by Betty Neels
‘Oh, hello,’ said Sarah. ‘You’re early. Mother said half an hour.’ She smiled at him, for they were old friends, and they looked past him to the youngish man standing quietly behind him.
‘This is Professor Smythe. I thought it a good idea if he were to cast an eye over your stepfather. And perhaps your mother would be glad of a word?’
Sarah held out a hand. ‘I’m sure Mother and my stepfather will be glad to see you. Do come in.’ She led the way to the drawing room. ‘I’ll fetch Mother. Would you like a cup of coffee?’
‘Perhaps after we have seen Mr Holt?’ Dr Benson looked at the professor, who nodded. ‘Ah, here is your mother.’
Mrs Holt’s voice could be heard through the half-open door, wanting to know who had rung the doorbell and why hadn’t Sarah told her? She sounded cross, but as she came into the room and saw the two men she smiled charmingly. ‘Dr Benson, how kind of you to come…’ She turned to the professor and smiled even more charmingly. ‘And this is the consultant you mentioned?’
‘Professor Smythe, Mrs Holt. He will examine Mr Holt and give me any necessary advice.’
‘I have been so anxious about him,’ said Mrs Holt, offering a hand. ‘I’m sure you’re terribly clever. It was such a shock—the accident, you know. I feel that I shall never completely recover.’
The professor murmured. He would have a lovely bedside manner, thought Sarah, watching him from the door and then watching the three of them go upstairs to her stepfather’s room. She didn’t know if her mother had told Mr Holt of the impending visit, but whether he knew or not he would be annoyed by it.
They were upstairs for a long time. Sarah, keeping the coffee hot in the kitchen, ate two more biscuits, and when they finally came downstairs, she carried the tray into the drawing room. The professor took it from her with a smile, and sat down opposite Mrs Holt, while Sarah passed round cups and the biscuits.
‘Sarah, run along, dear. I’m sure you don’t want to be bored with our talk. Besides, I want a little chat with these two kind men. I’ve made light of my troubles, but I do feel that I need professional help.’
Sarah didn’t say anything, but the professor put his cup and saucer down and went to open the door for her. She looked at him as she went past. He had a kind face and was smiling. She shared a pot of tea with Mrs Twist and, since she had nothing else to do, sat at the kitchen table chopping up vegetables for the casserole which Mrs Twist was intending to cook.
They were a long time, she thought uneasily, then looked up as the door opened and Professor Smythe came in.
Sarah jumped up. ‘Have you lost your way? The drawing room’s on the other side of the house—down the passage and across the hall.’
‘No. No, I wish to talk to you.’ He glanced at Mrs Twist and smiled, and that lady put down the knife with which she had been cutting up the meat.
‘You’d best stay here,’ she said. ‘I’ve plenty to get on with upstairs.’
He opened the door for her and thanked her with another smile, and then pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Sarah.
‘You really shouldn’t be here in the kitchen,’ said Sarah. I mean, you’re a professor…’
‘I like kitchens.’ He had a pleasant voice, very quiet. ‘We always have breakfast in our kitchen; it’s so much easier with two small children.’
‘Boys or girls?’
‘One of each, soon to be joined by a third.’
‘How nice…I mustn’t waste your time. Did you want to tell me something? Is Mother ill?’ she asked worriedly.
‘Your mother is in the best of health, but I have suggested certain changes which might improve her physically and mentally.’
When Sarah gave him a questioning look he said, ‘Your mother is bored; she needs a complete change in her lifestyle. Dr Benson and I have had a chat and he fully endorses my suggestion that your mother and stepfather should close the house for a period and spend time at a hotel, somewhere where your mother can enjoy something of a social life. Your stepfather can be given all the attention he wants—massage daily visits from a nurse—for a gradual return to the full use of his leg. I suggested Bournemouth—good hotels, shops, entertainment, access to private nursing facilities. I understand that there will be no financial problems…’
Sarah opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head. She didn’t speak but her eyes looked a question.
‘Your mother agrees with me that a fresh environment and new faces would be ideal, and I suggested that she would benefit greatly from meeting people about whom she knows nothing and who knew nothing of her and your stepfather. I think that it would be wise if you do not go with them, and your mother has been persuaded that this is the right thing do.’
‘I don’t have to go, too? I can stay here with Mrs Twist?’ Sarah beamed at him. ‘For how long? You’re sure Mother won’t change her mind and I’d have to go, too?’
‘Quite sure, and we’ve suggested a period of two to three months.’
He watched her face light up. A plain girl, but nice eyes and when she smiled she looked almost beautiful. No wonder Litrik was interested in her. The things one does for one’s own friends, reflected Professor Smythe.
‘Dr Benson has made a most sensible suggestion,’ he went on smoothly. ‘Why not get a job while you are here with me housekeeper? It will fill your days, and you will meet people and earn some money.’
‘I’d like that very much, but you see I’m not trained for anything. When I left school Mother wasn’t very well, and she gets very upset if I suggest leaving home.’
‘Then why not take this opportunity to try your hand at something? There are jobs which require little or no training, you know. I’m sure Dr Benson can advise you.’
Sarah sat up straight in her chair. ‘Oh, my goodness, wouldn’t it be absolutely marvellous?’ She sounded like a schoolgirl, he thought, and looked like one too in her skirt and sweater. He had noticed that Mrs Holt was dressed fashionably. Either her daughter had no dress sense, or no money with which to buy pretty clothes. He had formed a low opinion of her stepfather—not a man to open a generous purse.
‘Then shall we go and tell your mother that you agree with him that a short period in new surroundings will be beneficial to her health?’
Sarah said yes; he sounded exactly as a professor should sound, very sure of himself.
Her mother was talking animatedly to Dr Benson, but broke off to exclaim, ‘Sarah, is this not a splendid idea of these two gentlemen? And your stepfather has agreed. You won’t blame your poor little mother for leaving you alone for a few weeks? You will have Mrs Twist. I know that we shall return completely cured and able to resume our normal lives again.’
Sarah eyed her mother with patient tolerance. ‘It’s a splendid idea, Mother. I shall be quite all right here with Mrs Twist.’
‘That’s what I thought, dear. There must be many things you want to do, and now you will have the time.’
Sarah agreed pleasantly, and tried not to look too pleased.
The two men left presently, and her mother went to discuss their plans with her husband. So Sarah went to the kitchen and gave Mrs Twist an account of the doctor’s visit, leaving out the news that she intended to go to work. Mrs Twist was a dear soul, and her staunch friend, but there was just a chance that she might inadvertently let the cat out of the bag.
Now that the decision had been taken, Mrs Holt lost no time. Hotel brochures were scanned, dates were decided upon and a good deal of shopping was done—for a new environment needed new clothes. It was left to Sarah to search out a nursing agency who would send a nurse and a masseuse each day to the hotel, and it was she who booked rooms at a splendid hotel on the seafront. When it came to his own comfort, her stepfather spent lavishly, and just as lavishly but rather less willingly on his wife.
He was less concerned for Sarah. He arranged for expenses for the household to be paid weekly, together with Mrs Twist’s wages, and in a sudden display of generosity told S
arah that if she needed money for any other reason she could ask him for it.
‘As long as it’s a reasonable amount,’ he cautioned her. ‘This is an expensive undertaking. If anyone at the office should need me urgently, refer them to me.’
Mr ter Breukel, kept up to date by his friend Professor Smythe, was satisfied. The next step would be taken by Dr. Benson, primed by him after another satisfactory phone call to the hospital manager in London.
Mr ter Breukel possessed his soul in patience and waited for the next move in his scheme.
The removal to Bournemouth was almost as big an undertaking as the journey back from Holland had been. Mr Holt had a new car now, and a hired chauffeur, and between them he and Mrs Holt had a vast quantity of luggage. And the business of getting him comfortable with a leg still in a small plaster took time and the efforts of several persons. But at last he pronounced himself satisfied, Sarah’s mother got in beside him, the chauffeur got behind the wheel and drove away. Sarah and Mrs Twist waved, but went unnoticed.
The pair of them went back to the kitchen, and over a pot of tea Sarah told her plans. ‘Of course I have to find a job,’ she explained, ‘and that might take a few days. You won’t mind? I’ll find work where I can come home each evening. Oh, Mrs Twist, it’s the chance I’ve always hoped for and never thought I’d get—not without running away in the middle of the night. But that wouldn’t have been very practical…’
Mrs Twist pronounced the scheme a good one. ‘High time a young lady like you got out and about a bit—never a moment to yourself. What’ll yer do?’
‘I’ve no idea…’ But she was soon to find out.
It was two days later when Dr Benson called. Sarah was in the kitchen, working her way through the ‘Jobs Vacant’ columns of several newspapers. She had already searched the adverts in The Lady magazine, and marked several likely posts, but most of them were out of London. The local paper might be more fruitful. She looked up as Mrs Twist ushered the doctor into the kitchen and got to her feet.
‘Dr Benson—is something wrong? Mother? My stepfather?’
‘No, no, Sarah, my visit concerns yourself. You do remember we talked about you finding a job?’ His eye fell on the pile of newspapers. ‘You’re looking for something? Well, unless you’ve arranged anything, I’ve heard of something you might care to try. Perhaps not quite your touch, but it would give you a start if you really want to strike out on your own.’
‘Oh, I do. I’ll do anything—well, not computers or typing or anything clever, and I don’t think I’d be much good in a shop…’
‘No skill needed for this job. Just patience and a friendly manner and an ability to stay on your feet for hours.’ At her questioning look he added, ‘The canteen at one of the hospitals is desperately short of staff. Serving meals, clearing away, fetching and carrying. Long hours, and shift work—twelve o’clock until eight in the evening, five days a week—but you wouldn’t have to work on Saturday or Sunday. It’s not much, I know, but you would meet people, Sarah, and it seems to me that that is something you have never had the chance of doing, other than your mother’s bridge partners and your stepfather’s business acquaintances.’ He added, ‘The pay’s not much…’
When he told her she said, ‘Not much? And I can spend it on myself, clothes and things?’
‘Of course. Look, I’ll give you the phone number and you can ask for an interview. Here’s the number. Use my name as a reference and don’t go looking too smart.’
Sarah said matter-of-factly, ‘I haven’t any smart clothes. And thank you very much; I shall phone this morning.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘It’s the first step towards my marvellous future.’
Dr Benson agreed. He hoped that Mr ter Breukel’s schemes wouldn’t go awry. He was pushing his luck, giving her the opportunity to savour an independent life. Would it not have been better to have snapped her up at once and carried her off to Holland? On second thoughts, Dr Benson felt not. Sarah, for all her unassuming ways, had always refused to be led, and her stepfather’s dislike of her hadn’t helped.
Sarah believed in striking while the iron was hot; she phoned the moment Dr Benson had left the house, and was given an appointment for the next morning.
It wasn’t until she had entered the rather gloomy portals of the hospital that doubts assailed her. She was to be interviewed by someone called the Domestic Supervisor. She might be disliked on sight; her references might not be sufficient to please this personage. By the time Sarah had reached the door to which she had been directed, the Domestic Supervisor had become the female equivalent of an ogre!
The voice which bade her enter was small and high-pitched, and to her relief Sarah saw that her imagined ogre was a very small, very round woman, with salt and pepper hair screwed into a bun and a nice smile.
‘Come in, dearie. Miss Beckwith, isn’t it? Sit down while we have a little chat.’
Fifteen minutes later Sarah rose from the chair. The job was hers. She was to start on the following day at noon.
‘You may find it a bit of a rush for a day or two, but the girls will help you. You’ll get your dinner at two o’clock, tea at five. The canteen closes down then, until first suppers at seven o’clock, but you’ll be kept busy getting them ready. Second supper is at eight o’clock, and that’s when the night shift take over. Hard work, my dear, but we’ll see how you get on, shall we? A week’s notice on either side.’
Sarah went back to Clapham Common and told Mrs Twist all about it. They arranged their days to suit them both. ‘And if by any chance my mother should ring up, would you just tell her I’m out? But I don’t expect her to telephone during the day.’
‘Wear comfortable shoes,’ advised Mrs Twist. ‘Your feet are going to kill you.’
They didn’t kill her, but by the end of her shift they ached so much she thought that she would never be able to go to work the next morning. But that was in a weak moment; lying in a hot bath, after supper with Mrs Twist, she knew that of course she would go to work in the morning. What was more, she would continue to do so until she found better work.
She had enjoyed her day, she reflected, adding more hot water. Dressed in a striped cotton dress, a white pinny and a white cap, she had presented herself to the Head Counter Assistant, admitted cheerfully that she had very little idea as to what she had to do, and had been borne away by two middle-aged women who’d called her ‘ducks’, showed her where everything was and, when the food arrived, stood her in front of a great container of chips. ‘Dole ‘em out, and no need to be mean about it. A couple of spoons and a bit over. Give us a shout if yer in a fix.’
She had managed very well; it seemed that everyone ate chips, and some of the housemen on duty, unable to get to their own dining room, had had two helpings. And everyone had been so friendly, asking her name, making little jokes. Though it had shaken her a bit when she had been dishing out chips to a bunch of nurses, standing there with their plates and discussing an accident case which had been admitted that morning. Sarah had tried not to hear the details. Nurses, she’d thought, must be wonderful people—able to take the sight of broken bones and blood everywhere, and still pile their plates with a wholesome dinner….
The only part of her day which she hadn’t enjoyed was coming home. It was quite a long journey to and from the hospital, and although the April evenings were light, by the time she’d got off the bus evening had closed in, and the five-minute walk to her home was through more or less deserted streets. But that was something to which she would become accustomed; she had never had the chance to be out on her own in the evenings, only in her mother’s company, or going with her and her stepfather to some function when he considered it good for his public image to be seen as a kindly stepfather and devoted husband.
By the end of the week her feet had accustomed themselves to standing for long periods, she had learnt her way around the canteen, made friends with the other girls and was on nodding terms with the hungry hordes who came to eat. They were a
lways in a hurry, either on duty, or off duty and hurrying to get away. She exchanged rather guarded chat with anyone who lingered to talk for a moment, and took care to note which of the ward sisters liked a salad instead of vegetables.
She was always famished by two o’clock, but none of them wasted much time over their meal; there was tea to get ready, the first of the staff would start trickling in at about half past three, and after a brief pause there would be a second round of tea…and then a rush to get suppers on the counter.
But she had enjoyed it. She had met more people in a week than she had in all the years since she left school, and she had a pay packet in her pocket. What mattered most was that she had been so busy that she had been able to banish Mr ter Breukel from her thoughts for minutes at a time…
She took Mrs Twist out to supper on Saturday evening, to a small restaurant in the High Street, and Mrs Twist, in a hat suitable to the occasion, ate her way through the three-course meal and pronounced it as well cooked as she herself could have done. ‘A real treat,’ she declared, ‘eating something I haven’t ’ad to cook meself.’
On Sunday Mrs Twist went to spend the day with her sister, Sarah washed her hair and her smalls, did her nails, read the Sunday papers from end to end and thought about Mr ter Breukel. Mrs Twist safely back, they had their supper and went to bed.
‘I shall never see him again,’ said Sarah, looking at the moon through a sudden rush of tears. She wiped them away at once, told herself not to be a sentimental fool and got into bed.
It was halfway through her second week, as she was on the point of going down to the basement to start another day’s work, that the lift door beside the staircase opened and Mr ter Breukel got out.
