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there were arms and legs to prepare ready for operation in the morning and supper to serve, and since both staff nurses were off duty and she was on with Sister Cook, there was the added complication of keeping out of that lady’s way as much as possible.

      At length she was allowed to go, and skipped through the corridors and down the stairs to the cloakroom, where she bundled on her coat and with no thought as to her appearance, hurried down the back stairs to the back of the entrance hall. It was empty, although she could see Briggs’ bald head in his lodge. Quelling a wish to go out of the entrance and have supper with Mr van Tecqx even as, she strongly suspected, he wouldn’t be waiting for her, Emily nipped across the hall and opened the side door used by the staff and those fortunate enough to travel in their own cars.

      The Bentley was parked exactly outside the door and Mr van Tecqx was leaning against its bonnet. Emily would have bounced back inside, only he was beside her before she could do so.

      ‘I am much encouraged,’ he told her, ‘to find that we think alike—you, that you would escape by this door, and I quite certain of it. Come along, now, I’m hungry.’

      Emily stood outside the door, his hand on her arm. ‘Look, Mr van Tecqx, this really won’t do—you’re a consultant and I’m not even trained…’

      A silly sort of remark, she realised as soon as she had uttered it. She tried again. ‘I can’t possibly go out with you in this.’ She waved a hand at her coat.

      ‘Well, of course you can’t. I’ll drive you to your lodgings and wait while you tidy yourself. You can have ten minutes; I’ve booked a table for half past eight.’

      She made no effort to move. ‘You were sure I would come?’

      ‘No, that’s why I waited here.’ He smiled at her suddenly, which somehow made it perfectly normal to be going out to supper with him, although she was convinced that when she had the time to think about it she would be horrified. ‘Student nurses just don’t go out with consultants,’ she voiced her thoughts out loud.

      ‘There is always a first time.’

      He popped her into the car and got in beside her.

      Outside her gate she said, ‘I’m sorry I can’t ask you in—I’ve only got one room…’

      For answer he got out of the car and went to open the door for her. ‘Ten minutes,’ he reminded her carefully.

      Emily fed Podge, washed her face and made it up rather sketchily, then tore into her only decent dress—navy blue needlecord, bought in a C & A sale. Her coat was navy blue too, almost as elderly as the one she wore to work but neatly brushed and pressed. Her hair she brushed and tied back with a ribbon, as there was no time to pin it up. She thrust her feet into her one pair of high-heeled shoes, caught up her handbag and gloves, patted Podge and told him to be a good boy, and went out of the house followed by Mrs Winter’s shrill voice.

      ‘Got yerself a boyfriend, dearie? ’Ave a nice evening!’

      If Mr van Tecqx heard her he gave no sign, merely remarked that punctuality was a virtue he seldom met with among his female acquaintances and stowed Emily into the car again.

      He took her to Bubb’s, just off the Farringdon Road and only a short distance away from Pearson’s, and she was relieved to find that the people dining there were dressed very much as she was. The navy blue outfit, dull though it was, had the virtue of being inconspicuous. But she forgot to be shy in her companion’s placid company; he talked as easily as anything about this and that, ordered her a sherry and told her to order what she fancied, and when she tried to make a bewildered choice, offered to do it for her: salmon mousse on a bed of lettuce, breast of chicken in an aspic glaze, accompanied by a variety of vegetables, followed by nougat glacé with strawberries and topped with cream.

      The good food loosened her tongue, and, skilfully drawn out by her companion, Emily talked, something she hadn’t done so freely with anyone for a very long time, but somehow her companion gave the impression of being a comfortable listener, putting questions just at the right moment, saying little. She was carried away, what with the delicacies which she was offered, the wine she was drinking and Mr van Tecqx’s gentle interest. She was on the point of telling him her plans for her father when common sense took over and she stopped in mid-sentence.

      Mr van Tecqx studied her face, on which a look of shocked wariness had settled. ‘Yes?’ he prompted softly.

      ‘Oh, nothing—I can’t remember what I was going to say, it wasn’t in the least important. I hope I haven’t bored you, Mr van Tecqx; this wine doesn’t taste as strong as the bottle we got from the supermarket when Staff Nurse had her birthday…but I’m not used to drinking wine…’

      Mr van Tecqx preserved an admirable calm. To anyone who compared the very expensive Chablis Grand Cru with something cheap probably chosen because of its pretty label, he would have been scathing in his opinion of such gross ignorance, but all he did was agree with her blandly, and when she added in her sensible way, ‘I’m afraid it made me talk too much,’ said politely,

      ‘Not at all, Emily—you don’t mind if I call you Emily?’

      She shook her head. ‘Everyone does.’ She hesitated. ‘Why did you ask me to have dinner with you, Mr van Tecqx?’

      ‘I’m a stranger in a strange land, and you have a kind appearance, Emily.’

      It seemed to her that he was quite at home in London; his English was only very faintly accented, he knew his way around the city and if Staff Nurse was to be believed, he delivered scholarly lectures at hospitals other than Pearson’s. She stared at him across the table. Because of the wine she had drunk his handsome features were slightly fuzzy round the edges, but even so, he was by far the most magnificent man she had ever met. She said now, ‘You must have a great many friends.’

      ‘Indeed, I have. Now, Emily, what was it you were going to tell me?’

      ‘Oh, I can’t remember…’

      ‘About your father?’ he prompted gently.

      Her denial was instant, ‘No, no, it wasn’t anything…’

      He had already discovered where she lived, now he observed, ‘You must miss village life—Pearson’s is situated in very drab surroundings. You look forward to your days off, I expect.’

      Emily poured them more coffee. ‘Oh, yes—only I don’t go home each week.’ She stopped again, her wretched tongue tripping along ahead of her wits. She expected him to ask, ‘And why not?’ Only he didn’t, knowing that she wasn’t going to tell him anyway.

      He said easily: ‘It is always a surprise to me that there is such charming country so close to London. Even in London itself—Hampstead and Richmond—one could almost be living in the country.’

      She was on safe ground again; they did discuss London and its environs, until she said diffidently that she had to be in by eleven o’clock. ‘I haven’t an outdoor key, and Mrs Winter is very strict about us being in by then unless we make special arrangements.’

      ‘There are other people living there?’

      ‘Oh, yes, there are six rooms—she calls them flatlets and she’s fussy about the tenants.’

      ‘And you have a flatlet?’

      There was no point in pretending. ‘Well, no. Just a room—it’s the attic really. But I’ve a sink and a little stove. It’s quite cosy.’ She uttered the lie cheerfully, relieved to see that he accepted it without comment, paid the bill and settled her in the car once more.

      At her gate she said, ‘Please don’t get out—there’s no need.’

      A waste of breath, for he went with her up the path and opened the street door, to be confronted by Mrs Winter standing at the top of the basement stairs. ‘There you are—I was jus’ wondering?’ She eyed Mr van Tecqx with belligerence. ‘Me tenants ‘as ter be in by eleven o’clock

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