by Betty Neels
Life would have been dull if it hadn’t been for the fact that she went to work each day in the hope of seeing Marc. Of course, on his clinic days she was there with the rest of his team, but beyond his usual civil and cool greeting he didn’t speak to her unless it was something concerning her work. But that was better than nothing.
Watching him walk away after a businesslike session with his notes, she found it hard to believe that he was the same man who had taken her to see his family in Friesland. She must have annoyed him in some way, although she couldn’t think how. Of course, he had ruined a suit going into the canal that morning, but he could certainly afford to buy a new one, and as far as she knew he was satisfied with her work. She worried about it quite a lot.
Christmas, as it always did each year, loomed within a day or two after weeks of being a vague festival ages away. The doctor had a clinic on Christmas Eve, and there was no suggestion that anyone should opt out. He did concede that the clinic should start an hour earlier than usual and close down at four o’clock so that anyone concerned would have a chance to get away to wherever they were going. Serena prudently packed her case on Christmas Eve morning, saw to her room, apprised Mrs Peck of her absence for a couple of days, and went to work in good time. She was left alone in the morning so that her desk was cleared by the time the afternoon clinic started, and since it was so near Christmas there weren’t as many patients as usual. If the doctor had a spark of pity in him he would let her off the typing until she got back after Christmas...
The festive season appeared to leave him unmoved. The clinic wound its slow way through the afternoon and there were still two patients to see at four o’clock. Staff Nurse had been allowed to go because she was catching a train to York, but Sister was still there and so were the registrar and his houseman as well as two students. Serena, in her corner, sharpened another pencil and tried not to feel impatient. She hadn’t the time to get her ticket first, and if the queue at the booking office was very long she would miss her train and the next one as well. Beyond that she didn’t dare to think. The last patient went at quarter to five and the process of tidying up around the doctor, still writing busily at his desk, began.
Serena, resigned and cross, asked woodenly, ‘When would you like these notes, sir?’
‘When you return to work, will do, Serena.’ He glanced up briefly. ‘Are you going to your aunt’s by train?’
‘Yes.’
‘I have to go to Bristol tonight. Be ready by six o’clock and I’ll drop you off on my way. Have you got your train ticket?’
‘No!’ She put a great deal of ill temper into the word.
‘Good. You will have little chance of getting a train this evening without one; by the time you have bought it the last train will have left.’
‘What a good idea, sir,’ sighed Sister kindly. ‘What luck for you, Serena! Run along quickly and get home and get your things so you don’t keep the doctor waiting.’
Serena looked at the faces smiling at her, all except the doctor’s, of course. They all had something to say and they all urged her to get home fast as she could. There was really nothing she could do about it, although she longed to refuse him. She said quite meekly, ‘Thank you, sir, that is very kind of you.’ She glanced at him and saw his faintly mocking smile, and wished she hadn’t spoken. She gathered her things together, wished everyone a happy Christmas and hurried away to lock the notes in her desk and drag on her coat and race out of the hospital. Be ready by six o’clock, he had said in his arbitrary way, which gave her a little less than an hour.
She would have been ready for him when he knocked on her door, but Beauty had decided right at the last minute that a cat basket was the very last place in which she wished to be. She had retreated behind the little cooking stove and no amount of blandishments would budge her.
The doctor breezed in with, ‘Not ready?’ uttered in a tone which implied only too clearly that he hadn’t expected her to be anyway.
‘I’m quite ready,’ said Serena crossly, ‘but Beauty doesn’t like her basket.’
It was really most annoying when he called, ‘Puss, puss!’ in a beguiling voice, and Beauty scampered out at once and made no fuss at all when he picked her up and popped her into the basket.
‘You see?’ he said smugly.
‘Pooh!’ said Serena pettishly, and then, ‘I could have gone by train...’
‘So you could, provided you had caught Beauty in time, found a taxi, and bought a ticket before the last train had left.’
Which was true enough.
Traffic was light, as most people who were going away for Christmas had long since gone. The doctor went west out of the city, got on to the motorway and then the A303. The journey was just over a hundred miles, and a little over two hours later he was slowing down at the approach to Great Canning. During that time he had been a delightful companion, carrying on a vague conversation which was about nothing at all and never once showing the least interest in herself. Serena, sitting quietly beside him, wasn’t sure whether to be pleased about it or not.
‘I should think the vicarage is close to the church,’ she offered uncertainly as they drove into the main street and she glimpsed its tall spire, and sure enough just past the church a pleasant old house, its windows lighted, came into view. It stood back from the road with its gate, opening on to a short drive, wide open.
The doctor stopped before the door and she said quickly, ‘You’ll come in? My aunt and uncle will want to meet you if you can spare the time.’
‘I shall be delighted. At what time did they expect you?’
‘Well, about ten o’clock. I was going to get a taxi from Devizes...’
‘In that case, if you’d like to ring the doorbell I’ll collect your case and Beauty.’
Aunt Edith came to the door. She looked as stiff and proper as the letters she wrote, but her voice was warmly welcoming. ‘Serena, my dear child.’ She offered a cheek for Serena to kiss. ‘You’re early—you caught an earlier train?’
She caught sight of the doctor then, and Serena said, ‘This is Dr ter Feulen, who very kindly gave me a lift. He has to go to Bristol.’
Her aunt shook hands and peered at him through her spectacles. ‘How very kind! Do come in. You will have time for a cup of tea or coffee?’
He assured her gravely that he had, put the case down in the hall and handed Beauty in her basket to Serena.
Her aunt led the way into the sitting-room, comfortable and a little shabby but bright with flowers and a brisk fire. She said, slightly flustered, ‘Do take off your coats, I’ll put them in the hall. You must forgive me, I didn’t expect... That is, I had no idea you had a young man, Serena.’
Serena went a delicate shade of pink and the doctor, watching her, smiled. He said nothing, and it was left to her to answer as best she could.
‘Not my young man, Aunt Edith,’ she said in what she hoped was a perfectly natural voice. ‘Dr ter Feulen is a consultant at the Royal Hospital, and I do his typing. He—he just happened to be coming this way, and since I had Beauty and the trains are all over the place and I hadn’t got my ticket...’ She stopped, aware that she was making too much of the whole thing.
‘A perfectly natural mistake,’ said the doctor smoothly. ‘Serena is my right hand.’
Aunt Edith waved them to chairs and sat down herself. ‘You’re not a married man?’ she wanted to know.
If the doctor was taken aback at this remark he gave no sign. ‘Not at the moment, though I plan to marry very shortly.’
Aunt Edith nodded her head. ‘Doctors should be married men,’ she observed, ‘just as clergy should.’ She broke off as the door opened and her husband came in.
‘I heard voices,’ he said, and smiled at the room’s occupants. ‘I see that Serena has arrived—how delightful! When I saw you last, my dear, you w
ere a very little girl.’ He kissed her in an absent-minded fashion and turned to the doctor, who had got to his feet. ‘And you’re her young man?’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Aunt Edith, ‘but he’s not. This is Dr ter Feulen from the hospital where Serena works, and he has given her a lift.’
‘How very kind.’ He offered a hand. ‘You’ll stay the night?’
‘I regret I can’t do that—I have appointments this evening...’
‘In Bristol,’ said Serena, just to remind him.
‘I’ll get the coffee,’ observed her aunt, and shook her head at Serena’s offer of help, leaving her to sit there while the two gentlemen started an absorbing conversation about medieval churches. Serena listened to Marc giving as good as he got, tossing hagioscopes, dossal curtains and sedilia into the discussion and countering her uncle’s parclose screens, parvis stairs and naves with knowledgeable ease.
Serena sat there listening to these gems of architectural knowledge, her mouth slightly open, until the doctor caught her eye. ‘Your uncle has a church to be proud of,’ he told her. ‘Twelfth-century, and with such a history.’
‘I haven’t been here since I was a little girl,’ answered Serena coldly, ‘and I can’t remember the church.’
‘Ah, well,’ his voice held kind indulgence, ‘you will have an opportunity to refresh your memory.’
Her mumbled reply was overlooked as her aunt returned with the coffee-tray and a plate of mince pies.
The doctor had two cups of coffee and several mince pies before he got to his feet and expressed his thanks and good wishes for a happy Christmas. Then he said that he should be on his way. He shook hands with her aunt and uncle and they all went into the hall to see him off. His coat on and ready to go, he paused by the open door and before Serena could move out of his reach had kissed her. ‘I shall be here at eight o’clock on Boxing Day,’ he told her, and got into the car and drove away.
Her uncle closed the door and Aunt Edith said, ‘A very nice man, he must be splendid to work for,’ and then as they all went back into the sitting-room, ‘I dare say it’s the usual thing to kiss in modern times. We’re a little out of date here.’
Serena, all the good sense knocked out of her, pulled herself together. ‘It’s because it’s Christmas,’ she offered, and was relieved to see that her companions accepted her explanation. Only it wasn’t one she could accept herself. There was really no reason for Marc to kiss her with such—she hesitated for a word—enthusiasm seemed to fit. But whatever the reason, she had enjoyed it.
Marc, driving back the way he had come, bent on getting to the airfield where his chartered plane was waiting, had enjoyed it too. It was a pity he couldn’t have stayed on to see how Serena had reacted.
The airfield, some miles outside London, was an hour and a half’s drive, the plane was waiting for him, and he transferred himself and his luggage without loss of time, leaving the Bentley to be garaged until he returned.
‘Should be a good trip,’ the pilot told him. ‘You’ll be there by midnight—anyone to meet you at Leeuwarden?’
‘Yes. Do you fly back here tonight?’
The man grinned. ‘I’ve got a wife and kids. But I’ll be there on Boxing Day—don’t give yourself much of a break, do you?’
‘No—but it’s Christmas, worth making the effort.’
‘I bet you need it—a doctor, aren’t you? It’s in the book. Nod off if you’ve a fancy to do that—been hard at it all day, have you?’
‘You could say that, and I think I’ll take your advice.’ The doctor closed his eyes, but he didn’t go to sleep. He thought about Serena.
* * *
SHE WAS SITTING between her aunt and uncle, eating her supper. No one said anything more about Marc, which disappointed her, for she longed to talk about him, but she was questioned closely about her mother and her new husband and the circumstances leading to Serena having to find herself somewhere to live.
‘It’s not my business to criticise,’ said Aunt Edith, doing just that, ‘but surely there was sufficient money from the sale of your father’s house to allow you to buy a small flat. As you know, child, your mother and I never got on, and if I speak plainly you must forgive me. I can only hope that you are comfortably situated. Park Street sounds pleasant enough.’ Her eye fell on Beauty, sitting as good as gold on the carpet. ‘And having that dear little kitten for company must make your flat homelike.’
Serena agreed, having no wish to disillusion her companions about the pleasantness of Park Street or the homely sphere of her room. They were dears, their view of life quite different from hers, but they were anxious to make her happy. Uncle Edgar, tall and thin and stooping, had accepted her as well as Aunt Edith.
They went back to the sitting-room after they had helped Mrs Hiscock, the family help, to clear the table, and presently Aunt Edith suggested that Serena might like to go to bed. ‘For you will want to go to church with me in the morning. Your uncle will have the midnight service later, but you must be too tired for that.’
‘I’d like to come with you, if I may. It’s the nicest service of Christmas, and I’m not a bit tired.’
It was the start of a lovely Christmas. They came back at one o’clock in the morning to hot cocoa and more mince pies, and Serena slept dreamlessly in the nice old room with the creaking floorboards and a fearful draught from its old warped windows. The bed was cosy and someone had put a hot-water bottle in it.
Uncle Edgar had to take the early morning service, and she got up to help her aunt tidy the house before he came back for his breakfast, since Mrs Hiscock wouldn’t be coming. They went to church again for matins and had their Christmas dinner at three o’clock, at which time they opened their presents. Uncle Edgar had given her a book token and Aunt Edith had knitted her a thick cardigan. She was glad that she had splashed out on the presents she had bought for them—a pretty shawl for her aunt and a combined diary and notebook for her uncle. They pulled crackers, ate their turkey and Christmas pudding and drank a glass of port the vicar produced, before washing up and then going to sit round the fire comfortably doing nothing. Serena, who had been dreading Christmas, discovered that she was enjoying herself, and sitting there with her somnolent companions on either side of the fireplace, she had the leisure to think about Marc. She didn’t know about Christmas in Holland, but surely his family would have gathered together. But he had gone to Bristol. She allowed her thoughts to become exaggerated, thinking of him in the bosom of some family whose daughter he was going to marry. It was a relief when her aunt suggested that they might have a cup of tea.
Aunt Edith, never one to beat about the bush, wanted to know what Serena’s mother had sent her for Christmas.
‘Well,’ said Serena, ‘I rather think she may have forgotten that it’s Christmas. You see, it’s more or less summer there, isn’t it, so there won’t be anything to remind her...’
Aunt Edith snorted in a well-bred fashion. ‘It is December the twenty-fifth all over the world,’ she pointed out severely, ignoring her husband’s gentle remarks about latitude and longitude and differences in time.
‘I expect there will be something when I get back,’ said Serena, anxious to avoid the penetrating questions her aunt fired at her.
Aunt Edith had a thirst for knowledge. ‘This nice doctor who gave you a lift here—do you know him well? You work for him, so presumably you must have close contact with him?’
‘Well, in a way, yes. But I quite often don’t see him for several days—he leaves work for me, and little notes, and of course the clinics happen fairly often, and then I just sit and take shorthand notes about the patients, and afterwards I type them and he signs them.’ She paused. ‘He is really very nice to work for.’
Her voice had taken on a warmth she hadn’t realised. Her aunt gave her a sharp look and gave another prod in se
arch of more information.
‘You are fortunate, Serena. I dare say he gives you a lift home if you’re late?’
Serena fell into the trap without thinking. ‘Oh, yes, and when he got me out of the canal he took me to his home and his housekeeper looked after me—she was so kind, even though he wasn’t there, and when he got back he drove me back to Park Street.’
Aunt Edith digested this rapidly. ‘You fell into the canal?’
‘Well, no, not quite—you see, there was a woman who had fallen in—and I went to help, and he got us both out.’
Aunt Edith knew when to stop. ‘How very fortunate that he was at hand,’ she commented, and went on vaguely, ‘London must be such a busy place. It is years since we were there.’
So they talked about that, and the doctor wasn’t mentioned again.
Boxing Day—St Stephen’s Day—had its quota of church services, but her aunt suggested that a good walk would do Serena more good than going to church, and she was packed off in the kindest way possible to go to Roundway Down, the scene of the Royalist victory over the Roundheads in the middle of the seventeenth century. It was a mile away from the village, and Serena enjoyed the walk there and back. It was a bleak day, but even in midwinter the country looked beautiful in a quiet, sleepy way.
It was later that day, after they had washed up lunch and gone to sit by the fire in the sitting-room while her uncle went to his study, that Aunt Edith said suddenly, ‘You’re not happy, are you, Serena? Were you upset when your mother married again?’
