take the patients’ charts back to my Office.’ Sister Cook was already sailing in the opposite direction, intent on ticking off a patient who had had the temerity to complain to the consultant, of all people, about the breakfast porridge.
Emily escaped thankfully. It had been exciting meeting the man again, and thank heaven he hadn’t recognised her, although it had been pretty mean of him to let her ramble on about her work when he was working at Pearson’s himself.
She gained the office and started to stack the notes exactly as Sister liked them. She was almost finished when the door opened and Mr van Tecqx walked in.
Emily dropped the notes she was holding and said with a snap, ‘There, look what you’ve made me do!’ and then she remembered who she was talking to.
Her, ‘Sorry, sir,’ was polite but insincere, and she got down on to the floor and started to pick up the scattered sheets.
He got down beside her, taking up so much room that the Office seemed very small indeed. ‘Surprised to see me?’ he asked.
‘Yes—well, yes, of course I am. I never imagined—you could have told me…’ She took the papers from him and got to her feet. ‘I’m not supposed to talk to you. Sister Cook will…’
‘No, she won’t.’ He had taken the notes from her again and was arranging them tidily in their folder. ‘Do you like this ward?’
‘Yes, thank you, sir.’
He stared down at her, neat and rather prim. ‘I can see that if we are to get anywhere conversationally, it will have to be away from this place. I’ll be outside at eight o’clock this evening; we’ll go somewhere and eat and exchange our life histories.’
Emily goggled up at his placid face. ‘But we can’t! Besides,’ she added with some spirit, ‘I haven’t a life history.’
When he didn’t say anything, only smiled at her, she went on, ‘This just won’t do, you know. I must go back on the ward…’
He opened the door for her. ‘Eight o’clock,’ he reminded her as she edged past him.
CHAPTER TWO
EMILY HAD NO intention of doing anything of the sort; she told herself that a dozen times during the day. It was absurd anyway—how could she possibly go out with anyone in the elderly coat she wore to work? She would have had a long day and she would be tired and her hair would look awful. He must have been joking—but just to be on the safe side, she would go out through the side entrance. She would have to nip across the back of the entrance hall to reach it, but no one would see her.
All the same, she rushed back to her room during her three hours off after midday dinner, saw to Podge, washed her hair and, while it was drying, did her nails. Not because she had any intention of accepting Mr van Tecqx’s surprising invitation, indeed she still wasn’t sure if it was a joke. And she was far too busy to speculate about that during the evening; there were arms and legs to prepare ready for operation in the morning and supper to serve, and since both staff nurses were off duty and she was on with Sister Cook, there was the added complication of keeping out of that lady’s way as much as possible.
At length she was allowed to go, and skipped through the corridors and down the stairs to the cloakroom, where she bundled on her coat and with no thought as to her appearance, hurried down the back stairs to the back of the entrance hall. It was empty, although she could see Briggs’ bald head in his lodge. Quelling a wish to go out of the entrance and have supper with Mr van Tecqx even as, she strongly suspected, he wouldn’t be waiting for her, Emily nipped across the hall and opened the side door used by the staff and those fortunate enough to travel in their own cars.
The Bentley was parked exactly outside the door and Mr van Tecqx was leaning against its bonnet. Emily would have bounced back inside, only he was beside her before she could do so.
‘I am much encouraged,’ he told her, ‘to find that we think alike—you, that you would escape by this door, and I quite certain of it. Come along, now, I’m hungry.’
Emily stood outside the door, his hand on her arm. ‘Look, Mr van Tecqx, this really won’t do—you’re a consultant and I’m not even trained…’
A silly sort of remark, she realised as soon as she had uttered it. She tried again. ‘I can’t possibly go out with you in this.’ She waved a hand at her coat.
‘Well, of course you can’t. I’ll drive you to your lodgings and wait while you tidy yourself. You can have ten minutes; I’ve booked a table for half past eight.’
She made no effort to move. ‘You were sure I would come?’
‘No, that’s why I waited here.’ He smiled at her suddenly, which somehow made it perfectly normal to be going out to supper with him, although she was convinced that when she had the time to think about it she would be horrified. ‘Student nurses just don’t go out with consultants,’ she voiced her thoughts out loud.
‘There is always a first time.’
He popped her into the car and got in beside her.
Outside her gate she said, ‘I’m sorry I can’t ask you in—I’ve only got one room…’
For answer he got out of the car and went to open the door for her. ‘Ten minutes,’ he reminded her carefully.
Emily fed Podge, washed her face and made it up rather sketchily, then tore into her only decent dress—navy blue needlecord, bought in a C & A sale. Her coat was navy blue too, almost as elderly as the one she wore to work but neatly brushed and pressed. Her hair she brushed and tied back with a ribbon, as there was no time to pin it up. She thrust her feet into her one pair of high-heeled shoes, caught up her handbag and gloves, patted Podge and told him to be a good boy, and went out of the house followed by Mrs Winter’s shrill voice.
‘Got yerself a boyfriend, dearie? ’Ave a nice evening!’
If Mr van Tecqx heard her he gave no sign, merely remarked that punctuality was a virtue he seldom met with among his female acquaintances and stowed Emily into the car again.
He took her to Bubb’s, just off the Farringdon Road and only a short distance away from Pearson’s, and she was relieved to find that the people dining there were dressed very much as she was. The navy blue outfit, dull though it was, had the virtue of being inconspicuous. But she forgot to be shy in her companion’s placid company; he talked as easily as anything about this and that, ordered her a sherry and told her to order what she fancied, and when she tried to make a bewildered choice, offered to do it for her: salmon mousse on a bed of lettuce, breast of chicken in an aspic glaze, accompanied by a variety of vegetables, followed by nougat glacé with strawberries and topped with cream.
The good food loosened her tongue, and, skilfully drawn out by her companion, Emily talked, something she hadn’t done so freely with anyone for a very long time, but somehow her companion gave the impression of being a comfortable listener, putting questions just at the right moment, saying little. She was carried away, what with the delicacies which she was offered, the wine she was drinking and Mr van Tecqx’s gentle interest. She was on the point of telling him her plans for her father when common sense took over and she stopped in mid-sentence.
Mr van Tecqx studied her face, on which a look of shocked wariness had settled. ‘Yes?’
