THE vast waiting-room, despite the cheerful yellow paint on its Victorian walls, its bright posters and even a picture or two, its small counter for tea and coffee and the playthings all scattered around, was still a depressing place. It was also a noisy one, its benches filled by mothers, babies and toddlers awaiting their turn to be seen by the consultant paediatrician. From time to time a name would be called by a plump middle-aged sister and another small patient with an evidently anxious mother would be borne away while those who were waiting rearranged themselves hopefully.
The dark, wet day of early February was already dwindling into dusk, although it was barely four oâclock. The waiting-room was damp and chilly despite the heating, and as the rows of patients gradually lessened it seemed to become even chillier.
Presently there was only one patient left, a small fair-haired toddler, asleep curled up in the arms of the girl who held her. A pretty girl with a tip-tilted nose, a gentle mouth and large green eyes. Her abundant pale brown hair was scraped back fiercely into a top knot and she looked tired. She watched the two registrars who had been dealing with the less urgent cases come from their offices and walk away, and thought longingly of her tea. If this specialist didnât get a move on, she reflected, the child she was holding would wake and demand hers.
A door opened and the sister came through. âIâm sorry, dear, that youâve had to wait for so long; Dr Thurloe got held up. Heâll see you now.â
The girl got up and went past her into the room beyond, hesitating inside the door. The man sitting at the desk glanced up and got to his feet, a large man and tall, with fair hair heavily sprinkled with silver and the kind of good looks to make any woman look at him twice, with a commanding nose, a wide, firm mouth and heavily lidded eyes. He smiled at her now. âDo sit downââ his voice was slow and deep ââI am so sorry that youâve had to wait for such a long time.â He sat down again and picked up the notes and doctorâs letter before him; halfway through he glanced up. âYou arenât this little girlâs mother?â
She had been waiting and watching him, aware of a peculiar sensation in her insides.
âMe? Oh, no. I work at the orphanage. Mirandaâs not very easy, but I mostly look after her; sheâs a darling, but she does getâwell, disturbed.â
He nodded and went on reading, and she stared at his downbent head. She had frequently wondered what it would be like to fall in love, but she had never imagined that it would be quite like thisâand could one fall in love with someone at first glance? Heroines in romantic novels often did, but a romantic novel was one thing, real life was something quite different, or so she had always thought. He looked up and smiled at her and her heart turned overâperhaps after all real life wasnât all that different from a romantic novel. She smiled with delight and his eyebrows rose and his glance became questioning, but since she said nothingâshe was too short of breath to do thatâhe sat back in his chair. âWell, now, shall we see what can be done for Miranda, Miss â¦?â
âLockittâLucy Lockitt.â
His firm mouth quivered. ââLost her pocket, Kitty Fisher found it â¦ââ
âEveryone says that,â she told him seriously.
âTiresome for you, but I suppose we all learnt nursery rhymes when we were small.â With an abrupt change of manner he went on, âIf you could put her on to the couch, Iâll take a look.â
Lucy laid the still sleeping child down and the doctor came over to the couch and stood looking down at her. âI wonder why nothing was done when hydrocephalus was first diagnosed. I see in her notes that her skull was abnormally enlarged at birth. You donât happen to know why her notes are so sparse?â
âTheyâve been lostâthat is, Matron thinks so. You see, she was abandoned when she was a few weeks old, no one knows who her parents are; they left her with the landlady of the rooms they were living in. They left some money too, so I suppose she didnât bother to see a doctorâperhaps she didnât know that Miranda wasnât quite normal. A week or two ago the landlady had to go to hospital and Miranda was taken in by neighbours who thought that there was something wrong, so they brought her to the orphanage and Dr Watts arranged for you to see her.â
Dr Thurloe bent over the toddler, who woke then and burst into tears. âPerhaps you could undress her?â he suggested. âWould you like Sister or one of the nurses to help you?â
âStrange faces frighten her,â said Lucy matter-of-factly, âand I can manage, thank you.â
He was very gentle, and when he had made his general examination he said in a quiet voice, âTake her on your lap, will you? I need to examine her head.â
It took a considerable time and he had to sit very close. A pity, thought Lucy, that for all he cares I could be one of the hospital chairs. It occurred to her then that he was probably married, with children of his own; he wasnât young, but he wasnât old eitherâjust right, in fact. She began to puzzle out ways and means of getting to know something about him, so deeply engrossed that he had to ask her twice if she was a nurse.