Saturday's Child

by Betty Neels

  The professor led her away towards the supper room, chose a small table for two, and only when he had seated her and fetched two plates of food did he speak. ‘That was a little unfair of me, I’m afraid,’ he observed coolly, ‘but I haven’t seen you for some time.’

  ‘I’ve been here all the evening,’ stated Abigail flatly, ‘and it was very unfair.’

  ‘Meaning that you prefer Henk’s company to mine? I can well believe it, Miss Trent—he’s still a young man and good fun, I should imagine, do you not agree?’

  Abigail bit into a small sausage on a stick. ‘Quite nice,’ she answered. ‘Why do you pretend to be Methuselah? I’ve no intention of pitying you.’ She watched his eyebrows lift and went on recklessly, ‘You really had no need to bring me in to supper, you know—I didn’t expect it.’

  His voice was all silk. ‘The reason I did so was because I have something to say to you and this seems a good opportunity to say it.’

  Abigail finished the sausage and started on a minute vol-auvent. Surely he wasn’t going to tell her she looked nice, or was being a success or something of that sort? Hardly twice in one evening. She took another bite and asked, ‘Yes, sir?’ She added the sir from sheer naughtiness because he looked so remote, just as though they were on a ward, discussing a patient and she in uniform. If he preferred her in her cap then she would wear it, metaphorically speaking.

  ‘You leave Mrs Macklin in three days’ time,’ it was a statement, not a question. ‘Unless you are committed to returning to England, you would oblige me greatly by remaining for a further week or so and working in the hospital. There is an outbreak of salmonella on the children’s ward, both nurses and patients, I am afraid. We are short of nursing staff as a consequence just when they are most needed. I have a number of beds on the ward and we—that is, I and my colleagues agreed that it would be a good idea if you would be kind enough to help fill the gap while the emergency lasts. You will be paid your usual fee. As to where you will live, I am of the opinion that Mrs Macklin would be delighted if you were to remain with her as a paying guest—and it would be excellent for her to have an interest in life after her long illness.’

  How like him, thought Abigail, everything worked out beforehand. She wondered what he would say if she refused. She chose a cheese straw and nibbled at it while she studied him across the table. He looked as impassive as ever, although he was staring at her in a rather disconcerting way. He said suddenly, ‘Please, Abigail,’ and she gave him a reassuring, almost motherly smile because she sensed anxiety behind the blandness of his face and she loved him far too much to allow him to be worried or anxious even when he was annoying her so excessively.

  ‘Of course I’ll come. I like children—besides, it will do me good to do some work for a change. Do you want me to come straight from Mrs Macklin’s?’

  ‘Thank you, Abigail. Yes, if you could manage it—I don’t know about your days off.’

  She shrugged. ‘I have plenty of free time and I shall get two days each week in hospital, shan’t I? If you will tell me the name of the ward to go to and what time.’

  ‘The Beatrix ward, it’s in the oldest part of the hospital, on the top floor. Could you manage ten o’clock? I’ll see Zuster Ritsma—you will do staff nurse’s duties, of course.’ And when she nodded briefly, he went on:

  ‘Can I get you anything else to eat?’

  She shook her head; he had got what he wanted—he hadn’t eaten anything himself, probably he was waiting to take one of the pretty girls she had seen him dancing with down to supper—it had been an excuse to get her alone and pin her down. ‘When did the epidemic start?’ she asked him.

  He looked faintly surprised. ‘Six days ago.’

  The day before he had invited her to the dance. She managed a smile as she got up and her voice was a little high. ‘Well, I think I’ll go and find Henk—he’ll be looking for me …’ Which wasn’t quite true but saved her pride a little, only to have it trampled upon a moment later by the professor.

  ‘You look charming, that dress is most becoming.’ He smiled a little as he spoke and she was conscious of a stab of humiliation. As they went back to the dance floor she said a little unsteadily, ‘You didn’t have to say that—I would have come to the hospital without any—any softening up.’

  It wasn’t until that moment the idea took shape that the whole thing had been a softening-up process—the invitation to the dance and the interest in what she would wear, being fetched by him and danced with and supped with. She went a little white and said in a voice that was almost shrill:

  ‘Oh, there’s Henk—I daresay I shall see you later.’ She smiled with forced gaiety, ignoring the fact that the professor was about to say something, and lost herself in the crowd.

  She danced for the rest of the evening and once more with the professor, with whom she kept up such a steady flow of chatter that he was hard put to it to get in a yes or no. He did indeed manage to say: ‘There is something I should make clear …’ before she interrupted him with: ‘Oh, please need we talk shop—I’m having such fun.’ She spoke to his shirt front in a brittle voice and avoided his eye, fearful that he was going to pay her another insincere compliment or launch into her hospital duties, neither of which she felt she could bear at that moment.

  She had spent some time with Professor de Wit, sitting in a good deal of state, surrounded by friends and admirers and watching the dancing with a good deal of amusement. He welcomed Abigail with a delighted smile and urged her to sit with him. ‘You look delightful my dear,’ he said happily. ‘What a pretty girl you are, to be sure—that pink dress is just your colour,’ and he spoke with such sincerity that she very nearly believed him. ‘You have danced with Dominic?’ he asked, and she said yes, she had, and wasn’t it a fab dance and how was he feeling. They talked cosily together until several elderly gentlemen, heavily bespectacled and delightfully mannered, presented themselves with the wish to spend a little time with their old friend, but on no account must the young lady feel called upon to desert them. Which she rightly interpreted as a flowery way of hinting that she should go. Which she did, leaving them prosing gently over Professor de Wit’s book, oblivious of the gay scene around them. She was dancing the last dance with Henk when he remarked:

  ‘We shall be seeing you in a day or two, so the Prof tells me. He’s got beds in the other wards as well, but Children’s is his pet. Very soft-hearted is our Prof, though you wouldn’t think it sometimes—got a tongue like a razor and a voice like a deep freeze most of the time.’ He glanced at her and added, ‘He’s a fine man, though. I wouldn’t like to work for anyone else.’

  Abigail nodded understandingly. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t. I’ve seen some of his kindness.’

  There wasn’t much kindness evident in the professor’s face when they met presently, however. She was wrapped once more in the sables, her plain little face radiant with the pleasures of the evening and her modest success. She saw him waiting by the entrance and exclaimed as she reached his side,

  ‘Oh, it was fun. Thank you very much for inviting me.’

  ‘You thank me when you believe that I did it merely to—what was the expression? Soften you up? How generous of you, Miss Trent!’

  He led the way to the car and she got in silently and sat, still silent, while he drove through the quiet streets of the city to the Begijnsteeg. They didn’t speak as they got out of the car either. They were half way across the square when at length he broke the silence, at the same time coming to a halt in the dim light of the street lamps.

  ‘I wished to say something to you, to explain, while we were dancing, but I was unable to get a word in edgeways for your ceaseless chatter. I shall do so now, at the risk of us both catching a chill, but as the cold will doubtless preclude you from either interrupting me or answering me back, I feel the risk is worth taking.’

  Abigail, from the depths of the sables, eyed him with her mouth open. She had become used, in the last few weeks, to the
professor’s deliberate way of expressing himself, and indeed, could not imagine him doing anything else, but she hadn’t liked that bit about the ceaseless chatter, although she was fair enough to own that it was perfectly true. ‘Yes, sir?’ she prompted him encouragingly.

  ‘Stop calling me sir,’ said the professor nastily. ‘You do not need to throw my age at me every time you open your mouth.’

  Abigail, perhaps because it was darkish and his face was in shadow so that she couldn’t see its usual harsh expression, said boldly:

  ‘Don’t talk rubbish! You’re far too sensitive about your age—you’re in your prime and extremely handsome and you must know that women adore men who are a little bit older.’ She stopped, appalled at her own words, and hastened to rectify her mistake by adding belatedly, ‘Well, most women.’

  ‘Are you toadying to me?’ he asked her in a dangerously quiet voice.

  ‘Toadying?’ She was breathless with rage now. ‘Why should I toady to you? You—you …’ the rage went as suddenly as it had come. ‘I was trying to help you,’ she said sadly, ‘but I see I’ve made a mess of it.’ She moved away a few steps, towards Mrs Macklin’s house. ‘I’ll say good night.’

  ‘No, you won’t, not until I’ve done. You were wrong this evening. I wasn’t—er—softening you up, I wouldn’t stoop to such a trick. I meant what I said too—you do look pretty in that pink gown, it becomes you and you are charming. You’re charming in whatever you wear.’

  She couldn’t see his face properly, but it didn’t matter. She could hear the sincerity in his deep voice and her heart sang, she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and hug him, but all she said was: ‘Thank you, Professor’ in a voice devoid of all expression. ‘I’m glad I was wrong.’

  They walked on and at the door he took the key and opened it for her, then with it still in his hand stood looking down at her.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ he said, and now his voice wasn’t cold or austere but warm. ‘I told you, did I not, that you had almost restored my faith in women. You have done more than that; you have restored my faith in human nature.’

  He bent his head and kissed her on her mouth, a little awkwardly as though he hadn’t had much practice at it lately. She longed to return his kiss, but didn’t; with a murmured good night she slipped inside.

  She had a great deal to think about, she decided, as she crept up to her room—the professor’s contradictory behaviour for a start. Why was it that at times he looked at her as though he disliked her—no, it wasn’t dislike, it was disquiet, as though he expected her to do something which would upset him, and on the other hand, at times he was charming and more than that. She paused on the top step of the precipitous staircase and remembered his kiss. Out of gratitude perhaps, her common sense urged her, and indeed, when she got to her room and viewed herself in the mirror she had to admit that common sense was right; the sables were magnificent, but her face was still unremarkable and her hair had become loose. She lacked glamour or whatever it was that made a man kiss a girl. It had of course been almost dark—she smiled a little bitterly; in daylight she would have stood no chance at all.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THREE DAYS LATER she reported for duty at the hospital. Mrs Macklin had received her news with glee and an instant offer of her room. ‘Because, my dear,’ she explained, ‘it would be so very pleasant to have you living here. I know I’m perfectly able to manage for myself now, but I do so enjoy your company.’ She added that Abigail was to consider the house as her own home and if she wanted to ask Bolly round at any time, she was to do so, and anyone else she liked to invite.

  ‘I don’t know anyone else,’ Abigail pointed out.

  ‘That nice surgeon you were telling me about?’ enquired Mrs Macklin, ‘or perhaps one of the nurses—or Dominic.’

  Abigail had made some sort of a reply, trying to imagine herself inviting the professor round for tea. He had paid his usual visits during the three days, of course, and he had been pleasant enough, though a little distant, and she had caught him eyeing her warily; probably wondering to himself what on earth had possessed him to kiss her; wondering too how she would react to it. Well, she had no intention of reacting at all, she resolutely buried the memory of it under the activities relative to her removal to hospital, and if her thoughts were wistful, she took care that they didn’t show.

  She had paid a visit to Bolly, of course, carefully choosing a day when she knew the professor to be operating and therefore away from home. She and Bolly, in company with Annie and Colossus, had tea in the little sitting room and discussed the turn of events.

  ‘Things are looking up,’ declared Bollinger, well content. ‘I must say I like this city, Miss Abby, and you look pretty bobbish yourself. I hope you stay a week or two at the hospital.’

  A sentiment to which Abigail heartily subscribed!

  The sister of the children’s ward was glad to see her; her staff had been severely depleted by salmonella, and worse, several of the small patients were ill with it too. The ward was closed to outsiders; a great effort was being made to find the source of the infection, but as Zuster Ritsma explained, it wasn’t so easy, for this wasn’t the salmonella due to infected food, which would have been comparatively easy to trace, but an insidious type so that a nurse would be working on the ward, unaware that she was already infected.

  ‘I hope,’ she continued in her excellent English, ‘that you are a strong girl, Nurse Trent.’ She eyed Abigail’s small, nicely plump frame with some uncertainty, and Abigail made haste to assure her that she was as strong as a horse and very healthy. Zuster Ritsma took her word for it. ‘At least I am grateful to have another nurse on the ward,’ she observed with relief, and proceeded to delve into the report, carefully explaining each case as she went. It took some time, and when she had finished, Abigail followed her round the ward and in and out of the glass-partitioned cubicles.

  The ward was full, with the infected children away from the rest at the end of the ward—six of them, in various stages of illness, three with drips up and the other three, Zuster Ritsma said, getting better. There were four more suspects in the next two cubicles, and in the last large cubicle there were four babies, each isolated and each very ill. They were post-operative and all were infected. They lay making no sound, dangerously lethargic. Zuster Ritsma adjusted a drip and said, ‘We shall save them all, but it will be much hard work.’

  She smiled at Abigail as she spoke, and Abigail, who liked her and sensed her anxiety, agreed bracingly. ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked.

  ‘These babies. There are four, you see. It will be a heavy task, but if you would stay here, in these cubicles, then the other nurses can stay in the ward.’ She picked up a chart and they bent over it together while she explained what had to be done. ‘If you need help, I will come—there is a bell and an intercom—also a red light. The night nurse comes on duty at ten o’clock—we work in three shifts.’ She hesitated. ‘Would you work until then, do you think? Just for today—I have no nurse until tomorrow, and the professor insists that there are gediplomeerd nurses.’

  ‘Yes, of course I will, and if this doesn’t go on for too long surely two of us could manage between us—I’m quite willing if the night nurse is.’

  Zuster Ritsma brightened. ‘Oh, that would be excellent. But I do not know if Professor van Wijkelen will allow it.’

  ‘Does he have to know?’ asked Abigail. ‘As long as there’s a nurse here—we can have the time made up to us later. After all, we shall each get twelve hours off and the sick nurses will be coming back in a few days, won’t they?’

  ‘It is, how do you say? emergency,’ mused Zuster Ritsma. ‘You do not dislike?’

  ‘No, I don’t dislike,’ Abigail agreed quietly, ‘and I don’t suppose he’ll notice.’

  But her companion shook her head at this rash statement. ‘The professor notices everything.’ She was very positive about it.

  He came half an hour later, looking thun
derous, but not, Abigail guessed, because he was annoyed, rather because he was deeply worried about the infection on the ward, especially the babies, each of whom he had operated upon for pyloric stenosis and who should have by now been on the way to recovery. He ground to a halt beside Abigail and wished her a good morning in a voice which implied that as far as he was concerned there was no such thing, and then, with Zuster Ritsma by his side, examined the babies one by one with meticulous care, throwing suggestions and orders at Henk as he did so. Abigail stood silently by, wishing that she could understand even a quarter of what he said; and in the end she had worried unnecessarily, for he repeated everything he had said to the other two in clear and concise English as he dealt with each baby.

  When he had finished he came and stood beside her, looming large in his gown and mask. ‘You’re quite happy to be doing this work?’ he wanted to know, and he sounded so irritable that she wouldn’t have dared to say anything but yes, though that was the truth anyway.