by Betty Neels
‘The intrepid Miss Pearce,’ he remarked, and no more than that. But at the hospital he got out too and walked through the main doors with her and when she would have wished him good night after a rather prim thank you, caught her hand. ‘Not so fast,’ he said placidly. ‘I’ll run you home tomorrow.’
‘How did you know that I had days off? And anyway, I’m not free until four o’clock. Who told you?’
He frowned, apparently deep in thought. ‘Now I wonder who could have told me?’ he sounded vague. ‘And four o’clock suits me very well.’ He beamed at her with that air of benevolence which she had come to distrust. ‘Do you suppose your mother will ask me to stay for supper?’
She remembered the splendid hospitality she had received at his home in Friesland. ‘Yes, of course.’ She found herself smiling, suddenly happy. ‘I’ll be ready about half past four—will that do? Where shall I meet you?’
‘At the entrance.’ He moved a little nearer to her. ‘Why were you crying this evening, Loveday?’
She hadn’t expected it; she said, her voice a little high: ‘I can’t remember—it wasn’t important.’
‘A poor memory for such a very competent young woman. Perhaps you won’t remember this either.’
He swooped and caught her close and kissed her in a manner which, she realized shakily, she would remember for ever.
‘Oh,’ said Loveday, ‘good night, Adam,’ and fled into the fastness of the Nurses’ Home.
There wasn’t much of a list the next day—Gordon Blair had a day off; she supposed that one or other of the housemen would be assisting Mr Gore-Symes. It was a total surprise when, instead of a houseman, Adam walked in with the consulting surgeon.
‘Morning, Loveday,’ said Mr Gore-Symes. ‘Professor de Wolff hasn’t anything to do this morning, so he’s giving me a hand. I want to be away myself by half past three, so look sharp, girl.’
She handed towels and swabs and instruments with her usual calm, not looking at Adam after their brief exchange of greetings. It was natural enough, she supposed, since Adam was a good friend of several of the consultants, that he should offer to give a hand; there was some sort of meeting of the senior members of the hospital staff that afternoon, and presumably he would be going. She got on with her work, saying nothing.
The morning list was over by half past eleven, and the two men with the briefest of thanks, disappeared. Loveday and her nurses cleared the theatre and started to prepare it for the afternoon session—a brief one; an appendix, a couple of hernias and the closing of a colostomy. There was time for once for everyone to have their dinner, time even for a cup of tea in the Sisters’ Sitting-Room afterwards. Someone had turned on the electric fire for it was a chilly, grey day, and they crowded round it, gossiping idly.
‘Did I see Professor de Wolff in the corridor this morning?’ asked Nancy. ‘If I hadn’t decided on George, I’d make a dead set at him—he turns me on.’
There was a murmur of assent. ‘What a hope,’ said someone. ‘Did he go to theatre, Loveday?’
‘Yes,’ said Loveday sedately, while the mere mention of his name sent her heart pounding. ‘Gordon had a day off, you know, so he gave a hand.’
‘And what a hand!’ sighed Doris White, the Surgical Sister. ‘The size of a plate—not that I’d mind…’
Everyone laughed. ‘He’ll have some girl in Holland,’ commented Nancy. ‘The nice ones always do—or a wife.’
Her words put Loveday in mind of what Rimada had said. She put down her cup and with an excuse that she had to be back in theatre, left the cheerful, laughing little group. Perhaps, she thought uneasily as she went through the hospital, she shouldn’t have accepted his offer of a lift, but it was too late to do anything about that now, only she would take care not to go out with him again. Borne along on this highminded resolution, she reached the theatre.
He was back again that afternoon; he and Mr Gore-Symes snipped and cut and sewed their way through the list with skilled speed and left together at half past three, wishing her a polite good-bye as they went, and although she had expected Adam to say something about seeing her later, he didn’t.
Half an hour later, she was in her own room, feverishly going through her wardrobe, deciding finally on the new winter coat she hadn’t yet had the opportunity of wearing. It was grey and brown and tawny, cut to show off her neat waist and flaring out around her long legs. She picked a cream woollen dress to wear under it and tucked a tawny scarf into its open collar. It was a splendid opportunity to wear the new shoes and handbag she had bought at Raynes, too—bought, she had never quite admitted to herself, in the hope of just such an occasion as this one.
The Baron was standing by the entrance, talking to a group of consultants, who smiled discreetly as Loveday approached and melted back a few yards without appearing to do so, so that Adam was left to walk forward to meet her. She went outside with him, conscious of several pairs of eyes watching them, and got into the Rolls. As Adam got in beside her she said a little shyly: ‘I didn’t know you had the car with you.’
‘A taxi is sometimes quicker, although I don’t like them—you see I came on the offchance yesterday evening.’
She digested this in silence. ‘Oh—when do you go back?’
She heard his chuckle. ‘Speeding me on my way, dear girl? Now, which road do we take?’ And when she had told him: ‘You look very pretty in that outfit—is that a new coat?’
Her feminine heart reacted at once even while common sense told her that this was no way to start an outing with a man reputed to be on the brink of marrying some other girl. She told him yes briefly and went on to the safe topic of the day’s work. But she was allowed to do this for only a short time, for presently he said: ‘What a waste of time this is when we have everything else under the sun to talk about.’
‘Well, if you don’t like my conversation, you do the talking,’ said Loveday huffily. Which he did. He talked about his home and Friesland and, briefly, his work; he talked about Rimada and the enormous wedding his aunt would doubtless think necessary. ‘I don’t care for large weddings, do you?’ he wanted to know casually.
‘Well, it must be marvellous to wear white satin and orange blossom just once,’ Loveday pondered aloud, ‘but nice to slip away and get married in some little church—just family, you know.’
They were on the M20, going towards Maidstone at a speed she hardly noticed in the comfort of the big car.
‘I have no family.’
‘Well, aunts and uncles and cousins, surely? and plenty of friends. I expect you will have a big wedding too.’ The very idea made her feel sick.
He considered before he spoke. ‘No. A very large party, certainly.’ His voice was bland. ‘I believe Rimada told you that.’
‘Yes, she did. Here’s Maidstone, you want the A274 and then at Biddenden you take the A272.’
It was dark now, but inside the car it was cosily warm, a little secure world of their own. She forced her mind away from the wedding he seemed so anxious to talk about and embarked on a dissertation on the surrounding countryside—a complete waste of time, considering it was now too dark to see any of it.
Home looked pleasant as Adam drew to a gentle halt before its door. There were lights in most of the windows, the sound of a dog barking, and Phyllis’s voice raised in excitement from somewhere upstairs. Loveday leaned across Adam and blew a few notes on the Rolls’ dignified horn, and at once there was a rush of feet and a banging of doors as her family came to the door.
She wondered afterwards what Adam had thought of them all. She had introduced him—her father, quiet and retiring, making him welcome, her mother, instantly won over and asking him to stay to supper almost before they had got into the sitting-room, and Phyllis, tearing downstairs and stopping at their foot to stare. ‘Golly,’ she exclaimed, ‘aren’t you super? You turn me on—why, you’ve got George Michael beaten hollow!’
Loveday had never seen the Baron at a loss, but now, just for a momen
t, he was; for one thing, she was almost certain that he had no idea who George Michael was, for another, he had been taken by surprise. She said rapidly: ‘This is Phyllis, my youngest sister,’ and then smiled across at her. ‘This is Professor Baron de Wolff van Ozinga.’ It sounded impressive.
‘Come again,’ invited her sister with a charm which robbed her words of rudeness. She twinkled at him pertly. ‘I think you’re nice, even with a name like that. Are you married?’ She had offered him a hand and was grinning up at him.
The members of her family spoke at the same time. ‘Your manners, Phyllis!’ reminded her father firmly.
‘Philly dear,’ remonstrated her mother, ‘you simply mustn’t…’
‘The Professor’s getting married very shortly,’ said Loveday in a tight little voice before she could stop herself, and hoped that no one would mention the subject again.
The Baron stood quietly, very relaxed, his eyes bright under their sleepy lids. He was watching Loveday and when she had spoken, he smiled, a smile which came and went before anyone saw it.
‘I’m not sure if I know this George Michael,’ he said easily, ‘but I suspect a compliment. Thank you, Phyllis.’ He gave her a smile which captivated that young lady’s heart on the instant.
Supper, a simple meal hastily reinforced with a soup Mrs Pearce had simmering, and an apple tart which had been destined for the following day, was a cheerful meal with a great deal of talk on everyone’s part, although Loveday, while contributing the right answers to any questions asked of her, had little to say for herself. They had finished the tart and were about to drink their coffee in the sitting-room when Mrs Pearce asked: ‘Do you have to go back to London this evening? There’s plenty of room for you here if you would care to spend the night, and we should all love to have you, Professor—or should I say Baron?’
He laughed. ‘Neither. Adam, if you don’t mind, Mrs Pearce. And thank you for your offer, but I’m afraid that I must go back.’ He glanced at Loveday, who was trying to look as though she wasn’t listening. ‘Rimada is with me, as I think I told you.’
‘You don’t look old enough to be Rimmy’s guardian,’ remarked the irrepressible Phyllis. ‘Is she pretty, the girl you’re going to marry?’
He smiled at her. ‘She’s beautiful,’ he said softly.
It was Mr Pearce who spoke next; he said quite sharply, ‘Phyllis, that will do, no more questions.’ He addressed himself to his guest. ‘A pity that you have to return; perhaps we shall have the pleasure of seeing you again? I have some splendid floribunda roses, still in bloom, which I should like you to see.’
They talked roses and gardens after that until the Baron took himself off, having said almost nothing to Loveday, according her only the briefest of good-byes and making no reference to seeing her again. Naturally, said common sense, since he was to marry some girl in his own country. Loveday, a prey to all the exaggerations of those in love, conjured up a vision of blue eyes and blonde hair in super clothes and with a cold and heartless nature which would reduce the Baron to misery within a year of his wedding. She was only roused from this melancholy reflection by her mother repeating her question several times; it was an unimportant question—she answered it at random, turning such a woebegone face to her parent that that lady began a brisk conversation about the forthcoming church fête, rambling on and on while her daughter recovered herself.
Loveday worked very hard while she was home, helping her father in the garden, tiring herself out, and at the end of her two days’ leave went back to hospital, her face grown a little white through sleepless nights, her temper frayed with the effort of putting a good face on a situation which she felt to be hopeless. And although reason told her that she had created the situation for herself anyway, and the Baron had never given any indication that he liked her, let alone loved her—had indeed used her to suit his own purpose, this couldn’t alter the fact that her heart was broken.
CHAPTER NINE
A WEEK went by, very slowly, each day beginning with the hope that there would be a letter, a telephone call, even an unexpected appearance of Adam’s large person around the next corner of a corridor, or waiting on the other side of a closed door, and ending with no hope at all and another night of staring into the dark until sheer exhaustion closed her eyes. It wasn’t until Nancy took her to task for snapping everyone’s head off that Loveday pulled herself together, flinging herself into a round of off-duty activities which, while passing the time, did nothing to mend the situation. She had even, in a moment of weakness, allowed herself to be persuaded into going to the cinema with Terry, and then wished she hadn’t, for he seemed to think that she was encouraging him, which made it necessary for her to spend the next few days avoiding him. Indeed, it was a puzzle to get over to the Home after duty without encountering him, and she found herself being a little early or late and going a different way through the hospital, and even then she couldn’t always avoid him.
On one such evening, ten days or so after her return, meeting him as she left the theatre and hard pressed for an excuse not to accept his offer of dinner that evening, she providentially remembered that she had never gone back to visit the old woman in Summer Street. She had never intended to go after dark, but rendered reckless by the urgency of supplying a good excuse to Terry, she declared that she was spending the evening with a friend and was in a great hurry to change. Carried along on a wave of bravado and shame at her forgetfulness, she changed, and, her shopping basket over one arm, went first to the row of little shops near the hospital and still conveniently open. Here she purchased tea, sugar, biscuits and a box of chocolates, and repaired without loss of time to Summer Street. She didn’t much like it when she turned off the main road and entered its dim dreariness, but she had brought a torch with her this time, a large heavy one, which she intended to use as a weapon of defence should the occasion arise. But no one interfered with her as she walked deliberately along the greasy road. She listened to her footfalls echoing loudly against the blank walls on one side of her, while her heart beat a furious tattoo even more loudly.
The old lady was at home and delighted to see her. ‘I knew yer’d come,’ she said in a satisfied voice. ‘I told the gent yer would, though ’e weren’t best pleased at the idea of yer comin’ ’ere after dark, I can tell yer.’ She led the way into the living-room. ‘And if she do, ’e said, I’ll trouble yer ter get the neighbour ter walk ’er up the road again.’ She nodded her old head. ‘And so I shall, Sister, seein’ as ’ow ’e’s been so good ter me.’ She waved a stiff arm. ‘Look ’ere.’
Loveday looked, hardly believing her eyes; the little room was still hideous, with its brown paint and dingy wallpaper, but now there was a bright fire burning in the grate and the chairs on either side of it were new, as well the small round table covered by a truly hideous chenille cloth. Her eyes rested on it in stunned disbelief; surely no one would buy anything as awful—green and yellow with a fringe. Her hostess saw her look and said proudly: ‘I chose it—’e took me ter the shop in the ’igh Street and ’e says: Now, me dear, you get just what you like. Nice, ain’t it?’
‘Lovely,’ declared Loveday faintly, and tore her gaze away to stare at the vivid cushions in the chairs, the garish glass lampshade and the bright red rug before the fire. ‘Very nice,’ she added, feeling that she must say something. ‘Who…that is, when—?’
‘Soon after yer left,’ explained her companion, ‘’e came back the next day—’ad me address from the ’orspital, ’e said—told me ’e’d ’ad a bit o’ luck and ’ad a bit ter spare. Give me an ’ole box of groceries, too.’
Which reminded Loveday of her own purchases. She produced them now and was invited to share a cup of tea and try one of the chocolates while she listened to the old lady’s gossip. Presently, when she paused for breath, Loveday asked: ‘Did he come back again?’
‘Oh, yes—ten days ago. Bin over ter see a friend, ’e ’ad. Brought me one o’ them thick shawls, too; said it was fer m
e birthday, whenever that was.’ She laughed richly. ‘I ‘ain’t ’ad a birthday in years!’
Dear kind Adam, thought Loveday. Even if I never see him again, here’s a bit more of him to remember. She got up to go presently and the old lady, true to her word, rapped on her wall and when a small, meek-looking man came to the door, she introduced him as Loveday’s escort. He didn’t look capable of frightening anyone or anything, but at least he was company; it wasn’t until she had bidden her hostess good-bye and they had shut the door behind them that she discovered that he was carrying a serviceable-looking stick and that a large, bad-tempered-looking dog, rejoicing in the unlikely name of Prince, was waiting patiently on the pavement.
When she thanked the little man for his company as they parted and patted the dog’s head, her companion shrugged off her gratitude. ‘Don’t ’ave ter thank me,’ he told her forthrightly, ‘’e give me a fiver.’
The information, thus badly given, of Adam’s thoughtfulness warmed her dejected thoughts; somehow he didn’t seem so far away as a consequence.
And nor was he. He was in theatre the next morning—an unexpected visit, explained Mr Gore-Symes with unexpected smoothness; a patient admitted some days ago under his care had taken a turn for the worse and shown such symptoms which, it appeared, might possibly be dealt with by Professor de Wolff’s new technique. Loveday heard him out, struck dumb with surprise and delight, while her heart hammered in her throat, choking her. Adam, beyond wishing her good morning, had said nothing; he might have been in his own theatre in Holland, greeting his Theatre Sister on a routine morning. A kind of despair flooded through her damping down the happiness; she turned to the Mayo’s table and began, quite unnecessarily, to rearrange the instruments upon it. He had hardly noticed her, his mind was wholly filled with that detestable girl waiting for him in his own country. She scowled so fiercely behind her mask that the nurses looked around them apprehensively, wondering what was wrong.
