Chapter Eleven

      ‘We’re going to a dance,’ Edwin managed to say in an undertone to Maxine when she was in the sluice, washing the bedpans. A horrible job which brought back memories of her first year at the Infirmary, but it had to be done.

      Maxine had never learned to dance properly and awkward male partners hadn’t helped, but looking at Edwin she was sure he’d be a good dancer.

      ‘I’ve looked up when your next day off is, and managed to change mine to coincide,’ Edwin went on. ‘We should go the evening before and then we can spend all day together the next day.’ He looked at her. ‘Would you like that?’

      ‘It sounds lovely, but—’

      ‘I’m going to book a hotel for the night so we can relax and not have all eyes on us as we do at the hospital. I don’t want to let you out of my sight for a moment, so pack a small overnight bag.’

      Her heart gave a little flip. Making love that first time had been in the heat of the moment, but this time she knew it was his plan. Was she ready for such a leap?

      ‘And you can wear your new dress,’ he added.

      ‘Where are we going?’ Maxine asked as they approached Covent Garden, her hand feeling more familiar in the crook of his arm. How nice it was to have a boyfriend she could be affectionate with. Something she’d missed terribly since Johnny died. Thinking of Johnny she felt a twinge of guilt. But she couldn’t go on forever without enjoying another man’s company. Surely Johnny wouldn’t want her to. She glanced up and caught Edwin’s eye and he smiled. She smiled back.

      To have an evening and a full day ahead of them was almost unheard of since the war started. Edwin had obviously organised it, but how, without raising suspicion? She was truly grateful; however, it had come about after another harrowing week. And Edwin would have had the same exhausting week given the wave of new patients who’d been admitted, nearly all requiring surgery.

      This time on their own would be a good opportunity to get to know one another better. She gave his arm a daring little squeeze and he looked down at her and smiled.

      ‘It’s a surprise. But I’ve booked us into a hotel close to where we’re going, so we can register first and put our things in our room – have a wash and brush up, if we need.’

      ‘Sounds a good idea,’ she said, more for something to say. Unexpectedly, she began to feel nervous.

      The hotel was small and non-descript which suited her perfectly. Inside, a grey-haired woman at the reception desk regarded them keenly through thick lenses.

      ‘Mr and Mrs Edward Brown,’ Edwin announced firmly.

      This time she understood his discretion. Until the world knew they were courting it was best kept a secret to protect them both.

      ‘Sign here, please, Mr Brown.’ The receptionist slid an open book and pen towards him, at the same time glancing at Maxine’s left hand as though suspicious the third finger would be bereft of the necessary gold band. She gave a nod almost of disappointment, her bun so tight the skin tautly stretched around her face and eyes under the strain of her hairpins. Her prim expression reminded Maxine of her mother. If her mother could see her now with a man who wasn’t her husband, booked into a hotel in the same room, she’d be horrified, no matter how famous a surgeon he was.

      ‘No, thanks,’ Edwin was saying. ‘We’ve only got a couple of small bags with us, so I’m sure we can find our way.’

      ‘You’re on the second floor,’ the woman told him, ‘and I’m afraid there’s no lift.’ She seemed momentarily taken aback when Edwin treated her to one of his charming smiles. ‘But then you’re young,’ she said, ‘so I’m sure you’ll manage.’

      Maxine bit back a giggle.

      ‘Old bat,’ Edwin said when he unlocked the door to their room. ‘Don’t suppose she’s ever known a night of passion in her life.’

      ‘You don’t know that,’ Maxine retorted. ‘That’s the thing with people. You never know what they’re capable of until you get to know them. Or they tell you things and it might not be the truth, so you still don’t know them.’

      Edwin threw her a questioning glance. ‘You’re very deep, all of a sudden,’ he said, frowning.

      ‘She might have lost someone in the war and she doesn’t have much reason to be jolly,’ she told him crisply.

      ‘Last war, more like.’

      ‘Even if it was, you don’t get over that sort of thing easily or quickly … or ever.’

      Damn. She hadn’t meant to say that at all. What was he going to think, her bringing up her dead husband just when he was treating her to a wonderful time? She opened her mouth to apologise, but he stopped her with his arms, holding her tight against him.

      ‘I’m sorry, poppet. Of course you don’t. You’re thinking of your husband, aren’t you? What an insensitive cad I can be sometimes.’

      He bent his head and kissed her lightly, then again, only deeper this time.

      ‘I want to make love to you right now,’ he said. He was breathing fast. ‘Let’s not bother with dancing. We can go straight to bed. Then have a quick supper afterwards – if you’re hungry then, that is. If not, we’ll skip it and make love again.’

      ‘We’re definitely going dancing,’ Maxine said, smiling, trying to lighten the tone. She didn’t want to admit to herself that she was putting off the moment when Edwin would make love to her again. ‘You haven’t bought me a new dress for nothing.’ She ducked out of his embrace. ‘I’ll go and change. Won’t be ten minutes.’

      ‘You’ll be the first woman I’ve ever known to be that quick,’ he said, shrugging. ‘I’m ready, so I’ll wait for you downstairs in the bar.’

      Swiftly, she removed her blouse and skirt, splashed under her arms at the washbasin, then eased the sea dress over her head and hips and slipped on the new green suede shoes. How lucky to have found the dress, what with the shortage of ready-made clothes, and material about to be rationed. Picking up the brush, she ran it through her hair and touched up her lipstick. She was ready.

      ‘Well done,’ Edwin said, scrutinising his watch as soon as she entered the bar. ‘Not even a minute late.’ He tipped the rest of the golden-brown liquid down his throat and smacked his lips together, then looked her up and down. ‘Is that the new dress?’

      ‘Yes. Do you like it?’ She gave a twirl, feeling a little self-conscious.

      ‘It’s gorgeous. You’re gorgeous.’ He glanced at his watch again. ‘Right. Are you ready?’

      He took hold of her hand as they walked past the reception desk.

      ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

      ‘The Royal Opera House,’ he said. ‘It’s not far. Covent Garden.’

      ‘Oh, I thought you said we were going dancing.’

      ‘We are. They changed it into a dance hall at the beginning of the war – more likely to raise people’s spirits than going to the opera. They hold dances every night and it’s usually packed. Amazing, considering a bomb could drop on them any time.’

      He must go quite regularly, she thought. She wondered idly who he’d brought, then decided it was none of her business, and in any case it would have been before they’d started going out together. What was in the past had to remain in the past.

      She’d never been inside the Royal Opera House before, though she’d always given more than a glance at the columned façade when she’d passed in front.