A Small Slice of Summer

by Betty Neels

  It was late afternoon by now and she was hungry again as well as longing for a cup of tea. The men worked fast, though; presently they declared themselves satisfied with their work and prepared to go.

  ‘And you go with them, dear girl,’ Jason advised her. ‘Take your case with you—I’ll wait until these other folk arrive, arrange about the horses and see about the dog.’

  There was something in his voice which made her say ‘Yes, Jason,’ in a meek voice of her own, pick up the case and join the Health team. One of the men took the case from her with a cheerful: ‘Come along, miss,’ and she found herself walking away beside him, the other men trailing behind her, while their leader stopped to speak to Jason. She wondered, as she went, when she would see him again—perhaps she wasn’t going to. The thought stopped her in her tracks; she wanted to see him again. Just once more, she pleaded silently, even if he calls me dear girl in that offhand voice and doesn’t really look at me—if only I were pretty, he might…

  She followed the men up the track, feeling light-headed—probably, her common sense told her, because she was so empty inside, but her heart gave her another reason: she had fallen in love with Jason Mourik van Nie, and although common sense pointed out that she couldn’t have done anything sillier or more unsuitable, her heart would have none of it. Common sense at times could be a dead bore, said her heart, and love was often silly and unsuitable and sometimes hopeless. As long as she remembered that and started, without waste of time, to forget him, not much harm would have been done. The thing was to be practical about it and use her good sense. Her father had always said that she was the only one in the family blessed with that commodity; now was the time to prove it. She plodded on, not feeling in the least sensible, longing to relieve her pent-up feelings with a good cry.

  She saw him two hours later; he was waiting for her outside the hospital, leaning up against the BMW’s sleek bonnet and talking to one of the doctors, but he saw her as she walked through the door and as the other man walked away called: ‘Over here, dear girl—what an age you’ve been, though I must say the result seems worth it.’

  She had wondered how she would feel if and when she saw him again, but she had imagined nothing like the wild rush of feeling which caught at her breath, but she snatched at the remnants of it and said sedately: ‘I’m sorry if you’ve been waiting, I didn’t know…’

  He looked surprised. ‘You didn’t imagine that I should leave you stranded here, did you? I did what was necessary and managed a lift back to your home to fetch the car.’ He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling into little wrinkles at their corners. ‘I like the outfit—and the hair’s very smart, even though it does turn you into a young lady.’

  What had he considered her to be before, for heaven’s sake? she wondered crossly; she had only washed it and coiled it in its usual knot on top of her head, and as for the dress, there was no knowing why her mother had chosen to pack the flowered cotton shirtwaister which she had been keeping to go to church in—it was the only decent thing in her wardrobe at the rectory, except for the jacket and dress she had travelled in, but at least she felt clean once more.

  Jason opened the door. ‘Jump in,’ he invited, and she jumped.

  The BMW made short work of the journey to the rectory, and beyond a number of observations concerning the gipsies, and his assurance, in reply to her question, that the third caravan had arrived, had parked on the edge of the wood, had taken the horses into its owner’s care, and had handed over the dog without demur for the time being, the doctor had little to say. And nor had Letitia; she had too much to think about.

  They were accorded a welcome fit for heroes and led indoors into the dining room, where the lurcher, a little bewildered, sat in an old box, being sized up by Shep and Bossy the cat. ‘I’ve a meal ready,’ exclaimed Mrs Marsden. ‘You must be famished, the pair of you. Sit down, do, and when you’ve finished you can tell us all about it—what excitement—those poor souls…’ She departed kitchenwards, her voice becoming fainter and taking on strength as she returned with a tureen of stew, its fragrance filling the pleasant old-fashioned room. She bade her husband fetch the vegetables and began to ladle their supper into plates, an act which the lurcher found sufficiently encouraging for him to sidle forward, eyeing Shep and Bossy warily. ‘Presently, my dear,’ Mrs Marsden admonished him. She sounded absentminded; she had just noticed the expression on Letitia’s face and wondered what had happened to put it there.

  ‘You’ll stay the night, of course,’ she bade the doctor in a motherly voice. ‘Such a pity Paula is at Miriam’s she would have loved to have seen you.’

  ‘May I? I had intended to cross on the midnight ferry. I could drive through the night, of course…’

  ‘Out of the question, Jason—you know you’re tired, you need a good night’s sleep. Leave as early as you like in the morning. We’re early risers and in the summer it’s no hardship to get up with the sun.’

  ‘How kind you are.’ Letitia, her eyes on her plate, was aware that he was looking at her. ‘If I could leave before seven o’clock? I could go through Dover; it’s a good deal nearer.’

  ‘Which way do you usually go?’ asked the Rector.

  ‘Harwich, it’s convenient for Dalmers Place.’

  Letitia looked up. ‘Are they expecting you? Shouldn’t you telephone?’

  He was making great inroads into his supper. ‘I would be grateful if I might do so.’

  ‘And arrangements about your crossing tomorrow?’ the Rector wanted to know. ‘I’ll take my chance.’ Jason smiled at his host. ‘I shall have time to look at your porcelain after all, sir.’ Which meant that after supper he disappeared into the Rector’s study, the dogs in attendance, and Letitia saw nothing of him until bedtime, and that for a brief moment only, when he wished her good night and good-bye at the same time, with the observation that he would be gone before she was up in the morning, and that in a cheerfully casual tone which precluded her from saying more than that she hoped that he would have a good journey. She even smiled at him with false brightness and thanked him once more for doing so much to help her, but all the answer he gave was: ‘Ah, but I didn’t see the tors after all, did I?’

  Letitia wakened very early and lay listening to the familiar little sounds the old house made in the quiet-hours; creaks and sighs and the occasional tip-tap of small mouse feet behind the wainscoting. Neither she nor Bossy, who had chosen to sleep on the end of her bed, took any notice of these faint noises; they were too used to them, but they both sat up at the sound of almost silent footsteps crossing the landing and going downstairs. Jason, already up.

  Presently Letitia heard his voice, very quiet, in the garden, and when she peeped from her window it was to see him going down the drive, the lurcher on a makeshift lead, Shep trotting with them. She could dress quickly, go downstairs and get his breakfast—she was on the point of doing just that when she remembered that he had evinced no strong desire to see her again; indeed, he had taken it for granted that she wouldn’t be up so early and had made no effort to persuade her to do otherwise; she remembered, too vividly, his careless goodbye. It would serve him right she decided pettishly, if her mother overslept and he got no breakfast at all, but this uncharitable wish was stymied; she heard her mother go downstairs and soon after, the sound of Jason’s return. There was nothing for it but to go back to bed.

  Letitia sat up against the pillows, listening to their distant voices, and sniffing at the delicious smell of bacon coming from the kitchen. In a little while she heard Jason in the garden again and then the click of the BMW’s door. He was going—she scrambled from her bed and ran to the window, just in time to see the car’s stylish back disappear through the rectory gate. The wish to throw wide the window and yell at him to come back was very great; there was so much she wanted to tell him—that he had helped her to recover from Mike, that she liked him, that she would miss him. She would be able to say none of these things now; that she wouldn’t have said t
hem in any case was a small point she chose to ignore. All that mattered was that he had gone.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she told herself sharply, and because bed was impossible now, wandered downstairs in her nightie and barefooted, to perch on the kitchen table and drink tea with her mother. She wanted to talk about Jason, but didn’t; instead she plunged into plans for going back to St Athel’s with a fervour which deceived neither her mother nor herself. Though both ladies were well aware that that wasn’t what she wanted to talk about, Jason wasn’t mentioned once.

  The day went slowly by, following the exact pattern of all the Sundays Letitia could remember at home. Church, breakfast, church, lunch, then help with Sunday School and Evensong to finish the day. Not that her father expected her to attend all the services; all he asked was that one member of the family should be there. She shared the day with her mother, because Paula wouldn’t be home until after tea, and sat quietly through Matins, listening to her father’s voice and the enthusiastic singing of the surprisingly large congregation, and admiring, as she always did, the carving on the rood screen, and all the while her thoughts were miles away, with Jason Mourik van Nie, driving his BMW back to his own country. And Holland to Letitia, who had never travelled outside the land of her birth, might just as well have been darkest Africa or Cape Horn, all equally unreachable.

  She spent her last day at home picking raspberries, helping Paula to cut out a dress when she got back from school, and cleaning, with great care, her father’s small collection of figurines. Jason had liked them, her parents told her happily; what was more, he had known what he was talking about. ‘A knowledgeable young man,’ went on the Rector as he watched his daughter at work. ‘I should like to know him better—he’s quite an expert on Coalport, you know.’ He added wistfully: ‘It’s a pity he lives so far away.’

  Indeed it was a pity, agreed Letitia silently, and said aloud: ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘You won’t be seeing him again?’ he inquired of her.

  ‘No, dear—he only came to St Athel’s to take over from Julius while he took a holiday.’ She made her voice light and disinterested, and beyond declaring that it was a great pity that such a promising acquaintance should come to an end, her father said no more. She applied herself to the cleaning of a much prized Shepherd Boy with Dog and allowed her thoughts without any effort at all, to return to Jason.

  Back in hospital, she found the next few days difficult; for one thing the recovery room without the possibility of seeing Jason from time to time had become, for the moment at any rate, positively dull. She did her work with the high standard of efficiency demanded of her; she saw the patients safely into theatre and then, after the surgeons had dealt with them, received them back again and encouraged them to regain consciousness once more, aided by all the latest gadgets science could devise, and once they had opened their eyes she gave them something to ease their pain, waited for their blood pressure to become normal once more and then saw them safely back to their wards. It was a busy way to spend a day, and never two days alike. Each patient was different and needed different things done for them; she was kind and gentle and absolutely reliable, but behind her calm she felt terrible; it was as though part of herself had gone with Jason—the important part, leaving only the outside of her, the part that showed, to go on working and eating and talking and trying to sleep at night. It began to show in her face and her friends were forced to admit amongst themselves that Tishy had become decidedly plain just lately, and some of them thought she might still be pining for the Medical Registrar.

  She was aware that her modest looks were suffering. She spent more time than she had ever done before on her make-up, but that didn’t help much. It was Margo, meeting her on her way to dinner, who expressed sisterly concern for her appearance.

  ‘You look as though you need a good holiday,’ she remarked, ‘even though you’ve been home. As it happens George wrote today asking me down for my days off and wondering if you could come with me. You always have Saturdays and Sundays, don’t you? OK, I’ll give myself a week-end and we’ll go down to Dalmers Place next week-end. How’s the ankle?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Letitia, trying to make up her mind if she wanted to go, and added, unable to prevent herself. ‘Will there be anyone there?’

  ‘Lord, yes. It’s George’s birthday—we’ll have to get a present.’ She frowned in thought, then went on: ‘Cor and Beatrix and Franz and the older one, Karel, will be there too, but I don’t think Dimphena can get over until next week, but that Jason Mourik van Nie is bringing his youngest sister over—it should be fun. Have you got anything to wear, Tishy?’

  ‘No,’ said Letitia instantly, seeing this as a sign from heaven that she wasn’t to go and not sure if she were glad about that or not. Seeing Jason again would be wonderful, but it would be awful too. She wouldn’t go. This worthy determination was knocked for six by her sister’s next remark, though. ‘Not to worry, I’ve some money tucked away and you can pay me back later. What do you need?’

  ‘Nothing—that is, I don’t think I’ll go, Margo.’

  Her sister gave her a considered look. ‘George will be very hurt if you don’t, and she’ll be bound to find out, because Julius would tell her.’

  ‘Well,’ said Letitia reluctantly, ‘in that case… I’ve got that tan thing and the blouse, I could go in that, couldn’t I? I left that pretty shirtwaister at home—a pity. I haven’t anything to wear in the evening, though there’s that blue crêpe that Miriam couldn’t get into because of the baby…’

  ‘That thing?’ Margo sounded scornful. ‘We’ll do better than that, love. Are you off at four?’ and when Letitia nodded: ‘Good, meet me in my room as soon after that as you can manage, we’ll go shopping.’

  They found what they wanted; a plainly cut silk voile with an elegant line to it, in a pretty pale green, and because it was a little more than Margo had intended to pay, they pooled what money they had and found a coffee and white striped cotton dress, a straight sheath into which Letitia’s nice little figure fitted very well. ‘No one needs to know where it comes from,’ Margo pointed out as they hurried back to the hospital. ‘It looks marvellous on you and they’ll never guess that we got it at the British Home Stores, and you’ve got that lovely suede belt that will go with it exactly.’ She gave a satisfied little nod. ‘You’ll look lovely, Tishy.’

  Letitia thanked her eldest sister and said she hoped so, all the while knowing that her hope that Jason might find her lovely was just too silly for words. But the green dress was very pretty—he might at least look at her. She remembered the casual glances he had cast in her direction; perhaps this time he might look, really look at her.

  They met the next morning and he hardly glanced at her on his way into theatre, striding through the recovery room with a casual ‘Hullo, dear girl,’ and not waiting a second for her to reply. Not that she had anything ready to say; she had been taken completely by surprise; she had had no idea that he was in England, let alone anaesthetizing that morning. She stood holding a recovery tray in much the same manner as a Grecian girl holding an urn, her mouth slightly open. Then she snapped it shut and almost dropped the tray as Julius strolled through in his turn. He stopped, however, wished her good morning as though he really meant it, and expressed pleasure at her impending visit. ‘Nice to have a few friends from time to time,’ he remarked. ‘How’s the ankle?’

  She told him that it was fine, remembering that Jason hadn’t bothered to ask, then flushed under his kindly eye. ‘You look as though a couple of days off would do you good,’ he commented as he went on his way.

  It was to be a busy morning with a long list, being added to every now and again as emergencies came in, and Letitia was kept busy, but not so busy that she didn’t see Jason each time he came into the recovery room, and each time she couldn’t help but notice and he was going out of his way to be friendly, so that by the end of the morning she was on top of her small world again. To come plummeting down agai
n at the end of a long, hot afternoon.

  She had gone into the little cubbyhole where they washed the instruments and replenished the trays and trolleys. Mrs Mead had already gone, the room was quiet after the day’s ordered bustle, she stood leaning against the sink, still filled with odds and ends which needed to be washed and dried and thought about Jason being so nice—he had been like that at Dalmers Place when he had told her he was like an uncle…she wished, upon reflection, that he hadn’t said that, perhaps when he saw the new green dress…her thoughts were disturbed by the swing of the theatre door and the deliberate tread of feet.

  She had thought that the men had all gone, but it was Julius’s voice:

  ‘Coming back for dinner, Jason?’

  ‘Good of you, old man, but I’ve a date.’

  ‘With Tishy?’

  Jason’s careless: ‘Lord, no,’ seared her like a hot iron. ‘Wibecke van Kamp is over here, you know—we’re dining together.’

  ‘Good-looking girl—knows how to wear her clothes too.’

  ‘Handsome, I should have said.’ Jason’s voice was dry, and in the little pause which followed Letitia summoned up the courage to walk out and let them know that she was there; eavesdropping was a rotten, low-down trick and none knew it better than she, being a parson’s daughter, but she was halted by his voice. ‘How’s Tishy? She looked a bit down in the mouth when I got here this morning.’