Tulips for Augusta. Betty Neels

      ‘Hullo, Gussie. See you this evening—same place,’ and was on his way again.

      Fortunately, they had reached the stairs—Augusta was going up, and she hoped devotedly that her companion was going down. He was, but before he went he said in what she considered to be a hatefully smooth voice:

      ‘What a relief!’ She had turned on her heel, but with a fatal curiosity, paused to ask why, to be told, ‘I was beginning to think that you didn’t like men. Of course it’s a blow to my ego that you don’t like me, but that is something which can be dealt with later.’

      Augusta told herself that she hadn’t the least idea of what he was talking about. She stared at him, her eyes bright green saucers. She said primly, ‘Goodbye’ and flew upstairs two at a time in a whirl of starched skirts, ashamed that instead of thinking about her evening out with Archie she was wholly concerned with the tall stranger. Not, she told herself stoutly, that she found him in the least attractive—indeed, he was rude and arrogant. She told herself this twice, because it didn’t ring quite true. She wondered how he behaved towards someone he liked—that lovely dark girl, for instance. He had a delightful voice—she frowned a little, because now she came to think about it, he had an accent—a very faint accent which tugged, elusive as smoke, at the edge of her senses.

      She slipped through the door to PP and forgot him instantly in the hurry and exactitude of her work, and when his image persisted in its invasion of her mind during the rest of the day, she very sensibly ignored it. But that evening, on the way home from the cinema with Archie, she was reminded of him once more by her companion, who wanted to know, without much interest, who he was and what she had been doing with him anyway. She explained, and when Archie remarked that he had got the impression that her companion had appeared a high-handed fellow, agreed with him cheerfully, adding the rider that probably he was married or engaged to the girl he had been with in Lady Belway’s room—or at any rate, very close friends. Strangely, she didn’t fancy the idea, until she remembered how he had said, very plainly indeed, that he didn’t like carroty hair. She said, apropos of nothing at all:

      ‘What colour would you call my hair, Archie?’

      He gave her an astonished look. ‘Good lord, what on earth do you want to know for? I suppose it’s…’ he paused. ‘Coppery?’ he queried cautiously, and was relieved when she smiled.

      ‘I’m going on holiday in a couple of weeks,’ she remarked, as they waited for the bus to take them back to St Jude’s. ‘You’ll have to find yourself another girl to take out.’ And she was not altogether pleased when he said carelessly, ‘Oh, that’ll be easy enough.’ She wasn’t even faintly in love with him, but she had liked to think that he was at least a little in love with her, even if it was only temporary. Apparently not.

      Later, in bed thinking about it, she had to admit that Archie was a dear, but if she were in his shoes, she’d take jolly good care not to fall in love with a nurse when there was still at least two years’ post-graduate course to get through. It was lucky she hadn’t fallen in love with him. She had, like any other girl of twenty-three, fancied herself in love several times, but never to touch her heart, and never for more than a few weeks at a time. To her annoyance, she found herself thinking about the stranger once more, which was stupid and pointless; she would probably never see him again. She went to sleep feeling a little sad because of it.

      CHAPTER TWO

      SHE SAW HIM the following morning. It was Sister’s day off, so Augusta was to go on duty at eleven and stay on until the night staff came on—a long day, but normal enough. She had rushed out to shop soon after breakfast and they had arrived together at the entrance to the hospital, she on her feet, he at the wheel of a dark grey Silver Shadow convertible. The big car purred past her and stopped without sound, and after one startled look she nodded coolly and flew up the steps and past the porter’s lodge, making for the back of the entrance hall. She wasn’t quite quick enough. She was only half way across the gleaming linoleum floor when he caught up with her.

      He said silkily, ‘Are you running away, or—er—discouraging me?’

      They had come to the passage running at right angles to the hall. Augusta took the right-hand fork, and found him still beside her.

      ‘Neither,’ she snapped a little breathlessly. ‘I’ve been out shopping and I’m due on duty in ten minutes.’

      She heard him chuckle. ‘And first you must get your breath back,’ he remarked with mock sympathy. They had reached the end of the passage and he opened the door which gave on to the inner courtyard, across which loomed the austere lines of the Nurses’ Home. Augusta fled through it with a muttered ‘Goodbye’, not looking at him at all. She changed with the speed of long practice, and reflected, as she brushed her hair, that it had been a piece of luck that she had been wearing the new jersey dress which matched her eyes. She had bought it barely a week ago, and although being early April, it was possibly a little cool to have worn it, the sun had been shining. Then she had got out the black patent leather handbag her father had given her for her last birthday. It was to find shoes to match this treasured article which had her out so early. She had found its exact match at Raynes, and had had the elegant slingbacks on her feet when they met. The fact somehow compensated for the fact that he drove a Rolls-Royce.

      She took the report from another part-time staff nurse, a girl she had known well before she had left to get married a year previously. They had a cup of coffee together once the Kardex was dealt with, and Augusta questioned cautiously, ‘Are there any visitors on the floor?’

      ‘Mother’s in One.’ This with an expressive lifting of eyebrows. ‘There’s a beautiful creature with Lady Belway—in a white dress, ducky, with one of those tapestry belts that cost the earth. T-strap lizard shoes and handbag to match…’ The two young women stared at each other, wanting the unobtainable for a few unguarded moments, then, ‘There’s someone with the Brig—a downtrodden-looking female of uncertain age.’

      They giggled together, but not unkindly. ‘No one else?’ asked Augusta.

      ‘No one else. And a good thing too, you’ll be able to get the rest of the bits and pieces done before lunch, and then catch up on the paper work during the afternoon.’ Babs got to her feet. ‘Well, I’m off home to clear up and get a meal for James. Thank heaven it’s pay-day, I’ve gone through the housekeeping again.’ She turned to go. ‘How’s Archie?’ she asked over her shoulder. Augusta was aware, a little uncomfortably, that the hospital took Archie and her for granted. She said:

      ‘We went to the Regent last night, to see that new film…he’s fine.’

      She was looked at intently from the door. ‘Love’s young dream wearing a bit thin?’

      Augusta gave the bib of her apron a twitch. She said mildly, ‘Well, you know, Babs, it never was love’s young dream—we just get on well together.’ She smiled a little ruefully. ‘Look, if you were a struggling houseman with no money and his way to make, would you fall in love with me?’

      ‘No, I wouldn’t—but there again, I can quite see that someone might. You’re no beauty, Gussie, but you look different. ‘Bye.’

      Left to herself, Augusta wasted a few minutes looking at her reflection in the tiny mirror which was all Sister Cutts allowed herself. Babs was right, she was no beauty. She sighed, and went to see what everyone was doing. The work was going smoothly, at least for the nurses, but the ward maid had a great deal to say about the orderly pinching her newest duster when she hadn’t been looking—a trivial matter which took a few minutes to unravel and smooth over by the simple expedient of getting another duster from the cupboard and awarding it to the maid. Augusta was aware that upon Sister’s return she would have to account for its absence from the neat pile so jealously guarded under lock and key. She had learned long ago that Ward Sisters tended to regard their stock of floor polish, Vim, scrubbing brushes, soap and the like as if they were priceless treasures to be kept in safe custody for ever and ever. She thought it possible that they suffered real pain when asked to part with a single one of these items. She