The Convenient Wife

by Betty Neels

  It hadn’t been at all what she had expected; it was almost as though he had anticipated her refusal. Her reaction was very feminine and exactly what he had expected it to be. ‘Well, I haven’t said anything yet…’

  It was a chance to embark on her prepared speech, only she wasn’t given the chance to do so. ‘You like champagne?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know.’ She took a sip, and then another. ‘It’s rather nice,’ she observed, ‘but it’s not very strong, is it? I thought it made you feel up in the clouds.’

  The professor hid a smile. ‘Drink up and have another glass,’ he said. ‘I think it is more accurate to say that it gives one a feeling of elation.’

  Venetia thought that she felt just the same as usual as they went back to the drawing-room for their coffee. True, she turned a kindlier eye upon her host as she handed him his coffee—she even felt prepared to offer some advice as to whom he might marry since she was about to refuse him.

  She drank her coffee, and when Orthia jumped on to her lap she sat comfortably, stroking the furry head. She took a breath and began, ‘Thank you for inviting me to dinner. It was lovely…’ she paused for a moment to contemplate in retrospect the perfection of the chestnut soufflé ‘…but I think I should tell you that I must refuse your—your offer.’

  ‘Why?’ He sounded mildly interested, no more.

  ‘Well…’ She came to a halt simply because her head was empty of a single reason for refusing him. ‘I’m not suitable,’ she began.

  ‘You said that yesterday. You will allow me to know whom I consider suitable to be my wife.’

  If anybody else had said that she would have accused him of arrogance and pomposity, but somehow it didn’t sound like either of these things when the professor uttered it. She had the impression that he really did know best, and if she agreed to marry him she would fulfil all his ideas of suitability. All the same, she tried again. ‘I don’t think that I believe that two people should marry unless they—they love each other.’

  ‘A sound sentiment, but there are variations of love, Venetia. Would our marriage be less likely to prosper because we are not in love, compared with a couple who have a fleeting infatuation for each other and, on the crest of it, marry only to find that they have nothing in common—no shared interests, no pleasure in each other’s company, no wish to make the marriage work?’ He smiled suddenly. ‘I’m sorry if I should sound prosy.’

  She shook her head. ‘You make it sound sensible. But what about us? Do we have shared interests and—and pleasure in each other’s company?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I enjoy your company, and I believe that you enjoy mine, and you have been at the hospital long enough to understand my work and bear with me when I come home full of grumbles after a bad day.’ He added bracingly, ‘Besides, we shall see very little of each other; I have a full appointment book for the next month or so.’

  He fell silent and she realised that she would have to give him his answer. A faint feeling of irritation swelled her bosom; there he sat, looking for all the world as though nothing mattered, and even if it did he would be too lazy to do anything about it, while she had to make the most difficult decision of her life. She would refuse him, once and for all…

  ‘Well?’ It was amazing how just one word could convey a sense of comfort and assurance.

  Her tongue took over from her with a life of its own. She heard herself agreeing to marry him in a voice which held no doubts.

  ‘Thank you, Venetia,’ he said gravely. ‘I believe that we shall deal very well together. Two lonely people with good reasons for marrying.’

  ‘Yes, well, I hope so, too. I was going to refuse you, you know.’

  ‘Yes. I knew.’ He smiled again, very kindly so that she smiled back. ‘Do you feel like making some plans while you are here? I am going back to Holland in eight days’time, and I should like to take you with me as my wife.’ When she opened her mouth to speak, ‘No, don’t interrupt—I can arrange for you to leave the hospital in a couple of days’time. Lottie will love to have you. I’ll get a special licence and we can be married quietly. Anneta is staying with friends until I go back home. Naturally, she doesn’t know about us, and I don’t intend to tell her.’

  Venetia took time off from a contemplation of the married state to wonder if this was wise. She asked worriedly, ‘Will she mind?’

  She had a glimpse of the professor at his most impassive. ‘Probably, but since our marriage will be a fait accompli there is little that she can do about it.’

  Except make life difficult for everyone, thought Venetia, but wisely held her tongue and was rewarded by his, ‘I think that the two of us will be able to overcome any slight disturbance.’ He added smoothly, ‘If you should have second thoughts, I shall understand.’

  ‘I said I would marry you,’ declared Venetia matter-of-factly, ‘and I will.’ She twiddled one of Orthia’s ears and didn’t look at him. ‘I only hope that I’ll be a good hostess, for I have no idea of how to set about it.’

  ‘Just be yourself. I think you may find it easier than working on the wards.’

  She gave him a clear, honest look. ‘I shall do my best. Thank you for asking me to be your wife, Professor.’

  ‘It is I who thanks you, Venetia. My name is Duert, by the way.’

  ‘Oh, is it? It’s a nice name. Would you mind if I went back now? I’m on duty at seven-thirty tomorrow. How will I know…?’

  ‘I’ll see that you are kept informed. Leave everything to me, Venetia.’

  She got to her feet and they walked together into the hall, where Todd appeared silently with her coat.

  ‘Miss Forbes and I would like you and Mrs Todd to know that we shall be marrying shortly, Todd.’

  Todd beamed. ‘Well, now, sir and Miss Forbes, that is a splendid piece of news. Mrs Todd will be that pleased.’

  The professor thanked him and Venetia murmured suitably; any moment now, she was beginning to feel, she would wake up and find the whole business a dream.

  They spoke little on the way back to St Jude’s, and at the entrance the professor got out, helped her from the car and went in with her. He walked to the door leading to the nurses’ home and stood looking down at her.

  ‘Sleep soundly, my dear.’ He picked up one of her hands and kissed it gently. ‘Goodnight.’

  She whispered goodnight and went past him and heard him shut the door behind her. The sound was final and she said out loud. ‘My goodness, why have I said yes when I meant no? But I won’t back out…’

  She went up to her room, and since it was late none of her friends were about, so she was able to creep along to a bathroom and then tumble into bed, to sleep as soundly as the professor had wished her to.

  She told none of her friends of her future plans as they gobbled down their breakfast—time enough for that when she heard from the professor. The morning went by with Staff Nurse Thomas breathing down her neck at every turn, so she became clumsy and nervous and not at all her usual self. After dinner she became even more jumpy when a patient was admitted with head injuries and Arthur Miles came on to the ward and, presently, the professor. He walked past her as though she hadn’t been there, two housemen trailing him and Sister Giles hurrying over to meet him, and Venetia, who just for the moment had the absurd idea that he might smile at her at least, dropped a pair of forceps which she was handing to Staff Nurse Thomas and got soundly rated for it.

  He went back through the ward when he had finished his examination, but she took care to be bending over a patient and didn’t look up—at least, not until he had reached the door. Even from the back he looked remote, unapproachable… He turned his head and looked at her down the length of the ward; there was no expression on his face, only a faint indifference.

  Ten minutes later she was sent for to go to the office. ‘And what have you done this time?’ asked Staff Nurse Thomas nastily.

  Venetia knocked on the office door, wishing for support of some sort—physical or moral, eit
her would do. Miss Hawkins was of the old-fashioned school, and, from her point of view, the nursing profession hadn’t changed one iota since she herself had trained decades earlier. That this point of view led to a good deal of acrimony between herself and authority made no difference, for she would retire in a year’s time, and until then she kept to her own ideas—sound ones, but a touch severe, so that the junior nurses were unwillingly in awe of her.

  She sat behind her desk now, its contents tidily arranged before her, her old-fashioned cap erect on her severely dressed hair, her majestic bosom encased in blue serge. She was not alone; here was the support Venetia craved, the professor, sitting at his ease near the desk.

  ‘Come in, Nurse Forbes. Sit down.’ She watched while he got up, offered his chair to Venetia and took another one for himself. ‘Professor ter Laan-Luitinga tells me that you are to be married, and has asked for your release from your contract since he is desirous of taking you back to Holland as his wife. The circumstances are unusual, but since he has already spoken to the board of governors, I am happy to add my consent to theirs.’

  She made it sound as though any decision of theirs would have been useless without her endorsement, and the professor’s eyes gleamed with amusement.

  ‘Venetia and I are most grateful to you, Miss Hawkins. I take it that she may leave as soon as she can pack her things? She will be going to stay with Mrs Miles until the wedding.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Mrs Miles. Such a good nurse—excellent sister material, a pity she married.’ She smiled at the professor, one of the few people she respected and liked as well, then modified the smile for Venetia’s benefit, wished them happy, and bowed her head graciously in dismissal.

  Outside the door Venetia said warmly, ‘Thank you for being there—we’re all a bit scared of her, you know.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I thought it might help.’

  ‘You looked right through me just now on the ward,’ she told him severely.

  ‘Well, of course I did. Where are your wits, Venetia? I imagine that you will shortly be the object of more gossip than you would like. I don’t intend to add to it.’

  ‘Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.’ She edged by him. ‘I must go back to the ward.’

  ‘I imagine that you must work for the rest of the day, but tomorrow you should be free to pack your things. I will be outside at half-past six tomorrow evening. Lottie expects you.’ He turned away and then halted.

  ‘I have arranged for us to be married in a week’s time.’

  She forgot her urgency to return to the ward. ‘Well, really, don’t you know that the bride decides the date? I’ve no clothes, for a start.’

  ‘You may buy all the clothes you want in Holland. But surely you can find something fit to wear before then?’

  She seethed. ‘You mean that I have nothing fit to wear? You are the rudest man!’

  ‘I have no intention of annoying you, Venetia. Please do your best to be ready in a week’s time. If you need money, you have only to say so. I have a backlog of work, so it is unlikely that we shall see much of each other until then, but I will let you know the church and the time within the next day or so.’

  Sheer misery welled up inside her; what a way in which to start married life, although in all honesty she had to admit that to behave otherwise would have been a hollow sham. She said woodenly, ‘I have enough money, thank you, and I’ll be ready when you say so.’

  She hurried away then, back to the ward and her senior’s sly questions, none of which she answered. Time enough for Staff Nurse Thomas to hear it from the hospital grapevine.

  She was on duty until five o’clock, and just before that time Sister Giles called her into the office.

  ‘You are leaving us, I’m told, Nurse Forbes. A most unusual state of affairs, going off without a moment’s notice, but I suppose if Professor ter Laan-Luitinga wishes it there is nothing more to be said. I must say that I am surprised. I hope you will be happy.’ She picked up her pen and drew a pile of reports towards her. ‘How I am supposed to manage at such short notice, I do not know.’

  Venetia murmured sympathetically, guiltily not minding in the least. She was a kind-hearted girl, but she hadn’t been particularly happy on the ward, and she saw no reason to pretend otherwise. Indeed, it gave her pleasure to see Staff Nurse Thomas’s face when she went back into the ward and told her that she was leaving.

  ‘Ah, I’ve been wondering when they’d get around to moving you. Where are you going? Geriatrics? About all you’re fit for—’

  ‘I’m going to be married.’

  ‘Pull the other one,’ said Staff Nurse Thomas, and she laughed unkindly.

  ‘To Professor ter Laan-Luitinga—in a week’s time. Goodbye, Staff.’

  Venetia whisked herself away before the other girl could say a word.

  Her friends were much kinder—eager to hear the details, scenting a romance where there was none, helping her to pack, discussing excitedly what she should wear at the wedding. It was midnight before the last of them had gone to their beds and her things had been stowed away. She was left to lie awake and wonder if she had taken leave of her senses.

  She spent a good deal of the next day mooning around the home, washing her hair, doing her nails and deciding what clothes she would need to buy. She had her small nest-egg saved against what Granny had always called a rainy day, but now she went to the bank and drew almost all of it out. The professor’s careless remarks about her having nothing fit to wear were very vivid in her mind. She would surprise him. She wasn’t sure how, but it was a promise she had made to herself which she intended to keep.

  She was ready and waiting by half-past six, with farewells said, her cases by the entrance, and wearing her winter coat again for it was a bitter evening. She greeted the professor quietly, waited while the porter put her cases in the boot, and then got in beside him. Surprisingly, the awkwardness she had been dreading wasn’t there. He made a few desultory remarks about the weather, told her the name of the church where they were to be married and the time of the ceremony, mentioned that Lottie was delighted to be going shopping with her, and then relapsed into a restful silence. Venetia, who had been wound up as tightly as a fiddlestring all day, felt herself relaxing. She wasn’t sure why, but somehow the professor made everything seem perfectly ordinary and rational.

  The Mileses’ flat was by the river in one of the new blocks recently built. It wasn’t large, but it was nicely furnished and the view from the sitting-room was delightful. Venetia was warmly welcomed, taken to the small guest-room, and then escorted into the sitting-room where the men were sitting by the fire, deep in talk about a patient.

  But they stopped as the two girls went in and handed them drinks, and allowed the conversation to become lighthearted. Presently they sat down to dinner, a meal which lasted a long time, since they talked as much as they ate. The professor got up to go later, bidding them a casual goodnight. ‘I’ll let you know the details in a day or two,’ he told Venetia as he went. ‘Arthur can pass on any messages.’

  Singularly unloverlike—something which Lottie remarked upon as she sat up in bed watching her husband pottering round the room. ‘Do you suppose they’re in love? I know Duert’s awfully reserved, but he was downright casual…and Venetia’s such a quiet little thing, he’ll swallow her whole.’

  Her husband cast her a loving look. ‘My darling, I suspect that she’ll run rings round him. You see, he’s never met anyone like her before. His friends, his women friends, are all charming, well-off and spoilt. Venetia isn’t any of these things, although I think that there’s probably a good deal of charm hidden away behind that ordinary face of hers.’

  ‘Do you suppose it’ll turn out all right?’

  ‘I’ll be most surprised if it doesn’t. The professor seldom makes a mistake.’

  After the routine of the hospital it was pleasant to spend the day shopping with Lottie. Venetia had made up her mind what she intended to buy, and after three days of search
ing she had a small wardrobe of clothes which she hoped would pass muster under the professor’s critical eye. For her wedding she had chosen a wool crêpe jacket and skirt in a deep violet with an ivory silk blouse. She had found a little velvet cap to match, and then spent a good deal more than she had intended on a new topcoat, the same colour as the suit with a wide skirt and a shawl collar. She and Lottie had searched for a long time for shoes and gloves and handbag and, since she needed other clothes as well, they wandered round Marks and Spencer and emerged triumphant with a pleated tweed skirt, several woollies and a couple of blouses.

  ‘You need a pretty dress,’ said Lottie.

  ‘Yes, but I must have some new undies and a dressing-gown…’

  They found those, too, and, since there was still some money left, spent another day looking for a dress. It turned up on a bargain rail, hunter’s-green crêpe, quite plain but, as Lottie pointed out, it would do very well until such time as Venetia could go shopping in Holland.

  It was snowing when Venetia woke up on her wedding day. The ceremony was fixed for ten o’clock in the morning, since the professor wanted to return to Holland that same day, and the church was small and old, surrounded by East End streets and expensive new flats in the dock area. Venetia watched Lottie and Arthur leave their flat with Mr Inglis, the orthopaedic surgeon who was to give her away, standing beside her. She felt strange in her new clothes, and dreadfully uncertain; she hadn’t seen the professor to speak to for days, and suddenly the urge to turn and run was great, but her companion touched her on her arm. ‘Time we went, my dear,’ he said. ‘You look charming.’

  She went down to the waiting car with him. If only Duert would find her charming, too…

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE church was dim and rather cold, and smelled of age and damp, but someone had put flowers by the altar steps, and as Venetia paused in the open door Mr Inglis produced a small bunch of flowers from behind it—narcissi, lilies of the valley, pink tulips and violets arranged in a nosegay. They defied the snow outside and the cold stillness of the little church, and she buried her nose in them for a minute. When she looked up she was surprised and delighted to find a number of people in the pews, for she had thought that Duert would have regarded the actual ceremony as something only necessary to his plans, and since she hadn’t seen him for the whole of that week she had had no chance to ask.