by Betty Neels
‘You’ll have Paul too,’ Phoebe said flatly.
‘I’ve got him where I want him too, so hands off. I must say you’ve got a nerve, coming here and making doe’s eyes at Lucius. And don’t think that you’ve stolen a march on me with your dinners at Schevingenen and your birthday tea parties and your Florence Nightingale act …’
‘How incredibly vulgar you are!’ Phoebe spoke in a cool voice which quite hid her rage, bubbling away inside her and threatening to burst out of her at any moment. ‘And do you really suppose that I should listen to you? Why, you don’t even like me, and that’s good enough reason to take no notice of anything you say.’ She got to her feet and walked to the door. ‘I’m sorry for Lucius—and Paul.’
In her room she took off her uniform, had a bath and then sat on her bed, having a good cry, which, while playing havoc with her face, did her feelings a great deal of good. She had no intention of heeding Maureen, and what could the girl do anyway? She would have to wait for Lucius to ask her to marry him—Phoebe’s heart gave a joyful little bound because he hadn’t done that yet, and until then, if Lucius asked her to go out with him again, she would most certainly go. He might not be in love with her, but at least he enjoyed her company, even if she could delay Maureen’s plans for another week or two. She closed her eyes on the awful vision of Maureen, married to Lucius—but Lucius might not have made up his mind; he was a deliberate man, not given to impulsive action, at least it was a straw to clutch at.
Phoebe dressed and went down to tea and, carried on the high tide of hope, went out and bought a new dress, something suitable for dinner or an evening out—green and silky and extremely becoming. It was a shocking price; she told herself she was a fool throwing money away on a forlorn hope, but she felt a great deal more cheerful as she left the shop.
She saw Paul the next morning, hurrying along the Koornmarkt. It amused her a little to see how cautiously he looked around him before he crossed the road to speak to her. ‘I’m going to see Rex,’ he told her. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t like to come with me?’
Phoebe agreed promptly. The vet’s house was close by, and she had half an hour to spare. She occupied the short journey with questions about the puppy and listened to the little boy’s happy chatter—Rex was to come home in a day or so, he told her; his papa would be back by then to help him decide where the puppy should sleep and what he should eat and when he should go for his walk. There was no doubt about it, Paul was a changed child, and changed towards her too, for at the vet’s door he said in an off-hand voice: ‘I’m glad I met you. Maureen won’t talk about him, you see, and Else hasn’t much time, though she says she’ll like to have a dog in the house.’
Mijnheer van Vliet was home. He took them through the surgery to his house where Rex was waiting for them, a very different dog from the miserable little creature she had picked up. He flung himself at Paul and watching them together, Phoebe could only hope that Maureen would relent and at least treat the puppy with kindness even if she disliked it. After all, it would be Paul who would be looking after the dog. She met the vet’s eyes and smiled. ‘They’re made for each other, aren’t they? I must go I’m on duty in an hour.’
She was at the door when Paul ran up to her and said in a conspirator’s voice: ‘You won’t tell Maureen about us coming here, will you?’
‘No, dear, not if you don’t want me to anyway, I seldom see her, do I, so it’s not very likely I should mention it. But why not, Paul? You’re not afraid?’
He wouldn’t answer her, but ran back to Rex, leaving her to wonder if Maureen had forbidden him to have anything to do with her, but surely that was a bit high-handed?
The following day was Mies’ day off which meant that Phoebe would have charge of the ward from two o’clock until the night nurses came on duty. The ward was quiet when she took over. There was no one very ill, only little Wil, sitting in her cot, her small chest labouring, her face too thin and white. True, she looked no worse than she had done for several days, but Phoebe wasn’t happy about her. She confided her opinion to the invaluable Zuster Pets, who, although she didn’t know much about it, promised to keep a careful watch on the child.
But it was Phoebe who was there when, just at seven o’clock when the ward was at its busiest, little Wil collapsed. Doctor Pontier had been to see her at teatime and although he shared Phoebe’s vague fears, he had been unable to find anything wrong. Phoebe decided that she was being over-anxious—all the same, she found herself taking a look at Wil at more and more frequent intervals. And lucky for her that she had, she muttered as she switched on the oxygen, plugged in the sucker and rang the emergency bell by the cot. There was no one in the end ward at that moment. When she heard someone behind her she said: ‘Pets—keep the other children out and send for Doctor Pontier.’
‘Will I do?’ Lucius’ voice was quiet. She looked over her shoulder at him, unable to keep the joy out of her face or her voice.
‘Lucius,’ she spoke his name instinctively, and then, remembering where she was, ‘Wil has collapsed, sir, she’s been off colour all day. Doctor Pontier came to see her at teatime, but he couldn’t find anything—a slight temp, but she’s had that on and off for a day or two.’ She had put a thermometer under Wil’s arm and she withdrew it now.
‘Forty-point-two centigrade,’ she told him, ‘and a racing pulse.’
There was no need to tell him the respiration rate, he could see the small heaving chest for himself. He was already sitting on the cot, his stethoscope out, his hands moving quietly over the bony little body. Presently he looked up. ‘You know what this is?’ he asked.
‘Empyema?’ she ventured, and glowed at his appreciative nod.
‘Good girl, yes—rapid symptoms, I must say, but I’ll stake my reputation on it. Let’s try an aspiration.’
Zuster Pets had arrived, solid and dependable. Lucius spoke to her and she went away again and he got off the cot and took off his jacket. ‘I’ll just scrub —stay here, Phoebe, and keep a sharp eye open. We’ll need an X-ray—get someone to warn them. Ah, Pontier, just in time …’ He switched over to his own language and Phoebe, passing on the instructions he had given her, went back to her patient.
The X-ray confirmed the diagnosis; Wil would have to go to theatre and have the cavity drained of the pus which had accumulated there. Phoebe was kept busy for the next half hour getting the small creature ready for the small, vital operation, and when she had seen her safely theatrewards, the faithful Pets in attendance, she applied herself to the preparation of the drainage bottles, the making up of the cot and all the small paraphernalia needed for the night.
Wil was back, perched up against her pillows, when Lucius came in. After he had bent over his small patient he turned to Phoebe. ‘Fortunately we were able to tackle it at once—I’ve rarely seen one with such urgent symptoms—in fact,’ he grinned at her, ‘I’ve rarely seen one.’
Phoebe folded a small blanket and hung it over the end of the cot.
‘I’m so glad!’
‘It was thanks to you, Phoebe. No, I know what you’re going to say, but you were quick off the mark. Well, I’m off home, I told them I’d be back an hour ago. Pontier will keep an eye on things.’
He nodded and walked rapidly away, but halfway down the ward he came back again. ‘I’m almost sure I’ve forgotten something—I’ll telephone if it’s anything important.’
It was Sunday the next day and Phoebe’s day off again, and although she had no reason to get up early, she did, because lying in bed was too conducive to thought, and she didn’t want to think. She made tea and nibbled toast, then sat on her bed, wondering what to do. The beach would be crowded and it wouldn’t be much fun on her own, and the idea of a bus trip didn’t appeal. She was looking at her guide book when Zuster Pets knocked on the door. ‘There’s a telephone call for you,’ she declared. ‘It’s Doctor van Someren.’
Phoebe flew to the telephone. It was Wil, of course—something had gone wrong. She snat
ched up the receiver and said Hullo in a breathless voice.
‘Hullo,’ said Lucius in her ear. ‘You sound terrified—what’s the matter?’
‘Wil,’ she managed.
‘Doing well. Tell me, did I invite you to spend the day with us?’
‘No.’
‘Ah, then that is what I forgot yesterday evening on the ward. Will you?’
‘Well …’ began Phoebe, disciplining her tongue not to shout an instant yes.
‘Good—I’m taking Paul to Noordwijk for a swim, then I thought we might go for a run round for a while. Else has promised us a bumper tea when we get back.’
‘Nice! I’d like to, thank you.’ Maureen’s brilliant image floated before her in the telephone box, but she dismissed it firmly. ‘When shall I be ready?’
‘Half an hour. We’ll pick you up.’
Phoebe dressed like lightning, not bothering with make-up and tying her hair back with a ribbon to match the pink cotton. The half hour was up as she rammed her beach clothes into her shoulder bag.
Paul was sitting in the back with Rex on his knee and there was no sign of Maureen. Phoebe smiled widely at the three of them and got in beside Lucius, who leaned over her to shut the door, remarking: ‘Paul was sure you would never be ready—half an hour isn’t long.’ His gaze swept over her and he smiled nicely. ‘But you seem to have made good use of it.’
She flushed faintly and turned to ask Paul about Rex, and the journey to the beach was wholly taken up by a cheerful three-sided conversation about dogs and Rex in particular.
‘Is he home for good?’ Phoebe wanted to know.
Paul nodded happily. ‘Yes, today—we’ve just fetched him. He’ll have all day to get used to being with us before Maureen comes …’ He broke off and Lucius said mildly:
‘Oh, come now, old chap, Maureen will like him, you see if she doesn’t, once he’s a member of the family. He only needs to learn his manners—she’ll be enchanted with him.’
An opinion to which Phoebe found herself unable to subscribe.
The day was an enormous success; it was still too early for the beach to be crowded. They swam, sunbathed, swam again, and then, after Phoebe had made coffee for them all in the chalet and Rex had renewed his energy with a bowl of milk, they got back into the car. An early lunch, Lucius decreed; they went back inland to Oegsgeest, to de Beukenhof, an inn standing in its own garden and renowned for its cooking. They ate splendidly—Boeuf Stroganoff and strawberries and cream—and Rex, on his best behaviour, sat under Paul’s chair.
They went north after that, to Alkmaar and on to den Helder and across the Afsluitdijk, where Lucius, to please Paul, allowed the Jaguar to show a fine burst of speed. But once on the mainland again, he turned off the main road, idling along the dyke roads as far as Lemmer before taking to the main road again, to race across the Noord Oost polder to Kampen and Zwolle and eventually to the motorway to Amsterdam and Delft. Phoebe, trying to see everything at once and failing singularly, found the day passing too quickly. It had been perfect—Paul was friends at last, Maureen wasn’t there with her barbed quips and sly jokes, and Lucius—Lucius was the perfect companion; even if she hadn’t loved him she would have allowed him that. True, he was not a man to draw attention to himself in any way, but he had a dry humour which she found delightful and even in the traffic snarl-ups they encountered from time to time, he remained cool and placid, and when the road was free before then, he drove at speed with the same placid coolness. Phoebe sat beside him and thought how wonderful it would be to be married to him—an impossible dream. She shook her head free of it and, obedient to Paul’s advice, gazed out of the window at a particularly picturesque windmill.
They had a sumptuous tea in the garden, sitting by the water, all of them talking a great deal and doing full justice to the sandwiches and cakes Else had provided. Phoebe was surprised at Lucius’ lighthearted mood. Listening to his mild teasing, she wondered how she could ever have found him absent-minded and vague. Was this his true self, she hazarded, or had he been like this all the time and she hadn’t noticed because she had started out expecting him to be exactly as Sybil had described him? She filled the tea cups again, reflecting that it really didn’t matter; she loved him whatever he was.
She watched him carry the tea tray back into the house and longed to stay there, in the garden by the water, with the church bells ringing from a dozen churches and Rex snoring on Paul’s knee, but she got to her feet as Lucius rejoined them, saying: ‘I think I must be getting back—letter to write …’
Such a silly excuse, but it would have to do. She failed to see his smile and found it disconcerting when he said at once: ‘I’ll drop you off—I want to go to St Bonifacius myself.’
It wasn’t until he drew up outside its doors and they were walking up the steps together that he said: ‘I’ll be here at half past seven—will that suit you? We’ll find somewhere quiet to have dinner.’
Phoebe stood on the top step, looking up at him, waiting for her heart to slow and give her the breath to speak. ‘I’d like that,’ she managed, and went across to the Home on wings, for wasn’t there a new dress in the cupboard, waiting to be worn?
Before she went to sleep that night, she tried to recall every second of the evening and couldn’t there was too much to remember; the drive along the motorway to Arnhem, and the village Scherpenzel, such a funny name where in De Witte Hoelvoet, they had eaten their dinner, not one single item of which could she recall. They had lingered over their meal and it had been late when Lucius stopped the Jaguar outside the hospital once more, and despite her protests had walked into the quiet entrance hall with her and in the centre of its utter quiet, had taken her in his arms and kissed her, and this time he hadn’t been in the least vague.
She lay in bed, fighting sleep, thinking about it, and when at last she allowed her eyes to close, she dreamed of him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
PHOEBE was due for night duty again at the end of the week, and that meant that in no time at all she would be going home. She began, half-heartedly, to think about the future; perhaps it would be a good idea to go right away—Australia perhaps, or Canada. She had always wanted to travel, but now that urge seemed to have left her and the prospect of doing so daunted her. But there were good nursing jobs to be had in either country, although even the other side of the world, she reflected sadly, wasn’t far enough away for her to forget Lucius.
She hadn’t seen him for two days now. He was at Leyden, Mies had told her, a member of the Board of Examiners at the Academisch Ziekenhuis, adding diffidently that her Arie hoped to be elected to that august body in a few years’ time, which remark naturally led the conversation away from Lucius to the fascinating one of her own future.
‘We shall marry quite soon,’ Mies confided happily, digressing briefly to explain the laws governing marriage in the Netherlands. ‘Arie has a good salary and a splendid job and there will be a flat for us … I shall not work.’ She eyed Phoebe speculatively. ‘I do not understand how it is arranged, but why should you not take my place as Hoofd Zuster when I leave? You know the work well and you please Lucius, and if you take lessons you will soon learn Dutch—you are a clever girl.’
The prospect appalled Phoebe. It would be an impossibility to stay in Delft, seeing Lucius every day, but only as his Ward Sister, while Maureen … She shuddered delicately. She had done some hard thinking during the last few days; Maureen had told her that she had Lucius just where she wanted him, and although she didn’t want to believe it, it was probably true. She was an attractive girl and she knew how to make herself charming, and almost certainly Lucius believed that Paul adored her. Phoebe sighed. How blind could a man be? And he had told her himself that he was going to get married; probably, she thought bitterly, he regarded her as an old friend to whom he could confide his plans.
She ground her excellent teeth and because she didn’t want to hurt Mies’ feelings, shook her head regretfully.
‘It’
s a lovely idea,’ she agreed mendaciously, ‘but I don’t think it would succeed. For one thing, there must be lots of Dutch nurses with better qualifications than I, who want the job, and for another I doubt if I could get a work permit for an unlimited period.’
Neither of which reasons were insurmountable, but they sounded authentic, because Mies nodded regretfully. ‘That is so—a pity. And now that you are here, we will arrange your free days. I have had such a splendid idea. You have but a week of day duty when you come off nights. I will give you only two nights off, the others you shall add to your day off at the end of your last week, thus you will be able to go home three days earlier than you expect.’
She looked so pleased with herself that Phoebe could not but agree with an enthusiasm she didn’t feel. She had no wish to go home three days earlier—three days during which she might see Lucius—she had, in fact, no wish to go home at all.
And not only was time growing short, but everything else seemed against her, for the very evening she went on night duty, the weather changed dramatically to a chilling rain and a fierce wind from the sea which, even if Lucius had suggested it, and he hadn’t, would have put their morning swim out of the question. Phoebe’s hope that the weather would clear in a day or so proved a forlorn one; if anything it became steadily worse, and her temper with it, largely because she never saw Lucius at all—not until her fourth night on duty, and then he was in Maureen’s company.
Phoebe had had a busy night, the third of her week’s work. She had gone to bed tired and dispirited and quite unable to sleep. After several hours, during which time her thoughts were of no consolation to her at all, she got up, made herself some tea, wrote a letter home and decided that since it was only six o’clock and she had several hours before she needed to go on duty, she might as well go out and post it. A walk would do her good, she told herself, bundling on her raincoat and knotting a scarf under her chin with no thought for her appearance. She was on her way back, feeling hollow-eyed and pale from lack of sleep, when the Jaguar slid past her with Lucius at the wheel and Maureen beside him.