by Betty Neels
There would be no leaving on the following day, that was plain enough to Lucy when she got up in the morning. True, the snow had stopped, but there had been a frost during the night and there was still enough wind to make the clearing of the drifts a difficult matter. The telephone wasn’t working and the snowplough had gone off to the main road again and the country road it had cleared was covered once more. Save for the impersonal voice on the radio telling them what bad weather they were having, Dedminster, Lodcombe and Twistover were cut off from the rest of the world. Lucy didn’t mind; in fact, when she stopped to think about it, she was rather pleased. And Mr der Linssen seemed to have no objections either. He ate a huge breakfast and then volunteered to shovel snow. Lucy, helping her mother round the house, found herself impatient to join him, but it wasn’t until they had had their morning coffee that she felt free to do so. He was clearing the short drive to the gate and beyond a casual ‘Hullo’ he hardly paused in his work as she settled down to work beside him. It was hard work, too hard for talking, and besides, she only nibbled at the easy bits while he kept straight on however deep the snow, but it was pleasant to work in company.
But presently she remembered something and paused to lean on her spade and ask: ‘Why did you want to ask me something?’
Fraam heaved a shovelful of snow to one side before he too paused.
‘Ah, yes—Doctor de Groot asked me to find you while I was over here. He is ill, I told you that—perhaps you don’t know that he has Raynaud’s disease? In its early stages—he wants me to operate, he also wants you to nurse him. Mies is no good at nursing and after the first day or so he refuses to stay in hospital—his idea is for you to look after him at the flat.’
Lucy stood looking at him. ‘But I’m not a qualified nurse and I don’t know much about Raynaud’s disease or its treatment.’ She went red under his amused look, reminding her plainly that if she had stayed awake during that lecture of his, she might not be so ignorant, but he didn’t say that, only: ‘I’ll prime you well; there’s not much to it. But can you get leave?’ He added casually: ‘I daresay that if I made a point of asking for you, your Nursing Officer might consent.’
She looked doubtful. ‘Miss Trent? She might. I’ve got two weeks still, though I’m not supposed to have them until after the New Year...’
‘You wouldn’t mind giving up your holiday?’
‘I wasn’t going anywhere, only here, at home.’
He nodded. ‘So if it could be arranged, you would agree? I intend operating soon—a week, ten days, that gives him a chance to enjoy Christmas. He’ll need a few weeks’ convalescence, he plans to spend it with Willem’s people in Limburg.’
‘Willem? Oh, does that mean that he and Mies... I mean, are they going to get married? I thought—that is, she told me she was going to marry you.’
He gave a great bellow of laughter. ‘My dear girl, I’ve known Mies since she was in her cradle. Whenever she falls out with Willem and there’s no other admirer handy, she pretends she’s in love with me—it fills the gap until she’s got Willem on his knees again. Only this time he stayed on his feet and she was so surprised that she’s agreed to marry him.’
Lucy breathed a great sigh of relief. ‘Oh, I am glad!’
He stared hard at her. ‘Are you? He appeared to be taken with you while you were in Amsterdam.’
‘That wasn’t real; you see, he thought—at least, I thought that if he took me out once or twice Mies might mind, but then I wasn’t sure because you might have been in love with her...’
‘My God, a splendid tangle your mind must be in! It takes a woman to get in such a muddle.’
Lucy picked up her shovel and attacked the snow with terrific vigour. ‘Nothing of the sort,’ she observed haughtily. ‘Men don’t understand.’
‘And never will. Now, are you going to nurse Doctor de Groot?’
‘If he really wants me to and if Miss Trent will let me have another holiday, yes, I will.’
He was shovelling again, but he paused long enough to say: ‘Not much of a holiday, I’m afraid.’
‘I’ve had my holiday,’ said Lucy soberly.
He stopped shovelling to look at her, studying her slowly, his head a little on one side. ‘Are you rationed to one a year?’ he wanted to know.
‘Of course not!’ she had fired up immediately and then went on with incurable honesty: ‘Well, actually, I do only have one a year—I mean, to go away.’
‘To dance in a green dress—such a pretty dress, too.’
Her pink cheeks went a shade pinker. ‘You don’t need to be polite,’ she assured him rather severely. ‘I’ve had that dress for three years and it’s quite out of fashion.’
‘But it suits you, Lucy.’
Because I’m the parson’s daughter, she thought wryly, and wished suddenly and violently that she was a rich man’s daughter instead, with all the clothes she could possibly wish for and a lovely face to go with them so that Fraam would fall in love with her... She attacked the snow with increased vigour to cover the rush of emotion which flooded her. Of course that was what she had wanted—that he should fall in love with her, because she was in love with him, hopelessly and irrevocably, only it wasn’t until this very minute that she had known it.
‘You look peculiar,’ observed Fraam. ‘Is anything the matter?’
Lucy shook her head and didn’t speak, for heaven knows what she might have said if she had allowed her tongue to voice her thoughts. She would die of shame if he were ever to discover her feelings; he would be so nice about it, she felt that instinctively—kind and gentle and underneath it all faintly amused. She would be nonchalant and frightfully casual, as though he were someone she had just met and didn’t really mind if she never saw again. And indeed for the rest of that day and the day after that too, she was so casual and so nonchalant that Mr der Linssen looked at her even more than usual, his eyes gleaming with something which might have been laughter, although she never noticed that. Mrs Prendergast did, of course, and allowed herself the luxury of wishful thinking...
Fraam drove Lucy back on the following day, the Range Rover making light work of the still snowbound roads, and because he had seemed so sure that Miss Trent would grant her a further two weeks’ holiday, she had packed a bag ready to go to Holland, explaining to her mother while she had done it.
Her mother had expressed the opinion that it was a splendid thing that she could repay her father’s old friend by nursing him. ‘Just as long as you’re home for Christmas, darling,’ she observed comfortably, and Lucy had agreed happily; Christmas was weeks away.
She had been decidedly put out when they arrived at St Norbert’s that afternoon, for Fraam had carried her bag inside for her, said rather vaguely that he would be seeing her and driven off. And what about Doctor de Groot? she asked herself crossly as she went up the stairs to her room. Had he thought better of having her as a nurse? Had Fraam changed his mind or his plans and forgotten to tell her? Was she to go meekly back to the ward and wait until wanted? She wouldn’t do it, she told herself roundly as she unpacked her case, pushing the extra things she had brought with her in anticipation of another stay in Holland into an empty drawer.
And nobody said anything to her when she reported for duty, relieved to find that she was still on Women’s Surgical. The ward was busy, not quite as hectic as it had been, but still a never-ending round of jobs to be done and she plunged into them thankfully, resolutely refusing to think about Fraam, which wasn’t too difficult while she was busy; it was when she was off duty, doggedly studying for her Finals, that she found it hard not to pause in her reading and think about him instead, and worst of all, of course, was bedtime when, once the light was out, there was nothing at all to distract her thoughts.
It was during the evening of the fifth day that a junior nurse came down the ward to where Lucy was readju
sting Mrs Furze’s dressing and told her that Sister wanted her in the office.
Lucy paused, forceps poised over the gauze pad. ‘Two ticks,’ she objected, ‘I can’t leave Mrs Furze half done. Is it desperate?’
‘I don’t know—Sister poked her head round her door and told me to find you.’
Lucy began to heave her patient up the bed. ‘Well, will you tell her I’m on my way?’
Her junior scurried off and she finished making Mrs Furze comfortable, collected her bits and pieces on to a tray and bore them off to the dressings room. She was quick about it, only a few minutes elapsed before, her tray tidily disposed of and her hands scrubbed spotless, she tapped on Sister’s door and went in.
Sister Ellis was sitting at her desk, looking impatient. Fraam was standing by the narrow window, looking as though he had all day in which to do nothing.
‘And what,’ Sister Ellis wanted to know awfully, ‘kept you so long, Nurse Prendergast? Not only have you kept me waiting, but Mr der Linssen, with no time to spare, has been kept waiting also.’
Lucy’s mild features assumed a stubborn look; she was overjoyed to see Fraam, but the joy was a little swamped at the moment by the knowledge that she wasn’t looking her best. She was tired, her hair was ruffled and her nose shone. Not that these would make a mite of difference to his attitude towards her, so that it was ridiculous of her to mind, anyway. She said meekly: ‘I’m sorry, Sister, but I couldn’t leave Mrs Furze at once...’
Sister Ellis snorted. ‘In my young days...’ she began, and then thought better of it. ‘Mr der Linssen wishes to speak to you,’ she finished. She settled back in her chair as she spoke, intent on missing nothing.
Fraam took his cue smoothly, with a pleasant smile for Sister Ellis and a gentle ‘Hullo, Lucy,’ in a voice which sounded as though he were really glad to see her again and quite melted her peevishness. He went on to explain that he had spoken both to Miss Trent and Sister Ellis and both ladies had been so kind as to make it possible for Lucy to take the remainder of her annual holiday. ‘Seventeen days,’ he commented, ‘which should give Doctor de Groot ample time to get over the worst. You are still agreeable, I take it?’ he wanted to know.
Lucy tucked away a strand of mousy hair. ‘Yes, of course. When am I to go?’
‘Tomorrow evening, if you are willing. I shall be operating early on the morning of the following day and would be obliged if you would take up your duties then.’ He looked at Sister Ellis. ‘If I may, I will have the tickets sent here tomorrow morning. I shall be returning to Amsterdam this evening, but I will arrange for someone to meet you at Schiphol and bring you to the hospital.’
Sister Ellis nodded graciously; Mr der Linssen was behaving exactly as she considered a distinguished surgeon should, no familiarity towards her nurse—true, he had called her Lucy, but the strict professional discipline had altered considerably over the years—and a gracious acknowledgement of her own help in the matter. Lucy Prendergast was a good little nurse, one day she would make an excellent ward Sister. She said now, ready to improve the occasion: ‘You will learn a good deal, I hope, Nurse; other methods are always worth studying, and any knowledge you acquire will doubtless come in useful when you sit your Finals.’
Lucy said: ‘Yes, Sister,’ and stole a look at Fraam. She wondered why he looked as though he was laughing to himself. Really he seemed quite a stranger standing there so elegant and cool, it was hard to imagine him shovelling snow and making tea. She found his eyes upon her and knew that he was thinking the same thing, and looked away quickly.
‘If Mr der Linssen has given you all the instructions he wishes, you may go, Nurse. Send Night Nurse in to me in five minutes and then go off duty. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, Sister. Goodnight, Mr der Linssen.’ She didn’t quite look at him this time.
She had expected to see him again, she had to admit to herself later; she had gone off duty, eaten her supper and repaired to her room, accompanied by a number of her friends, to undertake the business of packing, and all the while she had her ears cocked for the telephone, only it had remained silent and she had gone to bed feeling curiously unhappy. There had been no reason why Fraam should have tried to see her again; the whole arrangement was a businesslike undertaking, planned to please Doctor de Groot—and what, she asked herself miserably, could be more proof, if proof she needed, that Fraam wasn’t even faintly interested in her? She tossed and turned for a good bit of the night and went on duty in the morning looking so wan that Sister Ellis wanted to know if she felt well enough to travel that evening.
She went off duty at one o’clock and obedient to the instructions she had received with her ticket, took herself to the airport and boarded a flight to Schiphol. It was a miserably cold evening and it suited her mood exactly.
It was cold at Schiphol too and she shivered as she followed the routine of getting herself and her luggage into the outside world again. There hadn’t been many people on the flight and the queue before her thinned as they reached the main hall. She wondered who would meet her; someone from the hospital presumably, but how would she recognise him or her? She put her case down and it was picked up again at once by Fraam.
‘A good flight, I hope?’ he wanted to know. ‘I thought it better if I fetched you myself, in that way we can save a lot of time; I can give you the facts of the case as we go.’
‘Good evening,’ said Lucy on a caught breath, ‘and yes, thank you, the flight was very comfortable.’ And after that brief exchange they didn’t speak again as he led her to the car park. He had the Mini this time and what with her case and him she found it rather cramped. She sat squashed beside him while he drove into Amsterdam, listening carefully to his impersonal voice taking her through the case, and because she had expected that he would take her straight to the hospital, she was taken aback when he stopped the car and when she peered out, discovered that they were outside his house. ‘Oh,’ said Lucy blankly, ‘I thought...’
‘Supper first.’ Fraam was already out of the car and at the same time the door of his house opened and Jaap’s portly figure stood waiting for them, framed in the soft shaded lights of the hall.
Lucy got out then, because Fraam was holding the car door open for her and besides, it was cold. He took her arm across the narrow brick pavement and ushered her up the steps and into the warmth beyond to where Jaap was waiting, holding the door wide, smiling discreetly at them both. And there was someone else in the hall; an elderly very stout woman, with pepper-and-salt hair dressed severely, and wearing an equally severe black dress, neatly collared and cuffed with white.
‘This is Bantje,’ explained Fraam, ‘Jaap’s wife, she will take you upstairs. I’ll be in the drawing room when you’re ready.’
Lucy went up the lovely carved staircase behind Bantje, trying to see everything at once; the portraits on the wall beside it, the great chandelier hanging above her head, the great bowls of flowers...and once in the gallery above, her green eyes darted all over the place, anxious not to miss any of the beauty around her. She hadn’t much time, though, for the housekeeper crossed the gallery and opened an elaborately carved door and smiled at her to enter. The room was large by Lucy’s standards, and lofty, with a handsome plaster ceiling and panelled walls. The furniture was a pleasant mixture of William and Mary and early Georgian, embellished with marquetry, against a background of dim chintzes and soft pinks. Left alone, she did her hair, washed her face in the pink-tiled bathroom adjoining and then spent five minutes looking around her. Even if she never saw it again, she wanted to remember every detail. Satisfied at last, she did her face in a rather perfunctory fashion and went downstairs. Fraam was in the hall, sitting in one of the huge armchairs, but he got up when he saw her and took her arm as she hesitated on the bottom step.
‘It’s a little late,’ she observed. ‘Oughtn’t I to go to the hospital? Don’t they expect me?’<
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‘Of course they expect you. I told them that I would take you there not later than midnight.’
High-handed. She had her mouth open to say so and then closed it again as they went into a very large, very magnificent room; dark oak and crimson was her first impression and she had no chance to get a second one because she saw that there were people already in it: a handsome elderly couple standing before the enormous hooded fireplace, a young man so like Fraam that she knew at once that he was his brother and a pretty girl who could only be his wife. Her first feeling was one of annoyance that he hadn’t warned her; she was, to begin with, quite unsuitably dressed; a nicely cut tweed skirt and a shirt blouse with a knitted sweater on top of it were suitable enough for travelling but hardly what she would have chosen for an evening out. She eyed the other ladies’ long skirts as she was introduced; Fraam’s mother and of course his father, his brother and as she had guessed his wife, all of whom welcomed her charmingly.
‘My family, or at least part of it, happened to be in Amsterdam,’ observed Fraam coolly, ‘and now how about a drink?’
Lucy could scarcely refuse, so she asked for a sherry and prayed that it wouldn’t have too strong an effect on her empty insides, but when it came she found to her relief that it was a small glass and only half full; perhaps that was the way they drank it in Holland. She sipped cautiously, answering her companions’ pleasant questions, and was relieved when Jaap opened the door and announced that supper was ready.
A rather different supper from the one her mother had produced for them in the Rectory’s kitchen not so long ago; pâté and toast, a delicious dish of sole cooked with unlikely things like bananas and ginger and pineapple followed by small wafer-thin pancakes, filled with ice cream and covered with a brandy sauce. A potent dish, Lucy decided, and was glad that she had had only one glass of the white wine she had been offered.