The Little Dragon

by Betty Neels

  It was during lunch that Mrs Dowling told Constantia that she was to escort her nephew to as many of the local places of interest as could be squashed into a couple of hours.

  ‘It’s my half day, Mrs Dowling, and I’ve already made other arrangements.’

  ‘Nonsense, what arrangements could you possibly have?’ Her employer’s eyes narrowed. ‘Going out with your doctor, I suppose? Well, he’ll just have to wait, won’t he? Mr Caxton will be leaving at four o’clock, you can have the rest of the day to yourself.’

  Constantia was on the point of refusing point blank; it was Willy’s rather plaintive request to agree to his aunt’s wishes which melted her too-soft heart. He was so obviously anxious to get away as soon as possible. ‘Until half past three?’ she conceded, and went to get her outdoor things.

  He was hard going; not in the least interested in the town or its lovely buildings. Indeed, he confided in Constantia, if it wasn’t that Aunt Vera had left him a tidy little sum in her will, he wouldn’t bother to come and see her at all. Constantia liked him even less for saying that; his good looks were skin-deep and she had the strong impression that the only thing that mattered to him was himself and his own doings. She rushed him from one church to the next, pointed out some of the more beautiful buildings, knowing that he wasn’t in the least interested, and wanted to know, with some asperity, if he wouldn’t like to cut short his sightseeing. It was already well past half past three—she would never get to Doctor van der Giessen’s house in time now.

  They were standing on the edge of the Markt where he had parked his car, while she urged him to get in and drive away as nicely as she could without actually giving him a push, when Doctor van der Giessen’s battered Fiat drove slowly by. He saw them but he didn’t stop, only gave her an expressionless look which held no hint of an invitation to tea.

  It was a pity that Willy Caxton chose that moment to catch her by the hand and look earnestly into her face. He was only begging her to assure his aunt that he had had a delightful afternoon and to refrain from mentioning that he was leaving before he was supposed to, but she could hardly stop the doctor’s car to tell him that.

  She gave Willy only half her attention as she watched the Fiat rush round a corner and out of sight. She wouldn’t dare to go to tea now; she had wasted almost half an hour getting the wretched Willy to go, and probably the doctor thought that she had stood his tea party up for the pleasures of Willy’s tiresome company.

  Her half day was spoiled; she waved Willy a thankful goodbye and wandered away, wondering if she should telephone the doctor’s house or even go there. But in the face of that bland look she had received from the car she didn’t dare. She would write a little note. She had tea in the little tea shop by the market, composing it in her head while she did so. She went for a long walk afterwards, eating her supper in a snack bar and then walking again. The half day she had so looked forward to had been a washout.

  CHAPTER THREE

  IT WAS the following afternoon as she was returning from her few hours off duty that Constantia encountered Elisabeth. The child was crying, and so upset that Constantia had to remind her who she was before she would stop sobbing to say:

  ‘We’ve lost Prince—Pieter and Paul are looking for him too—we aren’t supposed to be out, but we left the garden door open when we got home and he ran out. We didn’t find out at first, and when we went to look for him he’d gone.’ She burst into fresh sobs and Constantia stooped to wipe the woebegone little face and say comfortingly: ‘He can’t be far, poppet, and he knows his way home, doesn’t he?’

  ‘We’ve only had him a week or two—Oom Jeroen found him in a ditch and brought him home to live with us.’ The little girl raised her tear-stained face to hers and Constantia said cheerfully, ‘Look, darling, you go home—carefully, mind, and I’ll start looking for Prince. Will you do that and wait until I come? Promise?’

  The moppet nodded and Constantia took her across the narrow street and saw her safely on her way before starting her search for the little dog. She found him within ten minutes, lying in a gutter of one of the side streets she had been methodically combing. He was lying very still, but when she ran to him he wagged his ridiculous tail. There was a spot of blood on his nose and a long wound along his ribs, but his eyes were bright.

  ‘I’ll have you home in a brace of shakes,’ Constantia promised him, ‘but I’m going to have to hurt you, my boy, so grit your teeth.’

  She scooped him up into her arms in one gentle movement and although he bared the teeth she had urged him to grit, he didn’t bite her, only whimpered.

  The doctor’s house was close by; just at the bottom of the lane and then round the corner and across the canal. She walked as quickly as she dared, telling Prince to be a good boy as she went. There was no one to be seen, but once in Oude Delft she sighted Pieter and Paul hurrying along, going away from her. Her shrill whistle turned their heads and they came running back to fetch up beside her, their anxious eyes on Prince.

  ‘He’s hurt,’ she told them in a reassuring voice, ‘but I don’t think it’s too bad. Pieter, run on and open the door, we’ll take him straight to the kitchen. And get a blanket or something to put on the table.’

  Elisabeth was at the door when Constantia reached it and broke at once into a babble of Dutch, tears still streaming down her small cheeks. ‘Now, now,’ said Constantia, ‘don’t cry, poppet—get me a towel and a bowl and some water from the tap—they’ll all be in the kitchen. Paul, where’s your uncle?’

  ‘He had to go out to a case in one of the villages. Is Prince very ill, Miss Morley?’

  ‘Call me Constantia, dear. I don’t know. We must clean him up gently, and your uncle will have a look when he gets here.’ She had reached the kitchen by now and had laid Prince down on the folded blanket. He wagged his tail as she slipped his collar off and began, very gingerly, to clean up the wound in his side. It was ugly enough but not, she thought, dangerously so, but there could be other injuries. The children stood round in a hushed circle, scarcely breathing, so intent on what she was doing that none of them heard the doctor’s quiet approach. The moment they did however, they all began to explain at once.

  ‘One at a time,’ he said calmly, and as Constantia stood back, bent over Prince. Paul’s tale was interrupted a dozen times by the others and by the time he had finished, his uncle had examined the dog, taking no notice of its lifted lip, talking to it quietly as he poked and prodded with large, gentle fingers.

  ‘A couple of ribs,’ he pronounced, ‘and a nasty cut here—there’s another one on his muzzle. I’ll get the vet and we’ll have him all right in no time.’

  Constantia heard the sighs of relief from the children, unaware that she had sighed too. She felt a warm tongue on her hand and looked down to find Sheba and Solly standing beside her, and said: ‘Oh, they’re here too.’

  The doctor turned to look at her, then: ‘They were with me,’ he told her. ‘Thank you for finding Prince and bringing him home—we’re all very grateful.’ His voice was pleasant, but he didn’t smile and she found herself stammering a little: ‘I do hope he’s not badly hurt—I’m glad that I…’

  He had turned away to bend over Prince again and none of the children answered her, indeed they didn’t look up, either. Constantia waited a moment and then went quietly from the kitchen and across the hall to the still open front door, shutting it silently behind her, and reflected as she did so that she was shutting herself out, but that the doctor had, metaphorically speaking, already done that.

  She went quickly down Oude Delft and up a side street into the Wijnhaven and so presently to Mrs Dowling’s house. She would be late, but there was nothing to be done about that now.

  Mrs Dowling was in a mood. ‘You’re late. Why?’

  Constantia took time to answer her. ‘Only a few minutes, Mrs Dowling, and I was half an hour late going off duty.’

  ‘Impertinence!’ Her patient gobbled with bad temper. ‘But it’s ju
st as well you’re back. I’ve eaten some chocolates. I sent Nel out for some—delicious ones with soft caramel centres.’ She nodded carelessly towards a box lying on the floor beside her chaise-lounge. ‘They’re there.’

  ‘How long ago did you eat them?’ asked Constantia calmly.

  Mrs Dowling shrugged. ‘My dear nurse, how should I know? An hour—half an hour.’

  ‘Then we shall have to wait a little while and see how you feel, Mrs Dowling.’

  Her patient sat up with no trace of her usual languid movements. ‘I may go into a coma.’

  ‘Quite likely, but I shall be watching for the first symptoms and we can prevent that happening. In the meantime, I’ll ring Doctor Sperling.’

  The doctor wasn’t home. The voice at the other end of the telephone repeated: ‘Niet thuis,’ several times, and Constantia sighed as she went back to her patient. She wasn’t quite sure that Mrs Dowling was telling the truth; she was a devious woman and spoilt. She was bored too, and boredom caused people to do strange things. All the same she played safe, setting out syringe, glucose and insulin ready for immediate use, and then spent the next ten minutes coaxing Mrs Dowling to provide her with a specimen.

  Constantia hadn’t been a Ward Sister for nothing; her patient was overbearing and intent on making life hard for those around her, but she was her patient, and personal feelings didn’t come into it. All the same, it took all her patience and tact to get what she wanted, but it was worth the effort. Mrs Dowling was loaded with sugar.

  Constantia, tidying the room, took the opportunity to peep into the chocolate box; it was half empty. She picked it up without comment and put it away in a cupboard, all the while talking pleasantly about nothing much while her mind was busy working out calories and units of insulin. Mrs Dowling was sulking now and frightened, which had the effect of making her even more unpleasant than usual.

  Neither of them heard the doorbell. Nel opened the door with something of a flourish and ushered in Doctor van der Giessen. His good evening was nicely professional and he added: ‘Doctor Sperling’s wife telephoned me; he asked me to cover for him if he shouldn’t be available. What’s the trouble?’ He addressed himself to Constantia, and although his manner was pleasant enough she could sense his reserve.

  ‘Mrs Dowling has eaten some chocolates. I don’t know exactly how many—about three or four ounces, I should suppose. There’s an orange reaction and ketones—I thought that Doctor Sperling should be told.’

  ‘Quite right, Nurse. Pulse? Nausea, vomiting?’

  ‘Nausea, nothing else.’

  ‘In that case, perhaps I might take a look at your tongue, Mrs Dowling?’

  He examined her carefully, cheerfully ignoring her peevish demands for Doctor Sperling, and when he had finished he wrote up her chart and handed it to Constantia. ‘That should take care of everything, I fancy. Give the insulin straight away, will you? And a further dose after two hours, according to the sugar level.’ He went to his bag and took out a syringe and a small glass tube which Constantia took from him. Mrs Dowling moaned and cried and he soothed her like a small child as he took the blood he needed for a blood sugar test, assured her that she would be quite all right in no time at all, and prepared to leave.

  ‘You can’t leave me, I’m in danger,’ declared Mrs Dowling.

  ‘Not any more, Mrs Dowling, and Nurse Morley knows exactly what to do.’

  ‘I insist on you staying!’

  ‘I’m taking evening surgery,’ he explained mildly. ‘If you were in the least danger, I would remain. If Nurse Morley is worried she can contact me at once.’ He said good evening in a calm unhurried manner and went to the door, saying to Constantia as he went: ‘Let me know the result of the tests as you do them, will you? Supper as I suggest on the chart—the insulin is adjusted. Doctor Sperling won’t be back until very late, but I’ll give him the facts.’

  He nodded to her and she was again aware of reserve in his manner. Dealing gently with the tiresome Mrs Dowling, she thought sadly of a friendship which had somehow died.

  By bedtime, Mrs Dowling was normal again; for once quite subdued, she had submitted to injections, tests and eaten every crumb of the supper prescribed for her. She even went to bed without fuss, leaving Constantia to fetch her supper and go thankfully to her own room.

  She was crossing the hall, balancing her tray, when the doorbell pinged once and she went to answer it. Doctor van der Giessen was on the step, looking vast and placid. He came into the hall, closed the door behind him and asked: ‘Crisis over, I take it?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  His gaze lighted on the tray. ‘Supper?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Yes. Mrs Dowling is in bed, quite worn out but otherwise just as she should be. Did you want to see her?’

  He shook his head. ‘No need. I came to see you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘My thanks were inadequate on Prince’s behalf. You were kind, sensible and gentle, and we let you leave the house without so much as a word.’

  She smiled rather shyly. ‘It’s quite all right. He needed all the attention he could get, didn’t he? Is he all right?’

  ‘He’ll do. The vet has patched him up and he’s lying with Solly and Sheba on each side of him and the cat playing mother.’ His eyes searched her face. ‘You didn’t come to tea.’

  She was so glad that she could explain now, that the words came tumbling out of her mouth in a bit of a muddle. ‘You see, I didn’t like to come because I was late—I was going to post a letter this afternoon, explaining…’

  ‘Why were you late?’

  ‘Mrs Dowling’s nephew came to lunch and she insisted that I should show him as much of Delft as possible. I told her that I had my afternoon planned, but she wouldn’t listen, and Willy Caxton—’ she paused to chuckle, ‘isn’t that a simply super name?—was too scared of her to do anything but agree. He was supposed to stay until four o’clock because she said so, but I persuaded him to go sooner; all the same it was well past that time when he actually went.’ She gave him a candid look. ‘If you hadn’t driven past I would have walked round to your house and explained, but you looked cross—no, not quite that, put out.’

  ‘I expect I was disappointed.’ He was smiling down at her.

  ‘Were you? I know I was. It’s not nice to lose a friend.’

  He went over to the tray and poured out a cup of coffee, and came back with it to put it into her hand and press her gently into a rather uncomfortable little chair. ‘Your supper’s spoiling. You’ve not lost a friend, Constantia. I think we’re going to be friends for the rest of our lives.’

  She sipped the tepid drink. ‘That’s nice. Even if you don’t see friends—and we’re not likely to see each other once I’ve left here, are we?—it’s nice to know they’re only a letter away.’

  ‘You don’t expect to stay here long?’ He was at the tray again, inspecting the macaroni cheese with a disdainful lift of his high-bridged nose.

  ‘Well, I shouldn’t think so. I don’t have much to do now.’ She accepted her supper, wrinkled her pretty nose at it and put it down. ‘I don’t think I’m hungry.’

  There was no expression on her companion’s face. ‘I hope you will give us all the pleasure of having supper with us on your next free half day off.’ He had buttered the roll on her tray and handed it to her. ‘Eat that. Let me see—when will that be?’

  She bit into the bread, and with her mouth full, told him: ‘Well, Mrs Dowling did say Sunday, but perhaps she might change her mind.’

  ‘Let us hope that she won’t. Shall we take everyone for a walk first? Then tea and one of those noisy games I seem to get embroiled in from time to time…I’ll get Rietje to cook us a nice supper.’

  Constantia put out her tongue to catch a crumb on her cheek. ‘That sounds lovely.’ She smiled warmly at him. ‘You’re very kind.’

  He said gravely: ‘You don’t find our company tedious? We lead a very quiet life.’

  ‘One nev
er leads a quiet life with children,’ she pointed out.

  ‘I was really referring to the bright lights, theatres and dinner out and people in for drinks.’ His eyes were very sharp on her face, but she wasn’t looking at him.

  ‘I’ve never had a chance to live like that,’ she told him. ‘I expect it’s great fun if you’re with the right person.’

  He filled her cup with the now cold coffee and she drank it absentmindedly. He said casually: ‘You mean if one were married to the right person? Certainly it would be fun to share one’s pleasures.’

  ‘But have a home life too,’ she interpolated anxiously.

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘But then the bright lights wouldn’t matter, would they? Nice to have, but not essential.’

  ‘Pretty clothes, jewellery?’

  ‘Thrown in as a bonus?’ she laughed up at him. ‘Lovely, but not if they were to turn me into someone like Mrs Dowling.’

  He eyed her in a leisurely fashion and said slowly: ‘I don’t think you could look or be like her in a thousand years.’

  She got to her feet. ‘There speaks a true friend. Do you really not want to see her? She’s asleep, but I don’t think you would disturb her.’

  ‘I really don’t want to see her. I must go home— I’ve been to see a patient and it seemed sensible to call in.’

  ‘Thank you. Will Doctor Sperling be along tomorrow?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve told him not an hour since. He’ll be round after surgery, but don’t hesitate to telephone if you’re worried.’

  She saw him to the door and stood on the step, watching him walk away. He was a kind and good man, she thought, and so easy to talk to, and she did enjoy his company. He was like an elder brother—well, perhaps not quite, but an old family friend, someone she had known all her life.

  Mrs Dowling made herself unpleasant for the next day or two; it was as though she blamed Constantia for her regrettable inroads into the forbidden chocolates. But Constantia, anticipating the pleasures of her half day, bore her ill-humour with fortitude, obeyed Doctor Sperling’s instructions to the letter, and kept an unobtrusive but eagle eye on her patient’s activities. Not that Mrs Dowling had many; she dressed for the day, fussing over her face and her hair and her nails, received her friends and played her eternal bridge—and any time there was over she filled in nicely with complaints. She had made one or two snide remarks about Constantia’s free time, but Constantia refused to be drawn; her free time was her own and she kept discreetly quiet about it.