frostily, and was quite taken aback when he observed: ‘You’re quite right, it isn’t. One can be too tidy, it makes for a warped way of living.’
A remark which left her unable to think of a suitable reply. She accompanied him to the ward door, bade him a civil good morning and watched him meander away, with his two companions, already late for his round in the men’s ward on the other side of the corridor. Just for a few seconds she wondered what kind of a private life he had, and then forgot the thought, already busy planning the afternoon’s work—she would have to spare a nurse to go to theatre and pray heaven Mr Grenfell made a quick job of whatever he intended to do.
It was unfortunate that he did no such thing, although she had to admit that his meticulous surgery had probably saved the girl’s life. It had taken a good deal of exploration to discover the source of the sepsis and still longer to put it right. The girl had gone to the recovery room and then returned to the ward well after four o’clock. Eugenia hadn’t got off duty until almost six, because however much she wanted to, she couldn’t leave the ward until she was sure that the girl was going to be all right. Hatty was a splendid nurse, but Eugenia had always held the notion that the more senior you were, the more you had to be prepared to give up off-duty if the need arose. It wouldn’t be fair to Hatty to leave her with an ill patient, the rest of the ward to run, the report to write and the nurses to manage. Even when she at last felt justified in going, she had walked slap into Mr Grenfell coming up the stairs two at a time. Naturally, he had stopped to ask her about her patient and she had stood for another ten minutes, listening carefully to his observations on the case. She even offered to go back with him to the ward, but he refused this with a cheerful: ‘Hatty’s there, isn’t she? A sound young woman. I’ll let Harry know if there’s anything to be altered. Have a pleasant evening.’
He had gone, disappearing down the corridor at the head of the stairs at a great rate.
By the time she had run a bath, decided which dress to wear and done her nails, it was very nearly time to meet Humphrey. She wasted a few minutes inspecting herself in the wardrobe mirror; last year’s dress was still quite wearable, but anyone with an eye to fashion would know that it was just that. A new one would be nice, it would cheer up the bleak days of a cold March, but it wasn’t necessary, as Humphrey had pointed out, they wouldn’t be going to any dances now that the spate of hospital balls and Christmas festivities were behind them, far better for her to save the money. And she had saved it, because, after all, he had been quite right, only somewhere at the back of her mind was a rebellious wish to splash out on a new outfit, not something sensible, but high fashion, real silk or real wool, and not bothering to ask the price.
She gathered up her purse and her coat and put her evening slippers on, reflecting that she would be going home the following week; Humphrey would be on call and hospital-bound. She had a sudden longing to be home now, cooking supper for her father and Becky and Bruce, wrestling with their homework, and after they were in bed, sitting by the fire with Plum the cat on her lap, while her father told her of some rare book he’d picked up in the Charing Cross Road. She sighed soundlessly and flew down to the nurses’ home entrance, anxious not to keep Humphrey waiting.
She was a few minutes late, a fact which he had pointed out to her gently as he kissed her and ushered her into the car. ‘I daresay you’ve had a busy day,’ he observed. ‘I know I have.’ He got in beside her and she turned her head and smiled at him. He was a good-looking man, dark-haired and as tall as she was, good at his job and at the age of thirty, fairly sure of a secure future. She had often wondered why he hadn’t married sooner, but when she had got to know him better she could understand that security meant a lot to him, so that although he had had girl-friends in plenty he had never been serious with them, only with her, because she was older and sensible as well as very pretty. She had been glad he thought her pretty, but she wasn’t sure about being sensible and she wasn’t all that old; twenty-six was still quite a way off thirty… It would be another two years before they could marry too, unless she could persuade him that fitted carpets and a three-piece suite could not compensate for those two lost years.
But she wasn’t going to think about that now; they had the evening before them and she intended to enjoy every moment of it. It was, after all, an occasion; a thirtieth birthday was an important event and justified the spending of money, and they hadn’t had an evening out like this one since… She paused to think about that; so long ago that she couldn’t remember what they had celebrated. She asked: ‘When was the last time you splashed out like this, Humphrey?’
‘Our engagement, eighteen months ago.’
She said: ‘Oh,’ uncertainly, and then: ‘Perhaps the next time it’ll be to celebrate our wedding.’
‘That’s hardly likely, darling.’ Humphrey’s voice was, as always, reasonable. ‘Even if we had a quiet wedding, we would have a few guests, I imagine, there’d be no point in celebrating twice over, would there?’
A sensible reply which for some reason annoyed her. ‘Are we any nearer deciding the date?’ she asked, and felt instantly mean at his quiet: ‘Well, no, my dear, I only wish we were.’ He gave her a quick sideways glance. ‘I want to begin our married life together with as much comfort for you as I can manage.’
‘Sorry—I didn’t mean to be beastly. Only London gets me down at this time of the year. It’s all right in the country—primroses and catkins and the first daffodils and lambs…birds singing…’ She stopped because moaning in that self-pitying fashion was of no help to Humphrey—besides, never having lived in the country he wasn’t all that interested. Memories of her home in Wiltshire came crowding back, but she pushed them away again; after all, her father and the twins seemed happy enough in the little terraced house in Islington; he was headmaster at a nearby school and Bruce and Becky were doing their GCSEs at the Upper School with every prospect of getting good passes. They seldom talked about Chidcoate Magna, and Eugenia hoped that in time they would integrate into the life of the city around them; something she had never been able to do.
They were going to the Savoy. Humphrey parked the car and they went into the hotel, parking their coats and meeting again in the foyer. ‘This is fun,’ whispered Eugenia as they entered the restaurant and were led to their table. She hoped they would have a drink and then dance before they ate, but Humphrey pointed out that both of them had had sketchy meals that day; dinner, eaten at leisure, would do them more good. They could dance afterwards for as long as she wished.
She sipped her sherry, her feet tapping soundlessly in time to the music. Of course she was hungry, but she longed to dance. The music came to an end and she studied the menu. They were to have the set menu, for as Humphrey had pointed out earlier on, the food was so good it would be a treat anyway, and why pay exorbitant prices when the same food, or almost the same, could be had on the set menu. Eugenia agreed, stifling the rebellious wish to order the most extravagant dishes she could find. There must be something horrid about me, she thought, I’ve done nothing but find fault the whole evening. She blamed her day for that; and that wasn’t like her either, usually she took the days as they came, some slack some so busy that there was only time for a snatched cup of tea and a sandwich. Then she thought longingly of her days off and catching Humphrey’s eye, wanted to make amends for her bad mood. ‘It looks gorgeous—I’ll have the prawns, I think, and then the chicken Marengo.’
After that she laid herself out to be a delightful companion, listening to his considered opinions about medicine, the National Health Service, the need to keep up to date with his studies, his regret that he couldn’t see more of his widowed mother. Eugenia listened with a sympathetic ear, although deep down inside her, buried under her loyalty to Humphrey, was dislike of that lady, a small frail person, with a wispy appearance which hid an obstinate wish to have her own way whenever possible. She lived very comfortably in a nice little house in Hampstead, and whenever they went to see her, she complained in the gentlest possible manner that
