by Betty Neels
She was surprised. She had taken it for granted that she would be with him; that he would take her back to Holland. She was on the point of saying so and prevented herself from doing so just in time, for of course he would have no wish for her company and she had no wish for his. Her voice was as cool as his own had been. ‘Yes, I can.’
‘You have enough money?’
‘Yes.’
There was a little pause until Miss Shepherd said briskly, ‘Well, that seems to be settled, doesn’t it? I won’t keep you, Staff Nurse—you are off duty, I believe.’
Mary Jane said that yes, she was. She thanked Miss Shepherd, said goodbye in a cold voice to Fabian and went through the door he was holding open for her. It shut behind her, a fact which disappointed her; she had half expected him to follow her out. She even loitered down the corridor, so that, if he wished, he would have ample time to catch her up. He did no such thing, so rather put out, she went off to the Home.
Her friends had gone, leaving a note saying that they would wait outside the cinema until seven o’clock and after that it would be just too bad. Her watch said twenty minutes to the hour; to bath, change, catch a bus to Leicester Square and arrive at seven o’clock was an impossibility. She would spend the evening writing to Mrs Body and packing her few things. She tore off her cap and flung it on the bed, flung off her apron and belt too and was about to give her uniform dress the same rough treatment when there was a knock on the door.
‘Oh, come in,’ she called crossly, ripping pins out of her hair, and turned to see Fabian standing in the doorway. She forgot that they were barely on speaking terms, that she hated him, that he was arrogant and always had his own way. ‘For heaven’s sake,’ she breathed, ‘you can’t be here! This is the Nurses’ Home—it’s private…’ She waved an agitated hand at him. ‘Men don’t come upstairs—there’s a little room by the front door…’
‘For boy-friends?’ he wanted to know. ‘But I’m not a boy-friend, Mary Jane.’ He sounded serious, but she could have sworn that he was laughing. ‘There was no one downstairs, you see, so I looked in the Warder’s office and found your room number.’
‘You’ve got a nerve!’ she told him fiercely, still whispering. ‘Go away!’
‘Of course, if you’ll have dinner with me.’
She tossed a curtain of honey-brown hair over her shoulders. ‘No, I won’t,’ she said tersely, then gasped as he came in. ‘Supposing the Warden comes along?’ she begged him. ‘Do go—I’ll get into trouble and—and you’ll lose your reputation.’
She gave a small shriek at the great roar of laughter he gave. ‘Oh, please, Fabian,’ she said, quite humbly.
He went to the door at once. ‘Half an hour,’ he told her. ‘I’ll be in the—er—boy-friends’ room, and don’t try and give me the slip. Possibly you will find the situation easier if I assure you that I’m not asking you out for any other reason than that of expediency. I’m leaving England in a few hours and I should like to tell you about Emma before I go, it will be easier for you when you arrive.’
She joined him in half an hour exactly, wearing new clothes she had bought for herself because she had wanted to look nice for Mervyn—a burgundy red coat with its matching dress, a red velvet cap on her pale brown hair, expensive gloves and handbag and suede boots with leather cuffs. She was thankful that she had found time to pack them when she left home to go to Pope’s, for she had nothing much else with her—a skirt, a handful of sweaters and her sheepskin jacket which she had flung into the back of the Mini.
They dined at a nearby restaurant, and it wasn’t until he had ordered and they were sipping their drinks that he abandoned the polite, meaningless conversation with which he had engaged her during their drive from Pope’s. She had answered him in monosyllables, fighting a feeling of security and content, induced, she had no doubt, by the comfort of the Rolls and the anticipation of a delicious meal.
‘You are sure that you have enough money?’ he wanted to know again.
She mentioned the amount she had and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘My dear girl, you will be with Emma for at least two weeks, that’s barely enough to keep you in tights.’
‘How do you know I wear tights?’ she demanded.
His lips twitched. ‘I don’t live in a monastery. I’ll see that there’s some money with your ticket. You had better travel to the Hoek by the night boat from Harwich. Someone will meet you there and drive you up to Midwoude. Emma is still in hospital, I should like you to be there when she is fetched home—that will be arranged. You’ll need some overalls or something similar for a few days. What size are you?’
‘Twelve,’ she told him. She had no idea that he was such a practical man.
He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Twelve what?’ His voice was bland.
‘Well, that’s my size—the number of inches I am.’
‘Vital statistics?’ and she saw the twinkle in his eyes and said severely: ‘Yes.’
He made a note. ‘Must I guess?’ he asked mildly. ‘Thirty-four, twenty-two, thirty-five or six—inches, of course. Is that near enough?’ and when she nodded, speechless, he went on pleasantly: ‘Now, as to Emma—I did a sub-total on her. She has needed it for a year or more, but she always refused—you know how thyroidtoxicosis cases refuse treatment. Besides, I think she felt that she would be letting Uncle Georgius down in some way, but now the way seemed clear for an operation; it was Trouw who persuaded her. It is all very successful, but she doesn’t believe it yet—I think you will be of great help in convincing her. Besides, you can encourage her to make plans for her wedding.’ He stopped, staring at her, his eyes hooded and she felt her cheeks go white.
‘That was unpardonable of me, Mary Jane, I’m sorry.’ He looked away from her strained face and continued in an impersonal voice, ‘She has made a satisfactory recovery—a sore throat and hoarseness, of course. She’s on digitalin and Lugol’s iodine, and there are several more days to go with her antibiotic.’ He added, ‘She’s a terrible patient. If you decide to change your mind, I shall quite understand.’
‘I haven’t changed my mind.’
‘I didn’t think you would.’ He smiled at her and beckoned the waiter. ‘The chocolate gateau is delicious here, would you care to try it?’
They were halfway through it before he spoke again. ‘Mary Jane, you shall have your horse. I’ll go over to the Lakes as soon as I can spare the time and find a good mount for you.’ He shot her a lightning glance. ‘You need not worry, I won’t expect an invitation to stay.’
She didn’t look at him. ‘That sounds like a bribe.’
She wished she hadn’t said it, for he at once became remote and haughty and faintly impatient. ‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ he told her sharply. ‘And now if you will listen carefully, I will finish telling you about Emma’s treatment.’
The rest of the evening was businesslike in the extreme, for the talk was of such a professional nature that they might have been on a ward round at Pope’s. He took her back without loss of time after dinner and wished her goodbye at the hospital gate with the air of a man who had concluded a satisfactory deal and now wanted to forget about it for pleasanter things.
‘He’s so unpredictable,’ said Mary Jane, talking to herself as she went through the hospital to the Home, and a harassed night nurse hurrying in the opposite direction flung over her shoulder, ‘They all are, ducky.’
Mary Jane left the following evening, her ticket and more money than she could possibly spend safely in her handbag, what clothes she had stowed in her case. She had wished Sister Thompson goodbye and had been told, to her surprise, that she was no worse than all the other girls who thought they were staff nurses, and if she chose to return at any future date, she, Sister Thompson, would personally ask Miss Shepherd if she could be posted to Women’s Surgical ward. Mary Jane, overwhelmed by this treat for the future, thanked her nicely, took a brief farewell of such of her friends as were about and climbed into her taxi, reflecting that even
if life wasn’t treating her as kindly as it might, at least she had no time to sit and repine. When the friendly taxi-driver asked her if she was going on holiday she told him, ‘Work,’ adding to puzzle him, ‘Work is the great cure of all the maladies and miseries that ever beset mankind.’
He grinned at her. ‘Have it your own way, miss.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT WAS Doctor Trouw who met the boat at the Hoek van Holland, and Mary Jane, a little wan after a rough crossing, was delighted to see him, although the delight was tinged with disappointment—probably she told herself bracingly as she responded to the doctor’s friendly greeting, because she was tired and for some reason, lonely. She would feel better when she reached Midwoude, where she had no doubt her days would be filled.
Doctor Trouw had a Citroën, large and beautifully kept. She sat beside him responding suitably to his pleased speculation upon his hoped-for marriage to Cousin Emma. ‘We have always been fond of each other,’ he told her gruffly, ‘and now that my wife is dead…’ He paused. ‘I feel that life still has much to offer.’ He coughed. ‘Of course, we are neither of us in the first flush of youth.’
‘I don’t see that that matters at all,’ said Mary Jane with sincerity. ‘There’s not much point in getting married unless you’re sure that you’re going to be happy, and that could happen at any age. I’d rather wait for years and be certain.’
Her companion looked pleased and plunged into plans for the future; she suspected that he was really thinking aloud for the pure pleasure of it—which left her free to consider what she had just said. If she had married Mervyn would he have been the right man? Unbidden, the thought that she hadn’t liked him when she had first seen him crossed her mind, to be instantly dismissed—he might have treated her badly, but that was no reason for her feelings to change, or was it? If she had loved him, surely her feelings wouldn’t have changed. What did she feel for him now, anyway? Dislike—indifference? She wasn’t sure any more, she wasn’t even sure now that she had ever loved him. It was all very bewildering and a relief when Doctor Trouw stopped for coffee.
They reached Midwoude just before noon, to be welcomed by Jaap, and Doctor Trouw didn’t wait—he had some cases to see, he explained, but he would be back at two o’clock, if she could manage in the meantime.
She and Jaap managed very well, each speaking their own language and understanding the other very well in spite of it. She had the same room as she had had previously and he took her case up for her, telling her that lunch would be in half an hour and leaving her to unpack, do her face and tidy her hair. She did this slowly, savouring the peace and quiet and comfort around her. After that afternoon, when Cousin Emma was home again, she wouldn’t be quite so free, so she might as well make the most of her leisure now.
The hospital at Groningen was large and imposing with a medical school attached. Doctor Trouw skirted the main building, and halfway down a side turning ran the car under a stone archway and into an inner courtyard, where he parked the car. Mary Jane, getting out, guessed it to be the sanctum of the senior staff of the hospital and knew she was right when she saw the Rolls in a far corner. They entered the hospital through a small door which led to a short dark passage which spilled into a wide corridor with splendid doors lining its walls, and scented with the faint unmistakable smell of hospital cleanliness. It was also very quiet. The consultants would gather someone behind these richly sombre walls, as would the hospital board, and VIPs visiting the hospital would, no doubt drink their coffee, cocooned in its hushed affluence. All hospitals are alike, Mary Jane decided, treating carefully in Doctor Trouw’s wake.
He opened a door almost at the end of the corridor and gave her a kindly prod. The room was large, it’s centre taken up by an oblong table hedged in by a symposium of straight-backed chairs. There were other chairs in the room, easy ones, grouped round small tables, and the air was thick with cigar smoke. It seemed to her that the room was full of men—large, well-groomed men, every single one of whom turned to look at her. In actual fact there were a bare dozen, senior members of the hospital medical staff who had just risen after a meeting.
‘Over in the far corner,’ said Doctor Trouw in her ear, and began to steer her to where Fabian was standing. He had his back to them, talking to two other men, but he turned and saw them and came to meet them. He looked, thought Mary Jane a trifle wildly, exactly what he was; a highly successful surgeon with plenty of money, plenty of brains and so much self-confidence that he could afford to look as though he had neither. She felt depressed and a little shy of him, for he seemed a stranger, and her reply to his pleasant ‘Hullo, Mary Jane’ was stiff and brief. But he seemed not to notice that; enquiring after her journey, whether she had slept and if she felt herself capable of undertaking the care of Emma within the hour. She told him yes, checking an impulse to address him as sir, and with a perception which took her by surprise he remarked:
‘We all look rather—er—stuffy, I suspect. Whatever you do, don’t address me as sir.’
She smiled at that. ‘Not stuffy,’ she assured him. ‘It’s just that you all look so exactly like consultants, and so many of you together is a bit overpowering.’
The two men laughed as they ushered her to the door again, pausing on the way to introduce her to various gentlemen who would have gone on talking for some time if Fabian hadn’t reminded them that they were expected elsewhere. They traversed the corridor once more, this time to a lift. It was a small lift, and with Doctor Trouw’s bulk beside her and Fabian taking up what space there remained, she felt somewhat crowded, and more so, for the two men carried on a conversation above her head, only ceasing as the lift purred to a halt, to smile down at her for all the world as though they had just remembered that she was there.
They stepped out into another wide corridor, this time lighted from the windows running its whole length and lined on one side by doors, each numbered, each with its red warning light above the glass peephole in its centre. They entered the first of these to find Cousin Emma sitting in a chair, dressed and waiting, and if Mary Jane had been in any doubt as to Fabian’s sincerity when he had told her how much his cousin needed her, it could now be squashed. Cousin Emma uttered a welcoming cry, enfolded her against a fur-clad, scented bosom and began a eulogy upon Mary Jane’s virtues which caused her face to go very red indeed.
‘I knew you would come!’ breathed Emma. ‘I said to Fabian, “If Mary Jane doesn’t come, I shall make no effort to recover from this dreadful operation.’” She paused, allowed Mary Jane to assume the upright and swept aside her mink coat.
‘The scar,’ she invited dramatically. ‘Look at the scar—is it not dreadful? How can a maimed woman accept an offer of marriage with such a blemish?’
Mary Jane considered the hair-fine red line drawn so exactly across the base of her patient’s throat. ‘You won’t be able to see it in three months’ time,’ she pronounced. ‘Even now it’s hard to see unless one stares—and who’s going to stare? All you need to do is to get a handful of necklaces which will fit over it exactly—we’ll do that, one for each outfit.’
She smiled at Cousin Emma, her eyes kind, unheedful of the two men standing close by.
‘I feel better already,’ declaimed Emma, and smiled with all the graciousness of some famous film star. ‘I’m ready.’
Fabian drove her back in the Rolls and Mary Jane followed behind with Doctor Trouw in the Citroën, giving all the right answers to her companion’s happy soliloquising. He would be, she considered, exactly right for Cousin Emma, for he obviously worshipped the ground she trod upon, while being under no illusion regarding her tendency to dramatise every situation. She asked: ‘When do you hope to get married, Doctor Trouw?’
‘Well, there is no reason why we shouldn’t marry within a week or so. All the preliminaries are attended to—I persuaded her to become ondertrouwt before she went into hospital. Perhaps you could persuade her?’ He looked at her hopefully. ‘She is a sensitive woman,�
� he explained, just as though Mary Jane wasn’t already aware of it, ‘and prone to a good deal of dejection. Once we are married, I believed that can be cured.’
He turned the car in through the open gates and pulled up beside the Rolls. ‘Willem is home,’ he told Mary Jane as they got out. ‘I daresay he will be over one day to see you.’
‘How nice,’ said Mary Jane, not meaning it—she fore-saw a busy time ahead, acting as confidante to father and son while each confided their romantic problems to her. She sighed soundlessly and followed him into the house.
She had said almost nothing to Fabian, nor he to her, nor did he attempt to speak to her before he left very shortly afterwards. He had told her, she recalled, that he would be his cousin’s surgeon when he called and not her guardian, now it seemed he had every intention of keeping his word. She answered his brief nod as he went with something of a pang and went to make Cousin Emma comfortable.
It proved an easier task than she had supposed. For one thing the operation had been a success; in place of the emotional, overwrought woman she had been, Cousin Emma had become quieter; her feverish gaiety and sudden outbursts of tears had been most effectively banished. She was still rather tearful, but that was post-operative weakness and would disappear with time. In the meanwhile, Mary Jane kept her company, saw to her pills and tablets, cared for her tenderly, talked clothes, reassured her at least twice a day that the scar was almost invisible, and coaxed her to eat her meals. And when Fabian came, as he did each day, she met him with a politely friendly face, answered his questions with the right amount of professional exactitude, commented upon the weather, which was bitterly cold once more, listened carefully to any instructions he chose to give her, and then retired to a corner of the room, to resume her knitting. Only when he got up to go did she put it down—thankfully, as it happened, because she wasn’t all that good at it, and walk to the door with him and see him out of the house. It was on the fifth day after her arrival that he paused on the steps and turned round to face her.
