by Betty Neels
The professor, coming quietly into the nursery, paused in the doorway watching them, his face expressionless as she lifted a laughing face to her companion and then bent with him over the photo. He stood quietly for a few moments and then began to walk leisurely towards them. It was Dr Timuss who heard him first and went to meet him, hand outstretched. ‘Professor…’ They shook hands and he went on talking in Dutch. The professor answered civilly but his eyes were on Megan, who was clutching Jantje and blushing vividly. Her heart thumped so hard that she was afraid that it might disturb the baby and even if she had wanted to speak she had no breath to do so.
Presently the two men joined her and the professor said, ‘Good morning, Megan. You are enjoying your work here?’
‘Very much, sir.’ Her cheeks weren’t pink any more but pale. She looked at his handsome, calm face and could see only austere civility, so that the sudden warm glow she had felt at the sight of him turned slowly cold.
What had happened, she wondered, to change him from the friendly man he had become during those weeks in London to this coolly impersonal stranger? She wished that he hadn’t come; to have remembered him as a friend was painful enough even when he had gone away without a proper goodbye but now he was looking at her as doubtless he had looked at the nurses at Regent’s who were scared of him. Not that she was scared of him, she told herself. She stood quietly, still cuddling Jantje until he said with that same cool civility, ‘Don’t let me hinder you, Sister. I just want a chat with Dr Timuss.’
So she put Jantje back in his cot and wheeled it out on to the balcony and took Lise away to be changed and fed. When she came out of the changing-room the men were no longer there.
She couldn’t leave the nursery otherwise she would have looked out of a window to watch if the professor had gone. ‘And a lot of good that would be,’ she told Lise as she wheeled her out on to the balcony beside the other babies. All the same, when she was relieved for her midday dinner she crossed the landing and peered out of the window. The Rolls-Royce was still there: if she hurried she might get a glimpse of him on her way to the dining-room. She was turning away when he came out of the door with Dr Timuss and the directrice and she craned her neck to see him better, only to withdraw it smartly when he suddenly looked up. His look held hers for a moment but he didn’t smile; indeed, he could have been looking at a blank wall. She felt the tears in her eyes and dashed them away angrily. Why, oh, why, she thought wildly, must I love someone as tiresome as a stiff-necked professor who doesn’t care a row of pins for anyone? By ‘anyone’ of course she meant ‘me’, but she wasn’t going to admit that. She went on down to the dining-room. ‘I hope I never see him again,’ muttered Megan, knowing that she didn’t mean a word of it.
The professor drove himself to his home where, under the eye of Litman, he made a pretence of eating his lunch and then whistled to the dogs and went for a long walk, and as he walked he bent his considerable mental powers to the problem of Megan. She had looked beautiful in the nursery that morning—she had also looked so happy laughing up at that whippersnapper Timuss. The professor ground his splendid teeth quite viciously at the memory, while at the same time conceding that she was young and so was Timuss whereas he was nearing his fortieth year…and he loved her and deep inside him he knew that she loved him although perhaps she didn’t know that yet. He had to let her find that out for herself. It might take time but he was a man of patience. He tramped back to his home and ate the splendid dinner set before him by a gratified Litman; he had resolved to do nothing to attract Megan. He was aware that he could, if he wished, gain her love—he was aware too without conceit that he was attractive to women—but he didn’t want that; he would do nothing to encourage her.
There was a mass of work waiting for him in his study, so he put all thought of Megan out of his head and sat down at his desk until after midnight. It was a great pity that he didn’t know that she was lying in her bed crying her eyes out because she was quite sure that she would never see him again.
* * *
The annual picnic, one of the major events of the orphanage’s year, was to be held during the following week. It was no mean affair of Thermos flasks and sandwiches; preparations started several days before the great day, and the orphans were in a high state of excitement, the older ones allowed to help. The weather was splendid, the days warm and sunny, and although Megan found the sea breeze a bit much no one else appeared to notice it. On the morning of the picnic there was a constant stream of people going along the path through the dunes and up the wooden steps laden with covered trays and buckets, folding chairs and massive sunshades, buckets and spades for the children, beach balls and towels. Megan, bathing the babies, wondered if she would have a chance to go. She was off duty at three o’clock that day but it seemed unfair to leave Sine, who was doing the alternate duty with her, alone with the little ones. She broached the subject at midday dinner, taken early on account of the picnic, and was told that all the babies would be going to the beach too. ‘They will have had their feeds and the older ones will have their tea on the beach. We’ve got carrycots for the tinies.’ The other girl beamed at Megan. ‘I shall come on duty a little early and bring help so that we can all go together, you will see.’
Sure enough Sine, Anneke and several people Megan hadn’t met before arrived well before three o’clock and the business of packing the three small babies into carrycots and the older ones securely tucked under willing arms got under way. The older children had already gone down to the beach, pushing and shoving each other and screaming with delight, and now the nursery party began its careful journey. A gated staircase led from the balcony to the ground below and Megan, coming last with a peevish Jantje in his carrycot, bolted the gate behind her while Anneke, carrying Lise, waited for her.
‘The babies must return for their feed and supper at six o’clock,’ said Anneke. ‘I will come back with Sine—they will be cross by then and difficult.’
‘No, I’ll come,’ Megan told her. ‘You’re on duty at ten o’clock; it makes too long a duty for you and I’ve nothing to do this evening. I’d like to, really I would.’
The sand, when they reached it, was alive with children and the entire staff, although there was no sign of the directrice.
‘She comes presently,’ said Sine as they arranged the babies under the sunshades and settled the bigger ones on the sand to play. ‘I think it is good that Anneke sits with the cots and we will play with the older ones.’
The two oldest babies, Thomas and Wilma, were very nearly a year old, barefoot, and, armed with buckets and spades, Megan took them down to the water’s edge where the sand was firm and while Sine sprawled on the sands with Dirk and Nel, who were at the crawling stage, they played.
There was a lot of noise, but it was a nice noise of children being happy. Megan, kneeling on the damp sand, became absorbed in showing her small charges how to make sand pies. The sudden silence made her look up; coming down the wooden steps was the directrice, followed by several people. An elderly bearded man hard on her heels; an elegant lady, quite unsuitably dressed for the occasion; another younger lady, wearing what the fashion magazines would have described as casual wear of the most expensive kind, and behind her two men, Dr Timuss and the professor.
Some of the older children had joined Megan by now, anxious to add to the rather battered pies Thomas and Wilma were labouring over, so that she was well screened from all but the most searching gaze. Besides, she had prudently turned her back on th
e party now strolling amongst the children.
The professor had seen her at once although he made no move to seek her out, but presently the whole party, with the directrice leading, fetched up beside her and she had to scramble to her feet.
‘This is our English helper, who is filling Mien’s post while she is in Canada with her parents. She is a trained nurse and we are most fortunate to have her. Megan, these ladies and this gentleman are members of the board of directors of the orphanage. You know Professor van Belfeld, so I do not have to introduce you to him.’
Megan shook hands, smiled at Dr Timuss and said, ‘How do you do, Professor?’ her eyes on his tie, and was thankful that at that moment Thomas whacked Lise with his spade and created a diversion.
If she had hoped that everyone would go away she was mistaken. The directrice and the two ladies wandered off, following the bearded gentleman in earnest conversation with Dr Timuss, and that left the professor, who scooped Thomas tidily off the sand and said placidly, ‘The actual picnic is about to begin; bring Wilma along before all the cakes and ice-creams are eaten.’
There was nothing to do but go with him, still carrying Thomas, grizzling into his shoulder. The professor didn’t seem to mind the wet little face against his chin and the small damp sandy hands leaving patches on his suit. Megan, forgetting to be haughty, observed that the patches would leave seawater stains. ‘You’ll have to get that suit cleaned or it will be spoilt,’ she pointed out.
They were halfway up the beach and he stopped to look at her. ‘You sound like a good wife should sound but you look…’ he paused ‘…you don’t look like one.’
She said frostily, ‘Well, I don’t suppose I do.’ She couldn’t prevent her gaze from resting on the young lady in the casual outfit, sitting under an umbrella, sipping tea, looking cool and with not a crease to be seen on her pristine crispness. She looked away and caught the professor’s eye upon her. ‘Of course I don’t!’ she said snappily, aware that her hair was blowing all over the place and that her blue overall was no longer as clean as it might be. ‘Thank you for carrying Thomas; we’re going to have our tea with Sine and Dirk and Nel.’
The professor didn’t seem to have heard her. He deposited a now cheerful baby boy on the sand and folded his enormous length beside him, giving him a biscuit to eat and helping himself to a sandwich before starting a cheerful conversation with Anneke, and when Sine came she joined in as well so that Megan found herself one of a bunch of grown-ups and toddlers enjoying themselves on an early summer’s day. Not for long, though; the picnic would continue for an hour or two more but the babies would have to go back to the nursery. Megan glanced at her watch and then at Sine.
‘Shall we take the babies first and then one of us can come back for the others?’ They got to their feet and the professor got up too just as the younger lady sauntered across towards them.
‘Jake…’ she began coaxingly and Megan, all ears, deplored the fact that the Dutch language was still a mystery to her when it came to conversation.
He stood listening with a half-smile and then nodded his head. They were planning an evening together, decided Megan, her imagination running riot. She hoisted up the carrycot with Jantje, awake and bawling for his feed, and started for the steps. Sine was behind her with Lise and unexpectedly, the professor with the third infant—Paul—a stolid four-month-old boy, still happily asleep.
The nursery safely gained, she thanked him quietly, wished him goodbye and set about tucking in babies in their cots while Sine fetched their bottles. The professor wasn’t to be hurried, however; he asked gently, ‘So anxious to be rid of me, Megan?’ Then, when she didn’t reply, he enquired, ‘You find enough to do in your free time? I dare say you have made friends. Have you seen anything of Holland yet?’
She had Jantje on her lap while he bellowed. ‘Oh, yes, thank you, and I have made several friends, everyone is so kind…and I’ve explored Castricum and Alkmaar. I met Dr Timuss there and he kindly showed me the church…’
‘A sound young man,’ said the professor, at his most urbane.
He went away presently to return with Anneke and the first of the older children and this time Dr Timuss was with him—he popped Wilma into her cot and came over to stand by her while she fed a now content Jantje.
‘A splendid picnic, Megan. You enjoyed it? Are there any other babies who need to be looked at before we all go home?’
‘No, they’re all fine.’ She smiled at him. ‘It was a wonderful afternoon and the children simply loved it.’
‘A pity you won’t be here for Christmas. That is also an occasion, is it not, Professor?’
The professor agreed blandly and added, ‘I must be going; I’ve promised to take Juffrouw ter Mappel to Leiden.’
‘A charming lady. You do not return to England yet, Professor?’
‘Not just yet. Give me a ring about the new equipment you need, will you? There’s a directors’ meeting next week and I’ll see that you get it.’
The two of them went away, bidding a casual goodnight as they went.
‘So that’s that,’ muttered Megan to a replete and drowsy Jantje.
The two men paused on the landing outside the nursery to watch the first of the older children begin their reluctant straggling back to the orphanage.
‘Next year I’ll have my wife to help me,’ observed Dr Timuss. ‘She will be a great help here with the children…’
The professor turned to look at him. ‘You are to marry? I did not know. A recent engagement? Is your marriage to be soon?’
Dr Timuss, happily unaware of the truly ferocious look in his companion’s eyes, went on, ‘Next year—she will have to get used to life with a GP, but I’m sure she will settle down.’ He added boyishly, ‘I never thought, when we met, that she would have me.’
The professor was standing at the windowsill, his hands in his pockets, watching the children. ‘I must congratulate you and your bride and wish you both very happy.’
‘Thanks, Professor. Imogen will be coming to stay for a week very shortly—I do hope it will be before you go back to England…’
‘Imogen?’
‘A charming name, isn’t it? She’s a clever girl, too; she takes her finals in three months.’
‘I shall be delighted to meet her.’ Something in the professor’s voice made Dr Timuss look at him but his calm features were, if possible, calmer than ever, and his voice betrayed nothing of his feelings as he observed, ‘Well, I must go and find Juffrouw ter Mappel. Good night, Timuss. The picnic has been a success; it always is.’
He went on down the stairs and out into the grounds to meet Juffrouw ter Mappel as she crossed the grass. Megan, with Lise over one shoulder, bringing up her wind, stood at a window and watched them…
Off duty at last, she agreed with everyone else that it had been a marvellous day. ‘Do the directors always come?’ she wanted to know.
‘Of course but they do nothing, only Professor van Belfeld joins us and the children—he is a good man, for he pays for most of it too.’
‘The younger lady who came is very pretty,’ observed Megan, hoping to hear more about her.
‘Juffrouw ter Mappel?’ asked Sine. ‘She is a most handsome lady and very rich. She would I believe like to marry the professor but he does not look at her.’
With which grain of comfort Megan was forced to be content, although it didn’t prevent her from having a nice quiet cry once she was in bed.
On her next day off she went to Leiden. It was a place of great interest; she had been told its buildings were old and full of history. There were museums, its magnificent Sint Pieterskerk, the university, the street where Rembrandt was born, picturesque almshouses, and, added Anneke, very practically, there were some fine shops if she wished to buy presents to take home.
All of these sufficient reason to visit the historic town, although of course the one reason which really mattered was the fact that the professor, according to odd pieces of gossip she had understood, was lecturing at the medical school there. Not that she wished to meet him, Megan told herself, but it would be nice to see where he was working. She took an early morning train from Castricum and got to Leiden in nice time to sit in a small café drinking her coffee and watching the busy Breestraat before her. She had collected a leaflet from the VVV Office outside the station and now she turned her attention to it, deciding where she would go. Obedient to its advice, she inspected the Lakenhal, then went back to the Breestraat, intent on visiting the town hall. She would, she decided, do her sightseeing before lunch and devote the afternoon to buying presents to take home. After the town hall were the famous almshouses where she lingered, soothed to a quiet content by ageless beauty before she wandered on to the church, vast and lofty and timeless. It was well after noon by the time she left and there was still the Rapenburg Canal and the university to see. She decided to have a meal first and, primed by advice from some of the friends in the orphanage, she went to the pannekoekhuis where she ate a very large pancake filled with crisp bacon and drank more coffee before starting off again.
She took the opposite side of the canal to the university and as she approached it, looked cautiously across the water, reassured to see that there wasn’t a soul in sight. She was passing the Museum van Oudheden, a vast building which she mistakenly believed was sheltering her nicely just in case the professor should appear on the opposite side of the water, but there was still no sign of anyone and she lingered a moment; it was something she would want to remember, just as she wanted to remember everything to do with the professor.
