by Betty Neels
She was off duty again by midday next day, and went to have her dinner and retire to her room to doze until the early evening, when it was presumed that she would get up, dress and present herself at night nurses’ breakfast, served at half-past six in the evening. Officially this was what everyone did, although in reality the afternoon rest was cut short and tea was drunk with whoever happened to be off duty too.
Caroline filled in the afternoon with writing a few letters, phoning her aunt and washing her hair before joining such of her friends as were off duty for tea, and then getting back into her uniform and going to the canteen.
Marc was asleep when she took the report from the nurse she was relieving. He had had a good day; his moments of wakefulness were getting more frequent and he had opened his blue eyes and looked at his mother. In the early hours of the morning he woke, and started to talk, normal childish chatter as far as she could judge, and, since there was nothing else to do about it, she answered him in English, and presently, apparently altogether satisfied with what she had said, he went back to sleep.
‘Very hopeful,’ observed Mr Spence, coming to see how he was a short time before she went off duty. ‘A pity you don’t speak Dutch. Let us hope that he is wakeful when his mother comes later on today.’
Caroline, by now tired and sleepy, gave him an owlish look. She longed for her bed and the very idea of speaking any other language than basic English at the moment filled her with unease. She gathered her wits together, gave a succinct report to Sister Crump and the nurse taking over and went down to her supper. Topsy-turvy meals took a day or two to get used to; she drank a great many cups of tea, dozed peacefully in the bath and climbed into bed, to sleep all day.
Marc improved by the day, and at the end of her fourth night of duty, with welcome nights off within her grasp, she surveyed his small sleeping person with deep satisfaction. He was sleeping naturally now and having quite long periods of consciousness. She still sang to him, for he seemed to like that, and when he had something to say she answered him in a soothing voice, and when he smiled she smiled too. They had established a rapport which took no heed of the language barrier.
Mr van Houben came just after six o’clock in the morning, faultlessly turned out, his linen spotless, looking as though he had risen from a long, refreshing sleep.
Caroline’s heart gave a pleased lurch at the sight of him and instantly it was overshadowed by the knowledge that her own face needed urgent attention and that her hair had escaped the smooth coils she had pinned back so ruthlessly. It was all very well for him, she thought, suddenly peevish, he’d had a splendid night in bed…
Mr van Houben, who had caught a late-night ferry and driven himself to London during the very early hours of the morning, read her thoughts accurately and smiled. His ‘good morning’ was brisk and he went at once to look at his small nephew.
‘Marc,’ he said softly, and the little boy opened his eyes and chuckled. His uncle sat down on the edge of the bed and she listened to his quiet voice and after a moment to Marc’s hesitant answers. They were interrupted by Night Sister who, Caroline saw with envy, had found time to put on more lipstick and powder her nose. She was a handsome young woman and she gave him an intelligent report using, Caroline noted even more peevishly, Caroline’s own carefully written account of the night.
Mr van Houben listened with courteous attention, his eyes on Sister’s face and at the same time aware of Caroline’s feelings. Very prickly, he reflected; probably tired. He still felt vaguely guilty about her, although he had no reason to be so. He would ask to see Corinna before he left the hospital and see if there was something to be done to show Marc’s parents’ appreciation. Tickets for the theatre, he thought vaguely and thanked Sister nicely for her excellent report.
He went away with her, nodding to Caroline and giving her a smile. ‘I wish he hadn’t come,’ she whispered to Marc, who smiled widely and went back to sleep.
Corinna, called from her breakfast to speak to her cousin, flung herself at him. ‘Darling Marius, how nice to see you. Are you here for days or just a quick visit? Isn’t it wonderful about Marc? I spent my days off with Emmie and Bartus and the baby—she’s gorgeous. Do hurry up and get married so that I can be an aunt. Are you going there now?’
‘Yes. Tell me, Corinna, that girl who delivered the book—Caroline? She’s been looking after Marc?’
‘She’s one of three—they do eight-hour shifts round the clock. But she gets marvellous reactions from him; I think he likes her very much—well, she’s a nice person, you know.’ She glanced at him. ‘Have you seen her? She’s been on night duty—got nights off this morning, though. I saw her yesterday when I went to see Marc; she’s going home.’ She glanced at him enquiringly. ‘Did you want to see her?’
His ‘no’ was casual. ‘I’m only over for a couple of days; I’ve a consultation in the morning. If you’re free this evening I’ll take you out to dinner?’
‘Lovely, I can be ready by half-past seven, but don’t you want to see Emmie?’
‘I’ll go there for lunch.’
She leaned up and kissed his cheek. ‘You’re really rather a nice cousin,’ she told him, ‘Now I must fly—I’m late.’
She blew him a kiss and raced away and he went through the hospital, had a word with the head porter and went out to his car. The street beyond the forecourt was teeming with traffic and the pavements jammed with people hurrying to work. He carefully eased the car into the westbound traffic and waited patiently behind a bus stop while the queue slowly dwindled. The last person in it was Caroline, a small holdall clutched in one hand. He opened the car door and leaned across. ‘Caroline, get in,’ and even while he was saying it he wondered what had possessed him to do it.
She hesitated and the bus conductor growled, ‘Make up yer mind, lady,’ pinged the bell and the bus drew away from the curb.
‘Get in, do,’ said Mr van Houben urgently, impervious to the car behind him, whose driver was leaning on the horn. ‘And look sharp about it.’
Caroline, who had no intention of doing any such thing, felt that circumstances were beyond her control. She got in and was barely seated before he drove on. ‘I’ve missed my bus,’ she told him tartly. ‘Be good enough to put me down at the next bus stop or I shall miss my train.’
‘I’m going your way; I’ll give you a lift, since I’m the cause of your missing your train.’ He spoke carelessly, without a word of truth. He was on the way to his house in the quiet corner of Chiswick where his sister-in-law was staying, and he wished that he hadn’t given way to a sudden impulse to give Caroline a lift: heaven knew his day was full enough without the added chore of driving to some small village he had never heard of, yet he had said that he was going her way. He searched his excellent memory for the name of the place and remembered it. ‘You’ll have to direct me when we get near Basingstoke,’ he told her. ‘It’s close by, I believe.’
He glanced at her; she was looking straight ahead; her profile looked disapproving, her tip-tilted nose in the air, her chin lifted. He couldn’t see her eyes, only the curling sweep of their lashes.
‘You need to turn off at the roundabout, on to the A30, then there’s a small road to Basing.’
He drove out of London and on to the motorway, driving fast and making desultory conversation from time to time. At least they had something in common—the recovery of little Marc. He found that he was enjoying talking about the child, for she was an intelligent listener, but
presently they lapsed into silence until they reached the roundabout and turned off the motorway.
‘The turning is on the right,’ said Caroline once they were on the A30, ‘a few miles still. I hope this hasn’t taken you out of your way.’ She spoke stiffly and then, because she was tired and cross, added, ‘It’s your own fault if it has; you insisted on giving me a lift.’
Mr van Houben’s eyebrows rose a fraction. He was being taken to task for a charitable act which was costing him ill-spared leisure time with his sister.
He sighed and said silkily, ‘I see that I have unwittingly annoyed you. How mortifying it is to have what one hoped was a kindly act thrown in one’s face. I must bear it in mind in the future.’
An urgent hand came down on his coat sleeve. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I definitely didn’t mean that, truly I didn’t. I’m tired and cross but that’s no excuse—do please forgive me.’
He glanced down at the small hand in its rather shabby glove and slowed the car to a halt in a lay-by. ‘Nothing to forgive,’ he told her soothingly. ‘I have it on the best authority that you are good tempered, patient and a young woman of sound common sense, all of which virtues have been put severely to the test during the last week or so. Let fly at me if you feel you would like to; it won’t bother me in the least.’
She looked away from him out of the window; he was being kind, but what girl would wish to be known for the attributes he had just mentioned? What was the use of any of them if one had a face which Aunt Meg’s neighbour had once described as homely? She said quietly. ‘It’s very kind of you not to mind. I expect I need a day or two away from the hospital.’
Mr van Houben said cheerfully, ‘We all need that from time to time, don’t we? What do you do when you’re at home?’
‘Oh, potter in the garden and go out with my aunt.’ She searched her mind for something more exciting without success. ‘It’s just nice being free.’
‘The bright lights don’t appeal to you?’ he asked idly.
A difficult question to answer if by bright lights he meant dinners and dancing and being taken to the theatre. True, she had been to see various shows with such of her friends who, as she had done, had saved up to join the queues for the cheaper seats. Of course there was the annual Hospital Ball, when the consultants danced with each other’s wives and the sisters and the housemen picked the prettiest nurses. She had never lacked for partners, for she was much liked, but being liked was quite different from being fallen in love with, and that never happened. She said carefully, ‘I don’t get a great deal of time to go out and about.’
Mr van Houben thought of his cousin Corinna, who as far as he could make out was burning the candle at both ends and thriving on it. He said kindly, ‘No, I don’t suppose you do. Is this the turning to Basing?’
The village was red-brick, the small houses each with a garden, and nice little green patches here and there well shaded by trees. There was no one about, no car to be seen or heard, and he stopped the car before Aunt Meg’s door…
‘Will you come in and have a cup of coffee?’ Caroline spoke diffidently.
He had got out to open her door. ‘That would be delightful. What a charming village this is. I’m not surprised that you enjoy coming back to it.’
Theobald was sitting in the centre of the little porch, sunning himself, and since it was clear he had no intention of moving they stepped carefully around him and through the half-open door into the narrow little hall. The door at its end led directly onto the back garden and they could see Aunt Meg bending over a flower-bed. She looked up and saw them, dusted her hands off on her apron and came to meet them.
‘Nice and early, love,’ she told Caroline, kissing her briskly. ‘And who is this?’
She held out a hand and smiled up at Mr van Houben’s face. ‘Whoever you are, you’ll have a cup of coffee, won’t you?’
‘This is Mr van Houben, Aunt Meg; he kindly gave me a lift as he was coming this way.’ She glanced at his impassive face. ‘My aunt, Miss Frisby.’
They shook hands and her aunt said cosily, ‘Now, isn’t that nice? Come in, do—coffee is ready, I was just going to have mine.’
It was a small house, a cottage really, low-ceilinged with a small sitting-room and a larger kitchen leading from it. Mr van Houben, urged to sit down, chose a chair which he hoped would sustain his not inconsiderable weight and looked around him. The room was nicely furnished with some nice pieces, too good for the cottage. Possibly they had been salvaged from a larger house. There were one or two pieces of good silver on the small mahogany side-table too… Caroline had joined him, sitting uneasily on a small Victorian balloon chair, and he began a casual conversation, trying to put her at her ease, sensing that she was shy, although why she should be in her own home was something that he found strange, and nowadays a shy girl was almost unknown.
Aunt Meg came in and he stood up and took the tray from her and put it down on the pedestal table in the centre of the room, taking care not to bang his head on the ceiling beams.
The coffee was hot and delicious and there was a plate of homemade biscuits with it. He sat for twenty minutes or so, talking about nothing much and then listening to Aunt Meg’s enthusiastic account of their holiday in Amsterdam, putting in a word here and there, surprised to find someone so knowledgeable about the city and enjoying her views of it.
Presently he turned to Caroline, ‘You enjoyed your stay too?’ he asked her.
‘Oh, yes, very much, only two weeks isn’t long enough, is it? But I’m glad we went, and we saw as much as we could, although we missed places—we walked a lot, just looking at all the streets and houses.’
‘The best way to see a place,’ he said. He put his cup down. ‘I must get on—thank you for the coffee and a delightful talk—I hope you will visit Holland again some time.’
He shook hands with Aunt Meg, but he only smiled at Caroline. ‘I expect I shall see you at the hospital—I like to keep an eye on young Marcus.’
She went with him to the gate. ‘Thank you for bringing me home. I hope it hasn’t interfered with your plans.’
He assured her that it hadn’t. He sounded impatient, so she didn’t believe him. He got into the car and with a casual wave drove away, and she went back indoors, puzzled as to why he had given her a lift—there had been no need, and she was more and more sure by the minute that it hadn’t been in his plans for the day.
Which of course it hadn’t. He drove himself back to London telling himself that he had repaid Caroline, although it escaped him for the moment why he had to repay her. He dismissed her from his mind and drove to Chiswick to have lunch with his sister-in-law.
The house was in a quiet street, one of a terrace of Georgian villas, all immaculately kept, their front doors with handsome transoms above and splendidly polished brass knockers. Steps led to their doors from the pavement and the street was divided by a narrow strip of tree-shaded grass, iron railings guarding it. Mr van Houben got out of his car and mounted the steps of the end house, inserted the key in the lock and let himself in.
He was met in the hall by a dignified middle-aged man who gave him a faintly disapproving good morning. ‘Or should I say good afternoon, sir?’
Mr van Houben shrugged off his coat. ‘Yes, well, Breeze, I got held up. Is Mevrouw van Houben here?’
‘In the drawing room, sir; Mrs Breeze held back lunch.’
‘Splendid—ask her to hold it back about five minutes more while I hav
e a drink, will you?’
He crossed the hall and went into the room at the front of the house and found his sister-in-law sitting by a brisk fire.
‘There you are, Marius. Bartus had an appointment with someone or other and he hopes to be back this afternoon. You’re very late.’
‘I got held up. How’s my niece?’
‘Gorgeous.’ She took the glass of sherry he had poured for her and smiled a little tremulously. ‘Marius, Marc will be all right, won’t he? He talks to me now, but every now and then he—he goes away…’
‘As he improves he will go away less and less, my dear. You must have patience—a day at a time, and never let him see that you worry about him.’
‘I do try—I wish I could be like that funny little nurse with the enormous eyes—she’s—I think the word is serene. I have the feeling that when she is with him he feels safe—do you know what I mean?’
‘He will need a nurse when you go back to Holland—it will be too much for the nanny you’ve engaged to cope with the baby and him, and however much you want to be with him you will have to have help.’
They went into the dining-room across the hall, a small room furnished with great good taste in mahogany; lovely old pieces beautifully carved and cared for. Facing him across the oval table, with its lace mats and shining silver and glass, Emmie said, ‘But he’ll hate having to be looked after by a stranger.’
Mr van Houben picked up this spoon and surveyed the watercress soup Breeze had set before him. ‘Yes, I think he will.’
