A Girl in a Million

by Betty Neels

  ‘I feel marvellous,’ she assured Aunt Meg. ‘I’m sure I could cope with anything.’

  ‘Or anyone?’ asked her aunt in an offhand way, making it sound like a joke.

  ‘Or anyone,’ said Caroline, full of good resolutions. Now that she was away from any chance of seeing Mr van Houben, she told herself that forgetting him would be much easier; she reminded herself of this each day in the vain hope that if she did so Mr van Houben would gradually fade away. Of course he didn’t.

  He came on a Saturday morning, quite early, bringing with him Robert Brewster. Caroline, picking strawberries in the back garden, looked round to see who it was coming round the side of the house and jumped to her feet, upsetting the bowl of fruit.

  She said the wrong thing, witless with delight and desperate to hide it. ‘Now look what you’ve made me do,’ she snapped.

  Mr van Houben ignored the berries but Robert got down on his knees and began to gather them up. ‘A pleasant surprise, I hope,’ he said blandly. ‘Good morning, Caroline; I have brought young Brewster to see you—such a pleasant day. ‘ He was smiling a little with an air of reproof.

  ‘Oh, yes, well…how nice. Hello, Robert.’

  If Mr van Houben had any lingering doubts about Caroline’s entertaining more than a liking for Robert, they were put at rest. Nothing could have been more sisterly than her manner towards the young man.

  She took the bowl from Robert and said with belated hospitality, ‘Do come in, I’m sure you would like a cup of coffee.’

  She started across the small lawn between the two men and her aunt, looking out of a bedroom window smiled. If she had been a betting woman she would have risked her pension backing Mr van Houben. She withdrew from the window and went downstairs to greet her visitors.

  ‘Well, this is a pleasant surprise,’ she declared warmly, ‘and just in time for coffee too. You don’t have to rush back, I hope? There’s a farm chicken roasting in the oven and strawberries and cream—you’ll stay to lunch?’

  Mr van Houben, watching his Caroline’s face, replied for both of them. ‘That would be delightful. We both happen to be free this morning and young Brewster looked in need of country air.’

  ‘Now isn’t that nice?’ declared Aunt Meg to no one in particular. ‘Marius, would you get the chairs out of the garden shed? And perhaps Mr Brewster—Robert, is it?—would put the table under the apple tree? Caroline, get the cake that you made yesterday, will you?’

  Sitting under the apple tree presently with the coffee-pot on the table and the cake—pronounced delicious—nothing but crumbs on the plate, Mr van Houben took stock of Caroline. If he had found her beautiful when she lay on her bed hot and cross and covered in blotches, he found her quite bewitchingly beautiful now. Her hair was tied back, glossy and thick, she had no make-up on, but she really didn’t need any; the faint tan and her pink cheeks—rather pinker than usual since he was there—had given her face just what was needed to turn its ordinariness into near prettiness; her eyes sparkled and her person was nicely rounded. She was wearing a cotton dress, a simple well-washed one suitable for pottering in the garden, and her bare feet were thrust into sandals. He wanted to whisk her away and tell her how much he loved her, but he could see that she was still cross; it wasn’t the time or the place. Perhaps he shouldn’t have taken her by surprise like that.

  He was partly right—of course she was cross; if she had known that he was coming she would have pinned her hair into its tidy french pleat, done her face and put on one of her new summer dresses. As it was she looked a fright. She could have wept with rage and love and longing.

  She went to replenish the coffee-pot presently and Mr van Houben continued to make easy conversation with his companions, his face pleasantly attentive to what was being said, looking as though he hadn’t a care in the world, and when after a while Aunt Meg suggested that Caroline should stroll round the village with their visitors while she kept an eye on the chicken he voiced his willingness to do so in just the right casual voice. Robert echoed him, so there was nothing for it but to walk down to the church. ‘Norman,’ explained Caroline, ‘and there’s a sixteenth-century tithe barn a little further on.’ When they had admired the barn, she said, ‘There’s a splendid ruin too, a Saxon castle—it’s in the Domesday Book and then it was Norman and after that a Tudor mansion—Cromwell beseiged it for years.’ She paused. ‘It’s a bit far, I think we’d better go back, it’s almost lunchtime.’

  She had avoided saying anything much to Mr van Houben; now she asked Robert about his Miriam and what his prospects were, and that took them back to the cottage just in time to sit under the apple tree again and drink the sherry Aunt Meg kept for visitors.

  Young Brewster had forgotten to be shy; the talk was light-hearted and over their meal it continued, largely due to Aunt Meg’s and Mr van Houben’s efforts, for Caroline had very little to say for herself.

  Aunt Meg, watching him looking at Caroline from under heavy lids, drew her own conclusions. It was quite obvious that young Brewster treated Caroline like a sister—they were good friends and nothing more—but she felt sure that her niece and this quiet, self-possessed Dutchman shared deeper feelings. Caroline, for some reason known only to herself, was treating him with decided coolness, and he—he was secretly amused by it. Why? thought Aunt Meg, offering coffee. He looked almost smug…

  It appeared that they had no need to return until the early evening, and since the pair of them offered to wash the dishes Aunt Meg was constrained to invite them to stay for an early tea.

  Sitting comfortably in a basket chair under the apple tree, listening to the subdued sounds of washing-up, she remarked casually to Caroline, ‘How pleasant to have such nice visitors—I was afraid you would find it dull here after hospital life. Robert is a pleasant lad—a slave to Marius, of course. Such a good man—Marius, I mean—not young any more…’

  ‘He’s nowhere near forty,’ said Caroline quickly, not looking at her aunt.

  ‘Good heavens, no—he’s in his prime—it is a pity you don’t like him, dear.’ She sounded gently guileless.

  ‘But I do, I do.’ She gave her aunt a beseeching look. ‘Please, Aunt Meg, don’t let’s talk about him.’

  ‘Well, of course we won’t if you don’t want to, although personally I should like to get to know him better. Such a pity that he lives in Holland, and anyway, he told me that he has been asked to lecture in one of those South American countries—quite a long tour. Chile, was it? Or perhaps it was Colombia. Anyway it’s a long way away. A good thing he isn’t married.’ She looked up to watch the two men coming to join them. ‘How very nice to have the washing-up done for us—you didn’t find it too tiresome?’

  Mr van Houben, who had never washed up in his life before, assured her that it had been no trouble at all. ‘Although I dare say we’ve put everything away in the wrong cupboards and drawers.’

  ‘Never mind that, it will make laying the table all the more interesting. The grass is quite dry if you want to lie on it and take a nap.’

  He took her at her word and stretched his vast person in the shade and closed his eyes, and presently Robert said quietly, ‘He was up for most of the night; he was called in to anaesthetise a girl who had had her throat cut—very difficult.’

  ‘So I should imagine. What time do you have to be back?’

  ‘I’m on call from six o’clock. Mr van Houben is going out to dinner…’ A remark which sent Caroline’s imagination into overdrive. Naturally
he would know any number of people in London—and by people she really meant women; she had him partnered with a glamorous blonde in no time at all, eating a delicious meal at a fashionable restaurant and going on elsewhere to dance and then driving the beauty back in his Bentley…

  ‘Are you asleep, love?’ asked Aunt Meg, ‘If you’re not, could you make some scones for tea? And there’s that fruit loaf…’

  Caroline was quite glad to go into the kitchen and gather together what she would need. The oven turned on to warm up, she made her dough and rolled it out before cutting it into neat rounds with the pastry cutter. While they were baking she could cut the loaf and butter it and lay a tray—it was too nice to come indoors, and as she worked she allowed her thoughts to wander, as usual, to Marius van Houben. Chile, or wherever it was, was a long way away and he would be gone for a long time, she supposed. At least while he was in Holland he could come over to England easily and there would always be the chance that she would see him now and then. Not that that was of much use, she reflected sadly, what with his indifference and glamorous blondes all over the place.

  She arranged her scones in neat rows on the baking tray, put it in the oven, started to wash up—and became aware that he was standing in the doorway.

  He didn’t say anything, so she carried on, casting around in her head for a suitable remark to make.

  ‘Why were you cross?’ he asked mildly.

  It didn’t enter her head to pretend that she didn’t know what he meant.

  ‘I hadn’t done my face or my hair and I’m wearing an old dress… I wasn’t expecting you—anyone…’

  ‘My dear girl, I hardly noticed.’

  She was scrubbing the rolling-pin with enormous vigour. ‘Oh, I know that.’ She wrung out the dishcloth quite viciously and emptied the sink.

  ‘So why should you be vexed?’ he wanted to know.

  She wasn’t going to answer that, instead she said in a stony voice, ‘Aunt Meg told me that you are going to Chile. How very interesting.’

  ‘Colombia, actually.’

  ‘I expect you will meet some interesting people.’

  ‘We may not see each other for some time.’

  He was leaning against the door, his eyes on her face, so that she turned away to busy herself with seeing if the scones were ready. He had put into words what she already knew; it made it very final.

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose so.’ She turned round to face him. ‘But that’s not important, is it? I mean…’ She stopped. It was quite impossible to tell him what she meant.

  ‘You mean?’ he prompted.

  ‘Oh, nothing.’ She started to slice the fruit loaf. He took the knife from her. ‘I’ll do that. How delicious these scones smell. It really is most kind of your aunt to let us spend the day. Young Brewster is enjoying every minute.’

  She buttered the slices as he cut them. ‘Why did you bring Robert?’

  ‘Oh, I wanted to be sure about something.’

  She gave him a puzzled look. ‘About his work? He’s very keen. I do hope he gets that job in Birmingham so that he can get married to his Miriam.’

  ‘I can’t see why he shouldn’t. He’s proving very satisfactory, I hear. You’ll miss him?’

  ‘Me? Well, it was nice to have a friend.’ She added awkwardly, ‘I—I don’t go out very much.’

  He cut the last of the loaf, took the butter knife from her and took her hands in his, bent his head and kissed her on her astonished mouth.

  ‘Oh,’ said Caroline, ‘why did you do that? Is it because you’re going away—a kind of goodbye?’ She was pleased to hear that her voice sounded normal, although she felt as if she had had an electric shock.

  She would never know; Robert, anxious to give a helping hand had come into the kitchen intent on carrying trays. Mr van Houben handed him the bread and butter plate and then picked up the tea-tray. ‘I’ll be back to fetch the scones,’ he said.

  She had made the tea and taken the scones out of the oven, and was on her way to the apple tree with a dish of jam and a pot of cream for the scones before he returned, and during tea, although she joined in the talk with rather more liveliness than usual, she didn’t actually speak to him.

  They went directly they had had their tea, their offer to wash up again firmly refused by Aunt Meg. Robert had given Caroline a brotherly pat on her shoulder and reminded her that he would look out for her when she got back to the hospital, but Mr van Houben had bidden her goodbye in a vague and casual manner completely at variance with the kiss he had given her. Watching the car slide away from the gate, she reflected that he was probably an expert at kissing. She had from time to time been kissed, mostly medical students who had just passed their exams or had good news of some sort and were prepared to kiss anyone who happened to be there, but none of them had prepared her for Mr van Houben’s expert performance. For that was what it had been, she was sure about that.

  She filled the rest of the two weeks with hours of activity, gardening and biking, taking her aunt to Basingstoke to shop, walking old Mrs Tremble’s pug dog while she spent a day or two in hospital, shopping and helping with the church jumble sale. Aunt Meg said nothing, only made cheerful conversation about the possibility of future holidays and enlarged upon the pleasures in store once Caroline had taken her final exams. Caroline went back to the hospital determined to let common sense take over from daydreams.

  A good thing too, for she found herself back in Casualty once more, run off her feet, for the tourist season was in full swing and although the hospital wasn’t in an area frequented by visitors to London there was a lot more traffic in the city and more careless driving, causing an unending stream of street accidents. There was a sprinkling of more adventurous tourists who wished to explore the East End and rather unwisely had chosen the evenings in which to do so, when they were a splendid target for muggers and youths out to make mischief.

  After the peaceful orderliness of Basing, Caroline found it tiring and sometimes a little frightening. Casualty, thought of by a great many people as dramatic and exciting, was in reality gruelling hard work and sometimes sad. She did all her work as well as she was able and, with her being a kind girl, the patients liked her, and since she did her fair share the other nurses liked her too. Even Sister Moss, never known to praise, forbore from grumbling at her, although this didn’t prevent her from telling Caroline that since she had returned to work on a Tuesday she need not expect her days off until the end of the following week. The off duty, she pointed out was already made out and there was no point in altering it. Caroline had just had two weeks’ holiday anyway.

  Caroline would have liked to remind Sister Moss that it hadn’t been a holiday but sick leave, but she decided prudently to keep her tongue.

  She had to admit after the first few days that there was something to be said for Casualty after all; it kept her mind off Mr van Houben, at least while she was at work. Off duty it was another matter; even at the cinema on an evening out with some of her friends his face loomed large before her eyes, so that the film became meaningless.

  Two days after her return she met Corinna. ‘Better?’ enquired the Dutch girl. ‘I must say you gave everyone a fright. Emmie phoned last night and she wanted to know if you were back at work. I must tell her that you are, although you still look a little off colour.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Caroline cast discretion to the winds. ‘Has Mr van Houben gone to Colombia yet?’ She regretted the words the minute she uttered t
hem. ‘My aunt mentioned it.’

  ‘Marius? He does get around, doesn’t he? Time he settled down and took an interest in a wife and children—I’m always telling him that. He had better be around for the party I’m having when I get back home—only a few weeks now. I bought the most divine dress last week—there’s a lovely boutique behind Harrods—I shall look quite beautiful in it.’

  She beamed at Caroline, stating an established fact without a trace of conceit. Caroline said that she was sure she would look lovely and if she stayed talking any longer Sister Moss would kill her.

  ‘You don’t like it on Casualty?’

  ‘It keeps me busy. Please thank Mevrouw van Houben for her good wishes when you hear from her again.’

  ‘And love to Marc, of course.’

  ‘Oh, of course. I’ll never forget him.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ll forget Marius either, will you?’ asked Corinna, so unexpectedly that Caroline went red. ‘He’s not easily forgettable, is he?’

  ‘I must go,’ gasped Caroline. ‘Sister Moss…’

  She fled, ignoring the rule that no nurse ever ran except for fire and haemorrhage, and she found Sister Moss waiting for her.

  ‘Why have you taken so long to fetch the films from X-Ray?’ she demanded. ‘Mr Stone is getting very impatient. Take them to him at once and then go along to the end cubicle—there’s a carbuncle waiting to be dressed.’

  Caroline, going in search of the owner of the carbuncle, reflected that life must be strange to Sister Moss if she saw everyone as an accident or a surgical condition. The carbuncle’s unwilling owner was an elderly man with a patient face and a shocking smoker’s cough.