Heidelberg Wedding. Бетти Нилс

said surprisingly: ‘I wish you good luck, sir and madam,’ and smilingly waved them both on.

      The stout dark man who had met them picked up their bags and led them to where a large Cadillac was parked. ‘One hour,’ he said cheerfully, and swept Eugenia into the back seat while Mr Grenfell stowed his case, got in beside her and settled back in his corner. ‘I shall take a nap,’ he told her, and he did, while she tried to see where they were going in the almost dark. Tantalising glimpses of villages with small houses bordering the road, signposts which she never quite managed to read as they tore past, and now and then the lights of villas standing back from the road. The car slowed and Mr Grenfell, sitting beside her, stirred. ‘We’re going to Portimao, I understand the house is just outside the town.’ He yawned. ‘I’ve never before met a girl who’s so incurious—I find it so refreshing.’

      Eugenia could see the lights of a town now and the glimmer of water. They crossed a bridge and drove along a wide boulevard with fishing boats crowding its edge, and the town on its other side. But they didn’t stop, only drove on out of the town again, still with the river on their left, and after a while the car was turned into a narrow road and then into a drive overhung with trees. It opened on to a sweep before a house with lights shining from almost every window and the chauffeur got out, opened the car door and gestured from there for them to mount the steps and go through the open door. They had reached it when a man came hurrying towards them.

      ‘Mr Grenfell? And your nurse.’ He held out a hand. ‘I’m Clarence—my wife’s upstairs—in bed, of course. You have no idea how glad I am to see you! The doctor is with her now—we’ve had a bad day…’

      He was a tall, thin, distinguished-looking man, and at the moment worried to death; as well he might be, thought Eugenia, shaking hands and then standing discreetly behind Mr Grenfell.

      ‘You must be tired…’ began Mr Clarence.

      ‘Not in the least,’ Mr Grenfell spoke for them both, and Eugenia felt indignation at his high-handedness. ‘You would like us to see your wife as soon as possible, naturally. If we might have ten minutes to tidy up…?’

      ‘Of course. The housekeeper has put you both on the first floor, opposite each other, in case you need each other during the night.’

      Eugenia heard Mr Grenfell mutter and chose to ignore it. She said calmly: ‘I’ll get into my uniform and be with you in ten minutes, Mr Grenfell.’

      She was led away by a hovering maid, a pretty dark-haired girl dressed in black, to a room at the side of the house, nicely furnished with heavy dark bed, chest and dressing table, and with a shower room leading from it. Her case was already there; she fished out her uniform, spent five minutes in the bathroom and then got into her uniform and went downstairs again, very neat and fresh and looking reassuringly efficient.

      Mr Grenfell looked at her from under heavy lids. ‘Ah, yes. Do you speak any French?’

      She opened her lovely eyes in surprise. ‘A little—why?’

      ‘Probably we may find it easier to talk in that language, the doctor and I.’

      ‘I’ll do my best,’ she told him sedately, and followed him up the stairs behind Mr Clarence.

      Mrs Clarence was in bed in a large room with a huge bay window draped extravagantly in brocade, a thick carpet underfoot and some massive dark furniture. She was a small, fair woman, quite lost in the big bed and very ill. She looked at them both with obvious relief as they went in, and so did the doctor with her. He went forward and shook Mr Grenfell’s hand, and then Eugenia’s. ‘A pleasure to see you, Mr Grenfell,’ he said in slow, correct English, ‘and I know that my patient is just as pleased that you could come.’

      Mr Grenfell went to the bed and took Mrs Clarence’s hand. Eugenia admired his bedside manner before being introduced herself, then stood quietly while the two men exchanged a few words. Presently Mr Grenfell said: ‘Dr da Marcos and I would like to have a short talk. Would you stay with Mrs Clarence, Sister Smith?’

      So Eugenia drew up a chair and engaged her patient in gentle chat about nothing in particular. ‘I feel better already,’ declared Mrs Clarence, ‘just seeing you sitting there in that nice uniform. My husband insisted on getting Mr Grenfell,’ her eyes flickered towards Eugenia, ‘he’s quite certain that he can cure me.’

      ‘He’s a very good and famous surgeon,’ said Eugenia. ‘I’m sure he’ll put things right.’

      ‘He’ll have to operate? Dr da Marcos said I had a bad infection of the lung.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t want to go into hospital—they’re not like hospitals at home, you know.’

      ‘If you go, just for whatever tests and treatment Mr Grenfell wants you to have, I’ll come with you, Mrs Clarence. And probably you’ll be back here for your convalescence. Here they come back again; I expect Mr Grenfell will want to examine you and have a little chat.’

      The examination took a long time, and when he had finished, he asked a great many questions. At length he said gently: ‘I think it will be better for you if I operate, Mrs Clarence. Dr da Marcos has seen to all the arrangements, so there’s no reason why we should delay. I’m going to take away part of your lung, and that means hospital for a day or two, but Sister will be with you and so will I, and you shall come home here within a few days. You’ll be up on your feet within a week, feeling very much better. Suppose we say tomorrow afternoon? I’ll make all the arrangements and Sister will know exactly what has to be done. Dr da Marcos is going to give you something to make you sleep, and I’ll see you again in the morning.’

      He went away with Dr da Marcos and left Eugenia to make Mrs Clarence comfortable for the night, see that she took her pills and then sit quietly until Mrs Clarence dozed off.

      It was getting late by now. Eugenia left a small lamp on in the room and went downstairs, where she found the three men sitting in the enormous living room, talking quietly. ‘She’s asleep?’ asked Mr Clarence.

      ‘Yes. I’ll go and take another look presently. Is there a night nurse?’

      ‘We had one, but my wife didn’t like her—I sat with her last night, but now that you’re here, she may sleep peacefully until the morning…’

      ‘I shall want you in theatre tomorrow, Sister, so you must get a good night’s sleep yourself. Perhaps there’s someone reliable who would stay within call and rouse me if necessary?’ Mr Grenfell sounded unworried, almost casual, but she knew better than to argue with him. There was a maid, an elderly woman, very trustworthy, said Mr Clarence; he would see to it, and in the meantime would they have the meal that was awaiting them?

      Eugenia, quite sleepy by now, wasn’t sure what she ate. It tasted delicious, though, and afterwards someone brought her a tray of tea, and when she had finished it, Mrs Clarence still asleep, Mr Grenfell said in a no-nonsense voice: ‘Go to bed, Sister. If you’re needed you’ll be called. Be ready to take over at seven o’clock, will you?’

      She said goodnight and went up to her room, had a quick shower and fell into her bed, to sleep at once, dreamlessly.

      She awoke to a bright morning, with the sun shining from a blue sky. A beautiful day, she thought, dressing quickly and going along to Mrs Clarence’s room. The elderly woman who had spent the night there went thankfully away and Eugenia set about making her patient comfortable, so that by the time Mr Grenfell arrived at eight o’clock she was nicely propped up against her pillows and had drunk the tea which she was allowed to have. She had slept well too, and answered him cheerfully enough when he asked her if she was ready to go into hospital. ‘This morning, I think,’ he said kindly. ‘There’ll be several tests to do, and if they’re satisfactory I’ll operate this afternoon. We shall keep you there for a few days and Sister will nurse you, and at the same time there’ll be a Portuguese nurse there whom she’ll instruct, so that when we go you’ll have exactly the same treatment.’

      Mrs Clarence nodded. ‘That’s kind of you,’ she said weakly. ‘To tell you the truth, I feel so rotten I don’t really