The Summer of Sir Lancelot (20 page)

‘To visit the Psychological Society Library, no doubt,‘ suggested Sir Lancelot shortly.

‘This morning he seemed a changed man.‘ Tim got up and started pacing about with his hands in his pockets. ‘Apparently, the drug firm which wanted to take him over has gone half bust, or something. Anyway the danger‘s past. Instead of a consultation he asked us to a celebration dinner at his flat.‘ Tim kicked the dirty-dressing bin. ‘This afternoon I sent Effie a letter through her pal, Nurse James. It was Nurse James who showed up in the courtyard just now with this cancelled-pass story. I smelt a rat.‘ He took another kick. The whole tale came out,‘ he continued miserably. ‘There‘s someone else. There‘ve been little notes, telephone messages, bunches of flowers, and all that. She‘s been out with him several times already. He‘s got a white Jag,‘ he ended in despair.

Sir Lancelot tugged his beard.

‘She slipped out through your window to avoid running into me,‘ Tim added weakly.

‘As much as I sympathize with your predicament,‘ the surgeon remarked after a pause, ‘you can hardly expect me to give such matters attention when I am to suffer a major operation in about twelve hours‘ time.‘

‘Don‘t bother to think about it.‘ Tim opened the door. The girl means absolutely nothing to me any longer. This white Jag bloke will make her a much more useful husband. He must be filthily rich. As for me, the only way I could manage that evening in the nightclub was by pawning the gold medal.‘

‘Gold medal? What gold medal?‘

The one I won at St Agnes‘ for midwifery. I think I shall just go and walk the streets for a bit. With any luck I shall be run over by a bus.‘

He shut the door, leaving Sir Lancelot wondering disturbedly precisely what his niece was up to at that moment.

She was in fact roaring towards South Kensington in the white Jag with Mr Perry Quest.

‘Well, well, Nursie,‘ said Mr Quest, narrowly missing a couple of trustful citizens on a zebra. ‘You certainly do me good every time I set eyes on you.‘

‘Sorry I was so crashingly late,‘ returned Euphemia calmly. The surgeon kept me in the operating theatre. I was in charge of the blood. It was a matter of life and death.‘

‘Ugh!‘ Mr Quest‘s good-looking face creased. ‘You, Nursie darling, are the only piece of hospital I want to see again in my life.‘

‘But just think, Perry, if it hadn‘t been for your appendix we‘d never have met.‘

‘ “Query appendix”, my love, I insist. At least they released me to the land of the living after a couple of days. It was just too much champagne at Sue Gresham‘s party, I suppose.‘

‘You mean Susan Gresham the film-star?‘ Euphemia‘s bronze-ringed eyes widened. ‘You actually know her?‘

‘But of course,‘ murmured Mr Quest, stroking his little moustache and crossing a yellow traffic light.

Euphemia had known Mr Quest only a fortnight.

‘Nurse Spratt,‘ Sister Virtue had greeted her coming on duty one morning, ‘go to that new man in Number Six and tidy the disgusting mess on his locker.‘

‘Yes, Sister.‘

‘And Nurse Spratt, tell him I will not countenance squalor in my ward.‘

‘Yes, Sister.‘

Euphemia straightened the soap and toothbrush without taking much notice of the patient. Neither did he take much notice of her. That morning Mr Quest wasn‘t taking much notice of anybody. He was too scared.

Euphemia idly picked up his case-notes. The board suddenly shook so violently she nearly broke the thermometer she was waiting to slip under Mr Quest‘s tongue. The bib of her apron heaved. She had read the simple words, ‘Occupation: Managing Director, Quest Model Agency.‘

Simon appeared in the ward later that morning and decided there was no need to operate. Mr Quest sat up in bed in orange silk pyjamas, feeling much better. Before long he was being observed keenly by the nursing staff, and vice versa. Euphemia inspected him behind screens, round transfusion stands, and across bed-cradles with particular interest. By the time she‘d held his pulse for four and a half minutes that evening, she felt she was drawing away from the field.

The next morning was Sister Virtue‘s day off. She spent it quietly with her cousin who ran a riding stable in Epping.

‘Anne,‘ whispered Euphemia urgently over the breakfast bread-and-butter in the ward kitchen, ‘will you let me do Number Six‘s back this morning? He‘s being discharged this afternoon.‘

Nurse Anne James looked doubtful. She sometimes felt her dear friend Effie Spratt pushed her about just the teeniest bit.

‘He‘s my patient,‘ she returned possessively.

‘Oh, come on! Be a sport. It‘s absolutely vital, honestly.‘

‘The Staff Nurse will notice it.‘

‘Of course she won‘t. She never notices anything. Look, I‘ll give you my new pair of fifteen denier Christian Diors.‘

‘Oh, all right,‘ succumbed Nurse James.

‘Mr Quest,‘ began Euphemia, drawing screens feverishly round his bed an hour later, ‘I‘ve come to do your back.‘

‘But what‘s the rush, Nursie?‘ Mr Quest tossed aside his
Vogue.
‘I rather hoped you‘d take your time, then we could have a nice little chat.‘

‘Did you?‘ responded Euphemia eagerly.

‘Particularly
as it‘s you, Nursie,‘ purred Mr Quest.

‘Mr Quest,‘ she burst out, ‘I - I‘ve got something I really must tell you.‘ She started to rub the small of his back vigorously with surgical spirit.

He looked surprised. ‘Go on?‘

‘It‘s — it‘s a fabulous secret.‘

‘You don‘t look old enough to have any, Nursie.‘ Mr Quest began to look extremely interested.

‘Do you know why I‘m a nurse?‘

‘Because you want to succour the sick and dying.‘

‘No.‘ Euphemia shook her head. ‘I utterly hate nursing. I only took it up so my parents in Singapore would send me to England. I — I want to be a model, Mr Quest.‘

Mr Quest, lying on his side, reached for a cigarette from his locker and lit it.

‘I‘m sure I‘d be ever so good at it, Mr Quest. Ail my friends say so. I‘ve done modelling at home in Singapore — the golf club dance posters, you know. I‘ve got a lovely figure,‘ she assured him.

‘So I see, even in those bell-tents they make you wear.‘ Mr Quest rolled on his back and inspected her through half-closed eyes. ‘The right-shaped face, too... h‘m... yes, Nursie dear, you might have quite a future there.‘

‘Do you think so, Mr Quest?‘ she asked breathlessly. ‘Could you give me an audition, or whatever it is, at your office? I could get away somehow any afternoon.‘

‘These things aren‘t done quite so formally, you know.‘ He flicked his cigarette into the fish-paste jar issued as an ashtray. ‘We do so like to keep the business side as undreary as possible. Why don‘t we meet for a quiet drink to discuss the whole project, once I‘m out of this charnel house?‘

Euphemia bit her lip.

‘That‘s the usual practice,‘ murmured Mr Quest off-handedly, flicking into the fish-paste jar again.

‘Yes, I‘d love to,‘ Euphemia decided quickly. ‘When?‘

After all, once she was on the cover of every magazine in London and asked to the Asquith every night by film-stars, Uncle Lancelot could hardly stop her from marrying Tim. Then he could give up that awful job in Edinburgh and they‘d live in a delightful flat overlooking the Park and have lots of wonderful friends. That drink with Mr Quest, she told herself, would be the same as her preliminary interview with the Matron. She bought the gold dress and a novel about models and decided she would have to be more sophisticated.

After the drink, Mr Quest suggested dinner, explaining it was a long job picking a really successful model — ‘it‘s the personality
inside
the face, not outside, Nursie dear,‘ he informed her, several times. A couple of nights later he took her to dinner again. Each time, the white Jag brought her back to the hospital prompt at ten. Mr Quest was the perfect gentleman.

‘Well, here we are, Nursie,‘ Mr Quest now explained, drawing up the Jag shortly after Euphemia‘s escape through Sir Lancelot‘s window. ‘My flat‘s on the top floor of the block.‘ He gave her a playful pat on the knee. ‘But don‘t worry, there‘s a lift.‘

‘I hope we haven‘t kept the others waiting,‘ she remarked worriedly, as he helped her from the car.

‘No, I don‘t think so,‘ Mr Quest assured her.

As they rose in the satin-lined lift Mr Quest explained, ‘Larry my photographer may be a few minutes late. Now I come to think of it, I sent him out for some shots w ith a couple of my girls by the river.‘

‘But Mr Collins and Mr McKnight and Mr Wade will be coming to see me photographed?‘ Euphemia added anxiously.

‘Sure enough, Nursie dear. They‘ll probably be waiting already - I told Jim Collins on the phone to go straight in and mix themselves some drinks. Though on the other hand,‘ he added, producing his key as the lift stopped, ‘they may be a little delayed too. After all,‘ he laughed, ‘Collins, McKnight, and Wade are a busy agency. They make even my outfit seem feed for pretty small chickens.‘

Mr Quest nevertheless confessed himself pained that none of the other four gentlemen had yet shown up.

‘What a pity!‘ Euphemia looked disappointed. ‘But I expect they won‘t be long.‘

Mr Quest answered with a pleasant little laugh.

‘What a nice flat,‘ she told him politely.

‘You like it? I‘m so glad. Try the sofa, Nursie darling. It‘s most comfortable. And we might as well have a little drink?‘

‘Yes, I‘ll have a screwdriver,‘ returned Euphemia, remembering the sophistication.

‘Anything you say,‘ agreed Mr Quest warmly. ‘Cigarette?‘

‘I‘m corpsing for one.‘

‘The sun‘s rather bright in here,‘ he continued, returning from his kitchen with the drinks. ‘Do you think I might draw the curtains a little?‘

‘Yes, sun is utterly vulgar, isn‘t it?‘

She sipped her screwdriver, which she was sorry to find turned out something nasty in orange juice.

‘Perhaps a little soft music?‘ suggested Mr Quest, anxious to give his guest every comfort.

‘That would be dreamy.‘

‘Ellington, do you think? Or the darling Ella? No, something with lots of strings,‘ he decided, starting the record-player. ‘Like it? Rather romantic. In fact, quite sexy. I suppose like all nurses you have very broadminded views on sex?‘

‘Of course,‘ said Euphemia.

‘I think I‘ll slip off this heavy jacket,‘ he announced. ‘It‘s getting rather warm in here.‘

Mr Quest reappeared from the bedroom in a polka-dot dressing gown and slippers. He picked up his drink and sat on the sofa beside her.

‘Well, well,‘ he said brightly.

Euphemia smiled.

‘You know,‘ he went on, switching his voice into the lower gears, ‘you are the most ravishing girl I have ever set eyes on.‘

‘Oh — thank you,‘ she told him courteously.

‘You have an effect on me which I find utterly overpowering.‘

‘Really?‘ asked Euphemia.

‘My darling! You can‘t imagine how I‘ve panted for days at the thought you might soon let me see you alone.‘

‘But we‘re not alone,‘ Euphemia pointed out. ‘I mean, the others are coming.‘

Mr Quest gave a grin. ‘Yes, it is rather stupid, isn‘t it, how we cling to these little conventions?
I
knew we‘d be just together, and
you,
my angel, knew we‘d be just together, and
I
knew that's how
you
knew that
I
knew — ‘

Euphemia spilt her screwdriver. ‘But I didn‘t know!‘

‘Oh, come, darling,‘ laughed Mr Quest. ‘You‘re a big girl now. Still, what‘s the difference? We love each other.‘

‘But we don‘t love each other!‘ Euphemia jumped up. ‘At least, I don‘t.‘

‘You don‘t love me?‘ Mr Quest looked slightly shocked. ‘Then why did you agree to come up to my flat?‘

‘But I didn‘t — I mean, I wasn‘t — oh dear! I want to go home!‘ cried Euphemia.

‘You angel cake!‘ laughed Mr Quest, moving into the tackle. ‘You‘re a terrible little tease.‘

‘Let me go! Take your hands off me! Mind my dress!‘

‘You luscious little love apple,‘ declared Mr Quest, getting all excited. ‘Go away, you beast!‘ Euphemia leapt over the sofa.
‘No,
I tell you! It‘s all a terrible mis — oh, my dress, my dress!‘

‘What a romp!‘ cried Mr Quest leaping after her joyfully. ‘How I love it! But now let‘s be friends and both go quietly into the — ‘

He may, of course, have been meaning to finish with ‘rights and wrongs of the matter‘, but Euphemia never found out because she hit him over the head with the standard lamp.

‘Oh!‘ she gasped, ‘I‘ve killed him!‘ She stared in horror at the victim. ‘What on earth will LJncle Lancelot say now?‘ was the first thing she asked herself.

Uncle Lancelot was at that moment being tucked in by the redheaded nurse.