by Betty Neels
‘Oh, you didn’t,’ her companion agreed, ‘but of course Lucius tells me everything—naturally.’ Her dark eyes rested upon Phoebe’s own blue sleepy ones. ‘I know a great deal about you,’ she laughed with a merriment which struck a discordant note in Phoebe’s ear, ‘so I shouldn’t confide in Lucius if you want to keep any secrets from me.’
‘I haven’t any secrets,’ said Phoebe flatly, then went a little pink. She certainly didn’t want Maureen to know that she had taken Sybil’s place, but surely Lucius …
The girl before her broke into her thoughts. ‘No? Then you must be a paragon—I’ve got dozens.’ Her glance slid to the package Phoebe was carrying. ‘Shopping? It’s a waste of time, my dear. Haven’t you discovered that he doesn’t notice—at least, not unless he’s interested in the girl wearing them. Well, I must be off. ‘Bye.’
Phoebe, despite her weariness, went over the conversation word by word before she finally went to sleep and decided that Maureen had wanted to make certain that she didn’t trespass on her preserve—Lucius van Someren. ‘And I wouldn’t,’ said Phoebe sleepily, ‘if I were sure she loved him, but she doesn’t.’
There was a message the next morning to say that Lucius wouldn’t be able to take her swimming and just for a moment she wondered if it was Maureen’s doing, but she didn’t think Lucius would allow anyone to dictate to him about what he should do and what he shouldn’t. And anyway, there was no sense in brooding over it. She accepted an invitation from two of the nurses to go with them and have coffee in the city and look at the shops, an occupation which filled the morning hours very satisfactorily and made her so tired that she fell asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.
She knew, the moment she opened the ward door that evening, that it was going to be a bad night—Zuster Witsma looked worried for a start, which was so unlike her that there had to be something wrong, and far too many children were wailing and calling out for attention, which was so unlike their usual sleepy high jinks that Phoebe asked at once:
‘What’s hit us?’ and then remembered that Mies might not quite understand, for her English, though fluent, was strictly textbook. ‘They’re unhappy,’ she substituted, and the Dutch girl said worriedly:
‘Oh, Phoebe, such a day—and a nurse off sick. An infection, how do you say?’
‘Bug,’ supplied Phoebe unthinkingly.
‘Bug? I thought that a bug was an insect.’ Mies frowned because she was a stickler for getting her words right.
‘It is, but it’s what we call a virus infection—any infection—it’s slang.’
‘Ah,’ Mies smiled faintly, ‘now I have a new word. There is a bug of the alimentary tract …’
‘D and V,’ interposed Phoebe, and explained rapidly what it was.
‘Exactly so—so horrid for the children and no rest for any of us all day. I’m afraid you will have a busy night, you and Zuster Pets—you will find gowns to wear in the treatment room and they are all on Mist. Kaolin and some of the worst are on Phenergan. Doctor van Someren thinks that it is not serious—twenty-four hours, perhaps a little longer. It plays havoc with the diets.’
Phoebe put down her cloak and bag, preparatory to taking the report, as Zuster Pets came into the office—a nice girl, large and rather slow but very patient and thorough. Phoebe and she exchanged a friendly hello and Phoebe thought how funny it was that a junior student nurse should be addressed as Zuster while she herself was called Nurse—an interesting point to take up with Lucius when next she saw him. Probably she wouldn’t see him—she wrenched her mind away from that possibility and gave her attention to Zuster Witsma, painstakingly reading the report in both Dutch and English for the benefit of both of them.
She had been right about them being busy; it was almost midnight before the majority of the children, worn out and washed out, dropped off to sleep; only a handful of them remained awake, wretchedly ill and disposed to make the most of it. Phoebe went soft-footed up and down the wards, from bed to cot and back to bed again, feeling sorry for their occupants, for they were already fighting one disease, it was too bad that they had to endure this setback as well. Doctor Pontier had been in earlier in the evening, expressed satisfaction as to the small patients’ conditions, amended some of the charts, drunk a hasty cup of coffee, invited Phoebe to go out to dinner with him when she returned from England, and went away with the earnest request that she should call him if she found it necessary.
He had barely closed the doors behind him when Night Sister arrived to do her round. She was a short, frankly outsize body, adored by the nurses. She had twinkling blue eyes, several chins, and had buried two husbands, and although she had none of her own she understood and liked children. Walking with a surprising lightness despite her ample proportions, she went from one child to the next, nodded her head in satisfaction and made her silent way from the ward, warning Phoebe to send Zuster Smit to her midnight meal, but on no account to leave the ward herself.
Alone in the ward, and all the children miraculously asleep, Phoebe settled down at the desk—they wouldn’t stay quiet all night, but she had a short respite in which to chart temperatures and note the medicines she had given. She had done the first three or four when she became aware of footsteps on the stairs—unhurried and quiet—and she knew whose they were; she looked over her shoulder and Lucius was standing just inside the door.
Phoebe got up with the faintest of rustles from her gown and waited for him to reach the desk. He had been out, for he was in a dinner jacket, her imagination, always lively, pictured Maureen waiting outside in his car, looking glamorous, while she— She glanced down at the voluminous folds of thick white cotton while she schooled her delightful features into a look of calm enquiry.
His voice was very quiet. ‘Good evening, Nurse Brook—I’m glad to see that they’ve settled. They had us all a little worried today—were they very troublesome?’
She spoke calmly, in a voice as soft as his. ‘Oh, yes, very, but wouldn’t we all be? They’re worn out.’
He laughed soundlessly. ‘And you?’
She gave him an austere look. ‘Not in the least. Besides, I have Zuster Pets on with me, and she’s a gem of a nurse.’
He looked interested. ‘Is she now? We must keep an eye on her, since you say that.’
‘For heaven’s sake,’ she uttered, ‘that’s only what I think … sir.’
‘But I value your opinion, Phoebe, even when you call me sir in that repressive fashion.’
‘I’m on duty,’ she reminded him.
‘Yes—unfortunately,’ and when she gave him a questioning look: ‘I’d like to take a look at Wil—and Jantje was a little off colour too.’
He took off his jacket and she tied him into a gown and went with him as he went to look at the children. When he had finished and was putting on his jacket again, he said very quietly: ‘It’s peaceful now—but it can’t last all night. I don’t envy you, even with the redoubtable Pets to be your right hand.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Shall I stay and keep you company until she comes back, Phoebe?’
She couldn’t see his face clearly in the dimness of the ward. She handed him a chart to initial and said in a steady, practical voice:
‘You’ll need to go to bed, you must have had a hard day.’
‘A polite brush-off!’ He sounded as though he were laughing.
‘Oh, I didn’t mean it to be,’ she whispered anxiously. ‘I’d love you to …’ she stopped herself. ‘I have a great deal of work to do,’ she informed him sedately.
He nodded. ‘A quarter to eight tomorrow morning,’ he invited her. ‘As it’s Saturday, Paul will be coming too.’
‘That will be nice, thank you,’ and then, because she was unable to prevent herself, ‘and Maureen?’
Lucius looked surprised. ‘No—she doesn’t live with us, you know. I have no idea at what time she gets up, but I imagine early rising isn’t one of her strong points. She prefers her amusements to take place in the evening.’
She was a little late off duty in the morning and tired and faintly ill-tempered with it, but this feeling melted miraculously away as she got to the hospital entrance and saw the Jaguar standing waiting. It disappeared completely as Lucius opened the door for her and squeezed her in beside them, saying: ‘You’ve had a wretched night, haven’t you? Do you want to talk about it? I promise you I won’t be bored, and Paul won’t either.’
She smiled at the boy as the doctor started the car. ‘Why, are you going to be a doctor too, Paul?’
He forgot to scowl, his face lighted with interest. ‘I’m going to be a vet.’
‘Oh, splendid,’ said Phoebe with enthusiasm. ‘I’ve an uncle who’s a vet. I used to stay with him when I was a little girl; he let me help him, though I suppose I was never much use. Will you go to a veterinary college in Holland?’
He explained at great length and in great detail, and by the time they arrived on the beach, Phoebe thought that he had got over his dislike of her, but somehow, at some time, something went wrong to make him dislike her again, for in the middle of a laughing conversation with Lucius she looked up to find the boy’s eyes fixed upon her with such suspicion and animosity that she was completely taken aback, lost the thread of what she was saying, and had to make some excuse for doing so, and although she continued to laugh and talk as before, the morning, for her at any rate, was spoilt. Her spirits were hardly improved by the doctor’s careless statement that he would be going to Vienna for several days on the morrow, ‘by which time you will be in England,’ he reminded her cheerfully. ‘And by the way, young van Loon will drive you to the airport,’ and when she protested, he declared: ‘He’s been waiting to take you out ever since he met you. This will be the next best thing—he’s a nice boy,’ and his last remark capped her unsatisfactory morning: ‘A little young for you, though.’
Tiredness and some feeling she didn’t bother to analyse dissolved into a little spurt of temper. ‘In that case, perhaps you’d better warn him not to go with me—there must be some middle-aged taxi-driver whom you might consider more suitable. I had planned to go by train.’
He had either not noticed her pettishness or chose to ignore it.
‘Oh, lord, a ghastly journey—that’s why I suggested to van Loon that he might take you. Much better go with him, Phoebe. Besides, he’ll be so disappointed if you don’t—you know what these young men are.’
‘Do I?’ Her voice was glacial.
He stopped the car outside the hospital and turned to look at her.
‘I imagine that you have dealt kindly with dozens of them.’ He smiled with such charm that Phoebe found herself smiling back.
‘If you’re warning me not to gobble him up, I won’t,’ she assured him, and turned to say goodbye to Paul, sitting in the back of the car, and although he answered politely enough she could see that he disliked her still. She sighed a little, thanked the doctor for her trip, wished him a pleasant stay in Vienna, and got out of the car. She turned to wave before she went into the hospital, but they had already gone.
* * *
She felt lonely during the next few days; she told herself it was because she was tired from her night duty, and even though she went out each morning with one or other of the nurses, the days lagged sadly. It was a relief when she had gone on duty for the last time, packed her case and gone downstairs to meet young Doctor van Loon. At least he was delighted to see her, and made no secret of his admiration. Although she was tired and unaccountably despondent, she found herself enjoying the drive to Schipol; they parted like old friends when her flight was called and she left him vowing that he should take her out for the day when she returned.
The journey passed swiftly, for she had been up all night and slept a good deal, and when she wasn’t sleeping, her mind was far too weary to allow her to think coherently, but at Shaftesbury, when she got out of the train and found Sybil and Nick waiting for her, her tiredness evaporated in the spate of news—the wedding, on the day after next, naturally took pride of place, and it wasn’t until they were home, sitting round the table eating the belated tea Aunt Martha had prepared, that Sybil asked:
‘Well, Phoebe, how’s the scheme going? Is it fun? Do you see much of the doctor and has he noticed you yet?’ She laughed and Phoebe laughed with her, aware, to her annoyance, that her cheeks had turned a good deal pinker than usual.
‘The scheme’s fine,’ she replied hastily. ‘I love working there—the Ward Sister’s about my age and we’re good friends. Doctor van Someren comes each day, sometimes more often. He’s nice.’ As she said it she knew what an understatement that was, but for some reason she didn’t want to talk about him; but the others did.
‘And is he married?’ Nick wanted to know, and Sybil chimed in. ‘Yes, you said precious little about him in your letters.’
‘Well—’ began Phoebe, and went on hastily: ‘No, he’s not, but he’s got an adopted son, Paul. He’s almost nine and rather a dear, only he doesn’t like me.’
‘Why ever not?’ asked Sybil. ‘How funny—but you must have seen quite a lot of him, then.’
Phoebe made quite a business of buttering a scone. ‘No, not really. I met him and then I went to the doctor’s house with Zuster Witsma after we went to the botanical garden at Leyden …’
‘Who took you?’
She evaded her sister’s eye. ‘It was something I was supposed to see—part of the scheme …’
‘Who took you?’ Sybil was nothing if not persistent.
‘I went with Zuster Witsma—Doctor van Someren took me round.’
‘Did he talk?’
‘Yes, of course. He’s a perfectly ordinary man.’ She paused for a moment; he wasn’t ordinary in the least, he was someone quite different. Phoebe dragged her attention back to what she was saying. ‘We saw the museum too, it was very interesting.’
‘What did he talk about?’
‘Oh, the garden and plants and the hospital.’ She looked down at her plate, remembering all the other things he had said.
‘Charming—he sounds a bit dreary.’
‘He’s not,’ said Phoebe sharply. ‘He’s a …’ She stopped, not wanting to put her shadowy thought into words. ‘I say, I’ve brought your wedding present with me, would you like to see it?’—a successful digression which sent everybody up to her room while she unpacked the Delftware coffee set and offered it to the happy pair.
She went to bed early, finding it pleasant to be in her own room again, so quiet and peaceful after the bustle of Delft and the noise from the wards. She went to sleep at once, but not before she had thought about Lucius and wondered where he was and what he was doing. It was too much to hope that he might miss her as she undoubtedly missed him. She slept on that not very happy thought.
There was too much to do the next day for anyone to have time to ask her any more questions. The wedding wasn’t to be a large one, but even though they hadn’t many relations, they had a great many friends, and Nick’s family was a large one. They all drove over to Shaftesbury that evening, where his parents were staying for a couple of days. There were a round dozen for dinner and a very light-hearted meal it was, only broken up by Aunt Martha’s firm decision that the bride required her beauty sleep.
Phoebe, waking early the next morning, went at once to her window. The weather had been unbelievably fine for weeks, and if it were to rain it would mean a last-minute rearranging of the buffet lunch which they were to have in the garden behind the house. But she need not have worried. The pale morning sky was clear and the sun, already bright, shone on to flower beds which really looked at their best. The roses were out too; the first buds of the Lady Seton had opened overnight, their pink the exact colour of the dress Phoebe had chosen to wear. She had a wide straw hat to go with it too, laden with matching roses—it was a beau
tiful hat and she looked nice in it. She found herself wishing that Doctor van Someren were there to see her in it.
She withdrew her head from the window, frowning a little. She was becoming obsessed by the man! She really must try to remember that however interesting she might find him, she wasn’t likely to see him once she had left Delft, and that would be soon enough, she remembered with something like a shock as she went downstairs to the kitchen to make the morning tea.
The wedding went off brilliantly and was all that such an event should be. After it was all over and the bride and groom had left, the last of the guests gone and Aunt Martha had retired to her room, happy but worn out, Phoebe went into the garden and sat down in the still bright evening. It had been a wonderful day. Sybil had looked lovely and so very happy and everything had gone without a hitch—besides, it had been fun to meet old friends again, only she hadn’t expected to see Jack there. She wondered who had invited him and then dismissed the thought as not worth bothering about. He had greeted her with an assurance which had annoyed her, as though he had only to raise his finger and she would come running.
She moved a little on the bench under the tree, smoothing the silk of her dress with careful fingers; it wasn’t until she had come face to face with Jack that she had known that she really didn’t care if she never saw him again. There was only one person she wanted to see Lucius van Someren. She supposed, now that she allowed herself to think about it, that she had been in love with him all the time, only she hadn’t been prepared to admit it. She sighed and got up and strolled down a garden path and, careless of her fine dress, leaned over the low stone wall at its end. There was Maureen to consider—it was impossible to tell from Lucius’ manner what he felt about the girl, and as for herself, he had shown nothing but a pleasant friendliness towards her. And the dice were loaded against her, for Paul hated her and he and Maureen were a formidable barrier between her and the doctor. She felt helpless and hopeless out there in the darkening garden. The only thing which buoyed her up was the fact that she would be seeing him again in a couple of days.
