'Staying with me?' Nannie was clearly mystified. 'Why should she stay with me?'
'Well... with the Colonel away...' Another thought occurred to Muriel. 'Or is he coming back now, after the robbery?'
'Is he -?' Nannie graduated from mystification to suspicion. 'Muriel, why are you phoning me? What's the matter?'
Now it was coming, thought Frances. The trouble was that Muriel - Matron Prebble -
was a lot less formidable than she'd bargained for.
'Look, Bessie - ' The voice hardened: it was less like Muriel and more like Matron Prebble, thank God! ' - something important has come up ... I hardly know how to put it to you, with what's happened, my dear, but it truly is important. In fact, it's a life-line, the one we've been praying for, Bessie.'
'What?'
'I've just had a call from Sir Archibald Havergal -'
'Who?'
'Sir-Archibald-Havergal. He's chairman of the grants committee of the Ryle Foundation, my dear - enormously rich - '
All the perfumes of Arabia - the Ryle millions and the smell of oil - were enough to sweeten almost any hand. But were they enough to sweeten Nannie's?
'We're in line for a grant, Bessie dear - a big one! We'd have to take some post-operative recuperation patients from the Middle East, of course ... but that would be no problem, we could have a new wing for them. And the work we could do for the elderly
- it's what we've prayed for.'
'That's wonderful news, Muriel!' exclaimed Nannie.
'I've got to go to London as soon as possible - this very afternoon. If I phone back directly they'll send a car for me. I'm to meet Sir Archibald and a representative of the United Gulf Emirates at a hotel - an hotel. And they want me to stay the night to sign the papers in the morning. They even want Mr Roynton of the solicitors to come up with me, he's to stay the night, too. All paid for by the Foundation.'
Nannie said nothing to that, even though Muriel waited desperately for her to react.
'I've tried everyone, Bessie. Mrs McGuffin can't. And Matron at St. Elfrida's can't.
And the Cottage Hospital can't supply anyone until tomorrow morning. You've just got to come, my dear - I can't leave everything to Gloria, she's not nearly up to it. She'd panic at the first emergency. You've
Nannie was thinking now - Frances could hear her thinking. And she was thinking
'no', and that had to be prevented from reaching her tongue, at all.
She ran back to the library door, tiptoe on tiptoe, skidding dangerously on the polish, grabbing the door-handle for safety.
'Finished, Nannie?' She just managed to catch her breath.
Nannie frowned at her distractedly.
'Er ... no, dear.'
'Trouble?' She didn't have to be the Department's hot little female property. Sir Frederick's Four-out-of-Ten girl, to chance that insight: it was written all over Nannie Hooker's face.
'What's the problem?' There was no time for delicacy. 'Can I help?'
Nannie held the receiver against her corseted chest. 'No, dear. A friend of mine wants me to ... to help her. But of course it's out of the question.'
'Help her how?' Frances advanced towards her, all interested innocence.
There was nowhere for Nannie to go: she was trapped at both ends of the telephone.
'She wants me to ... to look after her nursing home tonight. It's what I normally do for her one day every week, and one night. But I can't do it tonight - ' she started to lift the receiver to her mouth.
'Is it important?' Frances persisted.
Nannie nodded, suddenly irresolute. She knew what was coming, Frances sensed.
'Then of course you can help her. I can stay for the children - ' Frances sprang under her guard ' - I'd
That was a mistake: Nannie wouldn't approve of doing the right thing for the wrong reason. She had to make it an appeal, not just a convenient duty offered, but also an act of kindness to her.
'Please. I'd much rather look after the children than go back home ... to a cold home.'
Good one, Frances! Lonely little Widow Fitzgibbon.
'And I do like children, Nannie - '
Another good one.
'I can even cook, you know. All you have to do is to tell me what their favourite supper is - I'd
