by Betty Neels
‘I suppose you expect me to apologise,’ he began. ‘Well, I don’t intend to. All I can say is, I’m glad we split up before I found out what a …’
He caught her belligerent eye. ‘A what?’ she enquired with icy calm. ‘I should be careful what you say, Steven—I’ll not hesitate to slap you again!’
He flung away. ‘I wish you joy, that’s all I can say!’ he shouted, as he strode through the empty waiting hall. She watched him go. He was very good-looking, and when he wasn’t angry, charming too. She sighed and went to her dinner, wondering why he should wish her joy.
Dr van Elven’s clinic was, as usual, splitting at the seams. Sarah, nipping from one patient to the other, weighing them, taking them to the Path. Lab., to X-ray, helping them in and out of endless garments, wished that he wasn’t quite such a glutton for work. She’d had to send two of her nurses up to the wards for the afternoon because a number of the staff were off with ‘flu. Now and again, when she made a sortie into the waiting hall for another patient, she glimpsed Staff at the other end with the one junior nurse they had been left with; they were busy in Gynae too. She went back into the consulting room to find Dr van Elven dealing, with commendable calm, with the attack of hysterics which his patient had sprung on him.
Dick Coles went as soon as they had finished and Sarah began to tidy up, although she longed for tea. It would be too late to go to the Sisters’ sitting room; she would have to make her own when she got to her room.
The doctor was sitting at the desk, absorbed in something or other. Sarah supposed that he was in no hurry to go home—it wasn’t as if there was a wife waiting for him … She finished at length, picked up the pile of notes she intended dropping into the office on her way, and went to the door. When she reached it she said, ‘Good night, sir,’ then stopped short when he said ‘Come back here, Sarah, and sit down. I want to talk to you.’
She did as she was asked, because when he spoke in that quiet voice she found it prudent to obey him. She sat in the chair facing him, the notes piled on her lap; she was tired and thirsty and a little untidy, but her face was serene. She looked at him across the desk, smiling a little, because in the last few days she had come to regard him as a friend.
He sat back, meeting and holding her glance with his own, but without the smile. He said, ‘Sarah, will you marry me?’
CHAPTER THREE
HIS WORDS SHOCKED the breath out of her; she gaped at him until he said with a touch of impatience, ‘Why are you so surprised? We’re well suited, you know. You have lost your heart to Steven; I—I lost mine many years ago. We both need companionship and roots. Many marriages succeed very well on mutual respect and liking—and I ask no more than that of you, Sarah—at least until such time as you might feel you have more to offer.’
She said bluntly, her grey eyes candid, but still round with astonishment:
‘You don’t want my love? Even if I didn’t love someone else?’
He settled back in his chair, his eyes half closed so that she had no idea of what he was thinking.
‘I want your friendship,’ he answered blandly, ‘I enjoy your company; you’re restful and beautiful to look at and intelligent. I think that on the important aspects of life we agree. If you could accept me on those terms, I think I can promise you that we shall be happy together. I’m forty, Sarah, established in my work. I can offer you a comfortable life, and I should like to share it with you … and you—you are twenty-eight; not a young girl to fall in and out of love every few months.’
He got up and came round the desk to stand beside her and she frowned a little, because it was annoying to be told that she was twenty-eight. The frown deepened. He had implied that she was too old to fall in love! As though she had spoken her thoughts aloud he said gently:
‘Forgive me if sounded practical, but I imagine you are in no mood for sentiment, but I hope very much that you will say yes. I shall be away next week—perhaps it will be easier for you to decide if we don’t see each other.’
She got up slowly to face him, forgetful of the case notes, which slid in a kind of slow motion to the ground, shedding doctors’ letters, Path. Lab. reports, X-ray forms and his own multitudinous notes in an untidy litter around their feet.
‘You’re going away?’ Even to her own ears her voice sounded foolishly lorn. She tried again and said with determined imperturbability:
‘I’ll think about it. I’m rather surprised—you must know that, but I promise you I’ll think about it.’
The words sounded, to say the least, inadequate. She looked at him helplessly and he took a step towards her through the papery confusion at their feet and looked down. He said on a laugh, ‘My God! It looks as though we’re going to spend this evening together anyway!’
It was surprising how much she missed him, which on the face of things was absurd, for she had rarely seen him more than twice or three times a week in the clinics. She had always been aware of her liking for him, but hadn’t realised until now how strong that liking was. Perhaps it was because she had always felt she could be completely natural with him. She had lain awake a long time that first night, remembering how he had got down on his knees beside her and spent more than an hour helping her to sort out the chaos on the floor, without once referring to their conversation. She was forced to smile at the memory and went to sleep eventually on the pleasant thought that he considered her beautiful.
She had little time to ponder her problems during the days which followed. The clinics were full and she didn’t allow her thoughts to wander. Steven came and went with Mr Binns and Mr Peppard and Sarah steeled herself to be casually friendly with him. Mr Coles, who took Dr van Elven’s clinic in his absence, was of course quite a different matter; there was no need to be on her guard with him. He worked for two, taking it for granted that she would keep up with him, and still contrived to talk about his family. There was another baby on the way, and he was so obviously pleased about it that Sarah felt pleased too.
‘How many’s that?’ she enquired. ‘There are Paul and Mary and Sue and Richard …’
He interrupted her with a chuckle. ‘Don’t forget the current baby—Mike. Hugo’s already staked his claim as godfather—that makes the round half dozen. He never forgets their birthdays and Christmas. We have to warn the children, otherwise he goes out and buys them anything they ask for. Pity he’s not married himself … it’s at least fifteen years since that girl threw him over.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘He deserves the best, and I hope he gets it one day.’
She visited Mrs Brown too, and found her happy and content, sitting by the new electric fire with Timmy on her lap. Sarah made tea for both and listened while Mrs Brown sang the praises of her daily helper.
‘A gem,’ she declared, ‘and it don’t cost me a farthing to ‘ave ‘er.’ Sarah agreed that it was a splendid arrangement and wondered if the doctor had had a hand in that as well. It was surprising and rather disconcerting to find that she knew so little about him … less, apparently, than her hostess, who disclosed during the course of conversation that he had been in to see her, and that now he had gone to Scotland. ‘It’s ever so far away,’ she confided to an attentive Sarah. ‘Up in the ‘ills, and ‘e can see the sea. ‘E’s got a little ‘ouse and ‘e does the garden and goes fishin’ and walks miles.’ She chuckled richly. ‘Good luck to ‘im, I says; nicer man never walked.’ She stroked Timmy. ‘Do with a few more like ‘im.’
Sarah agreed with a fervour which surprised her even more than it surprised Mrs Brown, although upon reflection she was forced to admit to herself that ‘nice’ was a completely inadequate word with which to describe Hugo van Elven. She found herself beginning to count the days until his return, which wouldn’t be until the Friday afternoon clinic. Once or twice, she thought of writing to her mother and asking her advice, but how could she seek advice from someone who had never met Hugo; someone, moreover, who still thought that she would one day marry Steven? It was something she would have to
decide for herself, but it wasn’t until Thursday night that she admitted to herself that she had made the decision already. Hugo van Elven represented a quiet haven after the turbulence of the last few weeks; she believed they had a very good chance of being happy together; she felt completely at ease with him, and now that she thought about it, she always had done, and she was aware, without conceit that he liked her. He needed a wife to run his home and entertain for him, and bear him company—she thought that she could do those things quite satisfactorily. It worried her that there was no love between them, but Hugo had said that companionship should suffice, and it seemed to be all that he wished for. Perhaps, later on, their deep liking for each other might turn to affection.
She went to sleep on that thought, and when she woke in the morning, she knew that her mind was made up. Any small doubts still lurking, she resolutely ignored, firmly telling herself that they were unimportant.
She knew she had been right when he walked in. He said ‘Good afternoon, Sister’ in a perfectly ordinary voice and gave her the briefest smile, then turned to the pile of notes on his desk and said resignedly, ‘Oh, lord, I wonder where they all come from!’
Sarah was putting out wooden spatulas. ‘‘Flu,’ she said, and gave his downbent head a grateful look. She had been nervous, almost shy at the idea of seeing him again, trying to imagine what they would say, and he was making it all very easy. She went on, ‘They go on working, or take someone’s cough cure because they don’t like to bother the doctor, and then he sees them and sends them to you with bronchitis. Did you have a pleasant holiday?’
He nodded absently, not looking at her. ‘Delightful, thank you. First one in when you’re ready, Sister.’
She was actually on the point of leaving after the clinic was finished, when he came back. He and Dick Coles had gone away together, leaving her to clear up—and without him saying a word! She felt deflated; she hadn’t expected him to overwhelm her with questions when they met, because he wasn’t that kind of man, but she had expected him to ask her if she had made up her mind. She turned to switch off the desk light, and found him at the door.
He asked abruptly, ‘Are you tired?’ And when she said ‘No,’ he went on briskly, ‘Good. May I take you out to dinner?’ His mouth curved in a faint smile. ‘I’ve been wanting to ask you that all the afternoon, but each time I was on the point of doing so, you either confronted me with another patient or waved a bunch of notes under my nose.’ He was still smiling, but his eyes searched her keenly. ‘Shall we be celebrating, Sarah?’
At that she smiled too and the cold lump of unhappiness she had been carrying around somewhere deep inside her warmed a little. They might not be able to give each other love, but there were other things—understanding and friendship and shared pleasure in shared interests; they each had a great deal to offer. She turned out the light and went past him into the waiting hall where the cleaners were swabbing the floor under the harsh lights, because the daylight, however bright, rarely penetrated its vastness. She looked up at him, her smile widening, and said:
‘Yes, Hugo, we’ll be celebrating. What time shall I be ready?’
The expression on his face was hard to read. ‘Seven-thirty? Wear something pretty, we’ll go to Parkes’.’
Sarah went over to her room, tea forgotten, her mind a jumble of thoughts, the chief of which was what she should wear. She was rummaging through her wardrobe when Kate appeared in the doorway of her room. She leant against the wall, swinging her cap.
‘What are you doing?’ she wanted to know. ‘Surely you’re not going to spend the evening tidying clothes? A pity I’m not off duty, there’s that marvellous film I wanted to see and Jimmy’s on duty until Sunday.’ She strolled over to the bed and eyed the jumble of dresses upon it. ‘That pink thing looks nice,’ she commented. ‘Isn’t that the one you bought …’ her voice tailed off, because she had remembered that Sarah had bought it to go out with Steven.
Sarah was tearing off her apron. ‘Yes—I’m going to wear it tonight.’
Her friend eyed her with interest. ‘Sarah! You’re never …?’
Sarah was wriggling out of her dark blue cotton dress. ‘I’m going out to dinner with Hugo van Elven, and don’t you dare tell a soul, Kate.’
Kate whistled piercingly, ‘Cross my heart,’ she promised, ‘though you’re making history, ducky. He’s never so much as lifted an eyebrow at a female creature within these walls.’ She went reluctantly to the door. ‘I’m late. Come and see me when you get in. I’ll stay awake.’ She started to run along the corridor towards the stairs. ‘Have fun!’ she called as she went.
Sarah had almost reached the bottom of the stairs when the doubt suddenly beset her that perhaps she was making a mistake. She was actually on the point of turning round and going back to her room when she saw Hugo standing in the hall, looking elegant in his black tie and very much at ease. He was talking to Home Sister, of all people, one of the most dedicated gossips the hospital had ever known. Sarah greeted him briefly under that lady’s interested eye and they went out to the car together, leaving her to gaze after them, already rehearsing her bit of news ready for the supper table.
Sarah arranged herself carefully, with an eye to the pink dress.
‘Of course we would have to meet Sister Wilkes! She—she talks rather a lot, you know. She’ll put two and two together and make ten.’
Hugo idled the car out of the hospital forecourt. ‘Do you mind? Everyone will know soon enough, I imagine. They’ll see the announcement in the paper. In any case, I should have cause to be grateful to her.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘Because if I hadn’t waited inside instead of out in the car, and if she hadn’t been there, I think you would most probably have changed your mind and disappeared on the staircase like Cinderella.’
Sarah stole a look at his profile to see if he was smiling. He wasn’t.
‘You’re rather disconcerting,’ she said at last. ‘How could you possibly know that—that … Oh, dear! Did you feel like that too?’
This time he did smile. ‘No. I have no doubts, and I hope that you will have none either.’
He didn’t give her a chance to answer, but began a rambling sort of conversation which lasted until they reached the restaurant, where it was supplanted by a leisurely discussion as to what they should eat. They decided on quenelles in lobster sauce with feuilleté de poulet à la reine and then Monte Bianco because Sarah confessed to a passion for chestnuts. The waiter was barely out of earshot when Hugo spoke.
‘Will you marry me, Sarah?’ His voice was friendly and almost casual, and she was conscious of a vague disappointment until he smiled—a warm smile, compelling her to smile in return. She said, a little shyly:
‘Yes, Hugo, I’ll marry you.’ Her voice was steady, as was her gaze as their eyes met across the elegantly appointed table. The pleasant feeling of warmth she had felt before returned and strengthened at the admiration in his. He lifted his glass in a toast, and for the first time in several weeks, she felt almost happy. Perhaps it was because of this that she realised, some two hours later, that not only had she helped Hugo to compose an announcement of their engagement, she had also accepted his offer to drive her down to her home when she went on holiday, and what was more, had invited him to stay the weekend. And, last but not least, she had agreed most readily to marry him in exactly one month’s time.
They had parted on the steps of the Nurses’ Home and she had enjoyed it when he kissed her lightly on one cheek before opening the door for her. She crept to her room, so that Kate should not hear, and undressed with haste. In bed, thinking about it, she decided she had probably had a little too much champagne, so that Steven’s image had become dulled enough to allow her to find pleasure in Hugo’s kiss, even though she was aware that he could have done a lot better.
When he came to fetch her on Sunday morning, however, he contented himself with a cheerful ‘Hullo there,’ stowed her cases in the boot, hersel
f into the seat beside him, and then, with a wave to the various faces watching them from a variety of windows, drove the Iso unhurriedly through the gates. It was still early—barely nine o’clock. London was comparatively free of traffic and it was a mild spring day. Sarah had put on a knitted dress the colour of the April sky above them. She settled into her seat, confident that she had made the most of herself, looking forward to her holiday.
She had telephoned her mother the previous evening, so that by the time they arrived she hoped that her parents’ natural surprise would have been tempered to a mildness that wouldn’t be too obvious. Her father, a retired colonel, was inclined to be peppery and speak his mind. Her mother was sweet and a little vague, but occasionally disconcerted those around her by being devastatingly candid. She said rather uncertainly:
‘I hope you’ll like my mother and father, Hugo.’
He allowed the Iso to ooze past a dawdling taxi. ‘I see no reason why I shouldn’t … it’s much more likely that they won’t like me, you know. I am, after all, a usurper—’ he glanced at her and went on deliberately, ‘They must have supposed that you and Steven would marry.’
Sarah stared ahead of her. She said carefully, ‘Yes, I think they did, though we never discussed it. They … they teased me sometimes about it. They only met him twice, when he took me down, and then he didn’t stay. They were surprised when I told them yesterday—about us, I mean, but I’m not a young girl to be rash.’
He agreed with her gravely and without looking at her so that she failed to see the gleam in his eyes.
‘No, I should hardly call you rash. But you are a beautiful young woman, Sarah. I shall be proud of my wife.’
She blushed. ‘I hope you always will be.’ She added without guile, ‘You’re very good-looking too, although I don’t suppose you like to be told that.’