Sister Peters in Amsterdam

by Betty Neels

  The following afternoon she fetched Miep, radiant in her new dress, and went to the clinic entrance. They were very punctual, but the Volvo was already there. The professor got out and lifted Miep into the front seat, admired her dress and told her what a pretty girl she was. She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a smacking kiss. Adelaide, standing and watching, was horrified to hear Miep's voice.

  `Now kiss Adelaide and tell her she's got a pretty dress too.'

  She saw the professor turn an amused face to her, and took an involuntary step backwards.

  `No!' As she said it, she thought how silly she was, when she wanted him to kiss her so much.

  `No?' He was laughing at her now `But I may admire your dress, may I not?'

  She thought he was being polite. The dress was plain, pale green and last year's. Her arms were bare, and so were her sandalled feet. She was very conscious of the vividness of her hair in the sunshine and the sprinkling of golden freckles across her nose. She got into the car and he shut the door and leaned over it to ask her if Miep always called her Adelaide.

  `Yes, you see I told her that that was my name when we were in the bus.'

  When he suggested that he should do the same in order not to confuse the little girl, she agreed readily enough; it seemed a sensible enough suggestion.

  It didn't take long to get to Velsen, where Miep lived. They drew up in front of a small terraced house and her whole family came to the door; there seemed to be a great many of them. Everyone went inside, and Adelaide and the professor were escorted into the front parlour, an unlived-in little room, obviously used only on important family occasions. The furniture, by no means modern, had been so polished by zeal and love that it glowed; the small window, shut firmly against dust, was almost obscured by a multitude of pot plants. Even the cushions were plumped up to exact squares.

  They all sat around the room, drinking, milkless tea and eating a very creamy cake. Adelaide sat between a young man and a big blonde girl; they smiled at her and stared at her hair, but didn't say a word. She looked across at the professor and envied him the steady flow of small talk issuing so effortlessly from his lips. After a little while, he caught her eye, and she stood up and shook hands endlessly, gave Miep a final hug, and got into the car.

  `What nice people,' she remarked as he eased the Volvo over the brick road towards the main street, `and so kind and hospitable. I hoped I would see the rest of the house-they didn't all live in it, did they?'

  The professor shook his head. `No, most of them were cousins and aunts and uncles come to welcome Miep back home. He had halted the car, waiting to join in the continuous stream of traffic on the motorway. Adelaide settled herself firmly into the comfort of well kept leather. `What a lovely day-the hottest we've had."

  'You're not on duty until five, are you, Adelaide? There's plenty of time, shall we go to the sea first and perhaps have tea somewhere?'

  It was very tempting. Adelaide said `Yes' before she had stopped to think, and even then she stilled the accusing little thought that she was not keeping to her resolution by the sensible one that she was very unlikely ever to go out with the professor again.

  Having absolved her conscience, Adelaide prepared to enjoy her outing. The professor proved to be an excellent companion. She remembered wistfully the evening they had spent together in Amsterdam; he had been a delightful host then, but today he seemed younger and bent on amusing her. By the time they arrived at the Grand Hotel, Huister Duin, she had forgotten all her scruples about his wealth and title, and all her good resolutions, too. They had tea on the terrace, and afterwards, as they had half an hour to spare, strolled along by the water's edge. The breeze whipped her hair around her face, and after a few minutes she took off her sandals and splashed through the water, the professor strolling placidly beside her, smoking his pipe. She didn't talk a great deal, and the professor hardly at all. She paddled along in a happy companionable silence until he looked at his watch.

  `We'll have to be going if you don't want to be late on duty, Adelaide.'

  They found an upturned boat near the hotel, and she sat down and dried her feet on his handkerchief, put her sandals back on, and then began an ineffectual attempt to tidy her hair, watched lazily by her companion. `Leave it alone,' he said. `It looks very nice.' He knocked out his pipe. `When are you having your holiday?'

  Adelaide thrust a last pin into position and said guardedly:

  `I don't know.'

  `Are you going to England?'

  She made a pattern on the sand with her sandal. `No, I don't think so. I ... I thought I'd have a holiday when I get back home.' She made her voice sound cheerful, and looked carefully away out to sea.

  `Won't your family be disappointed?' he queried.

  She frowned at his persistence, and resisted a strong desire to tell him that she hadn't enough money for the journey, not if she was going to help with the boys' school fees. But of course she couldn't, especially to someone like the professor who, she suspected, never had to think about money anyway. She Drowned fiercely at the horizon, and blinked away threatening tears.

  His placid voice came from somewhere behind her shoulder.

  `A pity you're not taking a couple of weeks during the summer. I'm going over to Dorset at the end of July, and thought you might like a lift there and back. You live somewhere near Rye, don't you? I practically pass your family's doorstep.'

  Adelaide didn't answer at once; she had heard what he had said, but she couldn't believe it. She turned her head and said soberly enough:

  `You mean I could go home and come back again in your car?' She looked at him searchingly. `Wouldn't you rather be by yourself?'

  `No, I like a travelling companion on a long journey.'

  Adelaide bit her lip. A long journey. Just how long? She was, she knew, extremely oldfashioned in many ways, due no doubt to being the daughter of a country parson who still lived according to the standards of his youth. She asked cautiously:

  `How long would it take?'

  The professor hid his smile very successfully; perhaps because he was a doctor, he was remarkably good at reading other people's thoughts.

  `If we leave early, directly after breakfast, you should be home for tea.' He went on, the twinkle in his eye belying the gravity of his tone: `I took one of the Sisters over with me a couple of years ago-she came to no harm,' he added wickedly.

  Adelaide felt her cheeks grow hot. She said with tremendous dignity:

  `But I didn't mean-that is, I never...' she looked at him helplessly. `I'm rather old fashioned and I don't know how to change.' She was relieved to see him smile again.

  `Yes, you are, aren't you? But don't change, Adelaide, we all like you as you are, and there's no need for you to get flustered.' He was mocking her gently again. `It seems to me it's a sensible idea, and I have always thought you to be a sensible person.'

  This remark had the same effect as a bucket of cold water upon Adelaide. She told herself that it was just what she needed to chase away the very silly thoughts that had been floating around her head. It was indeed a very sensible arrangement, made, she reminded herself sternly, between two sensible people. She said politely: `Thank you very much, Professor, I should be very glad to accept our offer...' He cut her off briskly.

  `Good. Get your leave fixed up, then. I should like to go on the nineteenth, that will get us back for early August-plenty of casualties then. Now we'd better go back.'

  He said no more about it, but maintained a casual conversation to which Adelaide found herself responding quite cheerfully. He got her to the hospital with five minutes to spare; she wasted one of them standing in the doorway of the Sisters' Home, answering his careless wave, and watching the gleaming car disappear into the maze of narrow streets around the hospital.

  She had plenty of time for her thoughts that evening. Casualty had never been so slackbee stings, wasp stings, sunburn-all could be dealt with without the aid of a doctor. She took as long as possibl
e to clear up and get Casualty ready for the night staff, then walked through to her office where she sat down at her desk and allowed herself to think about her afternoon. Margriet Keizer would probably get to hear about it-Adelaide looked at the clock-the professor was doubtless dining with her somewhere at that very moment. She sighed and opened the day book and started to count the entries. Half way down the page she stopped, struck by the thought that it wouldn't matter in the least if Margriet did know. The professor had neither done nor said anything that even the most jealous of girlt7riends could have objected to.

  Adelaide lost no time in getting her holiday booked. The very next morning she went to Matron's office and arranged it with the Directrice, who agreed pleasantly that it was indeed too good an opportunity to miss. Besides, she pointed out, it would give Zuster Wilsma a chance to show what she could do. Adelaide hurried back to the clinic, there was still ten minutes before the professor was due to arrive. Should she tell him at once that she could come with him, or wait until their coffee break, or would he mention it first?

  The professor didn't come. Piet walked in alone and offered the information that the boss was having a few days off, adding gloomily that it couldn't have been a worse time for him to be away. Adelaide swallowed her disappointment. A few days meant two, three, perhaps four days, so she would have to be patient; in the meantime there was plenty ol' work to do.

  The professor had gone away on the Tuesday, and by Sunday evening there was neither word nor news from him. Adelaide longed to ask, but dared not-Piet was a dear, but a great tease, if she showed any but the most casual interest as to the professor' whereabouts, he would be sure to comment upon it. She held her tongue, worked harder than was needful, and went every evening to the swimming pool outside the city with Zuster Zijlstra and her fiance and Dr Bos, who had a girl-friend in Giethoorn and talked about her all the time. Adelaide was glad she was on duty that evening. It was hot and close in the clinic and a swim would have been wonderful, but not, she decided, if she had to listen to any more of Henk Bos's tales of his Mia. She busied herself changing the pillow slips

  and couch covers and making sure that everything was ready for the morning clinic. Casualty was always full on a Monday; it was His well to have the clinic ready.

  She started to fold a pile of towels, wondering for the hundredth time where the proI'essor was. He hadn't taken a holiday since she had arrived at the hospital. He was going to have two weeks in July, that left a month perhaps he had changed his plans and wasn't going to England after all?

  The sing-song wail of the ambulance interrupted her thoughts, and she hurried through to Casualty. It was a small boy, fallen head first from a fourth floor window in a tenement house close to the hospital. She telephoned Dr Beekman, borrowed a nurse from Zuster Zijlstra's ward, and set to work on the child, who was deeply unconscious. He would be an urgent theatre case by the look of things. She sent the nurse to warn Theatre Sister, and waited while Piet examined the boy.

  `I've warned the theatre, shall I get Dr Van Hoven?' He nodded. `We'll have to start at once if he's to have a chance. Any idea when he last had a meal?' He was thinking of the anaesthetic.

  She had already asked the child's mother. `Six o'clock, nothing since, luckily.'

  She slid a triangular bandage under the battered little head and tied it loosely under the dressings; she had already undressed the little boy as far as possible. She watched him being taken to theatre, then started to clear up once more. It was late when she at last reached her room. She had stopped to console the parents as best she could, and then waited to hear the result of the operation-it was a relief to be able to tell them that their small son had a chance to live, slender though it was.

  She must have been more tired than she thought, for she overslept. Stopping only for a cup of tea, and catching up a slice of buttered toast in her hand, she dashed over to the clinic, ten minutes late. Casualty was empty, the nurses well ahead with their work in the clinic, she wished them a good morning and went to her office to write up the books and

  eat her toast. It was already warm, it would he hot later. The day, which had only just begun, seemed to stretch endlessly before her. She flung open the door on a loud sigh. The professor was sitting at her desk, immersed in a pile of notes before him. He looked up, frowning slightly as she banged the door behind her, and said smoothly:

  `Good morning, Sister Peters. Forgive me for not getting up; and for appropriating your office-the nurses turned me out of my own room.' He caught sight of the toast, and raised his eyebrows.

  Adelaide ignored the eyebrows and said in a formal little voice which effectively concealed her pleasure at seeing him again:

  `Good morning, sir. I don't need the office, thank you.' She put the toast down carefully on her desk and picked up the laundry and dispensary books, a box of scalpels for sharpening, and a large bag of mending which the professor had thrown carelessly on the floor. She was at the door when he reminded her gently:

  `Don't forget your toast, Adelaide.'

  She snatched it up, looking cross, and was half way through the door when he spoke again.

  `Will you tell Dr Beekman to come and see me here as soon as he arrives; and you come with him, please.'

  Adelaide remembered the casualty of the evening before. Had something gone wrong; had they made some terrible mistake?

  `The little boy who was brought in last night-they did a trephine-he's all right, sir?'

  He didn't look up. `In excellent shape, Sister. And now, if you don't mind...'

  Adelaide went out, closing the door with an exaggerated care that was far more annoying than the bang she was longing to give. Half an hour later she was back in the office with Piet behind her. This time the professor got up and she sat down in her chair behind the desk, the men one on each side of her. They made the little room seem even smaller. She folded her hands on the starched whiteness of her apron and waited composedly for the proI'cssor to speak, her outward serenity covering her true feelings.

  `I thought that we would have a picnic,' he began. `This evening. The clinic staff and Luster Zijlstra; she'll come, I know. You bring Leen with you, Piet, we'll need your car anyway, I can't get everyone into mine. We'll go to Noordwijk and swim and have supper on the beach.'

  Piet grinned. `A wonderful idea. What do you say, Adelaide?'

  She choked back her bitter disappointment. She was on duty that evening and wouldn't be able to go.

  `It's a lovely idea,' she said cheerfully.

  `Who's the unlucky nurse on duty?' Piet asked.

  Adelaide adjusted a cuff to an exact correctness and said ungrammatically: `Me.' She tried to make her voice sound cheerful. 'Well-er-no, Sister, you're not,' the professor's voice was very smooth. `I arranged for Zuster Zijlstra's staff nurse to take over at five. That's if you have no objection?'

  No, she had no objection. She said so quietly, her heart thumping with happiness, her thoughts racing ahead; arranging the work, contriving how to have the day's work finished on time, regretting the simplicity of her black swim-suit, thankful for the new white bathing cap with that ridiculous fringe. She could press the blue and white striped cotton during the dinner hour... `Shall we get started, Sister?'

  She could tell by the professor's voice that he had already said it once, even twice. She jumped to her feet.

  `Of course, sir.' She smiled at him, dazzlingly. `It's a very heavy clinic too.' Her eyes danced; life, she felt, could be wonderful when you least expected it.

  The last little patient left at ten to five, and the entire staff set to with a will to get the clinic tidy. Even the professor stayed behind to help, sitting calmly filing X-rays amidst the ordered chaos of clearing up. Adelaide eyed

  him lovingly; she thought he looked tired and rather sad. She wondered if Margriet had refused to marry him after all, and her heart leapt at the thought. He lifted his head, and she looked away quickly, ashamed to feel so happy for such a reason.

  Zust
er Zijlstra was almost ready when Adelaide got to her room.

  'Hallo, Adelaide. Hurry!'

  Adelaide needed no second bidding. She tore off her uniform, showered and dressed, and then stuffed the despised black swim-suit into her beach bag, she added the new swimcap and a short towelling coat, gathered up her bag, and pronounced herself ready.

  They were the last to arrive. Zuster Wilsma was in Piet's car. Zuster Eisink and Zuster Steensma were sharing the back of the Volvo with the professor's two dogs. He was waiting with the car door open.

  `Adelaide, Leen wants to gossip; you'd better go with Piet.'

  She slipped obediently into the seat beside Leen, and listened smilingly to Leen's account of little Piet's amazing cleverness without hearing a word of it.