What were his intentions?

Megan thought she had it all—a good job, a caring family and a fiancé who would make a wonderful husband. But then her perfect world fell apart, and she found that her one hope was Professor Jake van Belfeld.

He seemed determined to rebuild her life—but why was he taking such a personal interest in her? Did he think that her heart needed his attention, too?

“You’re far too young to become embittered.

“It’s a good thing to fall in and out of love several times so that when it is the real thing you are aware of the difference….”

“You’re being very nasty,” said Megan. “I know you’re a consultant and I’m supposed to respect you, but I’m not on duty yet and neither are you.”

“Ah, that’s the spirit. Get it off that delightful chest of yours, Meg. I’ll drive you home on your day off and you can show your family how well you’ve recovered.”

She drew a deep breath. “I don’t want—” she began crossly.

“Friday, isn’t it? I’ll be outside your flat at half past eight. Mind you’re ready.”

“Well, I won’t be,” said Megan, shaking with temper.… He had made her late and put her into a frightful mood besides.

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 live on in all her stories.

The Quiet Professor

Betty Neels

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

CHAPTER ONE

THE corridor was gloomy by reason of its being on the top floor of the oldest part of the hospital, and largely unused save by the staff of the pathological department and anyone needing to visit them. One such visitor was standing there now, just where the corridor turned at a sharp angle, staring with horror at the shattered glass dish at her feet. She had been carrying it, and its grisly contents, and, believing there to be no one to impede her progress, had been running…

The person she had run into eyed the horrid mess on the floor thoughtfully. She was a tall, splendidly built girl, with dark hair twisted into an elegant chignon, a pretty face and large brown eyes.

She said calmly, ‘You were running, Nurse Wells.’ It wasn’t an accusation, merely a statement. ‘I take it that this is—was the specimen from Mrs Dodds? Do go and tell Professor van Belfeld that you have had an accident with it.’

Nurse Wells was a very junior nurse, healthily in awe of her seniors. She whispered, ‘I daren’t, Sister. He—he frightens me. When I dropped the forceps last week on the ward he looked at me. I know he didn’t say anything but he-he just looked. Could I write him a note?’

Megan Rodner suppressed a smile. ‘Well, no, I think not, Nurse.’ She paused, looking at the woebegone face before her; any minute now and Nurse Wells was going to burst into a storm of tears. ‘Go back to the ward, and tell Staff Nurse to give you something to do where you can pull yourself together. I’ll see Professor van Belfeld and explain.’

She was rewarded with a relieved sniff and a watery smile. ‘Oh, Sister, you are a dear—I’ll work ever so hard…’

‘Good—and don’t run!’

Left alone, Megan stood for a mere moment staring down at the ruined result of several days’ treatment on Mrs Dodds, who hadn’t been co-operative and would be even less so now. The professor would be annoyed, hiding icy anger behind a calm face. Unlike Nurse Wells, Megan wasn’t afraid of him—she rather liked him, as far as one could like a person who made no effort to be more than coldly courteous.

She walked down a small dark passage leading off the corridor and opened the door at its end. The path. lab. was a complexity of several large rooms, all occupied by white-coated workers and a vast amount of equipment; she went past them all, exchanging hellos as she went, and tapped on a door in the last of the rooms.

The professor’s room was quiet after the hum of noise from the rest of the department. He was sitting at his desk, writing, a big man with wide shoulders and fair hair thickly sprinkled with grey. He said without looking up, ‘Yes?’

‘Sister Rodner from Queen’s Ward, sir. The specimen from Mrs Dodds—’

He interrupted her, ‘Ah, yes, leave it with Peters; I’ll need to see it myself.’ He added belatedly, ‘Thank you, Sister.’

‘I haven’t got it,’ said Megan baldly. ‘The dish was—that is, it’s smashed.’

He looked up then, his cold blue eyes searching her face. She studied his face as she waited for him to say something. He was a handsome man with a commanding nose and a mouth which could become thin at times. It was thin now. ‘Where is it?’ His voice was quiet.

‘In the corridor…’

He got up, towering over her. ‘Come with me, Sister, and we will take a look.’ He held the door and she went past him, back through the department and out into the corridor with him at her heels, and she stood silently while he crouched down to take a close look. He got to his feet and growled something she couldn’t understand—Dutch swear words, she reflected, and she could hardly blame him. ‘You dropped the dish, Sister?’ His voice, with its faint accent, was gently enquiring.

She looked him in the eye. ‘It fell, sir.’

‘Just so. And whom are you shielding behind your—er—person, Sister?’

When she didn’t answer, he said, ‘You are perhaps afraid to tell me?’

‘Good heavens, no,’ said Megan cheerfully, ‘I’m not in the least afraid of you, you know.’

He said nothing to that, only gave her a frigid stare. ‘Be good enough to repeat the treatment, Sister, and when it is completed kindly let me know and I will send one of the technicians to your ward to collect it.’

She smiled at him. ‘Very well, sir. I’m sorry about the accident; it’s kind of you not to be too annoyed.’

‘Annoyed? I am extremely angry,’ he told her. ‘Good day to you, Sister.’

Dismissed, she walked away and he watched her go, very neat in her dark blue uniform and the muslin trifle the sisters at Regent’s wore upon their heads. Only when she had reached the end of the corridor and was out of sight did he go back to his office.

Megan went back to her ward, spent a difficult fifteen minutes persuading Mrs Dodds that it was necessary to repeat the treatment once again, and then repaired to her office to drink a soothing cup of tea and wrestle with the off-duty book. She was joined presently by her senior staff nurse, Jenny Morgan.

‘Nurse Wells is in the linen cupboard, tidying. She’s still crying.’

‘Are there enough of us on to keep her there for a bit? The list will be starting soon—you’d better take the first case up. Nurse Craig can take the next one…’ She plotted out the afternoon’s work and Jenny poured second cups.

‘Was he furious?’ she wanted to know.

‘Yes, but very polite. He’ll send a technician when the next specimen’s ready.’

‘Oh, good. No one knows anything about him, do they? Perhaps he’s crossed in love.’ Jenny, who was for ever falling in and out of love with various housemen, sounded sympathetic.

Megan had opened the off-duty book again, and she said indifferently, ‘I dare say the man’s married with half a dozen children. He might be quite nice at home.’

Jenny went away and she concentrated on the off duty, but not for long. She was going out that evening, a rather special occasion, for she was to meet Oscar’s parents. She had been engaged to Oscar for six months now and this was the first time she was to meet his family. He was a medical registrar, considered to be an up-and-coming young man with a good future. He had singled her out a year or more ago and in due course he had proposed. She had had her twenty-eighth birthday a day or two before that and since he seemed devoted to her and she liked him very much, indeed was half in love with him, she had agreed to become engaged. She had had proposals before but somehow she had refused them all, aware that deep inside her was a special wish to meet a man who would sweep her off her feet and leave her in no doubt that life without him would be of no use at all, but in her sensible moments she knew that she expected too much out of life. Solid affection, a liking for the same things—those were the things which made a successful marriage. In due course, she supposed, she would become Mrs Oscar Fielding. During their engagement she had endeavoured to model herself on Oscar’s ideas of womanhood; he had hinted that she was a little too extravagant—what need had she to buy so many clothes when she spent so much of her time in uniform? And shoes—did she really need to buy expensive Italian shoes? He was always very nice about it and she had done her best to please him but just once or twice lately she had wondered if she was living up to his ideals. He never allowed her to pay her share when they went out together nor had he suggested that she should save for their future, with the consequence that she had a nice little nest-egg burning a hole in her pocket. She would, she decided, have to talk to him about it. It wasn’t as if she wasted her money—she bought good clothes; classical styles which didn’t date, but just lately she hadn’t bought anything at all, wishing to please him. Perhaps she would get the chance to talk to him that evening.

The theatre cases went up and came back, she applied herself to the running of the ward and at five o’clock handed over to Jenny.

‘Going out, Sister?’ asked Jenny, tidying away the report book.

‘Yes, with Oscar—I’m meeting his people.’

‘Have a lovely evening,’ her right hand wished her. ‘It’s take-in tomorrow. I expect you’ll go somewhere nice.’

She spoke sincerely. She liked Sister Rodner but she thought Oscar was a stuffed shirt. Not nearly good enough for the beautiful creature preparing to leave the office.

In her room, Megan inspected her wardrobe. Something suitable, but what was suitable for meeting one’s future in-laws? She decided upon a crêpe-de-Chine dress in a pleasing shade of azure blue, long-sleeved and high-necked, and covered it with a long loose coat in a darker blue. The coat was a very fine wool and had cost a lot of money justified by its elegance. She chose the plainest of her Italian shoes, found a handbag and gloves and went down to the hospital entrance.

He was waiting for her; he was also in deep conversation with Professor van Belfeld, who saw her first but gave no sign of having done so. Megan wasn’t a girl to dither; she walked across to them and said, ‘Good evening, sir’ and then, ‘Good evening, Oscar.’

The professor rumbled a good evening and Oscar said self-consciously, ‘Oh, hello, Megan. Of course you know the professor?’

‘Indeed, yes.’ She gave him a smiling nod.

‘Don’t let me keep you,’ said the professor. He sounded quite fatherly. ‘I wish you a very pleasant evening.’

Oscar beamed at him. ‘Oh, I’m sure of that, sir. Megan is to meet my parents for the first time.’

‘Ah—delightful, I’m sure.’ His chilly gaze took in the diamond ring on her finger, his face expressionless.

He watched them get into Oscar’s elderly car before turning away and going to the wards.

Oscar’s parents had come to London from their home in Essex. It was their habit to spend a few days each year at a modest hotel, attend a concert, see a suitable play and see as much of their son as possible. Megan, who had received a polite letter from his mother when they had got engaged, was feeling nervous. Supposing his mother and father didn’t like her; supposing she didn’t like them? She voiced her uncertainty to Oscar who laughed. ‘Of course you’ll like each other,’ he told her. ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t.’

Which was true enough. All the same, when they got to the hotel and joined the Fieldings in the half-empty bar she knew at once that she and Oscar’s mother disliked each other at first glance. Not that there was any sign of this; they kissed the air beside each other’s cheeks, said how glad they were to meet at last and made polite remarks about the splendid weather for March. There was a short respite while she was introduced to Oscar’s father, a small man with a wispy moustache and an air of apology; she liked him but they had little chance to talk for Oscar seated them at a small table, ordered drinks and settled down to talk to his father.

Megan sipped the gin and tonic which she hadn’t asked for and which she didn’t like and engaged her future mother-in-law in small talk. Mrs Fielding brushed aside the chat and embarked on a cross-examination of Megan’s life, her family, where had she gone to school, just how old she was…and it was to be hoped that she was a home-loving girl. ‘These career-minded young women,’ observed Mrs Fielding severely, ‘have no right to go to work when they have a family and a husband to look after.’

Megan looked at her companion. She was short and stout with a sharp nose and beady eyes, dressed in what Megan could only describe as economical clothes and with a fearsome hair-do. Oscar had told her that they were in comfortable circumstances and she had no reason to doubt him; perhaps they were just careful of their money… It seemed as though that was the case, for when they sat down to dinner Mrs Fielding made it clear that they would all have the set menu. ‘I’m sure we shall enjoy it,’ she said in a voice daring anyone to say otherwise, ‘and a glass of wine is sufficient for us.’

It surprised her that Oscar did not seem to mind his mother’s managing ways; he affably agreed to everything she suggested and when she observed presently that when they married they could have a quantity of furniture stored in the attics he thought it a splendid idea.

‘What kind of furniture?’ asked Megan.

‘Oh, tables and chairs and a very large sideboard and several carpets which I inherited from my parents. There are several things from Mr Fielding’s father too, I believe. Some quite nice chests of drawers, and, if I remember rightly, a pretty what-not.’

Megan, uncertain as to what a what-not might be, decided to say nothing. Later she and Oscar would have a talk. When—a small voice added if—they married, she wanted, like every other young woman, to choose her own home. Where was that home going to be, anyway? Somehow she and Oscar hadn’t got around to talking about that.

Later as they drove back to Regent’s she asked. ‘Oscar, what do you plan to do when you’ve finished at Regent’s?’

‘Get a senior post—I’d like to stay here but there might not be an opening. Plenty of other hospitals in London, though.’

‘You want to stay here, in London, for always?’

‘Possibly. I’ll have to see what turns up.’

‘What about me?’

‘Well, if I can get a flat with the job I should think the best thing would be that; if not it would be best for you to live with Mother and Father. I could come home for weekends and free days—it’s only a couple of hours in the car.’

‘You don’t mean that, do you?’

‘Mean it? Of course I do. What else is there to do? It would be a waste of money to pay for a flat or even rooms when you can live at home for the price of your keep.’ He laughed and patted her knee. ‘If I thought you…but you’re such a sensible girl…’

She glanced at him; he had a nice face, open and good-natured. In a few years’ time he would be a thoroughly reliable physician with a sound practice. He was fond of her too, although she sometimes thought that his work was his real love and he wasn’t a man to sweep her off her feet. Sometimes she would have liked to have been swept…

He walked with her to the entrance to the nurses’ home when they reached Regent’s and stood for a moment, mulling over their evening.

‘Take-in tomorrow,’ said Megan.

‘Shan’t see much of you, though. When’s your next weekend? I might be able to get Sunday off.’

‘Could you? We could go home—you haven’t met Mother and Father or the family yet. I’m free the weekend after next.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’ He kissed her without wasting much time over it. ‘Sleep well, Megan. We might manage an hour or two during the week.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

She went to her room and presently, in bed, went over the evening. It hadn’t been a huge success but she supposed that with time she and Oscar’s mother might get to like each other. He should, she thought, sleepily, have fallen in love with a shy, quiet girl, content to take second place to his work and be suitably meek with his mother. She fell asleep trying to think of a way to turn herself into such a girl.

She discarded the idea the next morning. It was no good being meek and shy in her job; meekness would get her nowhere with the laundry superintendent who always argued about the excessive bedlinen Megan needed for her ward, nor would it help with the pharmacy, presided over by a bad-tempered man who queried every request and then said that he hadn’t got it. She fought her way through a busy morning and went to her midday dinner with a sigh of relief, but as she swallowed the first mouthful of shepherd’s pie she was recalled to the ward. Two street accidents; Eva Chambers, the senior casualty sister, gave her the details. ‘You’ll have your work cut out. I hope you have plenty of staff on duty.’

Head injuries, both of them, and so restless that Megan had to deplete her staff to special the two women. Mr Bright, one of the consultant surgeons, gave it his opinion that they needed to go to Theatre at once. ‘Get them cross-matched, Sister,’ he ordered, ‘and checked for AIDS. Tell the path. lab. to send someone capable of dealing with them if they get too restless; they’re both well-built women and there’s a great deal of cerebral irritation.’

The path. lab. responded smartly. Megan, sailing down the ward to give a helping hand in answer to urgent sounds coming from behind the curtains, was overtaken by a soft-footed Professor van Belfeld. He said mildly, ‘I understand that there is a certain amount of cerebral irritation—I thought it might be best if I came myself.’

‘Oh, good,’ said Megan. ‘They’re both a bit of a handful—we’ve got cot sides up, of course, but they will climb over…’

The professor had certainly been the right person to deal with the situation; he was gentle but he was also possessed of a strength which made child’s play of restraining the unconscious women. Megan, left to wrestle with arms and legs flying in all directions, watched him go and wished that he could have stayed.

Both women went to ICU after Theatre and the ward settled down to its normal routine; all the same it had been a busy day and she was glad to go off duty at last. Supper, a pot of tea, a hot bath and bed, she thought contentedly, going through the hospital; several long corridors, two staircases and the entrance hall to cross to reach the canteen in the basement. She had reached the hall when she saw the professor ahead of her. He was walking unhurriedly towards the doors. Going home, she supposed, and fell to wondering where home was. Why was he so late? Surely he didn’t need to put in a twelve-hour day?

He turned round and saw her as she drew level with the entrance. ‘A busy day, Sister Rodner,’ he observed. ‘Goodnight.’

She wished him goodnight too and as he went through the doors paused to watch him cross the forecourt and get into his car—a grey Rolls-Royce—and drive away. Just for a moment she found herself wishing that she could go with him and see where he lived…

Take-in went from Wednesday until Tuesday midnight and was as busy as one might expect. Regent’s was north of the river, its mid-Victorian bulk spread in the middle of streets packed with small houses, derelict buildings and small factories. There was always something, observed Eva Chambers wearily, at the end of a particularly busy day; if someone didn’t damage themselves with factory machinery, they got run over by a car or stabbed by a member of a rival gang of youths. The weekend was always the worst; Megan, gloomily surveying her bulging ward, thanked heaven that Wednesday was in sight.

She had seen Oscar only once or twice and then only for a brief hour snatched in a grubby little café across the street from the hospital, but she went out in her off duty however tired she was. There was nowhere much to go, but a brisk walk made a nice change and the weather was kind; it was mild for the end of March and here and there was a gallant little tree or privet hedge in a rare front garden, and there were green shoots. Next week, she thought happily, she and Oscar would go home together, and the week after that she would have her own small flat; Theatre Sister was getting married and no longer needed the semi-basement she had lived in for some years, and Megan had jumped at the chance of getting it. Oscar hadn’t liked the idea but, as she pointed out, it would be marvellous to have somewhere to go; she could cook supper and they could talk, something for which they seldom had time.

The ward settled back into its usual routine—admissions for operations, discharges for those who had recovered, dressings, treatment, serving meals, arranging the off-duty rota to please the nurses, continuing her running fight with the laundry; after four years she had become adept at running a ward.

Oscar wasn’t free until Sunday and although she grudged missing a day at home it gave her the chance to go along to the flat and make her final arrangements for moving in. She had already met the landlord, an elderly bewhiskered cockney who occupied the ground-floor flat himself and let the top flat to a severe lady whose staid manner and ladylike ways added, he considered, to the tone of his house, something he was anxious to maintain in the rather shabby street.

Shabby or not, it was handy for the hospital, and Megan was looking forward to having a place of her own even if it was a down-at-heel semi-basement. She spent most of her Saturday going through its contents with Theatre Sister, who was packing up ready to leave, and she agreed to take over most of the simple furniture which was there and adopt the stray cat that went with the flat. It would be nice to have company in the evenings and he seemed an amiable beast. She went back to the hospital in the early evening, eager to make her move, noting with satisfaction that it took her exactly five minutes to get there. Her head full of pleasant plans about new curtains, a coat of paint on the depressing little front door, she failed to see Professor van Belfeld driving out of the forecourt as she went in.

She and Oscar left early the next morning. Her home in Buckinghamshire was in a small village north of the country town of Thame. Her father was senior partner in a firm of solicitors and had lived most of his life at Little Swanley, driving to and from his offices in Thame and Aylesbury. She had been born there, as had her younger sister and much younger brother, and although she enjoyed her job she was essentially a country girl. She had a small car and spent her free weekends and holidays at home, and she had hoped—indeed, half expected—that Oscar would get a partnership in a country practice; his determination to stay in London had shaken her a little. Sitting beside him as he drove out of London, she hoped that a day spent at her home would cause him to change his mind.

Little Swanley was a little over sixty miles’ drive from Regent’s and once they were out of the suburbs Oscar took the A41, and, when they reached Aylesbury, turned on to the Thame road before taking the narrow road leading to Little Swanley.

‘It would have been quicker if we had taken the M40,’ he pointed out as he slowed to let a farm cart pass.

‘Yes, I know, but this is so much prettier—I don’t like motorways, but we’ll go back that way if you like.’

She felt a twinge of disappointment in his lack of interest in the countryside; after the drab streets round the hospital, the fields and hedges were green, there were primroses by the side of the road and the trees were showing their new leaves. Spring had come early.

Another even narrower road led downhill into the village. Megan, seeing the church tower beyond it, the gables of the manor house and the red tiles of the little cluster of houses around the market cross, felt a thrill of happiness. ‘Go through the village,’ she told Oscar. ‘Ours is the first house on the left—there’s a white gate…’

The gate was seldom closed. Oscar drove up the short drive and stopped before the open door of her home, white-walled and timber-framed with shutters at its windows, a roomy seventeenth-century house surrounded by trees with a lawn before it and flowerbeds packed with daffodils.

She turned a beaming face to Oscar. ‘Home!’ she cried. ‘Come on in, Mother will be waiting.’

Her mother was already at the door, a still pretty woman almost as tall as her daughter. ‘Darling, here you are at last, and you’ve brought Oscar with you.’ She embraced Megan and shook hands with him. ‘We’ve heard so much about you that we feel as though we know you already.’ She opened the door wider. ‘Come and meet my husband.’

Mr Rodner came into the hall then, the Sunday papers under one arm, spectacles on his nose, a good deal older than his wife, with a thick head of grey hair and a pleasant scholarly face. Megan hugged him before introducing Oscar. ‘At last we’ve managed to get here together. Are the others home?’

‘Church,’ said her mother. ‘They’ll be here in half an hour or so; there’s just time for us to have a cup of coffee and a chat before they get back.’

Melanie and Colin came in presently. Melanie was quite unlike her mother and sister; she was small and slim with golden hair and big blue eyes and Oscar couldn’t take his eyes off her. Megan beamed on them both, delighted that they were instant friends, for Melanie was shy and gentle and tended to shelter behind her sister’s Junoesque proportions. She left them talking happily and went into the garden to look at Colin’s rabbits, lending a sympathetic ear to his schoolboy grumbles, then she went to help her mother put lunch on the table.

Oscar, she saw with happy relief, had made himself at home, and her parents liked him. She had thought they might have taken a walk after lunch and discussed their future but he was so obviously happy in their company that she gave up the idea and left him with her father, Colin and Melanie and she went into the kitchen to gossip with her mother while they cleared away the dishes and put things ready for tea.

‘I like your young man,’ said her mother, polishing her best glasses. ‘He seems very sensible and steady. He’ll make a good husband, darling.’

‘Yes.’ Megan hesitated. ‘Only I don’t see much chance of us marrying for a while—for a long while. He’s rather keen on settling in London and I would have liked him to have found a country practice. I like my work, Mother, but I don’t like London, at least not the part where we work.’

‘Perhaps you can change his mind for him,’ suggested Mrs Rodner comfortably. ‘He doesn’t want to specialise, does he?’

‘No, but he’s keen to get as many qualifications as he can and that means hospital posts for some time.’

‘Did you like his parents, darling?’

Megan put down the last of the knives. ‘Well, his father is quite nice—not a bit like Father, though. I tried hard to like his mother but she doesn’t like me; she says she has no patience with career-minded girls.’

‘You won’t work once you are married, will you?’

‘No. Oscar wouldn’t like that. He thought it would be a good idea if he were to get a senior registrar’s post at one of the big teaching hospitals and I were to live with his parents…’

‘That won’t work,’ said Mrs Rodner with some heat. ‘What would you do all day? And it wouldn’t be a home of your own. Besides, after running a ward for a year or two you won’t settle down easily to playing second fiddle to Oscar’s mother, especially if you don’t like her.’

‘What shall I do?’ asked Megan. ‘It’s a problem, isn’t it?’

‘Wait and see, darling. Very hard to do, I know, but it’s the only way.’

Oscar drove her back to Regent’s after supper, waiting patiently while she hugged and kissed her family in turn, cuddled the elderly Labrador, Janus, made a last inspection of the family cat, Candy, and her various kittens, and picked a bunch of daffodils to cheer up her room. He was seldom put out, she thought contentedly as she got into the car at last.

‘Well,’ she asked him as they drove away, ‘did you like my family?’

‘Very much. Your brother is pretty sharp, isn’t he? Does well at school, I dare say.’

‘Yes, and a good thing, for Father wants him to go into the firm later on.’

‘Your sister is—she’s charming, like a shy angel—you’re not a bit alike,’ and when Megan laughed at that he said, ‘That sounds all wrong but you know what I mean. Has she got a job?’

‘No, she helps Mother at home, but she’s a marvellous needlewoman and she paints and draws and makes her own gloves—that kind of thing. She’s a good cook, too.’

‘Those scones at tea were delicious,’ said Oscar warmly. ‘I like to think of her in the kitchen…’

Megan, faintly puzzled by this remark, refrained from telling him that she had knocked up a batch of scones while he had been talking to Melanie in the drawing-room. It was natural enough, she supposed, that he would think that being a ward sister precluded a knowledge of the art of cooking.

At the hospital they parted in the entrance hall.

‘It was a delightful day,’ said Oscar warmly. ‘I haven’t enjoyed myself so much for a long time.’

A remark which caused Megan to feel vaguely put out. All the same she said in her matter-of-fact way, ‘Good, we must do it again. Don’t forget I’m moving into my flat this week. If you’re free on Thursday evening, you can come for supper.’

He kissed her cheek, since there was no one there to see. ‘That’s a date. What will it be? Baked beans on toast and instant coffee?’

She smiled. ‘Very likely. You’d better bring a bottle of beer to help it out. Goodnight, Oscar.’

Before she went to sleep she had planned a supper menu which would put all thoughts of baked beans out of his head.

Theatre Sister left on Monday and on Tuesday evening Megan went round to the flat. She had already met the landlord and someone had been in to give the flat a good clean; it only remained for her to set the place to rights and since she had the evening before her she went back to the hospital, packed a case with most of her clothes, filled a plastic bag with books and went off once more. She had gone through the entrance door when the case was taken from her hand.

‘Allow me,’ said Professor van Belfeld. ‘The car’s over here…’

Megan stopped to look at him. ‘Car?’ she asked stupidly. ‘But I’m only going—’

He interrupted her. ‘To your new flat, no doubt. I’ll drop you off as I go.’

‘Well, that’s very kind,’ began Megan, ‘but really there’s no need.’

He didn’t answer, but put a large hand under her elbow, took the bag of books away from her and steered her to his car. It was extremely comfortable sitting there beside him, only she didn’t have time to enjoy it to the full; the journey took less than a minute.

Outside the shabby house he got out to open her door, took the key from her and unlocked the door of the flat, switching on the lights and then going back for her case and the books. The place looked bare and unlived-in but it was clean and needed only a few cushions, some flowers and photos and the small gas fire lighted. She was standing in the tiny lobby thanking the professor when the cat sped past them.

‘Yours?’ asked the professor.

‘Well, yes. Theatre Sister said that she’d been feeding him. I’ll get some milk, he must be hungry.’

A small group of children had collected round the car, staring in, and the professor turned round to look at them, picked out the biggest boy and beckoned him over. ‘Go to the shop at the end of the street; I fancy it is still open. Buy two tins of cat food and some milk—any kind of milk.’ He gave the lad some money. ‘Fifty pence if you’re quick about it.’

‘Really,’ protested Megan, ‘there was no need…’

‘The beast is hungry.’ He stated the fact in his quiet voice, putting an end to further argument. ‘You do not mean to stay here tonight?’

‘No. I’m moving in tomorrow. I’ve a day off on Thursday and I’m going to cook a splendid supper. Oscar’s coming.’ She added, ‘Dr Fielding.’

‘Yes. I do know him,’ said the Professor drily. He sounded impatient too and she was glad when the boy came racing back with the cat food and the milk. ‘Give them to the lady,’ advised the professor, and put his hand in his pocket again. ‘Get yourself and your friends some chips.’

The boy took a delighted look at the money. ‘Yer a bit of all right!’ he shouted cheerfully as he and his friends scattered down the street…

Which gave Megan the chance to thank her companion all over again for his help, wish him goodnight and watch him drive away before going into her new home to feed the cat and unpack her case.

The cat, nicely full, sat and watched her. He was too thin and uncared for but she thought that with a little pampering he would turn into a splendid animal. ‘You haven’t a name,’ she observed, ‘and since you’re not a stray but belong here you must have a name. I wonder where you come from and how long you have been wandering around Meredith Street?’

She stroked his grubby head. ‘Of course, that’s your name—Meredith.’

There was a miserable little yard at the back of the flat where the tenants kept their dustbins and the patch of grass struggled to keep green. She opened the door in the tiny kitchen and he went outside but presently crept in again. She locked the door again, opened the small window beside it so that he could get in and out if he wished, put food down for him and wished him goodnight. She wasn’t very happy about the window but she wasn’t going to turn him out so late in the evening and the brick wall round the yard was very high.

The ward was busy the next day and take-in had started again. She had felt guilty at taking her day off during their busy week but it was Jenny’s weekend and she would probably be on duty for very long hours then. She was tired by the evening but she was free until Friday morning. She took the rest of her things to the flat, welcomed by Meredith, and then made up the bed, which pretended to be a divan during the day, cooked herself supper, fed the cat and sat down by the fire to make a list of the things she would need for the supper she had planned for the next day. That done, she turned the divan back into a bed again, had a shower in the cupboard-like apartment squeezed in between the kitchen and the back yard, and, well content, slept soundly with the cat Meredith, who had climbed cautiously on to the end of the bed.

Megan opened an eye as he wriggled into the blankets. ‘You need a good wash and brush-up,’ she muttered, and then slept again.

CHAPTER TWO

MEGAN got up early, for there was a lot to do. She breakfasted, fed Meredith, tidied her small home and went shopping. A bus took her to the Mile End Road, where she filled her basket and hurried back to the flat. The daffodils she had brought back with her had brightened up the rather dark room and there was a shaft of pale sunlight shining through its window. New curtains, she decided happily as she unpacked the basket, pale yellow and tawny, and some new lampshades instead of the rather severe ones Theatre Sister had favoured. They could wait for a few days; supper was what mattered. She made herself some coffee, buttered a roll, fed the cat again and found an old woolly scarf for him to sit on, then spread her shopping on the table in the tiny kitchen.

She chopped onions for the onion soup, peeled potatoes, cut up courgettes and carrots, trimmed lamb chops, got everything ready to make a baked custard and arranged the Brie and Stilton on a dish. Oscar would be off duty at six o’clock, which meant he would arrive half an hour later than that. She had plenty of time; she made a batch of cheese scones and put them in the oven, then went into the living-room to lay the table and light the fire, then, well satisfied with her efforts, she put on one of her pretty dresses and did her hair and face, made a cup of tea and ate one of the scones and then started to cook. The stove was adequate but there was very little room; it meant cooking the soup first so that there would be room for the other saucepans later. The chops she dressed with a few sprigs of rosemary and put into a warm oven while she made the custard and presently put that in the oven too. She hadn’t been sure which wine to buy so she had settled for a rosé and cans of beer; she should have bought a bottle of sherry, she thought worriedly, something she had quite forgotten, but going to look at the table once more she felt satisfied that the tiny room looked welcoming with its one shabby armchair by the fireplace with the table beside it. The rest of the room was more or less filled by the dining table under the window, the two chairs with it and the built-in cupboard and shelves along one wall. There was a padded stool and another small table by the divan and with the two lamps switched on the place looked almost cosy. She opened the kitchen window and let Meredith out, promising him his supper when he returned, then she went back to the stove. Oscar would be coming in half an hour or so and it was time to get the vegetables cooked.

Everything was just about ready by half-past six but there was no sign of Oscar; ten minutes went by and she was worrying about everything being overdone when the phone—a necessity laid on by the hospital only for theatre sisters—rang. Oscar sounded very cheerful. ‘Megan? Something’s come up—you won’t mind, will you, if I don’t come round? One of the housemen has just got engaged and we’re having a bit of a party.’

That was true enough; she could hear laughter and singing in the background and she could hear women’s voices, too. She reminded herself that there were several women doctors at Regent’s before she asked in what she hoped was a matter-of-fact voice if he was coming later.

‘Not a chance. We’ll be going strong for several hours yet.’ He chuckled in what she considered was an infuriating manner. ‘I’m glad I’m not on call.’

She boiled silently. ‘A pity—supper’s all ready…’

‘Put the baked beans back in the tin for next time,’ said Oscar.

That was a bit too much. She hung up.

The smells from the stove were mouthwatering. She turned off the gas and found that she was shaking with rage and disappointment. She would open the wine and drink the lot, she thought wildly, and was scarcely aware that there were tears running down her cheeks. She wiped them away furiously when there was a knock on the door; Oscar had come after all…she flung the door open and found Professor van Belfeld with the cat Meredith tucked under one arm, standing there.

He didn’t wait to be asked in but went past her and put the cat down on the divan. ‘He was at the end of the road, a cyclist came round the corner and knocked him down. I happened to be passing. I don’t think he’s injured, but if you like I’ll take a look.’

He glanced at her with casual swiftness so that she hoped he hadn’t seen the tears. ‘Oh, please—and thank you for rescuing him. I thought it quite safe in the yard. I’ll get a little towel…’

The professor took his time; Megan had the chance to wipe her tear-stained cheeks and blow her nose as soundlessly as possible. The only looking-glass was in the tiny shower-room and she had to trust to luck that she looked normal again. She made a mental note to acquire another for the kitchen as soon as possible. She didn’t look normal, she looked woebegone and red about her pretty nose, but the professor refrained from comment, merely remarked that the cat had no bones broken although he was probably badly bruised. He lifted him on to the scarf before the fire and stood up.

‘You’re expecting a guest. I’m sorry if I’ve held things up in the kitchen.’

‘It—it doesn’t matter—he’s not coming. Oscar—there’s a party at the hospital.’ Her lip quivered like a small girl’s. ‘I cooked supper and now there’s only me to eat it all.’ She gave a sniff and added, ‘So sorry…’

The professor took off his coat. ‘Would I do instead? Something smells delicious and I’m very hungry,’ and when she looked doubtful, ‘I had no lunch.’

‘Really? You’d like to stay? But haven’t you a home…?’

‘Yes, yes, of course I have, but there’s no one there this evening.’

He sounded very convincing and he didn’t spoil it by adding anything to that.

‘Well, it would be nice if you stayed. Will your car be all right outside?’

‘I left some boys on guard.’

‘Won’t they get cold?’

‘They’re sitting inside.’ He went to the table and picked up the wine. ‘If you have a corkscrew I’ll open this.’

She went back to the stove and turned the gas on again and presently served the soup. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t anything to offer you—no sherry or whisky—I’m not quite settled in yet.’

‘This soup needs nothing. You made it yourself?’

‘Yes, I like cooking.’ It helped a lot to see the soup, so carefully made with its round of toast and parmesan cheese on top, being eaten with such enjoyment. The lamb chops were eaten too, washed down with the rosé, which the professor drank with every appearance of enjoyment. It was perhaps the first time in his life that he had drunk wine at three pounds twenty-five pence a bottle; the price had been on the cork and he suspected that she had chosen it because it was a pretty colour.

He laid himself out to be pleasant and she was surprised to discover that he was a good companion, not saying much and never raising his voice, but what he said was interesting and had nothing to do with hospital life. Here was a different man from the one who had stared down at the broken dish and raked her with such a cold blue gaze. She discovered suddenly that she was enjoying herself. The cheese and biscuits followed the chops and since there wasn’t much room to sit anywhere else they had their coffee at the table with the plate of cheese scones between them.

Thinking about it afterwards, Megan wasn’t sure what they had talked about; certainly she had learned nothing of the professor’s private life, as she hadn’t dared to ask questions and he had volunteered no information, although he had told her that he had a dog and a cat, but he had only mentioned them casually while he was taking another look at Meredith, lying at his ease before the fire, comfortably full of supper.

Much to her surprise, he had helped her wash up before he had thanked her quietly for his supper and a pleasant evening, not once saying a word about Oscar—she had been grateful for that—and then he had gone out to his car, sent the boys home gleefully clutching small change, and driven himself away, lifting a casual hand as he went.

There was no chance of seeing Oscar the next day. The usual spate of cases were warded and the ward was full again, and it was a good thing, Megan decided, for it would take her a day or two to get over her disappointment at Oscar’s casual treatment. It was two days later before she did see him on her way back from her midday dinner.

‘Sorry about the other evening, Megan,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I knew you would understand. How about tomorrow? I’m off in the evening unless there’s any kind of emergency.’

Megan mentally arranged the off duty. ‘No good—I’m on duty and I’ll be too tired even to open a can of beans.’ She gave him a brilliant smile. ‘Can’t stop—there’s a case going to Theatre. Bye.’

In her office she got out the off-duty book and went in search of Jenny. ‘I particularly want an afternoon off tomorrow; would you mind changing?’

Jenny was only too glad to agree and Megan sailed back to her office, feeling that at least she had got some of her own back. It wasn’t nice of her, she admitted to herself, and indeed she was a kind-hearted and thoughtful girl by nature, but Oscar had upset her, she had to admit, and had made her uneasy. It wasn’t as if they saw a great deal of each other, there was no question of that, and didn’t absence make the heart grow fonder? Or did it?

There was no sign of the professor, but that was quite normal; he seldom came on to the wards and when he did he wasted no time in conversation unless it was of a professional nature. It was quite by chance that she overheard Mr Bright telling Will Jenkins that the professor had gone off to Holland. ‘Won’t be back for a few days,’ grumbled Mr Bright, ‘but I suppose he wants to see his family from time to time.’

So he was married—the thought gave Megan the strange feeling that she had lost something.

Take-in finished and the ward reverted to its normal busy state, without the sudden upheavals of accident cases, and Megan, relenting, spent an evening with Oscar, having a meal at a quiet restaurant near Victoria Park. She enjoyed herself and Oscar was so nice that she felt mean about changing her off duty the week before and when he suggested that he might go to her home with her on her next free weekend she agreed happily.

‘I can get a weekend,’ he pointed out. ‘Heaven knows I’m due for one.’

‘That will be marvellous. Can we go home on Saturday morning and stay until Sunday evening?’

He saw her back to the flat and stayed for ten minutes or so. ‘Not much of a place, is it?’ he pointed out, and she tried not to mind that. She had the new curtains up and cushions to match, fresh flowers and her books on the bookshelves. Even the cat Meredith looked glossy and well fed. A sensible girl, she understood that to a man the flat appeared to lack the comfort and convenience of home, and she contented herself by telling him that she was very happy with it. ‘If I want to go to bed early I can,’ she explained. ‘At the nurses’ home there is always a good deal of noise and people popping in and out and playing their cassettes. You’d be surprised how quiet this street is.’

He laughed and kissed her. ‘Take care; you’ll be turning into a regular old maid unless you look out!’

‘That’s easily remedied. We could get married.’ She didn’t know why she had said that and she regretted it when she saw his frown.

‘Time enough to talk about that when I’ve finished here and applied for another post,’ he told her, and, because he saw that she was feeling awkward, added another kiss to the one that he had already given her.

Megan, left alone, turned the divan into a bed, put on a kettle for a cup of tea and brushed Meredith’s coat. He was filling out nicely and since his accident had prudently stayed in the back yard. He scoffed the saucer of milk she offered him now and composed himself for sleep before the fire, although the minute she turned out the light and got into bed he would creep stealthily on to the end of it and stay there all night.

It was several days later that she saw the professor again. She was going off duty after an exceptionally busy day and she was tired and cross and a little untidy. He and Mr Bright were standing in the entrance hall, deep in some discussion; Mr Bright looked up and called a cheerful, ‘Goodnight, Sister Rodner,’ and the professor looked at her too, rather as though he couldn’t remember where he had met her before, and gave a brief, abstracted nod. She went on her way, feeling put out; he had, after all, eaten a hearty supper at her invitation. She corrected that—his invitation; she hadn’t expected that it would lead to a closer relationship, he wasn’t close to anyone as far as she knew, but it merited a civil greeting.

She aired her views to Meredith as she got her supper. ‘Very rude,’ she told him as she stooped to set a saucer of food before him. ‘But perhaps he’s feeling homesick if he’s just back from Holland.’

She and Oscar were to go to her home at the weekend; she had seen him that morning and he had been eager to go. His enthusiasm had astonished and pleased her, for she knew what a lot of arranging had to be done before he could consider himself free for more than a day at a time. They could leave on Friday evening, he had suggested, and be there by ten o’clock, if that wasn’t too late for her parents, and she had agreed happily. Tomorrow she would have to find time to buy a cat basket. Meredith had stopped roaming the streets now that he had a good home but left on his own he might stray and she had got fond of him. A little fresh country air would do him good.

Friday began badly; she was entering the hospital when she saw the professor getting out of his car, near enough for them to have exchanged good-mornings, but she was still annoyed with him and swept through the door as though there was no one to be seen for miles around her. He followed her in an elegant, leisurely fashion, smiling a little. He didn’t smile a great deal and the head porter gave him a surprised look and observed to one of his underlings that Professor van Belfeld didn’t seem quite himself. ‘Something must ’ave shook ’im up,’ he added weightedly.

On the ward Megan found that the night had gone badly. A patient had fallen out of bed; no one’s fault but there needed to be a special report sent in, the medical houseman sent for to examine the lady and the nurses to reassure. It was a bad start to the day, although the patient, a stout lady who had rolled out of bed when she had turned over, had had no injury. Megan, coping with Authority, who wanted to know all about it, found her temper, usually calm, fraying badly. It frayed even more when Mr Bright, due for a ward-round, arrived half an hour late, so that dinners had to be kept hot while he went from bed to bed, taking his time. You would have thought, reflected Megan, seething with impatience, that the smell of fish, mingled with stewed beef and carrots, would help to remind him that the patients had to eat…

Oscar had said that he would be ready to leave by six o’clock and she was hard put to it to get off duty at her usual time. She didn’t go to her dinner, but made do with a sandwich and a cup of tea in her office, working through the afternoon so that when Jenny came on duty she was able to leave with an easy mind, hurry to the flat, change, stuff an indignant Meredith into his basket and collect her overnight bag before Oscar came to collect her.

Her mood improved when she saw him; he looked reassuringly ordinary, and obviously he was delighted at the idea of a weekend away from the hospital too. He stowed the cat on the back seat, put her bag in the boot and got in beside her, kissed her briefly and drove off.

‘We should get there well before ten o’clock,’ he told her. ‘Once we can get out of London we’ll use the motorway this time.’ He turned to smile at her. ‘It’s a lovely evening too.’

She agreed, feeling better already. ‘Is there anything special you want to do? There are some marvellous walks if you feel like it…’

‘Let’s see how we feel,’ he said easily. ‘Your family might have some ideas.’ He added, ‘You look tired; have you had a bad day?’

That was the nice thing about him, she thought—he always remembered that she worked as well as he and took an interest in her days. ‘Well, not bad exactly, just lots of small things going wrong. We’d got straightened out by the time I went off duty and Jenny’s very capable.’

They talked shop for some time—it relieved the tedium of their slow progress during the rush-hour—but presently when they were clear of the suburbs they fell silent. There’s no need to talk, thought Megan; we know each other well enough for there to be no need to make conversation. She felt comfortable with him. The thought flashed through her mind that they were perhaps too comfortable; surely she should feel rather more than that when they were together? It left her uneasy and presently she voiced her doubts.

‘Oscar, do you feel excited when I’m with you?’ That didn’t sound quite right and she tried again. ‘Don’t laugh—I really want to know.’

They were on the motorway and it was comparatively free of traffic so that he was able to answer her without distraction.

‘Megan, dear, of course I won’t laugh, and I do understand what you mean. My feeling for you is—how shall I put it?—deep and sincere, but I believe I am not a man to get excited, as you put it. I am happy and content and I believe that we shall settle down very well together.’ He glanced at her smiling. ‘Does that answer your question?’

She wanted to tell him that it didn’t but instead she told him that it did. Perhaps there was no such thing as the kind of romance one read about in books. She twiddled the ring on her finger and told herself that she was happy.

Her mother and father and Melanie were waiting for them when they arrived. They had made good time and since it wasn’t yet ten o’clock they had waited supper for them and they sat round the table talking, comfortably aware that the next day was Saturday and there was no hurry to go to work in the morning. Megan, sitting beside Oscar, was pleased to see that he got on so well with Melanie. She smiled at her sister across the table; she had mothered her and shielded her as a child and she loved her dearly. It was a delight to see her talking and laughing so easily with him.

She woke early because it was a habit born of hospital routine, and decided that it was far too soon to get up. She got out of bed and pulled back the curtains. The sun wasn’t quite up but the sky was clear and the country around was green and fresh. She drew a contented breath and then let it out with a small gasp. Oscar and Melanie had just left the house by the kitchen door below her window. They were talking softly as they went down the garden to the gate at the end which would lead them to a lane which would take them into the woods beyond the house.

Megan got back into bed and thought about it. Perhaps Oscar hadn’t slept well, and, intent on an early morning walk, had met Melanie, who had possibly got up early to get morning tea for everyone. He had talked during supper about bird watching; he might have been going to do just that and Melanie had offered to show him the best places to watch from. She turned over and went to sleep again.

She woke a couple of hours later to find Melanie sitting on the edge of the bed with a cup of tea in her hand, and she sat up, her dark hair hanging in a tangle about her shoulders. ‘Where were you and Oscar going?’ she asked.

‘Did you see us? Why didn’t you call—we’d have waited for you. Oscar wanted to see some birds, remember? And he came downstairs while I was in the kitchen—I’d got up early to get the tea so we had a cup and I took him along to Nib’s Wood.’ She looked anxious. ‘You don’t mind, Meg?’

‘Darling, of course not. As a matter of fact that’s what I thought you were going to do. Oscar’s nice to be with, isn’t he?’

‘Oh, yes, he doesn’t mind that I’m not witty and amusing…’

‘Who does mind?’

‘Oh, George at the Manor and the Betts boys at Home Farm and the new clerk in father’s office.’

Megan said indignantly, ‘They don’t say so?’

‘Well, not quite, but that’s what they mean.’

Megan put her arms round her sister, ‘Darling, don’t take any notice of them. You’re nice as you are and all the nice men—the kind you’ll marry—like girls like you.’

‘Oh, I do hope so.’

Melanie put a gentle hand on Meredith’s head. He had curled up on the end of the bed and not stirred but now he opened his eyes and yawned. ‘I’d better get up,’ said Megan, ‘and see to this monster. Is breakfast ready?’

‘Half an hour. What are you going to do today?’

‘Show Oscar the village, give Mother a hand, potter in the garden. Oscar works very hard. I dare say he’ll like to be left to do his own thing.’

When she got downstairs her mother was in the kitchen dishing up eggs and bacon, and Melanie was making toast.

Megan carried the coffee through to the dining-room and found her father and Oscar there. She stooped to kiss the top of her father’s head as he sat in his chair and offered a cheek to Oscar.

He flung an arm round her shoulders. ‘I was up early; I’ve been bird watching,’ he told her. ‘Melanie was up too and she kindly showed me the best places to go to. I must say the country around here is delightful. I’m almost tempted to turn into a GP and settle down in rural parts,’ but when he saw the look on Megan’s face he laughed and added, ‘But I won’t do that, I’ve set my heart on a good London practice and a senior post in one of the teaching hospitals. Megan knows that, don’t you, darling?’

‘Yes, of course I do. You’ll be so successful that we’ll be able to afford a cottage in the country for weekends.’ She smiled at him, knowing that he’d set his heart on making a success of his career and understanding that he intended to do just that with a single-minded purpose which could ignore her own wish to live away from London. He deserved success, she thought; he had worked very hard and he was a good doctor. She watched him being gentle with Melanie and felt a glow of gratitude; her sister, usually so painfully shy, was perfectly at ease with him.

Driving back to Regent’s on Sunday evening, she asked Oscar, ‘You enjoyed yourself? You weren’t bored?’

‘Good lord, no, it was marvellous. I like your family, Megan. That young brother of yours is a splendid chap.’

‘Yes, he is, and he likes you. So does Melanie. You must have seen how shy she is with people she doesn’t know well but you got on with her splendidly.’

He didn’t answer, she supposed because of the sudden congestion of traffic.

At the hospital he said, ‘How about another weekend when I can get one?’

‘Lovely. I’ll be going again in two weeks but I don’t suppose you can manage one as soon as that.’

‘Afraid not, but I could try for the weekend after.’

‘Let me know in good time. I’ll have to alter the off duty but I know Jenny won’t mind. Ought you not to go home and see your parents?’

‘I’ll scrounge a half-day during the week.’

He didn’t ask her if she wanted to go with him. Perhaps he had noticed that she and his mother hadn’t taken to each other. That would take some time, she reflected as they said goodnight.

Monday morning was busy for there were admissions for operation on the following day, which meant all the usual tests, a visit from the anaesthetist, examinations by painstaking housemen and finally a brief visit from Mr Bright during the afternoon to bolster up his patients’ failing spirits and cast an eye over his houseman’s reports. The last patient of the four was a thin, tired-looking woman and he spent longer than usual talking to her, putting her at her ease before turning to the papers in his hand.

He paused at the path. lab. report and read it again. ‘You’ve seen this, Sister?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Most unusual. Be good enough to go to the path. lab. will you, and check with Professor van Belfeld? We shall need to get a supply…’

Megan nipped smartly through the hospital and opened the path. lab. department door. The professor wasn’t going to like having one of his decisions questioned.

He was at his desk. She wondered if he sat there all day, for he looked remarkably alert and not in the least tired. He looked up as she knocked and went in. His, ‘Yes, Sister?’ was politely questioning.

‘Mr Bright asked me to check with you—this blood-group report. He thought it was unusual.’

‘It is unusual; it is also correct. I checked it personally. You may tell Mr Bright that with my compliments.’ He picked up his pen. ‘Run along now, I’m rather busy.’

She turned on her heel and made for the door, choking back all the rude words on her tongue. Run along, indeed; who did he think he was?

‘Be good enough to close the door firmly as you go out, and tell Mr Bright that I have arranged for a suitable blood donor.’

Megan, a mild girl, was boiling over. Such rudeness… She opened the door and said unforgivably over one shapely shoulder, ‘Tell him yourself, sir,’ and flounced out haughtily, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Hurrying back to the ward, the enormity of what she had said hit her. She would get the sack; insubordination, she supposed it would be called. Oscar would be angry with her for losing her temper and behaving like a silly child; her parents would be unhappy; she would be given one of those references which damned with faint praise and would end up looking after a geriatric ward in some old-fashioned hospital in the Midlands. Her wild thoughts showed plainly on her face when she got back to the ward and Mr Bright asked, ‘Did Professor van Belfeld eat you alive?’ He laughed as he said it and she said quickly,

‘No, no, Mr Bright. He asked me to tell you that he agreed that it was a most unusual blood-group and that he had arranged for a blood donor.’

‘Good man. I don’t know what this hospital would do without him.’

Megan mumbled something; maybe the hospital couldn’t do without him but she for one could. She tidied the papers Mr Bright had scattered all over the bed and locker and went rigid when the professor’s quiet voice speaking its perfect faintly accented English came from behind her.

‘I’m sure that Sister Rodner gave you my message, suitably altered to agree with her standard of politeness,’ and when Mr Bright laughed he added, ‘I hope she will forgive me for my abruptness.’

Megan’s charming bosom heaved with pent-up feelings. She was still casting around for a suitable answer to this when he went on, ‘I thought it best if I came down to see you—there are a couple of elements in this case which need clarifying.’

Megan had moved away to arrange the bedclothes over her patient. It had been quite unnecessary for him to apologise to her like that and now he had put her in the wrong. She would have to apologise; not that she intended to do that until she knew if he was going to make a complaint about her conduct. The tiresome man. She worried about it for the rest of the afternoon, which was quite unnecessary; it was a pity she hadn’t seen the professor sitting back in his chair with a delighted grin on his face as she had flounced through his office door.

By the time she went off duty she had steeled herself to apologise to him but not until the following day. If he was going to make something of it she would be called to Matron’s office at nine o’clock. On her way through the hospital she began to compose a speech; it would have to be dignified and apologetic at the same time and she was finding it rather difficult. She was so engrossed that she failed to see the professor coming towards her until they were within a few feet of each other. His first words took her breath.

‘Ah, Sister Rodner, I have been expecting your apology.’ He sounded pleasantly enquiring and she thought crossly that it would be much easier seriously to dislike him if only he would raise his voice and shout a bit.

‘I haven’t had much time,’ she told him snappily. ‘I have every intention of doing so but not until tomorrow.’ He was standing before her, blocking a good deal of the passage. ‘I’m waiting to see if I have to go to Matron’s office.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, if you have complained about me she won’t waste much time before having me in for an interview.’ She eyed him wrathfully. ‘I shall probably be given the sack or lose my sister’s cap or something.’

‘My dear young lady, I have no intention of complaining about you. Indeed in your shoes I would have said and done exactly what you did. So you may forget the melodrama and come to work with an easy conscience in the morning.’

He smiled suddenly and just for a moment he didn’t look like the austere man she imagined he was. ‘It would give me pleasure to take you out to dinner as a token of good faith, but I hesitate to trespass on young Fielding’s preserves.’

She was surprised at the flash of regret which she felt. ‘It is kind of you to—to think that,’ she said carefully. ‘I’m sorry I was rude and thank you for being so nice about it.’

‘Nice, nice—an English word which means everything or nothing. I am not nice, as you very well know.’ He stood aside. ‘Goodnight, Sister Rodner.’

She went on her way faintly disturbed and not quite sure why.

Oscar was coming for supper that evening and she made haste home so that she could be ready for him. ‘Nine o’clock,’ he had said, which gave her time enough. She showered and changed into a grey jersey dress with a bright scarf at the throat, fed the cat, put on a pinny and got to work. A cheese soufflé, a winter salad, crusty french bread and a variety of cheeses. She had some sherry in the house now but she hadn’t bought any wine, although there was beer in the cupboard. The room looked cosy enough with the new lampshades casting a kindly pink glow over the cheap furniture and the table with its checked cloth and painted china. Oscar looked a little surprised as he came in. ‘I say, this place looks more like it although the furniture’s pretty grim. I’m famished…’

The soufflé was a dream of lightness and he ate most of it before starting on the bread and cheese and the bowl of apples. She made coffee and he sat back presently and began to tell her about his day. It wasn’t until he got up to go that he observed, ‘That was a good meal—I had no idea you could cook, Megan. Did Melanie teach you? I often think of those scones…’

She said evenly, ‘Yes, she makes marvellous scones. She’s a very good cook.’

He kissed her then, but not how she wanted to be kissed. She wanted to be held close and told that she was a splendid cook too and that he loved her more than anything in the world. Something was not right, she thought, but she didn’t know what it was and she made the mistake of asking him.

‘Something wrong? Whatever makes you say that? Of course there isn’t. I dare say you’re tired. Never mind—I’ve fixed up a weekend; did you change yours?’

‘As far as I know.’ She watched him walk away and closed the door, then washed her supper things and tidied the room before turning the divan into a bed, feeding Meredith and going to bed, to lie awake listening to his hoarse purr and worrying about her wretched day. Nothing had gone right and she would have enjoyed a good cry, only, as she told herself, she had nothing to cry about.

Take-in started again on Wednesday and since she had changed her weekend with Jenny, she was without that trusty right arm over this weekend, but, as she reminded herself at the end of each busy day, she and Oscar would be going home at the end of the following week. She saw little of him but, as she told the cat Meredith as she got ready to go to work on the last day of take-in, tomorrow they would be back to normal.

Only they weren’t. During the afternoon she was told by a sympathetic office sister that there was an outbreak of flu at St Patrick’s, who alternated with Regent’s, and her ward would have to take in for another week.

There was nothing to be done about it. When she got off duty she went to the porter’s lodge and asked if Oscar could see her for a moment and when he came into the entrance hall she told him the bad news at once.

‘What bad luck.’ He frowned. ‘I can’t do anything about my weekend; it would mean re-arranging the rota.’ His brow cleared. ‘I could go to your home on my own, if they’d have me?’

She stifled a feeling of disappointment, feeling mean that she should grudge him the weekend she should have shared with him. ‘Of course they will. They’ll love to have you. I’ll phone Mother.’

‘Splendid. I must go, darling. A pity about our weekend.’ He sounded cheerful. She watched him go, feeling unreasonably cross.

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