by Betty Neels
‘Good. Shall we have coffee?’ and, when it came, ‘What do you intend to do this afternoon?’
‘Well, I haven’t seen the Rapenburg Canal yet and there are some gardens, aren’t there? I don’t suppose there’s much to see at this time of year, but I thought I would take a look.’
‘Then there are always the shops,’ he reminded her smilingly.
His manners were far too good to remind her that he had work to do that afternoon; she drank her coffee and said, ‘Yes, I’ll do the rest of my shopping before I start to explore.’
She got up, he helped her into her coat and they went together into the street. ‘Thank you for my lunch,’ said Charity. ‘I’ll not be late.’
He smiled down at her earnest face, quite pretty now by reason of the new clothes and the pleasure of his company. ‘I’ll wait, Charity.’
She gave him rather a shy smile and walked away briskly in the direction of the shops, and, although he was already a little late for his appointment, he stood watching her until she was out of sight.
Charity still had some money in her purse; she spent most of it during the next hour, on undies and tights, a pretty scarf, a night cream guaranteed to bring beauty to the plainest face, a new lipstick. She called a halt then and spent a sober hour at the History of Science Museum, going out of her way to understand its contents before making her way to the Rapenburg Canal and having tea in the Doelen Restaurant, where she dawdled over a pot of tea and an outsize cream cake, and by then it was time to go across the canal and look for the Rolls.
It was quite dark by now and cold but the town was brightly lit and in some of the houses there were lit Christmas trees. Despite the chilly air she loitered along, enjoying the last of her free day.
She paused going over the bridge to look down at the canal and the thought struck her that she hadn’t remembered Cor once all day. Now, suddenly, she wished that he was there, standing beside her, his arm round her shoulders, talking light-heartedly, telling her that she was his girl and that there was no one like her. All nonsense, she reminded herself very firmly, but all the same hard to forget.
The professor, walking towards her, paused to study her; even from that distance he could see her straight little back drooping. He sighed gently and went on walking, making sufficient noise for her to turn to see who it was. Just for a moment she had the wild idea that it was Cor, so engrossed was she in thoughts of him, but it was Mr van der Brons who came unhurriedly to join her.
‘Peaceful, isn’t it?’ he remarked without looking at her. ‘I like to think of all the people who have stood on this bridge over the hundreds of years. One wonders if they were happy or unhappy, in love or at odds with everyone.’
He stood beside her, leaning against the parapet, and his calm voice matched the calm of their surroundings. Charity felt her sadness melting away and her good sense taking over once more. The future was ahead and heaven knew what was in store for her; in the meantime she had a good job and enough money now and the nurses at the hospital were friendly. She would stop being sorry for herself; she had been a fool but she had learnt her lesson.
‘I had a look at the gardens,’ she told him. ‘I wish I knew more about the university—it’s a big medical school, isn’t it?’
He told her about it, standing there in the cold dark of the evening, his arm around her shoulders, until at length he paused. ‘You must be frozen… You must have a warm drink before you go back. In any case, Letizia and Teile want to see you again.’
He didn’t listen to her objections but swept her along and into the car and within half an hour she found herself in his house, having her new coat taken from her and being shooed gently into the drawing-room.
‘Coffee,’ said the professor, ‘hot and strong while you defrost before the fire. Here come Teile and Letizia.’
The children came prancing in with Samson between them and before she knew where she was Charity was drinking Mevrouw Jolly’s coffee, deep in a game of Scrabble. She did look up once to say, ‘But I really must go…’ This was met with his mild, ‘Why? Have you something planned for this evening?’ When she shook her head, he said slowly, ‘Well, let us hear no more about it. You must stay to supper and fend off the children’s endless questions.’
So she stayed, but it wasn’t supper; it was an elegant dinner served on spotless linen and eaten with silver cutlery.
‘We don’t usually stay up as late as this,’ explained Teile, ‘only it’s Saturday tomorrow and we don’t go to school. Besides, Miss Bloom is coming back this evening; she had to go to England again.’
So when dinner was finished Charity said that she must go. ‘You will want to talk to Miss Bloom,’ she said in her matter-of-fact way. ‘She will be so pleased to see you again.’ She put down her coffee-cup and got to her feet, and the professor stood up and pushed her gently back into her chair. ‘Miss Bloom will be delighted to meet you, Charity. I’m going to Schiphol to meet her plane now and I’m relying on you to stay here and keep an eye on the girls. I’ll take you back…’
He so obviously took it for granted that she would agree to this that she nodded weakly. He patted her briskly on the shoulder, spoke to the little girls in their own language and left the room. Charity, feeling annoyed for no reason that she could think of, returned to their game of Scrabble.
It was nearly an hour before Mr van der Brons returned, this time accompanied by a severe-looking lady clad in equally severe tweeds, her greying hair drawn back into an old-fashioned bun. The little girls, who had been sprawling on the floor, got to their feet as she entered the room and went to offer her a polite greeting, and Charity, who had been sprawling too, scrambled to her feet, feeling guilty. The professor looked at her flushed face and untidy hair and smiled to himself, but he undertook the introductions with grave politeness and Charity and Miss Bloom shook hands, exchanging the polite remarks usual on such occasions. Then she said, ‘It was a delightful surprise to be greeted by you both, Teile and Letizia, but it is long past your bedtime. Say goodnight to your Father and Miss Pearson and go upstairs.’
They kissed their father obediently and then, rather to her surprise, kissed Charity as well. When they had gone Miss Bloom observed, ‘I shall miss them, you know—almost ten years is a long time…’ She turned to Mr van der Brons. ‘Have you a governess in mind?’
‘Well, no. I am thinking of marrying, in which case there should be no need.’ He smiled at her, then, ‘I should never find anyone quite like you, Miss Bloom.’
Miss Bloom blushed. ‘That is kind of you to say so, Mr van der Brons. I very much regret that I must return home as soon as possible. Probably before you marry?’
‘Probably.
He wasn’t going to say any more than that, and Charity filled the small silence with a reiterated wish to return to the hospital, a wish he agreed to with unflattering promptness. Getting into her coat, she reflected that probably he was free to spend the rest of the evening with whomever it was he was going to marry. She contemplated this gloomily, not sure why the sparkle had gone out of the day, but she bade Miss Bloom a cheerful goodbye, expressed her wish that that lady should enjoy her future and got into the car beside Mr van der Brons. The drive was so brief that there was really no need to say anything, but when he stopped before the hospital entrance she said, ‘No, please don’t get out—I’m sure you must have plans for your evening.’
He took no notice, but walked with her to the doors, where she thanked him for her delightful day. ‘You’ll miss Miss Bloom,’ she ended, by way of finishing their brief conversation.
‘Oh, yes, I must do something about that. Goodnight, Charity.’
CHAPTER FOUR
CHARITY went on duty the next morning, looking forward to seeing Mr van der Brons again. Probably he wouldn’t speak to her—to be friends outside the hospital
was one thing; in the unit she was Staff Nurse Pearson and he was the boss, however placidly he held that position—but just to see him would be nice…
He wasn’t there. Zuster Kingsma, giving her instructions for the day, observed that he had been called away during the very early hours of the morning to do what he could for a badly burned child in an outlying village. There was no sign of him all day and she went off duty at half-past three, feeling disappointed. She had agreed to go with some of the other nurses to a cinema that evening; it was on their way back to the hospital, rattling along in one of Amsterdam’s trams, that she saw him go past in his car. There was an elegant-looking woman beside him and for some reason the sight of them together annoyed Charity; the day, which had began so cheerfully, ended on a sour note.
In bed later, she took herself to task; it was not as though they were real friends, she reminded herself—each time she had been out with him it was really because, being a kind man, he wasn’t able to do anything else. He had taken her out to cheer her up on the first occasion, hadn’t he? Then he had offered a lift to Leiden also from kindness, and he had asked her to lunch at his home because she had been an object of pity in her ruined clothes. He wasn’t likely to foster an acquaintance which had been foisted upon him in the first place.
She had the afternoon shift the next day and went on duty after her midday dinner to find that he had been in the unit the whole morning and had gone again, this time over to Edinburgh, where he expected to stay for several days. His registrar, Wim van Beek, said Zuster Kingsma, would deal with any emergency and minor surgery.
It was silly of her to miss him and even sillier to think of him so much; there were so many other things to think about—in two days’ time it would be the feast of Sint Nikolaas and the other nurses had told her that it was usual to give friends and family some small gift. Especially the children. In the meantime she intended to roam around the shops, buying headscarves, hankies and scented soap for her widening circle of companions. It was a pity that the children on the ward were all too ill to enjoy presents—perhaps by Christmas…
Two days later it was her afternoon shift again and since it was Sint Nikolaas she took her presents on duty with her; the nursing staff had clubbed together and bought Zuster Kingsma a silk headscarf, traditionally labelled from the sint, as were the small packets for the nurses and those of the patients who were well enough to enjoy the mild pleasure of opening a parcel. It was a pity, Zuster Kingsma told her, that the feast of Sint Nikolaas was taking second place to Christmas; only the children still received small gifts and chocolate letters and gathered to see the sint and his attendant Zwarte Piet ride through the cities and towns of Holland. All the same, in the hospital small presents were exchanged among friends.
Charity went off duty that evening, clutching a chocolate letter and a handful of soaps, hankies and a coffee-mug. Even amid the hurry and bustle of the unit there had been time to exchange presents and to admire those brought in by family and friends of the patients who were well enough to enjoy them. It had been a very busy day and she was tired now. Supper, she thought, a hot bath and then bed.
She was crossing the entrance hall, using the corridor at its far end as so many of the nurses did, even though it was forbidden, since it was the shortest route to the nurses’ home, when she saw Mr van der Brons’s broad back disappearing through the entrance doors. He was back, she thought contentedly, and she would see him in the morning.
Early though it was, he was in Sister’s office when she went on duty in the morning. Beyond his usual courteous good morning he had nothing to say to her, but at the door he paused to speak to Zuster Kingsma in English. ‘I’ll have Zuster Pearson in Theatre this morning; arrange that, if you please.’
Zuster Kingsma waited until he had gone. ‘A good morning for your first in Theatre,’ she said kindly. ‘First stage pedicle and a first dressing on that child we admitted—under anaesthetic.’
Theatre Sister was small and round with black eyes and a placid face and, mindful of Mr van der Brons’s instructions, she took care that Charity stayed in the background so that she had time to find her feet and undertake only the simplest of tasks. Mr van der Brons, looming large over everyone else, was assisted by his registrar and two young housemen, who got very much in the way and whom he treated with great patience, explaining just what he was doing and why and encouraging them to air their views. Most of it was lost on Charity, for he spoke Dutch, but from time to time Sister spoke to her in English, bidding her do something or other, and she understood well enough when one or other of the nurses there said something to her. By the end of the morning she had lost her initial nervousness and, when the list was finished, did her share of cleaning up and readying the theatre for any emergency which might happen.
Mr van der Brons had gone again, of course, without so much as glancing her way. It couldn’t be plainer, she thought sadly; he had helped her when she had needed help and that was that. Not surprising, she reminded herself, tearing out of her uniform later that afternoon, intent on getting to the shops to look for Christmas presents; now if it had been Eunice with her lovely face and beguiling ways it might have been a different matter…
She was surprised to have a letter from Miss Bloom the following morning, suggesting that they might meet for tea on her next free afternoon. It was a stiff little note but she had written her telephone number and hoped that Charity would meet her, suggesting the Bijenkorf restaurant at four o’clock.
Charity was intrigued; she had thought Miss Bloom a little intimidating but there must be something nice about her for her to have stayed with the van der Bronses for so many years. She phoned during her coffee break and arranged to meet her that very afternoon.
It was rather a scramble to get to the Bijenkorf by four o’clock; clock-watching wasn’t encouraged on the burns unit and in any case Charity wasn’t a clock-watcher. Doubtless Miss Bloom wouldn’t mind waiting for ten minutes or so.
She arrived rather breathless, a little late but as neat as a new pin. ‘I’m late,’ she apologised. ‘I’m so sorry, but Mr van der Brons was doing a round and we are all expected to stay until it is over.’
Miss Bloom, unmistakably English in a tweed coat of a timeless cut, a sensible felt hat pulled well down, sensible lace-up shoes and gloves and handbag which must have cost more than the whole of the rest of her outfit, was sitting at a table for two overlooking the shop floor below. She shook hands and said, ‘I ordered tea and toast. I hope that will suit you?’ Charity said that it would, stifling greedy thoughts of mountainous cream cakes.
‘We met only briefly the other evening,’ said Miss Bloom, ‘and it has occurred to me that since I have lived here for some years and you are newly arrived there might be some way in which I could help you.’
‘You’re very kind. I’ve been here almost three months and I’m beginning to find my way around and learn some Dutch, but there’s so much I don’t know.’
‘You should find someone to give you lessons—does the hospital arrange that?’
‘Oh, yes—but the teacher has too big a class already; I’m to join after Christmas.’
Their tea came and Miss Bloom poured out and offered buttered toast; Charity, who had had a curtailed midday dinner, could have wolfed the lot. She nibbled at a thin slice and responded politely to Miss Bloom’s chat.
They were enjoying their second cups when Miss Bloom observed, ‘You are a most fortunate girl to be working for Mr van der Brons. He is a kind and generous man and endlessly patient.’
Charity agreed. ‘He has been very kind to me—I imagine he’s nice to everyone.’
‘Yes, although of course if he comes across injustice or unkindness he can exhibit a quite royal rage. He will, however, go out of his way to help anyone who needs it.’
This was a little near the bone for Charity. She said cheerf
ully, ‘I liked his daughters…’
‘Dear girls; they take after him and I am glad to say that they are not like their mother.’ She turned a shrewd eye upon Charity. ‘He was good enough to tell me of your bravery. It is a wonder that you weren’t more severely injured.’
Charity went a little pink. ‘I don’t think I was in any real danger and those two young men who came after us were awfully quick.’
‘You were quicker.’ Miss Bloom smiled warmly and Charity discovered that she rather liked her after all. ‘I return to England in two weeks. I hope that you will see something of Teile and Letizia—they liked you.’
‘Well, I don’t suppose that’s very likely. I mean, I don’t know Mr van der Brons, if you see what I mean. I work on his unit—it’s…it’s not quite the same.’ She added in her matter-of-fact way, ‘I’m sure he must have lots of friends.’ She was suddenly anxious not to talk about him any more. ‘You will be sorry to go back to England?’
‘Oh, yes. But my mother is ill—a bad heart which will, I’m afraid, deteriorate. I must make my home with her.’
‘Later on, if your mother should improve, you could perhaps return—the girls will miss you dreadfully after all these years…’
‘I like to think so. I shall do my best to keep in contact with them.’
They decided on a third cup of tea and she went on, ‘Are you looking forward to Christmas?’
They chatted for a little while longer before Charity said that she must go if she was to do her shopping before closing time. She thanked Miss Bloom and hoped that they might meet again some time. ‘For I shall return to England, I expect, although I like Holland very much, what I’ve seen of it.’
They parted on the most friendly terms and Charity, buying Christmas cards, wondered why Miss Bloom had wanted to meet her again and then forgot about it as she wandered through the Bijenkorf’s departments.
Mr van der Brons let himself into his house very much later that evening. He declined Jolly’s offer of a meal and went into his drawing-room to find Miss Bloom sitting there, knitting. Samson came to greet him and he bent to caress the dog’s shaggy coat. ‘Good evening, Miss Bloom,’ he said pleasantly, and went to sit down in his great arm-chair by the fire, not allowing his surprise at seeing her there to show. She was an old and trusted member of his household, but although they shared their meals when he was at home and from time to time discussed the children’s problems and progress she had her own sitting-room and only rarely sought him out.