hair. What will you wear?’ She began to rub vigorously. ‘That’s a posh restaurant …’
‘Those sandals I got from Rayne’s and haven’t worn—and I’ll leave my hair loose …’
‘All right as far as it goes, but what about a dress? Sandals and hair aren’t enough.’
‘That silver-grey satin, you know, the one with the calf-length skirt and the wide lace collar and cuffs.’ Lucy’s voice, muffled by the towel, sounded pleased. It was a very pretty dress, so simple that it stood out among other more striking dresses, and the colour, she hoped, would make her look the kind of girl a man might like to marry, elegant but demure.
She left a note for her mother on the hall table, collected an enormous cashmere shawl in which to wrap herself, and her little grey handbag, and eased her feet into her new sandals. They were a little tight, but they were exactly right with the dress, and what was a little discomfort compared with that?
The drawing-room looked charming with its soft lighting and the fire blazing. She arranged herself to the very best advantage on a small balloon-backed chair covered in old-rose velvet, and waited for the doorbell.
The doctor was punctual to the minute, and Alice ushered him into the drawing-room, opening the door wide so that he had a splendid view of Lucy, delightfully pretty and at great pains to appear cool.
She got up as he came in, and said in her best hostess voice, ‘Oh, hello again. Would you like a drink before we go?’
‘Hello, Lucy. How very elegant you look, and so punctual. Almost unheard of and quite refreshing.’
She should have stayed in her room until he had arrived and kept him waiting, she thought crossly.
She said haughtily, ‘I have to be punctual at the orphanage, it’s a habit.’
‘Of course. I booked a table for half-past eight; I thought we might have a drink there first. Shall we go?’
She smiled at him, she couldn’t help herself; he looked so large and handsome and so assured. She wondered fleetingly if he ever lost his temper.
Southampton Street wasn’t all that far away, but the evening traffic was heavy and slow moving, so it was well past eight o’clock by the time Lucy found herself at a table opposite the doctor. It was a good table too, she noticed, and he was known at the restaurant. Perhaps he took Fiona Seymour there … She wasn’t going to waste thought about that; here she was doing exactly what she had dreamed of doing, being alone with the doctor, nicely dressed, looking her best, and hopefully at her best when it came to conversation.
It was a pity that no witty remarks filled her head; indeed, it was regrettably empty. She sipped her sherry and thankfully bowed her head over the menu card. She was hungry and he said encouragingly, ‘I dare say you had a very scanty lunch. I know I did. How about the terrine of leeks with prawns for a start, and if you like fish the red mullet is delicious—or roast pigeon?’
‘I couldn’t eat a pigeon,’ said Lucy. ‘I feed them on the way to work every morning.’ She was reassured by his understanding smile. ‘I’d like the red mullet.’
It wasn’t until these delicacies had been eaten, followed by a dessert of puff pastry, piled with a hazelnut mousse and topped with caramel, that the doctor switched smoothly from the gentle conversation, calculated to put his companion at her ease, to the more serious subject of Miranda.
‘Do you see a great deal of her at the orphanage?’ he wanted to know.
‘Well, yes—not all the time, of course, but always each morning, bathing her and getting her to walk and that kind of thing.’
He nodded. ‘You do realise that she will probably be backward—mentally retarded—but this operation that I have just done should give her a better chance. One would wish to do everything possible for her—she is such a pretty child, and if only she had been brought to our attention while she was still a baby we could have done so much more.’
‘But isn’t there any special treatment? She talks a little, you know, and although she’s a bit wobbly when she’s walking she does try.’
‘I’m going to ask you to do all you can to help her, and don’t be discouraged when she makes almost no progress. I know you have a busy day and there are other children to look after, but Matron tells me that Miranda responds to you much more willingly than to anyone else there. Once the shunt gets into its stride we should take advantage of that and get her little brain stimulated. If all goes well, she will be able to have therapy in a few months.’
‘Do you get many children like her?’ Lucy poured their coffee and reflected sadly that the only reason he had asked her out was to make sure that she was going to stay at the orphanage and look after Miranda. Well, he need not have gone to so much trouble, wasting an evening with her when he might have been spending it with the glamorous Fiona. It was quite obvious that she had no effect upon him whatsoever, despite the fashionable grey dress and the new sandals. He probably hadn’t even noticed them.
He guided their talk into more general channels, and when Lucy said that she should really go back home since she was on duty in the morning he made no objection, but signed the bill and followed her out of the restaurant without one word of persuasion to remain a little longer—or even go dancing. But that was a good thing, for the sandals were pinching horribly and walking in them, even the short distance across the pavement to the car, was crippling.
‘Take them off,’ suggested the doctor as he started the car.
‘Oh, you don’t mind? They’re killing me. How did you know?’
‘You have quite a fierce frown which, I hasten to add, I am quite sure no one noticed except me.’ He gave her a sideways glance. ‘They’re quite delightful though; indeed, the rest of you looks delightful too, Lucy. Demure and malleable. Are you demure and malleable, I wonder?’
She curled her toes in blissful comfort. ‘No, I don’t think so; I don’t think girls are demure nowadays, are they? Anyway, I’m too old … and I’m not sure what malleable means—I thought it meant squashy.’
He gave a growl of laughter. ‘I meant it to mean tender and gentle, and I wasn’t aware that age had anything to do with being demure. How old are you?’
‘Twenty-five. You’re thirty-five, aren’t you?’
‘We might say that we have reached the ages of discretion.’
They had reached her home and he stopped the car gently, and when she made to get out he put out a restraining hand. ‘No, wait.’
He got out and opened her door. ‘You’ll never cram your feet back into those sandals.’ He picked them up and put them into her hand, scooped her out of the seat and carried her to the front door, where he asked her to ring the doorbell.
Alice answered the door, flung it wide to allow him to get inside, and said urgently, ‘You’re not hurt, love? What’s the matter? You’ve not ‘ad too much to drink?’
The doctor set Lucy gently on her feet. ‘Her feet,’ he explained. ‘Her sandals were pinching and, of course, once they were off they wouldn’t go on again.’
Alice laughed. ‘And there’s me wondering what on earth had happened. Your
