The Hasty Marriage

by Betty Neels

‘Well, Joyce was out for the day, and the earlier train fitted in with Father’s plans…’

  ‘Go on with you,’ said a voice from the door. ‘You’ve quarrelled with the boy-friend. You’re wanted on the telephone, love—I expect he wants to make it up.’

  There was a little outburst of laughter as Laura went out of the door, and she laughed with them while her insides went cold. It would be Joyce, to tell her that she was going to marry Reilof van Meerum, and she was so certain of it that when she heard her sister’s excited voice telling her just that, it wasn’t a shock at all, just a numbness which gripped her brain and her tongue so that Joyce asked sharply:

  ‘Laura? Are you still there? Why don’t you say something?’

  ‘It’s marvellous news,’ she managed then, her voice calm and pleasantly surprised, ‘and I hope you’ll both be very happy. Does Father know?’

  ‘Yes,’ bubbled Joyce, ‘and so does Uncle Wim, but you know what old people are, they hum and ha and sound so doubtful…’

  ‘Well, as long as neither of you is doubtful, I shouldn’t think there was anything to worry about, darling.’

  ‘We’ve opened a bottle of champagne—isn’t it all wildly exciting? Reilof’s here—he wants to speak to you.’

  Laura drew a long breath and thanked heaven silently that she didn’t have to meet him face to face. At least by the time they did meet again she would have her feelings well in hand. All the same, when she heard his quiet ‘Laura?’ in her ear, she had to wait a second before she could get out a matter-of-fact ‘hullo’.

  ‘Aren’t you going to congratulate me?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course, with all my heart.’

  ‘That’s nice to hear. I’m sure you’re going to be a delightful sister-in-law. A pity that you aren’t here to celebrate with us. You must be sure and have a free weekend next time I come over.’

  ‘Oh, rather.’ Laura was aware that she sounded far too hearty, she would be babbling if she wasn’t careful, any minute now her tongue would run away with her. ‘Such a pity I had to come back early,’ she chattered brightly, ‘but I’d promised ages ago…’

  His ‘Oh, yes?’ sounded faintly amused and a little bored; she was wasting his time, time he could be spending with Joyce. She held the mouthpiece a little way from her and called: ‘Okay, I’m coming now,’ and then spoke into it again. ‘So sorry, someone’s waiting for me—have a glass of champagne for me, won’t you? See you soon. ’Bye!’

  She hung up and went slowly back up the stone staircase, not going back to Ann’s room but into her own. But that wouldn’t do, sooner or later someone would come looking for her. She snatched up a towel and sponge and went into one of the bathrooms and turned on the taps, and presently when a voice asked her if she was in there, she was able to answer quite cheerfully that the telephone call had taken so long that it hadn’t seemed worthwhile going back to them all.

  ‘Not bad news, I hope?’ asked the voice anxiously.

  She forced her voice into just the right tones of pleased excitement: ‘Lord, no. Marvellous, actually—Joyce has got engaged. I’ll tell you all about it later.’

  Later was breakfast, a blessedly hurried meal, so that she barely had the time to repeat the news baldly, listen to the excited babble of talk when someone realised that Reilof was the dishy doctor who had been seen with Mr Burnett, admit that he had been visiting her home quite regularly for the past week or so, and gobble her toast before the hurried race to the wards.

  The four new cases kept her busy all day; none of them was very well and the two who were to go to theatre had to be prepped and doped and reassured, and once they had been wheeled away on their trolleys, there was everything to set in readiness for their return to the ward. Their wives came too, hurrying in from their suburban homes, leaving heaven alone knew what chaos behind them, to be sat in Laura’s office, given tea and sympathy and reassured in their turn. Presently, when they had calmed down, she took them along to the visitors’ room where they could sit in some comfort, with magazines to read and coffee and sandwiches served from time to time, although in Laura’s experience the magazines were rarely opened and the sandwiches and coffee were returned untouched.

  And this time it was worse than usual, for one of the men died only a short time after he had been returned to the ward from the Recovery Room; a sudden collapse which all their skills couldn’t cure. Laura, instead of going off duty, stayed with the bereaved wife until relations came to take her home, and then went over to the home, to her own room, so tired that she no longer had any very clear thoughts left in her head. Ann gave her a mug of tea after she had had her bath and she barely gave herself time to drink it before falling into bed and sleeping at once.

  But the rest of the week was better than that. The other three men improved rapidly, the poker players, their stitches out, went home, sheepishly offering her a large bunch of flowers as they went, and Mr Bates, to her great astonishment, gone home a week or more, returned one morning to offer his grudging thanks for the care he had received while he had been in the ward. Laura was so surprised that she could only stare at him and then, realising what an effort it must have been for him to have made such a gesture, she took him into the ward to see one or two of the patients he had known. They weren’t all that pleased to see him, for he had been unpopular with his fellow sufferers, but as one of them pointed out to Laura afterwards, his visit relieved the tedium of the long hospital morning.

  She was on duty that weekend, and towards the end of the week following it she telephoned Joyce and invented a mythical friend who had invited her out, for her sister had telephoned her earlier in the week to tell her that Reilof van Meerum would be coming once more, and made it clear that if Laura were to go home it would spoil their outings together, for he would be sure to invite her along too, out of politeness.

  ‘And I don’t see much of him, darling, do I?’ Joyce’s voice sounded vaguely discontented, and it was then that Laura had determined to make some excuse to stay in London, and on the Friday she telephoned to say that the girl from Physiotherapy who had got married a few months previously had asked her to spend the weekend…

  Joyce wasn’t really interested. ‘Oh, lovely for you,’ she observed carelessly. ‘Reilof’s coming next weekend too—flying over—but of course you won’t be free, will you?’

  Laura said no and what a pity, knowing that Joyce would have been furious if it had been otherwise. ‘But I’m coming home the weekend after that,’ she warned, ‘because I want some summer clothes from my room.’

  It was after she had rung off that she decided to see what could be done about changing her days for that particular weekend—she could have Friday instead of Saturday; Reilof usually arrived on a Friday evening, but she could be gone by then. Really it would be a relief when they were married and living in Holland and she could settle down to her usual home visits.

  She sighed. They wouldn’t be the same any more, a reflection which did nothing to lighten her heavy heart. She turned her attention to the papers on her desk and resolutely closed her mind to her own affairs.

  She hated staying in London over the weekend, it seemed such a dreadful waste of her free days, for of course the girl from Physiotherapy had been nothing but an invention…still, she made the best of it by going to see a collection of pictures she had been told were well worth a visit, doing a little shopping and going in the evening to the cinema with George, who, although dull and a thought pompous, was at least company. He took her to an intense film she couldn’t understand because it was Italian and she suspected that the dubbing wasn’t anything like the original script. Besides, he kept up a low-voiced monologue in her ear, describing just how he had removed a very nasty cyst from a man’s shoulder—it was more of a mutter, actually, and too soft for anyone else to hear, but all the same she felt acutely uncomfortable about it. He took her to supper afterwards, too, and over their sausages and chips gave her a lecture on antibiotics.

  She consid
ered that, on the whole, she had earned both film and supper; probably George would make some girl a kind husband one day, but it was such a pity that he had no sense of humour. Probably Reilof van Meerum had none, either; she didn’t know him well enough to discover that, but she was quite certain that George wouldn’t have stopped in the middle of a busy street to pick up a little mongrel dog which had been run over, and certainly he would never have dreamed of taking it to Cas. To a vet, yes, where he would, give him his due, have paid any fees necessary and then, his duty done, washed his hands off it.

  The week went slowly and when she telephoned home it was her godfather who answered, assuring her that he intended to stay another week or so and asking if she would be home for the weekend. ‘For we see little enough of you,’ he reminded her gently.

  Laura told him that yes, she would be coming, but forbore from saying that her visit would be for a few hours only on Friday. She would be able to think of some excuse when the time came, she decided hopefully, as she made some vague reply to his invitation to visit him later on in the year. She would have to wait and see about that; Uncle Wim lived close to Reilof van Meerum, although she wasn’t sure just how often they saw each other, but there was the ever-present risk of meeting Joyce and Reilof and she didn’t think she would be able to bear that. Later on perhaps, when she had learned to school her feelings.

  She caught an early morning train on Friday without telling anyone she was coming and she didn’t phone Bates till she got to Chelmsford, because he was quite capable of telling her father, who would probably tell Joyce to upset all her plans and make her furious. But Bates, when he arrived, showed no curiosity as to her movements; he had a wedding on his hands that afternoon, and his talk was all of that.

  It was beginning to rain as she went up the garden path, and the house, with its door closed, looked forlorn. It was barely eleven o’clock; she had plenty of time to get her things, but she would first find her father. His study was empty, so was the sitting room, and there was no Mrs Whittaker in the kitchen. Rather puzzled, Laura went upstairs and was relieved to hear the radio playing in Joyce’s room. She hurried her steps a little and opened the door and stopped short.

  Joyce was standing in the middle of the room, the contents of her wardrobe spread out around her on the bed, the chairs and open drawers. Her case, the expensive one her father had given her for her last birthday, was open on the bed, half packed.

  She looked up quickly as Laura opened the door, her pretty mouth open in surprise, her eyes wide. She said: ‘It’s only Friday—you never come home on Friday.’

  ‘No,’ said Laura, ‘I don’t—but now I’m here, although no one else is. Where is everyone, Joyce?’

  ‘Father and Uncle Wim have gone to those gardens—you know, they’re open now—I suggested it,’ Joyce spoke defiantly, ‘and Mrs Whittaker wanted to go to a wedding.’

  ‘You’re going away?’ Laura made her voice casual, feeling her way cautiously—perhaps Joyce had quarrelled with Reilof. It struck her suddenly that it wasn’t that at all, she was going to him…

  Her sister folded a skirt, her pretty mouth sulky. ‘Yes, I am, and since you’re here, poking your nose into my affairs, you can jolly well help.’

  Laura pushed some clothes on one side and sat down on the bed. ‘Look, love, what’s the matter? Don’t you want a village wedding? I know Father is keen on you having one, but you only have to say so—Are you going off with Reilof somewhere quiet to get married? You only had to say so, you know.’ She shook out a crumpled blouse and folded it carefully. ‘If you’d explained what you wanted…’

  Joyce laughed. ‘You’re so silly, Laura, I suppose that’s because you’re getting on a bit. I’m going away all right, but not with Reilof. Oh, he’s all right, I suppose, he would have given me everything I asked for, and I would have turned into a good little housewife with a string of noisy kids.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘He likes children, did you know?’ She flung a dressing gown on top of everything else and closed the case. ‘I’m going to America with someone I met a couple of weeks ago—he’s got a special licence and we’re getting married at the Registrar’s Office in Bishop’s Stortford.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘In about an hour’s time. He’s fabulously rich and he likes a good time and he loves me madly.’

  Laura had listened to this astonishing speech with a sense of unreality so strong that she pinched her arm to make sure that she wasn’t dreaming. ‘Reilof…’ she managed. ‘But you said you loved him—he thinks you’re going to marry him—he’s coming here this evening—you can’t…’

  ‘Who says I can’t? I’m going to do what I like with my life, Laura, and get the most out of it, too. Reilof’s almost middle-aged, and I’d have settled for him because there wasn’t any one else around with his kind of money, but now Larry has turned up, it’s different.’ Joyce was putting on her coat now. ‘You can tell him, Laura—I’ve written him a letter, of course, and you can give it to him and explain it at the same time. You can tell Daddy too.’

  ‘I won’t.’ Laura was surprised to find herself shaking with rage.

  ‘All right, don’t—I don’t care; let them find out for themselves.’

  ‘Joyce, you can’t do it; Father will be so upset, and what about Reilof?’

  ‘Father won’t be upset for long, you know he always lets me do what I like, and Reilof…’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘There are plenty more girls.’ She picked up her case and crossed the room to give Laura a perfunctory kiss. ‘There’s the taxi. Wish me luck.’

  Laura suppressed a wish to burst into tears. She said gently, ‘I hope you’ll be very happy, darling, even though you’ve made Reilof very unhappy. You’ll write or telephone, won’t you? Father won’t be happy until he hears from you. And what about Reilof?’

  ‘He can take care of himself—really, Laura, he’s not a baby, you know. I daresay I’ll telephone later. ’Bye for now.’

  She had gone, leaving the room in complete disorder.

  Laura started to tidy up, her movements automatic as she put discarded clothing neatly back into drawers and cupboards, trying to make her mind tackle the situation. Presently, with everything neat and tidy again, she sat down on the bed, the better to think.

  It was no good giving way to concern for Reilof, it was important that she should tackle the deplorable affair as impersonally as possible. She remembered that Reilof never arrived before the evening and there was no reason to suppose that he would do anything different now; she would be able to tell her father and leave him to explain when the doctor got to the house. ‘Man to man,’ she told herself out loud, ‘that should be much easier—I’ll give Father the letter too, then if Reilof wants to he can go back home at once.’ The home he had expected to share with Joyce, her heart reminded her; his plans shattered, heaven only knew what plans he had made. He had given Joyce a ring too— Laura hadn’t seen it, but her sister had telephoned her in order to describe it at great length. A solitaire diamond in a modern setting; she had been jubilant about it, especially as Reilof had wanted her to wear what she described as some dreary old ruby thing which just everyone in his family had worn at some time or other. But she had twisted him round her thumb easily enough, she had added gleefully, and Laura would be able to see it next time she came home.

  ‘Well, I am home,’ said Laura worriedly, talking to herself again, ‘and a pretty kettle of fish it is. I wish Father would come home.’ She heaved a sigh as the front door opened and shut. She snatched up Joyce’s letter and raced down the stairs, to stop two-thirds of the way down, because it wasn’t her father but Reilof standing there, looking up at her.

  He smiled, ‘Hullo, I didn’t expect to see you, Laura,’ but when she just went on standing there, her earnest, ordinary face the picture of surprised woe, the smile disappeared and his dark brows drew together in a questioning frown. ‘Something is the matter? Joyce?’

  Laura nodded; it was a funny thing, she reflected; on the ward she was ca
pable of dealing with any situation, however sticky, which might crop up, but now she hadn’t a clue how to begin. She went on gaping at him, feeling a slow resentment that she should have been forced into such a wretched situation. If it had been anyone else—a man she didn’t know well—but Reilof, whom she loved and was powerless to help—it was past bearing.

  ‘Well, supposing you tell me?’ Reilof had taken off his car coat and flung it into a chair, now he lounged against the door, his hands in his pockets, no expression at all upon his handsome face.

  She swallowed. ‘Joyce asked me to give you this.’ She watched his face anxiously as he walked over to her and took the envelope from her hand. It hadn’t changed at all, it looked calm, even placid, and remained so as he opened the envelope and took out the letter within. When he had finished reading it, he folded it neatly and put it back.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ he inquired, and his voice was very even.

  ‘Not until I came home about an hour ago—less than that. Joyce was—was just leaving. You see, she didn’t expect me.’

  ‘And your father?’ He sounded politely interested, no more.

  ‘He and Uncle Wim—well, Joyce suggested that they went to those botanical gardens—she didn’t want them to know…I hoped they would be back…I didn’t expect you’d be here until this evening.’

  His smile held a faint sneer. ‘Poor big sister Laura, left with the task of breaking the news.’ His voice held bitterness now. ‘You didn’t do it very well.’

  This annoyed her, and she said with some spirit, ‘Well, if you must know, I was going to explain to Father and he would have told you.’ She added idiotically, ‘Man to man.’

  The smile became a short derisive laugh. ‘Oh, but I much prefer woman to man—sympathy, the tender touch and all the rest of it.’

  My goodness, thought Laura, he’s in a rage for all that calm face. She asked doubtfully, ‘Are you going to go after her? I don’t expect they’ve…’

  ‘Got married yet? You silly girl, of course I’m not going after Joyce.’ He looked away for a minute. ‘It’s hardly my intention to drag her back by the hair of her lovely head—and she’s quite right, of course, I am too old for her.’