by Betty Neels
She walked beside the doctor, with Percy on his lead, and he took her case and shoulder bag. He didn’t look at her, and it wasn’t until she was in the car beside him that she muttered, ‘I feel an absolute heel…’
He still didn’t look at her. ‘Your mother is a charming lady, Emma, but you mustn’t believe all she says. She was merely uttering a remark which she felt suited the occasion. She will be very happy with her friend—I believe that and so must you—far happier than living with you; you must see that for yourself. You may love each other dearly but you are as unlike as chalk from cheese.’
Emma sniffed; she had no intention of crying although she felt like it.
His large comforting hand covered hers for a moment. ‘You must believe me; she will be happy and so will you.’
CHAPTER FIVE
EMMA sat beside the doctor, watching the quiet Devon countryside flash past as he made for the A38 and Exeter. He had told her that everything would be all right and she had to believe him, although she was beset by doubts. Juffrouw Smit might dislike her on sight; she might not be able to cope with the work. She would have to acquire at least a smattering of Dutch—and would she be able to live on her wages?
And over and above all that there was the unhappy thought that somehow or other she must make a success of the job, stay there until she had experience and some money saved before she could return to England. And what then? Her mother would be glad to see her as long as she didn’t upset her life. Perhaps she would never be able to go back to the cottage at Salcombe…
‘Stop worrying,’ said Dr van Dyke. ‘Take each day as it comes, and when you have found your feet you can make your plans. And I promise you that if you are unhappy in Amsterdam then I will see that you get back to England.’
‘You’re very kind,’ said Emma. ‘It’s silly of me to fuss, and actually I’m rather looking forward to working for your Juffrouw Smit.’
He began to talk then, a gentle meandering conversation which required few answers on her part but which somehow soothed her. By the time they had bypassed Exeter, left the A30 and joined the A303, she actually felt quite light-hearted.
At the doctor’s speed it didn’t take long to reach the M25 and take the road to Harwich, but first they stopped at Fleet, parked the car, took Percy for a run and went to the café for coffee and sandwiches.
‘We can get something else on board,’ said the doctor, ‘and of course there will be someone waiting for us when we get home.’
‘In Amsterdam? Not at Juffrouw Smit’s house?’
‘No, no, I wouldn’t dare to disturb her night’s sleep. I live a few miles outside the city. You’ll spend the night at my house and go to Juffrouw Smit in the morning.’ He glanced at his watch and sent the great car surging forward. ‘We are almost at Harwich. You’re not tired?’
‘No. I’ve enjoyed the trip; it’s a lovely car.’ She peered over her shoulder. ‘Percy’s asleep.’
They were very nearly the last on board the ferry. The doctor drove on, tucked Percy under one arm and ushered Emma to a seat.
‘Make yourself comfortable. It’s a short crossing—about three and a half hours. It may be a bit choppy but it is most convenient with the car, and the catamaran is as steady as an ordinary ferry.’
‘I’m not nervous.’
‘Coffee and a brandy, I think, and something to eat. I’ll order while you trot off…’
How nicely put, thought Emma, making a beeline for the ladies’.
They ate their sandwiches, drank their coffee and brandy, and presently the doctor got some papers out of his briefcase. ‘You don’t mind if I do some work?’
She shook her head, nicely drowsy from the brandy, and, with her arms wrapped round a sleeping Percy, presently she slept too.
The doctor’s hand on her arm woke her. ‘We’re about to dock. Better give me Percy.’
It was dark and chilly and she could see very little of her surroundings.
‘Not long now,’ said Dr van Dyke, and swept the car onto a lighted highway. After a few minutes there were no houses, just the road ahead of them, and Emma closed her eyes again.
When she woke she could see the lights of Amsterdam, but before they reached the outskirts the doctor took an exit road and plunged into the darkness of the countryside. But not for long, for there were a few trees, and then a house or two, and then a village—nice old houses lining the narrow road. She glimpsed a church—closed now, of course—and a tall iron railing, before he turned the car between brick pillars, along a short straight drive and stopped before the house.
‘You had better go straight to bed. I’ll see to Percy.’ He got out of the car, lifted Percy off the back seat, opened her door and urged her out.
She stood a minute, looking around her, for a moment wide awake. The house was large and square, with white walls and a steep gabled roof. The massive door was open and there were lights in some of the windows.
‘Is this your home?’ asked Emma.
‘Yes.’ He sounded impatient, so she trod up the steps to the door beside him and went into the hall. It was large and square, with doors on all sides and a vast expanse of black and white tiled floor. There was a rather grand staircase curving up one wall, and a chandelier which cast brilliant light over everything. She saw all that in one rapid glance before the doctor at her elbow said, ‘This is my house-keeper, Mevrouw Kulk—Katje, this is Miss Emma Dawson.’ And when they had shaken hands, he spoke to Katje in Dutch.
Mevrouw Kulk was tall, stout and dignified, but she had a cheerful smiling face. She was answering the doctor when a door at the back of the hall opened and a middle-aged man came towards them.
He went to the doctor and shook hands, saying something in an apologetic voice. The doctor laughed and turned to Emma. ‘This is Kulk. He and his wife run my home. He is apologising because he wasn’t here to greet us. He was shutting my dog into the kitchen.’
Emma shook hands and looked anxiously at Percy, standing obediently by the doctor’s feet. ‘Shall I take him with me? He’ll only need a minute or two outside…’
‘Go with Mevrouw Kulk. She will show you your room, bring you a hot drink and see you safely into bed. I’ll see to Percy and she will bring him up when you’re in bed. He’d better be with you tonight.’
Mevrouw Kulk smiled and nodded and beckoned, and the doctor said briskly, ‘Sleep well, Emma. Breakfast at half past eight, before I take you to Juffrouw Smit.’
Emma followed the housekeeper upstairs. I’m twenty-seven, she thought sleepily, and he’s ordering me around as though I were a child. But she was too tired to bother about that.
The stairs opened onto a gallery with doors on every side. Mevrouw Kulk opened one and ushered Emma inside.
Emma had an instant impression of warmth and light. The mahogany bed had a soft pink quilt, matching the curtains at the window. There was a small table, with a triple mirror on it and a slender-legged stool before it, and on either side of the bed there was a small table bearing pink-shaded lamps. A lovely room, but surely not one in which Percy would be allowed to sleep?
The housekeeper turned down the coverlet. ‘Bed,’ she said firmly, and smiled and nodded and went away.
Emma kicked off her shoes and dug her feet into the soft white carpet. Someone had already brought her luggage to her room. She found a nightie and, since it seemed the only thing to do, had a quick shower in the small, splendidly equipped bathroom next door. She got into bed just in time; Mevrouw Kulk was back again, this time with Percy prancing beside her and a blanket over one arm, which she spread at the end of the bed. She nodded and smiled once more, to return within a minute with a small tray, containing hot milk and a plate of biscuits.
‘Dr van Dyke says, “Eat, drink and sleep!”’
She patted Emma’s shoulder in a motherly fashion and went away again.
So Emma drank the milk, shared the biscuits with Percy, put her head on the pillow and slept—to be wakened in the morning by a bu
xom girl with a tea tray. There was a note on the tray: Let Percy go with Anneke; she can take him for a run in the garden.
Breakfast was at half past eight and it was already eight o’clock. She showered and dressed, wishing she had more time to take pains with her face and hair, and went downstairs, wondering where she should go.
Kulk was in the hall. His ‘Good morning, Miss’, was uttered in a fatherly fashion as he opened a door and invited her to go past him into the room beyond. This was a small room with a bright fire burning in the steel fireplace, its windows open onto the gardens beyond. There was a round table set for breakfast, a scattering of comfortable chairs, bookshelves overflowing with books, and small tables just where they were needed. The walls were panelled and the ceiling was a magnificent example of strap work.
Emma rotated slowly as the doctor came in from the garden. There was a mastiff beside him and, trotting as close as he could get, Percy.
His good morning was brisk. ‘Percy and Prince are the best of friends, as you can see. You slept well? Shall we have breakfast?’
Emma had bent to stroke Percy. ‘What a beautiful dog you have.’ She held out a fist and Prince came close and breathed gently over it, then went back to stand by his master. Kulk came in then, with a loaded tray, and the doctor sent the dogs outside into the garden while they ate.
Emma was hungry. It seemed a long time since she had sat down to a decent meal, and as if he had read her thoughts Dr van Dyke observed, ‘I do apologise for depriving you of a meal yesterday. You must allow me to make up for that once you have settled in.’
An invitation to dinner, thought Emma, loading marmalade onto toast. What a good thing I brought that dress. But all she said was, ‘That would be very nice,’ in a non-committal voice. It might be one of those half-meant, vague invitations exchanged so often amongst friends and acquaintances when she lived in Richmond, which never materialised. But no one had expected them to anyway.
Given no more than a few minutes in which to collect her things and thank the Kulks for their kindness, she was urged into the car, her luggage put in the boot, and Percy, waiting on the doorstep, was put on the back seat. Since the doctor had nothing to say, she held her tongue. She knew him well enough by now to understand that if there was nothing she should know she should be quiet.
Amsterdam was surprisingly close: first the modern outskirts and then the real Amsterdam—narrow streets and gabled houses leaning against each other lining the canals.
The doctor stopped before a row of old redbrick houses with imposing fronts.
‘I shall be a few minutes,’ he told her, before he got out and went inside one of the houses, which gave her time to look around her. There were several brass plates beside the door; this would be his consulting rooms, then. Very stylish, thought Emma.
He got back into the car presently. ‘My consulting rooms,’ he told her. ‘You will work here with Juffrouw Smit.’
He swung the car down a narrow lane with small houses on either side of it and stopped again before one of them. He helped her out, scooped up Percy and rang the old-fashioned bell. The door was opened immediately by a lady who could have been a close relation of Miss Johnson: the same stiff hairstyle, white blouse and cardigan and sensible skirt, the same severe expression. Emma felt a surge of relief; it was like meeting an old friend…
‘Good morning, Doctor, and I presume, Miss Dawson?’ Her eyes fastened on Percy. ‘And the little dog. Come in. Will you have coffee? You have an appointment at ten o’clock, Doctor…’
‘How nice to see you again, Smitty. I must go to the hospital first, so I had better get along. Bring Emma round with you, will you? Give her some idea of her work. She can settle in this afternoon.’ He smiled down at Emma. ‘Juffrouw Smit, this is Emma Dawson. I’m sure she will be an apt pupil.’ And when the two women had shaken hands, he said, ‘I’ll be off.’
Juffrouw Smit shut the door behind his vast back. ‘Coffee first, then a quick look at your room before we go round to the doctor’s rooms. We will speak English, but once you have found your feet you must learn a little Dutch.’
She led the way out of the tiny hall into a small sitting room, rather too full of old-fashioned furniture but very cosy. ‘Sit down. I’ll fetch the coffee.’
When it was poured Emma said, ‘Did you know that I had Percy?’
‘Yes, Dr van Dyke told me. I have a small garden with a very high wall and I shall leave the kitchen door open for him. He will be alone, but not for long, for I come home for my meals and if there are no patients you can slip back for a few minutes. He will be happy?’
‘He was a stray, and I’ve had to leave him alone from time to time, but I’m sure he’ll be happy. You don’t mind?’
‘Not at all. Drink your coffee, then come and see your room. The doctor took your luggage up before he went.’
It was a small low-ceilinged room, overlooking the lane, very clean and cheerful, with simple furniture and a bed against one wall.
‘My room is at the back of the house and there is a bathroom between. And if you should wish to be alone there is a small room beside the kitchen.’
Emma looked out of the window, trying to find a suitable way of asking about the rent; Juffrouw Smit wasn’t like the usual landlady.
It was her companion who said briskly, ‘Dr van Dyke is paying me for your room and board; that is why your wages are small.’
‘Oh, thank you. Your English is so perfect, Juffrouw Smit—have you lived in England?’
‘For several years some time ago. You will find that most people here speak English, although we appreciate foreigners speaking our language.’
Of course I’m a foreigner, reflected Emma, although I don’t feel like one.
They settled Percy on a blanket in the kitchen, with the door open into the neat garden, and walked to the doctor’s rooms. Two or three minutes brought them to the imposing door and across the equally imposing hall to another door with his name on it. Juffrouw Smit had a key and led the way into a short hallway which opened into a well-furnished waiting room—comfortable chairs, small tables with magazines, bowls of flowers and a desk in one corner.
‘Through here,’ said Juffrouw Smit, and opened the door by the desk. ‘This is where we keep patients’ notes, the account book, business letters and so on.’ She shut the door, swept Emma across the room and opened another door. ‘Dr van Dyke’s consulting room. The door over there leads to the examination room.’
She led the way out again. ‘This last door is where we make tea and coffee, and here is a cloakroom.’
Emma took it all in, rather overwhelmed. She had never thought of the doctor as being well-known and obviously wealthy. She thought of the understated luxury of his consulting room and remembered his rather bare little room at the medical centre in Salcombe. His lovely house, too. He had never given her an inkling—but then, why should he? She had come over here to work and as such would hardly be expected to take a deep interest in his personal life. He had, of course, got one; she wished she knew more about it.
‘Sit here, by my desk,’ said Juffrouw Smit, ‘and watch carefully. You must learn the routine before you will be any use to me.’
Emma, obediently making herself unobtrusive, reflected that Juffrouw Smit was every bit as severe as Miss Johnson.
The first person to arrive was Dr van Dyke, crossing to his own room with a brief nod, and five minutes later an imposing matron who replied graciously to Juffrouw Smit’s greeting and ignored Emma. She was followed at suitable intervals by a fat man with a red face, a thin lady looking frightened, and lastly a sulky teenager with a fierce-looking parent.
When they had gone, Juffrouw Smit said, ‘This is a typical morning. Dr van Dyke goes next to one or other of the hospitals where he is a consultant, and returns here around mid-afternoon, when he will see more patients. Very occasionally he sees patients in the evening. Now, if you will make the coffee and take him a cup, we will have ours and I will explain yo
ur work to you.’
‘Do I knock?’ asked Emma, cup and saucer in hand.
‘Yes, and no need to speak unless he does.’
She knocked and went in. He was sitting at his desk, writing, and he didn’t look up. She put the coffee on his desk and went out again, vaguely disappointed. He could at least have lifted his head and smiled…
She and Juffrouw Smit had their coffee and she took the cups back to the little cubbyhole. When she got back it was to see the doctor’s back disappearing through the door.
‘Now,’ said Juffrouw Smit, ‘listen carefully…’
Her tasks were simple: fetching and carrying, making coffee, answering the phone if Juffrouw Smit was unable to do so with the quickly learned words ’een ogenblik’, which it seemed was a polite way of saying ‘hold on’. She must see that the doctor’s desk was exactly as he liked it each morning, tidy the newspapers and magazines, and, once she felt at ease with these jobs, she was expected to find and file away patients’ notes and sort the post.
‘Many small tasks,’ observed Juffrouw Smit, ‘of which I shall be relieved so that I can attend to the administration—the paperwork.’
They went back to her house for their lunch, and then Emma took Percy for a quick run before they went back to the consulting rooms and another afternoon of patients. The doctor, coming and going, did no more than nod as he went, with a brief, ‘Settling in?’ not waiting for an answer.
Quite a nice day, thought Emma, curling up in bed that night. Under Juffrouw Smit’s severe exterior, she felt sure lurked a nice middle-aged lady who would one day become a friend. And the work, so far, wasn’t beyond her. She had a pleasant room, and enough to eat, and Percy had been made welcome. The niggardly thought that the doctor seemed to have forgotten all about her she dismissed. Any fanciful ideas in that direction were to be eschewed at once…
The next day went well, despite the fact that the patients seemed endless. Excepting for a brief lunch there was no respite, so that when the last patient had gone, soon after five o’clock, and Juffrouw Smit told her to get her coat and go to the post office with a pile of letters, she was glad to do so.
