Mini drew up, was wedged expertly into the space between two other cars and its driver got out and mounted the few shallow steps before the door without haste. He paused within a foot of her, and she was conscious of his eyes resting upon her for the briefest of moments before he walked, still without haste, across to the porter’s lodge. She was left with the impression of size and height and unhurried calm, but by the time she turned round to take another discreet look, there was no sign of him.
She was half-way up the stone staircase to the first floor when she met Miss Stokes coming down. Miss Stokes, who by virtue of the Salmon Scheme had turned from Office Sister Stokes to a Number Seven in the hierarchy of the nursing profession, smiled and stopped. She had been at Queen’s for a very long time, long before Serena had arrived there to do her training, six years earlier. She was a pleasant, good-natured body, in whom young nurses willingly confided and with whom the older, more experienced ones conferred.
‘Busy day, Sister Potts?’ she wanted to know, and sounded as though she were really interested.
‘Very, Miss Stokes, and if you can spare a second, when is it convenient to have a word with you?’
‘Now,’ said Miss Stokes, who was an opportunist by nature.
‘Nurse Harris—’ began Serena, and her superior nodded understandingly. ‘Could she be moved, do you think? She’s quite unsuited to Cas work, she—she isn’t quite quick enough.’
‘I know—I don’t know where to put that girl. She’s theoretically brilliant and she hasn’t even mastered the art of making a patient comfortable. I had hoped that in the Accident Room she would be able to apply her knowledge.’
‘She does,’ said Serena, ‘but the patients can’t always wait while she does.’
Miss Stokes allowed herself a smile. ‘I can well imagine she’s somewhat of a responsibility. I’ll move her, Sister, don’t worry.’
‘Thank you, Miss Stokes.’ The two ladies smiled a farewell to each other and went their separate ways; Miss Stokes to half an hour’s peace and quiet in her office, Serena to run up another flight of stairs and go through the swing doors at the top to the surgical floor. Half-way down the corridor she met one of the staff nurses and asked her if Sister was around, and was told that she was, with one of the consultants.
‘I’ve come to see the patient we sent up this morning, Staff— Doctor van Amstel. Is it OK if I go in?’
Staff thought so. ‘He’s in number twenty-one, Sister,’ she advised her, and darted off with the faintly harassed air of someone who had a lot to do and not enough time in which to do it.
Number twenty-one’s door was closed, Serena tapped and went in and came to an abrupt halt just inside the door because the doctor had a visitor; the large man who had got out of the dilapidated Mini—he had draped his length into the only easy chair in the room and unfolded it now at the sight of her, to stand silent and faintly smiling. It was the patient who spoke first.
‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he remarked cheerfully, ‘to brighten up an otherwise very dull day.’
‘Dull?’ Serena was astonished; people who had car accidents and broke legs and what have you didn’t usually refer to such happenings as dull.
‘Oh, yes, only not any more—it’s turned out to be a red letter day, I shouldn’t have met you otherwise, should I?’
She went faintly pink because although she was used to admiration, it wasn’t usually quite so direct. She said repressively: ‘I hope you’re feeling more comfortable, Doctor,’ put a hand behind her and started to turn the door handle. ‘I’ll come back later—or tomorrow…’
‘Don’t go on my account,’ said the large man with lazy good humour, and his voice was the voice of the man who had spoken to her on the telephone. ‘When Laurens remembers I daresay he’ll introduce us, although I believe there to be no need—Miss Potts, is it not? I’m the patient’s cousin, Gijs van Amstel.’
He smiled gently and engulfed her hand in his large one.
‘How do you do?’ Serena wanted to know politely, and remembering, added: ‘Why did you say incredible?’
‘Ah, yes—so I did. You see, your voice isn’t the kind of voice I would associate with someone called Miss Potts.’
‘He’s right,’ said his cousin. ‘What is your name? And you had better tell me or I shall call you my beautiful gipsy and cause gossip.’
Serena choked; very much on her dignity, she said: ‘Potts is a good old English name,’ and before any one could take her up on it, went on rapidly: ‘I only came…I didn’t know you had a visitor…I must be going.’
‘All right, Gipsy Potts,’ the young man in the bed was laughing at her, but very nicely, ‘but I haven’t got a visitor, only Gijs, and he doesn’t count—he’s come over to bail me out and get a solicitor and see about the car.’
For someone who didn’t count it seemed quite a tall order; perhaps he was a poor relation or a junior partner. She took a lightning look at the man standing on the other side of the bed. He was good-looking, she admitted rather grudgingly, if one should fancy a high-bridged nose and a determined chin, and although his tweed suit was superbly cut and of good cloth, it was decidedly shabby. He looked—she wasn’t sure of the right word, for lazy wasn’t quite right, perhaps placid was the better word, although she had once or twice detected hidden amusement behind the placidity. She wasn’t sure if she liked him—besides, he had been beastly about his poor injured cousin.
The poor injured cousin continued: ‘I shan’t be in bed long, you know. As soon as I can get a good stout stick in my hand, the stitches out of my head and this damned headache gone, we’ll go out and live it up.’ He looked beseechingly at her. ‘You will, won’t you? And don’t look like that—do say you will.’
She found herself smiling at him because she wanted to see him again quite badly; besides, he had the kind of smile to charm any woman. She answered carefully. ‘Well, we’ll see how you go on, shall we, Doctor van Amstel?’ and looked away to encounter the surprisingly sharp stare of his cousin. His placid expression hadn’t altered at all; all the same, she had the strong impression that he had been waiting to hear what she would say.
‘Call me Laurens,’ commanded the younger Doctor van Amstel.
Serena looked down at his still pale face on the pillow. ‘I’m going now,’ she stated in her pleasant voice. ‘I hope you have a good night.’
She went round the bed and shook the hand the older man was offering.
‘I hope you don’t have too much trouble getting things sorted out,’ she remarked, and thanked him politely as he went to the door and opened it for her.
She met Joan outside in the corridor. Joan was tall and slim and blonde and they were firm friends. She grinned engagingly when she saw Serena and said with a chuckle: ‘Stealing a march on me, ducky? I know you saw him first…’
‘I only came up to see how he was—I didn’t know he’d got someone with him—some cousin or other…’
‘Yes, rather nice, I thought, though I’ve only said hullo so far. A bit sleepy, I thought.’
Serena
