Two Weeks to Remember. Бетти Нилс

an idea, give her a fresh outlook on life; but work was hard to come by these days and her salary was needed at home. It would need a miracle.

      It seemed that they still occurred; the door opened and Professor Wyllie-Lyon came in without haste. ‘Ah, good morning, or is it afternoon?’ He bent an intent eye on her still-cross face. ‘I wondered if you would consider giving up your job here and coming to work for me?’

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHARITY, BOTH HANDS poised above the keys, allowed her gentle mouth to drop open, while she gazed at the professor. ‘What did you say?’ she managed finally.

      He repeated himself patiently as he closed the door behind him.

      ‘Me?’ asked Charity. ‘Work for you?’

      ‘My dear girl, do stop looking as though you are concussed.’

      ‘Why?’

      His eyebrows lifted slightly. ‘I feel that you would be most suitable. You are normally a calm, hardworking young woman, able to write accurate shorthand and type rapidly. You can also spell. My secretary is leaving to get married and I need to replace her; you have mentioned that you might enjoy a change of occupation. These two facts might possibly combine to make a satisfactory whole.’

      ‘Well,’ said Charity, and again, ‘Well…I think I might like that—only I’m working here…’

      ‘I am aware of that. You are subject to one month’s notice on either side. My secretary leaves in less than five weeks’ time, which gives you time in which to give in your notice and work with her for a few days in order to get some idea of the work involved.’

      His smile was so encouraging that she smiled widely. ‘Must I decide now, Professor?’

      ‘Certainly not. Think about it and let me know in a day or so. In the meantime I have several letters, if you would be good enough? By this evening, if you can manage that?’

      ‘Yes, of course. Are they to go to the consultants’ room or to the Medical Wing?’

      ‘Men’s Medical, please.’ He bade her a placid good afternoon and went away, leaving her to tidy up and sit doing nothing, mulling over their conversation. It might be the change she wanted: the same sort of work but different surroundings, and probably different hours. She wondered where he had his consulting rooms. She was still wondering when Miss Hudson came back, as cross as two sticks because there had been no milk pudding and her teeth were in no fit state to tackle the treacle tart. Her eyes, lighting on Charity sitting in laziness, gleamed with annoyance.

      ‘No wonder I find myself doing more than my share of the work,’ she began menacingly, ‘if you sit and stare at nothing the moment my back is turned.’

      She sat herself down at her own desk. ‘I should never have thought…’ she went on, to be interrupted by Charity, a kind-hearted girl, not easily put out.

      ‘Don’t worry, I’ll catch up,’ she assured her companion, and then, ‘Do I annoy you very much, Miss Hudson?’

      ‘Indeed you do—I dare say you’re a very nice girl, Charity, but you’re so alive; just as though at any moment you might spring from your chair and go rushing off on an energetic ten-mile tramp. Very unsettling and most unsuitable.’

      Which remark made up Charity’s mind for her. She was aware that she had already made it up anyway; she liked Professor Wyllie-Lyon and a different job might be the answer to her feelings of unsettlement.

      True to form Miss Hudson left on the stroke of five o’clock, leaving Charity to tidy the office and her own person, collect up the professor’s papers and lock the door behind her. After an afternoon of contemplating a new job, it was disappointing to find no sign of him on Men’s Medical.

      Sister was there, eyeing her with suspicion, and took the letters from her with an, ‘I’ll see that Professor Wyllie-Lyon gets these, Miss Graham.’ She added, as a cold dismissal, ‘Good night.’

      Charity made her way out of the hospital feeling deflated. It had been silly of her to imagine that he would be waiting for her reply. After all, what was a secretary to a man such as he? A mere cog in the wheel of his learned life.

      She wished Symes good night and flounced through the door, straight into the professor’s waistcoat.

      ‘Ah, yes—where could we go that we may discuss this job?’ he wanted to know.

      ‘You said a day or two…’

      ‘I find that I have to go away for a short time; I should prefer to have it all nicely settled before then.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It is rather early to dine. If I might call for you at half-past seven? We could have a meal and discuss the small print.’