Enchanting Samantha. Бетти Нилс

heart was in the right place even if her mode of speech was a thought rough; she had been told not to work, but that didn’t prevent her from stating her opinion of the situation. ‘I’m not supposed to be ’ere, neither,’ she confided. ‘I just popped up to see ’ow yer was managing.’ She made for the door. ‘Well, ta-ta, ducks, be seeing yer.’

      It wasn’t too bad for the first couple of days; the nursing staff shared the extra work; the day nurses staying on later and going on duty earlier and the night staff doing the same, apportioning the washing up, the sweeping and dusting between them. It was when Sir Joshua White, doing his round a little early on the third morning and finding Samantha in the kitchen long after she should have been off duty, washing the endless cups and saucers while Sister Grieves vacuumed the ward floor, spoke his mind.

      ‘You are two hours late off duty,’ he pointed out to Samantha, quite unnecessarily. ‘It is impossible for you to carry out your nursing duties and be a maid of all work at the same time—the patients are liable to suffer.’

      ‘No, they aren’t,’ said Samantha, careless of her manners because she was half asleep and wanted her breakfast.

      He studied her tired face through his gold-rimmed spectacles. ‘No—I shouldn’t have said that, I apologize, but you’re going to be worn out, young lady. I shall have to think of something.’

      He stalked away and she could hear him in the ward, surrounded by scurrying nurses trying to get the ward straight, addressing Sister in outraged tones, raising his voice a little because she still had the Hoover on.

      That evening, when Samantha went on early so as to give a hand with the supper dishes, she went straight to the kitchen as usual, for Sister Grieves would be writing the report, and although the ward wasn’t taking any fresh cases because there was no linen for the theatre, there was more than enough to do. She flung open the door to find Doctor ter Ossel at the sink while Sir Joshua, wielding a tea towel with the same assurance as he did his scalpel, dried up. Both gentlemen were in their shirtsleeves and both were smoking their pipes, so that the atmosphere, already damp and redolent of burnt toast, baked beans and the peculiar odour of washing up done on the grand scale, was enriched by volumes of smoke from one of the more expensive tobaccos.

      ‘I told you that I would think of something,’ Sir Joshua greeted her. ‘Did you get any breakfast?’

      ‘Well—I have a meal when I get to the flat. I sleep out, sir.’

      He eyed her narrowly, made a rumbling noise in his throat and applied himself to the spoons and forks. It was Doctor ter Ossel who put his pipe down on the shelf above the sink and turned to ask: ‘What sort of meal?’

      Samantha was stacking the trolley ready for the evening drinks. ‘Oh, tea and toast and marmalade, of course.’

      He picked up his pipe again. ‘Not enough—you’ll lose weight.’ He grinned at her and she felt her cheeks go red; her slight plumpness was something she was sensitive about—perhaps he thought of her as fat.

      ‘And what about our little Nurse Brown?’ he wanted to know. ‘Does she live out too?’

      Samantha shook her head. ‘She’s only eighteen.’ She sounded almost motherly. ‘She lives quite close by, so she goes home for breakfast and supper.’

      She went to the shelves and picked up the Ovaltine, the Bengers, the Nescafé and the Horlicks and arranged them in an orderly row on the trolley. ‘Shall I take over now?’ she asked.

      ‘Certainly not,’ said Sir Joshua. ‘As a married man, I have acquired the knack of wiping dishes of an evening, and as for Giles here, being still a bachelor, it’s a splendid opportunity for him to learn a few of the more practical arts of marriage.’

      He flung his damp tea towel into a corner of the kitchen and took the clean one Samantha thoughtfully handed him. ‘We shall be here in the morning, Staff. I’ve arranged everything with Sister Grieves.’

      She murmured her appreciation and went into the ward to give the hard-pressed day staff a hand, and presently, when Brown arrived, joined Sister at the desk.

      It should have been a fairly easy night; no operation cases and six empty beds, but there were the tea towels to wash out and boil and the kitchen to clean up, because the day staff would have more than enough to do in the morning. She hadn’t quite believed Sir Joshua when he had said that they would be there in the morning, but when she went into the kitchen to help Brown with the early teas, the two men were already there; the trolleys were ready, the kettles boiling, the tea in the pot and Doctor ter Ossel buttering bread with a casual speed which earned Samantha’s instant admiration. She and Brown were able to go back to the ward and make beds for the first time in several days; they were even ready to go off duty on time and what was more, had done a sizeable amount of work for the day nurses. Samantha sent Brown on ahead and stopped to poke her head round the kitchen door. The men had gone, the day staff were already stacking the breakfast things which Sir Joshua’s registrar had promised to wash presently. She yawned and pattered downstairs to the cloakroom, found her coat, tied a scarf over her untidy head without bothering to look in a mirror and left the hospital. She was tired, and what was more, very hungry. She would buy some bacon on the way to the flat and have a really good meal before washing out her uniform dress and ironing one for that evening—there were aprons too. She yawned again and almost choked on it; Doctor ter Ossel was standing on the pavement waiting for her.

      ‘Breakfast,’ he said crisply, and popped her into the Rolls at the curb, got in beside her and was driving away before she had the breath to say: ‘You’re mad—I mean, I’m going back to the flat, but I must buy some bacon…’

      ‘You’re too tired to cook,’ he observed, ‘and I like my bacon just so. We’ll have breakfast somewhere and then you can go home to bed.’

      ‘I can’t—go out, I mean. Look at me, I’m still in my uniform under this coat and I haven’t done my face or my hair, and I’ve a pile of washing to do.’

      ‘Breakfast first,’ he reiterated in the reasonable voice of a grown-up making a point with a refractory child. ‘We’ll discuss the washing later.’ He turned to look at her. ‘You look all right to me.’

      He had turned into Kingsway and presently Aldwych and stopped now outside the impressive front of the Waldorf. It took Samantha a few seconds to grasp the fact that this was actually where he intended they should eat their breakfast. ‘I can’t go in there,’ she expostulated strongly. ‘You must be quite mad!’

      He shook his head. ‘Hungry, and so, I imagine, are you. They know we’re coming and of course you can go inside.’ He smiled suddenly and very kindly. ‘You may dislike me, Samantha, but even so you can trust me, I hope. I promise you you need not feel uncomfortable.’

      He got out and walked round the car and opened the door for her, tucked a hand under her elbow and walked her into the hotel.

      And he was quite right, she discovered. She was whisked away to the powder room where, with the help of the sympathetic attendant, she improved her appearance considerably and, heartened by the result, joined the doctor in the foyer. They breakfasted alone in a small coffee room, waited upon by a fatherly personage, who pressed a substantial meal upon them without appearing to do so, and contrary to her expectations, Samantha wasn’t aware of her appearance at all. Indeed, Doctor ter Ossel somehow managed to convey the impression—without saying a word—that she looked rather nice. She ate her way happily through porridge, bacon and eggs and toast and marmalade, while the doctor, keeping pace with her, contrived to entertain her with small talk which required the minimum of answers.