by Betty Neels
She was aware that the other girl was put out about something, indeed she had never seen her look so uncomfortable. The Directrice, thought Becky, who had a wholesome regard for that lady, and turned round smartly.
The Baron was in the doorway, watching silently, his registrar and houseman and the Hoofd Zuster peering round him, as though she and Zuster Trippe were putting on an exhibition of bedmaking for their benefit.
The Baron inclined his head politely. ‘Zuster Saunders, I wish to speak to you.’ He advanced into the ward. ‘And I must compliment you on the improvement in your Dutch,’ he gave Zuster Trippe a cold look as he spoke. ‘I trust that you get all the help and encouragement you need.’ He spoke softly to the Hoofd Zuster, who said something in her turn to everyone there, and Becky watched them all go away. She went a little pale; she had done something awful, although she couldn’t think what—or perhaps Bertie was ill, or Pooch… She raised troubled eyes to his face and said quickly: ‘Oh, what have I done? Or is it the animals…?’
The Baron seated himself on the side of a newly made-up bed. ‘Why must you always imagine that I am the bearer of bad news?’ he wanted to know with some asperity. ‘That nurse was rather on the snappy side, wasn’t she? What had you been doing?’
‘Getting my grammar wrong—she fancies herself as a teacher, I think.’
‘Your grammar is admittedly a little peculiar, but your accent is good,’ and when she said eagerly: ‘Oh, is it really? I am glad…’ he asked: ‘Why are you so anxious to speak our language, Becky?’
She could hardly tell him that it was because she wanted to understand every word he uttered and even be able to answer him so that he would be able to understand her. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she mumbled.
He hitched up his elegant trousers and stared at a shoe. ‘My mother is to go to London in three days’ time—I want her to see Mr Lennox…’ Becky knew of him; a famous orthopaedic surgeon whose opinion was sought all over the world. ‘We’re old friends,’ went on the Baron. ‘I want to make sure that everything is as good as it ever will be before she plunges back into her busy little life. She gardens, you know, not just a weed or two and picking flowers; she’s quite capable of taking the spade from the gardener and using it, and she has this thing about digging the potato crop too. My father was able to manage her in the nicest possible way, I’m not as successful— she has done what she wants all her life, bless her, and it would be cruel and impossible to stop her. All the same, I’d like her looked at before she surprises us with some new idea. Last year it was country dancing…’
Becky smiled. ‘It’s nice to find someone who doesn’t moan about getting elderly. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who enjoyed life as she does.’
‘You like her, Becky?’
‘Yes, immensely.’ She added silently: ‘And I like you too, Tiele, as well as loving you.’
‘That’s good. She has agreed to go to London, but only if you will go with her. Tialda offered, but Pieter isn’t keen on her travelling around too much, and in any case, my mother had already decided that she wanted you to go.’
Becky folded a pillow case neatly. ‘That’s very nice of her and I’d have loved to have gone, but I’m here, aren’t I?’
‘Don’t worry about that—I’ve already spoken to the Directrice, she has no objection—it will only be for three days.’
‘Oh, but I can’t leave Bertie and Pooch…’
He said patiently: ‘Of course not. They can spend the time at my home with Lola. Willem will look after them—they know their way about there.’
‘How do we go?’
‘I shall drive, of course.’ He sounded surprised at her question. ‘We can take the night ferry from the Hoek.’ He got up from the bed. ‘Today’s Friday; Willem will collect you at eleven o’clock on Monday and bring you all out to Huize Raukema, we’ll leave after lunch.’ He sauntered to the door.
‘Will I be staying at the hospital?’ asked Becky.
‘No. My mother will be examined on Tuesday afternoon, probably X-rayed then and possibly have a final check-up on the Wednesday. We shall return on the Thursday. You will of course accompany her to the hospital.’
He had gone before she could say anything else. He had said that she wouldn’t be staying at the hospital; she supposed it would be an hotel, in which case would her wardrobe stand up to it? The vexed question kept her mind occupied while she finished off the beds, but after that she was too busy to think about it.
At lunch, as she was sitting with the other nurses of the ward, someone asked her what Doctor Raukema had wanted. ‘He never talks to any of the nurses, though I suppose as you nursed his mother you know each other well.’ There was faint envy in the voice.
‘Well, no, not really,’ said Becky, painstakingly truthful. ‘His mother has to go to London to be examined and she wants me to go with her.’
There was a murmur of interest. ‘And you go, naturally, Becky?’
‘Doctor Raukema asked me if I would; it’s only for a few days.’
‘You are a lucky girl—will you have much free time?’
Becky remembered the Baroness’s habit of forgetting things like off duty and whether she had had her lunch, and all the errands she wanted done. She smiled because despite that she was fond of the little lady. ‘No, I don’t expect I shall,’ she admitted.
She decided against buying another dress; her slowly growing hoard of guldens was too precious and she doubted very much if she would wear it. She packed the green jersey dress, the flowered cotton skirt and the blouse that went with it and then recklessly went to C & A and bought a second one in very pale green with a ruffled collar and long sleeves ending in matching ruffles.
She was ready and waiting for Willem when he arrived. Mevrouw Botte, quite excited about the whole thing, toiled up the stairs to tell Becky he was there and then insisted on carrying her case down for her while Willem, who had come along at a more leisurely pace, took Bertie’s lead, which left Becky, clutching Pooch, to go downstairs quite uncluttered. It gave her a lovely feeling, just as though she were beautiful and important, and somehow Willem contrived to go on making her feel like that in the car. He was driving a Porsche which he explained was used by the Baron occasionally, although he preferred the Rolls. ‘And that’s a very good car, Miss Saunders,’ said Willem surprisingly, ‘but for myself, I like something sporty.’
Becky digested this in silence; Willem hardly looked like a demon driver. Presently she asked: ‘Doesn’t the Baron like driving a fast car?’
They were already clear of Leeuwarden, racing along the road. ‘Him drive fast? Why, I taught him to drive, Miss Saunders, when he was a lad. He’s a great one for speed—you should just see him in that Rolls of his when he’s on his own.’
‘You’ve known him a long time, haven’t you, Willem?’ She hoped they would go on talking about the Baron for a long time; it was lovely to find out about him, and Willem, she was delighted to discover, was nothing loath. The journey passed pleasantly for both of them. It was only a pity that they reached the gates of Huize Raukema before Willem had finished telling her about the Baron’s more youthful days.
The master of the house wasn’t home; Becky gathered from Sutske that he was seeing a patient, and the Baroness was expected shortly. With Bertie and Pooch ambling ahead of her, very much at home, she was led to the sitting room, its doors open to the garden beyond, and given coffee and a selection of the day’s newspapers. She was painstakingly translating the small ads when the Baron arrived. The house was too large and solidly built for her to hear more than a murmur of voices, but she was quite sure who it was, for Bertie and Pooch were already hurrying to the door.
The Baron stopped to pull Bertie’s ears, sweep Pooch up into an arm and warn Lola not to get excited and then came across the room to her with a brisk ‘Good morning, Becky, everything is all right, I hope?’ He sat down opposite her. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t home when you arrived—a last-minute urgent case. Ah,
here’s Willem with more coffee. Be mother, will you, Becky?’
She poured the coffee from a tall silver pot into delicate white and lilac cups—early Delft and so old she was terrified of breaking something. She concentrated hard on what she was doing because she felt shy of him. Now if she had been beautiful and sure of herself like Nina van Doorn…
‘What are you thinking about, Becky?’ asked her companion. ‘You look sad and excited all rolled into one. Is it a secret?’
She drew a breath. ‘Yes.’ And then, because she had to talk about something else and anyway she had been worrying away at something which had puzzled her for days: ‘When we had that picnic—in the grounds of that dear little country house—whose was it?’ And when he didn’t answer at once: ‘Was it yours, too?’
He passed his cup for more coffee and settled himself more comfortably. ‘Yes, Becky, it is my house. And since you’re so curious about it—I didn’t want to tell you then—I had a feeling it might spoil the evening, you see. I…’
He didn’t finish because the door was flung open and Nina came in. She looked lovelier than ever because she was in a towering rage. Beyond a furious look at Becky she didn’t bother with her, but almost ran across the room to the Baron, who had got to his feet unhurriedly and was showing, Becky was relieved to see, no signs of alarm, nor was his calm shattered under the torrent of words Nina was pouring out. It was a pity that she spoke in Dutch, for Becky longed to know what she was so angry about. When she finally drew breath the Baron spoke—unhurriedly and as far as Becky could judge, good-humouredly, but Nina didn’t like whatever he said. She raised her voice to an ugly shout and addressed Becky, who was none the wiser, added a rider to the Baron and rushed out of the room.
‘Well,’ said Becky in an interested voice, ‘what was all that about?’
‘You,’ said the Baron, and before she could get her mouth open to ask more, the door opened again and his mother came in.
In the bustle of getting the Baroness comfortably settled in a chair, pouring more coffee, retrieving the shawls, scarves and handbag which she had cast down on her way from the door to the sitting room, Becky had little time to ponder the Baron’s reply. And when she did, sitting in the Rolls beside him while he drove them all down to the Hoek, she came to the conclusion that Nina had been upset because she wasn’t a member of the party. It was a pity that no one had mentioned her. Lunch had been a pleasant meal with the Baroness bearing the lion’s share of the conversation, and afterwards Becky had gone to the kitchen to bid Bertie and Pooch goodbye, and when she rejoined mother and son in the drawing room, the Baroness was talking about the weather. The Baron, for some reason, was looking amused.
They travelled in great comfort, but then Becky couldn’t imagine the Baron doing anything else, and certainly not his mother, but it was pleasant, when they stopped briefly for tea, to have instant attention and smiling service. They stopped for dinner too, at Saur’s in den Haag, and Becky thanked heaven silently that she was wearing the green jersey; it was hardly haute couture but it passed muster in a crowd, and the crowd was fashionable. Presumably the Baron had booked a table, for there was no delay for them, they had their drinks and were served at once; iced soup followed by lobster and a salad because the Baron had recommended them and washed down by a dry white wine. And Becky was persuaded to sample a waffle smothered in whipped cream for dessert and topped with strawberries before their coffee. She would have liked to have spent more time in den Haag, one day, she promised herself. She would go there on a day off and have a good look round.
They reached the Hoek shortly after, and here again there was no waiting about. The car was driven aboard, the Baroness made comfortable in her stateroom, the steward warned as to what time they were to be wakened in the morning and by that time the ferry was already at sea. Becky, rather disappointed at the total absence of the Baron, went to the cabin next to the Baroness’s and got ready for the night. The Baroness was already asleep when she crept in to see if she wanted anything; Becky left a dim light on, opened the door between them, and went to bed herself.
They breakfasted in their cabins and it was only as the ferry was docking that the Baron appeared, to wish them both good morning and swept them down into the car. True, he enquired as to whether they had had a good night, but he was so deep in thought that Becky kept a still tongue in her head and even suggested, once they were clear of Customs, that she should travel in the back with the Baroness—a suggestion nipped in the bud with a: ‘What for?’ from the Baron, uttered in a tone of voice which really didn’t need an answer.
They were in London by mid-morning, and Becky, who wasn’t familiar with the city, watched idly from the window as they threaded their way through the traffic, but she couldn’t help but see that they were passing through the most elegant streets and squares. When the Baron finally stopped in Carlos Place and she got out of the car, aided quite unnecessarily by a porter, she saw that they were outside the Connaught Hotel. She might not know her London well, but she had heard about some of its famous hotels. She thought with vexation of her inadequate wardrobe as she took the Baroness’s arm and went into the splendid foyer. But only for a moment or so. After all, her clothes didn’t really matter; she had come as companion to the Baroness and it wasn’t likely that she would spend much time in its restaurant or public rooms. She watched the Baron getting things arranged without fuss and was wafted with her companion to the third floor, where a suite of rooms had been booked for them—a sitting room, an enormous bedroom for the Baroness with a smaller one for herself, bathrooms, and a room for the Baron. She still wasn’t very happy about her clothes, but she unpacked for the Baroness and herself, assisted that lady to tidy herself and sat her down in the sitting room until the Baron should join them.
CHAPTER NINE
THEY HAD LUNCH in the hotel’s restaurant and although Becky had suggested diffidently that mother and son might like to lunch alone while she had something in their sitting room, she had been met with such a blazing look from the Baron that she had stopped in mid-sentence. ‘Do you not wish for our company?’ he had asked her coldly, and when she had tried to explain, getting her lack of the right clothes hopelessly mixed up with the fact that she was only there as a companion anyway, and hadn’t expected…she had been cut short with such arrogance that she had remarked severely:
‘Well, you have no need to be so nasty about it. I was trying to make it easier for you and the Baroness—after all I’m only…’
‘If you say that just once more,’ said the Baron explosively, ‘I shall do you an injury! Just because your stepmother and stepbrother treated you like a maid-of-all-work it doesn’t mean to say that I, or my mother, intend to do the same. You will take your meals with us, Becky.’
She had been so taken aback by his arrogance that she had agreed meekly.
The arrogance had disappeared by the time they were shown to their table; the Baron was all smooth charm, putting her at ease with a skill only seconded by his parent. Becky found herself enjoying every moment—the excellent food, the rich surroundings, the waiter’s attention. She began to sparkle just a little and when they had finished went off with the Baroness to assist that lady to make herself comfortable for an afternoon’s rest. That done, she wandered into the sitting room and went to look out of the windows. London—the best part of London, flowed smoothly past her downbent gaze; she was so absorbed that she didn’t hear the Baron come in until he joined her. She jumped nervously, intent as always on keeping a cool front towards him.
‘Oh, I expect you want to sit here—I’ve heaps of things I can do in my room, I’ll…’
His hand came out and fastened gently on her arm. ‘Becky, why do you always behave as though I’m an ogre?’ He sighed. ‘I’ve said some horrible things to you, haven’t I? And now I discover that I didn’t mean one of them.’
He smiled down at her and her heart rocked. She said stupidly: ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter,’ and was inordinately vexe
d when he replied blandly: ‘I know it doesn’t.’
His hand tightened on her arm. ‘Come and sit down while I tell you what has been arranged.’ And when she was seated beside him: ‘Mother will be seen by Mr Lennox tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. It will be your job to see that she is ready to leave here by half past nine, stay with her at all times while she is there and bring her back here. It is possible that he may wish to see her briefly in the afternoon; we shan’t be leaving until the following evening, in any case. At half past three this afternoon I shall drive you both to the hospital where she will have her X-rays done. I’m afraid you will have to come back by taxi because I have an appointment at four-thirty and may not be ready in time to fetch you. I’ve already arranged for it to be waiting for you; the hall porter will see to that. I thought it might be pleasant to go to a theatre this evening—I’ve got tickets. We’ll dine early—seven o’clock should be time enough.’
‘Oh, but…’ began Becky, and then, completely reckless: ‘That would be very nice, but have I time to go and buy a dress? I mean, I didn’t expect to go out.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘You have one hour exactly, take a taxi there and back.’ He added reflectively: ‘I was beginning to wonder just what you were saving your money for, Becky.’
She felt her cheeks redden. She could hardly say: ‘To get away from you, my darling Tiele,’ but instead she murmured something about having had no time and got to her feet. ‘I promise I’ll be back,’ she told him breathlessly. ‘Is it—will it be black tie, do you think?’
His mouth twitched just a little. ‘Oh, yes—we’re celebrating my mother’s return to good health, are we not?’
From a visit years ago, Becky remembered that Fenwick’s was in Bond Street, and that wasn’t too far away. ‘I’ll go now,’ she decided, and made for the door. The Baron had no difficulty in keeping up with her; he ushered her into the lift, escorted her to the pavement, told the doorman to get a taxi and handed her in. ‘Where do you go?’ he asked her.
