by Betty Neels
‘Well, I had to change my days off at a moment’s notice,’ Euphemia explained, ‘and I just wanted to come— I do hope you don’t mind?’
‘Of course not, love—you know how pleased we are to see you. Just you sit there with Ellen while I get your supper.’ The dear soul bustled out of the room and Ellen asked:
‘Is it awful being back, Phemie? You must miss that lovely villa.’
‘I miss Myrtle House more,’ said Euphemia. ‘Don’t you?’
Ellen smiled. ‘Oh yes—but it’s nice here.’
‘How is the curate?’
Ellen blushed. ‘Why do you call him the curate, like that? His name’s Tom. He’s very well. We’re going to Salisbury tomorrow—it’s his day off. Would you like to come with us?’
Euphemia smiled at her sister. ‘No, thank you, darling—I’d like to potter about here. I’ve had a busy week.’
‘Poor Phemie. Have you seen Tane?’
Euphemia was taking off her shoes and wiggling her toes in comfort.
‘No—he came to the ward when I was off duty.’
‘What a shame! He’s such a dear, and so easy to talk to—like a brother.’
Euphemia threw a quick glance at her sister. Ellen was a guileless girl, but had that remark been quite as innocent as it sounded? She decided it had. ‘He and Diana are getting married soon, I believe,’ she said.
‘I can’t think why,’ said Ellen.
A remark Euphemia heartily endorsed.
The cottage was blissfully quiet after St Cyprian’s. She slept like a top and spent the day as she had promised herself, pottering, mostly in the garden, weeding and tidying up and then helping her aunt indoors while she regaled that lady with the more lighthearted events of her stay at Jerez. Ellen and Tom had left quite early in the morning and it was well after teatime when they got back, looking so pleased with themselves that Euphemia and her aunt, taking their ease in the small front garden, got to their feet and went to meet them, the answer to their unspoken question so obvious that they didn’t need to ask it.
‘We’re engaged!’ cried Ellen, and flung herself at the pair of them in turn, triggering off a round of congratulations, hand-shakings and excited talk until Aunt Thea declared that the occasion merited a glass of the sherry she had been hoarding for a special occasion. And there was a supper party presently, with Aunt Thea and Euphemia in the kitchen beating eggs and whipping cream and arranging a magnificent salad.
They would marry next year, said Tom, and within a short time he hoped to get a parish of his own, and would Aunt Thea mind if Ellen married from her house? The evening passed in a flash and later, when Ellen had walked over with Tom to see the Rector, Euphemia had persuaded her aunt to go to bed while she washed the supper things. It was wonderful news, she told herself, and exactly what she had hoped for. Ellen was a darling and Tom was quite right for her; calm, patient and reassuring.
Euphemia heaved an enormous sigh and went to bed. She loved her sister too much to be envious of her, but she couldn’t help wondering how it would feel to be engaged to Tane; a useless piece of thinking which would get her nowhere, but it made sleeping for a good deal of the night, at any rate, an impossibility.
It was a beautiful morning again. Euphemia, up and about early, got breakfast for them all, waved goodbye to Ellen, off to spend the morning with her elderly employer, flew round the cottage doing the small household chores and then went into the garden. There were several apple trees in the rough bit at the bottom and a plum tree or two. She picked plums for her aunt’s jam-making and then went to look at the apples. Most of them had good crops, but not quite ready for picking. There was one elderly tree— Scarlet Pimpernel—whose fruit hung ready to be eaten. Euphemia chose an apple, rubbed it up on the sleeve of her blouse, and sat down to eat it. She was munching contentedly when she heard footsteps coming down the brick path from the back door, and looked up to see Tane coming towards her. Happiness flooded her so completely that she couldn’t speak, so she went on chewing, looking at every loved inch of him, longing to tell him that she loved him more than anything else in her world.
He came to a halt a foot or so away and stood looking down at her.
‘You really are a girl for apples, aren’t you? Can it be pure chance or are you tempting me?’
She swallowed her mouthful. ‘I didn’t know you were coming, and even if I did, I wouldn’t.’
He picked an apple from the tree and sat down beside her.
‘You’re not dressed for the country,’ observed Euphemia, taking in the clerical grey, the silk tie, the beautifully polished shoes.
‘I’m on my way to Bristol—there’s a seminar there. I could hardly attend it in slacks and a sweater and there’ll be no time to change if I’m staying for lunch.’
She leant up on an elbow the better to look at him. ‘Have you been invited, or are you just hoping you will be?’
‘I’ve been invited—your aunt and I get on very well together.’ He threw away the core and lay back against the tree. ‘How’s the ward?’
‘Busy, you know that.’ Euphemia paused and then asked in a rush: ‘How’s Diana?’
‘Oh, very much better for her rest. And you? Are you very much better, Euphemia?’
‘I’ve not been ill…’
‘Who said that you had?’ His voice was as bland as his face.
She got to her feet, fearful of being asked more questions. ‘I expect you’d like coffee—I’ll make some.’
He had got up too. ‘Your aunt put the kettle on when I got here. Euphemia, are you happy?’
She had snatched up her basket of plums. ‘Yes, of course I am. What a silly question!’
‘No sillier than your answer.’ His voice was silky and she sensed more probings and questions.
‘Well, we’d better go and have our coffee,’ she said quickly. ‘I daresay you want to leave directly after lunch.’
He took her basket from her. ‘Of course, if you do not wish me to stay to lunch…’ His voice was silkier than ever.
‘Oh, of course not—it’s quite immaterial to me. Aunt Thea loves having people…’
‘And you don’t—or is it just me?’ He was laughing at her now, and suddenly she found herself laughing too.
Ellen brought Tom back for lunch and the whole meal was taken up with plans for the wedding, most of them lighthearted. Euphemia found herself wondering if Tane and Diana had as much fun planning theirs, and thought it unlikely.
Tane left soon after lunch, with a great hug and kiss for Aunt Thea, who blushed rosily and declared that he’d do better to kiss someone nearer his own age, whereupon he kissed Ellen and then, with an absentminded air, Euphemia.
‘Nice chap,’ declared Tom, watching the Bentley slide away into the village. Aunt Thea and Ellen agreed wholeheartedly, but Euphemia said nothing at all.
She went back to St Cyprian’s the next morning, very early so that she could go on duty after midday dinner. The ward was just as busy and the ill patients just as ill. She spent the afternoon arranging X-rays, test meals, ECGs and blood transfusions for two new patients with duodenal ulcers. Terry Walker had been on the ward for most of the time; it amused her in a wry fashion to see how his manner had subtly changed towards her. She had never taken his proposals seriously, but now he was being very careful to let her see that he hadn’t been serious either; he was friendly enough but wary with it. It didn’t matter in the least to her, but her pride was hurt; she had thought that he liked her for herself and not for her prospects, and now that she had none, she wondered if he had ever had any real feelings for her at all. Probably not.
She missed tea, swallowed a cup on the ward and didn’t go off duty until the night staff were on, which was just as well, because she was in no mood to exchange gossip with her friends before going to bed. She ate a solitary supper in the canteen and went straight to bed, feeling bad-tempered. She knew why, of course; Tane was in Bristol and probably she wouldn’t see him for days, perha
ps weeks. She had given up her resolve to avoid him, forget him even, for she was powerless to do that; he was there all the time at the back of her head. She supposed that he would fade slowly; she supposed too that if she found another job a long way away so that she had no chance of seeing him at all, he might fade a good deal faster. She lay in bed toying with the idea of going somewhere really remote like Tristan da Cunha and fell asleep in the middle of her planning.
She had been back four days when the letter came. She had been in her office, making up the books, puzzling over the off duty and checking the charts. She had almost finished when Willis put her head round the door. ‘Post for you, Sister, it’s just come up.’ She laid a long envelope on the desk and slipped away, and Euphemia laid aside the chart she was writing up and reached for it. It was from Messrs Fish, Fish and Thrums, Solicitors, and she wondered what Mr Fish could be writing about now. The sorry business of small debts; official papers and funeral expenses had all been dealt with, the rent from the house was being paid in regularly and the mortgage payments were arranged; as far as she knew, there was nothing more than needed her attention.
She was wrong. She read the rather long letter through, going pale as she did so, her frown thunderous. Having read it, she smoothed it out on the desk before her and read it again, slowly this time. The contents remained the same; Dr van Diederijk’s solicitor had written to inform Mr Fish that his client had taken over the mortgage of Myrtle House and in future all repayments should be made to him on behalf of the doctor.
‘But he can’t!’ She didn’t know that she had spoken out loud. ‘He simply can’t—and why should he?’ She began to read the letter for the third time, to be interrupted by her staff nurse once more, this time with an urgent request for her to come into the ward immediately and take a look at Mr Cummins, who was, unless her faithful right hand was mistaken, on the verge of another coronary.
There was no time to do anything about the letter for that day. Mr Cummins and his coronary kept them all busy, as did the rest of the ward, and by the time she got off duty, Euphemia saw to her dismay that it was long past the time for any self-respecting solicitor to be in his office. It would have to wait till the morning. She spent a wretched night and went on duty looking far from her best, and feeling even worse.
Surprisingly and fortunately, the ward had quietened down considerably—not that she had any false hopes about that; the ill men were still very ill and any one of them might spring a surprise without warning. But just for the moment the ward routine went smoothly ahead and presently she was able to go to the office and tackle the paper work. She was filling in a requisition form for more bed linen when the door opened and the doctor walked in. Euphemia put down her pen slowly, horrified that her mouth was trembling, fighting to preserve a calm front. She even managed a normal-sounding ‘Good morning, Doctor,’ in reply to his civil greeting and then sat waiting for him to speak, wishing that he wasn’t quite such a big man, towering over her in the little room.
‘You had a letter about the mortgage?’ he wanted to know.
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Perhaps I should have mentioned it when I saw you last, but it seemed better that it should be settled by our solicitors. It makes no difference to you.’
Her numbed thoughts came to life then. Colour flushed her cheeks and her eyes glowed with topaz light. ‘What do you mean by that? Of course it makes a difference to me—instead of paying some man I’ve never even met, I have to pay you, and supposing I can’t pay? Supposing I can’t find another tenant when you go? You can foreclose. That’s what you want to do, isn’t it?’ She was furious now, the words tumbling out. ‘I suppose Diana decided that she’d like to live there for always and you thought this up between you? Pretending to be a—a friend and worming your way into everyone’s good graces! I imagine that’s why you wanted me to go to Jerez with Diana, so that I’d be out of the way while you arranged it all.’
She would have liked to have screamed at him, but that wouldn’t do, so close to the ward, and people going too and fro. ‘How dared you?’ she said in a stony voice, and stopped because she had run out of breath. Before she could begin again, Tane leaned over the desk and took her hands in his. ‘Euphemia, listen.’
She tugged uselessly. ‘No, I won’t! I know what you’re going to say and I don’t want to see you or speak to you ever again! I’ll have to, of course, when you’re on the ward, but I’ll not utter one word unless it’s about the patients.’ She gave another tug at her hands and his grip tightened just a little. ‘Let go,’ she flared at him, ‘or I’ll scream!’
He laughed softly. ‘You’re very angry, aren’t you, Phemie? But that’s because you’re jumping to conclusions—women do.’
‘Don’t be pompous,’ she snapped. ‘Be good enough to let me go and go away.’ She forced herself to look at him and added quietly: ‘I mean that.’
He straightened up slowly and released her hands. There was no hint of anger in his face, but she sat back rather quickly, away from him. He said coldly: ‘If you want it that way—and you don’t have to duck away like that, I’m not going to hit you.’ His eyes were as cold as his voice, but, ‘I should like to shake you until your teeth rattle, Sister Blackstock.’
He went unhurriedly to the door. ‘Just remember one thing, will you? I’m a man of infinite patience when I want something.’ He closed the door very quietly behind him.
‘And what does he mean by that?’ muttered Euphemia distractedly. ‘He’s got what he wants. Oh, I hate him, I hate him!’ She picked up Mr Fish’s letter with a hand that shook and folded it neatly and put it in her pocket. She would have to write to him, she supposed, or better still go and see him. Regardless of hospital rules, she telephoned for an appointment then and there. ‘Two o’clock,’ said an elderly female voice at the other end of the line. ‘Mr Fish could spare ten minutes or so.’
Mr Fish’s office wasn’t so very far away, Lincoln’s Inn, but Euphemia, changing her off duty to a split and going to second dinner, had to miss her meal in order to get there on time. And her temper was hardly improved to find that when she got there that Mr Fish was engaged, so that she had to sit in a bare little waiting room, leafing through vintage copies of The Field, quite unable to think up any planned speeches. It was partly hunger, of course; she had had a cup of tea and half a slice of toast at breakfast and she’d been too upset to do more than sip her coffee during the morning. Now her insides rumbled emptily, taking her mind off the matter in hand. And at the back of it all was the ruthlessly flattened down image of Tane. By the time she got into Mr Fish’s stuffy office she hadn’t a coherent thought left in her head.
But not so Mr Fish. After all, he got his living by being coherent; he listened in a fatherly way to her protests and then tore them to shreds with a few well chosen sentences. What did it matter, he pointed out kindly, who held the mortgage? Indeed, he considered that Dr van Diederijk was a much sounder proposition than the small private firm who had taken up the mortgage in the first place and why, he added as an aside, her father had not gone to a reputable building society or even the bank, he couldn’t understand. He could not see what difference it could possibly make to her. He chuckled to himself for a moment. ‘And you do realise that the doctor is being paid back with his own money, my dear? At least until he gives up the tenancy of Myrtle House.’
‘Yes, but when he does, don’t you see, Mr Fish? If I can’t find another tenant at once I can’t repay the mortgage, then he can take the house away from us—it’ll be his!’
Mr Fish sat back and patted his fingertips together in a way that got on her stretched nerves. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, my dear. He is, I understand, in no need of financial aid, he could well afford to wait until such time as a new tenant was found. But are you not crossing your bridges before you reach them? Supposing you leave everything to me. Your dear father seldom took my advice, but I hope that you will.’
Euphemia left it at that. Mr Fish looked mild
and elderly and incapable of saying boo to a goose, but he had floored her with his dry, logical talk. She wished him a polite good day and took herself off, got a bus to Oxford Street and had a highly indigestible tea in one of the more expensive cafés. It was the sort of thing she seldom did, but she felt defiant and dreadfully unhappy as well as hungry.
The afternoon’s visit to Mr Fish had been a complete waste of time, she decided as she changed back into uniform, and as far as she could see there was nothing more to be done, and since she had made it clear that she didn’t want anything to do with Tane ever again, she couldn’t discuss it further with him. Anyway, he wouldn’t listen. ‘Arrogant, pigheaded man!’ cried Euphemia, ramming her cap on to her dark piled-up hair.
There was enough work on the ward to keep her mind occupied until she went off duty that evening—more than enough, she thought worriedly: three of her patients were very poorly and Terry had been in and out several times to see them, and the various treatments he ordered kept her and the nurses busy until the night staff came on duty. Even then, she didn’t hurry off duty but went to her supper late, then went along to the Sisters’ sitting-room to drink tea and talk shop. It was much later than usual by the time she got to bed and she was so tired that she slept at once.
It was Sir Richard’s round in the morning, and Euphemia heaved a sigh of relief when she saw that he was on his own. She had tried not to think about meeting Tane on the ward and the longer it could be put off the better. The round took a long time, with Sir Richard being nastier than ever to the students dogging his footsteps and wanting treatments changed and impossibilities like instant X-rays. Euphemia edged him slowly from bed to bed while two nurses followed discreetly at a distance, restoring the chaos of tossed bedclothes, scattered notes and written requests for barium meals, blood tests, physiotherapy and the like. It was almost noon by the time he stalked into her office, to be calmed with coffee and biscuits. ‘A pity van Diederijk was called back to Holland for some consultation or other,’ he grumbled to her. ‘I should have liked to have consulted with him myself. That man—what’s his name, third bed on the right… Cummins, is it? His general condition isn’t good…’ He launched into technicalities, and Euphemia made herself concentrate on what he was saying and tried not to wonder why Tane should have gone back to Holland so very suddenly. It must have been something very urgent—or was it an excuse so that they shouldn’t meet for a little while? Perhaps he had thought that she would be more amenable if he left her alone for a while? Nothing, she decided hotly, would make her that.