them a good afternoon as she passed, and was surprised when they both got up and walked over to her. Subconsciously she recoiled and took an instinctive step towards the doctor, who looked faintly surprised but remained silent.
The older man spoke. ‘I wish to take my wife home. You will arrange it?’ It wasn’t a request but a demand, couched in an insolent tone and awkward French.
Maggy stopped. ‘I’m sorry, Monsieur Riveau; you must arrange that with the doctor. Your wife is almost better; please let her stay for another week.’
The younger man had joined his father. ‘My mother is not to have her teeth X-rayed or drawn.’ There was an ill-concealed dislike in his voice.
Maggy glanced at him briefly, refusing to be intimidated. Dr Doelsma had remained silent, but his presence gave her a good deal of courage.
‘Your mother is in pain; surely she may decide herself?’
His small black eyes glared at her. She couldn’t understand what he said, but evidently the doctor could. He stopped him and began to speak in a voice Maggy hadn’t heard him use before; it was cold and hard and full of authority. He spoke in fluent French which she couldn’t hope to follow, and she watched the two men cringe under it. When the doctor had finished, they made no reply but looked at Maggy with hate in their eyes, and went back to the bed.
Maggy stood irresolute, but Dr Doelsma tapped her on the shoulder in a peremptory fashion, and she found herself, rather to her own surprise, walking meekly beside him down the ward. By the time they had reached her office, however, she had begun to feel a slight indignation. He had had no right to interfere when she was discussing her own patients; the fact that she had been very glad to have him there while he talked with those two awful men had nothing to do with it. Standing by her desk, she said stiffly,
‘Thank you for your help, although I am usually judged capable of dealing with matters concerning my patients.’
She was vexed to hear her voice shaking. She was enraged still further when he laughed.
‘How pretty you are when you are angry! I’m sorry you are annoyed with me. Was I very high-handed? You didn’t understand what that man was saying, did you? Shall I tell you, or will you take my word for it that he was crude and disgusting? If we had been anywhere else but a hospital ward, I should have knocked him down.’
She looked startled and contrite. ‘I didn’t understand him, you were kind to…to stop him. Thank you.’
‘Why are you afraid of them?’
‘Oh! How did you know—did they see…?’
‘No, they did not. I don’t blame you for disliking them. I found them most repulsive.’ He smiled. ‘Am I forgiven?’
‘Yes, of course, sir. I’m sorry I was rude.’ She looked at him anxiously. He was still smiling—she remembered that he had smiled on the day of the lecture and said quickly in a brisk fashion, ‘Now I’ll be helping Nurse with the teas. The visitors will be going…’ She got as far as the door.
‘My mother complains bitterly that she has hardly seen you all day. Could not the green-eyed blonde help with teas while you come into Sep? She has proved a poor substitute for you, Sister.’
She bristled. ‘Nurse Sibley is a very competent nurse.’
Their eyes met; his were dancing with laughter.
‘Indeed yes, Maggy. But that isn’t what I meant.’
She found she had been ushered out of the office and across the landing into Sep and heard herself telling Nurse Sibley to go the ward and help with teas. She seemed to be doing exactly what the doctor wished her to do. She remembered Sir Charles’ words, and made a resolve to be very much firmer in the future.
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