the same beautiful rugs as there were in the hall. There was a sofa table behind the couch and a scattering of small drum tables around the room, and a marquetry William and Mary china cabinet against one of the walls. A davenport under one of the windows would make letter writing very pleasant … it had a small button-backed chair to partner it; Sarah went and sat down, feeling soothed and calmer than she had felt for the last two days or so. She realised that she hadn’t thought of Steven for several hours; she had been so occupied with Mrs Brown and the ridiculous Timmy—it had been pure coincidence, of course, that Dr van Elven should have asked for her help; all the same she felt grateful to him. He couldn’t have done more to distract her thoughts even if she had told him about the whole sorry business.
Her gratitude coloured her goodbyes when they parted in the hospital entrance hall, he to go off to some business of his own, she to take Mrs Brown to Women’s Medical. But if he was surprised by the fervour of her thanks, he gave no sign. It was only later, when she was sitting in the lonely isolation of OPD that the first faint doubts as to whether it had been coincidence crept into her mind. She brushed them aside as absurd at first, but they persisted, and the annoying thing was that she wasn’t sure if she minded or not. There was no way of finding out either, short of asking Dr van Elven to his face, something she didn’t care to do; for if she was mistaken, she could imagine only too vividly, the look of bland amusement on his face. The amusement would be kindly, and that would make it worse, because it would mean that he pitied her, a fact, which for some reason or other, she could not bear to contemplate.
She drew the laundry book towards her, resolutely emptying her mind of anything but the number of towels and pillow cases she could expect back on Monday.
CHAPTER TWO
SARAH WENT TO SEE Mrs Brown on Sunday. She went deliberately during the visiting hour in the afternoon, because she thought it unlikely that the old lady would have any visitors. She was right; Mrs Brown was sitting up in bed in a hospital nightie several sizes too large for her, looking very clean, her hair surprisingly white after its washing—a nurse had pinned it up and tied a pink bow in it as well.
‘How nice you look, Mrs Brown—I like that ribbon.’ Sarah drew up a chair and sat down, aware of the glances Mrs Brown was casting left and right to her neighbours as if to say ‘I told you so’. She made a resolve then and there to pop in and see her whenever she could spare a minute, and enquired after the old lady’s health.
Mrs Brown brushed this aside. ‘‘E sent a message,’ she stated. ‘Timmy’s ‘ad a good sleep, ‘e said, and eaten for two.’ She fidgeted around in the bed and all the pillows fell down, so that Sarah had to get up and rearrange them. ‘One of them young doctors told me this morning.’ She frowned reflectively. ‘They knows what they’re doing, I suppose? Them young ones?’
‘Yes, Mrs Brown.’ Sarah sounded very positive. ‘They’re all qualified doctors and they’re here to carry out the consultant’s wishes.’
‘So all them things ‘e did to me ‘e was told ter do by the doc?’
Sarah nodded. ‘That’s right. Now is there anything I can do for you while you’re here? Was anyone going to get your room ready for you to go back?’
The old lady looked astonished. ‘Lor’, no, ducks. ‘Oo’d ‘ave the time? Though I daresay someone’ll pop in and do me bed and get me in some stuff.’
Sarah made a noncommittal reply to this remark, and made a mental note to go round to Phipps Street one evening and make sure that there really was someone.
She didn’t see Steven again until Tuesday morning, when Mr Binns had an extra OP clinic. They had barely exchanged cool good mornings, when he was called away to the wards, and didn’t return until all but two of the patients had gone. It was already past twelve, and they were behind time. Dr van Elven had a vast clinic at one-thirty. For once she was glad of Mr Binns’ briskness; he took no time at all over the last patient—a post-operative check-up—thanked Sarah with faint pomposity, and hurried away with Steven beside him. She sent the nurses to dinner, had a few words with Staff, who had come on duty to take the gynae clinic, and then got on with the business of substituting Dr Binns’paraphernalia for that of Dr van Elven. She had almost finished when Steven returned.
He said abruptly as he came in, ‘Where the hell were you going on Saturday with old van Elven?’
Sarah’s heart gave an excited jump. So he minded! She stacked the case notes neatly and consulted her long list of names before she replied, in a calm voice she hardly recognised as her own:
‘Is it any business of yours? And if you refer to Dr van Elven, he’s not at all old, you know.’
He gave an ugly laugh. ‘You’re a sly one—pretending to be such a little puritan and playing the hurt madam with me! How long have you been leading him by the nose? He’s quite a catch.’
He was standing quite near her. She put down her list and slapped his face hard, and in the act saw Dr van Elven standing at the doorway. As he came into the room he said quietly, ‘Get out.’ His voice had the menace of a knife, although his face was impassive.
Sarah watched Steven standing irresolute, one hand to a reddened cheek, the look of surprise still on his face, and then turn on his heel and go. She had never expected him to brazen it out anyway. Dr van Elven was the senior consultant at St Edwin’s, and could, if he so wished, use his authority. She didn’t look at him now, but mumbled, ‘I’m late for dinner …’
‘Sit down,’ he said placidly, and she obeyed him weakly. She had gone very white; now her face flamed with humiliation and temper—mostly temper. She shook with it, and gripped her hands together in her lap to keep them steady. Dr van Elven went over to the desk in a leisurely fashion and put down his case. He said, not looking at her, in a most reasonable voice:
‘You can’t possibly go to the dining room in such a towering rage.’
He was right, of course. Sarah stared at her hands and essayed to speak.
‘You know about me and Steven.’
‘Yes. But I see no need to enlarge upon what must be a painful subject.’
Sarah choked on a watery chuckle, ‘I’m behaving like a heroine in a Victorian novel, aren’t I?’ She gave him a sudden waspish look. ‘I’m furious!’ she snapped, as though he hadn’t commented upon her feelings already. He said ‘Yes,’ again and gave her a half smile, then bent over his desk, leaving her to pull herself together. Presently he remarked:
‘That’s better. We have a large clinic, I believe. How fortunate—there’s nothing like hard work for calming the nerves. Might I suggest that you go to your dinner now? I should like to start punctually.’
She got up at once, unconsciously obedient to his quietly compelling voice. ‘Yes, of course, sir. I’ve been wasting time.’
She fled through the door, feeling that somehow or other he had contrived to make the whole episode not worth bothering about. She even ate her dinner, aware that he would ask her if she had done so when she got back and would expect a truthful answer.
There was not time to ask her anything, however. When she returned the benches were overflowing. The air rang with a variety of coughs, and as it was raining outside, the same air was heavy with the damp from wet coats and the redolence of sopping garments which those who had arrived first had had the forethought to dry out upon the radiators. Sarah went swiftly into the consultants’
