A Summer Idyll. Betty Neels

too with a faint derisive smile. ‘Hardly that,’ he said, but he took Phoebe’s arm and squeezed it, and the smile changed so quickly that she thought that she might have imagined it.

      The girl grinned, ‘I’m Deirdre,’ and when Phoebe said politely: ‘How do you do? I’m Phoebe,’ she said rather impatiently: ‘Well, come on in and meet everyone.’ Somebody went past with a tray of drinks and she caught him by the arm. ‘Have a drink for a start.’

      It tasted like sugared petrol, but Phoebe sipped it obediently, keeping close to Basil because she didn’t know a soul there. True, he threw names at her carelessly from time to time, but faces came and went so rapidly that she never caught up with them. And presently she found herself against a wall and Basil at the other end of the room surrounded by a crowd of people all laughing their heads off. She had hidden her glass behind a great vase filled with lilac and was trying to look as though she was enjoying herself; not that that mattered, because no one noticed her. It seemed like hours later when Basil reappeared, a glass in his hand. ‘Hullo there,’ he began carelessly. ‘Having a good time? I say, this is some party—haven’t enjoyed myself so much in years.’ He looked at her and frowned. ‘You look a bit of a wet blanket, darling—it’s not quite your scene, perhaps.’

      She was anxious to please him. ‘Oh, it’s lovely,’ she assured him. ‘I came here just for a minute or two, to get my breath.’

      He dropped a casual kiss on her cheek. ‘Oh, good. There’s masses of food in the other room, but I daresay you’ve had all you want.’

      He slid away, leaving her with her mouth watering; she was famished, now that she came to think about it. Hunger sent her edging her way through the people milling round the room. She found a plate and collected tiny sausage rolls, smoked salmon on slivers of brown bread and butter, tiny vol-au-vents, a stick of celery—hardly a meal, but it would keep her empty insides quiet for a little while—then she found a chair in a corner of the room, and was surprised when presently she was joined by another of the guests. A thin, pale man, in a good grey suit, looking, she had to admit, as much like a fish out of water as she did.

      ‘On your own?’ he asked.

      ‘No, but I’ve—that is, the man I came with has heaps of friends here—and of course he wants to talk to them.’

      He gave her a long considered look. ‘Not quite your sort,’ he commented. ‘Not mine either—a lot of lay-abouts with too much money and nothing to do. You look as though you earn your own living?’

      It was hardly a compliment, but it was so nice to talk to someone that she felt no resentment. ‘Yes, I’m training to be a nurse.’

      ‘Good Lord—who did you come with?’

      ‘Basil Needham. He’s a houseman at St Coram’s.’

      Her companion said, ‘Good Lord,’ again, and gave her another faintly pitying look. ‘I’d never have believed it of him.’

      She misunderstood him and said earnestly: ‘Oh, he’s very clever—I expect he’ll be famous one day.’ Her eyes shone with delight at such a prospect and the man looked vaguely uncomfortable.

      ‘Not very old, are you?’ he observed.

      ‘Twenty-two.’ She looked around her. ‘Are people beginning to go? I must find Basil…’

      ‘Oh, they’ll go to a night club.’

      ‘Well, I’ll have to find him just the same—we’ll have to get back to St Coram’s.’ She added politely: ‘It’s been nice meeting you. I expect you’re going to a night club too.’

      He got to his feet. ‘God forbid—I live here.’ He walked away, leaving her gaping after him, and then she forgot him as Basil pushed his way through the people leaving.

      ‘There you are. We’re all going on to a disco…’

      Phoebe wasn’t listening. ‘Who was that man?’ she asked. ‘He said he lived here.’

      ‘Well, of course he does, you little idiot, he’s Deirdre’s husband. Get your coat—it’ll be a bit of a squash in the car, but that won’t matter.’

      ‘We’re going back to St Coram’s?’

      He gave her an impatient look. ‘Good God, no! Do get a move on.’

      Phoebe, a mild-tempered girl, didn’t budge. ‘I’m not coming,’ she said mulishly.

      ‘Don’t be a fool! You’ve no way of getting back on your own.’

      Which was true enough. She had thrust a handful of small change into her purse, probably not enough to get her back to St Coram’s. Her mind boggled at the long walk ahead of her, even if she could get a bus for part of the way.

      ‘If you could lend me some money for a taxi?’ she suggested diffidently.

      ‘No way. I’ll need all I’ve got with me. Get a bus.’ Just for a moment Basil looked uncertain. ‘You won’t change your mind?’

      She shook her head, willing him to change his, but he didn’t; he turned on his heel and left her without so much as a backward glance. After a minute or so Phoebe followed him, to find the hall empty. She picked up her coat for a moment, pausing, then put it on and went to the door. She was on the point of going through it when the man she had spoken to during the evening came into the hall.

      ‘Everyone gone?’

      ‘Yes. I’m just…that is…thank you for a nice party.’

      ‘Not going to the disco?’

      ‘Well, no. I’m going to catch a bus…’

      He had come to stand beside her. ‘I’ll drive you back to your hospital.’ He muttered something under his breath, it sounded like, ‘It’s the least I can do.’ But she wasn’t sure of that.

      Phoebe said politely: ‘It’s very kind of you to offer, but you have no need.’

      For answer he took her arm, banged the door behind them and crossed the pavement to a Mercedes parked at the kerb. Phoebe got in, since there seemed no point in protesting further, and was whisked across London without further ado. Her companion didn’t say a word until they had reached the hospital, and when she thanked him he said carelessly: ‘Not at all. I’d better go and look for my wife, I suppose.’

      Phoebe couldn’t think of anything suitable to reply to this; she murmured goodnight and smiled uncertainly. It surprised her very much when he leaned across to say to her: ‘Give him up, my dear—he’s not for you.’

      He had driven away before she could think of an answer to that one too.

      And it seemed as though he would be right. Phoebe didn’t see Basil at all the following day—nor, for that matter, for several days to come. And when at last she met him face to face as she came back from the Path Lab he gave her a cool nod and would have walked right past her if she hadn’t stopped him with a firm voice which surprised her as much as it surprised him.

      ‘Didn’t you worry?’ she asked. ‘Leaving me to get back on my own from that party?’

      He flushed a little. ‘Worry? Why should I worry? A sensible girl like you—you’re hardly likely to attract unwelcome attentions, are you?’

      His faint sneer made her wince, but all the same she asked: ‘Why not?’

      She knew the answer; she supposed that because she had thought that she was in love with him, it was going to hurt, however nicely he put it.

      But he didn’t bother with niceness. ‘My dear girl, you’re not silly enough to imagine you’re pretty?’

      ‘Then why did you take me out?’

      Basil laughed. ‘An experience, shall we say—a very unrewarding one, I might add.’

      Phoebe didn’t say anything