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relax, even smile a little, and edged towards the curtains; if he was going to examine his patient he wouldn’t want her there.

      ‘Stay,’ he told her without turning his head.

      She very much wanted to say ‘I shan’t,’ but Miss Potter’s precarious calm must not be disturbed. She gave the back of his head a look to pierce his skull and stayed where she was.

      She had had a busy day and she was a little tired. She eased herself from one foot to the other and wished she could be like Sister, standing on the other side of the bed. A handsome woman, still young and obviously highly efficient. She and Sir Thomas exchanged brief remarks from time to time, none of which made sense to her, not that they were meant to. She stifled a yawn, smiled at Miss Potter and eased a foot out of a shoe.

      Sister might be efficient, she was kind too; Miss Potter was getting more and more cheerful by the minute, and when Sir Thomas finally finished and sat down on her side of the bed she smiled, properly this time, and took the hand he offered her, listening to his reassuring voice. It was when he said, ‘Now I think we might let Miss...?’ that he turned to look at Mary Jane.

      ‘Seymour,’ she told him frostily, cramming her foot back into its shoe.

      His eyes went from her face to her feet, his face expressionless.

      ‘Miss Potter may be visited the day after tomorrow. Her sister is free to telephone whenever she wishes to. I shall operate tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. Miss Potter should be back in her bed well before noon.’ He added, ‘You are on the telephone?’

      ‘Me? No. We use the post office and Miss Kemble at the rectory will take a message. Everyone knows the Misses Potter. I’ve given the ward clerk several numbers she can ring. But someone will phone at noon tomorrow.’

      He nodded, smiled very kindly at his patient and went away with Sister as a young nurse took their place. The promise of a cup of tea made Mary Jane’s departure easier. She kissed the elderly cheek. ‘We’ll all be in to see you,’ she promised, and took herself off to find the taxi and its patient driver.

      By the time they were back in the village and she had explained everything to Miss Emily it was far too late to open the tea-room. She made herself a pot of tea, fed Brimble, and padded around in her stockinged feet getting everything ready for the batch of scones she still had to make ready for the next day. While she did it she thought about Sir Thomas.

      The operation was a success; the entire village knew about it and, since they foregathered in Mary Jane’s tea-room to discuss it, she was kept busy with pots of tea and coffee. Miss Kemble, being the rector’s sister, offered to drive to the hospital on the following day. ‘The car will take four—you will come of course, Miss Emily, and Mrs Stokes, how fortunate that she is back—and of course my brother.’

      Miss Emily put down her cup. ‘It would be nice if Mary Jane could come too....’

      ‘Another day,’ said Miss Kemble bossily. ‘Besides, who is to look after Didums? You know she is good with Mary Jane.’

      So it was agreed and the next day, encouraged by Sister’s report that Miss Mabel had had a good night, they set off. Mary Jane watched them go holding a peevish Didums under one arm. She took the dog up to the sitting-room presently and closed the door, thankful that Brimble was taking a nap on her bed and hadn’t noticed anything. She would have liked to have visited Miss Mabel and now she would have to wait until she could find someone who would give her a lift into Cheltenham.

      As it turned out, she didn’t have to wait long; Mrs Fellowes popped in for a cup of tea and wanted to know why Mary Jane hadn’t gone with the others. ‘That’s too bad,’ she declared, ‘but not to worry. I’m driving the doctor to Cheltenham on Sunday—about three o’clock, we’ll give you a lift in, only we shan’t be coming back. Do you suppose you can get back here? There’s a bus leaves Cheltenham for Stratford-upon-Avon, so you could get to Broadway...’ She frowned. ‘It’s a long way round, but I’m sure there’s an evening bus to Stow-on-the-Wold from there.’

      Mary Jane said recklessly, ‘Thank you very much, I’d like a lift. I’m sure I can get a bus home. I’ll have a look at the timetable in the post office.’

      It was going to be an awkward, roundabout journey home and it would depend on her getting on to the bus in Cheltenham. She would have to keep a sharp eye on the time; the bus depot was some way from the hospital. All the same she would go. She wrote a postcard telling Miss Mabel that she would see her on Sunday afternoon and put it in the letterbox before she could have second, more prudent thoughts.

      Miss Emily, coming to collect Didums, had a great deal to say. Her sister was doing well, Sister had said, and she was to get out of bed on the following day. ‘Modern surgery,’ observed Miss Potter with a shake of the head. ‘In my youth we stayed in bed for weeks. That nice man—he operated; Sir someone—came to see her while I was there and told me that the operation had been most successful and that dear Mabel would greatly benefit from it. Nice manners, too.’

      Mary Jane muttered under her breath and offered Miss Potter a cup of tea.

      She was quite busy for the rest of that week, so that she felt justified on Sunday in taking enough money from the till to cover her journey back home. If the worst came to the worst she could have a taxi; it would mean going without new winter boots, but she liked Miss Mabel.

      She usually stayed open for part of Sunday, for that was when motorists tended to stop for tea, but she locked up after lunch, made sure that Brimble was safely indoors and walked through the village to the doctor’s house.

      Miss Mabel was delighted to see her; she seemed to have taken on a new lease of life since her operation and she insisted on telling Mary Jane every single detail of the treatment. She had got to the momentous moment when she had been out of bed when there was a slight stir in the ward. Sir Thomas Latimer was coming towards them, indeed, he appeared to be about to pass them when he stopped at Miss Mabel’s bed.

      On his bi-weekly round he had seen Mary Jane’s postcard on Miss Mabel’s locker and, without quite knowing why, he had decided to be on the ward on Sunday afternoon. It had been easy enough to give a reason — he had operated the day before on an emergency case and what could be more normal than a visit from him to see how his patient progressed? His casual, ‘Good afternoon,’ was a masterpiece of surprise.

      Mary Jane’s polite response was quite drowned by Miss Mabel’s voice. ‘Is it not delightful?’ she enquired of him. ‘Mary Jane has come to visit me — Dr Fellowes gave her a lift here. She will have to return by bus, though. I’m not sure how she will manage that, it being a Sunday, but she tells me that she has everything arranged.’ She beamed at Mary Jane, who wasn’t looking. ‘I have been telling her how excellent is the treatment here. I shall recommend it to my friends.’

      Just as though it were an hotel, thought Mary Jane, carefully not looking at Sir Thomas.

      He stayed only a few minutes, bidding them both goodbye with casual politeness, and Mary Jane settled down to hear the rest of Miss Mabel’s experiences, until a glance at the clock told her that she would have to go at once if she were to catch the bus. Not easily done, however, for Miss Mabel suddenly thought of numerous messages for her sister so that Mary Jane fairly galloped out of the hospital to pause at the entrance to get her bearings. She wasn’t quite sure where the bus depot was and Mrs Fellowes’ kindly directions had been vague.

      The Rolls-Royce whispered to a halt beside her and its door opened.

      ‘Get in,’ said Sir Thomas. ‘I’m going through your village.’

      ‘I’m catching a bus.’

      ‘Very unlikely. The Sunday service leaves half an hour earlier—I have that from the head porter, who is never wrong about anything.’ He added gently, ‘Get in, Miss Seymour, before we are had up for loitering.’

      ‘But I’m not...’ she began, and caught his eye. ‘All right.’ She sounded ungracious. ‘Thank you.’

      She

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