thought we might have supper and perhaps dance afterwards.’
My almost new organza, thought Katrina wildly, and those satin sandals. Aloud she said: ‘Well, I don’t know…’
‘Rubbish,’ said Uncle Ben stoutly. ‘You know you like dancing, Kate.’
The two of them stared at her without saying anything more, so that in sheer self-defence she said: ‘Well, it would be nice…thank you.’
‘Half past seven at the entrance,’ said the Professor briskly. ‘We’ll just have time for a drink and a bite to eat before the theatre.’
She asked meekly: ‘And am I to come all tarted up?’
‘Oh, definitely—that’s if you feel like it…’ He was laughing at her again, although his face was bland.
‘Well, that’s settled, then,’ declared Uncle Ben. ‘Raf, there’s that woman I want you to see—the accident that came in during the night…’
Katrina excused herself and left them deep in some surgical problem. She had problems of her own; it was so much simpler to either like or dislike someone, but with the Professor she was unable to make up her mind. Most of the time, she had to admit, she liked him very much, but every now and then he annoyed her excessively. She went back into the ward and found to her annoyance that Jack Bentall had come in through the balcony doors and was doing a round with Julie. He had, he explained carefully, one or two things to write up for Mr Knowles and could he use her office for a few minutes, and as Julie left them: ‘You haven’t forgotten that we’re going out tomorrow evening?’ he asked her, looking quite revoltingly smug. She had, but she was too kind-hearted to say so.
He was disposed to linger, hinting at the delights of their evening out so that she had to draw his attention to several jobs awaiting her. He had looked at her like a small spoilt boy and said grumpily: ‘Oh, well, don’t let me keep you…’
She wished with all her heart that she had refused his invitation in the first place. She had been a fool, but there was no help for it, she would go, but for the last time, she promised herself, and then forgot all about him, going from one patient to the next, adjusting drips, checking dressings, making sure that BPs had been taken on time.
She was a little absentminded at dinner time and her friends wanted to know why, and when she shook her head and denied it, Joan Cox from Women’s Surgical said vigorously: ‘I bet our Kate’s got herself a date with that super man who’s doing the rounds with Sir Benjamin,’ and the entire table gave a howl of laughter when Katrina went a delicate pink.
‘Didn’t I say so?’ cried Joan triumphantly, and then thoughtfully: ‘You went out yesterday evening too.’
‘Well, yes, I did—just to a bistro…’
‘And is it to be a bistro tonight?’ several voices chorused.
‘The King and I.’ Katrina poured tea from the large pot just put on the table.
‘And dinner afterwards, I expect, and a spot of dancing?’
‘Well, the Professor did say something about it…’
There was another howl of laughter. ‘Kate, you don’t call him Professor, do you? What’s his name—what do you talk about?’
‘The weather,’ said Katrina guilelessly.
The afternoon went quickly. She handed over to Julie at five o’clock, did a final round to wish the patients goodnight, and went off duty. She had plenty of time, time to lie for ages in the bath, make up her lovely face at her leisure and wind her hair into its intricate chignon before putting on the organza dress. It was a lovely thing, patterned in shades of amber and brown with a square yoke and a waist tied by long satin ribbons, its balloon sleeves ending in tight bands at her elbows. Her slippers were exactly right with it, as was the brown marabou stole she dug out from the back of the wardrobe.
He had said half past seven, and she took care to be on time this evening, even though she was held up for a few minutes by some of her friends who had come to inspect her outfit. Their cheerful teasing voices followed her down the stairs and then were abruptly shut off by the nurses’ home door. It was quiet as she went through the hospital corridors: it was visiting time again and nurses would be at first supper while the rest finished the tidying up for the day. The sudden lack of voices worried her. Supposing he wasn’t there? Supposing she had made a mistake in the evening—supposing he hadn’t meant it? All silly ideas, but all the same they loomed large. Just until she came in sight of the entrance, to see him standing there, enormous, reassuringly calm and very elegant indeed.
His hullo was friendly, as was his: ‘How charming you look, Katrina, and punctual too.’
She wondered fleetingly if he said that to all the girls he took out, for undoubtedly there must be girls… She said, ‘Thank you,’ in a guarded tone, and he laughed and said ruefully: ‘It doesn’t matter what I say, does it? You see a hidden meaning in every word I utter.’
They were walking to the car, but now she stopped. ‘Look, we can’t possibly start the evening like this— I—didn’t mean…that is, I was only wondering if you said that to all the girls you take out.’
‘Would you mind if I said yes?’
She said haughtily: ‘Of course not,’ and spoilt it by asking: ‘Do you go out a great deal?’
They were in the car now, but he hadn’t started the engine. ‘Yes, quite a bit, but work comes first. What about you, Katrina?’
‘Well, I go out—I like my work too,’ she added with a bit of a rush.
‘We share a common interest, then.’ He started the car. ‘We have time for a drink if you would like one.’
He took her to the Savoy and gave her a glass of Madeira, and when she confessed that she had had no tea, a dish of salted nuts and another of potato crisps.
She crushed her way very nearly through the lot and then said apologetically: ‘I’m making a pig of myself. It was stew for lunch and I got there late.’
His winged nostrils flared. ‘Tepid and greasy, no doubt.’ He lifted a finger and when the waiter came, asked for sandwiches. She consumed them with the unselfconscious pleasure of a child—smoked salmon and pâté de foie gras and cucumber. But she refused a second glass of Madeira because, as she explained to her companion, she wanted to enjoy every moment of the play.
Which she did, sitting up straight in her seat, her eyes glued to the stage, and the Professor, sitting a little sideways so that he could watch her as well as the stage, allowed himself a faint smile at her obvious pleasure. They went back to the Savoy when it was over and had supper—caviar, poularde Impératrice, and for Katrina a bûche glacée, while the Professor contented himself with Welsh rarebit. And because, as he had gravely pointed out to her at the beginning of the meal, they had both had a tiring day, a bottle of champagne seemed the best thing to drink.
Katrina, her head still full of romantic music, would have happily drunk tap water; as it was, she drank two glasses of champagne and enjoyed them very much. There was a faint worry at the back of her head that she was liking her companion much more than she had intended. Perhaps it was the combination of romance and champagne which had dimmed her good sense, but certainly
