‘You don’t earn enough to get your own place.’
‘Who says I’ll need to? I’ve got a lad and he wants me to get married – and I’m goin’ to as soon as we can.’
‘Mavis! You’re only seventeen. Surely you want a bit of fun before you get married – besides, who is he? You haven’t brought him home.’
‘Bring Ted Baker here? You must be mad,’ her sister said. ‘I don’t want him to run a mile before he even gets the ring on my finger. His father owns a small newspaper and tobacconist shop and there’s a flat over the top. It’s in Bethnal Green – and Mr Baker says we can have the flat and I can work in the shop until we have kids. He’s all for it, says he likes me.’
‘Keep him away from Ma then,’ Alice advised and yawned. ‘I’m so tired. Go to sleep, Mavis. We’ll talk about it another time …’
Closing her eyes, Alice remembered the way Jack’s mouth had tasted, not beery and foul like so many of the lads she’d met at the local dance, but pleasant. He’d had a faint taste of peppermint about him, and he smelled nice too – but he was a bad one. Her father had warned her, and she knew she mustn’t let the memory of a kiss break down her reserve, even if it had been sweet …
‘Yes, how can I help you?’ Sister Beatrice looked up as the woman entered her office. She was elegant in a pale grey fine wool dress and darker grey suede court shoes with a matching belt around her waist. Her short blue jacket had a fashionable pleated swing back, and she carried a small clutch bag in her hand. ‘I don’t recall – did we have an appointment?’
‘Well, I was told to report to you as soon as I arrived.’ The young woman offered her hand, from which she had just removed her leather glove. ‘I’m Angela Morton.’
‘Good grief, are you here already? I didn’t expect you for at least another week.’
‘Mark’s letter said he was anxious for me to start as soon as possible, but I couldn’t come until last night.’
‘Well, your office isn’t ready yet. I’ve asked the caretaker to install a desk, chair and filing cabinet in the room next door. It’s small but I think adequate for your needs.’
‘I am sure it will be fine,’ the young woman said breezily. ‘I’m so happy to meet you – and grateful for this chance to do something useful. My mother thinks I’m mad, but my father sort of approves …’
Beatrice answered sharply, irritated by her confident manner. ‘Well, I dare say they both think their daughter should spend her days doing something more suited to a girl of your class.’
The smile left Angela’s face. ‘I’m just turned thirty-four, a widow, and I’m tired of sitting at home doing nothing much. I think it’s time I started to do something worthwhile with my life.’
‘Indeed?’ Beatrice was aware that she’d been sharp and stood up, extending her hand to the younger woman. ‘I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad time. We have three very sick children in the isolation ward with chicken pox at the moment. I’ve done what I could to stop the infection spreading, but one of my kitchen staff seems to have gone down with it. The stupid girl told me that she’d had it, but it turns out she’d had the measles. She ought not to have taken it even so, but she ignored my instructions and went into the ward when my nurses were busy. I know she thought she was saving them time, but some people have no sense …’
‘Oh, what a shame,’ Angela said. ‘Has she taken it badly?’
‘I’ve no idea. She was sent home when she started to show signs of fever. It is a nuisance because none of the other girls in the kitchens have had it, and I’m afraid of sending any of them up in her place, so it looks as if I shall have to run after Michelle and Sally myself.’
Beatrice wondered why she felt a need to explain. There was something about this woman that pricked at her, made her feel inadequate despite all her years of experience.
‘Would you allow me to help? I did have the chicken pox when was I was ten, and the measles. It would give me something to do until I can start work on the accounts.’
Beatrice was silent for a moment; she was reluctant to hand over even this small task to the woman she still thought of as an intruder, but she had too much to do as it was and it would keep Angela out of her hair for a while.
‘Well, if you’re certain, you may take up their trays, but stay outside the ward. I do not want another casualty going down to it – and God forbid that it should spread to the other children. Although it is usually not serious, it can affect the weaker ones badly – and we have enough to do without an epidemic.’
‘Yes, of course. I can understand your concerns, Sister. I have had some experience of hospital routines, even though I’m not a nurse. And I took an extensive first aid course in the war because I thought it might help in a crisis – and it did.’
Beatrice sighed and heaved herself to her feet. She was feeling a little under the weather herself, just a bit of a sore throat, which she was dosing herself for, but this was an unwanted distraction.
‘I shall take you down to the kitchens myself. Have you thought where you will live? If you would like a room in the Nurses’ Home for the time being it could be arranged. It is situated at the back of the home and once housed the Warden of the fever hospital. These days, it is divided into rooms with a shared kitchen and a communal sitting room. I use it myself, because there are too many nights when it would not be convenient for me to be away from the children, though I do have my own room at the convent, which is my home. Some of my nurses stay in the Nurses’ Home during the week and go home when they have a two-day leave – but you have no parents in London and might not wish to live there permanently.’
Beatrice gave her a challenging look, because Angela was obviously used to better things.
‘I should like to take a room if there is one available. It would be better than the hotel and I could look round for an apartment at my leisure.’
Beatrice was surprised; she’d expected a flat refusal.
‘I’ll arrange it for you. Now follow me and I’ll point out the various rooms as we go …’
Hearing the knock at the door, Michelle went to open it, and looked blankly at the elegant woman standing there with her trolley. Michelle was feeling hot and irritated, because Sally had gone for her break an hour ago and all three children were now suffering the debilitating effects of an illness that might not be serious as childhood diseases went, but was certainly causing her patients a great deal of distress.
‘Who are you?’ she asked sharply. ‘Who gave you permission to come here?’
‘Sister Beatrice,’ the woman replied. ‘I’m Angela Morton and I’m here to help out with the office work – and anything else that is needed.’
‘The new Administrator? Oh, right, I didn’t realise. Sorry, I’ll take that now. For goodness’ sake do not come in here, even if we don’t answer the door promptly. Just leave the trolley here and one of us will fetch the tray.’
‘Of course, if that’s what you wish. I should tell you that I have definitely had the chicken pox years ago, and the measles. I do know the difference – and I helped nurse my young cousin when he took it a few years back.’
Michelle sighed impatiently. ‘You just don’t understand, do you? We have probably more than sixty children here at any one time. If you carry the infection to another person in this home, we could have half of them down with it in days – and we do not have enough nursing staff to cope with an epidemic. I just hope the kitchen staff hasn’t taken it from Maisie, because