by Neels, Betty
She was tired when she got back, which was just as well, as she fell fast asleep before she had too much time to think about Max. Indeed, for the next few days there was not much time to think of him or her own affairs. She developed a habit of avoiding him whenever possible which was easy enough, as he evinced no desire to exchange more than the common courtesies with her, and Jan Jansen could be relied upon to monopolise her during their coffee breaks. She grew heartily sick of answering his questions, and after a time began to ask questions of her own, so that she acquired a small vocabulary of useful words which she practised on everyone, even Max. She had learnt to count and took a childish pleasure in doing so in theatre, and in greeting the surgeons and Dr Vos in their own language when they arrived each day. They replied gravely enough, although on one occasion when Max had come into the scrub room on his own, he had not only acknowledged her greeting, but followed it up with something in his own language which she was quite unable to understand. She had asked him what he had said, and he had laughed and told her that he didn’t think she was quite ready for the translation yet. He had looked at her in such a way that she had found herself blushing hatefully, and had escaped to the theatre as soon as she could.
She was to have a day off on Saturday, and on Friday afternoon, with only a short list, she found herself free by four o’clock. The men had gone, and she went in search of Viske, who would take over until Sunday morning; and then herself went off duty. The swing doors closed soundlessly behind her, and she started down the stairs trying to decide how she would fill in her evening. A walk, she supposed, and then she could wash her hair. She was on the ground floor by now, passing the rather grand doors leading to the committee room and consultants’ room. The first was shut; Max was standing in the doorway of the second. ‘We were just coming to look for you,’ he said. He sounded quite friendly, and she stopped in front of him and he moved aside so that she could see another man with him. Almost the same height and almost as big, but somewhat younger, with black hair, beginning to silver at the edges and very bright blue eyes which twinkled delightfully. He had an astonishingly beaky nose, and wore spectacles.
‘May I introduce Professor van Essen?’ He had looked enquiringly at him as he said it; Sophy wondered why. ‘Coenraad, this is Miss Sophia Greenslade.’
Sophy found herself smiling as they shook hands. ‘I think I should explain at once why I asked Max to find you,’ he said. ‘I have an English wife who wants very much to meet you. She was also a nurse, you see, and when she heard that you were here, she asked me to find you and take you back with me to meet her. Max tells me you are off duty: Maybe you already have plans, but if you have not, will you not spend the evening with us? You must forgive the short notice, but we should very much like you to come...’
Sophy hesitated. She hadn’t looked at Max, still standing in the doorway; she wondered if he would be going too. ‘If you are wondering about clothes,’ she heard the professor say gently, ‘my wife and I are on our own this evening; we shan’t change.’
She smiled suddenly at him, and became instantly a very pretty girl. ‘I should love to come.’
‘Good, shall we say half an hour? I’ll be at the front door.’ He turned to Max. ‘What about you, Max? Is it any good asking you to come along?’
Sophy watched the frown gather on Max’s face. ‘Impossible, I’m afraid.’
His companion glanced at him and said smoothly, ‘Ah, yes, Friday; I had forgotten.’ His eye met Sophy’s and she was able to say, ‘I won’t keep you waiting, Professor.’ She went without saying goodbye to Max, for he didn’t even look at her as she turned to go.
She was almost ready when Gerritsma knocked and walked in.
‘You go out?’ she enquired, then sat on the bed and said, ‘Tell me about it.’
Sophy, busy with her face, told. Gerritsma nodded when she had finished.
‘This professor; he is a well-known pediatrician in Amsterdam—he is nice—he is also from’...she paused, seeking a word, then tried in Dutch, ‘From Adel—you understand?’ she asked hopefully.
‘No,’ said Sophy. She put down her lipstick and got her dictionary and they looked at it together.
‘Noble,’ said Gerritsma; she sounded faintly reverent, ‘He is the Baron Blankenaar van Essen.’
Sophy went back to the important business in hand, disappointingly unimpressed, and wondered why Max had introduced him as Professor van Essen. She was roused from her thoughts by the Dutch girl.
‘Professor van Oosterwelde is also Jonkheer,’ she was saying.
Sophy gave her reflection a long look. ‘How plain you are, my dear,’ she murmured, and then, so that Gerritsma would hear her, ‘Yes, I know.’ She paused, half way into her coat. There was something she wanted to know. ‘Where does he go on Friday evenings?’ she asked. She buttoned her coat, and glanced across at her friend, who looked uncomfortable. She had to know. Tell me,’ said Sophy, ‘but do be quick, I mustn’t keep that nice man waiting.’
‘Professor van Oosterwelde goes to his home.’ Gerritsma stopped.
‘Go on,’ said Sophy. It was like waiting for the dentist to pull a tooth.
‘He spends the weekends there; although he comes into hospital at once if he is needed.’ Janie got up and went to the door. ‘I only tell what I hear, you understand—always he has Mevrouw van der Wijde with him, for the weekend, as his guest.’ She had her hand on the door now. ‘They spend much time together, and always the weekends.’ She opened the door, not looking at Sophy. ‘I do not like to tell you this, Greenslade, but you ask, niet waar? I see you later—I hope you have much pleasure this evening.’
Sophy stood where she was. ‘Much pleasure’ was the last thing she felt like at the moment. Perhaps it wasn’t true—on the other hand, Janie wasn’t a gossip, nor was she unkind or spiteful. Sophy shook her head as if to shake her unhappy thoughts away, and went downstairs.
Professor van Essen was lounging by the front door, smoking a pipe and talking to Hans, with whom he appeared to be on the best of terms. He saw her coming and waved his pipe at her.
‘There you are, punctual to the minute!’
It was cold outside; Sophy shivered in her thick tweed coat. It was nice to see the dark green Rolls-Royce parked by the door. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him if all the professors of surgery in Holland owned Rolls-Royces, but she decided that it might sound rude.
He settled her in comfortably beside him, remarking in a comfortable voice, ‘Now we shall soon be home. I live in Amsterdam, but it’s only half an hour’s run: it’s a good fast road, but rather dull, I’m afraid.’ He carried on a gentle conversation while they were driving through Utrecht, putting her at her ease, so that very soon she was chattering away as though she had known him for years. He drove very fast, and skilfully, with a calm placidity which she found very soothing, but when they reached the outskirts of Amsterdam he slowed down through the brightly lighted streets, so that she could see something of the city, and presently turned into the Heerengracht and drew up before an imposing old house facing the canal. They went up the double steps to a massive front door which could have withstood a siege, but yielded immediately to the professor’s Yale key, swinging back to reveal a large square hall. Sophy, gently encouraged by the professor, stepped inside; it was like stepping into a bygone age. The black and white titles on the floor and the dark panelled walls were a fitting background for the massive pillow cupboard against one wall and the heavy side tables, each with its old Delft vase loaded with flowers. There was an ornately carved staircase curving up on one side; the professor’s wife was sitting on its bottom step, waiting for them. She sprang up as they entered: a girl of Sophy’s age and height, but there, Sophy noted without rancour, the resemblance ended, for this girl was lovely, with enormous brown eyes and vivid red hair, piled high. She was wearing a sapphire blue dress, very simple. ‘Cashmere,’ thought Sophy, watching its wearer flit across the smooth tiles and fling herself into her hus
band’s arms. He caught her neatly, kissed her quickly, and turned her round to face Sophy. It was then that Sophy saw the baby—a very small baby—tucked under his mother’s arm; he had his father’s bright blue eyes, and for good measure a great deal of dark hair and an embryonic beaky nose. It was quite obvious that he had inherited his father’s placid disposition as well, for he made no demur when he was transferred from one parent to the other.
‘My love,’ said the professor, ‘here is Miss Sophia Greenslade come to spend a few hours with us.’ He turned to Sophy. ‘My wife, Adelaide.’
The girls shook hands. ‘You are a dear to come at such short notice,’ said Adelaide warmly, ‘and we’re both so glad you could,’
Sophy said, ‘It’s so kind of you to ask me, especially as I’m a complete stranger...’
‘Oh, no. We know an awful lot about you—Max told us.’
There was a tiny pause and Sophy’s cheeks became faintly pink, then the Baron said easily, ‘What do you think of our son?’
Sophy put out a finger to have it grasped by a miniature hand. ‘He’s gorgeous,’ she said. ‘What is his name?’
‘Coenraad,’ said his mother, and looked at her husband and smiled. ‘At least he was christened that. We call him Champers.’
‘A little joke we had before he was born,’ explained his father.
‘I’ll take Miss—no, I can’t tell you Miss anything; I shall call you Sophy, do you mind?—upstairs and we’ll have a drink before Champers goes to bed.’ Sophy was swept upstairs to a large and beautiful bedroom, and her hostess sat on the bed and watched her tidy herself, talking in her soft voice meanwhile.
‘I hope you’re hungry,’ she said, ‘for Coenraad eats like a giant, and so do I.’ She looked down at her slim person with some satisfaction. ‘I can eat anything.’
‘So can I,’ said Sophy, ‘and I’m nearly always hungry, Baroness.’
Adelaide jumped off the bed. ‘Will you call me Adelaide? I know we’ve only just met, but if you call me Baroness I feel matronly.’
They giggled comfortably together and went downstairs to join the Professor, who was sitting before the fire in the drawing room, with his son draped across a vast expanse of waistcoat. He got up as they entered the room. ‘If someone will take Champers, I’ll get the drinks,’ he said.
Sophy found herself in an enormous velvet-covered chair, with Champers gazing at her with sleepy blue eyes from the hollow of her arm; every now and again he smiled windily. They had just finished their drinks when his tiny face creased alarmingly and his minuscule mouth opened to let out a man-sized roar. This performance, not unnaturally, drew forth cries of admiration from his companions, and he was borne away by his mother amidst praise of his sagacity in knowing when his feed was due.
It was later in the evening, after they had dined deliriously at a table set with silver and crystal and fine china in a rather formal dining room. The Professor had excused himself to read his letters in the study and make a telephone call to the hospital where he was in charge of the children’s clinic, and the two girls were alone. Conversation had not flagged the whole evening, but Max had not once been mentioned. Adelaide settled herself more comfortably opposite Sophy, and asked comfortably,
‘What is Max van Oosterwelde like to work for?’
‘Very nice,’ said Sophy. ‘Very neat and easy in theatre, and never throws his weight about.’
Adelaide nodded her head. ‘I thought he would be,’ she said. ‘We see quite a lot of him, you know, he and Coenraad have been friends for years.’ She looked across at her guest. ‘He told us how he had met you...’
Sophy blushed. ‘Did he?’ She wriggled in her chair. ‘I didn’t think...we met once or twice outside the hospital—we share a godfather, perhaps you know?’
Adelaide appeared to have no difficulty in understanding this muddled speech. ‘He’s a lot older than you, isn’t he?’
Sophy’s pleasant voice had a faint edge to it. ‘Oh no. I’m almost twenty-six, you know; Max is only thirty-nine.’ She looked challengingly at her hostess, who met her gaze with one of complete innocence, and a request for a detailed account of the fire.
‘For,’ she said, ‘you know what men are; Max didn’t tell us the half of it.’
Sophy complied, rather haltingly at first; but after a little while, her tale began to glow with the warmth of her feeling for Max. When she had finished she looked rather shyly at Adelaide, suddenly uncertain as to whether she had given herself away. Apparently not. Adelaide was looking interested, but that was all.
‘I should think he would be a tower of strength,’ she commented, ‘like Coenraad. What a pity he couldn’t come tonight—but of course, it’s Friday...’ She glanced at Sophy, who returned her look steadily.
‘I know about that,’ she said. ‘It was explained to me.’ She watched the wary look on Adelaide’s face change to one of relief.
‘Oh, good,’ Adelaide smiled cheerfully. ‘I didn’t know if you had been told—we don’t talk about it, you see. Tineke van der Wijde is a dear, isn’t she?’
Sophy drew a sharp breath; the conversation was getting difficult. She said. ‘Yes, she is, and so pretty too,’ and made haste to change the conversation, helped providentially by the return of the Professor. Max wasn’t mentioned again that evening; and on their way back in the car, sitting between her new friends, Sophy joined in a conversation on a variety of topics, none of which held any pitfalls.
It was only later, when they had wished her a cheerful Tot ziens at the hospital entrance, that Sophy found time to wonder why Adelaide had been so very relieved when she had said that she knew all about Max and his friendship with Tineke van der Wijde, but thinking about it made her unhappy. She jumped into bed and started to write a long letter home.
She spent the next morning looking at the shops and even bought one or two things in an experimental fashion, and then went to the Esplanade Restaurant for coffee. It was large and cheerful and full of people. She ordered a second cup and sat sipping it while she painstakingly pored over the headlines of a Dutch newspaper; it took a long while to puzzle out even one line with the aid of her dictionary, but it was surprising how fast she was acquiring new words.
She glanced up idly as she folded the paper, preparing to go. Tineke van der Wijde and Max were sitting together at a table against the farthest wall. Their heads were very close together, and they were deep in talk. Sophy put her coffee cup gently back into its saucer, aware of a pain that was almost physical at the sight of them both. She buttoned her coat and pulled on her gloves—she would feel better outside, where she wouldn’t be able to see them. She got up; they were unlikely to see her, and she wouldn’t have to pass their table. Max turned his head, and their eyes met for a brief moment before she turned away quickly and made for the entrance. Once there, she stepped outside briskly, unaware of where she was going. After a little while, she found herself in the Agnietenstraat. She stopped and looked about her; someone had told her that the Central Museum should be visited and it was right before her. She went inside, bought a guide book and concentrated fiercely upon its contents; forcing herself to take an interest in the lovely things on display. By the end of the afternoon she had learned quite a lot about old Dutch silver and porcelain, and still more about a great many paintings. It was a pity that all this extra information had in no way prevented her from thinking about Max to the exclusion of everything else.
Chapter 7
Sophy, to her surprise, slept soundly, although her last waking thought had been of Max and Teke van der Wijde; and any further thinking was effectively prevented by the sudden rush of work in the theatre. Nothing serious—at least not serious enough to necessitate Max’s presence—but the sudden spate of appendices requiring immediate attention, interlarded with two boys who had fallen through a plate glass window, kept everyone in the theatre busy for the greater part of the day. She was free at five o’clock, however, and wandered rather aimlessly across to her room, to
be immediately pounced upon when she got there by Janie and Annie, who stood over her while she changed her clothes, and walked her briskly through the quiet, chilly streets to one of the ancient earthworks on the perimeter of the city’s encircling canal. They stopped before an old and picturesque building, and Janie opened its door with the air of a benevolent conjuror, took Sophy by the arm and drew her inside. They paused just inside the door, and Annie whispered, ‘This is a pest house,’ and Sophy gave her a startled look, then smiled when Annie went on, ‘Built in 1567.’ She was a stickler for facts.
There weren’t many people there, and they sat at the back, with Sophy in the middle having the hymns found for her as though she was a small girl who hadn’t learnt to read. The hymns were sung rather slowly, several to tunes which she knew, which made it all seem very much like home. She felt faintly sad, but then forgot it in watching the gloved sidesmen gathering their collections into the little velvet bags hanging at the end of the long cane each of them carried.
The sermon seemed long, doubtless because she couldn’t understand a word of it, but she sat quietly, thinking about home and then, presently, about Max. She would be seeing him in the morning—she smiled at the thought and caught the frowning eye of a severe-looking Matron who stared at her in a shocked way before transferring her own gaze to the preacher.
The next morning was grey and wet. Sophy, pinning on her cap, studied her face in the mirror; it looked as washed-out as the weather outside. She gave the cap a final tweak. It was fortunate that she would be wearing a mask for most of the day. She went down to the dining room; exchanged laborious greetings with her neighbours, and ate her bread and butter and cheese without any appetite. She was crossing the entrance hall, feeling morose, when Hans called to her.