we have to quarrel…’ She hadn’t meant her voice to sound so anxious; she caught at the tatters of her pride and was glad of it when he snapped: ‘Quarrel? I’m not quarrelling, I’ve other things to do than waste time on a prissy girl like you…’
‘I cannot agree wholly with you,’ remarked Mr van Diederijk from the open door. ‘Indeed, if there were the time, I would suggest most strongly that you should eat your words, but it is true that you are wasting your time, Mr—er—Penrose; they are looking for you in the Accident Room, I believe.’ He glanced at Nick’s bleep which he had switched off and now switched on again with a muttered grumble, not looking at anyone. And when he turned to go out of the door, Mr van Diederijk made no effort to move. ‘A quick apology to Sister?’ he suggested with a smile which Alethea, watching fascinated, could only describe as sunny, and Nick, furious, turned again and mumbled something at her before brushing past the other man. When he had gone there was silence for a few moments; Alethea was fighting to regain her calm and her companion seemed happy enough just to stand there, looking at the various notices pinned on the walls.
Presently Mr van Diederijk asked gently: ‘Off duty, Sister?’
She wanted to pick up her pen, but her hand was shaking. All the same she achieved a very creditable: ‘In about ten minutes or so, sir.’
‘Then may I beg you to take pity on me and come out to dinner?’ He sighed loudly. ‘London can be a lonely place for a foreigner.’
She was in no state to care what she did or where she went; she supposed that she might just as well go out with him as spend the evening in her room, which was what she had intended to do. All the same, she was too nice a girl to make use of him. ‘You might enjoy yourself better on your own, I’m not very good company,’ she pointed out.
He shrugged huge shoulders. ‘We don’t need to talk unless we want to.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Anyway, it might be better than spending an evening in your room, without your supper.’
Her fine eyes flew to his face. ‘How did you know…?’ and when she saw that he wasn’t going to answer her question: ‘Well, thank you, yes, I’d like to come.’
‘Good. Half past seven at the entrance, then?’ He turned as Sue came in, wished her good evening, passed the remark that he mustn’t interfere with the giving of the report, asked if he might take a quick look at the boy who had been operated upon that morning, and went quietly away.
‘He’s nice,’ breathed Sue. ‘I could go for him in a big way. He’ll be married, of course, the nice ones always are.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Alethea, not particularly caring. ‘Everything’s fairly quiet; you’ll need to keep an eye on that boy and the two who came in last night, I gave them some dope at five o’clock, but they’ll need another lot to settle them. They’re written up PRN and Mr Timms will be down before eight o’clock, so let him know if you’re not happy. As for the rest…’
She plunged into a quick account of what had happened since Sue had gone off duty at dinner time, put her desk tidy and stood up to go off duty herself. It had been a horrid day, thank heaven it was over. Not quite over, though; she still had the evening to get through, but perhaps in Mr van Diederijk’s restful company it would go swiftly. She sighed as she made her way through the hospital; she was sure that he was a very nice man, but he wasn’t Nick. Nick—whom she ought to hate and despise instead of loving.
CHAPTER TWO
ALETHEA INSPECTED her wardrobe in a dispirited fashion, only too conscious of the fact that on the previous evening she had been wild with excitement at the idea of dining with Nick. She wondered what kind of a place they would go to and played safe with a silk jersey dress under the rather nice mohair coat she had treated herself to only a few weeks ago. She was such a pretty girl that even her miserable feelings couldn’t do more than dim her beauty. Just as she was ready she very nearly decided not to go; she wasn’t being quite fair, for she would be dull company and Mr van Diederijk was too nice to treat badly. Then she remembered that she still owed him the money for last night’s dinner; Nick wasn’t going to pay, so she would have to. She popped her cheque book into her bag and went downstairs.
Mr van Diederijk, standing with his back to her by the big glass doors of the hospital entrance, looked enormous. He would have to have everything made for him, she reflected foolishly as she crossed the hall, and what a frightful expense! He was wearing a grey suit, beautifully tailored, and his shoes were the sort that one didn’t notice, but when one did, one could see that they were wildly expensive, too. He turned as she reached him and she realised that he had seen her reflected in the glass of the doors. His greeting was pleasantly matter-of-fact and his glance friendly but quite impersonal. ‘Delightfully punctual,’ he murmured, and opened the door for her to go through.
There was a car parked close by, a Jaguar XJ-S, gun-metal grey and upholstered in a pearl grey leather. He ushered her into it, got in beside her and drove out of the hospital forecourt. ‘Do you know Le Français?’ he asked as he turned the car’s elegant nose into the evening traffic. ‘I had wondered if we might go out of town, but you look tired—it’s been rather a day, hasn’t it? Perhaps another time—You like French cooking?’
He rambled on in his quiet deep voice so that all she had to do was murmur from time to time. Alethea felt herself relaxing; she had been right, he was a delightful, undemanding companion. She found herself wondering if she was dressed to suit the occasion; she hadn’t taken very great pains and he had said that she looked tired, which meant, in all probability, that she looked plain. He cleared up the little problem for her by observing: ‘You look very nice, but then of course you are a beautiful girl, even when you’re tired.’
He spoke in such a matter-of-fact way that she wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a statement of fact. She said ‘Thank you,’ and then: ‘It has been a busy day.’
They discussed it easily and at some length without being too serious about it until he parked and walked her across the pavement into the restaurant. It seemed that he was known there; they were greeted with a warm civility and when she had left her coat and taken a dissatisfied look at herself in the cloakroom, she found him waiting for her in the tiny foyer, talking with a man who she guessed might be the proprietor.
The bar was small but cosy and she was given time to choose her drink; she had become so accustomed to Nick ordering a dry sherry that for a moment she had to think. ‘I don’t really care for dry sherry,’ she told her companion. ‘What else is there?’
‘Dubonnet?’ he enquired placidly, ‘or how about a Madeira?’
She chose the latter and when the barman had served Mr van Diederijk with a gin and tonic, she took a sip of her own drink. It was nice, and even nicer because she had been asked what she would like and not just had a glass handed to her. They sat side by side, talking about nothing much and deciding what they should eat; soup with garlic, Barquettes Girondines for Alethea and Entrecote Bordelais for her companion. She sat back feeling more peaceful than she had done since the previous evening, while he chose the wines.
Getting ready for bed, much later, she found herself unable to remember just what they had talked about; they hadn’t hurried over their meal, and she paused in her hairbrushing to drool a little over the memory of the zabaglione and then worried because the memory of its deliciousness was so much sharper than their conversation. It was just as she was on the edge of sleep that she realised that she hadn’t thought about Nick at all, not once they had started their meal. Simultaneously she remembered that Mr van Diederijk had suggested that they might go to a theatre one evening. She had accepted, too, with the
