by Betty Neels
She telephoned to Aunt Meg when she got off duty and that lady expressed her satisfaction. ‘Never mind if you have to make up the weeks you’re away,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Obviously they think you’re right for the job, so take it, love, it’s an opportunity to see more of foreign parts. I envy you.’
The following day Mevrouw van Houben arrived just as Caroline had finished getting Marc ready for his day. She sat down in the comfortable chair by the bed and Caroline lifted Marc on to her lap with the advice that presently he could be taken for a brief walk around the ward.
‘He gets a little giddy, but Mr Spence is quite satisfied. He can’t go by himself, of course. Shall I get you a cup of coffee, Mevrouw?’
‘No—no, thank you. Mr Spence has spoken to me of you, yes? So I have come to talk…’
Caroline was to have the care of Marc and no other duties, and after a week or so she was gradually to integrate him back into family life, always allowing for their doctor’s approval. ‘You will have him all day—you will not mind that? But each afternoon when he rests—does he not?—you will be free for an hour or so, and in the evenings if you wish to go out when he is in bed, someone will stay nearby him.’ Emmie van Houben looked anxious. ‘You will not mind this? Here in the hospital you have free days, but when you are with us I think that is not possible for a week or two and you will always be—how do you say?—on call.’
Caroline said in a reasonable voice, ‘Well, I shan’t know anyone in Holland, shall I? I mean, I won’t want to go out socially. I think I shall be quite content with your arrangements, Mevrouw.’
All the same, despite her quiet reply, under her neat uniform her heart was pounding with excitement. Life until now had been uneventful, although happy. For some years she had had no illusions about her future; she had friends, but the young men she met had felt no urge to fall in love with her, and she could quite understand why. She had no clever conversation, she hadn’t enough money to dress in the latest fashion and, over and above these drawbacks, she had no looks to speak of. Each by itself would have been overcome, but the three together…
Mevrouw van Houben heaved a sigh of relief. ‘That’s splendid. Mr Spence tells me that we may go home in five days’ time. My husband will drive Nanny and the baby back, but we shall fly. An ambulance will take us to Heathrow and he has chartered a plane for us. We shall fly to Valkenburg airfield and be met by an ambulance and driven home. It is not far.’
Sister Crump gave her four days off; it was inconvenient, but she was fair enough to realise that Caroline would need to pack her things and go to her home. Caroline was very glad to go, since Madge, on hearing the news, had taken it as a personal insult and probably Caroline’s fault that she had been passed over for the job. ‘Heaven knows why they chose you,’ she said bitingly. ‘You won’t understand a word anyone is saying and I dare say the upper classes speak French among themselves and, as you know, I’m rather good at languages.’
Caroline didn’t say a word; she very much doubted that the Dutch would speak any other language than their own unless they needed to. The fact that she spoke passable French herself and even had a smattering of German wasn’t worth mentioning. She made soothing replies and went to Basing to collect what she would need in the way of clothing.
She wasn’t to wear uniform, Mevrouw van Houben had been adamant about that. Under Aunt Meg’s kindly eye, she packed her blue denim skirt and several cotton blouses, a silvery grey cotton shirtwaister she had had for years, still elegant even if not in the forefront of fashion. Just in case the spring weather turned really warm, she added a flowered skirt and a cotton dress. A handful of woollies, the inevitable cardigan, a plastic mac and a second pair of shoes and she considered that then she was well equipped.
‘Enough undies?’ asked Aunt Meg. ‘You never know…and what about something a bit dressy for the evening?’
‘I won’t need that—I’m sure I shan’t have my meals with them.’
‘How do you know that? A fine thing it would be if you turned up at the dinner table in a blouse and skirt and everyone else in silk crêpe and diamond earrings!’
‘I don’t think—’ began Caroline.
‘Well, good. We’ll go into Basingstoke tomorrow morning and buy a dress.’
Aunt Meg was what one would call a sensible dresser, and Caroline, however much she drooled over the mini-skirts and vivid tops much in fashion, was aware that they hardly suited the occasion. After a good deal of to-ing and fro-ing, she settled on a pale green voile two-piece with a darker green pattern of leaves. A sensible buy, for she could wear the top as a blouse if she wished, and the skirt with one of her white blouses. It was as they did a final prowl round Marks and Spencer that she saw the cream silky top, loose and short-sleeved—just right with the skirt in the unlikely event of needing a change of outfits.
Very satisfied with her purchases, the two of them went back home, had their tea, fed Theobald and, since Caroline was going back to the hospital that evening, sat down to check that she had everything she would need. She prudently arranged to change some money into gulden, and it only remained to decide what to wear for the journey. Finally she unpacked the jersey dress; it wouldn’t crush, and if it got messed up during travelling she could wash it, and since they were going by ambulance she wouldn’t need to take a jacket or mac with her. She packed her shoulder-bag with everything she might need for the next twenty-four hours, locked her case and got into the local taxi, waved away by several of the neighbours as well as Aunt Meg and Theobald.
Caroline was on the ward, getting Marc ready for the journey soon after seven o’clock the next day. They weren’t to leave until nine o’clock, but he became excited and unhappy if there was too much commotion around him. She gave him his breakfast, and, when Mevrouw van Houben arrived presently, went away to have her own meal in the company of various of her friends who had contrived to leave their wards on some errand or other.
‘You’ll have a heavenly time,’ said Janey enviously. ‘You’ll meet a dashing Dutchman and come back engaged.’
There was a good-humoured laugh at that, and Caroline joined in, not in the least put out.
They left promptly, made an uneventful journey across London and out to the airport and were tenderly put aboard the plane. To Caroline, used to queues for tickets, Customs and baggage, it was a matter of surprise that travel should be so carefree. It was a relief, too, for Marc needed a good deal of attention; away from familiar surroundings he was inclined to be fretful, and it was only as they circled to land that he dropped off into a light doze. He stayed sleeping as they drove in the ambulance away from the airport, through Leiden and along the road running beside the Oude Rijn, then going through the town, to turn off on to a country road running between water meadows with here and there prosperous-looking farms lying well back from the road. They passed through two villages before Mevrouw van Houben said, ‘We are nearly home. You see the lake? The village is close by.’
The village, when they reached it, was very small, a group of small houses, one or two fair-sized villas, a very large church and a tiny shop. The ambulance turned off into a narrow lane leading from the village square and turned into an open gateway between high walls and stopped before a square solid house set in a garden ablaze with spring flowers. Its door was flung open as the ambulance came to a halt and Mijnheer van Houben, followed by a stout elderly woman, came hurrying out. He embraced his wife and peered anxiously at his small son, still asleep, his head on Caroline�
�s lap.
‘He is well? Not sick? Is there any need for a doctor?’
‘He seems perfectly well. I think if we could get him straight up to his bed—I’ll get him undressed the moment he wakes…’
‘Yes, that is best. I will carry him to his nursery and you will stay with him.’
Caroline following hard on the heels of the master of the house, had no time to look around; she had a fleeting impression of sombre panelled walls, a massive side-table with a clock, and two hideous matching vases, probably very valuable, upon it before she nipped smartly up the wide staircase leading to the gallery above, along a short passage and into a large sunny room at the back of the house. Bartus van Houben laid his son gently on to the bed.
‘You will stay just for a short time? My wife will wish to see the baby, but then she will come and our housekeeper will show you your room and you will have time to unpack if you wish. There will be lunch shortly.’
It was half an hour before Mevrouw van Houben came, and in the meantime Marc had woken up, been undressed and put into his bed, where he lay holding Caroline’s hand while she talked. He didn’t understand, of course, but that didn’t seem to matter; her soft voice was something with which he was familiar.
‘He must eat,’ said his mother. ‘There is food ready for him, but you must eat also, Caroline. I have had lunch, so I will give him his meal while you have yours. Bep—the housekeeper—will take you to your room and show you where the dining-room is. It is a muddle for today; tomorrow we will be normal again.’ Bep was the elderly woman who had come to the door with Bartus van Houben. She nodded and smiled at Caroline and led her across the passage to a pleasant room overlooking the side of the house, nicely furnished with a small bathroom leading from it. Caroline’s case had been brought up and stood ready to be unpacked but that, she decided, could wait. Breakfast had been a long time ago; she hoped that lunch would be a satisfying meal…
It came up to expectations; an omelette, a basket of bread and rolls, butter, cheese and a dish of ham and cold meat, and a pot of coffee. She fell to and was buttering a final roll when the door opened and Marius van Houben sauntered in.
Caroline, her mouth full, uttered a surprised hello in a thickened voice and wished that she didn’t blush so easily. At the same time she had to admit that she was pleased to see him.
Mr van Houben swept a casual glance over her. ‘No problems with Marc?’ he wanted to know, and waited with polite impatience while she swallowed her mouthful.
Rude man, she reflected, he can’t even say good day. Out loud she said in a businesslike voice, ‘None, thank you, sir,’ and poured herself another cup of coffee.
‘Don’t let me hurry you,’ observed Mr van Houben very evenly. ‘When you have finished your meal I should like to take a look at him.’
Caroline took a sip of coffee. She was, upon reflection, not in the least pleased to see him. Hopefully he would go away presently and leave the family doctor, whoever he was, to take over the care of Marc.
She took another sip and he sat himself down on the edge of the handsome table at which she was sitting. Rightfully she should have swallowed her coffee and leapt to her feet, but she had no intention of being treated like a doormat. Too bad if he was a busy man…
She finished her coffee without haste and pushed back her chair.
‘I’m ready when you are, sir,’ she said politely.
He held the door open for her. As she went past him he said softly, ‘Do not cross swords with me, young lady—you might come to grief.’
She judged it prudent not to answer that.
Marc had eaten his dinner and was lying quietly listening to his mother reading from a story-book, but she stopped as they went in, smiling at the sight of Mr van Houben, getting up to kiss him and talk at some length. Caroline, standing by, not understanding a word, waited quietly until he said, ‘Well, shall we take a look, Nurse?’
Marc had no objections to being examined by his uncle, and Caroline had to admire the way he made a game of it, allowing the child to play with his stethoscope, teasing him gently so that he chuckled. He glanced at her. ‘Everything seems in good shape.’ He glanced at her. ‘Continue the treatment he has been having, Nurse, but try letting him walk around for longer periods. An hour or so in the garden might be a good idea, but don’t let him get tired.’
He turned away to speak to his sister-in-law and presently he went away, giving her a brief nod as he went, and when Mevrouw van Houben came back Caroline asked, ‘Is Mr van Houben to look after Marc, or do you have a family doctor?’
‘Dr Berrevoet—he will come, he lives in the village, but Marius has always looked after Marc—he was born prematurely and for weeks he was never well—his chest was weak, but Marius made him better; he is so very good with children and has—how do you say it?—a technique with anaesthetics especially for children and for those who need special treatment with an anaesthetic. He is a very clever man.’
Caroline had already been told that several times; she wondered what he was like as a person. She would try and discover that while she was in Holland. Just out of curiosity, she hastened to remind herself.
Marc was restless and peevish for a few days; he still wasn’t quite himself and Caroline had to acknowledge the good sense in sending her home with him; she was someone he knew, even if his surroundings were different. His mother and father spent as much time as possible with him, but the baby took up a good deal of Mevrouw van Houben’s time and his father went early and frequently came back late, after Marc was asleep. All the same, he was making progress, talking more, happy to sit in the garden with Caroline carrying on the peculiar conversations which they held, each in their own language, playing simple childish games and walking to and fro on the lawn at the back of the house.
Caroline established some sort of routine within the first few days; it was obvious that Marc would need plenty of rest and she was firm about that, tucking him up in his bed after his midday dinner and then joining Mevrouw van Houben for lunch. She didn’t dare leave the house or the gardens, not until he had settled down; she took a book into the garden and sat under the nursery window, ready to fly upstairs if he should need her. Actually, she didn’t mind her lack of freedom. She wrote long letters to Aunt Meg and read several books about the local countryside which Mijnheer van Houben lent her, and in between whiles she just sat, daydreaming. Vague dreams, in which she lived in a lovely house in the country, wore beautiful clothes and was surrounded by handsome children, cats, dogs and the odd donkey and pony. There would be a car for her use, naturally, and she would speak fluent Dutch. There was a husband, of course; a dim figure in the background with nebulous features and an unlimited income. He tended to be very large, blue-eyed and handsome…
She would be roused from these fantasies by the family dog, Bruno, or the gardener, clipping the already neat hedges, or by Bep, with whom she had struck up a rather guarded acquaintance, and laugh at herself and admit silently that, although she was happy with the van Houbens, the sooner she got back to her hard working life the better.
She saw Mr van Houben rather more often than was good for her peace of mind, for despite her stern resolution not to let him intrude into her life she found it hard to do that. She did her best, though, greeting him with cool civility, giving him succinct reports as to Marc’s progress; she even managed not to blush…
He came frequently, arriving unexpectedly and at any time of the day which suited him. On his third vis
it—at eight o’clock in the morning, while Caroline was bathing Marc—he sat on the damp edge of the bath while she dried the little boy, listening while she gave him details of Marc’s progress during the last couple of days.
‘Good.’ He sauntered to the door. ‘It is likely that you think that I am either distrustful of you or uncertain as to your ability to look after Marc. Neither—these visits have to be very carefully fitted in around my day’s work.’
He nodded casually and went away, leaving the door open.
‘I have never met such a man,’ declared Caroline crossly to Marc, who giggled and then shouted with glee as his uncle put his head round the door.
‘I choose to take that as a flattering remark, Caroline,’ he told her silkily, and this time he shut the door after him.
She had been there just over a week when Mr Spence came. Mr van Houben arrived shortly after and the two men spent some time examining Marc while Caroline did as she was told, as professional as if she were in hospital, but presently she was left to dress him again while they went away to talk to his parents.
It was a pleasantly warm day; she carried Marc downstairs and into the garden, aware of voices coming from the drawing-room as she crossed the hall. Perhaps, she thought, they were deciding to tell her that she was no longer needed. Marc was making splendid progress now, and now that the new nanny had settled in Mevrouw van Houben had much more leisure to be with her small son.
She set Marc on his feet and walked him slowly across the lawn to the little summer-house at the end of the garden; it was a pretty, rustic affair which could be turned to face the sun or away from the wind. She swivelled it round so that they would be facing away from the house and sat down with Marc beside her and then, with an arm around his small person, opened the picture-book she had brought with her. It seemed to be a favourite of his and they recited the names of the various animals drawn on its pages, Marc’s small voice sometimes a little slurred, and Caroline making heavy weather with the Dutch words.
