by Betty Neels
After half an hour he turned off the road and started to make his way back in the direction of Leeuwarden through a series of small country lanes.
There weren’t many villages, nor were there many people.
‘Milking time,’ said Aede, and pointed out the clusters of cows gathered round the milking machines in the fields.
‘Where will you live when you marry?’ Harriet asked.
‘Franeker. Eventually I shall take over from Father, you know. In the meantime there is plenty of work for the three of us. I shall enjoy working with Friso, he’s a good chap. We shall be passing his house in a minute or two. Would you like to stop?’
Harriet said, ‘No, thank you,’ in a quiet voice. If Taeike had been wrong and there had been a misunderstanding, she had no doubt that Friso would discover it and put it right; if not, she would make no move. For the hundredth time she tried to remember if she had said or done anything. She could think of nothing, only that she had let Friso see her feelings.
‘Here it is,’ said Aede, and there it was indeed. Friso’s house, looking lovelier than ever in the spring sunshine. He slowed down as they passed, but she scarcely noticed that as she searched the grounds for a sign of life. There was no one to be seen, but as they rounded the corner and passed the gates, a dog barked.
‘That’s Moses,’ she said. ‘I—I thought I should see him before I went home.’
Her companion negotiated a milk float drawn by a plodding horse which had no intention of giving up the crown of the road.
‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t. Did Friso say so? He did? Then you will, Friso is a man of his word, come what may.’
This remark had the effect of making her feel a little more cheerful, they arrived back at the house almost gaily, and the gaiety lasted through her good-bye to Aede and the unexpected influx of the doctor’s friends who had come to wish her God-speed, and stayed for drinks. The burgemeester and the dominee arrived within a few minutes of each other, and in turn, engaged her in conversation. Neither of them mentioned Friso. Behind her smiling attentive face, she struggled to think of some way of introducing him into the talk, but she was given no chance, for the burgemeester talked about a production of ‘She Stoops to Conquer’ which he had seen at Chichester the previous year, and the dominee discussed the art of making jam, of all things. Friso had never mentioned Chichester to her and she had strong doubts as to whether his knowledge of jam-making had ever reached more than a theoretical level. Without changing the subject in a most noticeable manner, she could see no way of dragging his name into the conversation. It was left to the beautiful blonde who had arrived without Friso to utter his name. Harriet had found herself in a corner with the elegant creature, where they carried on a strictly basic conversation about clothes—a safe subject for women in any language. Harriet admired her companion’s white mini-dress; there was little of it, but what there was was superbly cut.
‘Dior?’ she hazarded vaguely, anxious to please the beautiful creature and feeling strangely incapable of jealousy towards her. After all, she had arrived with an escort of two young men whom she had treated with a great deal more warmth than she had shown Friso. She couldn’t be the girl he intended to marry. Harriet checked the thought sternly. Thinking about it could come later.
The blonde smiled. ‘You like? Italy. My uncle buys for me.’ She waved vaguely in the general direction of the room before them. There were several gentlemen who could have been her uncle; it didn’t seem worth the trouble of finding out, however. Harriet decided to abandon the subject anyway; she was searching feverishly for a topic that could be dealt with easily in simple English, when her thoughts were brought to a stunned halt by her companion. ‘Friso is silly,’ she pronounced. ‘He will not come with us. He says he is busy. That is not so—’ she shrugged her shoulders. ‘He sits alone—with dogs.’ Her tone implied that she had no opinion at all of a man who sat with dogs in preference to taking her out. She looked at Harriet with interest. ‘You are red; very red. Not well, perhaps?’
‘I am warm,’ said Harriet faintly. ‘The room is warm, are you not warm?’ She stopped, aware that she sounded like a Latin grammar. She was having trouble with her breathing too. She said in an urgent voice,
‘Friso is ill?’
‘Ill? Huh!’ The small sound obviously meant the same in both languages. ‘Friso is never sick,’ the girl laughed gaily. ‘You do not know him well, or you would not ask.’
Harriet sighed. ‘No,’ she agreed in a small voice, ‘I don’t think I do.’ She was glad to be borne away by the curator of the Planetarium to give him her opinion of Friesland and Franeker in particular. It prevented her thoughts from straying.
It was late when she went up to bed. Long after the last guests had gone, they had stayed up talking, and she had watched the clock, willing it to slowness in case Friso should still come. But he didn’t, and when at last she was in bed she had to admit to herself that she wasn’t going to see him again. Taeike had been right, after all. There was no question of him coming in the morning. Her train left Leeuwarden at half past seven, the doctor would drive her to the station to catch it; no one in their senses would come calling at six o’clock in the morning. She lay thinking about him and her lovely ruined dream, too unhappy to cry.
She fell asleep just before dawn, so heavily that Sieske had to shake her awake. She went down to breakfast, her pretty face without colour and so woebegone that Mevrouw Van Minnen thought that she was in no condition to travel, and suggested that she should postpone her journey.
Harriet begged her not to worry. ‘I’m always like this before I go on a journey, aren’t I, Sieske?’ She added mendaciously, ‘I feel marvellous.’
Sieske gave her a long look across the table and said comfortably, ‘Yes, Harry dear.’ She turned to her mother and explained at length.
Harriet wondered exactly what she was saying, but whatever it was, it convinced Mevrouw Van Minnen, who nodded and smiled, apparently satisfied. Maggina and Taeike had come down too, not to eat their breakfasts, it was too early for that, but to say good-bye. Sieske was going to the station anyway—she would have gone the whole way to the Hoek if Harriet had not firmly declared that she could manage the trip very well by herself.
Harriet finished her breakfast and went upstairs to get the presents she had brought from England and had saved until this moment—Blue Grass cologne for Mevrouw Van Minnen, tobacco for the doctor, undies for Sieske which she had admired when they had gone shopping together in England, and wisps of nighties for Maggina and Taeike. She offered her gifts shyly and begged everyone not to open them until she had gone, but Taeike would not wait. She tore her parcel open with all the impetuosity of youth and stood staring at the pretty trifle, then looked quite wildly at Harriet, who said gently, ‘I do hope you like it, dear. You are so pretty.’
‘Thank you, Harry. It’s beautiful.’ She covered it carefully with its tissue paper. ‘You think I am pretty?’
‘Yes, I do. When you are quite grown up I think that you will be lovely.’
Taeike’s eyes filled with tears. She held out her hand, barely touched Harriet’s fingers, and dropped it to her side again. ‘I must have my bath. Good-bye, Harry.’ She didn’t look at her at all, but went quickly out of the room, her parcel under one arm. If there had been more time, her strange conduct might have caused comment, but Mevrouw Van Minnen was answering the telephone, and the doctor was already on his way to fetch his car. Maggina said good-bye too and Harriet and Sieske went upstairs to fetch their hats and coats. Harriet was ready first and went downstairs, where she stood by the window in the sitting-room, waiting for the car. She could just see the small alleyway which housed the garage the doctor used. The bonnet of his car was nosing out into the street just as another car flashed past it and drew up with a harsh squeal of brakes at the front door. It was the AC 428, and Friso and Moses got out of it. Harriet whispered, ‘Friso, oh, Friso!’ but remained rooted to the spot, regrettably aware
that she should be formulating some plan or other to meet the situation. Instead she watched him cross the pavement and mount the two steps to the door with Moses at his heel. He did this unhurriedly and she had time to note that he was quite collected in manner, and, despite the early hour, presented an immaculate appearance. She turned her back on the sight of him and faced the door. She could hear his deep voice mingled with the laughing protestations of Mevrouw Van Minnen, accounted for, no doubt, by the presence of Moses. She glanced at the Friese clock on the wall; it was almost time to go. She was picking up her handbag when the door opened and Friso and Moses came in. She longed to run to him, but instead she said brightly,
‘Hullo, Moses,’ and the beast pricked his ears at her voice and shambled across the room to lean against her, looking up into her face with every sign of pleasure in his own ugly one. She flung her handbag down again and gave him a hug, and said from the safe vantage point of his furry shoulder,
‘Hullo, Friso. Thank you for bringing Moses.’
He hadn’t moved from the door, but stood watching her, an expression she couldn’t read upon his face. But when he spoke his voice was friendly enough.
‘I said that you should see him before you went back to England, did I not? I saw no reason to break my word.’
She would have liked to have contested this statement. Had he not said that he would come to Amsterdam to fetch them home? She opened her mouth to say so, then closed it again because the look on his face had become all at once forbidding and arrogant and she had the uneasy feeling that if she attempted to cross verbal swords with him now she would come off much the worse. She said instead,
‘Is he good? I hope he’ll be happy.’ She pulled an ear and Moses licked her hand. She had to admit that a miracle had occurred since he had become a member of Friso’s household. His rough coat shone with brushing, he held his stump of a tail with pride, and he had already begun to fill out; even his teeth looked less fearsome. As if aware of her scrutiny, he grinned, blinked his small yellow eyes and licked her again.
She said soberly, ‘I shall miss him,’ to be chilled by Friso’s cool voice, ‘That would hardly be possible after such a short acquaintance.’ He stared at her. ‘In any case, I am sure that Sieske will give you news of him when she writes to you.’
So Taeike had been right after all! She lifted her chin and smiled across at him. It had been delicately put, but she was as capable of taking a hint as the next one. ‘I’m sure she will. I shall look forward to hearing about him.’
She saw him look at the clock, and said quickly before he could say it,
‘I have to go. I’ve had a lovely holiday, you have all been so kind.’ She paused because she could hear her voice wobbling and that would never do. She hadn’t realized until that moment that tyrannical convention was forcing her to say all the right and proper things, while she wished to say only what was in her heart.
Friso put out a hand and she prevented herself just in time from putting her own out when he said,
‘Shall I have the lead? Just in case Moses wants to follow you.’
She gave the dog a final hug and put the lead into Friso’s outstretched hand, carefully not touching it. Her chest ached with the tears she was determined to hold back. She reached the door and he stood aside and let her go past. With her hand on the handle she forced herself to face him. Even then she would have said something, but his detached, faintly mocking air was discouraging. Alas for her dream! She swallowed, and said merely,
‘Well, good-bye, Friso. I hope…’ She stopped, not at all sure what she did hope.
Friso’s mouth twisted in a wry smile.
‘Well? What do you hope, Harriet? Health, wealth and happiness, I suppose.’ His usually quiet voice had a nasty edge to it.
They were standing close to each other, the dog between. She could see the little sparks in his eyes and knew that he was angry. She said,
‘Yes, that is what I truly hope for you, Friso,’ and this time she didn’t care how much her voice wobbled. She wrenched the door open and whisked through, intent on getting away before the ache in her chest dissolved into tears. She heard Moses whine, but Friso didn’t wish her good-bye.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MEN’S SURGICAL had been busy all day; theatre cases, admissions from Casualty, a cardiac arrest in the middle of ward dinners. Harriet came back from her seven o’clock supper and started her final round. The nurses were clearing the ward ready for the night; filling water jugs, tidying away the papers and bits of string and old envelopes and orange peel which had accumulated since the afternoon. She went round slowly, looking carefully at each patient and stopping to chat with most of them. Old Mr Gadd, perceptibly weaker, but still demanding cups of tea at unsuitable times, kept her talking for several minutes. It was almost eight o’clock when she finally reached her office and sat down to fill in the Kardex for the night staff. She got up again almost immediately and opened the window, for it was a lovely May evening, and warm. She had been back two weeks from Franeker—it seemed like two years, and very long years at that. She sat down again, not attempting to work. Her desk was very neat and tidy; she looked at it and reminded herself that this was what she had wanted more than anything else—a ward sister’s post. Now she had it, and it no longer appealed to her in the least.
It was a pity, she told herself roundly, that she had ever gone to Franeker and become so unsettled. She glowered at her blotting paper and saw Friso’s face clearly upon it, and when she shut her eyes to dismiss it, he became even clearer beneath her lids. She sighed, opened them again and began to write. She had always supposed that hearts broke quickly, but it seemed that it was a slow, painful business. The door opened behind her, and without looking round, she said,
‘Please pass me Mr Moore’s chart, Nurse.’ She studied it for a minute. ‘Will you take his BP and pulse? They’re due at eight.’ Mr Moore was the cardiac arrest, recovered now, but needing constant care. The nurse said, ‘Yes, Sister.’ The door closed behind her and Harriet went on writing, concentrating fiercely. Presently the door opened again, and she asked,
‘Well, Nurse?’ and turned her head and smiled from a face which had, since her holiday become both pale and thin.
The nurse made her report, wondering, as a great many other nurses were wondering, what Haughty Harry had been up to while she was away. She was just as kind and sweet and hard-working as she had always been, but everyone agreed that she had somehow lost her sparkle.
After the nurse had gone, Harriet sat at her desk, doing nothing, waiting for the night staff to come on duty, her thoughts busy with the day’s work. It had been as all the other days, and yet not entirely satisfactory. She tried to put a finger on the cause of her disquiet and couldn’t. It was true there had been that terrible moment when Mr Sellers, one of the consultants, had arrived unexpectedly, and come upon her doing nothing, and on the desk before her a sheet of paper with Friso’s name written upon it a dozen times, because just to write it had made him seem less hopelessly far away. Mr Sellers had looked at her handiwork without appearing to do so and then asked,
‘Settled down, have you, Sister? No regrets? Can’t think why a pretty girl like you should want to wear an apron and cap instead of marrying.’
She had gone a slow painful scarlet and made some silly remark about a career, and he had laughed kindly, and said, ‘What, no young man in Holland?’ Her denial had been far too quick and hot; she realized that now. And Matron—Harriet knitted her brows in puzzlement. She had done her usual ward round, but instead of the formal, gracious leave-taking at the ward door, she had hesitated and made the astonishing request that Harriet should make out the next two weeks’ off duty and send it down to the office forthwith. What was more she had been requested to make up the mending book and the instrument and stationery books too, none of which was due for another week. Matron had offered no explanation and Harriet had supposed at the time that it was some new scheme she hadn’t known about—
she was, after all, new to her job. All the same, if she hadn’t known it to be a ridiculous idea, Matron had behaved exactly as though she expected her new ward sister to be on the point of leaving. Harriet wriggled uneasily on her chair, remembering Matron’s query as to whether Staff Nurse Wilson was completely reliable. Perhaps Wilson was to be offered a ward—but there was none vacant. Quiet steps on the stairs heralded the night nurses. Harriet, glad to have her thoughts interrupted, opened the Kardex, and turned to greet them.
Half an hour later she was at the hospital entrance, waiting for William. She had two days off—it would be nice to go home and potter around the house and garden, and perhaps help her father in the surgery. Her thoughts, never far from Franeker, went back to the morning when she had been helping Dr Van Minnen and Friso had come in. She closed her eyes the better to remember every small detail, so that her brother, who had just arrived, had to shout from his car to attract her attention. She got in meekly and said, ‘Sorry, William, I didn’t see you.’
He slammed the door shut for her. ‘That’s all right, old girl. My fault—I’m late.’
Harriet nodded understandingly, knowing from a lifetime of living in a doctor’s household that it was no use expecting punctuality for meals or appointments or birthday treats…broken bones and babies and diabetic comas saw to that. She asked with real interest,
‘Anything nasty or just backlog?’
‘Backlog,’ he said shortly. They had to wait at the traffic lights and he turned to look at her. ‘How’s things with you? You look whacked.’
She replied suitably to this brotherly observation and lapsed into silence as he weaved a way through the city and out on to the road towards the moors. Indeed, she was silent for most of the journey, but as her brother was fully occupied in describing the charms of a particularly interesting girl he had met while he had been on a course in Bristol; it went unnoticed. Only as he drew up with his usual jolt and gave a telling note on the car horn to signal their arrival to the family did he remark,
