some holiday due, she would use some of her little capital and go away. Right away, although just for the moment she had no idea where.
The answer came from an unexpected source the very next day. The professor’s registrar stopped her as she was crossing the entrance hall, intent on giving a message to whoever was in the porter’s lodge.
‘Spare a minute?’ he asked pleasantly, and, since he had always been friendly and she liked him, she stopped willingly enough. ‘I say, you may find this awful cheek, but I’m in a spot. I have to go over to Holland with Professor ter Laan-Luitinga, and it means leaving my wife for a week or ten days. She’s expecting a baby and hates to be on her own, and none of her family or mine is free to go and stay with her. Sister Giles was complaining about being short of a nurse while you were on leave, and I wondered—if you hadn’t anything better to do, if you would stay with Lottie?’
She had met his wife once, at Christmas when Mr Miles had brought her round the wards. They had liked each other, but they hadn’t met since. Venetia said slowly, ‘Well, I wasn’t going anywhere—but how does your wife feel about it?’
‘When I suggested it she was pleased. You have met, haven’t you? I remember she liked you. Would you think about it? The professor will be going back to Holland in two or three days’time—he’s got this tricky case to see to, and a backlog of patients to deal with. When do you start your holiday?’
Nothing in his manner suggested to her that he might already know.
‘Well, I’ve days off on Monday and Tuesday, and then my holiday starts.’
‘Couldn’t be better, I believe we’re to go on the Tuesday evening.’
He smiled in his friendly fashion. ‘Leave a message at the lodge if you would like to come; we’d be eternally grateful.’
‘If you’re sure—?’ began Venetia.
‘Quite sure, and you’ve no idea what a load it would be off my mind.’
She thought about it for the rest of the day. It was a heaven-sent opportunity to get away from hospital life, and, when she came to think about it, hadn’t someone told her that Mr Miles had bought a small cottage—somewhere near Beaconsfield? Penn, that was the name, and, although he and his wife had a small flat in one of the new blocks built by the Thames where the docks once were, they spent his free weekends and holidays there. She was a little surprised that he had asked her, but there probably wasn’t anyone suitable free. By the end of the day she had made up her mind to accept his offer.
On the Friday evening he came on to the ward, very properly asked Sister Giles if he might have a word with Venetia, and drew her to one side.
‘Lottie and I are so glad that you will come. She’s at the flat, but if you could be ready to go with us on Tuesday afternoon, we’ll collect you on the way down to the cottage at Penn; she would rather be there.’
He smiled kindly at her and went away, leaving her feeling pleasantly excited at the prospect of a change of scene.
She felt a little anxious as she waited for Mr Miles to fetch her; supposing his wife didn’t like her after all? And what would they do all day? And would she be expected to help in the house? She wasn’t really a guest, but, on the other hand, she wasn’t employed by the Mileses, either.
She need not have worried; she was popped into the car, her luggage was stowed in the boot, and it was evident from the first moment that she and Mr Miles’s wife were going to like each other.
‘Call me Lottie,’ begged the pretty girl sitting beside him, ‘and I shall call you Venetia. You don’t mind?’
It took a little while to leave London behind them, but once on the motorway they were going through Beaconsfield and turning off for Penn in no time at all. It was a charming village, just as Venetia had hoped it would be, with a green and a duck pond, surrounded by seventeenth-century cottages overlooked by the church and the Crown Inn. The Mileses’ cottage was down a narrow lane, standing sideways on to the road; a small, neat house, its garden bare now, although very tidy. Inside there was a welcoming fire in the sitting room, and an appetising smell coming from the kitchen.
‘Mrs Trent,’ explained Lottie. ‘She comes in every day when we’re here, just for an hour or two. Come and see your bedroom—we’ve only got two—Arthur will bring up your case.’
It was a dear little room, pink and blue and white, sparsely furnished, but there was everything one could need. ‘We share the bathroom.’ Lottie beamed at Venetia. ‘I don’t know what we’ll do when baby gets here.’
Venetia peered out of the small window. ‘Couldn’t you build on? There’s lots of room, isn’t there? The garden’s beautiful, and fairly big.’
‘We don’t want to leave here—we love it. Would you like to unpack? Arthur will have to go back almost at once…’
‘Will you wish him a good trip from me? I’d like to unpack, if I may.’
It was obvious from her companion’s face that she had said the right thing. She opened her case and started putting things away, and found that her thoughts, without any prompting from her, had turned to the professor. He would be going home—and to whom?
CHAPTER THREE
THE two of them settled down happily. They had a lot in common, for they were of a similar age and they both liked clothes, books and the theatre. Although Venetia had a small wardrobe, her clothes were as good as she could afford, even if not in the forefront of fashion. As for Lottie, a slavish follower of all fashion, but for the moment wearing voluminous garments which none the less contrived to look smart, she studied the latest Harper’s, her pretty head full of the clothes she would buy when the baby was born.
Mrs Trent came daily to tidy the house and give what she called a good clean through, so Venetia and Lottie had a minimum of chores. They did the shopping, went for a walk each day, and spent the evenings round the fire, roasting chestnuts and knitting garments for the forthcoming infant. Each evening the phone rang, the signal for Venetia to go into the kitchen to start the supper while Lottie spent the next fifteen minutes or so talking to Arthur. It was on their fourth evening there that she remarked, putting down the phone at last, ‘He doesn’t know when he’ll be back, he thinks at least another four days.’
Venetia came to the open door between the kitchen and the sitting-room. ‘What exactly are they doing?’ she wanted to know.
‘Oh, some VIP needed brain surgery. Arthur doesn’t always go with the professor, but now he’s getting much more experienced—the professor’s very generous with his teaching.’ She looked up, smiling. ‘He’s a nice man. Do you see much of him at St Jude’s?’
‘Almost nothing, but he was very kind to me when my grandmother died.’ Venetia began to beat the eggs for an omelette. ‘He stitched up my arm, too.’
Lottie chuckled. ‘I can just imagine the fuss and bother when they discovered that you were on the staff.’
Venetia spooned in water and did a bit more beating. ‘Yes, it was funny, though I couldn’t have cared less at the time.’
‘A nasty experience. I’d have been terrified.’
‘Well, I was, and I felt such
