want to know about that, but now hardly seemed to be the time to ask.
She met the patients next; they were sitting round in the common room reading and playing cards and talking, and although they all wore the rather anxious expression anyone with asthma develops over the years, they were remarkably cheerful. She was introduced to them one by one, filing their names away in her sharp, well-trained mind while she glanced around her, taking in the undoubted comfort of the room. Warm curtains here, too and a log fire in the hearth, TV in one corner and well stocked bookshelves and comfortable chairs arranged on the wooden floor with its scattering of bright rugs.
‘Any improvements you can suggest?’ asked Professor Wyllie in a perfunctory tone, obviously not expecting an answer.
‘Yes,’ she said instantly. ‘Someone—there must be a local woman—to come and clean each day. I could write my name in the dust on the stairs,’ she added severely. ‘The Nissen hut’s all right, I suppose the patients do the simple chores so that you can exclude any allergies.’
Both gentlemen were looking at her with attention tinged with respect.
‘Quite right,’ it was the Dutchman who answered her. ‘They aren’t to come into the house. For a certain period each day they will take exercise out of doors, under supervision, and naturally they will be subjected to normal house conditions.’ He smiled with a charm which made her blink. ‘I am afraid that we have been so engrossed in getting our scheme under way for our ten cases that we rather overlooked other things. I’ll see if Hub can find someone to come up and clean as you suggest.’ He added politely: ‘Do you wish for domestic help in the cottage?’
Eliza gave him a scornful look. ‘Heavens, no—it won’t take me more than half an hour each day.’
As they went back to the study she reflected that it might be rather fun after all, but she was allowed no leisure for her own thoughts, but plunged into the details of the carefully drawn up timetable.
As the time slid by, Eliza saw that she was going to be busier than she had first supposed. Only ten patients, it was true, and those all up and able to look after themselves, but if one or more of them had an attack, he would need nursing; besides that, each one of them had to be checked meticulously, TPR taken twice a day, observed, charted, exercised and fed the correct diet. There would be exercises too, and a walk each day. She asked intelligent questions of Professor van Duyl and quite forgot that she didn’t like him in the deepening interest she felt for the scheme. It was later, when the last case had been assessed, discussed and tidily put away in its folder, that Professor Wyllie said:
‘There’s me, you know. They did tell you?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. I’m not much use if I start an attack, I can tell you—you’ll have to act sharpish if it gets too bad. Got a nasty left ventricular failure that doesn’t stand up too well…’
She answered him with quiet confidence. ‘Don’t worry, Professor, I’ll keep a sharp eye on you. Do you carry anything around with you or do I have to fetch it from Doctor Peters?’
‘Got it with me, Eliza—waistcoat pocket; usually manage to get at it myself before it gets too bad.’
‘You’re not part of the experiment?’ she asked.
‘Lord, no. Couldn’t be bothered—besides, I’m a bit past such things.’ He laughed quite cheerfully although his blue eyes were wistful.
‘Come, come,’ she said in the half-wheedling, half-bracing tones she might have used towards one of her own patients, quite forgetting that this nice old man was an important and learned member of his profession and not merely someone who needed his morale boosted. ‘That’s no way to talk, and you a doctor, too.’
‘Motherly,’ murmured Professor van Duyl, and she detected the faint trace of a sneer in his voice. ‘Is there anything else you wish to know, Sister?’
He was dismissing her and she resented it, but she got to her feet.
‘Not at present, thanks. I should like to go back to my office—if I may?’ She didn’t look at him but at Professor Wyllie, who dismissed her with a wave of his hand and ‘Dinner at eight o’clock, Eliza.’
The rest of the day she spent with the patients, getting to know them, and when their supper was brought over from the house she served it, just as she would have done if she had been on her own ward at St Anne’s. It was almost eight o’clock by the time she got back to the cottage, to find that someone had been in to mend the fire and turn on the table lamp. She tidied herself perfunctorily because she was getting tired, and huddled in her cloak once more, picked up her torch and went up to the house.
The dining room seemed full of men with glasses in their hands. They stopped talking when she went in and stared as Professor van Duyl crossed the room towards her. She eyed him warily, expecting some nasty remark about being late, but she couldn’t have been more mistaken; he was the perfect host. She was given a glass of sherry, established beside him, and presently found herself surrounded by most of the men in the room. She had already met them all that afternoon, but there were three missing, someone told her; Harry, the telephonist, who was on duty, Hub and Fred the cook. They would, they assured her, take it in turns to man the switchboard each evening, and what did she think of the local scenery and did she know that there wasn’t a shop for miles around, and how long had she been a nurse?
She answered them all readily enough, but presently excused herself and made her way over to the fireplace, where Professor Wyllie was sitting in a large chair, talking to Doctor Peters, who smiled at Eliza nicely as he strolled away. She perched herself on a stool in front of the old man.
‘I wanted to tell you that I think I’m going to like this job very much. I spent an hour or so in the hut—what a nice lot of men they are, and so keen to cooperate. It’s all rather different from Men’s Medical, though. I hope I’ll do.’ She looked at him a little anxiously.
‘Of course you’ll do, girl—couldn’t have chosen better myself.’
Her lovely eyes widened. ‘But I thought it was you…’
He chuckled. ‘Let me explain.’ And he did. ‘So you see, Christian was a little taken aback when you arrived. He was so certain that Eliza Proudfoot would live up to her name—a worthy woman with no looks worth mentioning and—er—mature.’
‘Motherly, buxom and tough,’ murmured Eliza.
‘Exactly. And instead of that he opens the door on to a fairy creature who looks incapable of rolling a bandage.’
‘Is that why he doesn’t like me?’
The innocent blue eyes became even more so. ‘Does he not? He hasn’t said so; indeed, he agreed with me that you will suit us admirably—a nice sharp mind and the intelligence to use it, and not afraid to speak out.’ He chuckled gently, then went on seriously. ‘I must explain that Christian is engaged to be married to a very…’ he hesitated, ‘high-minded girl—never puts a foot wrong, the perfect wife, I should imagine, and very good-looking if you like her kind of looks.’ He glanced at her. ‘That’s why he chose you, you see. We had a list of names; yours was the only…’ he paused again. ‘Well, girl, it’s a plain sort of name isn’t it? but if you will forgive me for saying so, it hardly matches your delightful person. It was a shock to him.’
‘Well,
