by Betty Neels
‘Don’t worry, I’ll think of something,’ Euphemia promised her brothers and sister. ‘No one’s going to do anything for a month at least, there’s plenty of time to fix something up.’ She spoke so cheerfully that they actually believed her.
‘Uncle Tom—would he lend us the money?’ asked Ellen hopefully, and, ‘Cousin Fred drove here in a socking great Jag,’ observed Nicky, the elder of her brothers.
‘But he’s getting married,’ Billy, the youngest, chimed in, and added with all the wisdom of twelve years, ‘He’ll need all his money.’
Euphemia swept them all to their feet. ‘Well, we’re not going to worry about it now, Father wouldn’t have liked it. Ellen, shouldn’t you go and pack, and you two, put out what you need and I’ll pop up presently.’
She went back to the drawing-room where the last of the family were bidding each other goodbye. They met seldom, only at christenings or weddings or funerals, when they enjoyed a good gossip. Dr Bell was still there too. Euphemia whispered: ‘I want to speak to you,’ as she went past him, and when the last of her relatives, barring Aunt Thea who had gone to help Ellen pack, had disappeared through the open gate, she turned to him.
‘Dr Bell, I want your advice. Father has left some debts—not many, but they must be paid, and the house is mortgaged. Mr Fish says we must sell it, but…well, it’s our home. There must be another way of getting the money, only I can’t think of it at the moment.’
He beamed at her, pleased that he could help. ‘There is another way—at least, you can postpone selling the house for a time. Find a tenant, and let it furnished. I believe that might bring in enough to pay the instalments on the mortgage. I’m not going to say it’s the right answer, but it would give you a breathing space, and who knows, something may happen…’
‘You mean win a prize from Ernie or marry a millionaire?’ She beamed at him. ‘Dr Bell, you’re an angel! That’s what I’ll do. How do I start? Advertise? And how much rent should I ask?’ She faltered for a moment. ‘If only Father…’ She blinked back tears and smiled again, a shaky, lopsided smile this time. ‘Bless you for thinking of it, Dr Bell.’
He patted her arm. ‘As I said, it may serve its purpose for a breathing space while you all get adjusted. I’ll ask around—I meet a good many people, someone somewhere will be looking for just such a place as this.’
Ellen and Aunt Thea joined them then and when they had driven off, Ellen tearful but happy to have her immediate future settled for her, Euphemia bade the doctor goodbye and went up to the boys’ room to help them pack. The house seemed very quiet and empty, and would be even more so presently when they had gone. She got out the car and drove them to the station and stood waving until the train was out of sight.
It was getting dark when she got back to the house, with an overcast sky and the threat of thunder. She made herself a pot of tea and ate some of the leftover sandwiches, then went along to her father’s study to start sorting out the papers in his desk. Her sadness had gone beyond tears; she felt numb, anxious to get as much done as possible before she went back to the hospital in the morning. She worked until late into the night and then wandered through the nice old house, wondering if she would be able to let it at a good rent, whether she would ever have the chance to pay off the mortgage; it was for a frighteningly large amount. She was still doing sums in her head when she fell asleep in the pretty bedroom she had had since she was a small girl.
She had been dreading returning to the hospital. She had a great many friends there; she had done her training with most of them, worked her way up the ladder of promotion until she had been offered Men’s Medical two years previously, and now at the age of twenty-seven, she had a safe future before her. Not that she wished to remain a nurse for ever; she wanted to marry, preferably a man with enough money to support her in comfort somewhere in the country—a garden, she had daydreamed idly from time to time, with a donkey and dogs and children to play in it. But none of these things would be of any use unless she loved him and he loved her.
Driving to work through the early morning she realised that her vague dreams would have to go by the board for the present. Ellen had to be thought of, and the boys. No man in his right mind would be prepared to take on a whole family, and even if she succeeded in finding someone to rent their home she would have to go on working. She could see no chance of ever paying the mortgage off, but with each year of instalments paid, there was the chance that something might happen. She turned the car into the hospital forecourt and parked neatly. As she crossed to the swing doors she decided that Ellen would probably marry someone rich who would want to live in the house and thus keep it in the family—a childish notion but comforting none the less.
Everyone was very kind to her. The Senior Nursing Officer, a tart middle-aged lady who seldom had a kind word for anyone, was surprisingly sympathetic, and Euphemia’s own friends lingered on their way to their wards to offer their sympathy. And once on her own ward, her nurses, who liked her because she was sensible and fair and kind as well as very pretty, made it their business to murmur conventional stilted phrases. It was the tray of tea on her desk and the vase of flowers beside it that touched her; they might not have known quite what to say to her, but the tea spoke volumes.
And the patients knew all about it too, all of them, from crabby old Mr Crouch, who disliked everyone on principle, to Dicky, the boy with a heart condition, six feet tall but with the mind of a four-year-old. As she did her morning round, Euphemia received sympathy from each one of the twenty-four beds’ occupants.
She had been prepared for it, but she found that by the end of the day she was worn out. She went off duty finally, made tea; had a long hot bath and went along to telephone Ellen, who it seemed had settled in nicely, although grieving in her gentle way and anxious to know what was to be done about their home. Euphemia reassured her firmly and went back to her room to write to the boys. By the time she had done that she was tired; another pot of tea with her friends coming off their evening duty, and she was ready for bed. She hadn’t expected to sleep, but she did.
Sir Richard Blake, doing his weekly round the next morning, had something to say too. He considered her a sensible girl, with no nonsense about her, and he had been acquainted with the Colonel. He swept round the ward barking questions at the students trailing behind him, leaving them limp at the ward doors when he had finished, although his patients, to whom he showed nothing but benevolence, regretted to see him go. But he didn’t leave immediately. Euphemia, bidding him good morning and speeding him on his way with a polite ‘Thank you, sir,’ was surprised when he marched into her office with a brusque: ‘A minute of your time, Sister.’
She followed him in and closed the door, trying hard to remember if she had done anything awful since his last round.
‘Sorry to hear about your father.’ The brusqueness hid sympathy. ‘He was a splendid man.’ Sir Richard went over to the window and stood with his back to her, looking out at the dreary side street it over-looked. ‘Dr Bell mentioned that you were thinking of letting the house for a while—seems a good idea—very nice place you’ve got there, ideal for someone who wants peace and quiet. As a mater of fact I’ve mentioned it to someone, he’ll probably get in touch…’
Euphemia addressed the elderly back, aware that Sir Richard was feeling uncomfortable and probably afraid that she might burst into tears.
‘That’s very kind of you, sir, and I’m very grateful. It seems the best thing to do until we’ve had time to discuss things…’ She wasn’t going to tell him that it was in fact the only thing to do. ‘I think Father would have approved—there’s no one to run the house at present and it would be a shame for it to stay empty.’
Her companion went to the door. ‘You’re probably right. You’re a sensible young woman.’ He coughed. ‘No use being sentimental, glad to see you taking it so well.’ He opened the door. ‘I’ll be half an hour later for next week’s round, by the way.’
Euphe
mia went and sat at her desk, for the moment oblivious of the ward just outside the door.
He had believed her, she thought; no one need know that there wasn’t a penny piece in the family kitty and that the house was mortgaged up to the chimeypots. For the first time since her father’s death she felt cheerful. They would all miss their home abominably, but they were all young; Ellen was barely twenty and would certainly marry and the boys—well, their education at least was safe, and Nicky would go into the Army, probably Billy would too. As for herself… A knock on the door and her staff nurse’s head poked round it stopped her brooding: old Mr Steele was a very nasty colour and would Sister take a look at him?
The days dragged, although they were busy too. She had deliberately changed her days off so that she could work, but now she was free for two days, and just as deliberately she had arranged to go and see Ellen on the first of them and then spend the night at home before embarking on the task of packing up their personal possessions. She had heard no more about a possible tenant; she would have to go to a house agent and put it in their hands.
She was sitting in her office making out the Kardex before she went off duty when one of the student nurses knocked on the door, said: ‘There’s someone to see you, Sister,’ and went away again. Euphemia, head bowed over her report, muttered: ‘OK—who is it?’ and then looked up blankly at Dr van Diederijk’s suave voice: ‘You will forgive me, Sister, but we have an urgent matter to discuss and I am a busy man.’
‘I’m quite busy too,’ observed Euphemia promptly, ‘and I’m going off duty at any minute now.’
This contradictory remark caused him to smile thinly, but he didn’t waste words on it. ‘I should like to rent your house; I hear from Sir Richard Blake that you propose to let it for a period. If you will let me have the name of your solicitor and the rent you are asking the matter should be settled without delay.’
She reviewed mixed feelings. Relief that here was a chance to rent the house quickly and offer respite from the foreclosure of the mortgage, surprise at seeing the man again, and a deep annoyance that it should be he who wanted to live in her home. ‘Why the hurry?’ she asked matter-of-factly.
He gave her an impatient look. ‘It is hardly your business, is it? But since you are curious enough to ask…I come very frequently to London; I am a consultant in several hospitals here and I need somewhere quiet to live. Does that satisfy you?’
Euphemia said sweetly: ‘If it satisfies my solicitor, it will satisfy me.’
‘What rent had you in mind?’
She stared at him silently; she had no idea. After a few moments she said so, and seethed at the thin smile he gave her. ‘Perhaps that should be left for your solicitor to decide?’ he suggested. ‘I had thought…’ He named a sum which made her catch her breath—more than enough to cover the mortgage repayments; almost twice as much as she had hoped to get.
She said sharply: ‘Isn’t that a great deal too much?’ and got another mocking smile.
‘You may be an excellent nurse, Miss Blackstock, but I fear you are no business woman. Your house is worth that amount to me and I think that your solicitor will not dispute that.’
‘But you said you weren’t going to live there all the time?’
‘My home is in Holland, nevertheless I prefer to have a second home here, at least for the foreseeable future. I intend to marry shortly and it will be convenient—I can hardly expect my wife to live in hotels.’
She was diverted by the idea of him marrying; he wasn’t all that young—late thirties, she judged, perhaps younger, it was difficult to tell. She had thought of him as married and had felt vaguely sorry for his wife. She wondered what his fiancée was like, tall and slim and ethereal and as cool as he was, probably… She was recalled to her surroundings by his voice, impatient again. ‘I take it that you have no objection if I view the house.’
‘None at all.’
‘Then may I come tomorrow? In the afternoon, if possible, and it would be convenient if you were there, so that any small problems could be dealt with at once.’
‘It’s my day off…’
‘I know.’ His tone implied that she had made a silly remark.
It would be lovely, she thought, to tell him that she had changed her mind and wasn’t going to rent her home after all. She dismissed the idea immediately; it didn’t really matter who lived there, just as long as her home remained in the family. She said quietly: ‘Very well, Doctor, would three o’clock suit you?’
He went then, after a brief goodbye. The little room seemed very empty, but then he was such a very large man.
CHAPTER TWO
EUPHEMIA MADE short work of the Kardex, handed over to Sue Baker, her staff nurse, and hurried off duty. She would have to change her plans; she would go home straight away, polish, dust and Hoover and arrange a vase or two of flowers. She supposed she would have to give Dr van Diederijk tea; that would mean cleaning the silver tea service and getting out the china tea things they only used on great occasions. Well, it was hardly a great occasion, she argued to herself as she flung off her uniform, but she had no intention of allowing even the faintest whiff of poverty to reach the doctor’s splendid nose.
She got into a cotton dress and packed the expensive cotton jersey she had bought only last month and then rummaged in her cupboard to find the sandals that went with it, her mind busy with the chores which lay ahead of her. She must ring Ellen before she left the hospital and put off seeing her until the following day, and if there was enough of everything in the larder, she might make some little cakes for tea.
She toyed with the idea of bribing Mrs Cross to come over and serve it, but perhaps that would be a bit obvious—one could try too hard.
Polishing the hall table a couple of hours later, she found herself glad to have so much to do. She had been dreading coming home to a house without her father, but she had had no time to sit and broad. The nice old place had a neglected air with no one living in it, already it was beginning to come alive again, although there was still a good deal to be done. Euphemia had opened all the windows the moment she got in and Hoovered like mad because she had the feeling that he was the kind of man to ask her, ever so politely, to open this or that door so that he might see what was behind it. There were several bedrooms which hadn’t been used for months, so she raced around making them presentable with counterpanes and a brisk dusting. Several of the cupboards were stuffed with the boys’ things, too, as well as Ellen’s and her last year’s clothes, but these she decided, he would have to accept; they could be cleared out later.
She went to bed late after a sketchy supper and was up betimes, arranging flowers, polishing once more, turning the shabby rugs to hide the threadbare patches. Breakfast was as sketchy as her supper had been because she still had the cakes to make. She finished her housework, spent half an hour searching for the back door key, which no one had ever bothered about, and went to the kitchen to do her baking. There was time to make a fruit cake too and everything she needed to make it with. With everything safely in the oven she went upstairs, changed into the pale green jersey and the sandals, did her hair in a rather careless knot at the back of her head, made up her pretty face and went downstairs once more. The little cakes were done, and very nice they looked too. Euphemia made herself some coffee while she waited for the fruit cake to bake to perfection, arranged it on the Spode china plate, and walked across the green to the pub, where she ate fish and chips in the basket with a splendid appetite before going back to put the final touches to the tea tray.
She had planned to be in the garden, sitting at her ease with a book, when the doctor arrived, but she was doing her face once again when he thumped the knocker. He was early—wanting to catch her out, she thought crossly as she raced downstairs to open the door, so that her ‘Good afternoon, Dr van Diederijk’ was coldly said.
‘I’m early,’ his eyes searched her face, ‘and you’re annoyed about it. Would you like me to go away for half an ho
ur?’
She pinkened with embarrassment. ‘No, of course not—it doesn’t matter in the least. Please come in,’ and because she felt guilty of bad manners she pointed out the torn carpet in a kindly way.
He stepped over the hole neatly. ‘I had noticed it,’ he told her. ‘A good carpet too—a Moorfields, isn’t it? You could have it repaired.’
She didn’t choose to answer this; anything could be repaired provided there was the money to pay for it. She asked haughtily: ‘Where would you like to start?’
He didn’t answer her at once but crossed the hall to take a leisurely look at the portrait hanging on the father wall. It had been done years previously as a surprise Christmas present for her father—her mother, Ellen, the boys and herself, painted in a charming group against the background of the oak-panelled wall in the sitting room.
The doctor said, to surprise her: ‘I hope you will leave that—it belongs to the house, doesn’t it?’
‘Well, if you don’t mind, I will—I haven’t anywhere to hang it…’
He turned to look at her. ‘I understand from Sir Richard that your sister will be living with an aunt—do you intend to do the same?’
It really wasn’t any business of his, but if she annoyed him he might not rent the house from her. ‘No, I shall stay at the hospital,’ and to forestall the next question: ‘The boys will go to my aunt for their holidays.’ She opened the drawing-room door, because that was the grandest room in the house even if shabby. She had polished and dusted and put flowers in the vases and it looked charming and welcoming too. The doctor wandered in and strolled around, asking none of the questions she had expected. ‘It’s an open fire,’ she pointed out unnecessarily, ‘and there’s a radiator under the end window—the central heating isn’t very modern, but it works.’