by Betty Neels
Cassandra swallowed her disappointment. ‘Oh, yes, of course, I expect I’ll stay for two or three weeks.’
He didn’t seem to want to know more than that, for he said, ‘You’re free tomorrow afternoon, aren’t you? Van Tromp tells me he’s going to den Haag and hasn’t any patients. Would you like to come to Utrecht? I’m going to operate.’
She said in a surprised voice, ‘But you can’t! It’s too soon, Dr Viske said...’
‘One case, that’s all—an excision of larynx—a CA, of course. It’s not been possible to use radium and if we do it now, we might get at it in time—even save the larynx.’
‘But you might harm your eyes...’
‘Not very likely, and it’s a risk I choose to take. The patient is an old friend of mine.’
She could see that it was useless to try and dissuade him. ‘I shall enjoy seeing you at work and I’d like to come very much. How happy you must feel to be back in your own world again—it must have seemed like a bad dream—at Ogre’s Relish, I mean.’
‘A dream, but not a bad one. I met you, remember?’
She answered him almost reluctantly. ‘Yes. It’s funny to think that we might never have met. Have you a great many friends, Benedict?’
He had been going slowly; now he pulled into the side of the deserted road and turned to look at her. ‘A great many,’ he assured her, and she couldn’t see the little smile curving his mouth. ‘But none of the women of my acquaintance—and you are interested in the women, aren’t you?—would have borne with me on Mull. They wouldn’t have stood my bad temper, nor would they have allowed me to indulge my ill-humour upon them, and certainly not one of them would have made me a cake.’
‘No? But that doesn’t matter now—you’re not ill-humoured any more because you don’t have any reason to be. I think,’ she went on gravely, ‘that they would be much more fun to take out than me.’
‘It depends on your idea of fun, doesn’t it?’
She was nothing if not persistent. ‘But there must be someone special.’
His voice was bland. ‘But of course there is, dear girl—I am, how shall I say, hindered by circumstances.’
Of course he meant Paula. What could be more hindering than to have your best friend marry the girl you wanted to marry yourself? She asked in a little voice, ‘Couldn’t you do anything about it?’
‘No—and now I’m going to take you home.’ He started the car and she sat silent and snubbed. He’d asked her out for the evening because she was a willing buffer between him and loneliness, between him and the thought of Paula. She supposed, miserably, that he kissed her for the same reason.
They were almost at his house when she said, ‘I’d like to go straight to Mevrouw Schat’s if you don’t mind.’
‘I do mind.’ He stopped the car outside his own door and was already getting out. ‘You’re coming in for coffee.’
‘No, thank you—I’m going straight home to bed.’
‘A remark which tempts me to an unsuitable reply. However, I’ll not do that; I’ll invite you in for coffee instead.’
She gave up. ‘Well, all right, just for a few minutes.’ She frowned. ‘It’s very late.’
‘My reputation is a sound one, and so, I imagine, is yours. Hurry up, girl, it’s cold!’
Jan must have been waiting in the hall, because he opened the door as they reached it and they had barely reached the sitting-room before Miep was there with a tray of coffee. Benedict, helping Cassandra out of her coat, bent to murmur in her ear,
‘You see, Miss Prissy, how mindful I am of your out-of-date and endearing ideas about young ladies visiting men after midnight! Here we have a veritable battery of chaperons—you see, I took steps...’
Cassandra gave him a withering look. ‘How detestable you are!’ she said crossly, and went to sit by Tante Beatrix, who wanted to know what they had eaten for dinner and where they had been and whether it was cold outside. ‘It will be a cold Christmas,’ she informed her listeners. ‘Such a pity neither of you will be here. I shall be with cousin Karel in Doorn, of course, and you—you will be back for New Year, Benedict?’
He smiled at her. ‘Unless my plans go awry—it is a little too soon for me to know.’
‘And Cassandra?’
Before she could open her mouth, Benedict said carelessly, ‘Oh, she will be on Mull, entertaining the reverend for tea and keeping an eye on Ogre’s Relish.’ He glanced across the room at her. ‘Or won’t you, Cassandra?’
‘I have no idea,’ she told him with faint bewilderment, ‘what I shall be doing, only that I shall be there.’ She finished her coffee and got up. ‘I mustn’t keep you out of bed any longer, Mevrouw van Manfeld,’ she said, and found it disappointing when Benedict expressed no regret at her going but fetched her coat at once, shouted something to Jan as they passed through the hall, and stowed her away in the car in a businesslike manner. Outside Mevrouw Schat’s front door she thanked him for a delightful evening and put her hand on the door, to have it imprisoned at once by his. ‘Very delightful,’ he agreed easily. ‘We must do it again. Tomorrow evening—supposing we go to Utrecht and sample the bright lights?’
She felt an aching pity for him because he couldn’t face being alone.
‘Yes—no, well, I don’t know.’
‘A lucid answer!’ His voice was lightly teasing. ‘In that case come and have dinner with us at home, and I promise I’ll be there.’
‘Yes, but I’m going to watch you operate in the afternoon.’
He shook with laughter. ‘Meaning that I shall put you off your dinner? That’s harsh judgment, and no mistake; I always fancied myself rather a neat surgeon.’
She laughed with him and he remarked, ‘That’s better, you’ve not done that all day—you were very brisk this morning, did you know?’ He got out to open her door. ‘Will you be ready at half past one sharp? The list’s at three o’clock, but I must allow for the state of the roads.’
He went to the door with her and opened it with the key Mevrouw Schat had given her, then gave her a little push. ‘Inside with you, girl—goodnight.’ He could have been a brother, a cousin, a very old friend from his manner, which further endorsed her guess that he had invited her because he couldn’t bear to be alone.
She was waiting, nicely made up, her hair smooth under the fur cap, her boots beautifully polished, when Benedict arrived next day. The weather had brightened a little, but the roads were still treacherous, but once on the motorway, there was nothing to hinder them until they reached Utrecht where they were slowed almost to a walking pace by the mass of traffic.
At the hospital, Benedict led the way to the theatre block, large and modern and on the first floor. There were four theatre suites, he told an interested Cassandra, one of which was for ENT work, of which it seemed a great deal was done throughout the year, largely by himself. Cassandra, trying to see everything at once, went through the door into the block and led by Benedict, entered a small office. A pretty creature was sitting at the desk, curly-haired and blue-eyed and on excellent terms with Benedict, for she jumped up as he went in, laughing and talking and shaking his hand. Cassandra eyeing her covertly, wondered why it was that Benedict hadn’t fallen for such a ravishing creature, but it was obvious, even to her jealous eye, that he hadn’t. He greeted her with off-hand good humour and said in English, ‘I’ve brought a visitor, so polish up your English, Bep,’ and introduced the two girls. Having done so he put a careless hand on Cassandra’s shoulder, ‘Come back here afterwards and wait for me,’ he told her, and went away.
The two girls were left together, but not for long, because Bep had to scrub to take the case and Cassandra had to be shown to the gallery, where, in the company of a number of students, she was to watch the operation. She had been advised by Bep to remove her outdoor things and don a white gown, and now s
he sat, in the front row, looking down into the operating theatre.
The patient was already on the table and Bep, in her green gown and masked, was busy with her instruments. Benedict came presently, also gowned and masked, and the little group of people who had been waiting for him rearranged themselves into a pattern round the table with Benedict as their centre pin. He said something to the anaesthetist as a nurse started to arrange the towels and the sound of laughter floated upwards, and Cassandra, listening to it, smiled to herself. It seemed such a short time since Benedict had been walking with slow deliberation with his questing stick and his dark glasses, and now here he was, his sight quite restored, doing the work he loved. She wondered if he felt as happy about it as she did, and as though she had spoken aloud and he had heard her, he looked up to the gallery, sweeping it slowly with a searching gaze; he allowed it to rest on her when he found her and then turned away and picked up his scalpel. Suddenly she wanted to be down there with him, doing Bep’s work, helping him, obeying his every wish, anticipating his needs, standing close to him—she suppressed a sigh and settled herself to watch.
He was good, she could see that. Unhurried and calm, almost casual in his movements. His voice, explaining each stage of the operation, sounded quiet and deliberate; it was a pity that she was unable to follow any of it, for he spoke in Dutch. He was dissecting the growth now, millimetre by careful millimetre. One slip of his scalpel and the operation would be a failure—not, she told herself robustly, that that would happen, there was no question of him failing. There wasn’t— She watched one of the nurses step forward with a receiver and heard the gentle clang of the forceps as he dropped the result of his meticulous work into it. There was a little sigh around her as he did so, a sigh of applause and relief from the students watching. It was followed by a gentle shuffling of feet and easing of tense bodies as they settled to watch the remainder of the operation.
When it was at last over, she watched Benedict leave the theatre and then found her way back to Bep’s office where she shed her gown, put on her coat and cap and started to do her face. She was using her lipstick when Benedict came in, still in his theatre gear although he had pulled off his cap and mask. He said ‘Hullo’ and smiled at her, and she, hardly knowing what she was doing, cast down the lipstick and flew into his arms. ‘Oh, Benedict, I’m so happy—it was wonderful—I’m so proud!’ She beamed up at him, her face alight with the feelings she had forgotten to hide.
And he for his part swung her off her feet, laughing out loud. ‘What excitement, my dear girl, you’re worse than a firecracker! I saw you, sitting up in the gallery in your white gown, and it’s a good thing I did, for I promised myself I wouldn’t start until I had.’
She was on her feet again, looking up at him. ‘Why?’
‘Because I knew you would bring me good luck, or give me strength, or whatever it is I need, and you did. You’re my mascot.’ He stood, with his hands in his pockets, his gown bunched up, laughing at her. ‘We’re going to have tea now and then we’ll go back home, but first I must go and take a look at the patient. You’ll wait?’
She would have waited for ever, but that wasn’t something she would tell him, and the waiting didn’t seem long anyway, because everyone else came in then, and there was plenty of talk which an English-speaking colleague of Benedict’s translated for her. When Benedict returned, there was a great deal more talk until he asked if she was ready to go, when he swept her back through the long grey corridors to where the car was standing.
Because she really wanted to know, he explained the operation he had performed as they drove back to Rhenen; he had only just finished when they arrived outside the house and he said, laughing, ‘What a waste of time when there are so many other things to talk about!’ He smiled gently. ‘Would you like to come in?’
Cassandra shook her head. ‘No, I won’t, thank you. There’s an evening surgery and I like to get there in good time because I’m still a little slow.’
So he went on to Mevrouw Schat’s little house and dropped her off, saying as he started the engine again, ‘I’ll walk around about seven.’
She said a little shyly, ‘I’ll be ready by then, but I could quite easily...’
He ignored this. ‘If the weather is really bad I’ll bring the car,’ he told her as he drove away.
Cassandra saw a good deal of Benedict during the next two days; he seemed to have an instinct for knowing the exact moment in which she would finish work, and if he took it for granted that she wished to spend her evenings in his company she refused to allow it to spoil them. She might only be second best, but at least, just for a time she meant something to him.
It was on the third day, just as she had poured coffee for Mijnheer van Tromp, that he came in to consult with his partner. She poured coffee for him too and then went to answer the telephone. It was for him; she handed him the receiver with a little smile and sat down to drink her own coffee. She wasn’t listening, it was a meaningless jumble of sound anyway, until he exclaimed in undisguised delight, ‘Paula!’ She would have given a great deal to have understood what he was saying then, for something Paula had told him over the telephone had made him a very happy man. It was quite some time before he put the receiver down and made some remark to Mijnheer van Tromp.
‘I thought that Paula was flying to Canada today,’ observed his partner.
Benedict stirred his coffee. ‘The whole thing,’ he said with quiet satisfaction, ‘is off. She won’t be going.’
Cassandra put down her cup and on the plea of work to do, got away. There was in fact, nothing to do, she sat behind the desk in the small room and allowed her thoughts to roam. It was all so clear. Benedict had never wanted Paula to go away and marry his best friend, but that very fact had made him stand aside when her choice had fallen on the other man. Now Paula, at the last minute, had changed her mind, hadn’t he told them it was all off? So he would get his Paula after all—it didn’t bear thinking of. It was a relief when the next patient arrived and gave her something to do.
She was to spend the evening with Benedict—dinner in Arnhem, he had said, despite the weather; now perhaps he wouldn’t want to go, but a few minutes later, when he left, he reminded her carelessly to be ready for him when he called and went away before she could so much as nod. But before the end of the day, she managed to discover from her employer that Paula was at The Hague and would probably stay overnight. He offered her this information readily enough in answer to her roundabout questions, giving her a very old-fashioned look as he did so, but she was far too pre-occupied to notice; she was thinking that after this evening she might never go out with Benedict again. She promised herself that it should be a gay one and that she wouldn’t remember that sobering fact once. But when he came for her and asked her if she would mind very much dining at his home, in a faintly irritable manner, she saw that he wasn’t feeling gay at all, and made haste to agree cheerfully.
In the hall, taking off her coat, she managed to take a quick look at him; he seemed tired and strained and decidedly bad-tempered and her heart sank. Naturally he was annoyed because he couldn’t spend the evening with Paula, but surely he could have driven over to The Hague? Perhaps she should have pleaded a headache and left him his evening free. In the sitting-room she asked bluntly, ‘Have you a headache—are your eyes bothering you?’ She ignored his annoyed glance. ‘Perhaps you should be wearing your glasses—did you operate again today?’
He handed her a glass of sherry and said, far too smoothly, ‘I’m perfectly all right. You ask far too many questions, Cassandra, but if you must know I have had rather a heavy day.’
Over the dining-table, Cassandra was relieved to see that Benedict’s mood lightened. That he was still preoccupied was still very evident, but at least he made conversation with his two companions. It was unfortunate that Cassandra, over one of Miep’s delicious soufflés, felt emboldened to ask if
he would be operating on the following day.
She hadn’t expected the ferocious expression upon his face nor the curtness of his ‘No.’ She gaped at him, so surprised that she would probably have said something foolish if Mevrouw van Manfeld hadn’t at that precise moment asked about an old friend of hers who had gone to Mijnheer van Tromp’s consulting rooms that day. There seemed to be quite a lot to say about her, and it seemed a natural thing for the old lady to reminisce about various of her acquaintances, so she kept the conversation firmly in her hands for the rest of dinner, while they drank their coffee afterwards, and when she had at length finished, she fixed Cassandra with a sharp, elderly eye, and inquired of her if she was not tired.
It was an opening Cassandra had been hoping for, she said at once that yes, she was, and would anyone mind if she went home. Tante Beatrix nodded approval but Benedict frowned. ‘It’s early,’ he declared, for all the world, thought Cassandra, as though the evening had been a roaring success instead of several painful hours of rather forced chat between herself and Tante Beatrix, while Benedict sat silent.
She summoned a smile to answer him. ‘Yes, you must forgive me,’ and got to her feet, and when he made no rise too, ‘No, don’t get up. Jan told me that he wanted to see Mevrouw Schat about something or other and he might as well walk back with me now.’ It was distinctly disconcerting when he agreed to this without any hesitation whatever and no sign of regret.
She didn’t see Benedict all next day, and when, during the evening surgery, she cautiously inquired of his partner as to his whereabouts, it was to learn that he had gone to Utrecht and would probably stay the night. Mijnheer van Tromp had looked at her keenly as he spoke, but she had pretended not to see the look but had asked with elaborate carelessness:
‘He seemed delighted to hear that Paula had cancelled her trip to Canada.’ There was no solace to be got from his cheerful: