The Magic of Living. Betty Neels

them, Arabella.’

      She saw her holiday with Doreen fading to a regretful oblivion. Doreen couldn’t be expected to change her holidays yet again—besides, by the time she got back to England it would be October and she couldn’t expect her friend to miss the last of the autumn weather. A wild idea that Hilary might come out in her place crossed her mind, to be instantly dismissed. Mr Thisby-Barnes, for the moment at any rate, was far too important a factor in her cousin’s life. She said slowly:

      ‘If you s-say so, D-Doctor, and if Wickham’s d-doesn’t mind.’

      He smiled at her. ‘Apparently not. It was suggested to the Matron—by your cousin, I believe—is she not a Ward Sister at Wickham’s?’

      ‘Yes. Who is to tell Sally and Billy?’

      ‘You, Arabella; they trust you, don’t they, and you’ll know just what to say. They have homes? They aren’t orphans?’

      She racked her brains for the information she had primed herself with before she had started on the ill-fated trip. ‘No, they come from good homes, I believe, but poor, though. I’m sure their mothers and fathers came to see them off.’

      ‘I’ll see if we can arrange something.’ He sounded vague. ‘You don’t mind staying?’

      It wouldn’t be much use saying that she did, she concluded ruefully.

      ‘Not at all,’ she spoke with such politeness that he shot her a keen glance before going on to say:

      ‘Good—if you would be kind enough to look after the two of them—day duty, of course, and the usual off-duty hours. I think it might be best if we paid you as though you were a member of our own nursing staff, and any adjustments can be made when you get back. Have you sufficient money for the moment?’

      ‘Yes, thank you—the police gave me my handbag and case.’

      He stood up. ‘I won’t keep you any longer.’ He went to the door to open it for her. ‘I am grateful to you for your help.’

      She paused by him, looking up into his face; he wasn’t only a very handsome man, he was kind too, even though she perceived that he was in the habit of getting his own way. ‘Who are you?’ she asked.

      A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘I have a practice in the town,’ he told her, ‘and I am Medical Director of this hospital.’

      ‘How fortunate it was that you should have come along.’

      ‘A happy accident, shall we say, Arabella, if one might use the term without giving offence. You don’t mind if I call you Arabella?’

      The stammer, which had been happily absent, came back with a rush.

      ‘N-no, n-not in the l-least.’ In fact she liked to be called Arabella by him, but it would never do to say so; she liked him very much, but he was still the Medical Director, being kind to a strange nurse who had been forced, willy-nilly through circumstances, to join his staff. To be on the safe side, she added ‘sir.’