Gemma ate a biscuit. ‘Then he’d better look sharp about it,’ she observed cheerfully. ‘All this waiting around doesn’t do my nerves any good.’
They giggled together as they went up to bed, but presently, in her own room, Gemma sat down on the old stool in front of her dressing table and took a long look at her reflection. It didn’t reassure her in the least.
She was persuading old Mrs Thomas to toddle across to the day room when she heard Doctor Gibbons arrive for his round the next day. He came regularly, for several of the patients had been his for years and he still came to see them. Gemma rotated her companion carefully and sat her down in a convenient chair and looked down the ward. Doctor Gibbons always had a chat with Mrs Thomas; she had no family left now and to her confused old mind he had taken the place of a long-dead son.
The doctor wasn’t alone, his Dutch guest was with him, strolling along between the beds, saying good morning as he passed the elderlies while at the same time listening politely to Matron, sailing along a pace or two behind Doctor Gibbons doing the honours. Matron was a nice old thing, with mild blue eyes, a ready chuckle and a cosy figure. Gemma could see that the professor had her eating out of his hand.
The party reached her, exchanged greetings and settled down to the confused questions and answers which took the place of conversation with Mrs Thomas, leaving Gemma free to do something else. She went reluctantly, wishing that someone in the party—the professor, perhaps—would ask her to remain. But he didn’t, only smiled his gentle smile and turned his attention to Matron, who was explaining about staff shortages, too many patients, the lack of amenities, the lack of visitors, the lack of transport…Gemma, at the other end of the ward, assembling her medicine trolley, could hear the murmur of their voices.
Presently they came down the ward again and Matron went away and Doctor Gibbons started his ward round. They were the high spot of any day and this one was even better than usual, for Professor Dieperink van Berhuys came with them, asking intelligent questions, murmuring in agreement with his colleagues’ more profound remarks, and now and again asking her, soft-voiced, her opinion of this or that. It gave her a real uplift when Charlie Briggs came importantly into the ward, to stop short at the sight of her in animated conversation with a man who put him, in every way, quite in the shade. He wasn’t near enough to hear that they were discussing the use of water beds for the aged and infirm. She greeted him with dignity and was glad to see that, for once, he was less than his usual cocksure self. Perhaps that was due to the professor’s impassive manner and Doctor Gibbons’ brisk way of talking to him. Indeed, she began to feel sorry for him after a while, for he was showing off far too much and she strongly suspected that the professor was secretly amused; besides, there was the strong possibility that Doctor Gibbons would lose his patience with him and tear him off a strip. She was casting round in her mind how to deal with the situation when it was saved by the reappearance of Matron with an urgent message for Doctor Gibbons, and she was able to show the whole party to the door. She had closed it behind them and was making for Mrs Thomas once more when the professor came back.
‘Er—may I offer you a lift home this evening? I take it you’re off at five o’clock?’
She stood looking up at him. He was being polite, of course, afraid that she had minded him giving Mandy a lift. He was really rather nice.
‘How kind,’ she said pleasantly, ‘but I’ve got my bike here and I shall need it in the morning—thanks all the same.’
She smiled at him warmly and his answering smile was ready enough. ‘Another time, perhaps?’ His voice was casual, he made no effort to change her mind for her. With feminine illogicality she was annoyed. Her ‘Goodbye, Professor,’ as he opened the door was decidedly cool.
CHAPTER TWO
COUSIN MAUD came home two days later, looking tanned and at least ten years younger—not that she was all that old; a woman in her forties was no age at all; Gemma had often heard Doctor Gibbons telling her cousin that, and had thought it to be a friendly platitude, but now, watching him greet her cousin, she wasn’t so sure. She busied herself with welcoming sherry and speculated about that. Doctor Gibbons wasn’t all that old himself—in his mid-fifties and as fit as a fiddle as far as she knew. True, he was a little thin on top and he wore glasses, but he must have been good-looking when he was younger—not, of course, as good-looking as his friend the professor. She nudged the errant thought on one side and concentrated on Cousin Maud and Doctor Gibbons. But even if they wanted to marry there were difficulties. He could hardly be expected to house the six of them as well as Maud. Somehow or other, mused Gemma as she passed the glasses around, they would have to manage on their own—after all, if it could be done for six weeks, it could be done for a lifetime. She shuddered strongly at the very idea and then consoled herself with the certainty that it wouldn’t be a lifetime. Mandy would surely marry, so, in a few years, would Phil. James and John were clever boys, they would get their A levels and go on to university, and that left little George. Quite carried away, she began to weigh the chances of taking paying guests—with only George at home there would be three or four bedrooms empty, or perhaps Doctor Gibbons would offer George a home and she could sell the house, find a job and live at the hospital. The prospect was even worse than the first one. She frowned heavily and the professor said in her ear, very softly: ‘What is it that worries you?’
She hadn’t noticed him cross the room. He loomed beside her, smiling his gentle smile, his pale brows slightly lifted.
‘Nothing,’ she said hastily. His vague ‘Ah’, left her with the impression that he didn’t believe her and she went on quickly before he persisted: ‘Doesn’t Cousin Maud look marvellous?’
He glanced across the room. ‘Indeed, yes. And now presumably you will take a holiday yourself—you have been doing two jobs for the last six weeks, have you not?’
‘Well—the others were marvellous, you know, and it wasn’t easy for them; Mandy’s away all day and so is Phil, and the boys did their bit.’
‘Does Mandy not have holidays?’
She turned a surprised face towards him. ‘Of course she does—four weeks each year, but no one could have expected her to stay home…’
‘Er—the thought did cross my mind—just a week or two, perhaps, so that she could have—er—shared the burden of housekeeping with you.’
‘It wasn’t a burden. I—I liked it.’
He had somehow edged between her and the rest of the room. ‘That is a palpable untruth,’ he observed mildly. ‘Don’t tell me that getting up with the birds in order to do the housework before spending the rest of your day looking after a great many demanding old ladies before coming home to cook the supper, help with the homework and generally play mother, was something you liked doing.’
He sounded so reasonable that she found herself saying: ‘Well, I must admit that it was rather a full day, but I’ll have a holiday soon.’
‘You will go away?’
‘Me? No.’ He was asking a lot of questions. Gemma asked rather coldly: ‘Would you like some more sherry?’
He shook his head and she need not have tried to interrupt him. ‘You will stay here, fighting the washing machine, frying sausages and calling upon Mr Bates at intervals, I suppose?’
She smiled because put like that it sounded very dull. ‘Cousin Maud will be here—she’s marvellous…’
They
