no doubt the questions were intelligent,’ remarked Sir Arthur dryly, and the students murmured their admiration, half of them not having the least idea what their superiors were talking about, anyway.
They were moving towards the first bed now, and Eleanor, casting a quick look at Fulk, saw that he had become the consultant again; indeed, as the round progressed, his manner towards her was faultless; politely friendly, faintly impersonal—they could have just met for the first time. It vexed her to find that this annoyed her more than his half-teasing attitude towards her when he had entered the ward. He was a tiresome man, she decided, leading the way to Mrs Lee’s bed.
That lady was making good progress now that she was responding to the massive doses of penicillin, and although her temperature was still high and she remained lethargic, she was certainly on the mend. Sir Arthur held forth at some length, occasionally pausing to verify some point with the Dutch doctor and then firing questions at random at whichever unfortunate student happened to catch his eye. Most of them did very well, but one or two of them were tongue-tied by the occasion. Eleanor, unobtrusively helping out one such, and standing slightly behind Sir Arthur, had just finished miming the bare bones of the required information when she realized that Fulk had moved and was standing where he could watch her. She threw him a frowning glance which he appeared not to see, for the smile he gave her was so charming that she only just prevented herself from smiling back at him.
Perhaps he wasn’t so bad after all, she conceded, only to have this opinion reversed when, the round over, she was bidding Sir Arthur and his party goodbye at the ward door, for when she bade Fulk goodbye too, he said at once: ‘You’ll lunch with me, Eleanor,’ and it wasn’t even a question, let alone a request, delivered in a silky voice loud enough for everyone to hear.
‘I’m afraid that’s impossible,’ she began coldly, and Sir Arthur, quite mistaking her hesitation, interrupted her to say heartily: ‘Nonsense, of course you can go, Sister—I’ve seen you dozens of times at the Blue Bird Café’—an establishment much favoured by the hospital staff because it was only just down the road and they were allowed to go there in uniform— ‘Why, only a couple of weeks ago you were having a meal there with young Maddox, although how he managed that when he was on call for the Accident Room I cannot imagine.’
He turned his attention to Fulk. ‘The Blue Bird isn’t exactly Cordon Bleu, but they do a nice plate of fish and chips, and there is the great advantage of being served quickly.’ He looked at Eleanor once more. ‘You intended going to your dinner, I suppose? When do you go?’
She didn’t want to answer, but she had to say something. ‘One o’clock,’ she told him woodenly and heard his pleased: ‘Excellent—what could be better? Van Hensum, we shall have time to talk over that case we were discussing.’ He beamed in a fatherly fashion at Eleanor, fuming silently, and led the way down the corridor with all the appearance of a man who had done someone a good turn and felt pleased about it. Fulk went with him, without saying another word.
Eleanor snorted, muttered rudely under her breath and went to serve the patients’ dinners, and as she dished out boiled fish, nourishing stew, fat-free diets, high-calorie diets and diabetic diets, she pondered how she could get out of having lunch with Fulk. She wasn’t quite sure why it was so important that she should escape going with him, because actually she liked the idea very much, and even when, as usual, she was battling with Miss Tremble about the amount of ham on her plate, a small part of her brain was still hard at work trying to discover the reason. All the same, she told herself that her determination not to go was strong enough to enable her to make some excuse.
She was trying to think of one as she went back to her office with Jill, to give her a brief run-down of jobs to be done during the next hour—a waste of time, as it turned out, for Fulk was there, standing idly looking out of the window. He had assumed his consultant’s manner once more, too, so that Eleanor found it difficult to utter the refusal she had determined upon. Besides, Jill was there, taking it for granted that she was going, even at that very moment urging her not to hurry back. ‘There’s nothing much on this afternoon,’ she pointed out, ‘not until three o’clock at any rate, and you never get your full hour for dinner, Sister.’ She made a face. ‘It’s braised heart, too.’
Fulk’s handsome features expressed extreme distaste. ‘How revolting,’ he observed strongly. ‘Eleanor, put on your bonnet at once and we will investigate the fish and chips. They sound infinitely more appetizing.’
Eleanor dabbed with unusually clumsy fingers at the muslin trifle perched on her great knot of shining hair. ‘Thanks, Jill, I’ll see.’ She sounded so reluctant that her right hand looked at her in amazement while Fulk’s eyes gleamed with amusement, although all he said was: ‘Shall we go?’
The café was almost full, a number of hospital staff, either on the point of going on duty or just off, were treating themselves to egg and chips, spaghetti on toast or the fish and chips for which the café was justly famous. Fulk led the way to a table in the centre of the little place, and Eleanor, casting off her cloak and looking around, nodded and smiled at two physiotherapists, an X-ray technician, and the senior Accident Room Sister with the Casualty Officer. There were two of the students who had been in Sir Arthur’s round that morning sitting at the next table and they smiled widely at her, glanced at Fulk and gave her the thumbs-up sign, which she pointedly ignored, hoping that her companion hadn’t seen it too. He had; he said: ‘Lord, sometimes I feel middle-aged.’
‘Well,’ her voice was astringent, ‘you’re not—you’re not even married yet.’
His mouth twitched. ‘You imply that being married induces middle age, and that’s nonsense.’ He added slowly: ‘I imagine that any man who married you would tend to regain his youth, not lose it.’
She gaped at him across the little table. ‘For heaven’s sake, whatever makes you say that?’ But she wasn’t to know, for the proprietor of the Blue Bird had made his way towards them and was offering a menu card. He was a short, fat man and rather surprisingly, a Cockney; the soul of kindness and not above allowing second helpings for free to anyone who was a bit short until pay day. He stood looking at them both now and then said: “Ullo, Sister, ’aven’t met yer friend before, ’ave I?’
‘No, Steve—he’s a Dutch consultant, a friend of Sir Arthur Minch. Doctor van Hensum, this is Steve who runs the café.’
The doctor held out a hand and Steve shook it with faint surprise. ‘Pleased ter meet yer,’ he pronounced in gratified tones. ‘I got a nice bit of ’ake out the back. ’Ow’d yer like it, the pair of yer? Chips and peas and a good cuppa while yer waiting.’
A cheerful girl brought the tea almost at once and Eleanor poured the rich brew into the thick cups and handed one to Fulk. ‘Aren’t you sorry you asked me out now?’ she wanted to know. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever had your lunch in a place like this before.’
He gave her a thoughtful look. ‘You’re determined to make me out a very unpleasant fellow, aren’t you? I wonder why?’ He passed her the sugar bowl and then helped himself. ‘No, I’ve never been in a place quite like this one before, but I’ve been in far worse, and let me tell you, my girl, that your low opinion of me is completely mistaken.’
‘I never…’ began Eleanor, and was interrupted by the arrival of the hake, mouthwatering in its thick rich batter coat and surrounded by chips and peas; by the time they had assured Steve that it looked delicious, passed each other the salt, refused the vinegar and refilled their cups, there seemed no point in arguing. They fell to and what conversation there was was casual and good-humoured. Presently, nicely mellowed by the food, Eleanor remarked: ‘You were going to tell me about Imogen.’
He
