Never Too Late

by Neels, Betty

  ‘It must be easy to get lost here,’ observed Prudence. ‘If you leave the main roads, yes. Having lived here all my life I know it well—there are any number of lanes like this one if only you know where to find them. Most people keep to the roads, and you can’t blame them.’ He slowed down at a tiny village. ‘If you drive down here, Prudence, ask me for a map.’

  They had their tea round the fire in the drawing room, with a lamp or two and the flickering flames turning the room into a lovely homely haven. It was a pity that the peace of it had to be broken by Benedict’s brisk: Til be out this evening, but not until Sibella’s in bed. You’ll be able to amuse yourself, Prudence?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. I’ve got heaps to do.’

  ‘Good. Ork and Sitska will be out, but Betje will be here if you want anything.’

  She went to bed early. The house, despite vague kitchen sounds from Betje on the other side of the baize door, seemed too quiet. She read for a bit and presently dropped off to sleep, to be wakened by someone laughing. Myra. Prudence sat up in bed, her ears unashamedly stretched to their limit, but all she could hear was a car starting up and driving away and a moment later the sound of a door being gently closed. She lay down again, punched her pillows into greater comfort and reminding herself that it was none of her business, anyway, closed her eyes firmly and went back to sleep.

  The second week was much like the first, only now she had found her feet and things came more easily, and on Wednesday, true to his word, Everard Herrisma telephoned and arranged to meet her at the hospital in the afternoon. The previous week Ork had driven them to the dancing lesson, but now Prudence decided to take Sibella in her own car, and after seeing the child safely there, got in again and drove herself to the hospital nearby. She felt a little nervous as she parked and went along to the enquiry desk, but it seemed that Everard had warned the clerk that she was coming, for after only a few minutes a tall very thin young man in a white coat arrived, introduced himself as the Professor’s houseman, gave his name as Paul van Vliet, cast her a look of the greatest admiration, and offered to take her to Professor Herrisma.

  His English was good, and by the time they had gone down several corridors, up three floors in a lift and along several more corridors, they were on a firmly friendly base. But once in the Professor’s office, Paul became very correct and answered his chief with great politeness, then made himself scarce before Prudence could say another word.

  As she shook hands with Everard she enquired: ‘Is he attached to you? Are you very strict or something? I expected him to click his heels and bow!’

  Everard laughed. ‘He’s a good lad, just qualified and very keen; the young ones all tend to think of us consultants as hoary old despots. It’s rather embarrassing at times.’ He pushed forward a chair. ‘Do sit down for a minute—did you have any difficulty getting here?’

  ‘None—I drove Sibella to dancing class and then came on here and parked. I must fetch her in an hour, if that’s all right with you? Aren’t you busy?’

  He smiled nicely at her. ‘Well, yes, but I give myself an hour or so off when I can. Have you seen Benedict?’

  ‘Here? No. Was I supposed to?’

  ‘No, no—but he’s got a teaching round this afternoon, I wondered if you had met him with his students.’ He got up from his chair behind the desk. ‘If you are ready, shall we start?’

  Prudence had been in hospitals before, of course, but never behind the scenes. She peered into sterilizing rooms, dressing rooms, looked at nurses’ duty stations and had the intercom explained to her, met several of the Ward Sisters and glimpsed the wards. The hour flew by and she enjoyed every minute of it. She said goodbye with regret and Everard walked with her to the entrance. ‘I hope this will be the first of other meetings,’ he told her. ‘Perhaps at the weekend? Benedict tells me that you are free on Saturday afternoons and Sunday mornings.’

  ‘That would be nice.’ She meant it, but at the same time felt a pang of regret that it wasn’t Benedict asking her. So silly, she told herself, getting into the car and waving cheerfully as she went. She was halfway across the courtyard when she was aware of Benedict standing near the gate, talking to two elderly men. He looked up as she passed and waved casually.

  The days swept by. Prudence was well into her stride by now—on excellent terms with Sibella, accepted by the staff, even managing an odd word of Dutch now and then. Only with Benedict was she wary. When they had first met she had felt an instant liking for him and she had thought he too had felt the same about her, but now she wasn’t so sure. He treated her in a calm and placid manner which left her at a loss to know if he liked her or not, and although she had every comfort she could have wished for, she soon discovered that she was expected to be ready to fit in with his work even if it meant typing letters in the late evening, sewing buttons on his shirts and driving round Appeldoorn with an important letter which had to be delivered without loss of time. Not that she minded, it was nice to feel that at last she was doing something useful.

  She had lunch with the Brands on the Saturday, driving herself to their house on the other side of the town, and staying for the afternoon. And in the evening, feeling adventurous, she took herself to the cinema. She enjoyed the film—an English one with Dutch subtitles—but she didn’t enjoy being on her own. She was used to men looking at her, her hair always attracted attention and she wasn’t wearing a hat, but she had always had Tony with her before. Now she discovered that she was fair game. She shook off several hopeful hangers-on, got into her car and drove back to Benedict’s house. Whatever else she did in the future, she wouldn’t go to the cinema.

  The house was quiet as she went into it through the garden door, but Ork popped his head round the kitchen door as she went along the passage to the front hall. ‘You like dinner, Miss Prudence?’ he asked.

  She hesitated; she had eaten a cheese roll and drunk a cup of coffee after she had left the Brands’ house, but that was hours ago. She shook her head reluctantly. Even kind old Ork couldn’t be expected to find a hot meal for her at that hour. ‘No, thank you, Ork.’ She hoped her voice sounded as casual as she had tried to make it. ‘I’ve had something...’

  ‘A pity,’ said Benedict from behind her. ‘I’ve been out on a case and I’m famished. At least come and keep me company while I eat. Ork, I’m ready in five minutes.’

  He swept her along with him into the hall and gave her a little push towards the staircase. ‘Up with you and take off your coat, I’ll be in the dining room.’

  It was terrible when she got downstairs, the smell of hot soup sent her insides rumbling. She didn’t think she’d be able to bear it. ‘I’m sure you’d rather be on your own,’ she began, with no success at all; she was sat in a chair beside Benedict and Ork ladled soup into a plate and set it before his master. Try as she might, she couldn’t prevent a delicate sniff.

  ‘You haven’t had your dinner,’ said Benedict blandly. ‘Ork, bring another plate. Miss Prudence is going to have dinner as well.’

  Prudence shot him a look. ‘I don’t want...’ she began, and then as the plate was set before her: ‘No, I haven’t had dinner. I went to the cinema instead.’

  ‘On your own?’ His voice was gently enquiring.

  ‘Well, yes.’ She didn’t look up from her plate.

  ‘We’ll have to do better than that, won’t we?’ He turned round to speak to Ork and the old man went away and came back presently with a bottle of wine, then served them with spiced chicken with apricots. They had almost finished when Benedict said abruptly: ‘I’m afraid the whooping cough epidemic is escalating. I’ve been called out to three cases this evening and there were double the number at the clinic this week.’ ‘Are they very ill—the children?’ ‘Some of them, yes. The thing is, have we enough staff to cope? It’s a long illness. Mothers with other children won’t be able to hold out, so the sick ones must go into hospital if it’s possible.’ ‘So what do you do?’

  He looked at her over his
glass. ‘Try and keep a step ahead.’

  Prudence helped herself to the trifle Ork was offering. ‘It’s a silly question, but is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Not at the moment—if there is I’ll tell you. We’d better keep Sibella away from that dancing class for the time being—one of the children who goes to it fell ill this evening. We can let her go to school for the moment, she’s in a small class and outside it she hasn’t much contact with the other children. The children next door have all been inoculated, so she can go there to play and they can come here. Get her out for a good brisk walk each day and see that she eats properly.’ He smiled suddenly at her. ‘Let’s have coffee in the drawing room.’

  Ork brought the tray in after them and Prudence said urgently: ‘I’ll go and give Ork a hand clearing the table—it’s so late...’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing—he’d be deeply offended and suspect that we thought he was getting past his work. The three of them will make short work of the washing up. Now tell me, did you enjoy your lunch with the Brands?’

  She enjoyed sitting there telling him about her af ternoon, but she didn’t stay long. On her way out of the room Benedict called after her. Take Sibella to church in the morning will you? I’ll take Henry for his walk; I’ll have to be away early and I probably shan’t be in for lunch.’

  She didn’t see him again until the evening and then only briefly. There were to be clinics set up, he told her, so that all the babies and small children could be inocu lated; it had to be organised and started straight away.

  And Sunday set the pattern of the week, with glimpses of Benedict at one meal or the other, letters thrust at her with the request to answer them as best she might, the phone going almost unceasingly, and when Ork or Betje weren’t there Prudence found herself coping as well as she was able. Nearly always the person the other end spoke some English, and she took careful note of their messages and phone numbers and left them on Benedict’s desk where he would see them when he got in.

  She cancelled her lunch date with the Pennicks and when Everard phoned put him off, regretfully, from inviting her out to dinner. ‘We’re a bit busy,’ sheex plained, ‘and although I can’t help much, I am an extra pair of hands about the place.’

  He had understood very nicely, they made a vague date for a week or so ahead and she hung up. She would have enjoyed an evening out; Benedict was still his usual placid self almost all the time, but once or twice when something had gone wrong she had glimpsed a well battened down rage and impatience. He was looking tired, too, and although he was exactly as he always was with his little daughter he had snapped at Prudence once or twice, to apologise immediately.

  It was in the middle of the following week when he came down to breakfast looking thunderous. He kissed Sibella but his good morning to Prudence was very terse. ‘Prudence, I’ve got a job for you. When you’ve taken Sibella to school I want you to go to my consulting rooms—my receptionist has gone off sick and I’ve no time to get a replacement. There’s a nurse there as well who speaks English, so do the best you can.’ He swallowed a cup of coffee, kissed his small daughter once more and had gone.

  Prudence gaped after him; she was prepared to make allowances for him because he was bogged down in a mass of extra work, but did he really think that she could cope with a receptionist’s job without any warning whatsoever? A silly question, she told herself, because presumably he did. Well, if he got all the wrong patients and their names mixed up to boot, that was his fault!

  She took Sibella to school and drove to the address he had given her, stopping to ask the way twice. By the time she arrived in the narrow street with its row of tall gabled houses, she was feeling belligerent. She parked the car with a fine disregard for the board telling her not to, and went up the narrow steps to the door with Benedict’s name on it. The first floor, he had said. She pounded up the narrow stairs, so annoyed that she quite forgot to feel any panic. The landing was very small with three doors. She examined them in turn and decided that ‘Wachtkamer’ was probably the safest. The second door had Dr van Vinke on it and he might be inside with a patient, the third door had Private, which was easily guessable.

  The waiting room was surprisingly elegant, done out in a gentle grey and pale green with the merest hint of rose pink. Anyone feeling ill would doubtless feel better at the very sight of it, but Prudence had no time for that. There was a desk opposite the door, with no one sitting at it, and two people sitting in comfortable chairs looking uneasy.

  Prudence muttered what she hoped was good morning, and crossed to the desk; there was a large sheet of paper on it with her name written large. Someone had written in capitals: ‘Knock and come in when you get here.’

  There was another door by the desk. She tapped briskly and went inside. Benedict was there, sitting beside an enormous desk writing. There were screens in one corner of the room and Prudence could hear voices. Nurse and patient, she guessed, and addressed herself to Benedict.

  ‘I’m here,’ she said baldly. He glanced up at her. ‘And in a towering rage,’ he observed. ‘Go into the third room on the landing and get into a white overall you’ll find there. My receptionist isn’t quite your shape,’ he paused, eyeing her person, ‘but you’ll have to make do—pins or something. Then go to the desk where you’ll find a pile of patients’ notes and an appointments book—put the notes in order, will you, and then look at the names on the next page and take the notes for those patients out of the filing cabinet.’ He nodded briefly and bent his head over his writing again.

  Prudence didn’t say a word. Without looking up he added: ‘Stop seething and show a little of the British phlegm so deservedly admired. I did warn you that you’d be a general help.’

  Prudence went out of the room, muttering to herself, found an overall in the small cloakroom leading off the landing and was instantly lost in its ample folds. She was by no means a skinny girl, but Benedict’s receptionist must have been a size twenty at least. Luckily there was a belt; she gathered in as much as she could and went back to the waiting room.

  There was another patient there now, but as she went in the nurse fetched the other two away. Prudence mumbled her version of good morning in Dutch and sat down at the desk. She found things exactly as Benedict had told her, and really it wasn’t in the least difficult. She was at the filing cabinet getting out the next lot of patients’ notes when the nurse came in again with her two patients. She smiled at Prudence. ‘You will make an appointment for the first week in November?’ she asked. ‘English is spoken.’

  She slid away with the next patient and two more came in. Prudence dealt with the elderly ladies who needed another appointment, ushered them out and bent a wary eye on the newcomers. They beamed back at her and spoke; it took her a few moments to discover that what they were saying was their name. Their card was on top of the small pile still on the desk. She uttered a relieved sigh and went back to the filing cabinet.

  The morning wore on, and by twelve o’clock she was beginning to enjoy herself. But by then it was time to collect Sibella from school and the last of the patients had been ushered into Benedict’s consulting room. It was the nurse who came out with the message that she should leave and that she wouldn’t be needed again that day.

  He could at least say thank you, thought Prudence, disentangling the overall and rushing down the stairs and into the car. Luckily there wasn’t a great deal of traffic in the narrow side streets; she reached the school just as Sibella emerged.

  There was no sign of Benedict at lunch. The two of them ate it alone and then with Henry for company went for their usual walk. It was turning colder and there was a mean wind blowing the leaves from the trees. They walked and ran and played tig with Henry obligingly joining in, and Sibella’s small cheeks glowed. ‘Papa is giving me a bicycle for Christmas,’ she told Prudence as she danced along beside her. ‘We will ride, you and me...’

  ‘I,’ corrected Prudence automatically. This was to be another of he
r duties, hiking furiously round Appeldoorn, probably in the teeth of a nasty wind. ‘Can you ride?’ she asked.

  Sibella gave her a limpid look. ‘No, but you and Papa shall teach, is it not?’

  Prudence explained about not saying ‘is it not’ and observed that Papa would teach her far better than anyone else.

  Sibella nodded her small head. ‘But of course, but you come too.’

  Prudence smiled down at her; it was nice to be wanted. She thought with surprise that Benedict had wanted her too, although perhaps not in quite the same way.

  Benedict didn’t come home until she was putting Sibella to bed. He came into the bathroom where the little girl was splashing around in the bath, and Prudence was shocked at his tired face. She asked urgently: ‘Did you have lunch?’ He had gone to sit on the edge of the bath.

  ‘No.’ ‘Tea, anything?’

  ‘No, but don’t fuss, Sitska’s getting me a tray now.’ She lifted Sibella on to the bathmat and began to dry her. ‘You don’t have to go out again, I hope?’

  ‘I can’t say. You did a good morning’s work, Prudence. Thank you.’

  ‘I quite—I enjoyed it. I’m sorry I was ratty.’

  He smiled tiredly. ‘Whether you like it or not you’ll be doing it for several mornings—and by way of a little light relief, one of the women helpers at the clinic that’s been set up has both her children ill with whooping cough, so you’ll have to go there three evenings a week and help out.’

  And at her look: ‘It isn’t going to last forever, you know.’

  So the pattern of her days changed yet again, and now she was busy from morning until bedtime, and once she had got the hang of it, she coped very well. The evening clinic was purely a matter of common sense on her part and a capacity for hard work. There was little need to speak, which was a good thing; her work was mainly helping babies and small children out of their coats, rolling up sleeves, drying tear-stained little faces and ushering them and their mothers out into the street again. There were several helpers to do these mundane tasks, leaving the doctors and nurses free for the more specialised work, and Prudence made friends quickly.