The Girl With Green Eyes

He had gone before she could reply. She waited until the sister came back with an injection and then sat soothing Miranda until she dozed off and she was able to tuck her up in her cot once more. She wasn’t very happy about going back to bed, but she was sure that Dr Thurloe wouldn’t have suggested it if he hadn’t been quite convinced that Miranda would sleep quietly for a few hours. So she got back into bed again and presently fell asleep, to wake very early in the morning and go and take a look at Miranda, who was still sleeping peacefully. Lucy took her pulse and was relieved to find that it was just what it was supposed to be. She was dressed and tied into her ample overall long before a nurse poked her head round the door. ‘Oh, good, you’re up already. I’ll bring you a cup of tea just as soon as I’ve got the time. If she wakes can you wash her and pot her?’

Lucy nodded. ‘Oh, yes. I expect I’ll need clean sheets and another nightie.’

‘In that cupboard in the corner, and there’s a plastic bag where you can put the stuff that needs washing …’

The nurse’s head disappeared to be replaced almost at once by the bulk of Dr Thurloe, immaculate and looking as though he had had ten hours’ sleep. He was alone this time and his ‘good morning’ was friendly, so that Lucy regretted that she hadn’t bothered to powder her nose or put on lipstick.

‘Had a good night? You’re up early.’

‘So are you,’ observed Lucy, and wished she hadn’t said it; she must remember that they weren’t at a dinner party but in hospital, where he was someone important and she wasn’t of any account, especially in the bunchy garment she was wearing. And she felt worse because he didn’t answer her, only bent over the cot.

‘We’ll have a look,’ he said with impersonal politeness, and waited expectantly.

Lucy took down the cot side. She said in her sensible way, ‘She’s wet—I didn’t like to change her until I’d seen Sister. Do you mind?’

The look he gave her was amused and kind too. ‘I dare say I’ve dealt with more wet infants than you’ve had hot dinners. No, I don’t mind! I’m glad she’s had a good night. I don’t intend to give her anything today though, and you may have your work cut out keeping her happy.’

He was halfway through his examination when the junior night sister came in. She said sharply, ‘I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know you were here.’ And then to Lucy. ‘You should have rung the bell, Miss Lockitt.’

‘My fault,’ said the doctor smoothly, ‘I told her not to bother.’ Which was kind of him, reflected Lucy, listening to him giving the night sister his instructions. ‘And I’ll be in some time during the day. I think Miranda will be all right, but we must look out for mental disturbance—there may be a deficiency …’

Lucy couldn’t understand everything he was saying, but she presumed it wasn’t necessary; she was there to keep Miranda quiet and happy until she was deemed fit to return to the orphanage. She supposed that would be in a couple of days’ time and that she would be told in due course. The doctor strolled to the door with the junior night sister beside him. As he went out of the room, he said over his shoulder, ‘Thank you, Miss Lockitt. Be sure and let someone know if you’re anxious about anything, never mind how trivial it may seem.’

Lucy watched him go, wishing with her whole heart that she were the junior night sister, not only on good terms with him, but able to understand what he was talking about and give the right answers. Not for the first time she wished fervently that she were clever and not just practical and sensible.

There was no point in dwelling upon that; Miranda was showing signs of waking up, and she fetched clean linen from the cupboard and ran warm water into the deep sink in one corner of the room. She was very grateful when the nurse brought her a cup of tea, for the next half-hour was busy and noisy: Miranda was fretful and screamed her annoyance at the top of her voice. It was nothing new, and Lucy did all that was necessary, talking in her quiet voice all the while. When the ward sister came on duty and poked her head round the door with a ‘Can you cope alone?’ Lucy said placidly that she was quite all right, thank you, and the head disappeared without another word. She had Miranda tucked up in bed by the time a nurse came with the toddler’s breakfast. ‘Ring when she’s had it,’ she advised, ‘and someone will relieve you while you go to the canteen.’ She grinned widely. ‘I bet you’re ready for breakfast. Did you get a cup of tea?’

‘Yes, thanks. Are you very busy?’

The nurse cast her eyes to heaven. ‘You can say that again.’ She darted off leaving Lucy to feed Miranda, who, clean and smiling again, was more than pleased to eat her breakfast.

The same nurse came back when Lucy rang the bell. ‘Half an hour,’ she warned. ‘We’ve got theatre cases this morning, so it’s all go. Someone will bring you coffee, though, and you’ll get time for your dinner. I don’t know about off-duty, I expect that Sister will tell you.’

Lucy went thankfully to the canteen; she was hungry, and besides, it was nice to have a change of scene. She was fond of Miranda and she saw a lot of her at the orphanage, but all the same she could see that her patience and good temper were going to be tried for the next day or two.

There weren’t many people in the canteen. She took her tray to a table by a window and ate with her eye on the clock, and then hurried back to find Miranda sobbing and refusing to be comforted. It took a little while to soothe her again, but presently the little girl fell asleep and Lucy was free to walk round the little room and look out of the window. The hospital forecourt was below. She watched Dr Thurloe’s car come to a dignified halt in the consultants’ car park, and then studied him as he got out and crossed to the hospital entrance. He walked fast, but halfway there he paused and looked up to the window where she stood. There wasn’t time to draw back; she stood there while he looked and presently went on his way.

She was in the canteen having her dinner when he came to see Miranda again, and that evening it was his registrar who paid a visit. And in the morning when he came with the ward sister his good morning to Lucy was pleasant but cool, and anything he had to say was said to the sister.

Miranda was to go back to the orphanage the next day; everything was going well and the matron there would know how to deal with any emergency. Miranda was to come to his next out-patients’ clinic in two weeks’ time. He paused to thank Lucy as he went away. She was watching him go with regret; at the same time her wish to marry him had never been so strong.

She took Miranda back the next day without having seen him again. He was in the hospital; his car was parked in the forecourt. She glimpsed it as she got into the ambulance which was to take them to the orphanage. She consoled herself with the thought that she would be taking Miranda to his clinic in two weeks’ time. In the meantime she might be able to think of something to attract his attention. A different hairstyle? Different make-up? A striking outfit? Better still, a few amusing, witty remarks … She occupied her brief ride trying to think of them.

It was early afternoon by the time she had handed over Miranda and reported to Matron, to be told that, since she had had almost no time off in the hospital, she was to go home at once and not return to the orphanage until the day following the next.

‘You enjoyed your stay at the City Royal?’

‘Yes, thank you. I didn’t have anything much to do, just keep Miranda happy and see that she ate her food. She was very good.’

‘She slept?’

‘Oh, quite a bit. I got up once or twice during the night, but she soon settled.’

‘Good. Dr Thurloe seemed to be pleased with the arrangement; it took a good deal of the work off the nurses’ shoulders. Miranda seems to need a lot of attention, but he thinks that she will improve fairly rapidly.’

‘That’s good. What will happen to her, Matron? I mean when she’s older and more—more normal?’

‘Well, as to that, we must wait and see. But she will always have a home here, you know. Now do go home, you must be tired.’

It was still early afternoon and only Alice was at home when Lucy let herself in. ‘A nice cup of tea and a sandwich or two,’ said Alice comfortably. ‘You look tired, love. Your mother and father are at the Victoria and Albert. Someone there wanted your pa to see some old rocks that someone had sent from Africa—or was it the Andes? One of those foreign places, anyway. They won’t be back until after tea. Imogen’s working late and Pauline’s going out to dinner with her fiancé.’ She sniffed. ‘You go and change and I’ll have a snack for you in ten minutes.’

So Lucy went to her room, unpacked her few things, had a shower, washed her hair and wandered downstairs with her head in a towel and wearing a dressing-gown. Her mother wouldn’t have approved, but since the house was empty except for herself and Alice she couldn’t see that it mattered. Alice had made a pot of tea and cut a plateful of sandwiches and Lucy sat down at the kitchen table to eat them. Somehow she had missed dinner at the hospital, what with feeding Miranda and getting her ready to go back to the orphanage, and the nurses on the ward being in short supply since they took it in turns to go to the canteen. She lifted the edge of a sandwich and saw with satisfaction that it was generously filled with chopped egg and cress. She wolfed it down delicately, poured tea and invited Alice to have a cup.

‘Not me, love,’ said Alice. “Ad me lunch not an hour back. You eat that lot and have a nice rest before your mother and father come home.’

Lucy polished off the egg and cress and started on the ham. The kitchen was pleasantly warm and cheerful. It was a semi-basement room, for the house had been built at the turn of the century, a late Victorian gentleman’s residence with ornate brickwork and large rooms. It had been Lucy’s home for as long as she could remember, and although her mother often expressed a wish for a house in the country nothing ever came of it, for the Chelsea house was convenient for her father’s headquarters; he still travelled widely, taking her mother with him, and when they were at home he worked for various museums and he lectured a good deal. Lucy, a sensible girl not given to wanting things she couldn’t have, accepted her life cheerfully, aware that she didn’t quite fit in with her family and that she was a source of mild disappointment, to her mother at least, even though she was loved. Until now she had been quite prepared to go on working at the orphanage with the hope at the back of her mind that one day she would meet a man who might want to marry her. So far she hadn’t met anyone whom she would want to marry—that was, until she’d met Dr Thurloe. An event which incited her to do something about it. She took another sandwich and bit into it. Clothes, she thought, new clothes—she had plenty, but a few more might help—and then she might try and discover mutual friends—the Walters, of course, for a start, and there must be others. Her parents knew any number of people, it would be a process of elimination. But first the new clothes, so that if and when they met again she would be able to compete with Fiona Seymour.

The front door bell, one of a row of old-fashioned bells along the kitchen wall, jangled and Alice put down the plates that she was stacking.

‘Postman?’ asked Lucy. ‘He’s late …’

‘I’d best go, I suppose,’ grumbled Alice, and went out of the kitchen, shutting the door after her as she went up the short flight of stairs to the hall.

Lucy sat back, a second cup of tea in her hand. There was one sandwich left; it was a pity to leave it. She took it off the plate and bit into it. The door behind her opened and she said, ‘Was it the postman?’ and turned round as she took another bite.

Alice had returned, but not alone. Dr Thurloe was with her, looking completely at home, elegant as always and smiling faintly.

‘Gracious heavens!’ Lucy spoke rather thickly because of the sandwich. ‘Whatever are you doing here?’ She put an agitated hand up to the towel. ‘I’ve just washed my hair …’

She frowned heavily, all her plans knocked edgeways; instead of sporting an elegant outfit and a tidy head of hair, here she was looking just about as awful as she possibly could. She turned the frown on Alice and the doctor spoke.

‘Don’t be annoyed with your housekeeper, I told her that you wouldn’t mind. You don’t, do you? After all, I’ve seen you in a dressing-gown at the hospital.’ He sounded kind and friendly and the smile held charm.

Lucy smiled back. ‘Is it something important? Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘Indeed I would.’

Alice gave a small sound which might have been a chuckle and pulled out a chair. ‘The kettle’s on the boil,’ she informed him, ‘and I’ve as nice a bit of Madeira cake as you’ll taste anywhere, though I says it that oughtn’t, being me own baking.’

‘I’m partial to Madeira cake, and what a pleasant kitchen you have.’

He sat down opposite Lucy and eyed the towel. ‘Do you know, all the girls I know go to the hairdresser every few days; I can’t remember when I last saw a young woman washing her own hair.’ He studied Lucy thoughtfully. ‘Will it take long to dry?’

‘No. It’s almost dry now.’ She poured him a cup of tea from the fresh pot Alice had put on the table. ‘Is it something to do with Miranda? She’s not ill …?’

‘No, she’s doing nicely. I wondered if we might go somewhere this evening and have dinner; I’m sure you would like to know the details of her treatment, and there really was no time at the City Royal to say much.’

He ate some cake and watched her, amused at her hesitation.