found, was what hurt the most…



She had said that she would marry him…now, she was beset with any number of doubts.
“Thank you for dinner and for bringing me back,” Alethea said politely, and then felt foolish at his reply.
“I hardly think that you need to thank me, my dear. Such small services will be my privilege in the future.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” She smiled a little shyly at him, and then in a burst of confidence added, “You know, when I got up this morning I’d made up my mind to say no.”
“And what made you change your mind?” he asked quietly.
“I haven’t the faintest idea.” She smiled a little. “But I won’t change it again.”
He took her hand, bent his head and kissed her—a quick, light kiss, which, although it had meant nothing at all, stayed in her mind long after she had wished him good-night and had gone to bed.
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.

Sun and Candlelight
Betty Neels



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

CHAPTER ONE
THE RESTAURANT was small, elegant and discreetly lighted by pink-shaded table lamps which cast a becoming glow on to the feminine occupants, most of whom were glad of it, although the girl sitting at a table for two in the centre of the room needed no such artificial aid. She was a young woman, though not in her first youth, but her lovely face was girlish in its freshness and her dark hair, arranged in an elaborate topknot, curled around it. Her eyes were dark too and heavily lashed and her mouth was softly curved under an exquisite nose; it was a face to be looked at twice and then again which made it all the more remarkable that her companion hardly glanced at her but applied himself to his coq-au-vin in a tight-lipped fashion.
‘It isn’t any good you looking like that.’ Alethea Thomas’s voice was as pretty as her face. ‘I said I wouldn’t and I won’t, and if that’s all you think of me then I can see no point in going on as we are, can you?’
She spoke without heat, waited in silence while the waiter took away their plates and proffered the menu, asked for a sorbet and when the man had gone asked: ‘Well?’
The man opposite her glanced at her angrily and then looked away. ‘You’re such a fool, Alethea—everyone goes away for weekends these days, why not you? Think yourself too good?’ His voice held a sneer, his good looks marred by a frown. ‘You couldn’t have imagined that I was going to ask you to marry me? Lord, it’ll be years before I get a consultant’s post—I can’t afford a wife, certainly not one without any money.’ He smiled suddenly and added coaxingly: ‘Come on, be a sport.’
The waiter served them and retreated again. ‘I must be the most unsporting girl for miles around,’ observed Alethea calmly, and then somehow stayed calm as he suddenly got to his feet and without another word, walked away, hurrying between the tables so that people paused in their talk to stare at him. He went out of the restaurant without a backward glance and after a moment Alethea took up her spoon with a hand which shook slightly and started on her sorbet. She would have liked to have got up and left too, but the awful realisation that she had no more than a handful of small change in her purse prevented her. Presently the bill would be handed to her and she wouldn’t be able to pay it, and it hardly seemed likely that Nick would come back. She spooned some more sorbet and swallowed it with difficulty; she mustn’t cry, which was what she wanted to do very badly, and she mustn’t look around her too much—and above all she mustn’t appear anxious. She ate slowly, putting off the moment when the bill would arrive; she could spend at least fifteen minutes over her coffee, too; perhaps by then Nick would come back, although she was almost certain that he wasn’t going to.
She had agreed to dine with him with such high hopes too. They had been going out together for some months now; the whole hospital expected them to get engaged, although she had never even hinted at it and she was sure now that Nick hadn’t either. She had even bought a new dress for the occasion; a fine black voile patterned with a multitude of flowers, its low neckline edged with a narrow frill and its high waist tied by long velvet ribbons. It had cost her more than she could afford, but she had wanted to look rather special for what she had expected to be a special occasion. After all, Nick had told her that he had something important to ask her and she, fool that she was, she thought bitterly now, had expected him to propose. And all he had wanted was a weekend at Brighton.
She put down her spoon; she had spun out the sorbet just as long as she could… She made the coffee last too, aware that those sitting at nearby tables were glancing at her with some curiosity and presently the waiter presented himself discreetly. ‘The gentleman is not returning? Madam will wish to pay the bill?’ He laid the plate with the folded bill on it beside her and withdrew again, and after a minute Alethea plucked up the courage to peep at it. The total shocked her, and how was she going to pay it? Even if they allowed her to go to the hospital by taxi and fetch the money, where was she going to get it from? It was almost the end of the month, neither she nor any of her friends had more than a pound or two between them, and the banks, naturally enough, were closed. She stared stonily ahead of her, picturing the scene which was going to take place within the next few minutes. She would die of shame and she would never, never forgive Nick.
She had been attracted to him on the very first occasion of their meeting several months ago now; he had come to Theobald’s as Orthopaedic Registrar and they had seen a good deal of each other, for she was Sister in charge of the Orthopaedic Unit. She had admired his dark good looks and his obvious intention to make his way in his profession and she had been flattered when he had singled her out for his special attention. Until she had met him she had never wanted to marry any of the men who had taken her out. She had had no very clear idea of what the man she would marry would be like; he was a dim, scarcely thought-of image in the back of her mind and she had known, even when she found herself attracted to Nick, that he bore no resemblance to that image, but that hadn’t mattered; he had been attentive and flatteringly anxious to see as much of her as possible, but it was horribly apparent now that she had been mistaken about him. She shuddered strongly and felt sick and ashamed that despite the way he was treating her she still wished with all her heart that he would come in through the restaurant door at that very moment. And she would be fool enough to forgive him.
She closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them because she could feel that someone was looking at her. It only took her a second or two to see who it was; she hadn’t looked around her until then; she had been happily engrossed in Nick’s company and hadn’t noticed anyone or anything else, otherwise, she had to admit, she couldn’t have failed to see the man staring at her now. He was sitting to one side of her, sharing a table with a pleasant-looking couple and facing her. He was massively built with dark hair already greying at the temples and a strong good-looking face. She couldn’t see what colour his eyes were in the one swift glance she gave him before turning her head away with what she hoped was cool dignity. It was a pity that this move meant that she looked straight at the waiter, who started towards her, obviously under the impression that she was about to pay the bill. She sat up a little straighter; in seconds he would be beside her, and what on earth was she going to say or do?
The man who had been staring must have moved very fast; he was there, standing in front of her, completely at ease, as the waiter came to a halt.
‘Well, well,’ he boomed in a genial voice, ‘how delightful to see you again—I was coming over sooner, but I quite thought that you were dining with someone…’ He looked and sounded so genuinely puzzled that she almost believed him.
His gaze swept the table. ‘You’ve had coffee? What a pity, I intended asking you to join us. You’re waiting for your companion, perhaps?’
Alethea felt her jaw dropping and stopped it just in time. ‘Yes—at least, I think he may not be coming back—I’m not sure… I…’ Her eyes beseeched him to understand; he looked kind and he gave every appearance of being a safe port in a storm. Normally she wouldn’t have allowed him to pick her up, for this was what he seemed to be doing, but every minute’s delay helped; Nick might come back…
He had picked up the bill and put his hand into his pocket. ‘In that case, shall I settle this for you? He can owe it to me until we meet next time.’ He put some notes on to the plate and gave the waiter a cool look and then smiled at her. ‘I’ll see you home,’ he said easily. ‘My friends are leaving anyway,’ he added quite loudly, ‘it is so long since we last saw each other we should find plenty to talk about.’
Alethea managed a feeble yes and wondered why he had raised his voice and then saw that the people at the tables on either side were listening, so she smiled and said: ‘Oh, yes,’ and then heaved a sigh of relief. Once outside she could explain to him and thank him for helping her out of a nasty situation; he must have seen Nick getting angry with her and then leaving; it was a miracle that no one else had. The waiter smiled and bowed as she got up and went to the door, her lovely head high, very conscious of the man towering over her. He waited in the small lobby while she got her coat and then accompanied her outside into the April evening. They had walked a few paces along the pavement before she stopped and looked up at him.
‘That was most kind of you,’ she said in a voice made wooden by embarrassment. ‘If you would let me know your name and address I’ll send you a cheque first thing in the morning.’ And when he didn’t answer her she went on a little desperately: ‘He—he said he had to leave suddenly—so unfortunate. He’s a surgeon—he quite forgot about the bill…’ Her voice tailed off into an unbelieving silence, and suddenly, staring up into the calm face lighted by the street lamp, she couldn’t contain herself any longer. Rage and humiliation and fright boiled up together and combined into a sob. Worse, her eyes filled with tears and she, who almost never cried, was unable to stop them rolling down her cheeks. She wiped them away with an impatient hand and said in a voice made high by her feelings and the hock she had drunk with her dinner: ‘That’s not true—he left because I wouldn’t spend the weekend with him at Brighton.’ She hiccoughed. ‘I thought he was going to ask me to marry him.’ Her voice rose even higher. ‘I bought a new dress!’ she wailed.
Her companion didn’t smile, he looked at her gravely and spoke just as gravely. ‘It is a very pretty dress.’ The way he said it made it sound like a delightful compliment. ‘I’m going to call a taxi and take you back to wherever you want to go. A hospital? You mentioned that your—er—companion was a surgeon.’
Alethea gave a great sniff. ‘Yes—Theobald’s, but there’s no need for you to come with me, I’m quite all right now, and thank you very much…’
‘Nevertheless if you can bear with my company, I shall accompany you, Miss…er…?’
‘Thomas. Alethea Thomas.’ She took the handkerchief he was holding out and dabbed at her face. ‘But what about your friends?’
‘They were about to leave anyway, we were saying our goodbyes…’ He lifted an arm and a taxi slid in to the kerb. ‘I think a cup of coffee on the way might be a good idea.’ He gave some directions to the driver as she got in and then got in beside her. ‘I asked him to pull up at the next coffee stall we pass.’
They sat in silence until the taxi stopped and the driver enquired if that particular stall would do.
‘Very well, and pray join us.’ So that Alethea had a double escort across the pavement, the two men chatting easily about the latest boxing match. Really, she thought, she might just as well not have been there, only to find herself mistaken; she was seated carefully on a stool and the taxi driver mounted guard over her while her rescuer fetched three thick mugs of rich coffee and then engaged her in undemanding conversation in which the taxi driver joined, carefully not looking at her puffy face and both of them standing so that no one else there could get a good look at her. Not all men were beastly, she reflected.
Neither man seemed to be in a hurry, and it was a good twenty minutes later when they climbed back into the taxi, and by then Alethea’s face was almost normal and although she still felt dreadful she was hiding it successfully enough behind a calm which matched her companion’s. They were almost at the hospital when she said: ‘I don’t know your name.’
‘Van Diederijk—Sarre van Diederijk.’
‘Oh, Dutch. Your English is perfect…’
‘Thank you.’ The taxi had stopped and he got out, spoke to the driver and started to walk with her to the side entrance across the forecourt. She stopped then to protest. ‘I go in at that door, thank you. I can walk through the hospital to the Nurses’ Home.’ She put out a hand, but he didn’t shake it as he was meant to, but held it firmly and began to walk on again. ‘I’ll see you to the Home,’ he observed, and took no notice of her murmur.
It was late, but not as late as all that; the night staff were still settling patients for the night; Alethea recognised the familiar sounds as they crossed the hall and started down a long corridor running towards the rear of the hospital; the soft hurried tread of the nurses, the squeak of trolley wheels, the telephone, the vague subdued murmur of a great many people as ward doors opened and closed. She turned a corner, Mr van Diederijk hard on her heels, and felt his hand close on her arm at the same moment as she saw Nick coming along the corridor towards them. He was still in his dinner jacket, strolling along, a cigarette in his mouth. He looked as though he hadn’t a care in the world until he caught sight of them. He paused then and for one moment Alethea thought that he was going to turn round and go back the way he had come. But he thought better of it, hurrying past them as though he had something urgent to do, glancing angrily at her as he went.
‘Your companion of this evening?’ asked Mr van Diederijk mildly.
Alethea said yes in a miserable little voice. For a split second she had hoped that Nick would stop; she conceded that to apologise before a complete stranger would be a great test of his feelings for her, but it seemed that she wasn’t worth it. Her companion’s voice was very comforting. ‘In that case how fortunate that I happened to be with you.’
She saw at once what he meant. If Nick had seen her creeping back on her own her mortification would have been complete, as it was he had been left to wonder just how she had replaced him so quickly…
At the narrow door set in the wall at the end of the corridor she put out a hand. ‘You’ve been very kind, I can’t thank you enough. And please give me your address so that I can send you a cheque in the morning.’
He went on holding her hand in an absentminded fashion. ‘Ah, yes—I’ll leave it at the porter’s lodge as I go, shall I?’ His smile was very kind. ‘I’m glad that I could be of service—such a small thing, really, you know. And don’t worry; these little differences are bound to crop up; they seem terrible at the time, but probably by the morning he’ll be on his knees to you.’
She gave him an earnest look. ‘Oh, do you really think so? But he did say…’
‘People say the strangest things at times,’ he pointed out in his placid way so that she felt instantly lulled into a more cheerful state of mind. He opened the door then and held it while she went through. Alethea bade him a final, rather shy goodnight and went down the badly lighted covered passage to the Nurses’ Home door, not looking back.
She hadn’t expected to sleep, but she did, although she shed a few tears first, but Mr van Diederijk’s certainty that Nick would come to his senses in the morning had taken a firm hold on her unhappy mind. When Nick had apologised and everything was as it had been, she would tell him about it, and she must write a little note with the cheque, too, because Mr van Diederijk deserved all the thanks he would get. If she saw Nick first, he might want to add a letter of his own as well as his cheque. She nodded her head into the pillow and closed her eyes; everything was going to be fine in the morning.
It was nothing of the sort. She overslept for a start and flew down to her breakfast, neat as a pin in her uniform and little white cap but with no make-up on at all and her hair caught up in a bun from which curly ends were already popping out. But in a way it was a good thing because there was no time for any of her friends to ask questions about her evening out. She gulped down her tea, bit into as much toast as she could manage, and went on duty.
The Orthopaedic wing was on the top floor at the back of the hospital, its windows overlooked a network of dull streets lined with brick villas long since divided into flats or let out as bedsitters. Alethea often wished that the unit could have been at the front of the hospital which overlooked a busy city street beyond its narrow forecourt, for at least the buses gave a spot of vivid colour to the view. She walked briskly into her office, consoling herself with the thought that if she hung out of its window she could just see Big Ben.
The night staff nurse was waiting for her, as was her day staff nurse and such of the nurses who could be spared to listen to the report—rather a lengthy one as it happened, for there had been admissions during the night; two young boys who had collided with each other, the one in a souped-up sports car, the other on a motorbike. Both were badly injured, one already back from theatre and the second due to go for surgery in the next ten minutes or so.
Alethea received this news with her usual serenity, together with the information that old Mr Briggs had taken a turn for the worse, Mr Cord’s left leg, encased in plaster, presented all the signs of restriction to its circulation and would need to be dealt with pretty smartly, and last but not least, the part-time staff nurse who should have been coming on duty that morning had telephoned to say that her small boy had the measles.
‘Things could have been worse,’ remarked Alethea philosophically to Sue Phipps, her staff nurse, and ten minutes later wished the remark unsaid when the telephone rang to say that there was a compound fracture of tib and fib coming up and that the Orthopaedic Registrar would see it right away. Alethea, giving competent instructions as to the patient’s reception, found time to wonder what Nick would say when he saw her. Would he ignore her, treat her as though they hadn’t quarrelled or behave like a man wishing to apologise? She hoped it would be the latter and while she superintended the conveyance of the new boy to theatre, a small part of her mind was deploring the fact that she had had no time to do anything at all to her face. There was no time now, of course; no sooner had he been borne away than the latest patient was wheeled in. He had already been dealt with in the Accident Department, but only his leather jacket and jeans had been removed, together with his boots. Alethea, helped by the most junior of her nurses, was prising off the rest of his garments when Nick arrived. He didn’t wish her good morning, only demanded her services in a curt voice and then wanted to know in an angry way why the patient wasn’t already undressed.
‘Because he’s just this minute arrived,’ Alethea pointed out sensibly, ‘and he’s not in a condition to have his clothes whipped off. His BP’s down and his pulse is rapid—a hundred and twenty. His left pupil isn’t reacting to light.’ She spoke in her usual quiet voice and pleasant manner while her heart raced and thumped and her knees shook; Nick might have treated her abominably, but she was still in love with him. It remained to be seen if he felt the same about her; at the moment it was impossible to tell, he was being terse, almost rude, but perhaps he was worried about his patient.
The examination took a long time and in the end Sir Walter Tring, the orthopaedic consultant, joined them as he was on his way to theatre. The leg, he observed brusquely, was a mess, it would need pinning and plating, provided they could find all the fragments of bone. ‘Wiring, too,’ he went on thoughtfully. ‘We’d better have him up after the lad who’s in theatre now.’ He looked across at Alethea. ‘Keep you busy, don’t we, Sister?’
She said ‘Yes, sir,’ cheerfully, and asked at what time the patient was to go for operation. The boy was unconscious still and there was a drip already up and as far as she could see, most of the cleaning up would have to be done in theatre. ‘Put him on quarter hour observations, Sister,’ Sir Walter ordered. ‘I should think in about an hour’s time, but I’ll be down again.’ He glanced at Nick. ‘Penrose, check on that first boy we saw to earlier on, will you, and let me know his condition. I shall want you back here in about half an hour.’
He wandered off, not looking at all hurried—indeed, thought Alethea, watching him trundle through the ward doors, he looked like some nice easy-going elderly gentleman on his way to the lending library or a quiet game of bowls. Very deceptive; he could rage like a lion when peeved and wield the tools of his profession with an expertise which could shame a man half his age. He terrified her nurses too, but she herself was made of sterner stuff; she took no notice at all when he bit her head off for something or other which nearly always had nothing to do with her, and accepted his apology afterwards in the spirit in which it was given. They were great friends; completely impersonal, very professional towards each other while sharing a mutual regard.
Nick Penrose was writing up the boy’s notes, not looking at her at all; she might not have been there. A little spark of temper flared in her, refusing to be doused by her love; he was behaving as though she had been at fault, not he. She felt a little sick, knowing that if he were to ask her to marry him she would say yes, despite the fact that tucked away right at the back of her mind there was the certainty that she would never forgive herself if she did.
He went presently, without saying a word and she set about the business of preparing the patient for theatre with the help of a student nurse and then made a hasty round of the ward. There was the boy in theatre, and the boy who had been admitted with him was as well as could be expected, but old Mr Briggs was another cup of tea. She pulled the screens round his bed and sat down, just as though she had all the time in the world, and talked to him; his wife would have to be telephoned straight away because he wasn’t going to last the day. She left him presently, sent one of the nurses to make him comfortable and keep an eye on him, and telephoned Mrs Briggs before going to look at Mr Cord’s leg. And that plaster would have to come off, she decided silently, looking at the purple foot beneath it. She went away to telephone the houseman, told Staff to get the cutters and shears ready and everything needed to replaster the limb, and glanced at the clock. The half an hour was up, had been ten minutes ago; she hurried down the ward once more, still contriving to look unhurried, and cast an eye over the boy. There was no change in his condition, so she sent the nurse to get her coffee so that she would be able to take him to theatre, and checked his pulse. She was charting it when Nick returned, took the chart from her without speaking and bent over the boy. He straightened almost at once.
‘Who was that lazy-looking type you were with last night?’ he wanted to know.
She hadn’t expected him to ask, not now when they were so busy. She said shortly: ‘Someone who very kindly saw me back—you owe him for the bill—he paid it.’
He stared at her with angry eyes. ‘If you imagine I’m going to pay for your dinner, you’re mistaken—and you found someone easily enough to pick you up, didn’t you?’
‘Hardly that,’ said Mr van Diederijk. He had come quietly through the curtains and was standing just behind them both. ‘I don’t make a habit of picking up young women, nor, for that matter, do I leave them to pay for their own dinner.’ His voice was quiet, but—there was a sharp edge to it so that Alethea judged it prudent not to say anything at all and Nick, trying to bluster his way out of an awkward situation, said too quickly: ‘This is hardly the time or the place…’
‘Too true, I’m glad you realise that,’ agreed Mr van Diederijk equably.
‘Who are you?’ began Nick, and stopped as Sir Walter slid his bulk round the curtains in his turn.
‘My dear chap,’ he boomed cheerfully, ‘nice of you to come along. This leg—if you can call it that at the moment—it seems to me that you’re just the man to consult. A classic example of the kind of thing you excel in, I believe—wiring, I should imagine, and then intensive osteopathy to the femur to prevent muscle contraction—am I right?’
The question was rhetorical; Sir Walter was very well aware that he was right. Alethea said nothing, Nick muttered some answer or other and Mr van Diederijk agreed placidly.
‘Yes, well, in that case, since we are agreed and you happen to be here I’d be delighted to have the benefit of your skill. A pity that you and that brother of yours don’t have a clinic over here, but I daresay you get all the work you can cope with.’
‘Indeed, we do. I shall be delighted to give any assistance I can.’
‘Good, good. Sister, we’ll have him in theatre in half an hour, please. Have you written him up, Penrose? Yes? Very well, check on that boy I’ve just done in theatre, will you—and I shall want you for this case. Sister, is there anything worrying you or can you cope?’
‘Mr Cord’s plaster has had to come off—it’s being replastered now—I got Mr Timms to see to it. Mr Briggs is… I’ve sent for his wife. The boy you operated upon during the night is satisfactory—there’s nothing else, sir.’
‘Good girl. Lean heavily on Timms if you need help and if that’s not enough, give the theatre a ring.’
‘Yes, sir. Would you like coffee?’
‘Yes. Mr van Diederijk will too, won’t you, Sarre?’
The big man inclined his head gravely. ‘We are not delaying Sister?’
‘Me?’ she smiled at him, forgetting her rather pale unmade-up face and screwed-up hair. ‘No, not at all. Mary, our ward maid, will have the tray ready, she’s marvellous.’
She led the way down the ward and into her office, saw the two gentlemen served and then excused herself. The boy had to be got ready for theatre and over and above that, the routine work of the ward mustn’t be halted.
When she went back to her office presently for an identity bracelet the two men had gone and presently the porters came and Alethea, sending her most senior student nurse with him, despatched the patient to theatre, before turning her attention to the work waiting for her. She had the time now to wonder at the sudden and unexpected appearance of Doctor van Diederijk; had he taken up an appointment at Theobald’s? She frowned and shook her head as she adjusted the weights on Tommy Lister’s pinned and plated leg, suspended from its Balkan Beam. No; she would certainly have heard about that, and yet he knew Sir Walter. Staying with him, perhaps? Over in England for some seminar or other? Now she considered the matter, he looked well-established, as it were, self-assured in a quiet way, and wearing the beautifully tailored garments which proclaimed taste and money, however discreetly. Perhaps he was someone important in his own country—and hadn’t Sir Walter said something about a clinic and a brother? She let out a great sigh of frustrated curiosity and Tommy, who had been watching her face, asked: “Ere, Sister, wot’s got inter yer? Yer look real narked.’
‘Me? Go on with you, Tommy. Who’s coming to see you this afternoon?’
‘Me mum. When am I goin’ ’ome, then, Sister?’
‘Not just yet—I can’t bear to part with you.’ She laughed at him then, patted his thin shoulder, told him to be a good boy, and went on her way. He shouldn’t have been in the ward at all, but Children’s was full, as usual, and there was no point in trying to move him there even if there was a bed free, the business of moving him and his paraphernalia would have been just too much. Besides, the men liked him, he had a sharp cockney wit and he was always cheerful.
The day wore on. The boys who had been admitted during the night were picking up slowly; the patient of that morning had come back from ITU only half an hour since, still poorly, and his mother, fortified with cups of tea in Alethea’s office, had been able to sit with him for a few minutes. The boy had made a brave show for that short time before, his anxious parent gone, Alethea gave him an injection to send him back into the sleep he needed so badly.
The ward was settling down into its early evening routine and she was due off duty when Nick came again. He had been down already to check Sir Walter’s patients, but beyond giving him any information he had asked for, they had nothing to say to each other, but this time, after a quick look at his charges, he didn’t leave the ward but followed her into the office where she was writing the bare bones of the report, so that Sue, due on in ten minutes or so, would have a little more time to get finished before the night staff appeared. She sat down at her desk and picked up her pen and gave him an enquiring look.
He hadn’t bothered to shut the door and he was in a bad temper. ‘Look here,’ he began, ‘I still want to know how you came to pick up that fellow.’
She eyed him calmly although her heart was thumping enough to choke her, and despised herself for longing for him to smile just once and say that everything was all right again, that he hadn’t meant a word he had said…
‘I didn’t. He saw you leave and I suppose he guessed that I might not have had enough to pay the bill—and I hadn’t—you might have thought of that. I don’t know what I should have done if he hadn’t helped me.’ She paused. ‘Nick—do we have to quarrel…’ She hadn’t meant her voice to sound so anxious; she caught at the tatters of her pride and was glad of it when he snapped: ‘Quarrel? I’m not quarrelling, I’ve other things to do than waste time on a prissy girl like you…’
‘I cannot agree wholly with you,’ remarked Mr van Diederijk from the open door. ‘Indeed, if there were the time, I would suggest most strongly that you should eat your words, but it is true that you are wasting your time, Mr—er—Penrose; they are looking for you in the Accident Room, I believe.’ He glanced at Nick’s bleep which he had switched off and now switched on again with a muttered grumble, not looking at anyone. And when he turned to go out of the door, Mr van Diederijk made no effort to move. ‘A quick apology to Sister?’ he suggested with a smile which Alethea, watching fascinated, could only describe as sunny, and Nick, furious, turned again and mumbled something at her before brushing past the other man. When he had gone there was silence for a few moments; Alethea was fighting to regain her calm and her companion seemed happy enough just to stand there, looking at the various notices pinned on the walls.
Presently Mr van Diederijk asked gently: ‘Off duty, Sister?’
She wanted to pick up her pen, but her hand was shaking. All the same she achieved a very creditable: ‘In about ten minutes or so, sir.’
‘Then may I beg you to take pity on me and come out to dinner?’ He sighed loudly. ‘London can be a lonely place for a foreigner.’
She was in no state to care what she did or where she went; she supposed that she might just as well go out with him as spend the evening in her room, which was what she had intended to do. All the same, she was too nice a girl to make use of him. ‘You might enjoy yourself better on your own, I’m not very good company,’ she pointed out.
He shrugged huge shoulders. ‘We don’t need to talk unless we want to.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Anyway, it might be better than spending an evening in your room, without your supper.’
Her fine eyes flew to his face. ‘How did you know…?’ and when she saw that he wasn’t going to answer her question: ‘Well, thank you, yes, I’d like to come.’
‘Good. Half past seven at the entrance, then?’ He turned as Sue came in, wished her good evening, passed the remark that he mustn’t interfere with the giving of the report, asked if he might take a quick look at the boy who had been operated upon that morning, and went quietly away.
‘He’s nice,’ breathed Sue. ‘I could go for him in a big way. He’ll be married, of course, the nice ones always are.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Alethea, not particularly caring. ‘Everything’s fairly quiet; you’ll need to keep an eye on that boy and the two who came in last night, I gave them some dope at five o’clock, but they’ll need another lot to settle them. They’re written up PRN and Mr Timms will be down before eight o’clock, so let him know if you’re not happy. As for the rest…’
She plunged into a quick account of what had happened since Sue had gone off duty at dinner time, put her desk tidy and stood up to go off duty herself. It had been a horrid day, thank heaven it was over. Not quite over, though; she still had the evening to get through, but perhaps in Mr van Diederijk’s restful company it would go swiftly. She sighed as she made her way through the hospital; she was sure that he was a very nice man, but he wasn’t Nick. Nick—whom she ought to hate and despise instead of loving.

CHAPTER TWO
ALETHEA INSPECTED her wardrobe in a dispirited fashion, only too conscious of the fact that on the previous evening she had been wild with excitement at the idea of dining with Nick. She wondered what kind of a place they would go to and played safe with a silk jersey dress under the rather nice mohair coat she had treated herself to only a few weeks ago. She was such a pretty girl that even her miserable feelings couldn’t do more than dim her beauty. Just as she was ready she very nearly decided not to go; she wasn’t being quite fair, for she would be dull company and Mr van Diederijk was too nice to treat badly. Then she remembered that she still owed him the money for last night’s dinner; Nick wasn’t going to pay, so she would have to. She popped her cheque book into her bag and went downstairs.
Mr van Diederijk, standing with his back to her by the big glass doors of the hospital entrance, looked enormous. He would have to have everything made for him, she reflected foolishly as she crossed the hall, and what a frightful expense! He was wearing a grey suit, beautifully tailored, and his shoes were the sort that one didn’t notice, but when one did, one could see that they were wildly expensive, too. He turned as she reached him and she realised that he had seen her reflected in the glass of the doors. His greeting was pleasantly matter-of-fact and his glance friendly but quite impersonal. ‘Delightfully punctual,’ he murmured, and opened the door for her to go through.
There was a car parked close by, a Jaguar XJ-S, gun-metal grey and upholstered in a pearl grey leather. He ushered her into it, got in beside her and drove out of the hospital forecourt. ‘Do you know Le Français?’ he asked as he turned the car’s elegant nose into the evening traffic. ‘I had wondered if we might go out of town, but you look tired—it’s been rather a day, hasn’t it? Perhaps another time—You like French cooking?’
He rambled on in his quiet deep voice so that all she had to do was murmur from time to time. Alethea felt herself relaxing; she had been right, he was a delightful, undemanding companion. She found herself wondering if she was dressed to suit the occasion; she hadn’t taken very great pains and he had said that she looked tired, which meant, in all probability, that she looked plain. He cleared up the little problem for her by observing: ‘You look very nice, but then of course you are a beautiful girl, even when you’re tired.’
He spoke in such a matter-of-fact way that she wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a statement of fact. She said ‘Thank you,’ and then: ‘It has been a busy day.’
They discussed it easily and at some length without being too serious about it until he parked and walked her across the pavement into the restaurant. It seemed that he was known there; they were greeted with a warm civility and when she had left her coat and taken a dissatisfied look at herself in the cloakroom, she found him waiting for her in the tiny foyer, talking with a man who she guessed might be the proprietor.
The bar was small but cosy and she was given time to choose her drink; she had become so accustomed to Nick ordering a dry sherry that for a moment she had to think. ‘I don’t really care for dry sherry,’ she told her companion. ‘What else is there?’
‘Dubonnet?’ he enquired placidly, ‘or how about a Madeira?’
She chose the latter and when the barman had served Mr van Diederijk with a gin and tonic, she took a sip of her own drink. It was nice, and even nicer because she had been asked what she would like and not just had a glass handed to her. They sat side by side, talking about nothing much and deciding what they should eat; soup with garlic, Barquettes Girondines for Alethea and Entrecote Bordelais for her companion. She sat back feeling more peaceful than she had done since the previous evening, while he chose the wines.
Getting ready for bed, much later, she found herself unable to remember just what they had talked about; they hadn’t hurried over their meal, and she paused in her hairbrushing to drool a little over the memory of the zabaglione and then worried because the memory of its deliciousness was so much sharper than their conversation. It was just as she was on the edge of sleep that she realised that she hadn’t thought about Nick at all, not once they had started their meal. Simultaneously she remembered that Mr van Diederijk had suggested that they might go to a theatre one evening. She had accepted, too, with the sudden thought that perhaps if Nick heard about it, he might feel jealous enough to discover that he was in love with her after all. She woke in the night with the clear recollection of the understanding in Mr van Diederijk’s face when she had accepted his invitation.
Alethea was half way through her breakfast the next morning when she paused, a fork half way to her mouth. How could she possibly have forgotten to pay Mr van Diederijk the money she, or rather, Nick, owed him?
Her friends stared at her. ‘Alethea, what’s up? You look as though you’ve remembered something simply frightful,’ and someone said cheerfully: ‘She’s left the weights off someone’s Balkan Beam…’
There was a little ripple of laughter and Alethea laughed with them. ‘Much worse!’ but she didn’t say more, and they, who had guessed that something had happened between her and Nick, carefully didn’t ask what it was.
She would be bound to see him within the next day or so, perhaps even this very day, Alethea decided as she set about the business of allocating the day’s work, but she didn’t. There was no sign of him. Sir Walter came surrounded by his posse of assistants, talking to Nick, discussing his cases, but of Mr van Diederijk there was no sign. Alethea, with a half day she didn’t want, took herself off duty and spent it washing her hair, writing letters and going for a brisk walk through the rather dingy streets around the hospital. She might just as well have taken a bus and gone up to Oxford Street and at least gone out to tea, but she had no heart for doing anything. Nick hadn’t bothered to look at her during the round, and it dawned on her painfully that he really had finished with her, that he had meant it when he had declared that he wasn’t going to waste time on her. He had called her prissy too. The thought roused her to anger, so that she glared at a perfectly blameless housewife, loaded with shopping, coming towards her on the pavement.
She walked herself tired and returned in time for supper at the hospital, and her friends, seeing her bleak face, talked about everything under the sun excepting herself.
‘That charmer’s gone,’ observed Philly Chambers, a small dark girl who was junior sister in the orthopaedic theatre. ‘Much in demand he was too, and I’m not surprised—he should have been a film star.’
‘You mean that giant who was wandering round with Sir Walter?’ asked Patty Cox, senior sister on Women’s Surgical. ‘Very self-effacing despite his size, never used two words when one would do. I hear he’s in charge of some new hospital in Holland where they combine orthopaedics with osteopathy; surgeons and osteopaths work hand in glove, as it were. Sir Walter’s interested, that’s why he’s been over here. He’s coming back…’
‘You know an awful lot about him,’ commented Philly, and looked across at Alethea. ‘You’re the one who ought to know all the gen, Alethea,’ she cried, and went on unthinkingly: ‘Nick must know all about him…’ She stopped, muttered: ‘Oh, lord, I’m sorry,’ and then: ‘I’ll fetch the pudding, shall I?’
Alethea had gone rather pale, so that her already pale face looked quite pinched. She said in an expressionless voice: ‘I don’t know anything about him,’ and realised that she only spoke the truth; he had told her nothing of himself, indeed, she could remember nothing of their conversations, perhaps she hadn’t been listening… She added: ‘He seemed very nice, though.’
There was a little burst of talk with everyone doing their best to change the conversation. There had been a good deal of gossip about Alethea and Nick Penrose. No one had actually found out exactly what had happened, but the hospital grapevine was loaded with rumours. That they had quarrelled was a certainty and it looked as though their romance was at an end, judging from Alethea’s face and unhappy air. Besides, Sue had told the staff nurse on Women’s Surgical, who had told Patty in her turn, that Nick Penrose was ignoring Alethea when he came on the ward; he had always had coffee with her after his round in the mornings, and they had smiled a good deal at each other and although their conversations had been brief anyone could have seen that they were wrapped up in each other—but not any more. Besides, Patty had seen with her own eyes Nick strolling down the theatre corridor with the theatre staff nurse, a pretty girl who made no secret of the fact that she was out to get a member of the medical profession as a husband. He had looked remarkably carefree and pleased with himself too.
She finished her pudding, saw that Alethea had merely spread hers round her plate, and suggested that it might be worth going to the rather dreary little cinema a stone’s throw from the hospital. ‘There’s that film on that I’ve been longing to see,’ she declared, ‘but I won’t go alone—Alethea, keep me company, there’s a dear, and what about you, Philly?’
She gathered a handful of friends round her and by sheer weight of numbers persuaded Alethea to accompany them. It was unfortunate that on their way out they should meet Nick Penrose, arm in arm with the theatre staff nurse.
Alethea went home for her days off at the end of the week, travelling down to the little village near Dunmow in her rather battered Fiat 500 on Friday evening, happy to shake off the hospital and its unhappy memories for a time at least. Once clear of London and its suburbs, the newly green and peaceful Essex countryside soothed her feelings. She had purposely left the main road at the earliest moment and had kept to the narrow lanes. It took a good deal longer, but the evening was a pleasant one and although she had told her grandmother that she was coming she had mentioned no special time. She reached Great Dunmow about seven o’clock and took the country road which would lead her eventually to Little Braugh, resolutely thinking about anything and everything except Nick. She had been a fool, she reflected, quite unable to keep to her resolution; Nick was an ambitious man and she had nothing to offer him but a pretty face and the qualities of a first-class nurse—he would want money too, for without that he would take twice as long to reach the top of his profession, and, whispered a small voice at the back of her head, Theatre Staff Nurse Petts was the only daughter of a rich grocer. She shook her head free of its worrying and concentrated on the road. But Nick’s image remained clear behind her eyelids and no amount of telling herself that she was well rid of someone who had had no real regard for her could dispel it.
But there was no sign of her worrying when she drew up outside a small cottage on the edge of the scattering of houses which was Little Braugh. It was a pretty little place with a hedged garden and a brick path to its solid front door, set squarely into its plain front. But the porch was a handsome one and the paint on its window frames was immaculate and a neat border of spring flowers testified to a careful gardener. Alethea beat a tattoo on the door knocker and opened the door, calling out as she went inside, and her grandmother, a brisk upright woman in her late sixties, came from the back of the house to greet her.
Mrs Thomas kissed her granddaughter with pleasure. They were much of a height and her keen eyes stared into Alethea’s large brown ones with faint worry in their depths, but she didn’t make any remark about Alethea’s still too pale face, instead she enquired as to the journey, observed that there was steak and kidney pie for supper and expressed the hope that Alethea was hungry enough to do it justice.
It wasn’t until the meal, served by Mrs Thomas’s devoted housekeeper, Mrs Bustle, was over and they were sitting round the small log fire in the comfortable, rather shabby sitting room, that Mrs Thomas asked casually: ‘You’ve been busy? You look washed out, Alethea.’ She frowned a little. ‘I sometimes wish you would give up that job at Theobald’s and get something nearer here in a small hospital where the work isn’t so exacting.’
Alethea picked a thread off her skirt. ‘I enjoy my work, Granny, even when I’m tired, but if you would like me to get something locally, I’ll do that.’
Mrs Thomas’s frown deepened. ‘Indeed you will not, my dear. I wouldn’t dream of spoiling a promising career through my selfishness.’ She stopped frowning, picked up her knitting and went on in a carefully casual way: ‘You have no intention of getting married? You must meet any number of men…’
‘Yes, Granny, I do—most of them are married…’
‘And those that aren’t?’
‘Well, I go out sometimes—quite often, but there isn’t any particular one.’ She added honestly: ‘Not now, at any rate.’
Her grandmother nodded, pleased that she had guessed rightly although all she said was: ‘There are plenty of other good fish in the sea.’ She added gently: ‘Do you mind very much, my dear?’
Alethea bent forward to poke the fire. ‘Yes, I do, Granny. You see, I thought he was going to marry me…’
‘And of course you have to see him every day?’
‘Yes.’
‘Awkward for you. Could you not take a holiday?’
‘And run away, Granny? I can’t do that. I—I expect it won’t be so bad in a day or two. One gets over these things.’
Her grandmother opened her mouth to say something and then thought better of it; instead she embarked on a long account of the last WI meeting, of which she was president. It lasted until bedtime.
But if she had hoped that it might take her granddaughter’s mind off her unhappiness, she was mistaken. Alethea came down to breakfast the next morning looking as though she had hardly slept a wink, which she hadn’t. She had thought that once away from Theobald’s with no chance of seeing Nick, she might feel better. Instead, she thought about him all the time, allowing herself to dream foolish little daydreams in which he arrived at her grandmother’s door, unable to live without her. Her usually sensible mind rejected this absurdity, but the daydreams persisted, although she did her best to dispel them by a bout of gardening, a walk to the village for the groceries and then a game of chess with her grandmother, who having her wits about her and being good at the game anyway, beat her to a standstill.
She went back on the following evening, sorry to leave the quiet little house which had been her home since her parents had died, but excited at the thought of seeing Nick again.
And she did see him; he was crossing the yard at the back of the hospital where the staff parked their cars. Staff Nurse Petts was with him and they were obviously making for his car. As they drew level with her, Marie Petts accorded her a smug smile. Nick said, ‘Good evening, Sister Thomas,’ with the air of only just remembering who she was.
Alethea, rather pale with her desire to fling herself at Nick, wished them both a serene ‘Hullo,’ and would have gone on her way, but Marie wasn’t going to be done out of her triumph. She stopped, so that Nick had to stop too, and said with false friendliness: ‘We’re going to the Palladium—that marvellous show everyone’s talking about.’
Alethea, listening to her own voice, cool and pleasant, marvelled at it. ‘I hear it’s quite super…’ She would have babbled on, intent on letting them both see that she didn’t care two straws even though there was a cold lump of misery under her ribs, but she was interrupted. Mr van Diederijk, sprung apparently from the ground, so silently had he joined them, spoke before she could utter any more banalities.
‘There you are, Alethea,’ he remarked placidly. ‘I was beginning to think that that funny little car of yours had broken down. Can you manage to change in twenty minutes or so? I’ve booked a table for half past eight.’
He had slipped between her and the other two so that they didn’t see her startled face and open mouth. After a moment she began: ‘But I…’
‘Need longer? You can have an extra five minutes, then—I’ll wait in the main entrance.’
She turned without a word and almost ran in to the Nurses’ Home entrance, up the stairs and into her room, where she sat down on the bed without bothering to take off her jacket. Of course Mr van Diederijk hadn’t meant a word of it. He had rescued her from an awkward situation, that was all; she would have a bath and go to bed early and thank him for his kindness when she saw him again. She was already in her dressing gown when one of the home maids knocked on the door and told her that she was wanted on the telephone, and just for a second the absurd idea that it might be Nick crossed her mind. It wasn’t; Mr van Diederijk’s calm voice asked matter-of-factly if she was changing. ‘Because if you are, put on something pretty. I thought we might go to Eatons.’
‘Oh, I thought—that is, I thought that you were just helping me out, or something.’ She added doggedly: ‘You were, weren’t you? You didn’t mean to ask me out to dinner…’
His chuckle was comforting and reassuring. ‘Oh, yes, I was helping you out, but I certainly meant to ask you to dine with me, both this evening and as frequently as possible.’
She took the receiver from her ear and looked at it, wondering if she could have heard him aright. After a minute she said: ‘Thank you, I’d like to come out this evening. I’ll be very quick.’
Something pretty, he had said. She had an almost new crêpe dress, smoky grey delicately patterned with amber and a misty green. She had worn it once to go out with Nick and as she put it on she remembered that he had barely noticed it. She zipped it up defiantly, brushed out her hair so that it curled on her neck, dug her feet into slippers, caught up the dark grey flannel coat she had bought years ago and which was happily dateless and ran downstairs.
Mr van Diederijk was waiting just where he said he would be and she sighed with relief without knowing it. He made some commonplace remark as she joined him, opened the door and led her to the Jaguar and during the brief journey he kept the conversation firmly in his own hands; even if she had wanted to say anything about her meeting with Nick he didn’t give her the chance. It was the same during their dinner, a delicious meal—smoked salmon, pork escalope and a rich creamy dessert. They drank Hock, and Alethea, considerably cheered by two glasses of it, prudently refused the brandy offered with her coffee. She was pouring second cups when Mr van Diederijk observed: ‘That’s a pretty dress,’ and then: ‘Do you like dancing?’
She remembered the evenings she had gone dancing with Nick. Her ‘Yes, I do’ was so hesitant that he went on smoothly:
‘We must try it one evening, but in the meantime would you come to a theatre with me? Saturday evening, perhaps—there’s a play I rather wanted to see, I think you might enjoy it too.’
She didn’t say anything for a few minutes and then she asked a question. ‘Why are you being so very kind? I mean, asking me out to dinner—twice within days and then pretending that we were spending the evening together…’
‘Well, we are, aren’t we? Spending the evening together.’ His voice was bland. ‘And I’m not being kind, Alethea, rather should I say that I like to see fair play, and it seems to me that young Penrose isn’t playing fair.’ He looked at her thoughtfully, frowning a little. ‘If you want him back you must put on a bold front.’
‘I don’t want him back,’ she uttered the lie so hotly that it was quite apparent that there wasn’t a word of truth in it, ‘and what’s more, I can’t see that it’s any business of yours, Mr van Diederijk.’
‘You are of course quite right. I apologise.’ He added coolly: ‘I expect you would like to go.’ He lifted a finger and took the bill and signed it, and Alethea cried sharply: ‘Oh, I quite forgot—I still owe you for the other night…’
She was stopped by the look of distaste on her companion’s face. ‘Allow me to settle that with Penrose,’ he said blandly. There was nothing for her to do but get up and go. She did it with outward calm, smarting from his polite snub, and engaged him in a trivial conversation all the way back to Theobald’s, where she thanked him with the nice manners of a small girl who had been well drilled in the social niceties.
Mr van Diederijk listened to her, his head a little on one side. When she had finished, all he said was: ‘Not a successful evening, but there will be others.’
This remark sent her crossly to her bed; there would be no more evenings, she decided, and then remembered that she had said that she would go to the theatre with him. Oh well, she conceded, just that once more, and then never again.
In view of this resolution it was upsetting to receive a brief note from him on the following day, telling her that he had been called back to Holland, and must regretfully postpone their date. She stuck it back in its envelope and left it on the desk in her office, and presently when she went back there with Sir Walter and Nick, she saw him looking at it. She picked it up and put it in her pocket without a word and had the satisfaction of hearing Nick ask Sir Walter if Mr van Diederijk would be operating on the case they had been looking at.
‘Back in Holland,’ mumbled Sir Walter through a mouthful of biscuit, ‘had an emergency call from his brother. He’ll be back, though. I want to get his opinion on that leg we’ve been looking at.’
He launched into technicalities and Alethea poured his second cup of coffee and listened with one ear, while she speculated as to whether Mr van Diederijk would ask her out again. It was difficult to keep her mind on this, because Nick was sitting close to her and she was only too well aware of him. He was still behaving as though she was someone he had only just met and didn’t like, anyway, and she was hard put to it to maintain a serene front. She still felt terrible about him, but pride forbade her to show her feelings and there was a certain sad satisfaction in knowing that she was being successful in this. She saw the two men out of the ward presently and went back to her ward round which they had interrupted.
Saturday came and went, and it was lucky that she was so very busy, she told herself, for now that she had no date, she was under no obligation to go off duty punctually on Saturday evening—indeed, she stayed on for an hour or more, much to Sue’s surprise and faint annoyance; surely Sister Thomas knew her well enough by now to know that she could safely leave the patients to her without fussing round in a totally untypical manner? It came to her presently that it might be on account of Nick Penrose. Alethea had said nothing and her manner towards him had given nothing away, all the same… Sue nodded her head wisely and when Alethea at last went off duty, wished her good night with genuine sympathy.
Sunday and Monday were surprisingly quiet and Alethea had given herself her days off on Tuesday and Wednesday that week. Thursday was to be a heavy operating day, and she liked to be on duty for theatre days, anyway. She went home on Monday evening, driving through the lovely April evening and seeing nothing of it, her mind busy. She would waste no more time in being sorry for herself, but she knew that she would have to get away from Nick before she could take up the threads of her life once more. She would have liked to have given in her notice there and then, but that wasn’t possible; she would have to work her month out, like everyone else, and find herself another job. It might look as though she were running away from an unpleasant situation, and in a way, she was and probably Nick would get some satisfaction from it, but her friends would understand and as far as she could see, it was the best way, indeed, the only way.
She told her grandmother of her vague plans that evening and that lady, without asking any awkward questions, heartily agreed with her before embarking on a series of helpful suggestions as to where she should go.
‘Give London a rest,’ she urged. ‘Why not Edinburgh? I know it’s a long way and you won’t get home nearly as often, but you’ll be breaking new ground.’ Mrs Thomas settled back in her chair. ‘Get out that port the vicar gave me at Christmas, child, we’ll have a glass while we’re thinking.’
But there was nothing much to discuss, when all was said and done. Alethea loved her grandmother dearly, but she had no intention of burdening her with her troubles; all the same, it was pleasant to sit there and make plans for the future with someone who really was interested. It was probably the port which made her sleep soundly for the first time in nights.
She awoke early to a splendid morning with a brisk wind and sunshine, which, while not over-warm, gave promise of a lovely day. She lay in bed for a little while and then remembered how Mrs Bustle had been grumbling mildly about the spring cleaning, something which she insisted upon doing each year. Alethea got out of bed, got into slacks and a thin sweater and crept downstairs. The sitting room curtains, Mrs Bustle had observed gloomily, simply had to come down and have a good blow.
Alethea made tea, drank it at the open kitchen door, gave Podge the cat his morning milk and set about getting the curtains out into the garden. They were old and faded, but their damask was still good. They were also very heavy; she hauled them down the garden path to the very end where the clothes line was, and hung them upon it, and then, quite carried away by her success, went into the dining room and did the same for the green serge hanging at the big sash window there. She would make more tea, she decided, and take a cup upstairs to both ladies before getting the breakfast; Mrs Bustle could do with an extra hour in bed. The old ladies were grateful. With strict instructions about breakfast she was allowed to go downstairs again, lay the table and put on the porridge. She was hungry by now and the packet of Rice Crispies she found in a cupboard was welcome; she sat on the kitchen table, eating them, her head, just for the moment, happily free of unhappy thoughts.
‘Now that’s what I like to see,’ said Mr van Diederijk cheerfully from the window behind her, ‘a strong young woman working in the kitchen.’
She turned to look at him, surprised at the little rush of pleasure she felt at the sight of him. She answered him through a mouthful of crispies: ‘I very much doubt if you ever bother to go to the kitchen, whether there’s a strong young woman there or not.’ She frowned a little; such a description made her feel large and muscley.
‘Oh, but I do—I have a housekeeper, a Scotswoman who bakes Dundee cakes for me. I’m partial to a nice Dundee cake. May I come in?’
And when she nodded he lifted a long leg over the sill and slid neatly into the room. He was looking very trendy, she considered. Not young any more but distinguished, and his clothes were just right.
He put out a hand and she shook some Rice Crispies into it. ‘You pay your visits very early,’ she observed.
‘I came over on the Harwich ferry, it got in just after six.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s almost eight o’clock. Have you had breakfast?’
‘Not yet. Would you like some? My grandmother and Mrs Bustle will be down very soon, I’m waiting for them.’ She got down off the table. ‘How did you know I was here, or did you just happen to be passing?’
He looked vague. ‘Oh, someone or other told me where you lived and I thought that if I called about breakfast time…’
Alethea laughed and at the same time felt vaguely peeved that he hadn’t come specially to see her, only on the offchance of getting breakfast. She thrust the thought aside as absurd; now if it had been Nick…
‘Don’t look so sad.’ Mr van Diederijk’s voice was kind. ‘I’m not young Penrose, but at least I provide you with company.’
She lifted startled eyes to his. ‘However did you know that I was thinking that?’
‘Logic.’ He wandered over to the open door. ‘What a charming garden. Why are all the curtains hanging on the line and not at the windows?’
Alethea explained, and halfway through Mrs Bustle came in, was introduced, declared herself pleased to meet their visitor, enquired if he liked two eggs with his bacon or three and ordered them with brisk kindness out of her kitchen. ‘The sitting room’s got the sun,’ she pointed out, ‘though it looks a bit bare without those curtains, and as for you, Miss Alethea, you’d do well to go and wash your face and hands and comb your hair for your breakfast.’
‘The worst of these old family servants and friends,’ remarked Mr van Diederijk, ushered into the sitting room by Alethea, ‘is that having known you since you were so high, they never allow you to grow up. I know—I’ve one at home.’
‘The one who bakes the cakes?’
‘The very same. Are you on duty tomorrow?’
She paused at the door. ‘Yes—I drove down.’
‘Ah, well—I’ll drive you back. You can always come down by train and drive back next time?’
‘Well, yes, I could. But I’m not going until this evening.’
‘Ah—I’m invited to spend the day?’ His voice was bland. ‘I shall enjoy that. Besides, I can hang those curtains for you.’
Alethea was much struck, when at the end of the day she was sitting beside Mr van Diederijk on their way back to Theobald’s, at the pleasant time she—indeed all of them—had had. Her grandmother had liked him and had spent quite some time in conversation with him while Alethea and Mrs Bustle got lunch, and as for the housekeeper, he was an instant success, and although he didn’t get Dundee cake for his tea, he certainly had his appetite coaxed with feather-light sponges, home-made scones and Mrs Bustle’s own jam. And when they left she was surprised at her grandmother’s sincere wish that he should call again. And he had agreed to do so, too.
‘It was rather a quiet day for you,’ she ventured as he sent the Jaguar racing ahead.
‘I like quiet days. What gave you the idea that I didn’t?’ he wanted to know.
‘Nothing—only you live in London and I expect you go out a good deal.’
‘I live in Groningen, too, and I like nothing better than to be at home.’ He overtook the cars ahead of him and steadied the car’s pace. ‘And you?’ He glanced at her. ‘Your grandmother tells me that you’re thinking of leaving Theobald’s. A good idea, but of course you can only leave for one reason.’
She turned to look at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Be bright, dear girl. If you leave to go to another job, your Nick is going to hear of it and he’ll know you’re running away. If you leave, it must be to get married.’
Alethea sat up, scattering her handbag and its contents all over the floor. ‘There, look what you’ve made me do!’ she declared unfairly.
‘We’ll pick everything up presently. Did you hear what I said, Alethea?’
‘Yes—but how can I do that? I don’t know anyone—and besides, I don’t want to get married.’ She swallowed. ‘Well, you know what I mean, only if it’s Nick.’ She added crossly: ‘And I don’t know why I talk to you like this.’
He ignored everything she had said. ‘We’ll have to see,’ was all he said, and he went on to talk about the morrow’s work. He was, she decided, very annoying at times, pretending not to hear, probably not listening. She wished him a rather snappy goodnight and was rendered speechless when he suddenly pulled her close and kissed her. When she had her breath back she demanded indignantly: ‘What was that for?’
‘A matter of expediency—your Nick came into the hall and it seemed a good idea to give him something to think about. There’s nothing like a little competition.’
‘Thank you,’ said Alethea. Young men usually kissed her because they wanted to, Mr van Diederijk apparently did it by way of necessity; she wasn’t sure if she minded or not. She wished him goodnight for a second time and went to her room. She had hoped to see Nick as she went, but there was no sign of him. Surely if he had any feeling left for her at all he would have wanted to know why Mr van Diederijk had kissed her? She sighed; she was wasting time, her pride told her, and the sooner she left the better. ‘But I’ll not get married,’ she told herself out loud.

CHAPTER THREE
SHE WAS OF THE same mind the next morning and indeed she was of a mind to tell Mr van Diederijk this if she had the opportunity. But there was no chance to speak to him. True, he paid a fleeting visit to the ward, elegant and rather awe-inspiring in his dark grey suiting and expensive tie, but he was very much the consultant; beyond wishing him a pleasant good morning, proffering the notes of the case which he wished to see and escorting him to the ward door with an equally pleasant goodbye, Alethea prudently said nothing. Probably he would come again, when there might be a few minutes in which to tell him that she had no intention of even considering his ridiculous suggestion. What did it matter what Nick thought, anyway? she asked herself as she penned instructions in the day book. It was galling to discover much later in the day, that he had been back while she had been down in X-Ray, speaking her mind about some missing films urgently needed on the ward. What was more, he had stopped to chat to Sue. ‘Almost ten minutes,’ declared that young lady. ‘Anyone would think that he hadn’t anything else in the world to do, and when I asked him if he wanted to see you all he said was: “I think not, Staff, not for the moment.”’ She sighed. ‘He’s very good-looking and his eyes twinkle.’
‘Pooh!’ exclaimed Alethea, suddenly cross for no reason, and then to cover up her little outburst: ‘X-Ray say they haven’t a clue where those films are, they say they gave them to Nurse Jenkins, although no one remembers actually doing that. I’ll have a word with her, I think.’ She wrinkled her pretty forehead. ‘What a waste of time when there’s so much to be done!’
And it wasn’t just the lost films, the whole day had been a series of small hold-ups, misunderstandings and delays. Alethea went off duty finally, glad that it was over. It wasn’t until she was in bed that she remembered that she had meant to go and see the Principal Nursing Officer about leaving. ‘Tomorrow,’ she told herself, and resolutely shut her eyes, but before she went to sleep she found herself remembering very clearly what good company Mr van Diederijk had been at her home, sitting opposite her at her grandmother’s table, tucking into Mrs Bustle’s steak and kidney pie with relish. He grew on one, she decided, and slept.
As so often happened, the next morning went as smoothly as the previous one had gone consistently wrong. Enough staff for once, all the operation cases of the day before doing exactly as they should, even the missing X-Ray films turning up. Alethea, her round done and the wheels of morning work turning smoothly, retired to her office to tackle the off-duty book, fill in the requisitions, make diplomatic telephone calls to the laundry, the dietitian and the Social Worker and presently, to enjoy a cup of coffee with Sue.
She was deep in the off-duty when the door opened and without lifting her head she said: ‘Sue, I want Mr Brook’s leg up a bit…’ and when no one answered she looked up.
‘Good morning,’ observed Mr van Diederijk. ‘Your staff nurse assures me that you are more or less free for a little while. I should like to talk to you.’
She put down her pen. ‘Now?’
‘Now. About Penrose.’ He lifted a large hand as she began to protest and went on in a matter-of-fact voice: ‘He is the only man you have loved.’ It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact.
Alethea went pink and said ‘Yes,’ gruffly.
‘You weren’t having an affair, of course.’
The pink flamed to red and she choked a little. ‘Certainly not!’
‘Forgive me, I don’t know why I asked that question; it was quite unnecessary. I wonder, would you consider marrying me, Alethea?’
Indignation and surprise turned to sheer amazement.
‘Will I what?’ she repeated slowly.
‘Consider marrying me.’ He was as much at his ease as he might have been asking her if she had an empty bed on the ward.
She rearranged everything on her desk, trying to think what to say, and when nothing came, she rearranged everything again.
‘Let us review the situation calmly,’ suggested Mr van Diederijk in an unhurried fashion. ‘You wish to run away from a situation which is no longer tolerable to you, but you haven’t quite enough courage to do so.’ And when she jerked her head up: ‘No, don’t interrupt. You would like a way out, wouldn’t you, for to remain here has become untenable, hasn’t it? But your pride must be kept intact at all costs, your reason for leaving must have nothing to suggest that you are running away. I offer you a means to that end. No, allow me to finish. I need a wife, or more accurately, my home needs a mistress, and I need someone to entertain my friends and provide a secure background for my children.’ He paused and held her astonished gaze with calm blue eyes. ‘Oh, yes, I have been married. My wife and I were divorced by mutual consent ten years ago. She is married to some rich South American and lives in Brazil—or is it Peru? I can never remember. She has no interest in the children—twins, a boy, Sarel, and a girl, Jacomina. They are eleven years old.’
Alethea asked breathlessly: ‘She left them when they were a year old? She couldn’t…’
‘She could and she did. They need a mother very badly, Alethea, but I must make it quite clear that I do not need a wife.’
She pushed a tidy pile of papers away so roughly that they fell in a hopeless muddle to the floor. ‘You could get yourself a housekeeper.’ She remembered as she said it that he already had one. ‘Or a nursemaid,’ she added.
He was quite unruffled. ‘I already have both. My housekeeper I mentioned, she is elderly and excellent, but bringing up children is not part of her work. The nursemaid has been with the children since they were babies. She loves them dearly, spoils them utterly and can no longer cope. They need kind authority, understanding and someone to confide in and love.’
‘Why not you?’ Her voice was a little sharp.
‘I am not a woman. I love them, make no mistake about that, but there are so many things I cannot do or say which a woman—a mother—can.’
Alethea opened her mouth ready to utter the telling remarks she had a mind to utter, but she had no chance. The door opened again and Sue came in, hesitated, said: ‘I’ll bring in the coffee, shall I? You too, sir?’ and retreated.

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