‘Yes, Mr Carey. You’re up working late. Everybody else seems to have gone to bed.’
‘I thought I might as well get on with things,’ he said.
‘I was a bit behind-hand. And I shall be out on the dig all tomorrow. We’re starting digging again.’
‘Already?’ I asked, shocked.
He looked at me rather queerly.
‘It’s the best thing, I think. I put it up to Leidner. He’ll be in Hassanieh most of tomorrow seeing to things. But the rest of us will carry on here. You know it’s not too easy all sitting round and looking at each other as things are.’
He was right there, of course. Especially in the nervy, jumpy state everyone was in.
‘Well, of course you’re right in a way,’ I said. ‘It takes one’s mind off if one’s got something to do.’
The funeral, I knew, was to be the day after tomorrow.
He had bent over his plan again. I don’t know why, but my heart just ached for him. I felt certain that he wasn’t going to get any sleep.
‘If you’d like a sleeping draught, Mr Carey?’ I said hesitatingly.
He shook his head with a smile.
‘I’ll carry on, nurse. Bad habit, sleeping draughts.’
‘Well, good night, Mr Carey,’ I said. ‘If there’s anything I can do—’
‘Don’t think so, thank you, nurse. Good night.’
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ I said, rather too impulsively I suppose.
‘Sorry?’ He looked surprised.
‘For—for everybody. It’s all so dreadful. But especially for you.’
‘For me? Why for me?’
‘Well, you’re such an old friend of them both.’
‘I’m an old friend of Leidner’s. I wasn’t a friend of hers particularly.’
He spoke as though he had actually disliked her. Really, I wished Miss Reilly could have heard him!
‘Well, good night,’ I said and hurried along to my room.
I fussed around a bit in my room before undressing. Washed out some handkerchiefs and a pair of wash-leather gloves and wrote up my diary. I just looked out of my door again before I really started to get ready for bed. The lights were still on in the drawing-office and in the south building.
I suppose Dr Leidner was still up and working in his office. I wondered whether I ought to go and say goodnight to him. I hesitated about it—I didn’t want to seem officious. He might be busy and not want to be disturbed. In the end, however, a sort of uneasiness drove me on. After all, it couldn’t do any harm. I’d just say goodnight, ask if there was anything I could do and come away.
But Dr Leidner wasn’t there. The office itself was lit up but there was no one in it except Miss Johnson. She had her head down on the table and was crying as though her heart would break.
It gave me quite a turn. She was such a quiet, self-controlled woman. It was pitiful to see her.
‘Whatever is it, my dear?’ I cried. I put my arm round her and patted her. ‘Now, now, this won’t do at all…You mustn’t sit here crying all by yourself.’
She didn’t answer and I felt the dreadful shuddering sobs that were racking her.
‘Don’t, my dear, don’t,’ I said. ‘Take a hold on yourself. I’ll go and make you a cup of nice hot tea.’
She raised her head and said: ‘No, no, its all right, nurse. I’m being a fool.’
‘What’s upset you, my dear?’ I asked.
She didn’t answer at once, then she said: ‘It’s all too awful…’
‘Now don’t start thinking of it,’ I told her. ‘What’s happened has happened and can’t be mended. It’s no use fretting.’
She sat up straight and began to pat her hair.
‘I’m making rather a fool of myself,’ she said in her gruff voice. ‘I’ve been clearing up and tidying the office. Thought it was best to do something. And then—it all came over me suddenly—’
‘Yes, yes,’ I said hastily. ‘I know. A nice strong cup of tea and a hot-water bottle in your bed is what you want,’ I said.
And she had them too. I didn’t listen to any protests.
‘Thank you, nurse,’ she said when I’d settled her in bed, and she was sipping her tea and the hot-water bottle was in. ‘You’re a nice kind sensible woman. It’s not often I make such a fool of myself.’