was propelling her gently away from the ward. ‘No, you won’t—I promise I won’t tell.’
She shook her head again, suddenly shy. ‘I must go—I’m late…’
He said patiently, ‘Well, we’ve already discussed that, haven’t we? Get your coat, there’s a good girl, I’m very hungry.’
‘Yes, but…’
‘I shall call you Charity, a pleasant name. Also I still haven’t been told what went wrong.’ He gave her a gentle shove and she went back to the office and fetched her coat, muttered about shopping to an inquisitive Miss Hudson, and found him waiting where she had left him.
She was quite sure that she was doing something absolutely outrageous in the eyes of such as Miss Hudson or the sister on Women’s Medical. Prudence urged her to make an excuse and go to the canteen, but for once she turned a deaf ear; it struck her with some force that life, as she lived it, was becoming increasingly dull and she was shocked to discover at the same time that Sidney had done nothing to enliven it. Looking at the large man standing beside her, it seemed likely that he might brighten it, even if only for half an hour. She smiled with sudden brilliance at him and he blinked.
‘No time for a decent meal,’ he observed pleasantly as they went down to the entrance and, under old Symes’s eye, crossed the hall. ‘There’s a tolerable pub round the corner where we might get a decent sandwich. You don’t mind a pub?’
Sidney had never taken her into one; ladies, he had said, never went into bars.
‘The Cat and Fiddle? Where all the students go? The nursing staff aren’t allowed…’ She beamed at him. ‘But I’m not a nurse…’
‘And I hope never will be.’ They were walking along the busy pavement and he took her arm to guide her down a side street.
She said worriedly, ‘Oh, would I be so bad at it? I wondered if I might train—I’m a bit old…’
She was annoyed when he answered placidly. ‘Far too old. But you’d like to change your job?’
‘Well, yes. The work is interesting but I never see anyone but Miss Hudson.’
‘And me.’ He opened the pub door and ushered her inside the saloon bar, empty but for a handful of sober types drinking Guinness and eating something in a basket.
The professor swept her to a table in the corner, sat her down and asked, ‘Drinks—what will you have?’
She found his company exhilarating. Gin and tonic, which she never drank, would have been appropriate. ‘Oh, coffee, if I can have it—I’ve a mass of work this afternoon.’
He smiled gently. ‘So have I. Sandwiches, or something in a basket?’
‘Sandwiches, please. I cook a meal when I get home in the evening.’
‘After a day’s work?’ He sounded vaguely interested, no more.
‘Oh, I like cooking.’ She looked away so that he wouldn’t ask any more questions and he went over to the bar to give their order.
They didn’t talk much as they are; they hadn’t enough time for that, but over their coffee he asked, ‘So what went wrong?’
He didn’t give up easily, thought Charity, and she was wondering how to get out of telling him when he went on, ‘Consider me as an elder brother or an uncle.’ And somehow he contrived to look either the one or the other.
She glanced at her watch; there were still ten minutes left.
‘Well, there is nothing to tell. I suddenly knew that I didn’t want to go on sort of waiting for Sidney. I mean there wasn’t anything definite; I suppose we’d just drifted into taking it for granted that we’d marry one day.’ She sighed. ‘I got home late and he didn’t like having to wait for me…’
‘I think that’s my fault. I gave you that extra work.’
‘Not your fault at all,’ said Charity with some spirit. ‘If it hadn’t been you it could have been anyone else. It’s my job, isn’t it?’
Professor Wyllie-Lyon sat back in his chair as though he had nothing to do for the rest of the day. ‘Do you ever feel that you would like to change your job, Charity?’
She said seriously, ‘Oh, yes, but what could I do? I’m nothing but a shorthand typist, you know.’
‘A good one, if I may say so. But you are a capable young woman, you can cook and presumably keep house and you get on well with people, don’t you?’
She said with sudden fierceness. ‘I want to travel, see other countries; soon it will be too late.’ She stopped, ashamed of her outburst, but he didn’t seem to notice that.
‘You would like to marry and have children?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She was off again, speaking her thoughts aloud. ‘A large rambling house with a huge garden and dogs and cats and a donkey and children—not just one or two.’ She stopped for a second time, going slowly pink under his gaze, wondering what had come over her, talking such nonsense to someone she hardly knew. ‘I really must get back,’ she said, with a briskness which brought a quiver to the professor’s mouth.
He agreed unfussily and talked of nothing much on their brief journey back to the hospital, and at the door he thanked her pleasantly for her company and hoped that her afternoon wouldn’t be too busy.
She darted down the passage, her thoughts a fine muddle. She had enjoyed being with him, she liked him; on the other hand she had allowed her tongue to run away with her. Perhaps he had been bored? She burst into the office, blushing furiously at the very idea, so that Miss Hudson gave her a surprised look and said with unwonted concern, ‘Well, there’s no need to break your neck, dear. You’re scarlet from hurrying. You’d better have a drink of water.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘You’re not late.’
Charity looked rather wildly at her. ‘Oh, good—I rather forgot the time.’ She hung her coat in the cupboard, obediently drank a glass of water and went to her desk. A lot of reports had come in while she had been away and, as usual, she had the lion’s share. Not that she minded; the more she had to occupy her, the better, and in future she would keep out of Professor Wyllie-Lyon’s way.
She had no need to worry; there was no sign of him. And a very good thing too, she told herself severely; she was becoming far too interested in him. She had to remind herself of this several times during the following week; the days seemed long and purposeless and her quiet evenings at home excessively dull. She welcomed Saturday at last, with the prospect of the Church Fête, an annual affair which tried everyone connected with it to their utmost. Weeks ago she had agreed to help her aunt with a stall: fancy goods, which meant handiwork done by the ladies of the parish. She spent Saturday morning arranging tea cosies, hand-painted calendars, embroidered trayclothes, aprons and a variety of crochet work, some items of which she was unable to recognise.
She and Aunt Emily hurried back home for a hasty lunch and then presented themselves, in the nick of time, before the church hall doors opened to the public to allow the small crowd in. Most of them made for the jumble stall, crowding round it impatiently while a film star of the lesser kind made an opening speech. Charity, re-arranging
