by Betty Neels
They were more than halfway round and everything was going smoothly, and Clotilde relaxed. True, she and Dr Evans had had a couple of ladylike skirmishes over the diabetics’ diets to which Dr Thackery had listened imperturbably, but things should now be plain sailing—there was the patient whose specimens had so unfortunately been disposed of, but since there had been no major snags so far, she had high hopes of glossing the business over. Hopes dashed, as she might have known, by Dr Evans, who having reminded Dr Thackery about them—quite unnecessarily—stood gloating as Clotilde explained briefly and with no excuses. ‘Entirely my fault,’ she observed calmly. ‘I should have made sure that the nurses had known about them.’
‘Inefficient,’ muttered Dr Evans in a piercing whisper. ‘Such a badly run ward—why, when I need a nurse to help me there’s never one available…’
The doctor’s long arm waved her to silence. ‘You’re short-staffed, Sister?’ he wanted to know.
‘A night nurse went off sick, sir, and there was no replacement. My nurses have done the very best they could.’
He nodded. ‘I’m sure of that, Sister. Perhaps you’ll see that the specimens are obtained as soon as possible? I don’t think any blame can be attached to you or your nurses. The circumstances must have been trying.’
‘Oh, they were,’ agreed Clotilde. ‘Round morning, you see.’
‘Of course,’ he smiled very faintly, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘And now this next lady— Mrs Dawes— I haven’t seen her yet, have I? If I might have her notes…’
The round finished and the whole party crowded into the office for coffee, while the more serious cases were discussed. The only one who took no part was Dr Evans, who sulked unless Dr Thackery addressed her directly, when she was instantly all smiles. It was really very unfortunate, thought Clotilde, that the woman disliked her so much. The nurses didn’t like Dr Evans either—she bullied them when she thought no one was listening, and never a day passed without her seeking Clotilde out so that she might grumble about something or the others. Her appointment was for six months and there were still four weeks to go, thought Clotilde gloomily.
The conference over and coffee drunk, everyone left, with Clotilde seeing them to the door as custom dictated, and this time Dr Thackery didn’t come back. She watched his massive frame disappear into Men’s Medical with a feeling of regret which she instantly squashed, since there was no reason for it, and she had a great deal on her mind anyway. She swept down the ward, taking Sally with her, so that they could go over the cases together and make sure they had all the instructions correct.
‘And for heaven’s sake, get those specimens and lock them up or something! He was very nice about it, but I wouldn’t like to repeat a mistake like that.’
‘He’s always nice,’ said Sally. ‘What was Dr Evans on about? I couldn’t quite hear.’
Clotilde told her. ‘I can’t think why she hates me so thoroughly.’
‘Well, I can—just you stand beside her in front of a mirror! Besides, she’s barmy about Dr Thackery.’ Sally added delicately: ‘Someone saw you coming in last night, Sister. It’ll be all over the grapevine by this evening.’
Clotilde gave her staff nurse a limpid look. ‘I spent the day with Dr Thackery’s sister and he brought me back after dinner. We went shopping and she bought enough clothes to last the likes of us a lifetime. But she’s a poppet, you can’t help liking her.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘You can feed that into the grapevine if you get the chance!’
‘Oh, I will.’ Sally looked as though she was going to say something else, but she didn’t. ‘I can hear the dinner trolleys, do you want me to start or will you come out, Sister?’
‘I’ll come; there are those low fat diets to sort out and if Mrs Gregson’s teeth haven’t been found, she’d better have the mince…’
Her mind was once more taken up with the ward and its occupants. James had become a vague friendly figure at the back of her busy mind.
The rest of the week went fast and beyond his ward visits she saw nothing of James. She worked all through the next week, saving her days off for the following weekend when they would be going to Holland. She was beginning to feel a little doubtful now, probably because he had made no more mention of it, and she wondered, not for the first time, if he was regretting his invitation. The second round of the week had come and gone without a word from him and in two days’ time she was supposed to be going. She wondered wildly if she should phone him, but that would look pushing and she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Perhaps she had made a mistake in the dates? Here she was, her passport ready, clothes suitable—she hoped—for the visit, cleaned and pressed and ready to pack. She even rang Rosie and asked if there had been any messages for her. There hadn’t, of course; she listened to Rosie’s cheerful voice speculating about the new owner of the house, giving her a résumé of Tinker’s day, telling her about Bingo in the church hall, and then with the promise that she would be home again in ten days or so, Clotilde rang off. There was still the business of the furniture to settle and when she got back, she would have to decide once and for all what she was going to do.
She was filling in the diet sheet the next morning, one ear tuned in to the familiar noises on the ward, when James walked in. He came silently so that she jumped a little with surprise.
‘We don’t seem to have seen much of each other,’ he observed cheerfully. ‘You’re ready for Friday—tomorrow?’
She raised her lovely eyes to his placid face. ‘Yes, but I thought you might have changed your mind…’
He sat on the edge of the desk, pushed her carefully piled charts carelessly on one side and said: ‘Clotilde, I never change my mind. Now this is how we go—you’re off duty tomorrow evening?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Can you be ready to leave around six o’clock—we can be on the other side by ten o’clock and drive straight to Leyden.’
‘Yes, I’ll be ready. I thought we weren’t going until the next morning?’
He studied her for a minute under drooping lids. ‘I don’t want to waste a minute,’ he told her.
He got up from the desk and all the charts slid on to the floor. He swept them into a heap and dumped them back again. He said: ‘Katrina’s very excited,’ and when Clotilde looked up at him, bent and kissed her. He had gone as quickly and silently as he had come, leaving her to spend a frenzied half hour getting the charts in their proper order again.
CHAPTER SIX
THEY WERE well on the way to the ferry when Clotilde said carefully: ‘There’s quite a lot of gossip…’
‘About us? Naturally there would be. You don’t mind? It’s silly enough to be ignored.’
She agreed quickly, a little put out at this matter-of-fact tone. ‘Oh, of course, and it’s only because it’s—it’s so soon after Bruce went away.’
‘You still think of him, Clotilde?’ The question was casual.
‘Sometimes,’ she admitted. ‘But I try not to. That’s all over and done with.’ She wasn’t going to say any more; there was nothing more tiresome than having to listen to someone else’s troubles at the wrong time and in the wrong place, and at the moment it was definitely both. ‘I expect Millie will miss you, and your other dog…’
‘Both in the country with my parents,’ he told her. ‘George spends most of his time there, we go for long walks at the weekends.’
A tiny bit more about his private life, she tucked it away at the back of her mind and stored it with the other sparse titbits about him. She sat silent for a few minutes, trying to think of a leading question which would tell her a little more, but he began to talk about Holland and presently about France and Italy, both of which countries she had visited, the subject kept them pleasantly occupied until they reached Dover.
The crossing was uneventful, extremely so for James, having provided her with a drink and made sure that she had something to read, went to sleep, which surprised her very much at first, but when she studied his face she
could see how tired he was, with lines etched deeply on either side of his handsome nose. Undoubtedly he had had little sleep, and when he woke presently she taxed him with it.
‘Were you up all night?’ she wanted to know. ‘Why didn’t you put the trip off until tomorrow? You must be dog tired— I’m going to ask for some coffee for you.’
He sat up, his face magically its bland self once more. ‘Now that’s really kind of you, Clotilde. What a sensible young woman you are! You could be forgiven for flouncing off in a rage.’
She turned from ordering coffee. ‘Why should I do that?’ she asked. ‘And were you up all night?’
‘A good deal of it, yes. Don’t worry— I’m quite able to drive.’
She eyed him calmly. ‘I never supposed you weren’t.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘I think you’re able to do anything you want to do.’
He said gravely: ‘A very encouraging remark, Clotilde— I must remember that.’
It was quite dark when they began their journey from Calais to Leyden. James had suggested that they didn’t stop on the way. ‘It’s round about two hundred and fifty miles,’ he explained, ‘and a good road all the way, so we shall, with luck, be there by midnight.’
In actual fact it took less than that. The Bentley, given her head cut though distance like a knife through butter. For most of the way they travelled in a companionable silence, and once Clotilde dozed off and woke with a start to hear James chuckle. ‘Not long now,’ he told her. ‘Those lights ahead are Leyden, Huis Asdaadt is a mile or so further on.’
‘That’s a strange name,’ she commented.
‘My mother’s maiden name.’
‘When you’re here—in Holland, do you feel Dutch?’
‘Oh, completely. But don’t worry, we shall all speak English to you.’
He had slowed the car through the streets of Leyden and Clotilde did her best to see something of the small city, lights glimmering on water, steeple rooftops, narrow streets, lights from a few cafés still open and a handful of people on the streets. They were leaving the main roads now and the city behind them. ‘We’re going to the lakes to the north of Leyden,’ said James, and she could hear the contentment in his voice. ‘About two miles.’
Away from the town it was difficult to see anything. Now and again the car lights picked out a farmhouse or cottages, but no lights showed. When James turned the car between tall gateposts she was taken by surprise, and still more so when round a curve in the drive she saw the welcoming lights streaming from the dark mass of the house at its end.
There were shallow wide steps leading to the front door, which was opened as they reached it by a rotund little man with a fringe of white hair and a wide smile. He shook the doctor’s hand and James said something to him which made him chuckle richly. ‘This is Bas,’ he told Clotilde. ‘He’s known me since I was a small boy, he keeps an eye on things here.’
Clotilde shook hands and murmured, and Bas said in rather strangely accented English: ‘You are most welcome, miss,’ and led the way across the hall, large and lofty with an oak staircase to one side of it. He opened double doors and ushered them into a room as lofty as the hall; a very splendid room, beautifully furnished. Clotilde had speculated idly about their destination, but she hadn’t imagined anything quite as vast or magnificent, and she threw James a reproachful glance as they went in.
He ignored it, but she could see that he was amused and if they had been alone she might have had something to say about it, but they weren’t—two chairs drawn up to the wood fire in the massive hearth were occupied. Their occupants got up as they crossed the room, a tall old man, stooping a little but still remarkably handsome and a small round lady with white hair dressed severely in an old-fashioned bun and wearing a pleated dress of some soft grey material which floated round her as she trotted to meet them.
The doctor bent to kiss her and then swung her up to kiss her again. Whatever he said made her chuckle delightedly before he put her gently on to her feet again. ‘Oma, this is Clotilde.’ He added with bland deliberation: ‘Katrina’s friend.’ He smiled at Clotilde. ‘My grandmother—her English is excellent.’
He left them together while he shook hands with the old man and then introduced him in turn. They stood talking for a few minutes before Mevrouw van Asdaadt urged them into the dining room, another vast room on the other side of the hall, where there was supper elegantly arranged on the oval table. Clotilde, who had thought that she was too sleepy to be hungry, found she was wrong. They sat, she and James, making a splendid meal of soup, light-as-air vol-au-vents, toasted sandwiches and creamy coffee, while the two elderlies sat, one at each side of them, plying them with more food and asking questions about their journey and their plans.
‘Well, I shall take Clotilde into Leyden tomorrow morning, so she can meet Kitty—they’ll want to look around then, I imagine, and that’ll give me time to do some business for Mother. I’ll bring them back for lunch if I may, and that will fit in very nicely with an afternoon appointment I have at the hospital.’
Clotilde, listening to this, felt vaguely put out—unjustifiably so, she had to admit. It was Katrina who had invited her to come, not James; he had merely given her a lift there and back, and she could hardly expect him to spend his days with her. She declared that his plans sounded delightful, and when Mevrouw van Asdaat suggested that she might like to go to her bed, agreed willingly, wished them all goodnight and followed her hostess out of the room. The doctor, who had got up to open the door for them, kissed his grandmother as she passed him. ‘As beautiful as ever,’ he declared, and then kissed Clotilde too, but without comment.
‘Such a dear boy,’ said his grandmother, leading the way upstairs. ‘I’m glad he has decided to marry at last.’ She didn’t give Clotilde time to comment upon this, which was just as well, because she was too surprised to say anything. ‘You’re in this room, my dear,’ went on the old lady. ‘If you want anything, there’s a bell by the bed and someone will bring you tea in the morning.’ She offered a check for Clotilde to kiss and smiled very sweetly at her. ‘You’re a very nice girl,’ she observed in a satisfied voice and trotted out of the room, leaving Clotilde to inspect her surroundings.
Very luxurious they were too. A small brass bedstead with a canopy above it, a dressing table with a chintz petticoat, two small chairs upholstered in the same chintz, a vast wall cupboard to house a film star’s wardrobe, and a pale carpet to sink her feet into. There was a bathroom too, pastel coloured to match the bedroom and lavishly fitted out with everything she might possibly need. Even her case had been unpacked and her nightie left ready on the bed. She had a hot bath and fell into bed. There was a pile of magazines and a book or two on the bedside table, but she was too tired to read. She lay in the dark, listening to the silence, and almost at once fell asleep.
James drove her into Leyden after breakfast the next morning, saw her into the delighted care of Katrina and drove off again.
‘Always going somewhere,’ grumbled Katrina. ‘Come and see the rest of the flat. It’s nice, isn’t it? I live here during the term time, but I go to Grandmother’s each weekend.’
It was a charming place—the top floor of a narrow house close to the University, with a large rather untidy living room, a small bedroom and a tiny bathroom and kitchen.
‘Poky, isn’t it?’ said Katrina cheerfully. ‘I couldn’t bear to live in a small house, I’ll have to marry someone with plenty of money…wouldn’t you rather live with plenty of space?’
Clotilde thought of her home, by no means as grand as Mevrouw van Asdaadt’s but nonetheless comfortably spacious, and, regrettably, no longer hers to live in. And hard on the heels of her thought, she had a clear memory of James’s house in London. Small it might be, but comparatively speaking, one could live in such a place without feeling in the least cramped. ‘Your grandfather and grandmother have a lovely house,’ she observed.
‘Yes, it’s pretty nice, isn’t it? Father has a house too, you kn
ow— I suppose James will inherit it.’
She was busy making coffee in the kitchen, talking over her shoulder to Clotilde in the living room. Clotilde hoped she would say where the house was, but she didn’t, and asking might sound nosey. They drank their coffee, and then got into their coats and went out into the wintry morning.
There was more than enough to see in Leyden. Indeed, after half an hour or so Clotilde came to the conclusion that even if she returned on the following day, she would have barely skimmed its historical buildings.
Katrina was a good companion and an excellent guide. They went first to the University and then the Lakenhal Museum, Pieterskerk, and lastly the Burcht, a mound of earth with a mediaeval fortification on its top. Katrina was a bit vague about its origin: ‘But James will know—we’ll ask him. What a pity there isn’t more time. I promised I’d meet him outside the Medical School at half past twelve. He’ll take us back to lunch. I’ll have to come in tomorrow morning to pack some things—you’ll come too, won’t you? We might have time to see the shops.’
James was waiting for them. ‘You must have a good influence on Kitty,’ he observed. ‘I usually wait for at least half an hour, and here you are barely five minutes late. Jump in the back, Kitty. Clotilde can sit beside me and tell me what she thinks of Leyden.’
‘Wonderful, only I’ve had a kind of Reader’s Digest of it; I could have spent hours just goggling at rooftops. Katrina’s a marvellous guide, though, I think I’ve had a quick look at almost everything.’
He said at his most placid: ‘You’ll have to come again,’ one of those annoying remarks which people make and don’t mean, thought Clotilde, and went guiltily pink when he added: ‘And that’s no idle remark.’
Lunch was a cheerful meal and they were still sitting talking over their coffee when James declared that he would have to go. ‘Back in time for drinks,’ he told his grandmother as he left. ‘Sorry about that, but it’s a splendid opportunity to see one or two people…’