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Josephine extended a large, well kept hand and had it engulfed in an enormous grip. She said, ‘How d’you do?’ in a rather colourless voice and was taken aback when he replied, carelessly.
‘Oh, we have met already, haven’t we?’
Mr Bull was all ears. ‘Oh, where?’
‘In the middle of a country road in a rainstorm. Miss Dowling took exception to my driving.’
Mr Bull was by no means insensitive to atmosphere. He glanced at Jo’s wooden countenance and then at Mr van Tacx’s amused face and said uneasily, ‘Yes, well—I daresay you’ll work very well together. This is one of the best run wards in the hospital.’
Mr van Tacx bowed his head slightly in what Josephine considered to be a mocking gesture. His, ‘Of course,’ sounded mocking, too.
She said austerely, ‘Naturally I and my nursing staff will do everything to make things as easy as possible for Mr van Tacx.’
‘Oh, I don’t expect things to be easy,’ he told her cheerfully, ‘but I daresay we’ll rub along.’
There was nothing to reply to this. Jo led the way to the first bed and the round began, supported by a posse of students, Joan Makepeace and a Student Nurse clutching a pile of patients’ notes. It took twice as long, of course, Mr van Tacx had to have every sign and symptom explained to him as well as reading the foot of every bed as they came to it. Josephine, longing for her coffee, allowed no vestige of her impatience to show, making suitable replies to the questions fired at her, producing the correct forms seconds before they were asked for, behaving in short, just as a well trained nurse ought. So much so in fact that Mr Bull paused at the end of the ward to enquire what was the matter with her. ‘Swallowed the poker, Jo?’ he asked. ‘You don’t need to be so starchy just because Mr van Tacx is here.’
Jo looked down her beautiful nose. ‘I hope that I shall treat Mr van Tacx exactly as I have always treated you, sir,’ she said sweetly. ‘Would you like to see Mrs Prosser? I’ve put her in the end side ward. She kept everyone awake last night and is convinced that she isn’t well enough to go home. I suggested to her that if she were in a room by herself she might begin to feel better.’
‘Oh, God—must I see her? There’s nothing wrong is there?’
Josephine glanced at her notes. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Oh, well, in that case…’ He caught her eye. ‘You think I’d better have a word?’
She nodded and led the way to the side ward. Mrs Prosser was sitting up in her bed, waiting for them. She didn’t waste time with any good-mornings, but launched her attack without preamble. They stood listening imperturbably until she stopped for lack of breath.
‘Well, Mrs Prosser,’ said Mr Bull, ‘here is a well-known specialist who has come to examine you. I do feel that if he pronounces you fit you have no option but to take his advice and go home on Saturday.’
Josephine had to admit that Mr van Tacx handled Mrs Prosser with a masterly touch; he examined her with a thoroughness which impressed even that lady, then treated her to a brief lecture, delivered in his deep faintly accented voice, ending it with a flattering observation on her fortitude and ability to cope with any future difficulties.
Josephine, who had decided that she didn’t like him, was forced to allow admiration for his handling of the difficult old lady. Leaving Mrs Prosser smirking amongst her pillows, she led the way to her office where Mr Bull waved away his retinue. He was in a good mood; coffee would take twice as long as usual, thought Josephine, which meant that she would be all behind with the paperwork. She was a calm tempered girl, and patient; she poured coffee for the three of them and sat down to drink hers at the desk while the two gentlemen disposed themselves—Mr Bull in a canvas chair in one corner of the small room, the Dutchman leaning against a radiator. There was no question of social conversation, of course. They plunged immediately into several knotty problems which had revealed themselves during the round, turning to her from time to time to verify some sticky point. It was when they got up to go at last that Mr van Tacx paused as they were going through the door.
‘I shall be seeing you presently, Sister Dowling, there are one or two points we might discuss. I hope we shall enjoy a pleasant relationship.’
Josephine gave him a thoughtful look. ‘I hope so, too, sir.’ She hadn’t much liked his silken tones. Rather childishly, she made a face at the closed door, said, ‘Pooh to you,’ and then drew a pile of reports towards her, only to be interrupted a moment later by the door being thrust open again to admit Mr van Tacx’s handsome head.
‘Shall we let bygones be bygones?’ he wanted to know, and smiled at her with such charm that just for the moment she liked him very much. Before she could answer him, he had gone again, leaving her with her feelings nicely muddled.
As she might have known, he was thoroughly discussed at midday dinner. Caroline and Mercy both pronounced him dreamy. ‘Such a lovely dark brown voice!’ enthused the latter. ‘And so good looking. Caroline, you’re a lucky devil, you’ll see him four times a week, besides the times he might stroll in for the odd cup of coffee.’
Caroline, a pretty girl with curly blonde hair and big baby blue eyes, smirked. ‘I know. What a bit of luck Jo’s out of the running—I wouldn’t stand a chance, nor would you.’
‘Speak for yourself.’ Mercy turned a gamin little face to Jo. ‘What do you say, Jo?’
‘Why, that he’s a man who knows his job—he’d have to or Mr Bull wouldn’t let him near his patients in the first place.’
‘You don’t like him?’
‘I don’t know him, so how can I tell?’ asked Jo reasonably. ‘Does anyone know anything about him?’
‘Not a thing. He’s Dutch, qualified here as well as in Holland, lives near Leiden, had a flourishing practice and likes lots of sugar in his coffee…’
Josephine turned thoughtful eyes on to her friend’s face. ‘Not bad, considering you only met him for the first time this morning.’
‘You wait a week, Jo. I must find out if he’s married or got a girl. Married, I should think—he’s not all that young, is he? Probably got a pack of children and a wife…’
‘Then why isn’t she with him? I mean, he’s in a service flat, one of those posh ones just behind Harrods, I heard old Chubb’—Chubb was the Senior Porter—‘telling one of the porters to take some luggage there.’
Several pairs of eyes were turned upon Mercy, who had volunteered this interesting information, and she smiled round the table. ‘What’s more, I heard him say that Mr van Tacx has friends in Wiltshire—Tisbury…’ She stopped short. ‘Jo, you live near there…’
Josephine took a mouthful of wholesome steamed pudding before she replied. ‘I’ve met him—when I was home, you know. He passed me in his car, going towards Tisbury, but he could have been making for several villages…’
‘How do you know it was him?’
‘He stopped.’ Jo treated the table to a calm stare. ‘It was very wet,’ she volunteered as though that was sufficient explanation.
‘Lord, what a chance—and it had to be you, Jo, safely settled with your Malcolm.’
It was a pity, mused Josephine on her way back to the ward, that for some reason which she couldn’t explain, she felt neither safe nor settled. It was a very good thing that Malcolm was calling for her that evening; he was a junior partner in a large practice on the fringe of Hampstead and it was his free evening. She hadn’t seen him for more than a week, which was perhaps why she had this strange feeling of uncertainty about the future. Perhaps she had got into