with the twins on one side. ‘I’ll come like a shot, but you’re going to be fine. Do press on with the oesophageal speech, won’t you?’
‘You’re as bad as Renier, badgering me back to living again.’ But he smiled at her as he wrote, and his goodbye had been warm with gratitude. So had Mrs Wright’s, accompanied by a large box wrapped in gay paper and tied with ribbon. Before Emily set about clearing the room of its complicated equipment and readying it for whoever was to occupy it next, she opened it. Elizabeth Arden, and lashings of it; lotions and powder and perfume, soap and several jars of face creams and a large bottle of bath essence. Emily drew in an excited breath; surely her mediocre looks would improve with such a galaxy of beauty aids? She wrapped everything up again and when she had finally finished her work bore it carefully home.
Louisa, looking it over that evening, agreed that it was a lovely present. ‘Though personally I don’t go for her,’ she observed. ‘I mean, everyone, just everyone, uses Fifth Avenue.’
But Emily refused to be put out. ‘I shall use the lot,’ she declared. ‘It’s bound to do something for me.’
Her young sister looked at her with affection tinged with irritation. Emily was a dear and she had always been able to twist her round her little finger, but she was a bit wet; it would take more than Elizabeth Arden to change her ordinary features into anything glamorous. ‘It’s worth a try,’ she agreed. ‘I say, now you’re back for a day or two, I can go up to London, can’t I? I simply must have some undies…’
There was really no need to go up to town. The shops were adequate enough for Louisa’s modest wants; Emily recognised it as an excuse and agreed without demur. Louisa had earned some fun. It didn’t occur to her that she had earned some fun too, but she was happy enough in the ugly little house, cleaning and washing and taking the twins out for the long walks she had promised. The weather had cheered up a little too, so she took them down the road and then pushed the pram along the bridle path, rutted and muddy, but the woods and fields on either side, although not quite country, were pleasant. She marched along briskly, thinking about Doctor Wright and the Professor. She had heard from various friends at the hospital that he wouldn’t be there much longer and she felt a strange regret, which considering she didn’t like him, seemed strange.
Louisa, happy now that she had no need to be tied to the house all day, was disposed to be generous on Emily’s last day. ‘I’ll take the twins,’ she offered, ‘so you can go to the shops if you want to.’
There were one or two things Emily wanted, she accepted at once and then at the last minute had to alter her plans because William, cutting a tooth, became fretful and feverish. ‘He’ll have to stay indoors,’ she said, hiding disappointment. ‘If you don’t mind staying with him, I’ll take Claire out this afternoon.’
‘What about your shopping?’
‘I’ll do that on the way home tomorrow.’
It was a cold day and grey as was to be expected in November, but there was no wind and Emily, pushing Claire briskly in her pram, was quickly glowing. She had taken the bridle path again, away from the streets of small prim houses because although she never said so, she hated them. One day if she was lucky, she would have a small cottage in the country with a garden. There was plenty of time, she was only twenty-three and if she got a Sister’s post soon she would start to save money. It didn’t need to be full of mod cons, she could improve it over the years, and sometimes one could buy up a small place fairly cheaply if it hadn’t been modernised.
There was no point in dwelling on the fact that she would probably not marry. She only met the young doctors she worked with in hospital and none of them had shown any interest in her to date. It would be nice if she did, of course…her mind wandered off into a vague dream so that she didn’t at first hear the horse’s hooves ahead of her, and when she did she merely turned the pram towards the hedge so that there was room for the beast to pass. She was leaning over the pram handle, encouraging Claire to take a look at the animal, when it trotted round the bend which had been hiding it. It was a very large horse, which was a good thing, for its rider was large too—the Professor, sitting at his ease and looking, as always, elegant. Emily, taken by surprise, gaped. The Professor’s handsome features, however, remained calm. He reined in his horse, got down and said civilly: ‘Good afternoon, Nurse Seymour.’
She muttered a greeting, rather red in the face, and bent to inspect Claire. ‘I didn’t know that you were married.’ He turned to smile at Emily, and the red deepened.
‘I’m not,’ said Emily.
His expression didn’t alter, only his heavy lids drooped over his eyes so that she had no idea what he was thinking. ‘She is very like you,’ he observed. ‘What is her name?’
‘Claire.’
‘Charming. You live close by?’
She jerked her head sideways. ‘Yes, in one of those houses over there—the last in a row, so it’s not too bad.’ She added earnestly: ‘I was lucky to get it.’ She went on, to make it clear: ‘It’s not so easy to get a house, you know—not if you’re not married.’
‘Er—probably not. I’m lost in admiration that you can work full time and run a house and a baby as well.’
‘Well, Louisa—she’s my sister, is staying with me until she can go to school for modelling—she’s waiting for a place.’
His eyes flickered over her sensible coat, wellingtons and woolly cap pulled well down. ‘She must be a pretty girl.’
‘Oh, she is,’ said Emily enthusiastically, ‘and she’s only just eighteen.’
He smiled faintly. ‘And you, Emily? how old are you?’
‘Twenty-three, almost twenty-four.’
‘And Claire?’
‘Eight months.’
‘You moved here because of her, of course,’ he suggested smoothly.
Emily had her mouth open to explain and then thought better of it. He couldn’t possibly be interested. She frowned a little and said ‘Yes’ and nothing more. And then, because he just stood there, saying nothing, she said: ‘I must be getting on; it’s cold for Claire if I stand still.’
‘Of course.’ He got on his horse, raised his crop in salute and rode on, leaving her to continue her walk while she discussed the meeting with Claire, who chuckled and crowed and didn’t answer back, which was nice. She was almost home again when the thought crossed her mind that the Professor might have thought Claire to be her baby. She stopped in the middle of the pavement, so that people hurrying past had to push against her.
‘But that’s absurd,’ said Emily, out loud. ‘I’m not married.’
The elderly woman squeezing past her, running over her wellingtons with one of those beastly little carriers on wheels, paused to say: ‘Then you ought to be, my girl!’
Emily delivered a telling kick at the carrier; better than nothing, for she could think of nothing to answer back.
She went back on duty the next morning, on day duty now, but still on ENT. The wards were as busy as ever and Mr Spencer cheered her up by the warmth of his welcome. Of the Professor there was no sign; she went back home that evening wondering what had happened to him. She hadn’t liked to ask and she had
