The Fortunes of Francesca

by Betty Neels

  It was ten minutes or more before the group around her aunt’s bed dispersed and the professor came over to her.

  ‘I am very satisfied with your aunt’s condition,’ he told her without preamble. ‘She will sleep throughout the night and will be well cared for. You must be tired; I suggest that you go home and have a good night’s sleep and telephone in the morning.’

  Franny looked up into his face, trying to read the thoughts behind its calm expression. ‘You say that you are satisfied with Auntie’s condition. I want to know if the operation was a success, and will she be quite well again? And how long will she be here? And, when she comes home, will she need nursing?’

  He frowned down at her. ‘It is early days to expect answers to those questions, Miss Bowen. I can assure you that the operation was entirely successful. I have closed the opening—it was a large one—between the atria. There is a certain amount of hypertension which will improve. Your aunt will come off the ventilator within the next twenty-four hours. As you are no doubt aware, all necessary recordings will be taken half-hourly and, of course, the ECG monitor will be continuously watched. I assure you that every care will be taken.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure of that. I didn’t mean to be nosy...’

  ‘I understand your anxiety. Your aunt will probably be here for three weeks—rather longer than a younger patient—but by the time she returns home she will be able to lead a quiet, normal life. No need for nursing. In any case, visits from the practice nurse in your area will be arranged.’

  ‘Thank you for sparing the time to tell me,’ said Franny. ‘I’m sure you’re very busy.’

  He smiled a little, gave her a little nod and went away. He was preoccupied, but he spared the time to think about Franny’s pale, tired face. Too pale and too tired, he reflected, but not in the least defeated. Perhaps some kind of help could be arranged when her aunt returned home. It was obvious to him that there wasn’t much money. It would be better if Franny were to stay home when her aunt returned, which would mean giving up her job...

  He went out to his car and drove himself home, and forgot about her.

  * * *

  FRANNY, MAKING her way back to Fish Street some time later, hadn’t exactly forgotten him, for he had this tiresome way of popping into her thoughts at the most unexpected moments, but she had a great deal else to think about. Later that evening as she stacked shelves with washing powder, tinned fruit and endless cans of soup, she was still making plans and rejecting them.

  If Auntie was to stay in hospital for three weeks Franny would be able to work at the supermarket until then, but after that things might be a bit difficult. Lady Trumper wasn’t likely to let her stay away from her work. She would have to leave, but not before finding other work. Her nursing training would stand her in good stead; nursing homes often employed women with nursing experience even if they weren’t qualified. And night work was never popular.

  True, the area around Fish Street wasn’t likely to yield much in the way of nursing homes—the people who lived in that area went to hospital or died in their beds—but if she could find something not too far away from home... Surely there were dozens of homes catering for the elderly and infirm.

  Franny, released from her shelves, went home and outlined her plans to Finn.

  * * *

  AUNTIE BEGAN TO recover slowly. There was nothing to worry about, Sister told Franny, the professor was pleased with her progress. ‘And he did say that he thought she might be well enough to go home for Christmas.’

  Franny, loading her shelves with Christmas puddings, crackers and iced cakes, had time to plan for the festive season. She and Finn had already turned the sitting room into a bedroom for Auntie, only to be told by Sister that Auntie would need to take exercise and going up and down to bed would be good for her. So they rearranged everything once more and Franny set about getting in a stock of food; from time to time the supermarket staff were allowed to buy things at a reduced price.

  ‘A great help,’ she told Finn over supper. ‘We can get biscuits and things in packets,’ she explained.

  She worked out a routine for herself and, although she had no leisure and not enough sleep, she managed very well. Lady Trumper eyed her once or twice and remarked that she would do well to lead a more sensible life.

  ‘What you young women get up to in your leisure is no concern of mine as long as it does not affect your efficiency,’ she’d said. She went on, ‘And don’t expect more than two days off at Christmas. It is an especially busy time for me—extra entertaining and countless letters to write. Which reminds me, you will have to go to my dressmaker and fetch a dress she has ready. You had better take a bus, and kindly do not waste time on the way.’

  As Christmas approached, Franny’s days got busier. Lady Trumper might complain about the buying of presents, entertaining of guests and the invitations which she accepted, but she saw to it that the fatigue was taken out of these exertions by enlisting the help of those around her. She might spend a morning buying presents, but it was Franny who wrapped them up, labelled them and wrote the recipient’s name. And it was Franny who trotted to and fro the post office, wrote invitation cards and answered the door when Barker or the maids were busy or off duty.

  Looking at her reflection in the mirror in her bedroom one evening, she could see that she had never looked so plain.

  Professor van der Kettener, coming to the hospital to take a look at Auntie before he left for Holland, would undoubtedly have agreed with her. He came quietly onto the ward, walking its length to where Auntie sat in a chair by her bed. She was fairly active now, up and about for most of the day, but now, in the quiet hour after supper, she was enjoying a visit from Franny. She looked up with a delighted smile as he reached her.

  ‘Professor, how nice to see you. I thought you would be back in Holland...’

  ‘I’m going tomorrow morning. I wanted to pay you a last visit, which I can do while you are here in hospital, Mrs Blake. You will be going home in a few days now, but I shall want to see you when I come back. I’ll ask Sister to arrange for the hospital car service to bring you to my clinic.’ He looked at Franny then. ‘You will be glad to have Mrs Blake home again. Don’t let her do too much over Christmas.’ He added casually, ‘I shall be leaving in half an hour or so; I’ll give you a lift home.’

  Franny said, ‘How kind, but there’s really no need; there are plenty of buses. I’m sure you have a great deal to do, especially as you’re going away tomorrow.’

  ‘I will be outside the main entrance in half an hour, Franny.’ He nodded briefly, shook hands with his patient and went away.

  ‘Now that is kind of him,’ observed Auntie. ‘A very thoughtful man. He’s very well liked here, you know. Never throws his weight about but nonetheless everyone does what he asks them to do without a murmur. A nice man,’ concluded Auntie. ‘I hope he has a very happy Christmas.’

  Listening to this, Franny thought that she had better do as the professor asked too; he would be quite capable of sending someone to fetch her if she didn’t present herself at the entrance at the right time. Besides, it would be delightful to be driven back sitting in the comfort of the Rolls-Royce. The buses would be crowded and would take a long time. With any luck, she would have time to sit down and have a cup of tea before going to the supermarket.

  The Rolls was parked just outside the entrance, with the professor in it. He got out as Franny went through the doors and went round the car to open its door for her.

  ‘This is very kind of you,’ observed Franny chattily. ‘The buses do take a long time.’ When he didn’t reply she added, ‘I expect you’re excited at the idea of going home...?’

  The professor, who hadn’t been excited about anything for quite a few years, grunted.

  ‘Christmas is such a nice time,’ went on Franny, refusing to give up. ‘I expect you
have your family waiting for you?’

  ‘Myself and my family can be of little interest to you, Miss Bowen.’ His voice was cold.

  ‘Well, I like to know about people,’ she told him. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Only in so far as it concerns their health.’

  Franny sniffed the nice leathery smell of the car. ‘How dull,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I dare say you’ll feel better when you get home; you must get tired with so many patients.’

  ‘Not only the patients tire me, Miss Bowen.’

  He sounded sarcastic and she said at once, ‘Oh, you mean me? I’m talking too much, I’m sorry.’

  So for the rest of the journey she didn’t utter a word. Only when he drew up in Fish Street did she thank him politely, and wish him a happy Christmas.

  ‘Are you not going to ask me in for a cup of coffee?’ he asked, to surprise her.

  ‘Well, of course. Only I didn’t ask you because you seemed a bit—cross—no—tired. But, please, do come in. Finn will be home; he’s one of your fans.’

  The professor got out of the car and stood beside her on the pavement.

  ‘I thought only pop groups had fans.’

  He followed her into the narrow hall, talking, and taking up almost all the space. Franny edged round him.

  ‘Come into the sitting room,’ she said, and raising her voice she called, ‘Finn, Professor van der Kettener has come for a cup of coffee.’

  She ushered him in and left him with Finn while she went to the kitchen and put the kettle on, laid the tray and found the biscuits. There was almost an hour before she had to go to the supermarket, which would be time enough; the professor wouldn’t stay long.

  In this she was mistaken. The hour was almost up and he was still sitting there, discussing the functions of the heart with an enraptured Finn. What was more, he showed no signs of going, so that in desperation Franny was forced to get to her feet. When he started to do the same, she said, ‘No, don’t get up, there’s no need. But I—I have to go out, so I’ll say goodnight.’

  The professor raised an enquiring eyebrow and looked—most unfairly, she considered—at Finn.

  ‘Franny stacks the shelves at the supermarket for a couple of hours each evening.’ He added uncomfortably, ‘I wanted to do it, but she insists that I must study.’

  The professor nodded and smiled, and Finn gave him a relieved grin.

  ‘You are still working for Lady Trumper?’ he asked Franny.

  He asked so nicely that she said readily, ‘Oh, yes, it’s not hard work at all—and—and I like to keep busy.’ She gave him a cheerful smile. ‘Finn will make some more coffee, so don’t hurry away unless you want to.’

  ‘When do you come back?’

  ‘About ten o’clock.’ She whisked herself through the door and out of the house.

  Stacking shelves didn’t need a great mental effort but it was tiring. When her shift was finished Franny walked the short distance home in the company of two other girls living in the same street, and felt quite unreasonable disappointment when she saw the Rolls had gone.

  She let herself in and at once took a great sniffing breath, for the delightful smell of fish and chips filled the house. She bounced into the sitting room and found Finn still at his books. He looked up as she went in and grinned.

  ‘I say, the professor’s a splendid chap—he went and fetched fish and chips because he said he’d missed lunch and couldn’t wait to go home for his supper. He brought enough for you; it’s in the oven, keeping hot.’

  ‘Fish and chips,’ echoed Franny. ‘Not in a paper bag from the place at the end of the street? I mean, he didn’t actually go himself?’

  ‘Yes, he did. He may be getting on a bit, but he’s not in the least stuffy.’

  ‘He’s not old,’ said Franny, and went to get her supper. It was delicious, the chips crisp and very hot and the fish—plaice in a thin batter crust—mouth-watering. Much tastier than the hake she had always bought because it was the cheapest...

  She went back into the sitting room. ‘Where did you eat?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, here. I fetched a couple of plates and knives and forks. You see, he was explaining the technique of bypassing.’

  ‘Well, I expect it was an experience for him,’ said Franny, gobbling chips.

  * * *

  THE PROFESSOR, EATING his dinner with rather less than his usual appetite, met Crisp’s reproachful gaze. ‘Circumstances forced me to have a meal of fish and chips not an hour ago, Crisp. They have taken the edge off my appetite.’

  ‘Fish and chips? Not, I trust, from one of those shops where they are wrapped in paper?’

  ‘Well, yes, although they were put into bags first.’

  ‘I trust you will take no harm from the food, sir.’ Crisp sounded disapproving. ‘I take it that it was necessary for you to actually eat it?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I really had no option and I enjoyed it—although, of course, there was no comparison with the delicious meals you cook, Crisp.’

  Crisp allowed himself a wintry smile and went away to fetch the coffee. ‘Most peculiar,’ he told his cat, Trimble. He was a large tabby cat who had moved in with him, a lean and hungry stray, although anyone looking at him now would never have believed that. ‘Acting so strange,’ went on Crisp, picking up the coffee tray. ‘He must have had a reason. Fish and chips, indeed!’

  Trimble, a cat who knew on which side his bread was buttered, looked intelligent, and Crisp nodded at him. ‘See what I mean?’

  It was a pity the professor was going to Holland for Christmas, for there would be little chance of Crisp discovering the reason behind his actions. By the time he got back he would have forgotten all about it.

  But for the moment the memory of his evening spent at Fish Street was very clear in the professor’s mind. The shabbiness of the little house was etched clearly in his head—and not only the shabbiness, but the neatness and spotlessness of its furnishings, and Franny’s matter-of-fact cheerfulness. Christmas would be a sober occasion for them, and he could see no way of making it more festive.

  It would be simple enough to send a Christmas hamper anonymously, but Franny would very likely suspect him of sending it, for as far as he knew there was no one else likely to do so.

  He went to his study and began to clear his desk, preparatory to leaving in the morning, but Franny’s unremarkable face kept getting between him and the papers there. There must be some way in which he could make sure that some Christmas fare got into Fish Street. A way which would make it impossible for Franny to refuse it. He had no doubt that if she knew that he had sent it she would more than likely send the box of goodies back, however tempting they were. She wasn’t a girl to accept charity meekly.

  The solution came to him so suddenly he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it before. He glanced at his watch and saw that there was still time to make a phone call...

  * * *

  TWO DAYS BEFORE Christmas Eve, Auntie was discharged from hospital. She sat, her goodbyes said, by her bed, waiting for the hospital car service to come and collect her. She had listened carefully to the advice the nice young doctor who had been looking after her had given her, thanked Sister and the nurses and handed over the box of chocolates Franny had wrapped in festive paper. The unexpected appearance of Sister surprised her.

  ‘Mrs Blake, I’ve a surprise for you. While you were ill we had a lottery in the hospital and we took a ticket for you.’ She smiled widely at Auntie. ‘And guess what? You have won the first prize.’

  And she handed Auntie a large shopping basket wrapped in Cellophane, filled to overflowing with packets and jars and tins.

  ‘I’m sure your niece will have arranged a marvellous Christmas for you, but I dare say you can use some of these things.’

  ‘I won this?’ Auntie
was almost tearful. ‘Sister, how lovely! How very lucky I am; we shall enjoy all of it. But I must owe you for the lottery ticket...’

  ‘No, no.’ Sister improvised quickly. ‘We get tickets for all the patients who aren’t able to do so for themselves.’ Hopefully, she reflected, Mrs Blake wouldn’t give the matter too much thought. And Auntie didn’t; being guileless herself, she never suspected guile in others.

  She was driven back to Fish Street presently, to be welcomed by Franny and Finn. The driver of the car said that he couldn’t spare the time for a cup of tea, so Auntie was borne indoors, sat down by the fire and given tea and crumpets while they all talked at once.

  It was mid-afternoon; Lady Trumper had grudgingly conceded her a half-day, and Franny didn’t need to go to the supermarket for some hours, and Finn had put away his books for a while. Tea finished, Franny drew a small table to Auntie’s chair, put the prize basket on it and handed her the scissors to cut the Cellophane.

  The contents were a magnificent collection of extravagances: tea—not tea bags but elegant little tins of Earl Grey, finest Assam, Orange Pekoe—little sachets of cappuccino coffee, glass jars of pâté, smoked salmon, Parma ham, chicken in aspic, a box of crackers, a small Christmas pudding, a fruit cake, crystallised fruits, a box of chocolates, a trifle, Stilton cheese, biscuits—plain and sweet—and half a bottle of champagne.

  Franny arranged everything on the table and sat back to look at them.

  ‘It’s like a dream,’ she said happily. ‘We’re going to have a splendid Christmas. I’ve ordered a chicken and I’ll get some salad. What a wonderful prize. Did any of the other patients win anything?’

  ‘I don’t know, dear. I was so taken by surprise. It was almost worth going to hospital...’ Auntie laughed at her little joke.

  * * *

  ON CHRISTMAS EVE Franny went to Lady Trumper’s as usual, and despite the dark, miserable morning and the ill-tempered people on the bus she was happy. Auntie was home and well again, Finn had done well at medical school and they had the wherewithal to enjoy a happy Christmas. Barker’s grumpy face did nothing to dampen her good spirits, and even the half-hearted thanks she received from him and the rest of the staff when she gave them the small gifts she had got for them was no more than a momentary disappointment.