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'Oh, Anna, there you are!' Prue was all smiles. 'Alex has brought me the Japanese prints, and they're exactly what I wanted... Fiendishly expensive, of course, but I couldn't beat him down.'

'I'd have Pa to answer to if I brought them down by so much as a penny piece,' Alex said with a courteous firmness, which Anna couldn't help but admire. She admired the way he looked, too—cool on this humid evening in a white cotton shirt and grey linen trousers, with his brown hair brushed smoothly back.

Smiling at her, he introduced his son, pushing him slightly forward. 'Mrs Fellowes is a sister at the hospital, Tom; it was she who looked after Imo, and got her well again.'

'She didn't like it there; she was glad to get home.' Tom's defiant voice was back. 'She has to have all her food taken upstairs—she's not better at all.'

'She'll become better in a day or two, I told you that,' Alex admonished, looking embarrassed and frowning at his son. Don't let him ask the kid to apologise, Anna found herself praying.

But if that was his intention he had no time to carry it out for Prue spoke first, putting a hand on the boy's rigid shoulder, 'Tom's an accomplished horse rider, Anna. He's showing his horse at Collingham this year, Alex has just been telling me.'

'I'm in the under-fifteens class,' Tom supplied, and as he looked up at Anna and smiled she could see the likeness to his father. He had the same vivid blue eyes, the same thin, wide mouth. 'If I pass,' he went on, 'I get a rosette;
if
I'm the best I get a
medal.' His face was
flushed; he looked childlike and eager—all his ill-temper had gone.

'Imogen Rayland taught him to ride,' Alex explained. 'She's by way of being a veteran; has been riding all her life. She goes out, now, with the riding school at Haverleigh
on occasion.'

'I've got my own horse—a pony,' Tom chattered on. 'She's called Greensleeves; she's got a proper brick stable and a paddock at home.'

'Lucky old her,' Anna smiled, backing towards the stairs. She was longing to shower and change and sit down with something to eat. 'Good luck at the show, Tom; mind you take that medal home.'

'If he does we'll frame it and hang it in the shop.' Alex pulled a face and laughed, moving down the steps with his son, closely followed by Prue. Anna could hear Tom chattering excitedly all the way down to the gate. Alex was silent and walking slowly, seemingly deep in thought.

Prue, as Anna knew, loved children and had a way with them, and a way was certainly needed with a prickly boy like Tom. Even so, he must ride to a very high standard to be competing at Collingham—the biggest and best of the southern agricultural shows. It was held every year, lasted five days and attracted exhibitors from all over England south of The Wash.

Collingham, a small market town some twelve miles north of Charding, became, for those five days, an important meeting-place for farmers, trade and professional people from all walks of life.

Years ago—ten, to be exact—Anna had been to the show herself. She had been seventeen then, and had gone with her parents when on holiday at Charding. It had been her last holiday before starting her training. Her father, she remembered, had volunteered to help with a heifer that had been overcome by the heat.

I wouldn't mind going again, she thought as, stepping out of the shower, she towelled herself, pulling on shorts and a brief bikini top. She was eating her supper by the open window when Prue banged on her door, calling to her through the letterbox, 'Anna, you're wanted on the phone!'

'Who is it?' Anna joined her on the landing.

'Alex Marriner.'

'What on earth would he want with me?' She was totally mystified.

'Well, go down then you'll find out.' Prue, a little puffed, stood aside for Anna to pass, watching her run down the two flights of carpeted stairs and snatch up the phone in the hall.

'Anna Fellowes here.'

'Oh, Anna, hello.' Alex's voice came jerkily into her ear. 'I'm so sorry to bring you down and to disturb Mrs Gatton, but I didn't know your number and of course you're not listed as yet.'

'No, I'm not... Alex, there's nothing wrong, is there?' He sounded a bit strained, she thought. Had Imogen Rayland collapsed, or fallen, or suffered a stroke?

'There's nothing wrong, no.. .nothing at all.' There was the merest pause, then he went on to ask, 'Look, I've no idea if this will appeal to you, but Tom and I and Imogen wondered if you'd come to the show with us on Saturday week. That is, of course, if your duty times fit. I expect you sometimes work at weekends.'

Anna was too surprised to say anything for a second; this was the last thing she'd expected. For one thing she didn't think Tom and she had exactly hit it off, and for another she scarcely knew Alex—or Miss Rayland, for that matter. 'It's a very kind thought,' she said hesitatingly, knowing that she was stalling, whilst from the other end she heard Alex say in rather more assured tones:

'Well, think it over; there's no need to let us know at once. We'll be going anyway, starting at ten o'clock and making a day of it.'

'As a matter of fact...' Anna made up her mind with a suddenness that surprised her '.. .as a matter of fact I'd love to come. I've not been to Collingham for years, and Saturday week is perfect because that's when I shall be off.. .off duty, I mean. I do alternate weekends, so thank you very much!'

'Good, that's marvellous,' Alex enthused. 'Four is a better number than three and, quite apart from that, Tom and Imogen will be mainly concerned with the equine side of things. You and I can spread ourselves and do a tour of the show. There's so much to see, but I expect you know that. Now, if you'll give me your number...' his voice faded as he reached for a pad '...I'll ring you nearer the time and confirm when we'll be picking you up.'

'Yes, OK, fine.' Anna relayed her number, then put down the phone, still feeling surprised and, yes, flattered for it would be fun to go out. This would be her first date since coming here, and only a few minutes ago hadn't she been thinking how much she'd like to go to the Collingham Show?

Prue called her into her sitting-room to show her the two Japanese prints that Alex had bid for at auction, and she made no bones about asking Anna why he had telephoned. When she heard why, she looked pleased. 'You'll enjoy yourself,' she said, but made no further comment, seeming far more interested on deciding where to hang her prints to get the best effect.

Back in her flat Anna reflected that in going to the show with Alex and Tom, and Imogen Rayland, she would be doing precisely what Simon had advised— socialising with people who had nothing at all to do with hospital life.

Next day she saw him in full regalia, heading a teaching round. She and Jean had warning of this soon after the hand-over session, and immediately after breakfast they were busy getting case-notes and X-rays in order, getting charts made up to date, ensuring that the results of laboratory investigations were attached to mount sheets and assembling any equipment which might be needed during the round.

In the middle of all this Miss Fotheringay's niece arrived and asked to see Anna, Mrs Johnson's young husband came to take his wife home, and three middle-aged patients admitted for dilatation and curettage were admitted and shown to their beds. They were due, Anna knew, to be 'prepped' in turn and would go off to Theatres, starting at half-past nine. 'Bill will be operating,' Meg told her, 'and I will be assisting.'

At three minutes past ten exactly Simon appeared in the office doorway, six young medics—two males and four females—ranged behind him.

And no one, but no one, Anna thought, wishing them all good morning, could take him for other than a senior consultant—not simply because he wasn't wearing a white coat but because in any garb he would exude a presence, a manner and bearing.. .all this, aside from his charm.

He was approachable too, and informative; he wasn't the sort to make students squirm for the hell of it, nor be lofty with ward sisters, as some of the senior doctors were.

At his request she outlined each patient's case history for the benefit of the students and, as they proceeded from bed to bed, they were invited to ask questions and in some cases—with the patient's permission—carry out routine checks under Simon's vigilant eye. The more seriously ill patients weren't disturbed, their conditions being discussed well away from the bedsides—up at the nurses' station.

Mrs Tooley was perfectly happy to tell them all they wanted to know. 'You can 'ave a butcher's at whatever you want, not that there's much to see. I've 'ad
everything taken away, you see, but they tell me it's all for the best.'

'You'll be a new woman, Mrs Tooley.' Simon watched Anna cover her up.

Karen Miller, now safely pregnant, minded nothing at all but that fact, and she knitted industriously all the time her operative details were discussed. At the end of it she thanked Simon again for what he had done, promising him
and
Anna a slice of christening cake.

The round proceeded slowly and by the time it was over, and the students had dispersed to the medical school, it was time for ward lunches. Simon was in the office with Anna, signing prescriptions, when his bleeper made its plaintive squeaking. As he reached for the phone she heard his curt, 'Easter here,' ;after which there was a second of silence before he snapped out, 'OK, coming now.' He slammed down the phone and muttered, 'Acute abdomen.. .A and E,' as he strode up the corridor.

'I was just bringing this.' Rosina, the domestic, appeared with two cups of coffee. 'Sister Hilton always gave Mr Easter coffee.' She looked reproachfully at Anna, as though it was all her fault that he'd gone rushing off.

'No matter—' Anna took the tray from her '—I can drink both cups. With the amount of talking I've done this morning I'm as dry as a husk.'

'I expect you mean dehydrated,' said Rosina, who fancied herself as a nurse.

The luncheon trolley was trundled into the ward before Anna had finished her coffee. She and Janice Hall served out the food—salads for those who were extra health-conscious, cottage pie for those who were not. There was only one
Nil By Mouth
sign this morning—over the bed of Miss Ida Drew, who was to have a cone biopsy later that afternoon.

The three D and C ladies, back from Theatres, were still half-asleep. Anna gave orders that they were not to be roused; they could have something later on.

Once the last portion of raspberry jelly and ice-cream had been handed out she went up to her own lunch, returning to find Meg in the office with details about the A and E admission.

'It was an ectopic gestation. Simon decided to have her prepped in Cas and taken straight up to Theatres. She presented with generalised abdominal pain and signs of internal bleeding. She's a Mrs Cotton, she's twenty-eight, and all I've got so far are her GP's letter and cross-matching details. She'll be on transfusion so best have her in the main ward, don't you think? Miss Rayland's bed would be ideal, being next to the nurses' station.'

'It's the only one free,' Anna said, 'till the D and C patients go home. There are three
admissions for
Sunday, too.' She was looking at the list.

'Aye, it never stops, does it?' Meg went into the ward to see Mrs Tooley and Mrs Jacobs, the fibroidectomy.

Fay
Cotton,
having been stabilised in Recovery, was brought up to the ward at a little before four o'clock when teas were being served and most of the visitors were leaving, carefully replacing chairs and stools under the central table and staring' at the stretcher trolley as it was wheeled up the ward.

Anna supervised Fay's transference to the bed, and bent to speak to her. 'You're in the ward now, Mrs Cotton. I'm Sister Fellowes. I and my nurses are here to look after you; just relax now and sleep.'

Fay tried to smile. She had green-hazel eyes which opened wide for a second, the pallor of her skin accentuating the freckles over her nose. A transfusion line ran into her left arm, whilst on her right one above the elbow was a sphyg. cuff, deflated and unconnected, to allow her blood pressure to be checked at intervals without disturbing her.

Observing the level of the blood bottle and checking the flow rate, Anna left Jean in charge and half an hour later went off duty, still thinking about the young woman who, without surgical intervention, would most certainly have died and might still do so. She did her level best to put that pale, freckled face out of her mind, without much success.

It was all very well for nurses to be indoctrinated with the concept of being detached but sometimes this was difficult to follow, and possibly even Simon found it to be so for next morning Anna was told that he had paid a midnight visit to Fay, just to make sure that she was all right. He had discontinued the transfusion, and a blood specimen had been sent to the labs who reported that her h.b. was up to 12 g per 100 ml.

'Brilliant!' Anna said to Meg when she came to do her round, 'I mean, when you think what she was like yesterday.'

'It's the surgeon who's brilliant.' Meg handed the lab report back to Anna for mounting in the notes.

By the time Simon came up to the ward, during the late afternoon, Fay was well enough to ask him herself exactly what had been done. 'Oh, I know I shall be all right,' she said. 'Sister's assured me of that, but will the operation I've had affect my chances of having a family later on? I didn't so much as
suspect
I was pregnant this time round—I simply thought my curse had stopped because I was run down. Then, when the pain started and I felt so grim, I was sure it was appendicitis.'

'The symptoms and pain are similar, Mrs Cotton—' Simon was taking her pulse '—and, in answer to your query, I can see no reason why you shouldn't have a family later on. What happened this time was that your egg embedded itself in your left-hand tube, instead of sailing on to your uterus and making its home there. As it grew the tube ruptured, causing much bleeding, so I had to go ahead and remove it—there was simply nothing else to be done.