by Betty Neels
Jenny spooned tea into the pot. ‘Well, I’ve been away for two weeks,’ she observed, ‘so I suppose it’s fair enough, though it’s beastly to come back to.’
Clare eyed her with interest. ‘Had a good time at that ancestral hall of yours? Seven-course dinners every evening, I suppose, and a dress for each one…’ She spoke without rancour; everyone liked Jenny and nobody grudged her her exalted background. ‘Not engaged to that Toby of yours yet?’
Jenny spooned sugar into their mugs and reached for the biscuit tin. ‘No—it’s silly of me, but I just know we wouldn’t suit. Well, what I mean is…’ she frowned, wishing to make herself clear: ‘We’ve known each other simply years and years, and there’s no…no…’
‘Spice? I know what you mean—you’re so used to each other you don’t even quarrel.’
‘He has a very even temper…’
‘Huh—so there’s nothing for you to sharpen your bad moods on, is there? You need someone with a temper as fine as yours, my dear, without an ounce of meekness in him, to give as good as he gets.’
‘It doesn’t sound very comfortable,’ protested Jenny.
‘Who wants to be comfortable? Chris and I fight quite a bit, you know, and we’re only engaged. Heaven knows what it’ll be like when we marry, but it’ll never be dull.’ Clare handed her mug over for more tea. ‘Which reminds me, I saw the sweetest wedding dress the other day…’
The pair of them became absorbed in the interesting world of fashion.
Jenny had to get up during the night, not for the massive RTA which Clare had prophesied, but for a little boy who had fallen out of his bedroom window to the pavement below; it took hours to patch him up and his chance of survival was so slim as to be almost non-existent. Jenny, going back to bed at three o’clock in the morning, lay awake worrying about him for another hour, so that when she got down to breakfast at half past seven her pretty face was pale and tired, but the news that the child was still alive cheered her up and she ate her breakfast with a fair appetite, wishing, as she always did, that she was back at Dimworth, having her breakfast in the little sitting room overlooking the water garden, with Aunt Bess sitting opposite, reading indignant pieces from the newspaper and calling everybody, impartially, a fool.
There was a heavy list for the morning and Celia Drake, assuming the mantle Miss Dock had temporarily laid down, was at her most trying; if the morning’s work was to run smoothly, then both of them would have to work, sharing the cases. But Celia, topheavy with importance, had elected to take the easiest of the list and leave the long-drawn-out ones to Jenny, which meant that Jenny wasn’t going to get off duty punctually; the list would drag on until after dinner and there would be a wild scramble to get the afternoon list started on time, and although it wasn’t a long one, Jenny guessed who would be scrubbing for it.
She eyed the cases she was expected to deal with and frowned heavily, her lovely hazel eyes dark with temper, while her coppery hair seemed to glow. Celia had retired to the office, probably to sit at the desk and dream of the day when she would—perhaps—be Theatre Superintendent. Jenny poked her indignant head round the door and gave her a fuming look.
‘Come on out and do your share, Celia,’ she invited waspishly. ‘You’re not in Old Hickory’s shoes yet, you know. We’ll share this list, half and half, and if you don’t like the idea, I’ll drop everything and go off sick.’
Celia might hand the instruments with éclat, but her wits weren’t all that quick. ‘Go off sick?’ she wanted to know. ‘But you’re not…’
Jenny nodded her bright head vigorously. ‘Oh, but I am—sick of you. What’s it to be?’
‘Oh, all right,’ declared Celia peevishly, and added nastily: ‘I don’t see why you should have it all your own way just because there’s a baron in your family.’
‘I’ve got his red hair,’ Jenny pointed out, ‘and his nasty temper.’
The day was long and hot and tiring; the cases ran over their times and small complications cropped up which no one could have foreseen; consequently by the end of the morning’s list the surgeons were a little edgy, the housemen ravenous because they hadn’t had a coffee break, and the nurses’ dinnertime hopelessly late. Jenny saw the last case out of theatre, sent as many nurses as she could spare to their meal, drank a hasty cup of tea with the surgeons, and aided by the one nurse she had kept back, started on getting ready for the afternoon’s list. Her staff nurse would be back in time to scrub for the first case, and the list was a straightforward one. She might even have time to eat a sandwich and have another cup of tea.
She did, while Staff took the cholestectomy, and as she made her hasty meal she wrote up the books and then put the rest of the paper work on one side before going into theatre to scrub for the rest of the list. They were finished by five o’clock, but there was still the desk work to get through. Celia, with a much shorter list, had already gone off duty, and Jenny sat in her office, writing swiftly in her rather wild handwriting, one ear cocked at the various familiar sounds coming from the theatre unit. She had two nurses on now, and a part-time staff nurse coming on duty at six o’clock. With luck, she would be finished by then.
It was too late to go out by the time she got off duty, and besides, she was tired; she took a bath and put on slacks and blouse and went to her supper, then sat around in the Sisters’ sitting room, talking over the inevitable cups of tea. She was on the point of going to her bed when Miss Mellow arrived to request her presence in the telephone box in the hall. She spoke grudgingly, for she disliked what she called running messages, and she disliked Jenny too, partly because she was a pretty girl and partly because she came from that class of society which Miss Mellow always referred to as They. Jenny, who didn’t like Miss Mellow either but had the good manners not to show it, thanked her nicely and went without haste to the callbox; it would be Toby—she sighed as she picked up the receiver. But it wasn’t Toby, it was Doctor Toms. His voice, as mild as usual but carrying a note of urgency, surprised her. He wanted her at Dimworth. Miss Creed was ill and was asking for her.
‘Now?’ asked Jenny.
‘Yes, my dear. Your aunt is very insistent that you should come.’
‘Those headaches!’ she exclaimed, remembering.
‘Very severe—I want her to be seen by a specialist, but she says she’ll do nothing until you’re here.’
‘Blackouts?’ asked Jenny.
‘Two today—probably she’s had others and has told no one.’
Jenny glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll come at once, just as soon as I can fix things here. Will you ask someone to leave the side door open please—I ought to be with you by two o’clock.’
‘Good girl! I shall be here, Jenny, with your aunt.’
She rang off and raced out of the home and across to the hospital, Night Super would be on duty by now, but heaven knew how far she had got with her first round. Jenny took five precious minutes tracking her down, and ran her to earth at last in the children’s ward, where she held a hurried whispered conversation with her. Mrs Dent was a sensible, kindly woman, who listened without interruption before saying that of course Jenny must go at once and she would see that all the right people were informed in the morning. She even asked Jenny if she had enough money and if she would like a hot drink before she went. Jenny said yes, thank you and no, thank you with real gratitude and went back through the quiet hospital to her room, to fling clothes into a bag, explain her sudden departure to Celia, and go to the car park behind the hospital where she kept the Morgan.
She thanked heaven silently as she turned into the almost empty street that she had filled up on her way into London; there was enough petrol in the tank to get her to Dimworth. It was getting on for eleven o’clock by now, but once clear of London she made good time on the motorway; the clock tower bell chimed two as she stopped the car outside the private wing of the house. There was a light showing through the transom over the side door, and when she turned the handle, it opened sile
ntly under her hand. She stopped to bolt it before running up the stairs and along the corridor to her aunt’s room. The door was slightly open and when she pushed it wide she saw Doctor Toms there, sitting in an arm-chair by the bed. He got up when she went in, but before he could speak Aunt Bess, her commanding voice a mere thread of hesitating sound, spoke.
‘Jenny! You made good time. Don’t let Doctor Toms frighten you. All this fuss about a headache…’
Jenny went to the bed and looked down at her aunt. She didn’t like what she saw. Her aunt had looked off colour when she had left only two days earlier, but now she looked ill; her breathing was bad, her colour ghastly, and the pupils of her pale blue eyes were fixed and small. All the same, the lady of the house hadn’t lost any of her fire. She spoke now in a snappy voice. ‘Doctor Toms wants me to be seen by some puffed-up professor or other—he happens to be staying with him. I won’t hear of it.’
‘Why not, Aunt Bess?’
‘He’s a foreigner for a start,’ Miss Creed’s voice was slightly slurred. ‘He’s bound to be too big for his boots and make something out of nothing and then charge me a small fortune.’
Jenny had perched on the bed beside her aunt. Now she took one of the hands lying idle on the coverlet and held it between her own. ‘Look,’ she said persuasively, ‘why not let this man take a look at you? If you don’t like him you can say so and then you need not see him again—and as for the small fortune, you know quite well that you could pay a dozen professors and hardly notice it.’ She lifted her aunt’s hand up to her cheek for a moment. ‘To please me?’ she coaxed.
‘Oh, very well,’ agreed her aunt grumpily. ‘You’re just like your mother, she could charm water from a stone. But mind you, if I don’t like him, I shall tell him so.’ She stared at Jenny for a moment and added in a confused way: ‘I don’t feel very well, Jenny.’
‘No, I know, my dear, but you will feel better, I promise you, and I’ll stay with you. Now will you rest for a little while? I’m going to talk to Doctor Toms for a few minutes and then I’ll come back and sit with you.’
Miss Creed nodded, seeing nothing unusual in the fact that someone should forgo their night’s sleep in order to keep her company; she wasn’t a selfish woman, but she had been used to having her own way and people to carry out her wishes without question for so long that the idea that it might be inconvenient for them to do so never crossed her mind.
Jenny waited until her aunt had closed her eyes and then followed the doctor out of the room, closing the door softly for her aunt had sharp ears.
‘She’s ill, isn’t she?’ she whispered, and when the doctor nodded. ‘Can you get this professor quickly?’
Doctor Toms nodded again. ‘By sheer good fortune he happens to be spending some days with me—we’ve been friends for some years and he has been lecturing at Bristol; he still has several lectures to give, so he won’t be going back for a week or so.’
‘Back where?’
‘Holland. He’s Dutch.’
Jenny frowned, her mind vaguely filled with windmills, canals and bottles of gin. ‘Oh—Is he all right? Clever, I mean.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Doctor Toms. ‘You know what I suspect your aunt has?’
‘Subdural haematoma,’ hazarded Jenny.
He looked surprised and then said: ‘Of course you come across them pretty often. I’m not sure, of course, that’s why I would like Professor van Draak te Solendijk to see her.’
Jenny’s eyes opened very wide. ‘Good grief, what a frightful name!’
The doctor smiled faintly. ‘Everyone calls him van Draak.’
‘Thank goodness for that. Aunt may not like him.’
Her companion smiled again. ‘I fancy she will. Now I must get back home. I’ll be here round about nine o’clock in the morning, but telephone if you’re worried. What about your sleep?’
‘I’ll doze and get Florrie up between six and seven—that’ll give me a chance to have a bath and breakfast.’ She smiled at him. ‘Thanks for letting me know, Doctor Toms. Poor Aunt Bess, we must get her better.’
Her aunt was dozing restlessly when she went back into the room. Jenny settled herself in a chair, kicking off her shoes and arranging the table lamp so that it didn’t disturb the bed’s occupant. She was hungry and longed for a cup of tea, but she would have to wait for it. She had no intention of disturbing Florrie or anyone else at that hour. They must have had a busy, worrying time of it—besides, she had told Aunt Bess that she would stay with her. She settled herself as comfortably as possible and prepared to sit out the rest of the night.
CHAPTER TWO
MISS CREED SEEMED a little better in the morning, but Jenny, making her ready for the day, wasn’t too happy about her, but there were things she had to do. She left Aunt Bess in Florrie’s capable hands and went away to unpack her things, have a bath and change her clothes. Doctor Toms arrived just as she was finished breakfast and took her back upstairs with him while he examined his patient again, made a few non-committal remarks which only served to make her snort indignantly and then took Jenny aside to explain worriedly that there was an urgent maternity case he had to go to, but that the professor would be over at the earliest possible moment on his return from Yeovil hospital where he had been delivering a series of lectures to post-graduates. He went away then, warning Jenny that it seemed very likely that her aunt would have to go to hospital herself.
Jenny set about making her aunt as comfortable as possible while she kept an ever watchful eye on her condition. There was no dramatic change, but certainly it was deteriorating steadily. Soon after one o’clock Florrie came to relieve her for her lunch, and stayed while Jenny did a brisk round of the old house, making sure that everything was ready for the visitors. The clock tower chimed twice as she went through the door in the entrance hall and up the circular stairs which led to the lobby on the next floor, and the private wing.
There was someone in the lobby and the small apartment seemed crowded by reason of the vast size of the man standing there, and he wasn’t only large, but tall too, with iron-grey hair and bright blue eyes, and although he wasn’t young he was nonetheless handsome. Jenny spared a second to register that fact before saying pleasantly:
‘I think you must have missed your way; this leads to the private part of the house.’
She was affronted by his cool: ‘I am well aware of that, young lady—perhaps you would tell whoever is looking after Miss Creed that I am here. Professor van Draak.’
‘Te Solendijk,’ added Jenny, who had a splendid memory for names. ‘I’m looking after her, I’m her niece, Janet Wren, so perhaps you’ll tell me anything I should know when you’ve seen her—treatment and so on,’ she pointed out kindly, for he looked so surprised.
His thick eyebrows lifted. ‘I hardly think I need to discuss these things with you, Miss…er…it is surely not your business.’
He had a deep voice, probably a delight to listen to when he was in a good mood, which he was not, Jenny decided. She turned her head to look out of the window at the small groups of people coming along the drive towards the entrance and spoke over her shoulder. ‘Of course it’s my business; Miss Creed is my aunt and I shall be nursing her. You have no reason to be so cross, you know.’
He stared down his arrogant nose at her. ‘I am not cross, young lady. I do not allow my feelings to take control of me at any time.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You poor soul,’ she exclaimed warmly, ‘it must be like walking about in a plastic bag!’
He didn’t smile, although his eyes gleamed beneath their heavy lids. ‘You are foolish, Miss Wren, for in that case I should be dead.’
‘That’s what I meant.’ She delivered this telling shot with a sweet smile and opened the door. ‘If you would come with me, Professor…’
He stalked down the corridor beside her, making no attempt to speak, and Jenny, keeping up as best she could, was quite relieved when they reached her aunt’s room. At the door, before she op
ened it, he said evenly: ‘You do understand that Doctor Toms was unable to come with me—it is a little unusual…’
‘Not to worry,’ Jenny told him cheerfully, ‘he’s an old family friend, you know. Aunt Bess won’t mind,’ she paused, ‘unless you do?’
‘It is usual for the patients’ own doctor to be present,’ he pointed out in his almost faultless English. ‘I am a foreigner—your aunt…’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that.’ She spoke reassuringly. ‘She doesn’t like foreigners as a rule, but I expect she’ll like you.’
She was about to open the door when his hand came down on hers, preventing her. ‘Why do you say that?’
She smiled at him, wishing he didn’t look so unfriendly. ‘You look the part,’ she told him, and when he took his hand away, opened the door.
Florrie, with a few urgent whispers to Jenny, went away, and Miss Creed said sharply from the bed: ‘Jenny? Where have you been? And when is that foreigner coming?’
‘He’s here now,’ said the Professor, his manner so changed that Jenny looked at him in surprise. He didn’t look angry and withdrawn any more, but calm and assured, a rock for any patient to lean upon and pour out their symptoms. His voice was gentle too and although nothing could alter the masterful angle of his nose, his manner was such to win the confidence of the most cantankerous of patients. He had walked across the room, to stand by the bed in full view of his patient while Jenny introduced him, returning Miss Creed’s fierce stare with a mild look which Jenny found hard to believe.
‘You will forgive me,’ said the Professor suavely, ‘that I should come in this fashion without our mutual friend Doctor Toms. I believe he has explained the circumstances to Miss…er…’ He paused and looked enquiringly at Jenny, who gave him a stony stare and didn’t utter a sound; if he wanted to call her Miss Er for the rest of their acquaintance, then let him! She got her own back presently, though.