by Betty Neels
`Thank you, Mrs Tweedle, I'll be back in a couple of hours. Don't wait up.'
`All right, Mr Coenraad.' She got into the taxi and settled herself comfortably while he gave his address to the driver. He stood back, and she put her head out of the window.
`That's a nice young lady, that new nurse of yours, sir. Nice manner too,' she breathed.
He agreed. `And an excellent addition to our staff, Mrs Tweedle, a pity that she will only be with us for a year.'
They had an uproarious supper. Leen thought it would be a good idea if Adelaide spoke Dutch. This she was very willing to do; she had quite a large stock of words by now rind had learnt a great deal of grammar. Her c tforts at conversation, however, though determined, provoked so much laughter that they decided that it might be better to speak t:nglish. After supper the girls cleared away the dishes and washed up in the tiny, wellequipped kitchen, and Leen went to fetch little Piet for his bottle. She gave him to Adelaide to hold while she went to get it ready. He was a big placid baby, and sat on her lap, his head pressed against her shoulder. Adelaide stroked the soft blonde down on top of his head; she had quite forgotten the two men sitting on either side of the stove, talking quietly; little Piet smelled nice and gurgled sleepily and chuckled when she tickled him. It must be nice to have a baby, she thought wistfully.
The professor took her back to the hospital soon afterwards. The roads were ice-covered and slippery. He took her arm and walked with a rocklike steadiness down the middle of the street, hoisting her gently back on to her feet each time she slipped. For most of the way they walked in a companionable silence. When they did talk it was about the next day' clinic, and the hospital and the chance of the ice holding for a few more days. When they reached the hospital gates Adelaide said in her friendly voice: `Wasn't it a lovely evening`? I'm so glad I can skate. Thank you for teaching me.' She wished him good night and watched him go back through the swing doors into the quiet streets. She still had no idea where he lived, and wondered if she would ever know him well enough to ask. She thought it unlikely.
Adelaide was late off duty. Now that she was thoroughly settled into the clinics she scrubbed for theatre if there were emergency ops. There had been three that day, all within an hour or two of each other. There had been a prodigious clearing-up to do afterwards. She changed quickly, wrapped herself well against the raw cold of the evening, and walked quickly to Mijnheer de Wit's flat in the Spui. She was beginning to enjoy her Dutch lessons; she could understand a fair amount of what was being said by now, although she was still hesitant about talking. However, her teacher seemed pleased enough with her, to judge by the amount of homework he gave her. He was waiting for her now in his untidy little sitting room and she hastened to make her apologies. He listened gravely, correcting her accent as she spoke, and making her repeat her words again, until she was perfect. She took off her outdoor clothes and spread her books on the table.
`You are a good pupil, Miss Peters,' he said in his dry old voice.
Adelaide was surprised. `Am I? How kind of you to say so,' and she added with candour: `It's a terrible language.'
The old gentleman laughed. `Now you know why so many of us speak English and French and German, even if only a few words. But you have tried very hard, and I will reward you a little. We will shut the grammar and we will talk. You may ask questions of me-in Dutch, of course-and I will answer them.'
Adelaide, who hated grammar in any language, shut her books and settled back in her chair. She looked charming, her hair gleamed like copper in the light, she was wearing a dark green dress, which was the envy of her colleagues, who had not got the advantages of Marks and Spencer. There were a great many things she wanted to know, and one thing in particular.
`Why does Professor Van Essen wear glasses'
Mijnheer de Wit took off his own spectacles and looked at her sharply.
`Miss Peters, I find that a most peculiar question.'
`Yes, I know, but I don't mean to be impertinent. You see, it isn't just curiosity. I've noticed he doesn't use one of his eyes...' She added apologetically, `I work with him every day, and I look at him quite often.' She went a little pink.
Mijnheer de Wit put his glasses back on. 'You are a perceptive young lady. Coenraad van Essen is practically blind in one eye, but it is never mentioned, you understand?'
Adelaide sat forward. `Please tell me about it; you must know that I like and admire him...'
Her teacher nodded vaguely. `It's quite a story-we will have a cup of coffee before I begin.'
Their cup of coffee had become a small ritual which Adelaide knew better than to ignore. She got the cups and saucers and silver rat-tail spoons and put them on the table, while the old man fetched the coffee. He poured it carefully, put some Speculaas on a plate of Pynacher Delft at Adelaide's elbow, then settled himself in his chair.
'Coenraad's father was a great friend of mine. He was an excellent and well-known doctor, not a children's specialist, as his son is, but a physician. When the Occupation took place in 1940, he was left alone by the Moffen and allowed to carry on with his work. Coenraad and his two sisters were small children, you understand, and I don't suppose the war meant a great deal to them at that time. Not until their father was arrested for helping his Jewish patients to escape. He was shot, his house and possessions confiscated, and his wife sent to a camp. Coenraad's mother died there. You have perhaps heard of the Tweedles, who look after Coenraad?' Adelaide nodded. `They went into hiding when the doctor was shot and his wife arrested and took Coenraad and the two little girls with them. They cared for the children until the Bevrijding, and later went back to the house on the Heerengracht with them. They are devoted to Coenraad, and he to them. It was a considerable time after the children were back in their old home when Coenraad confessed that he was gradually losing the sight of one eye. He had been knocked about quite considerably when his parents were arrested and the house searched; a blow from a rifle butt had
damaged his eye; by the time he could be taken to a specialist, there was nothing more to be done about it.' The old man looked across the table to Adelaide. `You haven't drunk my excellent coffee.'
She had forgotten all about her coffee. She was still seeing a small boy-nine, ten years old?-being ill-treated by brutish adults. She raised enormous brown eyes, suspiciously bright, to her teacher.
`He is always so kind and patient with the children. That's why, of course.'
Mijnheer de Wit made no comment, but said again:
`Drink your coffee, and we will have a second cup.'
She drank, swallowing the chilly liquid without tasting it. He filled their cups and she took a sip and went on speaking her thoughts out loud.
`He seems so ... self-sufficient. Doesn't he want to marry?'
He didn't seem surprised at her question.
`When Coenraad decides to marry, I think it unlikely that he will tell anyone about it beforehand.' He paused, and added slowly:
`There are always rumours, of course.'
Adelaide blushed. `I didn't mean to be inquisitive-he's such a nice person, I would like him to be happy. He deserves it.'
Her teacher sucked the last of the sugar from his cup, making a regrettable noise in doing so.
`He will be ... he will be. Now, my dear young lady, let us discuss your homework. You still have great difficulty with the conditional; supposing you study it well before your next lesson, and we will try and overcome your reluctance to speak in any tense but the present.'
Adelaide gave a little laugh. `I'll do my best, Mijnheer de Wit. You are so kind and patient, I only hope that when I am back in England I'll have an opportunity to speak Dutch. It won't be very likely.'
She got up, took the cups out to the tiny kitchen, and put on her coat. She had said good night, and was half way down the precipitous little staircase to the floor below when the front door bell jangled through the house. She heard the click of the lock as it was opened by the kind of remote control comm
only used in the older houses. Someone was coming upstairs, two at a time, and very fast. She had time to clutch the narrow hand rail firmly before the professor was upon her; he filled the staircase completely.
`Don't knock me down,' she cried, and then, `Good evening, sir.'
He had stopped on the stair below her. `Good evening, Miss Peters.' He cocked a black eyebrow at her books. `Lessons?' He didn't wait for her to nod. `Will you wait for me? I want to talk to you. I have to give this to De Wit.' He indicated the pile of papers under one arm. 'I'll only be a moment.' He edged past her and went on up, not waiting for her reply.
She continued on her way, and sat down on the bottom step to wait for him. He was back again, empty-handed, after only a few minutes, and opened the door and ushered her outside. There was an icy wind blowing down the Spui as they turned into the Kalverstraat, walking briskly. When they reached the narrow steeg which was the accepted short cut to the hospital, he kept straight on. Adelaide hesitated, not sure if she was supposed to turn down its familiar gloom, but he took her arm and steered her past and across the street to the warm, well lighted lounge of the Hotel Polen. Adelaide sat down on the chair he had pulled out for her, trying to think of something to say. She very much wanted to ask him about that awful time when his parents were arrested, but was fairly certain that if she did so, he would simply not answer, but get up and go away and leave her alone. So instead she made a banal remark about the weather, which he ignored. He ordered coffee, and at last broke the silence.
`I won't keep you long, Adelaide, but it's too cold to stand talking in the street.' He unfastened his coat and told her to do the same. It was richly warm in the cafe; she hoped that he would put her heightened colour down to the fact that she was feeling the change of temperature. The coffee arrived, and he sat hack in his chair, looking away from her out of the window, so that she could watch him unobserved. She jumped when he spoke.
`What is your opinion of Nurse Wilsma?'
Adelaide took her eyes off his face and thought.
`May I ask why you want to know before I tell you, sir?'
`You may. When you go back to England, we shall have to appoint a new Sister in your place. Nurse Wilsma seems an obvious choice, but I-we don't see every aspect of a nurse's work, you know. She's good, but she is also...' he frowned, trying to find the exact word he , wanted '...slapdash, though not always.'
Adelaide put down her cup; she didn't really want it, it was a good excuse not to have to drink it.
`She's very good, especially in an emergency-and sweet with the children, and that's important to you, isn't it? Perhaps she is a little slapdash, but she is young, isn't she? Give her a few months as a Hoofdzuster, and you will find she is everything you could wish for.' She pushed her cup away, and in a quite different voice said:
`I don't go back to England until October. It's still only March... unless you wanted me to go back sooner?'
He was thunderstruck.
`Good heavens, no, Miss Peters. The thought never entered our heads. We are more than pleased with you.' He shot her a sharp glance. `I thought you knew that.' He smiled at her, and looked all at once ten years younger. `Did you think that I was giving you the sack?' he asked mildly.
She smiled back at him. `No, not really, but you did sound as if you couldn't wait for me to leave.'
`Forgive me, that wasn't my intention. Now, about Nurse Wilsma, could you prepare a monthly report-I do not need to say an honest one, to you. That will give us several months to assess her before we offer her the post.'
Adelaide started to do up her coat.
`Yes, of course I will, Professor, and I'm sure that they will be excellent ones, too. And now you won't mind if I go?' She got up, and he got up with her. `I've kept you, I'm sorry.' They were at the door. 'I'll say good night, sir."
'Say whatever you like, Adelaide, but perhaps you will bear my company as far as the hospital? I want to look in on that fractured pelvis you had in theatre this afternoon.'
They crossed the street and started to walk down the steeg. It had begun to rain.
`A pity it won't freeze any more now,' the professor remarked. `I enjoyed our skating party, didn't you?"
'Yes, very much.' Adelaide smiled up at him, thinking for the hundredth time what a nice person he was to be with, and they fell to arguing in friendly fashion about the Dutch weather. The walk to the hospital had never been so short for her as it was that evening.
CHAPTER FIVE
ADELAIDE was standing, hot and rather tired, drying instruments. It had been a very busy day. Casualty had been more than usually active. Only swift action had saved the life of a two-year-old toddler with extensive scalds, and that had meant delays in dealing with all the many and various injuries that came in. Adelaide had somehow managed to be in two places at once, helping in Casualty and supervising Out-Patients for Dr Beekman, but the professor had become more and more demanding, so that in the end she had had to stay with him. They worked together over the child, setting up a transfusion of blood plasma, going swiftly through the whole routine of shock treatment, meeting each emergency with the seemingly unhurried movements of experts. When at last the small patient was carried carefully to the ward, the
professor had followed it, leaving her to deal with the minor ailments still waiting.
The last one dealt with, she looked at the clock. Out-Patients would have finished some lime ago. Adelaide started cleaning up. She had had no tea, and only a snatched dinner, so that when the professor strolled through the door, looking cool and immaculate and presumably without a care in the world, she threw him a look over the mask she had not bothered to take off which caused him to raise an enquiring eyebrow.
`You've had no tea, Sister,' he stated sapiently.
She gave a little snort behind her mask, and went on stringing forceps with the ease of long practice. He came nearer.
`You look like an enraged bundle of calico,' he remarked cheerfully, eyeing the enveloping theatre gown. Only her muslin cap, perched on top of her rather untidy hair, looked fresh and dainty. He leaned across the trolley and twitched the mask down under her chin. She gave an exasperated gasp, but he took no notice, removed the forceps from her grasp and continued stringing them. He handed her the completed bunch.
`You put them away, you know where they go far better than I ' He cast an eye over the trolley. `You've done the needles and knives'.' Good, we shall be ready in ten minutes or so.' He handed her another bunch. `I've not had any tea either,' he said, in such a plaintive voice that she burst out laughing.
`But the Dutch don't mind missing their tea in the afternoons, it's only the English who can't bear to go without it.'
The professor nodded. `I know, I had an English grandmother and an English nanny. Between them they taught me a proper respect for afternoon tea.'
Adelaide shut the cupboard door and locked it. `So that is why your English is so good, Professor?"
'Thank you. I imagine your Dutch will be equally good if you continue to make the progress Mijnheer de Wit tells me about.' Adelaide looked surprised, and he went on to explain
' He was a friend of my father's, and naturally he assumed that as you are working at the clinic, I should want to know how you are getting on.'
Adelaide undid her gown and put it with the pile of sheets and dressing towels ready Dor the laundry. She glanced up at his words, to find him staring at her intently. She felt a quick glow of excitement, instantly dispelled by his next remark.
`You look hot and tired,' he observed.
Adelaide sighed.
`Yes,' she agreed, `I am.' What he really means, she thought, is that I'm bedraggled and bad-tempered; and I am. She stripped off her Drills, rolled down her sleeves, and put on her cuffs.
The professor looked at her watch. `Since I have been the cause of you missing your tea, perhaps you will come and have a meal with me in-shall we say-forty minutes? I'll be at the hospital entrance.'
Adelaide, half way t
hrough the door, stood with her mouth open, looking at him. Her eyes looked enormous, her lipstick worn off hour ago, the end of her nose shone, and she was quite unaware of how pretty she looked despite it all. She shut her mouth with a snap.
`It's very kind of you, Professor Van Essen, but I have other plans for the evening.' She spoke stiffly; she was a poor liar and avoided looking at him.
`What plans?' he persisted. She searched feverishly for a genuine excuse, failed, and looked at him helplessly. He met her embarrassed gaze blandly.
`Just so, Sister. You don't consider it quite-suitable for a member of the nursing staff to accept an invitation from a consultant; but I must really point out to you that you have been with us for some time now, and I have had no opportunity of talking to you about your job and reactions to working here in Amsterdam. Since we're both hungry, surely we can-how do they say it?-kill two birds with one stone?'
