by Betty Neels
By the time she got back to the hotel in the late afternoon she was tired but content; she had crammed the Rijksmuseum, two churches, Anne Frank’s house and a canal trip into her time, stopping only for a brief while to consume a kaas broodje and a cup of coffee.
At dinner she told her companions where she had been and they nodded approval, pointing out that the evening was when she should take the opportunity of walking to the Leidesplein to get a glimpse of the brightly lighted square with its cafés and hotels and cheerful crowds.
Daisy, a cock-a-hoop over her successful day, decided that she would do just that. It was no distance, and although it was a chilly night, with a sparkling frost, there was a moon and plenty of people around. She found her way to the Leidesplein easily enough, had a cup of coffee at a street stall while she watched the evening crowds, and then started back to the hotel.
However, somehow she mistook her way, and, turning round to check where she had come from, took unguarded steps backwards and fell into a canal.
She came to the surface of the icy water and her first thought was thankfulness that she hadn’t had anything valuable about her person; the second was a flash of panic. The water wasn’t just cold, it smelled awful—and tasted worse.There were probably rats… She opened her mouth and bawled for help and swam, very hampered by her clothes, to the canal bank. Slippery stones, too steep for her to scramble up. She bawled again, and, miracle of miracles, a firm hand caught her shoulder while a second grabbed her other arm, almost wrenching it from its socket. She was heaved onto the street with no more ado.
‘Not hurt?’ asked her rescuer.
‘Ugh,’ said Daisy, and was thankfully sick, half kneeling on the cobbles.
‘Only very wet and—er, strong-smelling,’ added a voice she knew.
He bent and set her on her feet. ‘Come with me and we’ll get you cleaned up.’
‘Mr der Huizma,’ said Daisy. ‘Oh, it would be you, wouldn’t it?’ she added wildly. It was nice to have been rescued, but why couldn’t it have been by a stranger? Why did it have to be someone who, if he’d remembered her at all, would have thought of her as a quiet, well-mannered girl with a knowledge of antiques and a liking for walks by the sea. Now it would be as a silly, careless fool.
‘Indeed it is I.’ He had her by the arm. ‘Across this bridge is the hospital where I work. They will soon have you clean and dry again.You didn’t lose anything in the canal?’
‘No. I didn’t have more than a few gulden with me. I only turned round to see where I was…’
‘Of course,’ agreed Mr der Huizma gravely, ‘a perfectly natural thing to do. This way.’
The hospital was indeed close by. He led her, squelching and dripping, into the casualty entrance and handed her over to a large bony woman who clucked sympathetically and led Daisy away before she had time to utter a word of thanks to Mr der Huizma. Her clothes were taken from her, she was put under a hot shower, her hair was washed and she was given injections. The sister, who spoke good English, smiled at her. ‘Rats,’ she said, plunging in the needle. ‘A precaution.’
She was given hot coffee, wrapped in a hospital gown several sizes too large and a thick blanket, and sat on a chair in one of the cubicles. She felt quite restored in her person, but her mind was in a fine jumble. She had no clothes; her own had been taken away, but even if they were washed they would never be dry enough, and how was she to get back to the hotel? No one had asked her that yet. She rubbed her long mousy hair dry and began to worry.
The cubicle curtains were parted and Sister appeared; looming beside her was Mr der Huizma. Daisy stared up at them from the depths of her blanket.
‘My clothes? If I could have…?’
Sister interrupted her in a kind, forceful voice. ‘Mr der Huizma will take you back to your hotel and explain what has happened. Perhaps you would be good enough to bring back the blanket, slippers and gown in the morning?’
‘Oh! Well, thank you. I’m a great nuisance, I’m afraid. Shall I take my clothes with me?’
‘No, no. They are being washed and disinfected. You may collect them in the morning.’
Daisy avoided the doctor’s eye. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so tiresome. I’m very grateful…’
Sister smiled. ‘It is a common happening that people—and cars—should fall in the canals. You will come to no harm, I think.’
Mr der Huizma spoke. ‘Shall we go, Miss Gillard?’
So Daisy, much hampered by the blanket and the too-large slippers, trotted beside him, out of the hospital, and was shoved neatly into the dark grey Rolls Royce outside.
It was a short drive, and beyond expressing the polite hope that she would enjoy the rest of her stay in Amsterdam, he had nothing to say. And as for Daisy, it seemed to her it was hardly the occasion for casual conversation.
At the hotel he ushered her across the narrow pavement and into the foyer, where he engaged the proprietor in a brief conversation, not a word of which Daisy could understand. But presently he turned to her, expressed the hope that she was none the worse for her ducking, and bade her goodbye.
Daisy, at a disadvantage because of the blanket, thanked him again, untangled a hand from the blanket and offered it. His large, cool hand felt strangely comforting.
The next morning, her normal, neatly dressed self, not a hair out of place, she took a taxi to the hospital, handed over the blanket, the gown and the slippers in exchange for her own clothes, and made a short speech of thanks to Sister, who nodded and smiled, wished her a happy day and a safe return home and warned her to be careful.
There was no sign of Mr der Huizma, and there was no reason why there should have been; he was obviously a senior member of his profession who probably only went to Casualty when his skills were required. All the same, Daisy lingered for as long as possible in the hope of seeing him.
Mijnheer Friske had the wine cooler packed up ready for her to take. She arranged to collect it that evening, when she went to get her train to the Hoek. It would be unwieldy, but no heavier than a big suitcase, and there would be porters and her father had said that he would see that she was met at Harwich. She assured Heer Friske that she would be back in good time, checked the contents of her handbag—ticket, passport, money and all the impedimenta necessary for her journey—and set off to spend the rest of the day window shopping, exploring the city and buying one or two small gifts.
Being a girl of common sense, she left her clothes, including those the hospital had returned to her, with the kindly Heer Friske, taking only her coat with her which she presently left at a dry cleaners to be collected later. Everything was going very smoothly, and she intended to enjoy her day.
And she did, cramming in as much as possible; another museum, a church or two, antique shops, browsing round the Bijnenkorf looking for presents.
It was late afternoon, after a cup of tea and an elaborate cream cake, when she started on her way back to Heer Friske’s shop.
She walked through the narrow streets, thinking about her stay in Holland—a very enjoyable one, despite the ducking in a canal that had been the means of meeting Mr der Huizma again. Not quite the meeting she would have chosen. Aware of her lack of looks, she was sure that a soaking in canal water had done little to improve them. And there was nothing glamorous about a hospital blanket.
She was almost at Heer Friske’s shop, walking down a narrow quiet street with no one to be seen, the houses lining it with doors and windows shut, when she was suddenly aware of danger. Too late, unfortunately. Someone snatched her handbag, and when she struggled to get it back someone else knocked her down. She hit the cobbles with a thump, was aware of a sudden terrible pain in her head, and was thankfully unconscious.
The two men disappeared as swiftly and silently as they had appeared. It was ten minutes or so before a man on a bicycle found her, and another ten minutes before an ambulance arrived to take her to hospital.
CHAPTER THREE
MR DER HUIZMA, leaving the hosp
ital in the early morning after operating on a small baby with intussusception, met Casualty Sister in the foyer, also on her way home. He paused to wish her good morning, for they had known each other for some years, and enquired after her night.
‘Busy—as busy as you, sir. By the way, the English girl is back…’
He paused in his stride. ‘She was to return to England last night. What has happened to her?’
‘Mugged. She was brought in about five o’clock. Concussion. No identification, of course—they took everything. They traced her name from the admissions book and notified the hotel. The proprietor couldn’t give much information, only that she had paid her bill and intended to leave for England that evening.’
Mr der Huizma sighed and turned on his heel. ‘Perhaps I can be of some assistance. Her father must be told…’
The sister of the ward to which Daisy had been taken was in her office. She got up as he came in. ‘The English girl—we have tried to telephone her family but there was no reply…she is still unconscious, sir. You would wish to see her? Dr Brem is with her now.’
Daisy looked very neat lying in bed. Her hair had been plaited and lay on her pillow; her arms were neatly arranged on the coverlet. She was rather pale, and now and again she frowned.
Mr der Huizma nodded to his colleague. ‘No fracture? No brain damage?’
‘Not as far as we can see. Rather a deep concussion, but all her reflexes are normal. You’ve seen Sister?’
‘Yes.’ Mr der Huizma bent over the bed. ‘Daisy, Daisy, can you hear me?’
The frown deepened, but she didn’t open her eyes. She mumbled, ‘Go away, I’m asleep.’And then added, ‘My head aches.’
Mr der Huizma took a hand in his. ‘My poor dear. You shall have something for that at once, and when you wake up you will feel better.’
He spoke very softly. ‘Is your father meeting you at Harwich?’
‘How else am I to get the wine cooler halfway across England? Go away.’
Which he did, to retire to Sister’s office and pick up the phone.
Her father, waiting patiently for the ferry to dock, was surprised to hear his name on the loudspeaker. ‘A phone call from Holland,’he was told, and was ushered into a small office to take it.
‘Daisy?’
‘Jules der Huizma, Mr Gillard. Daisy has had an accident. She is not seriously hurt but she has concussion. I have just come from her bedside and she has regained consciousness. She is being well cared for and I can assure you that you have no need for anxiety. She will be kept in hospital for a few days and I will personally arrange her return to you.’
‘How did it happen?’
‘She was mugged. Her handbag was taken, so it will be necessary for her to obtain a new passport and money. Someone will give her assistance with this.’
‘Should I come over? Or my wife?’
‘There is no need, unless you have a strong wish to do so. She must be kept quiet for a few days, and you would only be allowed to visit her for a brief period. I will phone you each day and let you know how she is getting on. One other thing—she spoke of a wine cooler. Is this something which can be dealt with?’
‘Yes, yes. Heer Friske…I’ll explain…’
When he’d finished, Mr der Huizma said, ‘I’ll see to the matter for you,’ before bidding him a civil goodbye.
He went home then, wondering why he had saddled himself with offers of help to a comparative stranger. Heaven knew his days were busy enough, without hunting wine coolers and the self-imposed task of phoning Daisy’s father each evening. He let himself into the tall narrow house which was his home, climbed the carved staircase at the end of the narrow hall, showered and dressed and went down to his breakfast.
He was met in his dining room by an elderly man, thin and stooping, with a severe expression, who wished him good morning and observed in accusing accents that Mr der Huizma had been out half the night again. ‘It’s not right,’ he grumbled, ‘having you out at all hours, and you an important man.’
Mr der Huizma, looking through his post, made light of it.
‘It’s my job, Joop, and I enjoy it.’ He smiled at him. ‘I’m famished…’
He had a busy day ahead of him, with no time to think about Daisy, but in the early evening on his way out of the hospital he went to see her.
She was having long periods of consciousness, Sister told him, and had obediently drunk the variety of beverages offered her. She had spoken very little.
‘She seems worried about something called a wine cooler.’
‘Ah, yes, that is something I can deal with on my way home. I’d like to see her for a few minutes if that is convenient?’
Sister beamed at him—such a nice man, and always so courteous and thoughtful. She led the way to Daisy’s bed and, being a sentimental woman, thought how charming she looked lying there quietly, her hair in a neat plait, her pale face devoid of make-up. She glanced at Mr der Huizma, wondering if he thought the same. He might be engaged to marry, but surely his heart would be touched…
Mr der Huizma, his heart quite untouched, looked down at Daisy with a professional eye. Dr Brem had assured him that she was doing nicely. A few days in bed and she would be perfectly fit.
And Daisy, looking back at him, could see that his look was wholly professional, not the friendly look of the nice man she had walked with on the beach at home. She said politely, ‘Good evening, Mr der Huizma. I am quite recovered.’
‘In a few more days,’ he cautioned her. ‘I am going to see Heer Friske this evening. Is there anything you wish me to say to him?’
‘That’s very kind of you. I expect he may be wondering why I haven’t been to collect the wine cooler and my things. Would you please tell him that I’ll come in a few days’ time and get it, and take it home with me.’
‘An awkward thing to travel with, surely?’
‘Well, a bit, but I’ll manage. Thank you for going to see him.’ She frowned. ‘How did you know about it?’
‘Your father told me. I phoned to tell him that you were delayed and the reason for it.’
‘Thank you. I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.’
‘It is no trouble. I’m glad to see that you have recovered so well.’ He smiled then. ‘Sleep well.’
He turned away and then paused. ‘I should have told you at once. Your mother and father know that you are quite safe and in good hands; they send their love. They would have come here but I said that there was no need, that you would be home again in a few days.’
When he had gone, Daisy closed her eyes and went over their conversation. It had been brief, impersonal, and he had been impatient under his perfect bedside manner. Probably he considered her a nuisance and would be glad to see the last of her. Her spirits, already at their lowest, sank without trace, and two tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. Before she could wipe them away Sister was by her bed, on her evening round.
‘Daisy? In tears? Has Mr der Huizma upset you?’
‘No, no. He’s been most kind.’ Daisy managed a smile. ‘I’ve got a little headache…’
She swallowed tablets, drank a warm drink, assured everyone that she felt perfectly all right and closed her eyes. She didn’t think she would sleep, but if she kept them shut Sister would report to the night staff that she was asleep. They were all so kind… It would be nice to be home again, and when she was she would forget Mr der Huizma.
Satisfactory arrangements having been made with Heer Friske, Mr der Huizma went home, remembering with a twinge of annoyance that he was dining with friends that evening and that his future bride would expect him to call for her so that they might arrive together. Before then he had a good deal to do; the post to read, phone calls to make, patients’ notes to study.
He went to his study, closely followed by Joop with a tray of coffee and a small dog of nondescript appearance. He thanked Joop for the coffee, received delighted greetings from the dog and sat down behind his desk.
There
were biscuits on the tray, which he offered the dog while he drank his coffee. ‘I have to go out this evening, Bouncer. I do not particularly wish to do so. I am coming to the conclusion that I am not a socially minded man. When I return we will have a pleasant walk before bed.’
Bouncer hung out his tongue and panted, ate the last of the biscuits and made himself comfortable on his master’s feet. He was a unique specimen of dog, as Mr der Huizma frequently told his friends. Long and thin in body, and covered with a silky coat, he possessed short legs and large ears. He had beautiful amber eyes and the heart of a lion. And he loved his master with an undemanding devotion. He closed his eyes now and dozed while Mr der Huizma opened the first of his letters.
Presently he got up and went through the house to let Bouncer out into the narrow walled garden behind it. It was a cold night, but the sky was clear and there was a frost. Walking up and down its length while Bouncer raced to and fro, Mr der Huizma found himself thinking of his walk along the shore in England. Daisy had been a good companion, saying little and when she did talking sense. He sighed for no reason at all, whistled to Bouncer, and went to dress for the evening.
Helene van Tromp, the lady who had every intention of marrying him, lived with her parents in a vast flat in the Churchillaan. She was hardly in the first flush of youth, being only a year or so younger than Mr der Huizma—and he had turned thirty-five—but she was considered a handsome woman by her friends; very fair, with large blue eyes, regular features and a fashionably slender figure, kept so, as only her dearest friends knew, by constant visits to her gym instructor and the beauty parlour. She was always exquisitely dressed, with never a hair out of place, and Mr der Huizma, arriving at her home, was given a cheek to kiss and told not to disarrange her hair.
‘You’re late,’ she told him. ‘I had hoped that we might have had a talk with Mother and Father; you see them so seldom.’ She smiled enchantingly at him. ‘Of course when we are married we shall be able to spend more time with them…’