The Awakened Heart

He hung up before she could utter a word. She put the receiver back and the phone rang again and when she picked it up he said, ‘If you aren’t at the door I shall come up for you. Don’t worry, I’ll bring Miss Phipps with me as a chaperon.’

Sophie thumped down the receiver once more, ignored Miss Phipps’s inquisitive face peering round her door, and took herself back to her room. ‘I don’t want to go out,’ she told Mabel. ‘It’s the very last thing I want to do.’

All the same, she did things to her face and hair and put on her coat, assured Mabel that she wouldn’t be away for long, and went downstairs again with a minute to spare.

The professor was already there, exchanging small talk with Miss Phipps, who gave Sophie an awfully sickening roguish look and said something rather muddled about pretty girls not needing beauty sleep if there was something better to do. Sophie cast her a look of outrage and bade the professor a frosty good morning, leaving him to make his polite goodbyes to her landlady, before she was swept out into the chilly morning and into the Bentley’s welcoming warmth.

It was disconcerting when he remained silent, driving the car out of London on the A12 and, once clear of the straggling suburbs, turning off on to a side-road into the Essex countryside, presently turning off again on to an even smaller road, apparently leading to nowhere.

‘Feeling better?’ he asked her.

‘Yes,’ said Sophie, and added, ‘Thank you.’

‘Do you know this part of the world?’ His voice was quiet.

‘No, at least not the side-roads; it’s not as quick…’ She stopped just in time.

‘I suppose it’s quicker for you to turn off at Romford and go through Chipping Ongar?’

She turned to look at him, but he was gazing ahead, his profile calm.

‘How did you know where I live?’ She had been comfortably somnolent, but now she was wide awake.

‘I asked Peter Small; do you mind?’

‘Mind? I don’t know; I can’t think why you should want to know. Were you just being curious?’

‘No, no, I never give way to idle curiosity. Now if I’m right there’s a nice little pub in the next village—we might get coffee there.’

The pub was charming, clean and rather bare, with not a fruit machine in sight. There was a log fire smouldering in the vast stone fireplace, with an elderly dog stretched out before it, and the landlord, pleased to have custom before the noonday locals arrived, offered a plate of hot buttered toast to devour with the coffee.

Biting into her third slice, Sophie asked, ‘Why did you want to know?’ Mellowed by the toast and the coffee, she felt strangely friendly towards her companion.

‘I’m not sure if you would believe me if I told you. Shall I say that, despite a rather unsettled start, I feel that we might become friends?’

‘What would be the point? I mean, we don’t move in the same circles, do we? You live in Holland—don’t you?—and I live here. Besides, we don’t know anything about each other.’

‘Exactly. It behoves us to remedy that, does it not? You have nights off at the weekend? I’ll drive you home.’

‘Drive me home,’ repeated Sophie, parrot-fashion. ‘But what am I to say to Mother…?’

‘My dear girl, don’t tell me that you haven’t been taken home by any number of young men…’

‘Well, yes, but you’re different.’

‘Older?’ He smiled suddenly and she discovered that she liked him more than she had thought. ‘Confess that you feel better, Sophie; you need some male companionship—nothing serious, just a few pleasant hours from time to time. After all, as you said, I live in Holland.’

‘Are you married?’

He laughed gently. ‘No, Sophie—and you?’

She shook her head and smiled dazzlingly. ‘It would be nice to have a casual friend… I’m not sure how I feel. Do we know each other well enough for me to go to sleep on the way back?’

CHAPTER TWO

SO SOPHIE slept, her mouth slightly open, her head lolling on the professor’s shoulder, to be gently roused at Miss Phipps’s door, eased out of the car, still not wholly awake, and ushered into the house.

‘Thank you very much,’ said Sophie. ‘That was a very nice ride.’ She stared up at him, her eyes huge in her tired face.

‘Is ten o’clock too early for you on Saturday?’

‘No. Mabel has to come too…’

‘Of course. Sleep well, Sophie.’

He propelled her gently to the stairs and watched her climb them and was in turn watched by Miss Phipps through her half-open door. When he heard Sophie’s door shut he wished a slightly flustered Miss Phipps good morning and took himself off.

Sophie told herself that it was a change of scene which had made her feel so pleased with life. She woke up with the pleasant feeling that something nice had happened. True, the professor had made some rather strange remarks, and perhaps she had said rather more than she had intended, but her memory was a little hazy, for she had been very tired, and there was no use worrying about that now. It would be delightful to be driven home on Saturday…

Casualty was busy when she went on duty that evening, but there was nothing very serious and nothing at all in the accident room; she went to her midnight meal so punctually that various of her friends commented upon it.

‘What’s happened to you, Sophie?’ asked Gill. ‘You look as though you’ve won the pools.’

‘Or fallen in love,’ said someone from the other side of the table. ‘Who is it, Sophie?’

‘Neither—I had a good sleep, and it’s a quiet night, thank heaven.’

‘If you say so,’ said Gill. ‘I haven’t won the pools—something much more exciting. That lovely man is operating at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I have offered to lay up for Sister Tucker—’ there was a burst of laughter ‘—just so that everything would be ready for him, and I shan’t mind if I’m a few minutes late off duty.’ She smiled widely. ‘Especially if I should happen to bump into him.’

Joan Middleton, in charge of men’s medical, the only one of them who was married and therefore not particularly interested, observed in her matter-of-fact way, ‘Probably he’s married with half a dozen children—he’s not all that young, is he?’

‘He’s not even middle-aged,’ said Gill sharply. ‘Sophie, you’ve seen him. He’s still quite young—in his thirties, wouldn’t you think?’

Sophie looked vague. ‘Probably.’ She took another piece of toast and reached for the marmalade.

Gill said happily, ‘Well, I dare say he falls for little wistful women, like me…’ And although Sophie laughed with the rest of them, she didn’t feel too sure about that. No, that wouldn’t do at all, she reflected. Just because he had taken her for a drive didn’t mean that he had any interest in her; indeed, it might be a cunning way of covering his real interest in Gill, who, after all, was exactly the type of girl a man would fall for. Never mind that she was the soul of efficiency in Theatre; once out of uniform, she became helpless, wistful and someone to be cherished. Helplessness and wistfulness didn’t sit happily on Sophie.

Sophie saw nothing of the professor for the few nights left before she was due for nights off. She heard a good deal about him, though, for Gill had contrived to waylay him in Theatre before she went off duty and was full of his good looks and charm; moreover, when she went on duty the following night there had been an emergency operation and he was still in Theatre, giving her yet another chance to exchange a few words with him.

‘I wonder where he goes for his weekends?’ said Gill, looking round the breakfast-table.

Sophie, who could have told her, remained silent; instead she observed that she was off home just as soon as she could get changed, bade everyone goodbye, and took herself off.

She showered and changed into a rather nice multi-check jacket in a dark red with its matching skirt, tucked a cream silk scarf in the neck, stuck her feet into low-heeled black shoes, and, with her face carefully made-up and her hair in its complicated coil, took herself to the long mirror inside the old-fashioned wardrobe and had an appraising look.

‘Not too bad,’ she remarked to Mabel as she popped her into her travel basket, slung her simple weekend bag over her shoulder, and went down to the front door. It was ten o’clock, and she didn’t allow herself to think what she would do if he wasn’t there…

He was, sitting in his magnificent car, reading a newspaper. He got out as she opened the door, rather hampered by Miss Phipps, who was quite unnecessarily holding it open for her, bade her good morning, took Mabel, who was grumbling to herself in her basket, wished Miss Phipps good day, and stowed both Sophie and Mabel into his car without further ado. He achieved this with a courteous speed which rather took Sophie’s breath, but as he drove away she said severely, ‘Good morning, Professor.’