by Betty Neels
The next two days followed the same pattern. By the fourth morning Araminta told herself that Thelma had improved just a little. She was eating—not nearly enough, but it was a start, and she was certainly brighter in herself, even talking about a few hours’ shopping, and Araminta had entered into her plans wholeheartedly. Probably their day at the shops would never materialise, but Thelma was enjoying the prospect of it. It seemed only too evident that she had had very little pleasure in the last few months.
They arrived in good time for Thelma’s eleven o’clock appointment, so that there was time to look around them while they waited. The hospital was old, but the outpatients’ department had been modernised and made very comfortable in the process. It was, naturally enough, packed, but Araminta would have been surprised if it had been otherwise. There seemed to be plenty of nurses too. She watched them with interest as they went about their work, quite unaware of the glances she was attracting to her own person, and even if she had been she would have thought little of it. She had accepted her honey-coloured hair as something a little out of the common at which other people stared, years ago. She turned to smile at Thelma, already tiring, but cheerful still.
‘Not much longer, I think—you’re all right?’
‘I’m fine, and I don’t mind waiting, it’s nice to see so many people. I’ve loved these last few days—it’s been such fun with you here.’ Thelma smiled slowly. ‘You do look nice in that suit.’ She studied Araminta’s outfit, and indeed it was worth a look; its russet brown, flecked with tawny orange and complemented by Araminta’s best leather handbag and gloves, was decidedly eye-catching, as were her elegant brogue shoes.
‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ countered Araminta. ‘I like that blue coat. When we go shopping let’s look for a dress to match it—corduroy perhaps, or fine wool…’ She launched into an undemanding chat about clothes which filled in the time nicely until their turn came at last. But when the nurse called Thelma’s name and came towards them, Thelma said urgently: ‘Araminta, you must come with me—I can’t…I…’
‘Why not?’ asked Araminta matter-of-factly, and tucked a firm hand under her arm, glancing at the nurse as she did so. The nurse smiled and nodded and led the way past the rows of other patients to one of the doors facing them, and opened it.
The man behind the desk was young still, with a serious face and a quiet voice. He wished Thelma a sober good morning and looked enquiringly at Araminta, who said quickly: ‘I hope you don’t mind, Mrs Shaw asked me to come in with her.’
He nodded. ‘You are of her family?’
‘I’m her husband’s cousin—I’m staying with her for a little while.’
He nodded again and bent to read the papers before him. ‘You should have come two weeks ago,’ he stated, and listened while Thelma explained, not very clearly. When she had finished, he said: ‘I should like to examine you, Mrs Shaw, and take a blood test, for that is long overdue. We will do that first.’
He took his time with her and Araminta liked the way he put his questions, careful not to allow Thelma to guess how ill she was. He was still writing notes when the nurse came back with the path lab results of the blood count. The doctor read it with the expressionless face Araminta had come to know so well, and laid it on one side. It was only after he had written another line or two that he said casually: ‘Well, I think it’s time the professor saw you again, Mrs Shaw—it’s, let me see, two months since you saw him, isn’t it?’ I’ll see if he can spare a minute or two.’
He gathered up his notes, nodded to the nurse and disappeared, and Thelma said worriedly: ‘Oh, dear, why do I have to see the specialist? Am I worse?’
‘Of course not,’ said Araminta soothingly. ‘It’s just a routine thing, love. You see, you’re under this consultant, whoever he is, but he can’t see all his patients every week. He sees them the first time, decides what’s to be done for them, tells his registrars the treatment he wants done and then casts his eye over them every month or so.’
She turned round as the door opened, to admit the doctor who had been examining Thelma. With him was Doctor van Sibbelt.
CHAPTER FOUR
ARAMINTA SAT with her head over one shoulder, staring at him, her mouth very slightly open, feeling she had just travelled downwards in a lift very fast. She had wondered if she would ever see him again, and had even admitted to herself that it would be rather exciting to do so; only this was more than exciting. She closed her mouth and eyed him in silence.
Doctor van Sibbelt wished Thelma a pleasant good morning, said briefly and disappointingly: ‘So we meet again, Miss Shaw,’ and glanced at the notes he was carrying. After a moment he went on: ‘Mrs Shaw, I think that, as you are here, it would be a good idea for you to have a blood transfusion—you won’t object to that?’ He paused to smile at her with great charm. ‘It would save you coming back this afternoon, would it not? and it will take only a short time. After an hour’s rest you will be able to go home.’
Thelma looked worried. ‘Oh—must I really? Thomas doesn’t know—shall I feel all right afterwards?’ She added uncertainly: ‘I thought that those pills I’ve been taking…wouldn’t they do as well?’
His voice was reassuringly calm and decidedly soothing. ‘They have done you a great deal of good, but if you have this transfusion, it will do the work of any number of pills in a fraction of the time. You will feel the benefit almost immediately.’ He smiled again and questioned gently: ‘You are becoming a little tired lately?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘I can promise you that you will have a great deal more energy, Mrs Shaw. If you would go with Nurse—just across the passage. Miss Shaw can wait for you.’
His manner was quiet but compelling. Thelma cast a look at Araminta, who smiled and nodded encouragingly, and followed the nurse from the room. The door had barely closed behind them when Doctor van Sibbelt muttered something to the registrar, who went out too. Only then did he sit himself down.
‘Perhaps you can explain why Mrs Shaw hasn’t been for her check-ups?’ he observed coldly. ‘I see that she has missed the last two, and over the period she has been coming to us she has missed several more—and this last one,’ he picked up the path lab form and waved it at her, ‘her haemoglobin is thirty-two per cent. We’ll give her a transfusion and that will keep her on her feet a little longer, but she will need another in a few days’time, and then another and another…a rapid deterioration.’ He sighed. ‘Didn’t you see? You are a nurse…’
‘Of course I saw! I arrived four days ago and found her sitting in a chair in her room, too tired to dress herself. My cousin, her husband, refuses to admit that she’s ill. She’s been managing somehow, but she hasn’t bothered to eat and she hadn’t been out for weeks…’
‘They are poor people?’
‘Certainly not—Thomas runs a Mercedes and the flat is in the Berestraat, which is quite a good neighbourhood, so I’m told, and it’s stuffed with expensive furniture.’
‘She should have a companion or daily nurse—we advised that some time ago, I cannot think why…’ He paused at Araminta’s impatient little snort, and then: ‘Start at the beginning and tell me all about it,’ he invited.
She hesitated, but only for a moment. The ill-tempered man who had rescued her in Cornwall had been wholly swallowed up by this quiet, well-dressed man who was so sure of himself. She could think of no one to whom she would rather unburden herself. She drew a deep breath and plunged into her sorry tale. When she had finished she made a small choking sound and declared furiously: ‘Men!’
Her listener hadn’t interrupted her once, but now he said with the faintest of smiles. ‘We aren’t all Thomases, my dear girl.’ His tone became brisk. ‘We have to think what is best for Mrs Shaw—I think you should take her home presently and put her to bed and give her her supper there. In the morning she will feel very much better, but as you know, that isn’t going to last long, but while it does, I suggest that you get her out as m
uch as she feels she can manage—let her feel, she’s leading a normal life as far as it’s possible. I’ll arrange for her to come in for another transfusion on—let me see—two days’time, and in the meantime I’ll get my secretary to make an appointment for her husband to see me.’ He got up and crossed the room and stood looking down at her. ‘I’m afraid Mrs Shaw’s days are numbered,’ he said gently.
Araminta nodded, not looking at him. ‘Yes, I—I guessed that. I’m glad I came.’
He stared down at her downbent head. ‘So am I, although it was inevitable.’ He didn’t attempt to explain this remark but looked at his watch. ‘Mrs Shaw won’t be ready for almost two hours,’ he paused for so long that she looked questioningly at him. ‘I have two more patients to see and in rather less than that time I have a lecture to give. Will you have something to eat with me presently? If you like to go back to the waiting room?’
She was surprised to find how pleased she was at his invitation, but all the same she hesitated. ‘It’s very kind of you, but I’m sure you have a great deal to do, and I don’t in the least mind just sitting and waiting for Thelma.’ Araminta hoped her voice sounded more convinced of this than she felt; apparently it didn’t, for he took no notice of this at all, merely opening the door for her and repeating: ‘About twenty minutes, then,’ in such bland certainty that she found herself saying yes quite meekly.
The waiting room had emptied of the morning clinics and was rapidly filling again for the afternoon session. She sat quietly, taking stock of all that was going on around her, telling herself that she was really very foolish to feel so excited at the prospect of an hour of Doctor van Sibbelt’s company, especially as she didn’t like him. Being an honest girl, she had to admit to herself that that wasn’t true any more; she wouldn’t quite admit to liking him, but she did admit to a lively interest in him. Perhaps she would have the chance to ask a few pertinent questions over their meal—where he lived, whether he was married—surely he would be?—if he had children… Her reflections were interrupted by his arrival, and she watched him covertly as he came without haste across the vast room, trying to discover in this distinguished-looking man some remnant of the arrogant, faintly mocking giant who had offered to paint her bookshelves for her, and most surprisingly, cooked supper for her, too. But there was no trace. He greeted her casually, led her through OPD and out into the chilly grey day, and walked her down a narrow side street and into a small coffee shop, already half full. It wasn’t at all what she had expected, for somehow he fitted into her daydreams of hothouse flowers, Rolls-Royces and champagne, but she was content enough to sit down on a high stool at the counter and cast a hungry eye over the menu.
‘Coffee?’ he suggested, and when she nodded, ‘And how about a kaas broodje and a salad?’ and when she nodded again, gave the order to the girl behind the counter and sat himself down beside her. He took up a great deal of room; what with a wall on one side of her and him on the other, Araminta was sadly squashed, but somehow she didn’t mind at all.
‘This is a splendid place in which to talk,’ observed her companion, ‘it’s so noisy and everyone is in a hurry—now tell me about yourself.’
Their coffee had arrived. Araminta poured cream into it and stirred in the sugar before she said: ‘There’s nothing more to tell.’
‘You left a great many gaps,’ he pointed out. ‘Let’s fill them in: do you intend to go back to St Katherine’s?’
‘Well, I’ve been given unpaid leave for three weeks—I’ve had almost a week of that.’ She took a bite of her roll and munched contentedly.
‘And after that?’ prompted her companion.
‘My post will be filled.’
‘I see—probably I could arrange for a nurse to take care of Mrs Shaw if you want to return before then.’
She took another bite and said with her mouth full: ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that! Thomas wouldn’t pay for anyone, you know.’
‘He doesn’t—forgive me-pay you?’
‘Heavens, no. So you see I must stay now I’m here, especially as Thelma…I can always get another job.’ She made her voice cheerful, although the idea of packing up her little flat and finding fresh work wasn’t a pleasing one.
‘You would miss your friends there, and your work.’ He smiled at her, his face very close so that she could see how dark his eyes were. ‘Have another roll and some more coffee?’
‘Please.’ She watched him give the order, admiring his good looks.
‘As I was saying, you will miss your friends—I daresay you went out a great deal?’
‘Well, yes—I suppose I did.’
‘Dinner at the Savoy, orchids and a Rolls to take you there?’ he asked with faint mockery, coming too close to her daydreams.
She poured more cream into the fresh cup of coffee he had just handed her. ‘Don’t be silly—housemen haven’t that kind of money. It was mostly egg and chips and very nice too.’
He grinned. ‘And did you expect orchids and champagne and quantities of red plush today?’
Araminta put down her roll and gave him a direct look; she was nothing if not honest, it had never occurred to her to be anything else with him. ‘Yes, I did—oh, not the orchids, but perhaps a little red plush. You don’t—that is, one doesn’t expect a consultant to nip across the road for a roll and coffee.’ She frowned quite fiercely. ‘But before you say something scathing, let me tell you that I’m not in the least disappointed—it’s the company, not the food.’
The mocking smile was back again. ‘You’ve stolen my lines, Araminta.’
She went a bright and very becoming pink. ‘You’re extremely rude! I was actually beginning to like you, but I see now that you’re exactly the same as you were when we met…’
‘Do tell me.’ He sounded amused and not in the least repentant.
‘Bad-tempered and impatient and laughing at me.’ She drank the rest of her coffee and said in a small, polite voice: ‘Thank you for my lunch,’ and put out a hand to pick up her purse, but his own large one came down, very gently, on to it.
‘I’m all those things, and more,’ he told her quietly, ‘but could you not like me a little despite them?’
She sat looking at his hand; it felt cool and strong, cherishing hers in its grasp—the hand of someone who would help her if ever she needed it. She said uncertainly: ‘I don’t understand you, or know anything about you, but I do like you.’
The hand tightened just a little. ‘Good,’ said the doctor, ‘and you’re not feeling hurt because you had coffee and Kaas broodjes instead of champagne and red plush?’
She tugged at her hand and found it fast held. ‘Of course I’m not hurt, and if I had been you I wouldn’t have wasted my money on an expensive lunch with someone I hardly knew—you could put it to better use for your wife and children.’
His eyes danced with amusement, although he answered gravely; ‘But I have no wife and as far as I know, no children.’
‘Oh, well—aren’t you even engaged?’
‘No, and I think that when I do marry I shan’t want to waste time over an engagement.’
‘That’s arrogant of you—why, the girl might not like that at all.’
‘Ah, but the girl I intend to marry will.’
It was strange how deflated Araminta felt at the thought of him marrying, silly too, she told herself sharply, and suggested that it was time for her to fetch Thelma. The deflation was completed by his readiness to go back to the hospital immediately. They parted in OPD and she thanked him once more for her lunch, to be utterly disconcerted when he remarked blandly: ‘What a very pretty girl you are—I really think we must have the orchids and red plush together, don’t you?’
For some reason his words infuriated her. He was adding her to his list of casual girl-friends, was he? And what about the poor girl he presumably intended marrying? ‘How kind,’ she told him haughtily, ‘but I don’t think I want to, thanks.’
He smiled down at her, not in the least put out. �
��You are a very unusual girl, and of course you don’t like me quite enough yet, do you?’
He walked away and was at once immersed in conversation with a harassed nurse bearing an armful of notes. Araminta watched him look at the clock and then stride through the swing doors. He didn’t look round, but she hadn’t really expected him to, so that the disappointment she felt was really rather silly.
Thelma, more animated than she had been since Araminta’s arrival, and with faintly pink cheeks which made her look much younger, was just ready. Araminta took her home, joining in her companion’s gay chatter with a cheerfulness which hid the knowledge that within a very short time Thelma would feel as ill as she had done previously, but at least she could enjoy herself while she felt able to. Rather recklessly, Araminta told the taxi driver to take them as near as he could to the Kalverstraat and wait for them there. Vroom and Dreesman, a large department store, was at the very end of the shopping street; they would only need to walk a very few yards to reach it. The driver was an obliging man, he got out of his cab and gave Thelma an arm across the street and they gained the shop without trouble. It took Thelma only fifteen minutes to find and choose the blue dress she had set her heart on; they were back in the taxi and on the way home in no time at all, and once indoors, Araminta lost no time in putting her to bed with a cup of tea and the injunction to have a nap while she prepared the evening meal before Thomas got home.
Actually, it was he who looked in need of her care when she presented him with the bill for the day’s activities. He went an alarming puce, and was in fact so incensed with her wanton spending of his money that he had no time or inclination to worry about Thelma. Araminta saw that it would be hopeless to try and make him understand; perhaps Doctor van Sibbelt would be able to do that. He ate his dinner in a stony silence, declared that he had a committee meeting to attend, and left the house, leaving Araminta to urge Bertram to his bed and then spend a cosy half hour with Thelma, until the invalid dozed off, happier than she had been for a long time.