by Betty Neels
And so it was for the first few hours. The nurses, happy in the knowledge that there would be no urgent call to ready a bed for yet another emergency, began on the morning’s routine with a good will and Caro, having fulfilled her ambition to have a nice long chat with each patient in turn, organised the day’s tasks, made a sortie to the X-ray department with the firm determination to discover the whereabouts of a number of missing films, and answered the telephone at least a dozen times, before she settled herself in the office to puzzle out the off-duty for the following two weeks. She was halfway through this tedious task when there was a knock on the door and before she could say anything, it was opened and Professor Thoe van Erckelens stalked in.
Caroline didn’t speak, she was too surprised—and besides, after the first second or two, her heart raced so violently that she had no breath. She just sat where she was and stared at him with huge hazel eyes.
‘Ha,’ observed the Professor, ‘you are surprised to see me.’
He looked ill-tempered, tired too. It was an awful waste of one’s life to love a man who didn’t care a row of pins for one. She took a steadying breath and said in her quiet voice: ‘Yes, Professor, I am. I expect you have a consultation here? Shall I…?’
He came right into the office and shut the door. ‘No, I came to see you.’
She opened her eyes and her mouth too. ‘Whatever for?’ She went on earnestly: ‘I can’t really spare the time unless you wanted to see a patient—there’s Mrs Possett’s dressing and two patients to go for X-ray.’
He dismissed Mrs Possett with a wave of his hand. ‘What I have to say will take five minutes—less.’
Caroline folded her small, nicely cared for hands in her lap and gave him her full attention. He didn’t move from the door. ‘Will you marry me, Caroline?’
She stayed very still. After a moment she asked: ‘Me? Is this a joke or something, Professor?’
‘No, and if you will be good enough to give me your full attention and not interrupt I will explain.’
She glanced around her just to make sure that she wasn’t dreaming. The office was much as usual, its desk an orderly muddle of forms and charts and papers, chilly, foggy air coming in through the open window, the radiator as usual gurgling gently into tepid warmth. The only difference was the Professor, taking up most of the available space and apparently suffering from a brainstorm. She said in a tranquil voice which quite masked her bewilderment: ‘I’m listening,’ and made herself look at him. She was rewarded by a forbidding stare.
‘I’m forty,’ he told her almost angrily. ‘I have been married before—thirteen years ago, to be precise. My wife left me for another man within two years of our marriage and she—both of them—were killed in an accident a year later. I have had no wish to marry again.’ He shrugged huge shoulders, ‘Why should I? I have my work, enough money, a well run home and there are always girls—pretty girls if I should wish for female company.’
He paused to study her and she flinched because no doubt he was comparing her homely face with the young ladies in question. ‘However, after you had left my house I missed you—my household miss you. They have worn gloomy faces ever since you left—quite ridiculous, of course—even Rex and the cats…’He paused again, searching her quiet face as though he were trying to discover what there was about her that could disrupt his organised life. Presently he went on. ‘You are an extraordinary girl,’ he declared irritably, ‘you have no looks, no witty conversation, quite deplorable clothes—and yet I find that I am able to talk to you—indeed, I find myself wishing to discuss the various happenings of my day with you. I am not in love with you and I have no wish to be; I need a calm quiet companion, someone sensible who isn’t for ever wanting to be taken out to dinner or the theatre, nor demand to know where I am going each time I leave the house. I need… I need…’
‘A sheet anchor,’ supplied Caro in a sensible voice. ‘No demands, no curiosity, just a—someone to talk to when you feel inclined.’
He looked surprised. ‘You understand then; I have no need to explain myself further. And above all, no romantic nonsense!’ He gave her a bleak look which wrung her soft heart. ‘You will have a pleasant life; the servants are already devoted to you and you will have my friends and sufficient money. And in return I ask for companionship when I need it, someone to sit at my table and play hostess to my guests and run my home as I like it. Well?’
Caro studied his face. He meant every preposterous word of it and he expected her to say yes then and there. I must change him just a little, she thought lovingly, he must be got out of his lonely arrogant world and learn to enjoy himself again—he must have been happy once. Aloud she said in a tranquil voice: ‘I must have time to think about it.’
‘Time? Why should you need time? You have no family.’ He looked deliberately round the little room. ‘And nothing but a hard-working future.’
Here was another one who took it for granted that no one wanted to marry her. ‘You make it sound like a bribe,’ she told him.
His mouth was a straight bad-tempered line. ‘Nothing of the sort. I have offered you marriage. I hope that I am not such a hypocrite that I pretend affection for you—liking, yes; you annoy me excessively at times and yet I must admit that I like you. Well?’
She smiled a little. ‘I’ll tell you tomorrow. I must sleep on it.’
‘Oh, very well, if you want it that way. I thought you were a sensible girl.’
‘I am, that’s why I have to think about it.’
There was a knock on the door and he opened it, glaring at the student nurse standing outside so that she sidled past him uneasily.
‘It’s all right, Nurse,’ said Caro soothingly. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Mrs Skipton’s dressing’s down ready for you to see, Staff.’
‘I’m coming now,’ she smiled reassuringly, and the nurse retreated, casting an interested eye upon the Professor as she went—a remarkably handsome man even though he looked as black as a thundercloud.
He closed the door with a snap behind her and then stood in front of it so that although Caro had got to her feet she was forced to a halt before him. ‘I do have to go,’ she told him mildly.
He opened the door. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Caroline.’
She walked past him into the ward, looking as serene as she always did while her insides turned somersaults. The nurse who had been to the office rolled her eyes upwards and shrugged her shoulders for the benefit of the junior nurse with her. ‘Poor old Staff,’ she murmured, ‘as prim as a maiden aunt even with that gorgeous man actually talking to her!’
‘I’ll have the forceps, Nurse,’ said Caro briskly. She had seen the look and rightly guessed at the murmur. It would be fun, she mused as she deftly removed the rubber drain from Mrs Skipton’s shrinking person, to see the girl’s face when she announced her engagement to the Professor.
Because she was going to marry him, she had no doubts about that, and not for any of the reasons he had given her, either. He hadn’t even thought of the only reason which mattered—that she loved him.
It was typical of the Professor not to mention when and where he would see her on the following day. Caroline spent the whole of it in a state of pleasurable excitement, one ear cocked for the telephone, and her eyes sliding to the ward door every time it opened. In the end she went off duty after tea, telling herself that he had forgotten all about her, thought better of it, or what seemed more likely, she had dreamed the whole thing. She explained this to Waterloo at some length as she gave him his supper and then went to peer into the cupboard and see what she could cook for her own meal. A tin of soup, she decided, and then a poached egg on toast with a pot of tea. And while she had it she would finish that interesting bit in Fodor’s Guide about Friesland having its own national anthem. She knelt to light the gas fire, but before she could strike a match there was a knock on the door. Her heart shot into her mouth, but she ignored it; the Professor had no idea where she liv
ed and she hoped and prayed that he never would. It would be her landlady, she supposed, and went to open the door.
She had supposed wrong. It was the Professor, looming large on the narrow landing. The sheer size of him forced her to retreat a few steps so that he was inside before she could say a word. He stood looking around him unhurriedly and asked: ‘This is your flat?’
‘Good evening,’ said Caro, and didn’t answer him.
He turned his eyes on to her then. ‘I’ve annoyed you—probably you didn’t wish me to know that you lived in a bedsitter in this truly deplorable neighbourhood.’
‘It’s convenient for Oliver’s.’ She added indignantly: ‘It’s my home.’
His eyes lighted on Waterloo, waiting impatiently for the fire to be lighted. ‘Your cat?’
‘Yes—Waterloo. I found him there when he was a kitten.’
‘He will of course return with us to Huis Thoe.’
She had scrambled to her feet. ‘But I haven’t said I’d…marry you.’
‘Perhaps we might go somewhere and have dinner and discuss it.’
She stared at him, wondering if there was another girl in the world who had had such a dry-as-dust proposal. Her first inclination was to refuse, but she was hungry and soup and an egg weren’t exactly gastronomic excitements. ‘I’ll have to change,’ she said.
‘I will wait on the landing.’ He opened the door and a strong aroma of frying onions caused his winged nostrils to flare. He didn’t speak, only gave her an eloquent look as he closed it quietly.
There wasn’t much choice in the rickety wardrobe, but the few clothes she had were presentable although the Professor had called them deplorable. How would he know anyway, leading the life he did? Caroline put on a plain wool dress of dark green, combed her hair, did things to her face, found her good wool coat, her best shoes, her only decent handbag, gave Waterloo a saucer of food and assured him that she wouldn’t be long, and left the room. The Professor was standing quietly, but giving the impression of an impatient man holding his impatience in check with a great effort, and she could hardly blame him; the smell of onions had got considerably worse.
They went down the narrow stairs and out into the street where he took her by the arm and hurried her on to the opposite pavement. ‘The car is at Oliver’s,’ and at her quick questioning glance, ‘and if you are wondering why I didn’t go and fetch it while you were changing I will admit to a fear that if I did so you might have changed your mind and disappeared by the time I had got back.’
Caroline paused to stare up at him in the dusk. ‘Well, really—is that your opinion of me? I would never dream of…’
‘I am aware of that; it was merely a remarkably silly notion which entered my head.’
He wasn’t going to say any more than that. They walked the short distance in silence and he opened the door of the Aston Martin for her. Settling himself beside her, he remarked: ‘I’ve booked a table at the Savoy Grill Room.’
‘Oh, no!’ exclaimed Caro involuntarily. ‘I’m not dressed…’
‘The Grill Room,’ he reminded her, and glanced sideways at her. ‘You look all right to me.’
She had the idea that he hadn’t the vaguest notion of what she was wearing; probably he never would have, for he never really looked at her for more than a few seconds at a time. If it came to that, very few did.
The Grill Room was full and she felt shy of her surroundings as they went in, but they were shown at once to their table and although she would have preferred one in a quiet corner where she could have been quite unnoticed, nothing could have bettered the attention they received.
She sipped at the sherry she had been given and studied the menu, mouthwateringly lengthy; she settled for salmon mousse, tournedos, sautéed straw potatoes and braised celery, and when it came ate it with appetite, replying politely to her companion’s desultory conversation as he demolished a grilled steak. She enjoyed the Beaujolais he offered her too, but prudently refused a second glass, which was just as well, for the sherry trifle was deliciously rich. It was when the waiter had cleared the table and set coffee before them that the Professor abandoned his dinner table conversation and asked abruptly: ‘Well, you’ve slept on it, Caroline, and now I should like your answer. Is it yes or no?’
She handed him his coffee cup without haste. He had asked a plain question, he was going to get a plain answer. ‘Yes.’
She watched his face as she spoke and found it rather daunting to see his calm expression quite unchanged. ‘Very well, we can now make plans for our marriage. As soon as possible, don’t you think?’
‘Very well, but I have to give in my resignation at Oliver’s, Prof… What am I to call you?’
He smiled a little. ‘Radinck. If you have no objection, I can arrange that you leave very shortly. We can be married here by special licence. Do you wish to invite anyone? Family? Friends?’
‘I have an aunt—no one else—she’s married now and I don’t think she will want to come to the wedding. I expect some of my friends from the hospital would like to come to the church.’
‘I’ll see about it and let you know. Have you sufficient money to buy yourself some clothes?’
Caroline thought of her little nest egg, hoarded against a rainy day. ‘Yes, thank you.’
He nodded. ‘You can of course buy anything you want when we return, but I presume you will want something for the wedding.’ His voice held a faint sneer.
‘I won’t disgrace you,’ she told him quietly, and was pleased to see him look a little taken aback. If she hadn’t loved him so much she would have been furious.
He begged her pardon stiffly and she said kindly: ‘Oh, that’s all right—it’ll be super to have some decent clothes.’ She wrinkled her forehead in thought. ‘Something I can travel in and wear afterwards…’
He passed his cup for more coffee. ‘Perhaps I should point out to you that you can buy all the clothes you want when you are my wife. I—we shall live comfortably enough.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘Now as to the actual wedding…’
He had thought of everything; the arrangements for her to leave, the obtaining of the marriage licence, giving up her bedsitter, a basket for Waterloo’s comfortable transport to Holland. There would be no honeymoon, he told her, and that didn’t surprise her at all, honeymoons were for two people in love, but she was surprised when he said: ‘We will go tomorrow and buy the wedding rings and I will give you your engagement ring—I brought it over with me but forgot to bring it with me this evening.’
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that.
Radinck took her back to Meadow Road presently, waiting at her front door while she climbed the stairs and unlocked her own door. His goodnight had been casual and, to her ear, faintly impatient. Probably he found her boring company, but in that case why did he want to marry her? Probably he was tired. She got ready for bed, made a pot of tea because she was too excited to sleep and sat in front of the gas fire with Waterloo beside her, politely listening while she recounted the evening’s happenings to him.
She was off in the evening again the next day and she supposed Radinck would meet her then; certainly there was no time to go buying wedding rings during the day—but apparently he thought differently.
Caroline had got well into the morning’s routine when he came on to the ward with Sir Eustace, and Caro, hastily pulling down her sleeves, went down the ward to meet them, wondering which patient they wanted to see.
They wished her good morning and Sir Eustace said jovially: ‘Well, Staff Nurse, I am delighted at the news that you are to marry. I haven’t come to do a round, only to beg the pleasure of giving you away.’
Caro pinkened. ‘Oh, would you? Would you really? I did wonder… I haven’t got any relations…’
‘I shall be delighted—Radinck will let me know the day when you’ve decided it.’ He beamed at her. ‘And now I must go to theatre—I’m already late.’
She escorted him to the door and went
back to the Professor, who hadn’t said a word after his good morning and in answer to her look of enquiry he observed: ‘It is rather public here, perhaps we might go to the office for a minute.’
She led the way, offered him a seat which he declined and sat down at the desk. ‘I will be outside at twelve o’clock,’ he told her. ‘You will go to your dinner then, I believe? We can go along to Apsleys and get the rings and have a quick lunch somewhere.’
‘But I’ll be in uniform—there’s only an hour, you know—there’ll never be time… I don’t mind missing lunch.’
‘Put a coat over your uniform. I’ll see that you get back on duty on time.’ He took a small box out of a pocket. ‘This was my mother’s—she had small hands, like yours, and I hope it will fit.’
He opened the box and took out a great sapphire ring set in a circle of rose diamonds and when she held out her hand, slipped it on to her finger. It fitted exactly. Caro, who was inclined to be superstitious, thought it was a good omen.
She thanked him for it and longed to throw her arms round him and kiss him, but instead she said: ‘It’s very beautiful: I’ll take great care of it.’
He nodded carelessly. ‘You will wish to get on with your work—I’ll meet you at noon.’