by Betty Neels
Julia, extremely cross, flounced into the office, thumped the notes on to her desk and sat down. But she couldn’t gloom for long; Pat came in with the coffee tray, remarking cheerfully that the professor had seemed to be more wintry than usual. ‘Rumour has it that he’s getting married soon—I pity his poor wife. He looked as though he wanted to tear you apart.’
She poured their coffee. ‘I’ve sent the two students to coffee. Nurse Fell’s on the ward with the second year nurse. They’re tidying up.’
Julia nodded absently. What had she done to merit the black looks and chilly manner? The answer popped into her head almost at once. He’d been to Holland and had a row with his fiancée, perhaps because he may have told her that he had entertained his ward sister at his home for no valid reason. Julia’s cheeks grew hot at the very idea. Well, serve him right if the girl had given him the sharp edge of her tongue; she would have done the same. She felt real sympathy for her; she might love the wretched man to distraction herself, but that was neither here nor there; she had no right to him and this girl had. ‘I’ll not go to Holland,’ she muttered out loud.
Pat asked in surprise, ‘Holland? Were you thinking of going there?’
Julia said hurriedly: ‘Oh, I had some idea—but I don’t think I will.’ She was losing her grip if this was what love did to you, the quicker she put several hundred miles between her and Lauris the better. Pat was still looking questioningly at her.
‘It would be too near Christmas, I’d only have four or five days when I got back…’
‘But that’s heaps of time. We could get time ward presents before you go—it’ll be easier for one thing, and if you make out the lists for the food and so on, I can hand them in while you’re away. If you know what you’d like for decorations this year, we can get some of the convalescent ladies to make a start. You know how they always enjoy that.’
It was all being made so easy for her. Julia took a sip of coffee. ‘Well, yes, it could be done, I suppose. Even if I don’t go, we might get the presents bought. We’d better pick on something cheerful this year. The ward’s full of patients who won’t be going home for several weeks and there are bound to be more in before Christmas.’
‘Why don’t we have tulips and windmills and Dutch figures. A compliment to the professor. I’ve just thought, Sister, do you want to collect for a wedding present?’
Julia went a little pale, but her voice was steady enough. ‘Well, that’s a difficulty—I mean are we supposed to know that he’s getting married? He’s never told us,’ the pallor became pink, ‘I mean not officially. He might be peeved, thinking his private life had been invaded.’
Pat took another biscuit. ‘I bet he’s quite something—away from this place, I mean. A bit old, of course.’
A hot denial was on Julia’s lips, repressed just in time. Of course, from Pat’s youthful twenty-two, he must seem almost middle-aged. But just right for me, said Julia silently to herself, and really she must try and stop thinking nonsense like that and remember that poor trusting girl in Holland. She frowned into her mug. Although the professor had done nothing he need be ashamed of; it was natural to be on good terms with the people one worked with added to the fact that a sensible girl wouldn’t object to that. She knew she herself would mind very much, she was astonished how het up she got at the very thought of the professor taking any other woman out, however harmlessly. But he wouldn’t of course, not without telling her so. She became a little muddled in her thinking and was quite startled when Pat asked, ‘Shall I get old Mrs Drew out of bed? Half an hour, Professor van der Wagema said, didn’t he?’
Julia dragged her thoughts away from her own affairs and concentrated on Mrs Drew. ‘Yes, I’ll come with you, just in case she starts something…’
They walked into the ward together and spent the next ten minutes coaxing the old lady to sit in a chair. She had been very ill and so sure that she was going to die, that she refused to accept the professor’s assurances that she had several useful years ahead of her provided she played her part.
‘Just while we make your bed,’ cajoled Julia, and lifted her patient into the chair waiting for her. And after half an hour lifted her back, just in time for her dinner. ‘There, that wasn’t too bad, was it?’ asked Julia. ‘And Professor van der Wagema will be so pleased when he comes next week.’
She sailed down the ward to the dinner trolley and began to dole out diets. Diabetics, fat frees, high proteins, low residues; there were never more than half a dozen patients eating a normal plateful. She, who ate everything and anything with a healthy appetite, pitied the recipients of steamed fish and creamed chicken, so many ounces of ham and a precise cube of bread. She took trouble to arrange the food nicely on the plates and made sure that it was hot. The nurses who worked for her liked her, but agreed among themselves that when it came to meal times on the ward she could be something of a martinet.
Before she went off duty that evening, she gathered all the nurses in her office while Pat kept an eye on the ward, so that she could explain about Christmas and the preparations involved. ‘Staff and I will shop for patients’ presents quite soon, perhaps next week, and if any of you have some ideas about what to buy do please tell me. We wondered if we had a Dutch scene for decorations this year—we can get some of the patients on to making paper flowers and if any of you can draw and paint we could do with a few windmills and Dutch girls in clogs. Do you like the idea?’
They chorused agreement and she promised to have another meeting after the presents were bought. ‘For I’ll want volunteers to wrap parcels,’ she warned them. ‘I shan’t get much money from the office so keep ideas down to round about a pound for each patient!’ It would mean digging into her own pocket, of course, it always did, but she didn’t mind that, there would be small gifts for the nurses too and something extra for Pat who was hoping to get engaged in a few months. And food—the hospital supplied the basics but she would buy the extras. The professor, in time-honoured custom, provided them with drinks and as always, would hand her something impersonal like a handsome diary, which she never used—or a note case, or occasionally, a book token. And she and the nurses in their turn would give him something equally impersonal. He’d had a pen last year—perhaps a propelling pencil. He must have dozens; hers wasn’t the only ward where he had patients—there were Women’s Medical, Children’s, Out Patients, Private Patients, all in honour bound to exchange something useless with him.
She went off duty and over her supper made several lists in her neat handwriting. There was really not all that hurry to do them, but they kept her busy, and if she was busy she didn’t think about Lauris, at least not so much. But lists couldn’t last for ever. Once she was in bed her thoughts centred on him. And the more she thought the crosser she became. There he was, spending a day with her on the friendliest of terms, and being utterly charming and yet this morning he had behaved as though he had no interest in her whatsoever, other than as his ward sister.
She gave Wellington’s ears a tweak. ‘I shall not go to Holland,’ she told him firmly.
She was still of the same mind the next morning, and indeed throughout the day, buoyed up by sad, romantic thoughts in which Lauris appeared most satisfactorily as a man shaken by remorse, begging her pardon in a most abject fashion while she turned her back on St Anne’s and took a job in some Godforsaken spot thousands of miles away. The sensible side of her mind told her that she was indulging in silly daydreams more suited to a teenager but since she was deriving some comfort from these, she chose in ignore common sense for once. Even a night’s sleep didn’t quite dispel them and she went on duty the next day, ready to be brought out when she had a moment to herself. Not that there were many moments. Pat had a weekend and there was more than enough to keep her busy but there was a lull after lunch, while the patients had their visitors and the nurses were doing odd jobs in the linen room or the sluice with one eye on the ward. She herself would go out presently and walk through the ward so
that friends and relations could buttonhole her and ask questions. But it was too early for that; she began on the paper work and had her head bent over the off duty list when the door opened and the professor walked in.
It annoyed her very much that she should colour up so easily. She said coldly: ‘You wanted to see someone, sir?’ and she stood up.
‘You, Julia.’ He put out a hand and pushed her gently back into her chair.
Her eyes glinted greenly. She said quite unforgivably, for no Sister would speak to a senior consultant in such a fashion: ‘I’m busy.’
He sat himself down on the edge of the desk and bent over to see her lists; she had been doodling too—a dog, very like Digby and a pair of cats. She snapped the books shut and laid them precisely over her drawings, then looked up at him.
He picked out the off-duty book without haste, opened it at the page she had been writing in, took out his pen and scrawled something across it.
‘Well, really,’ said Julia, much affronted and snatched the book to see what he’d written. Under the week beginning December 17th he had written ‘holidays’ beside her name. ‘In any case, I have decided not to go.’
‘Yes, I thought that you might, that’s why I came, though heaven knows it’s most inconvenient. Tell me why aren’t you coming?’
It was difficult to put into words. She sat silent for a few moments staring down at the off-duty book—she would have to tear the page out. At length she said slowly, ‘I did mean to come with you all—I wanted to meet your fiancée,’ a lie if ever there was one, but it sounded right, somehow. ‘But I think it wouldn’t do. One day I’m Julia and—and we’re friends, and then the next morning…’ She sighed deeply without knowing it, ‘I thought that we aren’t friends at all—when you did the round you looked at me as though you could not stand the sight of me—very austere and horribly polite you were, looking down your long nose.’
‘What would you say if I came on to the ward and said “Hullo, Julia” and kissed the top of your delightful nose and suggested that I came round for coffee later that evening?’
She was horrified. ‘You wouldn’t—I’d want the floor to open and swallow me.’
He said silkily: ‘There’s your answer, Julia.’ Then his voice was stern, ‘So you will come with us, let us have no more prissy nonsense.’
‘Prissy,’ she almost choked over the word. ‘For two pins I’d…’
‘No, no, don’t start again.’ He laughed a little. ‘Do you find me very tiresome, Julia?’
‘Yes—no. I’m sure it makes no difference what I think.’ She said peevishly.
‘No, it doesn’t.’ He got up. ‘I’m on my way to see Nicky, he’ll be delighted that you will be joining us. I’ll let you know the details in good time.’ At the door he turned. ‘Do you still think of Longman?’
He’d already asked her that, she remembered. ‘Yes, but it doesn’t matter anymore.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll be in on Tuesday as usual, unless something urgent turns up.’
Julia sat at her desk, her lists forgotten, going over everything he had said. She didn’t feel any wiser.
And certainly she had no further clue on Tuesday; the round went precisely as it always did. The professor was politely aloof but everlastingly patient with the twenty-four women under his care, behaving just as he always did, only after ten minutes’ polite conversation over coffee when he had finished, did he turn and smile at Julia from the door. It was a smile to melt her insides, tender, amused, and faintly wicked.
She had planned to go home on the following weekend but before then she had an afternoon off duty and since Pat had a half day, they chose to go shopping. Their lists had been carefully compiled; the nurses had been helpful, it was just a question of finding the things on the list and buying them. Between them they were more or less successful, even after a quick cup of tea there was half an hour to spare. Dick Reed was easy; he was a great reader when he had the time and the latest thriller was on the book shelves. It remained for them to think of something for the professor.
‘Something for his home?’ suggested Pat, ‘I mean, if he’s going to get married he might be glad of some ornaments…’
Julia, remembering the rare porcelain and lovely old silver in the drawing room, thought not. ‘We gave him a diary last year, didn’t we? And the year before that it was a pen. Look, we’ve still got half an hour if we take a taxi back. Let’s try in Liberty’s.’
Ten minutes later, in the picture department, she stopped in front of a small water colour. It depicted a canal, peaceful between water meadows, with a windmill in the distance, a few trees and cows grazing peacefully. It was exactly right, simple and without the touch of genius but it would find a place on the professor’s walls and wouldn’t look out of place. The price was shocking, but Pat, unaware of it’s cost, agreed that it was perfect.
‘It’s a bit more than we meant to pay,’ said Julia carefully, ‘but we could give it to him as a wedding present, couldn’t we, as well as something for Christmas.’
‘What a good idea. Shall I take it to the cash desk?’
‘No, I’ll take it while you get some of that wrapping paper and some labels.’
It was ridiculous to spend so much money, she would have to go without the new sweater she had planned to buy to take to Holland, and she would have to get something for Nicholas too.
She went home at the weekend, to find Nicholas there, delighted to see her. Of his father there was no sign, and no one mentioned him until she did, while she was out in the paddock, grooming Star and Jane.
‘I expect you’ll see more of your father when you’re holidaying?’ she observed, carefully casual.
‘Oh, rather, he’s in Holland this weekend, otherwise he’d have been down to see me. He comes whenever he can, only he said this was an important family matter, to do with him getting married, he said.’
‘Oh, yes?’ said Julia faintly. ‘I expect you’re looking forward to having a mother?’
‘You bet I am.’ He lifted one of Jane’s hooves and inspected it carefully. ‘Did you like our home? Father told me you’d spent a day there.’
‘Oh, did he?’ Julia made a great effort to stay casual. ‘Yes, I thought it was quite super. And I loved the animals.’
The boy beamed at her. ‘Smashers aren’t they? But I like Wellington too.’
The talk veered towards cats and dogs and horses and the professor wasn’t mentioned again. Julia wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or sorry about that.
The professor did his usual round on Tuesday without, however, vouchsafing any information about his absence. Not that she had expected any. They exchanged the usual small talk over coffee and she watched his large frame disappear down the corridor with some annoyance…she had hardly expected him to discuss his weekend with her, but he could have mentioned Nicholas; he must have known that she had been with the boy over the weekend. She got on with the day’s work feeling put out and headachy. The headache got worse as the day wore on and by the evening when she got to the flat, she knew she was in for a cold.
She spent the next day fighting it off and then, urged by Pat, she took to her bed, crawling out of it to see to Wellington, make endless pots of tea, and take another dose of panadol.
It was midday on the second day when there was a knock on the door and in answer to her gruff come in, the professor entered.
Julia took one look at him, closed her eyes, and said weakly. ‘Oh, no…’
He put his case down on the table and came to sit on the edge of the divan. ‘My poor girl. Pat told me you were off sick.’ He took her wrist and checked her pulse and studied her face with its red nose and puffy eyes. ‘When did you last eat?’ he asked.
‘Ugh,’ muttered Julia. ‘I’m not hungry.’
He got off the bed and went to open his case. ‘Take these now…’ He fetched water and watched while she swallowed pills obediently. ‘And now a cup of tea and then food. Is there any soup in your cupboard?�
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‘Yes, but please don’t bother, I’m not hungry; I’ll get something presently.’
He took no notice at all, she could have saved her breath. She sat in bed watching him dealing with the soup, making the tea and then because he was fussing, feeding Wellington. She drank her tea and then, reluctantly, the soup.
‘Every drop,’ said the professor inexorably and when she had finished fetched a basin, added drops to boiling water, draped a towel over her head, and bade her inhale the fumes until he told her she could stop.
‘Bully,’ muttered Julia, and heard him laugh.
‘I’ll have you up on your feet if it kills me,’ he told her. ‘Why in heaven’s name didn’t you get your doctor?’
Her voice came muffled from under the towel. ‘You are my doctor.’ She sneezed. ‘The nursing staff are allowed the consultants you know.’ She sneezed again. ‘Don’t tell me you weren’t aware of that.’
‘Of course, I’m aware. Recollect if you can that doctors don’t usually offer their services until they are requested.’
She lifted a corner of the towel. ‘Then why are you here? I don’t want a doctor for a cold in the head.’
‘No, but Women’s Medical need Sister back on duty.’
‘I’ll be back tomorrow.’
‘You dare.’ His voice was equable and at the same time very firm. ‘You will stay here for another twenty-four hours. I shall visit you tomorrow and if you are fit enough you may return on the following day.’
Her peevish retort was swallowed up in a mighty sneeze and all he did was to laugh gently, pat her shoulder in a sympathetic manner and go away.
He didn’t come again until the evening of the next day and by then she was feeling much better. She had taken the pills he had left for her, and eaten the meals her landlady had laboured up the stairs to bring her, rather taken aback at that lady’s kindness until she discovered that the professor had exerted his charm upon her, and his charm, when he bothered with it, was considerable.
