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and laughter and a good deal of joking, too, about Mr der Linssen’s unexpected appearance.

      He had disappeared again, of course. Lucy was visited by Mr Trevett, but there was no sign of his colleague, nor was he mentioned; and a good thing too, she thought. On neither of the occasions upon which they had met had she exactly shone. She dismissed him from her mind because, as she told herself sensibly, there was no point in doing anything else.

      She was forcibly reminded of him later that day when Home Sister came in with a great sheaf of summer flowers, beautifully ribboned. She handed it to Lucy with a comfortable: ‘Well, Nurse, whatever you may think about consultants, here’s one who appreciates you.’

      She smiled nicely without mockery or envy. It was super, thought Lucy, that the hospital still believed in the old-fashioned Home Sister and hadn’t had her displaced by some official, who, not being a nurse, had no personal interest in her charges.

      There was a card with the flowers. The message upon it was austere: ‘To Miss Prendergast with kind regards, Fraam der Linssen.’

      Lucy studied it carefully. It was a kind gesture even if rather on the cold side. And what a very peculiar name!

      It was decided that instead of going on night duty the next day, Lucy should have her nights off with the addition of two days’ sick leave. She didn’t feel in the least sick, but she was still sore, and parts of her person were all colours of the rainbow and Authority having decreed it, who was she to dispute their ruling?

      Her family welcomed her warmly, but beyond commending her for conduct which he, good man that he was, took for granted, her father had little to say about her rescue of the little boy. Her brothers teased her affectionately, but it was her mother who said: ‘Your father is so proud of you, darling, and so are the boys, but you know what boys are.’ They smiled at each other. ‘I’m proud of you too—you’re such a small creature and you could have been mown down.’ Mrs Prendergast smiled again, rather mistily. ‘That nice man who stopped and took you both into the hospital wrote me a letter—I’ve got it here; I thought you might like to see it—a Dutch name, too. I suppose he was just passing…’

      ‘He’s the lecturer—you remember, Mother? When I fell asleep.’

      Her mother giggled. ‘Darling—I didn’t know, do tell me all about it.’

      Lucy did, and now that it was all over and done with she laughed just as much as her mother over the fish and chips.

      ‘But what a nice man to get you another lot—he sounds a poppet.’

      Lucy said that probably he was, although she didn’t believe that Mr der Linssen was quite the type one would describe as a poppet. Poppets were plump and cosy and good-natured, and he was none of these. She read his letter, sitting on the kitchen table eating the bits of pastry left over from the pie her mother was making, and had to admit that it was a very nice one, although she didn’t believe the bit where he wrote that he admired her for bravery. He hadn’t admired her in the least, on the contrary he had complained that she smelt of fish…but the flowers had been lovely even if he’d been doing the polite thing; probably his secretary had bought them. She folded the letter up carefully. ‘He sent me some flowers,’ she told her mother, ‘but I expect he only did it because he thought he should.’

      Her mother put the pie in the oven. ‘I expect so, too, darling,’ she said carefully casual.

      Lucy was still sitting there, swinging her rather nice legs, when her father came in to join them. ‘Never let it be said,’ he observed earnestly, ‘that virtue has no reward. You remember my friend Theodul de Groot? I’ve just received a telephone call from him; he’s in London attending some medical seminar or other, and asks particularly after you, Lucy. Indeed he wished to know if you have any holiday due and if so would you like to pay him a visit. Mies liked you when you met seven—eight? years ago and you’re of a similar age. I daresay she’s lonely now that her mother is dead. Do you have any holiday, my dear?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Lucy very fast, ‘two weeks due and I’m to take them at the end of next week—that’s when I come off night duty.’

      ‘Splendid—he’ll be in London for a few days yet, but he’s anxious to come and see us. I’m sure he will be willing to stay until you’re free and take you back with him.’

      ‘You would like to go, love?’ asked her mother.

      ‘Oh, rather—it’ll be super! I loved it when I went before, but that’s ages ago—I was at school. Does Doctor de Groot still practise?’

      ‘Oh, yes. He has a large practice in Amsterdam still, mostly poor patients, I believe, but he has a splendid reputation in the city and numbers a great many prominent men among his friends.’

      ‘And Mies? I haven’t heard from her for ages.’

      ‘She helps her father—receptionist and so on, I gather. But I’m sure she’ll have plenty of free time to spend with you.’

      ‘Wouldn’t it be strange if you met that lecturer while you were there?’ Mrs Prendergast’s tone was artless.

      ‘Well, I shan’t. I should think he lived in London, wouldn’t you?’ Lucy ran her finger round the remains of custard in a dish and licked it carefully. ‘I wonder what clothes I should take?’

      The rest of her nights off were spent in pleasurable planning and she went back happily enough to finish her night duty, her bruises now an unpleasant yellow. The four nights went quickly enough now that she had something to look forward to, even though they were busier than ever, what with a clutch of very ill babies to be dealt with hourly and watched over with care, and two toddlers who kept the night hours as noisy as the day with their cries of rage because they wanted to go home.

      Lucy had just finished the ten o’clock feeds on her last night, and was trying to soothe a very small, very angry baby, when Mr Henderson, the Surgical Registrar, came into the ward, and with him Mr der Linssen. At the sight of them the baby yelled even louder, as red in the face and as peppery as an ill-tempered colonel, so that Lucy, holding him with one hand over her shoulder while she straightened the cot with the other, looked round to see what was putting the infant into an even worse rage.

      ‘Mr der Linssen wants a word with you, Nurse Prendergast,’ said the Registrar importantly, and she frowned at him; he was a short, pompous man who always made the babies cry, not because he was unkind to them but because he disliked having them sick up on his coat and sometimes worse than that, and they must have known it. ‘Put him back in the cot, Nurse.’

      She had no intention of doing anything of the sort, but Mr der Linssen stretched out a long arm and took the infant from her, settling him against one great shoulder, where, to her great annoyance, it stopped bawling at once, hiccoughed loudly and went to sleep, its head tucked against the superfine wool of his jacket. Lucy, annoyed that the baby should put her in a bad light, hoped fervently that it would dribble all over him.

      ‘Babies like me,’ observed Mr der Linssen smugly, and then: ‘I hear from Mr Trevett that you are going to your home tomorrow. I have to drive to Bristol—I’ll give you a lift.’

      She eyed him frostily. ‘How kind, but I’m going by train.’ She added: ‘Beaminster’s rather out of your way.’

      ‘A part of England I have always wished to see,’ he assured her airily. ‘Will ten o’clock suit you?’ He smiled most engagingly. ‘You may sleep the whole way if you wish.’

      In other words, she thought ungraciously, he couldn’t care less whether I’m there or not, and then went pink as he went on: ‘I should much prefer you to stay awake, but never let it be said that I’m an unreasonable man.’

      He handed the baby back and it instantly started screaming its head off again. ‘Ten o’clock?’ he repeated. It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact.

      Lucy was already tired and to tell the truth the prospect of a long train journey on top of a busy night wasn’t all that enthralling.

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