Heidelberg Wedding

It was unfortunate that he did no such thing, although she had to admit that his meticulous surgery had probably saved the girl’s life. It had taken a good deal of exploration to discover the source of the sepsis and still longer to put it right. The girl had gone to the recovery room and then returned to the ward well after four o’clock. Eugenia hadn’t got off duty until almost six, because however much she wanted to, she couldn’t leave the ward until she was sure that the girl was going to be all right. Hatty was a splendid nurse, but Eugenia had always held the notion that the more senior you were, the more you had to be prepared to give up off-duty if the need arose. It wouldn’t be fair to Hatty to leave her with an ill patient, the rest of the ward to run, the report to write and the nurses to manage. Even when she at last felt justified in going, she had walked slap into Mr Grenfell coming up the stairs two at a time. Naturally, he had stopped to ask her about her patient and she had stood for another ten minutes, listening carefully to his observations on the case. She even offered to go back with him to the ward, but he refused this with a cheerful: ‘Hatty’s there, isn’t she? A sound young woman. I’ll let Harry know if there’s anything to be altered. Have a pleasant evening.’

He had gone, disappearing down the corridor at the head of the stairs at a great rate.

By the time she had run a bath, decided which dress to wear and done her nails, it was very nearly time to meet Humphrey. She wasted a few minutes inspecting herself in the wardrobe mirror; last year’s dress was still quite wearable, but anyone with an eye to fashion would know that it was just that. A new one would be nice, it would cheer up the bleak days of a cold March, but it wasn’t necessary, as Humphrey had pointed out, they wouldn’t be going to any dances now that the spate of hospital balls and Christmas festivities were behind them, far better for her to save the money. And she had saved it, because, after all, he had been quite right, only somewhere at the back of her mind was a rebellious wish to splash out on a new outfit, not something sensible, but high fashion, real silk or real wool, and not bothering to ask the price.

She gathered up her purse and her coat and put her evening slippers on, reflecting that she would be going home the following week; Humphrey would be on call and hospital-bound. She had a sudden longing to be home now, cooking supper for her father and Becky and Bruce, wrestling with their homework, and after they were in bed, sitting by the fire with Plum the cat on her lap, while her father told her of some rare book he’d picked up in the Charing Cross Road. She sighed soundlessly and flew down to the nurses’ home entrance, anxious not to keep Humphrey waiting.

She was a few minutes late, a fact which he had pointed out to her gently as he kissed her and ushered her into the car. ‘I daresay you’ve had a busy day,’ he observed. ‘I know I have.’ He got in beside her and she turned her head and smiled at him. He was a good-looking man, dark-haired and as tall as she was, good at his job and at the age of thirty, fairly sure of a secure future. She had often wondered why he hadn’t married sooner, but when she had got to know him better she could understand that security meant a lot to him, so that although he had had girl-friends in plenty he had never been serious with them, only with her, because she was older and sensible as well as very pretty. She had been glad he thought her pretty, but she wasn’t sure about being sensible and she wasn’t all that old; twenty-six was still quite a way off thirty… It would be another two years before they could marry too, unless she could persuade him that fitted carpets and a three-piece suite could not compensate for those two lost years.

But she wasn’t going to think about that now; they had the evening before them and she intended to enjoy every moment of it. It was, after all, an occasion; a thirtieth birthday was an important event and justified the spending of money, and they hadn’t had an evening out like this one since… She paused to think about that; so long ago that she couldn’t remember what they had celebrated. She asked: ‘When was the last time you splashed out like this, Humphrey?’

‘Our engagement, eighteen months ago.’

She said: ‘Oh,’ uncertainly, and then: ‘Perhaps the next time it’ll be to celebrate our wedding.’

‘That’s hardly likely, darling.’ Humphrey’s voice was, as always, reasonable. ‘Even if we had a quiet wedding, we would have a few guests, I imagine, there’d be no point in celebrating twice over, would there?’

A sensible reply which for some reason annoyed her. ‘Are we any nearer deciding the date?’ she asked, and felt instantly mean at his quiet: ‘Well, no, my dear, I only wish we were.’ He gave her a quick sideways glance. ‘I want to begin our married life together with as much comfort for you as I can manage.’

‘Sorry—I didn’t mean to be beastly. Only London gets me down at this time of the year. It’s all right in the country—primroses and catkins and the first daffodils and lambs…birds singing…’ She stopped because moaning in that self-pitying fashion was of no help to Humphrey—besides, never having lived in the country he wasn’t all that interested. Memories of her home in Wiltshire came crowding back, but she pushed them away again; after all, her father and the twins seemed happy enough in the little terraced house in Islington; he was headmaster at a nearby school and Bruce and Becky were doing their GCSEs at the Upper School with every prospect of getting good passes. They seldom talked about Chidcoate Magna, and Eugenia hoped that in time they would integrate into the life of the city around them; something she had never been able to do.

They were going to the Savoy. Humphrey parked the car and they went into the hotel, parking their coats and meeting again in the foyer. ‘This is fun,’ whispered Eugenia as they entered the restaurant and were led to their table. She hoped they would have a drink and then dance before they ate, but Humphrey pointed out that both of them had had sketchy meals that day; dinner, eaten at leisure, would do them more good. They could dance afterwards for as long as she wished.

She sipped her sherry, her feet tapping soundlessly in time to the music. Of course she was hungry, but she longed to dance. The music came to an end and she studied the menu. They were to have the set menu, for as Humphrey had pointed out earlier on, the food was so good it would be a treat anyway, and why pay exorbitant prices when the same food, or almost the same, could be had on the set menu. Eugenia agreed, stifling the rebellious wish to order the most extravagant dishes she could find. There must be something horrid about me, she thought, I’ve done nothing but find fault the whole evening. She blamed her day for that; and that wasn’t like her either, usually she took the days as they came, some slack some so busy that there was only time for a snatched cup of tea and a sandwich. Then she thought longingly of her days off and catching Humphrey’s eye, wanted to make amends for her bad mood. ‘It looks gorgeous—I’ll have the prawns, I think, and then the chicken Marengo.’

After that she laid herself out to be a delightful companion, listening to his considered opinions about medicine, the National Health Service, the need to keep up to date with his studies, his regret that he couldn’t see more of his widowed mother. Eugenia listened with a sympathetic ear, although deep down inside her, buried under her loyalty to Humphrey, was dislike of that lady, a small frail person, with a wispy appearance which hid an obstinate wish to have her own way whenever possible. She lived very comfortably in a nice little house in Hampstead, and whenever they went to see her, she complained in the gentlest possible manner that it was just too far from St Clare’s for Humphrey to go home each day. ‘But of course,’ she had observed in a sad voice, ‘his career must come first—you’ll remember that when you’re married, I hope, Eugenia.’

Eugenia dismissed her future mother-in-law from her mind and attacked the prawns with relish, to have the edge taken off her appetite by Humphrey’s: ‘How splendid it would have been if Mother could have joined us.’

She smiled and agreed; he was a good son and she admired him for that. He would be a good husband too, she had no doubt, providing for her to the best of his ability, seeing that the children were decently educated… She said warmly: ‘I expect you’re disappointed and I am sure she is, but her bridge evening does mean a lot to her, doesn’t it? And this was the only evening we had free.’

He smiled at her and she thought again what a lucky girl she was to be loved by such a steady type. They ate their chicken talking comfortably and then got up to dance. The band was good and the floor not too crowded; Humphrey danced well even if without much imagination, and Eugenia had a chance to look around her. Her dress was definitely last year’s—the creations whirling past, worn by slender creatures with exquisitely made up faces and up-to-the-minute hair-styles, showed it up for what it was. It was the wrong colour for a start, anyone who read the fashion magazines would see that at once, and it was too high in front and by rights should have almost no back. Eugenia, not needing to think about Humphrey’s strictly conservative dancing, gave her mind to the vexed question of getting another dress. There was the Spring Ball in a few weeks’ time, so there was every excuse to have one…on the other hand, if Humphrey could do without things in order to save for the future, so could she. She looked over his shoulder straight into Mr Grenfell’s interested gaze.

He was with his fiancée; Eugenia recognised her at once, slim as a wand, not a hair out of place, perfect make-up and a dress such as she could never hope to possess. She gave him a cool smile and he opened his sleepy eyes and smiled back and then circled away. She noticed that he danced with the kind of nonchalant ease which reflected the way in which he did everything else.

Humphrey executed a correct turn. ‘I see Mr Grenfell’s here. That’s a remarkably pretty girl—she’s his fiancée, is she? I suppose she is. I must say he’s taken his time, he must be thirty-five if he’s a day.’

Eugenia said naughtily: ‘Perhaps he’s saving up…’

Humphrey’s sense of humour wasn’t quite a hundred per cent. ‘Oh, certainly not that; he’s very well off, I believe, one might say wealthy. Family money, you know.’

‘No, I didn’t know,’ Eugenia told him, ‘I’ve never been interested enough to think about it.’

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. ‘You’re far too sensible a girl,’ he observed approvingly.

And that from Humphrey was a compliment.

Mr Grenfell, Eugenia was quick to observe, was at a table for two not so very far from their own table. After discovering that, she took great care not to look in that direction again, and since Humphrey declared that he was too tired to dance again and had a hard day ahead of him they left very shortly afterwards. Eugenia would have liked to have stayed until the small hours, but Humphrey needed his sleep, she knew that; his mother had explained at great length that unless he had his proper rest his health would suffer. She had stifled the remark that if that were the case, it would have been far better if he had never taken up medicine, a profession where sleep was sometimes sketchy to say the least, but she had agreed mildly, being a kind girl and wishing Mrs Parsons might like her and treat her as a daughter.

She got up at once and went to get her coat, and five minutes later was being driven back to St Clare’s. And once there, their goodnights were swiftly said—not that Humphrey’s kiss was not entirely satisfactory, but he showed no signs of lingering, only said briskly: ‘Get to bed, dear—you need a good sleep and so do I.’

All the same, she tried to keep him for a few minutes longer.

‘It was a lovely evening, Humphrey—I wish we could do it more often.’

‘Now don’t get ideas into your head!’ He was half laughing at her. ‘I’m not Grenfell, you know.’ He added slowly: ‘I must say his girl’s a charmer. Not that you’re so bad yourself—you could do with losing a few pounds, though. I’ll work out a diet for you.’ He patted her on a shoulder and got back into the car to take it round to the hospital garage, leaving her gibbering with rage. He had called her fat—not in so many words, but that was what he’d meant, and she wasn’t—her weight was exactly right for her size and her curves were in all the right places. She went slowly through the hospital on the way to her room, feeling miserable. She wanted to please Humphrey, so she supposed she would go on to the diet, although she thought that for a young woman of her size, extreme slenderness would look all wrong; she was a big girl, walking proudly and unselfconsciously, but she had the frame to take a nicely rounded body, wouldn’t she look silly if she were straight up and down, both back and front! She tumbled into bed and fell asleep with the problem unsolved.

She woke once in the night and remembered that she had forgotten to tell Humphrey that she wouldn’t be able to get off on Friday afternoon—she must remember to tell him in the morning.

She saw him briefly just after breakfast. He looked very handsome in his white coat and grey suit, and well turned out, but then he always did; he considered it important that he should look his best at all times. Eugenia had just taken the report and was noting the day’s work when he came down the ward and into her office, to give her a wry smile and say appreciatively, ‘You look nice—very neat too. Uniform suits you, Eugenia.’

She pushed her work on one side. ‘Compliments so early in the morning? You’ll turn my head! Do you want to see someone?’

‘Only you. I’ve written out a diet for you—you should lose at least half a stone in a month—it’s easy enough to follow even on the hospital food.’

Eugenia cast a quick eye down his neat writing. Of course it was easy to follow; all she had to do, as far as she could see, was drink milkless tea and eat oranges and lettuce. ‘Where’s the protein?’ she asked.

He leant over the desk. ‘Here—fish and the odd ounce of cheese and a potato every other day.’

‘I’ll give it a whirl,’ she told him. ‘But if you get me on Women’s Medical with anorexia nervosa, you’ll be to blame.’

He laughed. ‘You’ll be a knockout! You’ll have to take in the seams of your dress for the Spring Ball.’

She said seriously: ‘Oh, no—I shall buy a new one.’

He frowned. ‘That’s absurd—a new dress for just one dance…’

Eugenia nodded her beautiful head briskly. ‘That’s right—and now I really must do some work.’ She smiled enchantingly at him. ‘And when I’ve given out the post I’ll weigh myself.’

It was half an hour before she was back in the office. Giving out the morning’s post was by way of being a social round as well; she had already been to see the ill patients and wished the ward a general good morning, but now she went slowly from bed to bed, handing out letters, listening to complaints, gossiping gently, taking care to stay a little longer with those who had no post that day, staying even longer by the beds of the ill patients, making sure that everything was just as it should be.

Harry would be round presently and there were several patients to go to X-ray, quite a few for physiotherapy and two to be got ready to go home.

She sat down at the desk to check the operation list for the next day and check the list of admissions too. Besides that, she would have to rearrange the off-duty for Friday if Mr Grenfell intended to do a teaching round.

She was nibbling the end of her pen, frowning over this, when the door opened and Mr Grenfell walked in. ‘I did knock, but you didn’t hear,’ he observed mildly. ‘I’d like to take another look at that girl, if I may.’

He sat down on the edge of her desk and cast his eyes casually over its contents. Humphrey’s diet sheet was still lying there and he picked it up.

‘Good God, who’s this for? A bit drastic, isn’t it? I didn’t know any of my patients were on a diet.’ His eyes were suddenly frosty.

‘They’re not, sir, it’s for me,’ and at his enquiring look: ‘Humphrey thinks I’m overweight…’

Mr Grenfell said strongly: ‘Bunkum and balderdash, does he want you to fade away? You’re perfectly all right as you are.’

Eugenia said seriously: ‘Well, I’m the right weight for my size—you must have noticed that I’m—well, big.’ She sighed. ‘Most women these days are awfully slim, like wands.’

‘So I’ve noticed.’ He tore the diet sheet across and got up. ‘You can tell your Humphrey what I’ve done. Now shall we take a look at this girl—Barbara, isn’t she? Any news as yet as to who stabbed her?’