by Betty Neels
Mrs Cross opened the door, wearing the blue overall and looking important. ‘Oh, it’s you, Miss Euphemia—you could have walked in—it’s your ’ouse.’ She smiled briefly. ‘I’m ever so busy.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ agreed Euphemia, ‘but I couldn’t really walk in, now could I?’ She went to the mirror above the wall table and tucked away a strand of hair. She had taken pains to make the most of herself and the dress she was wearing, while not new, was an expensive one her father had given her on her last birthday; finely pleated chiffon over a silk slip, very simply cut, its blues and greens and tawny shades making the most of her eyes.
‘And very nice, too,’ commented Dr van Diederijk from the drawing-room door. ‘I was beginning to think that you weren’t coming.’
She held out her hand. ‘There was a good deal of traffic…’ She gave him a social smile and was annoyed to see that he was looking amused, but he replied gravely enough: ‘It was good of you to come.’
They crossed the hall together. ‘Well, I was curious,’ she told him frankly, and was put out at his bland: ‘Yes, I thought you might be.’
The drawing-room was full. At first glance Euphemia was reassured to see a number of faces she already knew, but there were an equal number of people she had never seen before. Dr van Diederijk touched her arm lightly and introduced her to a small group of people, several of whom she knew slightly, waited long enough to see that she had a glass of sherry and then moved away. She exchanged small talk for ten minutes or so and then, catching sight of Dr Bell, excused herself and made her way over to him.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she told him. ‘I don’t know half these people.’ She took another sherry from a passing waiter and took an appreciative sip, quite forgetting that she’d missed her tea and supper was unlikely.
‘You’re all right, my dear?’ asked Dr Bell kindly.
Euphemia smiled a little tremulously because his sympathy was real and she had grown tired of presenting a calm face to so many people who had asked the same question without really wanting to know. ‘Yes, we’re managing. It’ll get better, won’t it? Just at first… Ellen’s settled down very well, I’m going down my next days off to see her. The boys are fine too. It’s such a relief that the house is let.’ She drank the rest of her sherry. ‘I’m not going to look too far ahead.’
‘Quite right, my dear. I see that van Diederijk hasn’t altered anything—even the carpet in the hall.’
She sniffed. ‘He told me I could have it mended…’ she stopped and touched her companion’s sleeve. ‘Who on earth is that?’ she asked.
Dr Bell followed her gaze. ‘Ah, that is Diana Sibley, van Diederijk’s fiancée.’ He coughed. ‘The daughter of a baronet.’
Euphemia took a good look without actually staring. ‘She looks very conscious of the fact,’ she said softly, disliking what she saw. Miss Sibley was tall and slender to the point of boniness, with no bosom worth mentioning and a long face and a straight nose above a thin-lipped mouth cleverly concealed by the masterly application of lipstick. Her eyes were dark, and as she came nearer Euphemia, still disliking her, decided that her dark hair owed more to a good hairdresser than to nature. She was beautifully dressed and she was smiling. Euphemia thought she was cold, as cold as Dr van Diederijk; if they had children, they would be a bunch of little icicles. She giggled into her sherry and earned a cold glance from her host, which emboldened her to grin at him and then turn her back. Dr Bell looked worried for a moment and then plunged into gentle conversation until she interrupted him with: ‘I’m dreadfully sorry, that was awful of me—I hope she didn’t see me, only I thought…’
She told him about the little icicles and went on feverishly: ‘I’m talking nonsense—I shouldn’t have come. I’ve not had anything to eat since midday and I thought it would be all right, but I can’t forget…it takes a little while, doesn’t it?’
The old man took her hand. ‘My dear child, you were brave to come, your father would have been proud of you.’ He patted her hand. ‘He wouldn’t want you to grieve, you know, he wasn’t that kind of man.’
‘No, I know, and I won’t, only being here…’ She glanced round the familiar room and caught the doctor’s eye fastened upon her. He said something to his fiancée and came across the room before Euphemia could move, and Dr Bell said at once: ‘Euphemia hasn’t had anything to eat all day.’
Dr van Diederijk looked down his nose at her. ‘That would explain it,’ he said suavely. ‘We will go to the kitchen and see what can be found.’
Euphemia went red. ‘There’s no need—I was going in a few minutes…’
‘All the more reason to eat first.’ He had ushered her to the door and out into the hall while he was speaking and she was in the kitchen before she could think of an answer.
Mrs Cross was standing at the table slicing ham, and she looked up and beamed at them both as they went in. ‘There ain’t no more of them canopies,’ she observed, ‘them waiters ‘as taken the lot, but there’s all them sausages.’ She went back to her slicing. ‘Nice ter see yer both together—both being owners of the ’ouse, like.’
Euphemia picked up a sausage. ‘Dr van Diederijk rents this house, Mrs Cross. I still own it.’ She bit into the sausage with something of a snap and added as an afterthought: ‘No offence, Doctor.’
‘Trivialities do not offend me, Miss Blackstock. Pray eat all you wish. You will excuse me if I go back to my guests.’
‘Not only will I excuse you, Doctor, I don’t really mind you going in the least.’ Euphemia picked up another sausage.
‘What an abominable girl you are!’ The doctor spoke softly in a steely voice as he went away.
‘You didn’t ought ter, Miss Euphemia,’ protested Mrs Cross. “E might say ’e didn’t want the ’ouse any more, and then where are yer?’
Euphemia selected a slice of ham, wrapped it round another sausage and gobbled it down. ‘He signed a contract for a year.’
‘Such a nice young man, too,’ said Mrs Cross.
‘He’s not young, and he’s certainly not nice.’ Euphemia wandered out of the kitchen, taking an apple from a bowl on the table as she went.
She was sitting on the stairs munching it when the drawing room door opened and the doctor came out. He paused when he saw her, closed the door behind him and stood leaning against it, watching her.
‘Eve and the apple,’ he observed blandly.
‘My name is Euphemia.’ She nibbled at the core with splendid teeth.
‘I was employing a figure of speech.’
‘Oh, so who am I tempting?’
He said silkily: ‘Not me, I do assure you, Euphemia. What an extraordinary name! Diana—my fiancée—would like to meet you.’
She got to her feet, the apple core still in her hand, very conscious of her bad manners earlier on. She said formally: ‘That’s very kind of her. Is she in the drawing-room?’
For answer he opened the door and she went past him. Diana Sibley was across the room, talking to Dr Bell, although her eyes were on the door. Half way there Euphemia remembered the apple core in her hand. She paused just long enough to hand it to the doctor before advancing, smiling nicely, to meet her.
CHAPTER THREE
DIANA SIBLEY had switched on her most charming smile, which was a pity, since it was quite wasted on Euphemia. ‘Miss Blackstock, I’ve been dying to meet you—you’re our guardian angel, you know, letting us have this darling house. I simply couldn’t face the idea of living in an hotel every time Tane had to come to London.’ She added carelessly, ‘My parents’ place is in Hertfordshire—there’s room enough for us both to live there while we’re in England, but Tane doesn’t want to do that.’ She gave him an arch look. ‘He doesn’t like the idea of sharing me with anyone, do you, darling?’
Euphemia was pleased to see that the doctor looked extremely uncomfortable and, behind his bland face, angry. She had no doubt that he was clenching his teeth in an effort not to tell his beloved to
hush up. She said sweetly: ‘I’m so glad you like the house. I’m sure you would rather be here with the doctor than with your family.’
Diana put a thin useless-looking hand on the doctor’s sleeve. ‘Not until we’re married.’ She made big eyes at them in turn. Dr van Diederijk richly deserved her, thought Euphemia as Diana went on: ‘Tane wasn’t going to ask you, but I insisted, and I so hoped you’d come. You’re awfully brave, in your place I couldn’t have done it.’ She shuddered and gave Euphemia another smile, although her eyes were like dark pebbles and just as hard. ‘I expect you’re very strong, you must be to be a nurse.’ She studied Euphemia smilingly with her head on one side. ‘Anyone over eight stone seems huge to me,’ she confided.
Euphemia’s tawny eyes travelled slowly down Diana’s spare frame. ‘Not really,’ she said cheerfully, ‘just normal.’ She saw the girl’s mouth tighten with annoyance and added: ‘So nice to have met you—and now I must just say hello to some of the people I know here.’ She put out a hand. ‘Thank you for asking me—I must go very soon, I’m on duty early in the morning.’ She included the doctor in her smile, dropped a kiss on Dr Bell’s cheek and crossed the room to join some friends. Diana, left alone with her fiancé, watched her, instantly surrounded by welcoming cries. ‘Anyone would think she owned the place,’ she declared thinly.
The doctor gave her a thoughtful look. ‘But, my dear, she does,’ he pointed out.
Euphemia left a few minutes later, seen politely to the door by her host. She uttered the usual banalities about a pleasant evening, how nice to meet his fiancée and she did hope that he would be happy there; she altered that to ‘you both’ in the same breath, then because he didn’t say anything and she felt awkward standing there in the open doorway being stared at in such silence she went on: ‘I expect you’re looking for a house to suit you both for—later on when you’re married…’
‘You are free to expect anything you wish, Euphemia.’
She went past him and started down the drive to the gate, neatly mended now, she noticed. A great many things she would like to say to him were jostling for a place on her tongue, but she held it prudently. After all, she needed the rent money and the likelihood of seeing him again was remote.
Not remote at all. Sir Richard, doing his morning round on the following morning, brought Dr van Diederijk with him. The two gentlemen trod with deliberation into the ward, followed by the Medical Registrar, the House Physician, the Social Worker, a physiotherapist and a clutch of selfconscious students, and Euphemia, advancing to meet them with her staff nurse and one of the lesser fry clutching the patients’ notes, came to a rather abrupt halt at the sight of him.
‘You know each other, of course,’ observed Sir Richard airily. ‘Tenant and landlady, as it were, Sister. Dr van Diederijk has joined the consultant staff here, so you will see him from time to time, though not as often as we would wish for as he has commitments at St Chad’s as well as Birmingham and Edinburgh, not to mention his appointments in Holland.’
Euphemia murmured suitably, cast a quick glance at the Dutchman and discovered him to be smiling faintly. It wasn’t a very friendly smile, she decided; possibly he was amused at having taken her by surprise. She smiled in her turn in a wintry sort of way and then led on to the first bed.
It took her less than ten minutes to discover that Dr van Diederijk the doctor was somewhat different from the man. There was no sign of the cold arrogance or the bland mockery which she had encountered; he was calmly assured, ready to listen to the patients’ sometimes rambling accounts of their illnesses, making no effort to steal Sir Richard’s thunder, although it was obvious that he knew what he was about, making quiet, pertinent observations and questioning the students and getting far more answers than his colleague, who enjoyed a reputation for terrifying his students, anyway. He spoke seldom to her and then only to question treatment, addressing her in a cool, impersonal voice as though they had met for the first time. Standing patiently while the two men bent over the next patient, Mr Rumbold, admitted that morning with acute nephritis, she imagined him living at Myrtle House, sitting in the drawing-room, wandering round the garden, eating his solitary meals in the dining-room—not that he would be solitary for long once his Diana had got him to the altar. It was strange that they hadn’t married. There was no reason why they shouldn’t; he could support a wife in comfort, she imagined, and Diana had all the hallmarks of a girl who had led a leisured life with enough money to spend. The only reason she could think of was that they didn’t really love one another enough to bother.
She was interrupted in these musings by Dr van Diederijk, asking her in a voice of exaggerated patience if he might have the X-rays of the patient he was examining. They were almost at the end of the round. Euphemia decided suddenly that she didn’t want to have coffee with him and Sir Richard; she beckoned Staff Willis, whispered in her ear and led her party to the next and last bed.
Ten minutes later pouring her own coffee after serving the two men, she looked up with well simulated surprise as Willis knocked on the door of her office and asked if she could come into the ward.
‘Anything urgent, Staff?’ enquired Sir Richard.
Willis looked startled. A nice girl, but no imagination, thought Euphemia crossly. She said quickly before Willis could put her foot in it. ‘I’ll take a look, sir, and let you know.’ She smiled at the two men and went to the door. Dr van Diederijk got to his feet as she edged past him. ‘A pity, Sister,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I was hoping for a chance to renew our acquaintance—some other time, perhaps.’
She had no choice but to look at him. He was smiling his nasty little smile again, just as though he knew… She said snappily: ‘Yes, of course, sir,’ and swept out of the little room.
She stayed in the ward for five minutes and then went back to her office. If she remained away longer than that they might come to see what was keeping her. She had timed it very nicely; they were on the point of going. She assured them that the matter had been a trivial one and escorted them to the door, bidding them goodbye before nipping back into the office to drink her cooling coffee.
She went down to Middle Wallop for her next days off, driving the Morris after coming off duty in the early evening. It had been a warm day and the sky was hazy with a hint of thunder in the air. Once on the M3 she urged the Morris to its utmost speed, glad when she was past the turning she would have taken if she had been going home to Hampton-cum-Spyway. Lightning was streaking the sky as she switched to the A30 and she felt relief that another twenty miles or so would see her safely at her aunt’s house. Once through Stockbridge she took the narrow road running alongside the river, going a good deal more slowly. The village was a fair size, set amongst rolling countryside. Euphemia turned away from its centre into a quiet lane behind the church and stopped outside a small house with plastered walls and a thatched roof. The thatch was in sad need of repair, but to a casual passer-by it was a charming place. Only Aunt Thea knew how awkward it was to run, with open fires and a temperamental boiler for the hot water and a leak in the roof when it rained too hard, but it had been her home all her married life and now that she was a widow, the idea of leaving it for something easier and modern never entered her head. She came to the door now, smiling and welcoming, and a moment later Ellen joined her. Euphemia, walking up the short path to meet them, was relieved to see how well her sister looked. This was the kind of life she should lead, obviously; she had always been a timid child and a shy young woman, but she looked relaxed and happy. Euphemia gave her a great hug and then kissed her aunt. ‘How marvellous you both look,’ she declared. ‘I think I shall give up my job and rusticate.’
She had meant it as a joke, but Ellen said at once: ‘Oh, I so wish you could, Phemie—it’s such fun being here.’ She added uncertainly: ‘But of course you wouldn’t, would you?’
‘No, love, I like my job, you know.’ She could have added that they would have all been in Queer Street if she gave it up, but she didn
’t; to have disturbed Ellen’s newfound serenity would have been cruel.
It was over their late supper that Aunt Thea mentioned the new curate, nodding and smiling at Euphemia as she explained about Ellen doing the church flowers and helping with the village play-group. Euphemia, too practical to allow herself to daydream, nonetheless had an instant mental picture of Ellen floating down the aisle on the curate’s arm. That sort of thing happened in novels, but it would be nice, she thought, if it could happen just once in real life for her sister. And for me too, she thought wistfully—to dismiss the idea at once. For the time being at least, what she needed was money, not romance. It struck her forcibly that by the time she had the finances straight she would be looking middle age in the face and rather past the romance bit. ‘Oh, well,’ she muttered, and sighed, so that Aunt Thea wanted to know if she had a headache.
Her two days of freedom went too quickly, pottering round the house, taking Gyp, her aunt’s elderly spaniel, for a sedate walk, going with Ellen to look at the church, where they found the curate contemplating the west window and obviously waiting for them. He seemed a nice young man, rather quiet and solemn, but he had honest blue eyes and a kind mouth and he was right for Ellen, that was plain to Euphemia, and she only hoped that something would come of it. Probably it would, she decided hopefully. Neither Ellen nor the curate were the type to fall in love lightly. She had made some excuse to go on to the village on a mythical errand and left them together.
London, when she reached it, was hot and humid and teeming. She pushed the Morris doggedly through the traffic, reached the hospital and parked in the yard at the back. The car park for staff was full, as usual, so she would have to come down later and move the car before she went off duty that evening. She got out reluctantly, dragged her overnight bag from the back seat and put it on the ground while she wrestled with the car door. The lock jammed from time to time, and it was jamming now; luckily she had time and to spare. She opened her bag and found a nail file and set to work on the lock’s inside, poking and prodding with the expertise of long practice. She was halfway there when Dr van Diederijk’s voice came from behind her.
