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Authors: Mary Renault
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yawn intruded. “Oh, darling, and you’ve got to work all to-morrow. Go to sleep for a little while. I’ll wake you up; I promise I will.”
“No.” He shook himself awake. “I must leave at once. I’m expecting a case.”
“What sort of case?”
“A woman having a baby.”
“Oh.” She let go of him. “I wish you’d told me.”
“It’s all right,” he said, made ashamed by her concern. “It may not be for days yet, and there’s a good nurse in the house.”
“I shouldn’t have kept you.”
“Don’t worry. If it were really urgent, my—some one would have rung for me here. I always scribble down the address before I start on a night call.” He had been meditating on this for the last few minutes; but Christie seemed consoled.
“Come here, darling, and I’ll see to your tie.”
“Thanks; but I expect, really, I can do it better myself.” He pulled at it, rather awkwardly; the necessity for having kept on most of his clothes made him feel a little self-conscious and boorish.
“Sweet, that’s worse than ever. Let me a minute. Don’t look so nervous; I’m very good at ties.”
She was: Kit got up and put on his coat, surprised to discover how angry it made him. “Can I borrow your brush?” he asked.
“Of course. Anything. You can’t see over there, give it to me.”
It was backed with painted wood, pale green with a pattern of tiny flowers; a cheap, pretty thing. She brushed his hair back, stroked it down with her hands and kissed him. The brush she dropped, with a matter-of-fact air of dismissal, on the floor. Kit picked it up and put it back in its place.
“Don’t get up,” he said. “I can let myself out.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at her. He had not known, till the moment came, how hard it would be to leave her. She took his hand in both hers, and held it against her cheek.
“You’ll feel all different in the morning. Next time we meet we’ll pretend it never happened.”
“Next time we meet,” he said, “we shall probably have to. But I’m glad it did happen and I always shall be.”
“You must go.” She moved her cheekbone softly in the hollow of his hand.
He made a movement to rise, then slipped to his knees and put his face beside hers on the pillow. “I shall miss you,” he said, afraid of the sudden knowledge of it.
“I’ll think about you,” she said in her warm comforting voice. “I promise I’ll be thinking of you and loving you, darling. Always I will.”
The wind rattled the rain-beaten casement impatiently behind him. He pressed his face into the spread of her hair, and did not contradict her.
CHAPTER 5
“I CAN’T TELL YOU how relieved I was,” said the nurse, “when I heard your car stop. Fancy your noticing the light and remembering which house it was. Those few minutes just made all the difference. I hardly dared leave her, even to phone. And having your bag with you and everything.”
“I happened to be passing this way,” said Kit, scrubbing his nails, “from another case. The bag was luck, really. Brought it out by mistake and couldn’t be bothered to take it in again.”
The maternity nurse handed him a clean towel, her plain face warm with appreciation and the solid friendship of those who have shared a skilled and strenuous job. The first crying of an infant sounded, thin, indignant and lonely, from across the landing.
“You can’t have been in bed at all to-night,” said the nurse with sympathy. She had only had an hour herself.
“Not to sleep.” Still enclosed in the concentration of the last few hours, he meant simply that he had been awake when the first call came.
The wind veered, and above the noise of water gurgling out of the bathroom basin came the sudden drumming of rain. Kit was still for a moment, with the towel held to the wrist he had been drying; then looked away quickly from the nurse’s pleased, tired eyes and matter-of-fact smile.
“Yes,” he said slowly after a moment,
“No.” He shook himself awake. “I must leave at once. I’m expecting a case.”
“What sort of case?”
“A woman having a baby.”
“Oh.” She let go of him. “I wish you’d told me.”
“It’s all right,” he said, made ashamed by her concern. “It may not be for days yet, and there’s a good nurse in the house.”
“I shouldn’t have kept you.”
“Don’t worry. If it were really urgent, my—some one would have rung for me here. I always scribble down the address before I start on a night call.” He had been meditating on this for the last few minutes; but Christie seemed consoled.
“Come here, darling, and I’ll see to your tie.”
“Thanks; but I expect, really, I can do it better myself.” He pulled at it, rather awkwardly; the necessity for having kept on most of his clothes made him feel a little self-conscious and boorish.
“Sweet, that’s worse than ever. Let me a minute. Don’t look so nervous; I’m very good at ties.”
She was: Kit got up and put on his coat, surprised to discover how angry it made him. “Can I borrow your brush?” he asked.
“Of course. Anything. You can’t see over there, give it to me.”
It was backed with painted wood, pale green with a pattern of tiny flowers; a cheap, pretty thing. She brushed his hair back, stroked it down with her hands and kissed him. The brush she dropped, with a matter-of-fact air of dismissal, on the floor. Kit picked it up and put it back in its place.
“Don’t get up,” he said. “I can let myself out.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at her. He had not known, till the moment came, how hard it would be to leave her. She took his hand in both hers, and held it against her cheek.
“You’ll feel all different in the morning. Next time we meet we’ll pretend it never happened.”
“Next time we meet,” he said, “we shall probably have to. But I’m glad it did happen and I always shall be.”
“You must go.” She moved her cheekbone softly in the hollow of his hand.
He made a movement to rise, then slipped to his knees and put his face beside hers on the pillow. “I shall miss you,” he said, afraid of the sudden knowledge of it.
“I’ll think about you,” she said in her warm comforting voice. “I promise I’ll be thinking of you and loving you, darling. Always I will.”
The wind rattled the rain-beaten casement impatiently behind him. He pressed his face into the spread of her hair, and did not contradict her.
CHAPTER 5
“I CAN’T TELL YOU how relieved I was,” said the nurse, “when I heard your car stop. Fancy your noticing the light and remembering which house it was. Those few minutes just made all the difference. I hardly dared leave her, even to phone. And having your bag with you and everything.”
“I happened to be passing this way,” said Kit, scrubbing his nails, “from another case. The bag was luck, really. Brought it out by mistake and couldn’t be bothered to take it in again.”
The maternity nurse handed him a clean towel, her plain face warm with appreciation and the solid friendship of those who have shared a skilled and strenuous job. The first crying of an infant sounded, thin, indignant and lonely, from across the landing.
“You can’t have been in bed at all to-night,” said the nurse with sympathy. She had only had an hour herself.
“Not to sleep.” Still enclosed in the concentration of the last few hours, he meant simply that he had been awake when the first call came.
The wind veered, and above the noise of water gurgling out of the bathroom basin came the sudden drumming of rain. Kit was still for a moment, with the towel held to the wrist he had been drying; then looked away quickly from the nurse’s pleased, tired eyes and matter-of-fact smile.
“Yes,” he said slowly after a moment,
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