by Betty Neels
Caroline, happily unaware of Mr van Houben’s arrival, got ready for bed, had tea with several of her friends and recounted the pleasures of her evening. ‘A very nice girl,’ she observed, ‘just right for Robert. I like her. He’s managed to get a week off at the end of the month so he can go to Birmingham and be with her. They’re devoted.’
‘What did you eat?’
‘We went to a small restaurant behind Oxford Street. We had soup and steak and kidney pie and ices after—oh, and coffee, of course. I wasn’t too keen to go but it was all right, they treated me like a sister, if you see what I mean.’
Her audience nodded, Caroline was a dear girl, they all liked her, but there was no denying the fact that her lot in life seemed to be that of faithful friend. They went off to bed presently and she put her head on the pillow and slept, first of all allowing herself a few loving thoughts about Mr van Houben.
He had spent a good deal of the morning with the burns case, conferred with the surgeon who wanted to operate and then made his way to the children’s ward. Shirley, he had been told, was still there, ready to leave, but since her granny didn’t feel she could cope with her efforts were being made to get her into a children’s home.
Sister Crump was in her office, and so was Robert Brewster, writing up notes. He got up as Mr van Houben went in and Sister Crump said, ‘Good morning, sir,—nice to see you—you’ll be wanting to look at Shirley? This is Dr Brewster, he’s on a six-month course…’
The two men shook hands and Mr van Houben leant his vast frame against a wall and observed in his calm unhurried way that yes, he would be glad to see the child, and he added, ‘And don’t disturb yourself Sister, I’m sure Dr Brewster will go with me.’
Shirley’s cot was at the far end of the ward, and since she had just wet her bed Caroline was changing the sheets with one arm round the toddler propped against the cot sides. An awkward business, but the other nurse on duty was in the sluice-room and Shirley was grizzling.
She looked over her shoulder at the sound of feet and at the sight of Mr van Houben went first very red and then pale; he was a glorious surprise, but the unexpectedness of it had taken her breath away, so that for a moment she was perfectly still.
‘Hello, Caroline,’ said Mr van Houben at his blandest. ‘I’ve come to take a look at Shirley.’
He leaned over and lifted the small creature out of her cot and Caroline said belatedly, ‘Good morning, sir,’ and finished off the cot, not looking at him or Robert.
Mr van Houben was very much at his ease; he went and sat on one of the low tables where the children played, and sat Shirley on his knee, and Robert went with him. Not a perceptive young man, he yet had the feeling that neither of the two persons with him was really aware of his presence, and Caroline was looking flustered. He coughed, and Mr van Houben turned his handsome head to speak to him.
‘Mr Spence did a splendid job of work here,’ he observed, ‘and of course the nursing of such a case is all-important—no easy task as you can imagine, with the child’s arms splinted to prevent interference with the wound and the great difficulty in feeding and preventing crying.’ He had opened the small mouth with a gentle hand and was peering inside. ‘Of course, Sister Crump is one of the finest ward sisters there is, and trains her nurses to her own high standard.’
Caroline had finished making up the cot and wished that she had something to occupy her. It wouldn’t do to walk away and leave the men there; one didn’t leave consultants on their own; on the other hand she felt a fool standing there doing nothing.
She looked at Robert but he was listening to Mr van Houben and presently invited to give his opinion as to the best method of feeding a child with a cleft palate; he ventured a few of his own ideas, during which Shirley was handed back to her with one of Mr van Houben’s bland smiles.
She put the child back into her cot, arranged suitable toys and locked the cot sides, taking as long as possible until he said, ‘Don’t let us keep you, Nurse,’ and dismissed her with a kindly smile.
It was fortunate that there was an outburst of tears from a small boy on the other side of the ward; it gave her something to do but unfortunately prevented her from hearing what the men were talking about. Presently they strolled away with a ‘Thank you, Nurse,’ uttered in her direction by Mr van Houben and a sidelong glance from Robert.
‘What plans do you have for the future?’ asked Mr van Houben pleasantly of Robert.
‘I want to go back to Birmingham—to the children’s hospital there, sir. They’ve more or less agreed to consider me and I could work my way up to registrar in time.’
‘You wish to remain there?’
‘Well, yes. We plan to marry as soon as I’m appointed.’
‘Your wife will work too?’ asked Mr van Houben smoothly.
Robert nodded. ‘But only until I’ve got started; she’s keen on paediatrics too.’
Mr van Houben’s face was impassive. ‘Then I must wish you every success—the work is very rewarding.’
They had reached Sister’s office and Robert didn’t go in. ‘It’s been a privilege meeting you, sir,’ he declared. ‘I hope we shall meet again at some time.’
‘Bound to—I come here from time to time, although my main work is in Holland.’ He nodded an amiable goodbye and opened the office door.
Inside he sat down on the edge of the desk. ‘Shirley’s doing well. How is Nurse Frisby placed as regards holidays? My sister-in-law wants her to go over and spend a couple of days with Marc.’
‘Well, she is due for a move in a couple of weeks; she could have four days off at the beginning of next week and go straight to Casualty. I shall miss her; she’s a good nurse. I retire in four years; she might very well get my job provided she stays on here. She might marry, of course.’
Mr van Houben withdrew his gaze from the view of the chimney pots and shabby roof-tops outside the window. ‘It seems likely,’ he observed. He got up. ‘I’ll get Emmie to phone Caroline. Does she know that she is to be transferred?’
‘No—but I’ll tell her.’
She watched him go. There was nothing in his manner to indicate it, but she had the feeling that he was in a towering rage.
Caroline, going off duty in the afternoon, looked to see if his car was in the forecourt. It had already gone; indeed, he was on his way back to the ferry and Holland.
Emmie van Houben phoned her that evening. ‘Marc does want to see you again,’ she begged. ‘Could you come just for a day or two, so that he knows that you haven’t forgotten him? Please, Caroline—we will send your ticket and meet you at Schiphol. Could you not explain to Sister Crump? She is so kind and understanding?’
‘I saw Mr van Houben this morning…he didn’t say anything about Marc.’
Emmie’s surprise sounded very real. ‘Did you? Well, I don’t suppose he would—he’s going to Brussels and then on to Rome.’ Quite true, only he wouldn’t be going for several weeks.
There would be no fear of meeting him, thought Caroline, something she longed to do but which common sense told her would be useless and upsetting. ‘I’ll ask Sister Crump in the morning,’ she promised, and put the phone down. But Emmie didn’t; she went back to the switchboard and asked to speak to Sister Crump.
Caroline was a little surprised at Sister Crump’s willingness to let her have four days off at the weekend. ‘You are going to Casualty next Wednesday,’ she was told gruffly, ‘so it will fit in very well.’
�
�Casualty? Must I? Couldn’t I stay here for another few weeks, Sister Crump?’
‘Good heavens, girl, you want to finish your training, don’t you? You’ve done well here and we shall miss you, but you mustn’t get in a rut.’ She waved dismissal. ‘Take Friday evening off—you’ll need to pack and so on.’
Aunt Meg, when telephoned, thought it was a splendid idea. ‘And take a pretty dress with you, love, I dare say they’ll take you out.’
The weather was splendid, Caroline wore the navy and white and the little jacket and, mindful of Aunt Meg’s advice, packed the green voile two-piece and, after careful thought, the pink cotton and lace Laura Ashley dress she had bought in a fit of extravagance. Her ticket had arrived by special delivery and she left quite early in the morning for the eleven o’clock flight. Mevrouw van Houben had said that she would be met, and she had almost all her month’s pay in her handbag; she had nothing to worry her. She had been sent a first-class ticket and had every intention of enjoying the flight. Which she would have done, if only she could have stopped herself thinking about Mr van Houben.
By the time she arrived at Schiphol she was wishing—contrary to all her good intentions—that he would be there waiting for her. Of course he wasn’t. Bartus van Houben, beaming with pleasure, was there with the car, full of questions as to the comfort of her journey. ‘We are all so pleased that you can come,’ he assured her.
‘I am delighted to see you all again—I only hope that Marc remembers me. He is well?’
It took almost the rest of the drive to Alpen-aan-de-Rijn for Marc’s doting father to enlarge upon his progress, and when they arrived at the house she saw that he hadn’t exaggerated. The little boy was walking steadily and he had gained weight; what was more, after the first few seconds he recognised her and rushed to be hugged and kissed and made much of.
‘You see,’ cried Mevrouw van Houben delightedly, ‘he remembers you. Come in, Caroline, come in. You will wish to go to your room, but please come down soon and we will have a drink before lunch. Tine is even now there arranging the flowers.’
So Caroline followed Bep up the stairs and into the room she had had previously, and found Tine there, filling a bowl with roses.
‘So nice to see you again,’ said Tine, and flung her arms round her. ‘I talk of you each day to Marc and he does not forget you, and we do not forget you either. He is now a well boy; Mr van Houben was here and he is most satisfied.’ She had sat down on the bed while Caroline tidied herself and took off her jacket. ‘Such a pity that he is not here to see you, but you meet in London?’
‘Well, I see him on the ward…’ Caroline poked at her hair in a dissatisfied fashion. ‘I’m going to go to Casualty when I go back.’
‘You will like that? And he goes there also?’
‘Most unlikely,’ said Caroline.
They went down to the drawing-room together and found everyone there—the baby and her nanny, Marc and his parents, and since it was an occasion to celebrate they drank champagne.
They sat down to lunch presently, with Marc between Caroline and Tine. He was excited but not boisterous, and he ate his lunch very nicely, chattering to Caroline as though she had never been away, and she answering him, as she always had done in her own language, neither quite understanding what the other one was talking about but perfectly happy to let matters rest as they were. He was taken away for his rest presently and Tine came back to join them in the drawing-room again. Mevrouw van Houben was full of questions. ‘Corinna will be home very soon now; it is fortunate that she has not fallen in love seriously with any of the young men with whom she goes out. She will settle down perhaps and choose a good Dutchman. She is a dear girl but spoilt by her parents. And you, Caroline—do you have a serious young man? Corinna told me that you were friendly with a new doctor. Is he nice?’
Mevrouw van Houben had bent her head over her tapestry work and didn’t see Caroline’s face. ‘He’s just a friend…’
And Tine laughed and said, ‘That is what everyone says when they are asked such a question. We have to wait and see, perhaps?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Caroline, unable to think of a better reply.
It was delightful to be back in the comfortable and pleasant life which the van Houbens led; Caroline went to bed that evening happily aware that they were really pleased to see her again and that they liked her. Marius van Houben had a nice family, she reflected sleepily; she supposed that he was in Brussels or even Rome by now, unaware that she was in Holland. Not that he would mind; he had treated her like a stranger—well, almost a stranger—on the ward, and he certainly wouldn’t put himself out to see her while she was here. She tried to think indignant thoughts about him but it was too difficult, she loved him too much.
The van Houbens went to church in the morning, and since Caroline offered to look after the children Tine went with them. It was delightful in the garden; the baby slept and little Marc sat on a rug while she sprawled beside him, showing him his picture-book and struggling to read the simple sentences in it, and when everyone came back from church they sat around drinking coffee, carrying on a rambling conversation about nothing in particular. Caroline found it very restful; there was a lot to be said for the lack of Sunday papers in Holland; it made for idle hours spent in idle talk instead of silence and the rustle of the supplements.
Mr van Houben arrived silently, not coming out of the house through the French windows, but taking one of the narrow paths at one side. Caroline was kneeling on the grass, tossing a ball to Marc, her back to the house, so that his quiet, ‘Hello, Caroline,’ took her by surprise. She scrambled to her feet and lifted a pale face to his.
‘Oh, I thought you were in Rome or Brussels.’
‘Otherwise you wouldn’t have come?’ he said. His smile was gently mocking. ‘We must contrive to be civil for an hour or so. I’m only here for lunch.’ He picked up Marc and tossed him gently in the air. ‘And how is the hospital? and your friend, young Brewster?’
‘Busy, and Dr Brewster gets on very well with everyone.’
The blue eyes scanned her face. ‘He should go far.’ He turned away from her then to speak to his sister-in-law and presently sat down by his brother and became immersed in a discussion which kept them occupied until they went indoors for lunch. Over that meal, although the conversation was general, he barely spoke to Caroline.
It seemed that he was leaving for Brussels in the morning, staying there for several days before going on to Rome and not returning to Holland for the best part of two weeks, and Caroline, peeping at him discreetly whenever she had the chance, was suddenly filled with a recklessness quite alien to her calm nature. Before he went, she decided, she would ask him why he disliked her—no, that wouldn’t do—‘ignored’ was a better way to describe his pleasantly casual manner towards her. They had known each other for several weeks now, never mind that she was a student nurse and he a well-known consultant. Never mind too, that she was head-over-heels in love with him; he would never fall in love with her, but at least they could clear the air and perhaps even be friends in a limited way.
They sat around talking after lunch and Mr van Houben showed no signs of leaving, so that when Tine came down from the nursery to say that Marc was grizzling for a woolly toy he had left in the little summer-house Caroline offered at once to go and get it. She didn’t hurry, for she was mulling over what she intended to say to him presently; there was bound to be a moment when she could speak to him. She found the toy and started
back to the house. The drawing-room was empty and she hurried through to the hall, just in time to see the Bentley driving away from the open front door.
Mevrouw van Houben turned to smile at her. ‘Marius had to get back—he leaves early in the morning. He asked me to say goodbye to you and also to wish you every happiness in the future.’
Caroline clutched the woolly toy to her as though it were a lifebelt and she were drowning. ‘I hope he has a pleasant journey,’ she said in a voice which didn’t sound like hers at all. ‘I’ll take this up to Marc…’
Tine took one look at her face. ‘You have had bad news?’
‘No, no, I ate too much lunch…’
She gave Marc his woolly animal and stayed for a minute or two talking to them both, reflecting that perhaps it was best this way: no awkward goodbyes when her tongue might have run away with her and she might have said things that she would have regretted. He thought so little of her that he hadn’t even wished to say goodbye or given her the chance to do the same.
She went back downstairs, and no one seeing her sitting there listening to the van Houbens’ friendly talk would have known that her heart was breaking.
‘So silly,’ she muttered to herself, lying awake in her bed later, ‘for he never gave me any reason to suppose he was even the slightest bit interested in me.’ To prove it she got out of bed and turned on the light by the dressing-table and examined herself in its looking glass. ‘You’re a fool,’ she told her reflection.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MR VAN HOUBEN drove himself back to Amsterdam with controlled ferocity and Fram, going to open the door as the car drew up, sighed at the sight of his inscrutable face. The master was in a nasty temper, no less nasty for being under control; he wasn’t going to be best pleased to hear that Mevrouw van der Holle, recently widowed, attractive and making the most of the brief meetings she had had with him at other people’s houses, was sitting in the drawing-room, intent on inviting herself out for the evening. She would be out of luck, thought Fram, closing the door soundlessly and informing Mr van Houben in a toneless voice that he had a visitor.
