by Neels, Betty
‘No,’ he said firmly, ‘go and have your bath and get into bed— use my room. I’ll call you about three, have a bath myself and an hour or two’s sleep; that way we’ll both be rested, I’ll get them to send breakfast up here at eight o’clock and if everything’s all right we’ll get away soon after. It rather depends on Nina.’
‘But you’ve got to drive—I shall be quite comfortable here, truly—I can always doze in the car tomorrow.’
‘Why do women argue?’ he wanted to know pleasantly. ‘Do as you’re told, Nurse Trent.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Please.’
There was no further use in argument. She collected her night things and went away to the bathroom, then to his room and got into bed; she was asleep immediately.
She wakened at once to the touch of his hand on her shoulder, and sat up instantly. ‘Nina’s all right?’ she wanted to know.
‘Hasn’t stirred,’ was his reassuring answer. ‘I’ve just changed the drip—it should be through by seven. Take it down if I’m not about.’
He went away leaving her to scramble into her dressing gown and slippers and pad back to her own room. A minute later he had wished her good night and disappeared.
The rest of the night passed uneventfully. Nina hardly moved, even when the drip had run through and Abigail took the needle out of the small thin arm and covered the tiny puncture with strapping, and when she opened her eyes, frowning a little, Abigail said:
‘It’s all right, darling, you’re much better, aren’t you?’ and the moppet nodded and, obedient to Abigail’s suggestion that she should go to sleep again, closed her eyes.
The professor came in a few minutes later, with his hair ruffled and an unshaven chin, but his eyes were as calm and untroubled as a child who had slept the night long. He nodded his satisfaction, patted Abigail on the shoulder, said ‘Good girl’ and then: ‘How about some tea—I’m dying of thirst.’
Abigail rang the bell and waited to see what would happen. The maid who had looked after Nina came in answer to it, smiled a good morning and promised tea within five minutes.
The child slept peacefully while they drank it, sitting side by side on the other bed with the tray between them. Abigail poured second cups and enquired of the professor if he had slept well. ‘You must have been tired,’ she added.
His blue eyes swept lazily over her and she became aware that her hair was hanging in a mousy curtain around her shoulders, and her dressing gown, warm as it was, was hardly glamorous. To cover her discomfiture she asked, ‘Do you intend to leave directly after breakfast, Professor?’
‘Yes, as things are I think perhaps we should try and reach Amsterdam as quickly as possible. It’s roughly six hundred and seventy miles.’
She thought. ‘About fourteen hours’ driving.’
He laughed. ‘Less, with luck. There are some splendid stretches of road where I can give the car her head.’
‘A hundred miles an hour?’
She wasn’t looking at him, so she missed the engaging twinkle in his eyes. ‘Probably more—are you nervous?’
‘Not in the least.’
‘Am I to take that as a compliment?’
‘As you wish,’ she forced her voice to casualness. ‘Which of us shall dress first?’
‘Would you like to? I imagine there isn’t much to do for Nina, but if you will, perhaps you can do whatever needs doing before breakfast. She might have some tea—no mi!k.’
When Abigail got back to the bedroom, very neat as to hair and dress, and with her face nicely made up, it was to find the professor stretched out on the second bed with his eyes closed. She stood looking down at him, studying every line of his handsome face. He looked more approachable with a bristly chin, she considered, and lonely. He opened his eyes with a suddenness which took her completely by surprise and asked:
‘Why do you look at me like that?’
‘Like what?’ She took a step backwards, and he got off the bed and stretched hugely, but all he said was: ‘You have a very expressive face, Abigail, did you know?’
At least the rain had stopped. They got off to a good start soon after eight o’clock with a wide-awake Nina on Abigail’s lap. For the time being at least she seemed a great deal better, a fact amply demonstrated by her chatter, which for the first hour at least was ceaseless. They stopped briefly at Limoges, having covered over a hundred and thirty miles in two hours. Refreshed by coffee and a glucose drink for Nina, they took to the road again, at first running through high country. But this didn’t last long. Once more on level ground, the professor urged the Rolls forward, and they reached Chateauroux in time for a hasty lunch, more glucose for Nina, who had by now become silent and rather sleepy, and tore on towards Orleans and Paris.
South of Paris the professor broke the long silence to say, ‘We’ll stop for tea, and get through Paris before dark. What do you think about going straight on?’
She was surprised that he should ask her. He had seemed remote the entire morning; when he had spoken, he had been civil and that was all.
‘It depends entirely on how tired you are. There’s a great distance to go, isn’t there? More than three hundred miles, and you’ve already driven more than that.’
Tm thinking of Nina,’ he reminded her coldly, and she saw that he wanted—probably intended—to drive through the night. She looked at the child on her lap, awake once more and looking decidedly sickly. ‘Let’s go on—you intended to anyway, didn’t you?’
‘Discerning of you—but you are the child’s nurse—I needed your opinion.’
They stopped shortly after that at a roadside hotel and Abigail tried not to look as if she had understood when the waiter referred to her as the professor’s wife, but her faint astonishment at his not denying it betrayed her. He said shortly: ‘If you have no objection, I’m sure that I have not—it is a waste of time to correct such a ridiculous mistake.’
Several telling replies to this piece of arrogance bubbled upon Abigail’s lips. She longed to utter them, but suppressed her feelings, outraged though they were, sternly; now was not the time nor the place to have words with the professor.
It took some time to get through Paris even though the professor knew the way. It was obvious to her that her companion was concentrating on his driving to the exclusion of all else. She thanked heaven that Nina was still quiet; the child was running a temperature again; she could feel the heat of the little body through the blankets and Nina’s small face had become even paler. They still had three hundred miles to drive, a long way still, but there was a motorway into Belgium; presumably the professor would make good time once he got on to it. She was perfectly right. He hadn’t looked at Nina for some time and she had said nothing to him, but he seemed to sense that she was uneasy about her, for he sent the car tearing along at a great speed, and yet, thought Abigail, looking at him stealthily, he seemed quite relaxed; his hands rested’ lightly on the wheel; he wasn’t frowning. Without looking at her, he said, ‘Not long now, Abigail.’
An hour and a half later, going through Bapaume, he asked her how Nina was.
‘Dozing, but her pulse is up. She’s got a temp, too.’
‘Roughly two hundred miles to go—I’m going via Antwerp and on to Tilberg and Utrecht.’
A name which sounded reassuringly Dutch in Abigail’s ears, it made home seem very near.
They had travelled quite some distance before he spoke again. ‘Can you last out until we reach Amsterdam?’
‘Easily.’ Her voice was steady; even at the speed they were travelling at, the journey seemed endless and she was worried about Nina. Her relief when later, he said briefly, ‘Holland,’ was so great she could have cried.
‘How is she?’ he wanted to know.
‘Asleep. I think when she wakes she’ll probably be sick again.’
To her surprise he laughed, a normal, relaxed sound with no sound of tiredness in it. ‘My dear Abigail, what a sensible girl you are! I should like to have you with me in a tight
corner— although this one’s tight enough—I can’t think of any girl of my acquaintance who wouldn’t have been in tears or hysterics long ago. Aren’t you tired?’
‘Yes,’ said Abigail, smarting under his good opinion. Who wanted to be called sensible? That was twice in twenty-four hours! ‘Aren’t you?’
‘Yes, but it’s worth it.’
They lapsed into silence again until it was broken by the professor’s forceful opinion of the rain which began to beat against the windscreen. After a little while he asked, ‘Are you prepared for Nina; in case she’s sick?’
‘Yes.’ Her answer was brief because she sensed that he didn’t want to talk. They were through Utrecht, on the motorway and only a few miles from Amsterdam, when Nina woke up and did exactly as they had expected, and in the ensuing minutes which followed, Abigail had no time to feel relief as they slid through Amsterdam’s lighted streets and at last stopped before the hospital entrance. It was almost midnight.
The professor wasted no time but carried his small niece into the hospital and Abigail, left on her own, got out too, much more slowly because she was cramped and stiff, and now that they had arrived, deathly tired.
The entrance hall was empty, although she could see the night porter in his small office, but he had his back to her, telephoning; she decided to wait. She had no idea where she should be or what the professor wanted of her. Nina would go to the children’s ward, but there would be a nurse on duty there.
It was quiet in the hall, the night sounds of hospital reached her ears faintly, but she was so familiar with them that she hardly heeded the far-off rustles and thumps and door shuttings and clanging of metal as some nurse cleared a trolley. Presently she peered through the porter’s lodge window again; he had disappeared altogether now—there was a small inner room, so probably he had retired to eat his meal. She felt shy about disturbing him; besides, her tired brain felt unable to cope with asking questions in Dutch. The professor wouldn’t be very long; he would have to go home and go to bed, he needed rest before he operated upon Nina, and the child needed a night’s sleep in a proper bed, too. Somewhere close by a clock chimed twelve and she went to the door and stood looking at the Rolls, still majestic despite its deplorably dusty condition. It was a pity her case was in the boot and that the boot was locked, otherwise she could have taken it and been in bed by now, although that wouldn’t have been very polite, she supposed.
She shivered and went back inside and walked round once more. ‘If ever I’m rich,’ she said to herself as she walked, ‘I shall give a bench—two benches, to this place. There must be a waiting room.’ But she couldn’t see one, only corridors, disappearing into gloom on either side. She hadn’t been in this part of the hospital before, only to pass through it on her way in or out when she had been working there. She yawned widely and sat down on the floor, her back to the wall. It was a dark corner and she was almost hidden. She closed her eyes.
And opened them again almost immediately, because the professor was bellowing her name in a furious voice, which to her mind was far too loud for that time of night in a hospital, even though he was an important surgeon. She called hastily. Tm here, in this corner,’ and before she could get up he was towering over her.
‘Good God, girl, what in the hell are you lying there for?’
He was in a bad temper; he wasn’t his usual cool, bland self at all, his voice was almost a snarl. He bent down and plucked her to her feet, keeping his hands on her shoulders, and she had a strong feeling that he would have liked to have shaken her. Before he could do so she spoke, her voice low and reasonable.
‘I wasn’t sure what you wanted me to do and I’m tired. If I could have my case I’ll go over to the Home. How’s Nina?’
The hands lost their ferocious grip and became gentle. ‘Nina’s asleep. Henk’s with her, I’m too tired to be of much use. My poor girl, what a thoughtless brute you must think me! *
She looked up into his grey weary face. He looked every day of his age and a year or two besides, but she loved him a little more because of it. She would have iiked to have told him what she did think of him, but that was something she would have to keep a secret, probably for ever and ever.
‘No,’ she said gently, ‘I don’t think anything of the sort. It’s Nina who matters, and I’m perfectly all right. If I could just have my case—you could get home to bed.’
‘Didn’t I tell you? You’re coming back to my house for the night. I shall want you on duty tomorrow morning at eight— you can move into the Home during the day.’
‘But I can’t—it’s past midnight...’
‘Don’t tell me the conventions worry you,’ he paused, ‘although I daresay they do; you’re that kind of girl.’
‘No,’ she snapped, very ruffled, Tm not in the least worried. Why should I be—even if you expected it? I was thinking of someone having to get a bed ready at this hour of night.’
‘My dear good girl, Bollinger and Mevrouw Boot will have prepared a room. I told them I expected to be back at some ungodly hour.’
There seemed nothing more to say, he took her arm and they went out to the car again, and in five minutes had arrived outside his house on the gracht. Boilinger and Mevrouw Boot were still up. Bolly had the door open before the professor could get his key out and Abigail, quite forgetting him, flung herself at the old man.
‘Oh, Bolly dear, how lovely to see you!’ she cried, and hugged him fiercely before saying good evening to the housekeeper, who smiled and nodded and said a great deal, none of which made any sense to Abigail at all.
‘A bath and bed, and Mevrouw Boot will bring up your supper,’ ordered the professor, and when she wou ld have protested, said:
‘Please do as I say, Abigail. I want you on your toes tomorrow morning. We leave the house at a quarter to eight.’
Bolly had gone to get their cases, Mevrouw Boot was on the stairs, on her way to run a bath. Abigail said meekly: ‘Very well. Good night. I hope you sleep well, you must be very tired.’
‘Not so tired that I cannot find the time to thank you for your share in this whole business.’ He stared at her from under frowning brows. ‘You didn’t complain once; you must have wanted to.’
A dimple appeared in her cheek. ‘Oh, a dozen times.’ She turned away as Bollinger reappeared with the cases, and started up the stairs after him. As her foot was on the first tread the professor said: ‘Abigail,’ and she turned round again. Bolly turned round too and watched from the top of the stairs. The professor had followed her across the hall; she turned round into his arms, and they held her with a gentleness she had never imagined as he bent to kiss her.
Abigail ran upstairs without a word or a backward glance and tried not to see Bollinger’s delighted smirk. She refused to think about it while she undressed and had her bath and got her uniform ready for the morning, and then, warm in the little canopied bed, ate the delicious supper Mevrouw Boot brought her. She looked about her room as she ate. Not very large, but furnished with excellent taste with dainty Regency furniture as well as an ultra-comfortable easy chair and a soft carpet underfoot, it was exactly the kind of room she would have chosen for herself. She pushed the bedtable away and lay back on the pillows, drowsily contemplating the flower painting over the fireplace. The housekeeper would be back for the tray presently and she must stay awake and thank her. She closed her eyes and went to sleep even as she thought it.
She was called at seven and told that breakfast would be in exactly half an hour, and with five minutes to spare she went down the staircase, very trim and crisp in her uniform, her starched cap perched on her bun of hair, her packed case in her hand. Half way down the stairs she remembered that she had no idea where to go. There were several doors—she knew where the little sitting room was and she knew the great drawing room too, but there were other doors, all shut. One of these was flung open as she stood hesitating, and the professor said, ‘In here, Nurse Trent. Good morning.’
He had already be
en at table, with papers, letters and an open notebook before him. There was some coffee, half drunk, and a slice of toast half eaten. She sat down opposite him and gave him a wary greeting, and he lifted his eyes to hers briefly and asked her how she had slept.
He looked rested himself, she saw that at once, and as bland and cool as ever he had been. Abigail sighed and he said at once, ‘Oh, would you rather have tea—I’ll ring...’
‘I like coffee, thank you.’ She poured herself a cup and took a slice of toast. ‘I see that you have slept well too, Professor,’ and some small imp of mischief prompted her to add, ‘Things that happened yesterday seem so different after a good night’s rest, don’t they?’
He put down the letter he was reading and stared at her with faint suspicion. ‘And just what does that mean?’ he wanted to know.
‘Why, nothing—would you pass me the sugar? I expect you’re one of those people who prefer not to talk at breakfast, I don’t mind in the least if you want to go on with your letters.’ She smiled kindly at him and helped herself to toast and marmalade, and although she knew that he was staring at her, she didn’t look up; after a moment he picked up his letters again.
In the car, driving to the hospital, he told her:
‘I telephoned Odilia last night—she asked me to thank you for taking such care of Nina. She sent her love too and hopes that she will see you again. She hopes too that you will find time to write to her.’
‘Of course I will. She’ll want to hear about Nina—all the little things, you know,’ she explained, ‘that mothers worry about.’
Nina was awake and quiet after a restful night—she had a little room to herself for the time being, but later, when she had recovered from the operation she was to have in an hour’s time, she would be able to go into the ward with the other children. She kissed her uncle with childish fervour and kissed Abigail too, and presently the professor went away and Abigail busied herself getting the little girl ready for the theatre. She was to go with her, she had been told, and afterwards nurse her on day duty until she was fit to leave hospital. Zuster Ritsma had told her too that there was a room ready for her in the Nurses’ Home, and would she mind taking her off-day each afternoon so that the day shift could cover her. Abigail, still thinking about the professor, said that she didn’t mind in the least, and went off to X-ray with her little patient, so that her uncle could have a last-minute check of the three pesetas.