by Betty Neels
A young girl with a round cheerful face brought her tea at seven o’clock, smiling broadly, pulled back the curtains and went away again. The smile had only widened at Rachel’s good morning but she had waved an expressive arm at the bright morning outside before she went away.
Rachel nipped out of bed and took a look. Her room was at the back of the house, overlooking a large formal garden and what looked like a shrubbery beyond it. The windows opened on to a balcony. She lifted the sash and stepped outside, only to rush back in at a knock on the door.
‘Morning,’ said Radmer’s voice from the other side of it. ‘Coming down or breakfast in bed?’
‘Oh, good morning. I’m coming down.’
He said, ‘Good,’ in a casual way and went, and she hurried to shower and dress, to go downstairs half an hour later in time to meet Radmer coming in through the front door, two Jack Russells at his heels. His ‘Hello’ was friendly, followed by, ‘I hope you slept well?’ uttered in an impersonal tone that needed no more than a brief reply. That she had been crying was obvious, but he offered no sympathy. He merely expressed the hope that she was hungry and opened the door to a small room behind the dining-room where breakfast had been set out on a round table at which his mother was already sitting. Her good morning was warm and friendly and her enquiry as to whether Rachel had slept well was as brief as her son’s had been. ‘Your father is down at the stables taking a look at the new foal. We won’t wait for him.’
The meal was a pleasant one, unhurried and enlivened by Mevrouw van Teule’s comments on every topic under the sun. She was, Rachel reflected, rather like her own mother, and, despite her somewhat intimidating appearance, just as motherly.
Breakfast over and still no sign of Mijnheer van Teule, she told them not to waste the morning. ‘Lunch will be at twelve o’clock but it won’t matter if you are late. We’ll have it outside on the terrace.’
‘Would you like a walk?’ asked the Professor. ‘There’s a river beyond the shrubbery.’
‘Well, if there is nothing you want to do…’
‘Nothing. Let’s go.’
They had crossed the formal garden and were deep into the shrubbery when he asked, ‘Want to talk?’
He was strolling along, his hands in his pockets, not looking at her.
‘What would be the use?’ She tried hard not to sound sorry for herself. ‘I’ve been a fool, haven’t I? And now I’ll just have to get over it. I don’t suppose talking about it will help.’
‘If it’s any comfort to you, we’ve all been fools in our time. And of course talking will help. I expect you lay awake for hours wondering just what you would say to him if he were to turn up swearing eternal devotion.’
‘He won’t.’ She was suddenly fierce. ‘Not after the things he said. “Off with the old love”—if ever I was a love at all.’ She stopped to stare up at the Professor. ‘Doesn’t it make any difference at all that I loved him?’
‘Probably not.’ His voice was cool. ‘There are so many different kinds of love, Rachel. But you can always try again when you get back to London; I don’t suppose they’ll be on location for more than a week or so. Go and see him and don’t, whatever you do, weep.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Come and see the river.’
It was a small river, more a stream, running unhurriedly between green fields where the black and white cows stood about it in the sun.
They sat down on the grass and Rachel said, ‘You must be very happy to come here after London and the hospital.’
‘Oh, I am, but of course I enjoy my work and there are certain ties in London.’
His fiancée—she had forgotten her for the moment. ‘Does she like it, too?’ She glanced at his placid face. ‘The girl you are going to marry?’
‘Why, yes, she does. What are you going to tell your friends when you get back?’
‘I won’t need to say anything at first, will I? Only that he is out of the country. And—and by the time he is back I’ll be able to talk about it without, without…’
‘Bursting into tears. Delay the breaking of your heart, Rachel, until you have seen Melville. Chin up, stiff upper lip, squared shoulders; I have always thought of you as a young woman who could face up to things.’
She gave a shaky laugh. ‘You sound like my eldest brother giving me sound advice.’ She gave a watery sniff. ‘Have you sisters, Radmer?’
‘Four—all married. So you see I’m quite qualified to take your brother’s place.’ He said very deliberately, ‘I’m a good deal older than you are, Rachel—thirty-five.’
‘Oh, are you? I’ve never thought about it.’
His firm mouth twisted a little. ‘You have had no reason to do so, have you?’
‘No. Oh, Radmer, I don’t know what to do. I always thought I was such a sensible person. What shall I do?’
He was lying back, his hands behind his head, his eyes half shut. ‘I think I am the last person to tell you to do anything, Rachel. It is your life and you must decide how you want to live it.’
She felt her cheeks grow hot; it was the gentlest of snubs but it made her feel as though she was a silly girl trying to get sympathy. She said, ‘Yes, of course,’ and then, ‘May we cross the river or is that someone else’s land?’
He turned his head to look at her, studying her profile, watching the colour ebb away. ‘It’s our land. There is a narrow ditch which is the boundary between us and the farm you can see over there. By all means let us walk on the other bank—there is another bridge at the far end of the field.’
Not another word was spoken about Melville, only as they strolled along he told her that he had phoned her mother. A remark which brought her up short, to raise a guilty face to his. ‘I forgot—oh, how could I? Thank you for letting her know.’ Her eyes looked a question she didn’t want to ask.
‘I told her that you were tired after your week and would be staying here for a day or so. You can ring her when you get back or from here if you wish.’
‘I’ll wait, I think. She knows I’m all right…Thank you, Radmer.’
She wanted to say more, to thank him more warmly, but he had offered her an inch of help and she had behaved as though it were an ell. She would take care not to talk about herself, not to really take advantage of his kindness. She asked too brightly, ‘When are we going back?’
His voice was as placid as ever. ‘Do you feel equal to taking a flight tomorrow evening? We don’t need to leave until after tea and we can be at the hospital before midnight. But say if you’d rather wait a day or two. Are you on duty the following morning? Can you remember the off-duty rota?’
Of course she remembered it, although she didn’t say so. After all, she had to worry over it every two weeks; by the time it was done to her satisfaction, she knew it off by heart. ‘Yes, I’m on at eight o’clock—it should be your list.’
‘I’ll give George a ring presently. Shall we go back to the house? I dare say you’d like coffee or a drink of some sort.’
His mother and father were on the terrace and the dogs raced to meet them. Rachel sat down beside her hostess, drank her coffee and answered the string of questions, casually asked, which that lady embarked upon. She really was a dear, thought Rachel, explaining where her home was and agreeing that living in the country was so much nicer than in town. ‘Though it makes a difference where you live,’ she pointed out. ‘It’s very noisy at the hospital but it’s not in the best part of London.’
‘Radmer lives pleasantly enough,’ observed his mother. ‘The Bodkins look after him very well.’
‘A good thing, too,’ said Rachel warmly. ‘He works frightfully hard, you know.’
‘I am sure he does, my dear,’ said his mother comfortably. ‘It will be a good thing when he is married and has a wife.’
Rachel was surprised to discover that she didn’t want to talk about that. I’m getting mean, she thought. Just because things haven’t worked out for me, there is no reason why he shouldn’t be happy. She resolutely shut
her mind from her own unhappiness and asked Mevrouw van Teule to tell her the history of the house.
Radmer took her into Leeuwarden in the afternoon and accompanied her patiently round the Frisian Museum. He was very knowledgeable about his country; she listened with interest while he told her about Great Pier’s enormous sword and the fourteenth-century drinking horn of the St Anthony Guild of Stavoren and explained the mediaeval costumes and paintings. They went from there to Franeker, so that she might see the planetarium and the beautiful Renaissance town hall before driving back to his house.
They had stopped for tea in one of the hotels and the conversation had been about Leeuwarden and Friesland. Even if she had wanted to, she had been given no opportunity to brood. Once back at his home, she had changed into another dress and joined everyone else for drinks before dinner and after that elegant and leisurely meal, they had sat outside on the terrace and she had found herself beside Radmer’s father, who talked at some length about Friesland, shooting questions at her from time to time so that she had to pay attention. There had been simply no chance to think about herself all day, she reflected, tumbling into bed and going to sleep at once.
After breakfast the next morning Radmer stowed her into the car once more and drove north to the coast. The villages here were widespread, the cottages built on either side of dykes, and the roads were narrow and for the most part of brick. They had strange names, too; Radmer laughed at her attempts to pronounce them. Presently he said, ‘Here’s the sea.’
After a while they stopped at Zoutkamp, a shrimp-fishing centre, where they were served excellent coffee in a small dark café. They drove on, down a narrow country road skirting the Lauwers Meer until they joined the main road again, running close to the sea and then inland to Dokkum and so back to his home.
They were just in time for lunch and in the afternoon, despite her protestations that she must pack, he drove her across country to Oostermeer and then took the narrow brick roads to Grouw, where they had tea sitting by the water, watching the yachts spinning over the lake. They were back by four o’clock, to a second cup of tea, and then it was time for Rachel to pack her case once again.
They drove away with Bratte in the back so that he could take the car back and the warmth of her host’s and hostess’s goodbyes ringing in her ears. Two days had never gone so quickly and she had enjoyed every moment of them, she thought guiltily, but only because she had been given no chance to be by herself for one single minute—only at bedtime, and then she had been so pleasantly tired that she had slept at once.
Bratte saw them to the very exit gate, bidding the Professor goodbye and Tot Ziens and shaking her hand with the hope that he might see her again. They didn’t have long to wait. They went aboard in the darkening evening, and, obedient to the Professor’s suggestion, she refused the plastic tray of food and accepted the coffee she was offered. ‘We’ll eat at Heathrow,’ he told her.
It still wanted two hours to midnight by the time they had retrieved their bags and gone through customs. Rachel was surprised to see the Professor’s car outside the exit; travelling with him was certainly trouble free, she reflected, settling into the front seat.
But not for long. He drove to the Penta Hotel, parked the car and ushered her inside. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said in answer to her look, ‘I said you would be in the hospital by midnight and you will. Let’s eat.’
She discovered that she was hungry. They ate steak and a salad and finished with a pot of coffee before they got into the car again and drove the sixteen miles to London. It was ten minutes to midnight when he drew in the hospital courtyard, opened her door, got her case, and walked to the entrance with her. The night porter was in his box, reading the paper; he glanced up and then back to the page. The Professor pushed open the door and they went in. He walked with Rachel across the hall to the door leading to the nurses’ home, opened it, put the case inside and said, ‘I don’t dare to go a step further and certainly not at this hour of night. You are all right, Rachel?’
She lifted a grateful face to his. ‘Yes, thank you very much—I can’t thank you enough, Radmer—and I must stop calling you that now, mustn’t I? I’ll see you in the morning.’
She smiled at him, making a brave attempt to behave normally.
‘Goodnight, Rachel.’ He bent his head suddenly and kissed her hard on her surprised mouth, turned on his heel and walked away.
She picked up her case and started up the stairs. She had been feeling dreadful, rejected, undesirable, not worth a second look, but somehow his kiss had changed that. Somewhere, right at the bottom of her unhappiness, there was a small spark; she wasn’t sure what it was, only that her cold insides were warmed by it.
None of her friends were still up. She crept to her room, had a bath, unpacked and got into bed, thankful that there would be a great deal to occupy her in the morning. A wave of misery swept over her, swamped almost at once by sleep.
As is always the case, the misery was easier to bear in the morning. Rachel went down to breakfast, answered the questions with which she was bombarded and hurried along to the theatre wing. Norah was already there, delighted to have her back; the moment the night sister had gone, she produced a fistful of requests and notes for Rachel to deal with. The CSD were cutting up rough again, the laundry had rung to say that they were using too many sheets and towels, two nurses wanted days off for something special and Mrs Pepys had rung to say that she had a migraine and wouldn’t be in for her normal duty.
‘Did anything nice happen?’ asked Rachel and they laughed together.
The theatre list was on her desk. A heavy one, but then it always was when the Professor was operating. Rachel organised the day’s work, rang down to Women’s Surgical to make sure that the first patient was ready and went along to theatre.
Sidney was brooding over his equipment and was obviously glad to see her. So were the nurses. She checked everything was ready for the first case and went to scrub. She could hear the whine of the lift bringing the patient to theatre and turned her head to wish Dr Carr good morning as he poked his head round the door to see if she was there.
‘Better?’ he wanted to know, and she remembered just in time that she had had a virus, and said that yes, she was fine again. When the list was finished she would have to go to the office and see Miss Marks.
She was being tied into her gown when the Professor came in to scrub. His ‘Good morning, Sister’ was uttered with a detached friendliness and he turned away at once to speak to George. She wasn’t sure what she had expected but certainly not this polite indifference. She went into the theatre and checked her trolleys and cast an eye around before checking with Norah who should be sent to coffee first and which of the nurses should go into the sluice.
The Professor, with George and Billy, was standing away from the table while the patient was arranged just so and Dr Carr checked the anaesthetics, and Rachel, with nothing to do for the moment, allowed her thoughts to dwell on him. He was quite right, of course. He had helped her when she had needed help, but the circumstances had been unusual and now they were back, leading their normal lives once more. At least he was; she still felt as though she were in a bad dream and at the moment all she longed for was to recapture the quiet orderly life she had led before she had met Melville.
The patient was deeply unconscious. Dr Carr said ‘She’s ready when you are, Radmer,’ and sat back on his stool, all his attention on the quiet face before him, the signal for Rachel to hand towels and clips and then scalpel and forceps, her well-trained mind concentrating on her work.
The list lasted several hours, and when they paused for coffee half-way through the talk was about the cases. No one mentioned Basle at all and Rachel supposed that they had already discussed it before they got to theatre. Only at the end of the list when the men had gone to the changing room and she was organising the clearing up did Billy poke his head round the door to ask, ‘Did you have a good time, Rachel? You don’t look quite your usual
smashing self. Did they work you too hard?’
She hadn’t bothered to take off her mask, only pulled it under her chin, and she still wore her theatre cap, but that didn’t detract from her pretty face. She gave him a grin. ‘Not a bit of it; just lectures and things, you know, but there were rather a lot of them.’
‘It must have been great. Pity about the virus.’
The Professor had lounged into theatre, on the point of leaving. ‘Nasty things, virus infections. Billy, I want you to go to Men’s Surgical and check on Mr Willis—he’s for the end of the week, isn’t he? He’s been running a temperature.’ He looked across at Rachel. ‘Sister, I’ve a kidney transplant lined up as soon as it’s possible to do it. Can you get your extra staff at short notice?’
‘Yes, sir.’ She was pleased with her coolly efficient voice. ‘I’ll warn the part-timers and the nurses here.’
‘Good, thank you.’ He nodded with the faintest of smiles and went away. Watching his broad back so impeccably clothed, she found it hard to equate his elegant image with the casually dressed friend who had listened so patiently to her as they sat by the little stream at his home.
She pushed her cap further back on her head and began to bundle the instruments, ready to be collected by the CSD. Best not to waste time thinking; next week she would go home on her days off and sort herself out in the peace and quiet of the country.
CHAPTER NINE
DESPITE THE FACT that her days were fully occupied, Rachel found that they dragged. It seemed as if her days off would never come, but at last they did. She flung things into her overnight bag, got into the Fiat and drove herself home. She had hardly spoken to the Professor since they had returned. Beyond enquiring as to whether Miss Marks had accepted her excuse of a virus infection without fuss, he had had very little to say to her except for their normal exchanges regarding theatre lists and the like. It was as though he were standing at a distance, watching her; a silly fantasy she instantly dismissed. She had been sleeping badly, too, waking in the night to remember far too clearly Melville’s cruel remarks about being off with the old love. During the day she resolutely put him out of her mind, but at night it was a different matter; at home, perhaps she would sleep soundly.