by Betty Neels
‘I am full of worry,’ observed Mevrouw Blom. ‘I think that perhaps you are lost.’
‘Well, I was just for a bit. I hope I haven’t kept everyone waiting.’
‘No, no, they are all gone until the evening—to Schevingenen. I have soup for you, and cheese and cold meat.’
‘I’m sorry you had to get lunch just for me, Mevrouw Blom. I could easily have had a sandwich out.’
‘I must eat also, it is no trouble. But this afternoon? You go out again?’
‘Well, no. I have to go to den Haag in the morning and I must pack a few things.’
‘You will not mind if I go to my sister’s? It is a good chance, with so few guests...’
‘Of course not.’
‘I will leave tea if you would not mind to boil the water?’
‘Of course not.’ A quiet afternoon, Serena told herself, was just what she would like.
It was certainly quiet once Mevrouw Blom had gone. She packed her case, made sure that she had a notebook, pencils and pen ready to use and went downstairs to the sitting-room, switched on the TV and went to make herself a cup of tea. The kitchen was cosy and rather old-fashioned. She lingered as long as possible and then bore the tea-tray back and sat down by the stove to drink her tea, leaf through some Dutch magazines and glance from time to time at the television, also Dutch. The hours passed slowly and she was glad when she heard Mevrouw Blom’s key in the lock. But it was another two hours before her mother and Mr Harding came in.
‘There you are, darling!’ exclaimed Mrs Proudfoot. ‘Have you had a lovely day? I haven’t enjoyed myself so much for years... Now I’m exhausted. Be an angel and take my things upstairs and bring me back my other shoes—the black pumps.’
She sat down in the chair Serena had vacated and patted the sofa close to it. ‘Come and sit by me,’ she begged Mr Harding prettily, ‘and tell me some more about the King of Prussia, William the First, arriving there at the end of the wars with Napoleon.’
It was some time before Serena had the chance to tell her mother that she would be going to den Haag in the morning.
‘The Hague? But, darling, why? I know the doctor was going to work there, but surely you could go to and fro each day?’
‘It’s about fifty miles, Mother, and it’s only for a week.’
Her mother pouted. ‘And am I not allowed to see something of it?’
Serena was saved from answering by Mr Harding. ‘Margaret, I promise you you’ll miss nothing—I shall be going there in a few days’ time to study the architecture of the Ridderzaal, and I shall be delighted if you would accompany me each day.’
Mrs Proudfoot smiled. ‘Well, in that case, Arthur, I’ll say no more. Indeed, I shall enjoy a visit there so much more with someone who can explain everything to me.’ She gave him an arch look. ‘I’m not much good on my own, you know, I’ve always lived such a sheltered life.’
Serena gave a small sigh of relief, and at the same time stifled a feeling of hurt because her mother had forgotten to ask her what she had done with her day. Not that it mattered. Except for half an hour in Dr ter Feulen’s unpredictable company, the day had been extremely dull.
* * *
SHE WAS READY when the doctor arrived in the morning. She had bidden her mother goodbye, assuring her that she would be back by the start of the following week and promising to phone in the evening. She got into the Bentley, waved goodbye to Mevrouw Blom and sat as quiet as a mouse as Dr ter Feulen wove his way through the early morning traffic and out on to the road to den Haag.
Once they were clear of the city he said, ‘I have an outpatients’ clinic this morning, and I shall want to have you there to take notes. This afternoon I have a number of consultations. I should like the notes typed up by five o’clock—there won’t be very many. Someone will bring you a folder during the afternoon—the book I am writing. Type as much as you can before you leave the hospital.’
‘And when will that be?’ asked Serena.
‘Six o’clock or thereabouts,’ he told her carelessly. ‘Tomorrow I shall be in theatre, anaesthetising. Carry on with the manuscript until I send you my letters.’
‘Very well. Where am I to lodge?’
‘In the nurses’ home—it is a few yards from the hospital. There is a canteen there where you will get your meals. You have no need to worry or pay for anything—that is all taken care of. The following day I shall be at a children’s hospital, and you will go with me.’
Serena said faintly, ‘You’re going to be busy.’
‘So are you, make no mistake about that.’ He glanced at her. ‘Too much for you?’ he wanted to know blandly.
‘Certainly not! If Miss Payne coped I suppose I can too.’
He said casually, ‘Oh, Muriel took everything in her stride; she was most competent.’
‘I’m not sure if that’s meant to encourage me or warn me to expect the sack,’ said Serena tartly.
He laughed then. ‘Neither. Believe me, Serena, you would have been back in England by now if you hadn’t measured up to her standards. You’ll do very well.’
‘I’m flattered.’
‘I never flatter.’
His profile looked so stern that she forbore from saying another word.
The hospital in den Haag was large and modern. On their arrival Serena was whisked away by a severe woman in an old-fashioned nurse’s uniform and a fiercely starched cap with its tail hanging down
her back.
‘You will come with me,’ said this lady in a voice that dared her to disagree, then she led the way, away from the doctor, who muttered a casual,
‘I’ll see you presently, Serena.’
Serena was walked briskly along a number of corridors, taken up several floors in a lift and led through a swing-door into a corridor very like the one in Amsterdam. ‘Your office,’ said her companion. ‘Leave your things here. There is a cloakroom at the end of the corridor where you may tidy yourself.’ Her look implied that this was an urgent necessity. ‘You will take your midday meal at noon and someone will come for you and show you where to go.’
‘My room?’ asked Serena, getting a word in edgeways.
‘After your midday meal you will be shown your room. Your case will be taken there in the meantime.’ The severe lady eyed her doubtfully. ‘I hope you will be happy during your stay.’
‘Oh, so do I,’ said Serena fervently, but not quite sure about it.
CHAPTER FOUR
SERENA BARELY HAD time to tidy herself, arrange her desk to her liking and put her notebook and pen ready before the phone on her desk rang.
‘Take the lift,’ said the doctor’s voice in her ear, ‘and come down to the ground floor. Someone will meet you there.’ He hung up before she could say a word.
She got into the lift and was met by a solemn young man in large glasses. ‘Miss Proudfoot?’ He offered a hand. ‘Dirk Moerman.’
They shook hands rather solemnly, but he gave her no time to speak. ‘This way,’ he urged her, and hurried her along another corridor and into a vast hall overflowing with people sitting on long benches and all talking animatedly. There was a young woman with a trolley serving coffee, and Serena’s little beaky nose twitched at its aroma. A smell of it was all she was likely to get if even a fraction of the people there were outpatients of the doctor’s!
His consulting-room was at the other end of the hall and he was already at his desk, reading the notes being handed to him by a tall, very pretty girl in a sister’s uniform. She looked up and smiled at Serena, but Dr ter Feulen merely twitched an eyebrow. ‘That chair over there in the corner, Serena.’ Then, to her surprise, ‘Have you had your coffee?’
She sat composedly. ‘No, sir.’
He waved a hand at the sister, who in turn said something to a nurse who had
just joined them. Then he said, ‘You had better gulp it down now, you won’t have another chance. This is Zuster de Vries, she speaks very good English.’
Serena nodded and smiled and longed suddenly to speak very good Dutch. She drank the coffee when it was brought, trying to make sense of what was being said around her. No wonder they all spoke English so well, for no one but the Dutch could understand their own language, although presently she was cheered to hear several medical terms which sounded near enough to those in English. She polished off the coffee, tucked back a stray wisp of mousy hair and held her pencil at the ready as a very stout lady was ushered in. She looked frightened, and Serena watched the doctor put her at her ease before starting his patient questioning. He had charm, she reflected as she took down his concise notes, taking care to get the medical terms right. He might be quite nice... His calm voice stopped and he spoke to the sister, who led the patient away to a cubicle. He talked for a few minutes to the youngish man who had just joined him and turned to Serena.
‘This is my registrar, Willem Bakker—Serena Proudfoot—I mentioned her. Add this to my notes, if you please...’ He dictated for a few moments and when he had finished Serena said softly,
‘Oh, the poor soul!’
‘Fortunately it’s curable. We’ll have her in at once, Willem.’
He went away to examine his patient then and Willem Bakker with him. Presently, from the agitated voice from the cubicle, Serena guessed that the patient had been told that she would need surgery. At intervals, between the cries and outbursts of the woman, she could hear the doctor being soothing—to good effect, for presently they all emerged once again and the patient was led away looking quite cheerful.
Dr ter Feulen sat himself down again, spoke to the sister and buried his nose in the papers before him, but he got to his feet as the next patient was ushered in—an old man, bone-thin, well turned out in well-worn clothes, with bright blue eyes in a calm face.
He wished everyone good day and sat down and said something to the doctor to make him laugh a little. The pair of them talked for a minute or two, and then went into the little cubicle, but not for long. The old man came out with the doctor, still spruce and cheerful, bade everyone goodbye and went away. The doctor sat down again.
‘Lucius de Groot,’ he began to dictate. ‘Carcinoma of left lung. Refuses admission. Non-operable. Reference notes...’ He quoted numbers. ‘A delightful man,’ he added to Serena.
The morning wore on, but no one looked at the clock. The doctor was apparently tireless and expected everyone else to be the same. From time to time the nurse would appear briefly, whisper to Sister and go again, and it wasn’t until almost two o’clock that the last patient for the doctor’s clinic went away.
The doctor got to his feet, thanked everyone with cool politeness and went away with his registrar. Zuster de Vries smiled at Serena. ‘A long morning—you know where to go to eat?’ When Serena shook her head she said, ‘Then you come with me.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I have only a short time before the next clinic. But I eat first.’
The canteen was at the back of the hospital, a large airy place with a long counter running its length and tables set in orderly rows. Very like the hospital at home, reflected Serena, collecting a tray and joining Zuster de Vries to assemble soup, cheese rolls, a salad and coffee on it. While they ate, sitting alone in the empty room, they talked.
The Dutch girl was friendly. ‘I will tell Zuster Graaf to come here and show you to your room. You will work this afternoon?’
‘Oh, yes. Dr ter Feulen wants the notes by five o’clock and then I’m to type up his manuscript.’
Zuster de Vries nodded her pretty head. ‘He works hard, so we work hard also.’
‘He’s not always here? I mean, what do you do when he’s away?’
The other girl rolled her eyes. ‘Work—Willem Bakker sees to that—and the doctor comes many times, sometimes just for a day, perhaps two, to operate or examine some difficult cases. He also goes to Amsterdam—but you know that.’
Serena finished her coffee. ‘Yes, he works hard in London too.’
‘He is a good man, but—how do you say?—wrapped in himself?’
The pair of them left the canteen, and Zuster de Vries went to a wall phone and talked for a few moments. ‘She comes, Zuster Graaf. You will wait here? I must go back now.’ She smiled dazzlingly. ‘Tomorrow it is my free day and I go with my fiancé to his home.’
‘I hope you have a lovely time.’ Serena was aware of a distinct feeling of relief at the news, although she didn’t know why.
Zuster de Vries paused in her flight. ‘You have a boyfriend? You are engaged?’
Serena shook her head and gave what she hoped was a carefree smile.
‘You should have—you are a nice girl. Dr ter Feulen told me so.’
Serena was left pondering this remark, trying to make something of it and failing. Not for long, however, for the severe woman arrived, looking a shade less severe, thank heaven. ‘You come with me?’ she invited, and looked pleased when Serena said,
‘Thank you, Zuster Graaf.’
The nurses’ home was in a ten-storey block built on to the hospital and reached by an outside passage or a bridge on its fourth floor. Serena’s room was on this floor and close to the bridge—something, painstakingly pointed out by Zuster Graaf, that would make it easier for Serena to get herself to and from the hospital.
Serena thanked her gratefully and admired her room. It was small but comfortable, with bright curtains at its window and a warm bedspread on the divan bed. The shower-rooms were at the end of the corridor, she was told, and she would be called each morning with the nurses at half-past six. ‘You are expected to have your light out by half-past eleven,’ concluded Zuster Graaf.
If the morning’s work was anything to go by, thought Serena, her light would be out long before then.
Left to herself, she unpacked her few things and sped back to the room where she was to work. By dint of keeping strictly to the task at hand she had the notes ready by five o’clock, and, since no one had told her how long she was to work, she started on the doctor’s manuscript.
It was an involved work full of incomprehensible words and couched in the sort of language she supposed members of the medical profession understood. Probably the work of a genius written in almost unintelligible script. She hoped she was getting it right.
It was almost six o’clock and she was tired, hungry and thirsty. No one had come near her since a mug of tea had been offered round about three o’clock, and she had neglected to ask at what time she was supposed to stop work and, what was more important, when she might eat her supper.
She looked up hopefully as the door opened, but it was Dr ter Feulen, a sheaf of papers in one hand, and her face fell.
‘Not pleased to see me?’ he wanted to know blandly.
‘I’m pleased to see anyone,’ she told him tartly. ‘I should like to know for how long I go on working and where and when there’ll be any supper?’ She added crossly, ‘And now you’re here, with more work!’
‘No, no,’ he told her soothingly, ‘merely work for tomorrow. I am sorry if no one told you about working hours and meals. You work until six o’clock and go to the canteen for your supper at half-past seven. You don’t need to go if you wish to spend your evening elsewhere. I thought that perhaps we might have dinner together?’
‘Us? Have dinner?’ Her surprise hardly flattered him, and the corners of his firm mouth twitched with amusement.
‘Well, we have to eat, do we not? And I for one am hungry—and I must add that I have a busy day tomorrow and there will be no time in which to tell you what I shall want you to do.’
‘Oh, well, in that case,’ she conceded kindly, and added, ‘I haven’t anything to wear...’
‘Somewhere quiet,’ he a
ssured her. ‘I’ll be outside in the car in fifteen minutes.’
He held the door open for her and she skipped past him, her mind already intent on what she should wear.
It was clear it would have to be the green jersey. She raced through a shower and got into it, did her face and hair and pushed her feet into the plain black pumps she so seldom wore. Her reflection in the long looking-glass in the corridor wasn’t encouraging. The dress was all right, it fitted her and it had a certain elegance; all the same, it was the kind of dress no one ever saw... She put on the jacket, found a handbag and raced back to the hospital and out of its front door, to skid to a halt within inches of the doctor’s substantial bulk.
He greeted her with one hand. ‘I would have waited, you know,’ he told her gently. ‘With four sisters I have been educated to expect all women to be at least fifteen minutes later than the time arranged.’
‘Four sisters?’ Serena stood on the pavement looking up at him in surprise. Somehow she had never considered the possibility of his having a family—parents, brothers, sisters... ‘Brothers too?’
‘Three.’
‘Well, I never!’ She stared up at him with her lovely hazel eyes, fringed with their long curling lashes. ‘What I mean is...well...’
She paused, and he helped her out with smiling ease. ‘I’m the eldest.’ He smiled down at her and opened the car door. ‘I hope you’re hungry—I had to miss lunch.’
She had barely glimpsed den Haag that morning; it was dark now and she had no idea where they were going. He drove through the centre of the city and within a few minutes turned into a broad street leading away from its heart. ‘There’s a very pleasant place in Wassenaar—that’s the outskirts of den Haag. We’re almost there.’ He glanced sideways at her quiet face. ‘I expect you’re tired—I’ve worked you hard.’