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  She skipped on ahead of him, whistling under her breath, happier than she had been for a long time. No thought of Humphrey entered her head, certainly no thought of getting married, and St Clare’s never entered her head either—full as it was of fabulous daydreams. They were half way back from the shore when she stopped suddenly. Someone had moaned, and as she listened, moaned again.

  Mr Grenfell had heard it too; he came and stood beside her, motioned her to silence and stood listening. The moan came again, and he walked away from her and knelt down on the rough grass. Eugenia came carefully after him and got down beside him—and saw the half-hidden hole.

  ‘Of course,’ said Mr Grenfell, ‘the caves run back a good distance. Now I wonder…’

  ‘I’ll go down,’ said Eugenia at once. ‘You’ll never get through that hole.’

  Mr Grenfell laughed. ‘Watch me,’ he commanded, and slid over its edge and out of sight.

  ‘Mr Grenfell—oh, Mr Grenfell, where have you gone?’ She could hear the panic in her voice but was powerless to stop it.

  ‘Don’t be a goose!’ Mr Grenfell’s voice, faintly mocking, floated reassuringly upwards. ‘You’ll have to come down too, Eugenia. There’s a lad here—broken leg, I imagine, and concussed. Come down feet first, I’ll catch you.’

  She really had no choice; she lowered herself cautiously and felt his hands guiding her down and then lifting her. It was dim in the cave, she couldn’t see into the farthest corners, but she could hear rustlings which she didn’t like, but since Mr Grenfell seemed to think she was made of the same stern stuff as he was, she said nothing, but turned her attention to the boy on the ground. He must have fallen through the hole above them, because his leg was bent at an unnatural angle and there was a lump on his temple and a deep cut, still oozing blood.

  ‘The leg first,’ said Mr Grenfell. ‘We have no splint, so we shall have to tie his legs together. Let me have your belt.’

  Eugenia unbuckled the soft leather belt she had saved to buy herself; it had cost more than she could afford and she had justified its purchase by the knowledge that it would last her for a number of years. Apparently not; she handed it over to Mr Grenfell, who took it with as little interest as though it had been a nice piece of string, and began, very carefully, to straighten out the boy’s leg. ‘Very nasty,’ he commented, as he took a penknife from his pocket and cut the belt in two. ‘Take a pull on the foot, Eugenia, we’ll have to get it as straight as possible before we haul him up.’

  It took some time, but the boy was still unconscious. ‘A fortunate thing,’ Mr Grenfell declared, ‘and let’s hope he stays that way until we’ve got him out of here.’

  Eugenia tied Mr Grenfell’s clean handkerchief round the boy’s cut head. ‘How?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, I’ll have to go first—I’ll lean him up against the rock and you’ll have to lift his arms as high as you can so that I can get a grip on them. It won’t do his leg any good, but there’s no other way.’

  Eugenia, aware of the faint rustling in the darker recesses of the cave, said suddenly in a squeaky voice. ‘I think there are rats here…’

  ‘Well, of course there are,’ Mr Grenfell sounded impatient, ‘what do you expect in a cave?’

  ‘I’m very afraid of rats,’ said Eugenia, her voice a little high.

  ‘Bunkum, a great girl like you!’

  No comfort at all—indeed, an insult. She seethed silently.

  Mr Grenfell began to heave the boy against the wall of the cave. ‘Don’t think about them,’ he advised her kindly, and began to claw his way upward. ‘Don’t let him slide back,’ he advised, and went on his difficult way, dislodging clods of earth and stones as he went. Just for a moment she thought he would slide back again, but he was a powerful man, she let out a held breath as he hauled himself over the rim of the hole. A moment later his head appeared over its edge.

  ‘Lift his arms,’ he commanded ‘as high as you can, and when I say so, give him a good shove upwards from behind.’ A rat squeaking from behind gave her added strength, and then there was no sound save that of Mr Grenfell’s heavy breathing as he hauled slowly on the boy. It seemed an age before the unconscious youth disappeared slowly from view and endless seconds before Mr Grenfell’s head appeared once more.

  ‘Up you come!’ He leaned over dangerously and stretched out his great arms. ‘Catch hold.’

  She forgot the rats for the moment. ‘I weigh a ton,’ she told him.

  ‘An exaggeration. A hefty girl, perhaps, but where would I have been with a willowy damsel with no more strength than a kitten?’

  She scrambled around for a footing and slipped back. ‘Mr Grenfell, I can’t…’

  His voice, very calm, floated down to her. ‘Does it not strike you that “Mr Grenfell” is perhaps a little formal in circumstances such as these? My name is Gerard. Now stop flapping around, there’s a good girl, dig in your toes and come on up here—we’ve got to get this boy to hospital.’

  Eugenia tried again, and this time Mr Grenfell caught her by the wrists. ‘Heave ho!’ he said cheerfully, and suited the action to the words.

  It was a slow business, although she helped as much as she could, clutching at bits of rock, the backs of her legs aching, but presently she landed in an untidy, sprawling heap on her face and content to stay that way; her arms felt as though they had been dragged from their sockets and she was covered in scratches and grazes.

  ‘Up you get,’ said Mr Grenfell, ‘we’ve got work to do.’

  ‘Stop bullying me,’ puffed Eugenia, ‘what do you take me for? Rats ready to gnaw me, and my new belt in ribbons, and now I haven’t any skin on my knees or elbows…’

  ‘Why do women exaggerate?’ asked Mr Grenfell of no one in particular. ‘And what about this poor lad?’

  She got to her feet. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Grenfell, what a wretched little beast I am. Shall I take his legs?’

  ‘If I carry him, could you walk beside me and support his legs? Hold them as straight as you possibly can—we’ve not got far to go to the car, and we can wedge him on the back seat and have him in hospital in no time at all.’

  He stooped to lift the boy and waited while she got a firm hold of his legs. ‘And no more Mr Grenfell, I beg. Let’s leave that for the wards.’

  Their progress was slow and by the time they had reached the car Eugenia was exhausted. Not that she was allowed to give way to that.

  ‘In the back,’ said Mr Grenfell, and he slid the boy carefully along the seat, ‘and you get into the front, Eugenia.’ Without appearing to do so he gave her a sidelong glance; she was pale from her exertions and her hands were scratched and filthy dirty. Her tidy head was no longer tidy and her face badly needed a wash. All the same, she still looked beautiful.

  ‘Perhaps not quite the afternoon’s outing we expected, but an interesting one nevertheless,’ observed Mr Grenfell, starting the car.

  ‘Interesting? I wouldn’t call it that,’ said Eugenia. ‘Exciting and sad for the boy, and heavenly paddling in the sea—I won’t forget it. Now how will they find out who the boy is?’

  ‘I imagine someone will tell the police—he’ll be in good hands.’

  She glanced over her shoulder at the still form. ‘Poor lad— I’m glad we found him.’

  ‘Yes—it was a chance in a hundred, wasn’t it? Not many people go that way at this time of year, and of course he wasn’t in a condition to shout.’ He glanced at her. ‘Will you be sorry to go, Eugenia?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’ve loved it—the people have been so kind, and it’s so satisfying to know that Mrs Clarence will be all right—even more satisfying for you. St Clare’s is going to be a bit drear…’

  ‘You’ll have Humphrey,’ said Mr Grenfell soothingly.

  Her, ‘Yes’, was a bit doubtful.

  ‘He may even decide to marry you out of hand,’ suggested Mr Grenfell.

  ‘Why ever should he do that?’

  ‘To make sure of you.’ He turned the car into the hospi
tal yard. ‘Here we are. Go along to Casualty and warn someone, will you? I’ll carry him in.’

  The house doctor on duty took charge, the police were warned and Eugenia, feeling she was no longer needed, slipped away towards the private wing where she had her room. It was early evening by now and she was hungry; supper was only half an hour away and she would have to clean herself up. It would have been nice, she thought, standing under the shower, if Mr Grenfell—no, Gerard—had invited her to have a meal with him somewhere. Perhaps if they hadn’t discovered the boy, he would have done so. She cleaned up her scratched hands, put plasters on her knees and elbows and got into a skirt and thin sweater. She wouldn’t have accepted anyway, she told herself, she still had to pack her case and do her nails and wash her hair, and tomorrow was a full day’s duty…

  She was going out of the dining room, an hour later, when she met Mr Grenfell. He stopped squarely in front of her, so that she couldn’t get by unless she pushed past him.

  ‘I considered taking you out to supper, but decided against it,’ he told her. ‘I think that in the circumstances, it would have been a stupid thing to do.’

  Eugenia felt outraged feelings swelling to bursting point inside her. ‘Not nearly as stupid as I’d have been if I’d accepted!’ she snapped, and since she couldn’t get past him, she turned on her heel and swept back into the dining room. Which meant that it took her quite a time to find her way through the kitchen and out the other side into the private wing again.

  Bed seemed the only place to be. She undressed and bounced into bed, still fuming; a good thing the case was finished and she could go back to Humphrey. Only somehow Humphrey wasn’t very clear in her mind, ousted in fact by Mr Grenfell’s handsome, remote features. The moment she got back, she promised herself, she would persuade Humphrey to marry her; never mind the tumble-dryer and the fitted carpets, they could come later. To get married and away from Mr Grenfell was suddenly very important.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  EUGENIA WASN’T to get away from Mr Grenfell as quickly as all that. There he was when she went on duty in the morning, sitting on her patient’s bed, absorbed in a lighthearted discussion which was making Mrs Clarence chuckle a good deal. When she saw Eugenia she called: ‘Good morning, dear. Come and convince this man that there are still a number of women left in the world who would rather get married and look after a husband and children than hold down some highly paid job, or worse, swan around doing nothing.’

  Eugenia said lightly: ‘Well, I wouldn’t mind swanning around, looking like one of the top-ranking models—not for keeps, though; just to see what it felt like.’

  Mr Grenfell turned and raked her with a deliberate glance. ‘Most of the models I’ve met are extremely thin, one might say almost skinny—you’d hardly qualify, Eugenia.’

  Mrs Clarence laughed at what she thought was a nice little joke; Eugenia might be a big girl, but she had a lovely figure, and she didn’t believe for one minute that Mr Grenfell was unaware of that. Eugenia laughed too and gave him a look to slay him; it was certainly important that she got hold of Humphrey the moment she got back…’I’ll see about your breakfast,’ she said with well held calm. ‘That is, if Mr Grenfell is going?’

  He had gone by the time she got back, and the morning was taken up with getting Mrs Clarence up, making her bed and encouraging her to walk on the balcony outside her room, and after lunch, once she was tucked up for her nap, there was Amalia to make her final suggestions to and the charts to bring up to date. There would be no time in the morning, they were to leave directly after breakfast, Mr Grenfell, meeting her briefly during the evening, told her, adding that he had a dinner date and must on no account miss it. ‘I daresay Humphrey will manage to be free and take you out,’ he said blandly.

  Eugenia agreed pleasantly, although she didn’t feel very pleasant. Mr Grenfell’s remarks about her size still rankled, and over and above that, she was only too well aware that it was very unlikely that Humphrey would do anything of the sort. She had only been away for little over a week; no cause for celebrations.

  Her misgivings were more than justified. Back at St Clare’s, her case unpacked, her uniform tidily ready for the morning, she lay in bed and thought about her day. They had left the hospital directly after breakfast, on her part with some regret, for she had been very happy there and she would have liked to have seen Mrs Clarence quite recovered before wishing her goodbye. Mr Grenfell had been at his most impersonal, attending to her comfort with grave courtesy, smoothing their journey apparently without effort, and never once making a remark to which she could have taken exception. The Bentley had been waiting for them when they arrived at Heathrow and she had had nothing to do but be guided through Customs and out to where it was parked. And once in the car, she had been unable to think of anything to say. It wasn’t until they were actually outside the hospital entrance that she managed: ‘That was a very pleasant journey, Mr Grenfell, thank you.’ After a brief pause she added: ‘You’re in good time for your appointment.’

  He turned to look at her as he brought the car to a halt. ‘And you? Time enough to phone your Humphrey and have a quiet dinner together, I hope.’ He got out and opened her door. ‘I’ll see that your case is sent up to your room. I shall see you on the ward in the morning.’ And at her rather startled look: ‘It will be round day, or had you forgotten?’

  ‘No—yes, that is, I hadn’t thought about it,’ said Eugenia. ‘I’d better go to the office.’

  He nodded and went round to the boot. It was obvious that he had nothing more to say to her; she had pushed open the doors and crossed the entrance hall and made her way, feeling vaguely put out, to the nurses’ home.

  Humphrey had been off duty and she had arranged to meet him after supper—a noisy meal, since her friends clamoured to hear her news. She had left them feeling cheerful, anxious to tell Humphrey all about it too, but one look at his face damped her good spirits at once.

  Humphrey was coldly furious. ‘You told me a week,’ he said at once, turning a cold cheek to her kiss. ‘It’s nine days—I suppose you’ve been taking a few days off and enjoying yourself?’

  She said gently: ‘No, darling, I’ve been working until the last moment. Mrs Clarence—the patient, you know—is only just out of the wood; I should have liked to have stayed longer, but Mr Grenfell had an appointment for this evening.’ And probably even now he’s dallying with the glamorous Miriam, she thought silently; not that he didn’t deserve a little light relief after his hard work.

  ‘Mother found it very strange, to say the least,’ declared Humphrey sulkily. ‘You had no business to go gallivanting off in that fashion…’

  ‘I didn’t gallivant,’ protested Eugenia tiredly. ‘I worked hard with no time off.’

  ‘Just as I thought!’ burst out Humphrey. ‘Making use of you, taking advantage of your good nature!’

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t like that at all,’ she said. ‘On one of the last days I was free all day.’ She realised her mistake as she said it, for Humphrey demanded at once:

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Well, Mr Grenfell hired a car and we drove along the Algarve coast. It was delightful; beautiful scenery and much warmer than it is here.’

  Humphrey snorted. ‘I’m hurt and vexed,’ he told her pompously. ‘I hope this sort of thing won’t occur again.’

  ‘But I’ve done nothing wrong,’ Eugenia cried, ‘and you’re making such a fuss about nothing—you haven’t even said you’re glad to see me again.’ She had been suddenly furious. ‘I’m going to bed.’ And she had flounced off, back into the hospital and up to her room, to cry her eyes out, although she hadn’t been quite sure why she had cried, and by now she was too tired to wonder about that, so with a final sniff she closed her eyes and slept.

  There was no time to worry about Humphrey, or anything else for that matter, once she was on the ward. Hatty was waiting for her, full of important information she must assimilate before Mr Grenfell arrived. They we
nt over the charts together before Eugenia did her round, greeting patients who were still there and getting to know her new ones. She had them all nicely sorted out by the time the clock struck and she started down the ward, to be met by Mr Grenfell, as impassive as always. Beneath her usual calm manner she found herself feeling strangely disturbed; it was ridiculous that the sight of him, his large figure so elegant, his expression so impersonally kind, even his habit of jingling the small change in his pocket while he listened quietly to whatever was being said to him, should be the reason for it. After all, she had seen him looking exactly as he did now for three years, week in, week out, and had been quite unmoved.

  Perhaps it was because he seemed a different man from the one who had hauled her out of that awful hole, crying ‘Heave ho!’ so cheerfully and actually calling her a hefty girl. Eugenia frowned fiercely at the memory of it, and became all at once aware of the silence around her. They were all looking at her; the routine of years, altered even by a few seconds, was enough to upset them. She said briskly: ‘There are two new patients, sir, admitted during the night. Do you wish to see them first?’

  The round went smoothly. Mr Grenfell took his time over the new patients, spent five minutes exchanging pleasantries with Mrs Dunn, now happily free from her tubes and intent on getting home. And with Barbara ready for discharge to a convalescent home, and quite animated now, they stood around her chair and joked gently before he left the ward and went into the office.

  There was the usual amount of writing to do, notes to make, charts to study. It was all of half an hour before he and Harry and one of his housemen got up to go. Mr Grenfell, the last through the door, paused, came back into the little room, carefully closing the door behind him, and asked her: ‘Well, did you enjoy your evening out with Humphrey?’

  Eugenia had remained standing when the rest of them had got up to go. Now she turned her back on him and looked out of the window, presumably to admire the rows of chimney-pots which comprised all the view there was.