by Betty Neels
Louisa put down her overnight bag. ‘It was Mother’s sitting room,’ she said flatly, ‘and Father loved it.’
Mrs Evans shrugged thin, elegant shoulders. ‘Did you pass your exams?’ and when Louisa nodded: ‘Thank heaven for that, now perhaps you’ll see some sense and settle down. I must say Frank’s been patient.’
‘I’ve no intention of marrying Frank, and I’m rather tired of saying so.’
‘Then you’re a fool. He’s got everything—money, that splendid house in the village, that gorgeous car and a villa in Spain. What more could a girl want? Especially when she’s not pretty. You’re not likely to get another chance like that.’ She gave Louisa a quick look. ‘You’ve not fallen in love with one of those young doctors, I hope?’
‘No. Why are you so anxious for me to marry Frank Little?’
Her stepmother’s answer was a little too careless. ‘He’s devoted to you and he’ll be generous.’
Louisa studied her stepmother; still quite young, pretty and very elegant; extravagant, too. She had been left everything in the will, but Louisa suspected that she had spent most of it during the last three years and had deliberately cultivated Frank Little, hoping for an amenable son-in-law who would pay her bills—and an equally amenable stepdaughter who would marry him.
Well, I won’t, thought Louisa. If only her stepmother had been fifteen or ten years younger she could have married him herself. The fact of her father’s marriage to a woman so much younger than himself still hurt Louisa. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she had loved him. She still wondered at his marrying her; this scheming, clever woman who had twisted him round her little finger and had never forgiven Louisa for not allowing herself to be twisted too. She could think of nothing to say and picked up her bag.
‘There are several people coming to lunch,’ said Mrs Evans. ‘You’d better go and tidy yourself.’ She turned and went out of the room ahead of Louisa and crossed the hall to the drawing room, and Louisa went upstairs to her room. While she did her face and tidied her hair she thought about leaving England; she would miss her home, but that was all. She would have to come once more before she went because her stepmother would demand it and if she refused she might wonder why. The temptation to tell her was very great, but Mrs Evans was clever enough to prevent her going. She knew so many people, influential people who could perhaps put a spoke in Louisa’s wheel. A car coming up the drive and rather noisy voices greeting each other interrupted her thoughts. She gave her unremarkable person a final inspection in the pier glass, and went downstairs.
The drawing room seemed to have a lot of people in it, but only because they were all talking at once a shade too loudly. Louisa shook hands all round, took the sherry she was offered and made small talk. She knew the five people who had arrived, but only slightly; they were friends of her stepmother’s who had never come to the house while her father was alive, but now they were regular visitors. There was one more to come, of course—Frank Little.
He came in presently, a man in his late thirties, rather short and plump, with an air of self-importance which sat ill on his round face with its weak chin. He stood in the doorway for a moment, giving everyone there a chance to greet him, and then went straight to Louisa.
‘Your dear mother assured me that you would be here,’ he stated without a greeting. ‘I know how difficult it is for you to get away.’ He took her hand and pressed it. ‘I can only hope it’s because you knew that I would be here that you came.’
Louisa took her hand away. It was a pity he was so pompous; otherwise she might have felt sorry for him. ‘I didn’t have to make any special effort to come home,’ she told him politely, ‘and I didn’t know you’d be here.’
Which wasn’t quite true; he was always there when she went home. She moved a little way from him. ‘What will you drink?’
He sat next to her at lunch, monopolising the conversation in his over-hearty voice, making no secret of the fact that he considered her to be his property.
And he was at dinner too, ill-tempered now because she had escaped that afternoon and gone for a walk—her favourite walk, to Ivy Hatch where the manor house of Ightham Moat stood. She had got back too late for tea and her stepmother had been coldly angry.
And the next day was as bad, worse in fact, for Frank had waylaid her on her way back from the village and rather blusteringly asked her to marry him, and that for the fourth time in a year.
She refused gently because although she didn’t like him she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Only when he added angrily: ‘Your mother considers me to be the perfect husband for you,’ did she turn on her heel and start walking away from him. As she went she said over her shoulder: ‘She is not my mother, Frank, and I intend to choose my own husband when I want to and not before.’
He caught up with her. ‘I’m coming up to see you this evening—I’m invited for dinner and there’ll be no one else there.’
So after tea she went to her room, packed her bag, told her stepmother that she was leaving on the next bus and went out of the house. Mrs Evans had been too surprised to do or say anything. Louisa, leaping into the bus as it was about to leave, waved cheerfully to Frank, about to cross the village square.
She arrived back at the Royal Southern quite unrepentant, prudently asked one of her friends to say that she wasn’t in the home if the telephone went and it was her stepmother, and retired to soak in a hot bath until bedtime.
The ward was busy and she spent almost all her free time shopping, so that she was too tired by the end of the day to have second thoughts about her new job. And at the end of the week she received a letter from Miss Savage confirming it, asking her to call once more so that final details might be sorted out and giving her the day and time of their flight.
And this time when Louisa got to the hotel, it was to find her future patient reclining on a chaiselongue and rather more chatty than previously. ‘Uniform,’ she observed, after a brief greeting. ‘You don’t need to travel in one, of course, but you’d better have some with you. Dark blue, I think, and a cap, of course. Go to Harrods and charge it to my account.’
‘Will you want me to wear them all the time?’
‘Heavens, no—you’ll get your free time like anyone else. Besides, I shall be going out quite a bit and I shan’t want you around.’
Louisa blinked. ‘I think I should like to see your doctor before we go.’
Miss Savage shrugged. ‘If you must. He’s a busy man—you’d better telephone him. I’ll give you his number.’ She yawned. ‘Take a taxi and come here for me—a friend will drive us to Heathrow. Be here by ten o’clock.’ She frowned. ‘I can’t think of anything else. I shall call you by your christian name—what is it? You did tell me, but I’ve forgotten.’
‘Louisa, Miss Savage.’
‘Old-fashioned, but so are you. OK, that’s settled, then. I’ll see you here in ten days’ time.’
Louisa got to her feet. She had been going to ask about clothes; after all, Norway would be colder than London, or so she supposed, but somehow Miss Savage didn’t seem to be the right person to ask. Louisa said goodbye in her composed manner and went back on duty. After her patients on the ward, with their diagnoses clearly written down and an exact treatment besides, she found Miss Savage baffling. Her doctor would remedy that, however.
But here she was disappointed. Miss Savage’s treatment was to be negligible—rest, fresh air, early nights, good food. ‘Miss Savage is on Vitamin B, of course, and I shall supply her with nicotinic acid as well. I’ve already referred her case to a Norwegian colleague who will give you any information you may wish to know. You, of course, realise that she suffers from dyspepsia and a variety of symptoms which will be treated as they arise.’
Louisa listened to the impersonal voice and when it had finished, asked: ‘Exercise, sir?’
‘Let our patient decide that, Nurse. I’m sure you understand that she’ll have days when she’s full of energy—just make sure that s
he doesn’t tax her strength.’
‘And notes of the case?’ persisted Louisa.
‘They’ll be sent to her doctor in Bergen.’
She put down the receiver. Miss Savage was a private patient, which might account for the rather guarded statements she had just listened to. Certainly, from her somewhat limited experience of similar cases on the wards, the treatment was very much the same, and unlike the patients in hospital, the patient would probably have more say in the matter of exercise and food. As far as Louisa could see, she was going along to keep an eye on Miss Savage, and not much else. But at least it would get her away from Frank.
The thought was so delightful that she embarked on a shopping spree which left her considerably poorer but possessed of several outfits which, while not absolutely in the forefront of fashion, did a great deal for her ego. She went home once more and because it was the last time for a long while, endured her stepmother’s ill-humour and Frank’s overbearing manner. There was less than a week to go now and she was getting excited. It was a good thing that the ward was busy so that she had little time to think about anything much except her work, and her off duty was spent in careful packing and a great number of parties given as farewell gestures by her friends.
She wrote to her stepmother the evening before she left and posted it just before she got into the taxi, with such of her friends as could be missed from their wards crowding round wishing her luck. Once the hospital was out of sight she sat back, momentarily utterly appalled at what she was doing, but only for a brief minute or so. She was already savouring the heady taste of freedom.
She was punctual to the minute, but Miss Savage wasn’t. Louisa, gathering together the bottles and lotions and stowing them tidily in an elegant beauty box, hoped they wouldn’t miss the plane. But a telephone call from reception galvanised her patient into sudden energy and within minutes there was a knock on the door and three people came in—a young woman, as elegant as Miss Savage, and two men. They rushed to embrace Miss Savage, talking loudly and laughing a great deal, ignoring Louisa and then sweeping the entire party, complete with bellboys, luggage and an enormous bouquet of flowers, downstairs. Louisa felt that she had lost touch, at least for the moment. Once they were on the plane she would get Miss Savage to rest—a light meal perhaps and a nap…
No one spoke to her and they all piled into an enormous Cadillac and roared off towards Heathrow. She sat in the back of the car, with the young woman beside her and one of the men. Miss Savage sat beside the driver, and for someone with a liver complaint who was supposed to take life easy, behaved in a wild and excitable manner, but Louisa realised that it would be useless to remonstrate with her. She was bubbling over with energy, and the man who was driving was encouraging her.
At Heathrow they got out, and to Louisa’s horror, they all booked in for the flight. One of the men must have noticed the look on her face, because he patted her on the shoulder. ‘Not to worry, Nurse—we’re only taking Claudia to Bergen. Once she’s there, she’s all yours.’
And a good thing too, thought Louisa, watching the gin and tonics Miss Savage was downing once they were in flight. They were travelling first class and the plane was barely half full, which was perhaps a good thing considering the noise she and her friends were making. They had gone quietly enough through Customs. They had arrived with only a few minutes to spare and there had been no time for chat, but once on board they had relaxed. They might have been in their own homes, so little did they notice their surroundings. To Louisa, tired and apprehensive, the flight seemed endless. She heaved a sigh of relief when the plane began its descent and through a gap in the clouds she saw the wooded islands and the sea below, and then a glimpse of distant snow-capped mountains. Just for a moment she forgot her patient and her problems, and thrilled with excitement. Here was a new world, and only time would reveal all its possibilities.
CHAPTER TWO
BERGEN AIRPORT was small compared with Heathrow. It took only minutes for them to clear Customs, summon two taxis and start the drive to Bergen. Louisa, sitting in the second car with the elder of the two men, hardly noticed him, there was such a lot to see. The country was wooded and very beautiful and the road wound between trees already glowing with autumn colour. She had been surprised to see on a signpost that Bergen was twelve miles away to the north; somehow she had expected to plunge straight into the town’s suburbs. Presently they came to a village and then another, and then after twenty minutes or so, the outskirts of Bergen. Louisa was a little disappointed, for the busy road they were now on seemed very like any other busy road anywhere in England, but only for a moment. Suddenly they were in the centre of the town, skirting a small square park surrounded by busy streets. Her companion waved a vague hand at the window. ‘Nice little tea room there,’ he volunteered, ‘very handy for the shops—Claudia’s got a flat near the theatre.’
Which, while interesting, meant nothing to Louisa.
They turned off a shopping street presently and came upon another small park set in the centre of a square of tall houses, and at its head, the theatre. The taxis stopped half way along one side and they all got out. Miss Savage’s flat was on the first floor of a solid house in the middle of a terrace of similar houses, a handsome apartment, well furnished in the modern Scandinavian style, with its own front door in the lobby on the ground floor. A pleasant-looking young woman had opened the door to them and shown them up the short flight of stairs and disappeared down a passage, to reappear presently with a tea tray. Louisa, bidden to pour tea for everyone, did so, and then at Miss Savage’s casual: ‘Have a cup yourself, Louisa, then perhaps you’d unpack? There’s a maid somewhere, see if you can find her,’ went to do as she was bid.
The flat was larger than she had supposed. She had opened doors on to three bedrooms, a bathroom and a cupboard before she came to the kitchen. There was another girl here, young and pretty and, thank heaven, speaking English.
‘Eva,’ she said as they shook hands. ‘I come each day from eight o’clock until seven o’clock in the evening. In the afternoon I go for two hours to my home.’ She smiled widely. ‘You would like coffee?’
Louisa hadn’t enjoyed the tea very much. ‘I’d love a cup, but I was going to unpack.’
‘Then first I show you your rooms and then the coffee. You are the nurse, I think?’
‘That’s right.’ Louisa followed her back down the passage; first her own room, light and airy, well furnished too, with a shower room leading from it, and then her patient’s, much larger, with a bathroom attached and a balcony looking out over the square. Louisa, fortified by the coffee and five minutes’ chat with Eva, went back there presently and started to unpack. It took quite a time, for Miss Savage had brought a large wardrobe with her; for an invalid she appeared to expect a good deal of social life. Louisa arranged the last scent bottle on the dressing table, arranged the quilted dressing gown invitingly on the bed, and went in search of her patient.
The tea party was still in full swing, only now a tray of drinks had taken the place of the tea and Miss Savage’s pale face was flushed. Before Louisa could say anything, one of the men called out: ‘All right, nurse, we’re just off—got a plane to catch. Look after our Claudia, won’t you?’ He winked broadly: ‘Keep her on the straight and narrow!’
Their goodbyes took another five minutes and when they had gone the room was quiet again. Quiet until Miss Savage burst into tears, storming up and down the room, muttering to herself, even waving her arms around. All the same, she managed to look as pretty as ever, like a little girl who couldn’t get her own way. Louisa’s kind heart melted at the sight of her; with a little difficulty she urged her patient to sit down and then sat beside her. ‘You’re tired,’ she said in her quiet, sensible voice. ‘It’s been a long day, and it’s not over yet. Suppose you have a nap for an hour and Eva and I will get a meal ready for you. You haven’t eaten much, have you?’
‘I want to go home,’ mumbled Miss Savage, and buried h
er head against Louisa’s shoulder.
‘Then why don’t you? We can pack up in no time at all and after you’ve had a good night’s rest we can get a flight back…’
‘Fool!’ declared Miss Savage. ‘Do you really suppose I wanted to come? To leave my friends and all the fun…’
Louisa, who hadn’t taken offence at being called a fool, quite understanding that her companion was suffering strong feelings about something or other, had asked merely: ‘Then why did you come, Miss Savage?’
‘He made me, of course. I have to live, don’t I, and if he stops my allowance what am I to do?’
‘Who’s he?’ enquired Louisa gently. ‘You don’t have to tell me, only it might make it easier if you did—perhaps we can think of something.’
‘My beastly brother. I detest him—he’s mean and high-handed and he made me come here so that he can make sure that I don’t spend too much money—and don’t have my friends.’
‘Very unreasonable,’ commented Louisa. ‘And what about me? I cost money, don’t I?’
‘Oh, he pays for you—it was one of the conditions…’ Miss Savage paused and rearranged her words. ‘The doctor said I had to have someone to look after me…’
‘I should think so indeed!’ declared Louisa indignantly. She still didn’t like Miss Savage overmuch, but probably her way of life was the result of having a despot of a brother who bullied her. ‘Does your brother know you came here today?’
Miss Savage nodded. ‘Yes—but you needn’t worry, he won’t come here. He’s miles away—the last I heard of him he was north of Tromso, that’s on the way to the North Pole—well, it’s a long way beyond the Arctic Circle.’
Louisa produced a handkerchief and wiped Miss Savage’s face for her. ‘I can’t quite see why you had to come to Norway. If your brother wanted you to lead a quieter life, couldn’t you have gone to live for a time in the country in England? It would have been much cheaper.’
