by Betty Neels
Her mind made up, she helped Mrs Twist with lunch, spent the afternoon with her mother, had tea with her and took tea to her stepfather, then went to the kitchen to help Mrs Twist with dinner.
The evening would be the best time to go and see Mr ter Breukel, she had decided, and to strike while the iron was hot seemed good sense. Kenneth had arrived, and would be with her stepfather for a couple of hours, and friends had called to see her mother.
‘I’m going out,’ she told Mrs Twist. ‘I don’t expect I’ll be very long. I’ll tell Mother before I go, but don’t fuss if I’m not back in time for dinner.’
It was a chilly evening, but light, so she put on a coat over her jersey dress, did her face and hair carefully, told her mother that she would be back presently and set out once more. It was quite a long journey and she had ample time to rehearse what she wanted to say. She wouldn’t stay, of course—after a day’s work he would be tired—but she had to explain…
The address she had been given was one of a row of rather grand houses with steps leading up to their important front doors. Not the kind of house one would have expected to have been turned into flats. The curtains were drawn across the windows but there was a light showing through the transom above the door. She glanced at her watch; it was almost eight o’clock—later than she had thought, but it was too late to turn back now. She thumped the great brass knocker.
The door was opened by a severe-looking maid, very correctly dressed in a black dress with a white apron.
‘Mr ter Breukel?’ asked Sarah. ‘He is staying here, I believe?’
‘Yes, miss.’ The girl wasn’t unfriendly and Sarah took heart.
‘Could I see him for a few minutes? If you would take my name…’
The girl stood aside and Sarah passed her into an elegant hall. ‘Who shall I say, miss?’
‘Sarah Beckwith—Miss.’ She followed the girl across the hall and was close behind her when she opened one of the doors. The room, large, splendidly furnished and brilliantly lighted, was full of people dressed for the evening, drinks in their hands, and right at the end of it she could see Mr ter Breukel, elegant in black tie, talking to a group of equally elegant men and women.
The maid had left her, and Sarah, good sense flown out of her head, stood where she was, rooted to the spot. This was something she hadn’t even imagined. She saw the maid speak to Mr ter Breukel and he looked up and saw her. He was a good way off, but near enough for her to see that he wasn’t smiling. A belated idea to get out of the house as quickly as possible was nipped in the bud, because now he had spoken to a man nearby and was crossing the room.
‘Oh, dear,’ said Sarah and backed away. She would apologise for disturbing his evening and leave smartly…
His ‘Good evening, Sarah,’ was uttered in a voice which told her nothing, and after she asked the maid where they might go she followed him meekly across the hall and into a small room, cosily furnished and rather untidy. There was a large ginger cat curled up before the small fire, who took no notice of them as they went in.
‘Do sit down,’ said Mr ter Breukel. ‘You wanted to see me urgently? Your parents?’
Sarah sat down on a small easy chair and the cat jumped onto her lap and was instantly asleep. She took one or two deep breaths, because she had read somewhere that that was the way to calm one’s nerves.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you would be having a party. I tried to see you at the hospital this morning, but you had gone. There was a hold-up and the bus had to make a detour—the passengers got very annoyed, but really it wasn’t the driver’s fault…’ She stopped, aware that she wasn’t getting to the point, and Mr ter Breukel, watching her, fell in love with her all over again.
He said gently, ‘You wanted to see me?’
She gave him a grateful glance. ‘Yes, about yesterday. If I’d have known that you would be coming to see us, I would have told Robert not to come.’
‘A wise decision…’
‘Yes, well, you see, I could go and see the flat at any time—that is, when he’s free—but you were unexpected, and anyway I didn’t think fast enough. I should have told Robert to go away.’
‘He seems a very pleasant young man. Only a little older than yourself?’
‘He’s thirty. I’m twenty-three. But you know that. What I wanted to make quite clear….’ Her thoughts, darting here and there like mice in a trap, had taken on a life of their own. ‘Do you live here? Suzanne gave me this address. It’s a very nice house.’
Mr ter Breukel said with careful nonchalance, ‘She phones you from time to time, I expect? She likes you.’
‘I like her, too; she’s so pretty. No, I phoned her. You see, I wanted to see you and make things clear.’
He crossed one leg over the other. Presumably his Sarah would soon come to the point. She was behaving as though she felt guilty about this Robert. He felt a dull despair at the thought of her marrying him, but if she was going to be happy then he would learn to live without her. He had allowed himself to daydream; he should have known better at his age. What girl would want to marry a man twelve years older than she?
Somewhere in the house a gong sounded, and Sarah said, ‘Oh, dear, that’s for dinner. You must go.’
‘We haven’t got very far, have we?’ he said, and his voice was kind. ‘You have been trying to tell me that you’re going to marry Robert and for some reason you’re scared to do so. I’m delighted for you, Sarah, and I’m sure you will be very happy.’
The door opened behind them and a young woman poked her head round it.
‘Forgive me, but we’re just going in to dinner. Perhaps your friend would like to stay?’
Sarah had got to her feet. ‘No, no. I was just going. I’m sorry to have interrupted.’
She smiled at the young woman, who smiled back and disappeared down the hall. ‘Come when you are ready, Litrik,’ she called over a shoulder.
The maid was in the hall, waiting to open the door. Sarah made for it in a rush. To get out of the house and away from Mr ter Breukel was vital, for once out in the street she could cry as much as she wanted. She had made a fine mess of everything, but perhaps that was a good thing for he had said that he was delighted that she would be marrying Robert.
She put out a hand and had it shaken gently, muttered something, she had no idea what, and left the house very nearly at a run. If he had said anything to her she hadn’t heard him, but really there was nothing more to say, was there? She began to walk very fast, letting the buses pass her. She had been a fool; all her carefully rehearsed speeches had been forgotten and she had talked a lot of rubbish—and anyway, what did it matter to him if she married someone else? Why had she been so anxious to explain his mistake in thinking that?
She gave a great gulping sob. She wasn’t going to get married anyway. ‘And I dare say I never shall,’ she said, and a passer-by gave her a wary look.
She caught a bus presently, and went home to face Mrs Twist’s anxious face, her mother’s complaining voice and her stepfather roaring from his room.
‘Not one of my best days,’ said Sarah to herself later, gobbling her warmed-up dinner at the kitchen table. Mrs Twist had gone to bed, and presently she would set about settling her stepfather and her mother for the night.
She went to bed after that and, contrary to her expectations, slept at once. But she woke in the early hours, her mind very clear.
‘It’s funny I didn’t think of it sooner. Of course I wanted to explain to him—because I’m in love with him.’
She felt a warm glow of happiness at the thought, but in the pale early-morning light common sense took over; the glow was still there but she must learn to keep it tucked away, out of sight and mind.
CHAPTER FOUR
FOR the next few days the hope that she would see Mr ter Breukel again coloured Sarah’s dull daily round. She didn’t sleep well, but each morning she got out of bed telling herself that surely he would phone her, or even come to say goo
dbye before he went back to Holland. And each night she went to bed and wept quietly. Not because she had hoped that they would meet again, but because he had seemed so pleased that she was, as he’d presumed, to marry Robert.
He would think nothing of her for keeping Robert up her sleeve, as it were, while accepting his friendship. And that was all it was, she reminded herself; she didn’t expect anything warmer than that, but to have him as a friend would have been a wonderful thing.
Loving someone who didn’t love you, reflected Sarah one night, mopping her eyes and blowing her small red nose, was very painful. She gave a great sniff and curled up in bed, wondering where he was and what he was doing. It was comforting, somehow, to know that somewhere out there, in the world she had so little chance of seeing much of, he would be working and eating and sleeping just as she was.
Which was exactly what he was doing. But, unlike her, he viewed the future in a different light. If Sarah was happy, if she wanted to marry this young doctor, then he would accept that, but first he had to be quite sure that this was so, and he wasn’t sure…
Unlike Sarah, his days were full; he thrust her image to the back of his mind and dealt with consultations, clinics, patients and sessions in the operating theatre, as at home in the London hospitals as he was at Arnhem. He had been a consultant at both hospitals for some years now, and came to London several times a year. Nevertheless he did have opportunities to drive to Clapham Common and see Sarah, all of which he ignored.
If she were going to marry Robert then she would have little interest in another visit from him, and the thin thread of their friendship might snap. And he must still find out more about her and Robert; only when he knew with certainty that they were to marry would he abandon his hopes for the future.
Two weeks later, on the point of his return to Arnhem, he telephoned Dr Benson, enquired as to Mr Holt’s progress and, after a brief discussion, observed with just the right amount of interest that he had met the doctor’s young partner.
Dr Benson was enthusiastic about him. ‘A good doctor, and already well liked by my patients. He’s getting married shortly—his future wife, Jennie, is a very nice girl, familiar with this area, too. They’re busy getting their flat ready. They intended to marry next year, but since they’ve found this place and he’s settled in so well there’s no reason for them not to set up home sooner. Some time in May, I believe. If you’re over here by any chance you must come to the wedding—and take a look at Mr Holt at the same time. I quite understand that your commitments prevented you from seeing him this time, but I can assure you that your good work will be continued here.’
‘I feel sure of that. And Mrs Holt and her daughter?’
‘Mrs Holt is quite herself again, a nervous and delicate lady, as you no doubt know, depending very much upon her daughter. And Sarah seems none the worse for the accident. She is rather a quiet girl, and seems even quieter now. She really needs to be independent and leave home, but of course she has no training, and Mrs Holt relies upon her for everything. She meets very few young people…’
All of which Mr ter Breukel thought about deeply as he took himself back to Arnhem. The overwhelming relief at discovering that it wasn’t Sarah who was to marry Robert was overshadowed by concern for her happiness. His first impulse was to carry her off and marry her out of hand, but she might have other wishes as to her future. Probably she regarded him as a rather staid man to whom she owed gratitude.
She had told him something of her life, but very little about her own hopes for the future. For all he knew she might want to travel, become a career girl, go on the stage. He must, he told himself, on no account be impatient, and if possible think of some means whereby she might become independent and see something of the world, even if it were only another part of London. Only then would he find a way of resuming their friendship and finally marrying her.
He needed to think about it, but only after he had tackled the backlog of patients and operations waiting for him at St Bravo’s.
That done, he set about his problem with calm logic. Suzanne first, for he wanted her opinion of the prospects of a job for a girl without any kind of training.
She said at once, ‘Oh, you’re thinking of Sarah. Why don’t you marry her, Litrik? Then she won’t need to get work.’
‘That’s an easy answer, my dear. But Sarah’s never had a chance to spread her wings. Suppose she were to marry me and then discover that what she wanted was a career of some sort, a chance to meet people—men—of her own age? No, she must have a little time to discover what she really wants.’
Suzanne thought. ‘Well, I’d look for a job where all that was needed was common sense and a willingness to do anything wanted.’ She shrugged. ‘Sounds hopeless, doesn’t it?’
‘No, it makes sense. It will have to be work where I can keep her under my eye.’
‘What about the hospital—the London one?’
‘I had thought of that, and that is a possibility, but I have to find a way to get her there…’
Suzanne gave him a sisterly peck on the cheek. ‘And you will, Litrik. Let me know if I can help, won’t you?’
Mr ter Breukel had many friends, some of them colleagues of long standing at the London hospital. He was on good terms with the hospital manager, too, and it was through him, by asking carefully casual questions, that he discovered that there was a shortage of unskilled labour in the kitchens, the house doctors’ rooms and dining room, and in the staff canteen.
The kitchens wouldn’t do at all, and nor would the house doctors’ quarters; he wasn’t so old that he couldn’t remember that young housemen tended to relax like small boys when they had the chance…It would have to be the canteen.
Having settled that, his next problem was somewhat harder to solve. How to get her away from Clapham Common? He ignored her stepfather—the man was a bully, and lacking in any kind feeling towards her, but he wouldn’t be able to stop Sarah leaving home. It was her mother who would do that if she could, playing upon Sarah’s kind heart and her sense of duty. Mr ter Breukel sat at his desk night after night, with the faithful Max at his feet, and bent his powerful brain to the matter.
To good effect. The series of telephone calls he eventually made were entirely satisfactory, even though they were protracted and necessitated a good deal of discussion. The impossible, reflected Mr ter Breukel, is sometimes possible, provided one is determined enough. And he was determined.
Mr Holt’s leg confining him to the house and depriving Mrs Holt of participating in their normal social life meant that she was unable to enjoy herself as she would wish. She had friends—but friends who were loath to invite her to dinner parties without her husband, unwilling for her to join in their usual social round on her own. She had to fall back on bridge afternoons and shopping and the occasional meeting for coffee while shopping. As a consequence her discontent grew, as did her peevishness, and since there was no one else she vented both on Sarah.
‘It is a pity that you’re not pretty and socially minded,’ she complained, ‘then at least there would be some young people about the house.’
To which Sarah said nothing, although she could have pointed out that young people had never been encouraged. She remembered with shame the few occasions when she had invited schoolfriends home and watched her mother with subtle charm eclipse her own efforts. Later on it had been worse, for such young men as she’d met had occasionally found her mother’s pretty ways and gentle manner quite irresistible…
Now, as far as she could see, the faint hopes that she could persuade her mother to let her find work were fading. Sarah had brought the matter up already, on several occasions, and her mother had told her with a pitiful smile that she must please herself; no mother would prevent her child from doing what they wished, however selfish that child was.
The days seemed endless to Sarah, although she didn’t allow her despondency to get the upper hand. She had plenty to do—shopping, helping with the ironing and cooki
ng, giving Mrs Twist a hand around the house, paying dutiful visits to her stepfather, listening to her mother’s complaining voice. Days in which she had very little time to herself.
And a good thing too, she told herself; if she had time on her hands she would waste it thinking about Mr ter Breukel, who, she assured herself a dozen times a day, meant nothing to her. She would, in time, be able to discard her love for him. She reflected that it was probably a flash in the pan, engendered by her lack of men-friends. Probably she would have fallen in love with the first man she met, given the circumstances…
It was April now, quite warm and sunny. Sarah was in the garden, casting an eye over the tubs she had planted in the autumn, when Mrs Twist called her indoors.
‘Yer ma wants yer, Miss Sarah. Very excited about some thing.’
Mrs Holt was in her bedroom, sitting at the dressing table making up her pretty face. ‘Sarah—get my new grey dress for me. I’ve had a phone call from Dr Benson. He’s bringing some important specialist to see your stepfather. For heaven’s sake, tidy yourself, and then go and get coffee ready. They’ll be here in half an hour.’
‘Didn’t you say they’re coming to see my stepfather?’
‘Yes. But they’ll want to know how I am. I’m sure I’ll never be the same again after that horrible accident.’ She glanced at Sarah. ‘Get the coffee ready first, Sarah, then do something to your hair. You won’t need to see them, of course, but I suppose you’ll bring in the coffee.’
Sarah paused at the door. ‘Mother, if you don’t want me to be seen, you could fetch the coffee from the kitchen yourself.’
‘Sarah, what a dreadful way to speak to your mother. You know how delicate my nerves are.’ Mrs Holt touched a handkerchief to a dry eye. ‘Now I’m upset.’
Sarah went away and got the tray ready, with the best china and a little dish of assorted biscuits. She popped two into her mouth and crossed the hall to the cloakroom. The breeze in the garden had ruffled her tidy hair, and she supposed that she had better run a comb through it. She was halfway across the hall when the doorbell was rung. She glanced at the long case clock by the stairs; it was far too soon for Dr Benson and this specialist—the postman, maybe, or someone trying to make a living selling dusters at the door? She opened the door and came face to face with Dr Benson.