by Betty Neels
Sarah was far too busy with her thoughts to notice any of these things. She got into the car and sat without speaking until they reached her home.
Mr ter Breukel got out, opened her door and stood beside her on the pavement.
‘You said that you haven’t seen me, Sarah. But do remember that I am always there.’ He rang the doorbell, waited until Mrs Twist opened the door, and then went back to his car.
Sarah watched him drive away. She longed to marry him, but she wouldn’t. He had said that they would be happy together, but supposing that he met a woman he loved? What then?
She followed Mrs Twist into the kitchen, and over supper gave her a watered-down version of the evening.
‘A blessing that dear man went after you,’ said Mrs Twist. ‘A pity ’e couldn’t stay for ’is supper.’
Sarah remembered then that she hadn’t even offered him a cup of coffee. He had said that he couldn’t stay, but she could at least have offered something.
She went to bed presently, and lay awake a long time, imagining life as his wife, until she went to sleep, only to wake in the morning knowing that she was going to refuse him.
She must think up some really good reason—a career in something or other—computers. She had been told that once one had mastered them, there were unending opportunities—super jobs, marvellous salaries, meeting important people. She would find out as much as possible about them so that she would sound convincing. And he would be secretly relieved, she felt sure.
She rehearsed several suitable speeches on her way to work on Monday; she must be ready to give him his answer when next they met—perhaps not that day, but certainly before the week was out. Satisfied that she couldn’t improve upon them, she worked even harder than usual in her canteen, outwardly cheerful but with a heart grieving for what might have been.
She didn’t see Mr ter Breukel that day, nor the next, and when she did see him again her carefully worded speeches went unspoken.
The letter which had come by that morning’s post from her mother had for the moment driven all other thoughts out of her head. She had sat down to read it after breakfast, while Mrs Twist went to the shops. She had read it, and then read it again, not quite believing it.
The letter wasn’t long, and a good deal of it was taken up with instructions. Mrs Holt wrote to say that they had decided to move to Bournemouth; they liked the town, they had made many friends, and they had seen a delightful house close to the sea. Her stepfather, went on Mrs Holt, intended to more or less retire, so he would need to go to London only very infrequently. The house at Clapham Common was to be sold, and Sarah and Mrs Twist were to remain in it until a buyer had been found, after which they could travel to Bournemouth. There would be no need for Mrs Holt to return for the moment. Sarah could deal with the estate agents and any prospective buyers, and she and Mrs Twist could start to pack away any silver and china not in use, together with her and Mr Holt’s clothes.
Sarah, reading the letter yet again, had looked in vain for some comment as to how she and Mrs Twist might feel about it; her mother had taken it for granted that they would be happy to fall in with her plans. And Sarah was to tell Mrs Twist…
She’d decided to wait and tell the housekeeper when she got home that evening; they could discuss it at their leisure. Perhaps Mrs Twist would choose to go to Bournemouth, after all. But her relations and friends were scattered in and around London, so she might not want to. As for her self, Sarah knew that she would never go to Bournemouth.
But perhaps here was the solution to her problem; she could tell Mr ter Breukel that her mother and stepfather were moving from the Clapham Common house and wished her to join them. She would be able to find a job there, she would tell him, and meet any number of people. She wouldn’t be telling a lie, she assured herself, just altering the truth a little, and as soon as he had gone back to Holland she would find other work.
It shouldn’t be too hard; she would get a reference from the hospital, and she had been saving her wages. Not to marry him would break her heart, but even worse was the thought of marrying a man who didn’t love her. Oh, he liked her, they were friends, and he had been unfailingly kind each time they had met, but that was no foundation for a marriage.
She rehearsed a number of now suitable speeches, and then, when they did meet, forgot them all.
They came face to face in the entrance hall, she on her way home, he on the way to check on his patients from his morning list in Theatre. It was no place in which to have a lengthy talk but he stopped in front of her, blocking her path with his bulk.
‘Are you going home?’ he asked without preamble. ‘Because if you are may I come and see you later?’
Sarah said quickly, ‘Can you spare five minutes now? I’ll be very quick. I’ve had a letter from my mother. They’re selling the house at Clapham Common and have bought one in Bournemouth. They want me to go and live with them there. It’s a bit of a surprise, but it’s like an answer, isn’t it? I mean, I’ll be able to start afresh, get a job, meet people.’
Mr ter Breukel’s face showed none of his feelings; he said in a level voice, ‘That is what you want, Sarah? You believe that this is really your chance to change your life, become independent? You would be happy?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Sarah, and prayed for forgiveness for such a whopping lie. ‘So you see there’s no need for you to marry me.’ She swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Thank you very much for asking me.’
He smiled. It was a bitter smile, but his voice was friendly enough. ‘I must be glad that your future has become so promising. I’m sure you will make a success of whatever you choose to do.’
Sarah said, ‘Yes, so there’s no need for you to come this evening.’ She looked up into his expressionless face. ‘I wouldn’t have liked you to have come all the way to Clapham just to hear that I’d decided to change my mind.’
He agreed gravely. So she had intended to marry him, had she? And now she had changed her mind. He wondered why. Something he would find out.
They parted in a friendly fashion, going their separate ways, he to his patients, thrusting all thoughts of her from his mind for the moment, she to stand in a long queue for a bus, longing to get home so that she could go somewhere quiet and cry until she had no tears left.
She saw him two days later, passing him on her way to the basement stairs. He stopped, wished her a friendly good afternoon, and told her that he would be returning to Holland on the following day.
Sarah put out a hand and managed a smile. ‘I hope you have a good journey. Will you be in Holland for a long time?’
‘Three weeks—a month. Then back here very briefly. You will probably be gone by then.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. Please give my love to Suzanne. And thank you for all your kindness.’
There was really nothing more to say. ‘I’ll be late,’ she said, and raced down the stairs. Well, that’s over, she told herself, I must get away from here before he comes back. Brave words, drowned in unshed tears.
Mrs Twist, informed of her employers’ plans, had refused to go to Bournemouth; her family and friends were scattered around London and that was where she belonged. She’d agreed to stay at home until it was sold.
Mrs Holt had written Sarah another long letter demanding that she went to Bournemouth as quickly as possible so that she might accompany her mother on the shopping expeditions necessary for the new house. She was to pack up the ornaments and silver, and their clothes, and oversee the removal of a good deal of the furniture.
‘Two weeks should be ample time for you to see to this,’ the letter had said. ‘We shall expect you no later than that.’
Mr ter Breukel had gone; Sarah gave in her notice and wrote and told her mother that she would see to the packing up of the things she wished for, and arrange for the furniture to be collected, but that she herself would be staying in London. ‘I have a good job and somewhere to live,’ she wrote recklessly, ‘and I intend to become independent
. I am sure that you and my stepfather will be very happy in your new home, but please understand that I would like to lead a life of my own…’
Naturally enough, this letter caused a flood of telephone calls and indignant letters, to which Sarah replied firmly. ‘It isn’t that I don’t love you, Mother, as you suggest, but I do wish for my own life, and you must agree with me that my stepfather will be glad not to have me in the house. Once you are settled in, with a good housekeeper and everything to your liking, I’m sure that you will see the good sense of this. Later on, when I get my holidays, I will come and visit you.’
Mrs Twist, shocked at first at Sarah’s decision, agreed that it was a chance which might never occur again. ‘Just as long as yer get a good job…’
‘Oh, I shall,’ said Sarah airily. ‘I’ll stay here until I do. It may take a week or two until I find something I would like to do.’
Mrs Twist studied her face. ‘Let’s hope so. You look peaked, Miss Sarah, and you’ve got thin. That job at the hospital was too hard work.’
It had certainly been that, agreed Sarah silently, but Litrik had been there too. She thought about him constantly, and now she would never see him again she called him Litrik. It didn’t matter any more; he had really gone out of her life, and now she had left the canteen there were no more snatches of gossip to be gleaned about him.
She began looking for work, setting about it in a dogged fashion, answering anything which sounded suitable for her meagre talents. But she had no luck; her letters were ignored, or she was told the job had been filled, and the few interviews she went to were unsuccessful. She had so few skills, and serving in a canteen, however good her reference was, wasn’t enough.
Finally she found work, filling shelves at a supermarket. It was part-time, from half past seven in the morning until noon, and it was work she could do without needing anything other than an ability to work hard and quickly and to be honest. It was only a short bus ride from her home too, and although the wages weren’t much she was able to save almost all of her pay packet since she was still living at home.
But there was a prospective buyer for the house, and she would need to earn more money if she had to find a bedsitter. She became a little thinner, and a little paler, and muddled in with her worries was the constant image of Litrik.
Sarah had been working at the supermarket for a week when Mr ter Breukel returned to London. And, being a man very much in love despite the hopelessness of the situation, he went straight to the hospital; he wanted to be sure that she was still intent on going to Bournemouth. He had no intention of giving up until she actually left London; indeed he had no intention of giving up even then.
He found his way to the Domestic Supervisor’s office, exchanged civilities, and enquired if Sarah Beckwith was still working on the same shift.
The supervisor managed not to look surprised. Whatever next? A senior consultant seeking the whereabouts of one of the girls in the canteen? All the same, she answered him readily enough.
‘Sarah? She left us, let me see, about three weeks ago. A good worker, too; I was sorry to see her go, sir.’
He thanked her pleasantly and went back to his car, then made the slow journey through the rush-hour traffic to Clapham Common. It was still early morning; if Sarah was at home he would have no compunction in getting her out of her bed. For all he knew she might be on the point of leaving.
The house, when he reached it, looked forlorn, and as he waited for someone to answer his knock he noticed that the downstairs windows lacked curtains. But someone was there; he heard footsteps in the hall and a moment later Mrs Twist opened the door.
‘Lor’ bless me, sir, and here was me thinking I’d never see you again.’
She stood aside for him to go in and he saw that the hall carpet had been taken up and that there were pale squares on the walls where the pictures had hung.
‘Sarah has gone to Bournemouth, Mrs Twist?’
‘No, sir, and never meant to. ’Ad a bit of a do with her ma, told ’er she’d got a good job here and meant to stay.’ Mrs Twist snorted. ‘Good job—she’s working part-time at the supermarket in the High Street, filling shelves. Goes in the morning early and finishes at midday. And what she’ll do in a week’s time when the new owners move in, I don’t know.’
Mr ter Breukel frowned. ‘She told me she was going to live with her mother and stepfather… Where is this supermarket?’
‘Go left at the end of the road and then take the second turning on the right; that’ll bring you to it. There’s a car park.’
He smiled suddenly. ‘We shall be back shortly, Mrs Twist…’
Mrs Twist’s nose twitched at the scent of romance. ‘We, sir?’
‘Yes, Mrs Twist.’
The supermarket was crowded with shoppers. Mr ter Breukel found an assistant and asked to be taken to the Manager. Presently he found himself in a small crowded office with a harassed-looking man at the desk.
‘If I might have a word,’ began Mr ter Breukel, assuming what could only be described as his best bedside manner. Ten minutes later they left the office together, threading their way to the back of the place where the manager opened a door and invited him to go in.
‘Will you need to see Miss Beckwith again?’ asked Mr ter Breukel.
‘No, there’s no need. This is all very unusual, but in the circumstances…’
They shook hands, and Mr ter Breukel went in and shut the door behind him. Sarah was unpacking tomato soup, stacking the tins on a small trolley. She didn’t turn round when she heard the door close.
‘This is the last lot, when you’re ready.’
She turned round then, and saw him. It was as though someone had lighted her pale face with a soft glow, and he allowed himself a huge sigh of relief.
‘Oh,’ said Sarah, ‘how did you get here? Who told you? Why are you here anyway?’
He said with commendable calm, ‘Hello, Sarah. I came in my car. Mrs Twist told me where to find you, and I’ve come to take you home.’
She said in a shaky voice, ‘Well, I can’t come yet. It’s only half past ten.’
‘You’ve resigned. I have seen the manager; you’re free to leave now.’
Her mouth fell open. ‘Resigned? But I’ve only been here a week, and I need a job.’
‘No, you don’t. But let us not stand here arguing. If you will get your coat I’ll drive you back, then we can talk.’
‘What about?’
‘Us.’
She could see that there would be no arguing about it. Meekly she took off her overall, found her coat and went with him to his car. They drove the short distance without saying a word. Sarah felt as though she had been hit on the head and had become delirious, while he was perfectly calm and relaxed.
Mrs Twist made coffee and they sat in the kitchen, the only room in the house that still held any comfort. Mr ter Breukel ate all the biscuits, since he had missed his breakfast, and listened sympathetically to Mrs Twist’s problems until Sarah, unable to sit there any longer wondering what was to happen next, murmured something about packing the china. All nonsense, of course, but it got her out of the room.
Mr ter Breukel paused long enough to thank Mrs Twist for his coffee and went after her, to find her in the dining room at the back of the house, which was now quite empty, smelling slightly of damp and emptiness. He shut the door after him and crossed the bare boards, and turned her round to face him.
‘Before we say anything else, let us get one thing quite clear. I love you, Sarah, and I want to marry you. And if you would just throw your odd notions out of the window and learn to love me a little, I believe that we will be extremely happy together.’
He put his arms around her and pulled her close. ‘I fell in love with you when I saw you first. I’ve told you that, but I’ll tell you again…’
‘You didn’t tell me that you loved me.’
‘No, I wanted you to be free to choose.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘You told me th
at you were going to Bournemouth, and I thought you had chosen.’
‘I didn’t know you loved me, did I? Oh, Litrik, I love you too, only I’ve been so silly.’
‘My darling girl, never that. At cross purposes, perhaps.’ He wrapped her even closer and began to kiss her…
Presently, Sarah asked, ‘How long will you be here in London?’
‘A week only. You can stay here? No, that’s unthinkable.’ He thought for a moment, then kissed her once more. ‘I have it. I have a little house in a village in Somerset; you shall go there, and Mrs Twist shall go with you if she would like that. We can be married there—the church is small and beautiful. I’ll ask Suzanne to come over and keep you company. I’ll have to go back to Arnhem for a couple of days, but I’ll get a special licence and we’ll marry the moment I come back.’
Sarah said, ‘I haven’t anything to wear.’
‘That’s easily dealt with. Am I going too fast for you, my dearest?’
‘Yes, but I rather like it.’ She stretched up to kiss him, to lend weight to her words. ‘Of course there are all kinds of problems. Mother…?’
‘We’ll drive down and tell her. I’m free on Sunday.’
‘She’ll be angry.’
‘I’ll be with you, darling.’
They went out to lunch then, taking Mrs Twist with them, who was thrilled to bits at the idea of the wedding and equally delighted to go with Sarah to Somerset.
By the end of the meal Litrik had everything arranged. He would take her and Mrs Twist straight from Bournemouth to his country home, they would see the rector, and there would be no need for Sarah to return to London. And as for Mrs Twist, she had no doubt that she could get a nephew to mind the house while she was away. He left after lunch, and Sarah went back to the house with Mrs Twist and sat in the kitchen, wrapped in dreams.
It all went exactly as planned. Her mother had been angry, and then peevish, and Sarah, with Litrik beside her, had listened a little sadly, for it was apparent that her mother regarded her as an unpaid companion who would have to be replaced. Whatever Litrik had had to say to her stepfather had been brief. He’d refused to come to their wedding, but when Litrik had suggested that he would send a car to take her mother to ceremony, she’d agreed to go. ‘I hope it’s a decent affair,’ she’d said, ‘and not some hole-and-corner ceremony.’
