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Tabitha in Moonlight
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.Sister Tabitha was an efficient nurse, but when it came to matters of the heart she was less sure of herself. So when she fell in love, she had no idea how to deal with her feelings. Was that why the Dutch surgeon Marius van Beek called her Cinderella?If only Marius would ride up on a white horse and ask for her hand in marriage. But people lived happily ever after only in fairy tales, didn't they?












“You’re afraid,” said Marius very softly.


She sat up straight and faced him squarely, her plain face animated into near beauty by her rage.

“How dare you?” Her pleasant voice was a little shrill but well under control. “Until you came, I had my life planned and everything was… Can’t you see you’ve stirred me up? I was happy before.”

“Happy? With your broom and no chance of a glass slipper?” He got up and pulled her out of her chair and held her hand in his.

“Tabitha, shall we not be friends? After all, I expect to see a great deal of you in the future.”

Tabitha stared ahead of her at his white drill coat. She was thinking that, when he married Lilith, it would be so much more comfortable if they all got on well together.

She said in a bewildered voice, “Could we be friends?”

Tabitha felt his hands tighten on her own. “Yes, Tabby.” He let go of one hand and lifted her chin and gave her a long look, then kissed her on the cheek.

A nice brotherly kiss, thought Tabitha.




About the Author


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, and her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.




Tabitha in Moonlight

Betty Neels













www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE




CHAPTER ONE


MISS TABITHA CRAWLEY opened the door of Men’s Orthopaedic ward with the outward calmness of manner for which she was famed throughout St Martin’s Hospital, although inwardly she seethed with the frustration of having to leave her half-eaten supper, combined with the knowledge that within half an hour of going off duty after a tiresome day, it would be her almost certain lot to have to remain on duty to admit the emergency she had just been warned of. She had already calculated that the patient would arrive at about the same time as the night staff, which meant that she would have to admit him, for the night nurses would be instantly caught up in the machinery of night routine and the night sisters would be taking the day reports.

She frowned heavily, an act which did nothing to improve her looks, for her face was unremarkable enough with its undistinguished nose, wide mouth and hazel eyes, whose lashes, of the same pale brown of her hair, were thick enough but lacked both curl and length. Her hair was one of her few good points, for it was long and thick and straight, but as she wore it tidily drawn back into a plaited coil, its beauty was lost to all but the more discerning. Not that many of those she met bothered to look further than her face, to dismiss her as a nice, rather dull girl; if they had looked again they would have seen that she had a good figure and quite beautiful legs. The fact that they didn’t look for a second time didn’t bother Tabitha in the least—indeed, it gave her considerable amusement, for she was blessed with a sense of humour and was able to laugh at herself, which, she reminded herself upon occasion, was a very good thing. She had plenty of friends anyway, and although she was considered something of a martinet on the ward, the nurses liked her, for she was considerate and kind and didn’t shirk a hard day’s work.

Nurse Betts and Mrs Jeffs, the nursing auxiliary, tidying beds at the far end of the ward, watched her neat figure as she walked towards them, and Betts said softly:

‘You know, Mrs Jeffs, she’s got a marvelous shape and a lovely voice. If only she’d do something to her hair…’ She broke off as Tabitha reached them.

‘An emergency,’ she said without preamble. ‘Will you get one of the top beds ready, please? We’d better have him near the office—it’s a compound fracture of tib and fib. He’s eighty years old and he’s been lying for hours before he was discovered. They’re getting some blood into him now, but they won’t do anything until tomorrow morning; he’s too shocked. I’ll lay up a trolley just the same.’ She smiled a little and looked almost pretty.

The trolley done, she went back into the ward to start her last round, an undertaking which she always thought of as the Nightingale touch, but the men seemed to like it and it gave her the chance to wish each of them an individual good night as well as make sure that all was well as she paused for a few seconds by their beds. She started at the top of the ward, opposite to where Nurse Betts and Mrs Jeffs were still busy, coming to a halt beside a bed whose occupant was displaying a lively interest in what was going on. He was a young man of her own age, recovering from the effects of a too hearty rugger scrum, and he grinned at her cheerfully.

‘Hullo, Sister—hard luck, just as you’re due off. Hope it’s someone with a bit of life in ’em.’

‘Eighty,’ said Tabitha crisply, ‘and I fancy he’s the one you should be sorry for. How’s the leg?’

He swung its plastered length awkwardly. ‘Fine. Pity old Sawbones is out of commission, he might have taken this lump of concrete off—I bet the new bloke’ll keep it on for weeks. What’s he like, Sister?’

‘I haven’t an idea,’ said Tabitha, ‘but be sure you’ll do as he says. Now settle down, Jimmy, there’s a good boy.’ Her voice was motherly and he said instantly, just as though she were twice his age: ‘Yes, Sister, OK. Goodnight.’

Tabitha went on down the neat row of beds, pausing by each one to tuck in a blanket or shake a pillow and now and then feel a foot to make sure that its circulation was all it should be.

The ward was almost aggressively Victorian with its lofty ceiling and tall, narrow windows, and the faint breeze of the summer’s evening seemed to emphasise this. Tabitha had a sudden longing to be home, instantly dismissed as she fetched up by Mr Prosser’s bed. Mr Prosser had two broken legs because the brakes on his fish and chip van failed on a steep West Country hill when he was on his way to the more remote villages with his appetising load. Tabitha’s nose twitched at the memory of the reek of fish and chips which had pervaded the ward for hours after his arrival. Even now, several weeks after his admission, the more humorous-minded of his companions in misfortune were apt to crack fishy jokes at his expense. Not that he minded; he was a cockney by birth and had migrated to the West Country several years earlier, satisfying a lifelong urge to live in the country while at the same time retaining his native humour. He said now:

‘’Ullo, ducks. What’s all the bustle about? Some poor perisher cracked ’is legs like yours truly?’

Tabitha nodded. ‘That’s right—but only one. How are the toes?’

‘All there, Sister—I wriggled ’em like you said. How’s ’Is Nibs?’

‘As comfortable as possible. I’ll tell Mr Raynard you enquired, shall I?’

‘Yes—’e’s been ’oist with ’is own…’ he hesitated.

‘Petard,’ finished Tabitha for him. ‘Hard luck, wasn’t it?’

She spoke with genuine sympathy. It was indeed hard luck for the senior orthopaedic surgeon to have fallen down in his own garden and broken his patella into two pieces. He had been brought in late that afternoon and had largely been the cause of Tabitha’s tiresome day, for whereas his patients were willing to lie still and have done to them whatever was necessary for their good, Mr Raynard had felt compelled to order everyone about and even went so far as to say that if he wanted his damn knee properly attended to he’d better get up and do it himself, which piece of nonsense was properly ignored by those ministering to him. He had had the grace to beg everyone’s pardon later on and had even gone so far as to thank God that he was in his own ward and in Tabitha’s capable hands. Having thus made amends he then demanded the portable telephone to be fetched, and ignoring the fact that the staff were longing to get him settled in his bed, had a long conversation, his share of which enabled his hearers to guess without much difficulty that he was arranging for someone to do his work. He laid the receiver down at length and fixed Tabitha with, for him, a mild eye.

‘That’s settled. A colleague of mine has just given up his appointment prior to going on a series of lecture tours, he’s coming down tomorrow to see to this—’ he waved an impatient hand at his splinted knee. ‘He’ll take over for me until I can get about.’ He grinned at her. ‘He’s an easy-going chap—he’ll be a nice change from me, Tabby.’

She had said, ‘Oh yes’ in a neutral voice, thinking privately that probably the new man would be even worse than the other old friend of Mr Raynard’s, who had come for a week when he was down with ’flu. He had been easy-going too—his rounds had been leisurely and totally lacking in instructions to either herself or the houseman, but hours later, usually as she was preparing to go off duty, he would return to the ward, full of splendid ideas which he wanted to put into operation immediately.

She walked on slowly down the ward, passing the time of day with each patient while she wondered why Mr Raynard chose to lie in discomfort and a fair amount of pain until this colleague of his should arrive in the morning, and then remembered that George Steele, his registrar, was out for the evening and wouldn’t be back until very late, and there really wasn’t anyone else.

She was on her way up the other side of the ward now and there were only Mr Pimm and Mr Oscar left before the two empty beds at the top of the ward. She stood between the two men, each of whom had a miniature chess board balanced on their chests, and Mr Pimm rumbled:

‘He’s got me, Sister—it’s taken him the whole evening, but he’s finally done it.’

‘How?’ asked Tabitha, remembering with a grief she still felt keenly the games of chess she and her father had played before he had married again. It was one of the memories she tried her best to forget, and she thrust it aside now and listened intelligently to Mr Oscar’s triumphant explanation before wishing them a cheerful good night and going finally into the cubicle outside her office.

Mr Raynard was waiting for her, looking bad-tempered—something which she ignored, for she had long ago learned not to mind his bristling manner and sharp tongue. Now he asked; ‘Is there something coming in?’

She told him briefly and added: ‘If you’re quite comfortable, sir, I won’t stay—there are several things…I hope you’ll sleep well. You’ve been written up for what you asked for and I hope you’ll take it—you need a good sleep. Nothing after midnight, either, in case you go to theatre early—that depends upon your colleague, I imagine. I shall be here at eight o’clock anyway, and your pre-meds are written up.’

Mr Raynard snorted. ‘All nicely arranged. You’ll go with me to the theatre, of course.’

Tabitha raised her eyebrows. ‘If you insist, sir—though I must remind you that it’s theatre day tomorrow and there’s a list from here to there; you made it out yourself last week.’

Mr Raynard looked sour. ‘Well, you’ve got a staff nurse who’s quite able to carry out your pernickety ideas.’ He added reluctantly, ‘You run the ward so efficiently that it could tick over very well by itself.’

Tabitha looked surprised. ‘Fancy you saying that,’ she remarked cheerfully. ‘I’ll be getting too big for my boots!’ Her too-wide mouth curved into a smile. ‘Just for that, I’ll take you to theatre, sir.’

Her quick ear had caught the sound of trolley wheels coming down the corridor. ‘There’s our patient, I must go.’

The old man on the trolley looked like Father Christmas; he had a leonine head crowned with snow-white hair and his handsome old face was wreathed in whiskers. He groaned a little as he was lifted on to the bed, but didn’t open his eyes. It was a few minutes later, after he had been tucked into the warmed and cradled bed and Tabitha had checked his pulse and turned back to take a second look at him, that she encountered his startlingly blue gaze. She said at once: ‘Hullo, you’re safe and sound in hospital. How do you feel?’

His voice came threadily. ‘Not bad—not bad at all, thank you, Sister.’

She smiled. ‘Good. Then will you close your eyes and go to sleep again? Presently, when you’ve had a rest and a little nap, one of us will answer any questions you may want to ask. Unless there’s anything worrying you now?’

He closed his eyes, and Tabitha looked to the drip and checked his night drugs and was on the point of turning away when he said in a voice which was a little stronger: ‘There are one or two questions. What is the time?’

She told him and he frowned so that she asked quickly: ‘Is there someone who should know you are here? We got your address from your papers in Casualty, but there was no one home when the police called.’

‘My cat—Podger—he’ll wonder what’s happened. My landlady won’t bother. He can’t get out—he’ll starve.’

‘Indeed he won’t,’ said Tabitha instantly. ‘I’m going home in a very few minutes. I live quite close to you, I’ll feed your cat and see what arrangements I can make, so don’t worry.’

He smiled a little. ‘There isn’t anyone…’ he began. He closed his eyes and Tabitha waited for him to say something more, but he didn’t; Pethedine and shock and weariness had carried him off between them to a merciful limbo.

It was almost ten o’clock by the time she left the hospital in her small Fiat. A few minutes’ drive took her through the main streets of the city and into the older, shabbier quarter where she found her patient’s house without difficulty. It was one of a row of two-storied Victorian houses which at one time would have been described as desirable family residences, although now they were let out in flats or rooms.

The woman who answered Tabitha’s knock, had a flat Midlands accent which sounded harsh to Tabitha’s West Country ears. She said stridently:

‘What d’yer want?’ and Tabitha felt a sudden pity for the old man she had just left, and for his cat. She explained why she had called and the woman stood aside to let her in with casual cheerfulness. ‘Upstairs, dear—back room, and I ’opes no one expects me to look after ’is room or that cat of ’is. I’ve enough ter do.’

She opened a door and shuffled through it, shutting it firmly on Tabitha, who, left on her own, went briskly up the stairs and into the back room. She switched on the light, closed the door behind her and looked around. The room was small and very clean, and although most of its furniture was strictly of the sort found in furnished rooms, she was surprised to see what she took to be some good pictures on its walls, and several pieces of Wedgwood and Rockingham china on the mantelpiece. There was a desk in one corner of the room too—a beautiful piece of furniture which she thought to be Sheraton; it bore upon it a small ormolu clock and a pair of silver candlesticks which would probably have paid the rent for a year. It wasn’t her business, anyway. She set about looking for Podger.

He was squeezed under the bed, a large black cat with a worried expression on his moonlike face. She gave him bread and milk which he gobbled noisily and then looked at her for more. It was impossible to leave him alone, at the mercy of anyone who chose to remember him. She gathered him up easily enough and went downstairs and knocked on the landlady’s door. Podger cringed a little as it was opened and Tabitha said more firmly than she had meant to: ‘I’ll look after the cat. Perhaps you would be good enough to lock the door while…’

The woman eyed her with indulgent scorn. ‘Till ’is rent’s due I’ll lock it. After that it’s out with ’is things. I can’t afford to leave me rooms empty.’

Tabitha put a gentle hand on Podger’s bull neck. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll come back tomorrow evening—perhaps something could be arranged.’

She made her escape, and as she settled the trustful Podger beside her in the car her mind was already busy with the problem of what was to be done. The old man must be hard up, even though some of his possessions, if sold, would keep him in comfort for some time. She started the car, and still pondering the problem, went back through the city to the quiet street where she had her flat.

As she parked the car outside the little house, she could see Meg standing in the open door, and as she crossed the road, Podger under one arm, she heard her soft Dorset voice. ‘Miss Tabby, where have you been? It’s all hours—and what’s that you’ve got with you?’

Tabitha shut the street door firmly behind them and opened the door into the flat, then crossed the minute hall and went into the kitchen, where she put Podger on a chair. She said contritely: ‘Meg dear, I’m so sorry. I’ll tell you what happened, but I must feed this poor creature.’ She rummaged around and found some cold ham and gave it to the cat, explaining as she did so. When she had finished, Meg clucked her tongue just as she had always done when Tabitha had been a very little girl and she had been her nanny.

‘Well, what’s done can’t be undone,’ she remarked comfortably, ‘poor old man. Did you get your supper?’

‘No,’ confessed Tabitha, ‘not all of it,’ and was prevailed upon to sit down immediately at the table and given soup while Meg made sandwiches. With her mouth full, she said: ‘You spoil me, Meg. You shouldn’t, you know. You could get a marvelous job with an earl or a lord or someone instead of being cooped up here with me on a wage Father would have been ashamed to offer you.’

Her erstwhile nurse gave her a severe look. ‘And what would I be doing with earls and lords and suchlike? Didn’t I promise your dear mother that I’d look after you, and you didn’t think that I would stay behind when you left home, now did you, miss?’

Tabitha offered Podger a morsel of cheese and jumped up to hug Meg. ‘I’d be lost without you,’ she declared soberly, and then: ‘I don’t want to go to Chidlake on Friday.’

‘You must, Miss Tabitha. It’s your stepsister’s birthday party, and though I know there’s no love lost between you, nor yet that stepmother of yours, you’ve got to go. When you left Chidlake after your father married again you did promise him you’d go back, Christmas and birthdays and suchlike.’

‘Oh, Meg, I know, but Father was alive then. Stepmother and Lilith don’t really want me there.’

‘Maybe not, but it’s your home, Miss Tabby dear, whatever they say—you belong there and they never will. You can’t leave the old house to strangers.’

Tabitha went over to the sink with her plate. She loved her home very much; Meg was right, she couldn’t leave it completely. She said heavily: ‘Of course I’ll go, Meg. Now we’d better go to bed. I’ll take Podger with me, shall I, in case he’s lonely. And don’t get up early, Meg. I’m on at eight and I’ll have plenty of time to get something to eat before I go.’ But Meg was already laying the table for breakfast; Tabitha knew that whatever she said, the older woman would be down before her in the morning, fiercely insisting that she ate the meal she had cooked. She yawned, suddenly tired, ‘Today’s been beastly,’ she observed.

Meg gave her a shrewd look. ‘Tomorrow’s always a better day,’ she stated firmly. ‘Go and have your bath and I’ll bring you up some hot milk—there’s nothing like it for a good night’s sleep.’

But hot milk or not, Tabitha found sleep elusive, perhaps because she had been talking about her home, and doing that had awakened old memories. She had had a happy childhood, accepting her happiness with the blissful, unconscious content of the very young. She had had loving parents, a beautiful home and no cares to spoil her days. She had been happy at school too, and because Chidlake had been in the family for a very long time, she had known everyone in the village as well as a great many people in nearby Lyme Regis. She had been fifteen when her mother died and almost twenty when her father married again, and by then she was a student nurse, living in hospital in the cathedral city some thirty miles away, so that she came home only for days off each week. At least, it had been each week to begin with, but she had come to dread them, for her stepmother made no pretence of her dislike of her and lost no opportunity of poking sly fun at Tabitha’s lack of looks and young men, so that Tabitha, whose placid nature could turn to a fiery rage if sufficiently badgered, had made the journey home less and less frequently, and finally had thankfully qualified and with her increased salary and the small annuity her mother had left her, had set up house for herself in the tiny flat near the hospital. Her father had allowed her to choose enough furniture from Chidlake to take with her, and had raised no demur when Meg had announced that she had appointed herself housekeeper of the small menage.

Tabitha had continued to go to Chidlake from time to time, but after her father’s death she went less and less—and only then because she had promised her father that she would and because she loved the old house so dearly. Sometimes she wondered what would happen to it, for her stepmother disliked it and Lilith hated it; probably it would be sold. When Tabitha allowed herself to think of this she longed to have the money to buy it, for it was, after all, hers by rights and she had been given to understand that her father had asked her stepmother to leave it to his elder daughter when she died. But Tabitha was only too well aware that that would be the last thing she would do, for she had bitterly opposed Tabitha’s inheritance of a few small pieces of furniture and family silver and had ignored his request that she should make provision for Tabitha, although she had been powerless to prevent the payment of Tabitha’s annuity and Meg’s few hundred pounds.

Tabitha sat up in bed, switched on her bedside light and thumped her pillows into greater comfort. It was past twelve o’clock and she had to be up soon after six, but she had never felt so wide awake. She gazed around the room, soothed by its charm. Although small, the few pieces of furniture it contained showed up to advantage and the pink shade of the lamp gave the white walls a pleasant glow. She began to think about the weekend. Lilith’s party was to be a big affair, and although she disliked Tabitha almost as much as her mother did, she had invited her with an outward show of friendliness because, after all, Tabitha knew a great many people around Chidlake; they would find it strange if she wasn’t present. At least she had a new dress for the occasion—a green and blue shot silk with a tiny bodice, its low-cut neck frilled with lace and the same lace at the elbow-length sleeves. She had tried it on several times during the last week and had come to the conclusion that while she was unlikely to create a stir, she would at least be worth a glance.

Tired of lying awake, she rearranged her pillows once more, and Podger, who had settled at the end of her bed, opened a sleepy eye, yawned, stretched and then got up and padded across the quilt to settle against her. He was warm—too warm for the time of year, but comforting too. She put an arm round his portly little body and went to sleep.

She went to take a look at her newest patient as soon as she had taken the report the next morning, and found him more himself. He stared at her with his bright old eyes and said quite strongly: ‘I’ve seen you before—I’m afraid I wasn’t feeling quite myself.’ He held out a rather shaky hand and she shook its frail boniness gravely. ‘John Bow,’ he said.

‘Tabitha Crawley,’ said Tabby, and gave him a nice smile. ‘I’m glad to hear that you’ve had quite a good night—the surgeon will be along directly to decide what needs to be done.’

He nodded, not much interested. ‘Podger?’ he enquired.

She explained, glossing over the landlady’s observations and telling him that they would have a little talk later on, before she crossed the ward to Mr Raynard’s cubicle. He greeted her so crossly that she asked:

‘What’s the matter, sir? You sound put out.’

‘My knee’s the matter. I’ve hardly closed my eyes all night.’

Tabitha looked sympathetic, aware from the report that he had wakened for a couple of short periods only, but there was no point in arguing.

‘I expect it seemed like all night,’ she observed kindly.

‘Bah! I told that fool of a night nurse to get me some more dope and she had the temerity to refuse because it wasn’t written up.’

Tabitha took up a militant stance at the foot of his bed, ready to do battle on behalf of the night staff, who was a good girl anyway and knew what she was about.

‘Nurse Smart did quite right, and well you know it, sir. A fine pickle we’d all be in if we handed out pills to any patient who asked for them. And you are a patient, Mr Raynard.’

He glared at her. ‘When I’m on my feet I’ll wring your neck…’ he began, and stopped to laugh at someone behind her. She turned without haste; it would be George Steele, zealously coming to enquire about his chief—probably the new man had let him know what time the list would start and poor old George had had to get up early. It wasn’t poor old George but a stranger; a tall, well-built man with a craggy, handsome face, pale sandy hair brushed back from a high forehead and calm grey eyes. He was wearing slacks and a cotton sweater and she had the instant impression that he was casual to the point of laziness. He said ‘Hi there’ to Mr Raynard before his eyes moved to meet hers, and then: ‘Have I come all the way from Cumberland just in time to prevent you committing murder, Bill?’

Mr Raynard stopped laughing to say: ‘I threaten the poor girl all the time, don’t I, Tabby? This is Marius van Beek—Marius, meet Miss Tabitha Crawley, who rules this ward with a rod of iron in a velvet glove.’

Tabitha looked at him, her head on one side. ‘You’ve got it wrong,’ she observed. ‘It’s an iron hand in a velvet glove.’

Mr Raynard frowned at her. ‘Woman, don’t argue. Your hand isn’t iron—it’s soft and very comforting, if you must know.’

Tabitha said with equanimity: ‘Well, I never—how kind,’ and turned belatedly to Mr van Beek. ‘How do you do, sir?’ She half smiled as she spoke, thinking how delightful it would be if she were so pretty that he would really look at her and not just dismiss her with a quick glance as just another rather dull young woman wrapped up in her work, so she was all the more surprised when he didn’t look away but stared at her with a cool leisure which brought a faint pink to her cheeks. He said at length in an unhurried deep voice that held the faintest trace of an accent:

‘How do you do, Miss Crawley. You must forgive me for coming without giving you proper notice, but I was told it was so very urgent.’

He glanced at Mr Raynard, his sandy eyebrows raised, and Mr Raynard said hastily:

‘It is—you’re a good chap to come, Marius. Tabby, go away and whip up your nurses or whatever you do at this hour of the day and come back in half an hour. See that George is with you.’

Tabitha took these orders with a composure born of several years’ association with Mr Raynard. She went to the door, saying merely: ‘As you wish, sir. If you should want a nurse you have only to ring.’

She went away, resisting a desire to take a good look at Mr van Beek as she went. Half an hour later she was back again, her neat appearance giving no clue as to the amount of work she had managed to get through in that time. She stood quietly by George Steele, nothing in her plain little face betraying the delightful feeling of excitement she was experiencing at the sight of Mr van Beek, leaning against a wall with his hands in his pockets; he looked incapable of tying his own shoelaces, let alone putting broken bones together again. He half smiled at her, but it was Mr Raynard who spoke.

‘Tabby, let me have my pre-med now, will you? The list will start at ten o’clock, so take Mar—Mr van Beek to see the other cases now, straight away.’ He winced in pain. ‘Remember you’re coming to theatre with me, Sister Crawley.’

When he called her Sister Crawley like that she knew better than to answer back, even mildly. She said: ‘Of course, sir,’ and after passing on the news to Rogers, led the way into the ward with George Steele beside her and Mr van Beek strolling along behind as though he had all day.

She went straight to the cases which were already listed because she knew how Mr Bow would need to be talked over and looked at before it was decided if and when he was to have his bones set. She didn’t think they would keep him waiting long though, because now that he had come out of shock it would be safe to operate. Surprisingly, Mr van Beek, despite his lazy appearance, seemed to have a very active mind, for he grasped the salient points of each case as they were put forward, so that they were standing by Mr Bow’s bed much sooner than she had dared to hope. The old man opened his eyes as they approached the bed and a look of such astonishment came over his face that Tabitha glanced at the two men with her to find the reason, to find the same expression reflected upon Mr van Beek’s handsome features. He said an explosive word in a language which certainly wasn’t English and exclaimed: ‘Knotty, by all that’s wonderful! It must be years….’ He put out a great hand and engulfed Mr Bow’s gently in it and went on:

‘The last time I heard from you was—let me see, five years ago—you were in Newcastle, because I wrote to you there and never had an answer.’

Mr Bow smiled. ‘And now I’m here, and I hope you will be able to stick me together again.’

Mr van Beek gave him a long, thoughtful look. ‘Yes, we’ll have a long talk later, but now tell me what happened to you.’

He listened with patience to Mr Bow’s meticulous and long-winded account of his accident, which included a great deal of superfluous information about Podger and a corollary concerning Tabitha’s thoughtfulness of his pet’s welfare, during the telling of which Mr van Beek said nothing at all, but stared very hard at Tabitha when Mr Bow got to the part about her rescue of Podger. Only when the old man at last fell silent, he remarked kindly:

‘Well, don’t worry, we’ll get things sorted out for you—Podger is in good hands and I’m sure Sister will be able to arrange something about your rooms.’ And Tabitha’s heart warmed to him for making it sound as if Mr Bow rented something well-furnished in the best part of the city. The surgeon went on: ‘The important thing is to get this leg of yours seen to as soon as possible, Knotty.’

He turned to George Steele and they examined the X-rays together, then Tabitha turned back the bedclothes and they looked at the bony old leg under its cage. Finally Mr van Beek said: ‘We’ll do Mr Bow after Mr Raynard, Sister.’ He was writing as he spoke and when he had handed the chart to George Steele he looked directly at her. ‘An open reduction and plaster, I think,’ he glanced briefly at the Registrar and received a nodded agreement, ‘and I should count it as a favour if you would take Mr Bow to theatre, Sister—he’s a very old friend of mine.’

Tabitha rearranged the bedclothes. ‘Yes, of course,’ she answered matter-of-factly, aware at the same time that she would have to change her off duty with Staff Rogers to do so, but perhaps that was a good thing anyway, because then she could go to Mr Bow’s lodgings on her way home—there would be a better chance of seeing the landlady in the evening.

Mr van Beek disappeared soon after and Tabitha, caught up in the ward routine, had no time to think about him, but presently, on her way to theatre with a determinedly chatty Mr Raynard, he was brought to her notice by that gentleman remarking on the coincidence of Mr Bow being Marius’s tutor at Cambridge. ‘Lost touch with each other,’ droned Mr Raynard, faintly drowsy. ‘Marius tells me they used to do a lot of sailing together—that would be getting on for twenty years ago.’ He cocked a hazy eye at Tabitha walking beside the trolly. ‘Marius is thirty-eight,’ he offered.

‘Indeed?’ Tabitha wedged herself into the lift with the rest of the theatre party and sought for something to say. ‘Quite old,’ she ventured.

‘At the height of his not inconsiderable success and a distinguished career,’ snapped Mr Raynard, having a little difficulty with the long words. ‘How old are you, Tabby?’

She gave him a rather blank look and he added: ‘You can safely tell me, for I’m doped; I shall never remember.’

‘I don’t really mind if you do. I’m twenty-five.’

‘Just? Or almost twenty-six?’

Tabitha frowned. How like a man to make her feel older than she was! ‘Twenty-five,’ she repeated. ‘Today.’

The porters, who had been listening, chorused ‘Happy birthday, Sister’, and she thanked them; Mr Raynard, with a tongue rapidly becoming too large for his mouth, said: ‘Yes, yes, of course. I shouldn’t be surprised if you haven’t been given the best birthday present of your life.’ Which remark Tabitha took little notice of because, as he himself had said, Mr Raynard was doped. In the anaesthetic room a few minutes later, Mr van Beek, looking massive in a rubber apron, came to have a last word with his patient. Mr Raynard opened his eyes, said clearly, ‘Birthday’ and closed them again, and the anaesthetist, pushing a needle into his colleague’s arm, remarked, ‘What a way to spend it!’ Tabitha, gowned and masked, saw no reason to enlighten him as to whose birthday it was. He winked at her over his mask. ‘Coming in to hold his hand, Tabby?’ he wanted to know. ‘Hard luck on Mrs Raynard—she only went to her mother’s yesterday, didn’t she?’

Tabitha nodded. ‘Yes, and Mr Raynard didn’t want her to know, but I telephoned her just now while he and Mr van Beek were talking on the ward. He’ll kill me when he finds out, but someone had to tell her. She’s on her way back now—with any luck she’ll be here by the time he comes round from the anaesthetic. He’ll be very happy to see her.’

The anaesthetist nodded; Mr Raynard was a happily married man and made no secret of the fact, although Tabitha had often wondered privately if he growled and grumbled at his wife and children in the same way as he growled and grumbled at her.

They went into the theatre then and the white-clad figures rearranged themselves in a group around the operating table—rather like cricket, thought Tabby, taking up her prescribed place by the patient’s head and handing necessary odds and ends to the anaesthetist a second before he asked for them. She was very aware of Mr van Beek on the opposite side of the table, although she didn’t look at him. Instead, she concentrated on the operation and could only admire the way the surgeon wired the patella’s two pieces back into one again. Watching him, she found it strange that only an hour previously she had thought him lazy; he worked fast and neatly and without fuss while he carried on a casual conversation which had nothing at all to do with the work in hand. He was just as quick putting on the plaster too and far neater than Mr Raynard would have been, for he invariably became bad-tempered and tended to get plaster on everything and everyone around him, which Mr van Beek didn’t. When finally he had finished he said: ‘OK, Sister, you know what to do. I’ll be down later,’ and walked over to the sink without looking at her.

They were going to have coffee before the next case, and Theatre Sister, who was one of her closest friends, said: ‘I’ll give you a ring when we’re ready, Tabby—I say, I like the stand-in. Lucky you, seeing him every day. Is he married?’ She was helping Tabitha drape the blanket over the patient and smiled across at her, and Tabitha, looking at her, thought for a second time that morning that it would be nice to be pretty, even half as pretty as Sue, whose blue eyes were laughing at her now.

‘I don’t know,’ she answered, ‘but I should think so, wouldn’t you? I mean, he could take his pick, couldn’t he?’

Sue laughed. ‘I’m going to find out,’ she said as she went back into the operating theatre.

Tabitha was surprised to have a summons to bring Mr Bow to theatre within five minutes of her returning to the ward with Mr Raynard. She barely had time to see him safely into his bed and station a nurse at his side before she was accompanying Mr Bow in his turn. She had imagined that Sue, with her blue eyes and pretty face, would have been reason enough for Mr van Beek to spend at least ten minutes getting to know her better. Perhaps he was married after all.

She saw Sue for a few seconds when they reached theatre, and although they were unable to speak Sue frowned and made a face beneath her mask which Tabitha took to mean disappointment of some sort, but she dismissed the subject from her mind as the anaesthetist signaled her to hold Mr Bow’s arm steady. The operation took longer than she had expected, but both bones were broken and badly splintered and there was a lot of cleaning up to do before the wound could be partially closed and plaster applied to the leg. This time Mr van Beek made a little window above the wound so that it could be observed and dressed, and in the course of time, have its stitches out.

It was half past eleven by the time she returned to the ward for the second time and sent the next case up with Nurse Betts in attendance. She had a hasty word with Staff Rogers about off-duty, sent her to keep an eye on Mr Bow, and went herself to see how Mr Raynard fared. His wife, a small dark woman, pretty and elegant, had just arrived. She turned a worried face to Tabitha as she entered the cubicle and whispered: ‘Hullo, Tabitha—thanks for letting me know. Aren’t men awful sometimes?’

Tabitha didn’t answer, because she didn’t know enough about men to give an opinion, and in any case she imagined that Mrs Raynard’s idea of awful meant having a husband who loved her so much that he couldn’t bear to upset her when he fell down and broke his kneecap. She said instead:

‘Mr Raynard said you weren’t to be told, so he’ll probably be very annoyed when he comes round—not at you, of course. I’ll be close by if he wants to blast me.’

She went away again to confer with Rogers over Mr Bow, and then at Mrs Jeff’s insistence, to drink a quick cup of coffee while she wrote up the treatment book, telephoned the hospital laundry and spoke sternly about the lack of draw-sheets on the ward, ironed out the difficulties of the two junior nurses who both wanted the same day off, and then, with a resigned and quick look in the little mirror hanging on the wall of her office, went back into the ward. Mr Raynard had come round; she could hear his wife talking to him. She went into his cubicle and met his baleful, still cloudy eyes.

His tongue was still unmanageable, he mumbled: ‘You’re nothing but a despot, Tabby. I said…’

Tabitha interposed: ‘Yes, I know. I disobeyed you—I’m sorry, but isn’t it nice to wake up and find Mrs Raynard here?’

He closed his eyes. ‘Yes, dammit, it is.’ Mrs Raynard looked across the bed and smiled at her, and Tabitha took his pulse and smiled back.

Mr Bow was coming round too. Tabitha sent Rogers to get the ward cleared for dinner and to look at the patient just back from theatre, and went to see the next one safely on his way; there was only one more now, with any luck, they would all be back soon after one o’clock. She went back to Mr Bow and found his eyes wide open while he frowned at the big cradle in the bed, under which his plastered leg was drying out. ‘Hullo,’ said Tabitha cheerfully, ‘everything’s finished and you’re back in bed—your leg’s in plaster and I expect it feels a little strange.’ She took his pulse and was charting it when Mr van Beek came in. He nodded at her, half-smiling. ‘Everything all right?’ he wanted to know.

She told him in precise terms of pulse and temperature and blood pressure and he nodded again. ‘Good—I’ll just go and see Bill.’

‘His wife’s with him.’

‘Muriel? I thought I heard her voice. Splendid, I’ll have a word with her. Don’t come—you must have enough to do.’

She was serving dinners in the kitchen when he put his head round the door. ‘The last case will be back in twenty minutes, Sister. Steele’s doing it. I’ll come in again later on today. Steele will be around if you want anything.’

She nodded as she spooned fish on to the light diet’s plates. He asked: ‘When are you off?’

Tabitha added potato puree to the fish and said vaguely: ‘Oh, this evening—Staff Nurse Rogers will be here…’ She was interrupted by a subdued crash from the ward. ‘Go and see what that is, Nurse Williams,’ she said calmly, ‘and take a peep at Mr Bow on your way.’ She raised her eyes to the man waiting patiently at the door. ‘Staff will be on until nine o’clock—if you want anyone after that there’s Night Nurse…and Night Sister, of course.’ She was interrupted once more by Nurse Williams bearing a horrid mess of stew and broken plate on a tray.

‘Mr Bow’s fine, Sister. This is Mr Prosser’s and he’s very sorry. It slipped.’

Tabitha ladled stew, wondering why Mr van Beek still stood watching. ‘Do you want something, sir?’ she enquired politely, half her mind on dinners.

He gave her a pleasant smile. ‘Yes, Sister, but it can wait.’ He was gone, leaving her to fret over the prunes and custard as to what exactly it was that he wanted, and whether it was something she hadn’t got on the ward. Perhaps Sue would know; he might have said something to her. She would ask her at dinner.

Sue, although willing enough, was unhelpful. ‘I’ve no idea,’ she said. ‘He used the usual instruments; he’s fussy, but nice about it, and all orthopaedic surgeons are anyway. I tried to find out something about him, but he was closer than an oyster. He’s a dear, though—a bit quiet; a pity, because he’s got a lovely gravelly voice, hasn’t he? Are you on or off?’

‘On—I changed with Rogers because Mr Raynard wanted me to go to theatre—my morning was ruined!’

‘Never mind, Tabby, it’s your weekend.’

‘So it is,’ Tabitha replied gloomily.

The afternoon went in a flash. It was tea time before she had the opportunity to have a word with Mr Bow, who had made a surprisingly quick recovery from his anaesthetic and had asked for tea. She gave it to him, sip by sip, while they decided what to do.

‘I’ll have Podger,’ said Tabitha, ‘he’s no trouble. It’s your room I’m worried about. Do you want to keep it on?’

She could have bitten her tongue out the moment she had said it, because he answered with faint despair: ‘Where else can I go?’

Before she could make a satisfactory answer, Mr van Beek spoke from behind her.

‘I hope you’ll give me the pleasure of staying with me when you leave hospital, Knotty. We have several years to talk over, have we not? Besides, I need to pick your brains concerning several ideas which have been simmering…. Why not give up your room? I can easily arrange to have your furniture stored.’

Mr Bow looked bewildered. ‘But, my dear boy, I don’t even know where you live.’

‘Near enough,’ said the dear boy cryptically, ‘and when the time comes we can collect Podger.’

Mr Bow smiled. ‘It sounds delightful.’

‘Good—we’ll fix things for you, if you’ll leave it all to us. Now I’m going to ask Sister to get someone to settle you so that she can give you something for that niggling pain.’

He lifted a languid hand in salute and crossed the ward to Mr Raynard’s cubicle, and presently Tabitha heard him laughing there. He had a pleasant laugh, almost a chuckle. She sighed without reason, smiled at Mr Bow and went to find a nurse so that she could accompany Mr van Beek on his ward round. Afterwards, he went back to Mr Raynard again and Tabitha left them talking because it was time for her to go off duty and Rogers had to have the report. It didn’t take long, for Rogers had only been away for the afternoon hours; Tabitha gave her the keys, put on her cuffs, took off her apron, and with it tucked under one arm, wished everyone a good evening and started off down the corridor. She was a quarter of the way down its length when the ward door flapped open and shut behind her and Mr van Beek’s voice brought her to a halt. She turned round to face him and asked ‘Now what?’ in a resigned voice so that he smiled and said:

‘Nothing—at least nothing to do with the ward. I was wondering—’ he sounded diffident, ‘if you’re going to see about Mr Bow’s rent and so forth, if I might come with you. Perhaps the landlady…?’ He paused delicately and Tabitha thought that he must have possessed himself of quite a lot of inside information about Mr Bow’s circumstances. It would indeed be helpful if he were to parley with the landlady. She said thoughtfully:

‘Yes, I think it might be easier if you were to see her. I was going now, on my way home—I could give you a lift.’

‘Your car? Can you leave it here—we’ll use mine. Are you on duty early tomorrow?’

‘No, not until eleven. I suppose I could catch a bus.’

‘Right, that’s settled.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Twenty minutes’ time, then—the staff car park.’ He went back into the ward without waiting for her to answer.

Tabitha went to the changing room and changed into the pale blue jersey dress she had worn to work that morning, wishing at the same time that she had worn something more eye-catching. Not that she had any hope of Mr van Beek’s grey eyes resting on her for more than a few moments. How wonderful it would have been, she thought, if he had asked her out, not just to show him where Mr Bow lived, but because she was lovely to look at and amusing. She uttered an impatient sigh, tugged the pins impatiently from her hair and re-did it even tighter than usual, taking a perverse satisfaction in adding to the mediocrity of her appearance.




CHAPTER TWO


THE SENIOR medical staff had a car park of their own on the right of the hospital forecourt. It was almost empty at this time of day, for the normal day’s rounds were done and the theatres had finished at four o’clock and it was still too early for any possible extra visits to ill patients. There were only three cars in it, two of which Tabitha instantly recognized; the souped-up Mini Mr Jenkins, the gynae consultant, affected, and the elderly, beautifully kept Austin saloon the radiologist had bought some fifteen years previously and had never found necessary to change. The third car was a Bentley T convertible of a pleasing and unobtrusive shade of grey, in whose driving seat Mr van Beek was lounging. As Tabitha approached he got out, ushered her in to sit beside him and enquired in a friendly voice where Mr Bow lived.

‘About five minutes’ drive,’ said Tabitha, and felt regret that it wasn’t five hours. ‘The quickest way is to turn left into the High Street, down Thomas Street and turn right at the bottom of the hill.’

He let in the clutch. ‘Are you in a hurry?’ he enquired mildly.

Tabitha blinked her thick short eyelashes. ‘No,’ she said in a practical voice, ‘but I should think you would be—you must have had a hard day and I don’t expect you want to waste your evening.’ She gave him a brief enquiring look and wondered why he looked amused.

‘No, I don’t intend to,’ he agreed gravely. ‘Is this where we turn right?’

They were almost there; Tabitha wished she were Sue, who would have known how to turn even such a short encounter as this to good advantage. She said a little abruptly: ‘It’s this row of houses—the fourth from the end,’ and even as she spoke he was bringing the car to a gentle halt. They were standing on the doorstep waiting for someone to answer their ring when Tabitha asked: ‘What are we going to say?’

Mr van Beek looked down at her earnest face and said lazily:

‘If you wouldn’t mind just mentioning who I am…’ The door opened and the woman she had seen the previous evening stood in front of them. There was a cigarette dangling from her lip and her hair was caught up in orderly rows of curlers under a pink net. Without removing the cigarette, she said: ‘Hullo, you again,’ and gave Tabitha an unwilling smile which widened when she looked at Mr van Beek.

‘Good evening,’ said Tabitha, ‘I said I should be coming…this is Mr van Beek who wishes to make some arrangement about Mr Bow.’

The woman stood aside willingly enough for them to go in and Mr van Beek thanked her with charm; still with charm but with a faint undertone of command he said: ‘If you will be good enough to come with us—’ and when the woman looked surprised, ‘We intend to pack up Mr Bow’s possessions. He is an old friend of mine and wishes me to arrange for them to be stored; he won’t be coming back here.’

Mr Bow’s landlady bridled as she opened the door. ‘Not coming back, ain’t ’e? I’ll need a week’s rent in lieu—and there’s ’is washing.’

Mr van Beek was standing in the middle of the little room, looking at everything, his face inscrutable. ‘You shall have whatever is owing to you,’ he stated, and there was faint distaste in his quiet voice. ‘Be good enough to tell us which of these things belong to Mr Bow and we will pack them up while you are making out your bill, then you might return, please, and make sure that we have forgotten nothing.’

The woman said carelessly: ‘OK, if that’s ’ow you want it. The silver’s ’is and them pictures and the desk; there’s a case under the bed too.’ She crossed the room to open the drawers in a chest under the window. ‘’Ere’s ’is clothes.’ She went back to the door. ‘Don’t take nothing of mine,’ she cautioned as she went.

Tabitha already had Mr Bow’s case open on the bed. She crossed the room and in her turn, started to investigate the chest of drawers.

‘Poor old gentleman,’ she observed, half to herself, ‘how he must have hated it here.’

Mr van Beek had seated himself upon the table, swinging one long leg and looking around him in a thoughtful manner. ‘Are you in a hurry?’ he asked for the second time that evening.

Tabitha had scooped up an armful of clothes. ‘Not really,’ she answered cautiously as she bore them back to the bed. Was he going away to leave her to do all the work? Apparently not.

‘Then do leave that for a moment and sit down.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I think that you are a sensible young woman and we have to get Knotty’s future settled, more or less.’

Tabitha put her burden on the bed and perched on the bed beside it, wondering why his opinion of her good sense gave her so little pleasure. She crossed her hands tidily in her lap and said tranquilly: ‘I’m listening.’

He said unexpectedly: ‘You’re a very restful girl. Most women are forever patting their hair or putting on lipstick or peering at themselves in those silly little mirrors they carry around.’

She made no answer. She felt fairly sure that doing all of these things would make little difference to her appearance, but there seemed little point in telling him so, for it was surely something he could see for himself. She suspected that he was a kind man, wishful of putting her at her ease. He smiled at her and she smiled back, and when he got out his pipe and enquired: ‘Do you mind?’ she shook her head, feeling at ease with him.

‘Mr Bow,’ he began, ‘was my science tutor at university. We struck up quite a friendship, for he had known my father when he was alive and had been to our home several times. He was a keen sailor when he was younger—still is, I daresay—and so am I. We did a good deal of sailing together, the pair of us. When I went back to Holland he visited me from time to time, then about five years ago he didn’t answer my letters any more and when I went to his home, no one knew where he was. Each time I came to England I made an effort to find him, but without success, and then, today—there he was.’ He looked round the room. ‘Obviously fallen on bad times, if these few things are all he has left. He’s a proud old man, which probably accounts for his silence and disappearance, and he’ll be difficult to help. When he’s better I think I could persuade him to come home with me for a holiday, but what then?’

Tabitha hadn’t interrupted at all, but now she said: ‘I don’t know where you live, but if it’s a town of any size, could he not teach— English perhaps if he’s to live in Holland—just enough to make him feel independent? I know he’s eighty, but there’s nothing wrong with his brain.’

‘I think you may be right. A holiday first, possibly with one or two others—Bill and Muriel Raynard perhaps. It’s worth going into.’

He got up. ‘Thank you for your suggestion. I believe I’ll act upon it when the time comes. In the meantime we had better see to this stuff.’

Tabitha got to her feet. ‘You’ll need something to put the silver and china into. How about the desk drawers—are they locked?’

He tugged gently. ‘No—if we can get everything into them, I can get someone to collect the desk.’ He roamed around, collecting old newspapers, and started to wrap the silver carefully. Tabitha finished filling the suitcase, closed it, and began on the china. ‘I’ll take the case with me,’ she promised, ‘Mr Bow will want some things later.’ Her eyes lighted on a pile of books in a corner of the room. ‘I’d better take those as well.’

‘No,’ said Mr van Beek positively, ‘I will—and the clothes. I’ll put them in the car and drop them off at the hospital as I go past later on. Do you live close by?’

She thought he had probably had enough of her prosaic company. ‘Oh yes. A few minutes’ walk.’ She added, to make it easier for him: ‘I enjoy walking,’ and when he replied: ‘So do I,’ it wasn’t what she had expected him to say. The appearance of the landlady prevented further conversation and Tabitha sat down on the bed again and listened to Mr van Beek putting the woman in her place with a blandness which most effectively concealed his intention of having his own way, so that she presently went away again, clutching the money he had given her and looking bewildered, for she had gained the impression that he was one of those casual gentlemen who didn’t bother to look at bills, only paid them.

‘The shark!’ observed Tabitha as the door closed upon the lady of the house. ‘I wonder how many times she charged Mr Bow for laundry which never went.’ She got to her feet once more and went round the room, opening and shutting cupboards and drawers to make sure nothing had been overlooked while her companion watched her with a little smile. ‘Nothing,’ she remarked unnecessarily and went to the door, waiting for him. He picked up the case and the books and led the way downstairs and out to the car where she said awkwardly: ‘Well, goodbye, Mr van Beek—I hope your evening…’ She got no further.

‘Get in,’ he said mildly. ‘I’ve no intention of leaving you to walk home.’

Tabitha opened her mouth, but before she could utter, he said again: ‘Do get in.’ She did as she was told then, and when he had settled her in the seat beside him, she said: ‘It’s up Thomas Street and left at the traffic lights, straight on past the station, and then the first turning on the left.’

They talked only commonplaces during the short drive and when he drew up outside her flat she prepared to get out immediately, longing to ask him in but deciding against it because he might probably accept out of politeness. He leaned across her and opened the door and said casually:

‘It’s a full round tomorrow, so I’m told—we shall see each other then. Thank you for your help.’

She got out before she answered him. ‘Yes—I’m on for the rounds. I—I was glad to help, although you made it all very easy.’ She smiled, feeling a little shy, and was relieved when Meg flung the house door open and called in her soft voice: ‘There you are, Miss Tabby, late again!’ Which remark made it easy for Tabitha to say: ‘Well, I must go—good night, sir.’ She stood back and he closed the car door, lifted a hand in salute and eased the big car slowly forward and away. She watched it until a bend in the road hid it from sight, then went indoors to answer Meg’s questions.

Mr van Beek arrived dead on time for his ward round, which Tabitha found a refreshing change from Mr Raynard, who had a disconcerting habit of turning up either much too early or so late that the whole ward routine was thrown out of gear. She met the party at the door, looking calm and unruffled and very neat, so that no one looking at her would have believed her if she had recounted just how much work she had already got through, and certainly no one thought to ask; Mr van Beek gave her a pleasant and impersonal good morning and Mr Steele and Tommy Bates, the houseman, had both said ‘Hullo, Tabby,’ which was what they always said. In the ward they would be careful to address her as Sister for the benefit of the patients, which was a waste of time anyway, for she was aware that they all called her Tabby behind her back. As George Steele had once remarked, Tabby was such a cosy name. Tabby had shuddered at his words, glimpsing a perpetual picture of herself getting cosier and cosier over the years until someone, some day, would prefix the Tabby with the word old.

This morning, however, there was no fear of that—indeed, she looked a great deal younger than her twenty-five years, for although her hair was still screwed ruthlessly into its severe bun, there was a pinkness in her cheeks which gave her eyes an added sparkle, although her greeting was sedate enough. She had already done her morning round, and primed with her mental list of plasters due for changing, extensions that needed adjusting, pains for investigation and several urgent requests from patients to go home, she advanced on Jimmy’s bed, where she stationed herself opposite Mr van Beek, handed him the patient’s board wordlessly, and waited while he read it.

‘The plaster’s due off, I see, Sister.’ He glanced at Tommy Bates. ‘If Mr Bates would be good enough to do this, I will come back presently and have a look.’ He smiled at the jubilant look on Jimmy’s face. ‘That doesn’t mean that you’re going to get up and walk home—but we will have it X-rayed just once more, and if the result is what I expect it to be, then we’ll get you on your legs again. I’ll discuss it with Sister presently.’

He turned away, leaving Jimmy grinning at Tommy Bates, who played rugger himself and was already wielding the plaster cutters with a masterly hand. Mr van Beek had reached the next bed when he asked over his shoulder:

‘Where do you play, Jimmy?’

‘Half-back, sir.’

‘Ah yes—done during a tackle…’

‘Rugger player yourself, sir?’ ventured Jimmy.

Mr van Beek gave a half smile. ‘Er—yes, but some years ago, I’m afraid.’ He turned away and became instantly engrossed in a sub-capital fracture of femur which Mr Raynard had dealt with a few weeks previously, by means of a metal prosthesis. Old Mr Dale was a difficult patient, now he saw a new face to which he might grumble. Which he did at some length, while Mr van Beek listened with an impassive face and Tabitha and George Steele stood impassively by, listening to Mr Dale blackening their characters with no sign of discomfort, for they shared the view that an irascible old gentleman of well over seventy who had grumbled all his life was now too old to change his ways, and as neither of them had done any of the things of which they were accused, they didn’t allow him to worry them. Nor, it seemed, did Mr van Beek, for when the old gentleman had at last finished complaining, he said soothingly:

‘Yes—we all appreciate how tiresome it is for you to stay in bed, Mr Dale, and how irksome it is for you not to be able to sit in a chair. I feel sure that it has been explained to you why this is. However, as it distresses you so much, I fancy we may be able to help.’ He looked at Tabitha, his grey eyes twinkling. ‘Gentle traction here, I think, Sister, don’t you?’ He removed his gaze to Mr Steele. ‘I’ll leave you to deal with that, if I may, Steele. A couple of weeks should suffice—that will bring us to a month after the operation, will it not? Time enough for the prosthesis to have become firm.’

He turned back to the patient and explained, in a reasonable voice which brooked no contradiction, why the treatment was to be changed, and added: ‘And I should prefer it, Mr Dale, if you refrain from complaining about my colleagues without reason. Mr Raynard operated most successfully upon your hip, and, if you will allow it, your treatment is equally successful.’ He smiled, the gentle smile Tabitha liked to see. ‘You should join the team, not fight against it, you know.’

They were at the next bed when they heard Mr Dale chuckle, and Tabitha, who had been envisaging the horrors of getting traction on the recalcitrant old man, smiled and caught Mr van Beek’s eye. Mr van Beek winked.

Mr Prosser welcomed them with all the pleasure of a host inviting old friends in for a drink, and a great deal of time was lost while he and Mr van Beek discussed the nutritional value of fish and chips and the psychological effect of eating them from newspaper. ‘Adds a bit of interest,’ declared Mr Prosser. ‘Tell you what, you bring Sister ’ere down to my place when I get ’ome—I’ll give yer the finest bit o’ cod you’ve ever ’ad.’

Mr van Beek said mildly: ‘Well, that won’t be for a little while yet, you know, but I’ll accept your invitation, as I’m sure Sister will.’

They both looked at Tabitha, who said hurriedly: ‘Oh, yes—that would be delightful,’ because that seemed to be the answer they expected of her, although privately she was unable to visualize Mr van Beek doing any such thing, and certainly not in her company, but by the time Mr Prosser got back home the man standing opposite her would be lecturing in some other land, or at best, back in his own country. She wondered whereabouts he lived in Holland, a country about which she knew almost nothing. She was struggling to remember a little of its geography when Mr van Beek’s voice, patiently requesting her to hand him an X-ray form, penetrated her thoughts. She said: ‘Oh, sorry, sir,’ and went rather a pretty pink, causing Mr Prosser to remark: ‘You look bobbish, Sister—come up on the pools, ducks?’

She laughed then, as did the two men with her as they moved down the ward.

Mr Bow, when they got to him, was looking considerably better. His plastered leg seemed to take up most of the bed and his face was pale, but his eyes were clear and as blue as ever. Tabitha had already seen him, of course, but she had left Mr van Beek to explain what had been done, which he did now, with a masterly absence of the more gruesome details and a good deal of humour. ‘I’ll be back to have a chat, Knotty,’ he concluded, ‘Saturday at some time.’ He glanced at Tabitha as he spoke and she murmured: ‘Of course, sir,’ while regretting bitterly that she would be at Chidlake and would miss him.

Mr Raynard was better too; his knee dealt with and encased in plaster, he had allowed himself to relax sufficiently to sample the pile of thrillers his wife had thoughtfully provided. He put his book down as Tabitha pulled aside the cubicle curtain and said: ‘Tabby, where have you been? I’ve not seen you the whole morning.’

‘I don’t expect you have, sir,’ she replied with composure. ‘You were fast asleep when I came to see you at eight o’clock, and when I came back from Matron’s office you had had your breakfast and had gone to sleep again.’ She added kindly: ‘Plenty of sleep is good for you.’

He growled something at her and then said: ‘Well, come here— I’ve something for you,’ and when she obeyed, he produced an envelope from under the bedclothes and offered it to her. ‘Your birthday present,’ he said gruffly, ‘a day late, but I got Muriel to do something about it. Open it.’

She did so and gave a chortle of mingled pleasure and laughter. It was a year’s subscription to Vogue—it would be delightful to leaf through its extravagant pages, although her stepmother and Lilith would laugh at the notion of her taking any of its advice. But they didn’t have to know and there was no reason why she shouldn’t wear pretty clothes even if she were plain. She said warmly: ‘You’re a dear, sir—it’s a gorgeous present. Thank you very much.’

‘Glad you like it—did you have lots of presents?’

Tabitha said: ‘Oh, yes, heaps,’ and looked up to see Mr van Beek’s discerning eyes upon her, just as though he knew that the only present she had had was a scarf from Meg. She flushed guiltily and made for the door saying: ‘I’ve just remembered—something I had to tell Staff…’ and made her escape to the office, where she allowed her cheeks to cool before going back again, her usual calm self.

Mr van Beek had begun a highly technical discussion with his friend into which he drew her at once, almost as though he hadn’t noticed that she had been gone; she joined in, almost convinced that she had been oversensitive and that he hadn’t given her that peculiarly penetrating look after all. By the time they were ready to go back to see Jimmy’s now unplastered leg, she was persuaded that she had been rather silly.

The male members of the party, having viewed the leg, fell to a lively discussion on the game of Rugby football and she stood patiently listening until the smell of the patient’s dinners reminded her that the round had taken longer than usual. She sent Mr Steele a speaking glance which Mr van Beek intercepted. ‘Ah, dinners, Sister—am I right?’ He led the way to the ward door, where, probably unaware that the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding were getting cold, he paused to thank her agreeably for her assistance and wish her a good day. She watched the three men walk away without haste up the corridor, Mr van Beek looming head and shoulders above his companions.

She saw him only very briefly the next day and in the evening she went to Chidlake.

It was a beautiful early evening, and because she was in no hurry, she took a cross-country route which led her along narrow, high-hedged lanes which wound in and out of villages well away from the main roads and still preserving an old-world charm quite hidden from the motorists on the highway. She stopped briefly at Ottery St Mary for petrol, and took a small back road which climbed steeply towards the coast, and after a while crossed the main coastal road into a country lane roofed with overhanging trees. The lane wound its way casually for a mile or so down to the village and although she couldn’t see the sea yet, it was close by. Presently the trees parted, leaving the lane to go on by itself between fields and an occasional house or row of cottages. Tabitha stopped then, for now she could see Chidlake and, beyond its roof, the sea, with the Dorset coast spreading itself grandly away into the evening’s dimness. The view was magnificent; she sat back and enjoyed it, longing to be going home to her mother and father, instead of to two people who had no love for her; no liking even. She was only too well aware that the only reason she had been invited now was because her stepmother felt that it was the right thing to do.

Tabitha started up the car and went on down the hill towards her home. She wasn’t looking forward to the next two days, but at least she would see some old friends at the dance, and that would be pleasant. She turned off the lane and up the short drive to the house, a pleasant Georgian edifice, not large, but roomy enough to shelter a fair-sized family in its rambling interior. She stopped in front of the rose-covered porch and got out, taking her case with her, and went indoors.

The hall extended from front to back of the house and she could see the garden through its open door, still colourful in the evening light, as she went into the sitting room. It was large and low-ceilinged with French windows leading to the lawn beyond. Its furniture was the same as Tabitha remembered from her earliest childhood; beautiful, graceful pieces which had been in the family for many years, and although her stepmother hadn’t liked them, she had had to admit that they suited the house, so they had been allowed, mercifully, to stay. Her stepmother was seated by a window, reading, and although she put down her book when Tabitha went in, she didn’t get up but said sharply: ‘You’re late. We had dinner, but I daresay there’s something in the kitchen if you want it.’ She eyed Tabitha with cool amusement. ‘That’s a pretty dress you’re wearing, but what a pity it’s wasted on you. I must say, Tabitha, you don’t grow any better looking. What a good thing you have the sort of job where looks don’t matter.’

Tabitha said dryly: ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ and prepared to leave the room again; she had heard it all before, and would doubtless hear it all again at some time or other. She asked: ‘The usual room, I suppose?’ and when Mrs Crawley nodded, went upstairs. At the head of the staircase she crossed the landing, and passing the room which used to be hers but which her stepmother had argued was unnecessary to keep as hers now that she lived away from home, went on up a smaller flight of stairs to the floor above, where she went into a small room at the back of the house which she used on her infrequent visits. It was pleasant enough, simply furnished and with a wide view of Lyme Bay which almost compensated Tabitha for the loss of her own room. She unpacked her own things quickly, hung the new dress carefully in the wardrobe, and went back downstairs to the kitchen where the cook and her husband, the gardener and odd-job man, were eating their supper.

They were a nice enough couple whom her stepmother had engaged after her father’s death, when the old cook and even older gardener had been dismissed by her as being too elderly for their jobs. They had gone willingly enough, for Tabitha’s father had remembered them generously enough in his will, and now they lived in the village where they had spent their lives and Tabitha made a point of visiting them each time she went to Chidlake and remembering their birthdays and Christmas, for they had loved her parents and home almost as much as she did herself. Now she accepted a plate of cold ham and salad and carried it into the dining room, where she ate her solitary meal at the rosewood table which could seat twelve so easily. It had been fully extended; no doubt there would be people to dinner before the dance.

She took her plate back to the kitchen, wished her stepmother good night and went to her room, where she spent a long time doing her nails, which were pink and prettily shaped and one of her small vanities. This done to her satisfaction, she sat down before the mirror, loosened her hair from its tight bun and piled it high. It took a long time and she lost patience several times before it was exactly as she wanted it, but when it was at last finished, she was pleased enough with the result. She would do it that way for the dance, she decided, as she took it down again and brushed it slowly, thinking about Mr van Beek. She was still thinking about him when she got into bed; he was nice, she wanted to know more of him, though there wasn’t much chance of that. She supposed he would stay until Mr Raynard could get back to work once more, and if Mr Raynard chose to clump around in a plaster, that wouldn’t be long. Then, presumably, he would be off on his lecturing tour and she would never see him again. She sighed, wishing that she was as pretty as Lilith, for if she had been, he would probably have taken her out just for the pleasure of being seen with her. As it was she would have to be content with their brief businesslike trip to Mr Bow’s room. She remembered that he had said that she was a restful girl and smiled, and smiling, went to sleep.

There was a lot to do the next day. Lilith, who didn’t appear until halfway through the morning, was taken up with the hairdresser, countless telephone calls and endless discussions as to her appearance, which meant that Tabitha had to run several errands in the village, help with the flowers and then assist her stepmother to her room because her head ached. It was lunchtime by then, a hurried meal over which Tabitha and Lilith wasted no time; they had little to say to each other, and beyond remarking that Tabitha looked tired already and pointing out several grey hairs she was sure Tabitha hadn’t noticed for herself, Lilith had nothing of importance to say. Tabitha knew about the grey hairs, and ignoring the remark about her tired looks, she got up from the table saying she had several things to do for herself, and made her escape.

It was a pity she couldn’t like Lilith; she had tried hard at first, for Lilith was exactly the kind of young sister she would have liked to have; small and dainty and blonde and so pretty that everyone looked at her twice at least. It had taken Tabitha an unhappy year to discover that Lilith was shallow by nature, spiteful by instinct, and only spoke the truth when it suited her. Also she hated Tabitha. Tabitha thought about that as she took out the present she had brought with her for Lilith’s birthday. It was an old silver locket and chain and she had chosen it with care because although she had no affection for Lilith, it would still be her birthday and nothing should spoil it.

She spent the afternoon with Jenny and Tom in their little cottage, drinking strong tea and talking about old times, and then walked along the top of the cliffs and over the fields to the house. It looked beautiful in the sunshine and would be even more lovely later on in the evening, for the roses were well out and the balcony at the back of the house had been decorated with masses of summer flowers. She went indoors to the drawing room, cleared for dancing and just as lavishly decorated. She went through the double doors at the end of the room and up the staircase and met Lilith on the landing. ‘There you are,’ said her stepsister. ‘How untidy you look! I hope you’ll do better than that this evening. I’m coming to see your dress.’

Tabitha paused at the foot of the little stairs. ‘I don’t think I want you to,’ she said quietly. ‘I promise you it’s quite suitable and I shan’t disgrace you.’

She went on up the stairs and Lilith followed her. ‘Come on, Tabitha,’ she wheedled, ‘it’s my birthday—I’m supposed to be happy all day, and I shan’t be if I can’t see your dress.’

Tabitha sighed. ‘Very well, though I assure you it’s nothing to get excited about.’

She took it out of the cupboard and laid it on the bed, and Lilith said instantly in a furious voice: ‘You can’t wear it—you can’t!’

‘Why not?’ Tabitha was too surprised to feel angry.

‘The colour will clash with mine. It’s blue—pale blue—that dress of yours will make it look faded.’ She stamped her foot. ‘You shan’t wear it! You’ve done it on purpose so that I shan’t look prettier than everyone else.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Tabitha bracingly. ‘Why should I do that? And how was I to know what colour you intended to wear—besides, we’re not going to stand together all the evening.’

Lilith didn’t reply but ran out of the room; Tabitha could hear her voice, shrill with temper, raced downstairs, and braced herself for her stepmother’s inevitable intervention on her daughter’s behalf. Mrs Crawley swept in, the little smile Tabitha had learned to dread on her face. Her voice was pleasant and brisk.

‘What’s all this fuss about your dress, Tabitha?’ Her eyes studied it, lying on the bed. ‘My dear, even if it didn’t clash with Lilith’s, you couldn’t really wear it. I mean, it just isn’t you, is it? Were you persuaded by some super sales-woman into buying it? There’s that pretty grey and white striped dress you had last year—so suitable. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to spoil Lilith’s birthday party—it is her party; you know—besides, there’s someone she met at the Johnsons’ the other evening and she wants to look her best for him, and there’s no one you particularly want to impress, is there?’

Tabitha had gone a little white, for she had a fine temper, but she had learned to control it during the last few difficult years. She said now very evenly: ‘No, no one. It makes no difference at all what I wear.’ And then because she was so angry, she added: ‘Would you rather I didn’t come?’

Her stepmother looked genuinely shocked. ‘Not come? Of course you must come—what would everyone say?’

Tabitha smiled; her stepmother saw it and frowned angrily as she turned to leave. ‘Dinner’s at eight,’ she said shortly. ‘You know everyone who’s coming. We’ll give Lilith her presents while we’re having drinks. Everyone else will come about nine or thereabouts.’

After she had gone Tabitha sat down on the bed and cried. She cried for her new dress and for the birthday parties she hadn’t had for the last five years, and for the bedroom which had always been hers and wasn’t any longer, and because she was lonely. And underneath all these, only half realizing it, she cried for Mr van Beek.

Presently she blew her nose, wiped her eyes and set about repairing the damage—something that she did so well that by half past seven she was dressed in the grey and white stripes, her face nicely made up and her hair piled in intricate little puffs on top of her head, showing off a surprisingly pretty neck. She had pinned a pink velvet bow in front of her coiffure, and after a final appraising look in her mirror she went downstairs, her head held defiantly high, to meet her stepmother and Lilith once more before greeting their dinner guests. Half of their number were friends of Lilith’s own age, but the remainder were older people, who had known her parents and herself from a baby, and as she was seated between the vicar, who had christened her, and the doctor who had attended her birth, she enjoyed her dinner. The doctor was long past retiring age, although he still worked on with a young assistant to do the more arduous work. Neither of them had seen her for some time and had a great many questions to ask her which she answered as lightheartedly as possible. Nevertheless, towards the end of the meal the doctor leaned a little nearer and said quietly:

‘Tabby, we’ve worried about you a little. When your father died did he leave provision for you? This may seem like an impertinence, but we have your well-being at heart, my dear.’

Tabitha gave him a warm smile. ‘Yes, I know, and thank you. Father didn’t leave me anything; you see, he hadn’t made a will since Mother died. He kept meaning to…I had some trinkets of Mother’s and some of the silver. There was an understanding that…’ She paused, not liking to say what was in her mind. ‘I believe my stepmother misunderstood,’ she finished lamely.

‘Quite so,’ said her companion, ‘but I suppose the house will revert to you eventually?’

Tabitha shook her head. ‘No—I’ve been told that it’s to be Lilith’s.’

The vicar, listening from the other side, looked astounded. ‘But she has no connection—Chidlake has been in your family for years—your father must have meant you to have it so that it would pass to your children.’

‘Well, I don’t see much chance of marrying,’ said Tabitha prosaically, ‘but I think that’s what he intended, because he used to say so when I was a little girl. Still, I have a good job, you know,’ she smiled reassuringly at their worried old faces. ‘Next time you’re out our way, you must come and see the ward.’

The dinner party broke up shortly afterwards and everyone went to the drawing room to await the arrival of the other guests, who presently came in a never-ending stream, laughing and talking and handing a radiant Lilith her presents, and when the small band struck up, taking to the floor in the pleasantly full room. Tabitha danced in turn with the doctor, the vicar and several friends of her parents and once or twice with young men who were Lilith’s friends and strangers to the village. Their conversation was limited to asking her who she was and then expressing surprise at her answer. They danced badly, something which she did very well, so that when she saw a young man in a plum-coloured velvet suit and a pink frilled shirt making his way towards her she slipped away using the bulky frames of the doctor and his wife as a shield, and went outside on the balcony. It was a glorious night, with the last brightness of the sun still lingering over the distant headlands of Torbay. She wandered away from the drawing room, so that the music and noise was dimmed a little and leaned over the balustrade to sniff at the roses below. It was then that she became aware of Lilith’s voice, very gay and excited. She must have left the drawing room too, although she would of course have a partner. Tabitha straightened up; if she walked on quickly, Lilith wouldn’t see her. But it was too late, for several paces away, Lilith cried:

‘Tabitha? All alone? Have you run out of partners already?’ She gave a tinkle of laughter. ‘We should have got some older men for you.’

Tabitha turned round. She began quietly: ‘That would have been a good…’ Her voice faltered into silence, for the man with Lilith was Mr van Beek.

Her first reaction was one of deep regret that she wasn’t wearing the new dress, the second that his elegance, in contrast to his appearance when they had first met, was striking. She thanked heaven silently for the kindly moonlight and said in a voice from which she had carefully sponged all surprise: ‘Good evening, Mr van Beek.’

Lilith looked surprised, frowned and then said incredulously: ‘You know each other?’

Mr van Beek smiled charmingly at her. ‘Indeed we do.’ He turned the same smile on Tabitha, who didn’t smile back.

‘How very delightful to meet you here, Miss Crawley, and how providential, for one or two matters of importance have cropped up—perhaps if Lilith would forgive me, we might settle them now.’

‘Settle what?’ Lilith wanted to know.

‘Oh, some very dull matters concerning patients,’ he answered easily. ‘Nothing you would want to bother your pretty head about. Go back and dance with as many of your young men as you can in ten minutes, then you will have all the more time for me.’

Lilith smiled, looking up at him through her long curling lashes.

‘All right, Marius, you shall have your ten minutes, though it all sounds very dull.’ She didn’t bother to look at Tabitha but danced off, the picture of prettiness, to disappear into the drawing room.

Tabitha had stood quietly while they had been talking, and now that Lilith had gone she still made no move. It was Mr van Beek who spoke first. He said, to astonish her: ‘Tabitha in moonlight—how charming you look.’

‘There’s no need,’ began Tabitha firmly, ‘to flatter me just because you’ve discovered that I’m Lilith’s stepsister.’

His brows lifted. ‘That seems a most peculiar reason for flattery, which, by the way, isn’t flattery. I did know that you were stepsisters. You do look charming—you’ve done your hair differently too.’

He smiled at her so kindly that she burst out: ‘Moonlight’s kind. Wait until you see me indoors, I’m as plain as ever I was.’

He came and leant on the balustrade beside her. ‘I’m sure your mother and father never told you that you were plain.’

‘Of course they didn’t.’

‘Then why do you think you are?’

She looked at him in astonishment. ‘I grew up knowing it,’ she frowned. ‘At least, I guessed I would be.’ She fumbled for words. ‘I—I knew, that is, before I was told.’

‘And who told you?’

Tabitha had a sudden vivid memory of standing before the mirror in the hall, doing something to her hair. It had been soon after her father had brought his second wife home, and already Tabitha had become aware that she wasn’t liked. Her stepmother had stopped and looked at her reflection over her shoulder and said, gently mocking: ‘Why do you fuss so, Tabitha, surely you know by now that there is nothing much you can do to improve matters? You’re a plain girl, my dear.’ Tabitha could still hear that light mocking voice.

‘Well, go on,’ prompted Mr van Beek gently, but she shook her head and then changed her mind to say uncertainly: ‘Well, she only told me something I guessed was true, only I didn’t want to admit it…!’

‘You should never guess,’ he stated firmly. ‘Now you’ve got an idée fixe about it, haven’t you? All you need is treatment.’

She eyed him suspiciously. ‘Treatment? What sort of treatment?’

‘At some convenient time I will answer that, Tabitha. Now shall we go indoors and finish this dance?’

Tabitha agreed, thinking that he was getting bored. The conversation had hardly been a sparkling one, and that had been her fault. The music had started some time earlier; he would only have to partner her once or twice round the drawing room. She was right, or almost so, for they had circled the floor exactly one and a half times when the band stopped playing and she muttered some excuse about speaking to an old friend, and went to sit by old Lady Tripp, who was indeed an old friend of her mother’s when she had been alive. Tabitha plunged into an awkward conversation; her companion was deaf and everything had to be said at least twice, so that the thread was quickly lost.

In a minute or two she looked cautiously round the room and saw Mr van Beek dancing with Lilith. Even from the other end of the room, she could see that Lilith was sparkling, her lovely face alight with pleasure, which apparently Mr van Beek shared, for he was smiling down at her, and whatever it was he was saying made her laugh happily. Tabitha smiled herself, albeit with difficulty, while she listened with sympathy to Lady Tripp’s detailed description of her arthritis, at the same time wondering how and where Lilith had met Mr van Beek. Her stepmother had said that Lilith had met someone at the Johnsons’, and as far as she could see, he was the someone—and just the sort of man Lilith would marry. He was a good deal too old for her, of course, but did that really matter if he had a good position and money to give her all the luxuries she demanded of life? Lilith was undoubtedly the sort of girl a man would want for a wife, especially an older, successful man, and presumably Mr van Beek was successful. She wasn’t sure, but it seemed unlikely that he could afford to run a Bentley like his unless he had a very good practice or money of his own—Mr Raynard had said that he was at the height of his career. She was roused sharply from her thoughts by Lady Tripp, who wanted to know, in the kindest possible way, if she had a young man yet. She was attempting to answer this question when she was asked to dance, and although it was one of the very young men trailing attendance on Lilith, Tabitha welcomed him with rather more enthusiasm than she felt and followed him on to the dance floor to twist and whirl and weave with a gracefulness which Mr van Beek, who was talking to the vicar, watched with a lazy enjoyment which sadly enough she failed to observe.

Despite the lateness of the hour when she had gone to bed, Tabitha was up early the next morning. She would go back to St Martin’s after tea—before, if she could manage to get away, but now the sun was shining and a walk would be delightful before breakfast. She dressed and went down to the kitchen and made herself some tea and stood drinking it at the open kitchen door, thinking about the dance. It had been, according to her stepmother, a great success, even the fact that Tabitha had already met Mr van Beek hadn’t spoiled Lilith’s triumph, for she had been extravagant in her praise of him and full of plans in which he largely figured.

‘He’s got a Bentley,’ she told Tabitha with glee. ‘I shall ask him to take me to Bournemouth or Torquay for the day.’

Tabitha had said nothing, although she wondered if Mr van Beek was quite the man to enjoy either of these resorts during the summer months; she had an idea that his tastes might run to something quieter. In answer to Lilith’s close questioning about her acquaintance with him, she had been briskly off-hand. She had made no mention of Mr Bow, and Lilith, whose knowledge of hospital life was fragmental, imagined that as a surgeon he had merely to walk into the theatre, operate and go home again, and Tabitha saw no reason to enlighten her. She couldn’t stop Lilith getting Mr van Beek if she wanted him, but she certainly wasn’t going to help her; she was vague to the point of stupidity when Lilith demanded to know when he was likely to be free and which days of the week he could be expected to operate, and even more vague as to the length of time he would be likely to remain at the hospital.

She finished her tea, dismissed her thoughts because they weren’t very happy ones, and prepared to enjoy her walk. She crossed the fields towards the sea as she had done the previous afternoon, and walked, in the coolness of the early morning, down to Lyme Regis and out along the Cobb. There were few people about, mostly exercising their dogs, and at the end of the Cobb, a handful of enthusiastic people getting ready to sail. Tabitha went and sat on the edge of the stone wall and watched them, carrying on a casual conversation the while. She was getting to her feet once more when Mr van Beek said from behind her: ‘Good morning—I imagined you would still be in bed.’

Tabitha turned round slowly, not attempting to hide her pleasure at seeing him and at the same time resolutely recognizing his remark as a figure of speech and no more. She said cheerfully: ‘Hullo—not on a morning like this.’ Her eye fell on an elderly dog with a woolly coat standing beside him. ‘That’s Fred, isn’t it—unless you own his double.’

He laughed. ‘The Johnsons’ dog, not mine. You know him, I see.’

‘For years. He must be twelve now—he used to come swimming with me.’

He asked abruptly: ‘You were happy, weren’t you? Here in your lovely home, with all your friends. Has your family been here long?’

‘About a hundred and fifty years—the house was built during the Regency period.’

‘And what will happen to it now—is it to be yours, or will your stepmother…?’

Tabitha turned away so that he wouldn’t be able to see her face. She spoke steadily. ‘My father didn’t leave—that is, he didn’t make a will. My stepmother owns it, naturally. I expect when Lilith marries she will live there.’

He sounded surprised. ‘Lilith live there? I simply can’t imagine it. She likes London, I imagine—a flat in a modern block of skyscrapers and Harrods just around the corner.’ He spoke lightly, almost jokingly, and she answered carefully.

‘Lilith is pretty and very popular—she has dozens of friends. Of course she likes a carefree life, but she’ll settle down in a year or so.’

He didn’t answer. She stooped to pat Fred. ‘Well, I must be getting back.’ She edged away, but not fast enough, for he reached out and caught her bare arm.

‘I’ll run you back—I’ve got the car at the end of the Cobb. There’s no hurry.’

She said ‘No,’ quickly, and then because he gave her such a strange look, went on: ‘It’s kind of you, but I like walking. I wouldn’t like to disturb my sister and stepmother, they’re still sleeping.’

Mr van Beek gave her a long considering look. ‘I see that you have another idée fixe,’ he observed mildly, although he didn’t tell her what it was this time. ‘In which case, since you don’t care for me to drive you back, I will, if I may, walk with you.’

Tabitha caught her breath. ‘No—yes, well it’s two miles across the fields and along the cliff path.’ She looked at him anxiously.

His face bore no expression other than that of polite interest. ‘Yes? In that case I daresay Fred and I shall give up about halfway. We are neither of us as young as we were.’ If he heard Tabitha’s sigh of relief he gave no sign, and now that the danger of arriving at Chidlake with him and being seen by a furious Lilith was averted, Tabitha became quite cheerful.

They started to walk back along the Cobb with Fred lumbering beside them. They were halfway along its length when Mr van Beek said:

‘You should wear your hair like that more often.’

Tabitha slowed her pace to look at him. ‘Like this?’ she asked in an amazed voice. ‘Just hanging—I’ve tied it back anyhow.’

‘And very nice too, although I do appreciate that it might not do under a sister’s cap.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ her voice was matter-of-fact, ‘it took hours and I’d never have time in the morning.’

He stooped and picked up a pebble and threw it for Fred, so that they had to stand and wait while he shuffled after it. ‘Yes, I daresay, but surely after a little practice you would be quicker?’

She accepted Fred’s proffered pebble and gave him an affectionate pat before she replied: ‘I suppose I could try. But what’s the point?’

‘Why, to prove to yourself that you aren’t plain, of course.’

Tabitha felt temper well up inside her. ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ she cried, ‘and stop patronizing me just because you’re sorry for me. You’ve got Lilith…’

They were off the Cobb now, climbing the steep road to the footpath. She started to run, not looking back, and didn’t stop until she was almost at the end of the path, with Chidlake in sight across the fields.

She went back before tea, pleading an interview with Matron which couldn’t be avoided. That Matron would wish to interview any of her staff on a Sunday was highly improbable, but it was the only excuse Tabitha had been able to think of and in any case neither of her listeners were sufficiently interested to want to know more. She said her goodbyes thankfully and drove the Fiat out of the gate and up the hill, away from the village and the sea. At the top she stopped and looked back. It was a very clear day, Chidlake stood out sharply against its panoramic background. She could see every window and every chimney, even the roses at the front door. She saw something else too—the Bentley gliding up the hill below the house, then turning in at its gate to stop before the door. She didn’t wait to see Mr van Beek get out, but started the little car’s engine with a savagery quite alien to her nature and drove, a great deal faster than was her habit, back to her own little flat.




CHAPTER THREE


TABITHA had regained her usual calm by the time Mr van Beek arrived on the ward the next day. She wished him good morning in a stony voice and pretended not to see his swift glance at the fiercely screwed-up bun beneath her starched cap. She led him firmly round the ward, speaking when spoken to and not otherwise, and then only on matters connected with her patients’ broken limbs. George Steele and Tommy looked at her first with astonishment and then frankly puzzled, and when George enquired, sotto voce, if she was sickening for something and had his head bitten off for his pains, they exchanged a bewildered look, for this wasn’t their good-natured Tabby at all. Only Mr van Beek, going impassively about his business, appeared oblivious of anything amiss. At Mr Bow’s bedside he paused for a minute after examining the leg exposed for his inspection.

‘You’re doing well, Knotty,’ he offered. ‘We’ll have you in a boat before the summer’s out, even if we do have to carry you.’

The old man smiled. ‘You were always a man to get your own way, Marius, so I’ll not contradict you.’ He sighed. ‘I must say it sounds tempting.’

‘Leave it to me,’ said Mr van Beek. ‘I have everything planned, even Podger.’

They all moved away, Tabitha wondering what the plans for Podger might be. It seemed she wasn’t to be told until Mr van Beek saw fit, which annoyed her to the point of frowning, and Mr Raynard snapped: ‘What’s bitten you, Tabby? Where’s all the womanly charm? You look as though you’re encased in metal armour plating. Wasn’t the weekend a success?’

She was about to answer this when Mr van Beek answered for her.

‘Miss Tabitha Crawley danced the lot of us into the floor,’ he remarked, ‘and looked delightful doing it too. What is more, she was up with the sun the next morning. I know, because I was up too, exercising my host’s dog. We met.’

He smiled at Tabitha, who stared woodenly back and uttered a brief and equally wooden ‘Yes’. But if she had hoped to discourage him from recalling the happenings of the weekend, she failed lamentably, for he went on to describe it in detail in a lazy, good-natured manner, even remarking upon the extreme good looks of Lilith.

‘A bit young,’ remarked Mr Raynard obscurely. ‘I met her mother once—terrifying woman, always smiling.’ He coughed and added hastily: ‘Sorry, Tabby—quite forgot. I’m sure she’s very—er—competent,’ he finished inadequately.

What at? wondered Tabitha, unless it’s making me out to be a halfwit with a face that ought to be veiled and no taste in clothes. She frowned again and changed it quickly into a smile because the men were looking at her.

‘Shall I get someone to bring your coffee in here?’ she enquired, a little haughty because they had all been staring so. ‘Unless there’s anyone else Mr van Beek wants to see.’

They agreed, still puzzled, because it had become the custom for them all to crowd into Tabitha’s office after a ward round and drink their coffee there, wreathed in pipe smoke and eating their way steadily through her week’s supply of biscuits. So Nurse Betts, a little mystified, took a tray into Mr Raynard’s cubicle, and presently Tabitha, drinking her own Nescafé while she wrestled with the off duty, listened to the hum of cheerful talk coming from his bedside. Someone was being very amusing, judging from the bellows of laughter. She gave up the off duty after a few minutes and went along to the linen cupboard to see if there were enough sheets. They were on the top shelf and she had climbed on to the shelf below the better to count them, when the door opened behind her. She froze, because the nursing staff were supposed to use the steps, not climb around the cupboard like monkeys, and whoever it was, Matron, or worse, Fanny Adams, the Assistant Matron, would point this out to her in the tone of voice used by someone who had discovered wrong-doing and felt justified in censuring it. She took a firmer grip on the upright of the top shelf and looked down behind her. Mr van Beek was lounging in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, watching her with interest. She waited for him to make the obvious remark about the steps and when he didn’t, felt compelled to say: ‘This is so much easier than those little steps. I thought you were Matron.’

‘Heaven forbid!’ he murmured gravely. ‘Come down, I want to talk to you.’

Tabitha stayed where she was. ‘I’m busy, sir, counting sheets.’ A sudden thought struck her. ‘Unless it’s urgent?’

‘It’s urgent,’ he said instantly.

‘Then I’ll come down,’ said Tabitha, to find herself instantly clasped round her waist and lifted to the ground. The linen room was small, a mere cupboard, and they were forced to stand very close. She put a hand to her cap and said a trifle anxiously: ‘Not Mr Bow…he was fine.’

‘And still is. Why did you run away?’

A question Tabitha didn’t wish to answer. She said instead: ‘It was urgent.’

‘I consider it urgent, and I should like an answer.’

She saw that she would have to give him one or stay imprisoned with the sheets and pillowcases for an unlimited period. She drew a breath and began quietly: ‘I don’t want to be pitied. To be compared with Lilith and then pitied is more than I can stand—it makes me bad-tempered and envious and I try not to be, and then you come along and stir me up.’

‘Good,’ said Mr van Beek with lazy satisfaction.

Tabitha flashed him a cross look and found his eyes, very calm and clear, contemplating her. Her voice throbbed with the beginnings of temper. ‘It’s nothing of the sort. I’ve made a life for myself; I’ve a home and Meg and a job that I can keep for the rest of my life.’

‘God forbid!’ interposed Mr van Beek with deep sincerity, and when she gaped at him he added: ‘No, no—I don’t mean that you’re not a splendid nurse—you are, but there are other things. You seem to think you’re not entitled to any of them.’

She made a small sound, half snort, half sigh. ‘You’re not a girl.’

His lips twitched. ‘No—meaning that I am unable to understand?’

‘Yes,’ said Tabitha baldly, ‘that’s exactly what I do mean. And now if there’s nothing more you want to say, I think I should get on with my work.’

His eyes twinkled. ‘Shall I lift you up, since I lifted you down?’

She shook her head and he turned away from the door and then paused to ask:

‘Would it be possible to do the Wednesday round half an hour earlier? That beguiling young sister of yours has teased me into taking her to Torquay, and if I could get away by eleven…’

Tabitha fought a violent desire to burst into tears, box Mr van Beek’s ears and find Lilith at once and do her some injury. She was still feeling surprise at her strong feelings as she said stonily: ‘That will be perfectly all right, sir,’ and stood waiting for him to go, and when he saw that she wasn’t going to say anything more, he said: ‘Well, goodbye.’ He stretched out a large, well-shaped hand and touched her hair lightly.

‘Still determined to be Cinderella?’ he enquired as he went.

Tabitha prayed wickedly for a cyclone, a terrific thunderstorm, or just a steady downpour of rain, starting just before eleven o’clock on Wednesday, but the faint promise of rain on Tuesday evening had evaporated before a clear blue sky when she went on duty the following morning, and by the time the round began the sun was blazing down from a cloudless sky, justifying Mr van Beek’s elegant summer suiting and beautiful silk shirt.

Tabitha, handing X-rays and reports and whisking bedclothes off plastered arms and legs, wondered where he would take Lilith. There was an hotel in Torquay famed for its food—she couldn’t remember its name, but she felt sure that that was where Lilith would expect to go, and no doubt Mr van Beek would spend his money very freely indeed just for the pleasure of having such a pretty girl for his companion. She scowled fiercely at Mr Prosser, who was so taken by surprise that for once he was left speechless.

The round was businesslike, and although Mr van Beek did all that was expected of him by each of the patients, he wasted no time on unnecessary chatter. Even Mr Bow received only the briefest of remarks and when they reached Mr Raynard, that gentleman besought his friend not to hang around; he was doing nicely enough, and unless Tabby chose to kill him off in the meantime, he would still be there on the following day. As the party moved towards the door Tabitha spoke.

‘You would rather not wait for coffee, I expect, Mr van Beek.’ She went through the door into the office ahead of the others and turned to smile bleakly at him. ‘I hope you have a very pleasant day,’ she added insincerely, and smiled warmly at George Steele and Tommy, indicating with a little nod the coffee tray ready on her desk. Mr van Beek paused for the smallest moment of time, his eyebrows lifted. Then his eyes narrowed.

He said smoothly: ‘Thank you. The pleasures of the day will doubtless make up for the lack of coffee now.’

He stalked away and Tabitha watched him go, feeling wretched and miserable because he had seemed to mind so much, and excusing her own bad temper as concern that a man as nice as he was should fall for someone like Lilith. She attempted to throw off the peculiar sense of loss she was sustaining by being extra bright and chatty to George and Tommy, leaving them even more puzzled. They went away presently, shaking their heads over her, for they liked her very much, having a brotherly fondness for her which allowed them to appreciate her good points without noticing her plain face.

The day dragged; Tabitha took an afternoon off duty so that Staff Nurse Rogers could have a half day—Mrs Burns, the part-time staff nurse, would stay until five o’clock. She went home to the flat and helped Meg turn out cupboards, then sat idly with Podger on her lap, trying not to think about Lilith and Mr van Beek. Sunbathing, she supposed, or having tea on the terrace of some hotel and then later, dinner and a drive back in the moonlight. She found her imagination unbearable and got up so quickly that Podger let out a protesting miaouw and only allowed his ruffled feelings to be soothed by a saucer of milk and the small portions of sandwich with which he was fed when Meg came in with the tea.




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