by Betty Neels
`Do you go out much in Amsterdam, Adelaide?'
She sat back on her heels and considered his question.
`No, not a great deal. Once or twice with Dr Bos...'
The professor blew a smoke ring, and remarked quietly:
`He'll miss you while you're away.'
`Good gracious, no. He's gone to Giethoorn; there aren't any roads there,' she explained, airing her knowledge. `His girlfriend lives there. He told me all about her; no one else wants to listen, you see.'
Coenraad digested this interesting piece of information, and rolled over on to an elbow. `Who else have you been out with?"
'Well, I went to Haarlem to an organ recital. I enjoyed it, it was a wonderful church too...' she hesitated. `I went with Dr Vos. He's in the Path Lab,' she added unnecessarily, and felt indignant when the professor laughed.
'Addy! He must be sixty-and a widower.
`I know, that's why I went.' She saw his raised eyebrows, and hurried on to explain. `1 mean he's almost old, isn't he? I didn't know he was going to ...well...' She stopped. `He was horrid!'
Coenraad sat up leisurely, and asked with interest: `What did he do?'
She studied her hands. `He was-unpleasant, and I got annoyed.' She spoke with hauteur, her cheeks pink with temper, her eyes flashing, her beguiling little bosom heaving like a temperamental film star's, just at the remembrance of it. She had for the moment forgotten the professor, who had his eyes closed. She went on:
`Of course, I go to Leen's flat quite often, and I go out with Zuster Zijlstra and Zuster Boot too.'
They fell to discussing the delights of Amsterdam until Coenraad, seeing the time said that they must be off. He helped her to her feet, and they went back to the car.
They reached the outskirts of Amsterdam just before seven o'clock. They had stopped in Delft for tea, and wandered around the charming little town, the professor obligingly bearing her uncomplaining company while she inspected a variety of shops. Now he slowed the Rolls down to weave his way through the evening traffic. Adelaide had become rather quiet. Tomorrow would be reality again, and she tried not to think of it. Her gloomy thoughts were interrupted by Coenraad's voice. `There's a letter in the pocket next to you, Addy. Will you take it out and read it?'
She did as he had asked. `It's in Dutch,' she said.
`Yes, read it out loud, it will be excellent practice for you.'
She obeyed, reading in her careful Dutch. When she had come to the end, he said: `I must compliment you on your progress, Adelaide,' and she felt a thrill of pride. She must remember to tell Mijnheer de Wit. She waited for Coenraad to speak, and when he didn't, said:
`How kind of the Baroness, but I think I had better go straight back to the hospital, if you don't mind.'
`I do mind-and my aunt will be very disappointed.'
Adelaide frowned. 'I'm not dressed,' she said stubbornly.
`Nor am I. Besides, you can tidy your hair and all the rest of it at Tante Anneke's.'
She could think of no argument in the fact of his reasonable tones, and he swung the car into the Herengracht and drew up before his aunt's house. The big house door was flung open by a beaming Bundle, who surely had been lying in wait for them. He led them to the small parlour where the Baroness liked to sit. She was there now, erect in her chair, beautifully dressed, and obviously delighted to see them both. She put up her cheek for Coenraad to kiss and took Adelaide's hand.
`You nice child, to take pity on my curiosity. I want to hear all about England. Ring the bell, Coenraad. Jannie can show Adelaide where she can freshen up.'
Adelaide went downstairs some ten minutes later to find Coenraad waiting for her. As they crossed the hall., he said easily:
`I've been telling Tante Anneke about your clever brothers.'
This was a subject near to her heart, and she was drawn so skilfully into the conversation that by the time they were half way through dinner she had lost her shyness, and was enjoying herself. Nevertheless, when she presently got up to go to the hospital, and was pressed by her hostess to visit her again soon, she accepted with a hidden reluctance.
Only the preceding night, lying in bed listening to the murmur of her father's and the professor's voices, she had resolved to see as little as possible of him once they were back in Holland, and she knew that he was a frequent visitor to his aunt's house. It had seemed simple to make the decision then; now she was not so sure. She had not forgotten Margriet.
They didn't speak on the short journey to the hospital. Coenraad got her case out of the boot and gave it to a night porter to take over to the home, then walked across the courtyard with her. He opened the door, but when she went to pass through she found her way barred by the careless hand he was resting against it. She stood still.
`Remind me to call you Miss Peters tomorrow.'
She laughed. `You won't forget. I'll be in uniform, you know.'
`The clinics will be packed out. They always are after the summer holiday.'
They stood silently. Adelaide knew that she must make an end to her fairy tale. She gave him her hand. `It was lovely-today, I mean. Thank you, and thank you for taking me i n your car. It's like waking up from a beautiful dream. Good night... Coenraad.'
She slipped through the door.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE professor had been right; the clinics had never been so busy, and they were booked to capacity for two or three weeks ahead. Adelaide looked through the appointments book the next morning and hoped that Casualty would be slack, though there wasn't much chance of that. Indeed, just before nine o'clock, a woman rushed in with an unconscious child in her arms. Adelaide made out with some difficulty that the little boy had swallowed some pills a short time earlier. She sent the nurse to phone Dr Beekman and set about treatment. She had got the airway in, and succeeded in getting the stomach tube down, when she heard footsteps. She recognised them at once, and spoke without stopping her work. `Good morning, sir. An overdose-unknown pills taken between seven o' clock and now. Unconscious for about ten
minutes, his mother says.' She indicated the woman standing in the doorway with her free hand. She started to syphon carefully, and didn't turn around.
`Keep that up, Sister, I'll see to the injections.' He was already opening the phials and drawing up the contents. He questioned the mother quietly as he pushed in the needle, working quickly and smoothly. Adelaide, still busily syphoning, thought what a nice person he was to work with in an emergency. She couldn't remember seeing him hesitant or anxious, she had never seen him really angry either. She doubted if she ever would.
They worked on the child in a partnership of shared knowledge and skill, not speaking until presently the professor said:
'He'll do.' He turned away and asked Piet, who had just come in, if there were any beds. Piet nodded. The professor walked to the door.
`Good, let's have him in for a day or two. I'll talk to the mother.' He turned to go, saying over his shoulder: 'Out-Patients in ten minutes, Sister.'
Adelaide looked at the mess around her, and Piet laughed at her expressive face.
'I'll take the child to the ward, it'll give you more time to clear up.'
Adelaide sent the nurse along to warn Staff Wilsma to be ready for the professor, she herself would have to stop and show the nurse, sent to replace Zuster Eisink who was on holiday, and new to the work, what to clear up and what to get ready. It took longer than she had thought it would, and the clinic was well started as she went down the corridor. She could hear the professor's voice as she opened the door; it was quiet but had a distinct edge to it. She found him sitting with his head mirror on, waiting to examine the small boy Zuster Wilsma was vainly trying to hold on her knee. Adelaide imagined from the look on Zuster Wilsma's face that the struggle had been going for some time. She walked over, transferred the tyrant to her own lap, and whispered: `Go and have your coffee, you must need it.' Then she turned her attention to the child wriggling on her knee. `Sit still, you bad boy,
' she said in a no-nonsense voice. She held him firmly and went on in her careful Dutch. `The doctor's going to look at my teeth, then I shall have a sweet.' She produced one from her pocket. She had his attention now.
`Then the doctor will look at your teeth, and you can have a sweet too.' She produced another one, and laid it beside the first. `You hold them.'
He took the sweets, clutching them in his hand, and sat quietly while the professor, with an expressionless face, looked at her teeth. This done, he turned to the child, who looked doubtful.
`You shall have both sweets,' said Adelaide quickly.
When he had gone, the professor looked at her quizzically.
`How do you do it, Sister Peters? Or is it a closely guarded secret? Whatever it is, you lost none of it on holiday, though I can't say the same for your Dutch. There wasn't a single verb in that sentence.'
`I never know where to put them,' she replied airily, `so I save them up until the end.'
This remark was greeted with roars of laughter from the two men.
`We shouldn't tease you, Sister Peters, your Dutch is really quite good, isn't it, Professor?'
The man at the desk nodded.
`It's so good you shall try your skill on the next patient, Sister. It's that child Lotte Smid. Last time she came she bit Piet!'
The day wore on rapidly; the clinic worked late, and Adelaide stayed to help clear up after the doctors had gone. She listened to the nurses' chatter as she checked dressing packs, and scissors and scalpels, and refurbished the trolleys. It seemed as though she had never been away; her holiday was just a lovely dream. Excepting for the hours spent working together, she saw nothing of the professor during the following weeks. She had quietly refused an invitation to go to his aunt's home with him, and was unreasonably upset when he didn't persist with the invitation.
She persevered with her Dutch lessons, and even the exacting Mijnheer de Wit was pleased with her. It seemed a waste of time to work so hard at something she wouldn't need much longer, but it filled her free time, when she wasn't exploring Amsterdam, or window shopping with the other Sisters. The weather was getting cool, and the wind was chilly. The shops were showing tweeds and pretty clothes for the evening.
One evening at the beginning of October she was going slowly down the Kalverstraat on the way to her lesson. She had plenty of time and was looking rather aimlessly in the shop window. It had been a horrid day in the clinic; Piet had been in a bad temper, and the professor hadn't been there all day. Adelaide stopped at Krause and Vogelzang's to admire a blue velvet dress; very simple, and very expensive. The professor's voice spoke over her
shoulder.
`Very charming, Adelaide. Will you buy it tomorrow?'
Her pulses racing, she looked round at him. `You made me jump, sir.' Her voice was nicely under control, and formal. Whenever he called her Adelaide, she took refuge in formality. But now he smiled at her in such a friendly fashion that she forgot to be stiff.
`Do you see the price?' she asked.
He glanced at the ticket. `It seems reasonable enough,' he remarked.
'Reasonable!' She made a sound regrettably like a snort. `Why, for that money, I could send the boys...' she stopped. `I could go home for another holiday,' she added lamely, and looked anxiously at him. He looked reassuringly vague. For one dreadful moment she had supposed he had heard her thoughtless remark. She sighed, unconsciously-and very audibly-with relief. If he had been as poor as she was, she might have confided in him weeks ago, but to tell a man of his wealth and position would have been tantamount to begging... She went scarlet, just thinking about it.
'I'm on my way to my Dutch lesson; I mustn't be late.' She turned away from the tempting window, and he fell into step beside her.
`Do you mind if I walk with you as far as the Spui?' He took her arm. 'I'm going that way myself.'
`If you're going somewhere, you'll be late,' she said idiotically, very conscious of his arm.
`I?' he queried. `No, I've plenty of time.'
They reached Mijnheer de Wit's door, and he rang the bell. She wondered where he was going. The faintly mocking look he gave her stopped her just in time from asking. The door gave a faint click, and he pushed it open for her to go in.
`Do you walk back to the hospital alone, Adelaide?'
She paused in the doorway, carefully avoiding his eye. The temptation to say `yes' was very great, but good sense and the resolution she tried so hard to keep stifled it.
`Jan Hein is calling for me-you remember I met him at Baroness Van Essen's party.' She smiled convincingly, and started to mount the stairs. Appalled at the ease with which she had lied, she reflected sadly that he was the last man on earth she would wish to deceive.
It was pure coincidence that Adelaide should meet Jan Hein while she was out shopping in the Leidsestraat the following morning. Rather to her surprise, he remembered her, seemed delighted to see her again and carried her off for a cup of coffee at a nearby cafe, which was not, she thought, the kind of place the professor would have chosen. It was a mean thought, she decided, and tried to make up for it by being extra nice to Jan. She succeeded so well that he asked her rather diffidently if she would go out with him.
`There must be something you want to see. I've a car. What about a trip to Volendam, or Alkmaar-better still, let's go to the Open Air Museum at Arnhem. It'll be cold, but I'm sure you'll like it.'
With almost no hesitation at all, she agreed. She had a free day in two days' time a Friday. They arranged to meet outside the hospital at half past ten, and parted on excellent terms with each other.
Friday morning was exactly right. The chill of a Dutch autumn was softened by the still warm sunshine. Adelaide wore her tweed suit and carried a head-scarf; it might turn cold during the afternoon, she had learned not to trust the wind since she had lived in Holland.
They took the road to Naarden and stopped for coffee at Jan Tabac, where they sat at one of the big windows overlooking the motorway, and watched the cars stream past. Adelaide, listening to Jan talking about himself, wished it was the professor sitting beside her-not, she thought, that he ever talked about himself. Not to her, at any rate. She gave herself a mental shake and resolved not to think about the professor for the rest of that day. She succeeded in this rather well, so that by the time they had arrived at Arnhem, she was beginning to enjoy herself.
'We'll lunch first, shall we?'
Jan was easing his little Fiat 850 coupe through the centre of the city, looking for an empty parking meter. With unexpected good luck he found one without much trouble, parked, and took Adelaide's arm to steer through a couple of narrow streets into the Nieuwe Plein and the doors of the Riche National. They talked happily through a luncheon they ate with healthy appetites, and Adelaide was surprised to see that it was almost two o'clock when they once more reached the car. She supposed the museum wasn't very large, for the journey back to Amsterdam would take them at least an hour and a half. In this she was mistaken, as she realised when they arrived at the park in which the museum was set up. There were few people about, and they strolled around while she looked her fill at the perfectly arranged farms and cottages, representing every province and age in Holland. By the time she had explored the Zaanse village it was growing chilly, with the sun slipping quickly out of sight behind the evening clouds. She tied her scarf over her bright hair and turned a smiling face to Jan.
`What a lovely day. I have enjoyed it. I might have gone back to England and never seen all this.'
`When do you go?'
They were walking back over the little wooden swing bridge.
`In about a month. The date hasn't been fixed yet.'
`A month's a long time, we must do this again. I've enjoyed it too.' He took her arm. `Let's get some tea, there's a cafe at the end of this path.'
It was almost closing time, but a cheerful waiter took their order, and then stood leaning against the door, a model of patience. They were his only customers. The stead
y flow of foreign visitors had dwindled to a thin trickle by autumn, and no Dutchman was likely to be there at that time of the day-he'd be at home with his life and family, looking forward to the evening meal. The waiter shivered; he would like to be home himself. He watched with well-concealed relief as his customers got up to go, accepted his tip with dignity, and sped them on their way.
It was the rush hour in Arnhem. Jann joined the stream of traffic going out of town, and Adelaide was glad of their slow progress. Their road ran alongside the woods and the view was magnificent, but she knew better than to distract Jan's attention from the road. He was an impatient driver, and she found herself comparing his testy manner with the professor's placid acceptance of the traffic jams they had encountered when he had taken her to England. He had remained quite unruffled, merely making up time between the delays with some fast driving which had opened her eyes. The traffic thinned out after a time, nevertheless dusk was thickening as they turned off the motorway on to the Amersfoort road. They hadn't gone very far along it when the car gave a lurch. Jan wrenched at the wheel and swung back on to the right side of the road, thankful that there was no other traffic, and came to a halt.