Read Online George Barnabas - 04 - Fourth Attempt by Claire Rayner - Free Book Online
Authors: Claire Rayner
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again with the memory of Gus’s teasing in her memory’s ears) she’d reassured herself that she was being as silly as Sheila was on one of her worst days. Zack Zacharius had only asked her out to dinner last night out of concern for her distress over Sheila (she refused to think about what he might want to talk about; it was probably something minor and just a ploy to get her to make a date) and there was no more to it than that. All was well; she’d just had a silly set of notions because Gus had been away a lot, but now he was back in his old sweet mode there’d be no more problems. If there had to be lonely nights over the coming weeks she’d manage them well enough. I’ll put in for a holiday in two weeks’ time, then, she thought as she crossed the courtyard on her way to the canteen and lunch. Then I’ll be ready whatever Gus comes up with.
Zack was loitering at the canteen entrance and his face lit up when he saw her, or so she thought. ‘Hello! How are you today?’ he said. ‘Feeling better? How’s the invalid?’
‘Oh, she’s doing fine,’ George said. ‘I saw her this morning, and Peter Selby too. He says she’ll be home in a couple of days. No harm done. You were quite right.’
‘That’s OK then,’ he said with high satisfaction. ‘We cantalk about other things.’ He tucked his hand into her elbow again, the way he had last night, and she stiffened against it. Last night when she had been distressed had been one thing. Now it was something other.
It felt like panic. It was quite absurd, part of her mind told her, but that made no difference. She pulled her arm away and said quickly, ‘Oh dear! I’m so sorry! I can’t share lunch with you today, I’m afraid.’ She looked over her shoulder and saw the long queue stretching into the canteen, normal at this time of day, and swallowed hard. ‘I’ve — er — I’ve arranged to eat with Dr — um —’ She scrabbled for a name as her glance raked the people in the line and finally seized upon a vaguely familiar face. ‘Dr Corton. About anaesthetics, you know. I’m sorry.’
And she went in a rush, her long legs swinging her coat behind her and her thick hair bouncing on the top of her head so that it nearly came apart from the bunch in which she’d pinned it up, to slide in alongside a startled James Corton and say a little breathlessly, ‘Do you mind if I jump the queue by joining you? Pretend we had a date to meet, you know? I’m in a mad rush and I’d be so grateful!’
5
To say that James Corton was shy would be like describing Mother Theresa as a tolerably well meaning old woman; the label just wasn’t adequate. He gulped at her, managed a sort of convulsive nod and then stepped back to let her slide in front of him. She had to share his tray, since she hadn’t picked up one of her own and was certainly not going back to fetch one in case Zack was still there at the other end of the queue (she didn’t dare look to see), and she chattered absurdly to Corton as she piled a plate with salad and slapped it on to the tray next to his own plate of sausages and chips. She thought that choice said all that needed to be said about him: he had the schoolboyish look that went with such a diet.
She insisted on paying for both of them, since the girl on the till would, she knew, make very heavy weather of sorting out separate bills for the contents of one tray, and the last thing she wanted was any sort of delay or fuss to draw more attention to them (they had already had a couple of black looks from people who had been pushed back in the queue by her intervention). He tried to protest, but she would have none of it and, still chattering, led him to a table on the far side of the massive canteen space, which had all the ambience of an aircraft hangar with none of the charm, where she sat with her back to the room as though that would make her less noticeable.
Beneath her chatter, she castigated herself. She
Zack was loitering at the canteen entrance and his face lit up when he saw her, or so she thought. ‘Hello! How are you today?’ he said. ‘Feeling better? How’s the invalid?’
‘Oh, she’s doing fine,’ George said. ‘I saw her this morning, and Peter Selby too. He says she’ll be home in a couple of days. No harm done. You were quite right.’
‘That’s OK then,’ he said with high satisfaction. ‘We cantalk about other things.’ He tucked his hand into her elbow again, the way he had last night, and she stiffened against it. Last night when she had been distressed had been one thing. Now it was something other.
It felt like panic. It was quite absurd, part of her mind told her, but that made no difference. She pulled her arm away and said quickly, ‘Oh dear! I’m so sorry! I can’t share lunch with you today, I’m afraid.’ She looked over her shoulder and saw the long queue stretching into the canteen, normal at this time of day, and swallowed hard. ‘I’ve — er — I’ve arranged to eat with Dr — um —’ She scrabbled for a name as her glance raked the people in the line and finally seized upon a vaguely familiar face. ‘Dr Corton. About anaesthetics, you know. I’m sorry.’
And she went in a rush, her long legs swinging her coat behind her and her thick hair bouncing on the top of her head so that it nearly came apart from the bunch in which she’d pinned it up, to slide in alongside a startled James Corton and say a little breathlessly, ‘Do you mind if I jump the queue by joining you? Pretend we had a date to meet, you know? I’m in a mad rush and I’d be so grateful!’
5
To say that James Corton was shy would be like describing Mother Theresa as a tolerably well meaning old woman; the label just wasn’t adequate. He gulped at her, managed a sort of convulsive nod and then stepped back to let her slide in front of him. She had to share his tray, since she hadn’t picked up one of her own and was certainly not going back to fetch one in case Zack was still there at the other end of the queue (she didn’t dare look to see), and she chattered absurdly to Corton as she piled a plate with salad and slapped it on to the tray next to his own plate of sausages and chips. She thought that choice said all that needed to be said about him: he had the schoolboyish look that went with such a diet.
She insisted on paying for both of them, since the girl on the till would, she knew, make very heavy weather of sorting out separate bills for the contents of one tray, and the last thing she wanted was any sort of delay or fuss to draw more attention to them (they had already had a couple of black looks from people who had been pushed back in the queue by her intervention). He tried to protest, but she would have none of it and, still chattering, led him to a table on the far side of the massive canteen space, which had all the ambience of an aircraft hangar with none of the charm, where she sat with her back to the room as though that would make her less noticeable.
Beneath her chatter, she castigated herself. She
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