Three for a Wedding

by Betty Neels

  Maureen had seen her. Before Phoebe could cross the road, Lucius, obedient to his companion’s direction, pulled the car into the curb.

  It was Maureen who opened the conversation. ‘My word,’ she said in a voice which dripped a bogus sympathy, ‘you do look a wreck! Just look at her, Lucius—the poor thing should be in bed—red-rimmed eyes and no colour!’

  Phoebe managed a smile in answer to this perfidious attack. ‘Oh, we all look like this after a few nights,’ she said in a slightly brittle voice. ‘You should try it and see.’

  Her smile was as brittle as her voice. Probably it looked grotesque on her pallid face—she didn’t care; she included Lucius in it just to let him see how fabulous she felt. But it was a useless effort, for he leaned across Maureen and said: ‘Phoebe, you look fagged out. Are you all right?’

  Before she could reply Maureen’s gay voice cut in: ‘You look at least thirty, my dear! I had no idea that a few nights out of bed could play such havoc with a girl’s looks. You poor dear, going to a hard night’s work just as we’re starting out to spend our evening …’

  Phoebe suddenly didn’t want to hear how they were going to spend their evening; there was a gap in the traffic. With a hasty: ‘I must go, or I shall be late,’ she fled across the street.

  It was after ten o’clock when Lucius came into the ward. She hadn’t expected him, naturally enough—indeed, her evening had been made wretched by the thought of him wining and dining Maureen at some fabulous place, drinking champagne and living it up. She and the student nurse had just finished clearing up the mess after one of the smaller children had been sick. She was going down the ward, wrapped in a plastic apron a good deal too large for her, pushing the runabout full of linen to be sluiced. She eyed him uncertainly, decided that to get rid of the runabout was more important than going to meet him and with a murmured: ‘I won’t be a moment, sir,’ she made for the sluice door. He opened it for her and followed her inside, so that she paused in her tracks and exclaimed in a shocked voice: ‘Oh, you mustn’t come in here, sir!’

  ‘Why not?’ he asked lazily. ‘Is it sacrosanct?’

  Which despite herself, moved her to hushed laughter. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! It just isn’t—isn’t suitable for you. Who did you want to see?’

  He shrugged wide shoulders. ‘My patients—no hurry. Tell me, Phoebe, do you find night duty too much for you? You looked exhausted this evening. Maureen thought …’

  It was too much! Phoebe hurled her noisome bundle into the sink and turned on the tap. ‘How kind of her to concern herself—I daresay she pointed out my haggard looks with a wealth of detail. I only hope it didn’t spoil your evening together.’ She turned off the tap with quite unnecessary violence and turned to face him where he lounged against the tiled wall.

  He spoke blandly. ‘Well, perhaps night duty may not exhaust you, but it certainly sharpens your temper.’ He put his hands in his pockets and crossed his legs comfortably. ‘As it happens I spent the evening at home—with Paul—and when he had gone to bed, I went to my study and worked, and a good thing I did, it seems, for you appear to grudge me any amusement I may care to arrange for myself.’

  There was a wicked gleam in his eye which she ignored. ‘I don’t!’ she declared hotly. ‘What about …’ She was about to remind him of their evening at Schevingenen and the dinner they had had together, but instead she said with a haughtiness which sat ill on her unglamorous appearance: ‘I’m not in the least interested in your private life,’ and started to tear off her apron. It was a pity that she hadn’t thought to take off her rubber gloves first. After watching her wrestling with an ever-tightening knot Lucius offered mildly: ‘If you’ll turn round, I’ll do it.’

  She stood, her back like a ramrod, while he worked away at it, and when he had freed her he said in quite a different voice impersonal, a little cool: ‘Good. Now if I might take a quick look at this vomiting infant before I go …’

  He went shortly afterwards, wishing her a pleasant good night, whistling softly as he went down the stairs. Phoebe, her pen poised over a chart, listened to his footsteps growing fainter and fainter. They seemed symbolic of the future; she closed her eyes on sudden tears and then opened them resolutely and began to write in her neat hand.

  * * *

  It was two mornings later, as she was on her way out for a morning walk before bed, that she was overtaken in the entrance hall by Mies, running and waving an envelope at her.

  She thrust it at Phoebe and said, very out of breath: ‘I remembered that you said that you would take a walk. These are reports for Doctor van Someren—they came by mistake to the ward, you understand, and he will not be here today—he is at Leyden, but he goes home, I think, and he can see them there. Please to hand them in at his house.’ She smiled in her friendly fashion. ‘It is no hardship for you to do this?’

  ‘No hardship,’ said Phoebe. He wouldn’t be home, anyway, so it made no difference at all. She might encounter Maureen, but her mood was such that she really didn’t care. Besides, she might just as well walk past his house as anywhere else.

  It was another dreary day, but she hardly noticed the fine rain as she walked briskly through the streets, glad to be out in the fresh air after her hectic night, her mind empty of thought because she was tired. She took the shortest way, deciding to go and have coffee at the Prinsenkelder and then go straight back to bed and, she hoped, to sleep.

  She could hear Rex yelping as she raised her hand to the heavy knocker on Lucius’ door. She heard Maureen’s high-pitched voice, shrill with fury, at the same time, and when no one came she tried the door. It opened under her hand and she went in.

  Maureen was in the sitting room with her back to the door so that she didn’t see Phoebe. She had the dog lead in her hand and cringing on the floor was the terrified Rex. As Phoebe paused in the doorway, appalled, she raised her arm to bring the lead down once more, but this time Phoebe, galvanised into sudden action, caught her arm from behind, wrenched the lead from her and threw it into the corner of the room.

  ‘You’re mad!’ she declared incredulously, and turned her attention to the puppy. He was shivering, very frightened, and there was a cut over one of his boot-button eyes. He winced and yelped as she lifted him gently to try to discover if he were injured and was relieved to find that at least all four of his legs seemed normal; she had no idea how long Maureen had been beating him, but undoubtedly he was severely bruised, if nothing worse. She laid a soothing hand on his heaving little body and turned to speak to Maureen.

  ‘You must be mad—whatever possessed you, to ill-treat something so small and defenceless—and to hurt Paul? Why did you do it?’

  Maureen flung herself into a chair. ‘Oh, shut up,’ she said roughly. ‘Just my filthy luck for Else to go out and leave the door unlocked. Another few minutes and the little brute would have been dead. Take it away, Miss do-gooder, and I’ll think up some tale or other about it running away.’

  ‘You’ll break Paul’s heart—he loves Rex.’

  The other girl laughed. ‘Don’t be such a fool! Do you think I care about that kid’s feelings? Do you imagine that I enjoy being a governess? You’re so dim. It serves my purpose, that’s all—it keeps me near Lucius.’

  Phoebe had gone to sit in a chair with Rex on her lap, examining him more carefully; neither of them heard the street door open, and both of them were taken by surprise when Lucius came into the room, but it was Maureen who recovered first. She was out of her chair in a flash, exclaiming: ‘Lucius—thank heaven you’ve come! I’m in such a state! Rex ran out of the door and got knocked down by a car—Else left the door ajar when she went out. Luckily Phoebe came along with some message or other—I’ve not had the time to ask her—she’s looking to see if he’s badly hurt.’ This remarkable speech had the effect of rendering Phoebe speechless. She gave Maureen an incredulous look and turned to Lucius, but he wasn’t looking at either of them; he was bending over the puppy, examining him in his turn. Phoebe,
seething with unspoken words, bit them back; a row wouldn’t help Rex, for it would waste time. She said quickly: ‘I hope he’s not badly hurt.’

  ‘It’s hard to tell, but I don’t think so. Probably the edge of the pavement or a stone cut his eyelid; he must have been tossed clear. Did the car stop?’ He glanced briefly at Maureen.

  ‘No—I didn’t actually see it happen, only heard the noise—poor little beast.’ Her voice was warmly sympathetic as she started to cross the floor towards them. ‘I’ll take him round to the vet—I can take the Mini …’

  Phoebe caught her breath. ‘No,’ she said more sharply than she intended, ‘I’ll take him. Mijnheer van Vliet’s house is close by—I’ll carry Rex.’

  There was a short pause until Lucius said deliberately: ‘Thank you, but I shall take him myself and I’ll pick up Paul from school at midday and take him along to see how Rex is shaping.’ He picked up the puppy and started for the door and paused to ask of Phoebe: ‘Why did you come?’

  ‘I was asked to deliver some reports. I put them on the table in the hall.’

  He nodded: ‘Thanks,’ and shut the door quietly behind him. There was silence after he had gone. Presently Phoebe left the house too, not speaking at all to Maureen, for she could think of nothing that she could say which might improve matters, and if she uttered the things she wanted to, it would probably make things hard for Paul as well as Rex. Besides, there was the chance that Maureen, after such a narrow shave, might change her ways. Phoebe hurried through the rain, wondering if and how she should tell Lucius about it and would he believe her if she did? Maureen was a clever girl, she would be able to turn a situation, however adverse to herself, to good advantage. Phoebe decided to wait until she was on the point of leaving Holland—only a few days away now. She would tell Lucius then and it would be up to him to sort things out for himself. She had forgotten her coffee. She walked around the streets aimlessly and was on her way back to the hospital when she suddenly decided to go and see Mijnheer van Vliet.

  He received her very kindly and led her at once to the room at the back of the surgery where the sick animals were housed. Rex, looking sorry for himself, was in a basket, still shivering, but he opened one eye and looked at her warily and essayed to wag his tail.

  ‘How is he?’ asked Phoebe anxiously.

  ‘He’ll recover,’ the vet smiled at her. ‘He’s a tough little chap—a few days and he’ll be well again.’ He added on a puzzled note: ‘Only his injuries do not match up with a car accident. I am a little perplexed …’

  ‘Look,’ said Phoebe earnestly, wondering why she hadn’t thought of telling him in the first place, ‘it wasn’t a car. I know how it happened, but you mustn’t tell anyone—you’ll understand why.’

  She plunged into her tale, and when she had finished, Mijnheer van Vliet nodded his head. ‘So that is the story, and a shocking one, but I must tell you that I am not altogether surprised. For some reason Maureen promised—oh, a couple of years ago, that she would give Paul a puppy. Always there have been reasons why she has not done so it is as if she punishes him by refusing his constant wish to have a dog and now he has Rex, a dog which she has not given him, and she is angry. I do not understand, but I thank you for telling me. I will say nothing, of course, but I promise you that I will keep an eye on him—daily visits perhaps, a check-up each week, something—and until then I will keep him safe here with me.’ He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘You do not feel that you should tell Lucius?’

  She blinked her beautiful eyes in deep thought. ‘No—you see Lucius thinks that Maureen is kind and good for Paul and that he’s fond of her, and perhaps that is the truth—I don’t know. Besides,’ she paused, seeking the right words, ‘they have known each other a long time, Lucius and Maureen. They’re—they’re old friends.’

  Mijnheer van Vliet growled deeply, coughed hugely and offered her coffee, making no comment. She refused the coffee, saying that she really would have to get back to the hospital and get some sleep, and after a final look at Rex, she walked back to the Home, too tired by now to think sensibly about anything, and as it turned out, too tired to sleep.

  She went on duty looking distinctly haggard and not much caring. The ward was busy, there was a great deal to do, and it was almost one o’clock in the morning when she sat down at her desk in the now quiet ward and a few minutes later Lucius came, looking vast in the dim, shadowed surroundings. Phoebe got to her feet wearily and wished him good evening, and he said softly:

  ‘Hullo, Phoebe—they’re all OK, aren’t they? I came to see you to tell you that Rex is better. He’s to stay with van Vliet for a day or two.’

  ‘And Paul?’

  ‘He was upset, but he feels better now he’s seen him.’ He leaned over and turned the desk lamp on to her face. ‘You’ve not slept,’ he stated baldly, and then, to take her breath: ‘What was wrong this morning?’

  She faltered a little: ‘Wrong? What do you mean?’

  His voice was bland. ‘You and Maureen. But I see you have no intention of telling me.’

  ‘No.’

  He nodded to himself. ‘A little tiff, I suppose—you were tired, weren’t you, and I daresay, short-tempered, and Maureen is no good with animals. She finds them a nuisance even when she wants to help them. I daresay you arrived just in time to prevent her having hysterics.’

  Phoebe eyed him unsmilingly; he had called her short-tempered and somehow put her in the wrong. Well, let him find out for himself. ‘You might say that,’ she told him.

  Lucius turned to go. ‘Oh, Paul sent his love. He hopes you will go and see Rex.’

  ‘Of course I will. Please give him my love.’

  He lingered. ‘You’re friends at last. I wonder what stood in the way when you first met?’

  She returned his thoughtful stare. ‘I have no idea. Good night, sir.’

  His lips twitched, he gave her a mocking smile. ‘Good night, Nurse Brook.’

  She went the following morning to see Rex and this time stayed for coffee with Mijnheer van Vliet and his wife. ‘Rex is better,’ the vet told her, ‘but he’s got some brutal weals on his back, poor little beast. He’s on penicillin and he eats like a horse. Have you seen Lucius?’

  ‘Yes—on the ward.’

  ‘You didn’t tell him?’

  ‘No, and I don’t intend to.’ She got to her feet. ‘Thank you for the coffee. May I come and see Rex again? When is he going home?’

  Mijnheer van Vliet laughed. ‘Tomorrow or the day after. Paul is longing to look after him and I find it hard to imagine that Maureen will repeat her actions.’ He smiled grimly. ‘If she does, then whatever you feel, I shall tell Lucius myself and he can find himself another governess.’ He walked to the door with her. ‘You will be back in England very soon, I understand. I am sorry to hear that; we shall miss you.’

  Phoebe sped back to the hospital, wondering if Lucius would miss her too, or if he would forget about her going until she had gone and then wonder where she was.

  She hoped that he would visit the ward that night, but this time it was Doctor Pontier. He wrote up a few charts, signed a couple of forms, asked her when she was leaving, hoped for the pleasure of taking her out before she did, and took himself off. He was a nice man, although he had a roving eye. Phoebe thought about him for perhaps ten seconds and then plunged back into her work.

  She was late off duty in the morning. Everything had gone wrong—broken thermometers, cross children who refused to be washed, crosser ones who spat out their medicine and the cheerful ones who thought it fun to hide under the bedclothes and have a good romp before being hurried off to clean their teeth and wash their faces. Phoebe, a calm girl when it came to her work, took it all in good part, but by the time she left the ward she was tired enough to go straight to bed.

  Breakfast, she promised herself as she went slowly to the dining room, and then a bath and bed. She had done the last night of her duty; she had two days off, so she would sleep until the afternoon, get
up, have a walk and go back to bed again. The dining room was almost empty. Phoebe poured coffee, buttered some bread and sat down. She was half way through the coffee when she was told that there was someone to see her and it was urgent. She trailed up the stairs again—the ward had been all right when she left it. It wouldn’t be Lucius in this weather; perhaps it was Rex—she hurried her lagging feet as she reached the entrance hall. Paul was there. He looked small and forlorn and wildly angry, and forgetting her tiredness Phoebe hurried to him.

  ‘Paul—what’s the matter? Rex?’

  He stared at her for a moment and then began to pour out his tale, becoming quite incoherent and mixing Dutch and English together so that she was hard put to understand him. When he had finished she said in a calm voice: ‘Let me get this straight, Paul—you stop me if I go wrong. Your father’s away in England for how long? Two days. He fetched Rex back last night so that you should have him while he was away and this morning Maureen took him and shut him in the shed at the bottom of the garden, and made you go to school—how did she make you, my dear?’

  Tears clogged his voice. ‘She said it would be the worse for Rex if I didn’t—that Papa had told her to do it, but I don’t believe her. She’s going to hurt him, I know she is.’ He fixed her with a pleading eye. ‘You must help me, please, Phoebe!’

  ‘Yes, dear, of course I’ll help you.’

  His face brightened a little. ‘You believe me, then?’

  ‘Yes, of course I do. Where are Else and that girl who comes in the mornings?’