Fate Is Remarkable

Fate Is Remarkable
Betty Neels

Mills & Boon presents the complete Betty Neels collection. Timeless tales of heart-warming romance by one of the world’s best-loved romance authors.WHAT WOULD SARAH FACE, IF SHE ACCEPTED HIS PROPOSAL?Sarah Dunn had worked with Hugo van Elven for a long time, and she was astounded when he suddenly proposed to her. Both of them were still recovering from previous unhappy love affairs, which was why Sarah decided to accept.Surely neither of them would wish to get emotionally involved again for a very long time, but she had not considered what would happen if her feelings for Hugo changed, while his remained the same. Could their need for love overcome their painful pasts, and allow a new companionship to grow?

Fate is Remarkable

Betty Neels

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS QUIET in the consulting room, if the difficult, rasping breaths of the patient were discounted. From somewhere behind the closed door came the steady, subdued roar of a great many people, interrupted at intervals by a nurse’s voice calling the next in line. Sister Sarah Ann Dunn stood quietly, holding layers of woolly garments clear of the patient’s shoulders, so that Dr van Elven could get at them in comfort. He was a large man, and very tall, and the patient was fat. He bent, his handsome grizzled head an inch or so from the starched bib of Sarah’s apron, his grey eyes looking at nothing while he listened and tapped, then listened again. Presently he came upright with the deliberation which characterised all his movements, said, ‘Thank you, Sister,’ and turned his back, as he always did, while she dealt with hooks and eyes and zips. She fastened the last button, gave its owner a reassuring little pat and a friendly smile, and said, ‘Mrs Brown is ready for you, sir.’ It was one of the nice things about her, that she never forgot people’s names, however hard pressed she was. Patients were still people to her, and entitled to be treated as such. Dr van Elven strolled back from the X-rays he had been studying, glanced at her briefly from eyes half shut, and nodded. It was her cue to leave him with his patient for a few minutes—an arrangement which suited her very well, for it gave her time to have a quick look round OPD and make sure that everything was going smoothly.

The hall was still quite full, for it was the orthopaedic consultant’s afternoon as well as the gynaecologist’s clinic and the medical OP she was taking. Both staff nurses were busy, but she could only see one student nurse. She made her way along the benches and turned into the narrow passage leading to the testing room. There were two nurses in it, carrying on such an animated conversation that they failed to see her for several seconds. When they did, they stopped in mid-sentence, their eyes upon her, presenting very much the same appearance, she imagined, as she had done when she had been caught in a similar situation as a student nurse. She said now, half smiling:

‘If you two don’t do your work, we shall all be late off duty, and there’s no point in that, is there? If you’re not doing anything here, go back to Staff Nurse Moore, please.’

She didn’t wait to hear their apologies, but gave them a little nod and went back the way she had come, hurrying a little in case Dr van Elven was waiting. All the same, she stopped for a brief word with several of the patients sitting on the benches, for after three years as OPD Sister, she was on friendly terms with a number of them.

Mrs Brown was on the point of going as she went into the consulting room, and the doctor said at once:

‘Ah, Sister, I have been suggesting to Mrs Brown that she should come in for a short time, so that I can keep an eye on this chest of hers—I daresay you can fix a bed? In three or four days, I think; that will give her time to make arrangements at home.’

He was looking at her steadily as he spoke and she said immediately:

‘Yes, of course, sir. I’ll get someone to write and tell Mrs Brown which day to come.’ She smiled at the elderly, rather grubby little woman sitting in front of the doctor’s desk, but Mrs Brown didn’t smile back.

‘It’s me cat,’ she began. ‘‘Oo’s going ter look after ‘im while I’m in?’ She sat silent for a moment, then went on, ‘I don’t see as ‘ow I can manage …’

‘Perhaps the RSPCA?’ suggested Sarah gently.

Mrs Brown shook her head in its shapeless hat. ‘‘E’d pine. I’m sorry, doctor, for you’ve been ever so kind …’

He sat back in his chair, with the air of a man who had all day before him, and nothing to do. ‘Supposing you allow me to—er—have your cat while you are in hospital, Mrs Brown? Do you feel you could trust him to my care?’

Mrs Brown’s several chins wobbled while she strove for words. It was, to say the least, unusual for an important gentleman like a hospital specialist to bother about what became of her Timmy. She was still seeking words when he continued, ‘You would be doing me a great favour—my housekeeper has just lost her cat after fifteen years, and is quite inconsolable. Perhaps looking after your Timmy for a week or so might help her to become more resigned.’

The old lady brightened. ‘Oh, well now, that’s different, doctor. If ‘e’s going ter make ‘er ‘appy, and it ain’t no trouble …’

She got up, and he got to his feet too. ‘No trouble—I’ll see that your cat is collected just before you come in, Mrs Brown. Will that do?’

Sarah ushered her out, competently, but without haste, laid the next case history on the doctor’s desk, put up the X-rays, and waited. He finished what he was writing, closed the folder and said in his rather pedantic English:

‘A pity Mrs Brown wasn’t referred to me earlier. There’s very little to be done, I’m afraid. Chronic bronchitis, emphysema, and congestive heart failure, not to mention all the wrong diet for I don’t know how many years.’ He picked up the next folder, frowning. ‘If her home conditions were not too bad, I could patch her up enough to get her back there for a little while …’

Sister Dunn said nothing, for she knew that nothing was expected of her. She had been working for Dr van Elven for a number of years now; he was rather a taciturn man, kind to his patients, considerate towards the nursing staff, and revealing on occasion an unexpected sense of humour. She was aware that he was not, in fact, addressing her, merely speaking his thoughts out loud. So she stood quietly, patiently waiting for him to rid his mind of Mrs Brown. The little pause in the day’s work did not irk her in the least; indeed, it gave her the opportunity to decide which dress she would wear that evening for dinner with Steven—the newish black would have been nice, but she particularly wanted to look young and gay. It would have to be the turquoise crêpe again. He had seen it a good many times already, but it suited her and she thought he liked it. Besides, it made her look a lot younger than her twenty-eight years … she looked a little wistful for a moment, although there was not the slightest need, for she looked a lot younger anyway, and was possessed of a serene beauty which she would keep all her life.

Her face was oval, with wide grey eyes, extravagantly lashed by nature; she had a delicious nose, small and straight, and a soft curving mouth. Her hair curled a little and she wore it neatly pinned when she was in uniform, and loose in an unswept swirl around her neck when she was off duty. She had a pretty figure too, and a quiet, pleasant voice—everyone who knew her or had met her wondered how it was that she had reached the age of twenty-eight without getting married. She sometimes wondered herself; perhaps it was because she had been waiting for someone like Steven to come along—they had known each other for three years now, and for the last two she had taken it for granted that one day he would ask her to marry him. Only he hadn’t—she knew that he wanted a senior post, and just lately he had been talking about a partnership. Last time they had been out together he had observed that there was no point in marrying until he was firmly established.

She frowned a little, remembering that last time had been more than a week ago. He had telephoned twice since then to cancel the meetings they had arranged. He was Surgical Registrar at St Edwin’s, and she had always accepted the fact that his work came first and because of that she had made no demur and no effort to waylay him in the hospital; but tonight should really be all right—she hoped that they would go to that restaurant in Monmouth Street where the food was good and the company gay. She suddenly wanted to be gay.

She came out of her brown study with a start to find Dr van Elven staring at her with thoughtful eyes. She smiled.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said. ‘Do you want the next patient? It’s old Mr Gregor.’

The doctor went on staring. ‘Yes. I have studied his X-rays, and read his notes through twice, Sister.’ His voice was dry.

She went faintly pink. She liked Dr van Elven very much; they got on well together, although she sometimes felt that she didn’t know him at all. She knew from the hospital grapevine that he was unmarried, that he had had an unhappy love affair when he had been a young man, and that now, at forty, he was a prize any woman would be glad to win. Rumour had it that he had plenty of money, a flourishing practice in Harley Street, and a beautiful house in Richmond. Sarah considered privately that the reason that they got on so well was because they had no romantic interest in each other. But now she had annoyed him.

‘I really am sorry, sir,’ she said with a genuine humility, because his time was precious and she had been wasting it. ‘I—I was thinking.’

‘So I could see. If you would perhaps postpone your thoughts we could get finished and you will be free to enjoy your evening.’

The pink in her cheeks deepened. ‘However did you know I was going out?’ she demanded.

‘I didn’t,’ he answered blandly. ‘I was thought-reading. And now, Mr Gregor, please, Sister.’

The rest of the afternoon passed smoothly. The last patient came and went; Sarah started to pile X-rays and Path. Lab. forms and notes in tidy heaps. Dr van Elven rammed his papers untidily into his briefcase and stood up. He was almost at the door when Sarah asked:

‘Are you really going to look after Mrs Brown’s cat, sir?’

‘You doubt my word, Sister?’

She looked shocked. ‘My goodness, no. Only you don’t look as though you like cats …’ She stopped, fidgeting with the papers in her hands.

He said in surprise, ‘Have you looked at me long enough to form even that opinion of me?’ He laughed in genuine amusement, so she was able to laugh too.

‘You look like a dog man,’ she observed pleasantly.

‘You’re quite right, Sister. I have two dogs—it is my housekeeper who is the cat-lover. But my dogs are well-mannered enough to tolerate Mrs Brown’s cat.’ He turned on his heel. ‘Goodnight. I hope you have a pleasant evening.’

His remarks diverted her thoughts into happy channels. She hurried up with her work, sent the nurses off duty and closed the department for the day. Tomorrow they would be busy again, but now she was free. She walked briskly across the courtyard in the direction of the Nurses’ Home, and halted halfway over to allow Dr van Elven’s car to pass her. It whispered past, as elegant as its driver, who lifted a gloved hand in salute. She watched it slide through the big double gates, and wondered for the hundredth time why the doctor should need a car as powerful as an Iso Grigo to take him to and from his work. Maybe he took long trips at weekends. She felt suddenly rather sorry for him, because she was so happy herself, with an evening in Steven’s company before her, while Dr van Elven had only a housekeeper to greet him when he got home.

When she went down to the Home entrance half an hour later, she could see Steven’s car outside the gates. She had put on the blue crêpe and covered it with an off-white wool coat against the chilly March wind. She walked to the Mini Cooper, wondering why he hadn’t come to the Home as usual; but when he opened the door for her to get in beside him, she forgot everything but the pleasure of seeing him again. She said, ‘Hullo, Steven,’ and he returned her smile briefly and greeted her even more briefly. She looked at his dark good-looking face and decided that he was probably tired; which was a pity, because she was looking forward to their evening out. He started the car and said with a cheerfulness which seemed a little forced:

‘I thought we’d go to that place you like in Monmouth Street,’ and before she could reply launched into an account of his day’s work. When he had finished she made a soothing reply and then, thinking to amuse him, told him about Dr van Elven’s offer to look after Mrs Brown’s cat. He was amused, but not in the way she had intended, for he burst out laughing and said to shock her:

‘Good lord, the man’s a fool—bothering about some old biddy!’

Sarah breathed a little fast. ‘No, he’s not a fool—he’s just a kind man, and Mrs Brown’s going to die in a month or so. The cat’s all she has!’

Steven glanced at her with impatience. ‘Really, Sarah darling, you’re just as much a fool as your precious old van Elven. You’re not going to get very far if you’re going to get sentimental over an old woman.’

He applied himself to his driving, and she sat silent, biting back the sharp retort she would have liked to make. They had often argued before, but now it was almost as if he were trying to make her angry. He parked the car, and they walked the short distance to the restaurant, talking meanwhile, rather carefully, of completely impersonal things. It was warm in the small room but relaxing and carefree. They had a drink and ordered entrecôte mon Plaisir, which was delicious, and then cherry tart, and all the while they continued to talk about everything and everyone but themselves. They were drinking their coffee when Sarah said:

‘I’ve got a week’s holiday soon. I’m going home—I wondered if you’d like to drive me down and stay a couple of days,’ and the moment she had said it, wished it unsaid, for she had seen the look on his face—irritation, annoyance and even a faint panic. He said far too quickly:

‘I can’t get away,’ not quite meeting her eye, and she felt a cold hand clutch at her heart. There was an awkward silence until she said in a level voice, ‘Steven, you’re beating about the bush. Just tell me whatever it is—because that’s why you brought me here, isn’t it, to tell me something?’