After Tristan and James are called off to war, Audrey and Siegfried find themselves falling back to their old patterns: Siegfried with much more work than he can handle, Audrey picking up the slack around the house and in the surgery, and keeping him honest with a sharp look or word when need be. Once again, it's just the two of them, over meals and a game or books in the evening. It can never be quite the same, though; in the old days, there was no war raging a short boat ride away. Neither feels quite settled in their work, with everything reminding them of the two young men across the water fighting for their lives. Now, instead of reading most nights, Audrey is oftener working on a hat, scarf, or pair of socks that she sends to the boys at the front. They turn on the radio after dinner for the evening news hour, but Audrey has a strict rule that it gets turned off at 8 - unsettled minds don't rest well. The last thing she needs is a sleep deprived Siegfried, even more short tempered and stubborn than usual.
Audrey puts their names down to take in children from the city as soon as she hears of the program from a uniformed volunteer who shows up at their door one afternoon. She mentions it to Siegfried over a dinner of thick potato soup that night, as an aside.
He pauses mid-ladle, and mid-thought. He's still stuck on a particularly frustrating case from that afternoon involving a constipated cat, a yorkshire pudding, and a 93-year-old vicar.
"And this is something you took it upon yourself to do without consulting me? Open my doors and subject my sick patients to masses of nosy infants?"
She blinks briefly at him with raised brows.
"You mean offer the most vulnerable and frightened among us a safe haven in the midst of chaos? Why yes, I did, and what's more I didn't give it a second thought."
Siegfried rests his spoon on the table, leaning over his bowl to deliver his reply with fortitude.
"Well, naturally, Mrs Hall, I would not deny the scheme, and what's more, I would champion it, but the fact remains this is my home too, you know, and I think I deserve to be notified ahead of time of any changes to its inhabitants."
Audrey firms her lips and shrugs evasively, taking a leisurely sip of her water. Siegfried, not entirely satisfied, adds with finality, "please do consult me in future such cases," and makes to return to his soup; however, he is brought up short before the spoon reaches his lips.
"I did try to ask you, earlier today when the volunteer was here. As you'll recall, you directed me to - how did you so eloquently put it? - "hang my questions and leave you in peace for once in my life". Does that sound familiar?"
It does, now she mentions it. He was looking for his pipe at the time, mind occupied with the afore-mentioned yorkshire pudding, and was rather shorter with her than he intended. He's embarrassed to find he vaguely recalls an older woman in a uniform of some kind eying him from the sitting room during the exchange.
There's a pause as he scrapes butter over a piece of toast, privately chastised but not ready to admit defeat.
"Well, in any case, it's for the best," he says abruptly. "They certainly need a place to stay, and I suppose you struck while the iron was hot." He casts his eye on her for a moment and, seeing the smirk on her face, relents slightly. She does put up with quite a lot, this woman. He can't help the responding smile that quirks the corner of his mouth.
