The Private Patient by P. D. James Page A

before an anaesthetic and usually eat little until the first day after the operation, depending on its severity and what has been done. When they are well enough to eat, they tend to be demanding and fastidious. Some will be on diets, and the dietician or I will supervise this. Patients usually eat in their rooms, and nothing should be served to them without my approval.” She turned to Kimberley. “Usually one of my nursing staff will take the food up to the patients’ wing, but you may be required to serve tea or occasional drinks. You do understand that even these require approval?”
    â€œYes, Sister, I understand.”
    â€œApart from the patients’ food, you will take your instructions from Miss Cressett, or, if she isn’t here, from her deputy, Mrs. Frensham. And now Mrs. Frensham has some questions for you.”
    Mrs. Frensham was a tall, elderly, angular lady with steel-grey hair curled into a bun. But her eyes were kind, and Dean felt more at home with her than with the much younger, dark-haired and—he thought—rather sexy Sister Holland, or Miss Cressett with her extraordinary pale and distinctive face. He supposed some people might find her attractive, but no one could say she was pretty.
    Mrs. Frensham’s questions were chiefly directed at Kim and were not difficult. What biscuits would she serve with coffee in the morning, and how would she make them? Kim, immediately at ease, described her own recipe for thin spiced biscuits with currants. And how would she make profiteroles? Again Kim had no difficulty. Dean was asked which of three named wines he would serve with duck à l’orange, vichyssoise and roast sirloin of beef, and what meals he would suggest serving for a very hot summer day or in the difficult days after Christmas. He gave replies which were obviously regarded as satisfactory. It had not been a difficult test, and he could sense Kim relaxing.
    It was Mrs. Frensham who took them to the kitchen and afterwards turned to Kim and said, “Do you think you could be happy here, Mrs. Bostock?”
    Dean decided then that he liked Mrs. Frensham.
    And Kim was happy. For her, getting this job had been a miraculous deliverance. He remembered that mixture of awe and delight with which she had moved about the large gleaming kitchen, then, as if in a dream, through the rooms above it, the sitting room, the bedroom and the luxurious bathroom which would be theirs, touching the furniture in incredulous wonder, running to look out of every window. Finally, they had gone into the garden, and she had flung out her arms to the sunlit view, then taken his hand like a child and gazed at him with shining eyes. “It’s wonderful. I can’t believe it. No rent to pay and we get our keep. We’ll be able to save both our wages.”
    For her it had been a new beginning, filled with hope, bright with pictures of them working together, becoming indispensable, the pram on the lawn, their child running about the garden watched from the kitchen windows. For him, looking into her eyes, he knew that it had been the beginning of the death of a dream.

8
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    Rhoda woke, as always, not to a slow rise to full consciousness, but to an instant wakefulness, senses alert to the new day. She lay quietly for a few minutes, relishing the warmth and comfort of the bed. Before sleep she had partly drawn the curtains, and now a narrow band of pale light showed that she had slept longer than expected, certainly longer than was usual, and that a wintry dawn was breaking. She had slept well, but now the need for hot tea was imperative. She rang the number listed on the bedside table and heard a male voice. “Good morning, Miss Gradwyn. Dean Bostock speaking from the kitchen. Is there anything we can bring you?”
    â€œTea, please. Indian. A large pot, milk but no sugar.”
    â€œWould you like to order breakfast now?”
    â€œYes, but bring it, please, in half an