A Gem of a Girl

by Betty Neels

  ‘How accommodating of you, dear girl, but there’s no need of that. I feel in splendid shape. We’ll have a meal, though.’

  An invitation to which Gemma readily agreed, for she was famished.

  So presently, half an hour’s drive from Calais, they stopped to eat enormous omelettes at a roadside café; they polished off a bowl of salad too and drank several cups of coffee before, much refreshed, they took to the road once more. They had turned away from the coast now, cutting across the country to pick up the motorway to Ghent and then on to Antwerp. The professor skirted the city, but all the same, the traffic slowed them up a little so that Gemma was relieved to hear him say: ‘I’m sure you’re dying for a cup of tea. We’re not far from the frontier now, so we’ll stop in Holland—there’s a roadhouse just on the other side of the douanes.’

  The tea came in glasses and without milk, but it was refreshing, and Gemma drank it thankfully. She looked as fresh and tidy as when they had set out that morning; her neat coil of hair was still pinned on top of her head, her blue and white jersey dress had no creases, she looked cool and composed even though she felt neither. They had only another twenty or so miles to go and she was beginning to wonder what her patient would be like, whether she would like her, whether his family would mind her coming… She said suddenly: ‘Does your mother know I’m coming? I mean, I know I’m supposed to be a surprise, but surely only to Rienieta?’

  She looked at him so anxiously that he sat up in his chair and said reassuringly: ‘My parents know that you are coming and very much approve of the idea—did I not tell you?’ And when she shook her head: ‘I’m sorry about that, but I can assure you that you will be most warmly welcomed.’ He gave her a quick nod and added, ‘You’re worrying—don’t!’

  They were back in the car now, tearing down the motorway, and presently he said: ‘We’re just coming in to the outskirts of the town—see that medieval gate ahead of us? We go through there.’

  Gemma looked about her; they were passing pleasant villas, each set in its own neat garden bright with flowers, and very shortly these became terraced houses with a shop here and there, and rising above them, the magnificent gateway; it led to the heart of the town through a narrow winding street of more shops and which in its turn opened out on to a square lined with old houses, a hotel or two, a great church and a splendid town hall, but she was given no time to see much of these, for the professor kept straight on across the square and into another narrow street going slightly uphill, leading away from the town again.

  ‘You shall explore some time,’ he promised her. ‘My parents live a mile or two away. We’re on the road to Breda now, but we turn off presently; they live on the edge of a small village.’

  The country was so flat that Gemma could see its houses when he pointed them out to her, and at that distance they appeared a mere huddle of tiled roofs dominated by two towering churches.

  ‘Two?’ asked Gemma.

  ‘Protestant and Roman Catholic.’

  ‘But it’s such a very small village…’

  ‘But a wide-flung parish—besides, everyone goes to church in these parts.’

  She gave him a quick look. ‘I never thought to ask—I mean, if you’re RC. I’m not.’

  ‘My dear girl, my family has been stubbornly Protestant for some hundreds of years—and once upon a time it wasn’t easy to be that—the Spanish Occupation, you know. But now we all get on well together although you will find separate schools and clubs—hospitals too.’

  ‘Isn’t that rather limiting?’

  ‘Not really,’ he grinned briefly. ‘The talent seems to be fairly evenly distributed on both sides.’

  The village was quaint, with a minute square across which the two churches faced each other, flanked by a café, the tiny Gemeentehuis, one or two shops and a row of very small houses. But they didn’t stop here either, but took a cobbled road past one of the churches which ran into the open country again. There was a canal now, the evening light reflected in its quiet water, and the road looked as though it led to nowhere. But it did; a very small signpost pointed the way in important letters to Breda—a back way, explained the professor, which cut off quite a few miles if one knew the way well enough. ‘And here we are,’ he exclaimed as they passed a copse and came round a curve in the road which disclosed a white-painted, square house set in a fair sized garden. There were iron railings all round and a glimpse of outbuildings and wilder ground at the side. The professor drove through the wide open gates and drove up the straight drive to the front door where he alighted before helping Gemma out. She stood for a moment, her hand still in his, looking at the house; it had a plain face, a solid door under a weighty porch and precise rows of large square windows showing only a glimpse of curtains. For lack of a word, she described it to herself as well established.

  ‘Like it?’ asked her companion.

  ‘Oh, yes—yes, very much.’ She stopped as the door was opened and a short, fat man held it wide. ‘Ah,’ said the professor, ‘here is Ignaas.’ And at her look of inquiry: ‘He’s been with us for so long that I can’t remember when he wasn’t here.’

  He was still holding her hand in his, just as if he knew that she was nervous; perhaps Ignaas guessed it too, for his round face broke into a smile as Gemma bade him how do you do, and as for the professor, he clapped the older man on the back and made some laughing remark which changed the smile into a deep, rich chuckle as they were led into the hall, a square apartment with a polished wood floor, crimson wall hangings and some extremely solid oak furniture. Very old, thought Gemma, craning her neck stealthily as they went.

  They were shown into a room at the side of the hall through massive mahogany double doors crowned by an abundance of carved and gilded woodwork. It was large and lofty and furnished with a nice assortment of richly covered easy chairs, occasional tables, display cabinets and an enormous carved pillow cupboard which took up half one wall. The windows were wide and high and curtained with swathes of crimson brocade and the white walls were hung with a vast collection of paintings, mostly portraits. Gemma’s mouth hung open slightly at the sight of so much richness; it reminded her of some stately home or other she had once visited. She had never imagined that people actually lived their day-to-day lives surrounded by such treasures, but apparently they did, for there was a small boy sitting on the carpet in the centre of the room, the bricks he was playing with in tumbled heaps around him, and there was a slightly older girl sharing one of the great chairs with a corgi dog. There was a pile of knitting thrown down carelessly on one of the velvet-upholstered sofas and a young woman lying full length on the floor, her chin in her hand, reading. They all looked up at the same time and made a concerted dash for the professor, who received their onslaught with great good humour, tossing the children into the air before bending to kiss the girl.

  ‘Gemma, this is my elder sister Gustafina and her two children—Bessel and Wijanda—we call her Nanda.’ And when she had shaken hands with them all: ‘You’re staying?’ he asked his sister, ‘or is this a brief visit?’

  They were alike, Gemma could see that watching them together, although Gustafina was quite a lot younger; they had the same handsome good looks and bright blue eyes, and so, for that matter, had the two children. The pair of them grinned at her shyly and their mother said: ‘They like you, I think—we shall come again so that they may make friends.’

  The professor offered Gemma a chair and asked idly; ‘You’re not staying for the evening?’ His blue eyes were amused. ‘Curious, Gustafina?’ And when she smiled: ‘Where is Mama?’

  ‘Upstairs with Rienieta—she has been difficult.’ She smiled at Gemma. ‘We are all so glad that you could come, for she is not a good patient and my mother finds it so difficult to be firm with her when she is ill…’ She broke off. ‘There is Piet, I can hear the car. We have to go.’

  The man who entered the room was quite unlike the husband Gemma had expected. He was short and thickset and not in the
least good-looking, although he had a pleasant face. He was a good deal older than Gustafina, who quite obviously adored him, and it was also obvious that he was on very good terms with the professor. ‘We are delighted,’ he told her when he was introduced, ‘and we shall hope to see more of you—we live only a short distance away, and when you find Rienieta is too much for you then you must escape to us.’

  Everyone laughed and Gemma, laughing with them, knew that she was going to like being with these people. Never mind if her patient was difficult, everyone else was super; that nice old man who had opened the door, the professor’s sister and the children, and now this cheerful little man… The only thing which worried her now was meeting Rienieta’s mother and father.

  Her mother walked in at that very moment, just as though she had answered a cue in a play, and Gemma was surprised once more, for Mevrouw Dieperink van Berhuys wasn’t at all what she had expected; she was short and cosily plump, with a round face, dark eyes and silver hair drawn back in a simple knot. She was wearing a soft blue dress, cut so skilfully that one forgot, looking at her, how plump she was.

  She beamed at everyone in general as she came in, but it was to the professor she went first, and he went to meet her, giving her a great hug before saying over his shoulder: ‘Gemma, come here and meet my mother.’

  There had been no need to worry, Gemma realized; this dear little lady wasn’t frightening at all. She broke at once into apologies for not being there to welcome them and then went on to ask a great many questions about their trip. ‘You’re in Holland for the first time?’ she asked Gemma. ‘You shall see something of it while you are with us and we are so very glad to have you. It is unkind to say so, but I am so very glad that there was a fire at your hospital, otherwise you would not have come.’ She added hastily, ‘Not that I would wish any harm to come to your patients, it must have been dreadful for them. I think that I would rather die than be pushed down one of those chutes.’ She smiled charmingly. ‘Ross told me.’

  Gemma smiled in reply. ‘They’re awful,’ she admitted, ‘and I was terrified.’ After a little pause she asked: ‘Would you like me to go to my patient now?’

  The dark eyes twinkled at her; the little lady wasn’t in the least like her son—or her daughter for that matter, but there was something about her which reminded Gemma forcibly of the professor; probably the smile, she concluded. ‘My dear child, first you shall have a drink with us and we can tell you a little about Rienieta and talk about your free time and such things, for they are important, are they not?’ Her face suddenly softened and glowed. ‘Here is my husband.’

  A tall man in his late sixties had come into the room, kissed his grandchildren and his daughter, exchanged a few words with the professor and Piet and come to join his wife. He was a handsome man still; it was easy to see where the professor and his sister got their good looks. His voice was as deep and slow as his son’s. ‘Ah, our nurse from England—we are pleased to welcome you to our home, my dear. Ross took care of you on the journey?’

  The two men smiled at each other and the woman between them beamed at them both and said to Gemma: ‘There are more of us for you to meet, but you have brothers and sisters, too, have you not, so you will not feel nervous. Now we will sit down and drink a glass of sherry and then I will take you to see Rienieta.’

  A delightful family circle, thought Gemma, sipping from delicate crystal; the children sprawled on their father’s knee while the rest of them chatted, always in English, about nothing in particular. The effect was so soothing that she could have fallen asleep, and when the professor caught her eye and smiled she smiled back warmly; he was a nice man, so of course he would have a nice family—they were a bit like her own, actually, close-knit and friendly and yet casual. She wondered what they were all doing at home and glanced at the handsome gilt clock on the chimneypiece. The professor saw the look and crossed the room to sit beside her and murmur: ‘Having supper, I expect, don’t you? You shall telephone them presently.’

  ‘Oh, may I? That would be super.’ She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘How did you know I was thinking about them?’

  ‘Your face is easy to read.’

  She couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so instead she asked: ‘Should I go to Rienieta now?’

  ‘If you’re ready. My sister and her husband are going presently, but Mama will take you upstairs.’ He got up and Gemma got up too, said her goodbyes and followed his mother from the room, across the hall and up the stairs, looking around her as she went. In the gallery which ran round three sides of the hall, her hostess paused. ‘Rienieta is our youngest,’ she explained, ‘and a darling child, but somehow this wretched fever has made her feel bad, but I think that she will like you and you must understand that we shall not interfere with you in any way. She needs a firm hand and Ross is quite sure that you will know exactly how best to go about getting her well again.’ She walked on, past several doors, and turned down a short corridor. ‘This is her room, and yours is next to it, with a bathroom on the other side, and I hope you will feel at home, Gemma. And now I think I will go in with you and then leave you for a little while.’ She put out a pretty, beringed hand to open the door.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  BUT it wasn’t Mevrouw Dieperink van Berhuys who opened the door after all; the professor came leaping up the staircase to join them, remarking as he did so: ‘It doesn’t seem quite fair to leave the introductions to you, Mama—I’ll take Gemma in.’

  He held the door open as he spoke and she felt herself propelled by a firm hand in the small of her back, into the room—a charming apartment, all pale colours and dainty furniture, the carpet inches thick under her feet. There were a great many china trifles scattered around and some exquisite silver, and the bed was an enchanting affair with a frilled muslin canopy tied with pink ribbons. Its occupant’s hair was tied with pink ribbons too—a very pretty girl whose prettiness just now was marred by a heavy frown. She spoke in Dutch and crossly, glaring at her brother from bright blue eyes.

  He answered her in English. ‘Hullo, Rienieta, and don’t glower at me like that, lieveling—you know that I’ve been in England and couldn’t come to see you before.’ He crossed the room and dropped a kiss on top of her head. ‘But I know all about you being ill—besides, I telephoned you, so don’t look so cross, you spoilt brat.’ He tugged gently at a blonde curl. ‘I’ve brought you a present, and better than that, I’ve brought Gemma with me.’

  ‘Who’s she?’ demanded the petulant young lady in the bed. She eyed Gemmma warily.

  ‘A friend of mine—she lives next door to Doctor Gibbons, and I teased her and tormented her to come back with me and keep you company until you’re well.’ He drew Gemma to the bed and took her hand in his. ‘Gemma, this is Rienieta, feeling very sorry for herself just at present, but you’ll know how to deal with that, I’ve no doubt.’

  ‘A nurse,’ stated his sister in a frigid voice which barely concealed her opinion of the profession.

  ‘And a very good one. Gemma comes from a large family too—she’s the eldest.’

  Rienieta took another look at Gemma. ‘How many brothers and sisters have you?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘Five—the youngest is ten years old.’

  ‘I’m seventeen—Ross is very old, he’s thirty-seven, almost thirty-eight.’

  ‘Yes, he told me,’ said Gemma placidly. ‘I’m twenty-five, but I haven’t had a chance to get old yet, the family don’t give me a chance.’

  Her patient smiled. ‘I think I shall like you,’ she decided. ‘I’m sorry if I was rude, but the nurse I had was quite old and so strict and she never laughed. She had no brothers and sisters and didn’t like children.’

  ‘Poor thing,’ said Gemma with sincere pity. ‘It’s fun being one of a large family, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes—are you very strict too?’

  Gemma considered. ‘No, I don’t think I am, but I’m not all that easy-going either.’ Her plain face was lighte
ned by a wide smile. ‘The others do what I tell them, anyway.’

  ‘Oh, well, I suppose I shall too. Do you play cards?’

  ‘Like an expert—it’s our favourite pastime during the winter evenings—cribbage too, and draughts and dominoes and very bad chess. Do you?’

  Rienieta nodded happily. ‘That is good news, for when I feel well we can play, can we not?’ She turned a much more cheerful face to the professor, who had been leaning nonchalantly against the foot of the bed, not saying a word. ‘You are a dear kind brother, Ross, to bring me this so nice Gemma. I shall now get well very quickly.’

  He grinned down at her. ‘Well, my dear, that’s a good start, but remember that it’s a slow business; you’re allergic to all the antibiotics which would cure you in a few days, so we shall have to go to the long way round—but it won’t be all that long if you do as Gemma says.’ He bent to kiss her again. ‘I must be on my way, I’ve been idle far too long. Tot ziens.’ He nodded with casual friendliness to Gemma, murmured that his mother would be back and went out of the room, shutting the door silently behind him.

  ‘Ross is my favourite brother,’ confided Rienieta. ‘He is a little large perhaps, but he is kind and amusing and almost never cross, though he has a truly dreadful temper, you know—so have I,’ she added rather unnecessarily. ‘He is also very handsome. You like him too?’

  ‘He’s very nice,’ said Gemma sedately. ‘Now tell me what you do all day and perhaps we can make bed more bearable—have you been getting up at all?’

  They spent the next ten minutes discussing Rienieta’s feelings on the subject of being ill and being thwarted—one would imagine most cruelly—by her parents from doing what she wanted to do and not what the doctor wished. ‘And there are puppies in the stable,’ she finished, ‘and Mama will not let me go and see them…’

  ‘I should think not indeed!’ said Gemma in the severe tones she used to remonstrate with George. ‘You see, while you have a high temperature you just have to stay quiet, but I don’t see why I couldn’t bring them to see you one day soon—we’ll ask your parents, anyway. Once your fever has gone you’ll feel better and your joints won’t ache either, and then I daresay the doctor will let you go downstairs for a little while.’ She got up and went to look out of the window at the pretty garden below. ‘What sort of puppies are they?’