by Betty Neels
‘Nothing.’ She had thought her voice sounded as it always did. ‘I dare say I’m tired.’
‘Then go to bed. I shall want you in Outpatients at eight o’clock the day after tomorrow.’
‘Very well, Doctor. Goodnight.’
His ‘goodnight’ was terse before he hung up.
Her mother asked without much interest, ‘Who was that? The doctor? Did you tell him about me?’
‘No, Mother. Where will you be married?’
‘Oh, at the local register office. I’ve bought the sweetest outfit—pearl-grey wool with such a pretty blouse. You’ll come, of course...’
‘When is it to be?’
‘Next week—Thursday. We shall drive straight to Ludlow. Isn’t it exciting, darling?’ Mrs Proudfoot became faintly accusing. ‘Of course you don’t understand what I’ve suffered, living here all alone doing the shopping and the housework and the cooking...’
‘But, Mother, I’ve been living here too...’ She almost added, And I’ve done most of the shopping and cleaning and cooking.
‘Oh, I know that, but you’ve had an interesting job and met young men and women of your own age.’ Mrs Proudfoot was getting rapidly crosser. ‘Though much good it’s done you—you’ve never once brought anyone back here. Oh, I know Dr ter Feulen came, but you’re hardly his type. I dare say he’s able to take his pick of pretty girls.’
Serena agreed silently to this, but all she said, in a soothing voice, was, ‘Are there going to be many guests at the wedding?’
‘Oh, friends—Arthur has no immediate family, thank goodness, and nor have we, only your father’s elder sister, who hates me anyway.’
‘Aunt Edith? She’s actually married to the rector of a village in Dorset, isn’t she?’
‘Great Canning. I haven’t heard from them since your father died.’
Serena decided it wasn’t the right moment to tell her mother that Aunt Edith wrote to her from time to time. Stiff letters without much news, but at least she had kept in touch, and Serena had answered them.
Her mother yawned. ‘I shall go to bed. I’m quite exhausted, but Arthur insisted on taking me out to dinner.’ She dropped a kiss on Serena’s cheek. ‘Bring me some warm milk when I’ve had my bath, darling. I must keep my strength up for another busy day tomorrow,’ she added in a satisfied voice. ‘I’m almost certain that man is going to buy the house.’
Serena went to the kitchen and fetched the milk for her mother from the fridge and poured it into a saucepan. It was a good thing she had something to do, for she seemed unable to think sensibly. She remembered that her mother hadn’t asked her about her journey or shown any interest in her trip to Leeuwarden. She smiled a little then. It must seem very unimportant to her mother with such an upheaval taking place. She carried the milk upstairs, locked the door and closed the windows, then went to her own bed. She hadn’t realised she was cold. She lay in a hot bath, making herself review the situation sensibly. Tomorrow would be a busy day. There would be her clothes to press, blouses to wash and iron, her hair to wash too. She mustn’t lose sight of her job, it merited a neat appearance at all times and she couldn’t risk slacking in any way. Her mother had talked about a flat, but she would never be able to afford the rent of even a modest place. It would have to be a furnished flatlet or something similar. Perhaps she would be able to take some of the smaller furniture with her and store the rest if her mother didn’t want it.
She got into bed and lay thinking. It was no good worrying about the more distant future, the thing was to find somewhere quickly and hang on to her job. Her mother hadn’t suggested that she should find work near Ludlow, and even if she had Serena would have refused, for that would mean that she would never see Marc again. She smiled to herself in the dark, remembering her day at his home; just for a moment her thoughts were happy, and she closed her eyes and went to sleep in the middle of them.
* * *
SHE WAS UP early and breakfasted alone, for as her mother sleepily pointed out when she took her a cup of tea, ‘As you’re home, darling, you might spoil me a little. I should love my breakfast in bed.’
Serena had tidied the house, washed her smalls and was pressing her skirt when the prospective buyer arrived. He was pleasant and very polite and businesslike, and he had made up his mind. He went over the house again, pronounced it just what he and his wife were looking for and said that he would go at once to his solicitor. Mrs Proudfoot, over the coffee Serena had made, pressed him for a date. ‘I’m remarrying,’ she told him prettily, ‘and I should be so glad to have the matter settled before we leave here.’
The man glanced at Serena. ‘Your daughter is going with you?’
‘No, oh, no—she has a marvellous job at one of the hospitals here, we shall find her a nice little flat.’ She spoke with such conviction that Serena believed her. There would be enough money to buy something modest; the house was being sold for a substantial sum.
When the man had gone she asked, ‘Had I better start flat-hunting, Mother? Shall we go together?’
‘I’m going out to lunch with Arthur—he’ll be here in half an hour. You go by all means, darling, see if you can find somewhere that you can afford out of your salary.’
‘To buy? Mother, you know I’ve almost no money of my own, I couldn’t afford a mortgage.’ She went on quietly, ‘I heard you telling that man you were going to buy me a flat...’
‘Did I? I was too excited to know what I was saying. I’ve talked it over with Arthur; he thought we ought to get somewhere for you, but I pointed out how independent you were. You’d much rather have a rented place of your own, wouldn’t you, darling? Then if you want to move or get another job, you could do so easily. You can have any of the small furniture—the big stuff will all go with the house. You’ve ample time to find something—it’ll be a while before they can take over. Of course you can stay here until then unless you find something in the meantime.’ She sighed. ‘Darling, do stop fussing about yourself! I have so much to think of, and that’s Arthur at the door now and I’m not ready.’
She hurried up to her room, and Serena opened the door and invited Mr Harding in. He was a nice man, easygoing to a fault, but kind. He asked about her work, and since from what he said she gathered that he imagined that her future had been nicely settled, she forbore from mentioning it. Once she was alone in the house she sat down with pencil and paper. Writing everything down might help her to make sensible plans—as it was, the half-baked ideas running round and round in her head were useless, for all she was really thinking about was Marc. She wouldn’t tell him, that was something she was quite sure of. She wrote it down and underlined the note before making a list of the likely streets near the hospital. Without help she would have to settle for a flatlet or even a bed-sitter. Her salary was quite good now and she had a little money in the bank, but there was the future to think of. Marc might go back to Holland and it might be difficult to get another job. The very idea sent her heart plummeting.
Over a pot of tea she decided what to do and not waste time about it. It was nearly lunchtime and the buses were almost empty; she caught one that stopped close to the hospital and began to search for somewhere to live.
She ignored the shabbier streets close to the hospital and turned her attention to the small side streets, most of them culs-de-sac, lined with tall houses with basements and from the number of bells beside their doors occupied by several occupants. Quite forgetful of lunch, she walked up and down each street. Any one of them would do—within ten minutes’ walk of the hospital, as quiet a neighbourhood as one could expect in that part of London and a shopping street close by. Only there was nothing vacant. She made her way to the shops and studied the cards in a newsagent’s window. It was a nice surprise to find several vacancies in the streets she had explored. She studied them carefully and chose one that might do. For one thing, it
mentioned the fact that it was close to the hospital, which might mean that the other occupants were nurses or staff from the Royal, and the description, even taken with a pinch of salt, sounded possible. A large room at the back of the house with use of the garden, partly furnished with kitchenette and shower. The rent would take a good deal of her salary, but it might be worth that; it was going to be her home, after all.
She had a cup of coffee and a sandwich in a small café next to the newsagent’s, then walked briskly to the rather inaptly named Primrose Bank in Park Street. There wasn’t a park within miles either.
There were several bells, and since she had no idea which one to ring she thumped the knocker. The door was opened with something of a flourish by a tall thin woman who could have been any age between forty and sixty. She had a forbidding cast of feature, but she was nicely dressed in a nondescript fashion and her voice, although brisk, was quiet.
‘Yes? You want to see me? I own the house—Mrs Peck.’ She stood aside.
‘You have a flatlet, Mrs Peck?’ began Serena. ‘Is it still to let?’
For answer she was waved into the hall, which was long and narrow and rather dark. ‘This way.’ Mrs Peck walked rapidly to the back of the hall and opened a door. There were a few steps beyond it and another door. ‘Semi-basement,’ she said over her shoulder as she opened it.
It was a good deal better than Serena had hoped for, with two windows overlooking a rather neglected strip of garden and a stout door beside them. The room was rather dark, but the walls were distempered and it was very clean. The kitchenette, poky and dark, was spotless too, with a small sink and an even smaller cooking stove. The shower was an elongated cupboard but adequate. Serena walked slowly round, looking at the furniture; bare necessities, a divan against one wall, a small table, two chairs and some bookshelves. Mrs Peck said with a touch of belligerence, ‘The advert says partly furnished.’
‘I’ve some small bits of furniture—you wouldn’t mind if I had it here? I work at the Royal, they’ll give you a reference...’
‘Don’t need one. I’ve got three nurses in the first-floor flat. It’s weekly paid in advance and you pay your own gas. The electric lights come in the rent.’
‘Can I use the garden? There is a way to the street from here?’
‘Yes, but it’s kept locked—can’t have prowlers. You’re on your own?’
‘Yes. Would you object to a cat if I got one later on?’
‘Not that I know of, as long as it keeps to itself.’
‘Then I’d like to come, Mrs Peck. I’m not sure when I’m moving. May I pay you a week’s rent now and arrange for all my things to be delivered some time within a week?’
‘Suits me.’
Serena went back home and found the house empty. She was hungry and a bit excited, and once she had made herself a meal of sorts she took pencil and paper once more and went round the house, choosing what she hoped her mother would let her take with her. That done, she went and sat down, no longer thinking of the day’s happenings but of Marc. He would be home, she supposed, and she wondered where home was. A flat in one of those expensive blocks on the other side of London? A house? He wouldn’t need a house just for himself, but could he bear to live in a flat, however large, after the spacious comfort of his home in Friesland?
‘What a waste of time,’ she told the empty room, ‘worrying about him; he’s more than capable of looking after himself and getting what he wants, and it’s me I should be worrying about.’ Which, though erring in grammar, was right.
It was late evening when her mother returned. Serena heard the car stop outside the house, but Mr Harding didn’t come in this time. Her mother had had a splendid day; she went over every detail of it, and only when she had exhausted every aspect of it did she ask perfunctorily, ‘And you, darling? Have you had fun?’
‘I’ve rented a flatlet near the Royal—in Park Street. Quite nice, and it opens on to the back garden. It’s partly furnished...’
‘Oh, good. You must choose a few bits and pieces from here, Serena. When do you plan to move?’
‘As soon as the things I choose can be collected and delivered. Will you miss me, Mother?’ She hadn’t meant to dwell on that.
‘Miss you? Well, of course I shall, darling, but you must come and see us when you have a holiday, and of course we shall come up to town from time to time. You must be very excited at the idea of having a place of your own.’
Serena told herself that her mother didn’t mean to be unkind or thoughtless—perhaps she really did think that living in a poky room on one’s own was fun. ‘I made a list,’ she said, ‘if you would take a look?’
She watched her mother scan the list. ‘Darling, you do want a lot, don’t you? Still, I suppose you can have them, they’re not worth much. Don’t take the good china, though, will you? It’s quite valuable, and there’s that little man in the antique shop in Richmond who’ll give me a good price for it.’
Serena said, ‘Very well, Mother,’ in a colourless voice. All these years, she reflected with surprise, I’ve done my best to look after her and love her, and it hasn’t meant a thing to her. I’d feel better about it if I were younger and pretty. She gave herself a mental shake. She was a sensible girl and she despised self-pity. Probably life would be quite exciting once she had settled into Primrose Bank. She said out loud, ‘I shall get a cat—’
Her mother laughed. ‘Oh, Serena, old maids have cats!’
Serena said cheerfully. ‘But I am an old maid, Mother. Now could you tell me about the wedding? I’ll get time off to come.’
‘Two o’clock at the Richmond Register Office and, afterwards, Richmond Hill Hotel, just for a drink and to cut the cake before we leave.’
Surely the doctor wouldn’t object to her having a few hours off in the afternoon? She could stay late if there was a lot to do... It was quite a journey from the Royal. She would have to take the Underground, her lunch hour was one o’clock, so all she needed were three hours tacked on to that. She remembered suddenly that she hadn’t given her mother a wedding present, and she would have to arrange for the things she had chosen to be collected.
* * *
THERE WAS NO time for that the next morning. She got to the hospital with only minutes to spare and was sitting at her desk, a bit breathless, when Mrs Dunn poked her head round the door of the little room Serena had been given to work in. ‘Back, are you?’ she asked needlessly. ‘Did he work you hard? Miss Payne was always exhausted.’
‘I worked hard, but I’m not tired, Mrs Dunn.’
‘Well, that’s a good thing—he’s got a backlog of work from here to there. He’s got an extra Outpatients’ this morning, you’re to be there by half-past eight.’ Her eye sought the clock on the wall. ‘It’s twenty past eight now.’
‘So it is,’ agreed Serena gravely. Mrs Dunn had an aptitude for stating the obvious. ‘I’ll be there. Mrs Dunn, I’d like the afternoon of Thursday week off—will that be all right with you if I get Dr ter Feulen’s permission?’
‘Suits me—you don’t work for anyone else but him. He won’t be best pleased—he likes everyone to be at his beck and call.’
That, thought Serena, was only too true. She would have to go to the wedding whatever he said. He would, however, she hoped, be in a good temper.
Good temper, for the moment at any rate, had eluded the doctor. He greeted her cheerful good morning with a rumbling grunt which might have been anything in any language. Later, at the end of a long morning, he strode away, uttering no more than his punctilious thanks to those who had been working with him.
Something would have to be done about that, thought Serena, skipping down to the canteen to devour mince, potatoes and unspecified greens. ‘And you’re lucky to get that,’ declared the cross-faced woman who served her, ‘coming late like this—you ought to know better.’
‘Try telling that to Dr ter Feulen,’ said Serena, her mouth full.
She typed without pause until five o’clock, and, when the porter’s lodge phoned to tell her that she was to hand in her work to Sister’s office on Men’s Surgical since Dr ter Feulen would be there, she sat down and composed a note requesting a free afternoon on Thursday week for urgent family reasons. She clipped it to the top of her typing and took it downstairs, and just to be on the safe side in case he should be there and think of something else he wanted done, she put on her outdoor things.
He was there, squashed in with Sister, his registrar and a pile of notes, busy writing what Serena had no doubt were sapient instructions which no one would be able to decipher without the aid of a magnifying glass and a medical dictionary.
She laid the papers down on the desk, wished everyone good evening and whisked herself away. By the morning he would have had time to read it and have got used to the idea.
She had reached the entrance when he fetched up beside her, breathing normally, although he must have gone like the wind. She had overlooked the fact that he was a very large man with long legs; he probably knew some short cuts too. She pretended that he wasn’t there and put out a hand to push the door open. He took the hand in his and gave it back to her.
‘What’s all this?’ His voice was so mild that she prepared herself for an argument.
‘Is it not clear?’ she asked politely. ‘I would like an afternoon off on Thurs—’
‘I can read that. Why?’
‘Urgent family business.’
She glanced at him and saw that he expected a reason. Family business, after all, could be anything from a grandmother’s funeral to failure to pay the rates. She said gently, ‘I hardly think it would interest you, Doctor; a family wedding.’
Just for a moment the look on his face baffled her, but it had gone again, smoothed into his usual blandness. ‘Yours?’
‘Certainly not!’
‘Take the afternoon off by all means.’ He held the door open for her. ‘There will probably be a backlog of work when you get back.’
