her hand and cried, ‘Darling, I’m late. Do forgive me—I got caught up at the studio. You know how it is.’
She said hello and added almost crossly, ‘This is Professor van Teule—I work for him. Professor, this is Melville Grant—he’s in television.’
‘How very interesting,’ observed the Professor. ‘How do you do, Mr Grant.’ He didn’t shake hands, only smiled in a sleepy way and patted Rachel on a shoulder. ‘Don’t let me keep you from your free evening.’
He went on standing there, so that after a minute Rachel murmured a goodbye and went to the door with Melville at her heels.
It shouldn’t have been like that, she thought peevishly—he should have walked away instead of seeing them off the premises like a benevolent uncle.
Melville opened the car door for her with something of a flourish. He gave a quick glance behind him as he did so to see if the Professor was watching. He was.
‘Sleepy kind of chap, Professor What’s-his-name. Don’t know that I’d care to have him nod off over my appendix or whatever.’
Womanlike, Rachel sprang at once to the defence of the man who had annoyed her. ‘You couldn’t have a better surgeon,’ she declared roundly, ‘and he’s far too busy to do appendicectomies—he specialises in complicated abdominal surgery and he’s marvellous with severe internal injuries; even when it seems hopeless, he…’
Melville drove out of the forecourt. ‘My dear girl, spare me the gruesome details, I beg you. Tell me, did you have a happy time with your family? I can see that it did you good, you’re more beautiful than ever.’
Something any girl would like to hear and, to a girl in love, doubly welcome. ‘Lovely, but far too short.’
He had turned the car in the direction of the West End. ‘I thought we might have a drink…’ He named a fashionable club. ‘I had dinner with the producer and you will have had a meal, of course.’
Rachel had her mouth open to say that she hadn’t but she had no chance to speak, for he went on, ‘There’s a party next week—you simply must come, darling. Buy yourself something eye-catching; everyone who’s anyone will be there.’
She thought guiltily of the dresses she had bought in the last few months, worn a few times and then pushed to the back of the wardrobe because Melville had hinted, oh, so nicely, that to be seen more than a couple of times in the same dress just wasn’t on. She said quietly, ‘I’ll have no chance to go shopping and I’ll be too whacked to go to any parties.’ She turned to smile at him. ‘You’ll have to find another girl, Melville.’
She had meant it as a joke; his easy, ‘It looks as though I’ll have to,’ took her by uneasy surprise. She spent the next minute or two mentally reviewing the next week’s lists and the off-duty rota. It was take-in week, too; there was no way in which she could alter the unalterable schedule.
‘Well, let’s worry about it later,’ said Melville and parked the car.
The club was brightly lit and very full. It was also elegantly furnished. They were ushered to a table a little to one side and Melville at once began to point out the well-known people around them. When a waiter came he turned to Rachel. ‘You need bucking up, darling. How about vodka?’
She could hardly mention her empty stomach. Instead she murmured that it gave her a headache and could she have a long cold drink?
Melville shrugged in tolerant good humour. ‘Of course, my sweet. What shall it be?’
‘Tonic with lemon and ice, please.’ She sat back and looked around her. The suit she was wearing had no chance against the ultra-chic women there, but that didn’t worry her overmuch, just as long as Melville liked what she wore.
Their drinks came and with them a dish of crudités, some salted nuts and potato straws. None of them filling, but better than nothing. She nibbled a few carrot sticks and crunched a potato straw while Melville turned his head to wave to an acquaintance. He turned back presently and began on a long and amusing story about the production he was working on. He was handsome and entertaining and paid her extravagant compliments which she never quite believed. Not that that mattered, for he was in love with her; he had told her so many times. One day he would ask her to marry him and she was sure she would say yes. Her eyes shone at the thought so that Melville paused in what he was saying; she really was a remarkably pretty girl, although she was proving disappointingly stubborn about taking more time off. ‘Let’s go somewhere and dance?’ he suggested.
She said with real regret, ‘Oh, Melville, I can’t. We start work at eight o’clock tomorrow morning and I’ll have to be on duty before then.’
He frowned and then laughed and caught her hand. ‘You really are the most ridiculous girl I’ve ever met. I could get you a part in my next production, or find you some modelling work, but you choose to spend your days in your revolting operating theatre.’
‘I don’t want to do anything else. It’s not revolting, either.’
He picked up her hand and kissed it. ‘You dear creature, so earnest. Tell you what, I’ll pick you up tomorrow evening when you’re off duty and we’ll go somewhere and have a meal.’
‘It’s take-in week. I might get held up, but I’d love that. Somewhere where I won’t need to dress up, Melville.’
‘The nearest Lyons,’ he assured her laughingly. ‘And now, before you say it, you want to get back, don’t you? Duty calls and so on.’
They took some time to get out of the club; Melville stopped so many times to greet people he knew. Rachel felt very proud of him. Sometimes, but not always, he introduced her with a casual, ‘Meet Rachel,’ and she smiled at faces which showed no interest in her and listened politely to what they had to say, although none of it made much sense to her.
At the hospital he leaned over and opened her door and then kissed her. ‘I won’t get out, darling,’ he told her. ‘I must go back to the office and work for a while.’
She was instantly worried. ‘Oh, not because you took me out?’ she wanted to know. ‘Now you’ll have to stay up late working…’
‘I’d stay up all night for you, darling.’ He smiled as he closed the door and with a wave shot away.
Rachel went to her room, made a pot of tea, ate the rest of the cake and put her uniform ready for the morning. Lying in a hot bath she mulled over her evening; it had been delightful, of course, because Melville had been with her, but hunger had taken the gilt off the gingerbread. It was a pity, she mused, that she was in love with a man who didn’t always remember to ask her if she were hungry, while there were several young men on the medical staff who would have whisked her off to the nearest café for a meal at her merest hint… She frowned. It was strange that, whereas she would have no hesitation in telling any one of them that she was hungry, she found herself unable to tell Melville.
She got into bed, meaning to lie and think about him. He was very good-looking, she reflected sleepily, not tall but always so beautifully turned out. He wore his dark hair rather long and his voice was soft and his speech clipped. On the edge of sleep, she found herself comparing it with Professor van Teule’s deep slow tones—not a bit alike, the two of them; the professor was twice the size for a start…
The Professor walked
