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'It was my choice,' Anna told him, backing into the office. 'I wanted a ward manager's post
and
to live in Sussex. My husband died two years ago, so I'd only myself to please.'

'Oh, I see; I didn't realise.' His eyes were on her wedding ring, visible on the hand that held the green folder of notes. 'It's not always the happiest of situations when we have only ourselves to please,' he said, reinforcing what Anna had realised over the past two years.

'It's like having too much rope,' she admitted. 'There are times when you don't know what to do with all of it—at least, not for the best.'

'Well, let's hope that life at the Regent will take up some of the slack,' he said, looking up towards the end of the corridor where one of the lifts was disgorging its first load of visitors, filling the landing outside. 'I'm off before I get caught up in that lot!' He smiled at her and was off, striding up the corridor straight and tall and with such an air of purpose that he all but cut a swathe through the incoming crowd.

He's the kind of man for whom everyone stands aside, Anna thought, leaving the door of the office ajar in case any of the visitors wanted to see her, and within minutes one of them did. He was a Mr Alex Marriner and he had come, Anna knew, to see his housekeeper, Miss Rayland, who had undergone surgery for stress incontinence.

In fact, Anna had already met Alex last week when she had first arrived in Charding. She had gone to his very prestigious shop—Marriners' Antiques, owned by him and his father—to buy a gift for Prue. Alex had taken pains to advise her, as had his father, the result being that she had gone home with a small porcelain jug which both father and son—who knew her grandmother—assured her she would love.

He looked, Anna noticed, a shade ill at ease this afternoon, but then lone men often did when up on the gynae floor. She thought it was good of him to visit, especially as Miss Rayland would most likely be discharged next day and under his roof once more.

'We shan't allow her to do a thing, of course,' he said, when Anna had explained—without giving any medical details—how his housekeeper was. 'We've got a "daily" coming in for a time, and neither my father nor I, nor young Tom for that matter, are helpless domestically.'

'I know she's looking forward to being with you again,' Anna told him with truth, for Imogen Rayland hadn't taken kindly to hospital routine.

A frown drew vertical lines on Alex Marriner's brow. He had a high forehead, accentuated by the brushed-back style of his hair. He was a widower—Prue had told Anna this—and had lost his wife in an accident when his son, Tom, was only five years old. He and Tom—now nearly nine—and his father, Charles Marriner, lived in a rambling old stone-built house a few miles out of town.

Anna watched him saunter into the ward, squaring himself to the task but quickening his pace when, from bed number twelve, Miss Rayland raised her hand. He was an attractive man in a mature, laid-back kind of way. Nothing much would ruffle him. Anna could imagine him bidding coolly at auction sales, and never getting fazed.

It's surprising he's not married again, passed through her mind just as Ruth came in with a box of chocolates, which she dumped down on the desk. 'I'm still collecting goodbye gifts,' she said, making out that she couldn't care less, but it was obvious that she was pleased.

'Good for you,' Anna said warmly, their little clash of wills not forgotten but brushed out of sight as they exchanged wary smiles. Anna knew that Ruth had had her formal presentation party; she also knew that the nurses had organised another, less formal, affair for later on this afternoon up here on the ward.

She, Anna, wasn't staying for it; she felt it was tactful to make herself scarce on such an occasion so, as soon as her shift ended at a little after four-thirty, she wished Ruth well and left.

Outside in the slanting sunshine that paled her hair to gilt, she got right to the car park before she remembered that she'd travelled in by bus that morning, having lent her car to Prue. 'Oh, damn!' she swore out loud. It was all very well getting the bus at the start of the day when you were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but quite another to queue for it in the evening when you were tired and fit to drop.

Still, it wouldn't kill her, she supposed, and she began to cut diagonally across the tarmac to reach the exit gates. She was looking at the gates and not at the cars, and as she reached the doctors' bay she was all but knocked flying by a cream BMW, backing out of the parking line.

'Do you usually stroll about on a car park as though it's a country lane?' was barked at her from the rolled-down window, and for the second time that day Consultant Simon Easter and the new Sister Fellowes stared at one another in a state of semi-shock.

'No, of course not.' Anna found her voice. 'I came for my car and found it wasn't here.' She picked up her bag, which had slithered off her shoulder, and backed out of his way.

'Do you mean it's been taken.. .stolen?' He swung his legs out of the car and stood in front of her, looming a little and blocking out the sun.

'No, nothing like that,' she said quickly. 'I just forgot I'd not brought it today. I lent it to my grandmother this morning—hers has gone in for its MOT.'

'I see.' He pursed his mouth thoughtfully, as though in sympathy, but his tone seemed to indicate that he thought her an absent-minded twit, which wasn't, she sighed, very far from the truth but she'd had a harassing day. Still shading her eyes and wishing she could shade the rest of herself off from him, she backed away, apologising for giving him such a shock.

'Evens the score!' His eyes took her in as she stood there in the sun, softly rounded, tall and slim in her purple uniform dress. He remembered the look on her face when he'd startled her in the office. It had been a panicky look, almost of fright, as though she were seeing a ghost. Yet she wasn't, he felt, the panicky sort and, with a wish to make amends and feeling curious about her too, he asked her where she lived.

'Romsey Road. There's a bus that leaves the Aquarium at five. I'd better make tracks.'

She half turned, then heard him say, 'Look, I'll run you home. I live in Andover Square, so it's on my way.. . Save you waiting around.' He leaned into his car, unlocked the passenger door then came round and opened it wide. 'In you get,' he said cheerfully, his hand on the catch.

The car's elegant cream interior filled Anna's vision. She didn't want a lift, not with him. She didn't want the chore of having to make conversation all the way to Romsey Road. There was something else too, like a sliver of warning, that kept her rooted to the tarmac— she didn't want to get to know him one fraction more than she did at this moment. She didn't want the slightest off-the-ward involvement. It was best to play safe.

'I'm relatively harmless, Sister Fellowes... Are you coming with me, or not? Perhaps you have a passion for riding on buses!' And now he was laughing at her and small wonder, for she must look ridiculous standing there all of a droop.

'A lift would be brilliant; it was just that I felt I shouldn't bother you,' she told him with a mixture of firmness and sweetness as she dipped her head under that glittering, baking-hot roof and sank down into opulence.

'So, you've a grandmother here in Charding,' he said as he eased the car through the exit gates and out onto a side street which led down to the main coast road.

'Yes, I have. I live with her,' Anna explained. 'With her and yet separately, which is the best way of all. She has one of those tall Victorian houses in Romsey Road. She lives on the ground floor and the other two floors are let off as flats. I've got the one at the top—it's completely self-contained. Having a flat to move into made all the difference in the world.'

'I expect
Mrs...
I expect your grandmother is glad of your company,' he said with his eye on the coach in front of them, which was hogging most of the road. It was the time of evening when families were coming off the beach and piers, whilst the busy road which ran eastwards to the port and beyond was awash with rush-hour traffic and the inevitable coaches.

'She's Mrs Gatton, my paternal grandmother.' They were passing the coach, rushing along by its blue and red side, then pulling in beyond it behind a car with a dinghy lashed to its roof. 'Prue, that's what I call her—' Anna felt it was safe to go on '—isn't really the sort to need my company; she's got loads of friends of her own. Her mother, my great-grandmother, lives in a home out at Morley Down. That's why Prue needed a car today— to go and visit her. She goes every Tuesday. Great-Nan is ninety-nine.'

'A great age... Can she still get around?'

'On a Zimmer, yes, she can.'

'Of course people are living longer these days,' Simon remarked, not bothering with the usual off-the-cuff comment about how wonderful it was. Great-Nan didn't think it was wonderful and neither—if she was honest—did Prue who, up until a year ago, had looked after her mother herself.

'So, there are three generations of us,' Anna said, filling in the silence that fell between them as Simon braked at the lights.

'Not four, then?' He turned his head and she felt his eyes on her face.

'I haven't a child, if that's what you mean,' she said flatly, staring ahead. 'I was pregnant when my husband was killed, but the shock made me abort.'

'A wretched time for you.' His eyes left her face as the lights flicked from amber to red. He eased the car forward, then asked her, 'Was it a road accident?'

'No, a hotel fire. Daniel was in France on business. He was an international accountant, so was often away from home.' Her explanation was still a flat statement, for in no way did she want any more sympathetic noises—or questions, come to that.

Perhaps recognising this, Simon Easter, who was by no means insensitive, merely said, 'What a terrible thing to happen,' and left it at that.

Once past the Palace Pier the traffic thinned a little, and he was able to make the turn into Romsey Road without too much hassle. It was a tree-lined road, with houses of the Victorian Gothic type rising up from behind tall hedges which shaded long front lawns. Over Prue Gatton's porch hung a swathe of clematis, pale mauve and delicately foliaged. 'Now take a look at
that!'
Simon exclaimed, about to cruise by—not realising, until Anna stopped him, that this was her grandmother's house.

'Here she is now; here's Prue,' Anna said as she spotted her yellow sports car tearing up the road.

Prue Gatton had the hood back and as she turned in at the kerb they could see her sitting behind the wheel, thin brown arms emerging from a print cotton dress and a bandeau confining her hair. Her smile flashed white in her tanned face when she saw her granddaughter. Then with both cars stationary, they all got out and Anna made the necessary introductions, watching Simon and Prue shake hands.

'I'm afraid I stole Anna's car today.' Prue's glance at Simon appeared to be the quick and polite kind, but it missed very little. She liked his eyes, which narrowed into crinkles when he smiled. She approved, too, of his handshake and of his deep-toned masculine voice.

'I seized my chance, and gave her a lift.' His smile included them both. 'I live in Andover Square, though, so it was virtually on my way home.'

'It's all doctors, and dentists and physios there. It should be called Harley Square,' Prue said, and he laughed out loud but agreed with her as well. 'My house, which I took over from my predecessor,' he said, 'is very similar to yours but I can't, alas—' he glanced up the path '—boast a clematis over my porch.'

'It
is
rather lovely, isn't it?' Prue said, well pleased. 'Of course, the trick with clematis is to clip it hard back in the autumn, you know. Are you a gardener as well as a surgeon, Mr Easter? How do you find the time?'

'With difficulty,' he said, looking at Anna, who couldn't hide her surprise.

'Surely you have to guard your hands...? I mean, bearing in
mind...' Her
voice tailed off as she saw him nod.

'I'm very careful indeed, but then all gardeners should be. Wearing protective gloves should be a must for anyone working with garden soil.'

'Hear, hear!' Prue applauded, and Anna nearly choked for her grandmother took no precautions at all when engrossed in her gardening chores. The protective gloves, which she'd bought her last summer when she'd been down on holiday, were nearly always left on the bench in the potting shed. The trouble with the over-seventies is that they just won't be advised, she was thinking as she heard Prue asking Simon if he'd like to come through to the back.

'I've a purple clematis trained round an arbour that I'm rather proud of,' she said.

He'll say 'no' for certain, Anna thought. He'll thank her and take his leave. He won't want to hang about at this time of evening, looking at climbing plants.

But it seemed that he did and, more than that, he was keen. 'I'd love to see it,' he said, so up the garden path they trooped, into the house and through the cool cavernous hall to the glass doors at the end. Prue unlocked the doors, pushing them outwards—she did everything with force—and then they were out in the sun again, going down shallow steps into the walled
garden where the clematis, so darkly purple that it was very nearly black, rioted over the arbour which Prue had knocked together herself.

'My word, yes, it's a beauty!' Simon exclaimed, then showed so much interest in the garden generally that Prue took him on a tour. Anna walked along slightly behind them, allowing Prue full rein, amazed at the way her grandmother—who could be offhand and dour at times—appeared to have come under Simon Easter's spell. She was all set for taking him into the orchard when from back inside the house came the chirruping sound of the telephone bell. 'Oh, drat the thing!' She swung round.

'I'll answer it,' Anna offered.

Prue shook her head, 'No, I'd better; it'll be Marriners' Antiques. They were bidding for something for me today and they said they'd ring.' She was calling this over her shoulder as she ran flat-footedly over the lawn, leaving Anna and Simon at the entrance to the orchard where the grass grew thick and long.