by Betty Neels
`That's a tyre gone,' he said gloomily. Adelaide already had her hand on the door. 'I'll help you change it.'
He looked at her gratefully, thankful for her matter-of-fact acceptance of the situation.
`Would you hold the torch?'
He busied himself setting up the red triangle behind the car, and had just got the jack in position when the headlights of an oncoming car, driven fast, picked them out against the emptiness of the surrounding countryside. The lights dipped, and the car stopped without sound within a few yards of them. Adelaide watched the professor, moving much faster than he usually did, get out and cross the road. He came closer to her-so close that she could feel the rough tweed of his jacket against her shoulder. From the gloom above her head he spoke.
`Good evening, Adelaide. Can I help in any way?' He didn't sound very interested.
`We have a puncture, and Jan has to change the wheel.'
He grunted something she couldn't quite hear, and moved away to see what Jan was doing. The two men murmured together, and Adelaide, shining the torch steadily on them, suppressed a shiver. It was getting very chilly, and she wished she had a thicker coat, or even a scarf for her neck. The professor went back to his car and returned with a lantern, directing its beam on to the tyre, then he took the torch from Adelaide's cold hand, and switched it off.
`Go and sit in the car. You'll find a rug in the back. We shan't be long.' He didn't wait to see what she did, but turned away to help Jan.
Adelaide climbed gratefully into the Rolls. It was warm inside, and smelled faintly of good tobacco and well-kept leather. She sat wrapped in the rug, watching the two men working in the pale light of the lamp. She could hear Jan's quick light voice, and the professor's slower, deep one, with an occasional rumble of laughter. She relaxed against the comfortable seat, and allowed herself the luxury of imagining that she was with the professor, and not Jan. She was so absorbed in this delightful but improbable situation that
she was quite startled when the car door was opened. The professor looked down at her.
`Jan's ready to go.' He helped her out and took the rug from her and she stood beside the car, feeling awkward, not sure what to say, and bitterly regretting the lie she had told him the other evening. He must think that she and Jan were, at the least, very good friends. She had a wild desire to tell him that this was only the second time that she had seen Jan since Baroness Van Essen's party. She opened her mouth, she wanted him to know about it quite badly. She sneezed.
`You should have worn a warmer coat.' The professor was faintly admonishing. `I should join Jan if I were you. He'll give you a drink at Amersfoort; you don't want to catch a cold.' He was a stranger, a chance acquaintance giving careless sympathy and advice.
She sneezed again, and said in a small voice:
`It was warm and sunny when we started out this morning.'
`No doubt.' He sounded maddeningly reasonable about it. `The sensible thing would be for you to go back to hospital and go to bed, but I won't presume to spoil your evening by suggesting it.'
He had walked across the road with her to where Jan was standing, wiping his hands on a piece of rag, and stood looking at them both, smiling a little.
Adelaide, in her turn, smiled brilliantly at Jan, who delighted her by saying promptly:
`Our evening hasn't even started, has it, Adelaide?'
She tightened the scarf around her bright hair and nerved herself to look at the professor. `Thanks for your help, sir, we shall be able to enjoy every minute of it.'
She whisked into the car, giving a brilliant performance as a young woman about to enjoy a delightful evening with the man of her choice, and waved airily as Jan started the car. The professor looked lonely standing there on the side of the road, cleaning his hands on Jan's rag. Adelaide longed to stop the car and go back to him and fling herself into his arms, and wondered what he would do if she did. Something tactful, she supposed, with a correctness that would be far worse than a downright snub. She stopped thinking and turned to Jan, to ask with her usual candour:
`Do you really want to take me out this evening, Jan?"
'Yes, of course. How about a meal and then a cinema- No, I've a better idea, I'll phone and see if there are any seats for Snip and Snap at the Carre. You'll like that.'
It sounded fun-it would stop her thinking too. They kept up an unflagging conversation until they reached Amsterdam. Jan stopped the car in a busy street near one of the bridges crossing the Amstel. As she got out of the car, Adelaide could see the bright lights of a restaurant on the opposite corner. Jan took her arm and guided her across to it.
`This is the Fredriksplein,' he explained. `I thought we'd eat here at the Royaal.' It was warm and pleasant inside in the subdued lighting of the table lamps. They sat in the window, watching the fountain in the centre of the square; it looked cold in the light of the street lamps. Adelaide went off to tidy herself and found that Jan had ordered drinks for them both. Hers looked richly red. She sipped it and it tasted as good as it looked. By the time their meal was ready, she was no longer cold, she even felt full of false cheerfulness which carried her successfully through dinner.
The theatre was full, but they had good seats, and Snip and Snap-Amsterdam's favourite comedians-were on top of their form. Adelaide laughed delightedly at their antics, even when she couldn't understand the jokes.
It was late when the show finished, and she refused Jan's offer of a drink.
'I'm on duty tomorrow at eight, there's a clinic-a special one for measles inoculation. We'll be busy. I think I'd better go back now.'
She thanked Jan charmingly for a delightful day, said good night and went into the Nurses' Home, and immediately forgot him. Her last coherent thought before she went to sleep was of Coenraad, standing in the road by himself.
They were all on duty the next morning. By the time the doctors had arrived Adelaide and the nurses had the children in some sort of order. In theory it was a simple enough business. A steady stream of children trickled through the team's well-organised fingers, submitting with stolid charm or howls of rage to the professor's and Piet's swift and expert jabs. Adelaide, busy with the syringes and needles and the repetitive swabbing of countless small arms, stood beside the professor. It was nice to be close to him, even though he didn't appear to notice her: she didn't count the casual `Good morning' as he had come in. At ten o'clock, she asked quietly:
`Would you like coffee now, sir?'
He plunged his needle into a very small stoical boy, gave him an encouraging smack on his bottom, and threw the syringe into the bin Adelaide had thoughtfully placed to receive it.
`Sister Peters, you read my thoughts!'
She went quickly and called a halt for ten minutes, while a nurse brought in the coffee ready on the small stove. By tacit consent, the nurses moved away with their mugs and biscuits, leaving Adelaide and the two doctors by the desk.
The professor helped himself abundantly to sugar and selected a biscuit with care.
`You enjoyed your evening, Adelaide?' he enquired blandly.
She composed her face into an expression of delighted remembrance.
`Yes, thank you, Professor. We went to the Royaal.'
`The Royaal?' His brow creased in thought. `Where's that?'
Piet came to her rescue. `Nice place. Good food, too. What did you do afterwards, Adelaide?"
'We went to the Carre,' she frowned heavily at Coenraad, `and I liked it very much indeed,' she added in a challenging tone.
He looked taken aback. 'Er-yes, I'm sure you did. I wasn't aware that I had contradicted you in any way. Everyone likes the Carre. I'm glad you enjoyed your evening, I remember you told me how much you were looking forward to it.' He looked faintly mocking. It was a relief to Adelaide when Piet asked her who she had gone out with.
`Jan Hein.'
`Oh, him!' Piet looked at her in astonishment. `The fellow with the fancy waistcoats? Lord, Adelaide, couldn't you do better than that?'
Adelaide stared at him angrily, regrettably unable to think of anything to reply to this unfortunate comment. That she shared Piet's opinion of Jan didn't help matters at all.
The professor put down his cup. `Really, Piet, you must allow Adelaide to choose her own friends. Jan's quite a good sort of fellow-only a boy, of course,' he added in a silky voice that set Adelaide's cup rattling in its saucer.
`Are you ready, sir?' She didn't look at either of the men, but turned her back and piled the crockery on to the tray and carried it away. For the rest of the morning she was silent, excepting when it was necessary to talk about the work in the clinic, and when the last small patient had left, and the doctors were ready to go home, it was Zuster Wilsma who took their white coats and answered their goodbyes, Sister Peters having found it imperative to take the drums over to the sterilising room herself. She banged them down on the bench with undue violence and relieved her feelings by slamming the door violently behind her.
The professor was waiting in the passage outside; she was glad to see him wince at the appalling noise she was making, while her heart leapt to see him there. She wondered what he was going to say. But he said nothing at all, merely nodded unsmiling, and went into the sterilising room on some errand of his own.
CHAPTER NINE
IT was the second week in October, and the hospital ball was to be on the twentieth. There was a good deal of excitement about it, even though work had to go on as usual. It was a Monday morning, cold and blustery and just turned nine o'clock. The professor sat at his desk patiently making illegible notes from the reluctant answers of the young woman he was questioning. She was pale and dirty and uncooperative; he needed a great deal of patience. Adelaide was undressing the young woman's baby; it was pale and dirty like its mother, and very ill. Its puny body was covered in flea-bites. It looked unseeingly at Adelaide out of enormous blue eyes, and wailed continuously in a thin parody of a baby's voice. She pinned on a nappy and rolled it in a baby blanket, and said lowvoiced to Zuster Eisink who had just come in:
`Get a lumbar puncture trolley ready, will you, Nurse? We're going to need it in a few minutes.'
She unwrapped the baby again as the professor came over and began to examine the scrap with gentle hands. Without looking up he said:
`What do you think, Sister?'
He had a rather nice habit of asking the nurses their opinion before he diagnosed, and as he never laughed at their sometimes foolish answers, but praised them when they were right, they loved him for it.
`Meningitis,' said Adelaide promptly.
`Then I don't suppose I need to ask for the LP trolley,' he said genially, and went to scrub up.
It didn't take very long. They pulled off their masks and gowns, and the professor told Piet Beekman, who had just come in, to take the baby to the small glass-walled cubicle where Zuster Zijlstra could keep her eye on it.
Zuster Eisink took the trolley away, and Adelaide found herself alone with the professor, washing their hands at the double sink. She had avoided him as much as possible since her outing with Jan, although, as she told herself frequently, there was no reason for doing so. All the same, she was glad to see Zuster Wilsma come into the clinic. So, it seemed, was the professor.
`The very girl I want,' he said cheerfully. `Please go to X-ray and ask for the films I need. I've written the numbers down, they're on my desk.' As the door closed he turned back to Adelaide, and asked, `Did you say something, Sister?'
Adelaide was puzzled; she knew that all the
films that were needed had been fetched. `Yes, sir. I said-but all the films are there.' `You're quite right, they are. I wanted to talk to you.'
Adelaide struggled to think of something suitable to say to this, failed, and started to wash her hands for the second time, waiting for him to speak.
`Will you come to the hospital ball with me, Addy?' he went on, and added softly, `And don't cudgel your brain for a mythical escort this time!'
Adelaide started to blush, and would have washed her hands for the third time if the professor hadn't reached over and taken out the plug. She was wildly happy. There was something else too; her hands dripping before her, she turned to face him.
`You knew that Jan didn't come for me ... ?"
'Yes, I knew.'
She heaved a great sigh of relief and said, without stopping to think, 'I'm so glad; I wanted to tell you it was a lie, but I couldn't think of anything else to say.' She looked up into his face. `You must know that you're the last person in the world I'd lie to.'
`Yes, I know that too,' he said quietly. `Will you come?' He thoughtfully handed her a towel to dry her still wet hands, and went on smoothly. `You leave at the end of the month, I believe? I think it would be a nice gesture if we went together, don't you?'
Adelaide wondered why they should make a nice gesture, but put the thought aside. She wanted to go very badly, and she knew she would accept. She was tired of pretending to herself that her feelings for him were purely friendly. Once or twice she had thought that perhaps he was attracted to her, but common sense told her that he had never really given her any reason to believe this. He'd kissed her several times, but that meant nothing when a man took a girl out. She reminded herself that the Dutch Adel married into their own circle. Doubtless in his own good time he would marry Margriet. All the same, he must like her a little to have invited her. She heard herself accepting in a cool, friendly voice, and telling him how delighted she would be to go with him, but in an instant she had forgotten her role again.
`Oh, I'll buy a new dress!' she breathed recklessly.
She spent several days looking for the dress. She wanted something really beautiful, and rashly decided to spend some of the money set aside for the boys' school fees. In the end, she found what she wanted, a straight, beautifully cut dress in wild silk; it was in turquoise blue, and cost her far more than she could afford, but Adelaide didn't care.
The days flew by, and she longed for the night of the dance, but dreaded each day as it brought her departure nearer. Her gloom was increased by the professor's brisk cheerfulness. He seemed to take it for granted that she was delighted to be going back to England, and even made passing mention of Christmas in her own home. She was too dispirited to point out that hospital ward Sisters seldom got home for Christmas.
On the day before the ball, Adelaide wasn't on duty until eleven. It was a bright, frosty morning, just the day for a brisk walk. She was standing outside the hospital, waiting for a chance to cross the road, when she became aware that Margriet Keizer was standing beside her. Margriet said good morning so charmingly and in such a friendly manner that Adelaide found herself returning her smile.
They crossed the road together, and continued along the pavement, chatting about Adelaide's departure in ten days' time. They turned down the Singel, where it was quieter, and walked briskly along in the chilly wind. Adelaide wasn't sure that she wanted to go walking with Margriet, but she saw no way of avoiding it. She had no idea that Margriet had telephoned the hospital earlier that morning and asked when she was to be off duty that day, or that she had spent a long hour waiting in the hope that Adelaide would come out.
Margriet knew exactly what she was going to say; she had been over it a hundred times since that evening, several weeks ago, when she had asked Coenraad to take her to the dance, and he had told her that he intended taking Adelaide. She had seethed with rage, but by a great effort, concealed it, and said nothing more to him about it. But now... She led the conversation round to the dance.
`It's a marvellous affair,' she said gaily. `Have you a pretty dress for it?'
Adelaide was surprised. `How did you know I was going?'
Margriet smiled. `Why, of course I know. I was the one who suggested you went in the first place. Coenraad always takes me, but I told him that this year, just for once, he should take you. After all, you haven't had a great deal of fun while you've been in Holland.' She stole a look at the girl beside her. Adela
ide's feeling had been one of disbelief as she listened to her companion, but she had to admit that it was all true. The professor, after all, had barely mentioned the ball to her since his invitation, save to arrange where they were to meet. She felt the blood drain from her face, but managed to smile quite naturally.
`Poor Professor Van Essen, I had no idea...' she stopped.
`Oh, you mustn't say that,' cried Margriet. `He has a very high regard for you as a nurse. Neither of us mind in the least, we only want you to have an enjoyable evening.'
Adelaide felt numb, but she supposed that presently she would be able to think what to do; at the moment she must concentrate on walking and talking as naturally as possible. Margriet was the last person who must know how much she had been hurt.