the round and probably he was harbouring some petty grievance…
‘Yesterday,’ he told her smoothly, ‘I told you that I looked forward to seeing someone in your place; to dismiss any misunderstandings on that point, I should point out that it would not be for the reason which I feel sure springs instantly to your mind.’ He looked down his magnificent nose at her. ‘Women are illogical.’ He opened the door but turned to look at her, gaping at him, as he left. ‘Seen young Longman?’ he wanted to know.
She hadn’t, he hadn’t ‘phoned either and she had had no time to find out if he was back in the hospital. She said coldly. ‘No, I haven’t. Neither of us have much leisure…’
‘Sarcasm does not become you, Julia.’
When he had gone, she sat down at her desk again and stared down at the list of things, neatly tabled by Pat, that needed attention. Presently she picked up the ‘phone and began her daily battle with the laundry, but her heart wasn’t in it, there was too much on her mind.
She saw Nigel briefly on the way back from her dinner. He was so obviously delighted with himself that she hadn’t the heart to ask him why he hadn’t ‘phoned her. ‘Exactly what I want,’ he told her enthusiastically, his pleasant open face beaming. He plunged into details and when he at length paused she asked: ‘And is there a flat going with the job?’
‘Flat? Oh yes, there’s a house nearby with three flats—quite nice, I believe.’
‘Didn’t you go and have a look at it?’
‘No, love—the whole interview and so on took much longer than I had expected and I wanted to get home.’
‘Yes, of course. I rang your mother.’
‘She told me. I meant to give you a ring, but my father was keen to go down to the pub and talk about things…’
All quite reasonable thought Julia, so why was she feeling cross? ‘You’re off this evening?’
He nodded. ‘We’ll go out, shall we, and celebrate?’
She smiled widely at him. ‘Lovely. Seven o’clock by the porter’s lodge?’
She had talked too long, she hurried back to the ward, happy again.
She got off duty punctually because Pat, bless her, was never late on duty. She fed the kitten, showered and poked around in her wardrobe for something to wear. There was a green thing she hadn’t worn for quite a while, a straight sheath which showed off her figure to perfection, and highlighted her hair. She didn’t look too bad, she conceded and remembered to put on a pair of only moderately high heels. Nigel and she were exactly the same height but if she wore the high heels she preferred she topped him by an inch or so and he didn’t like it. She had plenty of time, she sat down for a little while, the kitten on her lap. ‘I must get you a basket tomorrow,’ she told him, ‘and give you a name.’ She thought for a minute, ‘I found you in this street, didn’t I? So you’ll be Wellington.’
She kissed his small furry head, picked up her purse and with her loose coat over her shoulders, went back to the hospital. Nigel was there and, most annoyingly, so was Professor van der Wagema, talking to him.
They paused in their talk to wish her a good evening, remark upon the delightful night, and then resume their conversation. Julia, standing between them, with Nigel’s hand on her shoulder, listened with half an ear. Nigel admired the professor and although they rarely had much to do with each other they seemed to have found a great deal to talk about. She was enlightened about this presently: ‘Professor van der Wagema knows my new chief very well,’ Nigel told her. ‘They were up at Cambridge together.’
‘How interesting.’ Julia, wanting her dinner, just managed not to look at the big clock on the wall in front of her, while the professor, listening with grave attention to what Nigel was saying, studied her charming person from under heavy lids.
When the conversation had broken up and Nigel and Julia went on their way, Nigel enthused about the professor while they drove through the busy streets to the small restaurant in Old Bailey which they invariably patronised. It was fairly near to the hospital for one thing and the food was French and fairly cheap and since they had been eating there for a year or more, they were given a corner table where they could talk in peace. Nigel was still extolling the professor’s brilliance as they sat down. ‘Pity you two don’t get on,’ he observed cheerfully, ‘although he has a great opinion of you as a nurse. Told me the ward wouldn’t be the same without you.’
‘Well,’ said Julia reasonably, ‘he’ll just have to get used to that, won’t he? Pat will step into my shoes when I leave.’
She broke off to study the menu; since this was by way of being a celebration she chose rather lavishly and sipped the iced Dubonnet she had asked for. ‘You always have sherry,’ commented Nigel.
‘I want something different this evening. After all, we’re celebrating, aren’t we?’
He beamed at her. ‘Rather. I start at the beginning of November, that gives them time to get another man to replace me. We could get married next summer.’
‘Next summer?’ The surprise in her voice made him look up. ‘But that’s months away. Why can’t we have a quiet wedding this autumn—it’s almost October already Nigel. Why do we have to wait?’
He smiled and took her hand on the table. ‘Look, darling, it’s good sense to wait a bit; I can save up a little and so can you and I can work my way in before you come—I’ll know a few people by then and you won’t be lonely.’
‘But I won’t be lonely with you,’ she protested.
‘I’ll be working hard all day, most days,’ he pointed out patiently. ‘Mother thought it a very good idea. I can go home for my weekends when I get them so I shan’t get bored.’
‘And me?’ asked Julia, forgetting her grammar in the urgency to make him see sense. ‘What about me?’
‘Well you can come down to Mother’s—you’ll be due some leave again soon, won’t you?’
It wasn’t at all what she’d planned; it seemed to her that their future was being taken out of their hands and arranged by his mother, but it was no good rushing her fences, she would have to think of something…
‘I dare say that would be a good idea,’ she said quietly and was rewarded by his contented smile.
They didn’t talk any more about their future that evening; Nigel still had a lot to tell her about his new job, it took up the whole of dinner, and he was still explaining the layout of the hospital in Bristol when he stopped the car outside her little flat.
‘Coming up for coffee?’ asked Julia, and added, ‘I’ve got a kitten, he’s called Wellington.’
‘You’ll have to find him a home when you come down to Bristol,’ said Nigel. ‘They don’t allow cats or dogs.’
The resentment which had been smouldering just below the surface all the evening gave her eyes an emerald glint. ‘Oh, indeed? In that case we’ll have to find somewhere else to live. I’ll not give him away.’
Nigel laughed tolerantly. ‘You’ll change your mind, darling—you can hardly
