Fate Is Remarkable

Sarah agreed with a fervour which surprised her even more than it surprised Mrs Brown, although upon reflection she was forced to admit to herself that ‘nice’ was a completely inadequate word with which to describe Hugo van Elven. She found herself beginning to count the days until his return, which wouldn’t be until the Friday afternoon clinic. Once or twice, she thought of writing to her mother and asking her advice, but how could she seek advice from someone who had never met Hugo; someone, moreover, who still thought that she would one day marry Steven? It was something she would have to decide for herself, but it wasn’t until Thursday night that she admitted to herself that she had made the decision already. Hugo van Elven represented a quiet haven after the turbulence of the last few weeks; she believed they had a very good chance of being happy together; she felt completely at ease with him, and now that she thought about it, she always had done, and she was aware, without conceit that he liked her. He needed a wife to run his home and entertain for him, and bear him company—she thought that she could do those things quite satisfactorily. It worried her that there was no love between them, but Hugo had said that companionship should suffice, and it seemed to be all that he wished for. Perhaps, later on, their deep liking for each other might turn to affection.

She went to sleep on that thought, and when she woke in the morning, she knew that her mind was made up. Any small doubts still lurking, she resolutely ignored, firmly telling herself that they were unimportant.

She knew she had been right when he walked in. He said ‘Good afternoon, Sister’ in a perfectly ordinary voice and gave her the briefest smile, then turned to the pile of notes on his desk and said resignedly, ‘Oh, lord, I wonder where they all come from!’

Sarah was putting out wooden spatulas. ‘‘Flu,’ she said, and gave his downbent head a grateful look. She had been nervous, almost shy at the idea of seeing him again, trying to imagine what they would say, and he was making it all very easy. She went on, ‘They go on working, or take someone’s cough cure because they don’t like to bother the doctor, and then he sees them and sends them to you with bronchitis. Did you have a pleasant holiday?’

He nodded absently, not looking at her. ‘Delightful, thank you. First one in when you’re ready, Sister.’

She was actually on the point of leaving after the clinic was finished, when he came back. He and Dick Coles had gone away together, leaving her to clear up—and without him saying a word! She felt deflated; she hadn’t expected him to overwhelm her with questions when they met, because he wasn’t that kind of man, but she had expected him to ask her if she had made up her mind. She turned to switch off the desk light, and found him at the door.

He asked abruptly, ‘Are you tired?’ And when she said ‘No,’ he went on briskly, ‘Good. May I take you out to dinner?’ His mouth curved in a faint smile. ‘I’ve been wanting to ask you that all the afternoon, but each time I was on the point of doing so, you either confronted me with another patient or waved a bunch of notes under my nose.’ He was still smiling, but his eyes searched her keenly. ‘Shall we be celebrating, Sarah?’

At that she smiled too and the cold lump of unhappiness she had been carrying around somewhere deep inside her warmed a little. They might not be able to give each other love, but there were other things—understanding and friendship and shared pleasure in shared interests; they each had a great deal to offer. She turned out the light and went past him into the waiting hall where the cleaners were swabbing the floor under the harsh lights, because the daylight, however bright, rarely penetrated its vastness. She looked up at him, her smile widening, and said:

‘Yes, Hugo, we’ll be celebrating. What time shall I be ready?’

The expression on his face was hard to read. ‘Seven-thirty? Wear something pretty, we’ll go to Parkes’.’

Sarah went over to her room, tea forgotten, her mind a jumble of thoughts, the chief of which was what she should wear. She was rummaging through her wardrobe when Kate appeared in the doorway of her room. She leant against the wall, swinging her cap.

‘What are you doing?’ she wanted to know. ‘Surely you’re not going to spend the evening tidying clothes? A pity I’m not off duty, there’s that marvellous film I wanted to see and Jimmy’s on duty until Sunday.’ She strolled over to the bed and eyed the jumble of dresses upon it. ‘That pink thing looks nice,’ she commented. ‘Isn’t that the one you bought …’ her voice tailed off, because she had remembered that Sarah had bought it to go out with Steven.

Sarah was tearing off her apron. ‘Yes—I’m going to wear it tonight.’

Her friend eyed her with interest. ‘Sarah! You’re never …?’

Sarah was wriggling out of her dark blue cotton dress. ‘I’m going out to dinner with Hugo van Elven, and don’t you dare tell a soul, Kate.’

Kate whistled piercingly, ‘Cross my heart,’ she promised, ‘though you’re making history, ducky. He’s never so much as lifted an eyebrow at a female creature within these walls.’ She went reluctantly to the door. ‘I’m late. Come and see me when you get in. I’ll stay awake.’ She started to run along the corridor towards the stairs. ‘Have fun!’ she called as she went.

Sarah had almost reached the bottom of the stairs when the doubt suddenly beset her that perhaps she was making a mistake. She was actually on the point of turning round and going back to her room when she saw Hugo standing in the hall, looking elegant in his black tie and very much at ease. He was talking to Home Sister, of all people, one of the most dedicated gossips the hospital had ever known. Sarah greeted him briefly under that lady’s interested eye and they went out to the car together, leaving her to gaze after them, already rehearsing her bit of news ready for the supper table.

Sarah arranged herself carefully, with an eye to the pink dress.

‘Of course we would have to meet Sister Wilkes! She—she talks rather a lot, you know. She’ll put two and two together and make ten.’

Hugo idled the car out of the hospital forecourt. ‘Do you mind? Everyone will know soon enough, I imagine. They’ll see the announcement in the paper. In any case, I should have cause to be grateful to her.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘Because if I hadn’t waited inside instead of out in the car, and if she hadn’t been there, I think you would most probably have changed your mind and disappeared on the staircase like Cinderella.’

Sarah stole a look at his profile to see if he was smiling. He wasn’t.

‘You’re rather disconcerting,’ she said at last. ‘How could you possibly know that—that … Oh, dear! Did you feel like that too?’

This time he did smile. ‘No. I have no doubts, and I hope that you will have none either.’

He didn’t give her a chance to answer, but began a rambling sort of conversation which lasted until they reached the restaurant, where it was supplanted by a leisurely discussion as to what they should eat. They decided on quenelles in lobster sauce with feuilleté de poulet à la reine and then Monte Bianco because Sarah confessed to a passion for chestnuts. The waiter was barely out of earshot when Hugo spoke.

‘Will you marry me, Sarah?’ His voice was friendly and almost casual, and she was conscious of a vague disappointment until he smiled—a warm smile, compelling her to smile in return. She said, a little shyly:

‘Yes, Hugo, I’ll marry you.’ Her voice was steady, as was her gaze as their eyes met across the elegantly appointed table. The pleasant feeling of warmth she had felt before returned and strengthened at the admiration in his. He lifted his glass in a toast, and for the first time in several weeks, she felt almost happy. Perhaps it was because of this that she realised, some two hours later, that not only had she helped Hugo to compose an announcement of their engagement, she had also accepted his offer to drive her down to her home when she went on holiday, and what was more, had invited him to stay the weekend. And, last but not least, she had agreed most readily to marry him in exactly one month’s time.

They had parted on the steps of the Nurses’ Home and she had enjoyed it when he kissed her lightly on one cheek before opening the door for her. She crept to her room, so that Kate should not hear, and undressed with haste. In bed, thinking about it, she decided she had probably had a little too much champagne, so that Steven’s image had become dulled enough to allow her to find pleasure in Hugo’s kiss, even though she was aware that he could have done a lot better.

When he came to fetch her on Sunday morning, however, he contented himself with a cheerful ‘Hullo there,’ stowed her cases in the boot, herself into the seat beside him, and then, with a wave to the various faces watching them from a variety of windows, drove the Iso unhurriedly through the gates. It was still early—barely nine o’clock. London was comparatively free of traffic and it was a mild spring day. Sarah had put on a knitted dress the colour of the April sky above them. She settled into her seat, confident that she had made the most of herself, looking forward to her holiday.