by Betty Neels
They were happily absorbed in this interesting subject when Rienieta’s mother came back again, and Gemma got up once more to go with her. So far, so good, she thought, and followed Mevrouw Dieperink van Berhuys out of the room.
It seemed to her that her own room was just as beautiful as that of her patient. True, there was no canopy over the bed, which was a narrow one of the Second Empire style, but its coverlet was of thick silk lavishly embroidered with flowers, and the carpeted floor was just as cosy to her feet, and over and above the highly polished dressing table and tallboy and little bedside table, there was a small armchair drawn up to the window, with a table beside it piled high with English magazines and books. Gemma eyed it all appreciatively—even if her patient turned out to be the most difficult she had ever had, there would be compensations.
And thinking over her evening as she lay in bed later, too excited to sleep, she didn’t think that Rienieta would be too difficult. She was spoilt, but then so, in a way, was her brother George—the last of a long family could expect indulgence. It was apparent that the professor’s family were comfortably off, perhaps more than that; Gemma, who had never been comfortably off in her life, sighed over the wealth of silver and crystal and hand-painted china which had decked the dining table. She sighed, too, at the memory of the delicious food she had eaten and registered a resolve there and then not to eat too much—she was already, in her own eyes, on the plump side.
She had liked the head of the family too and the professor’s younger brother, Bart, home for the evening, and another sister, Hendrina, whom everyone called Iny. She was almost as pretty as Gustafina and a good deal quieter. Gemma had liked her immediately and had been disappointed to find that she didn’t live at home; she was training to be a nurse in Utrecht and had only come home, like Bart, to meet Gemma. When she had wished her goodbye she had said: ‘Ross was quite right, you’re just the person Rienieta needs. He said you were sensible—a no-nonsense girl, who didn’t flutter her eyelashes every time he opened his mouth.’
Gemma had been unable to think of anything to say to that, although she had been conscious of annoyance at his opinion of her. She turned over now in her comfortable bed and thought inconsequently that her eyelashes were about the only thing worth looking at in her face—long and brown and curling. The professor couldn’t have noticed.
She saw neither hair nor hide of the professor during the next three days, not that she would have had a moment to spare for him if she had; Rienieta’s fever had returned, persistent and high, leaving her miserable and ill and extremely bad-tempered. Gemma, caring for her with all the skill at her command, went short of sleep and took almost no time off at all, reassuring the various members of the family who worried about this that she would take extra time off later on. Rienieta wasn’t going to die, she wasn’t seriously ill, but the very nature of her illness made her disagreeable, especially with her family, who became quite upset, but Gemma, used to dealing with fractious patients, allowed the mutterings and lowered brow to pass unnoticed while she concentrated on getting the invalid better.
It was hard on the girl, of course, for if she hadn’t been allergic to antibiotics, she would have been cured by now, whereas the more conservative treatment she was having required patience, and she had very little of that. It was tiring work, but it wouldn’t last for ever, as Gemma kept reassuring her patient’s mother, whose pleasant round face was puckered with worry. She reassured herself as well, thinking wistfully that it would be nice to have a few hours off and see something of the quiet countryside around them.
Rienieta’s mother had been kindness itself, showing Gemma the house in a snatched half hour, showing her the grounds surrounding it, making sure that she had everything for her comfort. Gemma was tempted on one or two occasions to ask about the professor; no one—in her hearing, at any rate—had mentioned him, and it seemed strange that he hadn’t come to see the little sister of whom he was so fond. Possibly he had telephoned, though, and if he had, there could be no reason for telling her.
Gemma retired to bed on the third evening quite worn out, for Rienieta had been more difficult than usual during the day, although she had seemed a little better when Gemma had settled her down for the night; indeed, creeping into her room just before she got into her own bed, she was relieved to find her patient asleep. She went back to her own room and lost no time in following her example.
She was roused an hour or two later, though; the little electric bell by her bed saw to that. As she padded to Rienieta’s room she heard the great wall clock in the hall below chime one o’clock and yawned as she slid silently through the half open door.
‘I can’t sleep,’ said Rienieta pettishly. ‘I’m hot and I’ve been awake for hours.’ She added with charming inconsequence: ‘How pretty you look with your hair hanging down your back.’
Gemma held back another yawn. ‘It’s this flattering light, it’s pretty enough to make even me passable by it. Shall I sponge your face and hands, love? And then a drink, perhaps? How about a cup of tea?’
Rienieta had cheered up a little. ‘The English drink much tea, but I will drink a cup of it to please you.’
‘Good, and I’ll have one with you—there’s something rather special about drinking tea in the middle of the night while everyone else is asleep.’ Gemma was bustling gently about the room. ‘Face and hands first.’
She was deft and quick and still managed to give the impression that time was of no consequence to her at all. She combed Rienieta’s damp hair, shook up her pillows and switched on another little pink lamp.
‘I’ll be five minutes,’ she promised, and stole away, down the stairs and across the hall with its dim wall lights, and through the arched door which led to the kitchens, the main one of which was a vast, old-fashioned place with its scrubbed table and high-backed chairs on each side of the Aga stove. There was plenty of up-to-date equipment too; Gemma put on the electric kettle and went to the enormous cupboard which filled the whole of one wall, in search of tea.
‘It’s on the second shelf, on the left,’ advised the professor from the dimness behind her, and she shot round to stare a little wildly, uttering a small squeak of fright as she did so. ‘Well, really!’ she said, and her voice was a little loud and high. ‘Frightening me like that in the dead of night—and how did you get in, anyway?’
‘I have a key,’ he told her mildly. ‘I was in the pantry looking for something to eat.’
She reached for the tea, took it over to the teapot and carefully warmed the pot before spooning it in. Only then did she ask: ‘Haven’t you had any supper?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve been in Vienna. Father telephoned me about Rienieta, but I was unable to get away. I drove straight here as soon as I could—I shall spend the night here, Mama keeps a room ready for me, you know.’ He walked towards her. ‘How is Rienieta?’
He was lounging at the pantry door, watching her, and Gemma was suddenly aware of her hastily tugged on dressing gown and dishevelled hair, so that she spoke more sharply than she had intended, feeling shy. ‘She’s not been well at all, but I think she’s a little better—she couldn’t sleep, so I came down to make tea.’
‘Splendid—may I join the party? And a little buttered toast, perhaps?’ He sounded hopeful and vaguely wistful so that she forgot about her untidy appearance and said in a soothing voice: ‘Why, of course—and how about a couple of boiled eggs?’
He brightened visibly. ‘How kind—there’s a ham here, I’ll carve a slice or two.’ He paused as he turned away. ‘You, too?’
‘No, thanks,’ said Gemma politely; a cup of tea would be nice, but to devour ham and eggs at half past one in the morning between bouts of sleep sounded like indigestion to her. Possibly the professor was made of sterner stuff.
He undoubtedly was; he devoured a huge meal, perched on the side of his sister’s bed, entertaining her with a lighthearted account of his three days in Vienna. He was really rather clever, thought Gemma,
studying him covertly from the chair into which she had curled herself. Rienieta was happy again; she looked hot and weary still but already she looked drowsy too. The professor’s voice, keeping up a quiet monologue, was very soothing. Gemma resisted a strong desire to shut her own eyes and began, very quietly, to tidy the cups and saucers back on to the tray. Then she gently tucked her patient in once more and with a look at the professor intended to warn him not to stay too long, she trod downstairs bearing the tray. The clock chimed two resonant notes as she went and she yawned again. A whole hour of her much-needed beauty sleep gone, but it had been rather fun. Somehow the professor made life more interesting…she heard him on the staircase behind her and as he took the tray from her grasp, he said: ‘I’ll help you wash up…’
But in the kitchen he put the tray down on the table and left it there. ‘Ria or Nel will do something about it in the morning,’ he assured her, and with one quick, unexpected movement, lifted her to sit on the table beside the tray and then got up beside her. ‘Tell me about Rienieta,’ he begged. ‘Father telephoned me each day and I spoke to Doctor Kasten, but it’s your opinion I want—you see her all day and every day…’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘Probably you’ve been seeing too much of her?’
Gemma brushed the hair out of her eyes and shook her head. ‘Oh, no—she’s a dear girl, you know, and she can’t help being depressed—you’re as aware of that as I am. She’s had a very trying time and quite a lot of pain, but I think she’s over the worst of it—this is the third recurrence, isn’t it? I hope it will be the last—she’s strong and young and very fit usually, isn’t she? For what it’s worth I’d say she was on the mend.’
He flung a careless arm round her shoulders. ‘And I think you’re right. She may have another bout, but less severe. I’ll have another talk to Kasten and see if he’ll consider letting her do more—she needs concrete evidence that she’s getting better, don’t you agree? He’s a good man, but old-fashioned.’ She felt his arm tighten a little. ‘And you? You’re happy? You’ve had no time to yourself, have you—we’ll make up for that, though.’
‘Well, I don’t know what I’d do with it if I had it,’ remarked Gemma practically, ‘though your mother said that I might borrow a bike and explore a bit.’
He was staring at his feet, his head bent. ‘You’re content with very little, Gemma.’
‘Me? Am I?’ She considered. ‘Not really, but if you haven’t had something you don’t hanker after it, do you?’ She added in a matter-of-fact way: ‘I think you have everything.’
He said at his mildest: ‘No—there is just one thing I hanker for.’ He paused and she longed to know what it was, but managed not to ask. She said instead: ‘I expect you’ll get it.’
‘Er—yes, I have that intention,’ and he asked to surprise her: ‘Have you a boy-friend, Gemma?’
‘Me? Heavens, no!’ She was quite astonished. ‘I’ve never had the time,’ she told him simply, ‘although that must sound silly—and I’m not pretty.’
He said very quietly: ‘My mother isn’t pretty, but my father considers her to be quite beautiful, so do we all—and my grandmother had a cast in one eye and a little beaky nose, and my grandfather was her devoted slave.’
Gemma wriggled a bit. ‘Well, they must have had something…your mother is charming. I expect charm has something to do with it.’ She heard with astonishment the clock strike the half hour. ‘Look, I must go to bed, and so should you. Do you have to work tomorrow?’
He got off the table and scooped her down to stand beside him. ‘Yes, but not until the early afternoon.’ His hand on her shoulder propelled her towards the door, where he turned the light out. ‘How are your family?’
His hand felt friendly. ‘They’re fine—your mother allows me to telephone home, you know. George has broken Doctor Gibbons’ window again.’
The professor chuckled. ‘He’ll grow out of it,’ he told her comfortably as they went up the wide stairs. In the long dimly lit gallery which encircled the hall below he patted her shoulder in avuncular fashion, dropped a casual kiss on to the top of her head, and wished her goodnight. Gemma murmured sleepily and padded down the passage to her room, peeping in at Rienieta on the way; she was fast asleep. Gemma, on the point of entering her own room, looked back. The professor was still standing in the gallery. She waved briefly before she closed her door. He really was rather a dear.
He wasn’t at breakfast in the morning. Gemma, having seen to her patient’s wants, shared her meal with the lady of the house and no one else. Bart had gone back to medical school and Iny was at the hospital. Klaas, older than Bart, she hadn’t met yet; he was married and living in Friesland. She glanced round the empty table and as though she had read her thoughts, Mevrouw Dieperink van Berhuys remarked: ‘Just the two of us, my dear; my husband and Ross went out early. Ross has to go back to Utrecht shortly, although I daresay he will go and see Rienieta before he goes.’
‘He saw her last night,’ said Gemma, and unaware that her hostess knew all about it already, recounted the night’s activities, vaguely put out because the professor wasn’t at the breakfast table and just as vaguely glad that she would see him before he went away again.
Only she didn’t. When she got back to Rienieta’s room it was to find that he had already said goodbye to her and was on the point of leaving the house. Indeed, she heard the powerful roar of his car not five minutes later. For some reason she felt put out, although she concealed her feelings well enough, telling herself that she was doubtless tired.
Doctor Kasten came later in the day and pronounced himself satisfied that Rienieta had recovered from her relapse. ‘The spleen is no longer enlarged,’ he told Gemma, ‘and the joints much less painful, although we must do another agglutination test tomorrow. Perhaps a little distraction, eh, Nurse? Shall we allow the patient to go down for an hour or so this afternoon—with all precautions, of course?’
Gemma agreed, although she had a shrewd suspicion that Rienieta, given an inch, would take an ell if she were given half a chance, and be back in bed again in no time at all. She repaired to the sickroom and delivered a homily on the subject of doing too much too soon, very much in the manner of an elder sister, and surprisingly her patient listened to her patiently and promised to do exactly as she was told.
So the day passed very satisfactorily, with Rienieta going down for her tea, dressed in her most becoming dressing gown and with her hair carefully arranged. She ate a good tea, too, surrounded by those members of her family who happened to be home for the occasion—but not the professor. Gemma, sitting a little apart from the family circle, regretted that.
Tea was almost over when there was a bustle in the hall and Bart came in and with him a young man of Gemma’s age—a slim, good-looking man with dark hair worn rather long, and even though he wasn’t above middle height he commanded attention, perhaps because of the elegance of his clothes—not the subdued elegance and conservative cut of the professor, but trendy and wildly expensive. He stood in the doorway, smiling with charm at everyone there, and the younger members of the party greeted him with cries of ‘Leo!’ and a gabble of swift talk, although the professor’s parents, while greeting him with courtesy, displayed no great pleasure at seeing him. But he was, of course, invited to sit down and have a cup of tea from the fresh pot Ignaas had brought in, and he was on the point of doing this when his eyes lighted upon Gemma. He got up again at once, crying in English: ‘But no one has introduced us—it is Rienieta’s nurse, is it not? I have heard of her from Bart.’
Gemma shook hands and murmured, feeling, for some reason, shy—perhaps because this young man eyed her with the kind of look she wasn’t used to receiving. It was absurd, but he somehow conveyed the idea that he found her enchanting and pretty and exquisitely dressed, and all this while making the most commonplace remarks. She answered him sedately enough, aware that the new dress she was wearing was really the only pretty thing about her, but he didn’t appear to notice her cool mann
er, but engaged her in conversation for some minutes before going over to sit with Rienieta on the big sofa by the window. It was later, when she was ushering her patient back upstairs, that he followed them into the hall on the pretext of speaking to Rienieta. Whatever it was he wanted to say only took a moment, though, and as she went on up the staircase he put out a retaining hand to stop Gemma following her. ‘We must see more of each other,’ he said, soft-voiced, ‘when are you free?’
‘I really don’t know.’ She wished she did with all her heart, and that same heart doubled its beat when he went on: ‘I’ll telephone you—I want to take you out.’
She smiled a little, wished him goodbye and ran up the stairs after Rienieta, who was loitering along very slowly indeed, and when they reached her room she turned an impish face to Gemma. ‘I was listening,’ she declared. ‘You ought to be careful of Leo, he’s a—lady killer—is that the word?’
‘That’s the word,’ said Gemma crisply, ‘and I don’t quite see what I have to be careful about, do you?’
Her patient gave her a thoughtful look. ‘No, you don’t see, do you? Oh, well, never mind—I’m only teasing. He’s fun, isn’t he?’
Gemma was turning down the bed and plumping up the pillows. ‘Well, I really haven’t had a chance to find out,’ she confessed. ‘Now sit down, love, while I take your temperature—if it’s OK we’ll have a game of cards before you get ready for bed, if you would like that.’
The temperature was fine; the two of them played beggar-my-neighbour for the next hour and then with the small, numerous evening chores to keep her busy, Gemma thought no more of Leo. She thought about him later, though, when she was in bed. He had been mentioned several times during dinner that evening and she had been able to piece something of his life together. He had known the family for years; his people lived only a few miles away, he did nothing to earn his living. She rather gathered from what the head of the household said that he disapproved of that—he had money, more than enough, but that, according to old Doctor Dieperink van Berhuys, was no reason to be idle. He was engaged to be married, too—to some girl no one had ever seen who lived in Curaçao, so that no one took the engagement very seriously, least of all Leo. Gemma had had the feeling that he wasn’t really approved of, although the younger ones had voted him great fun and very amusing. She found herself thinking about him for quite some time, and on the edge of sleep at last, she admitted to herself that the professor, although a perfect dear, lacked the excitement the afternoon’s visitor had engendered in her.