by Betty Neels
It was almost two o’clock when the last patient went away and Sister and one of the nurses started clearing up. Dr ter Feulen and his registrar got to their feet and started for the door. Serena stayed where she was, praying silently that they would part company, so that she could get the registrar on his own, but instead of that Dr ter Feulen paused in the doorway, then walked back to her.
‘Well, what didn’t you get down?’
It annoyed her that he took it for granted that she hadn’t been able to cope. She reeled off several words she had been unable to spell and added with some spirit, ‘I’ve done my best, sir, but please remember that I’m not Miss Payne.’
She saw the registrar’s face out of the corner of her eye. Shocked horror were the only words to describe it, and then she heard Sister’s hissed breath. It struck her that she wasn’t at all suitable to work for a leading consultant in a famous teaching hospital. She didn’t stand in suitable awe of him, so it was perhaps a good thing that Miss Payne would be back shortly and she could return to her typing agency and be given a job in a warehouse or a factory, typing invoices against a background of uninhibited voices.
‘The words?’ asked Dr ter Feulen. ‘Kindly repeat them.’
She did, and with a brief nod he went away, leaving her to gather up her notebook and pencil and go to the canteen. Midday dinner was long over. She had some soup and a roll and a pot of tea, and then hurried back to her desk. She had enough work to keep her busy until the evening.
She hadn’t finished when the other typists went home at half-past five. A nearby church clock had struck six when the phone rang. ‘Bring your work down to the consultants’ room when it is finished, Miss Proudfoot.’
He hung up before she could so much as breathe a ‘yes, sir’.
Half an hour later, dressed in her outdoor things, she knocked on the door and was bidden to enter. He was sitting at the table, writing, but rather to her surprise he got up as she went in.
‘Ah, thank you, Miss Proudfoot.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I trust your evening has not been spoiled.’
Serena assured him that it hadn’t. ‘I hardly ever go out in the evening,’ she told him chattily, disposed to be friendly since he was still working himself. Speaking her thought out loud, she added, ‘Well, you’re not as tired as you were last night—you were asleep, you know, and snoring just a little. Had you had a busy day?’
He regarded her with some surprise. ‘Yes, I had. Tell me, Miss Proudfoot, do you take an interest in everyone you meet?’
‘Well, yes, most people.’ She saw him frown. ‘You think I’m being nosy and I suppose I ought to treat you with respect—you are a senior consultant. I must try and remember that while I’m here.’
‘It might be as well! Goodnight, Miss Proudfoot, and thank you.’
‘Goodnight, sir. I should go home and have an early night if you can—you look tired, almost as tired as you did yesterday.’
She closed the door quietly as she went out and forgot him while she racked her brains for a suitable meal to cook when she got home; something quick, but it would have to be tempting because of her mother’s poor appetite...
Dr ter Feulen resumed his seat but made no attempt to continue his writing. He sat looking at nothing in particular, and presently he smiled.
Mrs Proudfoot was out of sorts when Serena got home. ‘Really, darling,’ she began as soon as Serena put her head round the sitting-room door, ‘this is too bad; I’ve been alone all day!’
Serena kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘You went out for a meal?’
‘Well, yes, but that’s not the point. I’m really not well enough to be left alone for hours on end.’ Her mother’s pretty face puckered like a child’s and Serena made haste to say,
‘Well, as far as I know, I’ll be home on time tomorrow, and the day after is Saturday.’
Her mother brightened. ‘Ah, yes, I’ve asked one or two people in for the evening, so we might have a rubber or two of bridge. If you’d make some of those dear little savoury biscuits we could have coffee...’
‘Yes, of course, and now how about an omelette? And could we eat it in the kitchen? It’s a bit late and I’ve had quite a busy day.’
Mrs Proudfoot sighed. ‘Well, just this once, although I do deplore this slovenly way of eating in the kitchen.’
* * *
SATURDAY MORNING WAS always set aside for shopping. Mrs Proudfoot liked to go into Richmond and have coffee at one or other of the smart cafés, and then after a leisurely stroll around the boutiques and dress shops she would visit an art gallery or have more coffee with acquaintances while Serena did the household shopping.
Serena, a laden basket on one arm, examining cauliflowers at the greengrocer’s, failed to see Dr ter Feulen, driving his Bentley Turbo RLWB down the busy street. But he saw her, and although he didn’t slacken speed he had ample time to note the shopping basket.
Three people came in that evening to play bridge, Mrs Pratt from the residential hotel near the river, Mr Twill who owned an antique shop in Richmond and Mr King, a retired civil servant who had spent a good deal of his life in foreign parts and never tired of talking of them. The four of them settled down to play, and Serena busied herself with drinks and presently went away to make coffee and arrange the savoury biscuits and some sandwiches on plates. It had never been suggested that she should play, and, since she was hopeless at the game, she accepted this as reasonable, and if sometimes she wished that her Saturday evenings were a little more entertaining she never voiced the thought.
Presently she settled down in a chair by the window, ready with a polite reply if any of the players spoke to her while she knitted a mohair cardigan for her mother; the fine wool made her sneeze and covered everything in fairylike threads. While she knitted she allowed her thoughts to stray. Since her teens she had known that she had no looks to speak of, and that had made her shy with people of her own age. Moreover, she had never mastered the airy, amusing chatter which her friends seemed to have acquired without any effort. She had friends, but somehow the pleasant social life they enjoyed had passed her by, largely because her mother had so often hindered her from taking part in it—never with obvious intention, but the sight of her mother with a woebegone face, pleading with her not to take any notice of the migraine which she was suffering, but to go out and enjoy herself; or a sad face bravely smiling at the prospect of a lonely evening, had had their effect over the years. Serena stayed at home or, if her mother went to a cinema or theatre, went with her. That couldn’t stop her dreaming—impossible dreams, she was the first to admit, in which some handsome man would meet her and fall instantly in love and marry her. He would have a charming home and money enough so that if she wanted new clothes—fashionable ones, not the sober, hard-wearing ones she bought now—she could walk into a boutique and indulge her choice, and there would be children, nice cuddly babies, and someone to help in the house.
She was aroused from these pleasant thoughts by her mother’s voice. ‘Darling, we would all love some more coffee and some more of those dear little sandwiches you make so nicely.’
The evening ended, Serena tidied up, saw her mother to bed and went to her own room. It was a lovely night. Ready for bed, swathed in her dressing-gown, she opened her window wide and looked up at the sky. It was bright with stars and the light of the enormous moon creeping slowly above the housetops.
She addressed the moon softly. ‘It’s funny to think that you’re shining down on all kinds of people. It would be nice to know who else is looking at you this very minute.’
Dr ter Feulen was one of them, pausing to look up as he strode across the hospital courtyard to his car after the emergency operation he had just performed and which had made havoc of his evening. He was tired, and for no reason at all he remembered the neat, plain girl with the lovely eyes who had bidden him have an ear
ly night. She would be in bed long ago, he reflected; it was easy to imagine the staid well-ordered life she led. A little moonlight might do her a great deal of good. He laughed at the thought, got into the car and drove himself home.
* * *
IT WAS TOWARDS the end of the following week that Serena, once more working late, had another visit from Dr ter Feulen. He came without warning, and she stopped typing and sat, her hands in her lap, waiting for what she felt sure was coming. The excellent Miss Payne would be returning and she would no longer be needed. She was surprised how the thought depressed her, for she hadn’t found the work easy at the hospital. Dr ter Feulen was hardly the easiest of taskmasters; in fact he was impatient, frequently ill-tempered and a perfectionist who expected everyone else to be perfect. She watched him cross the room towards her and wondered why he should be the one to tell her and not Mrs Dunn. After all, he had nothing to do with engaging the administrative staff, permanent or otherwise.
Dr ter Feulen drew up a chair and sat down opposite to her, wishing her an austere good evening as he did so.
‘Good evening, sir,’ said Serena, and added in a businesslike voice, ‘I haven’t finished your letters. Do you want me to take them anywhere for you to sign?’ She glanced at the clock and added tartly, ‘I’ll be another fifteen minutes, provided I’m not interrupted.’
‘I am interrupting you, but for a good reason, Miss Proudfoot. I have been to see Miss Payne. She has decided to retire and I have come to offer you her job.’
Serena stared at him, her eyes round with amazement. ‘Me? Do Miss Payne’s work? I couldn’t possibly! She never uttered a word, you said, and I grumble—besides, you don’t...’ She paused and went a rather pretty pink.
‘Like you?’ He studied her face, alight with surprise and near-panic, and reflected that a few similar shocks would do much to improve her looks. ‘Liking has very little to do with it. Let me tell you something, Miss Proudfoot. Miss Payne, as you so succinctly put it, never uttered a word at her awkward hours, but she wasn’t afraid of me. You aren’t afraid of me either, are you?’
She thought about it. ‘No, I don’t think I am.’
‘Good. Then that’s settled. You don’t need to see anyone about it, I’ll attend to the details. You will be better paid, of course.’ He got up from his chair. ‘Oh, and I shall be returning to Holland in two weeks’ time. I have a series of lectures to give and as I’m a consultant at several hospitals there I shall be operating for several weeks. I am also writing a book. I shall want you with me, of course.’
Serena was speechless, while a variety of feelings engulfed her. To travel; see a little of the world, even if it was only a few hundred miles across the North Sea, meet people—she would need new clothes. She said in a bemused voice, ‘Aren’t you coming back here?’
‘Of course. Most of my work is here.’
‘Surely you can’t write a book and operate and lecture, not all at once?’
‘Yes, I can, and I shall expect you to type notes, letters and whatever, answer the phone, check my appointments and type my book. Miss Payne could and did; I see no reason why you shouldn’t do it too—you’re a good deal younger, for a start.’
Serena frowned. Miss Payne was obviously nearing retirement age, so to be told that she was a good deal younger wasn’t much of a compliment. Dr ter Faulen read the frown unerringly. ‘You are twenty-five, half a lifetime younger than Muriel...’
‘Muriel? Oh, Miss Payne. Well, may I think about it? I mean, I’d have to...’ She stopped suddenly and a look of dismay on her face caused him to go back to his chair and sit down again. His ‘Well?’ was uttered with just the right amount of interest and sympathy.
‘I can’t. Truly, I can’t. You see, there’s Mother...’
‘Widowed?’ and when she nodded, ‘She is ill?’
‘No, just—well, just—delicate.’
‘Why is that? She has a heart condition? A chest condition? Diabetes? Arthritis?’ He fired the words at her and she blinked.
‘No, no, nothing like that. She suffers from nerves, she finds it difficult to do things...’
‘Housework, shopping and so forth?’
‘Yes.’
He sighed gently. Selfish widows with loving daughters were still only too common, and this small, neat girl with the beautiful eyes deserved something more in life. He said slowly, ‘In that case we might kill two birds with one stone. Miss Payne, when she accompanied me, had lodgings close to the hospital and came to work just as she did here. There is no reason why your mother should not accompany you and stay at these same lodgings. I shall be in Amsterdam for most of the time, and there is plenty to see and do there.’
‘She doesn’t understand Dutch—nor do I.’
‘My dear girl, almost everyone in Holland speaks English.’
He watched excited hope chase away the dismay. ‘Oh, do you really mean that?’
‘I always say what I mean. Go home and talk it over with your mother and let me know tomorrow morning.’
He got up for a second time and this time, with a nod and a casual goodnight, went away.
She finished her work, tidied her desk and wondered what she should do with the sheaf of letters waiting to be signed. She was hesitating whether to phone the consultants’ room when the head porter rang up. She was to leave everything with him and Dr ter Feulen would collect his letters later.
She handed in her work and hurried to catch her bus, rehearsing what she would say to her mother. Her spirits sank as she neared home—her mother would never consent to the upheaval in her well-ordered life. She let herself into her home, resigned to disappointment but all the same determined to do her best to persuade her parent that a change of scene would do her a great deal of good.
She cast off her outdoor things in the hall and went into the sitting-room.
Her mother was sitting at her writing desk, pen poised. ‘There you are, darling. What splendid news—I’ve had such a long chat on the telephone with Dr ter Feulen. He sounds a delightful man—apologised for keeping you so late and told me how much he depends upon your assistance. And this marvellous job you’re to take over, and going to Holland too! I can hardly wait. He is of the opinion that a change of scene is just what is needed for someone as delicate as I am.’
Her mother paused for breath and Serena said in a voice she strove to keep calm, ‘He rang up? So you know all about it? And you’d like to go? It won’t be too much for you, Mother?’
‘Certainly not! It will probably take a few days for me to get over the journey, but I will willingly tire myself out for you, darling. I’m making a list of the clothes I shall need... Have you had supper? I’ve been so busy... Could you get us something now? I must keep up what strength I have.’ She looked at Serena. ‘You look a bit white, dear. You need a meal too, I dare say.’
‘Mother, I haven’t said I’d take the job yet.’
Her mother gave her an outraged look. ‘Darling, why ever not? What a funny little thing you are! Why ever not?’
‘I wasn’t sure if you would like the idea.’
Her mother laughed. ‘Darling, I love the idea! Tell me, how old is this Dr ter Feulen?’
‘I don’t know—about thirty-five or -six, I should think.’
‘Married?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ A fib, and she wasn’t sure why she had said it.
‘Well, we’re bound to get to know a lot of people in Amsterdam. Pour me a glass of sherry, will you, Serena? I need the stimulant.’
There was little opportunity to think her own thoughts that evening. Mrs Proudfoot made plans, discussed clothes and speculated as to the pleasures in store.
‘Mother, it won’t be quite like a holiday,’ Serena warned carefully. ‘I shall be working very hard every day, so you’ll be on your own for a great deal of the
time.’
‘I’m on my own every day now, darling, and deadly boring it is too. If only I had your health and strength.’
They got to bed at last, and Serena lay awake for a long time wondering if she had done the right thing, or rather if the right thing had been done for her, for she had had little say in the matter.
She wasn’t sure if she was pleased at the doctor’s intervention either. He had forced her hand and there was no going back now, for her mother was determined to go. All the same, when she saw him in the morning she would tell him that he had no right to interfere. On this firm resolution she at last slept.
CHAPTER TWO
SERENA WAS STILL firmly resolved to speak her mind to the doctor when she went to work in the morning. It was unfortunate that it wasn’t until the end of the day that she had the opportunity to do so.
She was on the way to the side entrance she normally used when she came face to face with him. She slid to a halt and said briskly, ‘Oh, good, I wanted to see you, Dr ter Feulen.’
He stood in front of her, blocking the way. ‘Ah, Miss Proudfoot, should I be greatly flattered at your eagerness to see me again?’ He paused and looked at her earnest, rather cross face. ‘No, that is too much to expect. I have annoyed you?’
She suspected that he was laughing at her. ‘I think it was most—most unfair of you to telephone my mother before I’d had a chance to talk to her. I haven’t said I’ll take the job, have I? So what right have you to—to—to...!’
‘Interfere?’ he suggested helpfully. ‘Meddle in your affairs? No right at all. My intentions were purely selfish. After some years of Muriel’s calm acceptance of my ill humour, impatience and bad handwriting, I have been terrified of engaging her successor. Who knows what foibles she might have? A desire to finish her work at the correct time, an inability to ignore my bad temper, a desire to answer back pertly as well as a failure to spell correctly.’ He smiled at her and she found herself smiling back. ‘You are the nearest thing to Miss Payne that I have met.’