The Summer of Sir Lancelot

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