by Neels, Betty
At half-past five, he threw down his work. ‘We’re off duty as from now. I’ve got seats for the theatre...’ and he named the play.
She spoke before she thought. ‘It’s lovely!’
‘Didn’t know you’d seen it.’ Tom looked vaguely surprised.
Sophy went very red, and said with an appalling honesty, ‘I was invited in place of someone who couldn’t go at the last minute.’
It was far worse when she got home. They waited until she was sitting comfortably in front of the fire, munching toast.
‘Max came in just as we were sitting down to lunch.’ It was Penny who spoke.
Sophy put down the finger of toast and clasped her hands on her lap, so that each should hold the other steady. She felt as though she had been turned to stone. This view was shared by the Blot, who was sitting next to her and experimentally extended a long pink tongue, wrapped it neatly around the toast, and swallowed it with a soundless gulp, his melting eyes on Sophy’s face, on the alert for the reprimand he expected. None was forthcoming, although she had seen him doing it; with a perception stronger than that of the humans around him, he saw she wanted comfort. He extended his tongue once more, this time to give her hand a gentle lick.
‘He’s gone down to Dorset to see Uncle Giles,’ her grandmother interposedShe lifted her eyes briefly from her crossword puzzle and smiled gently in Sophy’s direction. ‘He didn’t stay long. He’s going back to Utrecht in a few days...but I expect you know all about that.’
Sophy unclasped her hands, drank some tea, looked at her empty plate and exchanged a long loving look with the Blot, ‘Tom Carruthers told me he would be leaving soon,’ she answered briefly. ‘I didn’t see him myself.’ She met her brother’s enquiring eye. ‘He was up all night, and very busy this morning.’
Ben was not to be put off. ‘Yes, but if he had time to come and see us before he went, why didn’t he go and see you too? You were much nearer to him than we were.’
Sophy scrambled to her feet and made a great deal of work of clearing away her tea and giving Titus his milk.
‘I dare say he may have gone to the theatre while I was away this morning. I had to go to Mary’s for coffee—there’s no electricity in theatre block.’ This piece of information led, as she had hoped it would, to talk of the fire, and Max wasn’t mentioned again.
The next few days were very dull. She plodded on steadily with her checking and listing; it was going to take much longer than she had at first thought. There were workmen in the theatre already, covering the roof with tarpaulins, and clearing away the vast amount of rubble. She saw little of her nurses, and not very much of Tom or Bill Evans, although the latter came to supper. Sophy went on duty each morning dreading to be met with the news that Max van Oosterwelde had gone without saying goodbye. When he did at last walk into her office, she was quite unprepared for him—kneeling on the floor, surrounded by packets of needles, which she was sorting carefully into sizes and shapes. Colour flooded her face as she looked up and saw him standing in the doorway. She scrambled to her feet and said rather breathlessly,
‘Hullo. How’s...how’s Uncle Giles?’
Max smiled faintly. ‘Going along very nicely—and how is Sophy?’
‘Me? I’m fine, thank you.’
‘And since you have not enquired as to the state of my health, let me assure you at once that it is good.’ He cocked his head to one side, and the cold afternoon sun turned his hair to silver. ‘You look thinner, and white and tired.’ he observed. ‘Are you alone up here all day—’, he waved a nicely kept hand—’clearing up this mess?’
‘Well, yes. It’s my job, isn’t it?’
‘And what will you do when you have found the last needle and counted the last dressing towel?’
‘I don’t know—I expect I’ll have to do holiday relief; they don’t want me at St Chad’s, and the theatre will take months to rebuild. I asked a man who came to look at it yesterday—an architect, I think.’
‘You’ll hate relief work, won’t you?’
He went and sat on a corner of the desk, and it creaked under his weight. He was wearing tweeds and a polonecked sweater, and she supposed that he had come straight from Uncle Giles. He gave her a sharp look from blue eyes that seemed expressionless. ‘I’m going back to Utrecht tomorrow evening,’ he said slowly. ‘I should have liked to ask you to spend another evening with me before I go. Unfortunately I’m not free tonight.’
Sophy dumped a pile of needle packets on to the desk, careless of the fact that they had been sorted once and would now have to be done again. ‘That would have been delightful.’ To her satisfaction her voice sounded just as she wanted it to; pleasantly friendly and casual.
‘But I couldn’t have come anyway. I’m going out too.’
Max picked up a handful of needle packets and trickled them through his fingers. She watched the further waste of an hour’s work, not caring in the least. She would have plenty of time for needles after he had gone.
‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘John Morris. I’d almost forgotten him. Did he have a pleasant weekend in Scarborough?’
Sophy opened her mouth to say yes and paused. Had she said Scarborough? There was another town she always muddled it with. ‘Harrogate,’ she uttered triumphantly. Tt was Harrogate.’
Max’s lips twitched. ‘So it was. I always muddle those two towns. I must visit them one day, then perhaps I shall be able to tell them apart. Perhaps you’ll invite me when you’re married,’ he added slyly.
Sophy looked at him appalled, her gentle mouth slightly open. ‘Married?’ she echoed, stupidly.
He raised black brows. ‘My dear girl! I hardly imagine that you intend to live in sin, do you?’
‘Live in sin—who with?’
‘How you do keep repeating my words. But don’t look so shocked; I’m only teasing you. I’m sure John f Morris would never hear of it.’ He grinned at her and got up and went to the door. ‘I’ll see you before I go. Goodbye, Sophy.’
She said goodbye in a faint voice and sat down to sort the needles once more. He had sounded glad to be going back—he would forget her the moment he got into that big Bentley and slid away out of her life. She sniffed, blew her nose and wiped away two tears which had escaped unbidden on to her cheeks. She was on her way home when a dreadful thought struck her. Had he said John Morris—surely she had called the wretch Austin? She remembered that the name had popped into her head because it was a nice easy one, but then so was Morris. She consoled herself with the thought that if she could forget the name so easily, it was unlikely that Max would remember which it was either.
He came up to the theatre the next afternoon to say goodbye, Cooper and Bill Evans were with her and he made no effort to see her alone, but stood talking to them all for a few minutes and then shook hands with each of them and went away. Sophy hadn’t expected it to be like that—the possibility of anyone else being there had never entered her head. She said everything proper to the occasion in her soft voice, and watched him walk away and out through the corridor doors; they swung to after him with a final thud.
Sophy’s intention to forget Max was seriously hampered by the frequency with which his name cropped up in conversation. It seemed to her that everyone she met had something to say about him, both in hospital and at home, where she had returned on the evening of his departure, with a resolutely bright face, to find her grandmother arranging a vast quantity of flowers. She looked up from the lilac and carnations and roses, her charming face wreathed in smiles. ‘Sophy! These have just come from Max— aren’t they gorgeous? and such a lovely card with them.’ She picked it up and passed it to her granddaughter. ‘His writing is rather difficult—perhaps you can read it better than I?’
Sophy looked at the familiar scrawl. ‘Shocking, isn’t it?’ she said cheerfully, while the soundless voice inside her cried, ‘Max—Max!’ She swallowed the lump in her throat, and read obediently, ‘A small memento of a friendship so happily begun, and which I
hope to resume when circumstances permit. I shall miss you and Penny and Benjamin.’
‘Charming,’ breathed Grandmother Greenslade. She stood back to admire her efforts. ‘There’s tea in the pot, dear. I expect Max said goodbye to you at the hospital?’
Sophy poured tea, but made no effort to drink it. ‘Oh, yes. He came up for a minute or two, and shook hands all round.’
Something in her voice caused her grandmother to pause in her work; she was about to speak when the telephone rang. ‘I’ll answer it,’ said Sophy breathlessly, but her hope died a quick death—it was Uncle Giles, wanting to talk about the fire.
‘And how about you, my dear?’ he wanted to know. ‘There won’t be any work for you for some time, I imagine.’
Sophy said she didn’t know, and almost added that she didn’t care either. She enquired at undue length as to her godfather’s health, and then said mendaciously that her grandmother was waiting to speak to him, and escaped to her own room. Presently she emerged to get the supper, to all appearances her usual sensible, level-headed self. The conversation at supper was almost entirely of Max, and she joined in with an unwonted animation which caused Sinclair to waylay her in the hall to ask her if she was starting a cold.
‘You look feverish, Miss Sophy,’ he remarked quite anxiously. ‘Not at all your old self.’
Sophy, assuring him that she was in the best of health, silently agreed with him—she wasn’t her old self; she doubted if she would ever be that again.
Her work in the theatre was coming to an end; another few days and she would be starting relief duties. Staff Cooper was already posted to Cas; the junior nurses had been absorbed into the wards. The theatre was full of workmen.
It was the fifth morning after Max had left, and Saturday. The children didn’t go to school; Grandmother Greenslade always breakfasted in bed anyway; Sinclair was away for a day or two on one of his rare visits to a brother. Sophy had the early morning to herself in the quiet house. She picked up the post as she crossed the hall to the kitchen to make herself some tea. There were bills, of course, and a letter from Aunt Vera and, right at the bottom, a letter from Max. She put the rest of the letters down, and stood looking at it in her hand. It wasn’t until she had made the tea that she opened it It was headed Huys Oosterwelde, and then an outlandish name which she supposed was the village where he lived. She poured her tea and sat down, and forced herself to read the letter slowly. It was quite short.
Dear Sophy,
As you know, the theatre here was due to open upon my return. Unfortunately the Theatre Sister I am accustomed to work with has today gone into quarantine with measles. I have been offered several substitutes, but I do not care for unfamiliar faces around me. Would you consider taking over the job for a week or so, perhaps three weeks? I never could remember quarantine periods. You understand my foibles and know your job thoroughly. If you would agree to this I think it will be possible for me to arrange everything with the proper authorities.
Yours sincerely,
Max van Oosterwelde.
PS You need have no fears regarding language difficulties—those for whom you will work speak and understand basic English at least.
Sophy read this business-like letter through twice, then put it back into its envelope. She poured another cup of tea and drank it, and ate a slice of toast loaded with marmalade, then went through the rest of the letters with her usual efficient care. Then she read Max’s letter once more, finding it extraordinary that she, who had been making decisions ever since her parents’ death, was now quite unable to put two coherent thoughts together concerning the letter in her hand. She finished her tea, tidied up, and went upstairs to her grandmother’s room with a cup of tea in one hand, and the letter in the other. Mrs Greenslade put down her inevitable crossword, accepted the tea and put up a pretty cheek to be kissed.
‘I’ve had a letter from Max,’ said Sophy without preamble, offering it to her grandmother to read. Mrs Greenslade read it to the end, and then, as most women do, turned it over to make sure there was nothing else written on the other side. There wasn’t. She read it through again, then looked thoughtfully at her granddaughter, perched like a little girl on the end of the bed. She put the letter down carefully, and said dryly,
‘I am glad to see that Max has such a high regard of your work as Theatre Sister, darling. Shall you go?’
Sophy wanted to go very much; she pleated the bedspread with hands that shook. ‘No,’ she said at length. ‘I shan’t go. I daresay that Max is just being civil—there must be any number of nurses...’
Her grandmother interrupted her briskly. ‘I’m sure you’re right, dear, but even if you don’t like the idea, think how much it will please Uncle Giles—he must be wanting to repay Max for all that he has done. Why not indulge his whim? It will be a few weeks at the most, and besides, you will be able to see Holland.’
Sophy stopped spoiling the bedspread. ‘I should like to see Holland,’ she remarked; she should have said Max instead of Holland; she pushed the thought away from her, and got up, smoothing down her dress. ‘You think I should go, Granny?’
Mrs Greenslade passed the letter back and picked up the crossword again. She said gently, ‘Yes, darling, I do. Even though you don’t particularly want to.’
Sophy had made herself late. She tore into her uniform, pinned her cap on to her neat hair, and started for the office. The Board of Governors were meeting later on; perhaps afterwards she might know more about the theatre and her own future. She got to the door just in time to lift the receiver. It was Uncle Giles.
‘Sophy? Have you heard from Max? You have— good. I hope you will decide to go, my dear; it would please me very much. Difficulties? No I don’t imagine so...these things can be arranged, you know.’ He went on talking at some length; he sounded pleased and cheerful. When he rang off, Sophy went over to the window and stood looking out on to the quadrangle, empty save for a few scurrying figures, anxious to get in again out of the cold autumn wind. The telephone rang again, and she went back to the desk and picked up the receiver. She wasn’t prepared for the faintly accented English of Max’s voice. She blushed fierily, but that didn’t matter—there was no one to see, but the sudden loss of her breath was a more serious matter.
‘Have you been running?’ he wanted to know, and sounded as though he was laughing.
‘Yes...no...you surprised me.’
‘Have you not had my letter?’
She had mastered her traitor voice at last. ‘Yes, this morning.’
‘You’ll come.’ It sounded more like a command.
Sophy smiled and nodded, for all the world as though he were beside her. ‘Yes, if you can’t get anyone else.’
He let that pass. ‘Good. I’ll see to everything. Could you be ready by the day after tomorrow...no, tomorrow evening?’
Sophy felt as though someone had given her a push from behind at the top of an icy slope. Pride made her say in a soft reluctant voice, ‘Well...I expect so,’ though she would have jumped on to the next plane.
He laughed, and she wondered why.
‘Will that give you time to see your boy-friend?’ He was laughing again.
She said wildly, ‘Yes, at least’—she thought rapidly—’I’ll have to write to him. He’s away—he won’t mind.’
‘I can think of no possible reason why he should mind.’ His voice sounded arrogant and mildly bored.
Sophy frowned at the wall. ‘Of course he’ll mind,’ she snapped, ‘he won’t be able to see me, will he?’
‘I imagine that he will come over and see you if he wishes—after all, it’s about the same distance to Harrogate as it is to Utrecht.’
Sophy, to whom this was news, could think of nothing to say; he didn’t seem to expect an answer anyway, but plunged briskly into instructions, as to what she should do in order to arrive in Utrecht safely. Luckily she had kept her passport up to date— a reminder of the holiday they had all spent together in France before her par
ents died. When he had finished, she asked,
‘And Matron?’
‘I’ll ring her now—she will send for you later, I expect.’ He was right—he was always right Matron did send for her, and rather to her surprise everything was easy. Nobody either in England or Holland raised any objection to her going. Her journey and its fare would be taken care of, said Matron, and when she arrived at Schiphol she would be met by Jonkheer van Oos-terwelde himself. Matron suggested the minimum of clothes, and added a rider concerning the wearing of warm underclothes. Holland, she had been given to understand, could be a good deal colder than England. Sophy, who had no intention of adding to the few flimsy garments which she wore beneath her prim uniform, said Yes, Matron, and went home to pack. In this task she was assisted by the entire household, each with their own ideas of what she should take with her. Finally she decided on the green tweed suit, and her thick tweed topcoat and a variety of sweaters. She added her lambswool shirtwaister, and, after careful thought, the amber silk; it was unlikely that she would need it—but still...
Her ticket arrived the next morning by special messenger; she was to leave by an early evening plane. It was Bill who took them all to the airport in his elderly Rover. Even with the luggage in the boot, it was a tight squeeze, for the lot accompanied them, as did Titus; but he, of course, took up no room, sitting composedly on Sophy’s lap. Sophy had not flown before, and that in a way was a good thing, for there was so much to take her attention that the goodbyes were easier than she had anticipated. Anyway, she told herself, as she watched the ground sliding away from the plane’s wheels, she would be back in a couple of weeks.
Schiphol was a pleasant surprise, with its welcoming lights and its air of good-natured bustle, and everyone looking reassuringly like the English. There was comfort in being addressed in her own tongue, too, even the porter who took her two cases tossed a ‘Follow me, miss,’ over his shoulder with the air of one who was familiar with the language. She listened to the jabber of sound around her—no wonder it was called double Dutch; she wondered if she would be able to master even a few words before she went back home, and thought not. She passed through the cheerful, efficient machinery of the Customs and so out into the main entrance hall. The place was full of people being kissed and greeted and exclaimed over; she suddenly felt very lonely and uncertain.