He frowned. Fiona had told him laughingly only the other day that he saw enough children without needing any of his own. ‘What you need,’ she had told him in her charming way, ‘is a quiet house to come home to, pleasant evenings with friends, and someone to talk to at the end of the day without any interruptions.’ She had made it sound very inviting and, because he had been very tired then, he had more or less agreed with her, but now he realised that that wasn’t what he wanted. He wasn’t sure what he did want, and anyway, it was hardly the time to worry about it now. He went to bend over his small patient, taking no notice of Lucy, then he gave more instructions to his ward sister and went away.
CHAPTER TWO
THE day seemed very long to Lucy. She was relieved for her meals, but Miranda, now fully awake, became restless towards the evening, and the only way to placate her was for Lucy to take her on her lap and murmur the moppet’s favourite nursery rhymes over and over again in her gentle voice. But eventually Miranda slept, and Lucy was able to tuck her into her cot and, with a nurse in her place, go to the canteen for her supper. The nurses there were casually kind, showing her where to get her meal and where she might sit, but beyond a few smiles and hellos she was ignored while they discussed their work on the wards, their boyfriends and their lack of money. She ate her supper quickly and slipped away unnoticed, back to the austere little room where Miranda was. The ward sister was there conning the chart.
Had your supper? Good. Night Sister will be along in about an hour. I think it might be a good idea if you had a bath and got ready for bed while I can spare a nurse to sit here—that will mean that if Miranda wakes up later and is difficult you’ll be available. Go to bed once Sister’s been—but you do know you may have to get up in the night? I don’t think there will be a nurse to spare to attend the child; we’re rather busy …’
She nodded and smiled and went away, and Lucy set about getting ready for bed in her own small room, leaving the door open in case Miranda woke and the nurse couldn’t placate her.
But the child slept on and Lucy bathed in peace, brushed her hair, got into a dressing-gown and padded back to take the nurse’s place.
The nurse yawned. ‘She hasn’t moved,’ she told Lucy. ‘She looks like a cherub, doesn’t she? If it weren’t for that outsized head …’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’m off duty, thank heaven; it’s been a long day. See you in the morning.’
Lucy sat down. Miranda was sleeping peacefully, and her pulse, which Lucy had been shown how to take and record, was exactly as it should be. Lucy studied the chart and started to read up the notes behind it. The small operation had been written up in red ink in an almost unreadable scrawl and initialled W.T., and she puzzled it out with patience. Dr Thurloe might be an excellent paediatrician, but his writing appeared to be appalling. She smiled, pleased that she knew something about him, and then she sat quietly thinking about him until Night Sister, a small brisk woman, came into the room. She checked the valve, looked at the chart and asked, ‘You know what you’re looking for, Miss Lockitt? Slow pulse, vomiting, headache—not that Miranda will be able to tell you that … But if you’re worried, or even doubtful, ring the bell at once. I’ll be back later on, and if I can’t come then my junior night sister will. I should go to bed if I were you. Her pulse is steady and she’s sleeping, but I depend on you to see to her during the night.’
She went away as quietly as she had come, and Lucy did as she had been told and got into the narrow, cold bed in the adjoining room. She got up again in a few minutes and put on her dressing-gown again, and then tucked her cold feet into its cosy folds and rolled into a tight ball, and dozed off.
It was only a little after an hour later when Miranda’s first restless whimpers woke her. She was out of bed in a flash and bending over the cot. Miranda was awake and cross, but her pulse seemed all right. Lucy picked her up carefully and sat down with her on her lap, gave her a drink and began the one-sided conversation which the toddler seemed to enjoy. Miranda stopped grizzling and presently began a conversation of her own, although when Lucy stopped talking her small face creased into infantile rage again, so that Lucy hurried into the Three Bears, growling gently so that Miranda chuckled. ‘And Father Bear blew on his porridge to cool it,’ said Lucy, and blew, to stop and draw a quick breath because Dr Thurloe had come silently into the room and was watching her. He had someone with him, a pretty, dark girl in sister’s uniform, and it was to her that he spoke. ‘You see, Marian, how well my plan has worked? With Miss Lucy Lockitt’s co-operation we shall have Miranda greatly improved in no time.’
He nodded, smiling faintly at Lucy. ‘Has she been very restless?’
‘No, only for the last twenty minutes or so. She began to cry, but I think she’ll settle down again.’ She went red at his look; she had no business telling a specialist something he must already know for himself.
‘I’ll take a look while I’m here. Can you sit her up a little on your knee?’
He bent over her to examine Miranda and Lucy studied the top of his head; he had a lot of hair, a pleasing mixture of fairness and silver cut short by a master hand.
He straightened up and spoke to the sister. ‘I think something to settle her, don’t you, Marian?’ He glanced at the thin gold watch on his wrist. ‘Let’s see, it’s getting on for eleven o’clock.’ He glanced at Lucy. ‘A few hours of sleep will do you both good …’ He took the chart from the sister’s hand and wrote. ‘That should see to it.’ He walked to the door. ‘Go to bed, Miss Lockitt; Sister will see that someone wakes you before Miranda rouses. Goodnight.’
He had gone before she could reply. She waited until the sister came back with an injection and then sat soothing Miranda until she dozed off and she was able to tuck her up in her cot once more. She wasn’t very happy about going back to bed, but she was sure that Dr Thurloe wouldn’t have suggested it if he hadn’t been quite convinced that Miranda would sleep quietly for a few hours. So she got back into bed again and presently fell asleep, to wake very early in the morning and go and take a look at Miranda, who was still sleeping peacefully. Lucy took her pulse and was relieved to find that it was just what it was supposed to be. She was dressed and tied into her ample overall long before a nurse poked her head round the door. ‘Oh, good, you’re up already. I’ll bring you a cup of tea just as soon as I’ve got the time. If she wakes can you wash her and pot her?’
Lucy nodded. ‘Oh, yes. I expect I’ll need clean sheets and another nightie.’
‘In that cupboard in the corner, and there’s a plastic bag where you can put the stuff that needs washing …’
The nurse’s head disappeared to be replaced almost at once by the bulk of Dr Thurloe, immaculate and looking as though he had had ten hours’ sleep. He was alone this time and his ‘good morning’ was friendly, so that Lucy regretted that she hadn’t bothered to powder her nose or put on lipstick.
‘Had a good night? You’re up early.’
‘So are you,’ observed Lucy, and wished she hadn’t said it; she must remember that they weren’t at a dinner party but in hospital, where he was someone important and she wasn’t of any account, especially in the bunchy garment she was wearing. And she felt worse because he didn’t answer her, only bent over the cot.
‘We’ll have a look,’ he said with impersonal politeness, and waited expectantly.
Lucy took down the cot side. She said in her sensible way, ‘She’s wet—I didn’t like to change her until I’d seen Sister. Do you mind?’
The look he gave her was amused and kind too. ‘I dare say I’ve dealt with more wet infants than you’ve had hot dinners. No, I don’t mind! I’m glad she’s had a good night. I don’t intend to give her anything today though, and you may have your work cut out keeping her happy.’