by Betty Neels
She finished the sherry. It had loosened her tongue; she hadn't told anyone her plans, and here she was pouring out her heart to a stranger-almost a stranger, then, though he had never seemed to be that, rather someone whom she had known for a very long time.
`You are prepared to take that responsibility? You should marry.' There was the faintest question in his voice.
`Well, that would be awfully convenient, but no one's asked me, and anyway I can't imagine anyone wanting to make a home for Peta as well as me.'
She couldn't see his eyes very well; the heavy lids almost covered them, probably he was half asleep with boredom. `I think you may be wrong there,' he said quietly, and then: `And what do you thinkk of our hospital?'It was easy after that; he led her from one topic to the next while they ate the smoked eel and then the chicken, washed down with the wine which had been the subject of such serious discussion with the wine waiter.Lavinia had no idea what it was, but it tasted delicious, as did the chocolate mousse which followed the chicken. She ate and drank with the simple pleasure of someone who doesn't go out very often, and when she had finished it, she said shyly: `That was quite super; I don't go out a great deal-hardly ever, in fact. I thought you meant it when you said a quick snack.'
He laughed gently. `It's quite some time since I took a girl out to supper. I haven't enjoyed myself so much for a long while.' He added deliberately: `We must do it again.'
`Yes, well.. .that would be...' She found herself short of both breath and words. `I expect I should be getting back.'
He lifted a finger to the hovering waiter. `Of course-a heavy day tomorrow, isn't it?'
He spoke very little on their way back to the hospital, and Lavinia, trying to remember it all later, couldn't be sure of what she had replied. He wished her good night at the hospital entrance and got back into his car and drove off without looking back. He was nice, she admitted to herself as she went to her room; the kind of man she felt at ease with he would be a wonderful friend; perhaps, later on, he might be. She went to sleep thinking about him.
There was the usual chatter at breakfast and several of her table companions asked her if' she had had a good supper. Evidently someone had told them. Neeltje probably; she was a positive fount of information about everything and everyone. She informed everyone now: `The Prof's going to a conference in Vienna; he won't be here for a few days, for I heard him telling Doctor van Teyl about it. We shall have that grumpy old van Vorst snapping our heads off if we have to go to the Path. Lab.' She smiled at Lavinia. `And he is not likely to ask you to go out with him.'
Everyone laughed and Lavinia laughed too, although in fact she felt quite gloomy. Somehow she had imagined that she would see Professor ter Bavinck again that morning, and the knowledge that she wouldn't seemed to have taken a good deal of the sparkle out of the day.
She settled down during the next few days into her new way of life, writing to Peta every (lay or so, studying her Dutch lessons hard so that she might wring a reluctant word of praise From Juffrouw de Waal, and when she was on duty, working very hard indeed. She had scrubbed for several cases by now and had managed very well, refusing to allow herself to be distracted or worried by the steady flow of Dutch conversation which went on between the surgeons as they worked, and after all, the instruments were the same, the technique was almost the same, even if they were called by different names. She coped with whatever came her way with her usual unhurried calm.
Only that calm was a little shattered one morning. They were doing a gastroentreostomy, when the surgeon cast doubts on his findings and sent someone to telephone the Path. Lab. A minute or two later Professor ter Bavinck came in, exchanged a few words with his colleagues, collected the offending piece of tissue which was the cause of the doubt,
cast a lightning look at Lavinia, standing behind her trolleys, and went away again.
So he was back. She counted a fresh batch of swabs, feeling the tide of pleasure the sight of him had engendered inside her. The day had suddenly become splendid and full of exciting possibilities. She only just stopped herself in time from bursting into song.
CHAPTER THREE
BUT THE DAY wasn't splendid at all; she was in theatre for hours as it turned out, with an emergency; some poor soul who had fallen From a fourth floor balcony. The surgeons laboured over her for patient hours and no one thought of going to dinner, although two or three of the nurses managed to get a cup of coffee. But Lavinia, being scrubbed and taking the morning's list, went stoically on until at length, about three o'clock in the afternoon, she had a few minutes in which to bolt a sandwich and drink some coffee, and because the morning's list had been held up it ended hours late; in consequence the afternoon list was late too, and even though she didn't have to scrub, she was still on duty. When she finally got off duty it was well past seven o'clock. There was no reason why she should look for the professor on her way to supper; he was unlikely to be lurking on the stairs or round a corner of any of the maze of passages, so her disappointment at not meeting him was quite absurd. She ate her supper, pleaded tiredness after her long day, and retired to the fastness of her room.
A good night's sleep worked wonders. She felt quite light-hearted as she dressed the next morning; she would be off at four o'clock and the lists weren't heavy; perhaps she would see Professor ter Bavinck and he would suggest another quick snack... She bounced down to breakfast, not stopping to examine her happiness, only knowing that it was another day and there was the chance of something super happening.
Nothing happened at all. Work, of coursethere was always plenty of that; it was a busy hospital and the surgeons who worked there were known for their skill. The morning wore on into the afternoon until it was time for her to go off duty. Neeltje was off too-they were going out with some of the other nurses; a trip round the city's canals was a must for every
visitor to Amsterdam and they would take her that very evening. She got ready for the outing, determined to enjoy herself. She had been silly and made too much of the professor's kindness-it was because she went out so seldom with a man that she had attached so much importance to seeing him again. Heaven forhid that she should appear over-eager, indeed, i f he were to ask her out again she would take care to have an excuse ready, she told herself stoutly. She stared at her reflection in the looking glass-he wasn't likely to ask her again, anyway. He was in the hospital each day, she had heard someone say so, and there had been plenty of opportunities...
She left her room and took the short cut to the hospital entrance where she was to meet the others. The last few yards of it gave her an excellent view of the forecourt so that she couldn't fail to see the professor standing in it, talking earnestly to a young woman. It was too far off to see if she was pretty, but even at that distance Lavinia could see that she was beautifully dressed. She slowed her steps the better to look and then stopped altogether as he took the girl's arm and walked away with her, across the tarmac to where his motorcar was standing. She didn't move until they had both got into it and it had disappeared through the gates, and when she did she walked very briskly, with her determined little chin rather higher than usual and two bright spots of colour on her cheeks.
When they all got back a couple of hours later, the professor was standing in the entrance, talking to two of the consultants, and all three men wished the girls Goeden avond. Lavinia, joining in the polite chorus of replies, took care not to look at him.
She wakened the next morning to remember that it was her day off. The fine weather still held and she had a formidable list of museums to visit. She was up and out soon after nine o' clock, clad in a cool cotton dress and sandals on her bare feet and just enough money in her handbag to pay for her lunch.
She went first to the Bijenkorf, however, that mecca of the Amsterdam shopper, and spent an hour browsing round its departments, wishing she had the money to buy the pretty things on display, cheering herself with the thought that before very long, she might be able to do so. But it was alre
ady ten o'clock and the museums had been open half an hour aIready, she started to walk across the Dam Square, with its palace on one side and the stark war memorial facing it on the other, down Kalverstraat, not stopping to look in the tempting shop windows, and into Leidsestraat. I t was here that she noticed that the blue sky had dimmed to grey, it was going to rainhut the museum was only a few minutes' brisk walk away now, she could actually see the imposing frontage of her goal. The first few drops began to fall seconds later, however, and then without warning, turned into a downpour. Lavinia began to run, feeling the rain soaking her thin dress.
The Bentley pulled into the curb a little ahead of her, so that by the time she was level with it the professor was on the pavement, standing in the rain too. He didn't speak at all, merely plucked her neatly from the pavement, bustled her round the elegant bonnet of the car, and popped her into the front seat. When he got in beside her, all he said was: `You're very wet,' as he drove on.
Lavinia got her breath. `I was going to the museum,' she began. `It's only just across the road,' she added helpfully, in case he wanted an excuse to drop her off somewhere quickly.
`Unmistakable, isn't it?' he observed dryly, and drove past it to join the stream of traffic going back into the city's heart.
Her voice came out small. `Are you taking me back to St Jorus?"
'Good lord, no-on your day off? We're going to get you dry, you can't possibly drip all over the Rijksmuseum.'
He was threading the big car up and down narrow streets which held very little traffic, and she had no idea where she was; she didn't really care, it was nice just to sit there without question. But presently she recognized her surroundings-this was the square she had visited that afternoon, and she made haste to tell him so. `I remember the houses,' she told him,, `they've got such plain faces, but I'm sure they must be beautifull inside. If you want to set me down here, I know my way-I expect you're going to the hospital."
'No, I'm not.' He circled the square and on its third side stopped before the large house in the middle of the row of tall, narrower ones, and when she gave him a questioning look, said blandly: `I live here. My housekeeper will dry that dress of yours for you-and anything else that's wet.' He spoke with friendly casualness. `We can have our coffee while she's doing it.'
`Very kind,' she said, breathless, `but your work-I've delayed you already.'
He leaned across her and opened the door before getting out of the car. `I have an occasional day off myself.' He came round the car and stood by the door while she got out too, and then led her across the narrow cobbled street to his front door.
She had no idea that a house could be so beautiful; true, she had seen pictures of such places in magazines, and she was aware that there were such places, but looking at them in a magazine and actually standing in the real thing were two quite different things. She breathed an ecstatic sigh as she gazed around her; this was better than anything pictured-a large, light hall with an Anatolian carpet in rich reds and blues almost covering its black and white marble floor, with a staircase rising from its end wall, richly carved, its oak treads uncarpeted and a chandelier of vast proportions hanging from a ceiling so high that she had to stretch her neck to see it properly.
`You don't live here?' she wanted to know of her companion, and he gave a short laugh. `Oh, but I do-have done all my life. Come along, we'll find Mevrouw Pette.'
He urged her across the floor to a door at the back of the hall, beside the staircase and opened it for her, shouting down the short flight of stairs on the other side as they began to descend them. At the bottom there was a narrow door, so low that he was forced to bow his head to go through. It gave on to a surprisingly large and cheerful room, obviously the kitchen, decided Lavinia, trying not to look too curiously at everything around her. Nice and old-fashioned, but with all the modern gadgets any woman could wish for. There were cheerful yellow curtains at the windows, which looked out on to a narrow strip of garden at the back of the house, and the furniture was solid; an enormous wooden dresser against one wall, a scrubbed table, equally enormous, in the centre of the brick floor and tall Windsor chairs on either side of the Aga cooker. There were cheerful rugs too, and rows of copper pots and pans on the walls. It was all very cosy and one hardly noticed the fridge, the rotisserie and the up-to-date electric oven tucked away so discreetly. Out of sight, she felt sure, there would be a washing up machine and a deep-freeze and anything else which would make life easier. The professor must have a very good job indeed to be able to live so splendidly-and there were no fewer than three persons working in the kitchen, too. The elderly woman coming to meet them would be the housekeeper and as well as her there was a young girl cleaning vegetables at the sink, while another girl stood at the table clearing away some cooking utensils.
The professor spoke to them as he went in and they looked up and smiled and then went on with what they were doing while he talked to Mevrouw Pette at some length. She was a thin woman, of middle height, with a sharp nose and a rosy complexion, her hair, still a nice brown, drawn back severely from her face. But she had a kind smile; she smiled at Lavinia now and beckoned to her, and encouraged by the professor's: `Yes, go along, Lavinia-Mevrouw Pette will take your dress and lend you a dressing gown and bring you down again for coffee,' Lavinia followed.
So she went back up the little stair once more and across the hall to the much grander staircase and mounted it in Mevrouw Pette's wake, to be ushered into a dear little room, all chintz and dark oak, where she took off her dress and put on the dressing gown the housekeeper produced. It was blue satin, quilted and expensive; she wondered whose it wassurely not Mevrouw Pette's? It fitted tolerably well, though she was just a little plump for it. She smoothed back her damp hair, frowned at herself in the great mirror over the oak dower chest against one wall, and was escorted downstairs once more, this time to a room on the right of the hall-a very handsome room, although having seen a little of the house, she wasn't surprised at that. All the same, she had to admit that its rich comfort, allied with beautiful furniture and hangings of a deep sapphire blue, was quite breathtaking.
The professor was standing with his back to the door looking out of a window, but when he turned round she plunged at once into talk, feeling shy. `You're very kind, and I am sorry to give you so much trouble.'
He waved her to an outsize chair which swallowed her in its vast comfort and sat down himself opposite her. 'I'm a selfish man,' he observed blandly. `If I hadn't wished to trouble myself, I shouldn't have done so.'
He crossed one long leg over the other, very much at his ease. `You didn't look at me yesterday evening,' he observed. `You were annoyed, I think-I hope ... and that pleased me, because it meant that you were a little interested in me.'
He smiled at her look of outrage. `No, don't be cross-did I not say that we could be nothing but honest with each other, as friends should be? I have been back for three days and I had made up my mind not to see you for a little while, and then yesterday I changed my mind, but I met an old friend who needed advice, so I was hindered from asking you to come out with me.'
She had no idea why he was telling her all this, but she had to match his frankness. `I saw her with you.'
He smiled again. 'Ah, so you were hoping that I would come?'
The conversation was getting out of hand; she said with dignity and a sad lack of truth: `I didn't hope anything of the sort, Professor,' and was saved from further fibbing by Mevrouw Pette's entrance with the coffee tray, but once the coffee was poured, her relief was short-lived.
`You probably think that I am a conceited middle-aged man who should know better,' said the professor suavely.
She nibbled at a spicy biscuit before she replied. `No. You're not middle-aged or conceited. And I did hope you'd ask me out again, though I can't think why, me being me. If I were a raving beauty I don't suppose I'd be in the least surprised...'
He laughed then, suddenly years younger. `Is your young sister like you?' h
e wanted to know.
`To look at? No; she's pretty, but we like the same things and we get on well together but then she's easy to get on with.'
`And you are not?"
'I don't know. My aunt says I'm not, but then she doesn't like me, but she has given Peta a home for a year now and sent her to school...'
`But not loved her?'
He passed his cup for more coffee. `You think your sister will like Amsterdam?'
`I' m sure she will. She takes her 0 levels this week and then she'll leave school just as soon as I can get somewhere to live here she can come. I thought she could have Dutch lessons...'
`And you plan to stay here for the foreseeable future?'
Lavinia nodded cheerfully, happy to be talking to him. `I like it, living here. I feel quite at home and I earn so much more, you see, and if I stay here for a year or two I could save some money, enough to go back to England if Peta wanted to, and start her on whatever she decides to do.'