by Betty Neels
She managed the trip to Sheerness well enough, drove the Mini on board and went to her cabin; she had had supper before she had left London and a night’s rest seemed a good idea. She found the cafeteria, had a cup of coffee and then got ready for the night, not expecting to sleep very much. It was a calm night and the idea of feeling queasy hadn’t entered her head, but she felt excited and just a little apprehensive about the journey the next day. She made herself comfortable in her bunk, turned out the light and marshalled her thoughts, and that was as far as she got; the next thing she knew, the stewardess was at the door with her breakfast.
Philomena edged the Mini off the ferry into a torrent of rain, made worse because the horizon was so wide; from all points of the compass the sky was a uniform grey and even darker in the direction which she was to take, an unwelcome surprise after the fine night. She drove down the narrow rutted lane which led from the dock to the main road and turned on to the motorway. The rain was like a steel curtain and she could see very little, but she didn’t dare to stop, what with keeping to the right side of the road and looking where she was going, but after a little while her panic subsided and she urged the little car to a higher speed, hoping that the weather would improve. At least the motorway stretched before her, straight ahead and with no S bends and few trees to obscure her view.
She drove steadily on, Bergen-op-Zoom, Rozendaal, Breda… She stopped here for coffee while the rain still teemed down, turning everything in sight into a grey monotone, and then pressed steadily on to Tilburg and then Nijmegen and Arnhem. She took a wrong turning in the city and, hungry by now, parked the car and had a meal, and after that it was easier. For one thing, she reckoned that she hadn’t much over sixty miles to go and although it was still raining the downpour had dwindled into a steady drizzle. She travelled across a dripping Veluwe to Appeldoorn, by-passed the city and took the road to Raalte as the doctor had instructed her.
She was off the motorway now, with no large towns close by and few villages. The country around her was flat and rather dull in the rain, and she was getting tired. Raalte, when she reached it, looked inviting—she stopped at a café and asked for tea, to be offered a glass of boiling water with a tea bag in it, and no milk. But the short rest was pleasant and the tea, while not quite as she had expected, was refreshing. She began the last leg of her journey in fine spirits, occupying herself in wondering what the doctor would say to her when they met. Surely her new Jaeger trouser suit, the new make-up and her hair tied back and hanging its shining length down her back would have transformed her sufficiently for him to make some comment. She found herself looking forward to their meeting.
A waste of time; he wasn’t there. Philomena found the clinic without much trouble. Ommen was a small town and the clinic, close to the church, could scarcely be missed, for the church stood in the centre of the little place, in a cobbled square, and it only needed a slow drive round it for her to discover the narrow lane which had been described to her. The clinic was still open; she parked the Mini tidily on the edge of the square and walked the short distance down the lane and poked her head into the clinic’s door. It was empty, the last of the patients gone no doubt, but she could hear voices behind a closed door across the waiting room and she went and knocked on it, pleased at the idea of seeing the doctor once more. A girl opened the door, a big fair girl with bright blue eyes and a pleasant face. She said at once: ‘Miss Parsons,’ and beamed a welcome as she ushered her in. The room was a small surgery, rather crammed with equipment and with a large desk behind which sat a man who got to his feet as she went in. He was a youngish man, of middle height and heavily built, with a great quantity of dark hair and a magnificent beard and moustache. He gripped her hand and shook it vigorously.
‘Theo de Klein,’ he smiled at her. ‘And you are Miss Philomena Parsons. We are delighted to welcome you, although it is to be regretted that the weather has treated you so badly. Not a good journey from Vlissingen, I should imagine.’
Philomena, relieved to have arrived and at the same time disappointed that Walle van der Tacx wasn’t there, smiled a little shyly at him. ‘It seemed a long way, but I only got lost twice and the rain was rather awful. It’s nice to have got here, though.’
He nodded. ‘Splendid, splendid. We will go to Mevrouw de Winter’s house where Ellie, our nurse, lodged and you shall see your new home. This is Corrie who works for us part-time. We have finished for the day and we will go now.’
The three of them left the clinic five minutes later and when Philomena turned towards the Mini, Doctor de Klein said: ‘No, no, your little car may stay there for a time; there is room in my garage for it and presently you shall drive it there; Mevrouw de Winter lives only a few steps away. We will say goodnight to Corrie, who lives on the other side of the town.’
Goodnights said, the two of them crossed the lane, walked a few yards down its cobbled length and turned into another even narrower lane, one side abutting on to the church, the other lined with a row of small very neat houses. At the second of these Doctor de Klein stopped, banged the knocker and then opened the door, calling something as he did so. The hall was narrow and rather dark with a narrow, steep staircase directly in front of them and a door at the side through which now emerged an elderly lady. She was a large woman, very stout and dressed in black, and when she spoke her voice was loud and rather breathless, but her face was kind and she was smiling broadly.
‘Mevrouw de Winter,’ introduced Doctor de Klein, and Philomena, glad of the opportunity of airing her hard-learned Dutch, said: ‘Aangenaam, mevrouw,’ which was a mistake, for that good lady, supposing her to be fluent in that language, broke into a torrent of words, only a very few of which Philomena understood. It was fortunate that the doctor intervened hastily and explained, making Mevrouw de Winter laugh heartily as she led the way into the sitting room.
‘Your room is upstairs,’ explained Doctor de Klein, ‘but Mevrouw de Winter would like you to come here for your meals. There is an electric fire in your room, but you are welcome to use this one as often as you like. There is another room, but that is the best parlour and never used. Now I will wait here while you see your room and then we will go together and get your luggage—your car will be quite safe if you move it in front of the clinic. You will give my wife and me the pleasure of your company at supper this evening? I will walk round for you in an hour or so and we can go in your car to my house where there is room for you to garage the car.’
Philomena thanked him and followed her landlady from the room and up the stairs. The landing was so small that there was barely space in which to turn round and there were only two doors, one of which Mevrouw de Winter opened, revealing a surprisingly comfortably furnished room, its small window overlooking the street below, the narrow bed pushed up against one wall to make room for the easy chair and table. There were shelves along the walls and a number of pictures and in one corner a washbasin. Philomena smiled and nodded, then followed Mevrouw de Winter downstairs again and went along to get her luggage and move the Mini. She spent the next hour settling in, setting her own small odds and ends around the room which was to be her home for the foreseeable future, and then tidying herself ready for her supper date. It was while they were walking to the car that she asked diffidently: ‘Doctor van der Tacx—he—he doesn’t live here?’
Her companion shot her a sidelong glance. ‘I quite forgot to tell you—he is away. He is frequently away, for he lectures a good deal, you know. I am not certain when he will be back. I understand that you saw something of each other in London?’
Philomena murmured that yes, they had, and made some remark about the town, which as far as she could see was charming. It was built on either side of a river, with a handsome bridge spanning it, and now that she had the leisure to look around her, she could see that it was a very small town indeed, its heart packed tightly round the church, while larger villas were spread out towards the wooded country around. They crossed the bridge and at her co
mpanion’s direction, she turned the car off the main road on its other side into a narrow lane with houses scattered on either side of it. Doctor de Klein lived in a fair-sized house not too far from the road and, obedient to his instructions, Philomena drove down its short drive and pulled up at the front door, which was opened so smartly that she suspected that some had been on the lookout for them. As indeed they had; a child of seven or eight—a small girl with flaxen hair and blue eyes, who ran to meet them as they got out of the car.
‘Our youngest daughter,’ explained Doctor de Klein. ‘We have three, and two boys. This is Marieke.’ He stooped to kiss the little girl and then waited while Philomena shook hands with her, and then led the way indoors.
The house was pleasant; comfortably furnished with thick carpets on the floors and several antique chests and cupboards against the walls. They went straight to the sitting room, large and high-ceilinged, where the doctor’s wife was waiting for them; a small, bustling little woman, still young and pretty, who greeted Philomena in English and made her feel at home immediately. The rest of the children came in shortly afterwards and they all sat down to dinner, and afterwards Philomena stayed for an hour or two before Doctor de Klein walked her back to her lodgings again. It had been an exciting day, she told herself sleepily as she got ready for bed, and a very long one; tomorrow would be even more exciting, she supposed, and the sooner she went to sleep the better she would be able to face her new job.
It wasn’t as bad as she had expected. For one thing, she found to her surprise that her Dutch lessons had been worthwhile, for once she had got over her initial shyness at speaking a foreign language, the basic sentences she had learned to speak and understand stood her in good stead, and as for the work, it was so like a GP’s surgery at home that she quite forgot she wasn’t in her own country. Besides, Corrie was there to show where everything was and answer the telephone when the receptionist was busy, although as Doctor de Klein pointed out, that would be only for a few days, then she would return to her usual hours, relieving Philomena. But now, with the two of them, the surgery work went smoothly, and as Corrie pointed out, there weren’t a great many patients; a mixed bag of small boys with cuts that needed a stitch or two, harassed mothers with small babies, and a sprinkling of elderly men and women with bad chests and varicose veins and rheumatism.
‘Wait until this afternoon,’ warned Corrie, watching Philomena expertly undressing a small baby. ‘It is the children’s clinic—Doctor Herman Stanversen will be here too and it will be very busy. Doctor van der Tacx is away and that is a good thing, for when he is here as well there is no moment of peace. He works hard, and we must work hard also to keep up with him. You have met him, I think? He is so handsome,’ Corrie rolled her eyes ceilingwards, ‘but it is of no use for us to wish for his interest.’
Philomena wrapped the baby neatly into a small blanket. ‘Why not?’
‘There is a girl—an adopted cousin, I think. She is young and so very pretty. We see her at Oude en Nieuw—your New Year—when there is a party at his house, and it is supposed that he will marry her some day.’ She added slowly: ‘I do not like her.’
Philomena was shocked to find that although she had never set eyes on the girl, she didn’t like her either. She said diplomatically: ‘Perhaps she’s nice when you know her.’
Corrie laughed, whipped out her pen and began to fill in an X-ray form. ‘Know her? There is little chance. We are—how do you say?—dust under her feet.’
There was no time to talk again. Philomena bore the baby away to be inspected by Doctor Stanversen, whom she liked; he was tall and very thin, his hair already sparse on top of his earnest face. He had a kind smile, though, and had invited her to go to his home and meet his wife. ‘We live at Dalfsen, you know that, I expect—a small village not far from Ommen. I have a surgery there, of course, in fact we all three have a surgery in our homes, but mostly we work here in the clinic. It is convenient for most of our patients, as the practice is widespread! Doctor van der Tacx, whom you already know, is often away, for he is the senior and something of an authority on anaesthetics—indeed, he lectures frequently, but he comes several times a week when he is home. He has a great many patients.’
To all of which Philomena lent an interested ear.
She went back to Mevrouw de Winter for her midday meal; bread and butter and sausage and cheese and a salad, and all the coffee she could drink, while her landlady stood in the kitchen peeling potatoes and talking, patiently repeating her remarks until Philomena understood at least part of them, standing at the open doorway between the two little rooms. Philomena would have liked to linger for a while, but the clinic started at half past one. She carried her dishes into the kitchen, wished Mevrouw de Winter a cheerful ‘Dag’ and crossed the road to the clinic. It was a lovely afternoon, although chilly, and she wished momentarily that she was free to spend an hour or two exploring Ommen; she still had to discuss her hours with Doctor de Klein, but that could be done later when he was free. She opened the clinic door on to a full waiting room, and hurried across to the little room at the back where Corrie would be arranging the patients’ notes.
The afternoon went so fast, Philomena was surprised when the last patient, a small boy with a suspected mastoid, had been examined, dosed with antibiotic and despatched to the hospital at Zwolle. She tidied up with Corrie and tried not to look surprised when Doctor de Klein told her that his evening session would start at half past six at his house and could she find her own way there?
‘You will have your evening meal first,’ he pointed out, ‘and the surgery lasts only an hour or so. Tomorrow we will speak of your free time—today has been an exception, but Doctor van der Tacx thought it advisable that you should get into the routine as quickly as possible.’
So she hurried back to her lodgings once more, ate Mevrouw de Winter’s meat balls and red cabbage with a healthy appetite, and walked round to the doctor’s house. The surgery wasn’t busy, she was home again within two hours and for a moment she was tempted to go for a walk in the town, but she was tired now and there would be other days when she was free. She drank more of Mevrouw de Winter’s excellent coffee and took herself off to bed.
CHAPTER FIVE
PHILOMENA HAD BEEN in Ommen for five days and was tidying the clinic after afternoon session and looking forward to her tea and a free evening, when Walle van der Tacx walked in. His, ‘There you are,’ was hardly the greeting she had expected, but he didn’t seem to notice her rather tart: ‘As you see, Doctor van der Tacx.’
He was wearing tweeds, expensive and not so new, and he had his hands in his pockets, a habit she deplored. He looked at her now and her heart sank a little because it was quite obvious to her that he didn’t see the new hairstyle or the delicate make-up, although that was perhaps expecting a little too much; her new image didn’t have much chance in uniform…
‘Measles,’ he observed. ‘There’s an outbreak in the village—all children from the kleuterschool and if we’re not careful, all their little brothers and sisters will be down with it too. I’ve arranged a clinic for this evening and we can get them inoculated. I shall need you, of course.’ He glanced round him. ‘You’ve finished here?’
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she hadn’t only finished there, she had finished for the day too, that she was free that evening after a busy day’s work, but instead she said matter-of-factly: ‘You want to go at once? Give me a couple of minutes while I lock up.’
She did so rapidly, her mind longingly on her tea. In the car presently she asked: ‘Your village—Vilsteren, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ He had sent the Khamsin shooting down a country road, away from the little town. The road was pretty, the trees on either side already green, the meadows beyond them lush in the late afternoon sun. It ran parallel with the river, and Philomena could see the water from time to time. The journey was short, which was perhaps why the doctor didn’t bother to talk. Only as he stopped in the c
entre of the village did he remark: ‘In the schoolhouse—it shouldn’t take too long.’
Philomena spared a moment to look around her. Vilsteren was a delightful little place, enwrapped in trees and with a smart country inn in the curve of the road. It looked nice, she thought, and obviously a good class restaurant—probably the people of Ommen came out to it on special occasions. She followed the doctor across the narrow road and in at the schoolhouse door, to find one of its two classrooms already filled with mothers and small children. Apparently it was to be used as a waiting room while the doctor used the second room. Philomena hung her cloak behind the door, said ’Goeden avond’ to the room in general and rolled up her sleeves.
The doctor had been over optimistic, though—it took longer than either of them had expected. For one thing, Philomena was still a little slow at getting names right on the forms and for another several of the children took strong exception to having an injection; no amount of cajoling could make them think otherwise. Philomena resorted to guile finally, offering the sweets she had hastily bought from the obliging village shop, specially opened for the emergency, to each protesting child, finally taking off jackets and woollies and rolling up sleeves so that the surprisingly patient doctor could pop in his needle. It was evening by the time the last snivelling child had been hurried away home to bed and Philomena, tidying up briskly, her hungry mouth full of toffee, heaved a sigh of relief. But she was careful to show a placid face to her companion; he had remained calm and good-natured with his small patients, but she had the feeling that he was annoyed about something. Herself, perhaps; she had been a little slow with names, although she hadn’t faltered once with the actual work. She put on her cape and waited by the door while he shut and locked it and then went with him to the car. As they went past the restaurant she just prevented herself in time from openly sniffing at the delicious smells coming from its open door.
