Visiting Consultant. Бетти Нилс
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gave him a gentle smile. ‘Of course you can, Bill. Stay to supper if you’re off duty; you’re the only one who can do her trig homework, anyway.’
He gave her a grateful look, and got up to take the tea tray back.
Sophy, aware that Jonkheer van Oosterwelde was looking at her intently, studied the off-duty chart on her desk, until she felt compelled to meet his gaze. Something in his expression made her lift her chin, and he chuckled. Kindly Providence, in the shape of Dr Walker, intervened.
‘That boy’ll make Penny a good husband one of these days,’ he said comfortably. ‘Not the sort to change his mind, either.’ He looked at Sophy. ‘About time you got settled, isn’t it, Sophy? How old are you?’ She didn’t resent his questions; she had known him for years; he had always been outspoken. She answered without rancour.
‘I’ve not found anyone who wants to settle with me, Dr Walker, and I’m twenty-six next birthday.’
‘God bless my soul, you don’t look it, Sophy. Luke will be finished in a couple of years, won’t he? He should try for an appointment here and keep an eye on the others while you go off for a cruise…’
‘A cruise, Dr Walker?’ She burst out laughing. ‘Oh, to find a husband. I’ll think about it.’ She got up. ‘In the meantime, I’ll get scrubbed.’ She skipped through the door, avoiding van Oosterwelde’s eye.
The list was finished for the day, and Sophy was sitting in her office, neat and fresh in her dark blue and white uniform, writing up the theatre book. The men had gone some time ago. The theatre was ready again for any emergency; Staff was in charge; she herself was going home as soon as she could get her books done. She heard the steps in the corridor, and when they stopped outside the door, she called, ‘Come in,’ and as the door opened said, ‘Now don’t tell me, there’s an appendix in and you’d like to…’ She looked up. The professor was leaning in the doorway, his head carefully bent to avoid the door frame; the very epitome of a well-dressed gentleman of leisure.
He stayed where he was and said, ‘Are you not off duty, Sister?’
Sophy frowned. ‘Yes,’ she said shortly, ‘I am, but I have books and things to fill in. I can’t do them in the theatre,’ she said with heavy sarcasm.
He looked indifferent. She shot a cross look at him, thinking that probably he thought she was inefficient.
‘I’ll not take up your time then. I wished merely to say that I have asked Penny and Benjamin to come out with me on Wednesday afternoon. It wasn’t until I heard young Evans asking your permission to take Penny out that I realised that I should do the same.’
Sophy, listening to his cool voice, thought that he made her sound like a fussy aunt. It was her day off on Wednesday, too; she determined then and there to go away for the day—for the whole day, until quite late, so that there was no chance of meeting him. She raised a cheerfully polite face to his.
‘How kind of you,’ she said warmly. ‘They’ll love it.’ She allowed her hand to hover over the telephone, and he saw the gesture as he was meant to, and wished her a rather curt goodnight. She listened to his steps receding, and then got up slowly, said goodnight to Staff, and walked in her turn down the corridor to change, and go home.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS striking ten as Sophy let herself into the house on Wednesday evening. True to the promise she had made herself, she had gone out just before lunch; spent the afternoon with Tom Carruthers’ wife, stretching her visit for as long as good manners allowed, and then walked most of the way home. Even then it had been far too early, and she had been forced to spend a long hour drinking cups of coffee she didn’t want, while she reflected on the waste of a precious day off.
The hall was dim and quiet. It smelled of polish and the tantalising post-prandial aroma of toasted cheese. She felt her appetite sharpen, and went straight to the kitchen. Sinclair always made tea for himself before bedtime; she would have one with him and enquire about the cheese; there might be some left. Sinclair looked up as she went into the cosy, old-fashioned room and jumped to his feet.
‘Thought you might be in, Miss Sophy,’ he said. ‘How about a nice cuppa, and there’s a slice of Quiche Lorraine I’ve kept warm.’ He pushed the elderly arm chair by the Aga invitingly in her direction. ‘Sit down.’
Sophy did as she was bid, tossing her hat and gloves on to the table.
‘You’re tired, Miss Sophy.’ He handed her a plate, and she picked up a fork and started to eat with a healthy appetite.
‘Yes, Sinclair.’ She took a satisfying draught of the black, syrupy tea Sinclair preferred. ‘I wish I wasn’t plain,’ she said, apropos of nothing at all. Sinclair seemed to understand.
‘You’re not plain, Miss Sophy; you only think you are, especially when you’re tired or upset or down in the dumps.’
She smiled at him. ‘You are a dear, Sinclair. Did the children have a nice trip?’ she asked in a carefully casual voice.
He nodded. ‘They went to Canterbury.’
‘Canterbury? But that’s miles away.’
‘Yes, miss, but not in a Bentley, it isn’t. They went all round the Cathedral and had a bang-up tea. They were back by half-past six. This doctor, he stayed to supper; very merry they were too. Helped Master Ben with his Latin too.’ He got up and put the cups in the sink. ‘They went to bed punctual, miss.’
Sophy got up and went slowly to the door. ‘I’m glad they enjoyed themselves,’ she said tonelessly. ‘Goodnight, Sinclair.’
Her grandmother was in the sitting room as she went in. She looked up, pencil poised. ‘Hullo, darling. What’s a fanatical artist making a bid?’
Sophy went and sat near the fire on a little velvet-covered stool and held her nicely-kept hands out to its warmth. ‘Rabid,’ she said. ‘How are you, Granny?’
Her grandmother wrote rapidly. ‘You’re right, darling. How clever of you. Did you have a nice day?’ She didn’t wait for an answer, but went on, ‘The children had a lovely afternoon with Max…’
Sophy stirred. ‘Max already,’ she thought, and said out loud, ‘How nice for them. They were back before supper, so Sinclair tells me.’
‘Yes, dear. Max stayed; he looked lonely. We had Quiche Lorraine, and Sinclair made a lovely treacle tart—we saved some for you. Where was I? Oh, yes. Max ate a good supper, but he’s a big man, isn’t he? He helped Ben with his Latin…’
‘It’s like listening to a gramophone record,’ thought Sophy, and at the same time waited eagerly for anything else her grandmother had to say. She wondered what it was about this man that could make Sinclair and her grandmother so interested in him—and me too, she added honestly. ‘I’ve thought about him ever since I first saw him.’
‘I wonder how old he is?’ she mused.
‘Thirty-nine, and not married. He lives close to a small river in Holland—it’s pretty there, he said, and near Utrecht. He’s a Senior Consulting Surgeon at a hospital there, and teaches the students, too. He’s got a spaniel called Meg, and a bulldog called Jack.’
Mrs Greenslade paused to draw a much-needed breath, and Sophy said, ‘Granny, what a lot you know about him.’
Her grandmother looked at her shrewdly. ‘Nothing that he wouldn’t have told you, if you’d asked him, my dear Sophy. I thought it would be nice if he lunched here on Sunday—it’s your day off, isn’t it?—I know you see him most days, but I don’t suppose you get to know much about the people you work with in that theatre—why, I don’t suppose you see the patients as people; just—something, under a lot of sterile sheets. And as for working there, how can you possibly get to know anybody when all you can see of them is their eyes?’ She sounded indignant.
Sophy