a cup of coffee and told not to worry. ‘He’s been an utter darling,’ said Sally. ‘I mean, all sorts of things went wrong because you weren’t here, but he never said a word. Would you like me to come with you when you do your round?’
‘Yes, please. Thank heaven we don’t have such a quick turnover as the surgical side.’
‘More coffee?’ asked Sally, and then: ‘I’ve not said anything, Sister, but we’re all ever so sorry, only we thought you’d rather not talk about it just yet.’
‘You’re all very kind—and you’re quite right, Sally, I don’t want to talk about it for a bit. Coming back to work will help enormously.’
Clotilde did her round, picking up the threads easily enough so that when the ward doors opened and Dr Thackery and his team came through them, she was as calm and cool as she always was, only her pretty face was far too pale, and there were shadows under her eyes; very unhappy eyes.
He greeted her quietly, for all the world as though they had never met other than on the ward. He made his unhurried way from bed to bed and finally went to her office as he always did, to have his coffee and talk over anything he saw fit to discuss. Dr Evans, as usual, hung on every word he uttered, looking adoringly into his face, something which he quite obviously didn’t notice. He got up at length, nodding goodbye and strode off to Men’s Medical, leaving Clotilde feeling vaguely hurt.
She tidied the papers on her desk and told herself briskly that she was being sorry for herself, and that was a waste of time. I’ll feel better when I’ve seen Bruce again, she decided, the uncertainty of not knowing just how he felt was doing her no good at all. If only he would come!
The door opened and she looked up, thinking like a child that her wish had been granted. It was Dr Thackery.
‘I’m glad to see you back,’ he told her. ‘What’s the matter, Clotilde? Johnson told me you were fine, making plans for the future, that he was seeing you each day. What’s wrong?’
She stared back at him, determined not to cry. He looked so kind and understanding and she had to talk to someone. After a moment she said stonily: ‘Everything’s gone wrong, but if I tell you now, I’ll start to howl.’
He smiled faintly. ‘In that case, we’ll make a date, shall we? When are you off?’
‘At five o’clock.’
‘I’ll be outside at half past five. Do you want to bring Johnson along too?’
‘No, oh no—you see, it’s partly to do with him.’
Ah, just so!’ There was a gleam, quickly hidden in his eyes. ‘We’ll talk later.’
SEVERAL TIMES during the course of her busy day, Clotilde regretted her impulsive remarks to Dr Thackery. What a spineless creature he would think her, a great grown woman who had been holding down a job for some years, not even very young and inexperienced. Besides, wouldn’t it be disloyal to Bruce to discuss their affairs with him? On the other hand, she needed advice badly and Mr Trent, although sympathetic, was too old. And it wasn’t just for herself she needed help, there was Bruce to consider—his whole future might be at stake, and then there was Rosie, safe for the moment, but in two or three months’ time she would have to find a home—and Tinker. She tried her best not to think about it as she went through her ordered day, serving dinners, the medicine round, the sudden emergency of old Mrs Brooks having what she called one of her spasms, and which was, in fact, a heart attack. Making out lists for clean linen, diets, off duty, smoothing out the hundred and one creases in the fabric of the ward’s day. She went off duty feeling tired and dispirited and wishing very much that she could go to her room and stay there, undisturbed. But of course, she couldn’t do that; Dr Thackery had been kind and helpful when she had needed both kindness and help desperately and she owed it to him to keep their date. She showered and changed into her grey flannel suit, applied make-up in a perfunctory fashion and went down to hospital entrance.
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