An Apple From Eve

by Betty Neels

‘Dr van Diederijk was pretty cool too, everyone’s singing his praises.’ He added huffily: ‘Just my luck to have had a half day—I should have done exactly what he did.’

  ‘Of course,’ agreed Euphemia kindly, and wondered what she had seen in Terry—and as for marrying him… She didn’t want to think about marrying; there would never be another man to take Tane’s place in her heart. She sighed and ordered coffee.

  She was sent for during the morning to go to the Senior Nursing Officer’s office. Miss Risby spent quite a time making a gracious speech concerning Euphemia’s presence of mind, courage and good sense. Euphemia, acutely uncomfortable, sat on the edge of her chair and wished herself anywhere but there, but she knew Miss Risby of old, a formidable, well corseted lady with a sense of self-importance which had got her far in her profession. She endured the speech to its end, thanked Miss Risby politely and asked what plans had been made for her ward.

  ‘Well now, Sister,’ said Miss Risby, for once a little short of words, ‘I’ve given the matter a good deal of thought and I’ve also been advised by Dr van Diderijk, whose judgement I value, especially as Sir Richard is on holiday. He suggests, most wisely, that we should transfer the patients from your ward to St Jude’s—he has patients there, as you know—until such time as they can be accommodated here.’

  ‘And when will that be, Miss Risby?’ Euphemia’s voice was very even.

  ‘That’s hard to say, Sister. As you can see for yourself, the damage to your wing is extensive; it will be necessary to erect some kind of a temporary ward to house the men’s medical, and that will take some time—a few months, shall we say…’

  ‘And my staff and myself?’ asked Euphemia.

  ‘Integrated into other wards. As for yourself, I suggest that you take the post of relief Sister until such time as the temporary building is ready.’

  ‘Dr van Diederijk suggested that too, Miss Risby?’

  ‘Indeed, yes. Such a resourceful man!’

  Euphemia said nothing. He wasn’t resourceful; he was arrogant, thoughtless and for some reason intent on messing up her life for her. Perhaps he was doing it to teach her a lesson because she had told him that she had hated him. She longed to give in her notice then and there, but she dared not—she had no job to go to and even a month without work would play havoc with her finances. All the same she would start looking around for another post and when she’d found one she’d let him know and he’d realise that she had no intention of dancing to his tune.

  ‘Something is worrying you, Sister?’ enquired Miss Risby.

  Euphemia presented a blandly smiling face. ‘No, Miss Risby, thank you. You will let me know when we are to be transferred? And am I to tell the nurses?’

  ‘By all means—I should think the move might be managed within a week or ten days, that will fit in splendidly for you. Sister Thorn from Children’s will be going on holiday then and you can take over from her.’

  Euphemia stood up, received a gracious dismissal, and took herself off. If Dr van Diederijk had happened to have been at hand at that moment she would have boxed his ears for him. Probably it would have hurt her a good deal more than him, but it would have relieved her pent-up feelings.

  She passed on Miss Risby’s instructions when she returned to the ward, but there was precious little time to comment on them. The place was still in some disorder and they were all hard at it, setting it to rights, when the door was thrust open and Sir Richard came in and, with him, Dr van Diederijk.

  Euphemia put down the pile of blankets she was distributing and advanced to meet them, to be greeted by Sir Richard at his heartiest.

  ‘Sister Blackstock, I hear that you’ve distinguished yourself during this most unfortunate accident. I hurried back as soon as I heard the news, and I’m glad to see that you’re quite yourself and making the most of things.’

  He beamed around him: ‘Temporary, of course; but any port in a storm, eh? We shall be able to get all your patients into St Jude’s by the end of the week and your good nurses with them. I hear that a niche will be found for you here until we can get some sort of temporary building.’

  ‘So I’m told, sir.’ She didn’t smile and she ignored Tane.

  ‘I do feel,’ went on Sir Richard, at his most urbane, ‘that you should take a day or two’s rest, Sister. You had a nasty experience, a very nasty experience—change of scene in which to recover will do you good.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, but I’m perfectly well.’

  ‘You must allow me to be the best judge of that, young lady. Dr van Diederijk has most kindly offered Myrtle House for your use for two days—he’ll be away, he tells me, and I insist that you go there and relax. Doctor’s orders.’ He turned to his companion. ‘You agree, van Diederijk?’

  ‘Indeed yes. Sister Blackstock is more than welcome to rest in her own home. There will be no one to disturb her.’

  Euphemia stole a look at him. He looked back at her, his face empty of any expression save one of courteous indifference. She began: ‘Well, I…’ and was stopped by Sir Richard’s upraised hand.

  ‘Not another word, Sister Blackstock. We can’t have you suffering from delayed shock, you’re far too valuable a member of the staff. Have I your promise to do as I ask?’

  Her ‘Very well, sir,’ was reluctant, but he couldn’t have noticed, because he went on: ‘I suggest you go there this evening and have the following two days free. I shall mention it to Miss Risby.’ He gave her an indulgent smile. ‘And now shall we take a look at our patients?’

  The round took a very long time because Sir Richard wanted to hear each patient’s account of their escape, and as they were all, even Mr Crouch, unanimous in their praise of Euphemia and Dr van Diederijk, she was heartily glad when they at last finished weaving their way from bed to bed, dodging equipment and blankets and screens which the nurses were frantically trying to get into some kind of order. At the door Euphemia, always a tryer, had another go. ‘We’re in a shocking mess,’ she pointed out. ‘I really think I should stay—I can take days off later in the week once the men have been transferred.’

  But Sir Richard, at his most benevolent, wouldn’t hear of it. ‘I’m sure that by this evening you’ll have everything as you want it and then you can leave your staff nurse to cope for a couple of days; far better for you to be here when the transfer takes place. No, Sister, I must insist that you keep your promise.’

  Tane was standing a little apart, as though he didn’t care a brass farthing what she did, and probably he didn’t. When she peeped at him it annoyed her very much to see the smug look on his face. For some reason he was pleased that she was going to her home, although she couldn’t think why, unless it was because she hadn’t wanted to go in the first place.

  He was a tiresome man and she couldn’t stand the sight of him, although she loved him with all her heart. He’d called her darling, too, but she guessed now that that was to get her moving when she had hesitated. She wished Sir Richard a good morning and murmured coldly in the general direction of Tane, her gaze fixed on his waistcoat, and watched the two of them walking away, Sir Richard with his head poked forward and his hands behind his back and Tane beside him towering over him, his broad back very straight. Euphemia, fighting a childish wish to burst into tears, went back to the office where Joan was laboriously sorting the charts which had had to be freshly made out.

  ‘Send the first two nurses to coffee,’ she instructed so sharply that Joan looked at her in surprise. ‘We’ll have ours here—I need it.’

  By the end of the afternoon they had wrought miracles. The beds were in some sort of order and lockers had been found for the patients. True, they were scattered all over the place, because Physiotherapy was divided into a number of rooms connected by open doors, and there was no sluice and only one shower room. But as Miss Risby had pointed out when she came to see how they were getting on, it was only for a few days, and most of the hospital was inconvenienced in some way or other, although the other wards had
got off lightly with broken windows and smashed furniture. Euphemia, tired, hot, and keeping her temper on a tight rein, had a job to give a civil answer, and Miss Risby, who was by no means a fool, remarked as she left that Sister Blackstock would find things easier after she had had a well deserved period of rest. ‘Staff Nurse Morris is quite able to carry on for a day or so and I’ll send you extra nurses. Nurse Shotter has already gone on a few days’ leave, hasn’t she?’

  Miss Risby wagged her dignified head. ‘It might have been a great deal worse, Sister Blackstock, it was a miracle that the whole of the hospital wasn’t involved. And it’s very gratifying to read the account of your actions in the daily press—and Dr van Diederijk, of course. You’ve telephoned your family?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Risby.’

  ‘Splendid, then I must wish you a pleasant two days at home—it’s most kind of Dr van Diederijk to offer it to you, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Risby.’

  Euphemia tried to decide whether Tane was being kind or not as she drove the Morris down to Hampton-cum-Spyway. She would have liked to have thought so, but she couldn’t think of any good reason for his offer. Aunt Thea and Ellen, when she had told them on the phone, had been lavish in their admiration of his kindness. ‘Such a good kind man,’ purred her aunt. ‘He’ll make a splendid husband.’

  Euphemia had agreed; it was such a pity that his splendid qualities were going to be wasted on Diana.

  She hadn’t left the hospital until after seven o’clock and by the time she reached the house it was dark, for there was no moon. She was startled to see a light in the hall and one in the sitting-room, and before she turned the car into the short, drive she stopped it, puzzled. The house was empty, Tane had said so. Her heart tripped over itself at the thought that he might be there, waiting for her. Not that she would be glad to see him, she told herself menaciously, but all the same… She started the car again and stopped in front of the garage, took out her house key and walked up to the front door. She had the key in the lock when she heard Mrs Cross’s voice from the kitchen. ‘It’s only me,’ the lady’s head appeared round the kitchen door. ‘The doctor asked me ter be ’ere ter ’ave a meal ready for yer, Miss Euphemia. Egg an’ chips and a nice pot o’ tea. By the time yer’ve got yer bags in, it’ll be on the table.’

  Euphemia discovered that she was famished and Mrs Cross was a splendid cook and anxious to please. She sat on the other side of the kitchen table, sharing Euphemia’s pot of tea, asking endless questions about the explosion.

  ‘Ever so brave, the doctor said. Didn’t turn a ‘air, ’e said ’e’d rather ’ave had you there than a dozen men.’

  ‘Oh, did he? Did he really? He was pretty wonderful, and I didn’t do much, Mrs Cross.’

  ‘That’s as may be. Now you go an’ ’ave a bath and go ter bed. I’ll wash up before I go. And I’ll be round in the morning ter tidy up…’

  ‘That’s sweet of you, Mrs Cross, but I can manage.’

  “E said I was to. Anyway, I can’t come the next day—got ter go ter me sister’s, but I daresay you can manage.’

  So Euphemia went to her bed and contrary to her expectations, slept soundly until the sun woke her. It was a fine morning and with Mrs Cross there to dust and Hoover she was left with nothing to do but go into the garden. There was plenty to do there; someone had cut the grass and tied up the dahlias and the Michaelmas daisies, but the beds needed weeding, and when she went down to the bottom of the garden behind the hedge she found tomatoes to pick and the place crawling with marrows. She ate her lunch in the kitchen and went back into the garden again and worked there for the rest of the afternoon, so that by the time she was having a late tea she was nicely tired and relaxed. She spent the evening examining the doctor’s bookshelves and listening to some of the discs on his CD, and for the second night slept dreamlessly.

  She couldn’t get into the garden quite so early in the morning, because Mrs Cross wasn’t there, and there was her room to tidy and the bed to strip and the house to inspect to make sure that it was exactly as she had found it. All the same, after an early lunch she was ready to go into the garden again, and even though the sun had disappeared and there was a light drizzle, she found plenty to do. No one had remembered the small patch of potatoes; she dug them up with real pleasure and hauled them indoors. It was a pity that in order to get to the store room she had to tramp to and fro over the kitchen floor, but there was no help for it and she could clean it presently.

  It was over her tea that she began to feel lonely and sad; perhaps she would never come to the house again, and she loved it so. She cleared the tea things and put them away neatly, then got a bucket and floor cloth, donned an apron of Mrs Cross’s and started on the kitchen, floor. She hadn’t realised that it was such a mess and she’d have to look sharp if she was to leave in a couple of hours.

  She had thought the hard work would cheer her up, but it made no difference. Almost without knowing it she began to cry. She was on her knees scrubbing the worst patches of mud and snivelling, when she heard the front door being pushed open. It would be Mrs Cross, back early and come to see what she was doing. Euphemia wiped her face with the back of her hand and twisted round on her knees.

  It wasn’t Mrs Cross. Mrs Cross didn’t wear enormous, hand-made shoes, well polished, nor did she wear faultlessly cut trousers and a trendy waist-coat. Euphemia’s eyes, travelling upwards, stopped at the firm chin and even firmer mouth above it.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said unnecessarily and a trifle wildly. ‘You weren’t coming back until tomorrow—they said…’ She got to her feet and wiped a grubby hand over her tear-stained face again, pushed back her hair and met his eyes.

  They weren’t cold any more; the blue of them seemed very bright as though he was laughing. And yet his face was almost grim—no, not grim, she corrected herself, tired, bone weary. ‘Why did you come?’ she asked.

  ‘You silly darling girl,’ said Tane softly, ‘how can I keep away from you? You’re all I want, nothing else matters any more.’

  He came towards her, but she backed away. ‘Diana…’ she began.

  ‘Diana and I broke our engagement two days after we came back from Jerez. She decided that being a doctor’s wife wouldn’t suit her at all. Cor de Vries will suit her far better—I had hoped that they would take to each other when they met again.’

  ‘You arranged that?’ Euphemia was momentarily diverted.

  He nodded. ‘Well, something had to be done, my darling. I knew that the moment I had set eyes on you driving that ridiculous car of yours, and as if that wasn’t enough, fate sent me to Myrtle House—things just fell into place after that, and when I saw you sitting on the stairs eating apples it seemed to me that I would have to give fate a hand, for you looked so adorable. You look quite beautiful now, you know.’

  He reached out and plucked her into his arms. ‘No, don’t try and get away, just stay quiet and listen to me. I’ve got something for you. I tried to give it to you once and you fell upon me like a wildcat.’ She felt his great chest heave with laughter, and he took one arm away and fished a long envelope out of a pocket.

  ‘Here it is.’

  It was difficult to open because she had no room to speak of, but she pulled the thick paper out and spread it against his waistcoat.

  ‘It’s the deeds of this house…’

  ‘Exactly so, my heart. A wedding present, shall we say?’

  She stuffed it back into its envelope and poked it into her apron pocket.

  ‘A wedding present?’ Her voice came out a squeak.

  He said quite humbly for him: ‘If you will marry me, my dearest Phemie? I love you so very much—I had no idea—life is so very empty when you are not there, I am at a loss how to go on.’

  She looked up into his face, and it was all there, just as though he hadn’t said a word. In a moment she was going to tell him just how much she loved him too, but first: ‘Did you arrange for me to come here?’

 
He kissed the top of her head. ‘It was the only thing I could do, you see I had to talk to you.’ He smiled down at her. ‘And kiss you…’

  He took his time about it, and Euphemia, comfortably aware that there was no need to hide her love, made no attempt to hurry him.

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  IMPRINT: eBook Betty Neels

  ISBN: 9781460891803

  TITLE: AN APPLE FROM EVE

  First Australian Publication 2013

  Copyright © 2013 Betty Neels

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Harlequin Mills & Boon®, Locked Bag 7002, Chatswood D.C. N.S.W., Australia 2067.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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