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'Forty years of marriage!' Anna's voice held a note of awe.

'More than most couples of our generation are likely to
want
to achieve. Most find the marriage state fettering; it's not for everyone. I, for instance, was glad to get out of it.' He swiped at a wasp and missed.

Pity you ever got in it, then, Anna was tempted to retort, and what about his wife? Had she felt fettered, or had she been left desperately and frantically wondering where she'd gone wrong? She felt angered by his attitude, his
male
attitude. No wonder his marriage had failed. 'Have some more coffee,' he was asking her, and she felt that he was closing the door on further talk about marriage, and a good thing too.

'Thank you, but no.' She half rose. 'I ought to be getting back.'

'Of course, and I'll take you...' he unrolled himself, and stood up beside her '.. .but first let me show you my consulting-rooms; I'd like your view of them.'

Best-quality flannel, she thought, still feeling ruffled on behalf of all womankind. Still, she couldn't be rude to him here in his own house, and he couldn't have known that his comments on marriage were such a sore point with her.

His rooms were attractive, airy and light, even welcoming. There was nothing dark and looming and gloomy, not even in the examination area with its couch and trolley and glass-fronted cabinets. The pictures on the walls were of country scenes; there were vertical blinds at the windows. In the secretary's office a fuschia in a pot graced one of the sills. There was a word processor too, Anna noticed, as well as a fax and a copier. 'Does your secretary work full time?' she asked, going over to look at the plant.

'In hours, yes. She works six half-days, sometimes a little more. I see patients in the early evening and on Saturdays; I need her to chaperon then.'

'Do you ever have to cancel appointments—I mean because of the hospital, if there's an emergency admission?' She walked back to his side.

'Occasionally, yes, but not often. Bill Corby's a tower of strength, but if it does happen Miss Benson has to do what she can to stop a patient arriving or placate them if they're here. She was a theatre sister at the Regent, you know, till she had a skiing accident about ten years ago and injured her back, which put paid to a standing job. She's close on sixty now, but doesn't want to retire.'

A mature nurse/secretary. Anna took this in, a curious feeling of light-hearted relief taking hold of her. She commented again, almost fulsomely, on the pleasantness of the rooms as Simon held the door wide and she passed through to the landing and stairs.

'They weren't like this when I took over,' he was saying, but got no further for, before his eyes and without warning, Anna was crashing down on the floor, whilst a yelping, hysterical Buzz went streaking down the stairs.
'Anna
...
Anna!' Simon swooped to lift her up but she was already scrambling to her knees, and managed— without his help—to get to her feet, breathless and shaken, pushing her hair off her face.

'Buzz... I fell over
him...
Is he all right?'

'Never mind about Buzz. Are
you
all right?' He held her upright, his hands on her upper arms.

'I'm fine, just fine.' And now she could laugh. 'Good thing you've got a soft floor!'

'What a fright you gave me, "disappearing'' like that!' He sounded as shaken as she. He was still holding her arms, but differently, his hands moving up her shoulders and inwards to her neck under her bell of hair.

His touch was mesmeric, spellbinding, magic. She stared at the blue of his shirt, at the curve of his throat rising out of it, at his jaw and the curve on his mouth which was bending to hers and speaking her name softly, like a breeze. 'Enchanting Anna,' she heard him whisper.

Buzz came back, eyed Anna with suspicion and made his way over to Simon, who told him he was lucky that it wasn't Amy Benson he'd sabotaged. 'She hasn't got fall-resistant bones, nor a very forgiving nature!'

'I'm not so sure that / have,' Anna laughed, pointing out that if she didn't leave at once and make tracks for home, she'd be hauled in front of the SNO for being late on duty. 'And that, believe me, would be a far worse fate than tripping over Buzz.'

They spoke little on the short drive round to Romsey Road. Simon seemed to be deep in thought, or was probably concentrating on the Sunday traffic—which was rapidly building up. As for Anna, she was still reacting from the way she'd felt in his house—standing on the landing so close to him, his hands smoothing her arms. Never, not since Daniel, had she felt so attracted to a man; so impelled to be close; to touch and be touched; attracted enough to agree to whatever he asked.

She closed her eyes, shivering a little. She must take a good grip on herself. He was the wrong man; he was the too-charming kind, the non-staying kind. She knew all about that sort, didn't she, and what about all those resolutions she'd made to be on her guard?

As they pulled up outside The Gables she hoped that Prue wasn't about or she'd ask Simon in for certain sure, but a swift glance showed the front garden to be empty. Thank heaven for that. 'Well, here you are, all safe and sound—bar a bruise or two, perhaps.' Simon was being jocular; yet sounded anxious as well.

'Thank you for breakfast; it came just right.' Anna moved to unfasten her seat belt.

'I enjoyed your company.' His voice sounded near and, as her belt went slithering back, she felt his gaze and heard him say, 'Will you come out for a meal with me one evening when we're both free? We'd have more time then and, with the long, light evenings, we could drive out a little way.'

'Oh!' the expletive shot out of her, whilst the startled thoughts in her head assembled themselves into two opposing sides. Tell him yes, one side urged; tell him you'd love to go. Whilst the other, with an even louder voice, urged her to turn him down.

'It would be fun, Anna, and we all need a little of that in our lives,' Simon's voice intruded gently, which was when she made up her mind.

'It's kind of you, Simon, but I'd rather not.' She made herself look at him. 'You see, I think what you said the other evening about it being best to go out with folk unconnected with the hospital is very true. We need a change from day-to-day hospital faces, we both of us do.'

'Well, well!' His expression was one of surprise and stiff amusement. 'So you're making me eat my words, Sister Fellowes!'

'If you like, yes, I suppose I am,' she managed to smile at him.

'And you're right, of course.' He half turned to open the door on his side. Getting out onto the pavement, he walked round the front of the car—tall, lithe, brown-limbed,
male.
Anna's mouth went dry. He had taken her
conge
so lightly. Didn't he mind at all?

Gathering up her beach-bag, she got out of the car the second he opened the door. Standing in the roadway facing him, standing front-to-front, there was just a moment when it looked as though he might ask her again; when she might have, just might have—almost certainly
would
have—said yes to anything, but the moment passed, as moments do, and all he said as he escorted her safely to the pavement was, 'Thanks for your company,' and left.

Hearing him drive off as she let herself into the hall, hearing the car's powerful engine growing fainter and dying away, gave her an excluded, lonely feeling—like standing behind a closed door.

By the time she had got to the hospital, however, and was walking onto the ward, willowy trim in her uniform, doing her round of the patients, the morning's events—whilst not forgotten—had slipped back into second place.

Sunday afternoon on the ward was different from other days. There were more visitors, for one thing, and some brought children who, as Meg Brodie said, were a flaming nuisance, dancing all over the place.

Meg was on the ward to take clerking details of the three new patients, who were due for surgery on Tuesday. One, a young woman who was fourteen weeks' pregnant, was to undergo cervical cerclage. Her stay would be short—maybe only one night—but the two older ladies, each with troublesome fibroids, might be in till the end of the week. As always, every bed was taken and the nurses were at full stretch.

Anna was concerned about the D and C patient kept back for further surgery. She knew that Simon intended to operate during the afternoon of Monday. Miss Barton, who was forty-eight, looked after her arthritic father. She was worried about him being without her, even though the medical social worker had told her that he was having round-the-clock care.

'She thinks no one can look after him as well as herself, which is just plain daft,' Meg said, jutting her lip, and Anna couldn't help but agree.

'I just hope she won't decide to discharge herself.' She looked through the viewing window at the irresolute Angela Barton, who was talking to her elderly visitor— a schoolteacher like herself.

'I'll ask Bill to have a word with her.' Meg finished her tea. 'She's not likely to be in long, though, not more than three or four days—although I expect she'll be back for radiotherapy, depending on what Simon finds.'

In the end it was Simon who had a word with her early next morning. He found her calmer than he expected, and no longer all of a jump. She was perfectly happy, she told him, to undergo surgery but in no
way..
.no way..
.would she come back for follow-up treatment. 'You do your best for me, Mr Easter; after that I'll take pot luck. I made up my mind to that at three o'clock this morning.

'No, please don't waste your valuable time—' she smiled at him over her glasses '—trying to persuade me otherwise; it won't do a scrap of good.' And she didn't exactly wave him away but there was, nevertheless, a distinct air of dismissal about her manner and the way she spoke.

He didn't look particularly pleased, either, as they turned away from the bed. 'Well, let's just hope that the tumour hasn't spread to surrounding tissues,' he said a little grimly up at the ward desk. 'The signs are that it hasn't, which is why I'm going to do a vaginal hysterectomy and save her the pain of an abdominal wound.

'Now, while I'm here—' he glanced up at the clock '—I'll check on Mrs Tooley. We need her bed, and she's due for discharge. Can you produce her notes.. .at the double, please, Sister? Right now I ought to be downstairs, getting scrubbed up.'

'Of course.' Anna got the notes from the office. Then quickly, but not at the double, she joined him at Mrs Tooley's bedside, slipping back the single sheet that covered her so that he could examine her wound. After asking one or two questions, he authorised her discharge.

'You can go home tomorrow, Mrs Tooley,' he smiled, and sat down on her bed. 'A community nurse will call to take out your stitches at the end of the week. You'll feel a lot more comfortable then, but you must take things very gently till you return here for your outpatient's appointment in six weeks' time. Sister will make an appointment for you, and give you a card.'

'Thanks ever so, sir.' Mrs Tooley's creased little face went pink with pleasure. 'My Stan'll be pleased to 'ave me back; he's missed me, bless his 'eart.'

'We'll
miss you,' Simon said, dead on cue.

'I bet you say that to all the patients.' Mrs Tooley's eyes rested admiringly on his broad shoulders as he turned to go out of the ward. 'Good-lookin', 'ent he, like them doctors on telly? Sexy too, I'll be bound.'

'Lucky old him.'

Anna trailed in his wake but he didn't turn into the office, just raised an arm and called back to her, 'Got to be on my way!'

'Short and sweet today,' Jean Ross grinned, coming out of the linen room.

In time
and
manner, Anna thought, returning to the ward to do a last-minute check on the vulvectomy patient before the porters arrived with their trolley and theatre canvas, and poles, and their cheerful comments of, 'Soon be done now, luv' and 'We'll soon be bringing you safely back to bed'. She supposed the patients drew comfort from this, although the pre-med drug had usually done its work by then—inducing a state of languid euphoria which Was hard to penetrate.

It was Friday before Anna saw Simon again, and by then she had acquired a brand new learner nurse straight from Introductory Block. Her name was May Fenn, and she was thrilled to be on the gynae ward. 'I thought it might be male medical,' she said, 'all spewing up into cups.'

Whatever else she lacks it's certainly not confidence, Anna thought, watching her making beds with Nurse Cheng, her sturdy 'milk-bottle' legs planted wide apart in the way she'd been taught so as to safeguard her back. She believed in asking questions too, and on going to the top—which was Anna—for the answers.

'What's cervical cerclage mean?' she asked, catching Anna in the office on Friday morning when she was checking her stock of drugs.

'Well, it literally means—' Anna relocked the cupboard and pocketed the keys '—encircling the cervix with a tape suture to straighten and narrow it up. This prevents the developing foetus from dropping through too soon. In the ordinary way it wouldn't do so, but in Mrs Drew's case she had too rapid a delivery with her previous pregnancy and her cervix was traumatised. The suture will stay in until she's thirty-eight weeks, then be taken out ready for labour.'

'What a
good
idea!' May Fenn's eyes practically came out on stalks.

'Yes, I suppose you could say that.' Anna tried her hardest not to laugh.

'It's like tightening the sleeve of a sweater, isn't it?'

'An apt simile!' said a voice from the doorway. May turned round to see who it was. Anna turned 'too, but out of politeness for she knew who was there. She knew it was Simon; she would have known his voice amongst a hundred others. At a word from her, May scuttled off to help Janice with mid-morning drinks, whilst Simon, entering the office, perched on the end of the desk. 'An apt simile and a good explanation—clear and to the point.'

'Thanks.' Anna moved to shut the window against a sudden downpour of rain. This afforded her time to hide her pleasure at his praise.