working. She could see no chance of ever paying the mortgage off, but with each year of instalments paid, there was the chance that something might happen. She turned the car into the hospital forecourt and parked neatly. As she crossed to the swing doors she decided that Ellen would probably marry someone rich who would want to live in the house and thus keep it in the family—a childish notion but comforting none the less.
Everyone was very kind to her. The Senior Nursing Officer, a tart middle-aged lady who seldom had a kind word for anyone, was surprisingly sympathetic, and Euphemia’s own friends lingered on their way to their wards to offer their sympathy. And once on her own ward, her nurses, who liked her because she was sensible and fair and kind as well as very pretty, made it their business to murmur conventional stilted phrases. It was the tray of tea on her desk and the vase of flowers beside it that touched her; they might not have known quite what to say to her, but the tea spoke volumes.
And the patients knew all about it too, all of them, from crabby old Mr Crouch, who disliked everyone on principle, to Dicky, the boy with a heart condition, six feet tall but with the mind of a four-year-old. As she did her morning round, Euphemia received sympathy from each one of the twenty-four beds’ occupants.
She had been prepared for it, but she found that by the end of the day she was worn out. She went off duty finally, made tea; had a long hot bath and went along to telephone Ellen, who it seemed had settled in nicely, although grieving in her gentle way and anxious to know what was to be done about their home. Euphemia reassured her firmly and went back to her room to write to the boys. By the time she had done that she was tired; another pot of tea with her friends coming off their evening duty, and she was ready for bed. She hadn’t expected to sleep, but she did.
Sir Richard Blake, doing his weekly round the next morning, had something to say too. He considered her a sensible girl, with no nonsense about her, and he had been acquainted with the Colonel. He swept round the ward barking questions at the students trailing behind him, leaving them limp at the ward doors when he had finished, although his patients, to whom he showed nothing but benevolence, regretted to see him go. But he didn’t leave immediately. Euphemia, bidding him good morning and speeding him on his way with a polite ‘Thank you, sir,’ was surprised when he marched into her office with a brusque: ‘A minute of your time, Sister.’
She followed him in and closed the door, trying hard to remember if she had done anything awful since his last round.
‘Sorry to hear about your father.’ The brusqueness hid sympathy. ‘He was a splendid man.’ Sir Richard went over to the window and stood with his back to her, looking out at the dreary side street it over-looked. ‘Dr Bell mentioned that you were thinking of letting the house for a while—seems a good idea—very nice place you’ve got there, ideal for someone who wants peace and quiet. As a mater of fact I’ve mentioned it to someone, he’ll probably get in touch…’
Euphemia addressed the elderly back, aware that Sir Richard was feeling uncomfortable and probably afraid that she might burst into tears.
‘That’s very kind of you, sir, and I’m very grateful. It seems the best thing to do until we’ve had time to discuss things…’ She wasn’t going to tell him that it was in fact the only thing to do. ‘I think Father would have approved—there’s no one to run the house at present and it would be a shame for it to stay empty.’
Her companion went to the door. ‘You’re probably right. You’re a sensible young woman.’ He coughed. ‘No use being sentimental, glad to see you taking it so well.’ He opened the door. ‘I’ll be half an hour later for next week’s round, by the way.’
Euphemia went and sat at her desk, for the moment oblivious of the ward just outside the door.
He had believed her, she thought; no one need know that there wasn’t a penny piece in the family kitty and that the house was mortgaged up to the chimeypots. For the first time since her father’s death she felt cheerful. They would all miss their home abominably, but they were all young; Ellen was barely twenty and would certainly marry and the boys—well, their education at least was safe, and Nicky would go into the Army, probably Billy would too. As for herself… A knock on the door and her staff nurse’s head poked round it stopped her brooding: old Mr Steele was a very nasty colour and would Sister take a look at him?
The days dragged, although they were busy too. She had deliberately changed her days off so that she could work, but now she was free for two days, and just as deliberately she had arranged to go and see Ellen on the first of them and then spend the night at home before embarking on the task of packing up their personal possessions. She had heard no more about a possible tenant; she would have to go to a house agent and put it in their hands.
She was sitting in her office making out the Kardex before she went off duty when one of the student nurses knocked on the door, said: ‘There’s someone to see you, Sister,’ and went away again. Euphemia, head bowed over her report, muttered: ‘OK—who is it?’ and then looked up blankly at Dr van Diederijk’s suave voice: ‘You will forgive me, Sister, but we have an urgent matter to discuss and I am a busy man.’
‘I’m quite busy too,’ observed Euphemia promptly, ‘and I’m going off duty at any minute now.’
This contradictory remark caused him to smile thinly, but he didn’t waste words on it. ‘I should like to rent your house; I hear from Sir Richard Blake that you propose to let it for a period. If you will let me have the name of your solicitor and the rent you are asking the matter should be settled without delay.’
She reviewed mixed feelings. Relief that here was a chance to rent the house quickly and offer respite from the foreclosure of the mortgage, surprise at seeing the man again, and a deep annoyance that it should be he who wanted to live in her home. ‘Why the hurry?’ she asked matter-of-factly.
He gave her an impatient look. ‘It is hardly your business, is it? But since you are curious enough to ask…I come very frequently to London; I am a consultant in several hospitals here and I need somewhere quiet to live. Does that satisfy you?’
Euphemia said sweetly: ‘If it satisfies my solicitor, it will satisfy me.’
‘What rent had you in mind?’
She stared at him silently; she had no idea. After a few moments she said so, and seethed at the thin smile he gave her. ‘Perhaps that should be left for your solicitor to decide?’ he suggested. ‘I had thought…’ He named a sum which made her catch her breath—more than enough to cover the mortgage repayments; almost twice as much as she had hoped to get.
She said sharply: ‘Isn’t that a great deal too much?’ and got another mocking smile.
‘You may be an excellent nurse, Miss Blackstock, but I fear you are no business woman. Your house is worth that amount to me and I think that your solicitor will not dispute that.’
‘But you said you weren’t going to live there all the time?’
‘My home is in Holland, nevertheless I prefer to have a second home here, at least for the foreseeable future. I intend to marry shortly and it will be convenient—I can hardly expect my wife to live in hotels.’
She was diverted by the idea of him marrying; he wasn’t all that young—late thirties, she judged, perhaps younger, it was difficult to tell. She had thought of him as married and had felt vaguely sorry for his wife. She wondered what his fiancée was like, tall and slim and ethereal and as cool as he was, probably… She was recalled to her surroundings by his voice, impatient again. ‘I take it that you have no objection if I view the house.’
‘None
