by Betty Neels
She said pleasantly: ‘Yes, thank you—I met some people …’
‘I saw him as you left the ship,’ his voice was dry. ‘You must have been disappointed that the voyage didn’t last longer.’
He was in a bad mood; probably he had been driving all night, or had slept badly, so she took care to make her voice sound reasonable.
‘I don’t wish that at all. He was a nice young man. He’s going to marry a Spanish girl in a few weeks, he told me all about her. I expect,’ she went on in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘it’s my lack of looks that makes people confide in me—people always pick plain confidantes, you know.’
She was rewarded by a faint twitch of the corner of his mouth. ‘Have you been driving all night?’ she wanted to know.
‘No, since about four o’clock this morning. We’ll go if you’re ready.’
An unfair remark. She had been sitting, composed and un-fidgeting, for the length of their conversation. She stole a look at his profile; it looked stern and a little bad-tempered and although he was freshly shaved and as immaculate as he always was, his face was grey with fatigue. He had driven himself too hard. If he had a wife … she snapped off the thought before she became too immersed in it, and waited until they had left the quayside behind them and were on the road to Bilbao before she suggested that they should stop for coffee. ‘It’s twenty odd miles to Baquio, isn’t it? Have we time to stop for a little while so that you could tell me a little more about your niece?’
He might have been tired, but he was driving superbly. The road was narrow and the traffic, even so early in the day, was dense. Abigail, gazing out of the window, could see that they were running through shipyards and a muddled mass of factories, modern flats and tumbledown little houses. She was disappointed, but probably it would get better later on. The professor hadn’t answered her. Only after he had negotiated a crossing jammed with traffic and sent the Rolls purring ahead once more did he remark, ‘A good idea. We’ll stop, there’s a place in Bilbao which may be open.’
It was hard to see where Bilbao started and the shipyards and factories ceased, but presently the blocks of flats grew larger and more affluent-looking and the shops, although small, looked more interesting. They passed a modern hospital and then a much older one and at last reached the centre of the city.
The main streets were broad and tree-lined with imposing buildings on either side and a good deal of traffic. The professor, who seemed to know his way about, turned the car into a side street and nodded ahead. ‘Behind that store,’ he said briefly. It looked like Selfridges on a small scale, with gaily dressed windows which she would dearly have loved to look at, but he drove round the block and parked the car at the back and led her to a row of shops on the opposite side. The café they entered was empty, indeed, only just open, but they were greeted with smiles and an unintelligible flow of words which the professor answered without apparent effort.
The coffee, when it came, was dark and rich and a little bitter, and Abigail was intrigued to find that the milk came in the form of a powder in decorative little sachets. She looked up, her face alight with interest and caught him looking at her with an expression which, although she couldn’t decide what it meant, caused her to say quickly:
‘About your niece, Professor …’
He went on staring at her. ‘You understand why I asked you to come?’ He spoke quickly, as though the subject was distasteful and he wanted to get it over with. ‘I am sorry if I have interfered in any way with your plans, but I cannot take chances with Nina and I can trust you as a nurse.’
‘And not as a woman?’ Abigail hadn’t meant to say that, and she was appalled at the frozen expression on his face.
‘That is hardly a relevant question.’ His tone implied rebuke. ‘Nina is high-spirited and three years old. My sister is awaiting the birth of their second child, that is why I have made this journey; it was quite out of the question that she should travel that distance at such a time. Her husband is attached to the Netherlands Consulate in Bilbao. They have lived there for more than a year now, but Odilia remains very Dutch in her outlook. The idea of allowing Nina to go into any hospital other than the one in which I work is quite abhorrent to her, absurd though this may seem. I have no choice other than to come for Nina myself and bring a nurse with me.’ He paused, his voice was suddenly curt. ‘That is my only reason for asking you to return, Abigail.’
She said sensibly, ‘Yes, of course, Professor, what other reason could there be?’ and was pleased to hear that her voice sounded exactly as it always did, which was surprising, because she was engulfed in a wave of disappointment all the more bitter because she had been buoyed up by the false hope that there might be another reason. Despite his abrupt greeting when they had met, she had taken heart from his evident annoyance at seeing her with the tourist agent, but now it was apparent that his annoyance hadn’t been for that reason at all, much more likely that he had considered she had been wasting precious minutes of his time while she said goodbye.
She drank the rest of her coffee in silence and said rather defiantly that she was going to powder her nose. She had gone some steps from the table when she realised that she had no idea what to look for. She paused, trying to remember the Spanish for Ladies, but perhaps they didn’t … She glanced over her shoulder at the professor, who said gently:
‘You should look for flowers on the door, Abigail.’
She returned some five minutes later and he said at once, ‘I see that you are big with information of some sort—am I to be told?’
‘Well—there’s no one else to tell,’ began Abigail, ‘but I’m not sure if it’s quite …’
‘My dear good girl, in this day and age? And you forget that I have a sister—a most outspoken woman, I might add. Further, I am completely unshockable.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing shocking,’ said Abigail with endearing forth-rightness. ‘It’s just that it was all so grand—like being on one of those Hollywood film sets.’ She watched the corners of his mouth twitch. ‘Powder blue velvet walls and little upholstered chairs and gilt wall lamps, and a carpet I got lost in, and I washed my hands in a gilded shell. I don’t feel I shall ever get over it!’
The twitch came and went again. ‘It sounds incredible and a little vulgar,’ said the professor. He added gravely, ‘I expect they do a roaring trade during the tourist season.’
Abigail laughed, her ordinary little face transformed, so that it wasn’t ordinary at all, but very attractive. Then she became grave again. ‘I’m sorry, I’m holding you up, Professor.’
They drove uphill out of Bilbao, and because it was now a bright, cloudless morning, she was able to see the mountains around them, with little green fields, each with its red-tiled house, shutters closed and rather shabby but delightfully picturesque with red peppers drying in colourful strings from the windows, and occasionally a man working in the fields and once a pair of oxen drawing a plough. She exclaimed at each new sight until she remembered that he had seen it all before and apologised for being tiresome. She turned in her seat and smiled at him, but he didn’t reply, nor did he smile. It was as though he wished she weren’t there beside him—but she was and, she reminded herself, at his invitation. Perhaps it was the Spanish air or the strength of the coffee which emboldened her to ask:
‘Why do you sometimes call me Miss Trent and sometimes Abigail?’
They were approaching a town and he slowed the car’s rush. ‘I forget.’
She stared around her while she pondered this brief answer. It made no sense, for what had he to forget—but he gave her little time to think about it; they were approaching Munguia, he told her, where there was an interesting church of the Gothic period and the old tower of the Palacio de Abajo, and she obediently gazed in the directions to which he pointed as they passed through the small place, and then, because the silence was so heavy between them, she asked, ‘Are we nearly there?’
‘Yes. We go to Plenzia next and then take the coast r
oad to Baquio. My sister lives a mile or so beyond the village.’
She sat quietly, not speaking until they reached Plenzia, and although she had promised herself that she wouldn’t annoy him with any more comments, she exclaimed with delight as they entered the little town and turned on to the coast road, cut into the towering hills which ran down to the sea.
The road followed the hills bulging into the sea and began to descend. Baquio lay beyond and below them, and even the blocks of new flats along its sandy bay couldn’t spoil its beauty. The Rolls tiptoed round a hairpin bend and tore happily down the hill into the village, along its shore and then up the hill on its other side. The road curved presently so that the houses were hidden behind them and only the sweep of the rugged coast was before them. They slowed momentarily while an old man in the flat cap of the Basque country, and carrying a rolled umbrella, trudged past them, urging along a donkey almost hidden under a load of wood.
‘He doesn’t look strong enough,’ said Abigail.
‘They live long lives here—hard work and a good climate—they walk a great deal too.’
‘I meant the donkey. I’m sorry for it, it should be free in one of those fields.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve heard that they aren’t very kind … they eat horses and they like bullfights.’
‘Are you showing me yet another side to your many-sided nature, Miss Trent? kind Miss Trent, gentle Miss Trent—the rescuer of kittens from gutters and old men from attics, the nurse who tends old ladies and grizzling babies.’ He sounded so savage that she was struck to dumbness, and when she forced herself to look at him she could see that his mouth was curved in a sneer. He had made her sound a prig, a do-gooder, and she wasn’t, just an ordinary girl, with her living to earn and doing a job she liked. She concentrated on hating him, but that didn’t seem to help much, so she tried despising him instead, but her companion snapped, ‘Up here,’ and turned the car, with inches to spare, through an open gate on to a narrow, well surfaced road, leading, as far as Abigail’s apprehensive eyes could see, straight up the side of the mountain, to lose itself in the trees which crowned its summit. She had decided that even the Rolls wouldn’t be able to manage it when the professor swung the car round a right-angled bend and continued uphill, but now less steeply, but now she could see the sea again, only to lose it as they turned once more, this time into the trees, to emerge on to a wide sweep of tarmac before a modern and very large bungalow. They had arrived.
The front door stood open and even before they were out of the car a girl was coming towards them—the professor’s sister, quite obviously, for she had his good looks, softened into beauty. She flung herself at him and he suffered her rather tearful embrace for a few moments with commendable calm and then spoke to her in Dutch, and she laughed a little as she turned to Abigail.
‘Nurse Trent,’ said the professor, ‘my sister, Mevrouw de Graaff,’ he turned back to her. ‘Odilia, you do not need to worry any more, we will take Nina back with us and you will have no need to cry about her.’ He patted her shoulder in a brotherly fashion and turned to greet a thickset, fair-haired man coming out of the house towards them.
‘Dirk—I didn’t expect to see you.’ The two men shook hands and the professor went on, ‘Nurse Trent, this is my brother-in-law, Dirk de Graaff.’
Abigail shook hands and stood quietly while the professor enquired after his niece. ‘Nina? She’s here? No worse?’
‘She’s in bed,’ it was his sister who answered him. ‘The nursemaid’s with her for a minute or two, but she doesn’t want anyone else but Dirk or me—it makes it difficult.’ She glanced at Abigail. ‘I hope she will like you, Nurse.’
Abigail murmured that she hoped so too and smiled reassuringly at Nina’s mother because she looked so worried, as they followed her into the bungalow.
It was a roomy dwelling and most elegantly furnished. They crossed the wide hall and entered a room at one side of the bungalow with a wide window overlooking the sea and with a magnificent view of the coastline stretching away into the distance. The nursery, and a very nice one too, thought Abigail. There was a small white bed in one corner and the girl sitting beside it got up as they went in. She said something in Spanish and went away and the small creature in the bed cried ‘Mama!’ in a whining voice and began to grizzle. Her mother went to sit on the bed and spoke softly to the child, and presently said:
‘She would like to know your name. She understands a little English—she speaks Dutch, of course, and Spanish too.’
Abigail looked with something like awe at this three-year-old who had already mastered more than her mother tongue and smiled at the pinched white face on the pillow. The child was ill, that was obvious, and despite her peevish greeting Abigail thought that when she was well again she would be a delightful small girl. She was blonde like her father, with enormous blue eyes. She had a distinct likeness to her uncle too; Abigail loved her on sight because of that.
‘I only speak English, I’m afraid, and about a dozen words of Dutch. My name’s Abigail.’
She smiled and Nina smiled faintly in return. ‘Why?’ she demanded.
Abigail thought it wise to ignore this question. Foreseeing language difficulties ahead, she said instead, ‘I’m going to look after you for a day or two.’
The small mouth turned down ominously. ‘Oom Dominic …’
‘He’ll be with us.’ Abigail had the satisfaction of seeing the mouth right itself and marvelled anew that the child could understand her.
‘Speak Dutch,’ demanded the moppet, and added please because her mother told her to.
‘Oom Dominic …’ began Abigail slowly, not in the least sure what she was going to say.
‘Is right behind you,’ said the professor from the doorway, and passed her as he spoke to swoop down on his niece. It was obvious that they were devoted to each other, for the small face lighted up as Nina gabbled away to him, her two arms clutching him tightly round his neck.
Presently he disentangled himself and sat down on the side of her bed, still talking—explaining, Abigail thought, why he had come. When he had finished he listened patiently while Nina argued shrilly, and then said:
‘Nina wants to leave now—this minute. I’ve told her we must wait until I have seen the doctor and studied the X-rays—it will give us the chance to pump some fluids into her before we go. Today, I think, from the look of her.’
He went on to give instructions and Abigail said, ‘Yes, sir,’ then he got up off the bed and went away, presumably to telephone the doctor. When the door had closed behind him, his sister asked, ‘Do you always call Dominic sir?’
‘Not always. Sometimes I call him Professor, although I suppose while Nina is with us I had better address him as Oom Dominic.’
Odilia smiled. ‘And I suppose he calls you Nurse. I’m going to call you Abigail, if I may, and will you call me Odilia? What a pity you can’t stay longer, but Dominic says he wants to get Nina to hospital as soon as he can, and he’s bound to be right, he always is.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve been a dreadful nuisance, haven’t I, but the baby will be here in another week and I simply will not let Nina go into a hospital here. Oh, they’re very good, but I’m a dyed-in-the-wool Dutchwoman and if she’s got to have something done then Dominic is the only one who must do it, and there was no other way; Dirk would have taken Nina to Amsterdam, but who could have gone with him to look after her? The nursemaid’s a good girl, but she’s not trained and she gets excited, and I’m no use either, I get so upset each time Nina’s sick.’
The word had an unfortunate effect upon her small daughter. Abigail caught up a bowl and reached her just in time. She was sponging Nina’s face and hands when the professor put his head round the door to speak to his sister and then in English, ‘Oh, lord, at it again? No pesetas, I suppose?’
He strolled over to the bed and pulled a hideous face at his niece, who giggled weakly, but when he spoke to Abigail it was in his usual austere fashion. ‘Glucose and water, Nurse—as much a
s you can get into her—getting a bit dehydrated, isn’t she?’
He looked at Odilia enquiringly. ‘Her things are packed? She had better travel in her nightie and dressing gown—we’ll wrap her in blankets and she can sit on Nurse Trent’s lap. We’ll want several things with us,’ he began to list them and Odilia interrupted him to say, ‘I’ve got most of them. Abigail’s going to sit with you?’
‘Yes.’ He stared across the room to where Abigail was sitting with her small patient, coaxing her to drink.
‘I’ll send Rosa in,’ began Odilia, but he interrupted her. ‘Nurse Trent will, I know, be glad to stay here and get to know Nina.’ He took his sister’s arm. ‘Let’s find those odds and ends and you can tell me how life’s treating you—I must say you look prettier than ever.’
His sister smiled, she looked much happier now he had come. Abigail guessed that she had been in the habit of leaning on him whenever she wanted help.
They went out of the room together and Odilia said as she went:
‘We’ll have lunch together presently, all of us.’
‘Thank you, that would be nice.’ Abigail was still busy with the glucose drink and smarting under the professor’s manner towards her. She would, she promised herself, say as little as possible to him on the journey back, and that would be of a professional nature.
The doctor came, held a consultation with Dominic and went again. Abigail had been present, because as it was pointed out to her, it would save time if she was told the results of their talk as they went along, so she sat between the two men, listening to the professor speaking Spanish with almost as much ease as he spoke English; it made her feel inferior until he said in English:
‘How fortunate that you can’t understand Spanish, for mine is so shockingly bad, I wonder Doctor Diaz can understand a word of it and I should be ashamed to speak it before you.’
