Fate Is Remarkable

‘Good, that’s settled. Now, shall we get this vexed question of wallpaper dealt with?’

He got down beside her as he spoke, and opened a second book of patterns, and they spent a pleasant half hour admiring and criticising in a lighthearted fashion until finally Sarah said:

‘I think Mrs Brown would like the roses. They’re very large and pink, aren’t they, and they’ll make the room look even smaller than it is, but they’re pretty—I mean for someone who’s lived for years with green paint and margarine walls, they’re pretty.’

The man beside her uncoiled himself and came to his feet with the agility of a much younger man. ‘Right. Roses it shall be. Now, furniture—nothing too modern, I think, but small—I had the idea of looking around one or two of those secondhand places to try and find similar stuff. Perhaps you would come with me, Sarah. Curtains too—I’ve no idea …’

He contrived to look so helpless that she agreed at once.

‘Would eleven o’clock on Saturday suit you?’ he asked. She gave him a swift suspicious glance, which he returned with a look of such innocent blandness that she was instantly ashamed of her thoughts. She got to her feet and said that yes, that would do very well, and waited while he talked to the two men. When he had finished she said a little awkwardly:

‘Well, I think I’ll go now. Goodnight, everyone.’

The two workmen chorused a cheerful, ‘‘Night, ducks,’ but the doctor followed her out. On the stairs he remarked mildly:

‘What a shy young woman you are!’ and then, ‘Let me go first, this staircase is a death-trap.’

With his broad back to her, she found the courage to say, ‘I know I’m shy—it’s stupid in a woman of my age, isn’t it? I try very hard not to be; it’s all right while I’m working. I—I thought I’d got over it, but now I seem worse than ever.’

Her voice tailed away, as she remembered Steven. They had reached the landing and he paused and turned round to look at her. ‘My dear girl, being shy doesn’t matter in the least; didn’t you know that? It can be positively restful in this day and age.’

They went on down to the little hall and Sarah felt warmed by the comfort of his words; it was extraordinary how he put her at her ease, almost as though they were friends of a lifetime. She stood by the door, while he, in a most affable manner, pointed out to Mr Ives, the landlord, the iniquity of having a staircase in the house that would most certainly be the death of someone, including himself, unless he did something about it very soon. Mr Ives saw them to the door, and stood on the pavement while the doctor opened the car door for Sarah to get in. It was only when they were on their way back to St Edwin’s that she realised that there had been nothing said about taking her back. The doctor had ushered her into his car, and she had got in without protest.

She hoped he didn’t think she’d been angling for a lift. ‘I could have walked.’ She spoke her thoughts out loud. ‘You’re going out of your way …’

She looked at him, watching the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiled.

‘So you could. I’m afraid that I gave you no opportunity—you don’t mind?’

She said no, she didn’t mind, and plunged, rather self-consciously, into aimless chatter, in which he took but a minimal part. At the hospital, she thanked him for the lift.

‘I could have easily walked …’ she began, and stopped when she saw Steven standing outside the Home entrance. The doctor saw him too; he got out of the car in a leisurely way, and strolled to the door with her; giving Steven a pleasant good evening as they passed him. He opened the door, said ‘Good night, Sarah’ in an imperturbable voice, urged her gently inside and shut the door upon her.

Steven wasn’t at the surgical clinic the following day. Mr Binns had the assistance of Jimmy Dean, one of the house surgeons; he and Kate were in love, but he had no prospects and neither of them had any money. It would be providential if Steven left when he married Mr Binns’ daughter, so that Jimmy could at least apply for the post. He was good at his job, though a little slow, but Sarah liked him. But Steven was with Mr Peppard when he arrived to take his clinic on Thursday morning—and as soon as opportunity offered, he asked shortly:

‘Why didn’t you answer my note—or wasn’t I supposed to know that you had a date with van Elven?’

Sarah picked out the X-ray she was looking for. She said in a voice it was a little hard to keep steady because he was so near, ‘I had arranged to go out; not, as you suppose, with Dr van Elven—and anyway, what would be the purpose of meeting you?’

She walked briskly to the desk, and remained, quite unnecessarily, throughout the patient’s interview. She was careful not to give Steven the opportunity to waylay her again, a resolve made easier by the unexpected absence of a part-time staff nurse who usually took the ear, nose and throat clinic. She put a student nurse in her place because there was no one else, which gave her a good excuse for spending the greater part of the morning making sure that the nurse could manage. Mr Peppard went at last, with Steven trailing behind him. He gave her a look of frustrated rage as he went, which, while gratifying her ego, did nothing to lessen her unhappiness.

It was a relief to see Dr van Elven’s placid face when she came back from dinner. His ‘Good afternoon, Sister’ was uttered with his usual gravity, but she detected a twinkle in his grey eyes as he said it. Perhaps he was remembering that the last time they had seen each other, they had been kneeling side by side on a dusty floor, deciding that pink cabbage roses would be just the thing … but if he was thinking of it too, his manner betrayed no sign of it.

The clinic went smoothly, without one single reference to Mrs Brown or her rooms; it was as if none of it had happened. And he didn’t mention Saturday at all. Sarah decided several times during Friday, not to go at all, and indeed, thought about it so much that Mr Bunn, the gynaecologist, had to ask her twice for the instruments he required on more than one occasion—such a rare happening that he wanted to know if she was sickening for something.

She was still feeling uncertain when she left the Nurses’ Home the next morning—supposing Dr van Elven had forgotten—worse, not meant what he had said? But he hadn’t; he was waiting just outside the door. He ushered her into the Iso Grigo, and she settled back into its expensive comfort, glad that she was wearing the brown suit again.

He said, ‘Hullo, Sarah. I’m glad you decided to come.’

‘But I said I would.’

He smiled. ‘You have had time enough to change your mind … even to wonder if I would come.’

It was disconcerting to have her thoughts read so accurately. She went pink.

‘Well, as a matter of fact, I did wonder if you might forget, or—or change your mind.’ She added hastily, ‘That sounds rude; I didn’t mean it to be, only I feel a little uncertain about—well, everything.’

He sat relaxed behind the wheel. ‘That’s natural, but it won’t last.’ His mouth curved in a smile. ‘You look nice.’

Her spirits rose; she smiled widely and never noticed Steven’s Mini as it passed them. She had forgotten all about him, for the moment, at least.

The morning was fun. They chose the furniture for Mrs Brown with care, going from one dealer to the other, until it only remained for them to buy curtains and carpets. They stood outside the rather seedy little shop where Sarah had happily bargained for the sort of easy chair she knew Mrs Brown would like.

‘We’ll go to Harrods,’ said the doctor.

She looked at him with pitying horror. ‘Harrods? Don’t you know that it’s a most expensive shop? Anyway, it’ll be shut today. There’s a shop in the Commercial Road …’

Mindful of the doctor’s pocket, she bought pink material for the curtains, and because it was quite cheap, some extra material for a tablecloth. She bought a grey carpet too, although she thought it far too expensive and said so, but apparently Dr van Elven had set his heart on it. When they were back in the car she pointed out to him that he had spent a great deal of money.

‘How much?’ he queried lazily.

She did some mental sums. ‘A hundred and eighty-two pounds, forty-eight pence. If it hadn’t been for the carpet …’

He said gravely, ‘I think I can manage that—who will make the curtains?’

‘I’ll do those—I can borrow Kate’s machine and run them up in an hour or so. They cost a great deal to have made, you know.’ She paused. ‘Dr van Elven …’

‘Hugo.’

‘Well, Hugo—it’s quite a lot of money. I’d like—that is, do you suppose …’

He had drawn up at traffic lights. ‘No, I don’t suppose anything of the sort, Sarah.’

She subsided, feeling awkward, and looked out of the window, to say in some surprise, ‘This is Newgate Street, isn’t it? We can’t get back to St Edwin’s this way, can we?’

His reply was calm. ‘We aren’t going back at the moment. I have only just realised that you’ll miss first dinner and not have time for second. I thought we might have something quick to eat, and I’ll take you back afterwards. That is, if you would like that?’

She felt that same flash of surprise again, but answered composedly.

‘Thank you, that would be nice. I’m on at two today—I had some time owing.’

They went down Holborn and New Oxford Street and then cut across to Regent Street, and stopped at the Café Royal. Sarah had often passed it and wondered, a little enviously, what it was like inside; it seemed she was to have the opportunity to find out. They went to the Grill Room, and she wasn’t disappointed; it was pretty and the mirrors were charming if a trifle disconcerting. The doctor had said ‘something quick’; she had envisaged something on toast, but on looking round her she deduced that the only thing she would get on toast would be caviare. She studied the menu card and wondered what on earth to order.

‘Something cold, I think,’ her glance flew to her watch, ‘and quick.’

Quick wasn’t quite the word to use in such surroundings, where luncheon was something to be taken in a leisurely fashion. She caught her companion’s eye and saw the gleam in its depths, but all he said was:

‘How about a crab mousse and a Bombe Pralinée after?’ He gave the order and asked, ‘Shall we have a Pernod, or is there anything else you prefer?’