Kate sat on the edge of her bed, feeling the mattress sag beneath her. “You mean she’s waiting for her pass.”
Julia gave her head a brusque shake. “I mean she’s stopped trying to get a pass. She means to stay here.”
Suddenly, the brass pigeon didn’t seem quite so funny. Fruit trees they could lose; chickens might be had elsewhere. But they needed a senior doctor. “There must be some mistake.”
Julia twisted a bit of ribbon around the end of her braid with brisk efficiency. “If you say so.”
There wasn’t any mistake.
Dr. Clare wasn’t staying at the hotel on the Quai Voltaire. She had made her own arrangements at the Hotel Sylvia. Kate caught her there the next morning at breakfast. Their new doctor had an apple-round face, a pair of spectacles on a gold chain, and the hardest brown eyes Kate had ever seen.
She was delighted to make the acquaintance of the assistant director of the Unit—even one so young—looked forward to seeing dear Mrs. Barrett again, and had absolutely no intention of going anywhere near the Somme.
“We’re really most eager to have you at Grécourt with us. It’s heartbreaking the number of patients we’ve had to turn away,” Kate tried, cupping her hands loosely around the lukewarm black coffee that had been offered her.
“It’s a pity, but it is what it is,” said Dr. Clare, not sounding as though she thought it was a pity at all. “I have yet to be convinced that reconstruction work is either safe or worthwhile at present.”
Kate stared at her in surprise. Reconstruction was what they did. It was the entire mission of the Unit. “But—you joined the Unit. Your trunks are at Grécourt.”
“Do feel free to make what use you can of them,” said Dr. Clare, with the air of someone making a great concession.
“We don’t need eight trunks of someone else’s belongings. We need a doctor.” Just in case Dr. Clare was missing the point, Kate added, more insistently, “You signed on to be our doctor. Our work is at Grécourt.”
“For the present,” said Dr. Clare.
“There’s every indication that the British will renew our passes,” said Kate sharply, even though there was absolutely no indication. “We intend to carry on with our work as planned, including our medical department. But for that, we need you. In Grécourt.”
“As to that . . .” Dr. Clare seemed perfectly content to sit comfortably in her chair, her coffee in hand, as if she weren’t ripping apart all of Kate’s plans—all the Unit’s plans, that was. “When I enlisted, I had every intention of joining you at Grécourt, and would have done so had my pass been issued. But Providence, it seems, is wiser than we. I truly believe that my work is here, with our fine boys. The only way to give France any lasting relief is to keep our troops fit and well. Worming French peasants will have to wait.”
They weren’t peasants. They were people. They were their people. Kate made an effort to control her disgust. “You’d have worms too if you were living on a dirt floor, eating any manner of thing you could scrounge.”
“Really, what can one expect of these people?” Dr. Clare seemed amused. Kate wanted to slap her. “I’m sure you girls can carry on bandaging cuts and bruises. The military situation seems to me far more important. After the war is time enough to do your relief work.”
Your relief work. As if it weren’t anything to do with her at all. “You signed a contract,” Kate pointed out, trying to keep her voice level. “We were relying on you to join us.”
“I can’t very well join you without a pass,” said Dr. Clare complacently. “It’s more likely you’ll soon be joining me. I’m sure the Unit can do excellent work here in Paris.”
That wasn’t the point of the Unit. It had never been the point of the Unit. But there was clearly no arguing with her. Kate found herself desperately missing Dr. Stringfellow, who might pretend to be a misanthrope but was always there when it mattered and never balked at anything, not even hiking five miles through drifts with her medical bag on her back.
Kate returned to the hotel in a state of deep agitation. She found Julia in the parlor, reading a medical journal.
“Can you carry on without Dr. Clare?” she asked without preamble.
Julia didn’t look up from her journal. “My pass expired. Remember?”
Kate stopped, struck by a sudden, nameless suspicion. “You’ve gone to get your pass renewed, haven’t you?”