Visiting Consultant

He came in without knocking, closed the door behind him, stood with his back to it, and said without preamble, ‘What have I done?’

Sophy’s lovely eyes opened wide, framed by the curling sweep of black lashes; her mouth was open too; she closed it with something of a snap, and blinked. ‘I don’t think I quite understand,’ she faltered.

Max van Oosterwelde left the door and settled himself in the chair opposite hers. He was wearing tweeds—unobtrusive, superbly cut, and she thought, wildly expensive. He stretched out a long arm and took the off-duty rota from the desk.

‘You had a day off today; you changed it, and don’t give me any nonsense about Staff Nurse wanting it—she told me about it on Friday.’

He grinned wickedly, and Sophy, choking on rage, didn’t mince her words.

‘You have no right to…to…’ She caught his eye.

‘To what?’ he enquired silkily.

‘The nurses’ off-duty is no concern of yours.’ She remembered who he was, and added, ‘Sir.’

‘No, it’s not, but we stray from the point, do we not? You took care to be away from home last Wednesday. I had dinner with the Carruthers, you know; you left there soon after five; you weren’t home when I left at nine. I thought maybe you were out with a boyfriend; and then I heard that you had changed your duty today, and it seemed more than coincidence and that you had done it deliberately. Do you dislike me so much, Sophy?’

Sophy dragged her gaze away from the waste paper basket, and gave him a level look. ‘I don’t dislike you.’ Her voice was quiet and faintly surprised.

‘Then I suggest you drop your guard, my girl. I’ve no intention of laying violent hands on you, nor,’ he went on deliberately, ‘am I interested in flirting with you.’ He watched her face flame with a detached air. ‘I see no reason why we shouldn’t be friends, do you? After all, we share a godfather—that is surely a sound enough motive for friendship?’

She met his eyes and saw that he was smiling. She ignored her heart bouncing against her ribs, and said in an even little voice, ‘I’m afraid I’ve become a real old maid in the last few years.’ She managed a very credible smile, and put a hand in the one he was holding out. His clasp was firm and comforting. She needed comfort, but he wouldn’t know that, of course.

‘No, never that—old maids don’t climb trees.’

He relinquished her hand, and picked up the telephone and asked for Matron.

Sophy listened to the conversation, and it was at once apparent to her that he was going to get his own way, although she doubted if Matron would realise it. He put down the receiver and got up.

‘Ten past one at the front door? You’ll have to keep your uniform on, I’m afraid, just in case they need you in a great hurry. Don’t be late—I promised Mrs Greenslade we would be there by a quarter past one.’

Sophy looked at him with raised eyebrows. ‘You promised Granny…’ her eyes searched his face. ‘But they’re not expecting me.’

He was halfway through the door. ‘Yes, they are. I forgot to mention that I telephoned your grandmother and told her that you would be home for luncheon.’

She frowned. ‘Well, really!’ she exploded. She stopped; he had already gone.

He sat next to Mrs Greenslade at luncheon, and carved the joint as well if not better than Uncle Giles would have done. Sophy saw that he was on the friendliest terms with Penny and Benjamin, and it was obvious that her grandmother had been completely won over. Even Sinclair, who took his dislikes and likes seriously, approved of him. They had their coffee around the sitting room’s bright fire, surrounded by the Sunday papers and Penny’s discarded knitting and a half-finished jig-saw puzzle Ben had tired of. Mrs Greenslade sat on one side of the fire, her current crossword on her lap, and the enormous dictionary she was never without serving its dual purpose as a foot-stool. Jonkheer van Oosterwelde occupied the chair opposite her, with the Blot pressed hard against one knee, half-shut eyes expressing the bliss of having his ears rubbed. Titus had spread himself across the Dutchman’s well polished shoes, ignoring the offers of a lap from the other occupants of the room.

Sophy, curled up in a corner of the couch said, ‘Isn’t it extraordinary, how they like you? They’re usually so fussy.’

She saw his lips twitch and his dark brows lift, and blushed and said hastily, ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to be rude, I’m sorry, but you must know what I mean. Perhaps it’s because they sense you’ve got dogs of your own.’

‘Very probably,’ he replied, ‘though I would prefer to think that it was good taste on their part.’

Amid the general laughter, Penny asked, ‘Don’t they miss you while you’re away; your animals, I mean?’

‘Yes, very much, I believe, but they have plenty of friends, and I think that the welcome I receive is largely an act.’

Sophy glanced at her watch, and got up reluctantly. Her grandmother gave her a smooth cheek to kiss and said,

‘Must you go, darling?—such a shame when we’re all so cosy. Anyway, I hope you have a nice afternoon,’ she added vaguely. Max had risen too, and was already at the door. ‘Don’t be long, Max,’ she called as they went out.

They didn’t talk on the short trip to the hospital; there wasn’t time anyway. Sophy thanked him briefly as she got out, and ran up the hospital steps without looking back. Half an hour later, she was scrubbing up beside Tom Carruthers; there was a nasty face injuries in—too serious for Cas to deal with. It was no sooner on the table than the telephone rang; there was an acute obstruction just in and perhaps Mr Carruthers would go and see him as soon as he could. Tom Carruthers growled something under his breath, and Sophy sent the nurse back with a polite message to say that he would be down as soon as he could manage it. It turned out to be one of those afternoons when there could be no pause for tea; the obstruction took a long time, and it was almost six o’clock by the time they had finished and Tom and Dr Walker had followed the porters out of the theatre. Sophy and the two nurses on duty cleared up with the speed of long use, and she sent them to supper while she sat in the quiet theatre, doing the needles, her mind full of the little girl Max van Oosterwelde had operated upon the week before. Tom had told her quietly, as he left the theatre, that the child had died. ‘Van Oosterwelde saw her this morning,’ he had said, ‘but there was nothing he could do. Decent of him to come in, though. After all, it was his day off, and he didn’t get to bed until four am—been out on the town.’ Sophy sorted the last of the needles, and tried not to remember that remark. It could mean so many things. She shook her neat head as though to shake the thought away. It was none of her business, anyway, but she couldn’t stop herself reflecting on the number of very pretty girls on the nursing staff who would doubtless make excellent companions for a man who wished to go out on the town.

She got up and tidied away the bits and pieces, and when the nurses came back from supper, sent them off duty. She would be going home herself very soon. In a little while, she switched off the lights and went along to change.