by Betty Neels
‘I’m not married, or, rather, I have been married; my wife died ten years ago.’
‘I’m sorry. Have you any children?’
‘Two daughters, ten-year-old twins.’
Charity did some mental arithmetic. ‘Oh, they don’t remember their mother?’
‘Hardly.’ His voice was dry. ‘She left us when they were six months old. She and the man she had gone to live with were killed in a car accident very shortly afterwards.’
‘That’s awful… I’m so sorry, how terrible for you—and for them, you must miss…’ She was aware that she was babbling, and then she said, ‘Thank you for telling me.’
He didn’t answer, but he turned the car into a narrow street lined with gabled houses and stopped before one of them, got out, opened the door of the car and ushered her across the narrow pavement and up the double steps to his front door, a massive affair of splendid wood with a solid brass knocker. He unlocked it and pushed her gently ahead of him into a small vestibule with an inner door which was opened as they reached it by Jolly, who, if he was surprised at the sight of Charity, allowed none of it to show, but murmured politely, took her raincoat and hurried to open the double doors on one side of the hall.
Before she reached them Charity was able to cast a quick eye around her. The hall was panelled in dark oak, shoulder-high, and above it there was a crimson wallpaper; the floor was black and white marble and a Delft china and brass chandelier hung from the ceiling. That was all she had time to notice before going past Jolly into a magnificent room which overlooked the street. It had a high ceiling of strapwork and a splendid chimney piece of some gleaming golden wood above a wide hearth in which a fire burned briskly. Its two long windows were framed by crimson velvet curtains and elaborate pelmets. There were soft rugs strewn on the polished wood floor and two large sofas on each side of the fireplace. There were great armchairs too and a William and Mary settee covered in worn tapestry as well as lamp tables and an enormous bow-fronted display cabinet along one wall. Very grand but lived-in too, she decided, catching sight of the dog Samson, who had advanced to meet them, and a very ordinary tabby cat stretched out before the fire.
‘Sit down,’ invited Mr van der Brons. ‘There is just time for a drink before lunch. Letizia and Teile will be here in a few minutes.’
He sat himself down near her and began a rambling conversation calculated to put her at her ease until the door opened and the two little girls came in. They were identical twins with their father’s blue eyes and flaxen hair cut into fringes across their wide foreheads; they wore kilts and jumpers, obviously expensive but far too sombre in colour.
It was at once evident that they had a splendid rapport with their father; they swarmed over him, chattering endlessly until he hushed them. ‘I’ve brought someone home for lunch,’ he told them in English. ‘This is Charity Pearson; she works with me at the hospital and she comes from England.’
They came to shake her hand and bid her ‘How do you do’ in English, and at her look of surprise the professor observed, ‘They have an English governess; unfortunately she has to go back to her home to look after her mother. We shall miss her. I hope you will meet her before she goes; we are all fond of her.’
‘Do you go to school?’ Charity asked a twin, uncertain which one it was.
‘Yes, we are in the same class. We’re clever.’
‘That is enough of that, Teile,’ said the professor firmly. ‘Charity is a clever young lady who doesn’t boast about it.’
‘Are you clever?’ asked Teile.
Charity cast Mr van der Brons a reproachful glance. ‘I can knit and sew and cook, and make things from cardboard and paper.’
‘What sort of things?’ asked Letizia,
‘Boxes to put things in and dolls, and I make dolls’ clothes and houses, but the house was a bit difficult.’
The little girls looked at her with admiration. ‘So you are clever. We’d like to make a dolls’ house…’ they exchanged glances ‘…but Miss Bloom won’t let us do anything that requires no effort of our brains.’
Charity had the lowering feeling that she wouldn’t match up to Miss Bloom’s high standards; it helped a little when Mr van der Brons said in his most soothing voice, ‘She is enjoying a day off.’ Charity’s sigh of relief was barely discernible.
Jolly came then to tell them that lunch was ready and they crossed the hall, with Samson close at his master’s heels, and entered the dining-room on the other side of the hall. It was panelled in dark oak just as the hall was, with white-plastered walls above, hung with paintings. It had a splendid strapwork ceiling, an enormous carved sideboard along one wall, a massive dining table ringed by ladderback chairs, and another display cabinet. Yet, Charity reflected, it had the pleasant air of being lived in. The furniture might be priceless museum pieces but this was no museum, it was a home.
The meal was a lively one—not that Mr van der Brons was anything other than his usual placid self, but the two little girls chattered happily enough as they ate their omelettes and salad, plying Charity with questions about her work. ‘Where do you live—and where is home?’ asked Letizia.
‘Well, when I’m in London I live at the hospital—’
‘But your home? Where is that?’
Charity considered that it was time the professor halted the stream of questions but he said nothing, sitting there, smiling a little. She cast him a cross look and said, ‘I haven’t a home; you see, I have no family.’
‘Have some of ours,’ offered Mr van der Brons lazily. ‘We have more brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, grannies and cousins than I care to count.’
The little girls shrieked with laughter. After a moment Charity laughed too; it was impossible not to in the face of her host’s placid good humour.
They all went back into the drawing-room presently and played Monopoly until the afternoon darkened and Charity looked guiltily at the clock and saw what time it was.
‘I must go!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s almost four o’clock—I forgot the time…’
‘This is a game to make one forget everything, even the time,’ observed Mr van der Brons, ‘but of course you can’t go without your tea.’ He smiled at her. ‘I would have invited you to stay for dinner but unfortunately I have a date and these two go to bed at half-past seven.’
Teile had got off her chair and was standing beside her father, one arm round his neck. ‘Papa, please don’t go out; if you stayed then Charity could stay too.’
‘Liefje, I cannot break an engagement with a lady.’
‘Is it that Mevrouw de Groot?’
‘It is.’ Her father’s voice held a steely note and Teile subsided into a silence which Charity broke before it began to be awkward.
‘I’m going to the cinema this evening,’ she fibbed hurriedly, ‘with some of the nurses. I’ve forgotten the name of the film but it’s an American one. I haven’t been to a cinema since I got here.’
She looked up and found the professor’s sleepy eyes on her. He didn’t believe a word but the little girls did. The conversation became animated over a discussion about the cinema and the films they had seen and lasted nicely until Jolly came in with the tea. Proper afternoon tea, Charity was glad to see, little dainty sandwiches and scones and a large fruit cake, and the teapot—a splendid example of Georgian silver—was a family size and contained reassuringly strong tea, a nice change from the weak straw-coloured tea which was served at the hospital.
‘I have it sent over from Fortnum and Mason,’ observed Mr van der Brons, reading her tell-tale expression. ‘Be mother, will you, Charity? Teile and Letizia have a watered-down version.’
So they had a pleasant tea, although Charity kept an anxious eye on the clock, keen not to outstay her welcome.
When the small meal was f
inished she said in her matter-of-fact way, ‘I think I must go, if you don’t mind…’
‘Ah, yes, the cinema; we mustn’t keep you. What a pleasant hour or so we have spent, not, I hope, too dull for you?’
‘Dull?’ She was astonished at his question. ‘How could it possibly be dull? I’ve loved every minute of it.’ And, in case that sounded too enthusiastic, she added, ‘It was lovely meeting your little girls.’
She beamed at Teile and Letizia, who grinned back at her.
‘Come again?’ they begged, and she murmured vaguely because Mr van der Brons hadn’t added his voice to theirs. ‘It would be fun to make a dolls’ house,’ said Teile wistfully.
‘Oh, but I dare say you have one,’ said Charity bracingly.
‘Well, of course we have. We didn’t make it, though—there’s a difference…’
Charity agreed that there was, submitted to protracted embraces, was helped into her coat and went into the cold evening with the professor. They drove back to the hospital in silence and when they reached its entrance she embarked on her speech of thanks to be interrupted by his, ‘I’m coming in—I’ve a patient to see.’
They walked together into the entrance and halfway across it she stopped. ‘Thank you for a lovely day,’ she told him earnestly, ‘and I like your daughters.’
He stood looking down at her, not smiling. ‘They liked you, Charity. Tell me, do you like me?’
She smiled widely at him. ‘Oh, yes, indeed, I do—you’re—you’re safe, if you see what I mean?’
His expression didn’t alter. ‘You mean that I’m not another van Kamp to make havoc of your heart,’ he said evenly.
She nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Does he still do that?’
She thought for a moment. ‘Well, just now and then. But I’ll not… That is, I’ve learnt my lesson.’
‘You don’t wish to go back to England?’
‘Certainly not. I like it here and I like working on your unit; besides, that would be running away.’
‘Indeed it would. I am pleased to know that you like your work. You will, of course, be on light duties tomorrow. Sister will tell you exactly what you may and may not do.’
She said awkwardly, ‘Yes, of course, Professor. Good evening.’
She had kept him standing there, she thought worriedly, boring him stiff, probably, when all he wanted to do was to see his patient. She would have to take care to let him see that she had no intention of taking advantage of his kindness.
She had no need to do that during the next few days for she saw almost nothing of him and then only briefly when he came to visit patients waiting for skin grafts or those on the point of being discharged. Her hands gave her no pain but they were beginning to peel and Zuster Kingsma wouldn’t allow her anywhere near patients who had just received their skin grafts or those who had been admitted as emergencies. So she made beds, helped convalescent patients to pack their things ready to go home, turned out cupboards and kept well away from the busy heart of the unit.
A week went by and she had a day off once more. She went off duty in the evening, intent on her plans. She was poring over a train timetable in the nurses’ sitting-room when the warden put her head round the door.
‘For you,’ she said, nodding at Charity. ‘There is a telephone call.’
‘Me? I don’t know anyone…’ She followed the warden out of the room. It could be Eunice, in Amsterdam, perhaps on a modelling job. She picked up the receiver and said ‘Hello,’ in an enquiring voice.
‘I shall be outside at half-past eight,’ said Mr van der Brons in her ear. ‘Please don’t keep me waiting.’ When she didn’t answer he said, ‘You are still planning to go to Leiden tomorrow, are you not?’
‘Yes, yes, I am but I can go by train, you know.’
‘Yes, I do know. If I remember rightly, though, I offered you a lift.’
‘Yes, you did, only I didn’t know that you were still going or—or if you had forgotten or anything.’
‘I had not forgotten. I will see you in the morning.’
He rang off, leaving her faintly put out at his abrupt finish. Of course she could make some excuse, leave a message at the porter’s lodge, but that would look a bit silly. She would accept his offer of a lift; after all, it was a short journey to Leiden and she would be careful to keep the conversation casual and especially remember not to talk about herself.
She went to her room and reviewed her scanty wardrobe. There hadn’t been time to go shopping for a new coat and she had decided to go to Leiden and put off its buying until her next day off. Now it was too late to do anything about that. It would have to be the raincoat again and the unsuitable shoes. She had enough money now to get a new outfit and since she would have all day in Leiden she decided to go round the shops there. A coat, she mused, boots, a cap, or something to wear in the cold weather, perhaps even a dress. She suddenly felt quite cheerful at the prospect of new clothes.
As it turned out, it was raining so hard in the morning that anything other than a raincoat would have been useless. It was another matter with the shoes but they looked fairly sensible in spite of the fact that they were no longer watertight.
Mr van der Brons was outside in his car but he got out, seemingly oblivious to the weather, to open her door. ‘Not much of a day,’ he observed cheerfully. His eye swept carelessly over the shoes. ‘Fortunately there is a good deal to see in Leiden; the Lakenhal is well worth a visit and of course Sint Pieterskerk and the museum of Antiquities on the Rapenburg. Then there is the Ethnographical Museum and the History of Science Museum—they’re close together. I thought we might have lunch together. There’s a pannekoekenhuis in the centre of the town. If you feel like it I’ll be there by half-past twelve. I have some consultations in the afternoon, but if you can find your way down Rapenburg to the medical school you’ll see the car. About five o’clock. Will you wait in the university entrance if I’m not there?’
There seemed no point in refusing and anyway she couldn’t think of a way to do it without sounding rude. She thanked him in her quiet voice and made a colourless remark about the weather. He followed her lead, agreeing placidly that the weather in Holland was frequently wet and windy, enlarging upon this dull topic until the subject had been wrung dry. It was a good thing that the journey to Leiden was a short one. He stopped briefly outside the Lakenhal, advised her to have a cup of coffee at a small café nearby until its doors were open, and drove off.
Since it was still raining she took his advice and then, as it was still too early to visit the Lakenhal, she took herself off to the shopping streets. She was agreeably surprised to find that although they were smaller and fewer than those in Amsterdam they displayed some very attractive clothes. Much taken by a dark green coat, well cut and not too expensive, she opened the shop door and went inside, intent on trying it on. It fitted, what was more it suited her, and the saleswoman, whose English was a great deal better than Charity’s Dutch, pointed out that she had just the right hat to go with it; felt with a small brim, which she perched on Charity’s tidy head at just the right angle. Charity agreed that it seemed a shame not to buy it as it was such a splendid match and from that it was an easy step to glancing through a selection of dresses to complete the outfit. Separates, said the saleswoman, in a fine wool; she had just the thing in a green and tawny Paisley pattern, or perhaps the cranberry needlecord? Charity, after deliberation, decided on the needlecord. The coat and hat were put on once more just to make sure that the whole ensemble was exactly to her liking and since it had stopped raining she kept them on, paid her bill and went outside into the street again. There were more people about now and the Lakenhal would have opened its doors but Charity, quite carried away by her smart appearance, studied the shoe shops, weighing the variety of boots against each other and finally settling o
n a pair of soft leather boots—black, for her handbag was black and, being leather, was still good. Once again, she emerged, her feet newly shod, the unsuitable shoes sharing the bag into which her raincoat had been packed.
The sun had come out too; she made her way jauntily to the Lakenhal and spent an hour there before walking down Breestraat to study the Town Hall, the Korenbeursbrug and then Burcht Fort, St Pancras Church and finally breasting the hill to the Sint Pieterkerk. By then it was very nearly half-past twelve, so she retraced her steps, found Steenstraat, and, in it, the pannekoekenhuis.
Mr van der Brons was already there although she didn’t see him at once. He stood a little to one side, watching her coming towards him. He smiled a little at the new clothes but it was a kind smile and as she got nearer he came towards her, his smile casually friendly now.
He took her plastic bag from her and said, ‘I see you have put your morning to good advantage. You look very nice. Did you find time to visit any of the museums or to look round the town?’
His voice held just the right tone of casual interest as he ushered her into the restaurant, sat her down at a table by a window and took off his car coat. ‘I hope you are hungry, for I am. Have you had a Dutch pancake yet?’
When she shook her head he said, ‘Then that’s what we will have, spekpannenkoeken with stroop—fat bacon pancakes with syrup.’
‘Shall I like it?’ She did sound rather doubtful.
‘Most certainly you will. Let me have that coat.’
He handed it to a waiter and ordered the pancakes. ‘I won’t offer you lager—would you like wine or tonic?’
She chose tonic water and over their drinks she told him, remembering to be brief, of her morning. The pancakes came then so that conversation was spasmodic. They had almost finished when he asked her, ‘Did you enjoy that?’
‘Very much. It doesn’t sound nearly as nice as it tastes.’