thought he had probably had enough of her prosaic company. ‘Oh yes. A few minutes’ walk.’ She added, to make it easier for him: ‘I enjoy walking,’ and when he replied: ‘So do I,’ it wasn’t what she had expected him to say. The appearance of the landlady prevented further conversation and Tabitha sat down on the bed again and listened to Mr van Beek putting the woman in her place with a blandness which most effectively concealed his intention of having his own way, so that she presently went away again, clutching the money he had given her and looking bewildered, for she had gained the impression that he was one of those casual gentlemen who didn’t bother to look at bills, only paid them.
‘The shark!’ observed Tabitha as the door closed upon the lady of the house. ‘I wonder how many times she charged Mr Bow for laundry which never went.’ She got to her feet once more and went round the room, opening and shutting cupboards and drawers to make sure nothing had been overlooked while her companion watched her with a little smile. ‘Nothing,’ she remarked unnecessarily and went to the door, waiting for him. He picked up the case and the books and led the way downstairs and out to the car where she said awkwardly: ‘Well, goodbye, Mr van Beek—I hope your evening…’ She got no further.
‘Get in,’ he said mildly. ‘I’ve no intention of leaving you to walk home.’
Tabitha opened her mouth, but before she could utter, he said again: ‘Do get in.’ She did as she was told then, and when he had settled her in the seat beside him, she said: ‘It’s up Thomas Street and left at the traffic lights, straight on past the station, and then the first turning on the left.’
They talked only commonplaces during the short drive and when he drew up outside her flat she prepared to get out immediately, longing to ask him in but deciding against it because he might probably accept out of politeness. He leaned across her and opened the door and said casually:
‘It’s a full round tomorrow, so I’m told—we shall see each other then. Thank you for your help.’
She got out before she answered him. ‘Yes—I’m on for the rounds. I—I was glad to help, although you made it all very easy.’ She smiled, feeling a little shy, and was relieved when Meg flung the house door open and called in her soft voice: ‘There you are, Miss Tabby, late again!’ Which remark made it easy for Tabitha to say: ‘Well, I must go—good night, sir.’ She stood back and he closed the car door, lifted a hand in salute and eased the big car slowly forward and away. She watched it until a bend in the road hid it from sight, then went indoors to answer Meg’s questions.
Mr van Beek arrived dead on time for his ward round, which Tabitha found a refreshing change from Mr Raynard, who had a disconcerting habit of turning up either much too early or so late that the whole ward routine was thrown out of gear. She met the party at the door, looking calm and unruffled and very neat, so that no one looking at her would have believed her if she had recounted just how much work she had already got through, and certainly no one thought to ask; Mr van Beek gave her a pleasant and impersonal good morning and Mr Steele and Tommy Bates, the houseman, had both said ‘Hullo, Tabby,’ which was what they always said. In the ward they would be careful to address her as Sister for the benefit of the patients, which was a waste of time anyway, for she was aware that they all called her Tabby behind her back. As George Steele had once remarked, Tabby was such a cosy name. Tabby had shuddered at his words, glimpsing a perpetual picture of herself getting cosier and cosier over the years until someone, some day, would prefix the Tabby with the word old.
This morning, however, there was no fear of that—indeed, she looked a great deal younger than her twenty-five years, for although her hair was still screwed ruthlessly into its severe bun, there was a pinkness in her cheeks which gave her eyes an added sparkle, although her greeting was sedate enough. She had already done her morning round, and primed with her mental list of plasters due for changing, extensions that needed adjusting, pains for investigation and several urgent requests from patients to go home, she advanced on Jimmy’s bed, where she stationed herself opposite Mr van Beek, handed him the patient’s board wordlessly, and waited while he read it.
‘The plaster’s due off, I see, Sister.’ He glanced at Tommy Bates. ‘If Mr Bates would be good enough to do this, I will come back presently and have a look.’ He smiled at the jubilant look on Jimmy’s face. ‘That doesn’t mean that you’re going to get up and walk home—but we will have it X-rayed just once more, and if the result is what I expect it to be, then we’ll get you on your legs again. I’ll discuss it with Sister presently.’
He turned away, leaving Jimmy grinning at Tommy Bates, who played rugger himself and was already wielding the plaster cutters with a masterly hand. Mr van Beek had reached the next bed when he asked over his shoulder:
‘Where do you play, Jimmy?’
‘Half-back, sir.’
‘Ah yes—done during a tackle…’
‘Rugger player yourself, sir?’ ventured Jimmy.
Mr van Beek gave a half smile. ‘Er—yes, but some years ago, I’m afraid.’ He turned away and became instantly engrossed in a sub-capital fracture of femur which Mr Raynard had dealt with a few weeks previously, by means of a metal prosthesis. Old Mr Dale was a difficult patient, now he saw a new face to which he might grumble. Which he did at some length, while Mr van Beek listened with an impassive face and Tabitha and George Steele stood impassively by, listening to Mr Dale blackening their characters with no sign of discomfort, for they shared the view that an irascible old gentleman of well over seventy who had grumbled all his life was now too old to change his ways, and as neither of them had done any of the things of which they were accused, they didn’t allow him to worry them. Nor, it seemed, did Mr van Beek, for when the old gentleman had at last finished complaining, he said soothingly:
‘Yes—we all appreciate how tiresome it is for you to stay in bed, Mr Dale, and how irksome it is for you not to be able to sit in a chair. I feel sure that it has been explained to you why this is. However, as it distresses you so much, I fancy we may be able to help.’ He looked at Tabitha, his grey eyes twinkling. ‘Gentle traction here, I think, Sister, don’t you?’ He removed his gaze to Mr Steele. ‘I’ll leave you to deal with that, if I may, Steele. A couple of weeks should suffice—that will bring us to a month after the operation, will it not? Time enough for the prosthesis to have become firm.’
He turned back to the patient and explained, in a reasonable voice which brooked no contradiction, why the treatment was to be changed, and added: ‘And I should prefer it, Mr Dale, if you refrain from complaining about my colleagues without reason. Mr Raynard operated most successfully upon your hip, and, if you will allow it, your treatment is equally successful.’ He smiled, the gentle smile Tabitha liked to see. ‘You should join the team, not fight against it, you know.’
They were at the next bed when they heard Mr Dale chuckle, and Tabitha, who had been envisaging the horrors of getting traction on the recalcitrant old man, smiled and caught Mr van Beek’s eye. Mr van Beek winked.
Mr Prosser welcomed them with all the pleasure of a host inviting old friends in for a drink, and a great deal of time was lost while he and Mr van Beek discussed the nutritional value of fish and chips and the psychological effect of eating them from newspaper. ‘Adds a bit of interest,’ declared Mr Prosser. ‘Tell you what, you bring Sister ’ere down to my place when I get ’ome—I’ll give yer the finest bit o’ cod you’ve ever ’ad.’
Mr van Beek said mildly: ‘Well, that won’t be for a little while yet, you know, but I’ll accept your invitation, as I’m sure Sister will.’
They both looked at Tabitha, who said hurriedly: ‘Oh, yes—that would be delightful,’ because
