some papers.
‘Find anything interesting, Miss Hanley?’
A mottled flush crept up her flabby cheeks. ‘I was – um – looking for the laundry order. It needs to be signed off, and since you were so late back from your meeting—’
‘I did it yesterday.’
‘Ah. Of course. That explains why I couldn’t find it.’ Miss Hanley shifted awkwardly from Kathleen’s seat.
‘I think you’ll find the laundry orders are usually filed in there.’ Kathleen nodded towards the filing cabinet on the other side of the room. ‘In the drawer marked “Laundry Orders”.’
Miss Hanley pursed her lips. ‘I will try to remember that.’
As she headed for the door, Kathleen called after her, ‘Thank you for doing the ward rounds for me, by the way. It was very thoughtful of you.’
‘I was only doing my job,’ she replied stiffly.
‘Actually, Miss Hanley, you were doing my job. And I would appreciate it in future if you could let me know beforehand when you intend to take over any of my duties. If you don’t mind?’
Miss Hanley’s broad, square face twitched. ‘I’ll remember that,’ she snorted. And I’ll make sure you do, Kathleen thought as the door banged behind her.
Chapter Twelve
IT WAS THE Saturday before Christmas, and Millie had been looking forward to going up to Oxford Street with some of the other students after they’d finished their morning lectures. But at the last moment Lucy Lane had been beastly to Jennifer Bradley, and both Jennifer and Dora had refused to go on the outing.
Millie would have refused to go too, but it was Katie O’Hara’s first Christmas in London and Millie knew how much she was looking forward to seeing the festive lights in all the big shops.
‘You’ve got to come with me,’ Katie had pleaded with her. ‘Please don’t leave me with Lane! I don’t think I could stand her bragging if you weren’t there.’
It was bitingly cold and a thick yellow fog was curling off the river as they hurried to catch their bus. Millie and the others jammed their hats down over their ears and pulled up their scarves so they didn’t have to breathe in the cloying, metallic-tasting air.
‘I expect we’ll have a lot of bronchitis cases turning up after this,’ Katie predicted, her voice muffled through thick layers of wool. ‘My sister says they have chest infections queuing up outside the gates once the winter fog comes down.’
The air was clearer in Oxford Street, which bustled with Christmas shoppers. On the corner with Regent Street a brass band was playing Christmas carols, and the smell of the roasting chestnuts offered by street vendors filled the air.
Millie was glad she’d made the effort to come when she saw Katie’s face light up in rapture at the sight of the brightly lit department-store windows.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ she breathed, her face pressed against the glass at Marshall & Snelgrove to admire the glittering decorations. ‘Back home we only have old Mr McGoogan’s shop, and that tight-fisted old goat wouldn’t even light an extra candle, let alone make his window as gorgeous as this. Have you ever seen a Christmas tree that big? It’s like it came straight out of a forest.’
‘Actually, the one we have at home is much bigger,’ Lucy announced loftily. ‘But I suppose when you have a house as large as ours, a small tree would just look ridiculous.’
And then she was off, bragging again. Millie and Katie exchanged long-suffering looks as Lucy described in detail the lavish Christmas her mother had planned. No expense was to be spared for the food, the decorations or the presents.
‘My mother knows how to entertain,’ she boasted. ‘On Christmas Eve my parents throw an enormous party and all kinds of important, wealthy and famous people come. You’d simply be amazed. I expect it’s the same for you at Billinghurst?’ She casually dropped the name of Millie’s family home into the conversation.
‘Not really.’ Millie glanced sideways at Katie, who was pretending to watch the model train that whizzed in and out of a toy display. She was painfully aware that the Irish girl was feeling fed up because she couldn’t go home at Christmas, and the last thing Millie wanted was to make her feel even more homesick. ‘My father and grandmother prefer a quiet Christmas, just the three of us.’
‘Oh, come on! You must have some other plans?’ Lucy nudged her conspiratorially. ‘You can’t tell me you sit at home playing chess all day. Aren’t there lots of house parties?’
How her father