ignored her sudden delight. ‘Dutch?’ she hazarded. ‘Do you work in England—no, Scotland?’
‘I’ve been on a course at the Royal Infirmary in Edinburgh. I’m on my way back to Holland, but I intend to spend a day or so in London before I cross.’
Julia drank her tea, conscious of a sense of loss because presently he would be gone and she would never see him again. He got up off the bed and picked up the tray with the two empty cups and went off.
Julia went downstairs herself a few minutes later and found the old man sitting by the gas stove, drinking tea. She said good morning pleasantly and was told there was nothing good about it, so she busied herself getting her patient’s diet and went back upstairs with it. It was another ten minutes by the time she had given the insulin and arranged Mary more comfortably to have her tea and bread and butter, and when she got back to the kitchen the old man had gone. She set about laying the table and got out the frying pan once more; lucky that there were plenty of eggs and a quantity of bacon, she thought, peering into the old-fashioned, roomy larder. She was making the tea when the three men came in, Willy and Bert very apologetic at having slept through the night’s calamities. They looked well rested though, and volunteered cheerfully to do any chores she might choose to set them.
Bert looked at Julia an asked worriedly, ‘And what’s to be done about you, Nurse? We’ll ‘ave to go the minute we can—will you be able to come with us? You can’t stay here alone.’
‘She won’t be alone.’ The doctor’s quiet voice sounded quite certain about that. ‘I’ll stay until the patient’s own doctor can take over and the nurse can get here.’
‘That’s quite unnecessary,’ said Julia quickly, ‘I’m perfectly able to manage…’ she remembered how she had awakened him that morning and went faintly pink, and before she could finish what she was going to say, Bert observed with obvious relief, ‘Ah, well, if the doc’s going to be ‘ere, that’s OK, ain’t it, Willy? Can’t do better than that.’
‘Then that’s settled,’ said Dr van den Werff, ignoring the light of battle in Julia’s fine eyes. ‘In any case, we can do nothing today except get this mausoleum warm. If the snow holds off we might reconnoitre later on…in the meantime shall we share out the chores?’
Something which he did with a pleasant authority which neither Willy nor Bert disputed, and which Julia, even if she had wished to do so, was unable to argue against because she had to go back to her patient, leaving him to explain to the old retainer, who had appeared from nowhere to join them at breakfast, just why they were forced to remain at Drumlochie House for at least another day.
CHAPTER TWO
JULIA HAD PLENTY to do, for not only did she have to see Mary comfortably settled and work out her diet for the day; there were meals to cook for the five of them as well. Fortunately she was a good cook; at one o’clock she was able to call them into a solid meal of soup, followed by bacon omelettes with jacket potatoes done in the Aga, and a baked rice pudding to follow, and when she would have apologised for the plainness of the fare they looked at her with astonishment, declaring that it was one of the best meals they had eaten for a very long time.
It was after this warming meal that Julia found herself with the doctor while he went over Mary’s tests and wrote up the insulin. Mary had responded very well to the penicillin; her chest condition had already improved, although she was sorry enough for herself, but she was too listless to complain about her diet, and for once there seemed no danger of her going into another coma. Julia had given her another penicillin injection at noon and rather to her surprise, her patient had made very little fuss about it and had even laughed a little at the doctor’s jokes when he came to see her. Julia stood by him while he wrote up the insulin chart for the rest of the day and as he was putting his pen away, said,
‘I—we are very grateful to you, doctor. Mary’s better, isn’t she?’
‘Yes.’ He gave her a thoughtful glance. ‘Are you in a hurry to be gone?’
‘If you mean do I have a job to go to, no. I left St Clare’s three days ago—I came here with Mary to oblige her parents—they’re abroad, and Matron…’
‘You’re going on holiday?’ He put the question so gently that she answered him without hesitation.
‘No, I’m going home to my brother’s—his wife—that is, he thinks it would be nice if I stayed with them for a bit and…’ She stopped, for she really had no intention of telling him anything about herself. ‘Oh, well,’ she finished airily, ‘it’s all arranged,’ and if she had expected him to press for more of an answer than that she was disappointed, for all he said was, ‘We’ve dug out the car and ambulance. If it doesn’t snow any more today Bert and Willy might get away in the morning.’
Julia was examining what he had written with unnecessary interest.
‘Did you mean what you said?’ she asked, not looking at him, ‘I mean about staying? Don’t you have to get home?’
‘I can’t very well leave my patient, can I?’ he wanted to know with an air of reasonableness which she found infuriating. ‘I can’t deny it’s most inconvenient, but then we’re all being inconvenienced, aren’t we?’ He gave her a sideways look. ‘Would you like to go for a walk?’
Julia gave him a surprised look and then said sensibly, ‘Yes, but I can’t—I haven’t any boots and I can’t leave Mary.’
‘We’ll get the old retainer to fit you out, and Bert and Willy can mount guard over Mary for an hour. You’ve got to get some fresh air some time.’
She was given no more chance to protest but caught firmly by the arm and walked back to the kitchen, where Bert and Willy immediately agreed to look after their patient and the old man, winkled out of some cosy haunt of his own, produced rubber boots which more or less fitted and a great hooded cape which reached her ankles and had obviously been cut to fit someone of majestic proportions. The doctor fastened the hood under her chin with a large safety pin Bert obligingly produced, got into his own outdoor clothes and opened the back door.
They made their way through the snow and, presently, out of the gate at the back of the garden. It led on to moorland, which, in the right kind of weather, must have contained magnificent views. Now only the nearest of the foot-hills could be seen. The Cheviots, she knew, were close but shrouded in the still lingering mist into which the trees ahead of them marched, to disappear into its gloom. ‘Do we know where we’re going?’ Julia asked with interest.
‘Vaguely. We’re quite safe as long as it doesn’t snow, and I don’t think it will.’ He took her arm to help her along and at the touch of his hand she felt a little glow of warmth deep inside her.
‘It’s only three weeks to Christmas,’ she observed, trying to ignore the glow. She would be with her brother and his family and his friend James would come over for Christmas dinner. She frowned at the thought and the doctor said, ‘And you’re not looking forward to it.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘Well, no, not very. I’ve spent my last few Christmases in hospital and it was rather fun…’
‘But that’s not the reason.’
He was far too perceptive. Julia stood still and looked around her. ‘How quiet it is,’ she almost whispered. She looked up at the lowering sky too and her hood fell back.
