by Neels, Betty
‘Hideous,’ she agreed, and Nina cheerfully echoed her. ‘But it’s warm,’ Abigail went on, just as though Nina could understand every word she said, ‘and it covers me up. I hate it.’
‘What do you hate with such vehemence?’ asked the professor from the door, and Abigail jumped and said crossly, ‘Don’t you know that you shouldn’t creep up on people. It’s most upsetting.’
He advanced into the room, looking twice his usual size in his tails. Definitely a reception, thought Abigail, eyeing his snowy waistcoat and white tie. He bowed his head in mock humility. ‘My apologies, Abigail. I had no intention of frightening you, only to make sure that my niece was sleeping.’
He looked at her enquiringly as he spoke and she made haste to explain.
‘She’s had some milk, and now we’ve had a little talk, she’ll go back to sleep. I’ll stay with her until she does’
He said nothing to this, merely bent to kiss Nina and be hugged before going to sit in a rocking chair in a corner of the room, blandly ignoring Abigail’s look of enquiry in her turn.
‘Baa, baa, black sheep,’ demanded Nina sleepily, and Abigail obediently repeated the verses; she did so several times until she saw that the child was asleep again, and got up quietly to leave the room. On the way to the door she paused. ‘Good night, Professor,’ she whispered to the silent man sitting so still, and was shocked into a gasp, for he was beside her, going through the door almost before the words were out of her mouth.
The landing was dim and warm, through the half open door of her room she could see the cheerful glow of the bedside lamp. Somewhere downstairs Bollinger was tramping about, closing windows and shutting doors. For a moment she had the illusion that she lived in a safe, secure world which she shared with the professor, a world where she was cherished and loved and even, absurdly, admired. She tightened her mouth to prevent her lips quivering with the sudden horrid threat of tears, and with a nod in the general direction of the professor, who was behind her, started towards her room. But he wasn’t behind her, he was beside her, in front of her. His arms were round her and all so quickly that she had no means of eluding him, and anyway, she didn’t want to. He asked: ‘What were you hating?’
The question was a surprise, all the same she answered it truthfully.
‘My dressing gown—it’s hideous.’
He held her away from him and surveyed her slowly. ‘Indeed it is—not your own choosing, surely?’
‘No:
‘Then go out and buy yourself the most glamorous garment you can find,’ he advised her.
Perhaps not quite the right moment to mention her salary, but probably as good as any; at least they were alone and uninterrupted. She opened her mouth and began: ‘I wonder...’
‘Don’t talk,’ said the professor with a touch of his old imperious manner, and kissed her. He kissed her several times, and with a fine disregard for good sense, she kissed him back. It was only when, five minutes later, she was in her room again, that she remembered that he had said nothing at all and she, to her chagrin, had. Not much, but enough. It had, at the time, seemed quite natural to address him as Dominic darling.
Chapter 9
She went down to breakfast the next morning, with Nina holding her hand; she looked as calm as was her habit and her neat appearance gave no indication of the sleepless night she had passed. Most of it she had spent reassuring herself. The professor might not have heard her, she had told herself over and over again, and even if he had, it didn’t really matter, but these brave thoughts were reduced to meaningless nonsense by the certain knowledge that although she hadn’t spoken loudly, she had certainly repeated herself several times—there was nothing wrong with the professor’s hearing either. Her pale cheeks reddened painfully as she entered the dining room with the gaily chattering Nina dancing beside her, a prey to a variety of expectations, all of them unthinkable.
None of them materialised. The professor was sitting on the side of the table, with a cup of coffee in one hand and the telephone in the other. He lifted his eyes from the thoughtful contemplation of his elegantly shod feet, met Abigail’s look with a vague one of his own, said ‘Morning,’ and broke into a lengthy monologue in Dutch. When he had finished he listened for a moment, frowned, said something loud and rather violent, which she was glad she couldn’t understand, gulped his coffee and said:
‘I must go, Abigail—something’s turned up. Tell Dirk to come to the hospital as soon as he arrives.’
He dropped a hand on to Nina’s small head and ruffled her hair, nodded to Abigail and left the room, and very shortly afterwards, the house, banging the house door after him quite unnecessarily.
Abigail drank coffee while Nina munched her way through her breakfast. She felt a little let down, just as one would feel when, having screwed up courage to go to the dentist to have a tooth pulled, one was told that there was no need. The professor couldn’t have heard her. Perhaps he was a little drunk; after all, he had been to a banquet or something similar. It was a pity that this comforting theory was quite shattered by her complete certainty that he wasn’t the sort of man to get drunk, not even slightly. All that remained was that he had heard her, and—mortifying thought—had dismissed the incident as so trivial as to be beneath his notice.
Dirk arrived a couple of hours later, had coffee with them, an enraptured Nina on his knee, gave Abigail a brief account of his wife and son’s health, and departed for the hospital. She saw neither him nor the professor until dinner that evening, when the conversation was of Spain, Odilia, the new baby and his journey back the following morning.
The professor had talked to her, from time to time, with his usual faint aloofness; he certainly hadn’t bothered to look at her overmuch. She retired to her room early, pleading packing for Nina, wishing the two gentlemen a cool goodnight as she went.
She was getting ready for bed when she remembered that although she was to go to the hospital on the following day, no one had told her how or when she was to go and the professor would either be gone or on the point of going by the time she and Nina got down in the morning; she decided to pack her own case too, so that, if necessary, she could leave at a moment’s notice—she went down the back stairs too, and explained to Bollinger. She then returned to her room, slightly out of temper, to sleep fitfully and be awakened much too early by a joyful Nina wanting to get up and dress and go with her papa on the instant.
They were early for breakfast, only to find that the professor had left the house at six o’clock that morning to undertake an emergency operation. There was still no sign of him by the time Dirk and his small daughter were ready to leave in the former’s Mercedes-Benz 350 SL; they were making their final farewells when the telephone rang and Abigail answered it. The professor’s voice sounded quietly in her ear. ‘Abigail? Ask Dirk to come to the telephone, will you? And Nina.’
It was a short conversation; Nina gave Abigail a last hug, Dirk wrung her hand and they had gone. She went back into the house with Bollinger and Mevrouw Boot, wondering what she was supposed to do. At the end of an hour she decided to go to the hospital. She couldn’t stay in the house without a patient and she had a job to go to anyway—besides, she still had to find out if Mrs Macklin would have her again. She put on her outdoor clothes, fetched her case downstairs, said a temporary goodbye to Bollinger and went to the front door. The professor opened it as she put her hand on its massive brass knob.
He said instantly, ‘Running away?’
The unfairness of this remark stung her to snap, ‘Don’t be ridiculous! I’m on my way to the hospital. You asked me to work there, if you remember, and there’s no reason for me to remain here any longer.’
He answered this logical remark by shutting the door firmly behind him and leading her by the arm across the hall to his study. He shut this door too before taking off his coat and tossing it untidily over a chair, then he caught hold of her arm again and propelled her across the room, so that she was standing by a window
with the cold, unkind March light on her face.
‘Did you sleep?’ The question was unexpected and she was taken off her guard. She faltered: ‘Well, not...’ she looked up at him, aware that her face wasn’t at its best in the harsh grey morning. He didn’t look tired, nor did he look aloof, and the little irritable frown had gone completely, and his eyes, which had looked at her so coldly on so many occasions, were warm and twinkling. She began again: ‘Not very...’ to be interrupted: ‘I heard you, dear Abigail, did you think that I did not?’ He put a hand lightly on her shoulder. ‘You and I, we have to talk, but not now. Zuster Ritsma wants you on duty at midday; it seemed quicker to come and fetch you than telephoning.’ A smile touched the corners of his mouth. That’s not true, I wanted to see you—that’s why I came. I didn’t know that you would be packed and ready, but as you are, we had better go. Will you come with me?’
Abigail smiled at him; she felt happy and excited and intensely curious as to what they would talk about. Tm quite ready,’ she told him, in a voice which shook very slightly with these feelings. He took his hand from her shoulder and ushered her out into the hall. Bollinger was there, standing by her case. He carried it out to the car for her, his face alight with smiles. He shut the car door on her, wished her goodbye, admonished her not to work too hard and then stood on the steps to watch them go. Abigail turned to wave as they reached the corner of the gracht.
They were almost at the hospital when the professor spoke.
‘I have a great deal of work which must be done,’ he sighed, ‘and this evening I have to go to Brussels for two days. When I return, there are things to tell you, Abigail, dear girl.’
She turned her head to look at him and for a fleeting moment his eyes met hers and he smiled. Two days seemed a very long time, but if that was what he wanted, she would wait. She said rather breathlessly, ‘Very well, Professor,’ and when he said on a laugh, ‘Did you not call me Dominic?’ she repeated obediently, ‘Dominic.’
They parted in the front hall of the hospital and she didn’t see him to speak to alone after that. True, he did a round in the children’s ward where she had been sent to work, but beyond asking her one or two questions about the baby she was bottle-feeding, he said nothing. He hardly looked at her—indeed, she had the strong impression that he was deliberately avoiding her eye. Only as he came to a halt at the ward door did he turn round to look back at her, a look, brief though it was, to destroy the ridiculous doubts which had edged into her mind during the day.
The two days were endless, even though they had been busy ones on the ward, and her off-duty had been fully occupied settling in again with a delighted Mrs Macklin. She had visited Professor de Wit too, who seemed to take it for granted that she would remain permanently in Amsterdam and invited her for tea the following week. The day the professor was to return was a renewal of winter. Abigail walked to work through the bleak coldness of the city streets, sure that, despite the fact that it was the first week of March, it would snow before nightfall—not that she minded, for Dominic was coming. Within a few hours she would see him again, and the world, despite a regrettable shortage of money and her still leaking boots, seemed a lovely place.
She looked at the clock as she went to feed the first of the babies. Even now he might be getting on the plane although it was early enough—too early perhaps, but some time that day...beyond that delightful thought she was careful not to think; there was a good deal of work to get through, and she would need all her wits about her to get done. She dismissed the delights of the future and picked up an urgently crying baby.
It was a tiresome morning; Zuster Ritsma was off duty, the other two nurses spoke only the most basic of English, and it was a relief when Henk strolled on to the ward and after doing a round stopped for a chat. They were standing with their backs to the door and he was telling her in his inaccurate unidiomatic English about his latest girl-friend—a lady, it seemed, of many charms but a good deal older than he. He asked anxiously of Abigail: Too old, you think?’
Abigail laughed at him. ‘Of course it’s too old,’ she spoke gaily. ‘A gap of how many? fifteen years, isn’t it? It’s absurd— but of course it’s not serious—just a passing fancy and a chance to have a good time.’
He rolled his eyes at her and said dramatically, ‘My lievel-mg...’and Abigail, trying not to laugh at him said, ‘No, no— your darling,’ and laughed then because he looked so funny and she was so happy she could have laughed at anything. The slight sound behind her caused her to turn her head. The professor was standing behind them, in the doorway, only a foot or so away, staring at her; her smile faded before the iciness of his eyes.
He said with a cool blandness which hurt her, ‘Good morning, Nurse Trent. Henk, I want you in the theatre in ten minutes.’ As he turned away he added in a voice like a razor’s edge, Tm sorry to interrupt your—er—conversation.’
He didn’t wait for Henk, who, preparing to follow him, exclaimed, ‘And what’s he in a rage for? And he’s back hours earlier than he said. Perhaps he missed his dollybird in Brussels.’ He saw the stricken look on Abigail’s face as he said it and added hurriedly, ‘I joke, Abigail—he has no dollybird. Dag.’
He hurried away after his chief and Abigail, left alone, went to see why the baby in the first cubicle was crying. She had no idea what had come over the professor; he hadn’t looked like that for a long time now and she had been quite unprepared for it. She tended the baby with gentle, competent hands, telling herself that something must have happened in Brussels to have upset him, trying to ignore the fact that he wasn’t a man who was easily upset.
He did a round in the afternoon, surrounded by students, with his senior registrar and Henk flanking his every movement. He was delightful with the children and curt with everyone else. Abigail, trailing along behind Zuster Ritsma, felt sorry for the students, who, unless they came up with the right answers to the professor’s barked questions, were subjected to a withering fire from his tongue and a look of such irritation that the most stouthearted of them were quailed. From the safety of Zuster Ritsma’s rear, she watched him; not only did he look ill-tempered, he looked weary too. Perhaps when they were alone together he would tell her what the matter was. He glanced round and she caught his eye and gave him a small loving smile which stiffened on her face as he looked through her. She felt her cheeks pale and for the rest of the round didn’t look at him at all. Only after he had gone, and it was time for her to go off duty, she made her way down to the porter’s lodge and asked where he was and if she could see him. The porter looked surprised, but he went to the switchboard and after a few minutes he shook his head. ‘Professor van Wijkelen is weg,’ he told her.
She walked slowly back to the changing room. Why had he gone without leaving a message? She stopped in the middle of the corridor. Surely she hadn’t imagined all that he had said to her—worse still, mistaken his meaning?
She had cheered up a tittle by the time she reached Mrs Macklin’s house, having persuaded herself that Dominic would come that evening. She stayed in the little sitting room, her ears strained for his footsteps, and when Mrs Macklin wanted to know if he was back, explained in a colourless voice that yes, he was but that he seemed to be busy.
‘Not too busy to see you,’ stated Mrs Macklin decidedly, and when Abigail gave her an enquiring look, ‘He’s a different man since he met you, my dear. It’s amazing what love will do.’
‘Love?’ faltered Abigail.
‘You love him, don’t you? He needs someone to love him and to love. He has become so embittered over the years that I was beginning to think that he would never allow himself to love another woman, but I think you have changed that. I wonder why he doesn’t come.’
Abigail looked up from the contemplation of her nails. ‘I don’t know. When he went away, he said—he said there was no time to talk then, but when he came back...he came back this morning, but he’s...something’s happened. He’s not coming.’ She was sure of that now.
‘Perhaps tomorrow.’ She looked appealingly at her companion. ‘I expect he’s tired.’
The old lady eyed her thoughtfully. ‘You’re tired too, Abigail. Go to bed, my dear. Things are always better in the morning.’
Abigail did as she was told for the simple reason that she didn’t much care what she did and bed was as good as anywhere else; contrary to her expectations, she slept all night.
She was off duty at four-thirty the next day too. The morning passed quickly enough; there were two cases for theatre and she went with both of them; tiny babies with pyloric stenosis and the professor operating. If he saw her in the theatre he gave no sign, but she hadn’t expected him to. She stayed by the anaesthetist, performing the small duties he required of her throughout the two operations. When she got back from her dinner it was to discover from Zuster Ritsma that the professor had been to see his patients and since he would be operating for the rest of the afternoon, the chance of seeing him was slight. She went off duty a little late, spinning out the minutes in case he should come; she even went a long way round to the hospital entrance in the hope of seeing him, despising herself for doing so—she had never thought much of girls who chased men, and here she was doing just that. There was no sign of him, so she went back to the Begijnhof and after tea went for a long walk. Let him telephone and find her out, she told herself bracingly, it would serve him right if she wasn’t there at his beck and call. Only he didn’t telephone. She went to bed early and cried herself to sleep.
She was on at one o’clock the next day and would work until nine in the evening. Zuster Ritsma was on too and a couple of student nurses, and because the ward was full and some of the children and babies were very ill, they were kept busy. It was well after three o’clock when Abigail went to the office to pour the tea for Zuster Ritsma and herself. They had barely sat down to drink it when the professor walked in.
