by Betty Neels
They had almost finished their coffee in the small sitting room when Diana joined them, and within minutes there was a phone call for her from Cor de Vries. Euphemia could hear her laughing and chattering away with an animation she seldom showed with Tane and stole a look at his face to see how he was reacting to that. He certainly was not annoyed or disturbed; indeed, he looked totally uninterested, and yet she had the strange feeling that he was pleased about something.
The doctor’s parents left directly after an early lunch, and they themselves left for Schiphol half an hour after that. The doctor drove with Dirk the chauffeur sitting beside him and the two girls in the back of the Bentley, which Dirk would drive back to his home: ‘Because I’m returning tomorrow evening and it’s not worth taking the car for such a short time,’ he explained.
Euphemia, twisting round to get a last view of the house, told herself that she should feel pleased about that, and instead was mortified to feel a knot of tears in her throat. In vain she thought about spending the next week at Myrtle House and all the things she was going to do with the money she had earned. The one ray of happiness she felt was that Tane wasn’t going to stay at Diana’s house, but that was short-lived, for presently he said over his shoulder: ‘I’d like to come up and see you, Diana—some time at the end of the week, perhaps?’
Diana was admiring the diamond ring on her engagement finger. ‘Why not?’ she agreed. ‘Only do telephone first, won’t you? Now I’m so much better I shall be going out a good deal.’
He grunted a reply and Euphemia looked lovingly at the back of his head and wished he would say the same thing to her, which was so silly that she smiled, only to see his eyes fixed on her in the driving mirror, so she turned sideways and looked out of the window and didn’t speak again until they arrived at Schiphol. Then it was Customs and passports and a bare five minutes to wait before their flight was called, so that they were airborne before she had had time to feel regret at leaving Holland.
She stared out of the window watching the green fields getting farther and farther away and the houses turning into dolls’ houses. It was unlikely she would ever go back there and she had hardly glimpsed it, only Tane’s home, and that she wouldn’t forget in a hurry. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep and didn’t open them again until the stewardess brought coffee, and soon after that they were at Heathrow. Diana and the doctor had been sitting across the aisle to her and she had been aware of their voices. They had talked a lot—probably the wedding arrangements, making plans to meet again. She followed them out of the plane and through the now familiar routine of luggage and passports and Customs and found herself standing with them outside the airport. But only for a moment; they were joined by Diana’s father, almost at once, an elderly worried-looking man, who kissed her gingerly, shook the doctor’s hand and looked vaguely at Euphemia, saying: ‘Oh, yes, of course, the nurse,’ and then turned back to Tane. ‘You’ll come back with Diana?’ he asked.
‘I’m afraid I’ve an appointment for the early evening at the hospital and I’m going back tomorrow morning.’
Sir Arthur Sibley turned to Euphemia. ‘And you, Nurse—can we drop you off?’
Diana, saying goodbye to Tane, interrupted him: ‘She’s going the other way—underground, I expect,’ she said quickly. She nodded briefly to Euphemia. ‘Bye,’ she said, and got into the car at the kerb.
When it was out of sight Euphemia picked up her bag. ‘I’ll be off,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Thank you for having me to stay in Holland, I enjoyed it. I hope you have a good trip back tomorrow.’
Her bag was taken from her. ‘A bit hasty, aren’t you? Ah, here’s the car—I’ll drive you back to Hampton-cum-Spyway.’
‘Whose car?’
‘The one I arranged to hire until tomorrow.’ His voice was patient as though she were an unwilling child, needing to be coaxed.
‘But you’ve got an appointment—you said so.’
‘Not until eight o’clock; it’s only just turned four o’clock. I was hoping you’d invite me to tea.’
Euphemia watched the porter putting their cases in the boot and decided that there was nothing she could do about it. ‘Well, of course I will. They’ll all be home, so it’ll be noisy.’
She got in beside him, feeling guilty because it should have been Diana sitting there, not she, and it would have been easier to have wished him goodbye at the airport and started to forget him then. Now she would be with him for at least another two hours. Her heart sang at the very idea.
They talked comfortably as they drove and Euphemia marvelled at the fact that she was so completely at ease with him. When she had first discovered that she loved him, she had dreaded having to see him again, but it hadn’t been like that at all. She hadn’t felt shy or awkward with him, only perfectly happy. She supposed Diana felt like that too, only she didn’t show it.
She said out loud: ‘I’m not very reserved, am I?’ and at his startled look: ‘I say things without thinking first and I do things on the spur of the moment…’
He said slowly on a laugh: ‘Well, I can remember occasions—your urgent desire that I should choke on your cakes, being handed an apple core in the middle of a party, being told in no uncertain terms that I was a cold-blooded man…’
Euphemia said soberly: ‘I’m sorry I said that—you see what I mean?’
‘Indeed I do. Your company is nothing if not stimulating, Euphemia,’ he glanced sideways at her, ‘but a little dimmed of late, I fancy.’
‘Yes—well, I expect that’s because I was in another country.’
He looked as though he was going to laugh again. He said gravely: ‘I expect it was. Presumably you will quickly become your old self once you’re back on the ward.’
Cold comfort, though perhaps once she got back to the hospital, back into the routine and the never ending jobs, she would be able to take up life where she had left off, rub him out, as it were, as though he had never been. And that wouldn’t work either, she reminded herself, for occasionally she would have to see him when he came on to the ward—she would have to fiddle the off-dutys so as not to be there… She frowned and he asked: ‘Now what are you fussing about?’
‘I’m not fussing.’ She saw with relief that they were almost there; the first few cottages were already in sight, a minute later they were going slowly round the green and then in at the open gate. She was home, and so, she thought belatedly, was he.
They had been seen. The door was flung open and the boys rushed out followed by Ellen, who hugged Euphemia and then put up her face to be kissed by the doctor in the most natural way possible. ‘I’m so glad you could come,’ she told him. ‘I’ve made a cake and Mrs Cross has cut mountains of sandwiches.’
Euphemia, listening with one ear to the boys’ outpourings, thought it sounded as though Ellen had expected the doctor, but she was borne inside the house by her brothers, still talking, so that she forgot about it.
Nothing had been changed indoors, although she saw at once that the hole in the carpet had been beautifully mended. But there were flowers everywhere, the furniture shone and all the doors and windows were wide open. She cried happily: ‘Oh, it’s so good to be home!’ and then felt awful because if the doctor had heard, he must have felt dreadfully uncomfortable. Apparently he hadn’t. He was talking easily to Ellen, very much at home. But then why shouldn’t he be? He lived there now.
They had tea in the dining-room, a substantial old-fashioned meal with plates of Mrs Cross’s sandwiches, scones and jam, fruit cake and little iced buns, and Euphemia, behind the tea tray, busy filling teacups, sighed happily and when Ellen asked: ‘Was it lovely at Jerez, Phemie? Were there lots of servants and gorgeous food?’ she answered quickly: ‘I’d rather be here. The servants were super, but Mrs Kellard dieted…’
There was a howl of laughter from the boys. ‘Poor old Phemie—were you hungry all the time?’
‘Yes, I think I was, though I expect it did me a lot of good. Don’t I look any
thinner?’
Everyone stared at her and Billy appealed to the doctor, who was staring as hard as the rest of them. ‘She hasn’t changed at all,’ he said slowly, ‘although she has got a nice tan on her.’ He smiled at her across the table. ‘It will show off your uniform nicely.’
She frowned a little, because she didn’t want to be reminded of work—not just yet. ‘It will wear off then,’ she said shortly. ‘Who wants more tea?’
The doctor had left a little later. Euphemia, watching his departure from the open door, thought peevishly that he might have been a much-loved uncle or old family friend, the way he was being sped on his way, what with Ellen hugging him with such warmth and the boys crowding round him like two affectionate puppies. And he could at least have waved as he drove off—but he hadn’t even glanced in her direction.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE WEEK which followed was sheer delight to Euphemia. Not wanting to waste a second of it, she was up early each morning to potter in the garden and tidy the house before breakfast so that the day was free to spend as they all wished. They visited old friends, had them to tea, played endless games of croquet on the lawn behind the house and when the mood took them, bundled into Euphemia’s car and trundled away for a picnic. She would have liked it to last for ever. In her old home, doing all the things she enjoyed doing, she felt cocooned against her worries, and it was easier, though not impossible, to forget Tane and a future which held very little prospect of happiness.
She sat up late on her last night, after everyone else had gone to bed, wishing fruitlessly that things could be different, and because she couldn’t sleep she went round the house, dusting and polishing soundlessly, which was a silly waste of time, because Mrs Cross was coming in in the morning after they had all gone to do just that ready for the doctor’s return. And when that was precisely, Euphemia didn’t know. He would be back in England by now, probably staying with Diana’s family, but he came and went so often there was no knowing.
The boys went first. She drove them to the station and saw them on to their train with the promise that they would all meet at Aunt Thea’s for half term, and by the time she got back Ellen’s curate had arrived to drive her back to Middle Wallop. They had coffee together and she saw the pair of them off in the elderly Mini, sure in her own mind that they would be engaged before Christmas. At least Ellen was happy. The girl, so shy and awkward before, had blossomed into a young woman who would be quite capable of running a home. There would never be much money, of course, but Euphemia didn’t think that mattered.
She went indoors then to have a few words with Mrs Cross before fetching her case and putting it in the boot and driving off back to work. London would be horrible, she thought, getting a last glimpse of the roses, still growing in profusion round the house.
The contrast certainly was cruel. St Cyprian’s looked gloomier than ever and the mean little streets which surrounded its bulk seemed meaner than ever. The warm sunshine which should have made it look better only served to offer a cruel contrast to the quiet countryside she had just left. She went as usual to the parking place behind the hospital and got out, unable to stop herself looking round to see if the Bentley was there. It wasn’t, and she stifled disappointment while at the same time telling herself that it was no concern of hers if it were.
It was mid-afternoon by now and the Nurses’ Home was quiet. Euphemia unpacked slowly, arranged her small possessions round the room and went along to the Sisters’ sitting-room for tea. They were all there, her friends, and she spent the next hour answering their questions about her trip, making it lighthearted and glossing over the duller bits.
‘You’ve got a gorgeous tan,’ said Laura Jeffs, the Relief Sister who had taken Euphemia’s ward for her while she was away. ‘It’ll do the patients good just to look at you. Did you sunbathe every day and all day?’
‘Well, not quite, but a good deal of the time. How’s the ward?’
They talked shop after that until some of them, those of them who hadn’t already gone back on duty, wandered off to get ready for an evening out with boyfriends or family. Euphemia, left with one or two of the older Sisters earnestly discussing the treatment of diabetes, picked up the paper and began to read it without a word. She supposed that given another ten years or so, she would be like her companions, and the idea appalled her.
There were a lot of new faces amongst her patients when she went on duty the next morning, but Dicky and Mr Crouch were still there and they welcomed her each in his own way, Mr Crouch with a few snarling grumbles and Dicky with a wide smile and a garbled flood of words expressing his pleasure at seeing her again. Euphemia went round the ward, taking her time, getting to know the occupants of the beds. There were a lot of elderly men this time, heart conditions, chest conditions—most of them should have been in hospital weeks earlier, but she guessed that they had hung on, hoping they would get better without going to the doctor. Jobs were hard to come by these days and those that had them wanted to keep them. Joan Willis, giving her a detailed report later, advised her that several of them were considered to be very poorly by Sir Richard Blake. ‘He said,’ observed her loyal right hand, ‘that he was glad you were coming back because then they’d have a good chance.’
Euphemia, who had been feeling low-spirited, perked up a little. Challenge and hard work—there was nothing like them to take one’s mind off other things.
For the first few days she went on duty warily, expecting to see Tane coming on to the ward, but Sir Richard’s round came and went and there was no sign of him. Illogically, that upset her; she had wanted never to see him again, but he could at least have enquired as to whether she had settled back to work. She was even more upset to discover from Joan when she returned from her off duty a week after her return that he had been on the ward in her absence; had stayed for more that half an hour, in fact, and had then accepted a cup of tea from her staff nurse.
Joan, seeing the look on Euphemia’s face, had added doubtfully: ‘I hope you don’t mind—he was so friendly…’
‘Mind? Why should I mind?’ snapped Euphemia, her cheeks pink and her tawny eyes glowing with ill humour. ‘He can drink all the tea he wants as far as I’m concerned. What did he say about Mr Duke?’
Mr Duke was elderly, irascible, and desperately ill with a virus infection of the chest which refused to respond to antibiotics.
Nothing more had been said about Dr van Diederijk and he wasn’t on Sir Richard’s round the next day, so it was all the more vexing to hear at midday dinner that he had been to the women’s medical ward that morning. ‘He said he’d be coming to see you tomorrow morning,’ remarked Doreen Marks, Sister on that ward. ‘You’ve got some pretty poorly men, haven’t you?’
Euphemia replied suitably while she mentally readjusted the off-duty for the next day. She had arranged to have her two days off at the end of the week and Joan hadn’t minded when she had hers. She swallowed the rest of her dinner, declared that she had so much to do she wouldn’t have her usual cup of tea with the others, and flew back to her office. Joan was there, waiting for her return, and Euphemia lost no time in putting her plan into operation.
‘Joan, would it bother you if I took my days off tomorrow and Thursday? You could have Friday and Saturday—I particularly want to go down to see Ellen.’
Joan gave her a sympathetic look. Poor old Euphemia must be having a pretty rotten time of it since her father died. ‘I don’t mind a bit—in fact I’d love to have those two days. I can go shopping when Mother comes up to town.’
‘Bless you!’ Euphemia beamed at her. ‘Go to your dinner, will you, and take Nurse Simmons and Nurse Collins with you, then when you get back we’ll go through the report together.’
She was to have been off duty that evening anyway. By six o’clock she was edging the Morris out of the hospital courtyard, a hastily packed bag on the seat behind her. There hadn’t been much time; she had had to telephone the office about the change of duty and do one o
r two ward chores she wouldn’t have done until later on in the week, but she had had time to shower and change into a jumper and skirt and fling a blazer into the back seat to join the bag. There was a lot of traffic; it took a bit of manoeuv-ring to get into the busy street outside and she didn’t see the doctor’s Bentley nose past into the hospital forecourt. She didn’t see the surprise on his face either, nor the slow smile which followed it.
She was at Sunbury turning on to the M3 when she remembered that she hadn’t telephoned Aunt Thea. Not that that goodnatured lady would mind; although Euphemia had told Ellen before she went back that she wouldn’t be going down to Middle Wallop for a month and Ellen would have passed that on to her aunt.
It was a fine evening and the motorway was fairly empty. The days were beginning to draw in, and when she stopped for petrol she felt a faint nip in the air—summer would soon be over, before long she would have to think about Christmas and the holidays. There would be no hope of them being together this year; she would be on duty, but perhaps Aunt Thea would have the boys as well as Ellen, but Aunt Thea wasn’t young any more and Euphemia didn’t think any of her other relations would invite them to stay. She thrust the problem aside and concentrated on her driving.
Aunt Thea and Ellen were washing up their supper dishes when she opened the front door of the cottage, but they left them at once, carried her off into the sitting room with the promise of something to eat immediately and demanded to know why she was there. ‘Not but what you’re more than welcome,’ declared Aunt Thea, ‘but you usually telephone…’