Cruise to a Wedding. Бетти Нилс

for all of them. All the same, it was with regret that she saw him leave the theatre. It was a pity, she decided, as she took off her gown and gloves and prepared to scrub for the second case, that she wouldn’t see him again, let alone discover his name—even if she asked Mr Gore-Symes at the end of the list, he would have forgotten it by then. She sighed and freshly scrubbed and gowned went to brood over the contents of her trolleys.

      They finished just before six; the last two cases had been straightforward ones, and she had been able to send those nurses who were off duty out of the theatre punctually. She was off duty herself, but she was doing nothing with her evening, so that she sent the last of her staff away and, the theatre cleaned and readied once more, went to her office. Ten minutes would be long enough to write up the books, then she would take the keys along to Joyce, on duty in the ENT theatre, and go off duty herself. Someone had made her a pot of tea, she discovered; it stood on a tray on her desk with a plate of thin bread and butter on a saucer-covered plate. She smiled at the little attention, poured herself a cup and opened her books.

      She had finished her writing and was polishing off the rest of the bread and butter when she heard the swing doors separating the theatre block from the hospital open and click shut. ‘In here,’ she called. ‘I was just coming over with the keys.’

      But it wasn’t Joyce, it was Mr Gore-Symes’ visitor who entered, and at her surprised, ‘Oh, hullo, it’s you,’ he inclined his head and put her firmly in her place with a cold good evening. She stared at him for several seconds, a little puzzled, and then spoke with relief. ‘Oh, of course, you want your instruments. I gave them to Bert, but I daresay he couldn’t find them—they’ll be in the theatre.’

      ‘Thank you, I have them already. You are a friend of Rimada’s, are you not?’

      He was leaning against the wall, staring at her in a disconcerting fashion. She said slowly: ‘Yes,’ while a sudden unwelcome thought trickled into the back of her mind. ‘I didn’t hear your name, sir.’ She spoke hesitatingly.

      ‘I didn’t think you had, that is why I have come back.’ His voice was silky. ‘De Wolff van Ozinga,’ he added with a biting quietness. ‘Adam.’

      Rimada’s name was de Wolff. Loveday said in a small voice, ‘Oh, lord—I might have known, you’re Rimada’s guardian!’

      ‘I am. I intend seeing her this evening. Is she behaving herself?’

      She shot him a guarded look which he met with a bland stare. ‘She always behaves herself, and I have no intention of answering any prying questions about her.’

      He smiled lazily and she felt her dislike for him oozing away, to return at once as he continued: ‘She has a remarkable habit of falling in love with every second young man she meets. Who is it at the moment?’

      Loveday looked at him crossly. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m not going to answer your questions. You should ask Rimada.’

      He looked hatefully pleased with himself. ‘So there is someone—she meant what she said. The absurd girl telephoned me—besides, her mother showed me a letter. I suppose you are aiding and abetting her?’

      Loveday lifted her chin. ‘No. But now I’ve met you, I certainly shall!’

      This spirited remark met with a laugh. ‘By all means,’ he agreed affably. ‘If you are half as bird-witted as my cousin, you aren’t likely to succeed, though.’

      ‘I am not bird-witted!’ She was feeling quite ill-tempered by now. ‘Rimada’s a dear, she can’t help being—being…’ She stopped, conscious of his amused eyes. ‘She’s afraid of you,’ she flung at him.

      He lifted his eyebrows and looked resigned. ‘I can’t think why; I’m kindness and consideration at all times towards her. Just as long as she does nothing foolish, of course.’

      Loveday felt that she should really make an end to this absurd conversation; she wasn’t getting anywhere with it, and nor, she fancied, was the man before her. A pity, though; she would have liked to have got to know him better, even, as she hastily reminded herself, though she disliked him. She closed her books and stood up.

      ‘Do finish your bread and butter,’ he suggested politely.

      ‘Thank you, no. I’m off duty.’ She picked up the tea-tray with an air of someone with not a minute to lose.

      He took the tray from her and put it down again on the desk. ‘Now from any other girl I might take that as an invitation. But from you, Miss Loveday Pearce, I think not. All the same, despite your cross face and your pert manners and your bad habit of running along hospital corridors, I find you a good deal more—er—interesting than Rimada.’

      He leaned across the desk and kissed her on her half open, surprised mouth.

      CHAPTER TWO

      LOVEDAY stood very still. Her power of speech had left her; so for the moment had the power to think clearly. She was aware of a peculiar feeling deep inside her which she presently decided might be attributed to rage and a bitter dislike of her visitor, certainly she found that she was shaking with some strong emotion. Presently she picked up the tray and took it along to the tiny kitchen on the theatre corridor and tidied everything away in her usual methodical fashion before taking the keys over to ENT and going off duty. Once in the Home, she went straight to Rimada’s room and found that young lady dressing to go out, an elaborate ritual which she interrupted to say dramatically: ‘He is here—the horrid Adam. He waits below and I am forced to dine with him.’ She tossed her head. ‘I should have been spending the evening with Terry.’

      Loveday sat down. ‘Well, it’s a good thing in a way, Rimmy, because now you can tell your guardian all about it. Why doesn’t Terry go with you?’

      Rimada applied mascara and leaned forward to survey her handiwork.

      ‘Adam wished that, but Terry is suddenly called away—an emergency case in theatre…’

      ‘Oh—I hadn’t heard.’

      ‘But you are off duty, so how could you? They will have told Joyce in ENT.’

      Loveday reflected that she had left Joyce not ten minutes earlier and there had been no news of an emergency; indeed, there had been nothing in the Accident Room, and Nancy was very good at letting them know the moment anything likely came in, indeed, she often warned the theatre staff the moment she had news of an emergency from the ambulance crews. It sounded like an excuse on Terry’s part, but perhaps it was best not to pursue that train of thought. Instead, she asked: ‘How old is your guardian?’

      ‘Thirty-six—no, seven. Almost middle-aged.’

      Not middle-aged, Loveday decided silently; middle-aged men didn’t kiss like that. ‘I didn’t know that he was a surgeon.’

      Her friend swung round to stare at her. ‘You have met him? How is that? Do you not find him quite terrible?’

      Loveday skated round the question. ‘He operated this afternoon. We bumped into each other when I was on the way back to theatre. He’s super at his job, whatever else he is.’

      Rimada shrugged her shoulders. ‘Oh, yes; he is, how do you say? the tops. He is a Professor of Surgery, you know. He also likes pretty girls. You will take care, Loveday? He has charm…’

      You can say that again, thought Loveday while she assured Rimada that she would indeed take care. ‘Though as I’m not likely to meet him again, it doesn’t matter, does it?’ She felt a momentary regret about that. ‘I’m going down to supper—come along to my room when you get back and tell me how you got on.’ She peered at her reflection over Rimada’s shoulder. ‘Gosh, I look a hag,’ she remarked, and following her train of thought: ‘I daresay your guardian won’t be as difficult as you imagine—he’s only human, after all.’

      Her friend snorted. ‘Bah!’ she said through excellent teeth. The word carried a great deal of feeling.

      Loveday