of the part-time nurses hadn’t turned up, Barbara had started running a temperature, and she had been at odds with the diet clerk as well as X-ray—not a good day, and she had gone off duty wishing she had never agreed to go with Mr Grenfell. She showered and changed, shut the one small case she was taking with her, checked her handbag for money and passport, and went down to the hospital entrance. He had been waiting for her, and after the briefest of greetings had put her case in the boot, ushered her into the front seat and got in beside her. And now here she was, a little edgy and tired, wishing she hadn’t come. Humphrey had been right, as he so often was; she should have told him first before agreeing to go and taken his advice.
‘Cold feet?’ asked Mr Grenfell, hitting the nail on the head so accurately that she jumped.
‘Yes. Humphrey didn’t want me to come…’
He swooped past an articulated lorry. ‘Why not?’ He sounded interested, but only in a vague way.
‘Well, I don’t know—he didn’t say.’ She added thoughtfully: ‘Perhaps because we’re engaged…’
‘I’m engaged,’ observed Mr Grenfell carelessly, ‘and as far as I know Miriam had no qualms.’
‘Didn’t you ask her?’ Eugenia was curious.
‘Certainly not. She has no interest in my work, indeed she finds it extremely boring.’
She had a momentary picture of him going home after a day’s successful operating, bursting to tell someone about it, and not being able to say a word. Fleetingly she was sorry for him. She said carefully: ‘Well, I daresay it’s restful for you not to talk about your work when you get home.’
‘Bunkum,’ said Mr Grenfell. They were driving through the complexities of the airport now and a moment later he stopped outside Terminal Two. ‘This is where we get out.’
There was a man waiting to take the car, presumably to garage it. Mr Grenfell picked up her case, handed his own and his case of instruments to a porter; and walked briskly into the booking hall. The formalities, which she had been rather dreading, took no time at all. She was ushered upstairs, told to sit down and not walk away until he returned. Which he did presently, with two cups of coffee and an armful of magazines and papers.
‘About twenty minutes before our flight is called,’ he told her, and opened The Times.
He didn’t hurry when their flight was called, so that Eugenia became quite nervous about missing the plane altogether and longed to tell him to hurry up. They were some of the last to go on board, and she was secretly pleased that they were in the first class compartment. Not that she could see much difference between that and the rest of the plane, only it would sound so much better when she told everyone about it when she got back.
She didn’t much care for flying, but since Mr Grenfell’s impassive face betrayed no emotion whatsoever, she took care to sit very still, her insides knotted up, her hands clasped together on her lap.
‘You can unwind now,’ said Mr Grenfell laconically, ‘we’re airborne.’ She had no intention of answering him, but gave him what she hoped was a cool smile and began on the pile of magazines, to be interrupted very shortly by the stewardess with food and drink. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but it passed the time very nicely and made everything so normal that she peeped out of her window into the dusk below. It was quite a surprise when they were asked to fasten their seat-belts because they were about to land; it was even more surprising when Mr Grenfell, who had barely spoken throughout the flight, took her hand in one of his large firm ones, and held it comfortingly until they were safely on the ground.
They were met at the airport, and since there were not many passengers Customs formalities took only a few minutes. The Customs officer was young and dark and eyed Eugenia with appreciation as he asked Mr Grenfell why he was travelling. He went on looking at her while Mr Grenfell told him, but now his glance was tinged with respect. She heard the word Medico, and the man took another look at both their passports, said surprisingly: ‘I wish you good luck, sir and madam,’ and smilingly waved them both on.
The stout dark man who had met them picked up their bags and led them to where a large Cadillac was parked. ‘One hour,’ he said cheerfully, and swept Eugenia into the back seat while Mr Grenfell stowed his case, got in beside her and settled back in his corner. ‘I shall take a nap,’ he told her, and he did, while she tried to see where they were going in the almost dark. Tantalising glimpses of villages with small houses bordering the road, signposts which she never quite managed to read as they tore past, and now and then the lights of villas standing back from the road. The car slowed and Mr Grenfell, sitting beside her, stirred. ‘We’re going to Portimao, I understand the house is just outside the town.’ He yawned. ‘I’ve never before met a girl who’s so incurious—I find it so refreshing.’
Eugenia could see the lights of a town now and the glimmer of water. They crossed a bridge and drove along a wide boulevard with fishing boats crowding its edge, and the town on its other side. But they didn’t stop, only drove on out of the town again, still with the river on their left, and after a while the car was turned into a narrow road and then into a drive overhung with trees. It opened on to a sweep before a house with lights shining from almost every window and the chauffeur got out, opened the car door and gestured from there for them to mount the steps and go through the open door. They had reached it when a man came hurrying towards them.
‘Mr Grenfell? And your nurse.’ He held out a hand. ‘I’m Clarence—my wife’s upstairs—in bed, of course. You have no idea how glad I am to see you! The doctor is with her now—we’ve had a bad day…’
He was a tall, thin, distinguished-looking man, and at the moment worried to death; as well he might be, thought Eugenia, shaking hands and then standing discreetly behind Mr Grenfell.
‘You must be tired…’ began Mr Clarence.
‘Not in the least,’ Mr Grenfell spoke for them both, and Eugenia felt indignation at his high-handedness. ‘You would like us to see your wife as soon as possible, naturally. If we might have ten minutes to tidy up…?’
‘Of course. The housekeeper has put you both on the first floor, opposite each other, in case you need each other during the night.’
Eugenia heard Mr Grenfell mutter and chose to ignore it. She said calmly: ‘I’ll get into my uniform and be with you in ten minutes, Mr Grenfell.’
She was led away by a hovering maid, a pretty dark-haired girl dressed in black, to a room at the side of the house, nicely furnished with heavy dark bed, chest and dressing table, and with a shower room leading from it. Her case was already there; she fished out her uniform, spent five minutes in the bathroom and then got into her uniform and went downstairs again, very neat and fresh and looking reassuringly efficient.
Mr Grenfell looked at her from under heavy lids. ‘Ah, yes. Do you speak any French?’
She opened her lovely eyes in surprise. ‘A little—why?’
‘Probably we may find it easier to talk in that language, the doctor and I.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ she told him sedately, and followed him up the stairs behind Mr Clarence.
Mrs Clarence was in bed in a large room with a huge bay window draped extravagantly in brocade, a thick carpet underfoot and some massive dark furniture. She was a small, fair woman, quite lost in the big bed and very ill. She looked at them both with obvious relief as they went in, and so did the
