by Betty Neels
‘You are wondering why I am here, Mr van der Brons.’ Miss Bloom wasn’t a woman to beat about the bush. ‘But I have something to ask of you while Teile and Letizia are not with us. Today I had tea with Miss Pearson—such a nice girl—and I cannot help but think that it might be of benefit to the children if they were to see more of her—make her their friend. She is young enough to enjoy their company yet old enough to exert some authority. They will miss me for a time and she will soften the blow. I observed her carefully as we had tea and I was impressed by her quiet manner—and her voice is charming. They like her, as you know, and have several times wished to meet her again. I realise that you can hardly encroach on her work and life at the hospital. I should imagine that she would have friends there, but perhaps once in a while she could meet the girls?’
Mr van der Brons was sitting back in his chair, his eyes half closed, his face expressing nothing more than placid interest.
‘An excellent idea, Miss Bloom. I formed a good opinion of Miss Pearson when I first met her and I have observed her at the hospital—she could never fill your shoes but she might, as you say, help the girls over a difficult time when you leave us.’
Miss Bloom folded her knitting and put it away neatly into a large bag. ‘Then you would have no objection if I were to ask her to tea again and take the children with me?’
‘None at all. Better still, invite her here—they won’t need to be on their best behaviour then and they’ll get to know each other better.’
‘Thank you, Mr van der Brons, I will do that.’ She got to her feet and he got up too and opened the door of the drawing-room for her. ‘You are tired and I have disturbed your leisure,’ she said, pausing at the door.
He denied that politely, bade her goodnight and went back to his seat by the fire. He sat there for a long time, with Samson’s head on his feet, so quiet that he might have been asleep. Only he wasn’t; he was thinking about Charity.
It was several days later when Charity encountered Cor as she was on her way to get the old notes of a patient who had just been admitted. The files were kept in a basement room at the back of the hospital, at the end of a passage from which led the laundry, boiler-room, stores and any number of cell-like cubby-holes used to house all the paraphernalia of a large hospital. The clerk found the notes for her while they exchanged basic English and Dutch and Charity started back on her journey to the burns unit. She was at the end of the corridor, about to run up the short staircase to the ground floor, when Cor came down it, coming to a halt in front of her, standing in her way.
‘Well, well,’ he cried, and grinned at her. ‘If it isn’t my little English friend. What is all this I hear about lunch with our good Professor van der Brons? Oh, you don’t need to blush—these things get around, you know. Well, he’s a better catch than I or any of us hard-working housemen. How did you manage it?’ He gave a nasty little smile. ‘You’re a deep one, aren’t you?’
Charity gave him a steady look, wondering how she could have imagined herself in love with him. ‘I’m on duty—if you would move so that I can get to the stairs…’
‘Not so fast; I’m waiting to hear how you managed to charm the most eminent professor in the hospital into inviting you to lunch. You’re a sly one, I must say…’
Charity didn’t answer, for, leaning over the stair rail at his ease, Mr van der Brons was listening to every word with interest, smiling a little. She gave him a look which was unconsciously beseeching and Cor saw it and turned round just in time to confront the professor’s massive proportions.
‘I suggest,’ said Mr van der Brons in a gentle voice which sent a shiver down Charity’s spine, ‘that you make yourself scarce—van Kamp, isn’t it? Apologise to the lady first and if you should at any time feel tempted to repeat this regrettable occurrence I can assure you that you will regret it.’
Charity had gone rather pale—now she went red as Cor mumbled an apology and took himself off. She drew a steadying breath and waited to hear what Mr van der Brons had to say. She felt ready to sink into the floor; hopefully he hadn’t heard the whole of the conversation.
Her companion didn’t choose to enlighten her. ‘So fortunate that I should see you—I bear a message from Miss Bloom; she would like you to go to tea with her and the children—you’re free tomorrow, are you not? About half-past two, if that suits you—the girls look forward to seeing you.’
‘In the Bijenkorf?’ She strove to make her voice normal, but it had a distinct wobble.
‘No, no. At my house, of course. They will want to play noisy games, I dare say. Miss Bloom, bless her, is addicted to patience and old maid and an occasional fast game of snap. I believe that they are rather hoping that you will make a dolls’ house…’
This prosaic conversation soothed her nerves; the ugly little incident with Cor seemed unimportant. Charity said at once, ‘Oh, I’d love to, but I need boxes and things; besides, Miss Bloom might not like it. I do know some card games, though.’
‘Splendid. I will tell them to expect you. Take the tram from outside the hospital gates; it stops within a hundred yards or so of the house.’ He stood on one side so that she might climb the stairs. ‘Tell Zuster Kingsma that I kept you.’
He went on his way, leaving her to wonder if he had heard any of the awful things Cor had said; it seemed unlikely.
Fortunately for her peace of mind, he had heard every word.
She spent the next morning washing her smalls, doing her nails and experimenting with a new lipstick, then after lunch she got into the new coat and hat and went to catch the tram. It stopped at the bridge which led to the narrow street where the professor lived, and from there it was a very short walk. She thumped the great brass knocker, feeling suddenly uncertain, to be reassured by Jolly’s welcoming smile.
‘I will take your coat and hat, miss.’ And then, ‘If you will follow me?’
She went up the staircase behind him, glad that she was wearing the needlecord dress, and was shown into a large light room where she was given a rapturous welcome by the children and a more subdued but sincere one by Miss Bloom.
The play-room, Charity saw at once, had everything in it that a child could wish for and yet at the same time it was comfortably shabby and lived-in and extremely tidy. She rather thought that Teile and Letizia might have everything to make a child happy, but had been taught to appreciate what they had. She was led round the room and shown their possessions and presently they all settled down at the table to play spillikins, an old-fashioned game which Charity hadn’t played for years. The spillikins were mother-of-pearl and delicately beautiful. They inspected the dolls’ house next, a magnificent mansion complete to the last teaspoon.
‘You couldn’t possibly want a home-made dolls’ house,’ cried Charity, who could have spent a happy afternoon rearranging its furniture. But it seemed that they did. She had none of the bits and pieces she would need to make one, though, so she sat down at the table and drew an exquisitely neat diagram of a modest house, two up and two down, with stairs and a bathroom and kitchen, and promised that if she should come again, which she considered unlikely once Miss Bloom had gone, she would make one. ‘I would need cardboard and glue and paper,’ she pointed out, ‘and a box of paints…’
Miss Bloom left her sewing then and they played cards until the tea tray was brought in: bread and butter cut thin, buns and a sponge cake. Miss Bloom, pouring out, urged Charity to make a good tea. ‘For you are a little too thin, my dear,’ she observed kindly. ‘Perhaps when you have settled in your work…?’
Charity said that yes, she was sure to get plump if she stayed in Holland, and they all laughed just as the door opened and Mr van der Brons came in.
‘Tea!’ he exclaimed. ‘I am not too late?’ He kissed his children, patted Miss Bloom on the shoulder and kissed Charity’s cheek in an absent-minded manne
r before sitting down in one of the roomy easychairs.
Miss Bloom rose to touch the bell. ‘Fresh tea,’ she said in her no-nonsense voice, ‘and buns, or perhaps muffins?’
‘Muffins, Miss Bloom. You have no idea how pleasant this is after the dreary afternoon outside.’
‘You’ll stay, Papa?’ asked Teile. ‘Charity says she must go back soon—will you ask her to stay? We could play Scrabble…’
Jolly came in with fresh tea, the muffins and Samson, delighted to see his master. ‘Do you need to go back, Charity?’ asked the professor. ‘I’m free for a couple of hours; if you aren’t in a hurry I’ll drop you off as I go past the hospital.’
Charity looked at the two small faces beaming at her. She had no reason to go back to the hospital and it was delightful in this homely room—lovely and cosy and like being one of the family. ‘Thank you—then I’ll stay.’
They played Scrabble, first in English and then in Dutch, and even Miss Bloom laughed at Charity’s clumsy attempts to spell the Dutch words. After an hour Mr van der Brons got up. ‘I’ll be back,’ he told them. ‘Charity—I’ll be twenty minutes or so—just time for a lightning game before you go.’
He was as good as his word; this time he came back in his dinner-jacket. He kissed his children goodnight, told Miss Bloom to enjoy her dinner, and waited placidly while Charity made her own farewells. She made them as quickly as she could for it was obvious that Mr van der Brons had an evening engagement and wouldn’t like to be kept waiting.
‘Come and say goodnight when you get home, Papa?’ asked Letizia.
‘I shall be late, liefje, but I’ll come and make sure that you’re both asleep.’
‘Where are you going, Papa?’ asked Teile.
‘Out to dinner and perhaps dancing, darling.’
‘With Mevrouw—’ Teile didn’t finish what she was going to say; Miss Bloom was frowning fiercely to stop her.
Charity, ushered out of the house by an attentive Jolly, supposed that it was the same Mevrouw de Groot the children had mentioned. A widow? She speculated, sitting composedly by Mr van der Brons as he drove through the streets. She hoped that she was a nice person and that she and the children would like each other. She had the feeling that the children hadn’t much of an opinion of her; perhaps they were a little jealous, naturally enough…
‘I can hear you thinking,’ said Mr van der Brons surprisingly. ‘Turning a few crumbs of truth into a large loaf, no doubt. Don’t do it, Charity—the result is always disappointing.’
‘How could you possibly…?’ she began, and altered it to, ‘It’s a bad habit I got into—oh, years ago, after my mother died. You see, if you can think you aren’t lonely.’ She sounded matter-of-fact. ‘Anyway, I don’t need to now, you know; there’s the hospital and my work and the other nurses and Christmas.’
He received this muddled speech with a comfortable grunt although he said nothing, only, when they reached the hospital, leaned over and opened her door for her. ‘Go straight in,’ he bade her. ‘Forgive me for not getting out—I’m late…’
She hopped out, uttering her thanks as she did so and topped them with a cheerful goodnight. It had been a lovely afternoon, the children were sweet and Miss Bloom, under her severe mien, was a dear. Mr van der Brons, of course, needed no praise.
Later, when she was in bed, she thought about him at some length. Cor no longer occupied her thoughts and if he did it was with amazement that she could ever have considered herself in love with him. In some way, Mr van der Brons had obliterated him from her mind, although, thinking about that, she couldn’t quite discover how. He had said very little, given no tiresome advice, nor had he admonished her to be cheerful and forget the whole sorry affair, and yet he had made it possible for her to see that what she had thought was a broken heart had sustained a mere crack, already invisibly repaired. She curled up in bed with a contented sigh and went on thinking about him; he was a restful person to think about. Just before she dropped off she wondered what he was doing that evening.
He was at an old friend’s house, a member of a small dinner party, apparently enjoying himself, taking part in the rather highbrow conversation, listening attentively to the remarks addressed to him by his dinner partner, a pleasant widow in her thirties—his well-meaning friends had been engaged upon the fruitless task of finding him a wife for some years—making all the right replies in an interested voice, giving her what appeared to be his full attention while he thought about Charity.
Of course he saw her on the unit during the next day or so, but only as a small gowned figure going to and fro about her work, and when she was bidden to work in Theatre he dismissed her—and everyone else for that matter—from his mind, concentrating on his meticulous work. As for Charity, she hardly expected him to do more than give his brief courteous nod when he came on to the unit each day. Indeed, she would have been surprised if he had done more; he was, she had decided, a man whose innate kindness caused him to offer help when it was needed—a lift in his car, a clean handkerchief to mop up tears, even a meal somewhere, but that didn’t mean that he needed to offer friendship too. Yet he had asked her if she liked him. Perhaps she was thinking about him too much…
Christmas was almost upon them and the unit was full; none of the patients were in a fit state to go home; those with pedicles were too grotesque to leave the unit and there were several patients with severe burns, most of them children, who needed constant care. Besides, said Zuster Kingsma from experience, it was a certainty that at least one fire victim would be admitted over the Christmas period, for which reason she herself would be on duty for the two Christmas days and her staff would be on duty, taking alternate half-days. It was necessary, she pointed out, that there should be trained staff instantly available.
That was still some days away; Charity spent her two free days before then poking around the shops, buying gifts for her friends and admiring the pretty clothes in the shop windows. There would be the hospital dance in January and she was going with several of the other nurses. She had no partner, but they assured her kindly that there would be no lack of them once she was there. In the meanwhile there was the excitement of Christmas—not quite like Christmas at home, perhaps, but the shops looked magnificent and there were Christmas trees in every window.
From time to time she saw Cor but never to speak to; the moment he caught sight of her he turned about or went into a convenient door, and she, for her part, hardly noticed him.
It wanted two days to Christmas Eve when she had a note from Miss Bloom inviting her to go to tea if she were free on the following afternoon. ‘I return home a few days after Christmas,’ wrote Miss Bloom, ‘and I am sure that you will be too busy over the Christmas period to see me. I should like to bid you goodbye.’
It so happened that Charity was free at half-past three on the following day; what was more, Zuster Kingsma allowed her to go off duty rather earlier than that, so that she had time to buy chocolates for the little girls and a pretty scarf for Miss Bloom. She got on to the tram, thankful that in Holland it was the custom to wrap presents then and there in the shop. She hugged the colourful packages to her, glad of her new coat, for the tram was half empty and cold. The icy wind struck her as she alighted at the bridge and hurried towards Mr van der Brons’s house. Perhaps it was going to snow; the other nurses had talked of skating on the canals and stalls of hot chestnuts on the ice. A pity I can’t skate, reflected Charity, thumping the knocker.
Jolly opened the door with a welcoming smile, took her outdoor things and led her upstairs to the play-room where Miss Bloom and the girls were waiting. She paused in the doorway, rather taken aback at the mass of paper chains and tinsel and baubles hanging from every inch of space.
‘How lovely!’ she cried. ‘Now I know it’s Christmas.’
The children fell upon her and Miss Bloom sa
id, ‘I’m so glad that you could come; I dare say you won’t have much free time for the next few days.’
Charity gave her presents and then sat down to admire the stack of parcels the children had wrapped up and labelled. ‘We went shopping with Papa,’ Teile told her. ‘He gives us our pocket money and we choose what we want to buy for the presents, only we can’t have any more money if we’ve spent it, so we have to be careful.’
‘I’m sure you managed well,’ said Charity, ‘and I think most of us have to shop like that, so as not to overspend.’
‘Papa doesn’t,’ said Letizia. ‘He can spend all the money he likes; he’s rich.’
‘That will do, Letizia,’ said Miss Bloom firmly. ‘One doesn’t discuss one’s father’s affairs with people.’
‘He wouldn’t mind me telling Charity—he likes her like he likes you, Miss Bloom.’
‘Very gratifying,’ said Miss Bloom, ‘but all the same, his affairs are private, my dear.’
Letizia looked as though she was going to argue and Charity plunged into an account of how she had got into a muddle with her money while she was shopping and everyone laughed. Presently they gathered round the table and began a game of consequences. They played in Dutch which was hard work for Charity but added very much to the light-heartedness of the occasion.
They were having tea when Mr van der Brons walked in, to be overwhelmed by his children and Samson. Jolly followed him in with fresh tea and more crumpets and he sat down in his chair, listening to his daughters’ chatter, smiling lazily at Charity. ‘I have given myself the rest of the day off,’ he told them. ‘Provided Charity will agree, I thought that we might all go out into the town. A look around the shops and a cup of coffee somewhere?’
