Visiting Consultant

by Neels, Betty

  ‘Welcome to Holland,’ said Max from behind her. She turned round, her smile so lovely that her face looked positively beautiful.

  His blue eyes twinkled down at hers. ‘Did you think that I wouldn’t be here?’ he asked, half laughing.

  ‘No—yes—If you’d had a busy day...’ She was so glad to see him again; the calm cool manner she had planned quite forgotten.

  ‘I said that I would meet you, Sophy,’ he reminded her mildly. He was shepherding her through the groups of people, an arm under her elbow. They went through the doors on to the pavement outside; there was a silver-grey Rolls-Royce drawn up to the kerb. Max opened the door, and said, ‘Get in, I’ll see to your bags.’ Presently he slid into the seat beside her; he was wearing a topcoat, and looked enormous. Sophy looked ahead of her although there was nothing to see. They slid away down the dark road, the car’s headlights picking out an occasional cottage, their beam competing with the rays of a half-hearted moon.

  ‘It’s half an hour or so to Utrecht,’ said Max. ‘I’m taking you straight to the hospital; someone will give you supper and show you your room. Do you feel you could start in theatre tomorrow? I’m not starting until eleven, that gives you time to look around; you’ll find it almost identical with your own theatre.’

  ‘I’m ready to start when you like,’ said Sophy, ‘but what about the nurses? Do they understand English?’

  ‘Oh, yes, a word or two—but why should you need to speak to them? Surely your eyebrows will be just as eloquent here as in London?’ He slowed the car to go through Amstelveen, and then shot ahead again. Presently the road eased itself on to the motorway between Amsterdam and Utrecht; Sophy watched the speedometer needle sweep round to the hundred and twenty mark, where Max kept it steady.

  ‘How Ben would love this,’ Sophy exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, I imagine so—how are they all?’

  There was, Sophy discovered, quite a lot to talk about. In no time at all the outskirts of Utrecht came trickling to meet them, and then they were passing between rows of tall houses with brightly lighted windows, and so to the busy shopping streets, surprisingly full of people. Sophy, obedient to Max’s directions, gazed at the Dom tower and the university and a great many picturesque buildings, only dimly visible, and most of all at the canals, their inky waters sluggishly reflecting the city’s lights; when they turned at last into a narrow quiet street, the silent darkness seemed almost dreamlike. But it was real enough to Max; he scarcely slackened speed over the cobblestones before passing through an open gateway, its wrought iron gates brightly lighted, and so across a broad courtyard, to stop with quiet exactitude before the hospital doors.

  Sophy didn’t have much time to look around her— the hospital looked old; it could have been any one of its London counterparts. They went inside, and here again she felt on familiar ground, for the porter who came to meet them out of his little box-like room was very like Pratt. He spoke to Max and then said, ‘Good evening, Sister.’ Sophy answered him, looking astonished, and Max smiled and said,

  ‘Hans was in England during the last war—he’ll help you in any way he can.’ He turned to the porter and went on in Dutch, ‘Send a man for Sister’s luggage, will you’—he gave him the car keys—’I’ll collect them as I come back. Is Mevrouw van der Wijde here?’

  ‘Yes, Professor, in the consultants’ room.’ Max nodded, took Sophy by the arm and turned down the inevitable long hospital corridor. They didn’t go far. He stopped at a handsome door, opened it, and ushered Sophy inside. The room was large and comfortably and rather heavily furnished with large leather chairs and a number of small writing tables. There was a large bookcase along the length of one wall, and a stove, giving out a comfortable warmth. It was well lighted, but the heavy curtains draping the long narrow windows were undrawn. Standing by the nearest window was a girl; she turned round as Sophy went in and smiled at her. The smile was very sweet, and Sophy thought she had never seen such a pretty face before, or such vivid blue eyes. The girl spoke in an English that was only slightly accented. ‘Max, I thought you were never coming.’ She started to walk across the room towards them, still smiling.

  ‘That sounds like a flattering remark,’ said Max, ‘but as I’m sure you forgot the time I asked you to be here, I’ll not even answer it. Come and meet Miss Sophia Greenslade.’ He turned to Sophy. ‘This is Mevrouw van der Wijde; she knows all about you and wanted to meet you as soon as you arrived.’

  The two girls shook hands, and Sophy answered a friendly fusillade of questions about her journey until Max interrupted quietly.

  ‘The Directrice is expecting you; shall we go and see her now?’ he suggested, and stood patiently while goodbyes were said, then opened the door for Sophy, pausing long enough to say over his shoulder, ‘Wait for me here Tineke—the car’s outside. I shan’t be long.’

  Sophy heard this remark with mixed feelings; it was obvious that she had arrived at a most awkward hour, Mevrouw van der Wijde was dressed for an evening out which had most certainly been delayed so that Max could fetch her from Schiphol...it was also obvious that this girl was the reason for Max not being available.

  They walked down the corridor and he knocked on another door and ushered her inside. This time the room was small, and so was the woman who stood up to meet them. Sophy had imagined that all Dutchwomen would be big and tall and blonde—Mevrouw van der Wijde’s dainty prettiness had been a surprise—the Directrice was even more so, for not only was she a little woman, but her hair was almost black, as were her eyes. She nodded briskly at Max, and said, ‘Professor—so you have brought the English Sister.’ She shook hands with them both, and Sophy murmured ‘How do you do’ and was startled when the Directrice replied that she was very well indeed, and went on to hope that Sophy was well too. Her English was heavily accented and at times difficult to follow, but Sophy felt that she was in no position to pass judgment. Max waited until the courtesies had been satisfactorily dealt with, then said, ‘You will excuse me, Directrice?’

  They shook hands again before he turned to offer a hand to Sophy, who took it with an air of surprise which forced him to murmur, ‘We shake hands a great deal in Holland—I should have warned you.’

  Before she could think of anything to say, he had gone.

  Sophy thought that she was going to like the Directrice—she was kind and helpful with an air of quiet authority, and seemed to know exactly the things Sophy wanted to know about. After an interview which satisfied them both, Sophy was handed over to Home Sister, whose appearance at last satisfied her idea of a typical Dutchwoman, for she was a round plump little person with pale hair and blue eyes set in a face as round as her person. Zuster Vroom’s English was sparse, but what she lacked in vocabulary she made up for with enthusiasm. She showed Sophy her room and then enquired ‘Eating?’ Sophy, who was famished, had been hoping that someone would mention food. She said ‘Yes, please,’ in a voice that sounded so urgent that they went at once to a large dining room on the ground floor where a rosy-faced girl of enormous stature served her cheerfully with thick pea soup, a pale pink blancmange and delicious coffee. Sophy ate it all uncritically and was ready for Home Sister when she returned. They went back to the Nurses’ Home together and stopped at one of its many doors. Zuster Vroom flung it open, revealing a pleasant sitting room, full of women. Sophy, pushed gently from behind, entered reluctantly, then saw that all the faces turned towards her were smiling. Zuster Vroom, bustling around her like a tug making a good job of it, said loudly, ‘Here is the English Sister, Miss Sophia Greenslade,’ then stood back as they surged forward. Sophy was forcibly reminded of Max’s remark as she shook a dozen hands or more and repeated her ‘How do you do’ over and over again. They each spoke to her too, although she couldn’t make sense of any of it; it was several days before she found out that they were telling her their names...

  Zuster Vroom waited until the last handshake had been given. ‘Bed now, tomorrow you meet again.’ Amid a flurry of goodn
ights, she led Sophy back to her room. ‘Sleep well—seven o’clock you stand up.’ She beamed warmly and left Sophy to her unpacking.

  Half an hour later, sitting up in bed, Sophy scribbled a brief letter home and switched out the light. She wasn’t very sleepy, but tomorrow would be a difficult day. It had all been rather exciting; and how kindly the other Sisters had welcomed her; as though they really wanted her to feel at home. Against her better judgment, she allowed her thoughts to stray to Max. He had welcomed her too—in the same way as a hard-pressed plumber would have welcomed his mate—she thought wryly; and how ridiculous of her to imagine for one moment that his feelings towards her would ever be more than that. She blew her nose defiantly; she was really being very stupid, for she had known for weeks that there was a girl...had he not almost said so after Mary’s efforts to attract him? Nothing was altered, only now she had met the girl, hadn’t she? And a quite beautiful girl too, she told herself honestly, with the kind of perfection Max would expect in a wife.

  With an effort she tore her thoughts away; they held no comfort for her, and self-pity was a weakness she despised. She closed her eyes, and presently slept.

  Chapter 6

  Sophy was awake long before seven the next morning. Utrecht had a great many churches; all of them chimed the hours; most of them played delightful little tunes too, led by the seven great bells of the Dom and its magnificent carillon. Sophy, lying in bed listening to them, realised that she had no need of her alarm clock, and got up and dressed and was wondering what to do, when there was a tap on her door and two young women came in. She had met them both the previous evening, and tried in vain to remember their names, and when this proved impossible, she stood smiling at them, hoping they would speak first. They must have read her thoughts, for the taller of the two smiled back, revealing white teeth in a pretty mouth.

  ‘It is all strange, is it not? We take you to Ontbijt and then the theatre. I am Janie Gerritsma, Men’s Surgical, and this is Annie Visser, Women’s Surgical.’ She waved a hand at her companion—a small dark girl with black eyes. Sophy was glad to see that their uniform was very similar to her own, which Matron had insisted that she wore while she was in Utrecht. Only their caps were different—bonnet-shaped and hanging loose over their hair at the back—very becoming, thought Sophy, who nevertheless considered her own frilled muslin cap made her plain face rather more interesting.

  The dining room was full of nurses, all looking exactly alike. Sophy wondered how she was going to tell the first-year nurses from the second-year nurses, and the second-year nurses from the third-year nurses, and those in turn from the Ward Sisters. Her two companions sat her down between them at a table at the far end of the room, and she was greeted by a chorus of good mornings. She looked around her with relief. So this was the Sisters’ table; somehow or other she must remember their faces—their names would have to come later. She breakfasted off coffee, and slices of bread which she spread with butter and then, with some doubt, thin slices of cheese. There was sausage on the table too, and a rather red jam, but no marmalade; she decided to keep to the cheese and while she was eating it, derived an odd sort of comfort from the thought that Max was probably eating cheese too.

  The theatre block was a splendid edifice; Max had never commented on the theatre in London; he must have found it deplorably old-fashioned. Perhaps the fire had been a blessing in disguise, and the new theatre would be as modern and well equipped as this one. She was alarmed to find that she really didn’t care what the new theatre was like, and made haste to turn her rather unhappy thoughts to what she was doing. Max had been right, the nurses all spoke basic English, and with the aid of the dictionary she had had the forethought to bring with her, the difficulty of language was far less than she had expected. It was half past ten by the time she was satisfied that she knew her way about; and leaving the staff nurse to make sure the theatre was ready for the first case, she went into the Sister’s office. This, she considered, was the one thing she couldn’t quite approve of; it was a small cupboard-like room, with a desk and chair, a stool in one corner, and a magnificent wall fitment, built with an eye to keeping everything in its place at all times. She looked carefully at all the forms, each in its own little niche, and found a washbasin hidden behind a panel; all the drawers had labels, none of which she could understand. She would have to deal with that problem later. The only mirror in the room, above a set of shelves, was small and several inches too high for her. She stood on tip-toe, but she still couldn’t see more than the top of her cap, and she was reaching out for the stool, with the idea of standing on it, when Max said behind her,

  ‘Sister Smid is a foot taller than you; I’ll get someone to hang another one for you...’

  Sophy turned round to face him her heart hammering, furious that she had to blush every time she saw him. She said, in a carefully level voice, ‘Please don’t bother, sir; it isn’t worth it for the short time I shall be here.’

  He took no notice of this remark, merely raising his eyebrows and looking down his nose in a way which made her feel that her remark had been unnecessary. ‘Do you like the theatre?’ he asked. He had come to sit on the edge of the desk, and seemed to fill the little room.

  ‘Very much. I hope Uncle Giles will be able to see it, and get our theatre rebuilt along the same lines.’

  He had picked up the off-duty rota and didn’t look at her. ‘He will undoubtedly come and see it; in any case you can look forward to taking over a brand new one in London; though I don’t suppose that is of great importance if you intend marrying soon.’

  Sophy opened her mouth to reply, and realised that she had no idea what to say. To her surprise, for she hadn’t seen him look up, he observed, ‘You look surprised. Had you forgotten your Mr—er—Austin?’

  ‘No,’ said Sophy. Hadn’t he called the wretched mythical creature Morris last time he had been mentioned? She wasn’t sure.

  ‘Have I said something to upset you?’ Max asked blandly.

  ‘No—no,’ she said rather wildly, and plunged into a muddled speech in praise of her new surroundings. Max listened patiently while she repeated herself several times, and then said in a serious voice which belied the twinkle in his eyes, ‘I’m glad you like it so much; I hope that you will be happy working here.’

  He stood up. ‘Come and meet Dr Vos, the anaesthetist, and my houseman Jan Jansen.’ He held open the door and she went through and they walked down the short passage to the little anteroom leading to the anaesthetic room. ‘Have they found a box for you to stand on?’ he enquired. Sophy said, ‘Yes, thank you, sir,’ and there was no time for more. Dr Vos was surprisingly young, with vague blue eyes behind heavy horn-rimmed spectacles and not much hair. He looked studious; so did the house surgeon, who addressed her in pedantic English, bristling with long words. She excused herself after a minute, and went to scrub, and gown up in the unfamiliar green; she was putting on her gloves when Max came in, ready to scrub. He glanced at her; she looked composedly at him. It was always easier when she was masked. ‘Quite happy?’ he asked.

  Sophy adjusted her glove over the sleeve of her gown. ‘Perfectly, thank you, sir. I have asked Staff Nurse..no, Zuster Viske to scrub too.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Unnecessary, surely,’ he murmured, then turned his back and turned on the taps. She escaped to the theatre and absorbed herself setting her trolleys to rights and checking carefully with each nurse, so that she knew what each was doing. It wasn’t until the patient was on the table and she stood watching the men arranging the towels that she had a moment of unexpected, unreasonable panic, instantly checked by Max’s laconic voice asking her if she was ready.

  It was a straightforward list; thyroidectomy, cho-lescystectomy, a colostomy and the inevitable appendix. After the first few minutes she quite forgot she was in a foreign country. The nurses knew their work, and Max was surprisingly right—they seemed to understand her eyebrows as well as her own nurses at home. Leaving nothing to chance, Sop
hy had arranged to double check the swabs by means of fingers as well as voices; it worked very well, but she promised herself that before she went to bed, she would learn to count up to twenty.

  Max decided to have the coffee break after the first case. Sophy had noticed a room marked ‘Chirurgern’ opposite her office; she supposed the men would have their coffee there. It seemed not; as they left the theatre, Max said over his shoulder, ‘We’ll have it in your office, if you don’t mind the crush, Sister.’

  She realised the question was of no consequence; they were already crowding in through the office door, and she wasn’t near enough to reply anyway. One of the nurses came out of the kitchen with a tray and Sophy took it from her and edged her way in and put it down on the desk and squeezed her small person round to the chair. There was more room then, because the men sat on the low windowsill until Jan-sen pulled up the stool to sit by Sophy and engage her in conversation. She suspected that he was trying to improve his English. Max and Dr Vos gave her a brief glance but made no attempt to rescue her, and she was compelled to spend her coffee break listening to Jansen’s views on Dutch politics, about which she knew nothing anyway. The rest of the day passed quickly enough, with an easy afternoon list which finished at four-thirty. Max had said almost nothing to her and passed her on his way from the theatre with a cheerful but disinterested goodnight. She went off duty herself a short while after and found Gerritsma and Visser waiting for her. It was getting dark, but that didn’t prevent them taking her on a sight-seeing tour of Utrecht. They took her to the Esplanade Restaurant where they had coffee and carefully explained where she would find the best shops, and which churches were worth a visit, and where she could buy a meal cheaply on her days off.