Pineapple Girl

by Betty Neels

  ‘Healthy stuff, fruit.’ He nodded carelessly and turned to Mijnheer Pringle. ‘How is Deborah?’ and then: ‘No, I’d better ask Nurse that.’

  He looked across the room, smiling faintly, but for all that she sensed that she was now the nurse giving a report to the doctor. She complied with commendable conciseness, adding: ‘I know little about Mevrouw Pringle’s stay at the nursing home, only what she has told me herself—I’ve had no instructions…’ Her voice held faint reproach.

  He must have heard it, for he said blandly: ‘Done deliberately. Sir Arthur felt that in this case, the fewer people who knew the truth, the better. However, I’ll go into the whole thing with you presently.’

  He smiled nicely at her and with a word of apology began to talk to Mijnheer Pringle in their own language. After a few minutes she was a little taken aback to hear him observe: ‘You don’t have to look like that, we’re not discussing you.’

  She lifted her chin. ‘I didn’t for one moment imagine that you were.’

  ‘Splendid, touchy females stir up the worst in me.’ He was smiling again. ‘Shall we have our little talk now? It seems a good opportunity; Mijnheer Pringle has some work to do.’

  When they were alone he sat down opposite her. ‘You know Mevrouw Pringle well?’

  ‘No, not really—she’s my mother’s friend—oh, for a very long time. She used to visit us when we lived in Eddlescombe, but I’ve not met Mijnheer Pringle before.’ She added soberly: ‘It’s very sad.’

  He answered her just as soberly. ‘Yes, it is, but it would be a good deal sadder if Mevrouw Pringle were to linger on for months in discomfort and perhaps pain, and later spend the last inevitable weeks in hospital. I think sometimes the longing to be in one’s home is worse than the pain. Her husband and I are only thankful that this won’t be necessary in her case.’ He crossed his long legs, contemplating his beautifully polished shoes. ‘I’ll outline the case for you.’

  Which he did, clearly and concisely in his quite perfect English, pausing now and then to allow her to ask questions. ‘So there you have it,’ he concluded. ‘The haemoglobin is going down fast and nothing we can give her will check it now; her spleen, her liver…’ he shrugged his great shoulders. ‘The opiate we’re giving her is strong, you will have noticed that; don’t hesitate to let me know if it doesn’t give enough cover. I shall come each day and you can telephone me at any time.’

  ‘Do you live close by?’ asked Eloise, and went delicately pink because it sounded as though she were being curious.

  ‘I can be with you in ten minutes.’

  He could have told her a little more than that, surely, but he didn’t, merely went on to discuss the various small nursing duties she would be called upon to undertake. ‘And you will remember that no one—and that means no one, is to know about Mevrouw Pringle’s condition.’ It sounded like an order.

  ‘I am not a gossip,’ she assured him coolly, ‘and you seem to forget that I’m a nurse.’

  She was quite outraged by his easy: ‘Yes, I find I do, frequently.’ But before she could frame a suitable reply to this, he went on: ‘Will you be lonely here? It is very quiet—there are plenty of friends around but no bright lights and most of the young men are bespoke.’

  There was no end to his rudeness. ‘I can manage very well without bright lights,’ she told him crossly, ‘and I’m not accustomed to being surrounded by young men, so I shall hardly notice their absence, shall I?’

  He laughed softly. ‘I say, you have got a sharp tongue, dear girl. Might one venture to suggest that if you took the edge off it the young men might be more prone to surround you?’

  She said flatly: ‘Young men like pretty girls.’

  ‘Young men, yes.’

  Absurdly she flared up. ‘Are you suggesting that I’m only suitable for a middle-aged widower with a string of children…?’ She stopped because he was laughing at her, and anyway the conversation had got completely out of hand.

  His next question surprised her. ‘What did you do before you trained as a nurse?’

  ‘I helped my father—he had a bookshop, he sold rare books and engravings.’

  ‘Straight from books to patients—no fun, then. How old are you?’

  She had answered him before she had had time to think that it was no business of his. ‘Twenty-three.’

  He nodded his head thoughtfully. ‘Just right,’ he observed, and taking no notice of her puzzled look, went on in a practical voice: ‘Now this is what we will do. Mevrouw Pringle is to do exactly what she wishes—shopping trips, visits to friends…do you drive, by the way?’

  ‘Well, Father had a little van, and I used to drive that, but I haven’t driven much since we moved to London.’

  ‘You have your licence with you? Good; it will be best if you go everywhere with her and if you’re driving she’ll not suspect.’

  Eloise said helplessly, not liking the idea: ‘But it’s years—besides, it’s on the other side of the road…’

  The doctor got to his feet, unfolding his enormous frame slowly, until he seemed to tower over her. ‘We’ll have ten minutes in my car now,’ he told her. ‘I’ll soon see if you can cope.’

  She found herself being led outside to where a dark grey Rolls-Royce convertible stood before the front door. She stopped short when she saw it. ‘Is that yours?’ she wanted to know urgently, ‘because if it is I can’t possibly drive it.’

  He didn’t even bother to answer her, but opened the door and stood there holding it until she got in, then he settled himself beside her and said: ‘Off we go.’

  She went; there was nothing else to do anyway, pride forbade her from getting out again. She fumbled for a few minutes, not understanding the gears, terrified of accelerating too hard and shooting through the bushes on either side of them, turning on the lights—even blowing the horn. To none of these errors did he respond, merely sitting quietly looking ahead of him while she wobbled down to the gate, to turn obediently when he uttered a laconic: ‘Left.’ But on the road her terror gradually subsided; true, she was driving a Rolls and if she damaged it heaven only knew what its owner would do to her, even though the whole thing had been his idea. She gripped the wheel firmly; she would show him, after all, even if the van had been small and old, she had driven well. After a few kilometres along the quiet road she even began to enjoy herself.

  ‘Very nice,’ said the doctor, ‘and perfectly safe. One doesn’t expect to find a girl driving with such cool. On the rare occasions—the very rare occasions, when I have been persuaded to let a girl take the wheel, she has invariably flung her hands into the air and squawked like a frightened hen after the first few yards.’ His sidelong glance took in the pinkness of her cheeks. ‘Mevrouw Pringle has a Citroën, easy to drive and quite small. You’ll be all right. Now stop, and we’ll go back. I’ve several more calls to make.’

  He didn’t talk as he drove back, fast, relaxed and very sure of himself, and Eloise, in a splendid muddle of vexation at his manner towards her and pride at her prowess, didn’t speak either.

  At the house he opened the door for her and ushered her into the hall, saying quietly: ‘If I know Deborah Pringle, she will be in the sitting room…’ And he was right; she was, smiling from a white face while she greeted them, assuring him that she was rested and had never felt better and was already planning some amusements for Eloise. ‘And Timon,’ she begged, ‘don’t dare suggest examining me today.’

  He laughed gently and took her hand. ‘It’s delightful to see you again, Deborah, and I’ve no intention of spoiling your homecoming—besides, I’ve two more patients to see on my way home and then evening surgery. How about tomorrow? In the morning before you get up—ten o’clock. Nothing much, you know, just a check-up.’

  He said goodbye and wandered to the door. ‘I’ll see myself out.’ He gave Eloise a casual nod as he went.

  ‘Such a dear man,’ murmured Mevrouw Pringle. ‘You’d never think he was a doctor, would you? So relaxe
d—I always feel he should be sitting by a canal, fishing.’

  ‘Perhaps he does when he’s got the time,’ suggested Eloise.

  ‘He’s too much in demand, and not only as a doctor. He’s something of a catch, my dear, only no one’s caught him yet, although there are one or two girls…’ She paused, leaving Eloise to conjure up pictures of any number of raving beauties doing their best to snap up the prize. The idea made her feel a little low-spirited and she told herself it was because not being a beauty herself, she couldn’t have the fun of competing with them, rather the reverse; she could see that their relationship was going to be strictly businesslike, excepting of course when he chose to find her amusing.

  ‘I daresay he feels very flattered,’ she remarked airily, and went on to suggest that her patient might like to have an early night, and how about supper in bed. She was glad she had suggested it, because Mijnheer Pringle threw her a grateful look and added his voice to hers, and she spent the next hour making Mevrouw Pringle comfortable for the night and then went downstairs again to sit and read in the drawing room while Mijnheer Pringle went to have a chat with his wife; he took a bottle of sherry and some glasses with him and Eloise applauded his action.

  Presently he came downstairs again and they dined in the rather severe dining room on the other side of the hall, while her host kept the conversation to trivialities, concealing his true feelings with a flow of small talk which lasted until she felt she could excuse herself and go up to bed. She went to see Mevrouw Pringle on the way, to give her her tablets and warn her that she was to ring for her if she needed anything during the night, and an hour later, when she crept back to take another look, it was to find her patient sleeping quietly, so that she could go to her own bed with a quiet mind. It had been a long, eventful day, and surprising too. She had never expected to meet the doctor again, although she admitted to herself that she hadn’t really forgotten him, only tucked him away in the back of her mind. It was a pity that he had no interest in her whatever, but then why should he? Especially if he could take his pick of all those girls her patient had hinted at.

  Tired though she was, Eloise got out of bed and went to peer at herself in the dressing table mirror. It was a triple mirror and she had a good look at her face from all angles. Not even the most conceited of girls could have considered herself pretty; her nose was just a nose, her mouth far too wide, and she didn’t care for hazel eyes. Her hair, long and shining and fine, she disregarded; it was all the wrong colour. ‘Tint?’ she asked herself. ‘Something chestnutty?’ and then giggled; it was doubtful if the doctor would notice even if her hair were pink. When he had looked at her it had been with the detached gaze of someone who would have preferred to be looking at something—or someone—else. She sighed, hopped back into bed, and went to sleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DOCTOR VAN ZEILST arrived punctually the next morning, and the examination he gave his patient was meticulously thorough. When he had at length finished he sat back and said easily: ‘You’re a wonder, Deborah.’ He glanced at Eloise, standing quietly close by. ‘But will you promise me to do exactly what Nurse advises? Otherwise have all the fun you like.’

  Mevrouw Pringle chuckled. ‘I intend to, Timon.’ She hesitated. ‘I suppose there’s no chance that they were wrong?’

  He answered her gravely. ‘No, my dear, and I would be a coward if I pretended otherwise. On the other hand, no one can say exactly how long—six months has so often turned out to be a year, two—even six.’

  She brightened. ‘That is what Eloise said, but I hardly dared hope…’

  ‘Well, do. What excitements are you planning?’

  ‘A dinner party—all our friends. I want them to meet Eloise, and besides, it will be nice for Cor, he’s had a rotten time lately. You’ll come?’

  ‘With pleasure—when is it to be?’

  ‘Soon. I’ll ask the van Eskes and the Haagesmas and the Potters, and there’ll be us and Eloise—and you, of course. Who would you like me to invite for you?’

  The doctor allowed his gaze to rest upon Eloise, who, just for a few blissful moments, found herself in a state of unexpected excitement, but only for moments; he said almost at once: ‘Oh, Liske, of course.’

  Mevrouw Pringle hadn’t missed the look on Eloise’s face, nor its instant dousing. ‘Pieter will be here for Eloise,’ she stated. ‘Now let me see, when shall we have it?’

  ‘Why not within the next day or so?’ suggested the doctor blandly. ‘Liske is going away at the beginning of next week…’

  ‘That settles it—I’ll telephone everyone today and see if they can manage Saturday. Eloise, don’t look so worried, everyone will speak English—besides, you’ll have Pieter.’

  Eloise murmured suitably and wondered if she wanted Pieter. Now if the doctor had…but he hadn’t; she gave herself a metaphorical kick for being a fool; of course he would have a girl-friend; possibly a fiance, even a wife, and why hadn’t she thought of that before? And in any case, why was she getting so worked up about it? He had shown no interest in her, and she for her part had no interest in him. She made a point of repeating this to herself very firmly, composed her ordinary features into serenity, said what was expected of her when the doctor gave his instructions to her in the hall, and bade him a coolly friendly goodbye. Let him bring a dozen Liskes—she for her part couldn’t care less. She tossed her head and went back upstairs to Mevrouw Pringle.

  Later, rather nervous but determined not to show it, she drove the Citroën to Groningen, parked outside Mijnheer Pringle’s office and walked with her patient to the nearby shops. They were bound for the grocer that lady patronised, armed with a list of comestibles for the dinner party. Juffrouw Blot had entered enthusiastically into their plans, and between them they had put together a menu which should satisfy the guests and bring nothing but praise for their hostess. It was as they were returning from this errand that Mevrouw Pringle suggested happily that they might explore the city together during the next few days. ‘And we can take short trips in the car, too,’ she continued with enthusiasm. ‘There’s such a lot to see, though I don’t think I could manage the museums—you could do those on your own, or perhaps Pieter…’ She left the sentence in mid-air. ‘There’s Menkemaborg Castle, that’s only twenty miles away and a splendid example of our architecture, and Heiligeree, where they make the bells, you know.’ She glanced at Eloise: ‘I’m sure Pieter will love to take you out—there are some rather nice restaurants…’

  For a second time Eloise found herself battling with the feeling that Pieter would be a poor substitute for the doctor, and this time she managed to succeed. ‘He sounds nice, your Pieter,’ she observed, and was rewarded by her companion’s happy smile. The rest of their outing was taken up with a eulogy of the young man—a paragon, by all accounts, although Eloise felt gloomily sure that when they did meet he would turn out to be a head shorter than herself and of a serious nature.

  They passed the next day or two very comfortably. Mevrouw Pringle appeared to be very much the same. She slept a little, ate a little, and Eloise, ever watchful, could see no worsening in her condition, although her pallor at times was alarming enough.

  Doctor van Zeilst called each day, joked gently with his patient, encouraged her to amuse herself in any way she wished and brought tickets for a concert in Groningen. ‘Your favourite,’ he pointed out, ‘Shostakovich—in three weeks’ time; I got them in good time; you know how quickly they sell out.’

  Three weeks was a long way ahead. Eloise could see that her patient was thinking the same thing and getting a degree of security from it, just as the doctor had intended, she suspected.

  ‘You’ll come too?’ asked Mevrouw Pringle, and Eloise pricked up her ears at his reply:

  ‘Yes, Liske will be back. I thought we might make up a party and go back to my place afterwards.’

  He spoke casually and Eloise could see that Mevrouw Pringle believed him, that she would feel well enough to do what he suggeste
d, although it be quite beyond her strength. When he asked carelessly: ‘What do you think, Nurse?’ she answered cheerfully. ‘It sounds delightful,’ and wished heartily that he would call her anything but Nurse, in that cold, professional manner.

  They went next day to see the bell factory, but Mevrouw Pringle was so weary by the time they got home that Eloise trotted out a variety of reasons why they should remain quiet the next day. ‘Look,’ she pointed out diplomatically, ‘if you have breakfast in bed as usual and then stay in bed for an hour or so, we could get all the details for your dinner party arranged in peace and quiet; there are bound to be interruptions if you’re downstairs.’

  It seemed to her that her patient was only too ready to agree and although she was her usual merry self when Doctor van Zeilst paid his visit, it was obvious that she wasn’t quite as well as she had been. But he made no comment, only as Eloise accompanied him to the door did he remark: ‘Not so good, is it, Nurse? But only what we expected. You’re doing very well, though. Try and keep her in bed for as long as possible tomorrow, and see that she rests until the last possible moment before the guests arrive. I’ve passed the word around that she is still convalescing, so no one will stay late.’ He stopped at the doorstep and turned to look at her. ‘You are quite happy here?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Doctor.’ Her voice held its usual calm and she said no more than that, for she suspected that he was being polite and at the same time making sure that she wouldn’t pack her bag and leave him to find someone else to nurse Mevrouw Pringle. He surprised her by saying: ‘I’m glad. Most girls would dislike the quiet.’

  ‘Well, I like it. I like Mevrouw Pringle too.’ When he gave a careless nod she went on rather tartly: ‘I did tell you that she is an old friend of my mother, and I was born and bred in the country—I much prefer it to town life.’

  He nodded again, staring at her. She thought he was going to say something more, but he didn’t, only smiled briefly, got into his beautiful car and drove himself away.