an apple from eve: [070-066-4.4]

By: betty neels

Synopsis:

He provided the only solution Considering she didn't like him very much,
Doctor Tane van Diederijk seemed to crop up in Euphemia's life rather a
lot.  But beggars couldn't be choosers.

Euphemia had been left with debts and a big house she couldn't afford to
keep, and Tane offered the only workable solution to her problems.

However difficult it might be, Euphemia was going to have to grit her
teeth and bear it.  After all, Tane might grow on her in time.



Dear Reader, Looking back over the years, I find it hard to realise that
twenty-six of them have gone by since I wrote my first book--Sister
Peters in Amsterdam.

It wasn't until I started writing about her that I found that once I had
started writing, nothing was going to make me stop --and at that time I
had no intention of sending it to a publisher.  It was my daughter who
urged me to try my luck.

I shall never forget the thrill of having my first book accepted.  A
thrill I still get each time a new story is accepted.  Writing to me is
such a pleasure, and seeing a story unfolding on my old typewriter is
like watching a film and wondering how it will end.  Happily of course.

To have so many of my books re-published is such a delightful thing to
happen and I can only hope that those who read them will share my
pleasure in seeing them on the bookshelves again.  and enjoy reading
them.

BY BETTY NE ELS

CHAPTER ONE.

it had started to rain fiercely and suddenly after a long dry, hot day,
and the girl at the wheel of the elderly Morris 1000 halted cautiously
at the traffic lights in the middle of Chiswick, listening anxiously to
the puffs and wheezing of the engine--a good car on the open road, she
thought loyally, but a bit of a problem in city traffic.  The lights had
been red for a long time;

she glanced sideways at a bus drawn in close to her left and then looked
to her right: a steel grey Bentley within inches of her, its driver
staring ahead of him, showing her a handsome profile with an arrogant
nose and a high forehead.  She judged him to be a large man, although it
was difficult to know that from where she was.  She amused herself
guessing his age; thirty-five?  Forty?  Younger than that perhaps, his
hair was so fair that it could have been silver.  He turned his head
suddenly and she was disconcerted by his cold blue stare; one didn't
expect complete strangers to smile at one, but neither did one expect a
look of glacial dislike.  She restrained herself with difficulty from
the childish impulse to make a face at him, to be rendered speechless
with rage as a long arm in a beautifully tailored sleeve stretched
across and tapped her indicator.

"Unless you intend suicide, I suggest that you put that thing in."  His
voice was as cold as his look and before she could say a word, the
lights had changed and the Bentley had slipped away, out of sight in the
thick traffic within seconds.

It seemed to Euphemia that she would never reach the M3, and when she
did the turning to Chobham was endless miles away.  She heaved a sigh of
relief when she turned off at last to go through Chobham and then take
the narrow road to her home, Hampton-cum-Spyway was a very small
village, tucked away in a valley, with an outsize church, a cluster of
picturesque cottages and a scattering of comfortably sized old houses.

She went slowly down the short street, past the butchers, the baker and
the post office and general stores, and drove round the village green,
glimpsing old Dr. Bell's car in front of her home as she turned into the
gateway at the side of the house, its gate propped open for so many
years now that it no longer fulfilled its function, and stopped in front
of the garage.

She turned off the engine, got out and went under the rose arch in the
hedge to the front garden, crossed the unkempt lawn and opened the front
door.  The house was charming; wisteria hung over it like a purple
waterfall, almost hiding the roses sharing the walls with it, hiding too
the shabby state of the paintwork.  The door was solid oak studded with
nails and opened into a pleasant hall.  The girl went in, dropping her
handbag on to a side table, stepped over a hole in the carpet with the
air of one who had done it many times before, and ran upstairs two at a
time.

The landing was spacious with several doors and a number of narrow
passages leading in all directions.  She went straight to a door at the
front of the house and went in.

It was a large room, dominated by a fourposter bed and a good deal of
dark oak furniture.  Her father lay on the bed, his face ashen against
the pillows, Dr. Bell stood at the foot, Ellen, her younger sister, was
standing behind him, not looking.  There was a fourth person in the room
bending over her father, who straightened up as she went to the bed. The
driver of the Bentley.

Euphemia took her father's limp hand and smiled at him, not speaking,
and it was Dr. Bell who broke the silence.

"Euphemia, my dear-'em glad you could come so quickly.  A colleague of
mine at St.  Cyprian's advised me to call in Dr. van Diederijk as
consultant.

He's a heart specialist of international reputation."  He turned to the
giant of a man standing by the bed.

"This is Euphemia Blackstock, the eldest of the Colonel's children."

The doctor nodded and said how do you do with rage as a long arm in a
beautifully tailored sleeve stretched across and tapped her indicator.

"Unless you intend suicide, I suggest that you put that thing in."  His
voice was as cold as his look and before she could say a word, the
lights had changed and the Bentley had slipped away, out of sight in the
thick traffic within seconds.

It seemed to Euphemia that she would never reach the M3, and when she
did the turning to Chobham was endless miles away.  She heaved a sigh of
relief when she turned off at last to go through Chobham and then take
the narrow road to her home, Hampton-cum-Spyway was a very small
village, tucked away in a valley, with an outsize church, a cluster of
picturesque cottages and a scattering of comfortably sized old houses.

She went slowly down the short street, past the butchers, the baker and
the post office and general stores, and drove round the village green,
glimpsing old Dr. Bell's car in front of her home as she turned into the
gateway at the side of the house, its gate propped open for so many
years now that it no longer fulfilled its function, and stopped in front
of the garage.

She turned off the engine, got out and went under the rose arch in the
hedge to the front garden, crossed the unkempt lawn and opened the front
door.  The house was charming; wisteria hung over it like a purple
waterfall, almost hiding the roses sharing the walls with it, hiding too
the shabby state of the paintwork.  The door was solid oak studded with
nails and opened into a pleasant hall.  The girl went in, dropping her
handbag on to a side table, stepped over a hole in the carpet with the
air of one who had done it many times before, and ran upstairs two at a
time.

The landing was spacious with several doors and a number of narrow
passages leading in all directions.  She went straight to a door at the
front of the house and went in.

It was a large room, dominated by a fourposter bed and a good deal of
dark oak furniture.  Her father lay on the bed, his face ashen against
the pillows, Dr. Bell stood at the foot, Ellen, her younger sister, was
standing behind him, not looking.  There was a fourth person in the room
bending over her father, who straightened up as she went to the bed. The
driver of the Bentley.

Euphemia took her father's limp hand and smiled at him, not speaking,
and it was Dr. Bell who broke the silence.

"Euphemia, my dear-- I'm glad you could come so quickly.  A colleague of
mine at St.  Cyprian's advised me to call in Dr. van Diederijk as
consultant.

He's a heart specialist of international reputation."  He turned to the
giant of a man standing by the bed.

"This i$ Euphemia Blackstock, the eldest of the Colonel's children."

The doctor nodded and said how do you do in a politely disinterested
voice.

"Can we talk somewhere?"  he asked.

"The Colonel's daughters could perhaps stay with him... ?"

Ellen had gone to stand by Euphemia.  She was a pretty girl, fair and
blue-eyed and with an air of helplessness, in direct contrast to her
sister, for Euphemia was above middle height, on the plump side, with
rich dark brown hair and tawny eyes and an exquisite nose above a soft
too wide mouth.  The mouth became surprisingly firm now.

"I should like to know what you decide," she addressed Dr. van Diederijk
in a quiet voice that expected an answer.

He raised pale eyebrows.

"Of course.  Miss. Blackstock.  You are a nurse, I believe?"  Somehow he
managed to convey astonishment at that fact.

"Yes."  He might be an eminent heart specialist, but she began to wonder
if he had a heart himself.  Reassurance and a little kindliness would
have been acceptable; she had had Ellen's frightened, garbled message
while she was on duty and she had driven home as fast as she could, full
of forebodings.  They were a close-knit family, more so since her
mother had died a year previously, and they all loved their fiery-
tempered, tough parent.  To see him laid low on his; bed had terrified
Euphemia, although she hadn't allowed it to show.  She wondered now if
her father had been holding out on them, knowing that there was
something wrong and not telling them.

She followed the two men out of the room and ignoring the consultant's
cool annoyance, addressed herself to Dr. Bell.

"Did Father know that he was ill?  Was this unexpected?  And if it
wasn't why wasn't I told?"

"He expressly forbade me to mention it, Euphemia."  Dr. Bell looked
uncomfortable.

"A question of valves," he went on.

"I suggested that he might put himself in the hands of a surgeon some
months ago, but he wouldn't hear of it, and now it's become imperative."

"He could recover if they operate?"

"That's for Dr. van Diederijk to say."

She turned to the silent man watching her.

"You're not a surgeon?"

"No, a physician."

"So it's your advice which will decide whether surgery will give my
father a chance."

He nodded his splendid head.

"That is so."  He added softly: "And now if Dr. Bell and I might go
somewhere undisturbed..."

She hated him; cold, arrogant, rude, self-important.  she had quite a
list of adjectives by the time she was back in her father's room.

Ellen was standing forlornly looking out of lie window, and Euphemia
gave her a loving understanding glance as she went to the bed.  Ellen
had always been the baby, even though both the boys were younger than
she; she hated violence and sickness, and bad temper, and Euphemia had
tried to shield her from all these.

It hadn't been too difficult, because Ellen had been the one to stay at
home and run the house with the help of Mrs. Cross who came in to oblige
every day.  She would have to send for the boys, thought Euphemia--just
in case.

She sat down by the bed and took her father's hand again.  He was too
ill to talk and she made no effort to speak, sensing that peace and
quiet was what he wanted.  Presently she said softly to Ellen: "Go down
and make coffee, will you, darling?  Those two men will want something."

It was quite some time later when Dr. Bell came back and beckoned her
from the door.

"Dr.  van Diederijk has gone up to St.  Jude's--he intends to discuss
your father's case with a surgeon there.  He's made his decision, but he
prefers to say nothing more until he's talked to Mr. Crisp."

"And you?"  she asked a little sharply.

"Aren't you going to tell me anything either?"

"We must have patience, my dear," said Dr. Bell kindly, 'it's an
important thing to everyone concerned.  "

"When shall we know?"

Dr.  Bell looked awkward and she wondered why.

"At the latest tomorrow morning.  Have you told the boys?"

"I'm about to telephone them."  She glanced at her watch.

"It's almost five o'clock: If I ring Stowe now they can put them on a
train as soon as possible and they could be home this evening--late this
evening."

She frowned a little.

"Tomorrow morning wouldn't be a better idea?"

She looked past the old man.

"Father's very ill, I can see that for myself, but if they do a valve
replacement..."

Dr.  Bell muttered something in a soothing voice.

"Travelling will be easier for them this evening--the trains are always
crowded in the morning and taxis are harder to get."

She supposed he was right, but she was too worried and unhappy to think
about it.  She telephoned the boys' school and was assured that they
would be sent home at once.  She went to find Ellen, sent her to the
kitchen to coax Mrs. Cross to stay a bit later and get a meal ready,
then went herself to her father's room where Dr. Bell was standing by
his patient's bed.

"I have evening surgery," he told her, 'but I'll come the moment you
want me.

I'm afraid there's nothing much we can do until we have the consultants'
opinions.  "

Euphemia drew up a chair and sat down beside her father, sleeping
peacefully, a drugged sleep, but she was thankful for it; he wasn't a
man to bear with illness and she couldn't have borne to have seen him
lying there worrying about himself.  Presently Ellen came in with a
supper tray.

"I'll take over when you say so," she whispered, but, Euphemia shook her
head.

"I'm not tired, you stay downstairs and make sure everything is ready
for the boys.  Oh, and be a dear and ring St.  Cyprian's and tell them
that I can't come back tonight--explain, will you?  I'll telephone them
in the morning."

Dr.  Bell came again much later.  The Colonel was still unconscious and
beyond taking his pulse he did nothing.

"Shouldn't he go to hospital?"  asked Euphemia urgently.

"Dr.  van Deiderijk thinks it unwise to move him for the moment."

She looked at the kind elderly face she had known for all of twenty
years.

"If you say so..."  She sighed.

"If you hear anything from that man you'll let me know at once--won't
you?"

"Of course.  You don't like him, my dear?"

"No," said Euphemia flatly.

The boys got home late that night and in the early hours of the morning
her father died.  Euphemia, sitting with him, didn't call them from
their beds; there was no point in doing so.  Dr. Bell came in answer to
her telephone call, and surprisingly, Dr. van Diederijk came with him.
It was almost five o'clock now and a pearly morning that promised to be
a warm day, and beside Dr. Bell's hastily dragged on clothes, the
Dutchman's appearance suggested that he had been up, freshly shaved, and
immaculately dressed after a long restful night.

Euphemia greeted them with a face stony with fiercely held back grief.

It was later, downstairs in the shabby sitting-room, that she asked:

"Was it your decision not to admit my father to hospital, Dr. van
Diederijk?"

He was standing before the fireplace, his hands in his pockets.

"Yes."

"Why?"  She took a breath and went on in a rush: "You took away his only
chance!  What right had you to do that--he might be alive now if you'd
advised operation..."

"Alive, yes, if you can call it living to be attached to monitoring
machines and drips and ECGS.  Your father was an intelligent man, he
would have been only too aware that he was being kept alive but with no
hope of leading a normal life again.  It would have been a matter of
days only-can you imagine what that would have meant to him?  You must
know in your heart that I made the right decision--he had been ill for a
long time, I understand--far too long for a replacement to be
satisfactory.  Beside he wasn't a young man any more..."  :

"Then why wasn't I told?"  Her voice shook with rage and grief.

"I have it from Dr. Bell that he didn't wish you to be told."  He looked
at the other man, who nodded.

Euphemia turned her back on them both so that they shouldn't see the
tears.

In a moment when she had control of her voice she said: "If I'd known, I
could have stayed at home and nursed him."

"For that very reason he wished nothing to be said.  I must say that I
can understand his wishes;

you must try.  and understand too.  "

She spun round to face him.

"Well, I don't, but then I'm not made of ice..  he was my father, you
know--and even if he weren't I wouldn't be so cold-blooded about it as
you are!"

She rushed out of the room, brushing past him, one small corner of her
numbed brain aware of the faint whiff of expensive aftershave as she did
so.  She went to the kitchen, made herself a pot of tea, had a hearty
cry and pulled herself together.  It was all of twenty minutes by the
time she had made her way back to the shabby, comfortable sitting-room.
The two men were there, waiting patiently, and she asked them in a
wooden voice if they would like coffee.  She looked a fright by now, her
beautiful nose red with weeping, her eyelids swollen, but she really
didn't care.  When they refused, she enquired politely if there was
anything else to be done, and when Dr. Bell told her that he would make
all the necessary arrangements, accompanied them to the door and bade
them good morning, remarking on the beauty of the day as she did so.

Dr.  Bell patted her shoulder, said he'd be back later and made for his
car, while Dr. van Diederijk paused on the doorstep.

"Give yourself a double whisky and go and lie down for a couple of
hours," he advised her.

"It will help you to get through the day."

She didn't answer him, only gave him a cold glance and went indoors.

All the same, she did as he had said.  The whisky went straight to her
head; she prudently set the alarm for eight o'clock and got on to her
bed and fell instantly asleep.

The man was right, she had to admit later.  She awoke refreshed and
clear-headed, able to tackle the day ahead of her, full of so many
problems.

It was at the end of it that she began to think about the future.  The
boys would be all right; their school fees would be covered by a fund
their father had set up for them years ago.  She herself would be able
to keep herself easily enough, but Ellen was a different matter.  She
couldn't remain at home by herself, but on the other hand she had had no
particular training.

Euphemia frowned over the problem and then' decided to ask Mr. Fish their
solicitor's advice.

She had only the vaguest notion of her father's income; there had never
been much money and the house had grown shabby with the years, but he
had lived comfortably and money had been something he had never
discussed with her.

She dismissed the matter and set herself to writing to various relations
and friends.  The boys she had sent to stay with friends close by for a
couple of days and Ellen was of no use at all, declaring that she
couldn't possibly think of anything except her father's death.  Euphemia
had comforted her gently and sent her to bed early, staying up late
herself, writing her letters until, quite worn out, she went to bed
herself.

She got through the following days with out ward calm.  She was a girl
with plenty of common sense, and it stood her in good stead now.  She
loved her father and she grieved for him, but life had to go on.  He
would have been the first to remind her of that.

Aunts, uncles and cousins she barely knew came to the funeral, and when
Aunt Thea, a mild-looking middle-aged lady with a deplorable taste in
hats, suggested with genuine eagerness that Ellen should go back to
Middle Wallop with her for a long visit, Euphemia thanked heaven
silently for settling one of her most pressing problems.  The boys were
going back to school on the following day and she would return to the
Men's Medical ward at St. Cyprian's on the day after that.  There only
remained the reading of her father's will, and that would hold no
surprises.

She couldn't have been more mistaken.  Sitting in the small room the
Colonel had used as his study, watching Mr. Fish gather together his
papers after the will had been read, Euphemia tried to take it all in
and failed.  She hadn't expected there would be much money, but she had
never guessed at debts, still less that the house--their loved home--was
mortgaged and would have to be sold.  Mr. Fish had been adamant about
that; either she must lay her hands on the very considerable sum the
house was worth, or sell it and pay off the mortgage.  People, said Mr.
Fish in his dry, elderly voice, tended to be businesslike about such
things.  The fact that they were rendering someone homeless was
secondary to their instinct for good business.

"Don't worry, I'll think of something," Euphemia promised her brothers
and sister.

"No one's going to do anything for a month at least, there's plenty of
time to fix something up."  She spoke so cheerfully that they actually
believed her.

"Uncle Tom--would he lend us the money?"  asked Ellen hopefully, and,
"Cousin Fred drove here in a socking great Jag," observed Nicky, the'
elder of her brothers.

"But he's getting married," Billy, the youngest, chimed in, and added
with all the wisdom of twelve years, "He'll need all his money."

Euphemia swept them all to their feet.

"Well, we're not going to worry about it now.  Father wouldn't have
liked it.

Ellen, shouldn't you go and pack, and you two, put out what you need and
I'll pop up presently."

She went back to the drawing-room where the last of the family were
bidding each other goodbye.  They met seldom, only at christenings or
weddings or funerals, when they enjoyed a good gossip.  Dr. Bell was
still there too.

Euphemia whispered: "I want to speak to you," as she went past him, and
when the last of her relatives, barring Aunt Thea who had gone to help
Ellen pack, had disappeared through the open gate, she turned to him.

"Dr.  Bell, I want your advice.  Father has left some debts--not many,
but they must be paid, and the house is mortgaged.  Mr. Fish says we
must sell it, but..  well, it's our home.  There must be another way of
getting the money, only I can't think of it at the moment."

He beamed at her, pleased that he could help.

"There is another way--at least, you can postpone selling the house for
a time.  Find a tenant, and let it furnished.  I believe that might
bring in enough to pay the instalments on the mortgage, I'm not going to
say it's the right answer, but it would give you a breathing space, and
who knows, something may happen..."

"You mean win a prize from Ernie or marry a millionaire?"  She beamed at
him.

"Dr.  Bell, you're an angel!  That's what I'll do.  How do I start?

Advertise?  And how much rent should I ask?"  She faltered for a moment.

"If only Father..."  She blinked back tears and smiled again, a shaky,
lopsided smile this time.

"Bless you for thinking of it, Dr. Bell."

He patted her arm.

"As I said, it may serve its purpose for a breathing space while you all
get adjusted.  I'll ask around--I meet a good many people, someone
somewhere will be looking for just such a place as this."

Ellen and Aunt Thea joined them then and when they had driven off, Ellen
tearful but happy to have her immediate future settled for her, Euphemia
bade the doctor goodbye and went up to the boys' room to help them pack.
The house seemed very quiet and empty, and would be even more so
presently when they had gone.  She got out the car and drove them to the
station and stood waving until the train was out of sight.

It was getting dark when she got back to the house, with an overcast sky
and the threat of thunder.  She made herself a pot of tea and ate some
of the leftover sandwiches, then went along to her father's study to
start sorting out the papers in his desk.  Her sadness had gone beyond
tears; she felt numb, anxious to get as much done as possible before she
went back to the hospital in the morning.  She worked until late into
the night and then wandered through the nice old house, wondering if she
would be able to let it at a good rent, whether she would ever have the
chance to pay off the mortgage;

it was for a frighteningly large amount.  She was still doing sums in
her head when she fell asleep in the pretty bedroom she had had since
she was a small girl.

She had been dreading returning to the hospital.  She had a great many
friends there; she had done her training with most of them, worked her
way up the ladder of promotion until she had been offered Men's Medical
two years previously, and now at the age of twenty-seven, she had a safe
future before her.  Not that she wished to remain a nurse for ever; she
wanted to marry, preferably a man with enough money to support her in
comfort somewhere in the country--a garden, she had daydreamed idly from
time to time, with a donkey and dogs and children to play in it.  But
none of these things would be of any use unless she loved him and he
loved her.

Driving to work through the early morning she realised that her vague
dreams would have to go by the board for the present.  Ellen had to be
thought of, and the boys.  No man in his right min4 would be prepared to
take on a whole family, and even if she succeeded in finding someone to
rent their home she would have to go on working.  She could see no
chance of ever paying the mortgage off, but with each year of
instalments paid, there was the chance that something might happen.  She
turned the car into the hospital forecourt and parked neatly.  As she
crossed to the swing doors she decided that Ellen would probably marry
someone rich who would want to live in the house and thus keep it in the
family--a childish notion but comforting none the less.

Everyone was very kind to her.  The Senior Nursing Officer, a tart
middle-aged lady who seldom had a kind word for anyone, was surprisingly
sympathetic, and Euphemia's own friends lingered on their way to their
wards to offer their sympathy.  And once on her own ward, her nurses,
who liked her because she was sensible and fair and kind as well as very
pretty, made it their business to murmur conventional stilted phrases.
It was the tray of tea on her desk and the vase of flowers beside it
that touched her;

they might not have known quite what to say to her, but the tea spoke
volumes.

And the patients knew all about it too, all of them, from crabby old Mr.
Crouch, who disliked everyone on principle, to Dicky, the boy with a
heart condition, six feet tall but with the mind of a four-year-old.

As she did her morning round, Euphemia received sympathy from each one
of the twenty-four beds' occupants.

She had been prepared for it, but she found that by the end of the day
she was worn out.  She went off duty finally, made tea; had a long hot
bath and went along to telephone Ellen, who it seemed had settled in
nicely, although grieving in her gentle way and anxious to know what was
to be done about their home.  Euphemia reassured her firmly and went
back to her room to write to the boys.  By the time she had done that
she was tired; another pot of tea with her friends coming off their
evening duty, and she was ready for bed.

She hadn't expected to sleep, but she did.

Sir Richard Blake, doing his weekly round the next morning, had
something to say too.  He considered her a sensible girl, with no
nonsense about her, and he had been acquainted with the Colonel.  He
swept round the ward barking questions at the students trailing behind
him, leaving them limp at the ward doors when he had finished, although
his patients, to whom he showed nothing but benevolence, regretted to
see him go.  But he didn't leave immediately.

Euphemia, bidding him good morning and speeding him on his way with a
polite "Thank you, sir," was surprised when he marched into her office
with a brusque: "A minute of your time, Sister."

She followed him in and closed the door, trying hard to remember if she
had done anything awful since his last round.

"Sorry to hear about your father."  The brusqueness hid sympathy.

"He was a splendid man."  Sir Richard went over to the window and stood
with his back to her, looking out at the dreary side street it
over-looked.

"Dr.  Bell mentioned that you were thinking of letting the house for a
while--seems a good idea--very nice place you've got there, ideal for
someone who wants peace and quiet.  As a mater of fact I've mentioned it
to someone, he'll probably get in touch..."

Euphemia addressed the elderly back, aware that Sir Richard was feeling
uncomfortable and probably afraid that she might burst into tears.

"That's very kind of you, sir, and I'm very grateful.  It seems the best
thing to do until we've had time to discuss things..."  She wasn't going
to tell him that it was in fact the only thing to do.

"I think Father would have approved-there's no one to run the house at
present and it would be a shame for it to stay empty.  "

Her companion went to the door.

"You're probably right.  You're a sensible young woman."  He coughed.

"No use being sentimental, glad to see you taking it so well."  He
opened the door.

"I'll be half an hour later for next week's round, by the way."

Euphemia went and sat at her desk, for the moment oblivious of the ward
just outside the door.

He had believed her, she thought; no one need know that there wasn't a
penny piece in the family kitty and that the house was mortgaged up to
the chimeypots.  For the first time since her father's death he felt
cheerful.

They would "all miss their home abominably, but they were all young;
Ellen was barely twenty and would certainly marry and the boys well,
their education at least was safe, and Nicky would go into the Army,
probably Billy would too.  As for herself...  A knock on the door and
her staff nurse's head poked round it stopped her brooding old Mr.
Steele was a very nasty colour and would Sister take a look at him?

The days dragged, although they were busy too.  She had deliberately
changed her days off so that she could work, but now she was free for
two days, and just as deliberately she had arranged to go and see Ellen
on the first of them and then spend the night at home before embarking
on the task of packing up their personal possessions.  She had heard no
more about a possible tenant; she would have to go to a house agent and
put it in their hands.

She was sitting in her office making out the Kardex before she went off
duty when one of the student nurses knocked on the door, said:

"There's someone to see you.  Sister," and went away again.  Euphemia,
head bowed over her report, muttered: "OK--who is it?"  and then looked
up blankly at Dr. van Diederijk's suave voice:

"You will forgive me.  Sister, but we have an urgent matter to discuss
and I am a busy man."

"I'm quite busy too," observed Euphemia promptly, 'and I'm going off
duty at any minute now.  "

This contradictory remark caused him to smile thinly, but he didn't
waste words on it.

"I should like to rent your house; I hear from Sir Richard Blake that
you propose to let it for a period.  If you will let me have the name of
your solicitor and the rent you are asking the matter should be settled
without delay."

She reviewed mixed feelings.  Relief that here was a chance to rent the
house quickly and offer respite from the foreclosure of the mortgage,
surprise at seeing the man again, and a deep annoyance that it should be
he who wanted to live in her home.

"Why the hurry?"  she asked matter-of factly He gave her an impatient
look.

"It is hardly your business, is it?  But since you are curious enough to
ask... 1 come very frequently to London; I am a consultant in several
hospitals here and I need somewhere quiet to live.  Does that satisfy
you?"

Euphemia said sweetly: "If it satisfies my solicitor, it will satisfy
me."

"What rent had you in mind?"

She stared at him silently; she had no idea.  After a few moments she
said so, and seethed at the thin smile he gave her.

"Perhaps that should be left for your solicitor to decide?"  he
suggested.

"I had thought..."  He named a sum which made her catch her breath--more
than enough to cover the mortgage repayments;

almost twice as much as she had hoped to get.

She said sharply: "Isn't that a great deal too much?"  and got another
mocking smile.

"You may be an excellent nurse.  Miss. Blackstock, but I fear you are no
business woman.  Your house is worth that amount to me and I think that
your solicitor will not dispute that."

"But you said you weren't going to live there all the time?"

"My home is in Holland, nevertheless I prefer to have a second home
here, at least for the foreseeable future.  I intend to marry shortly
and it will be convenient--I can hardly expect my wife to live in
hotels."

She was diverted by the idea of him marrying;

he wasn't all that young--late thirties, she judged, perhaps younger, it
was difficult to tell.  She had thought of him as married and had felt
vaguely sorry for his wife.  She wondered what his fiancee was like,
tall and slim and ethereal and as cool as he was, probably.  She was
recalled to her surroundings by his voice, impatient again.

"I take it that you have no objection if I view the house."

"None at all."

"Then may I come tomorrow?  In the afternoon, if possible, and it would
be convenient if you were there, so that any small problems could be
dealt with at once."

"It's my day off..."

"I know."  His tone implied that she had made a silly remark.

It would be lovely, she thought, to tell him that she had changed her
mind and wasn't going to rent her home after all.  She dismissed the
idea immediately; it didn't really matter who lived there, just as long
as her home remained in the family.  She said quietly: "Very well.

Doctor, would three o'clock suit you?  "

He went then, after a brief goodbye.  The little room seemed very empty,
but then he was such a very large man.

CHAPTER TWO.

euphemia made short work of the Kardex, handed over to Sue Baker, her
staff nurse, and hurried off duty.  She would have to change her plans;

she would go home straight away, polish, dust and Hoover and arrange a
vase or two of flowers.  She supposed she would have to give Dr. van
Diederijk tea; that would mean cleaning the silver tea service and
getting out the china tea things they only used on great occasions.

Well, it was hardly a great occasion, she argued to herself as she flung
off her uniform, but she had no intention of allowing even the faintest
whiff of poverty to reach the doctor's splendid nose.

She got into a cotton dress and packed the expensive cotton jersey she
had bought only last month and then rummaged in her cupboard to find the
sandals that went with it, her mind busy with the chores which lay ahead
of her.  She must ring Ellen before she left the hospital and put off
seeing her until the following day, and if there was enough of
everything in the larder, she might make some little cakes for tea.

She toyed with the idea of bribing Mrs. Cross to come over and serve it,
but perhaps that would be a bit obvious--one could try too hard.

Polishing the hall table a couple of hours later, she found herself glad
to have so much to do.  She had been dreading coming home to a house
without her father, but she had had no time to sit and broad.

The nice old place had a neglected air with no one living in it, already
it was beginning to come alive again, although there was still a good
deal to be done.  Euphemia had opened all the windows the moment she got
in and Hoovered like mad because she had the feeling that he was the
kind of man to ask her, ever so politely, to open this or that door so
that he might see what was behind it.  There were several bedrooms which
hadn't been used for months, so she raced around making them presentable
with counterpanes and a brisk dusting.  Several of the cupboards were
stuffed with the boys' things, too, as well as Ellen's and her last
year's clothes, but these she decided, he would have to accept; they
could be cleared out later.

She went to bed late after a sketchy supper and was up betimes,
arranging flowers, polishing once more, turning the shabby rugs to hide
the threadbare patches.  Breakfast was as sketchy as her supper had been
because she still had the cakes to make.  She finished her housework,
spent half an hour searching for the back door key, which no one had
ever bothered about, and went to the kitchen to do her baking.  There
was time to make a fruit cake too and everything she needed to make it
with.  With everything safely in the oven she went upstairs, changed
into the pale green jersey and the sandals, did her hair in a rather
careless knot at the back of her head made up her pretty face and went
downstairs once more.  The little cakes were done, and very nice they
looked too.

Euphemia made herself some coffee while she waited for the fruit cake to
bake to perfection, arranged it on the Spode china plate, and walked
across the green to the pub, where she ate fish and chips in the basket
with a splendid appetite before going back to put the final touches to
the tea tray.

She had planned to be in the garden, sitting at her ease with a book,
when the doctor arrived, but she was doing her face once again when he
thumped the knocker.  He was early--wanting to catch her out, she
thought crossly as she raced downstairs to open the door, so that her
"Good afternoon, Dr. van Diederijk' was coldly said.

"I'm early," his eyes searched her face, 'and you're annoyed about it.

Would you like me to go away for half an hour?  "

She pinkened with embarrassment.

"No, of course not--it doesn't matter in the least.  Please come in,"
and because she felt guilty of bad manners she pointed out the torn
carpet in a kindly way.

He stepped over the hole neatly.

"I had noticed it," he told her.

"A

good carpet too--a Moorfields, isn't it?  You could have it repaired.  "

She didn't choose to answer this; anything could repaired provided there
was the money to pay for it.  She asked haughtily: "Where would you like
to start?"

He didn't answer her at once but crossed the hall to take a leisurely
look at the portrait hanging on the father wall.  It had been done years
previously as a surprise Christmas present for her father--her mother,
Ellen, the boys and herself, painted in a charming group against the
background of the oak-panelled wall in the sitting room.

The doctor said, to surprise her: "I hope you will leave that--it
belongs to the house, doesn't it?"

"Well, if you don't mind, I will--I haven't anywhere to hang it..."

He turned to look at her.

"I understand from Sir Richard that your sister will be living with an
aunt--do you intend to do the same?"

It really wasn't any business of his, but if she annoyed him he might
not rent the house from her.

"No, I shall stay at the hospital," and to forestall the next question:
"The boys will go to my aunt for their holidays."  She opened the
drawing-room door, because that was the grandest room in the house even
if shabby.  She had polished and dusted and put flowers in the vases and
it looked charming and welcoming too.  The doctor wandered in and
strolled around, asking none of the questions she had expected.

"It's an open fire," she pointed out unnecessarily, 'and there's a
radiator under the end window the central heating isn't very modern, but
it works.  "

He nodded, went past her and opened the door on to the garden.  He stood
on the patio outside, still not speaking, and her heart sank.

The garden was large, hedged with beech, its flower beds a riot of
colour; it was also unkempt, its grass too long, weeds everywhere.

Euphemia said quickly:

"The garden will be tidied up before you that is if you take the house."

"Did I not make it plain that I would rent it from you?"  He gave her a
cool enquiring look.

"I will arrange for a gardener.  Is there anyone who will house keep
Perhaps you know of a good woman?"

"There's Mrs. Cross, she came in each day while my..  she's a widow and
lives just across the green, she's got a sister who lives close by she
came in to help with spring-cleaning.  I dare say she might work for you
as well it's a large house for one, although I don't suppose you'll be
using all the rooms."

He wasn't going to answer that either, but turned from the door.

"Perhaps we might look at them?"

She showed him the sitting-room, shabbier than any other room in the
house because they had all used it whenever they were at home, and then
her father's study and lastly the morning- room which was in fact a
repository for fishing rods, tennis racquets, an elderly sewing machine
and a catholic selection of books on the shelves which ran along one
wall.

"I shall clear all this away," said Euphemia, and he nodded.

The kitchen with the pantry beyond, a still- room and what had once been
the game larder was inspected quickly; he merely stood in the middle of
the floor and observed: "If Mrs. Cross is satisfied with this, I need
not bother too much.  Upstairs?"

She led him up the staircase and in and out of the bedrooms, most of
them agreeably roomy, the smaller ones at the back of the house making
up for their lack of size by their plain washed walls and plaster
cornices.  They were sparsely furnished, but what there was was old and
graceful and, thanks to Euphemia's hard work, beautifully polished.

Back on the main landing again, the doctor spoke.

"Two bathrooms, you said?"

It sounded quite inadequate in a house of that size.

"There's a shower in the bathroom at the front of the house," offered
Euphemia, unaware how anxious her voice sounded.

He agreed smoothly.

"You have no objection to me having another shower put in there's a
small dressing room adjoining this room..."  He strode across and opened
a door and when she followed meekly: "At my expense, of course."

"If you want one," she conceded.  Why a man living alone should need two
bathrooms and two showers was beyond her, even if this fiancee of his
came visiting, unless she was the kind of girl who brought Mum with her.
she very nearly giggled and he threw her an enquiring glance.

"You are amused?"  he wanted to know.

"No, no, of course not.  Is there anywhere else you would like to go?

Then perhaps you would like a cup of tea?  "

"Thank you, that would be welcome.  I'll get in touch with my solicitor
tomorrow and you will be hearing from yours shortly.  I should like to
move in within the next ten days."

Euphemia's mind boggled at the amount of packing up to be done in that
time.

She would have to get Ellen to help her and perhaps Mrs. Cross, and as
though he had read her thoughts:

"May I suggest that your er personal possessions should be stored in one
of the bed rooms it will give you a great deal less work.  I should be
obliged if the morning room could be cleared so that my secretary will
have a room in which to work."

"Yes, of course.  Will she live here too?"

His tone withered her.

"What a singularly stupid question.  Miss. Blackstock!"

She pinkened.

"Yes, it was," she agreed cheerfully.

"So sorry, I forgot that you're engaged."

"And that is equally stupid."

"Ah, now there you're wrong," she told him cheerfully.

"If I were going to marry you I'd take grave exception to a secretary
living in the house with you."

"God forbid!"  He gave her a nasty mocking smile.

"That you were going to marry me."

Euphemia's tawny eyes shone with rage.

"And I'll say amen to that," she told him sweetly.

"Shall we go downstairs?  If you will go into the drawing-room I'll
bring in the tea."

She sailed into the kitchen, put the kettle on and warmed the teapot.

The tea tray looked very nice-paper-thin china, the silver spoons,
silver hot water jug and sugar bowl, the little cakes piled appetisingly
on to Sevres china.  Euphemia bounced to the table and took one and bit
into it.

"And I hope they choke him!"  she declared in a loud cross voice.

"In which case he won't be able to rent the house, will he?"  enquired
the doctor's gentle voice.  He was standing just inside the door, not
smiling, although she had the impression that he was deeply amused about
something.

"I came to see if I could carry the tray..."

"How kind it's this one."  She ladled the tea into he pot without
looking at him, and made the tea.  When she looked round he had gone
again with the tray.

She would have to apologise, she supposed, but in this she was
frustrated, for each time she opened her mouth to do so, her companion
made some remark which required a proper answer.  It wasn't long before
she realised that he was doing it deliberately, keeping the conversation
strictly businesslike, asking her about local tradespeople and then
getting up to leave once he'd got all the answers.  She accompanied him
to the door and wished him a polite goodbye.

"The little cakes were delicious," he told her.

"Far too light to choke upon.  Good day to you, Miss. Blackstock."

Euphemia stood in the open doorway, staring after him as he climbed into
his Bentley and drove away.  Part of her mind registered the fact that
he did this with a calm skill and careless ease, just as though he were
mounting a bicycle.

"Oh, blow the man!"  she said under her breath, and went in to clear the
tea things.

Later that evening she telephoned Aunt Thea and told her the news, and
that lady, a woman of good sense, agreed that it was a splendid solution
to rent the house and did Euphemia want Ellen there to help pack up?

"That's the doctor who came to see Father," said Ellen unnecessarily
into the phone presently.

"Then he must be a nice man."

"Why?"  asked Euphemia baldly.

"Well, to like our house enough to want to live in it."

A viewpoint Euphemia hadn't considered.

"He's taking it for a year."

She told her sister, "He wants to come in ten days' time.  Aunt Thea
suggested that you might come up and help pack up our things, but
there's no need.  I'll get Mrs. Cross and we can put everything in one
of the bedrooms and lock the door."

"Oh, you mustn't do that!"  Ellen sounded quite horrified.

"It looks as if you don't trust him."

"Rubbish," declared Euphemia, rather struck with the idea all the same.

"I'm sure it's the usual thing to do."

"Oh, well--' Ellen sounded uncertain.

"We wouldn't want to upset him."

"Nothing would upset him," said Euphemia snappily, so that Ellen said
instantly:

"Are you sure you don't want me to help pack up?"

"No, love--I'll start tomorrow and finish on my days off next week.

Are you happy, Ellen?  "

" Aunt Thea is a dear, it's funny being here after--after home and
Father, but I'm happy, Phemie, really I am.  Are you all right?  "

"Yes, love.  I'll telephone in a day or two."

Euphemia spent the whole of the next da;

collecting up the small personal possessions of them all and it was only
half done by the time she left that evening, even so the house didn'
look the same without the clutter of tennis racquets and cricket bats
and Ellen's collection of paperweights, and the pot plants she had
tendec so carefully.

Euphemia moved them all into the greenhouse because she didn't think
that the doctor would care to have the task of watering them
regularly--she must remember to ask Mr;

Cross to do something about that.

The ward was busy when she got back to the hospital, too busy for her to
indulge in her owr private thoughts, and her free time was almosi
entirely taken up with visits to Mr. Fish and the house agents.  They
were all entirely satisfactory and she felt almost lighthearted as she
drove down to Hampton-cum-Spyway for her days off Mrs. Cross had been in
her absence; the hal was freshly polished and the windows and paintwork
gleamed.  It was the same in the sitting-room and the drawing-room, and
in the kitchen she found a note written in Mrs. Cross's spidery writing
to the effect that she had done downstairs and would be back again to
give upstairs the same treatment after Miss. Phemie had finished packing
up, and there was milk ir the fridge.

Euphemia made tea, ate the doughnuts she had bought on her way home, and
rolled up her sleeves.  In five days the doctor would be taking up
residence and there must be no trace of the family Blackstock left in
the house.  She worked until late, got up early in the morning and went
on packing, pausing only for a quick meal at the pub and a brief visit
to Mrs. Cross who on the strength of her new job and; Euphemia
suspected, more money, had brought a bright blue nylon overall and had
her hair per med.

"Every day'e wants me," she explained.

"Got to get'his breakfast most mornings and cook'im a meal at night, but
'e's almost never'ome for'is lunch and I'm ter suit me self'ow I'm ter
work.  Me sister Eth, she'll come in mornings and give an'and.  Paying
us and some'e is, too."

"That's very nice for you, Mrs. Cross," said Euphemia cheerfully, and
her companion made hasty to add: "Not but I wasn't'appy with you an' yer
father.

I'll miss yer..."

"Well, yes, we've all had to make changes, haven't we?"  She kept her
voice steady.

"But it's nice that we can keep the house this way, and Dr. van
Diederijk seems to like it."

"But'e won't be'ere all the time, 'e goes'ometer'.  Holland quite a bit.

I gets me pay Whether'e's here or not."

"That's splendid, Mrs. Cross.  Now, I must go--I've still an awful lot
to do.

You've got the back door key, haven't you?  I'll keep mine until the
doctor actually gets here just in case there's something I've
forgotten."

Euphemia went back to the house and began on the boys' rooms the worst
of the lot, what with model trains and boats and footballs all over the
place.  By the end of the second day she was tired out but satisfied.
The house looked delightful shabby, certainly, but the furniture was
good and well polished and she had decided that somehow or other she
would come down and arrange fresh flowers.  Mrs. Cross had offered to do
it, but she tended to fling a dozen blooms into a vase and leave it at
that.  The roses in the garden were flowering well; she would pick the
choicest.  On the thought she went and gathered a bunch for herself to
take back to her room; after all, the house wasn't the doctor's for
another five days.

She managed to give herself a free evening on the day before he was due
to move in, and drove herself down through a heavy summer shower to
spend an hour or more gathering roses and arranging them around the
house.  As she made a last tour of inspection the thought struck her
forcibly that now the house was no longer home.  Until then, polishing
and cleaning and turning out cupboards, she hadn't allowed her self to
think of that, but now she would have no right to come any more; she
would have to travel down to Middle Wallop or spend her free days window
shopping and going to cinemas.  She came slowly out of the drawing-room,
her eyes full of tears, but not bothering with them, since there was no
one to see her crying, and lifted the latch of the front door.  It was
opened at the same time from outside and she found herself staring up
into the doctor's face.

Without giving any reason as to why he was there, he pushed her gently
back into the hall and came in and shut the door.

"This is still your home.  I've only borrowed it for a time."  He smiled
so kindly at her that she could only gape at him, astonished that he had
hit the nail on the head so unerringly.  He went on matter-of factly

"Is everything locked up and put away, or can we have a cup of coffee?

I was on my way back from a patient of mine in Guildford and it seemed
an idea to come this way.  I didn't expect to find anyone here.  " His
eyes had taken in the bowl of roses on the side table.

"Flowers," he observed, 'and a wonderful smell of polish and lavender
bags.

Thank you, specially as you had no need to do it.  "

Euphemia sniffed.

"I wasn't going to hand it over all dusty and--and lonely."  She got out
a hanky and blew her nose vigorously and wiped her eyes.  "I'll get some
coffee."

They went into the kitchen together and she made coffee for them both
while he carried on a rather one-sided conversation about nothing ir
particular.

They left the house together presently, and he gave her no chance to
linger bu ushered her through the door with a brisk: "Of course, you
will be coming back, probabi sooner than you think."

Euphemia had murmured something, intent or being sensible and
unsentimental about it all then got into the Morris and driven away
aftei bidding him goodbye in answer to his own still brisk farewell.

He-had been kind, she acknowledged, as she started on the drive back to
the hospital, but she still didn't like him.  And why had he been there,
anyway?

He hadn't told her that.  She shrugged the thought aside; it didn'l
matter now, in a few hours he would be living there.

She wanted to cry again because she was lonely and missed her father,
and picking up the threads of life and changing its pattern wouldn't be
easy.

She flung herself into her work with an energy which left her nurses
breathless, and even Sii Richard, pausing at the end of his round to bic
her a courteous farewell, remarked that her devotion to duty exceeded
even his high standards.

"But I daresay you are glad to be occupied," he observed, 'although it
must be a great relief to you to know that Dr. van Diederijk is your
tenant at Hampton-cum-Spyway and no) some stranger.  "

Euphemia clenched her teeth on the observation that he was, at any rate
to her, a complete stranger.  She agreed politely and sped the great man
on his way to the Women's Medical.  But it was a relief all the same
when the cheque for the handsome sum Dr. van Diederijk was paying every
month arrived by the next day's post.  She paid it into the bank with
instructions that the mortgage was to be paid each month.  There was
still a little money over: holidays, she decided, clothes for the boys,
and perhaps it would pay for some sort of training for Ellen, only she
wasn't sure what.  Of course, Ellen might marry.  She had had a number
of boy-friends, although Euphemia didn't think that she was serious
about any of them; all the same it was a very likely possible ility.

Euphemia stopped thinking about Ellen for a moment and thought about
herself.

Matthew Patterson, whose parents lived on the other side of the green,
had asked her to marry him several times, but she had refused him on
each occasion;

his eyes were too close together, she considered, and he had a nasty
temper.

And there was Terry Walker too.  Senior Medical Registrar, who had
proposed, rather lightheartedly, she had to admit--besides, she had the
lowering feeling that when he discovered her father had left them all
without a penny, he wouldn't be as keen as he made out.  Miss.
Blackstock, with a highly respected colonel for a father and a
supposedly comfortable portion of his worldly goods to come her way
sooner or later, was a rather different kettle of fish from Miss.
Blackstock with nothing at all.  But it was hardly fair to think about
herself; it was the boys who mattered.

The house would have gone to Nicky and she must at all costs try and
save it for him.  The sums she had scribbled on the backs of envelopes
and scraps of paper weren't encouraging; the mort gage would take
fifteen years to pay off, which would be about right for Nicky but would
leave her, at the ripe age of forty-two, exactly where she was now.  It
was almost a week later when she received a brief note from Dr. van
Diederijk inviting her to join himself and a few friends for drinks at
her old home.  In four days' time, he had written in a rather sprawling
hand, and underlined the date and the time.  She read it several times
and then put it down on her desk as Terry Walker walked in.

He was a good-looking youngish man, ambitious and good at his work but
not over- liked by his colleagues.  He smiled at her now in a rather
guarded manner and asked: "What's this I hear about you renting your
house?  Surely you'll need to keep it open for the boys and your
sister?"  And when she didn't answer at once:

"You didn't have to rent it, did you?"  He gave her a sharp look and
although she hadn't meant to tell him anything she changed her mind now.

"Yes, we did.  The house is mortgaged."

He looked so surprised that she felt quite sorry for him.

"You mean you've no money?"  At her cold stare he added hastily: "What I
mean is, how about the boys--their education?"

"That's safe enough."  She saw the embarrassment on his face and felt
sorry for him--after all, he had been home with her once or twice and he
must have got the impression that her background was comfortable and
solid.  To lighten the atmosphere she picked up the letter.

"I've had an invitation to have drinks in my own home, don't you think
that was nice of Dr. van Diederijk?"

Terry read it quickly.

"Good lord, you're not going?  Can't you see he's only being polite?  I
don't imagine for one moment he expects you to go.  He couldn't do less
than ask you, of course, knowing that you won't accept."

Euphemia kept her eyes on the desk, which was a good thing, because they
glittered like topazes.  She said softly: "No, of course not," a remark
which could have meant a lot or nothing at all.  As she got up to
accompany Terry on his round, she was already planning what she should
wear.

She took care to get to Hamptoncumspyway a little late.  The last thing
she wanted was a tete-a-tete with her host, and she had timed it well.
There were a number of cars strung out around the green and lights in
all the downstairs windows.  As she rang the bell she could hear the
discreet hum of conversation coming from the drawing-room.

Mrs.  Cross opened the door, wearing the blue overall and looking
important.

"Oh, it's you, Miss. Euphemia you could have walked in it's your'ouse."
She smiled briefly.

"I'm ever so busy."

"I'm sure you are," agreed Euphemia, 'but I couldn't really walk in, now
could I?  " She went to the mirror above the wall table and tucked away
a strand of hair.  She had taken pains to make the most of herself and
the dress she was wearing, while not new, was an expensive one her
father had given her on her last birthday;

finely pleated chiffon over a silk slip, very simply cut, its blues and
greens and tawny shades making the most of her eyes.

"And very nice, too," commented Dr. van Diederijk from the drawing-room
door.

"I was beginning to think that you weren't coming."

She held out her hand.

"There was a good deal of traffic..."  She gave him a social smile and
was annoyed to see that he was looking amused, but he replied gravely
enough: "It was good of you to come."

They crossed the hall together.

"Well, I was curious," she told him frankly, and was put out at his
bland: "Yes, I thought you might be."

The drawing-room was full.  At first glance Euphemia was reassured to
see a number of faces she already knew, but there were an equal number
of people she had never seen before.  Dr. van Diederijk touched her arm
lightly and introduced her to a small group of people, several of whom
she knew slightly, waited long enough to see that she had a glass of
sherry and then moved away.

She exchanged small talk for ten minutes or so and then, catching sight
of Dr. Bell, excused herself and made her way over to him.

"I'm so glad you're here," she told him.

"I don't know half these people."  She took another sherry from a
passing waiter and took an appreciative sip, quite forgetting that she'd
missed her tea and supper was unlikely.

"You're all right, my dear?"  asked Dr. Bell kindly.

Euphemia smiled a little tremulously because his sympathy was real and
she had grown tired of presenting a calm face to so many people who had
asked the same question without really wanting to know.

"Yes, we're managing.  It'll get better, won't it?  Just at first...
Ellen's settled do}yn very well, I'm going down my next days off' to see
her.

The boys are fine too.  It's such a relief that the house is let.  " She
drank the rest of her sherry.

"I'm not going to look to far ahead."

"Quite right, my dear.  I see that van Diederiji hasn't altered anything
even the carpet ii the hall."

She sniffed.

"He told me I could have i mended..."  she stopped and touched her corn
pan ion sleeve.

"Who on earth is that?  she asked.

Dr.  Bell followed her gaze.

"Ah, that is Dian;

Sibley, van Diederijk's fiancee.  " He coughed" The daughter of a
baronet.  "

Euphemia took a good look without actually staring.

"She looks very conscious of the fact, she said softly, disliking what
she saw.  Mis' Sibley was tall and slender to the point of boniness,
with no bosom worth mentioning and < long face and a straight nose above
a thin-lip pet mouth cleverly concealed by the masterly application of
lipstick.  Her eyes were dark, and a;

she came nearer Euphemia, still disliking her decided that her dark hair
owed more to a gooc hairdresser than to nature.  She was beautifull;

dressed and she was smiling.  Euphemia though she was cold, as cold as
Dr. van Diederijk; i:

they had children, they would be a bunch o:

little icicles.  She giggled into her sherry and earned a cold glance
from her host, whici emboldened her to grin at him and then turn her
back.  Dr. Bell looked worried for a moment and then plunged into gentle
conversation until she interrupted him with:

"I'm dreadfully sorry," that was awful of me--I hope she didn't see me,
only I thought.  "

She told him about the little icicles and went on feverishly: "I'm
talking nonsense--I shouldn't have come.  I've not had anything to eat
since midday and I thought it would be all right, but I can't forget. it
takes a little while, doesn't it?"

The old man took her hand.

"My dear child, you were brave to come, your father would have been
proud of you."  He patted her hand.

"He wouldn't want you to grieve, you know, he wasn't that kind of man."

"No, I know, and I won't, only being here..."  She glanced round the
familiar room and caught the doctor's eye fastened upon her.  He said
something to his fiancee and came across the room before Euphemia could
move, and Dr. Bell said at once: "Euphemia hasn't had anything to eat
all day."

Dr.  van Diederijk looked down his nose at her.  That would explain it,"
he said suavely.

"We will go to the kitchen and see what can be found."

Euphemia went red.

"There's no need--I was going in a few minutes..  "

' 11 the more reason to eat first.  " He had ushered her to the door and
out into the hall while he was speaking and she was in the kitchen
before she could think of an answer.

Mrs.  Cross was standing at the table slicing ham, and she looked up and
beamed at then both as they went in.

"There ain't no more o:

them canopies," she observed, 'them waiters'a< taken the lot, but
there's all them sausages."  Sh( went back to her slicing.

"Nice ter see yer boti together both being owners of the'ouse, like.

Euphemia picked up a sausage.

"Dr.  var Diederijk rents this house, Mrs. Cross.  I still owr it."  She
bit into the sausage with something of i snap and added as an
afterthought: "No offence Doctor."

"Trivialities do not offend me.  Mis' Blackstock.  Pray eat all you
wish.

You wil excuse me if I go back to my guests."

"Not only will I excuse you.  Doctor, I don' really mind you going in
the least."  Euphemii picked up another sausage.

"What an abominable girl you are!"  The doctoi spoke softly in a steely
voice as he went away "You didn't ought ter.  Miss. Euphemia," protested Mrs. Cross.

"E might say'e didn't wan the'ouse any more, and then where are yer?"

Euphemia selected a slice of ham, wrapped i round another sausage and
gobbled it down.

"He signed a contract for a year."

"Such a nice young man, too," said Mrs. Cross "He's not young, and he's
certainly not nice.  Euphemia wandered out of the kitchen, taking an
apple from a bowl on the table as she went.

She was sitting on the stairs munching it when the drawing room door
opened and the doctor came out.  He paused when he saw her, closed the
door behind him and stood leaning against it, watching her.

"Eve and the apple," he observed blandly.

"My name is Euphemia."  She nibbled at the core with splendid teeth.

"I was employing a figure of speech."

"Oh, so who am I tempting?"

He said silkily: "Not me, I do assure you, Euphemia.  What an
extraordinary name!  Diana--my fiancee--would like to meet you."

She got to her feet, the apple core still in her hand, very conscious of
her bad manners earlier on.  She said formally: "That's very kind of
her.  Is she in the drawing-room?"

For answer he opened the door and she went past him.  Diana Sibley was
across the room, talking to Dr. Bell, although her eyes were on the
door.  Half way there Euphemia remembered the apple core in her hand.

She paused just long enough to hand it to the doctor before advancing,
smiling nicely, to meet her.

CHAPTER THREE.

diana sibley had switched on her most charming smile, which was a pity,
since it was quit wasted on Euphemia.

"Miss. Blackstock, I'vi been dying to meet you you're our guar dial
angel, you know, letting us have this darlinj house.  I simply couldn't
face the idea of livin;

in an hotel every time Tane had to come ti London.  " She added
carelessly," My parents place is in Hertfordshire there's room enough
for us both to live there while we're in England.  but Tane doesn't want
to do that.  " She gave him an arch look.

"He doesn't like the idea of sharing me with anyone, do you, darling?"

Euphemia was pleased to see that the doctoi looked extremely
uncomfortable and, behind his bland face, angry.  She had no doubt that
he was clenching his teeth in an effort not to tell his beloved to hush
up.  She said sweetly: "I'm sc glad you like the house.  I'm sure you
would rather be here with the doctor than with you family."

Diana put a thin useless-looking hand on the doctor's sleeve.

"Not until we're married."  She made big eyes at them in turn.  Dr. van
Diederijk c'

richly deserved her, thought Euphemia as Diana went on: "Tane wasn't
going to ask you, but I insisted, and I so hoped you'd come.  You're
awfully brave, in your place I couldn't have done it."  She shuddered
and gave Euphemia another smile, although her eyes were like dark
pebbles and just as hard.

"I expect you're very strong, you must be to be a nurse."  She studied
Euphemia smilingly with her head on one side.

"Anyone over eight stone seems huge to me," she confided.

Euphemia's tawny eyes travelled slowly down Diana's spare frame.

"Not really," she said cheerfully, 'just normal.  " She saw the girl's
mouth tighten with annoyance and added: " So nice to have met you--and
now I must just say hello to some of the people I know here.  " She put
out a hand.

"Thank you for asking me--I must go very soon, I'm on duty early in the
morning."  She included the doctor in her smile, dropped a kiss on Dr.
Bell's cheek and crossed the room to join some friends.  Diana, left
alone with her fiance, watched her, instantly surrounded by welcoming
cries.

"Anyone would think she owned the place," she declared thinly.

The doctor gave her a.  thoughtful look.

"But, my dear, she does," he pointed out.

Euphemia left a few minutes later, seen politely to the door by her
host.

She uttered the usual banalities about a pleasant evening, how nice to
meet his fiancee and she did hope that he would be happy there;

she altered that to'yoi both' in the same breath, then because he didn'
say anything and she felt awkward standing then in the open doorway
being stared at in sucl silence she went on: "I expect you're looking
for a house to suit you both for--later on where you're married..."

"You are free to expect anything you wish Euphemia."

She went past him and started down the drivt to the gate, neatly mended
now, she noticed.  / great many things she would like to say to hirr
were jostling for a place on her tongue, but sh< held it prudently.
After all, she needed the ren money and the likelihood of seeing him
agair was remote.

Not remote at all.  Sir Richard, doing his morning round on the
following morning, brought D:

van Diederijk with him.  The two gentlemen troc with deliberation into
the ward, followed by the Medical Registrar, the House Physician, the
Social Worker, a physiotherapist and a clutch o:

selfconscious students, and Euphemia, advancing to meet them with her
staff nurse and one of the lesser fry clutching the patients' notes came
to a rather abrupt halt at the sight of him "You know each other, of
course," observec Sir Richard airily.

"Tenant and landlady, as i were, Sister.  Dr. van Diederijk has joined
the consultant staff here, so you will see him from time to time,
thought not as often as we would wish for as he has commitments at St.
Chad's as well as Birmingham and Edinburgh, not to mention his
appointments in Holland."

Euphemia murmured suitably, cast a quick glance at the Dutchman and
discovered him to be smiling faintly.  It wasn't a very friendly smile,
she decided; possibly he was amused at having taken her by surprise.

She smiled in her turn in a wintry sort of way and then led on to the
first bed.

It took her less than ten minutes to discover that Dr. van Diederijk the
doctor was somewhat different from the man.  There was no sign of the
cold arrogance or the bland mockery which she had encountered; he was
calmly assured, ready to listen to the patients' sometimes rambling
accounts of their illnesses, making no effort to steal Sir Richard's
thunder, although it was obvious that he knew what he was about, making
quiet, pertinent observations and questioning the students and getting
far more answers than his colleague, who enjoyed a reputation for
terrifying his students, anyway.

He spoke seldom to her and then only to question treatment, addressing
her in a cool, impersonal voice as though they had met for the first
time.  Standing patiently while the two men bent over the next patient,
Mr. Rumbold, admitted that morning with acute nephritis, she imagined
him living at Myrtle House, sitting in the drawing-room wandering round
the garden, eating his solitary meals in the dining-room--not that he
would be solitary for long once his Diana had got him to the altar.  It
was strange that they hadn't married There was no reason why they
shouldn't; he could support a wife in comfort, she imagined and Diana
had all the hallmarks of a girl whc had led a leisured life with enough
money to spend.  The only reason she could think of was that they didn't
really love one another enough to bother.

She was interrupted in these musings by Divan Diederijk, asking her in
a voice of exaggerated patience if he might have the X-rays of the
patient he was examining.  They were almost a' the end of the round.

Euphemia decided suddenly that she didn't want to have coffee witt him
and Sir Richard; she beckoned Staff Willis whispered in her ear and led
her party to the next and last bed.

Ten minutes later pouring her own coffee aft el serving the two men, she
looked up with Well simulated surprise as Willis knocked on the door of
her office and asked if she could come intc the ward.

"Anything urgent, Staff?"  enquired Sii Richard.

Willis looked startled.  A nice girl, but nc imagination, thought
Euphemia crossly.  She said quickly before Willis could put her foot in
it.

"I'll take a look, sir, and let you know."

She smiled at the two men and went to the door.  Dr. van Diederijk got
to his feet as she edged past him.

"A pity, Sister," he said pleasantly.

"I was hoping for a chance to renew our acquaintance--some other time,
perhaps."

She had no choice but to look at him.  He was smiling his nasty little
smile again, just as though he knew.  She said snappily: "Yes, of
course, sir," and swept out of the little room.

She stayed in the ward for five minutes and then went back to her
office.  If she remained away longer than that they might come to see
what was keeping her.  She had timed it very nicely; they were on the
point of going.  She assured them that the matter had been a trivial one
and escorted them to the door, bidding them goodbye before nipping back
into the office to drink her cooling coffee.

She went down to Middle Wallop for her next days off, driving the Morris
after coming off duty in the early evening.  It had been a warm day and
the sky was hazy with a hint of thunder in the air.  Once on the M3 she
urged the Morris to its utmost speed, glad when she was past the,"
turning she would have taken if she had been going home to
Hamptoncumspyway.  Lightning was streaking the sky as she switched  to
the A30 and she felt relief that another twenty;

miles or so would see her safely at her aunt';

house.  Once through Stockbridge she took thi narrow road running
alongside the river, goinj a good deal more slowly.  The village was a
fai size, set amongst rolling countryside.  Euphemip turned away from
its centre into a quiet lam behind the church and stopped outside a smal
house with plastered walls and a thatched roof The thatch was in sad
need of repair, but to a casual passer-by it was a charming place.

Only Aunt Thea knew how awkward it was to run.  with open fires and a
temperamental boiler for the hot water and a leak in the roof when i)
rained too hard, but it had been her home all her married life and now
that she was a widow, the idea of leaving it for something easier and
modern never entered her head.  She came to the door now, smiling and
welcoming, and a moment later Ellen joined her.  Euphemia, walking up
the short path to meet them, was relieved to see how well her sister
looked.  This was the kind of life she should lead, obviously; she had
always been a timid child and a shy young woman, but she looked relaxed
and happy.  Euphemia gave her a great hug and then kissed her aunt.

"How marvelous you both look," she declared.  ;'!  think I shall give up
my job and rusticate.  "

She had meant it as a joke, but Ellen said al once: "Oh, I so wish you
could, Phemie--it's such fun being here."  She added uncertainly:

"But of course you wouldn't, would you?"

"No, love, I like my job, you know."  She could have added that they
would have all been in Queer Street if she gave it up, but she didn't;

to have disturbed Ellen's newfound serenity would have been cruel.

It was over their late supper that Aunt Thea mentioned the new curate,
nodding and smiling at Euphemia as she explained about Ellen doing the
church flowers and helping with the village play-group.  Euphemia, too
practical to allow herself to daydream, nonetheless had an instant
mental picture of Ellen floating down the aisle on the curate's arm.

That sort of thing happened in novels, but it would be nice, she
thought, if it could happen just once in real life for her sister.  And
for me too, she thought wistfully-to dismiss the idea at once.  For the
time being at least, what she needed was money, not romance.  It struck
her forcibly that by the time she had the finances straight she would be
looking middle age in the face and rather past the romance bit.

"Oh, well," she muttered, and sighed, so that Aunt Thea wanted to know
if she had a headache.

Her two days of freedom went too quickly, pottering round the house,
taking Gyp, her aunt's elderly spaniel, for a sedate walk, going with
Ellen to look at the church, where they found the curate contemplating
the west window and obviously waiting for them.  He seemed a nice young
man, rather quiet and solemn, but he had honest blue eyes and a kind
mouth and he was right for Ellen, that was plain to Euphemia, and she
only hoped that something would come of it.  Probably it would, she
decided hopefully.

Neither Ellen nor the curate were the type to fall in love lightly.  She
had made some excuse to go on to the village on a mythical errand and
left them together.

London, when she reached it, was hot and humid and teeming.  She pushed
the Morris doggedly through the traffic, reached the hospital and parked
in the yard at the back.  The car park for staff was full, as usual, so
she would have to come down later and move the car before she went off
duty that evening.  She got out reluctantly, dragged her overnight bag
from the back seat and put it on the ground while she wrestled with the
car door.  The lock jammed from time to time, and it was jamming now;
luckily she had time and to spare.  She opened her bag and found a nail
file and set to work on the lock's inside, poking and prodding with the
expertise of long practice.  She was halfway there when Dr. van
Diederijk's voice came from behind her.

"I won't offer to help," he observed blandly, 'because I can see that
you know exactly what you're about.  " He added annoyingly: " You need a
new car.



Euphemia gave him a fiery look.

"We're not all as rich..."  she stopped abruptly: being rude wasn't
going to help, and who knew, perhaps he might rent her home for another
year.

"Just so, Euphemia."  He read her thoughts so unerringly that she went a
guilty red and rammed the nail file into the lock so hard that it
snapped in two.  He took the pieces from her without a word, produced a
penknife and finished the job for her.

"If not a new car, a new lock," he suggested silkily.

"Thanks!"  She banged the car door shut and turned away, to find him
beside her.

"You had a pleasant time with your aunt?"  he asked gently.

She gave him a surprised look.

"How did you know?..."  she began.

"Oh, a chance remark from someone or other.  Pretty country round the
Wallops, although it's charming at Hampton-cum-Spyway.  I'm very
satisfied with your home, Euphemia."

"I'm glad to hear it.  Doctor.  And now, if you don't mind, I haven't
much time..."

He glanced at his watch.

"On duty at two o'clock?"  he wanted to know.

"Half an hour for your meal, and that leaves almost an hour in which th
change.  You surprise me, you hadn't struck me as being one of those
fussy young women who take hours to dress."

"I don't think you meant that as a compliment," she observed tartly,
'but even the plaines of us are improved with a little attention to
detail.  "

He smiled slowly.

"Now, when have I evei called you plain, Euphemia?"

He held open a side door for her and she skipped inside, annoyed that he
was laughing a her, and she didn't reply to his quiet goodbye.

There were a number of really ill patients or the ward and she had
little time to ruminati over her affairs.  Once or twice she found hers
el thinking about Dr. van Diederijk and his frightful fiancee.  Miss.
Diana Sibley was like the Othel Woman in a bad novel.  Euphemia wonderec
what on earth had made him propose to her ir the first place--certainly
not her money, from all accounts he had more than enough of that, and
although she was pretty in a washed-out son of way, without her
beautiful clothes and clevel make-up she would be a very ordinary girl
indeed.

Euphemia shook her head, lost in wonder men that a man with the good
looks Dr. van Diederiji had should fall for such a girl.

"Not that look;

are anything to go by," she told herself aloud" Look what a tiresome man
he is behind that handsome face!  " And then: " And you can sto]
thinking about him, my girl, or you'll end u] liking him after all!  "

But there seemed no fear of that when he did his next round with sir
Richard.

His cold: "Good morning.  Sister," followed by an absolute minimum of
remarks addressed to herself, did nothing to make her like him any the
better.  True, he joined in the small talk over their coffee in her
office, but only when good manners made it necessary.

Fortunately Sir Richard was in one of his more expansive moods and was
happy enough to do most of the talking.  Euphemia, put out by Dr. van
Diederijk's cool goodbyes at the ward door, kept her mouth firmly closed
and did no more than nod her head in what she hoped was a gracious
manner.

Despite that she felt a pang of pity for him later on in the day.  She
was crossing the entrance hall to see if there was any post for her when
she glanced out of the long windows on each side of the door.  Dr. van
Diederijk was standing outside talking to Diana Sibley.  Euphemia,
overcome by curiosity, paused to look.  It was another warm day and
Miss. Sibley was dressed accordingly in a simple sheath of a dress which
must have cost the earth, her feet were sandal led in rose pink leather
and had ridiculous high heels and her hair looked as though she had come
straight from the hairdressers.  Euphemia allowed herself a few moments
of envy before deciding 'that she would rather be her own slightly,
plump self than the fashionable vision leaning so gracefully against the
white sports car which must be hers.

She was on the point of turning away when Diana put out a hand and
lifted a cheek which the doctor pecked with no enthusiasm at all.  His
kiss wasn't received with any degree of pleasure, either.  Diana rubbed
her cheek carefully, as though to rub it away, got into her car, blew a
kiss at him, and drove away.  He had his back to her now, and Euphemia
wished that she could have seen his face, because somehow his broad back
didn't look as though it belonged to a man in love.

Granted, they couldn't have embraced fervently in full view of anyone
who chose to look from the hospital windows, but that frigid peck need
not have been quite so icy.  Perhaps they had quarrelled?  Perhaps Diana
didn't like to be kissed, or to display her feelings in public?

Euphemia, the post quite forgotten, tried to decide, so deep in thought
that she didn't even notice the doctor come through the door, pause when
he saw her, then tread softly to her.

"Peeping Tom?"  he enquired nastily.  Euphemia frowned and wished that
she didn't blush so easily.

"Certainly not," she said coldly.

"I'm on my way to collect the post I was merely glancing out of the
window."

"Haven't you got a young man?"  he asked.  She glared at him.

"That's no business of yours, doctor!"

"I stand corrected; it's as well if we mind our own business, don't you
agree?"  He strolled away before she had an answer ready.

Euphemia fumed each time she thought about it, but still, at the back of
her head, was that little pang of pity because his Diana had had no love
in her face when she had held it up for his kiss, no affection even, and
yet she had been so sickeningly coy at his party.  She could have
puzzled about it all day, only she didn't have the time.

It was a week before she saw him again, a not very happy week, for she
had had a letter from the boys bemoaning the fact that they would have
to spend their holidays at Aunt Thea's and couldn't she do something
about it, and another one from Ellen asking if she could possibly have
some money to buy some new clothes.  It was a very gentle request and
Euphemia knew that her sister would accept a refusal without a murmur,
all the same, she would send something.  Ellen had found herself a
little job in the village, spending a few hours each day with an old
lady who was almost blind and needed someone to read to her and do small
jobs around the house, but she had only just started and she was to be
paid monthly and the month still had almost its full length to go.
Euphemia did some rather anxious sums on the household budget and
wondered if she dared to send the boys to an old family friend in
Scotland who would love to have them, but there again hadn't enough
money to have them as guests besides, there was the rail fare.

The ward wasn't easy either.  She had never:

had to nurse so many cross old men, al demanding this, that and the
other thing and driving her and the nurses to the point of screaming Not
that it showed.  She went up and dowi the ward with a serene face,
although it was difficult to keep it that way.  As she pointed ou to her
staff nurse, if any of them had been realh ill, she wouldn't have found
it tiresome.

She was sitting at her desk writing up the Kardex during a lull in the
evening's work whei Dr. van Diederijk, after the briefest of knocks
walked in.  He wasted no time in pleasantries other than a brisk "Good
evening', and didn' wait for her to reply before observing: " I hea that
you have three weeks' holiday, Siste Blackstock?  "

She crossed the T's and dotted the I's befon she looked at him.

"Yes why do you wan to know?"

He looked at her thoughtfully.

"Been busy?  he asked smoothly.

"I

understand that there ar< some tiresome patients on the ward.  Your
tempe is short, perhaps?  "

"Yes," said Euphemia crossly, and bent he head to her Kardex, only to
come upright in her chair at his next words.

"I have a favour to ask of you."  He had pulled up the only other chair
in the little room and had seated himself opposite her.

She opened her eyes wide in astonishment.

"A favour?  Me?  I don't believe it!"

He ignored this.

"I should like you to accompany Diana to Jerez--in Spain, you know.  She
has had, most unfortunately, the mumps very severely and badly needs a
complete rest.  She has an aunt living there who will be delighted to
have her, but she cannot undertake--er-companionship..."

"Why can't she go somewhere in England?"  asked Euphemia.

"She is in low spirits, her illness has left her languid and out of
sorts.

She cannot bear to be seen by any of her friends until she has quite
recovered; she needs..."  he paused, looking at the wall above
Euphemia's head.

She said tartly: "Someone to brush her hair and rub in all the best
creams and urge her to eat her food--she's far too thin anyway."

He transferred his gaze to her face and said distantly: "Diana is the
ethereal type."

"That's all very well, but see what happens when  he gets a bit off
colour-she loses pounds and looks like a matchstick."

"What a very rude young woman you are, but I didn't come her to wrangle
with you.  If yoi will undertake to go with Diana for two week;

of your holiday I propose to vacate Myrtle Housf for a month so that
your sister and brothers cai spend their holidays in their own home.  "

Euphemia put down her pen slowly.

"Yoi mean that we can live there you won't bi there at all?"

"I shall be in Holland for some of the time and probably I shall visit
Diana's parents as well and Sir Richard has offered to put me up whilf I
am in London."

"Well, that's very generous of you, but I'm not sure..."

"You will receive a salary, of course."  He go to his feet.

"Think it over and let me know.  daresay the boys would find it pleasant
to b< back there for their holidays."

"Well, yes.  As a matter of fact..."  She jus stopped herself in time
from telling him he problems.

"When do you want to know?"

"I'm going to Women's Medical to see ;

patient.  I'll call in on the way back.  Fifteel minutes.  "

"But that doesn't give me much time to th ini it over."

"Just so."  He smiled faintly and went away.

It, would have been wonderful if she could have refused.  He was so
obviously certain that she was going to do as he had asked dangling her
old house before her like a carrot in front of a donkey.  But she
couldn't indulge in that luxury, she would accept, although the idea of
spending two weeks in Diana's company filled her with grave misgivings.
On the other hand, the boys would be overjoyed, Ellen too, and the money
would come in very useful.

She applied herself to the Kardex once more and he was back again, in
exactly fifteen minutes, standing in the doorway, not saying a word.

"You knew I'd say yes," she told him snappily.

He nodded.

"When are you free so that we may talk about it?"  He put his hands in
his pockets and leaned comfortably against the door jamb.

"This evening?"

Euphemia closed the Kardex and folded her hands upon it.

"If you like," she said, politely now, because it wasn't much use being
anything else.

"My holiday starts in a week's time."

"I know--Diana should be fit to travel by then, so it should all fit in
very nicely."  He turned away from the door.

"Would you be ready by half past seven?  I'll be outside--we can have
something to eat and discuss the details."

He had gone before she had had time to do more than begin, "Well..."

She was late off duty, but she still had plenty of time in which to
shower and change.  She put on a two-piece, printed in pale colours, and
hoped that it would be suitable for wherever they were going.  She
hardly thought it would be a MacDonald's; on the other hand, he wasn't
likely to take her to the Savoy.

She was wrong, for that was exactly where he drove her.  He had been
waiting when she got to the hospital entrance and after the briefest of
greetings, had stuffed her into the front seat of the Bentley without
waste of time, beyond telling her that he had booked a table he had
nothing to say and neither had she; a poor start to an evening out she
was already regretting.

She wasn't sure, thinking about it afterwards, when she had begun to
enjoy herself; perhaps it was the excellent sherry she had had before
they started their meal, perhaps it was the rich smoothness of the
quenelles of crawfish with lobster sauce and the excellent hock,
followed by spiced chicken with apricots.  Euphemia found herself liking
her companion more and more;

but it wasn't until they had eaten the sherry trifle and she had poured
their coffee that the doctor mentioned her forthcoming journey.

They were to fly from Heathrow, she was told with a somewhat abrupt
change of manner from the charm and friendliness to cool directions.

He would drive his Diana there and Euphemia would meet them at a spot to
be decided upon later.  She would be kind enough to take good care of
Diana on the journey, as she was stiller--frail.  Her activities once
she was safely at her aunt's house were to be limited to her wishes.

"And how do we get to her aunt's house?"  enquired Euphemia.

"You will be met at the airport and driven there.  The car will be at
your disposal during your stay.  I doubt if Diana will feel up to much
exercise."

Which remark led Euphemia to ask naughtily:

"You did say mumps?"

His blue eyes became glacial.

"I must ask you not to joke about it, Euphemia.  Diana has suffered a
good deal, mentally as well as physically."

"Why?"

He frowned at her.

"If it were not that I had such a splendid report of you from Sir
Charles, I might reconsider my offer," he said austerely.

Euphemia put down her coffee cup.

"And I might reconsider my acceptance..."

The smile she didn't like came and went.

"How disappointed your brothers will be!  I take it that you have
already told them?"

She stared at him across the table, her tawny eyes glowing with
annoyance.

"Yes, I have."

"Then shall we cry truce?  I was beginning to think that we were
establishing a pleasant relationship."

"I can't imagine...  Your Diana--does she want me to go with her?"

"She will be grateful for your help and support."

Euphemia suppressed a giggle and at th severe glance, said: "Sorry, only
you make he sound like an infirm old lady."

"Diana is twenty-eight and extremely active."

"I'm twenty-seven."

"More coffee?"  She asked sweetly, "And don't you know that it's
frightfully rude to comment upon a woman's age?"

"But I am rude.  You have never ceased to make me aware of this since we
met."

"Oh--I didn't mean..  well, that's noi quite true."

"You don't need to make excuses, we can'i all like each other."

Euphemia said slowly: "No," and wonderec why it was that she had been
enjoying his company so much.  He'd been putting himself out of course,
making himself pleasant deliberately making sure that she would go with
his beastly Diana.  The thought made her feel sad.

"I'd better get back," she told him, "I'm or duty at eight o'clock.  I
think I've got you instructions right and I'll be at Heathrow wherever
you want to meet me."

"I'll let you know.  Let me see, it's five day before your holiday,
isn't it?

You have a passport?  Clothes?  I'll contact you in two days' time When
does your holiday start?"

"In two days' time," she said flatly.

He only nodded and said nothing, and presently he drove her back, making
conversation during the short drive to the hospital and not saying
another words about his plans.  Euphemia wished him a quiet good night
at the entrance of the Nurses' Home and thanked him for her pleasant
evening.  It was disconcerting to be told coolly that he, for his part,
had found only part of the evening pleasant.

He came into her office during the evening before she was due to go on
holiday.

"You're going to your aunt's?"  he asked after a brief "Good evening'.

She looked her surprise.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.  Shall I give you her phone number?"

"If you wish I'll drive you down."

"That wouldn't do.  How do I get up to Heathrow?"

"Diana's father can drive her over there and I'll run you up."

Euphemia put down her pen.

"That would never do and you know it!"

He considered this for a moment.

"Perhaps you're right.  In that case I'll drive your car down and come
back by train."

"It's a frightful journey from Middle Wallop."

He gave her a cool look.

"Trying to frighten me, Euphemia?  You will be good enough to let me
drive you down in your car, we can finalise the arrangements at our
leisure.  When do the boys come on holiday?"

"The day after tomorrow."

"Good Ellen will return at the same time?  If not will the boys be all
right on their own for a night?"

"Oh, yes, I've already written to Mrs. Cross."  She hesitated.

"You're sure you don't mind?  us living there?"

If I had minded I wouldn't have suggested it in the first place," he
said dampeningly.

"Oh, well.  It's very kind of you they'll all love it.  We'll leave it
exactly as you wish when we go."  She smiled suddenly.

"I'll have a few days there when I come back from Jerez."

"So I imagined.  At what time do you intend to leave here?"

About ten o'clock, the early morning traffic won't be so fierce by then.
"

His lips twitched.

"I shall be driving," he reminded her.

"But it's my car and the only car I've got."

He laughed and looked years younger.

"I promise you I'll be careful."

"All right, then, nine o'clock if you'd rather."

"Shall we meet by your car, then?"  He smiled briefly and went away, and
Euphemia, being a sensible girl with a lot of work to do, dismissed him
from her mind and got on with it.

CHAPTER FOUR.

he was there by her car when she reached it, immaculate in tweeds and a
thin polo-necked sweater.  His good morning was friendly and he waited
patiently as she unlocked the car door.

"There's time to call in at Myrtle House," he suggested.

"Mrs.  Cross said she would be there."

Euphemia hadn't expected that.

"You're very kind," she said, 'that would be nice," and settled herself
into the seat beside his, hoping rather naughtily that the car would
play up as it so often did with her.  But it didn't.  They wound their
way through the morning traffic and reached Myrtle House without single
mishap, and she spent half an hour giving Mrs. Cross instructions as to
what to do when the boys and Ellen arrived.  They had coffee in the
sitting room and the doctor was a nice blend of host and guest. Euphemia
wasn't quite sure what she was.

They reached Middle Wallop in time for a late lunch, and Aunt Thea,
warned in advance by telephone, had done them proud.  She was an
excellent cook and after the first little flurry of introductions and
small talk over a glass of very sweet sherry which Euphemia guessed the
doctor didn't much care for, and them into the small dining room.

There was watercress soup, followed by pasties and a salad, very
different from the salads served at the hospital a lettuce leaf and a
sliver of tomato and if you were lucky, slice of cucumber.  Aunt Thea's
salads were a dream: mint and chives and lettuce from the garden,
tomatoes from the greenhouse, tiny spring onions, cucumber cubes and
baby beet roots, all bathed in a dressing of her own invention.

Euphemia was surprised to see the doctor tucking in with genuine
pleasure and when Aunt Thea darted into her kitchen and came back with a
bowl of raspberries and dish of thick cream he observed: "I can't
remember then I have enjoyed a meal as much, Mrs. Cooper," at which Aunt
Thea smiled widely.

"Well, it's a pleasure to cook for guests; since my husband died,
there's not much incentive to plan a meal."

The doctor questioned her gently and she responded, glad to talk about
the late Colonel Cooper.  Euphemia, watching her aunt's rather shy
manner warm under his interest, decided that he was adept worming his
way into someone else's graces.  But he'd better not try that with me,
she thought, the wily old devil and then amended the thought honestly.

Not a devil and not wily and certainly not old; arrogant and a great one
for wanting his own way and getting it too, and his cool way of snubbing
her left much to be desired.  She wondered uneasily if there was another
side to him which she hadn't been allowed to see.  Probably his Diana
saw him in a quite different light.  She munched raspberries and
speculated on this, and then looking up caught his eye and pinkened a
little because she had the nasty feeling that he knew exactly what she
was thinking.

Ellen offered to take him to the church after lunch which surprised
Euphemia very much, as Ellen was shy of strangers, but the doctor had a
way with him there was no denying that.  She watched her sister going
down the garden path chattering away as though she had known the doctor
all her life, and then went into the kitchen to help with the washing
up, feeling hard done by.

The two of them came back more than an hour later, but this time they
were accompanied by the curate, on excellent terms with the doctor and
only too ready to stay for what Aunt Thea called a cup of tea but which
turned out to be accompanied by paper-thin cucumber sandwiches, fairy
cakes and a nice old-fashioned fruit cake, demolished to the last crumb
by her guests.

The two men left together, the curate to accompany  the doctor to the
station half a mile away.  Dr. van Diederijk took a warm farewell of his
hostess and Ellen, a somewhat cooler one of Euphemia, with the reminder
that she was to be at Heathrow Airport on the morning of the day after
tomorrow at ten o'clock precisely, bearing her passport and such money
as she thought necessary.  The tickets had already been arranged for,
and he reminded her also to have as little luggage as possible.  He had
said all this on their way down, but she nodded politely and wished him
goodbye and didn't linger in the doorway to see him go.

The curate drove her up to Heathrow in her own car with Ellen for
company and the promise to come and collect her on her return.  It was a
lovely morning and still early.  Euphemia sat back, watching the country
in the height of its summer glory, and wondering if she had been a
little mad.  She had never fancied Spain and she certainly didn't fancy
Diana Sibley; on the other hand Myrtle House would be home for all of
them for one glorious month.  Not for her, of course, but there would be
almost a week left when she got back from Jerez something to look
forward to.

They arrived in good time at Heathrow and she had expected to wait.  Dr.
van Diederijk, elegant in summer suiting, dispelled the faint panic she
had felt as she got out of the car.  She wasn't sure where he had come
from, but there he was, looking calm, very much at ease and dealing with
her case and ticket with the air of a man who had done it all before.
Probably he had, dozens of times, she told herself as she followed him
into the reception hall after goodbyes had been said.

"Diana is upstairs in the lounge," he told her.

"She feels a little under the weather."

Which was probably why she was wearing a gossamer scarf over her head
and draped across the lower half of her face.  Euphemia, bareheaded and
cool in a short-sleeved shirt waister by no means new but elegant and
entirely suitable for the journey, surveyed the other girl's flowing
draperies and wondered why on earth she should choose to wear something
so awkward for a plane journey.

"So there you are," observed Diana waspishly.

"If we have to sit here much longer I shall be ill.  Do something about
it, Tane!"

"Not possible, Diana, I'm afraid," said the doctor soothingly, 'but your
flight should be called at any moment now and you should be comfortable
enough once you're on board.  In a few hours you will be at your aunt's
house and able to relax.  "

Diana could have been smiling, it was impossible to tell with all that
veiling, but her eyes, heavily made up, opened wide and she flicked the
lashes at him.

"Dear Tane," she said in her well-modulated voice, 'so thoughtful--I
shall miss you.  "

"And I you, but this holiday will restore yoi to your old self again."

A voice bade them g( to the gate and join their flight and Euphemic got
to her feet composedly, picked up her shoulder bag, accepted Diana's
enormous crocodile one, and followed the two of them down the stairs to
the barrier where the doctor bade the ira courteous goodbye without so
much as taking his fiancee's hand in his.  And that wouldn't dc for me,
decided Euphemia silently, as she shepherded her charge through Customs.

Once on board, ensconced in comfort in the first class section, Diana
signified her intentior of having a nap.

"And I don't want to be disturbed," she added sharply.  She pulled off
her veil then, revealing an unhealthily pale face, fai too thin, lines
of discontent deeply scorec between mouth and nose.

"Look at me," she declared bitterly, "I've always been beautiful
everyone says so, and now I'm as plain as an;

other girl.  "

Euphemia allowed her calm professional mask to hide her feelings.

"That's because yoi need to get out into the sun and air--I daresay
you've been indoors all day..."

"Well, of course I have--I'm far too delicate to go racketing around
when I've been so ill I'm not a great tough creature like you, I'm
sensitive, I always have been, but I manage to hide it--even Tane was
surprised to see how badly the mumps affected me.  It was he who
insisted on this holiday."

She gave a selfsatisfied little laugh.

"He's so careful of me; I'm to lie in the garden and swim each day and
eat anything I fancy.  He insisted on you coming with me, too."  She
added patronisingly: "He seems to think you're a good nurse, and of
course, only the very best is good enough for me."

Euphemia had nothing to say to this--indeed, she didn't think that Diana
expected a reply, anyway.  She made her comfortable and then sat back in
her seat, accepted a cold drink from the stewardess and looked out of
the window.

They were over water and there was land ahead.

England had been left behind already.

She had been looking forward to the flight.  Looking down on other
countries was a new experience for her, but her thoughts became more and
more engrossing, so that presently she had no idea where they were and
didn't much care.  Diana Sibley was a horrid young woman, conceited,
spoilt and selfish.

Why on earth Dr. van Diederijk wanted to marry her was beyond Euphemia's
comprehension; she had never once seen even the faintest spark of
feeling between the two of them, although she had to admit that they
could possibly be so reserved that they kept their feelings hidden in
public.  She frowned.

The first time she had met Diana she had been nauseatingly coy and
possessive towards the


doctor, although his manner towards her hac been pleasant and nothing
else.

She would really have to find out.  Perhaps he had been trickec into an
engagement?  Unlikely considering th kind of man he was.  Perhaps he had
had hi;

heart broken and didn't care whom he married' Euphemia pursued this idea
in some depth unti she became quite carried away and actually fel sorry
for him.

He needed rescuing before h< found himself tied up for the rest of his
life t( Diana.  Perhaps he wasn't such a bad man afte all, thought
Euphemia on a wave of sympathy and he had been very kind about Myrtl<
House.  perhaps she could find a way of helping him out of an awkward
situation.

They were met at Seville Airport by a uniformed chauffeur, who ushered
them into ai immense Cadillac with an air of reverence and saw to all
the tiresome details of luggage am tipping.  Euphemia, sitting back in
her corner heaved a sigh of relief; Diana had wakened ira frightful
temper and it had been no easy matte:

to get her off the plane and through Custom;

without setting everyone's teeth on edge.  Sh< sat beside her now, the
veil discarded because as she pointed out crossly, none of her friend;

were within hundreds of miles to stare at he;

spoiled looks, grumbling at the heat, the slowness of the porters, the
journey ahead of them.  How could anyone, let alone Dr. van Diederijk
love such an ill-tempered creature?  All the same, Euphemia reminded
herself, she had promised to look after Diana and get her back to her
normal self again, and she had no intention of backing out of that
promise.

The chauffeur got into the car, urged it through the traffic and joined
the motorway south, bypassing Utrero and disappointingly cutting out a
number of villages and small towns Euphemia would have liked to see. She
was a little disappointed in the scenery around her, but she told
herself sensibly that away from the main roads it was probably quite
different.  Now all she could see as they tore along was a seemingly
unending plain with few trees and those small and umbrella-shaped, the
olive groves giving way to row upon row of vines;

bleak even in the bright sun but impressive too.

But she had second thoughts as they approached Jerez; it was a much
larger place than she had thought and it looked interesting, but before
she could see much of it the chauffeur turned the car off the main road
and drove along a narrow, ill-surfaced road which took them through the
outskirts to slightly higher ground.  Presently there were high iron
railings on one side and then a closed gate which was opened aa the
chauffeur sounded his horn and started up abroad drive, beautifully kept
and bordered on either side by palm trees, jacaranda trees and great
splashes of bougainvillea as the driv wound round a corner and the house
came int( view.  Euphemia could see roses, crimson an yellow and pink
climbing over its white walls, The house was large and low and
beautiful; evei without its magnificent grounds it would havi been that.

Euphemia forgot her first disappointment.  This was Spain as she had
imagined it.  and she sighed with pleasure as they got out o the car.
The door was open and an elderi;

woman dressed in black was standing there t( welcome them--not Mrs.
Kellard of course, thi housekeeper probably, smiling and wishing them
good day in sparse English.  Euphemi;

returned the greeting, but Diana swept insidi with an impatient:

"Where is my aunt?"

They were conducted across a vast cool hall and into an equally vast
room, its frenci windows open to the gardens beyond.  It wa.  furnished
in the Spanish style, dark wood heavily carved, and there was a
profusion of flowers.  Diana's aunt was reclining on a chaise- longue,
swathed in gossamer draperies, am made no attempt to get up as they
entered.  Shi was an older edition of her niece, a thin, fade lady with
an acidulated face and an elaborati hair-style, and her voice, small and
rather shrill was as faded.

"There you are, Diana--and you've brought your nurse with you?  A gooc
thing, because I'm quite unable to undertake an arduous tasks at the
moment--this heat..."

Diana crossed the room and kissed her aunt an inch away from her cheek
and said shortly:

"Yes, here's the nurse.  Her name's Euphemia."

"Extraordinary!"  Mrs. Kellard lifted her head a couple of inches the
better to look at Euphemia, who stayed where she was, and stared coolly
back.

Somehow she had imagined the aunt to be a perfectly normal person, and
here she was, a second Diana, only more so.

Euphemia sighed to herself and said in voice of great politeness:

"How do you do, Mrs. Kellard."

Mrs.  Kellard looked taken aback, just as though he hadn't expected to
be spoken to by a nurse, then said grudgingly: "I hope you will be happy
here.

Nurse..."

"Blackstock."

"Blackstock--er--my poor niece has been very ill, so" I'm told, and I'm
sure she will need your services.  " She added: " You are a trained
nurse, I hope?



"I'm a Ward Sister, Mrs. Kellard, and I've come as Diana's companion to
oblige Dr. van Diederijk."

Mrs.  Kellard said faintly: "Oh, well, of course..  you two girls can
make your arrangements, just let Maria know.  Diana, ring the bell,
please, you'll want to go to your rooms and rest.  Have tea sent up if
you want to--I'll see you both at dinner."

Diana had a huge room opening on to a balcony overlooking the gardens at
the front of the house.  Euphemia saw her safely into it with ;

promise to return very shortly, and followed he guide down the wide
corridor to a similar roon on the other side of the house.  It was
smalle but just as comfortably furnished, with its owi small balcony and
bathroom.  Euphemia took quick satisfied look and went back to Diana.

She found her on the bed complaining that she was exhausted, while a
maid unpacked her cases.  Euphemia said with mild authority: "A cool
bath will do you good, then a cup of tee and a rest in bed until it's
time to change for the evening."

"I'm too tired..."

Dr.  van Diederijk would like to see you well again as quickly as
possible, so shall we star) right away?  Two weeks isn't too long.  We
shall have to plan some kind of programme, ] think.  "

"Why?"  Diana asked peevishly.

"I don't feel like doing anything, and I don't see why ] should."  She
added with a faint whine: "I've been ill."

"Mumps," observed Euphemia levelly.

"Thousands of people have them every day of the year, now all you have
to do is to be quick and gel pretty again.  You surely don't want to
walk around with a veil over your face for ever?"  She walked through to
the bathroom, saying over her shoulder, "Dr.  van Diederijk will be so
pleased to find you your old self again."

She took a couple of towels from the pile laid ready and set them
handily for the shower.  Would he be pleased?  she wondered, and then
dismissed the thought as a mean one.

Dinner, taken in a high-ceilinged room opening on to the garden, was a
serious affair.  Euphemia was secretly thankful that she had packed one
or two pretty summer dresses suit able for the evening, for both Mrs.
Kellard and Diana had changed into elaborate chiffon creations and while
neither of them had said anything, she was only too well aware that they
thought nothing of her pale patterned cotton voile.

The meal itself was lengthy and over- elaborate, and since neither of
the ladies ate more than a mouthful of each course, Euphemia was forced
to curb her own healthy appetite.  It was quite a relief when Diana said
that she would go to bed immediately after their coffee and plainly
expected Euphemia to with her.  Her aunt bade them good night, told them
to ring for anything they might want, and picked up her book.  She might
have invited her niece to stay as a guest, but she seemed to have no
idea about entertaining her.

In her room Diana undressed slowly, grumbling that she was exhausted and
that her head ached.

"Well, I daresay it does," observed Euphemie matter-of-factly.

"It's been a long day.  Sit dowr and I'll brush your hair for you and
supposing you take sleeping pill?  Do you want anything ir the morning
or do you breakfast in bed?"

"I never get up for breakfast!"  Diana soundec quite horrified.

"Don't come near me until ter o'clock.  I want you to massage some of
that cream on the dressing table into my neck and shoulders, and there's
a mask for my face..."

It was more than an hour later that Euphemic got to her own room.  She
got ready for bee slowly, tired and dispirited.  She was to be nothing
more than a lady's maid to Diana, and the thought of a whole two weeks
fetching and carrying for that young lady appalled her; only the
knowledge that at the end of those two week?  she would be free to spend
the rest of her holiday at Myrtle House with the boys and Ellen stoppec
her from bursting into quite unaccountable tears She got into bed and
lay between the cool sheet' and thought about Dr. van Diederijk.  Some
how she wasn't sure why he seemed to be the main cause of her
unhappiness.

But it was impossible to be unhappy where she weakened in the morning.

The sun was up in a cloudless sky and it was already warm ever at that
early hour.  She got up and showerec and put on a sleeveless cotton
dress, then went quickly through the house, intent on a cup of tea if it
was to he had and then a stroll in the gardens.  She met the
house-keeper in the hall and was greeted with a look of such surprise
that she asked what was the matter.

"You are up early, miss--the ladies do not usually appear before ten or
eleven o'clock.  You would like breakfast?"

Euphemia smiled at her, "Yes, please.  Where do I go?"

"The garden, perhaps?  Coffee and rolls?  They will be brought to you."

It was glorious sitting in the sunshine on the broad patio.  Euphemia
gobbled up the rolls, drank all the coffee and started off for her walk.
The garden was a large one and beyond it were shrubs and trees screening
the house from the road beyond.  She found a swimming pool almost at
once, then wandered off down flower- bordered paths, going slightly
uphill so that presently when she stopped and looked behind her, she
could see a good deal of Jerez below her and the broad sweep of the land
behind the town.  In the morning sunlight it looked beautiful, quite
unlike her first impression of it, perhaps because then she had seen it
in the glare of the afternoon sun.  Presently she strolled back to the
house, pausing on the way to ask if she might have breakfast out of
doors each morning, and enquiring where she might sit quietly and writ
some letters.

She was shown a small room, its walls linei with books behind
glass-fronted cases and, sh suspected, seldom read.  But there was a
comfort able desk under the window and a plentifu supply of notepaper.

She spent the next hour 01 so happily writing to her family.

Diana greeted her petulantly.  She declarec that she hadn't slept at
all, that she felt ill, that her eyes hurt her and she had no appetite
for breakfast.

"I suppose you slept like a log," she observed crossly, you're such a
great healthy creature.  "

Euphemia held her tongue.  There was no poini in annoying Diana still
further.  She was a badtempered girl, given to self-pity, althougr
probably the doctor hadn't discovered that yet She coaxed Diana from her
bed, massaged her neck to dispel another headache, ran her bath and then
brushed her hair.

The mumps had caused'll to fall out here and there and without its
regulai tinting it was returning to its normal brown:

besides, it looked dull and lifeless.  It was surprising what a good
brushing did for it, though Dressed and carefully made up, Diana looked
a good deal better and in consequence consented to walk in the garden
for a little while.

The res) of the morning she spent on a chaise-longue, a big-brimmed hat
protecting her pallid face from the sun and oiling herself with sun
lotion, and Euphemia perforce sat beside her, a cotton sunhat perched
carelessly on top of her gleaming dark hair and not bothering about
lotions, listening to her companion's endless chatter about herself, her
clothes, and the number of friends she had, none of whom, it seemed, she
liked.

"I've always been popular," she informed Euphemia smugly, 'especially
with men--I've had simply loads of them wanting to marry me.  I don't
suppose you've had a proposal, have you?  "

"No," said Euphemia goodnaturedly, feeling sorry for the girl even while
she disliked her;

how awful to be so wrapped up in herself.

"How did you meet Dr. van Diederijk?"  she asked.

Diana smirked.

"At a friend's house--oh, almost a year ago, and we became engaged six
months later, I'm precisely the wife Tane wants, of course I understand
the running of a large house and I'm good hostess."  Her dark spiteful
gaze rested for a moment on Euphemia's C & A cotton dress and the
sun-hat, perched so carelessly.

"I know how to dress too."

Euphemia, aware of the look, thought she would know how to dress too if
she could have a purse as deep as Diana's, but she refrained from saying
so and listened with astonishment and disgust to Diana's: "I don't
intend to have a child, but Tane's got so many brothers and sisters I
can't see that it would matter.  I mean, his name can be carried on by
any of their children.

Euphemia was glad that she was wearing he dark glasses.  She said
evenly: "I should th ini that being married without having children wa.

like eating beef without mustard.  "

"What an extraordinary thing to say!  I'm fa- too delicate in the first
place, and I don't can for children--I have no doubt Tane will
understand and agree with me-he has only just begur to realise how frail
I am."

Euphemia turned a snort into a cough.

"How fortunate that you're marrying a doctor," and then suddenly sick of
the conversation: "How about a gentle swim in the pool-it's very gooc
for getting you back into shape."

"There's nothing wrong with my shape--I'm a little slimmer than usual,
that's all."  Diana glanced town at her beanpole figure with
complacency.

"But you may be right--it's a pity you don't know anything about
massage."

"Yes, isn't it."  Euphemia made her voice sound casually friendly.

"But there's no reasor why you shouldn't get someone from Jerez to come
up here."

They spent ten minutes or so in the pool while Diana swam languidly up
and down and ther declared herself exhausted again.

"And you'd better come with me," she declared.

"I feel quite faint."

Euphemia muttered under her breath.  Diana was a hypochondriac and
getting worse with every passing hour--Tane van Diederijk must love her
very much.

He telephoned after lunch that day, and Diana took the call and went
straight to her room afterwards, while Euphemia wandered off into the
shady corners of the garden once more and wondered what he had said.

The days passed slowly.  It was soon obvious that Diana and her aunt did
not intend to leave the house or the garden; the pair of them lay about,
complaining of the heat.  Indeed, Euphemia saw very little of Mrs.
Kellard, for apart from the elaborate dinner each evening, she remained
on one chaise-longue or other, reading or telephoning her friends.  The
idea of entertaining her niece hadn't entered her head, and when
Euphemia mildly suggested that they might take a drive in the cool of
the late afternoon or go into Jerez in the early morning and see
something of the town, she met with no success at all.

"Though I suppose if you want to go, there's nothing to stop you," said
Diana ungraciously.

"Tane said something about you having some time to yourself, but you
don't do anything all day, do you?"

Euphemia didn't answer that.  She was hardly overworked, but the hair
brushing, rubbing in of lotions and creams, the fetching and carrying
and coaxing to get up in the morning, to eat, to sleep, to take
exercise, to swim her day wasn' her own; certainly the only time she
felt quite free was in the morning before everyone else was up.

"I should like that," she said pleasantly.

"I'l go when you're settled in the garden tomorrow morning."

Diana looked surprised.

"Oh, all right, if yoi must I daresay I'll find some shopping for yoi to
do."

She added sharply: "I don't suppose Aun will let you have the car."

"I don't want it, thank you.  I shall enjo) the walk."

At dinner that evening Euphemia was told that she was foolish to walk
into Jerez.

"It's two miles at least and the road's bad," said Mrs. Kellard.  ']
should have thought that a nurse would have more sense.  "

Euphemia just smiled and said nothing.  She never talked much at meals;

for one thing, she wasn't often addressed by her companions, and for
another she needed as much time as possible to eat enough to keep her
going while the;

pecked at their food.

Euphemia had made friends with the house keeper and the gardener and was
on nodding terms with the maids.  They had told her where to go in Jerez
and pointed out that there was e bus where the lane from the house
joined the main road; it ran infrequently, but she might fine it useful
on the return journey.  And she got away more quickly than she had
hoped.  Diana wanted quite a long list of things, so many in fact that
Euphemia said that she might not get back in time for lunch.

"Well, that's your worry," said Diana rudely.

"The servants don't do anything between half past one and four o'clock
you'll have to eat out, though I don't suppose it would hurt you to miss
a meal."

Euphemia's tawny eyes sparkled with rage.  She said sweetly: "I expect
it's the mumps which has left you so irritable.  Perhaps we should get a
doctor..."

She whisked out of the room and out of the house and instantly felt
better after all, there were only eight days left of Diana's company, it
was a heavenly morning, and she was free to potter round Jerez.  She
would be there in half an hour or so.

Only she wasn't.  She had reached the narrow side gate Maria had told
her would be a short cut when she heard a child crying.  There was no
one in the garden.  Euphemia opened the gate and peered around her; the
crying was faint and disjointed and it took her a few moments to locate
its source a small boy lying by the side of the lane.  He was extremely
dirty and wearing a torn T-shirt and brief, ragged trousers;

moreover his face was bloodstained, as were his hands.

Euphemia hurried smartly across the lane and knelt beside him.  The
blood was from a nasty scalp wound and had partly dried, making his
dirty face and hands even worse than they were, and his small monkey
face was screwed up with fright and pain.  Euphemia took her
handkerchief and wiped his tears away and said, "There, there, you'll
soon be better."  He stopped his sobs for a moment to break into a
torrent of Spanish.  She couldn't understand a word, but she cuddled him
close and after a few minutes he stopped crying and let her look at his
head.

It was a nasty jagged cut which had bled a lot and since he had touched
it with his hands heaven only knew if it was infected or not.

She smiled reassuringly at him and noticed that his pupils were unequal,
a sign that there was some local brain damage, she hoped nothing
serious.  But now she had to get help for him without delay, and luckily
the house was only a couple of minutes' walk away; she would carry him
there, put him to rest somewhere quiet, clean him up and get someone to
telephone the doctor.  He was only a little boy and she guessed not
over-nourished, and it was easy enough to carry him up to the house. The
front door stood open and it was the nearest.  She made for it and had a
foot inside the house when Mrs. Kellard, coming slowly down the stairs,
saw her and let out a shriek.

"It's all right," said Euphemia soothingly, "I found this child just
outside the gate, he's been injured.  If I could put him on a bed while
someone telephones the doctor..."

Mrs.  Kellard seemed to swell with her indignation.

"You must be mad!

Bring a filthy brat into my house--heaven knows what dirt and disease
he'll bring with him.  Don't come a step nearer!  "

"Then may I take him to the servants' entrance?"  Euphemia looked down
at the small face against her shoulder.  The child was only
semi-conscious and needed help quickly.  She looked up and saw Diana
hanging over the banisters.

"Diana, this poor child is injured, will you help me?"

"Certainly not--God knows where he's from.  They're tough, these
peasants, he'll get over it if you put him by the side of the lane
--anyhow, someone will find him."

Euphemia felt sick with horror.

"But you must!"  she reiterated.

"His mother..."

"Won't have missed him," interposed Mrs. Kellard crisply.

"They have so many children they wouldn't even notice."

Eupheroia turned on her heel.  There was a good deal she intended to
say, but that would have to come later.  First get help for the child.

If she had known how to telephone she would have done so, but she
didn't; the best thing was to carry the child down the lane to the main
road and get help there.  She started off down the drive, aware now that
the child, light though he was, was getting heavier every minute.  She
was round the bend out of sight of the house when she heard a car
coming, a shabby taxi, chugging up along the incline.  She shouted
"Stop!"  as it have in sight, but there had been no need for that; it
had already done so with a fine squealing of brakes.  Its door opened
and Dr. van Diederijk jumped out.

CHAPTER FIVE.

the doctor took the child from her and laid him gently on a grassy patch
between the shrubs.

"Surely you would do better to go to the house?"  he suggested without
bothering to greet her.

"Don't be silly," said Euphemia furiously.

"I've already been there.

They--Mrs.  Kellard-- wouldn't let me go in with him.  He's dirty, you
see.

"The scorn in her voice caused the doctor to give her a searching look
through narrowed eyes.

"I was taking him down to the main road -I thought I'd get a lift into
Jerez, to the hospital-there must be one..."  She put a gentle hand on
the matted hair.

"He's concussed--he was conscious when I found him, about ten minutes
ago."

The doctor didn't look at her, he was examining the little boy with
careful hands.

"That's a nasty wound, but I can't feel a fracture.

We'll get him to the hospital at once.  " He turned his head and said
something to the driver in Spanish and the man, who had got out to look
too, got back m and turned the car.

"You first, in the back," said the doctor, and put the child on her knee
and got in beside her, steadying the boy's head with firm hands.

"Well tell me what happened," he said.

"Just the facts no personal comments."

Euphemia went very red and then white.  I she had had a free hand she
would have hit him She said in a wooden voice: "I found him by the side
of the lane outside the wicket gate at the top of the garden.  I heard
him crying.  I can' understand Spanish, so I took a quick look a him and
then carried him up to the house..."

"Go on."

"There's no more to say."

"Oh yes, there is--Mrs.  Kellard wouldn' allow you in.  Why didn't you
fetch Diana?  Yoi could at least have asked her to telephone."  H<
sighed.

"It was really rather silly of you to star traipsing off in this heat."
And when she didn' answer, "Well?"

"You asked for the facts.  I've given them.  Euphemia didn't look at him
but stared out o:

the window at the beginnings of Jerez, her arm;

cradling the child.  There really was no point ii saying anything more.

He wouldn't believe her and it didn't matter in the least, anyway.

They didn't speak again until the taxi drew up with an exaggerated care
engendered by th doctor's warning to the driver.  The hospita looked
modern; she had a brief glimpse of it a;

the doctor got out and took the boy from her "Stay here," he ordered,
and then paused at her

"I have some shopping to do for Diana.  I'll find my own way back."

His cool blue eyes studied her from her head to her heels.

"My dear girl, have you looked at yourself lately?"

She was covered in dirt and bloodstains and somewhere along the way she
had lost her sunhat.

"You'll stay just where you are, Euphemia," said the doctor, 'and don't
waste my time arguing about it.  "

A remark hardly calculated to put her in a good mood.  She opened the
shoulder bag she still had with her and tried to tidy herself under the
amused eye of the driver.  She wasn't very successful--besides, it was
hot in the taxi, the street they were in was narrow, crowded with
traffic and people, although at its end she glimpsed a broad
thoroughfare lined with palm trees.  She sat back and closed her eyes;

she had missed her chance of seeing something of the town and perhaps
she wouldn't get another one.  Her dress was ruined too.  She opened her
eyes at the sound of voices and saw the doctor and a man in a long white
coat standing by the taxi.  When the doctor turned his head suddenly and
looked at her she closed her eyes again, but it was too late, the door
was opened and she had to sit up straight and be introduced to the other
man, one of the surgeons at the hospital.  He was flatteringly
interested in her.  How long had she been in Jerez?  What did she think
of it?  How long did she intend staying?  She answered hi;

questions composedly and when I suggested that she might like to see the
hospital before she left.  she agreed pleasantly.

"But I would like to know how the little boy is."

"A concussion and a cut head.  We have asked the police to trace his
parents.

Be assured that all will be done for his comfort."  He was a good-
looking man in a dark way, and he smiled at her now.

"I cannot think how it is that I have no) met you sooner.  You are so
beautiful--Miss. Blackstock."

She shot a sideways look at Dr. van Diederijk standing silently beside
his companion, his face inscrutable.  She said clearly: "Thank you.

Doctor.  My day hasn't been very pleasant so far;

but I feel much better now, even though I don'1 believe you.  Look at
me!  "

"But I have been looking at you, and you are beautiful."

She gave him a very sweet smile.

"You are very kind.  I hope we meet again."

She shook hands and sat quietly while the twc men said goodbye.  The
doctor got in presently and the taxi went on down the street and turned
into the boulevard.

The doctor said tightly: "There was no need to be quite so forthcoming,
Euphemia."

She turned to look at him, letting her thick lashes sweep her cheek and
then lift to fringe wide eyes.  What do you mean?  " she asked sweetly.

"Don't provoke me, you know very well what I mean."  She decided that
his smile wasn't very nice.

"Tell me about Diana--is there any improvement?"

Euphemia hadn't liked the smile.  She lifted a nicely kept hand and
ticked off her fingers one by one.

"Her hair is better--I brush it and oil it and shampoo it.  Her skin is
much more supple and she has acquired a tan, she may have gained some
weight, but she's so bony it's impossible to tell at present..."

He caught her wrist in a grip which hurt and the look on his face made
her catch her breath.  She said once: "I'm sorry, that was unpardonable
of me--I wanted to pay you back..."  Her eyes sparkled with tears.

"You came all this way to see her and I couldn't have been beastlier.  "

He took her hand again, this time gently, and put it between his.  He
wasn't smiling, but the bleak look had gone, but when he saw the tears
in her eyes he said harshly: "Don't cry, you're not to cry."

She sniffed.

"Well, I won't then, but I'm truly sorry..."

"You were upset about the child."  He frowned because she agreed with
such haste.

"Yes, yes--I should have stopped to think, I was very silly."  She added
humbly, "If you've forgiven me I'll tell you about Diana."

"I've forgiven you, but I shall have something to say to Mrs. Kellard
about turning that child away.  Is she a formidable lady?"

"No, not to look at rather wispy and fragile, if you know what I mean,
and far too thin, just like..."  she bit back what she had been going to
say and finished lamely, 'like a pencil.  "

If the doctor found this a peculiar description he didn't remark upon
it, merely observed: "I see.  And Diana?"

"I think you'll see an improvement; she swims each morning and sunbathes
and strolls in the gardens her appetite isn't good, but that's partly
because Mrs. Kellard diets and persuades Diana to diet too."

"But surely you have encouraged her to eat?"  His voice was sharp and
she flushed a little.

"Yes, Dr. van Diederijk, I've done my best."

"And you've been out?  Driving round the country seeing Jerez Cadiz?"

"Well, no, as a matter of fact we haven't been anywhere.  This morning
was the first time I've been away from the house."

He was frowning again.

"But you have had your free time each day?"

Something no one had suggested, but she wasn't going to tell him that.

"Well, I haven't really needed it, you know, I've had very little to
do."

Only be at Diana's beck and call all day and sometimes at night too, she
added silently.

The taxi swerved into the drive and rushed up to the house, to stop with
a jolt before the entrance.  The doctor got out, held the door open for
Euphemia, paid the driver and stalked inside the house through the half
open door.

"The sitting-room's on the left," she told him.

"They usually have drinks about now," and as Maria appeared from the
back of the house, she skipped upstairs.  A shower and a clean dress
were essential.

Besides, she found herself singularly reluctant to witness the doctor
and Diana meeting.  His face would light up as it so rarely did and
Diana would rush into his arms.  She got under the shower and turned it
full on as though it would wash away her thoughts.  "

It wasn't quite like that at all.  The doctor opened the door for
himself, forestalling Maria by a few inches, and walked into the room.

Mrs.  Kellard was lying as usual on her chaise-longue, a glass on the
table beside her, Diana was lying on a day-bed near the open window, a
glass beside her too.  She was doing her nails and didn't look up at
once.

"I hope you got everything I waited," she said.

"You've been long enough..."

She looked up then and as she was a clever young woman the utter
consternation on her faci was instantly masked by a delighted smile and
widened eyes.

"Tane how absolutely marvelous, what < heavenly surprise!"

The doctor stood in the centre of the room looking at her.

"Yes, I thought I would surpris< you, and I see that I have."  He walked
smilingi) towards her.

"You're feeling better, hope, Diana?"

She got to her feet and came to meet him lifting a cheek for his kiss,
smiling up into hi;

face.

"You must meet my aunt..."

Mrs.  Kellard made no attempt to get up.  Sh< offered a languid hand,
declared that she was delighted to meet dear Diana's fiance and that he
was to stay as long as he wished.

"And poui yourself a drink, Tane what a strange sounding name!  lunch
will be in ten minute" or so.  Where's that nurse?  " She looked arouni
her, rather as though she expected Euphemia t( materialise obligingly
from thin air.

"We shal have to start without her."

The doctor poured himself a small drink and sat down, choosing a chair
opposite his hostess and not nearly as close to his fiancee as one would
expect.

"You mean Euphemia?"  he askec pleasantly.

"I brought her back with me.  I me her walking down your drive with a
small boy quite badly injured, in her arms.  I took them to the hospital
in Jerez."

Mrs.  Kellard looked uncomfortable, but only for a moment.

"Oh, yes--she came here with him, but he was quite filthy, I couldn't
have allowed them to come indoors-you agreed with me, didn't you,
Diana?"  She smiled with studied charm.

"You above all people must know how delicate the dear girl is.  She has
to be shielded from anything unpleasant or dangerous to her health."

The doctor didn't answer her.  He was looking at Diana with an
expressionless face, but his eyes were very bright.

"You didn't telephone?"  he asked quietly.

Diana shrugged and made a pretty little face.

"Darling Tane, I don't speak Spanish."

His voice was mild.

"You could have fetched one of the servants to telephone for you."

Diana arranged the pleats of her cream silk dress with a careful hand.

"Darling, in all this heat?  I thought I'd come here to convalesce, not
run around doing other people's jobs!"  She held out an arm.  Come and
sit over here by me and tell me all your news.  Are you going to stay
long?  "

"No.  Diana, have you been out at all?"

"Too hot...  Euphemia makes me walk around the gardens and spend half an
hour in the swimming pool, after that I'm exhausted."

"And Euphemia?  She has had time to herself I hope?"

Diana gave a little laugh.

"Tane, darling, sh< does nothing all day it must be heaven for her.

"But she is with you all day, I presume?  / companion's job consists
largely of fetching an carrying, doing odd jobs that no one else want;

to do, being on hand whenever she's wanted.  "

"Oh, that well, that's what she's being pak for isn't it?"  She looked
up as Euphemia, clear and fresh in a cotton dress, came into the room
"Oh, there you are," she observed.

"I'm just telling Tane what an easy life you have.  Did yoi do my
shopping?"

"No, I'm afraid not.  I'll try again tomorrow morning if you don't need
me then."

Diana frowned.

"I shall want my hair washed.

The doctor had got to his feet.

"It would d( you good to wash your own hair," he observec evenly'and I
think that Euphemia deserve;

another morning off in exchange for the one sh( didn't get today.  "

Diana's laugh sounded a little shrill.

"Oh, i you say so.  After all, you'll be here.  We mus think of
something exciting to do just yoi and me."

As they went into the dining room she said "You didn't say how long
you werf staying, Tane?"

"A couple of days.  I really wanted to mak(

arrangements for taking you back--and Euphemia of course," he added
smoothly.

"If she has no objection, and can spare another day, I thought we might
go to my home and take a flight from there on the following day."

Diana's eyes shone.

"Oh, lovely--it was such a short visit when we went there in the spring.

I've thought about it a lot; all the modern ising we can do, and new
furnishings and curtains."

Euphemia, sitting across the table from the doctor, saw his quick frown.

Probably he lived in a nice mid Victorian house with attics and cellars,
lots of heavy furniture and an oldfashioned bathroom.  He would have
inherited it from his parents and doubtless had never considered
altering a single pot plant.  He might drive a super car and dress with
elegance, but just as long as he was warm and comfortable and had good
meals served to him when he was home, he was probably content.

She enjoyed her lunch.  There was a good deal more food on the table for
a start, presumably following the adage that the way to a man's heart
was through his stomach.  Euphemia took full advantage of the savoury
rice which flanked the dishes of salad and thinly sliced cold chicken,
and when they were served with ice cream, topped wifh chocolate sauce
and burnt almonds, she ate it with a childish pleasure not lost on the
doctor.  Even Diana's joking remarks about getting fat left her unmoved;
it was a heavenb change from lettuce leaves and yoghurt.

She went with Diana to her room after the meal, a little surprised that
that young womar intended to have her two hours' rest.  Surely jus for
once she could have lounged on one of the garden chairs set out so
invitingly in the co ole parts of the grounds?  But it seemed she had n(
intention of changing her routine.  She told the doctor that she would
see him at four o'clod when they had tea on one of the terraces, advisee
him to lie down too, and after keeping Euphemi;

pottering around finding eye pads, eau-de cologne and a book she had
been reading, tolc her to go away.

Which Euphemia did, only too gladly.  Feeling full after her
unaccustomed meal, she got her writing things and went into the garden,
when she was waylaid by Maria, who wanted to know about the little boy.
She beamed and smiled ai Euphemia told her, making her part in the
affaii only a small one, and then surprised her ver) much by taking her
hands and kissing her or both cheeks.

"I know him well," said Maria emotionally "He is the youngest of my
nephews--he couk have died."  Tears poured from her dark eyes.

"A car, they think, knocked him down and didn'i stop, and he could have
lain there crying..."

The tears flowed faster and Euphemia pattec the plump shoulder and said!
"There, there, don't cry.  He's going to get better and be all right."

"Because of you and the kind doctor.  I heard about Mrs. Kellard--Manuel
was in the back hall, he saw it all and heard, too, how she and the
Miss. would give no help at all, just because he was dirty and covered
in blood.  Why could they not have called one of us to telephone the
hospital... ?"  She stopped crying for a moment, staring over Euphemia's
shoulder, smiling uncertainly at someone behind them.

Euphemia whizzed round.  The doctor was very close, he must have heard
every word.  She broke into a muddled speech, anxious to put a good
light on things.

"Diana couldn't have understood--I mean, she wasn't near the door, so
probably she didn't hear what it was all about--she gets upset if anyone
is ill or--or..."

She stopped, halted by his cool stare.

"There is no need to cover up, Euphemia.  I had a little chat with Diana
and her aunt before you came down to lunch."  He grinned suddenly and
looked years younger.

"I've been eavesdropping too."

"Yes, well..  can't we forget all about it?  Diana isn't quite herself
yet.

She's much better, though, isn't she?  She's so pretty.  When she came
to your party at Myrtle House she looked lovely..."  She was aware that
she was babbling, but she seemed unable to stop.  Only when he said
softly: "You know, I really must agree with Dr. Lopez," did she break
off in mid-sentence;

her mouth slightly open.  Dr. Lopez had said that she was beautiful, but
perhaps Dr. van Diederiji didn't mean that.  He went on easily, "Shall
we find somewhere shady, I could do with a nap."

She led him to her favourite spot, a grass patcl hidden away between
vivid shrubs and dragol trees.

"I'm going to write these letters," she tol< him, and sat down
composedly, unaware of the pretty picture she made in her white dress
witi the hibiscus and poinsettia all round her.

The doctor lay down a few feet away, his heac turned so that he could
watch her.  He did i through almost closed lids so that she imagine him
to be asleep, and indeed after the firs glance, she didn't look at him
again and go down to her letters.  She had written two am was beginning
on the third when he asked he suddenly, "To whom do you write?"

"Oh, hallo, I thought you were asleep.  Ellen and the boys, and a note
to Mrs. Cross telling her what groceries to get in.  Ellen's curate is
going to lunch and if I know Ellen she'll be so busy deciding what to
give him to eat she'll forget things like cornflakes and Vim."  She
added anxiously: "You don't mind him going, do you?  Should we have
asked you first?"

He rolled over and stretched hugely.

"My deal girl, it's your home."

"Yes, I know, but you're the tenant and I've no right..."

"For the whole of one month you have all the right in the world.  Has it
been worth while, Euphemia, giving up your holiday?"

She didn't look at him.

"Yes, oh yes--I've a whole week to look forward to and the others are so
happy, I can never thank you enough.

I expect you're longing to go back there.  "

"Yes--it seems like my second home."

"And so handy for the hospital."

"Yes, that too, although I shall be working in Holland for several
months later this year."

She was unaware of the disappointment on her face.

"Oh--I thought you were on the consulting staff for ever..."

"Oh, but I am, several other hospitals too.  I'm also a consultant at a
number of hospitals in Holland, and as such I travel a good deal."

Euphemia stared at a vivid butterfly perched near her head.

"Even when you're married?"  she wanted to know.

He didn't answer, and she pinkened at the snub and bent over her writing
pad again and missed his smile, and when she had finished her letter and
took a quick peek at him, he was asleep again.  She went indoors then to
do some small job of sewing for Diana and although the doctor had tea
with them, he had very little to say to her, in fact he had very little
to say to Diana or Mrs. Kellard either, answering them politely bu not
embarking upon a lengthy conversation.  No1 did he evince any desire to
be alone with Diana He went for a swim after tea and then tool himself
off walking, not to reappear until the 5 help, of course, which meant
going along to the back of the house where they had their quarters.  She
wasn't sure if Mrs. Kellard would approve of her going there on a
personal errand, so she went through the garden, round the side of the
house to where she could see the kitchen windows, already lighted
against the dusk.

She jumped visibly when the doctor's voice from somewhere close by
spoke.

"If you were thinking of telephoning, I went down to the hospital this
afternoon.  The boy's going to be all right, I had a look at him myself.
I was about to tell Maria."

Euphemia let out the breath she had held out of fright.

"You startled me," she told him accusingly.

"Yes, I was going to ask Maria to help me phone--I'll leave you to talk
to her, and thank you for finding out."  She added a soft "Good night',
and went back the way she had come, just in time to answer Diana's
imperious demand for a lace shawl, to be told, when she had fetched it,
that she could go to bed if she wanted.

"You must be tired after your little adventure this morning," declared
Diana, 'and Aunt is going to read for a while, Tane and I will take a
stroll in the gardens.  "

Euphemia, wrestling with a strong wish to thun p the girl, although she
wasn't sure why, bade her goodnight and did the same to Mrs. Kellard,
who murmured from behind her novel, and went to her room.  It was still
quite carb and she had no wish for bed; she went to sit b;

the window, and presently saw Diana and thi doctor strolling away into
the deepening dusk, Diana even from that distance was obviously pulling
out all the stops; the upturned face, the little helpless hand on his
coat sleeve, the tinkling laugh.  Euphemia ground splendid white teeth,
ran a bath and lay in it, reading yesterday's Telegraph.

The bath was far too hot and when she got out at last she looked like a
beautiful lobster.

Diana had slept badly, she informed Euphemia the next morning; she had a
headache and wished for nothing more than aspirin, pads soaked in
cucumber over her eyes and the blinds drawn.  She sounded cross too, and
Euphemia wondered if she and the doctor had had words the evening
before.

"Then you won't mind if I go into Jerez and do that shopping?"  she
asked.

"Do what you like," said Diana crossly, 'and tell Tane not to come near
me I'll come down for lunch.  "

Euphemia had had her breakfast early, sc there was nothing to stop her
leaving at once.  Of the doctor there was no sign, so she gave Maria
Diana's message and fetched her bag and left the house.  Thanks to her
taxi ride yesterday.  she knew the way now.  To walk down into the town
before the day got warm was going to be pleasant.  She started off for
the wicket gate once more.

The doctor was waiting by it.

"Walking?"  he enquired genially without bothering to answer her
surprised good morning.

"We can take a taxi back."

"I'm going to do some shopping," she began, aware that the idea of
spending an hour or so in his company was a pleasant one.

"I know, you didn't do it yesterday.  It will be twice as quick if I
come with you."  He had opened the gate as he spoke and she went
through, content to let the situation take care of itself.

The walk was pleasant and even when they reached the town there was a
lot to see.  Euphemia didn't much care for the small, mean streets
tucked away almost out of sight, but as her companion pointed out she
must try to see them through Spanish eyes and not compare them with a
British town.

"And I can tell you of some pretty ghastly slums in London and
Birmingham," he pointed out.

"Oh, yes, I know, and I don't mean to be critical.  Is that a chemist's
shop over there?  Because I've several things to get for Diana."

The shopping went well, helped by a leisurely half hour at a pavement
cafe, drinking coffee in the sun.

"Have you been here before?"  askec Euphemia.

"Twice one of the students I trained will has a practice here.  You've
not been to Cadi;

yet, have you?  "

She shook her head.

"No.  I'll try before w< go back, but Diana doesn't want to do any sight
seeing, and I'm sure that the quiet life she';

leading now does her far more good.  "

His'probably' was dry.

"Have you much mon shopping?"

She looked at her list.

"No, only to go to thi;

hair-dresser and ask for someone to go to Mr;

Kellard's house and do her hair tomorrow.  "

"Why can't she get to the hairdresser's?"  Hi;

voice was casual.

"I don't think she's very strong," sai( Euphemia politely.

The doctor looked at her.

"My dear girl, I hop you thank God on your bended knees every da] of
your life for being a nice healthy girl, all th right shape and size and
able to do things fo yourself."

She chuckled.

"Oh, I do."  She glanced at he watch.

"Should we find the hairdresser now?  think I should be getting back.."

But it seemed that the doctor had differ en ideas.  True, he went to the
shop with her an made the necessary appointment for someone K go and see
to Mrs. Kellard's platinum head, bu once they were on the pavement once
more, he took her arm and led her away from the main street, along
several narrow lanes lined with whitewashed houses until they reached a
long white building with heavy gates half way down its length.

"A bodega," he explained.

"You can't go back to England without seeing round at least one."

He opened a little door in the gate and ushered her through into a
different world.  There was a lodge on one side of them, and a large low
building on the other side and ahead a meticulously kept path between
grass, strange coarse grass, but still grass, and everywhere there were
trees and shrubs and flowers.  The sun was hot now and Euphemia had
forgotten to buy another hat, so that she was glad to go into the lodge
with the doctor who, after a few minutes' chat with the man inside, took
her outside again.

"This was founded by an Englishman, although the Spanish have taken it
over now.  I know the manager; we can take a look round--there are some
rather splendid horses..."

"Whatever have horses got to do with it?"

"In September there is a wine festival, all the bode gas join in a
procession and the waggons and carts and carriages are drawn by these
horses.  Let's go there first."

They were lovely animals, with glossy coats and combed manes and tails,
submitting to her pats and strokes with a lordly dignity until the
doctor suggested that they might go and se where the sherry was bottled.

They climbed a staircase for this and him  over the balcony at its top
the better to watcl the endless chain of bottles, and presently the were
joined by a young man who explained i all to them and then took them
down the stair;

again into a hall where he invited them to samph the sherry and
delighted Euphemia by presenting her with a small bottle in a sack--to
take horn with her, she was told.  He brought two norma sized bottles
for the doctor, who tucked then under his arm with the remark that her
aun might like them.

"Aunt Thea?  Well, yes, I'm sure she would-- I was going to get her
something..."

"Then allow me to give her these and you cai find something else."  His
blue eyes twinkled "Have another glass of sherry?"

She said yes promptly, at the same time voicing the opinion that it was
a little early in thi day.

"But it's so very nice," she conceded, am allowed her glass to be
filled.

They made their goodbyes presently and well out into the sun-filled
street again to find a laxi "A pity we couldn't have stayed longer,
observed the doctor.

"The enormous sheds when they keep the vats are really something."

"Yes--but I've seen a lot, haven't I?  A little bit of Spain..."

He hailed a taxi and they got in, and when they reached the gates he
told the driver not to go any further.

"The walk up the drive will clear your head," he pointed out.

"Oh, my goodness, am I muzzy?"  asked Euphemia in a panic.

He laughed.

"Of course not, but it's shady here and there's no hurry."

She wasn't so sure about that.

"Diana will be wondering where you are."  She stopped to look at him.
She said in a rush, engendered by the sherry: "Why don't you get
married?  You must be earning enough to support a wife, I can't think
why you don't... ?"

He was staring down at her, his blue eyes hooded, "And have you given it
much thought, Euphemia?"

She went on recklessly: "Oh, yes--you've been engaged for ages, haven't
you?

And it isn't as if you have to save to buy the furniture or anything
like that.  Surely if you fall in love with someone you know if you want
to marry them..."  She stopped, struck by the thought that she had
fallen in love with someone, and wanted to marry him very much, only she
had just discovered it, a bit late in the day, too--too late.

"Did I ever tell you that you are an abominable girl, Euphemia?"

She came back to earth with a crash.

"Oh, my goodness, yes!"

She started off again at a great rate, and neither of them spoke again.

CHAPTER SIX.

euphemia would have liked to have dashed straight to her room once they
reached the house;

the doctor hadn't spoken and she could think of nothing to say.  She
thought miserably that a brighter girl would have passed the whole thing
off as a joke, but she wasn't feeling bright; she felt as though she had
gone down a very long way in a lift unexpectedly and ended up with an
almighty bump.  An unpleasant bump too.  Only a fool would fall in love
with a man who was on the point of marrying someone else, and that
someone a frightful mistake.

But luck wasn't with her.  Diana called to her and she had to go to the
drawing-room with her purchases and give chapter and verse for every one
of them.  The doctor went with her, but she avoided his eye and escaped
as soon as she could, to sit in her room and wish herself anywhere but
where she was.

He wasn't going until the next day, somehow she must keep out of his way
until then.  Supposing he guessed.  She rushed over to the mirror and
studied her face.  It looked precisely the same as usual and she sighed
with relief.

If she could keep it like that no one would guess that she was in love;
the 5

Diana kept her busy for an hour after lunch and when she was free she
went along to her room and lay down on the bed.  The room, although cool
enough, seemed stuffy after the garden, but she was afraid of meeting
the doctor.

She thought about him instead, remembering every line and angle of his
face, the way he talked and walked, and thought wonderingly that she had
once disliked him, treated him in a lighthearted fashion as a tiresome
person she had nothing in common with--only Myrtle House.  They had that
in common, and as long as he was her tenant they were bound to meet on
occasion, and that wasn't to be borne if Diana was living there too as
his wife.

She got up and went to hang over the little balcony, remembering that
she had half planned to rescue him from Diana.  She still wanted to do
that but she didn't see how she could now because even to herself she
would have to admit that she might stand to gain by it, and even though
all was supposed to be fair in love and war she wasn't all that mean.
Besides he must want to marry Diana, probably because she was such a
cold fish.  He might be a man who disliked demonstrative women who might
interfere with his busy life, in which case Diana was just right for'
him Euphemia told herself firmly to stop thinking about the doctor.  He
would be gone in a few hours now and in another week she would b( on the
way home.

She had quite forgotten wha he had said about going to his own home
first Bereft of Diana and Tane's company, Mr;

Kellard decided to have dinner on a tray in he room, which left Euphemia
sitting at the bij table by herself.  She had spent an hour or mon
helping Diana to achieve perfection for he evening out and then
prudently slipped back t( her room until she heard the Cadillac purring
away from the door, and now she was enjoying her dinner.  The servants,
without Mrs. Kellan to see what they were doing, were doing he proud;
soup, cold watercress soup and delicious calamares fritos, a great dish
of mixed vegetables, potatoes cooked in their skins and moji pi con to
make them piquant, followed by littli tarts filled with miel depalma.
All very fattening and it looked gorgeous even if the main dish wa;

squid, something she wouldn't have dreamed o eating at home.  And Maria
had put a bottle o dry white wine on the table and kept her glass
filled.

Euphemia drank three glasses and got u from the table feeling pleasantly
muzzy.  A lit th fresh air, she decided, and went outside into th warm
evening to lie back on a garden chair an fell instantly asleep.

It was almost dark when she woke and there was a faint smell of a cigar
tickling her nose She jumped to her feet so quickly that she nearb fell
over, and the cigar became overwhelming as the doctor took a step
forward and caught her.

"My goodness!"  exclaimed Euphemia in a panic.

"Whatever is the time?  I fell asleep.  What will Diana... I should
have..."

He had made no attempt to take his arm away.

"It's almost eleven o'clock.  Diana thought you had gone to bed and
decided that she could manage for herself for once."  He bent his head
and wrinkled his handsome nose.

"My dear girl, you've been drinking?"

"I haven't!"  She was indignant.

"At least, Maria gave me some wine with my dinner--I had three glasses.
It was a lovely meal, squid and that tangy sauce with the potatoes, and
honey tarts for pudding."

"It sounds better than our meal.  Why did you dine alone?"

"Mrs.  Kellard had hers in bed."  She realised suddenly that he still
had an arm round her and it must be because it was almost dark that she
felt so relaxed.  She added: "I didn't mind a bit."

He gave a little laugh.

"I don't imagine you would."  He turned her round to face him and stood
staring down at her.

"Dear little Phemie," he said softly, and kissed her surprised mouth.

She pulled away from him and he let her go at once.

"Oh, no!"  she whispered, and rushed soundlessly into the house.  She
had almost reached her room when Diana's door opened.

"I thought you were in bed hours ago!"  Dian;

sounded angry.

"It was too warm."  Euphemia added a quid goodnight and closed her own
door.

She sa down on the bed and discovered that she wa;

trembling, not because Diana had seen her and was probably even now
having suspicious thoughts, but because Tane had kissed her.  Sht had
been kissed before on many occasions, bu it had never been like that,
but then he was wha she supposed one would call a man of the work and
was a bit of an expert.

She got up and undressed and lay a long while in the bath, he;

head full of nonsensical thoughts which seemec to have taken over from
common sense.  Realit) didn't seem real any more; perhaps it would b( in
the morning.

She woke early and indeed, in the early morning light, last night's
happenings became impossible daydreams, as they really were Euphemia
went down to her breakfast and founc the doctor sitting at the small
table Maria always laid for her on the loggia and all the daydream;

came rushing back again.  Nonetheless, she wished him good morning with
cool friendliness passed the time of day with Maria and offeree to pour
his coffee.

"You don't mind me joining you, do you?"  he wanted to know.

"Diana doesn't feel like com ins down to breakfast and we'd look rather
silly sitting at separate tables."

"Of course I don't mind."  She was proud of her casual manner.  Just
right, she considered;

friendly but cool.  Rather pleased with herself, she embarked upon a
one-sided conversation about the weather.  There wasn't all that much to
say about it, because the days were all exactly alike, unlike the
weather at home, but it got her through rolls and coffee and if she got
up with rather more alacrity than was polite, the doctor didn't appear
to notice.  She went along to see how Diana was and found her already up
and dressing.  Her'good morning' was sour and she declared that she had
eaten something which had disagreed with her at dinner the night before.

"That's why we came back early," she added, giving Euphemia a sly look.

"We're going to Cadiz this morning--you'll come too, of course."

The?  But surely.  the doctor goes this evening, doesn't he?  You'll
want to be on your own.  I've that dress to see to--you wanted it mended
as soon as possible.  "

"Well, I've changed my mind--you're coming with us.  Tane can drive the
Cadillac and we can lunch out."

Euphemia opened her mouth to protest again and then decided not to.

If Diana was in a bad temper, it would spoil the trip for Tane.  She had
no idea why she was suddenly in such demand but doubtless she would find
out quickly enough Which she did.  Sitting in the back, she was treated
to a display of charm and allure the like of which she hadn't seen
before.  Diana, her fac wreathed in smiles, cuddled up to the doctor
whispered to him, draped a skinny arm arounc as much of his shoulder as
she could reach, and generally made an exhibition of herself Euphemia,
looking out of the window withou really seeing-anything, knew what it
was al about.

Diana must have known about last night not all of it perhaps, but she
must have guessec that Tane had met her on the patio and now sh< was
making it very clear to Euphemia that hf was hers and no mistake about
it.

She wondered what the doctor thought about it, but there was no way of
knowing.  He drov< steadily on, answering Diana's whispers in ;

normal voice and mostly in monosyllables.  I was a pity she couldn't see
his face.  It had showr nothing when Diana, dragging Euphemia will her,
had joined him on the patio and declarec that the three of them would
go.  She couldn' know of his thoughts as he saw her beside Diana her
face devoid of make-up, her hair tied back her sleeveless cotton dress
showing off her brown arms and legs, but she had been ver 1 hadn't known
it.  But now she did know, and she had no idea what to do about it,
although how she could have been so foolish as to fall in love with such
a cold, reserved man, she had no idea.

And when Diana had suddenly left them to get another sun-hat Euphemia
had said hurriedly: "I'm sorry, I didn't want to come, but Diana
insisted.  I only hope it won't be too hot for her..."

He had made an impatient sound.

"Diana is recovered, although she is still far too thin."

"Well, I've done my best," Euphemia had said reasonably, 'but it's
natural that she should want to stay slim.  "

"Why?"  he had barked at her.

"Well, she always has been..."

"Not slim--skinny."  He had allowed his gaze to dwell on her own curvy
person and she had gone red and snapped:

"Well, don't look at me, I'm plump."

"Indeed?  My eyes must be playing me false."

Diana had joined them then, and a good thing too.

Euphemia tried to concentrate on the countryside now, although it was
difficult enough with Diana carrying on the way she was.  She had wanted
to see Cadiz and the country around the c ty and she had her chance.

Vine-covered plains stretched to the horizon, dotted with small
whitewashed houses and almost no trees, and these small umbrella
shapes--a little disappointing.  And the other side, with the sea in the
distance.  was disappointing too--salt flats and narrow waterways and
here and there a small copse o the same small trees.  Euphemia could see
the outskirts of Cadiz ahead now, all the paraphernalia of docks; cranes
and ships and large shed;

which housed she knew not what.  They could have been anywhere in the
world.

The doctor spoke to her over his shoulder, "Disappointed, Euphemia?

This is the wronj end--the docks and port.  We're going into th city in
a few moments now.  "

He drove through an ancient gateway piercinj the great walls of the old
city and slowed th car, so that she had time to peer down the narrow
crowded streets on either side of them.  Shi would have liked to have
got out and walked but he swept on, through another gate and int< a
boulevard with the sea on one side, borderec by beautifully kept gardens
and, on the other great mansions, cheek by jowl with blocks o modern
flats.  Everything was clean and splendi( and colourful, contrasting
strongly with thenar row streets they had just left.

Euphemia wouh have liked to have talked about it, but Diana wa;

saying that she simply had to have coffee an did Tane know of a decent
cafe?

He parked presently before a large mo den restaurant and they had their
coffee sitting 01 the pavement outside, but there was no chance to ask
questions then, either, because Diana kept up a careless flow of talk
which gave no one else a chance to say anything.  It was clever talk,
amusing and witty and delivered in an artless manner which Euphemia had
to admire.

Whether the doctor admired it or not was difficult to tell.  He sat
almost silent, looking bland and smiling faintly from time to time.

Diana finished her coffee first.

"Well, if this is Cadiz, I don't think I want to see any more of it,
unless there are some decent shops."

"Several--there are some splendid churches and several magnificent
buildings.

It's one of the oldest cities in Europe and built by the Phoenicians
about' ll00 BE.  It's a fortress town..."

Diana hunched a shoulder.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Tane, who wants to know all that old rubbish!"
She put a hand on his arm and smiled up at him.

"Couldn't we just take a quick peep at the shops--you haven't bought me
a present for ages."

He was sitting back with his eyes half closed.

"And what do you wish me to buy you, Diana?"

She pouted prettily  "I haven't a decent rag to my back, a new dress
would be fun."  And when he got up with a cheerful, "Let's go, then,"
she shot Euphemia a look of triumph.

"There's a boutique Aunt was telling me about, it's near some church or
other."

The doctor knew where it was.  He parked the car outside the elegant
little shop, leaned acros;

Diana to open her door and then got out himself but when he went to open
the door for Euphemi;

Diana said sharply: "Oh, Euphemia won't wan to come inside--clothes
don't seem to interes her, she can stay in the car."  And when the doc
to didn't move, "Tane, you must come in with me I can't speak a word of
Spanish."

He went inside with her and Euphemia sa and looked out of the window at
the busy street full of expensive shops and cafes and mostly modern.  If
only they had let her go off on he own; she wasn't having much luck with
he sightseeing.  She sat back and closed her eye;

and two tears trickled forlornly down her cheeks "Sorry about this,"
said the doctor, and sh< opened her eyes again to see him, head and
shoulders through the window, within inches o her.

He saw the tears and she was eternally grateful to him for pretending
not to.

"It's a wonderfu city, but you need to potter around on foot That's what
you would have liked to do wasn't it?"

She nodded, "Yes," and wiped away the tear;

with what she hoped was a careless gesture o:

a hand.

"And another thing, I don't know a great dea about such things, but it
seems to me that clothe"

interest you very much.  You dress very well.  "

He was being kind and she could have flung her arms around his neck.

She managed a bright smile.

"Thank you--but on a nurse's salary?

Though I love clothes.  " She drew a breath and went on steadily: " I
think Diana has beautiful clothes and she wears them well.  You must be
proud of her.  "

He didn't answer, and she looked up to find him staring at her
unsmilingly.

"You'll like my home, Euphemia," he said at length, and smiled then.

"I'd better go and settle the bills, I suppose.  There was no point in
staying in the shop, they all spoke English."

He turned away and presently emerged with Diana and a salesgirl carrying
a dress box.  All the way back Diana chattered about the dress she had
bought, describing it in detail, pretending to be shocked at its price.

"Don't you wish you had someone to buy you some decent clothes?"  she
asked Euphemia.

Her rudeness didn't deserve an answer and Euphemia didn't give one.

They lunched at the villa after all, with Diana dominating the talk at
table and then declaring that she wouldn't rest after lunch as Tane
would have to leave directly after tea.  She carried him o|if to the
garden, and when Euphemia went down to the drawing-room for tea it was
to find Mrs. Kellard lying back as usual and to be told that Diana and
Tane were having theirs in the garden, so she drank her own tea quickly
and went back to her room, suddenly anxious not to see the doctor again.

Her room overlooked the garden at the side of the house.  She heard the
Cadillac at the front door, heard the doctor's voice and Diana's
answering him and a car door bang, but she was too far away to hear what
was said.  She went back to her chair and got on with the sewing of
Diana's torn dress.

There was a week left.  She threw herself whole-heartedly into the
fulfilling of her share of the bargain.  She brushed Diana's hair until
it gleamed, rubbed in creams and lotions, persuaded her to swim and to
eat more, perversely anxious that she should look her very best for the
doctor when he returned.  And she was largely successful.  Diana was
still like a beanpole, but at least she had a healthy colour and a faint
tan.  She had chosen to wear a silk trouser suit in which to greet him
when he arrived and Euphemia, watching from the sitting-room window, had
to admit that she looked remark ably pretty.  But she didn't wait to see
the doctor greet her as he got out of the car.  She had had a week in
which to pull herself together and she had done it very well.

In due course, just before dinner, she went down to the drawing-room and
greeted him quietly.  He looked tired, she thought.  If they had been on
their town she would have asked him about his work, but Diana was in
full spate, rattling on about this and that and the other thing, not
waiting for his replies, intent upon attracting attention to herself.
Euphemia wondered if she knew that the doctor wasn't really listening to
her.

They left the next morning and Euphemia, given two fingers of Mrs.
Kellard's hand in a tepid farewell, was grateful for Maria's warm kiss.
She got into the back of the Cadillac with a sulky Diana and didn't look
back, because she didn't mind if she never saw the villa again.  Instead
she studied the doctor's head, even from the back it was worth looking
at.

But it was a pointless exercise.  She began to think about the week
ahead of her at Myrtle House.  It would be fun to be home again with
Ellen and the boys; she had had letters from them, spilling over with
news about the house and the garden and Mrs. Cross, just as though they
still lived there.

Euphemia began to ponder the future.  The doctor had an agreement for a
year and almost two months of that had gone already.  It wasn't likely
that Diana would want to live there permanently, so that she would have
to find someone else, someone who would want it for a longer period, or
perhaps she should sell it and buy a smaller house somewhere close by,
where they could all live.  There might be money over too.  She hardly
noticed going through Customs and boarding the plane; her head was still
full of ways and means.  They were airborne, she sitting behind the
other two, when the doctor turned round to ask if she was quite
comfortable.

"And what's on your mind, Euphemia?"  he asked softly.

"You're not with us, are you?"

She assured him that she was very comfortable adding that she was busy
thinking.

"What about, I wonder?"

She met his intent blue eyes briefly.

"Nothing important," she assured him.

What with coffee and sandwiches, magazines and newspapers, a garrulous
old lady sitting next to her and Diana feeling sick, the flight went
quickly, and they were taxiing towards Schiphol airport before she had
settled down to do anything, much less have a good think.  Euphemia
followed Diana off the plane and the doctor shepherded them both through
the Customs, saw that their luggage was collected and led them to the
entrance.

The Bentley was parked within a few feet with a stolid youngish man
sitting at the wheel.  He got out when he saw them, greeted the doctor
with a broad grin, ducked his head to Diana, who ignored him, and did
the same to Euphemia, who smiled back and said, "Hullo'.  The man dealt
with the luggage, ushered them into the back of the car and then got in
beside the driver's seat where the doctor was already.

Had they far to go?  Euphemia asked Diana.

"Somewhere near Hilversum, I don't know how far."

"About half an hour," said the doctor over his shoulder as he joined the
motorway.  He turned off on a roundabout presently and joined another
motorway going south, then left that too to take a quieter road which
presently gave them a glimpse of water.

"Loenerveensche Plas', he informed them.

"I daresay you remember it, Diana."

"Well, I don't --I saw so many lakes last time.  Are we nearly there?

I've a most frightful headache.  "

Euphemia, well prepared, handed eau-de- cologne sachets and promised
aspirin as soon as they arrived, then took a look at the lake.  There
were a number of sailing boats on it and it looked peaceful and pleasant
in the sunshine.

The country had altered too, the flat green fields had given way to
heath and woodland, and when the doctor took a narrow road running away
from the water the woods thickened so that they came to the very edge
and instead of the neat farmhouses with their huge barns there were
elegant villas not wholly visible through the trees.

The road was a brick one and narrow and there was almost no traffic, and
although she had noticed a signpost to Hilversum, Euphemia doubted if it
went to that town.  More probably it would end at a main road.  They
went round a wide curve and she saw a village at the end of it a small
village, more of a hamlet, although it had a high-steepled church at its
centre.  The doctor had slowed to go past its few cottages, but once on
the other side of the green he gave the car its head once more, hardly
slackening speed as he turned it into a drive, past a gate house
guarding open wrought iron gates.  Euphemia was still staring at them
from the back window when Diana said: "I shall see that those gates are
kept shut when we're living here," to which remark the doctor made no
answer.  Perhaps he hadn't heard.

The drive ran straight as a ruler to the house a large square edifice of
the William and Mary period, its red brick glowing in the sun, its tall
wide windows sparkling, the flowers in the beds arranged symmetrically
around it, adding a rainbow of colour.  Euphemia sighed soundlessly She
had guessed that the doctor was comfortably off and that he probably
lived in a villa of some sort, but she hadn't expected this.  He must be
rich, taking it all for granted.  No wonder he was going to marry Diana!
She would be so right for such a splendid place; it wouldn't be just a
question of falling in love with some


girl, she would hcty way of living too.   , lo be able to cope with his
Diana would fill t" phemia had no doubt that The doctor bro 1'll!
admirably.  halt before the's 111 the Bentley to a purring doors at
their top The room was 1  o through them.  furnished, and yet i;66 and
lofty and splendidly of being lived in.  l e the instant impression
zincs and things's  6 were books and maga- known breed pr any -Ad
around, a dog of no sitting cosily in the to meet them and a cat sofas.
Euphemia's 1 of one of the elegant home, and became" Ad; feeling
instantly at people in the room are that there were two all elderly man
sitting in winged chair by one of the open windows am a plump little
lady, middle-aged, but still pretty with grey hair and blue eyes, who
jumped to be feet and cried: "Tane, how lovely to see you and Diana, of
course."  Her eyes slid to Euphemi;

and her face broke into a wide smile.

"And thi;

is Euphemia.  "

Her son gave her a bearlike hug.

"You didn' mind coming over.  Mama?"

"It seemed a good opportunity."

He smiled at her as if he were sharing a sec're with her and turned to
shake his father's hand before drawing Diana forward.

"You know Diana, of course, and this is Euphemia ma mother and father.
They live a few miles awa  and since I shall't be home for a few week;

they've come over for dinner this evening.  "

Euphemia liked them both, but beyond greeting them pleasantly and
uttering a fev conventional remarks, she stayed quiet.  After all it was
Diana's right to take the stage.  Which sh< had done, instantly and with
an expertise whid Euphemia couldn't help but admire.  Sh< chattered on
and on, being amusing and wistfu by turns, hardly pausing for anyone
else to sa 3

It was when the tea tray was brought in that she paused, long enough for
Mevrouw van Diederijk to take the conversation into her own hands, and
this time Euphemia was included.  Not that they talked about anything
much; it was the gentle kind of conversation her own friends indulged in
over a cup of tea, neither witty nor clever, and she was perfectly at
home in it, whereas Diana, no longer the centre of interest, sat
sullenly, saying almost nothing.

The elegant little meal was hardly over when she put down her cup.

"You'll have to excuse me, I've got a headache and I must lie down.  If
I could go up to my room?  Euphemia, come with me and find the aspirin,
and you can unpack my overnight bag at the same time."

There was a small silence as Euphemia got to her feet.

"Yes, of course," she said easily.

"It's been quite a journey, hasn't it?"  She looked at Mevrouw van
Diederijk.

"You won't mind, mevrouwt She smiled nicely at her, thinking what a dear
she was.

"You'll be glad to have a talk with your son."

Mevrouw van Diederijk's eyes twinkled.

"As a matter of fact I shall, my dear, but I hope you will come down as
soon as you can and join us."  Her husband had got to his feet.

"I met your father once, years ago."  he boomed at her, his English as
good as his wife's, although the accent was more pronounced.

"We must have a talk."

Euphemia murmured and hurried to the doo because she could see Diana was
getting impatient.  As she reached it Diana said: "Tane, why do you keep
all this ghastly furniture?"  Shf tapped him playfully on the sleeve.

"Just wai till I get my hands on this place!  I'm going to throw it all
into the attics--we'll have some decent modern pieces."

"Over my dead body," said the doctor quietly.  and Diana laughed.

Euphemia, glancing into his face, saw that he meant it.

They went first to Diana's room, led there b a cheerful round body who
nodded and smiled to make up for her lack of English and showed them
into a room at the side of the house.  It was large, with windows
overlooking the garden, and furnished rather heavily with a mahogany bed
and bow-fronted chest, as well as an enormous dressing table and a
couple of small velvet- covered chairs.  Diana flung herself down on the
bed and told Euphemia to draw the curtains "Why on earth did Tane have
to invite his parents here today?"  she demanded.

"They're so dull and straitlaced they bore me.  I'll take care that they
don't come too often once we're married."  She swallowed the aspirins
Euphemia was holding out.

"Not that I intend to live here for more than a week or two each year,
buried in the country.

I shall tell Tane so too.  We can live in London just as well--after
all, he works there almost as much as he does here.  "

To all of which Euphemia said nothing.  She very much doubted if Tane
would like any of the changes with which Diana was going to alter his
life, but it was hardly her business to say so, and if he wanted this
girl for his wife that wasn't her business either.  She said woodenly:

"I'll unpack later, you'll be able to sleep a little now, I expect," and
got herself out of the room.

The little round woman was waiting for her and led her back along the
gallery to the other side of the house, and opened the door of a room at
the front of the house this time-a much smaller room, but so pretty that
Euphemia exclaimed over it.  It had two tall windows leading on to a
small balcony and the furniture was white with pink and blue brocade
curtains and bedspread, pink lampshades and a thickly piled carpet on
the floor.  The bathroom was pink too, and equipped with everything she
could have asked for.  She smiled her thanks at the little woman who
crossed the room and opened a wall closet and waved a hand inside.
Euphemia's few things had been unpacked and hung away.

She prowled round the delightful room when she was left on her own and
decided that it must have belonged to a daughter of the family.  It was
a girl's room, a family room too, lovingly cared for.  She sniffed at
the roses on the table by th bed, combed her hair and did her face, then
well downstairs.

The doctor was lounging in the hall.  'm) mother and father are having a
rest before dinnei and it's too early to change, so I thought yoi might
like to see something of the house.  "

She had been unable to stop the smile whict curved her mouth at the
sight of him, but sh( managed to keep her voice coolly friendly.

"I should like that very much."  She was standing beside him now at the
foot of the stairs.

"It';

very beautiful--if it were mine I wouldn't wan to leave it.  "

He said, apologetically almost: "I do have nn work," and bent to pull
the dog's ears.

"I suppose I could rearrange that so that I could live hen permanently."

Euphemia began: "But Di..."  and stopped, no quite in time, for he took
her up.

"Diana doesn' like it here."  His voice was silky, offering ;

challenge, she thought, so she said hastily: like your dog--what's his
name?



"Boris.  Where would you like to start?"

"I've no idea."

"Then the little sitting-room, I think.  Have yoi all you want in your
room?"

He sounded a polit host, and she answered just as politely.

"Yes, thank you.  It's such a pretty room, too And it looks lived in, if
you know what I mean.

"It's my youngest sister's room, I thought you might like it."  He
opened a door on the opposite side of the hall.

"In here."

It was a small room as rooms went in that large house, with a little bay
window with a cushioned window seat, a small chimneypiece and several
comfortable chairs and tables, a lovely glass-fronted cabinet along one
wall and a small upright piano against the other.

"Oh, I like it!"  declared Euphemia.

"It's cosy."

"And old-fashioned?"  It was a question.

"Not in the least--one could sit here and sew or play the piano or play
cards with the children."  She stopped, because her imagination was
running away with her.

"Go on," prompted the doctor softly.

She moved away and bent to look at the silver on display in the cabinet,
not looking at him.

"No," she said, "I was only remembering when we were all children."

"You were happy?  So was I."  His voice was suddenly harsh.

"I hope my children will be as happy."

She stared up at him, wondering if Diana had told him that she didn't
intend to have any, not even one.  Her kind heart was wrung with pity
for him.  Now that she'd got to know him, he wasp't cold and arrogant
and tiresome at all, he was like any other man wanting a wife and
children.  Probably, once one had got behind that reserve of his, he was
quite fun.  She wished she didn't love him quite so much, but just being
with him for an hour was wonderful, and she must be thankful for small
mercies.

She still didn't think that he loved Diana, not enough to marry the
girl, but it seemed equally obvious that he was going to marry her
anyway, and she could quite see why.  She stood looking at a very
beautiful silver loving cup, her back to him, so far away in her
thoughts that she uttered them aloud: "Everything's such a muddle!"

CHAPTER SEVEN.

'and what exactly do you mean by that?  "

The doctor had whisked her round and held her in front of him, his hands
still on her shoulders.

Euphemia said wildly: "Nothing, oh, nothing... 1 was thinking out
loud--it slipped out.  The ward--1 was worrying about the ward..."

He looked so ferocious that she pulled away from him, but was unable to
budge an inch.

"Don't lie to me of all people, Phemie."

He was right, of course, although he couldn't know why she found it
almost impossible to lie to him.

"I'm sorry," she told him.

"It was a lie.  It's not the ward, it's something private I can't talk
about."

He dropped a light kiss on the top of her head.

"That's better.

Promise me you'll not do that again.  " His blue eyes searched her face.

"I'll never lie to you, Euphemia, because I wouldn't be able to."  His
hands dropped from her shoulders and he smiled.

"I'm glad you like this room, I use it a great deal when I'm home.  The
house is rather large just for one..."

She said eagerly: "Oh, of course it is, it needs some children," and
then stopped again and went on awkwardly: "Are you home very much?"

"Not as much as I used to be.  Now that I live at Myrtle House I'm
perfectly content to spend my weekends and free days there."

They were crossing the hall again towards another big double doorway.

"Oh yes, because of Diana.  I do hope she'll be happy there."  She
glanced at him as she spoke, hopeful of an answer, but all she got was,
"Don't fish, Euphemia," as he opened the doors and they went into the
dining-room.

This was large and on the gloomy side, its heavy mahogany table ringed
with a dozen chairs, its massive sideboard laden with chafing dishes,
muffin dishes, dishes with silver covers, an enormous tray laden with a
silver coffee service.

"Heavens!"  cried Euphemia, quite overcome with so much grandeur, and
the doctor laughed.

"Overwhelming, isn't it?  But I haven't the heart to banish them to the
store rooms-- besides, Domus loves cleaning them."

"Why has he only got one arm?"

"He lost the other during the war.  I got him fitted with an artificial
arm, but he only wears it on Sunday when he goes to church."

He crossed the room and went to stand before a wall covered in
portraits.

"Come over here and look at some of these paintings--all family."

"The nose gets handed down, doesn't it?"  observed Euphemia.  She paused
in front of a small portrait of a young woman dressed in the style of
the thirties.  That is your mother, isn't it?  She's pretty.  " She
turned round to look at him.

"Perhaps I shouldn't have said that, but I mean it, I wasn't just trying
to--curry favour."

"I know that.  She was very pretty when she was younger, and I think she
still is.  My father is of the same opinion."

"He's nice too.  Who is this man with the funny hat and the little dog?"

"Another Tane, a dandy in his day, I believe, which may account for the
hat."

Euphemia laughed.

"It's a dear little dog, though I'd rather have Boris."

The beast, hearing his name, wreathed himself round her, his tongue
hanging out, and she bent to pat him.  Just for the moment she was quite
happy; somehow when she was with Tane she didn't bother about the
future.

They wandered all over the house, strolling in and out of rooms, some
used, some not, though it was hard to tell the difference because they
were all maintained to perfection.  They had done the ground floor
thoroughly and were on their way upstairs when the Stoelklok on the wall
below them struck the hour.

"Seven o'clock?  It can't be--oh, my good E ness, whatever time do you
have dinner?--and I promised I'd wake Diana!"  Euphemia went bounding up
the remainder of the staircase and was caught at the top by the doctor's
long arm from behind her.

"Dinner is at eight, and don't put on anything too grand.  Mother's not
changing."

"No, all right.  Thank you for showing me your house--it's so
beautiful."

She said suddenly, urgently, and not aware that she called him by name!
"Tane, you must marry soon, it's all being wasted."

He didn't smile, only his eyes gleamed with amusement.

"Funny you should say that, I shall marry at the first opportunity; I
decided that quite recently."  He put out a finger and touched her cheek
gently.

"Come down for drinks as soon as you are ready."

Diana was still dozing, but she woke in a temper, declaring that she was
still tired.

"And not nearly enough time to change for the evening," she grumbled,
and when Euphemia pointed out that there was no need to do more than
change into a short dress, she lifted a shoulder and said she would wear
exactly what she wanted.  Euphemia went away then to her own room and
showered and put on a plain pale cotton dress which, while not this
year's, was still something to be reckoned with, and went back to
Diana's room, to find her preening her 3 self before the pier glass. She
was wearing an orange brocade jump-suit and a great many gold bangles.

"Pretty stunning, isn't it?"  she wanted to know.

"It's spectacular," agreed Euphemia, and added carefully: "It's a bit
dressed up for this evening, isn't it?  Tane said his mother wouldn't be
changing..."

Diana turned round to look at her.

"Who said you could call him Tane?"

She gave a sniggering laugh.

"Don't tell me that the starchy Miss. Blackstock has been turned on at
last, and what a pity he doesn't even know you're there..."  She turned
back to the mirror.

"And I'll wear what I damn well please.  I'm not ready--go on down do."

So Euphemia went downstairs to the drawing- room, where the doctor and
his parents had been joined by a guest; a rather stout man of middle
height, with a florid face and prominent blue eyes.  He was introduced
as Cor de Vries, and the doctor said easily, "Cor met Diana when she was
here some months ago and it seems a good opportunity to renew their
acquaintance."

Euphemia murmured politely and thought Cor to be pompous, wondering what
there was about him that could make him a friend of Tane.  Chalk and
cheese, she thought, and went and sat between the doctor's parents.

They were telling her of their own home, only a few miles away, when the
door opened am Diana came in.  Old Mijnheer van Diederiji paused for a
second at the sight of her, then well on with what he was saying, and
his wife's fac didn't alter, although Euphemia had heard th quick
breath.  As for the doctor, he went for wan to meet Diana without a
comment, saying cheer fully that he knew that she would be delightec to
meet Cor again.

"You got on very well," h< commented.

"I hope you'll become fast friends.

He got Diana a drink, stayed talking to th two of them for a few minutes
and then joinec his parents and Euphemia.

They went into dinner presently am Euphemia, taking a close look at Cor
de Vries decided that he wasn't quite her cup of tea although Diana
appeared to find him a delightfu companion.  He tended to monopolise the
conversation making pompous jokes and laughing heartily at them, and
talking about himself, sc that presently she decided that he was a
conceited bore, an opinion certainly not shared b 5

They returned to the drawing-room for coffee when the leisurely meal was
finished, and Euphemia, remembering the sparse meals at Jerez, sighed
happily at the memory of lobster soup, duckling cooked in brandy and
Curacao and served with fresh pineapple, the artichaut Clamart, the
pommes de terre Beray, and all these culinary masterpieces topped with a
puree of chestnuts with whipped cream.  She found the doctor beside her
as they crossed the hall and smiled widely at him.

"What a heavenly meal," she told him, 'after all those cold chickens and
lettuce leaves, and I'm not sure what I was drinking, but it was quite
delicious.  "

He dropped an arm lightly round her shoulders and her heart doubled its
beat and colour crept treacherously into her face.

"Glad you enjoyed it," he observed.

"You must come and meet Martje, my cook--she's always complaining that
she hasn't enough work to do."

He saw her to a chair near his mother and drifted away, and presently
she heard him laughing with Diana and Cor de Vries at the other end of
the room.

It was late when Cor declared that he must leave.  He bade everyone a
pompous goodbye and Tane and Diana went with him to the door and didn't
come back.

Euphemia could hear Diana's trilling laugh from somewhere outside and
after a little while the doctor came indoors again to join them.

"Diana's gone to bed," he told them.

"Euphemia, I suggest that you do the same, you must be tired."

She got quickly to her feet, blushing a little because of course he
wanted her out of the way so that he could talk to his parents.  She
said her good nights composedly, politely and genuinely regretful that
she wouldn't see the doctor's parents again, and made for the door.

The doctor reached it at the same time and went into the hall with her.

"What did you think of de Vries?"  he asked her.

She hadn't expected that and she hesitated, trying to find the right
answer.

"He seemed very nice," she said lamely.

The doctor gave a crack of laughter.

"My dear girl, is that all you can say about him?  Or are you afraid of
offending me?"  He glanced down at her.

"Yes, that's it, isn't it?"

"Well-yes, I thought he was a friend of yours and that you liked him."

"Phemie, my dear, he is an unutterable bore and so full of himself it's
a wonder he doesn't burst.  I cannot stand him at any price."

"Oh--then why... ?"  She stopped; she was being nosey and would get a
snub for it.

"I'm not going to tell you that."  He bent and kissed her gently.

"Goodnight, Euphemia."

His face was very close.  She mumbled: "You mustn't --oh, you mustn't,"
and kissed him back.

She should have slept dreamlessly in her lovely room; instead she tossed
and turned, her head crammed to bursting with incoherent thoughts, none
of which made sense.  Thank heaven, she muttered over and over again,
that tomorrow would see the last of him.  Once at Heathrow she could say
her goodbyes and that would be that.  She had quite forgotten that she
would see him often enough at the hospital.

As it was, comforted by the thought that she would forget him as from
the very next day, she dropped off into an uneasy doze, only to wake to
the realisation that life without him would be unthinkable.

It was still very early, but she knew she wouldn't sleep again.  She got
out of bed and looked out of the window at the garden below, beautiful
in the pearly morning light.  You fool, she told herself savagely,
where's your pride?  What would Father have said?  Her father, having
been a soldier, would have said, "All's fair in love and war!"

which didn't seem the right answer.

Euphemia leaned out as far as she could to view the great expanse of
garden round the house, grateful for the cool morning breeze.

"And to think that I actually considered finding a way to stop him
marrying Diana!"  she muttered.

"I must have been mad--and conceited."

She withdrew her person from the rather hazardous angle at which she had
been leaning, then poked her head out again as the doctor called her
name.

He was below her window, in slacks and a thin sweater, Boris weaving in
and around his legs.

"Come on down, it's heavenly, and I want to show you the garden."

"No," said Euphemia, and withdrew her head, only to put it out again
because Boris barked.  He had a loud bark and was proud of it, and since
his master did nothing to stop him, he went on making a terrible noise.

"Be quiet, do!"  hissed Euphemia.

"You'll wake everyone up."

"Then you'd better come down, because he won't stop once he's started,"
observed the doctor cheerfully.

"You should train him."  She had to raise her voice to be heard above
the din.

"All right, but I'll be ten minutes."  She added carefully:

"Wouldn't Diana like to..."

"Don't be silly," he admonished her.

"She never lifts her head off the pillow before ten o'clock."

Euphemia showered, threw on her clothes, tied her hair back and thrust
her feet into sandals, telling herself all the time that she was
behaving badly; that Diana certainly wouldn't like it if she knew, and
that she wasn't being fair to the girl.  Not that she had any chance of
diverting Tane's attention.  All the same, although it wasn't war, it
was certainly love, so fairness didn't come into it.  She crept through
the wide corridors and down the stairs and out into the garden through
the garden doors, where she found Tane and Boris waiting.

She said with dignity: "Good morning.  I only came because Boris was
making such a din."  She glanced at him as she said it and saw the smile
on his face; it wasn't a nasty smile at all, it was a smile to set a
girl's heart thumping.  She prudently looked away and remarked that it
was a beautiful morning.

"Better than at the Villa," he agreed.

"Come and see the roses.  When I was at Myrtle House the garden there
was a riot of colour."

"Yes, it looks lovely in the summer--I asked the boys to keep it in good
order for you.  You'll be going back there in eight days' time?"

He nodded.

"I have to go on to Birmingham tomorrow and then I shall be back here
for a couple of days--which reminds me, your fees have been sent to
Myrtle House."

He took her arm and guided her down a narrow grass path between high
hedges; it opened on to a circular bed, crammed with roses, and Euphemia
exclaimed with delight.  They strolled round it, pausing to examine the
specimens which caught her eye, and they had almost completed the full
circle when the doctor asked: "Had you ever thought of selling Myrtle
House, Euphemia?"

She looked at him in horror.

"No--at least, when Father died and I discovered that we hadn't any
money, I thought I'd have to do that, but now I think I can manage. When
you go, I'll have to find another tenant, of course, but as long as I
can let it to someone that will pay for the mortgage.  It simply mustn't
go out of the family."

"And how many more years has the mortgage to run?"  And when she told
him: "A good slice of your life, Euphemia--is it worth it?"

She bent to sniff at the superb example of Wendy Cussons.

"Yes, of course it's worth it; I want the boys to have it.  Ellen will
marry her curate, I feel sure, and the mortgage will be paid by the time
Nicky marries.  If he doesn't then he and Billy can live there.."

"And you?"

"Oh, I'll be all right--I've got a good job."

"You have an aversion to marriage?"

She frowned a little, disliking the blandness of his voice.

"Of course not, but--no one's asked me since Father died and I've no
intention of burdening anyone with things like a mortgage."

"Is there someone you would like to marry?"  he persisted.

Euphemia wandered on a few paces and examined a charming group of
miniature roses;

if she said yes he would want to know who, and he had a tiresome way of
wearing one down.  and if she said no that would be a lie, and she found
she couldn't tell him lies easily.

"Your roses are really magnificent," she observed in a voice reminiscent
of the lady of the manor at the local flower show.

He laughed.

"Put in my place, am I?  Do I know him?"

She didn't quite meet his eyes.

"I'm not going to answer that either."

He took her arm.

"There's rather a nice pond at the end of this path.

I can find out easily enough, you know.  "

Her voice shook a little.

"But if I ask you not to, you won't, will you?"

They had reached the pond, ringed with water flowers and ferns and
housing a number of small water fowl.  The doctor took his hand from her
arm and flung an arm around her shoulders.

"I can't think why you object so strongly--after all, I have an interest
in you.  You're my landlady-and this man, whoever he is, might decide to
buy the house and then where should I be?"

She said earnestly: "I promise you that won't happen," and then
forgetting everything else but his comfortable presence, "He won't ever
marry me.

He's..  he's..."

"Ah, the eternal triangle."  His voice was soothing and just
sufficiently impersonal, although there was a glint of laughter in his
eyes.

"But take heart, Phemie, there is nearly always a way out."

"Not for me, there isn't.  Isn't that a mandarin duck in those reeds?"

"Yes, there are a pair--nice, aren't they?  In the cold weather we get
any number of visitors.  Some of them come back year after year, some of
them stay--there are quite a variety here.  Kingfishers too.  This pond
empties into a stream at the boundary of the grounds--there is some good
fishing to he had."

He went on to talk about the surrounding countryside and told her
something of the history of the house as they walked back again, to be
met at the side door by Domus, informing them that breakfast was in the
small dining-room if they cared to have it.

Love, thought Euphemia, tucking in to rolls and toast and croissants
spread with ham and cheese and black cherry jam, and drinking several
cups of delicious coffee, was supposed to take your appetite away;

hers had never been better.

It was still early.  They had almost finished their breakfast when
Tane's mother and father joined them.  There was no sign of Diana, and
when Mevrouw van Diederijk wanted to know where she was, Domus murmured
in her ear, something which surprised her, for she observed:

"Well, I suppose she is tired and she told me that she had been very ill
with the mumps-- but she has had two weeks' complete rest."  The lady's
gentle voice conveyed the suggestion that she herself had never needed
two weeks' rest, and she went on in a tone of satisfaction.

"You were up early, Euphemia, I hope it wasn't because you couldn't
sleep?"

"I like the early morning," Euphemia told her, 'even when I've slept all
night.  " She looked up as she spoke and found the doctor's eye bent
upon her, so that she instantly felt guilty of telling a fib about
sleeping well and went pink.

There was time to go to the kitchens and meet the doctor's cook after
breakfast, although Euphemia had hesitated; she had taken up most of his
morning so far, she didn't think Diana would like it if he were absent
when she got downstairs.  But he had swept her along, through the hall
and the green baize door at the back of that noble apartment, and she
had found herself in the kind of kitchen any woman would have envied. It
was very large and at a first glance looked old-fashioned, with its
scrubbed table in the centre and a vast dresser against one wall, but
tucked away so as not to spoil the homely effect were all the modern
gadgets one could wish for.

Moreover, there was a second smaller room where the washing up was done,
and that in its turn led to a small pantry where the china and silver
were kept.

Euphemia browsed happily with the cheerful Martje in attendance, while
the doctor sat on the table swinging his long legs and eating the cheese
straws his cook had just fetched from the oven.

They had almost finished their coffee in the small sitting room when
Diana joined them, and within minutes there was a phone call for her
from Cor de Vries.  Euphemia could hear her laughing and chattering away
with an animation she seldom showed with Tane and stole a look at his
face to see how he was reacting to that.  He certainly was not annoyed
or disturbed;

indeed, he looked totally uninterested, and yet she had the strange
feeling that he was pleased about something.

The doctor's parents left directly after an early lunch, and they
themselves left for Schiphol half an hour after that.  The doctor drove
with Dirk the chauffeur sitting beside him and the two girls in the back
of the Bentley, which Dirk would drive back to his home: "Because I'm
returning tomorrow evening and it's not worth taking the car for such a
short time," he explained.

Euphemia, twisting round to get a last view of the house, told herself
that she should feel pleased about that, and instead was mortified to
feel a knot of tears in her throat.  In vain she thought about spending
the next week at Myrtle House and all the things she was going to do
with the money she had earned.  The one ray of happiness she felt was
that Tane wasn't going to stay at Diana's house, but that was
short-lived, for presently he said over his shoulder: "I'd like to come
up and see you, Diana--some time at the end of the week, perhaps?"

Diana was admiring the diamond ring on her engagement finger.

"Why not?"  she agreed.

"Only do telephone first, won't you?  Now I'm so much better I shall be
going out a good deal."

He grunted a reply and Euphemia looked lovingly at the back of his head
and wished he would say the same thing to her, which was so silly that
she smiled, only to see his eyes fixed on her in the driving mirror, so
she turned sideways and looked out of the window and didn't speak again
until they arrived at Schiphol.  Then it was Customs and passports and a
bare five minutes to wait before their flight was called, so that they
were airborne before she had had time to feel regret at leaving Holland.

She stared out of the window watching the green fields getting farther
and farther away and the houses turning into dolls' houses.  It was
unlikely she would ever go back there and she had hardly glimpsed it,
only Tane's home, and that she wouldn't forget in a hurry.  She closed
her eyes and pretended to sleep and didn't open them again until the
stewardess brought coffee, and soon after that they were at Heathrow.

Diana and the doctor had been sitting across the aisle to her and she
had been aware of their voices.  They had talked a lot--probably the
wedding arrangements, making plans to meet again.  She followed them out
of the plane and through the now familiar routine of luggage and
passports and Customs and found herself standing with them outside the
airport.  But only for a moment;

they were joined by Diana's father, almost at once, an elderly
worried-looking man, who kissed her gingerly, shook the-doctor's hand
and looked vaguely at Euphemia, saying: "Oh, yes, of course, the nurse,"
and then turned back to Tane.

"You'll come back with Diana?"
he asked.

"I'm afraid I've an appointment for the early evening at the hospital
and I'm going back tomorrow morning."

Sir' Arthur Sibley turned to Euphemia.

"And you, Nurse--can we drop you off?"

Diana, saying goodbye to Tane, interrupted him: "She's going the other
way--underground, I expect," she said quickly.  She nodded briefly to
Euphemia.

"Bye," she said, and got into the car at the kerb.

When it was out of sight Euphemia picked up her bag.

"I'll be off," she said cheerfully.

"Thank you for having me to stay in Holland, I enjoyed it.  I hope you
have a good trip back tomorrow."

Her bag was taken from her.

"A bit hasty, aren't you?  Ah, here's the car--I'll drive you back to
Hamptoncumspyway."

"Whose car?"

"The one I arranged to hire until tomorrow."  His voice was patient as
though she were an unwilling child, needing to be coaxed.

"But you've got an appointment--you said so."

"Not until eight o'clock; it's only just turned four o'clock.  I was
hoping you'd invite me to tea."

Euphemia watched the porter putting their cases in the boot and decided
that there was nothing she could do about it.

"Well, of course I will.  They'll all be home, so it'll be noisy."

She got in beside him, feeling guilty because it should have been Diana
sitting there, not she, and it would have been easier to have wished him
goodbye at the airport and started to forget him then.  Now she would be
with him for at least another two hours.  Her heart sang at the very
idea.

They talked comfortably as they drove and Euphemia marvelled at the fact
that she was so completely at ease with him.  When she had first
discovered that she loved him, she had dreaded having to see him again,
but it hadn't been like that at all.  She hadn't felt shy or awkward
with him, only perfectly happy.  She supposed Diana felt like that too,
only she didn't show it.

She said out loud: "I'm not very reserved, am I?"  and at his startled
look: "I say things without thinking first and I do things on the spur
of the moment..."

He said slowly on a laugh: "Well, I can remember occasions your urgent
desire that I should choke on your cakes, being handed an apple core in
the middle of a party, being told in no uncertain terms that I was a
coldblooded man..."

Euphemia said soberly: "I'm sorry I said that you see what I mean?"

"Indeed I do.  Your company is nothing if not stimulating, Euphemia," he
glanced sideways at her, 'but a little dimmed of late, I fancy.  "

"Yes well, I expect that's because I was in another country."

He looked as though he was going to laugh again.  He said gravely: "I
expect it was.  Presum ably you will quickly become your old self once
you're back on the ward."

Cold comfort, though perhaps once she got back to the hospital, back
into the routine and the never ending jobs, she would be able to take up
life where she had left off, rub him out, as it were, as though he had
never been.  And that wouldn't work either, she reminded herself, for
occasionally she would have to see him when he came on to the ward she
would have to fiddle the off-dutys so as not to be there.  She frowned
and he asked: "Now what are you fussing about?"

"I'm not fussing."  She saw with relief that they were almost there;

the first few cottages were already in sight, a minute later they were
going slowly round the green and then in at the open gate.  She was
home, and so, she thought belatedly, was he.

They had been seen.  The door was flung open and the boys rushed out
followed by Ellen, who hugged Euphemia and then put up her face to be
kissed by the doctor in the most natural way possible.

"I'm so glad you could come," she told him.

"I've made a cake and Mrs. Cross has cut mountains of sandwiches."

Euphemia, listening with one ear to the boys' out-pourings, thought it
sounded as though Ellen had expected the doctor, but she was borne
inside the house by her brothers, still talking, so that she forgot
about it.

Nothing had been changed indoors, although she saw at once that the hole
in the carpet had been beautifully mended.  But there were flowers
everywhere, the furniture shone and all the doors and windows were wide,
open.  She cried happily:

"Oh, it's so good to be home!"  and then felt awful because if the
doctor had heard, he must have felt dreadfully uncomfortable.

Apparently he hadn't.  He was talking easily to Ellen, very much at
home.

But then why shouldn't he be?  He lived there now.

They had tea in the dining-room, a substantial old-fashioned meal with
plates of Mrs. Cross's sandwiches, scones and jam, fruit cake and little
iced buns, and Euphemia, behind the tea tray, busy filling teacups,
sighed happily and when Ellen asked: "Was it lovely at Jerez, Phemie?
Were there lots of servants and gorgeous food?"  she answered quickly:
"I'd rather be here.  The servants were super, but Mrs. Kellard
dieted..."

There was a howl of laughter from the boys.

"Poor old Phemie--were you hungry all the time?"

"Yes, I think I was, though I expect it did me a lot of good.  Don't I
look any thinner?"

Everyone stared at her and Billy appealed to the doctor, who was staring
as hard as the rest of them.

"She hasn't changed at all," he said slowly, 'although she has got a
nice tan on her.  " He smiled at her across the table.

"It will show off your uniform nicely."

She frowned a little, because she didn't want to be reminded of
work--not just yet.

"It will wear off then," she said shortly.

"Who wants more tea?"

The doctor had left a little later.  Euphemia, watching his departure
from the open door, thought peevishly that he might have been a
much-loved uncle or old family friend, the way he was being sped on his
way, what with Ellen hugging him with such warmth and the boys crowding
round him like two affectionate puppies.

And he could at least have waved as he drove off--but he hadn't even
glanced in her direction.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

the week which followed was sheer delight to Euphemia.  Not wanting to
waste a second of it, she was up early each morning to potter in the
garden and tidy the house before breakfast so that the day was free to
spend as they all wished.  They visited old friends, had them to tea,
played endless games of croquet on the lawn behind the house and when
the mood took them, bundled into Euphemia's car and trundled away for a
picnic.  She would have liked it to last for ever.  In her old home,
doing all the things she enjoyed doing, she felt cocooned against her
worries, and it was easier, though not impossible, to forget Tane and a
future which held very little prospect of happiness.

She sat up late on her last night, after everyone else had gone to bed,
wishing fruitlessly that things could be different, and because she
couldn't sleep she went round the house, dusting and polishing
soundlessly, which was a silly waste of time, because Mrs. Cross was
coming in in the morning after they had all gone to do just that ready
for the doctor's return.  And when that was precisely, Euphemia didn't
know.  He would be back in England by now, probably staying with Diana's
family, but he came and went so often there was no knowing.

The boys went first.  She drove them to the station and saw them on to
their train with the promise that they would all meet at Aunt Thea's for
half term, and by the time she got back Ellen's curate had arrived to
drive her back to Middle Wallop.  They had coffee together and she saw
the pair of them off in the elderly Mini, sure in her own mind that they
would be engaged before Christmas.  At least Ellen was happy.

The girl, so shy and awkward before, had blossomed into a young woman
who would be quite capable of running a home.  There would never be much
money, of course, but Euphemia didn't think that mattered.

She went indoors then to have a few words with Mrs. Cross before
fetching her case and putting it in the boot and driving off back to
work.  London would be horrible, she thought, getting a last glimpse of
the roses, still growing in profusion round the house.

The contrast certainly was cruel.  St.  Cyprian's looked gloomier than
ever and the mean little streets which surrounded its bulk seemed meaner
than ever.  The warm sunshine which should have rriade it look better
only served to offer a cruel contrast to the quiet countryside she had
just left.  She went as usual to the parking place behind the hospital
and got out, unable to stop herself looking round to see if the Bentley
was there.  It wasn't, and she stifled disappointment while at the same
time telling herself that it was no concern of hers if it were.

It was mid-afternoon by now and the Nurses' Home was quiet.  Euphemia
unpacked slowly, arranged her small possessions round the room and went
along to the Sisters' sitting-room for tea.  They were all there, her
friends, and she spent the next hour answering their questions about her
trip, making it lighthearted and glossing over the duller bits.

"You've got a gorgeous tan," said Laura Jeffs, the Relief Sister who had
taken Euphemia's ward for her while she was away.

"It'll do the patients good just to look at you.  Did you sunbathe every
day and all day?"

"Well, not quite, but a good deal of the time.  How's the ward?"

They talked shop after that until some of them, those of them who hadn't
already gone back on duty, wandered off to get ready for an evening out
with boy-friends or family.  Euphemia, left with one or two of the older
Sisters earnestly discussing the treatment of diabetes, picked up the
paper and began to read it without a word.  She supposed that given
another ten years or so, she would be like her companions, and the idea
appalled her.

There were a lot of new faces amongst her patients when she went on duty
the next morning, but Dicky and Mr. Crouch were still there and they
welcomed her each in his own way, Mr. Crouch with a few snarling
grumbles and Dicky with a wide smile and a garbled flood of words
expressing his pleasure at seeing her again.  Euphemia went round the
ward, taking her time, getting to know the occupants of the beds.

There were a lot of elderly men this time, heart conditions, chest
conditions--most of them should have been in hospital weeks earlier, but
she guessed that they had hung on, hoping they would get better without
going to the doctor.  Jobs were hard to come by these days and those
that had them wanted to keep them.  Joan Willis, giving her a detailed
report later, advised her that several of them were considered to be
very poorly by Sir Richard Blake.

"He said," observed her loyal right hand, 'that he was glad you were
coming back because then they'd have a good chance.  "

Euphemia, who had been feeling low-spirited, perked up a little.

Challenge and hard work-- there was nothing like them to take one's mind
off other things.

For the first few days she went on duty warily, expecting to see Tane
coming on to the ward, but Sir Richard's round came and went and there
was no sign of him.  Illogically, that upset her;

she had wanted never to see him again, but he could at least have
enquired as to whether she had settled back to work.  She was even more
upset to discover from Joan when she returned from her off duty a week
after her return that he had been on the ward in her absence; had stayed
for more that half an hour, in fact, and had then accepted a cup of tea
from her staff nurse.

Joan, seeing the look on Euphemia's face, had added doubtfully: "I hope
you don't mind--he was so friendly..."

"Mind?  Why should I mind?"  snapped Euphemia, her cheeks pink and her
tawny eyes glowing with ill humour.

"He can drink all the tea he wants as far as I'm concerned.  What did he
say about Mr. Duke?"

Mr.  Duke was elderly, irascible, and desperately ill with a virus
infection of the chest which refused to respond to antibiotics.

Nothing more had been said about Dr. van Diederijk and he wasn't on Sir
Richard's round the next day, so it was all the more vexing to hear at
midday dinner that he had been to the women's medical ward that morning.

"He said he'd be coming to see you tomorrow morning," remarked Doreen
Marks, Sister on that ward.

"You've got some pretty poorly men, haven't you?"

Euphemia replied suitably while she mentally readjusted the off-duty for
the next day.  She had arranged to have her two days off at the end of
the week and Joan hadn't minded when she had hers.  She swallowed the
rest of her dinner, declared that she had so much to do she wouldn't
have her usual cup of tea with the others, and flew back to her office.
Joan was there, waiting for her return, and Euphemia lost no time in
putting her plan into operation.

"Joan, would it bother you if I took my days off tomorrow and Thursday?
You could have Friday and Saturday--I particularly want to go down to
see Ellen."

Joan gave her a sympathetic look.  Poor old Euphemia must be having a
pretty rotten time of it since her father died.

"I don't mind a bit-in fact I'd love to have those two days.  I can go
shopping when Mother comes up to town."

"Bless you!"  Euphemia beamed at her.

"Go to your dinner, will you, and take Nurse Simmons and Nurse Collins
with you, then when you get back we'll go through the report together."

She was to have been off duty that evening anyway.  By six o'clock she
was edging the Morris out of the hospital courtyard, a hastily packed
bag on the seat behind her.  There hadn't been much time; she had had to
telephone the office about the change of duty and do one or two ward
chores she wouldn't have done until later on in the week, but she had
had time to shower and change into a jumper and skirt and fling a blazer
into the back seat to join the bag.  There was a lot of traffic; it took
a bit of maneuvering to get into the busy street outside and she didn't
see the doctor's Bentley nose past into the hospital forecourt.  She
didn't see the surprise on his face either, nor the slow smile which
followed it.

She was at Sunbury turning on to the M3 when she remembered that she
hadn't telephoned Aunt Thea.  Not that that goodnatured lady would mind;
although Euphemia had told Ellen before she went back that she wouldn't
be going down to Middle Wallop for a month and Ellen would have passed
that on to her aunt.

It was a fine evening and the motorway was fairly empty.  The days were
beginning to draw in, and when she stopped for petrol she felt a faint
nip in the air--summer would soon be over, before long she would have to
think about Christmas and the holidays.  There would be no hope of them
being together this year; she would be on duty, but perhaps Aunt Thea
would have the boys as well as Ellen, but Aunt Thea wasn't young any
more and Euphemia didn't think any of her other relations would invite
them to stay.  She thrust the problem aside and concentrated on her
driving.

Aunt Thea and Ellen were washing up their supper dishes when she opened
the front door of the cottage, but they left them at once, carried her
off into the sitting room with the promise of something to eat
immediately and demanded to know why she was there.

"Not but what you're more than welcome," declared Aunt Thea, 'but you
usually telephone.  "

"Well, I had to change my days off at a moment's notice," Euphemia
explained, 'and I just wanted to come I do hope you don't mind?  "

"Of course not, love you know how pleased we are to see you.  Just you
sit there with Ellen while I get your supper."  The dear soul bustled
out of the room and Ellen asked:

"Is it awful being back, Phemie?  You must miss that lovely villa."

"I miss Myrtle House more," said Euphemia.

"Don't you?"

Ellen smiled.

"Oh yes but it's nice here."

"How is the curate?"

Ellen blushed.

"Why do you call him the cur ate, like that?  His name's Tom.  He's very
well.  We're going to Salisbury tomorrow it's his day off.  Would you
like to come with us?"

Euphemia smiled at her sister.

"No, thank you, darling I'd like to potter about here.  I've had a busy
week."

"Poof Phemie.  Have you seen Tane?"

Euphemia was taking off her shoes and wiggling her toes in comfort.

No--he came to the ward when I was off duty.  "

"What a shame!  He's such a dear, and so easy to talk to--like a
brother."

Euphemia threw a quick glance at her sister.  Ellen was a guileless
girl, but had that remark been quite as innocent as it sounded?  She
decided it had.

"He and Diana are getting married soon, I believe," she said.

"I can't think why," said Ellen.

A remark Euphemia heartily endorsed.

The cottage was blissfully quiet after St.  Cyprian's.  She slept like a
top and spent the day as she had promised herself, pottering, mostly in
the garden, weeding and tidying up and then helping her aunt indoors
while she regaled that lady with the more lighthearted events of her
stay at Jerez.

Ellen and Tom had left quite early in the morning and it was well after
teatime when they got back, looking so pleased with themselves that
Euphemia and her aunt, taking their ease in the small front garden, got
to their feet and went to meet them, the answer to their unspoken
question so obvious that they didn't need to ask it.

"We're engaged!"  cried Ellen, and flung herself at the pair of them in
turn, triggering off a round of congratulations, hand-shakings and
excited talk until Aunt Thea declared that the occasion merited a glass
of the sherry she had been hoarding for a special occasion.  And there
was a supper party presently, with Aunt Thea and Euphemia in the kitchen
beating eggs and whipping cream and arranging a magnificent salad.

They would marry next year, said Tom, and within a short time he hoped
to get a parish of his own, and would Aunt Thea mind if Ellen married
from her house?  The evening passed in a flash and later, when Ellen had
walked over with Tom to see the Rector, Euphemia had persuaded her aunt
to go to bed while she washed the supper things.  It was wonderful news,
she told herself, and exactly what she had hoped for.  Ellen was a
darling and Tom was quite right for her; calm, patient and reassuring.

Euphemia heaved an enormous sigh and went to bed.  She loved her sister
too much to be envious of her, but she couldn't help wondering how it
would feel to be engaged to Tane; a useless piece of thinking which
would get her nowhere, but it made sleeping for a good deal of the
night, at any rate, an impossibility.

It was a beautiful morning again.  Euphemia, up and about early, got
breakfast for them all, waved goodbye to Ellen, off to spend the morning
with her elderly employer, flew round the cottage doing the small
household chores and then went into the garden.  There were several
apple trees in the rough bit at the bottom and a plum tree or two.  She
picked plums for her aunt's jam-making and then went to look at the
apples.  Most of them had good crops, but not quite ready for picking.
There was one elderly tree--Scarlet Pimpernel--whose fruit hung ready to
be eaten.  Euphemia chose an apple, rubbed it up on the sleeve of her
blouse, and sat down to eat it.  She was munching contentedly when she
heard footsteps coming down the brick path from the back door, and
looked up to see Tane coming towards her.  Happiness flooded her so
completely that she couldn't speak, so she went on chewing, looking at
every loved inch of him, longing to tell him that she loved him more
than anything else in her world.

He came to a halt a foot or so away and stood looking down at her.

"You really are a girl for apples, aren't you?  Can it be pure chance or
are you tempting me?"

She swallowed her mouthful.

"I didn't know you were coming, and even if I did, I wouldn't."

He picked an apple from the tree and sat down beside her.

"You're not dressed for the country," observed Euphemia, taking in the
clerical grey, the silk tie, the beautifully polished shoes.

"I'm on my way to Bristol--there's a seminar there.  I could hardly
attend it in slacks and a sweater and there'll be no time to change if
I'm staying for lunch."

She leant up on an elbow the better to look at him.

"Have you been invited, or are you just hoping you will be?"

"I've been invited--your aunt and I get on very well together."  He
threw away the core and lay back against the tree.

"How's the ward?"

"Busy, you know that."  Euphemia paused and then asked in a rush:

"How's Diana?"

"Oh, very much better for her rest.  And you?  Are you very much better,
Euphemia?"

"I've not been ill..."

"Who said that you had?"  His voice was as bland as his face.

She got to her feet, fearful of being asked more questions.

"I expect you'd like coffee-- I'll make some."

He had got up too.

"Your aunt put the kettle on when I got here.

Euphemia, are you happy?  "

She had snatched up her basket of plums.

"Yes, of course I am.  What a silly question!"

"No sillier than your answer."  His voice was silky and she sensed more
probings and questions.

"Well, we'd better go and have our coffee," she said quickly.

"I daresay you want to leave directly after lunch.  "

He took her basket from her.

"Of course, if you do not wish me to stay to lunch..."  His voice was
silkier than ever.

"Oh, of course not--it's quite immaterial to me.  Aunt Thea loves having
people..."

"And you don't--or is it just me?"  He was laughing at her now, and
suddenly she found herself laughing too.

Ellen brought Tom back for lunch and the whole meal was taken up with
plans for the wedding, most of them lighthearted.  Euphemia found
herself wondering if Tane and Diana had as much fun planning theirs, and
thought it unlikely.

Tane left soon after lunch, with a great hug and kiss for Aunt Thea, who
blushed rosily and declared that he'd do better to kiss someone nearer
his own age, whereupon he kissed Ellen and then, with an absentminded
air, Euphemia.

"Nice chap," declared Tom, watching the Bentley slide away into the
village.

Aunt Thea and Ellen agreed wholeheartedly, but Euphemia said nothing at
all.

She went back to St.  Cyprian's the next morning, very early so that she
could go on duty after midday dinner.  The ward was just as busy and the
ill patients just as ill.  She spent the afternoon arranging X-rays,
test meals,

ECGS and blood transfusions for two new patients with duodenal ulcers.
Terry Walker had been on the ward for most of the time; it amused her in
a wry fashion to see how his manner had subtly changed towards her.  She
had never taken his proposals seriously, but now he was being very
careful to let her see that he hadn't been serious either; he was
friendly enough but wary with it.  It didn't matter in the least to her,
but her pride was hurt;

she had thought that he liked her for herself and not for her prospects,
and now that she had none, she wondered if he had ever had any real
feelings for her at all.  Probably not.

She missed tea, swallowed a cup on the ward and didn't go off duty until
the night staff were on, which was just as well, because she was in no
mood to exchange gossip with her friends before going to bed.

She ate a solitary supper in the canteen and went straight to bed,
feeling bad-tempered.  She knew why, of course; Tane was in Bristol and
probably she wouldn't see him for days, perhaps weeks.  She had given up
her resolve to avoid him, forget him even, for she was powerless to do
that; he was there all the time at the back of her head.  She supposed
that he would fade slowly; she supposed too that if she found another
job a long way away so that she had no chance of seeing him at all, he
might fade a good deal faster.  She lay in bed toying with the idea of
going somewhere really remote like Tristan da Cunha and fell asleep in
the middle of her planning.

She had been back four days when the letter came.  She' had been in her
office, making up the books, puzzling over the off duty and checking the
charts.  She had almost finished when Willis put her head round the
door.

"Post for you.  Sister, it's just come up."  She laid a long envelope on
the desk and slipped away, and Euphemia laid aside the chart she was
writing up and reached for it.

It was from Messrs Fish, Fish and Thrums, Solicitors, and she wondered
what Mr. Fish could be writing about now.  The sorry business of small
debts; official papers and funeral expenses had all been dealt with, the
rent from the house was being paid in regularly and the mortgage
payments were arranged; as far as she knew, there was nothing more than
needed her attention.

She was wrong.  She read the rather long letter through, going pale as
she did so, her frown thunderous.  Having read it, she smoothed it out
on the desk before her and read it again, slowly this time.  The
contents remained the same; Dr. van Diederijk's solicitor had written to
inform Mr. Fish that his client had taken over the mortgage of Myrtle
House and in future all repayments should be made to him on behalf of
the doctor.

"But he can't!"  She didn't know that she had spoken out loud.

"He simply can't--and why should he?"  She began to read the letter for
the third time, to be interrupted by her staff nurse once more, this
time with an urgent request for her to come into the ward immediately
and take a look at Mr. Cummins, who was, unless her faithful right hand
was mistaken, on the verge of another coronary.

There was no time to do anything about the letter for that day.  Mr.
Cummins and his coronary kept them all busy, as did the rest of the
ward, and by the time she got off duty, Euphemia saw to her dismay that
it was long past the time for any self-respecting solicitor to be in his
office.  It would have to wait till the morning.  She spent a wretched
night and went on duty looking far from her best, and feeling even
worse.

Surprisingly and fortunately, the ward had quitened down
considerably--not that she had any false hopes about that; the ill men
were still very ill and any one of them might spring a surprise without
warning.  But just for the moment the ward routine went smoothly ahead
and presently she was able to go to the office and tackle the paper
work.  She was filling in a requisition form for more bed linen when the
door opened and the doctor walked in.

Euphemia put down her pen slowly, horrified that her mouth was
trembling, fighting to preserve a calm front.  She even managed a
normal-sounding "Good morning.  Doctor," in reply to his civil greeting
and then sat waiting for him to speak, wishing that he wasn't quite such
a big man, towering over her in the little room.

"You had a letter about the mortgage?"  he wanted to know.

"Yes."

"Good.  Perhaps I should have mentioned it when I saw you last, but it
seemed better that it should be settled by our solicitors.  It makes no
difference to you."

Her numbed thoughts came to life then.  Colour flushed her cheeks and
her eyes glowed with topaz light.

"What do you mean by that?  Of course it makes a difference to
me--instead of paying some man I've never even met, I have to pay you,
and supposing I can't pay?  Supposing I can't find another tenant when
you go?  You can foreclose.

That's what you want to do, isn't it?"  She was furious now, the words
tumbling out.

"I suppose Diana decided that she'd like to live there for always and
you thought this up between you?  Pretending to be a--a friend and
worming your way into everyone's good graces!  I imagine that's why you
wanted me to go to Jerez with Diana, so that I'd be out of the way while
you arranged it all."

She would have liked to have screamed at him, but that wouldn't do, so
close to the ward, and people going too and fro.

"How dared you?"  she said in a stony voice, and stopped because she had
run out of breath.

Before she could begin again, Tane leaned over the desk and took her
hands in his.

"Euphemia, listen."

She tugged uselessly.

"No, I won't!  I know what you're going to say and I don't want to see
you or speak to you ever again!  I'll have to, of course, when you're on
the ward, but I'll not utter one word unless it's about the patients."
She gave another tug at her hands and his grip tightened just a little.

"Let go," she flared at him, 'or I'll scream!  "

He laughed softly.

"You're very angry, aren't you, Phemie?  But that's because you're
jumping to conclusions--women do."

"Don't be pompous," she snapped.

"Be good enough to let me go and go away."  She forced herself to look
at him and added quietly: "I mean that."

He straightened up slowly and released her hands.  There was no hint of
anger in his face, but she sat back rather quickly, away from him.  He
said coldly: "If you want it that way--and you don't have to duck away
like that, I'm not going to hit you."  His eyes were as cold as his
voice, but, "I should like to shake you until your teeth rattle.

Sister Blackstock.  "

He went unhurriedly to the door.

"Just remember one thing, will you?

I'm a man of infinite patience when I want something.  " He closed the
door very quietly behind him.

"And what does he mean by that?"  muttered Euphemia distractedly.

"He's got what he wants.  Oh, I hafe him, I hate him!"  She picked up
Mr. Fish's letter with a hand that shook and folded it neatly and put it
in her pocket.  She would have to write to him, she supposed, or better
still go and see him.

Regardless of hospital rules, she telephoned for an appointment then and
there.

"Two o'clock," said an elderly female voice at the other end of the
line.

"Mr.  Fish could spare ten minutes or so."

Mr.  Fish's office wasn't so very far away, Lincoln's Inn, but Euphemia,
changing her off duty to a split and going to second dinner, had to miss
her meal in order to get there on time.  And her temper was hardly
improved to find that when she got there that Mr. Fish was engaged, so
that she had to sit in a bare little waiting room, leafing through
vintage copies of The Field, quite unable to think up any planned
speeches.  It was partly hunger, of course; she had had a cup of tea and
half a slice of toast at breakfast and she'd been too upset to do more
than sip her coffee during the morning.

Now her insides rumbled emptily, taking her mind off the matter in hand.
And at the back of it all was the ruthlessly flattened down image of
Tane.  By the time she got into Mr. Fish's stuffy office she hadn't a
coherent thought left in her head.

But not so Mr. Fish.  After all, he got his living by being coherent; he
listened in a fatherly way to her protests and then tore them to shreds
with a few well chosen sentences.  What did it matter, he pointed out
kindly, who held the mortgage?  Indeed, he considered that Dr. van
Diederijk was a much sounder proposition than the small private firm who
had taken up the mortgage in the first place and why, he added as an
aside, her father had not gone to a reputable building society or even
the bank, he couldn't understand.  He could not see what difference it
could possibly make to her.  He chuckled to himself for a moment.

"And you do realise that the doctor is being paid back with his own
money, my dear?  At least until he gives up the tenancy of Myrtle
House."

"Yes, but when he does, don't you see, Mr. Fish?  If I can't find
another tenant at once I can't repay the mortgage, then he can take the
house away from us--it'll be his!"

Mr.  Fish sat back and patted his fingertips together in a way that got
on her stretched nerves.

"Oh, I don't think so, my dear.  He is, I understand, in no need of
financial aid, he could well afford to wait until such time as a new
tenant was found.

But are you not crossing your bridges before you reach them?  Supposing
you leave everything to me.  Your dear father seldom took my advice, but
I hope that you will."

Euphemia left it at that.  Mr. Fish looked mild and elderly and
incapable of saying go to a goose, but he had floored her with his dry,
logical talk.  She wished him a polite good day and took herself off,
got a bus to Oxford Street and had a highly indigestible tea in one of
the more expensive cafes.  It was the sort of thing she seldom did, but
she felt defiant and dreadfully unhappy as well as hungry.

The afternoon's visit to Mr. Fish had been a complete waste of time, she
decided as she changed back into uniform, and as far as she could see
there was nothing more to be done, and since she had made it clear that
she didn't want anything to do with Tane ever again, she couldn't
discuss it further with him.  Anyway, he wouldn't listen.

"Arrogant, pigheaded man!"  cried Euphemia, ramming her cap on to her
dark piled-up hair.

There was enough work on the ward to keep her mind occupied until she
went off duty that evening--more than enough, she thought worriedly:

three of her patients were very poorly and Terry had been in and out
several times to see them, and the various treatments he ordered kept
her and the nurses busy until the night staff came on duty.  Even then,
she didn't hurry off duty but went to her supper late, then went along
to the Sisters' sitting-room to drink tea and talk shop.  It was much
later than usual by the time she got to bed and she was so tired that
she slept at once.

It was Sir Richard's round in the morning, and Euphemia, heaved a sigh
of relief when she saw that he was on his own.  She had tried not to
think about meeting Tane on the ward and the longer it could be put off
the better.  The round took a long time, with Sir Richard being nastier
than ever to the students dogging his footsteps and wanting treatments
changed and impossibilities like instant X-rays.  Euphemia edged him
slowly from bed to bed while two nurses followed discreetly at a
distance, restoring the chaos of tossed bedclothes, scattered notes and
written requests for barium meals, blood tests, physiotherapy and the
like.  It was almost noon by the time he stalked into her office, to be
calmed with coffee and biscuits.

"A pity van Diederijk was called back to Holland for some consultation
or other," he grumbled to her.

"I should have liked to have consulted with him myself.  That
man--what's his name, third bed on the right...  Cummins, is it?  His
general condition isn't good..  " He launched into technicalities, and
Euphemia made herself concentrate on what he was saying and tried not to
wonder why Tane should have gone back to Holland so very suddenly.  It
must have been something very urgent--or was it an excuse so that they
shouldn't meet for a little while?

Perhaps he had thought that she would be more amenable if he left her
alone for a while?  Nothing, she decided hotly, would make her that.

"Sister..."  Sir Richard, his voice raised, had obviously been waiting
for her to say something, but she had no idea what it was.  She
apologised and bent her mind to the problem as to whether Mr. Drew
should have his insulin increased or not.  On her own at last, she
sorted notes and tidied away charts, had a quick consultation with Joan
and went to her dinner.

"Late again," observed the occupants of her table.

"Sir Richard," Euphemia murmured, and made a face.

"An hour and a half, and I've lost count of the forms to be filled in..
it's not my day!"

And as it turned out it wasn't.  Visitors came and went, and all but one
student nurse had gone to tea, leaving Euphemia to deal with drips and
the inhalations Sir Richard approved of for his chest cases, while the
nurses tidied lockers and beds and bore away the unsuitable food and
sweets which the visitors always brought with them despite Euphemia's
patient explanations as to what exactly the patients were allowed.  The
nurse had just left the ward, her arms full of the diabetic's toffees,
the duodenal ulcer's iced buns and the bunch of bananas given to a nasty
case of colitis, when there was a loud rumbling which became a roar of
sound as one side of the ward seemed to shake and quiver and become
submerged in a cloud of dust and broken glass and falling plaster.

CHAPTER NINE.

euphemia, bending over Mr. Cummins, clutched the edge of the bed to
prevent herself falling.  Something catastrophic had happened, but for a
few seconds her shocked brain didn't react, then common sense, training
and a naturally calm disposition took over.  She gave Mr. Cummins' grey
face a reassuring smile and took stock of the ward.  The opposite wall
had taken the full force of the explosion, so it must have been outside
in the street below and although the wall still stood, it was cracked
and sagging and the plaster was dropping in great chunks off it.  The
windows had been blown out and there was glass everywhere.  Luckily it
had fallen in the centre of the ward and missed the beds and their
occupants, but not all of them.  Euphemia could hear shouts and moans
above the general din now, and some of the up patients were staggering
around in a dazed manner.

The inner wall seemed solid enough at the moment.  There were no windows
on that side, and the floor seemed solid too.  She wasn't so sure about
the centre, though, but she would have to risk that.

"Everyone stay where he is!"

she shouted at the top of her voice.

"There'll be help in a moment, so don't worry."  The absurdity of her
words struck her as she uttered them; she was worried stiff and
terrified too.

Supposing the outside wall collapsed--or the floor?  It didn't bear
thinking of, so she didn't, but edged her way cautiously from bed to bed
making sure that each patient was at least alive.  They were, some of
them only just, but it was no time for intensive care it was imperative
for her to get to the other side where the moans were getting louder.
She went to the end of the ward and started to cross the floor gingerly
as near the end wall as possible.  When she reached the ruined door she
saw the student nurse picking herself up off the landing floor.  She
waved gamely when she saw Euphemia and started towards her.

"Oh, good girl!"  cried Euphemia.  Nurse Shorter wasn't quick or
particularly clever, but she loved her work and now she was showing
pluck when she might so easily have been indulging in a screaming fit.

"Come carefully, the floor's not too safe."  She put out a hand and
steadied the girl into the ward.

"There'll be help presently, but I don't think we'd better wait for it.
Will you go very carefully down the inner wall' and lead out all the men
who can possibly walk?  I can see the stairs--they'll be the safest
place, I should think.  Sit them down on the treads, then they can be
got away when we get help."  She gave the girl's arm a reassuring
squeeze.

"But go carefully, for heaven's sake.

I'll be on the outer side--on no account are you to come there, and if
anyone comes warn them not to come over until someone lets us know if
the floors are safe.  "

"But, Sister..."

"Off you go.  Shorter."

Euphemia watched her make her careful way to the first bed.  Dicky was
in it; he looked scared, but as always he did as he was told.  He began
to get carefully out of bed under Shotter's guidance, and Euphemia
turned away and started for the first bed on the other side.  The dust
was subsiding now, leaving the beds thick with it, their occupants too.
Testing the floor at each step, she made her way slowly from bed to bed,
wiping faces, looking for injuries, reassuring them with a cheerfulness
which sounded hollow in her own ears and must have sounded even more so
in theirs.  The two top beds held men who could walk if they had to.
Euphemia guided them, one at a time, keeping close to the beds,
listening to the ominous creaks from the floor beneath them.  That left
ten men to move.  Six of them just couldn't walk, the others oughtn't
to, bnt they'd have to.  She paused for a moment to look across to the
other side and saw that Shorter had got four men away already and at the
same time became aware of the noise going on around her--shouts and
cries and every now and then, the sound of bricks tumbling.  She
wondered what the damage was outside and below them and remembered with
thankfulness that it was the OP Department and the early afternoon
clinic would be finished.

She could hear sirens wailing now and someone out in the street giving
orders.  It wouldn't be long before they got help now, in the meantime
she had better move some more patients.  She still wasn't happy about
the floor, and if it gave way it would be difficult to get the men out
of the beds farthest away from the door.  That made Mr. Crouch next. Mr.
Crouch had a great many reasons for not getting out of his bed and
making the journey to the door.  Euphemia listened patiently to them all
while she dragged on his dressing gown and slippers, swung his
protesting legs out of his bed and urged him past the other beds.  He
disputed every inch of the way and she was a nervous wreck by the time
they reached the landing where Nurse Shorter took him over.

It was on the way back to the end of the ward that Euphemia felt the
floor beneath her shudder.  There was a nasty cracking sound too, and
she stood still, too frightened to move.  But nothing happened and
presently she crept on again, intent on reaching Mr. Cummins, who was
looking almost unconscious.

A small surge of sound and low voices made her stop and look round.
There were men at the door--policemen, firemen, hospital porters
standing in a bunch listening to Tane, towering above them, his jacket
off, his hair colourless with dust.  Euphemia's heart gave a great leap
so that she lost her breath and her voice came out in a high squeak.

"Don't come along this side," she called, 'the floor's beginning to
move!  "

They all looked at her, calling out heartening remarks like: "Hold on,
Sister', and" You're OK now', but Tane didn't say a word, only muttered
something to the men and started towards her.

"Don't--don't come," cried Euphemia, 'the floor's going to give and
you're far too heavy!  "

She heard him laugh and then watched while he came slowly up the ward.

When he reached her he said: "Hullo--they're getting the fire escapes
into position, we can get them out through the windows.  It won't take
long."  He smiled at her.  It was a nice smile, full of confidence and
cheerfulness and tenderness too.  She discovered that she wasn't afraid
any more and said in a voice which shook only a very little:

"Mr.  Cummins isn't very well--could you look at him?  The others aren't
too bad, but some of thenfi have got cuts from the glass..."

She had a cut herself, although she hadn't noticed it.  She had lost her
cap too and her hair was a fearful tangle of dust and plaster, its pins
lost, so that it hung in matted clusters round her head.  She was white
under her dirty face too and her hands shook a little as she turned down
the tumbled bedclothes so that the doctor could take a look at Mr.
Cummins.

The doctor bent calmly over the bed, seemingly unaware of the creaks and
rumbles going on around him.  There wasn't much he could do, but Mr.
Cummins, opening his eyes to see a doctor bending over him, took heart
and began to breathe properly once more, happily not altogether aware of
what was happening around him.  He whispered: "That was a bit of a
bang," and nodded, quite satisfied, when the doctor said calmly: "A gas
main in the street outside: it's being dealt with now and there's
nothing for you to worry about.  We'll have you out of here and in a
clean bed in no time."

The man in the next bed had a cut arm.  The doctor examined it briefly
and said: "Tear up a sheet and bind it fairly tightly, it'll hold until
we can get it seen to."  He turned his back on Euphemia and began a
careful journey back towards the door, to meet the two men waiting by
the end bed.  They had a light stretcher with them and the three of them
lifted its occupant on to it and the two men began their slow progress
to the door.  Euphemia, ready with her first aid, tore up another length
of sheet.  There was a man two beds down the ward with a small head
wound, she might as well bind it.  "Stay where you are," called Tane
sharply, 'and keep still!  " The floor heaved slowly as he spoke and she
watched with fascinated horror as its centre slowly caved in and sent a
shower of cement and wooden flooring on to the rubble below.  There were
still a couple of feet beyond the ends of the beds.

She wondered how long it would be before that broke away too, although
the inner wall of the ward was still holding and the floor comparatively
solid on that side.  And as though she wasn't scared enough she had to
stand and watch the doctor making his way along the ruined edge of the
floor.  He did it unhurriedly and with a monumental calm, and when he
reached her finally she couldn't detect even the smallest quickening of
his breath.  He didn't speak to her but edged past towards one of the
shattered windows behind Mr. Cummins' bed.  A moment later she knew why;
the first of the fire escapes had arrived.

"You will do exactly as I say," said Tane, 'and you are not to move
unless I tell you to," an order she was only too glad to obey.  She
discontinued Mr. Cummins' drip, miraculously still in position, folded
back the bedclothes, covered him with a blanket and stood, hardly daring
to breathe while Tane bent over the bed, picked up the old man and
passed him through the window to the fireman waiting at the top of the
escape.  It seemed unlikely that he would survive the journey to the
ground, but at least he had a chance.  The escape disappeared from view
and Tane leaned back over the empty bed, picked her up and set her
gently down close to the next bed.

It was Mr. Duke's turn.  He had no drip, but Euphemia did as she was
told--rolled back the bedclothes, tucked a blanket round him and waited
while Tane picked him up and edged him through the window behind the bed
into the arms of the firemen on the second fire escape.

It took a good deal longer this time, because Mr. Duke was a long thin
man and difficult to manoeuvre, and Euphemia, watching, longed to
express her feelings with a good scream.  She did in fact let out a
whispered shriek during the next fifteen minutes, for after the next man
had been got away and she was wrapping a blanket round the very last
patient, the floor's rumblings became louder and a great deal more of it
went the way of the rest, carrying part of the end wall with it, which
left them standing on a kind of sagging shelf under the windows, the row
of beds still there, battered and awry.

Euphemia, who had never fainted in her life, thought how nice it would
be if she could now and come to safely on the ground.  The patient was
semi-conscious and unco-operative, and it seemed to her that Tane would
never get him through the window.  But he did, and that left the two of
them with the second fire escape already on its way up.  Euphemia gave a
gusty sigh and managed a smile.  It lasted barely a second, for there
was another cracking and tearing and the end bed began to slide slowly
over the edge of the floor and toppled over in a kind slow motion into
the mess below.

"Oh," said Euphemia, 'look--they'll all go!  " She cast a despairing
glance at Tane and was annoyed to see him looking quite calm.

"I'm frightened," she snapped in a quaking voice.

"Aren't you?"

"Terrified.  Let's get up into this window, we can hold on to the wall."

"There won't be a wall," she wailed, and then said: "Sorry," in a voice
rigid with fear but under control again.

Tane went first, testing the rubble round the broken window, and pulled
her up after him.  There wasn't much room, but the wall, although
damaged and heavily cracked, might stand even if the rest of the floor
went.  Which it did a few seconds later, leaving them with nothing but
the wall to which they were clinging.  Tane put an arm round her
shoulders and tucked her head against his chest.  His voice, very quiet
and steady, calmed her even though it didn't stop her shaking.

"The escape is almost here," he told her, 'and when it is you're going
to be a brave girl and do exactly as you're told.  Don't look down, just
look at the fireman.  "

"You're coming too?  Tane, I won't go without you."

"I'm coming too.  Here we are--now, do exactly as I say..."

She thought at first that she wouldn't be able to do that; she was stiff
with fright when she saw the gap she would have to cross to reach the
escape--a very narrow gap, only a few inches, but supposing she slipped?

"Come along, darling," said Tane briskly.

It was being called darling that did it.  Euphemia leaned out, grasped
the rail of the escape and was safely there with the fireman's steady
arm round her, watching Tane doing the same thing.  There didn't seem
much room; the fireman was a big man too, but she was thankful to feel
safely squashed between them, because she hated heights.  She squeezed
her eyes tight shut and without knowing it, clung to Tane's arm.  Now
that they were safe she felt dazed and very sick.  She hardly realised
the fact that they had reached the ground and the doctor, looking into
her greenish white face, took her hands firmly from his sleeve and
handed her over to the Senior Nursing Officer and Home Sister.

She was only just aware of being put into an ambulance and driven the
short distance round the hospital to the Nurses' Home, undamaged by the
blast, and she made almost no protest when she was undressed, bathed,
her hair washed and popped into bed.  She slept all night and, being
young and strong, woke at her usual time in the morning, feeling none
the worse for her experience.

To Home Sister's agitated advice to return to her bed for the day she
replied quite truthfully that she felt very well and that since she was,
she would go on duty, because there must be a mass of work to do.  She
was greeted like a heroine at breakfast and there was such a lot to be
told and listened to that no one remembered that the Senior Nursing
Officer had accompanied Doctor van Diederijk over to the home late on
the previous evening and paid her a visit.

They had stood in her room, looking down at her sleeping face with its
curtain of dark hair spread on the pillow, and the Senior Nursing
Officer had murmured something appropriate about her being a brave young
woman who had done her duty.  She had expected the doctor to say
something in like vein, or at least agree with her, but all he said was:
"Well, she looks fine to me.

She'll be perfectly all right after a good night's sleep."

The Senior Nursing Officer had been a little shocked by his indifference
and then excused him because, after all, he was a foreigner and somewhat
cold in his manner, even though his manners were perfect.

Euphemia found her patients temporarily housed in the physiotherapy
department at the other end of the hospital, which had escaped lightly
from the blast, having the whole of the centre of the vast building as
well as the wing which had caught the full force of the explosion,
between it and the burst gas main.  The men were in hastily erected beds
arranged haphazardly around the whole department, and although the ill
ones were connected to their drips and monitors there was a woeful lack
of simple equipment.

Euphemia went round having a word with the men and then repaired to the
tiny office where she gathered her nurses around her to be given a brief
resume of what had happened after she had left the scene.

There were cries of admiration for her conduct, of course, but she was a
modest young woman and while she thanked them she pointed out that if
any of them had been there they would have done exactly the same as she
had done.

"And Nurse Shorter," she observed, 'was very brave.  We can all be proud
of her.  " Everyone looked at the student nurse, who went bright red and
mumbled something.

"She could have turned tail and run for it, and I wouldn't have blamed
her."

Euphemia beamed at the girl.

"What luck they came when they did or we should have been in the soup."

"It's in all the papers," said a voice.

"No one was hurt--not badly, anyway.  Lucky it wasn't the rush hour."

"What will happen to the ward.  Sister?"  asked Joan Willis.

"We can't stay here, can we?"

Euphemia shook her head.

"It's not very likely.  I daresay I'll know more about that later on.
I'll let you know when I do.  Now let's get to work, there's an awful
lot of stuff we simply must have right away--I'll make a list and see if
I can get it at once.  The men have recovered marvellously, but all the
same I think I'll get Doctor Walker down to take a look at Mr. Cummins."

Terry came presently, pronounced Mr. Cummins in a fair condition,
considering his experience, and after a look at the remainder of the
patients followed her into the office.

"And you, Euphemia?"  he wanted to know.

"Quite the little heroine and none the worse for it."

She said seriously: "Nothing like that.  I couldn't do anything else,
could I?  I was scared stiff."

"Dr.  van Diederijk was pretty cool too, everyone's singing his
praises."  He added huffily:

"Just my luck to have had a half day--I should have done exactly what he
did."

"Of course," agreed Euphemia kindly, and wohdered what she had seen in
Terry--and as for marrying him.  She didn't want to think about
marrying; there would never be another man to take Tane's place in her
heart.  She sighed and ordered coffee.

She was sent for during the morning to go to the Senior Nursing
Officer's office.  Miss. Risby spent quite a time making a gracious
speech concerning Euphemia's presence of mind, courage and good sense.

Euphemia, acutely uncomfortable, sat on the edge of her chair and wished
herself anywhere but there, but she knew Miss. Risby of old, a
formidable, well corseted lady with a sense of self-importance which had
got her far in her profession.  She endured the speech to its end,
thanked Miss. Risby politely and asked what plans had been made for her
ward.

"Well now.  Sister," said Miss. Risby, for once a little short of words,
"I've given the matter a good deal of thought and I've also been advised
by Dr. van Diderijk, whose judgement I value, especially as Sir Richard
is on holiday.

He suggests, most wisely, that we should transfer the patients from your
ward to St.  Jude's--he has patients there, as you know-until such time
as they can be accommodated here."

"And when will that be.  Miss. Risby?"  Euphemia's voice was very even.

"That's hard to say, Sister.  As you can see for yourself, the damage to
your wing is extensive;

it will be necessary to erect some kind of a temporary ward to house the
men's medical, and that will take some time--a few months, shall we say.
"

"And my staff and myself?"  asked Euphemia.

"Integrated into other wards.  As for yourself, I suggest that you take
the post of relief Sister until such time as the temporary building is
ready."

"Dr.  van Diederijk suggested that too, Miss. Risby?"

"Indeed, yes.  Such a resourceful man!"

Euphemia said nothing.  He wasn't resourceful; he was arrogant,
thoughtless and for some reason intent on messing up her life for her.

Perhaps he was doing it to teach her a lesson because she had told him
that she had hated him.  She longed to give in her notice then and
there, but she dared not--she had no job to go to and even a month
without work would play havoc with her finances.  All the same she would
start looking around for another post and when she'd found one she'd let
him know and he'd realise that she had no intention of dancing to his
tune.

"Something is worrying you.  Sister?"  enquired Miss. Risby.

Euphemia presented a blandly smiling face.

"No, Miss. Risby, thank you.

You will let me know when we are to be transferred?  And am I to.  "tell
the nurses?"

"By all means-I should think the move might be managed within a week or
ten days, that will fit in splendidly for you.  Sister Thorn from
Children's will be going on holiday then and you can take over from
her."

Euphemia stood up, received a gracious dismissal, and took herself off.
If Dr. van Diederijk had happened to have been at hand at that moment
she would have boxed his ears for him.  Probably it would have hurt her
a good deal more than him, but it would have relieved her pent-up
feelings.

She passed on Miss. Risby's instructions when she returned to the ward,
but there was precious little time to comment on them.  The place was
still in some disorder and they were all hard at it, setting it to
rights, when the door was thrust open and Sir Richard came in and, with
him, Dr. van Diederijk.

Euphemia put down the pile of blankets she was distributing and advanced
to meet them, to be greeted by Sir Richard at his heartiest.

"Sister Blackstock, I hear that you've distinguished yourself during
this most unfortunate accident.  I hurried back as soon as I heard the
news, and I'm glad to see that you're quite yourself and making the most
of things."

He beamed around him: "Temporary, of course; but any port in a storm,
eh?  We shall be able to get all your patients into St.  Jude's by the
end of the week and your good nurses with them.  I hear that a niche
will be found for you here until we can get some sort of temporary
building."

"So I'm told, sir."  She didn't smile and she ignored Tane.

"I do feel," went on Sir Richard, at his most urbane, 'that you should
take a day or two's rest, Sister.  You had a nasty experience, a very
nasty experience--change of scene in which to recover will do you good.
"

"Thank you, sir, but I'm perfectly well."

"You must allow me to be the best judge of that, young lady.  Dr. van
Diederijk has most kindly offered Myrtle House for your use for two
days-he'll be away, he tells me, and I insist that you go there and
relax.

Doctor's orders."  He turned to his companion.

"You agree, van Diederijk?"

"Indeed yes.  Sister Blackstock is more than welcome to rest in her own
home.

There will be no one to disturb her."

Euphemia stole a look at him.  He looked back at her, his face empty of
any expression save one of courteous indifference.  She began: "Well,
I..."  and was stopped by Sir Richard's upraised hand.

"Not another word.  Sister Blackstock.  We can't have you suffering from
delayed shock, yoju're far too valuable a member of the staff.  Have I
your promise to do as I ask?"

Her "Very well, sir," was reluctant, but he couldn't have noticed,
because he went on: "I suggest you go there this evening and have the
following two days free.  I shall mention it to Miss. Risby."  He gave
her an indulgent smile.

"And now shall we take a look at our patients?"

The round took a very long time because Sir Richard wanted to hear each
patient's account of their escape, and as they were all, even Mr.
Crouch, unanimous in their praise of Euphemia and Dr. van Diederijk, she
was heartily glad when they at last finished weaving their way from bed
to bed, dodging equipment and blankets and screens which the nurses were
frantically trying to get into some kind of order.  At the door
Euphemia, always a tryer, had another go.

"We're in a shocking mess," she pointed out.

"I really think I should stay--I can take days off later in the week
once the men have been transferred.  But Sir Richard, at his most
benevolent, wouldn't hear of it.

"I'm sure that by this evening you'll have everything as you want it and
then you can leave your staff nurse to cope for a couple of days; far
better for you to be here when the transfer takes place.  No, Sister, I
must insist that you keep your promise."

Tane was standing a little apart, as though he didn't care a brass
farthing what she did, and probably he didn't.  When she peeped at him
it annoyed her very much to see the smug look on his face.  For some
reason he was pleased that she was going to her home, although she
couldn't think why, unless it was because she hadn't wanted to go in the
first place.

He was a tiresome man and she couldn't stand the sight of him, although
she loved him with all her heart.  He'd called her darling, too, but she
guessed now that that was to get her moving when she had hesitated.  She
wished Sir Richard a good morning and murmured coldly in the general
direction of Tane, her gaze fixed on his waistcoat, and watched the two
of them walking away.

Sir Richard with his head poked forward and his hands behind his back
and Tane beside him towering over him, his broad back very straight.
Euphemia, fighting a childish wish to burst into tears, went back to the
office where Joan was laboriously sorting the charts which had had to be
freshly made out.

"Send the first two nurses to coffee," she instructed so sharply that
Joan looked at her in surprise.

"We'll have ours here--I need it."

By the end of the afternoon they had wrought miracles.  The beds were in
some sort of order and lockers had been found for the patients.

True, they were scattered all over the place, because Physiotherapy was
divided into a number of rooms connected by open doors, and there was no
sluice and only one shower room.  But as Miss. Risby had pointed out
when she came to see how they were getting on, it was only for a few
days, and most of the hospital was inconvenienced in some way or other,
although the other wards had got off lightly with broken windows and
smashed furniture.

Euphemia, tired, hot, and keeping her temper on a tight rein, had a job
to give a civil answer, and Miss. Risby, who was by no means a fool,
remarked as she left that Sister Blackstock would find things easier
after she had had a well deserved period of rest.

"Staff Nurse Morris is quite able to carry on for a day or so and I'll
send you extra nurses.  Nurse Shotter has already gone on a few days'
leave, hasn't she?"

Miss. Risby wagged her dignified head.

"It might have been a great deal worse.  Sister Blackstock, it was a
miracle that the whole of the hospital wasn't involved.  And it's very
gratifying to read the account of your actions in the daily press--and
Dr. van Diederijk, of course.

You've telephoned your family?  "

"Yes, Miss. Risby."

"Splendid, then I must wish you a pleasant two days at home--it's most
kind of Dr. van Diederijk to offer it to you, isn't it?"

"Yes, Miss. Risby."

Euphemia tried to decide whether Tane was being kind or not as she drove
the Morris down to Hampton-cum-Spyway.  She would have liked to have
thought so, but she couldn't think of any good reason for his offer.
Aunt Thea and Ellen, when she had told them on the phone, had been
lavish in their admiration of his kindness.

"Such a good kind man," purred her aunt.

"He'll make a splendid husband."

Euphemia had agreed; it was such a pity that his splendid qualities were
going to be wasted on Diana.

She hadn't left the hospital until after seven o'clock and by the time
she reached the house it was dark, for there was no moon.  She was
startled to see a light in the hall and one in the sitting-room, and
before she turned the car into the short, drive she stopped it, puzzled.
The house was empty, Tane had said so.  Her heart tripped over itself at
the thought that he might be there, waiting for her.  Not that she would
be glad to see him, she told herself menaciously, but all the same.  She
started the car again and stopped in front of the garage, took out her
house key and walked up to the front door.

She had the key in the lock when she heard Mrs. Cross's voice from the
kitchen.

"It's only me," the lady's head appeared round the kitchen door.

"The doctor asked meter be'ere ter'ave a meal ready for yer.

Miss. Euphemia, Egg an' chips and a nice pot o' tea.  By the time yer've
got yer bags in, it'll be on the; table.  "

Euphemia discovered that she was famished and Mrs. Cross was a splendid
cook and anxious to please.  She sat on the other side of the kitchen
table, sharing Euphemia's pot of tea, asking endless questions about the
explosion.

"Ever so brave, the doctor said.  Didn't turn a'air, 'e said'e'd rather
'ave had you there than a dozen men."

"Oh, did he?  Did he really?  He was pretty wonderful, and I didn't do
much,

Mrs. Cross."

"That's as may be.  Now you go an' 'ave a bath and go ter bed.  I'll
wash up before I go.  And I'll be round in the morning ter tidy up..  "

"That's sweet of you, Mrs. Cross, but I can manage."

"E said I was to.  Anyway, I can't come the next day--got ter go terme
sister's, but I daresay you can manage."

So Euphemia went to her bed and contrary to her expectations, slept
soundly until the sun woke her.  It was a fine morning and with Mrs.
Cross there to dust and Hoover she was left with nothing to do but go
into the garden.

There was plenty to do there; someone had cut the grass and tied up the
dahlias and the Michaelmas daisies, but the beds needed weeding, and
when she went down to the bottom of the garden behind the hedge she
found tomatoes to pick and the place crawling with marrows.  She ate her
lunch in the kitchen and went back into the garden again and worked
there for the rest of the afternoon, so that by the time she was having
a late tea she was nicely tired and relaxed.  She spent the evening
examining the doctor's bookshelves and listening to some of the discs on
his CD, and for the second night slept dreamlessly.

She couldn't get into the garden quite so early in the morning, because
Mrs. Cross wasn't there, and there was her room to tidy and the bed to
strip and the house to inspect to make sure that it was exactly as she
had found it.

All the same, after an early lunch she was ready to go into the garden
again, and even though the sun had disappeared and there was a light
drizzle, she found plenty to do.  No one had remembered the small patch
of potatoes; she dug them up with real pleasure and hauled them indoors.
It was a pity that in order to get to the store room she had to tramp to
and fro over the kitchen floor, but there was no help for it and she
could clean it presently.

It was over her tea that she began to feel lonely and sad; perhaps she
would never come to the house again, and she loved it so.  She cleared
the tea things and put them away neatly, then got a bucket and floor
cloth, donned an apron of Mrs. Cross's and started on the kitchen,
floor.  She hadn't realised that it was such a mess and she'd have to
look sharp if she was to leave in a couple of hours.

She had thought the hard work would cheer her up, but it made no
difference.

Almost without knowing it she began to cry.  She was on her knees
scrubbing the worst patches of mud and snivelling, when she heard the
front door being pushed open.  It would be Mrs. Cross, back early and
come to see what she was doing.  Euphemia wiped her face with the back
of her hand and twisted round on her knees.

It wasn't Mrs. Cross.  Mrs. Cross didn't wear enormous, hand-made shoes,
well polished, nor did she wear faultlessly cut trousers and a trendy
waist-coat.

Euphemia's eyes, travelling upwards, stopped at the firm chin and even
firmer mouth above it.

"Oh, it's you," she said unnecessarily and a trifle wildly.

"You weren't coming back until tomorrow-they said..."  She got to her
feet and wiped a grubby hand over her tear-stained face again, pushed
back her hair and met his eyes.

They weren't cold any more; the blue of them seemed very bright as
though he was laughing.  And yet his face was almost grim-no, not grim,
she corrected herself, tired, bone weary.

"Why did you come?"
she asked.

"You silly darling girl," said Tane softly, 'how can I keep away from
you?

You're all I want, nothing else matters any more.  "

He came towards her, but she backed away.

"Diana..."  she began.

"Diana and I broke our engagement two days after we came back from
Jerez.

She decided that being a doctor's wife wouldn't suit her at all.  Cor de
Vries will suit her far better-I had hoped that they would take to each
other when they met again."

"You arranged that?"  Euphemia was momentarily diverted.

He nodded.

"Well, something had to be done, my darling.  I knew that the moment I
had set eyes on you driving that ridiculous car of yours, and as if that
wasn't enough, fate sent me to Myrtle House--things just fell into place
after that, and when I saw you sitting on the stairs eating apples it
seemed to me that I would have to give fate a hand, for you looked so
adorable.  You look quite beautiful now, you know."

He reached out and plucked her into his arms.

"No, don't try and get away, just stay quiet and listen to me.  I've got
something for you.  I tried to give it to you once and you fell upon me
like a wildcat."  She felt his great chest heave with laughter, and he
took one arm away and fished a long envelope out of a pocket.

"Here it is."

It was difficult to open because she had no room to speak of, but she
pulled the thick paper out and spread it against his waistcoat.

"It's the deeds of this house..."

"Exactly so, my heart.  A wedding present, shall we say?"

She stuffed it back into its envelope and poked it into her apron
pocket.

"A wedding present?"  Her voice came out a squeak.

He said quite humbly for him: "If you will marry me, my dearest Phemie?
I love you so very much-I had no idea-life is so very empty when you are
not there, I am at a loss how to go on."

She looked up into his face, and it was all there, just as though he
hadn't said a word.  In a moment she was going to tell him just how much
she loved him too, but first: "Did you arrange for me to come here?"

He kissed the top of her head.

"It was the only thing I could do, you see I had to talk to you."  He
smiled down at her.

"And kiss you..."

He took his time about it, and Euphemia, comfortably aware that there
was no need to hide her love, made no attempt to hurry him.