too, and a quiet, pleasant voice—everyone who knew her or had met her wondered how it was that she had reached the age of twenty-eight without getting married. She sometimes wondered herself; perhaps it was because she had been waiting for someone like Steven to come along—they had known each other for three years now, and for the last two she had taken it for granted that one day he would ask her to marry him. Only he hadn’t—she knew that he wanted a senior post, and just lately he had been talking about a partnership. Last time they had been out together he had observed that there was no point in marrying until he was firmly established.
She frowned a little, remembering that last time had been more than a week ago. He had telephoned twice since then to cancel the meetings they had arranged. He was Surgical Registrar at St Edwin’s, and she had always accepted the fact that his work came first and because of that she had made no demur and no effort to waylay him in the hospital; but tonight should really be all right—she hoped that they would go to that restaurant in Monmouth Street where the food was good and the company gay. She suddenly wanted to be gay.
She came out of her brown study with a start to find Dr van Elven staring at her with thoughtful eyes. She smiled.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said. ‘Do you want the next patient? It’s old Mr Gregor.’
The doctor went on staring. ‘Yes. I have studied his X-rays, and read his notes through twice, Sister.’ His voice was dry.
She went faintly pink. She liked Dr van Elven very much; they got on well together, although she sometimes felt that she didn’t know him at all. She knew from the hospital grapevine that he was unmarried, that he had had an unhappy love affair when he had been a young man, and that now, at forty, he was a prize any woman would be glad to win. Rumour had it that he had plenty of money, a flourishing practice in Harley Street, and a beautiful house in Richmond. Sarah considered privately that the reason that they got on so well was because they had no romantic interest in each other. But now she had annoyed him.
‘I really am sorry, sir,’ she said with a genuine humility, because his time was precious and she had been wasting it. ‘I—I was thinking.’
‘So I could see. If you would perhaps postpone your thoughts we could get finished and you will be free to enjoy your evening.’
The pink in her cheeks deepened. ‘However did you know I was going out?’ she demanded.
‘I didn’t,’ he answered blandly. ‘I was thought-reading. And now, Mr Gregor, please, Sister.’
The rest of the afternoon passed smoothly. The last patient came and went; Sarah started to pile X-rays and Path. Lab. forms and notes in tidy heaps. Dr van Elven rammed his papers untidily into his briefcase and stood up. He was almost at the door when Sarah asked:
‘Are you really going to look after Mrs Brown’s cat, sir?’
‘You doubt my word, Sister?’
She looked shocked. ‘My goodness, no. Only you don’t look as though you like cats …’ She stopped, fidgeting with the papers in her hands.
He said in surprise, ‘Have you looked at me long enough to form even that opinion of me?’ He laughed in genuine amusement, so she was able to laugh too.
‘You look like a dog man,’ she observed pleasantly.
‘You’re quite right, Sister. I have two dogs—it is my housekeeper who is the cat-lover. But my dogs are well-mannered enough to tolerate Mrs Brown’s cat.’ He turned on his heel. ‘Goodnight. I hope you have a pleasant evening.’
His remarks diverted her thoughts into happy channels. She hurried up with her work, sent the nurses off duty and closed the department for the day. Tomorrow they would be busy again, but now she was free. She walked briskly across the courtyard in the direction of the Nurses’ Home, and halted halfway over to allow Dr van Elven’s car to pass her. It whispered past, as elegant as its driver, who lifted a gloved hand in salute. She watched it slide through the big double gates, and wondered for the hundredth time why the doctor should need a car as powerful as an Iso Grigo to take him to and from his work. Maybe he took long trips at weekends. She felt suddenly rather sorry for him, because she was so happy herself, with an evening in Steven’s company before her, while Dr van Elven had only a housekeeper to greet him when he got home.
When she went down to the Home entrance half an hour later, she could see Steven’s car outside the gates. She had put on the blue crêpe and covered it with an off-white wool coat against the chilly March wind. She walked to the Mini Cooper, wondering why he hadn’t come to the Home as usual; but when he opened the door for her to get in beside him, she forgot everything but the pleasure of seeing him again. She said, ‘Hullo, Steven,’ and he returned her smile briefly and greeted her even more briefly. She looked at his dark good-looking face and decided that he was probably tired; which was a pity, because she was looking forward to their evening out. He started the car and said with a cheerfulness which seemed a little forced:
‘I thought we’d go to that place you like in Monmouth Street,’ and before she could reply launched into an account of his day’s work. When he had finished she made a soothing reply and then, thinking to amuse him, told him about Dr van Elven’s offer to look after Mrs Brown’s cat. He was amused, but not in the way she had intended, for he burst out laughing and said to shock her:
‘Good lord, the man’s a fool—bothering about some old biddy!’
Sarah breathed a little fast. ‘No, he’s not a fool—he’s just a kind man, and Mrs Brown’s going to die in a month or so. The cat’s all she has!’
Steven glanced at her with impatience. ‘Really, Sarah darling, you’re just as much a fool as your precious old van Elven. You’re not going to get very far if you’re going to get sentimental over an old woman.’
He applied himself to his driving, and she sat silent, biting back the sharp retort she would have liked to make. They had often argued before, but now it was almost as if he were trying to make her angry. He parked the car, and they walked the short distance to the restaurant, talking meanwhile, rather carefully, of completely impersonal things. It was warm in the small room but relaxing and carefree. They had a drink and ordered entrecôte mon Plaisir, which was delicious, and then cherry tart, and all the while they continued to talk about everything and everyone but themselves. They were drinking their coffee when Sarah said:
‘I’ve got a week’s holiday soon. I’m going home—I wondered if you’d like to drive me down and stay a couple of days,’ and the moment she had said it, wished it unsaid, for she had seen the look on his face—irritation, annoyance and even a faint panic. He said far too quickly:
‘I can’t get away,’ not quite meeting her eye, and she felt a cold hand clutch at her heart. There was an awkward silence until she said in a level voice, ‘Steven, you’re beating about the bush. Just tell me whatever it is—because that’s why you brought me here, isn’t it, to tell me something?’
He nodded. ‘I feel a bit of a swine …’ he began, and looked taken aback when she said briskly, ‘I daresay you do, but you can hardly expect me to be sympathetic about it until I know what the reason for that is.’
She looked calm and a little pale; her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, out of sight. She knew, with awful clarity, that Steven was about to throw her over; a situation she had never envisaged—no, that wasn’t quite correct, she told herself honestly. She had wondered a great deal lately why he never mentioned marriage any more.
He
