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she left the hospital she went along to the porter’s lodge and asked to see him if he was available. It seemed that he wasn’t; so she left a message, picked up her overnight bag and went to catch her bus. It was a pity she couldn’t have seen him; occasionally he sulked, but she had always been able to get round him; she wasn’t unduly worried, she had no doubt that when she got back to St Clare’s everything would be smoothed over.
It was marvellous being home again. She was welcomed boisterously by the twins, invited to cook supper, and gently greeted with affection by her father. ‘It seems a long time since you were home,’ he commented vaguely.
‘About ten days ago, Father. I quite often have to change my free days. And we’ve been busy.’ She kissed the top of his head. ‘Found any more books lately?’
Supper was delayed while he told her about a splendid copy of Milton’s Paradise Lost which he had unearthed in some small, out-of-the-way bookshop.
Eugenia helped the twins with their homework after supper and then sat with her father in the cosy, shabby sitting room, discussing their future and ways and means; they were clever, the pair of them, bound to go to university, and the money would have to be found somehow. Even with grants there would be expenses. Eugenia said thoughtfully: ‘Well, Father, Humphrey doesn’t want to get married for at least two years; there’s no reason why I shouldn’t use some of the money I’ve saved to help out.’
Her father shook his head. ‘My dear, Humphrey depends on those savings, I daresay.’
‘Oh, he does, but we can wait another year—we shall have waited so long by then that I can’t see that it will matter if there is a little delay.’
‘It’ll matter very much. It’s not my business, Eugenia, but I can’t agree with his ideas at all. You’re both young and he has a good job—you could be quite happy in a small flat for a year or two. You could even go on working for a time.’
‘Yes, I know, I’ve told him that, but he’s set his heart on having just about everything before we marry. And then there’s his mother…’
‘What has she to do with it?’
‘Well, she’s not a very independent person, Father, she does depend on him quite a bit.’
Mr Smith made a derogatory sound. ‘He’s a grown man, a professional man, he has his own life—and your life—to lead, my dear.’
‘Yes—well, I suspect it will all sort itself out.’ She was suddenly weary; she seldom allowed herself to think too deeply about the future; Humphrey had told her so many times that he had it all sewn up and that she wasn’t to worry, so she just let the months slide by—perhaps it needed something drastic to happen to job them out of the rut they seemed to have got into…
It happened on the very morning that Eugenia returned to work. Mr Grenfell strolled into the ward, unexpected and unannounced, stood silently while she removed a chest tube and then followed her still silently down the ward to the sink, waited while she scrubbed her hands and then said: ‘I want to talk to you, Sister Smith.’
Eugenia dried her hands and then led the way to the office. He probably wanted extra beds put up down the centre of the ward, or an emergency to be filtered into an already overflowing list. She sat herself down behind her desk, cast a lightning glance at the clock and asked politely: ‘Yes, sir?’
‘You may not know that from time to time I’m called into consultation in other countries. I’ve been asked if I’ll examine, and if necessary operate on, the wife of a British diplomat in Lisbon. In actual fact they have a villa in the Algarve where she is at the present time. From what I hear from her doctor she has the signs and symptoms of a new growth of lung. If that’s so then surgery is indicated, which I should carry out on the spot. It’s required that I bring a nurse with me, conversant with the treatment of such a case, to see the patient through the first few days and demonstrate to a nurse there exactly what should be done. I should be obliged if you would accompany me, Sister. We should be away for a week if everything is satisfactory, ten days at the most, as I have commitments here. There’s a small private hospital in the area where I should operate and where the patient will remain until she’s convalescent. I imagine you’re capable of demonstrating the post-operative treatment within two or three days, and you would, of course, return with me when I consider the patient to be out of danger.’
Eugenia had sat, her pretty mouth slightly agape, during this lengthy speech. After a moment of silence during which they looked at each other wordlessly, she said: ‘When would you want to go, sir?’
‘Two days’ time, certainly no longer than that. A day sooner, if that could be arranged. I should like your answer now.’
‘How long for? Ten days at the longest, you said…’ She thought rapidly. She was to have spent her next days off with Humphrey’s mother, who she felt sure would take it as a personal insult if anything should prevent that. On the other hand, it was her job—she was there to carry out Mr Grenfell’s instructions, and this was, in effect, an order.
‘What about the ward?’ she asked.
There was a satisfied gleam in Mr Grenfell’s half-closed eyes. ‘I imagine Hatty could cope for a few days. Besides,’ he continued with an entire lack of conceit, ‘I shan’t be operating, so it won’t be all that busy.’
‘Very well, I’ll come with you, Mr Grenfell. Perhaps you’ll let me know when exactly we’re to leave and what I shall require to take with me. I do have a passport valid until the end of the year.’
‘Good. I’ll either see you this evening or send you a note.’ He opened the door he had been leaning against. ‘I’ll arrange things with the Office,’ he told her, and was gone before she could answer him.
Hatty had to be told, of course, and her father telephoned during her dinner hour. But she didn’t say anything to anyone until she was summoned to the Office and given official permission to go with Mr Grenfell.
Over tea in the Sisters’ room she mentioned it, aware that if she didn’t the hospital grapevine would get hold of the news and pass it on, highly distorted.
‘Whatever will that fiancée of his say to that?’ demanded Chloe Watkins, who was in charge of the Men’s Chest Unit on the other side of the landing. ‘I wouldn’t imagine she would take kindly to competition.’
‘But I’m not competing,’ offered Eugenia mildly, ‘just doing a nursing job.’
‘She won’t believe that. You’ll probably find her there as well, seeing fair play.’
Eugenia chuckled. ‘We don’t even like each other; I think Mr Grenfell’s a super surgeon, and I suppose he finds me adequate as a nurse. Besides, we’re both going to be married…’
‘Can’t think why he waits so long,’ said a voice, ‘I mean, he’s not exactly lacking this world’s goods, is he?’
‘Cold feet,’ said someone else, and raised a laugh. And then: ‘What will your Humphrey say, Eugenia?’
‘I don’t know—at least, he won’t object. It’s a job, like everything else, isn’t it?’
‘Well, I for one,’ said that same voice, ‘wouldn’t mind going instead of you, Eugenia. Mr Grenfell is worth cultivating.’
‘Well, if he is, I haven’t got very far, and I’ve worked for him for three years now.’ Eugenia got to her feet. ‘I’m going back, there’s still a case in theatre.’
The patient, an elderly woman with a stove-in chest; came back to the ward very shortly and Eugenia dealt with her needs with her usual calm. She had checked the two tubes and the blood transfusion, and made sure that the patient was as well as could be expected and was writing up the chart when Mr Grenfell came on to the ward. He spent a few minutes checking his patient’s condition, nodded his satisfaction and asked Eugenia to go with him to her office. Eugenia finished her writing, whispered a few instructions to Nurse Sims,