by Betty Neels
The faint but well-concealed impatience on the Baron’s features was replaced by a look of pleased conjecture. ‘And why not?’ he wanted to know. ‘Mama, will you wait for a few minutes while I see if I can find her? There is no time to explain at the moment—I’ll do that later. Shall I ring for a maid before I go?’
It was still raining as he got into the car and slid into the early morning traffic, thickening every minute, but he didn’t drive fast. Becky and her companions should be easy enough to see, even in a busy city, but there was always the likelihood that she had gone down some side street. But she hadn’t; she had stopped to ask the way to somewhere or other, that was apparent, for the matronly-looking woman she was talking to was pointing down the street. The Baron slid to a halt beside them, wound down his window and said quietly: ‘Becky…’
She turned round at once and when she saw who it was her face broke into a smile. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she observed. ‘Are you on your way again?’
He was disinclined for conversation. ‘I have a job for you; you’ll have to come back to the hotel, I’ll tell you about it there.’
He waited while she thanked the woman and then got out into the rain to usher Bertie in and settle her and Pooch beside him.
And he turned the car, he said severely: ‘You are far too trusting, Becky—to accept my word without one single question. I might have been intent on abducting you.’
She gave him a puzzled look. ‘But why shouldn’t I trust you?’ she wanted to know. ‘And who in his right mind would want to abduct me?’
‘You have a point there.’ He threw her a sidelong glance. She looked bedraggled and tired; perhaps his idea hadn’t been such a good one after all. On the other hand, some dry clothes and a few good meals might make all the difference. ‘That lady you helped in the hotel—she needs a nurse for a few weeks. She liked you, so I said I’d fetch you back so that she could talk to you…’
‘References,’ said Becky sadly. ‘I haven’t any, you know—and I can’t prove I’m a nurse.’
He had drawn up before the hotel once more, now he turned to her. ‘What would you do if you were given the care of someone with ulcerative protocolitis?’
‘Oh, that’s usually treated medically, isn’t it— they only operate when the disease is severe. I’ve only seen it done once…’ She launched into a succinct account of what could be done. ‘Is that what I’m to nurse?’ she asked.
‘No. What do you know about serum viral hepatitis?’
She wrinkled her brow. ‘I don’t know much about that, only that it’s transmitted in three ways…’ She mentioned them briefly and he asked quietly:
‘The sources?’
She told him those too.
‘And what preventative measures can be taken?’
She had to think hard about those, and when she had remembered all six of them she asked: ‘Are you examining me?’
‘No— You said that you had no references…’
Becky said suddenly: ‘Gosh, how silly I am! You must be a doctor.’
‘Indeed I am, and due to leave here within the hour, so if we might go inside…?’
For all the world as though she had been wasting his time in light conversation, thought Becky. The whole thing must be a dreadful bore for him. With a face like his and a Rolls to boot, he hardly needed to waste time on someone as uninteresting as herself. But she got out obediently, gathered the animals to her, and went back into the hotel.
The little lady she had helped in the foyer turned to stare at her as she entered the room and then took her quite by surprise by exclaiming: ‘Yes, that’s the one. How very clever of you to find her, Tiele— we’ll engage her at once.’ Her eyes fell on Bertie and Pooch. ‘And these animals…?’
‘I have been thinking about them, Mama, but first let me introduce you. This is Miss Rebecca Saunders, a registered nurse, who has run away from her home with her two—er—companions. Becky, this is my mother, the Baroness Raukema van den Eck.’ So that made him a Baron!
Becky had her mouth open to begin on a spate of questions, but he stopped her with an urgent hand. ‘No, there is little time for questions, if you don’t mind, I will explain briefly. Pray sit down.’
He was obviously used to having his own way; she sat, with Pooch peering out from under her arm and Bertie on her feet.
‘My mother, as you can see for yourself, is for the time being unable to walk. She has a compound fracture of tib and fib which unfortunately has taken some time to knit, and a badly torn semilunar cartilage of the other knee. She has had quadriceps exercises for three weeks with some good results, and we hope she may commence active movement very shortly. When she does so, she will need a nurse to assist her until she is quite accustomed to walking on her plaster, and we are satisfied that the other knee will give no further trouble. As you are aware, she had engaged a nurse to go with her, but this arrangement has fallen through and it is imperative that she has someone now—she will be sailing on a cruise ship from this port late this afternoon. Unfortunately, I have to be back in Holland by tomorrow morning at the latest, which means that I must leave very shortly.’ He added, as though it were a foregone conclusion: ‘The post should suit you very well.’
Becky sat up straight. ‘I should like to ask some questions,’ and at his impatient frown: ‘I’ll be quick. Where are we going?’
He looked surprised. ‘I didn’t mention it? Trondheim, in Norway. I have an aunt living there whom my mother wishes to visit.’
‘I have no clothes…’
‘Easily remedied. A couple of hours’ shopping.’
‘What happens when I leave?’ She suddenly caught Pooch close so that he let out a raucous protest. ‘And what about Pooch and Bertie?’ she frowned. ‘How can I possibly…’
‘You will return to Holland with my mother where it should be easy enough for you to get a job in one of the hospitals. I shall, of course, give you any help you may need. As to the animals, may I suggest that I take them with me to Holland where they will be well cared for at my home until you return there; after that it should be a simple matter to get a small flat for yourself where they can live.’
‘Quarantine?’
‘There is none—only injections, which I will undertake to see about.’
It all sounded so easy; she perceived that if you were important and rich enough, most things were easy. All the same she hesitated. ‘I’m not sure if they’ll like it…’
He smiled quite kindly then. ‘I promise you that they will have the best of treatment and be cared for.’
‘Yes, I know, but supposing…’
‘What is the alternative, Becky?’ He wasn’t smiling now and he sounded impatient again.
The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. She couldn’t be sure of getting a job, in the first place, and just supposing she should meet Basil or her stepmother before she had found somewhere to live. He was watching her narrowly. ‘Not very attractive, is it?’ he asked, ‘and you have only enough money for a meal—thirty pounds and—er—sixty pence wouldn’t buy you a bed for more than three nights, you know.’
His mother looked at Becky. ‘My dear child, is that all the money you have? And why is that? And why did you leave your home?’
‘With your permission, Mama; you will have time enough to discuss the whole situation. If Becky could decide—now—there are several matters which I must attend to…’
She was annoying him now, she could see that, but what seemed so simple from his point of view was an entirely different matter for her. But she would have to agree; the idea of parting with her pets was unpleasant enough, but at least they would be safe and cared for and after a week or so she would be able to collect them and start a new life for herself. To clinch the matter she suddenly remembered the quarantine laws; she would never have enough money to pay the fees—besides, there was no one and nothing to keep her in England. ‘Thank you, I’ll take the job,’ she said in a resolute voice.
‘Good, then let us waste no more time. My mother will explain the details later. What fee were you to pay the nurse you dismissed, Mama?’
Son and parent exchanged a speaking glance. ‘Sixty pounds a week with—how do you say?— board and lodging.’
‘But that’s too much!’ protested Becky.
‘You will forgive me if I remind you that you have been living in, how shall we say? retirement for the past two years. That is the normal pay for a trained nurse working privately. Over and above that you will receive travelling expenses, and a uniform allowance.’ He took some notes from a pocket and peeled off several. ‘Perhaps you will go now and buy what you think necessary. Your uniform allowance is here, and an advance on your week’s pay.’
Becky took the money, longing to count it, but that might look greedy. ‘I haven’t any clothes,’ she pointed out, ‘so I’d better buy uniform dresses, hadn’t I?’
‘Yes, do that, my dear,’ interpolated the Baroness. ‘You can go shopping in Trondheim and buy the clothes you need.’
Becky found herself in a taxi, the Baron’s cool apologies in her ear. He intended leaving at any moment; she was to take a taxi back to the hotel when she had done her shopping. ‘And don’t be too long about it,’ he begged her forthrightly, ‘although you don’t look to me to be the kind of girl who fusses over her clothes.’ A remark which she had to allow was completely justified but hardly flattering. She had bidden Bertie and Pooch goodbye and hated doing it, but they had looked content enough, sitting quietly by the Baroness. At the last moment she poked her head out of the taxi window.
‘You will look after them, won’t you? They’ll be so lonely…’
‘I give you my word, Becky, and remember that in a few weeks’ time you will be able to make a home for them.’
She nodded, quite unable to speak for the lump in her throat.
She felt better presently. The Baron didn’t like her particularly, she was sure, and yet she felt that she could trust him and upon reflection, she had saved him a lot of time and bother finding another nurse for his mother. She counted the money he had given her and felt quite faint at the amount and then being a practical girl, made a mental list of the things she would need.
It took her just two hours in which to do her shopping; some neat dark blue uniform dresses, because she could wear those each and every day, a blue cardigan and a navy blue raincoat, shoes and stockings and an unassuming handbag and then the more interesting part; undies and a thin dressing gown she could pack easily, and things for her face and her hair. All the same, there was quite a lot of money over. She found a suitcase to house her modest purchases and, obedient to the Baron’s wish, took a taxi back to the hotel.
She found her patient lying on a chaise-longue drawn up to the window, a tray of coffee on the table at her elbow. ‘I hope I haven’t been too long,’ began Becky, trying not to look at the corner where Bertie and Pooch had been sitting.
‘No, my dear. Tiele went about an hour ago, and your animals went quite happily with him. I must tell you that he has a great liking for animals and they like him.’ Her eyes fell upon the case Becky was carrying. ‘You bought all that you require?’ She nodded to herself without waiting for Becky to reply. ‘Then come and have coffee with me and we will get to know each other. Tiele has arranged for us to be taken to the ship in good time; we will have lunch presently—here, I think, as I do dislike being pushed around in that chair—then we shall have time for a rest before we go. I’m sure you must be wondering just where we are going and why,’ she added. ‘Give me another cup of coffee, child, and I will tell you. I have been staying with an old friend at Blanchland, but unfortunately within two days of arriving I fell down some steps and injured my legs. Tiele came over at once, of course, and saw to everything, and I remained at my friend’s house until I was fit to travel again. I could have remained there, but I have a sister living in Trondheim and as I had arranged to visit her before their summer is over, I prevailed upon Tiele to arrange things so that I might go. I get tired in a car and I suffer badly from air-sickness, so he decided that the best plan was for me to go by ship and since there is time enough, to go in comfort and leisure. We shall be sailing to Tilbury first and then to Hamburg and from there to Trondheim, where I intend to stay for three weeks. By then, with your help and that of the local doctor, I should be able to hobble and be out of this wheelchair. I have no idea how we shall return to Holland—Tiele will decide that when the time comes.’
Becky said: ‘Yes, of course,’ in a rather faint voice. After two years or more of isolation and hard work, events were crowding in on her so that she felt quite bewildered. ‘Where do you live in Holland?’ she asked.
‘Our home is in Friesland, north of Leeuwarden. I don’t live with Tiele, of course, now that I am alone I have moved to a house in Leeuwarden only a few miles from Huis Raukema. I have a daughter, Tialda, who is married and lives in Haarlem. Leeuwarden is a pleasant city, not too large, but you should find work there easily enough—besides, Tiele can help you there.’
‘He has a practice in Leeuwarden?’
‘Yes, although he doesn’t live there.’ She put down her cup and saucer. ‘I have talked a great deal, but it is pleasant to chat with someone as restful as you are, Becky. I think we shall get on very well together. Tiele says that we must arrange our days in a businesslike fashion, so will you tell me what you think is best?’ She opened her bag. ‘I almost forgot, he left this for you—instructions, I believe.’
Very precise ones, written in a frightful scrawl, telling her just what he wanted done for his mother, reminding her that she was to take the usual off duty, that she might possibly have to get up at night if the Baroness wasn’t sleeping, that she was to report to the ship’s doctor immediately she went on board that afternoon and that she was to persevere with active movements however much his mother objected to them. At Trondheim there would be a doctor, already in possession of all the details of his mother’s injuries, and he would call very shortly after they arrived there.
He hadn’t forgotten anything; organising, she considered, must be his strong point.
‘That’s all very clear,’ she told her patient. ‘Shall we go over it together and get some sort of a routine thought out?’
It took them until a waiter came with the lunch menu. The Baroness had made one or two suggestions which Becky secretly decided were really commands and to which she acceded readily enough, since none of them were important, but she thought that they were going to get on very well. The Baroness was accustomed to having her own way but she was nice about it. To Becky, who had lived without affection save for her animal friends, her patient seemed kindness itself. They decided on their lunch and she got her settled nicely in a chair with a small table conveniently placed between them and then went away to change her clothes.
She felt a different girl after she had bathed and done her hair up into a neat bun and donned the uniform dress. She had bought some caps too, and she put one on now and went to join the Baroness, who studied her carefully, remarking: ‘You’re far too thin, Becky, but I like you in uniform. Have you bought clothes as well?’
‘Well, no. You see, I should need such a lot….’
Her companion nodded. ‘Yes, of course, but there are some nice shops in Trondheim, you can enjoy yourself buying all you want there. There’s sherry on the table, child, pour us each a glass and we will wish ourselves luck.’
Becky hadn’t had sherry in ages. It went straight to her head and made her feel as though life was fun after all and in a sincere effort not to be thin any longer, she ate her lunch with a splendid appetite. It was later, over coffee, that her patient said: ‘We have a couple of hours still. Supposing you tell me about yourself, Becky?’
CHAPTER TWO
AFTERWARDS, thinking about it, Becky came to the conclusion that she had had far too much to say about herself, but somehow the Baroness had seemed so sympathetic—not that she had said very much, but Becky, who
hadn’t had anyone to talk to like that for a long time, sensed that the interest was real, as real as the sympathy. She hadn’t meant to say much; only that she had trained at Hull because she had always wanted to be a nurse, and besides, her father was a country GP, and that her mother had died five years earlier and her father three years after her. But when she had paused there her companion had urged: ‘But my dear, your stepmother— I wish to hear about her and this so unpleasant son of hers with the funny name…’
‘Basil,’ said Becky, and shivered a little. ‘He’s very good-looking and he smiles a lot and he never quite looks at you. He’s cruel; he’ll beat a dog and smile while he’s doing it. He held my finger in a gas flame once because I’d forgotten to iron a shirt he wanted, and he smiled all the time.’
‘The brute! But why were they so unkind to you? How did they treat your father?’
‘Oh, they were very nice to him, and of course while he was alive I was at the hospital so I only went home for holidays, and then they persuaded my father to alter his will; my stepmother said that there was no need to leave me anything because she would take care of me and share whatever he left with me. That was a lie, of course. I knew it would be, but I couldn’t do much about it, could I?’ She sighed. ‘And I had already decided that I would get a job abroad. But then Father died and my stepmother told me that I had nothing and that she wasn’t going to give me anything and that I wasn’t welcome at home any more, but I went all the same because Bertie and Pooch had belonged to my father and I wanted to make sure that they were looked after. We still had the housekeeper Father had before he married again and she took care of them as best she could. And then my stepmother had jaundice. She didn’t really need a nurse, but she wrote to the hospital and made it look as though it was vital that I should go home— and then Basil came and told me that they had sacked the housekeeper and that if I didn’t go home they’d let Bertie and Pooch starve. So I went home. The house was on the edge of the village and Stoney Chase is a bit isolated anyway. They made it quite clear that I was to take the housekeeper’s place, only they didn’t pay me any wages to speak of and I couldn’t go anywhere, you see, because I had no money after a little while—once I’d used up what I had on things like soap and tights from the village shop…’