“I’ll drive you home, Octavia.”

She knew there was nothing she would have liked better. All the same, she said instantly in a tart voice, “You’ve made me jump! Thank you for the offer, but I’ve already made arrangements.”

“Cancel them.”

She turned to look at him. “And supposing I don’t want to?” she inquired with deceptive mildness.

His mildness more than equaled hers. “I hope you will change your mind. I would like to talk to you.”

“What about?” She had turned away from him and was giving an answering wave to a passenger going ashore.

“Will you marry me, Octavia?”

She whipped round to stare at him blankly…

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.

Never While the Grass Grows
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

SISTER OCTAVIA LOCK swept through the swing doors of Casualty on a wave of vague ill-humour; she had over-slept and as a consequence had had no breakfast save a cup of tea, drunk far too hot and as much toast as she could cram into her mouth with one bite, and over and above that, it was a glorious September morning with enough of autumn in the air to make her wish that she was at home and not in a London hospital, hemmed in by narrow streets and rows of shabby little houses. And now, to make matters worse, she could see at a glance that Casualty, even at eight o’clock in the morning, was already filling itself up fast. Her senior, Sister Moody, who tended to take her time in coming on duty after breakfast, would as a consequence doubtless live up to her name. Octavia’s eye lighted upon a small forlorn boy sitting by himself and, her ill-humour forgotten, she swept him along with her on the way to the office, asking his name and what was the matter as they went. ‘Stanley,’ he told her tearfully, and his mum had sent him along because he’d burnt his arm the day before.

Octavia sighed, popped him into a cubicle and began to take off his too-small jacket. It amazed her that although patients crowded into Casualty, a vast number of them took their time about it. And if I’d been this mum I’d have brought Stanley here pretty smartly, she reflected, gently laying bare a sizeable burn wrapped in a handkerchief. The blisters weren’t broken, and that was something to be thankful for; she slid the handkerchief away and replaced it with gauze, said: ‘OK Stanley, the doctor will come and make that much more comfortable for you,’ warned a student nurse about him, and went into the office. One of the night Sisters was already there ready to leave and Octavia listened carefully to the night report, happily short and fairly uneventful, before she remarked gloomily: ‘You may have had a good night, Joan, but I’ve a nasty feeling that we’re in for a perfectly foul day—are you on tonight?’

Her companion grinned smugly. ‘Nights off—you’ll have Snoopy Kate on…’

‘Oh, lord, and I’m on till nine o’clock. Sister Moody wants the evening; I’ll have to have a split.’ She paused and smiled suddenly: ‘It’s my weekend off, though.’

They parted then, Joan to breakfast and bed, Octavia into Casualty to cast an eye over the patients already being treated and then those who were waiting. There was nothing urgent; cuts and bruises, septic fingers, a fractured collarbone which a nurse had already put into a collar and cuff, a number of small children with earache, sore throats and the like and the usual sprinkling of elderly men and women for morning dressings and stitches to be removed. She had just finished her round when Sister Moody arrived, nodded briefly and retired to the office, to stay there for a good deal of the day, doing the paper work and only coming out when an urgent case came in; not that she did much to help then; explaining comfortably to Octavia that at her age it would be ridiculous to expect her to take too active a part in the work while Octavia was perfectly capable of coping.

Octavia started her daily round of the cubicles and dressing rooms and small theatre, checking this and that with care but not wasting time. Nurses would be going to their coffee break in an hour and the quicker the light cases were dealt with the better. She could hear the steady hum of voices through the theatre door and all the sounds that went with it; the clatter of bowls, the faint click of instruments tossed into receivers, the telephone—she would have to go and give a hand. All the same, she paused by a window and gazed out into the street outside, full of traffic and people hurrying to work, a tall girl with a splendid figure and a lovely face crowned by rich brown hair, drawn back neatly under her cap, although a number of small curls had escaped to frame her face. Her eyes were hazel, large and heavily fringed and topped by black brows and her mouth curved gently, and as though these weren’t enough, she had a happy nature, marred only occasionally by a fiery temper. She turned away from the window presently and went back into Casualty, rolling up her sleeves as she went.

The day went as most days went; a steady trickle of minor casualties, interrupted frequently by the more severely injured as well as a small girl with a perforated appendix and an elderly man who had been found alone, half starved and dirty in a pokey little room in one of the rows of small houses close to the hospital. He had opened weary eyes as Octavia bent over him and told her fretfully to leave him alone, ‘Because what’s the use of getting me on my feet again?’ he wanted to know. ‘I’ve nowhere to go and no one to bother about me.’

Octavia, taking his blood pressure, gave him a motherly smile. ‘You just wait,’ she admonished him kindly, ‘there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be fit enough to get a job. You just need fattening up, you know. How old are you?’

‘Sixty—who’d want the likes of me, I’d like to know?’

‘Let’s worry about that when the time comes—first we’ll get you better.’ She turned at the tap on her shoulder. ‘Here’s the doctor to have a look at you.’

He had pneumonia, not badly—nothing that a few days in hospital wouldn’t put right. Octavia arranged for him to be admitted to the men’s medical ward and when he asked her if she would visit him, promised cheerfully that she would.

‘Now that’s a great shame,’ she declared to John Waring, the Casualty Officer. ‘A nice man like that thrown out of work because the family went to Switzerland—the least they could have done would have been to try and get him fixed up with someone else, or even taken him with them—I mean, after fifteen years working for them,’ she paused. ‘I’m not sure what a handyman does…’

‘Makes himself handy,’ and then more seriously: ‘I agree with you, Octavia, and he hasn’t much chance of getting any work—I suppose he would be unskilled labour, and he’s getting on.’ John finished the notes he was writing up and looked up at her. ‘Are you off this evening? How about a film?’

She shook her head regretfully. ‘I’m off…’ she glanced at the clock, ‘now, then I’m on until nine and I’ll be fit for nothing by then.’

‘Tomorrow, then?’

‘Lovely—but aren’t you on call?’

He grinned at her. ‘I’ll get someone to stand in for me.’

A nice boy, she reflected as she went through the hospital on her way to lunch and off duty. She had been out with him several times, indeed she had been out with most of the housemen in St Maud’s at one time or another, for she was popular with everyone and as pretty as a picture to boot, but although a surprisingly large percentage of them had wanted to marry her, she had remained heartwhole. By the time she had reached the canteen and joined her friends at table, she had forgotten all about John Waring.

She returned to Casualty just before six o’clock, to find it almost as full as when she had left it and Sister Moody waiting impatiently for her.

‘There’s a query appendix in the end bay,’ she was told swiftly, ‘a scalp wound next to it, and then a Colles fracture…’ she was ticking the cases off on her fingers, ‘a crushed thumb, septic foot…the rest haven’t been seen yet. Nurse Barnes is taking their names now—John Waring will be down presently. We had a couple of RTAs in—they’re warded—oh, and a BID I’ve had no time to make up the book.’ She was already half way through the door as she spoke and now, with a briefly muttered goodnight, she was gone.

There were two student nurses on duty as well as Mrs Taylor, a reliable nursing aide who had been in Casualty for so long that no one could remember when she had first come; she was elderly now and not able to lift or do any heavy work, but she was invaluable because she knew where everything was and fetched it at the drop of a hat. Octavia sent her to help the senior of the student nurses to marshall the remainder of the patients ready for John Waring and took the other nurse with her to deal with the appendix first and then, seeing that the man was resting comfortably, to get the scalp wound cleaned up, something Sister Moody might have done and hadn’t.

It was almost nine o’clock, after a steady stream of patients had been dealt with, that the street entrance was flung open and a tall man with wide shoulders and a giant’s stride came in. He was carrying a little old lady in his arms and rather to Octavia’s surprise, walked across the department to deposit her carefully on a couch in one of the bays. Only then did he turn to address her. ‘Mugged,’ his voice was deep and unhurried. ‘You’re in charge? Well, get the Casualty Officer here at once, will you?’

Octavia, bending over the small figure, paused for a moment to look up at the man. She said evenly: ‘Thanks for bringing her in, you can safely leave the rest to us now.’

He was a handsome man, with fair hair liberally sprinkled with grey, looking down his high-bridged nose with cold blue eyes. He looked, she realised suddenly, as though he didn’t like her. With something of an effort she clung to her professional calm and then found it in shreds when he went on: ‘I shall remain until she has received adequate treatment.’

Octavia let out an indignant snort and managed to hold her tongue. She could deal with the tiresome man presently, but now she bent to her patient, taking off the battered felt hat to search for head wounds, taking her pulse moving her arms gently and when the old lady opened her eyes, asked quietly: ‘Can you tell me where it hurts, my dear? You’re quite safe now, in hospital, but I don’t want to move you too much until we know what the damage is.’

The old eyes studied her wearily. ‘I aches all over, but there ain’t much sense in bothering over me, I ’aven’t got a soul ter mind if I snuffs it.’

‘I for one shall mind,’ Octavia assured her warmly. She ignored the large man looming over her and told the student nurse hovering to telephone Doctor Waring.

‘Tell him it’s a mugging, an elderly lady, no visible fractures, contusion on temple, cut eye, cut lip, not yet fully examined, rather shocked. Ask him to come at once, please.’

She began very gently to take off the old lady’s coat, a shockingly shabby garment, now freshly torn and ruined for ever. Octavia got out her scissors. ‘Look, my dear, I’m going to cut your coat so that I can get it off without hurting you; we’ll replace it for you.’

She had been busy cutting up one sleeve, and now when she went to do the same with the other, the patient’s rescuer took the scissors from her. It was then that she saw that his knuckles were bleeding and that there was a small cut across the back of one hand, the blood congealing now.

‘Oh, you’re hurt!’ She added forcefully: ‘I hope you knocked them down and jumped on them!’

Her companion continued his steady plying of the scissors. ‘I knocked them down—they—er—hardly needed to be jumped on, I fancy.’

She was easing the old lady’s jumper and put out her hand for the scissors again. ‘Good for you,’ said Octavia, ‘now if you wouldn’t mind just going into the next cubicle, Nurse will clean that hand up and the doctor can take a look at it. You’ll need ATS too—a knife, I imagine?’

‘You imagine correctly, Sister.’

She nodded without looking at him. ‘I’m going to telephone the police very shortly, perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling them just what happened? This little lady is hardly fit to be questioned just yet. We shall need your name and address too… Nurse will see to it.’ She turned as she heard John Waring’s step. ‘Hullo, again.’ She flashed him a tired smile. ‘I’ve not done too much—I thought you’d better take a quick look first. There’s a small wound here…’ They bent over the patient together, everything else forgotten for the moment.

It was some time later, when Octavia had discovered her patient’s name, wrapped her in a dressing gown, Mr Waring had dealt with her injuries, and she had taken her to X-ray and finally seen her safely off to one of the women’s wards, that she discovered that the man who had brought her in was still there. The police had come and gone, John Waring had disappeared too and she had sent the two nurses and Mrs Taylor off duty. It was ten o’clock by now and she had started to tidy up the cubicle before writing up the Casualty Book. Snoopy Kate hadn’t been near—typical, thought Octavia, racing round the little room transforming it to its usual spick and span appearance; when there was nothing to do, she would bustle around, picking holes in things that didn’t matter at all, but when the day staff were delayed by a case, Snoopy Kate kept well away until everything was quiet again. Octavia shot the last receiver into its allotted space and nipped across to the office to be brought to a halt by a voice behind her.

‘This place is very inefficiently run,’ remarked the big man coolly. ‘You send your nurses off duty and remain behind to do work which is theirs; and apparently there is no one to take over—just when do you go yourself?’

Octavia, quite short-tempered by now, answered him snappily: ‘I might ask the same question of you. Doctor Waring saw you, didn’t he? and Nurse told me that your hand had been attended to. And really it is no concern of yours as to when I go off duty.’ She was about to wish him goodnight and show him the door when she was struck by a sudden thought. ‘Did you have your ATS?’

‘Ah—I wondered when someone would give it a thought,’ he told her nastily.

She whisked back to the trolley she had just tidied so carefully and found syringe, needle and ampoule. ‘I’m sorry,’ she told him contritely, ‘you should have said sooner, but I quite see that you wouldn’t want to do that because we were a bit busy. I hope it hasn’t spoilt your evening…’

The man’s lip quivered slightly. ‘My evening was spoilt some hours ago,’ he reminded her.

He had got to his feet and taken off his jacket and rolled up a sleeve. Silk shirt, she noted, and a beautifully tailored jacket; she wondered fleetingly who he was. Rather an arrogant type, she considered, and given to saying just what he thought, but he had a nice voice and the trace of an accent…

‘Why did you look like that when your patient told you that she had not a soul to mind?’

She stood beside him, the syringe in hand, her lovely eyes wide. ‘Look like what?’

‘Worried—upset, angry.’

She shot the needle into the arm like a tree trunk before she answered him. ‘Oh, well—there was a man this morning, the police brought him in, half starved and ill and elderly—he said almost the same thing.’ She added almost to herself: ‘There must be someone…’

‘You like helping lame dogs?’ He had his jacket on again.

She said indignantly: ‘That sounds horrid, as though I were a do-gooder, but everyone deserves a chance to be happy and have enough to eat and a home.’

He sat down again and she interrupted herself to ask: ‘Don’t you want to go? There’s nothing more…’

He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll stay until you go off duty—anyone might come in and you’re alone.’

He was nice after all. Octavia gave him a friendly smile. ‘That’s very nice of you—do you imagine that the muggers will come crawling in here to have their bruises seen to? I’m not easily frightened—besides, one of the night Sisters will be here any time now.’

‘Ah, yes,’ he murmured, ‘Snoopy Kate. Nurse told me about her while she was cleaning up my hand—she sounds interesting. I believe I hear footsteps now.’

It was Snoopy Kate right enough, coming in from the other end of Casualty so that she could peer and prod at the equipment and move all the trollies half an inch, tut-tutting as she came. She could see Octavia but no one else and she began grumbling while she was still the length of the department away. ‘Ten o’clock,’ she declared, ‘and still not finished. I don’t know, you girls can’t work like we did when I was young—What are you doing here anyway? There’s no patient…’

The large man came into view then, holding his strapped knuckles rather ostentatiously before him, so that Octavia, suppressing a grin was able to point out to her superior that there was indeed a patient. ‘This gentleman brought in an old lady who had been injured by muggers,’ she told her, and added coldly: ‘A few minutes before nine o’clock, but since I wasn’t relieved and there was a lot to do, I’m only just finished.’

Snoopy Kate shot a look at the man, who was looking down his nose again, looking detached and a little bored. ‘I was hindered,’ she explained awkwardly. ‘I’ll take over now, Sister.’

‘No need,’ Octavia told her cheerfully. ‘He’s ready to go and I’ve finished the clearing up. The book’ll take me two minutes.’ She nodded a general goodnight and went into the office and shut the door. She could hear Snoopy Kate questioning the man while she made her entries and smiled to herself. He was quite nice, she conceded, but he had been rude to begin with and obviously liked his own way and wasn’t above being sarcastic, although Nurse Scott should have remembered the ATS—she would have to speak to her in the morning. She heard a door creak and the rustle of Snoopy Kate’s uniform. They had gone. She closed the book, and went back into Casualty on her way to her bed at last. The man was still there.

‘Oh, I’m going,’ he told her blandly. ‘That was a nasty trick, leaving me to parry your colleague’s questions—you seem to have a grudge against me.’

He was smiling and he looked nicer than ever. ‘It was mean of me,’ she allowed, ‘but you were rather nasty when you came in this evening, you know. Just as though you expected everyone to do exactly what you said at once—I see in the book that you’re a professor, so I expect that accounts for it. Teaching people must make you a bit bossy—boys or girls?’ she asked.

The face he turned to hers was without expression. ‘Both.’ He went to the door. ‘I hope—no, I know that we shall meet again, Sister. Goodnight.’

Octavia was halfway to the Nurses’ Home when she remembered that she had promised to visit the man who had been admitted that morning. It was late; most patients would have been settled for the night, but she could just take a peep. She whispered to the staff nurse in charge of Men’s Medical and went quietly down the ward to find him awake. He looked quite different now; he had been shaved and bathed and put into clean pyjamas and looked ten years younger, although woefully thin. He smiled when he saw her.

‘I said ter meself: She’ll come, and yer ’ave. Looked after me a treat, they ’ave, too.’

‘Splendid. Now, Mr…’

‘Call me Charlie, Sister.’ He looked wistful. ‘Like friends…’

She took a hand, still ingrained with grime despite the washing, and held it firmly in hers. ‘Friends it is,’ she told him, ‘and now you just listen to me, Charlie, you just lie there and eat and sleep for a day or two and don’t worry about a thing. I feel in my bones that your luck’s changed. And now go to sleep, there’s a dear.’ Upon which heartening words she bade him goodnight.

She went to see him each day after that, watching his face slowly fill out and his eyes brighten. The Ward Sister was a friend of hers, so it didn’t take much persuasion to get her to recommend that Charlie should stay where he was for another week at least. And she went to see the little old lady, Mrs Stubbs, too, smaller than ever in a hospital nightgown and with her grey hair neatly arranged over her bruised head. She had a black eye too, which gave her a decidedly rakish air, but despite her injuries she insisted on sitting out of bed each day and before very long had coaxed the nurses to let her do any little odd jobs of mending or sewing. She was, the Ward Sister told Octavia, very good with her needle.

‘Well, surely a job could be found for her?’ asked Octavia. ‘What about the sewing room?’

‘Huh—two were made redundant last month. The Social Worker’s scouting round though and there’s at least a week before discharge—longer, I imagine.’

The week neared its end and Octavia, weary from the rush and urgency of a constantly busy Casualty, went happily off duty on the Friday evening. She had been to see Charlie and Mrs Stubbs and it seemed reasonable to suppose that they would still be there when she returned on Monday afternoon. They were making progress now, but as yet their futures were uncertain; a problem which somehow had come to be very important to her. She caught the train by the skin of her teeth and found it crowded and resigned herself to standing in the corridor until Guildford, where she got a seat, crushed between a stout elderly lady and a small boy who ate crisps for the rest of the journey. She was kept so busy brushing crumbs off her new skirt that she had no time or inclination to think of anything much and at Alresford she discovered that her father wasn’t waiting for her, something which happened from time to time, for he was a Professor of Physics and remarkably absentminded. She could telephone from the station, but on the other hand it would be as quick—quicker, to take a taxi.

Her home was in the centre of the little town, a small Georgian town house in a row of similar dwellings. It had no garden in the front, but tucked away at the back was a pleasant walled lawn with flower beds and vegetables, kept alive by Octavia’s care on her frequent but brief visits. She opened the front door now and went into the narrow hall just as Mrs Lovelace, the daily housekeeper, came from the kitchen, dressed to leave.

‘There you are, Miss Octavia,’ she remarked comfortably. ‘There’s supper for you keeping hot, your pa’s had his.’ She nodded her head in its severe felt hat in the direction of one of the doors. ‘Busy with something or other, he is—did he know you were coming? I did remind him, but he didn’t hear, I imagine.’

Octavia smiled. ‘He never does, Mrs Lovelace. Thanks for the supper.’ She put down her case and took off her gloves. ‘I’m starved!’

‘And I’ve no doubt of that,’ declared the housekeeper. ‘I doubt you get good wholesome food in those hospitals. Can you manage if I don’t come in tomorrow?’

‘Yes, of course—I’ll have to go back on Sunday evening, though. I’ll get Father’s supper before I go.’

Mrs Lovelace nodded. ‘Thank you, Miss Octavia. I’ll be here Monday as usual.’

Professor Lock greeted his daughter with an absentminded warmth which she took in good part; her father had always been absentminded, and now that he was elderly, he was worse than ever. She kissed his bald pate, begged him not to disturb himself—something she was well aware he had no intention of doing, anyway—and went along to the kitchen to see what was for her supper. It smelled delicious; she took her case upstairs to the comfortable bedroom she had had since she was a child, and without bothering to unpack it, went downstairs again to put Mrs Lovelace’s tasty steak and kidney pie on a tray and carry it along to her father’s study. She ate in silence until he had finished what he was writing and then listened with interest to the theories he had been expounding. She wasn’t in the least scientific herself, but she was intelligent enough to make sensible observations and was rewarded presently by his: ‘You haven’t my brain, my dear, but for a girl you don’t do so badly.’ He peered at her over his old-fashioned spectacles. ‘Are you here for a weekend?’

She nodded, her mouth full of pie.

‘You have been busy?’

‘Well, yes—people have accidents all the time, you know, Father.’

‘Indeed yes—I read only recently a most interesting article… Do you not wish to marry, Octavia? How old are you?’

‘Twenty-seven, Father.’

‘Your mother had been married five years… You have had the opportunity, I imagine?’

‘Oh, yes—several times. But I never seem to meet the right man.’ She got to her feet. ‘I’ll go and make some coffee, shall I?’

‘That would be nice. I should like you to be married, Octavia. I’ve never been very good with money, as you know, what little I have is getting used up rapidly.’ He frowned. ‘Books have become increasingly expensive… There won’t be much left for you, my dear.’

She smiled at him fondly. ‘Don’t worry, Father dear; I’ve got a good job, and I earn enough to keep myself—just you go on buying all the books you want. Anyway, you get fees for your articles, don’t you, and all that coaching you do.’

He brightened. ‘Ah, yes—I’d forgotten. What a comfort you are, Octavia. Your mother would have been proud of you.’

While she made the coffee she thought rather wistfully of her mother who had died ten years ago or more; a pretty, still young woman who had known how to manage her husband without him realising it; it was only since her death that he had become so withdrawn. A pity I haven’t got a brother thought Octavia. She and her father got on splendidly and were devoted to each other, but sometimes she reflected that he would have managed quite well without her. Her fault perhaps for working away from home, but she had a good job now, with a chance of stepping into Sister Moody’s shoes when that lady retired; the thought was somehow depressing. While she drank her coffee she reviewed the various men who had wanted to marry her; none of them were exactly what she was looking for. She wasn’t quite sure what that was, herself, but she supposed she would know when she met him. She sighed gently and went to the kitchen to wash the supper things and then to bid her father a quiet goodnight before going upstairs to bed.

It was over breakfast the next morning that Mr Lock wanted to know why she didn’t change her job. ‘I realise that you would have to remain in nursing, because you don’t know what else to do, do you? But why not strike out, my dear? Go abroad, travel, see something of the world.’

She stared at him, a little surprised, ‘Me? Father, where would I go? There are jobs enough in the Middle East, but I don’t want to live there, and it’s not all that easy to go to Australia or New Zealand now—work permits, and so on, you know. I’d love to travel, though.’ She wrinkled her forehead in thought. ‘I could get a job with some rich elderly type who wanted to travel, but I should be bored in no time. I think I’ll stay where I am.’

Her parent passed his cup to be refilled. ‘Until you marry,’ he commented.

Her father’s unexpected interest in her ruffled the serenity of her weekend just a little. She did the shopping in the little town without her usual interest and although she accepted an invitation to have coffee with a chance acquaintance, she had to make an effort to take an interest in the conversation. Perhaps, she reflected uneasily, she had been drifting along and getting into a rut and should make an effort to get out of it before she no longer wanted to. She pondered about it during Sunday too, sitting beside her father in church, looking attentively at the vicar while he preached his sermon and not hearing a word of it.

She went back to London in the early evening, leaving her father quite happily immersed in his books, although he paused in his reading long enough to wish her a good journey back and expressed the hope that she would be home again soon. He said that every time she went home and she smiled at him now and said that yes, she would be back again in two weeks provided Sister Moody didn’t want to change her weekend.

She reached the hospital just as most of her friends were coming off duty and because she was still feeling a little unsettled, she went along to the Sisters’ sitting room to share their after supper tea. It had been a busy weekend, Sister Moody told her gloomily, although that lady’s idea of business and her own didn’t quite agree. ‘I shan’t come on until one o’clock tomorrow,’ declared Sister Moody. ‘I could do with a morning in bed—you’ve an evening, haven’t you? So there’ll be two of us on until five o’clock, it usually quietens down by then.’

Octavia agreed pleasantly; she hadn’t found that Casualty ever quietened down, but she didn’t say so. Presently she went to sit with her own particular friends, to listen to the day’s gossip and talk the inevitable shop. It was as they were drinking the last dregs of their tea that Connie Wills, the junior Sister on Men’s Medical, remarked: ‘That nice old Charlie—you remember, Octavia? He’s going on Thursday.’

Octavia put down her cup. ‘He can’t be—he’s not fit—where’s he going?’

‘Well, it all turned out rather well. I know he’s not fit, but someone—some man or other has offered him a job, living in—caretaking and so on. It’s just up Charlie’s street, and he’s promised that Charlie shall be looked after and not allowed to work until he’s quite well. Marvellous, isn’t it?’

‘That’s funny,’ chimed in the Sister, on Women’s Surgical. ‘Remember that little lady you sent us the other evening—the one you’ve been visiting? Well, she’s got somewhere to go to, too. She’s not to be discharged yet, but when she is, she’s been offered this job helping the housekeeper in some house or other. All very vague, but quite OK, so John Waring tells me.’

‘That’s wonderful!’ Octavia forgot her own vague problems in the pleasure of knowing that the unfortunate pair were to have more cheerful futures, after all. ‘Tell Charlie I’ll come to say goodbye, will you? I’ll never get away in the morning—Monday…’ she wrinkled her pretty nose, ‘but I’ll pop up and see Mrs Stubbs in the evening.’

They all went to their rooms after that, stopping to chat as they went, reluctant to bring their brief leisure to an end until Sister Moody, passing Octavia and a handful of the younger sisters still chatting outside their rooms, remarked sourly: ‘Don’t forget it’s Monday tomorrow.’

They exchanged speaking glances and when she was safely in the bathroom with the taps running, Octavia observed: ‘Do you suppose we’ll be like her in twenty years’ time?’

‘Not if I can help it,’ declared Connie. ‘I votes we get married.’

‘Chance is a fine thing,’ said Octavia.

They all looked at her. ‘You’ve no reason to complain, Octavia, there’s always someone or other dangling after you. It’s us plain ones who worry.’

They all laughed as they broke up, but in her room, sitting on the side of her bed, Octavia mulled over that remark and felt a vague disquiet again. She was lucky, she knew that, but only because she was pretty—she knew that too, without conceit—but there would come a time, she supposed, when no one would dangle after her any more. Perhaps, she decided, hopping into bed, she should take the very next chance that came her way.

CHAPTER TWO

CASUALTY remained busy for the next few days; over and above the steady stream of broken bones and heads, street accidents, small children with beads up their noses and down their ears, and elderly persons with aches and pains with which they hadn’t liked to bother their doctors, there was a bad fire in a high rise block of flats close to the hospital, and as well as some of its badly injured inmates, there were a number of firemen to be treated for the effects of smoke. Sister Moody, beside herself at having to work really hard, with little or no chance of taking refuge in her office, became as cross as two sticks, and because of that vented her vexation on the nurses. Octavia kept a tight hold on her patience and temper and breathed a sigh of relief when her superior took herself off for her weekend. True, they were now short of her services, but since these had been both grudgingly and sparingly given in the first place, it really didn’t matter. Peace and harmony reigned once more even though they were all run off their feet.

It was Sunday evening, as Octavia sat writing up the books, when the Sister on Men’s Medical put her head round the door. ‘Still here?’ she wanted to know. ‘Who’s relieving you?’

‘Gill Sedgewick.’

‘Her?’ said Rhona ungrammatically. ‘Let’s hope she remembers. Ever since she got married and took to part-time, she seems to think she’s conferring a favour coming at all.’ She came right in and perched on the desk. ‘I say, Octavia—remember Suzy Preston?’

Octavia ruled a neat line and without glancing up said calmly: ‘Well, of course I do, seeing she was a friend of mine—still is. I heard from her the other day—somewhere in Yorkshire, where she lives—she’s gathering a wardrobe together and up in the clouds over that new job.’

‘Well, she’s not now. I just happened to be in the office this evening and Miss Bellamy and Mr Yates were in her office with the door open and I couldn’t help over-hearing—actually, I did have to strain my ears a bit—Suzy’s got an appendix and can’t join the ship, and he was trying to persuade Miss B. to let him have someone in her place.’

‘He’ll be lucky. Poor old Suzy.’ Octavia closed the Casualty book with a flourish. ‘Where is she?’

‘At home. Of course Mr Yates will get his own way—he always does; I mean having a brother who’s a director of the shipping company helps a lot, and they always have our nurses, don’t they? It’s only a week before sailing time, besides, they think it impresses the passengers if they have one of us. After all, St Maud’s is one of the best teaching hospitals in the country.’

Octavia piled her books neatly and got up. ‘Oh, well, good luck to him. I must telephone Suzy, though. What rotten luck; she was so thrilled about it, too.’ She sighed and glanced at her watch. ‘I’m famished. I hope Gill comes soon. I must just see if the nurses are OK.’

She was with them when her relief arrived, and ten minutes later she was speeding out of the department, intent on getting away before another patient arrived.

Over supper there was a good deal of discussion about Suzy. She had caused quite a sensation when she had resigned to take a post as ship’s nurse, besides stirring up a good deal of envy in her colleagues’ bosoms; now the whole thing had fallen through and there was a good deal of conjecture as to what would happen. Rhona, repeating the conversation she had overheard, declared that one of them would find themselves on board the SS Socrates before the next week was out. ‘For depend upon it,’ she pointed out, ‘old Yates will get his way, he always does—you know how he cuts his way through red tape and official forms when he’s a mind to do so.’

They all left the table presently and wandered upstairs to the Sisters’ sitting room in the nurses’ home, to drink their bedtime tea and gossip, and Octavia went off to telephone Suzy, primed with enough questions and messages to keep her going throughout the night. But few of the questions were uttered; Suzy was in hospital, said her mother, under observation. She had had to give up her new job and expected to have the offending appendix removed within the next twenty-four hours. She had high hopes of being given a chance to re-apply for the job when she was well again.

Octavia offered sympathy, sent the most suitable of the messages and went back to the sitting room, where she told her news and settled down to write to Suzy. Everyone had messages, so she scratched away busily for several minutes, begged a stamp from someone and went along to post her letter.

The postbox by the hospital entrance hadn’t been emptied yet; she slid the envelope inside, passing the time of day with Henry the night porter, and started back through the hospital. She had reached the back of the entrance hall when the Consultants’ room door was flung open as she drew level with it, and Mr Yates came out. She wished him a polite goodnight without slackening her pace and then was halted in her tracks by his: ‘Sister Lock—the very person I wanted to see. Will you come in here a minute?’

He held the door open and she went past him with a wordless calm which showed nothing of her sudden panic of mind while she tried to think why he should wish to see her at such a strange hour. Had something gone wrong in Casualty? She cast her mind back through the day and tried to remember if anything really awful had happened. True, she had had words with the laundry, and she had told one of the porters off for wanting to go to his dinner in the middle of transporting a patient to the operating theatre—surely he hadn’t gone on strike? Her unease grew when Mr Yates lifted the receiver and asked for Miss Bellamy; something must be hideously wrong, but when that lady entered the room there was nothing in her impassive features to offer the smallest clue. She felt a little better when they both sat down and invited her to do the same, but she was quite unprepared for Mr Yates’s opening remark.

‘We are wondering if you would agree to taking Sister Preston’s place on board the SS Socrates, Sister Lock. Probably you know that she is to have an appendicectomy tomorrow and at such short notice the shipping company are quite at a loss. My brother has asked my help in the matter and naturally I have discussed the matter with Miss Bellamy.’ He paused to glance at the lady, who returned the look with an imperturbable one of her own. ‘You seem to be the most suitable person to fill the gap; you have had a good deal of experience in theatre and the wards, and your record in Casualty is excellent.’ He glanced at Octavia and then at the ceiling. ‘A fortnight, you understand, and very pleasant work, I believe. After that time they should be able to find a nurse to take over until such time as Sister Preston can return to her duties.’

Octavia felt a surge of excitement at her learned companion’s proposition, but she didn’t allow it to show. ‘Would I have to take the fortnight as part of my annual leave, Miss Bellamy?’

‘Certainly not, Sister. You are to take two weeks’ unpaid leave, as of course you will be paid while you are on the ship, and if you are worrying about Casualty, Sister Phipps can take over for that time; it just so happens that there will be no Sisters for her to relieve then.’

Octavia still hesitated and Mr Yates said briskly: ‘No need to think it over, Sister, it’s all quite straightforward—besides, you will see something of the world.’ He coughed. ‘The Mediterranean is delightful at this time of the year, pleasantly warm, and so much of interest to see.’

Just as though he were offering me a cruising holiday, thought Octavia, and said aloud: ‘Clothes?’

‘Uniform will be provided. I understand that the nurses and ship’s doctors get a certain amount of shore leave.’ Mr Yates looked vague. ‘I’m sure you will know what to take.’

She cast him an amused glance and suddenly, for no reason at all, felt lighthearted about the whole affair. After all, why not? Life hadn’t been much fun lately, she never met anyone…oh yes, she had, though, the bad-tempered giant in Casualty; he had arrived with no warning and gone again before she could discover anything about him. Oh, well, ships that pass…her thoughts were arrested by Miss Bellamy’s calm voice asking her if she wished to accept the offer.

She heard herself doing just that, a little surprised because she hadn’t really been thinking about it at all. ‘But I should like a day or two in which to get ready,’ she stated. ‘When do I go?’

Mr Yates’s: ‘The Socrates sails on Saturday and you are to report for duty on Friday, you will be told when and where,’ rather took her breath.

‘I will arrange for you to leave your duties here on Tuesday evening, Sister. That will give you two days in which to prepare yourself.’ Miss Bellamy smiled very faintly and when Octavia said: ‘Yes, Miss Bellamy,’ in a suitably meek voice, dismissed her graciously.

Once on the other side of the door, Octavia took to her heels. No nurse, and certainly no Sister, ran in corridors or wards unless there was fire or haemorrhage, but for once she forgot rules. She nipped up staircases and down passages at a splendid speed until she reached the Sisters’ sitting room once more. They were all still there; Octavia closed the door behind her with a flourish and cried: ‘Guess what?’

Everyone turned to look at her as she went on: ‘I’m to stand in for Suzy on the Socrates…’

There was an immediate outburst of surprised voices as she went to perch on the arm of a chair. ‘It’s true,’ she assured them, ‘as I was passing the Consultants’ room…’ she plunged into her story.

Sister Moody took the news sourly and so, for that matter, did John Waring. Octavia’s conciliatory: ‘But it’s only for two weeks,’ was useless in the face of his unexpected annoyance, almost as though he had made up his mind that she was going away to spite him. She felt bewildered by it, because they had been good friends but never anything more, and her lack of conceit didn’t allow of her realising that he was considered something of a celebrity in the doctors’ quarters because he had been dating the beautiful Sister Lock for quite some time. She told him briskly not to behave like a crusty old man and was glad for once when their snatched conversation was brought to a close by the ambulance siren.

She had spent a wakeful hour or two during the night laying her plans; she would have to do some shopping; Mr Yates had been right when he had said that she would know what to take—well, of course she would; any girl would, but it hadn’t entered his learned head that perhaps she hadn’t a wardrobe geared to take two weeks on a cruise ship in its stride. She wouldn’t need much, for she was sensible enough to know that shore leave would be on a rota system and probably brief, but lying in bed mentally surveying the summer clothes she hadn’t expected to wear again that year, she had come to the conclusion that they would require one or two additions. Cotton dresses and perhaps, although she was doubtful about this, a new evening dress. She should have asked about meals on board; did the nurses eat with the passengers or on their own? and surely if they did eat with everyone else, they would have to dress as they did? No one, she concluded, would want to eat his dinner opposite or beside a uniformed nurse. She closed her eyes, glad that she had decided what to do, and had then opened them again to review, hazily, her bank balance. There would be enough. She closed her eyes again and went to sleep.

Monday and Tuesday slid past at a great rate, she went off duty on Tuesday evening, late and tired and grumpy because Sister Moody had meanly taken an evening for herself and left her to work until nine o’clock, but late though it was there was something she had to do. She went first to Men’s Medical and found Charlie still awake.

‘Jist the gal I wanted,’ he told her perkily. ‘I’m going the day arter termorrer. Got a job, jist like yer said.’

Octavia settled silently on to the bed. ‘Tell me about it,’ she whispered. ‘Is it in London? I hope it’s not heavy work…’

He grinned at her, showing terrible teeth. ‘Don’t yer fret, lady—it’s a real good job, ’andyman in a big ’ouse. I ’ain’t seen the boss yet, only some gent ’o’s acting for ’im. A real gent, too, coming ter fetch me an’ all…’

Octavia frowned, ‘Yes, but Charlie, you ought to know something about it first…’

‘Not ter worry, Sister. Doctor Toms, ’e says ’e knows the boss personal and ’e’s a real bloke.’

She looked at Charlie’s face; it would never be youthful again, but at least it had filled out nicely and his eyes were bright and hopeful. She smiled and asked: ‘How much are they going to give you?’

Charlie told her and he grinned again, as his bony frame seemed to swell with pride.

‘Smashing, Charlie, the best of luck. I’m going away for a couple of weeks, but do let me know how you get on.’

They shook hands like old friends and Octavia slipped from the darkened ward and made her way to Women’s Surgical; there was still Mrs Stubbs to say goodbye to.

That lady was sitting up in bed, her bedside light on, her spectacles on her nose, mending a pair of tights. ‘That poor young nurse,’ she explained, ‘comes on duty and trips against one of those nasty trolleys and ruins her tights; I’m just catching the ladder before it gets too bad.’ She chuckled gently. ‘Night Sister won’t be round for another half an hour.’

‘Well, it’s splendid to see you looking so fit, Mrs Stubbs. When are you going to your new job, and where is it?’

‘Day after tomorrow, love, ’elping the ’ousekeeper, that’s what I’m going ter do. The gent what’s engaged me ’as several ’omes, so I don’t rightly know where I’ll be. That nice Mr Yates knows him, so I’m ever so ’appy. It’s an ill wind that don’t blow no one no good. I’ve been ever so ’appy ’ere, but it’ll be nice to be doing something again.’ She snipped a thread and glanced at Octavia. ‘And you’re off late? ’Ad a busy day, I’ll be bound.’

‘Well, so-so. I’m going away for a couple of weeks, so I’ll say goodbye, Mrs Stubbs, but I hope I’ll see you again; you must come and see us all, you know, once you’re settled in.’ She held out her hand and bent to kiss the elderly cheek. ‘I’m so glad everything’s turned out so well for you and I hope you’ll love your job—whoever gets you is jolly lucky.’

And that was true, she thought, as she made her way to the Nurses’ Home. Nowadays, nice cosy little women like Mrs Stubbs were few and far between, and she would be handy to have about the house, mending and ironing and doing a little plain cooking and baby-sitting on the side. Octavia wondered fleetingly if the family she was going to was a large one. She had forgotten to ask, not that Mrs Stubbs seemed to know much about it—nor had Charlie for that matter. It seemed strange, but then if Mr Yates and Doctor Toms vouched for them… She opened the sitting room door and went in to cries of: ‘There you are—where have you been? It’s half past nine… We saved some tea… Have you done your packing?’

She had decided to go home on Thursday afternoon and shop before she went; it seemed strange to hear everyone trooping off to breakfast the next morning and know that she was free to lie in bed if she wanted to. Not that she had the time for that; she bathed and dressed and got herself a sketchy meal in the little pantry at the end of the corridor and hurried out. Fenwick’s, she had decided, or perhaps Wallis’s, or even Dickins and Jones.

She spent a busy morning and an even busier afternoon; the shops were full of autumn clothes and cotton dresses were hard to find. The departments selling cruise clothes had plenty but at prices which hardly seemed justifiable for the brief hours she expected to spend off duty. She found two finally; not quite what she wanted, but she was clever with her needle and there would be time to alter them to suit herself. The evening dress was a good deal easier to find, indeed, the choice was so wide that she found it difficult to choose. She settled finally for a pastel patterned organza, very plainly cut and costing a good deal more than she had intended to pay, so that by way of righting this, she purchased a pair of gold sandals, flimsy things with high heels; it was only when she got back with them that she found herself wondering if they weren’t quite practical for on board ship. ‘But who wants to be practical?’ she asked herself out loud. Probably she would spend most of her day in sensible lace-ups and a uniform.

She tried on the new outfits that evening before an audience of most of her friends, and everyone agreed that the sandals had been an absolute must with the new dress; such an expensive garment would have been ruined with anything less—besides, one might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb. Octavia went to bed pleased with her day and tomorrow she would go home and tell her father about her temporary job. Probably he would forget all about it the moment she left the house, but she would send him a card from the first port of call just to remind him.

There was a letter for her in the morning, though she had no time to read it until she was in the train on the way to Alresford, and indeed she had quite forgotten it until the passenger opposite her in the carriage began to read a letter of his own. She opened the bulky envelope to discover that she was to report for duty at Southampton Docks at six o’clock on Friday evening. It went on to detail her duties, her free time and her salary; it also informed her of the itinerary—Malta, Athens, Rhodes, Alexandria, Sicily…it sounded marvellous provided she had a chance to go on shore, but that, it seemed, was left to the discretion of the senior ship’s doctor. She folded the missive and put it back tidily in its envelope, hoping that that gentleman would be easy to work for and that there would be no dire emergency while she was on board. She was highly trained, skilled in theatre work, midwifery and children’s ailments, as well as capable of dealing with the nastiest casualties, but there was always something… She shook off her apprehension, telling herself that she was twenty-seven years old and perfectly able to deal with anything which might come her way. ‘And let’s hope that the other nurses are friendly,’ she told herself silently, ‘as I suppose we see rather a lot of each other.’ She reassured herself with the thought that it was only for a fortnight, anyway.

She had telephoned her father on the previous evening, but there was no one at the station. She took a taxi home and opened the front door calling: ‘It’s me, Father,’ and Mrs Lovelace stuck her head round the kitchen door to say: ‘Miss Octavia, what a surprise! I didn’t know…will you be here for lunch? I was just going to dish up.’

Octavia put down her case. ‘I telephoned Father yesterday—I expect he forgot to tell you, Mrs Lovelace. I’m just here until tomorrow afternoon, and don’t worry about lunch, I’ll have something cold.’

Mrs Lovelace looked shocked. ‘Indeed you will not! I made a nice little steak and kidney pie for your father, there’ll be enough for the two of you if I do some more veg. Just you go and see him while I see to it.’

Professor Lock was deeply engrossed in a book when she went in. He looked up briefly and murmured: ‘Octavia—how very nice to see you,’ and returned to his reading until she leaned over and took the book from him.

‘Hullo, Father—I telephoned you yesterday evening, but I expect it slipped your mind. I’m going again tomorrow.’

‘Your weekends seem to get shorter and shorter, my dear.’

‘This isn’t a weekend, my dear. It’s only Thursday, but I thought I’d better let you know that I shall be away for a couple of weeks. I’m taking a temporary job as ship’s nurse because they want someone in a hurry.’

He took the spectacles off his nose and looked at her. ‘My dear child, I had no idea that you had lost your job at St Maud’s!’

‘I haven’t, Father,’ she smiled at him in a motherly fashion. ‘Mr Yates, the Senior Consultant Surgeon, asked me if I would fill in for the nurse who’s been taken ill. I’m to go to Southampton tomorrow and join the SS Socrates there. It’s a Mediterranean cruise—I hope I’ll see something of the places we’ll visit.’

Her father brightened. ‘Athens? Delightful, Octavia, quite delightful, there are several places which you must visit.’

‘If I get shore leave,’ she reminded him gently.

He waved an airy hand. ‘Surely that will be granted if you particularly wish to see something…let me see…I must write a list of the more interesting monuments.’

‘Yes, dear, and I’ll do my best to look at every one of them.’ Privately she thought it very unlikely that she would have the chance to see more than a modicum of them, but it was nice to see her absentminded parent so interested. She left him happily embarked on his list and went off to her room to get ready for lunch.

She told Mrs Lovelace all about it while she helped her dish up and then wrote down directions as to how she might be reached in an emergency, and Mrs Lovelace, while expressing her doubts about telephoning a ship in the middle of the sea, miles from anywhere, promised to carry them out if occasion should arise. ‘Though Doctor Dodds was here only last week,’ she observed comfortably, ‘having dinner with your pa, and he told me that he was in fine shape, Miss Octavia. But don’t you worry, I’ll look after him.’

Octavia spent the rest of the day re-packing her case, listening patiently to her parent’s instructions as to what she should and should not see, deeming it a waste of time to point out to him that probably she would have no chance to see any one of them. They had their tea together in his study and presently she went along to the kitchen to cook their supper which Mrs Lovelace had so carefully prepared.

She spent the next morning visiting some of her numerous friends and after lunch bade her father goodbye, took a taxi to the station and began her journey to Southampton; not a long one, but it meant changing at Winchester and getting a taxi from the station to the docks.

She sat back in the cab as it made its way through the crowded streets feeling excited and faintly worried that she might not like the job, or worse, the people she was to work with wouldn’t like her, but nothing of this showed on her face. She looked calm and very pretty in the coffee-coloured blouse and skirt with their matching suede jerkin that she had chosen to wear, under the mistaken impression that the outfit made her look older and rather staid. She could see the ship now, lying alongside the Customs building, she looked huge; and Octavia wondered if she would find her way round it easily. She would have to get hold of a plan and learn it off by heart.

There weren’t many cars or taxis around, although there were men loading the ship and several figures going up and down the gang-ways. Octavia got out of the taxi and paid the driver and found a porter at her elbow almost at once. ‘The Socrates?’ he asked. ‘Ship’s company, miss?’

She supposed that was what she was, so she told him yes and found herself ushered through Customs with the minimum of fuss and with the porter still carrying her case, waved towards the aft gangway. There was an officer at the top, a nice, pleasant-faced man, with a wrinkled face and bright blue eyes, who gave her an enquiring look and waited for her to speak.

‘Octavia Lock,’ she told him in a matter-of-fact manner. ‘I’m to replace the nurse who’s gone off sick.’

He glanced at the papers in his hand. ‘Welcome aboard, Miss Lock.’ He turned to a passing steward. ‘Take Nurse to her quarters, will you?’ He dismissed her with a kindly nod. ‘The other two are already aboard, so you’ll be able to get acquainted before the doctors arrive.’

She followed the steward down two decks and then along a corridor lined with doors, crossed a foyer and plunged through a small door into another smaller passage. It was quite short and held only four doors, at the first of which the steward stopped and knocked. A voice told him to go in and he opened the door, put Octavia’s case inside and stood aside to let her enter.

The cabin was quite large with two bunks against one wall and a third facing them. There was a good sized window, a dressing table, built-in cupboards and two chairs, over and above these there were two young women in the cabin. They turned to stare at Octavia as she stood just inside the door and she returned their look pleasantly, smiling while she studied them in her turn. The younger of the two was smiling at her from a round youthful face framed with soft light brown hair; she looked about twenty-two or so and was dressed rather untidily in a jersey dress which did nothing for her. Octavia took to her at once and her smile widened as the girl got to her feet and put out a hand. ‘Hullo—I’m Mary Silver, the junior nurse. You’re Octavia Lock, aren’t you? This is Joan Wise, she’s the senior ship’s nurse.’

Octavia transferred her gaze to the other occupant of the cabin; older than she had expected, well into her thirties, she imagined, with a handsome face exquisitely made up and platinum blonde hair which was just a shade too blonde. She was beautifully turned out, too, and the smile she gave Octavia was charming, only her eyes didn’t smile. Octavia experienced the unpleasant feeling that she wasn’t liked and dismissed the thought as fanciful as she exchanged greetings with her. If they were going to be together for the next two weeks, the quicker they got to like each other the better. Her good resolution was strained to its limit when Joan Wise said in a decided voice: ‘The top bunk’s yours; you’re the newcomer, you see. You’re senior to Mary but junior to me. I don’t know what you were doing before you took this job, but I’m in charge—just as long as you remember that.’

Octavia murmured something or other and looked about her. It was a pity that she seemed to have exchanged Sister Moody for another of her kind, but that wouldn’t really matter, probably once they were at sea, they would see little of each other than during sleeping hours. ‘Will you tell me which drawer I may have and where I can hang my things?’ she asked them both, but it was Mary who answered and showed her where they were. ‘And here’s the shower,’ she opened a door and displayed the compact little place. ‘If you like to unpack first, I expect Joan will explain duties and so on.’

They were all on duty each morning and took it in turns to be on duty in the afternoons, and provided there was nothing much to do, two of them would be free in the evenings. As for shore leave—well, that depended very much on the doctor. ‘It’s no good you expecting to go ashore each time we call somewhere,’ Joan explained sharply. ‘There’s a rota and we take turns. I arrange it and he OKs it—I’m afraid you’ll just have to accept what’s offered. And of course if anything crops up, you’ll probably have to do without your time off.’

She eyed Octavia’s case. ‘I hope you haven’t brought too much with you—you’ll be lucky if you get a chance to wear evening clothes more than a couple of times. We usually sunbathe in the afternoons when we’re free, but you can do what you like; use the library or do some shopping or swim.’ She added with a nasty little edge to her voice: ‘Just remember you’re not a passenger, that’s all.’

Octavia gave her a cool glance. ‘Oh, I won’t do that. Do I fetch my uniform?’

‘It’ll be brought here. You’d better unpack. Mary and I are going down to the hospital, so come down there when you’re ready and I’ll show you round.’

Left to herself, Octavia put away her things, thankful that she hadn’t brought a great deal with her, for there wasn’t all that much space left for her. Mary, she reflected, would be pleasant enough, but she didn’t think she was going to like Joan Wise. She seemed jealous of her authority, which was a bit silly, seeing that they were all three trained nurses, and Octavia suspected that if anyone was going short of their off duty it wouldn’t be Sister Wise.

It didn’t take her long to tidy away her wardrobe and presently she left the cabin, went back through the door and into the foyer, and studied the ship’s plan on one of the walls. Sister Wise hadn’t told her where the hospital was, but it couldn’t be all that hard to find. It took a few moments to decide which was the front and which the back of the ship, and to discover that the staircases were numbered; it was just a question of finding the right staircase nearest the hospital, which was several decks below her.

She did rather well, meeting no one at all and taking careful note of where she was going. The hospital was clearly marked, with a waiting room for patients beside it. Octavia opened its door and went in, agreeably surprised to find that it looked very like St Maud’s on a very small scale. She could hear voices coming from a half-opened door at the end of the passage, but she paused to peep in the doors on either side of her. The doctor’s surgery on her right, and very nice too, beautifully fitted up and elegant to boot; the other door revealed a four-bedded ward and beyond it, another bigger ward. She closed the door and poked her pretty head round the next door—the duty room, much better than the office they had on Casualty at Maud’s. She had reached the half-open door by now and pushed it wide. This was the theatre, small but otherwise the prototype of any hospital theatre, with a small anaesthetic room next to it and the scrub room leading from it. She was taken round it at leisure, giving her time to discover where everything was and ask all the questions she wanted to. They were in the anaesthetic room when a young man in slacks and a sweater joined them, to be introduced as Colin White, the junior doctor.

He shook Octavia’s hand and beamed at her. ‘I say, this is jolly,’ he told her. ‘I had no idea…’ He stopped and went a little red in the face, then went on; ‘I hear this is your first trip, so I hope you enjoy it. It’s my sixth and Mary has been at it for several months, and Joan here is an old hand, aren’t you, Joan?’

Sister Wise’s eyes flashed, but she smiled thinly. ‘Oh, a very old hand,’ she repeated. ‘Now run along, there’s a good man, I’ve got to show Nurse Lock everything this afternoon; there won’t be much time after today.’

He went reluctantly, stopped to ask Octavia if he might show her round the ship later on and when she said yes, beamed more widely than ever.

They were on the point of leaving the hospital when Mary whispered: ‘Oh, here’s the boss.’

Octavia had turned back to read a notice she hadn’t seen, but she looked round, curious to see if the senior doctor was as nice as Colin White appeared to be. He did indeed look nice, and very handsome—even more so than when she had seen him for the first time in Casualty. He advanced to meet them, in no hurry at all, looking faintly annoyed about something and when he saw her, frowning fiercely. Octavia, a forthright girl, ignored the frown.

‘Well,’ she exclaimed cheerfully, ‘fancy meeting you again! Of course, now I think about it, you just had to be a doctor.’

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