‘ome, eh?’ he remarked with satisfaction. Sarah agreed; despite the pink roses, which seemed to crowd in on her the moment she set foot inside the room, and the superfluity of furniture, it was just what she was sure Mrs Brown would like. She undid her parcel and spread the cloth on the table, and gallantly helped by Mr Ives, hung the curtains. She had been to visit Mrs Brown several times during the week and had contrived to bring the conversation round to the subject of colours. Mrs Brown had been quite lyrical about pink. Sarah stood back and surveyed her handiwork and thought that it was a good thing that she was, because there was pink enough and to spare. Mr Ives obviously had no such qualms.
‘Nice taste that doc’s got—couldn’t ‘ave chosen better meself.’
She agreed faintly, thinking of the gracious house at Richmond with its subdued colours and beautiful furniture. She told Mr Ives the time they expected to arrive and he nodded, already knowing it.
‘Doc told me last night when ‘e was ‘ere. Brought a bottle of the best with ‘im too.’ He saw Sarah’s look of enquiry. ‘Brandy,’ he explained, ‘I’m ter keep it safe and give Mrs Brown a taste now and then like; just a teaspoon in ‘er tea. Brought me a bottle for meself too. I’ll keep an eye on the old gal like I promised; I got Doc’s phone number, case ‘e’s wanted.’
He led the way down the stairs again and bade her goodbye after offering to escort her back to St Edwin’s. ‘Don’t know as ‘ow the doc would like yer out at night,’ he observed seriously.
Sarah, a little overcome by such solicitude, observed in her turn that it was highly unlikely that the doctor would care a row of pins what she did with her free time, and in any case, it was barely nine o’clock in the evening. She spoke briskly, but Mr Ives was not to be deterred.
‘I dunno about that,’ he said in a rather grumbling voice, ‘but I knows I’d rather not be on the wrong side of the doc. Still, if yer won’t yer won’t. I’ll stand ‘ere till yer get ter the end of the street—yer can wave under the lamppost there so’s I can see yer.’
Sarah did as she was told. She had a sneaking feeling that she would prefer to keep on the right side of the ‘doc’ too.
Mrs Brown was sitting in a wheelchair in the ward, waiting for her when she went along to collect her on Saturday. She looked better, but thinner too—probably worry about Timmy and her little home and all the other small things that were important to old people living alone. Sarah sighed with relief to think that the old lady would have a nice surprise when she got home. Dr van Elven greeted them briefly at the entrance, stowed Mrs Brown in the back of the car, motioned Sarah to get in the front and released Timmy from his basket. Neither he nor Sarah looked round as he drove to Phipps Street. Mrs Brown’s happiness was a private thing into which they had no intention of prying.
There were several neighbours hanging around when they arrived, and it took a few minutes to get into the house. The doctor, without speaking, scooped up the old lady, trembling with delight and excitement, and trod carefully upstairs, leaving Sarah and Timmy and Mr Ives to follow in his wake. On the landing he nodded to Sarah to open the door.
Mrs Brown didn’t quite grasp what had happened at first, and when she did she burst into tears. It seemed the right moment to make a cup of tea. Sarah bustled around while Mrs Brown composed herself and began incoherent thanks which only ended when she sat in her new armchair with a cup and saucer in her hand. She had calmed down considerably by the time the door opened and a pleasant-faced, middle-aged woman with a cheerful cockney voice came in. Sarah had no difficulty in recognising her as the ‘very good woman’ the doctor had found, and it was obvious before very long that his choice had been a happy one; the two ladies were going to get on splendidly. They got up to go presently, and Dr van Elven drove Sarah back to the hospital, saw her to the door of the Home, thanked her politely and drove away again. It was barely twelve o’clock. Sarah went up to her room; a faint stirring of disappointment deep inside her which she refused to acknowledge as regret because he hadn’t asked her out to lunch.
She saw Steven on Monday—he came in at the end of Dr MacFee’s diabetic clinic. Dr MacFee had just gone, and the place was more or less empty when Steven walked in, taking her quite by surprise. She stood looking at him, waiting for him to speak first, and was inwardly surprised to find that the sight of him, though painful, was bearable.
‘I suppose you expect me to apologise,’ he began. ‘Well, I don’t intend to. All I can say is, I’m glad we split up before I found out what a …’
He caught her belligerent eye. ‘A what?’ she enquired with icy calm. ‘I should be careful what you say, Steven—I’ll not hesitate to slap you again!’
He flung away. ‘I wish you joy, that’s all I can say!’ he shouted, as he strode through the empty waiting hall. She watched him go. He was very good-looking, and when he wasn’t angry, charming too. She sighed and went to her dinner, wondering why he should wish her joy.
Dr van Elven’s clinic was, as usual, splitting at the seams. Sarah, nipping from one patient to the other, weighing them, taking them to the Path. Lab., to X-ray, helping them in and out of endless garments, wished that he wasn’t quite such a glutton for work. She’d had to send two of her nurses up to the wards for the afternoon because a number of the staff were off with ‘flu. Now and again, when she made a sortie into the waiting hall for another patient, she glimpsed Staff at the other end with the one junior nurse they had been left with; they were busy in Gynae too. She went back into the consulting room to find Dr van Elven dealing, with commendable calm, with the attack of hysterics which his patient had sprung on him.
Dick Coles went as soon as they had finished and Sarah began to tidy up, although she longed for tea. It would be too late to go to the Sisters’ sitting room; she would have to make her own when she got to her room.
The doctor was sitting at the desk, absorbed in something or other. Sarah supposed that he was in no hurry to go home—it wasn’t as if there was a wife waiting for him … She finished at length, picked up the pile of notes she intended dropping into the office on her way, and went to the door. When she reached it she said, ‘Good night, sir,’ then stopped short when he said ‘Come back here, Sarah, and sit down. I want to talk to you.’
She did as she was asked, because when he spoke in that quiet voice she found it prudent to obey him. She sat in the chair facing him, the notes piled on her lap; she was tired and thirsty and a little untidy, but her face was serene. She looked at him across the desk, smiling a little, because in the last few days she had come to regard him as a friend.
He sat back, meeting and holding her glance with his own, but without the smile. He said, ‘Sarah, will you marry me?’
CHAPTER THREE
HIS WORDS SHOCKED the breath out of her; she gaped at him until he said with a touch of impatience, ‘Why are you so surprised? We’re well suited, you know. You have lost your heart to Steven; I—I lost mine many years ago. We both need companionship and roots. Many marriages succeed very well on mutual respect and liking—and I ask no more than that of you, Sarah—at least until such time as you might feel you have more to offer.’
She said bluntly, her grey eyes candid, but still round with astonishment:
‘You don’t want my love? Even if I didn’t love someone else?’
He settled back in his chair, his eyes half closed so that she had no idea of what he was thinking.
‘I want your friendship,’ he answered blandly, ‘I enjoy your company; you’re restful and beautiful
