For Ever and Ever by Mary Burchell

Leonie and Claire tramped round the deck, laughing and talking and pausing from time to time to talk to acquaintances who already seemed to be near-friends.
    From Claire’s manner, Leonie was certain Kingsley Stour had told her nothing of their talk. She was not a good dissembler, and would have been quite unable to be carefree and friendly if she had known the real situation. Consequently, their relationship remained very happy and, in spite of everything, Leonie began to feel an illogical conviction that somehow everything would come out all right.
    She was not quite sure what she meant by this, but it enabled her to take full pleasure in the companionship, the games, and the lovely, lovely, unfamiliar leisure of the life which had so unexpectedly become hers.
    During the early part of the morning neither Kingsley Stour nor the Senior Surgeon appeared, and Leonie guessed that they both had surgery duties to attend to. With a crew of six hundred and a passenger list of fourteen hundred, there must, she thought, be plenty for both surgeons and nurses to do.
    Later, however, when Leonie was sitting on deck, drinking one of the cups of delicious soup which had been handed out, Mr. Pembridge came and dropped into the seat beside her and asked her with a smile how she was getting on.
    “Wonderfully!” She smiled brilliantly at him in return—because, after all, he had looked after her, willy-nilly, all those years ago when she had been a silly pro. “Everything about this ship fascinates me.”
    “Then you’d better come down and see our hospital sometime,” he said. “Or haven’t you a professional interest in that sort of thing any longer?”
    “Of course I have. And I’d love to come.” She felt infinitely flattered. “Do you mean to say we really have a hospital on board?”
    “Thirty-six beds,” he assured her. “Two surgeries, consulting-room, sluice-room, and everything complete.”
    “How lovely! When can I come?”
    “Now, if you like,” he said.
    And, hastily handing her empty cup to a steward who passed with a tray, Leonie jumped up and declared herself ready.
    Mr. Pembridge smiled again—perhaps at her enthusiasm—and escorted her indoors, down two flights of stairs and along to a part of the ship she had not yet seen. Here he opened a door marked “No admittance”, and she found herself in surroundings which immediately induced a feeling of half-amused nostalgia.
    He took her first into the surgery, a beautifully equipped room, where he introduced her to Mr. Morley, the medical assistant, who was making up prescriptions. Then they glanced into the sluice-room, which made Leonie laugh reminiscently and say, “Shades of all the washing and sterilizing that I did in my time!”
    “Was that why you gave it up?” he inquired suddenly. “Because of all the drudgery?”
    “No, of course not! The rest was so rewarding that after a while the drudgery didn’t count—much.” Leonie smiled and then sighed, for a profession she had genuinely loved. “My father died, and my sister and I had to keep the home going. I needn’t tell you how little one earns as a nurse, particularly while training. I just had to do something else instead.”
    “Pity,” he said briefly. “You had the makings of a very good nurse.”
    “Had I, Mr. Pembridge?” For some extraordinary reason the almost curt accolade brought tears to her eyes. “I—I had no idea you thought that of me.”
    “But of course. You had all the essentials. You were quick, you were quiet, and you knew how to carry out orders exactly. In addition, all the patients liked and trusted you.”
    “But not all the surgeons.” She flashed a laughing glance at him, because she was secretly so moved that she had to be flippant.
    “I can only answer for one of them,” was the cryptic reply. And before she could ask what he meant by that, he opened another door and ushered her into one of the “wards”.
    Here, except for the portholes and the