by Betty Neels
He had seen her, of course. ‘Ah, Sarah, how nice to see you again.’
Her heart was beating so loudly he must surely be able to hear it. She had gone very red, and then pale, and hadn’t said a word.
She found her breath. ‘I shall be late,’ she told him, and flew down the stairs.
He stood watching her race away, smiling to himself. She reminded him of the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland. He glanced at his watch; she would be off duty at eight o’clock. He had a clinic that afternoon, and post-operative patients to see later, but he would be free by then.
Everyone in the canteen acknowledged that Sarah was a good worker, willing to help out and not afraid of hard work, but today she surpassed herself: she served the meals, cleaned the tables and laid them again, swabbed the floor where someone had upset a bottle of tomato sauce, even offered to stay on for an extra hour or two as they were short-handed that day. An offer which wasn’t accepted.
‘You’ve worked yourself to death,’ it was pointed out to her. ‘You’ll go off at eight sharp and no nonsense.’
All the same she was held up at the last minute by one of the staff coming in for sandwiches for the operating theatre staff, so that when she got to the changing room everyone else had gone.
She’d had some half-formed idea that if she went out of the hospital in a bunch with the other girls and saw Mr ter Breukel there would be no need to speak to him. Indeed, she could pretend not to see him…Now she would have to hope that he would be gone or, better still, in Theatre, operating.
She changed rapidly and climbed the stairs to the ground floor, taking the last few steps with all the wariness of a rabbit coming out of its burrow. The corridor was empty; she skimmed down it and saw that there was no one in the entrance hall. It was a relief not to meet him, although she ached with disappointment. Just that one glimpse of him coming out of the lift had been enough to undo all her sternly suppressed feelings since she had last seen him.
She called goodnight to the porter and pushed open the heavy doors. April had turned contrary; it was cold and windy and heavy clouds threatened rain. She paused to button her coat collar, and found herself face to face with Mr ter Breukel.
For the second time that day she lost her tongue, staring up at his face, trying to think of something suitable to say. Hello was a bit too familiar; good evening sounded all wrong. ‘It’s not a very nice evening,’ said Sarah.
‘Very unpleasant,’ he agreed cheerfully. ‘Shall we have a meal out, or go to your place?’
‘But they’re not there—Mother and my stepfather. They’re in Bournemouth recuperating.’
‘Indeed? Then let us find a restaurant.’
‘No, no, I can’t. I mean, it’s very kind of you to ask me, but Mrs Twist’s waiting for me with supper. She’ll wonder where I am.’
‘Then let us go to Clapham Common and perhaps you will invite me to supper?’
Sarah, mindful of her manners, invited him, then added, ‘Why are you here?’
He popped her into the car and got in beside her. ‘I come here to work fairly frequently. You’re working at the hospital?’
‘Yes. Dr Benson and a Professor Smythe came to see my stepfather, and they thought it would do him and mother good to go away for a while. So they’re in Bournemouth, and since I’m at home with Mrs Twist Dr Benson suggested that I got a job.’ She added defiantly, ‘I serve the meals at the canteen.’
‘You enjoy that? Meeting new faces, making friends? You must have missed that, Sarah?’
‘Yes. When Mother and my stepfather come back I shall move out—find a room, get a better job if I can, train for something.’
She glanced at his hands on the wheel and looked away quickly. They were large, beautifully kept, and they reminded her how very much she loved him.
He parked the car outside the house and went in with her. Mrs Twist, coming into the hall, gave him a shrewd look as Sarah introduced them.
‘Pleased ter meet yer, I’m sure,’ she told him, and took the hand that he held out. ‘Staying for supper? It’s steak and kidney pie and apple turnovers. Miss Sarah, you go into the drawing room and have a drink while I lay the table.’
Sarah frowned. ‘Mrs Twist—it’s all ready in the kitchen, isn’t it?’
‘I like kitchens,’ said Mr ter Breukel, and smiled at Mrs Twist.
‘Well, then, if you say so, sir.’
‘I’ll get the sherry,’ said Sarah, and went to the drawing room.
Mr ter Breukel followed her, took the bottle from her, dropped a kiss on her cheek and said quietly, ‘We must find time to talk, but not just yet.’
He smiled down at her. ‘The pie smells delicious. Come and tell me about your job while we eat.’
CHAPTER FIVE
MRS TWIST was at first reluctant to eat her supper with Sarah and Mr ter Breukel. ‘I know me place,’ she had said sharply, but then under his kindly eye she had changed her mind.
‘Well, if that’s what you want, sir. I should’ve thought you’d want ter be on yer own, like, with Miss Sarah.’
‘Ah, but you see Sarah and I have all the time in the world to be together.’
A remark which caused Sarah to give him a surprised look, which he met with a bland smile. He was putting Mrs Twist at her ease, she reflected.
The meal was a success; Mrs Twist was a great talker, and Mr ter Breukel was adept at maintaining a conversation, and if Sarah was rather silent no one noticed. They didn’t hurry over it, and when it was eaten Mr ter Breukel accepted Mrs Twist’s offer of a cup of tea with every appearance of pleasure, drinking the powerful brew with evident appreciation before helping to clear the table and then making his departure, saying all the right things to Mrs Twist, bidding Sarah a friendly goodnight, and driving away without fuss.
While Mrs Twist washed up Sarah set the table for breakfast.
‘Now there’s a man for you,’ said Mrs Twist. ‘A real gent, even if ’e is a bit of a la-di-da. Fancy me eating me supper with the likes of ’im. Whatever would your ma say?’
‘Well, she won’t know,’ said Sarah. ‘I shan’t tell, and you won’t either.’
‘Lor’ bless you, no. Known ’im long?’
‘Well, I don’t really know him very well. He looked after my stepfather at the Arnhem hospital; he’s a Consultant there too, as well as over here.’
‘A bit lonely over here on his own?’ Mrs Twist was dying of curiosity.
‘I don’t suppose so. He’s well known at the hospital, I think, and he must have lots of friends.’
‘Well, I dare say you’ll see a bit more of ’im while ’e’s ’ere.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Sarah. ‘The senior staff don’t come to the canteen.’
But they were in the same building, she reflected, and if she took the long way round to the canteen she might see him.
During the next few days, though, there wasn’t so much as a glimpse of him. You wouldn’t think, thought Sarah, that such a large man could become so invisible. And he was in the hospital; dishing dinners to a group of staff nurses, she couldn’t help but overhear their gossip. Mr ter Breukel, it seemed, had won the hearts of all the nurses who had had the good fortune to encounter him.
Sarah swallowed a sharp pang of jealousy and told herself not to be a fool. The sooner he went back to Holland the better, she decided. Life would never be the same again without him, but at least she could make a new life for herself now that she had work. She wasn’t sure what would be the next step, but she was determined that it would be up, taking her away from Clapham Common. A month or two more working in the canteen, and then she would apply for the night shift; the pay was better. Several of the girls had rooms close to the hospital; she would do the same, save what money she could, and look for a better job.
She told herself that she was happy and content, that the future was exciting; she would become a successful career woman. She had no idea how this was to be achieved, but the thought of it made her days b
earable as each successive one went by without a sight of Mr ter Breukel.
And when at last she saw him again it was disastrous. It was the end of her shift, and, last as usual, she climbed the stairs with one of the housemen who had been to the canteen to gobble a hasty supper. He was a nice lad, and lonely, and so was she. They dawdled up the staircase, making the most of a few moments of idle conversation, not really interested in each other, only glad to talk to someone.
They lingered on the top step, reluctant to go their separate ways, and Mr ter Breukel, intent on whisking Sarah out for a meal, came to an abrupt silent halt. Sarah was laughing and the young doctor laughed too, enjoying the small interlude, and instead of going straight to the wards he turned to walk to the entrance with her, still talking.
It was then that Sarah saw Mr ter Breukel, walking towards them, and she paused in mid-sentence, smiling her delight at the sight of him.
A pity he didn’t know that; he went past them with a brief unsmiling nod and turned into the consultants’ room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Sarah parted with her companion in the entrance hall hardly aware of how she had got there. Mr ter Breukel could have smiled, even wished her good evening. Perhaps he didn’t care to be on speaking terms with a member of the domestic staff. She dismissed that thought as unworthy of him, left the hospital and walked to the bus stop.
There was no reason, she told herself, why he should speak to her. He was doubtless a busy man; moreover, he must have many friends in London. Taking her home the other evening had been an impulsive gesture which he clearly didn’t intend to repeat.
Mr ter Breukel closed the door gently, quelling a desire to slam it or wrench it open again and pluck Sarah away from the cheerful young man with her. He would like to shake her until her teeth rattled. Better still, he would like to wrap his arms round her and kiss her.
He did none of these things, but went and sat down in one of the leather chairs arranged round the sombre room. He had no reason to be angry; he had planned this deliberately so that Sarah would have a chance to be independent and meet people. Well, his plan was working. It was early days, though, he reminded himself. He must have patience still, leave her free to choose her friends, plan her future. He was deeply in love with her, but he wanted her to be happy even at the cost of his own happiness.
So the best part of another week went by; he would be returning to Holland soon now…
As for Sarah, she felt herself to be a seasoned worker now, with little time to brood. Only at the weekends, alone in the house while Mrs Twist visited friends or family, did she admit to herself that life wasn’t very satisfactory. It would be better, of course, once she could forget Mr ter Breukel…
One Friday evening, her pay packet in her pocket, she left the hospital rather later than usual. There had been no one in the cloakroom to tell her that there was a rowdy demonstration over something or other making its way towards the streets around the hospital, and the porter, deep in his evening paper, hadn’t seen her slip out of the doors. The other canteen staff had left in a bunch, so he had warned them, thinking that they were all there. It was only as the doors swung back that he looked up and caught a glimpse of Sarah, hurrying away. Too late to go after her, he decided, and someone would have told her to avoid the main roads.
Mr ter Breukel, on the point of departure, having done a ward round and taken a look at his operation cases for that day, spoke to the ward sister, wishing her good evening and a pleasant weekend. She remarked, ‘I expect you’ve heard that there’s some kind of demonstration coming this way, sir? Most of it is peaceful enough, but there are the usual rowdies roaming around, making trouble. The staff going off duty have been warned to avoid them.’
Mr ter Breukel glanced at the clock. Ten minutes past eight. Sarah would have left or be on the point of leaving. He bade Sister a courteous goodnight and went down to the entrance hall.
The porter put his paper down and stood up. Mr ter Breukel had that effect upon people, although he was unconscious of it.
‘The canteen staff?’ he asked. ‘Have they left?’
‘Yes, a minute or two after eight o’clock. I passed on the warning that they should keep clear of any disturbances.’
‘And no one has left since?’
‘Well, now you mention it, sir, someone slipped out while I had my back turned. She was halfway across the forecourt before I heard the door close.’
‘You have no idea who it was?’
‘No, sorry, sir, only she wasn’t very big and she had a red umbrella.’ He added unnecessarily, ‘It’s raining, sir.’
Mr ter Breukel thanked him politely and went out into the drizzle, walking fast. He knew which bus stop Sarah used, and he had seen the red umbrella before. He searched the queue there. There was no sign of her; she was already on her way home, then. He turned away and saw a red umbrella a long way ahead of him, and at the same time several groups of noisy youths marching arm-in-arm on the pavement, pushing aside all the people.
He lengthened his stride, ignoring the catcalls, pushing and shoving. The pavement was almost empty of other people, who were prudently taking cover in doorways and shops. Sarah was in plain sight, and why she was ignoring the fracas around her was something he couldn’t understand—until he saw that she was with someone, another woman, and that they were both burdened with shopping bags.
There were some side roads lined by small brick houses their doors opening onto the pavement. He saw Sarah turn into one such road and reached the corner of it only a few yards behind her. The road was empty save for three youths running from its other end, swooping down on her and her companion, yelling and shouting. The woman dropped her shopping bags and struggled to open the door of a house, but she dropped the key from a shaking hand as the three youths rushed at them.
Sarah furled her umbrella and poked the nearest boy in the ribs, then she thumped his companion and would have done the same for the third, but he caught it and tore it from her hand, waved it wildly and swung it down…
It didn’t reach its mark; Mr ter Breukel swept Sarah aside with one arm, lifted the youth by his coat collar and set him down in a sprawling heap on the pavement, then sent the other two tumbling after him.
They stared up at him; he might look like a gentleman, but he was certainly a giant, and for all they knew a prizefighter in his best suit out for a stroll. They edged themselves backwards, scrambled to their feet and rushed away.
Mr ter Breukel hadn’t said a word; he wasn’t breathing fast either. He stooped, picked up the key and handed it to the woman, and then, since she was still all of a tremble, took it from her, opened the door and stood aside for her to go in. He handed in her shopping bags too, assuring her that she was now quite safe, then brushed aside her thanks, waiting patiently while she thanked Sarah at some length and at last closed her door.
Only then did he turn to Sarah, standing rather quiet and pale beside him.
‘Much as I commend your bravery, Sarah, I must beg you never to risk your safety again—I cannot keep an eye on you all the time…’
‘Keep an eye on me?’ Her voice was rather shrill, what with indignation and delayed fright. ‘I haven’t seen you for days.’
Mr ter Breukel sighed. ‘No, and for several good reasons. The answer is for us to get married.’
‘Well, you may if you wish,’ snapped Sarah. ‘I’ll have to wait until someone asks me.’
‘If you would just listen, you silly girl. I am asking you.’
She looked at him as though he had lost his wits; the drizzle had ceased, there was even a patch or two of blue sky, but the wind was cold and she shivered, as much with the chilliness as the shock of his words.
‘You’re asking me?’
He was leaning against the door, now he drew her to stand beside him and put an arm around her shoulders.
‘Yes, I am, but let me explain.’ He paused, before going on carefully, ‘It had occurred to me that we would be happy t
ogether as man and wife, but I felt—still do feel—that you should first have the opportunity of finding your feet away from home. You have had no chance to do so, have you? You would have continued to live at home, tied to your mother’s every wish and whim, disliked by and disliking your stepfather, gradually losing heart and becoming resigned. You see, Sarah, other girls might run away, but you have too tender a heart. But now you have discovered independence, and perhaps you want to spread your wings?’
She found her voice. ‘You want to marry me? But you don’t know anything about me, do you? And—and you don’t love me…’
‘Have I not said that I believe we could be happy together? And if you wished to have a career of some sort I wouldn’t stand in your way; you would be free to follow your own interests.’
She stared into his calm face. He sounded so kind and so reasonable, as though getting married was a simple act, shorn of all doubts. And his argument made sense too. But it wouldn’t be simple at all, she reflected. She loved him, but he hadn’t said that he loved her, and if she married him she had no wish to be anything other than his wife, behaving like other wives: being at home when he got home, seeing that he had nourishing meals and spotless linen, listening with a sympathetic ear to him after a hard day’s work. And children—she wanted children—and she wanted him to love her…
She said slowly, ‘I’ve never been asked to marry anyone before, so I’m not sure what to say.’
He smiled then. ‘Then don’t say anything. We will go back to the hospital and I’ll drive you home. I shan’t stay. Think about it as much as you wish, and when you’re ready we’ll talk again.’
He stopped himself just in time from kissing her, which was a pity, for it would have put an end to their misunderstanding. Instead he took her arm and walked her back through the almost quiet streets. There were a few people standing about, shopkeepers sweeping up broken glass, car owners examining damaged cars, the odd scuffle as police collected up the remnants of the street gangs.