Damsel in Green

by Betty Neels

  Cor brightened. ‘Yes, please, George dear, and I’m sure he won’t mind, because he told me to do exactly as you said and to take great care of you because there aren’t any more like you. What do you suppose he meant?’ He looked at her. ‘You’ve gone very red in the face—is it hard work doing my legs?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t think Julius meant anything much; only that nurses are scarce, you know, and hard to come by. There, no more for tonight. I’m going to tuck you up and then go and telephone my aunt, and mind you’re asleep when I come upstairs.’

  She kissed him goodnight and gave him a hug and said cheerfully:

  ‘We’ll make a calendar tomorrow—you know, little squares, one for each day; then we can cross them off every evening—the days go fast that way.’

  Actually, the days did go fast. There was the visit of the radiographer and his technician to X-ray Cor’s legs; they came in the morning and had coffee and explained their complicated machine to Cor, so that when his guardian telephoned that evening, the conversation was highly technical. Mr Sawbridge came too, a day or two later, and pronounced himself very satisfied with the results of the X-rays. He did a great deal of adjusting of the traction and explained at some length to Cor about the necessity of walking carefully with gutter crutches once he was on his feet. ‘I’ve seen that marvelous bike Julius gave you for Christmas,’ he said. ‘No getting on to it until I say so.’ He sat down on the bed, abruptly shedding his professional manners. ‘Let’s hear what they’re up to in Holland.’

  Georgina left them together, whistled to Robby, and went into the garden. Mr Sawbridge stayed to lunch, and harped for an unnecessarily long time upon her future career in hospital. He looked at her speculatively and said gently, ‘You will make an excellent Sister, George—that is, of course, if that’s what you wish to be.’

  She didn’t answer him, because to say ‘No, I’d rather marry Julius’ would probably have shocked him profoundly, and she liked him far too much to put him out in any way.

  It was New Year’s Eve, and the evening telephone conversation took so long that she deduced that the entire family were taking it in turns to have a word with Cor. It was therefore surprising when he said:

  ‘George, Julius wants to speak to you.’

  She took the telephone from him and sat down composedly on the side of his bed, her orderly mind already busy with a report. The Professor’s voice said in her ear, ‘No, I don’t want a report—I had a word with Sawbones. How are you?’

  She said, breathless, ‘Very well, thank you,’ and waited.

  He said to surprise her, ‘I shall think of you at midnight.’

  She could think of nothing to say but ‘Why?’ and heard him laugh.

  ‘Wanting an answer again, Georgina? You will have to wait for this one. In the meantime, good night.’

  She answered mechanically, feeling disappointed. He hadn’t even bothered to wish her a Happy New Year.

  She hadn’t intended to sit up to see the New Year in, there seemed little point in it. She had telephoned Aunt Polly earlier in the evening, there was really nothing more to do except finish the rag doll, and when that was done, get ready for bed. Her movements got slower and slower; she discovered numberless small tasks that needed doing before she could turn out the light. Finally she took a book and went and sat by the fire in Cor’s room; he was sound asleep, but he was company. The clock in her bedroom chimed midnight, and she put down the book which she hadn’t been reading anyway. She wondered what Julius was doing—Cor had said that all the family would be there—and friends too—smart, sophisticated women with marvelous hair-dos and couture dresses. She closed her eyes on tears, then opened them as the telephone rang just once. She looked at Cor as she lifted the receiver, but he hadn’t stirred. She said softly ‘Yes?’

  ‘You stayed up,’ said the Professor’s voice, equally softly. ‘A Happy New Year to you, my Damsel in Green.’

  She smiled at the receiver. ‘Oh, thank you. And I hope you have a wonderful year.’

  ‘Don’t worry—I shall. Don’t go away, here are the others.’

  They spoke to her in turn, Dimphena and Karel and Franz and last of all Beatrix, very sleepy, and after her, the Professor again.

  ‘Now go to bed,’ he said. ‘Good night.’

  She did as he had said, and lay awake for quite a while wondering why he had telephoned. It would be lovely to think that he had missed her, but common sense urged her to discard this delightful idea. The Dutch made a lot of New Year—probably he had telephoned the Stephens and Milly too. She went to sleep telling herself that this was more than likely, and in the morning was bitterly disappointed to discover that this was exactly what he had done.

  There was a letter from one of her friends at St Athel’s in the morning’s post. Amongst a great deal of hospital gossip, the writer informed her that the grapevine had it that dear George was to be offered Cas when Sister left in March, although, continued the writer, George had probably got her future nicely settled for herself; that same grapevine having also supplied her friend with the news that Professor Eyffert was a bachelor, and a very eligible one. This remark was embellished with a maximum of asterisks, question marks and exclamations, and accompanied by a plea for inside information.

  Georgina read it through to the end. Three months earlier, she would have been overjoyed about Cas—now it really didn’t seem to matter, although she knew already that she would accept the post if it were offered; indeed, she had little choice if she wanted to pave the way to a successful career. She tore the letter up into small pieces, and went to blanket-bath Cor.

  The bad weather continued for several days, but now that Mr Coppin had started Cor’s lessons again, Georgina was able to get out each morning. Robby ambled along with her getting very wet so that it took her several minutes to dry him when they got back home; but he was excellent company and worth the trouble. Mr Sawbridge came again, expressed satisfaction at his handiwork and ordered gentle exercises, and spoke, with professional caution, of the traction coming down in four weeks—a piece of news heralded with delight by Cor and shared by Georgina, although her pleasure was tempered with dismay. Four weeks would go quickly; by the time the Professor was back from Holland, it would be three weeks, and in those three weeks she couldn’t hope to see him every day. Mr Sawbridge stayed to luncheon too, during which he substantiated the news from the grapevine.

  ‘A splendid opportunity for you, George,’ he observed. ‘Do you intend to make Casualty your career?’

  She looked at her plate. ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she replied without enthusiasm, and caught his sharp glance. ‘It—it was a surprise,’ she said lamely. ‘I can’t quite believe it. I know I’m very lucky.’

  ‘Lucky?’ he said surprisingly. ‘Only if that is what you want.’

  She didn’t answer that, and after a moment he began to talk about Bergenstijn. It seemed that he had been on holiday there and had a fondness for it.

  Contrary to her expectations, the week went quickly, although the last day dragged, partly due to the fact that Cor had wakened earlier than usual and had insisted on starting the day at least an hour earlier than was his wont, so that by the time the travellers were expected, he was already tired and slightly peevish. Matters got worse as time passed and they didn’t arrive; it was in vain that Georgina pointed out that the weather was bad enough to delay the plane, and even if it had arrived on time, the Professor wasn’t likely to tear through the country at seventy miles an hour in that same weather. As if to add strength to her argument, the rain drummed against the window panes, and as if that wasn’t enough there was a lightning flash, followed by a crashing roll of thunder that sent the three animals under the bed and changed Cor’s ill-humour to a fright he strove to hide. Georgina, who disliked storms herself, drew her chair nearer to the bed and was relieved when Stephens came in and asked in a fatherly fashion if there was anything they wanted and remarked in his calm, rather flat voice that in his opinion the
storm, although violent, would soon pass. Doubtless, the travellers would be delayed, and in the meantime, should they need him, he would be close at hand. He went quietly away again, leaving an aura of secure comfort behind him.

  ‘Suppose I tell you a story?’ asked Georgina. She settled on the bed beside her patient and put an arm round his thin shoulders, and was soon deep in the improbable adventures of a dog, a cat and a donkey. So deep, in fact, that they barely heard the wind and the rain, or the occasional bellowing of the thunder; it was Robby, coming out from under the bed and making for the door, which caused them to look round.

  Beatrix came in first and hurled herself at them, with Dimphena and Franz close behind. Georgina was hugged and embraced, and when Karel appeared, kissed too, very heartily—he still had an arm around her when the Professor walked in. His glance flickered over them both, then he smiled and said, ‘Hallo there, Nurse. Did you think we were never coming?’ and not waiting for an answer, went over to Cor’s bed, where he stayed for ten minutes or more before going away again, having first admonished everyone to be ready for dinner within half an hour. His remark reminded Georgina that Cor should have his supper too, and after promising to return before he was put to bed, the rest of them went away too, leaving her to calm down a very excited small boy.

  Dinner was gay, with everyone bent on telling Georgina everything that had happened in the past fourteen days in the shortest possible time—everyone, that was, but the Professor, who, although he joined in the talk, was thoughtful. Georgina peeped at him once or twice, and each time found his eyes fixed steadily on her, so that she was unable to prevent herself from putting up a questing hand to make sure that her cap was sitting at its proper angle upon her head. It was, and she frowned a little—surely her hair wasn’t coming down? She waited a minute, then put her hand up again, to arrest it in mid-air when he said softly, ‘Not a hair out of place, Miss Rodman.’ She flushed and avoided his eye until the end of the meal when he asked Stephens to take his coffee to his study, and said, as they crossed the hall, ‘Perhaps you will be good enough to come and see me when you have had coffee, Miss Rodman.’

  He was standing with his back to the fire when she went in. He waved a hand towards a chair drawn up to its warmth and said, ‘Sit down, won’t you? Did you find it very tedious, alone with Cor?’

  She looked shocked. ‘Good gracious, no. We haven’t had a dull minute, Cor and I. And even if I had found it tedious, it’s my job.’

  He stared at her from under lowered lids. ‘You’re frank. And is that how you regard your stay here—as a job?’

  ‘Oh no. You see, I’m very fond of Cor and Beatrix—and Franz and Dimphena…’

  ‘You forget Karel.’

  ‘Karel? Oh, yes. They’re like brothers and sisters.’

  She saw the look on his face, a look she had never seen before.

  ‘Is that how you regard them?’ he wanted to know.

  She met his bright gaze. ‘I’m sorry, Professor. I didn’t mean to be impertinent—my wretched tongue!’ She got to her feet. ‘Please will you forget that I said that?’

  He said coolly, ‘No. Why should I? I don’t find it impertinent, merely illuminating.’ He smiled at her and she caught her breath. ‘Now sit down again and tell me about Cor.’

  She sat, regained her composure and answered his questions with her usual calm directness. When she had finished, he said:

  ‘About a month, Old Sawbones thinks. He won’t commit himself, of course.’ He left the fire and sat down opposite her. ‘He tells me that you are to be offered a Sister’s post. Casualty, I presume. You’re pleased?’

  She looked down at her hands, folded tidily in her lap.

  ‘Yes,’ she said baldly.

  ‘There is something else you would rather do with your life perhaps?’

  She examined her nails—well shaped pink nails on her capable hands.

  ‘I expect we would all rather do something else…’ she remembered to whom she was speaking, and said in a flurry, ‘Of course I’m delighted—it’s a wonderful opportunity.’ She got up for the second time. ‘If there’s nothing further, Professor, I told Cor I’d be up soon after dinner.’

  He got up too. ‘Thank you for taking care of him while we were away. I wouldn’t have left him with anyone else. You took your days off?’

  She was at the door. ‘Well, no…’ and stood still waiting for his cool annoyance.

  ‘I imagined you didn’t,’ was all he said. ‘That means three days, does it not? Supposing you go the day after tomorrow?’

  He had followed her to the door and opened it for her, and then took his hand from it and caught her by the shoulder and kissed her without haste. When he finally let her go, she stared at him, speechless. She still hadn’t found her tongue when he remarked, to puzzle her for the rest of a wakeful night:

  ‘Your uniform isn’t enough.’ He sounded resigned.

  She didn’t see him until the following evening, when he was as politely friendly as Mr Sawbridge might have been. And the next day she went home.

  She took the Mini, driving rather recklessly through the grey, wet countryside. The cottage was snug and bright with winter flowers; the little hall smelled of furniture polish and an occasional whiff of something savoury in the kitchen. She was welcomed with delight and love by the two old ladies. She looked at their kind, wise faces, and longed to pour out her heart to them; instead, she hugged them extravagantly and went out to the car to fetch her case. There was a wildly outsize box of chocolates from Holland too, and an armful of spring flowers Legg had wordlessly handed to her—and a box she didn’t remember putting in the car. She carried it indoors, and they opened it in the little sitting room, in front of the fire. There were two bottles of claret inside and a letter to Aunt Polly, addressed to her in the Professor’s crabbed scribble. Georgina gave it to her aunt without comment and went to take off her coat. When she got back, Mrs Mogg had brought in the coffee and there was no sign of the letter, nor did Aunt Polly mention it.

  There was a great deal to talk about anyway—among them the rumour that she might get a Sister’s post sooner than she had expected. She did her best to be enthusiastic about this, harping at length about the bigger salary and not having to be on duty until eight o’clock each morning, but somehow the conversation got around to Dalmers Place, and she found herself relating all the small day-to-day incidents with an increasing enthusiasm and pleasure; when at length she paused, Aunt Polly said, ‘You’re going to find hospital life very different from Dalmers Place. Three months is a long time…’ and then without any warning at all, ‘Did Professor Eyffert say anything to you about his getting married, dear?’

  Georgina got up and went to the window and straightened a curtain that needed nothing done to it at all, ‘Yes, he did. But that was all—I mean, he didn’t say who to, or when. He—he said it would be best for the children. He told me once that he was lonely.’

  She wandered back and sat down by the fire again, thinking of him eating his breakfast alone in an untidy flurry of letters and newspapers. Presumably his wife would keep him company. She hoped so.

  ‘An Englishwoman?’ hazarded her aunt gently. ‘Not, I hope, one of those Sinding girls.’

  ‘I don’t think so. They’ve been over several times, but…’ she left the sentence unfinished. If he was in love with one of them, he had concealed it very effectively, and as there was no point in doing that, it couldn’t be them. ‘There’s someone called Madame LeFabre in Holland, I suppose. The children have mentioned her. Julius goes to Holland frequently.’

  She hadn’t noticed that she had called him Julius, and her aunt said nothing.

  The next day the weather cleared a little, and Georgina, in old jeans and still older sweater, went down the garden to the potato clamp. She had her basket of potatoes, and was picking sprouts, when Mrs Mogg called from the back door. Georgina got up off her knees and shouted:

  ‘Oh, Moggy, is it important?’


  ‘Not for me, it’s not,’ said the worthy Mrs Mogg. ‘It’s the gentleman from Dalmers Place.’

  Georgina stood where she was. Her first thought was of pure joy, her second of rage that he should come unheralded when she was looking just about as unattractive as possible. Perhaps if she could sneak in quietly, she could run upstairs and put on a dress… She picked up her basket and tore down the narrow brick path. Karel was standing at the back door, waiting for her. She checked her headlong flight when she saw him, and composed her face into a welcoming smile. How silly of her to have imagined for one minute that it was Julius who had called!

  She said gaily, ‘Hallo, Karel. How nice to see you,’ and he caught hold of her basket, dropped a light kiss on her check, and said ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ and gave her a searching look, so that she looked away quickly and busied herself kicking off her rubber boots.

  ‘Dressed to kill, aren’t you?’ he observed cheerfully, as she led the way indoors.

  She sketched a brief curtsy. ‘Careful, Karel, compliments like that go to my head. Come and see Aunt Polly and I’ll get coffee.’

  He was going back to Cambridge the next day; without quite knowing how it had happened, she found herself changing into a tweed suit and a rather dashing little hat, preparatory to going out to lunch with him. They went to the Grapevine at Cavendish, where they ate, among other things, lobster Thermidor. Over the rum omelette she chose to follow it, she said with an unconscious wistfulness:

  ‘I shall never get used to eating hospital food again. This sort of thing—’ she waved an expressive hand over the table ‘—and the gorgeous meals at Dalmers Place…I used to think how wonderful it would be if someone took me to some place where I could order what I liked, now I’ve had three months of that kind of living, and it’s spoilt me for sausages and roast lamb.’

  ‘Don’t try to make me believe that no one ever takes you out.’