by Betty Neels
He enlarged upon them for the rest of the journey and Trixie, quite content to listen to his voice, didn’t really hear a word of what he was telling her; indeed, she thought it likely that he had forgotten her for the moment. As they neared the hospital he observed, ‘A pleasant evening, Beatrice. You are a most satisfactory companion. You are not unhappy about your aunt and uncle? I am very willing for them to come to our wedding if you wish that.’
‘I don’t, thank you. I think that the less they know about it the better it will be for everyone. Margaret is sure to be—well, upset. She has always expected to marry and she will feel that I’ve behaved badly, so they won’t want to know anything about it, if you see what I mean.’
The professor said with a trace of impatience, ‘Yes, yes, of course. I believe I will see your matron in the morning and arrange things with her. Do you wish to continue working until we marry or shall I find somewhere for you to stay?’
‘I’d rather work...’
‘Very well. We shall probably see very little of each other—I have to go to Birmingham within the next day or so and I have a number of private patients to attend as well as a couple of consultations at Bristol. I’ll let you know the details later on.’
He had stopped the car before the hospital entrance and got out to open her door. ‘I almost forgot; don’t bring a lot of clothes with you, just enough for a few days—you can shop in the Hague.’
He patted her on the shoulder in a big-brotherly fashion and bade her goodnight and opened the entrance door for her. His manners were beyond reproach.
He had been right; she saw almost nothing of him during the next two weeks. For a good deal of that time he was away, and although he came on to the ward from time to time he allowed himself no more than a small smile if their glances met.
She had been sent for to the office and had listened to Matron explaining that she might leave since the circumstances were unusual, adding the corollary that Trixie must try and live up to the life expected of her. ‘Professor van der Brink-Schaaksma is a famous man in his particular sphere,’ she was told, ‘both in this country and in Europe, indeed he has been called to consultations in various parts of the world. I understand him to own a charming house in Holland. I hope you will be happy, Nurse Doveton.’ She sound doubtful.
Trixie had told Lucy and asked her not to breathe a word to anyone for the moment, a needless precaution for a patient had excitedly pointed out the notice of their engagement in the Telegraph and in no time at all the entire hospital had the news.
Trixie was well liked—with the exception of Staff Nurse Bennett, of course—and congratulations were sincere if surprised.
‘How on earth did you manage it?’ asked Mary in her blighting manner. ‘I should have thought you were the very last girl the professor would fall for.’
Which, Trixie had to admit to herself, was probably perfectly true. She only smiled kindly at the girl and pointed out that there was no accounting for tastes. Mary had to have her spiteful say.
‘At least he won’t be distracted from his work by your pretty face.’
‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’ asked Trixie composedly. ‘I dare say that would be as good a reason as any for getting married to a plain girl.’
Indeed, when she thought about it, it was the very reason why the professor had asked her to marry him. There were other reasons too of course: guarding his precious spare time and his privacy, being a hostess when needed. She could think of half a dozen—she only hoped that she would be able to deal with them all in a manner to please him.
‘Time will tell,’ she muttered, her head in her clothes cupboard, wondering what to throw out and what to keep. The pile of discarded clothes got larger and larger until there was barely enough to cover her decently. Days off, she thought happily; she would spend them both shopping. There wasn’t much money in her bank account but she intended to spend it. The professor had always been polite about her clothes, but there was such a thing as damning with faint praise...
A velvet suit, she decided, and never mind a sensible winter coat—it was mild weather for November and although he had never mentioned his intentions she supposed that he would give her enough money to buy clothes suitable to their way of life. So she spent a morning looking for what she wanted, and found it: sapphire-blue velvet, a neat jacket and a slim skirt, not too short. She had nice legs but she wasn’t sure of the professor’s views on the subject of legs. She found a silk blouse to go with it, shoes, gloves and handbag, and, since it was her wedding, a pretty little hat with a sideways tilt to its small brim which made her face rather more interesting. It was wonderful what clothes did for one, she reflected, pirouetting before the enormous looking-glass in the hat shop. She had spent a good deal of money; separates from Marks and Spencer, more blouses, a couple of woollies and undies took care of what was left. She went back to Timothy’s with an empty purse, consoling herself with the thought that she would have part of her month’s salary to collect when she left.
There had been nothing from her aunt and uncle, but then, she reminded herself, they didn’t know the date of the wedding. She hadn’t known it herself until she had had a terse note from the professor. It had been hard to read his fearful scrawl but the PS was clearer. He would be in the entrance hall on the evening before the wedding and hoped that she would dine with him so that any problems might be discussed.
Saying goodbye was a wrench; she had been happy at Timothy’s and even Sister Snell expressed the hope that she would be happy, but it was left to the patients to shake her hand and kiss her and make small offerings of lawn hankies and lavender bags. She went to her room and brooded over her wardrobe. She had nothing to wear. It would actually have to be the jersey again and her winter coat, but once in the jersey she decided that it just wouldn’t do, it would have to be the blue crêpe again. Which meant that she was five minutes late in reaching the entrance hall.
She skimmed across its vastness, a little out of breath. ‘Hello—I’m sorry I’m late.’
‘Don’t apologise; in any case I have any number of things to think about.’
‘Patients?’
‘Yes. I think that I shall have to fly over in a few days’ time to check on their progress.’
‘Will you have time to see them tomorrow?’
He stared down at her earnest face. ‘Our wedding day? Is that not an insult to the bride, Beatrice?’
‘I’m not that kind of bride, am I? And it will only take a short time to get married.’
‘You are a most understanding girl. There will be time after we have had lunch—I could call in on our way to the ferry.’ His blue eyes searched her face. ‘You do not mind?’
‘Not a bit,’ she lied stoutly, and was rewarded by a kiss on her cheek, something which Murgatroyd watched with sentimental pleasure. A nice pair of love-birds, he thought erroneously.
He took her to his house for dinner and Mies welcomed her with a delighted twinkle. ‘All is prepared,’ she told them as they went in. ‘There is champagne on ice and a dinner of such splendour that I have prepared.’
Indeed it was splendid: crab bisque, not out of a tin, breast of chicken in a wine and cream sauce with tiny sprouts, potato balls and baby carrots and lastly a pavlova with fresh pineapple and whipped cream. They ate leisurely and the talk was casual and unforced. It was at the end of the meal that the professor said suddenly, ‘I knew that I had forgotten something; I did remember it some days ago but it slipped my memory.’
He fished around in a pocket and took out a small jeweller’s box.
‘The family engagement ring—it is handed on from one bride to the next. It is very old and it is usual for the men in the family to give a ring of their own choosing at the same time. I must see about that...in the meantime, will you wear this?’
It was a sapphire with diamonds on e
ither side of it mounted plainly in gold. Very beautiful, as beautiful as on the day the first bride had had it put on her finger by the man who loved her. The professor handed her the box and she put the ring on herself and wondered while she was doing it to whom it would go next. There were to be no children, she supposed, for she was to be a wife in name only. She swallowed back sudden tears and thanked him quietly.
He drove her back presently and went into the hospital with her. Some notes he had left on the ward, he explained, bidding her goodnight in his kind voice, but she could see that his thoughts weren’t with her any more. She said brightly, ‘See you tomorrow, Krijn,’ and nipped smartly through the door to the nurses’ home and up to her room where she found her numerous friends gathered.
‘A farewell party,’ they told her gleefully, and produced sherry, and potato crisps, and sat around talking until an indignant warden stalked in to know why the lights weren’t out and did they know it was almost midnight? When everyone had gone Trixie got into bed, and, against all her expectations, went to sleep at once.
CHAPTER FOUR
TRIXIE WOKE EARLY, jumped out of bed and went to look out of the window. It was still dark and the street-lamps cast their fierce orange glow over the surrounding roofs and chimney-pots, glistening with a light frost. At least it wasn’t raining. There was no point in getting back into bed. She crept soundlessly along to the kitchen and made herself some tea and was still there drinking it when the night nurse came to wake the day nurses.
‘Aren’t you wildly excited?’ she asked, accepting the last of the tea.
‘Yes,’ said Trixie, and reflected that she was scared too. Supposing it didn’t work out? It had all seemed so sensible when the professor had first broached the subject of their marriage; now in the light of a November morning the whole thing was ridiculous. She could, of course, telephone his house and tell him that she had changed her mind, but that wouldn’t do—she had agreed to marry him, and besides, she loved him.
She pottered around, bidding her friends goodbye once more, watching them going down to their breakfasts with a pang of uncertainty about her future, but once the home was quiet she had a bath, ate some of the breakfast which had been sent over, and got dressed. They were to be married at ten o’clock and she would be fetched, the professor had told her, at a quarter to the hour. She felt better when she was ready; the new outfit suited her and the little hat sat nicely on her mousy hair. She checked her case, closed it and went through her handbag once more: passport, powder and lipstick, hanky, cheque-book and money, and sat down on her bed. There was still a little time before she needed to go down and she found herself wishing that Aunt Alice or Uncle William would telephone—just to wish her happiness. She had written them a note telling them the date and the time of the wedding, knowing that they wouldn’t come to the church, but hoping that they would have wished her well. She sighed, looked at her watch again and saw that it was time to go.
Colonel Vosper was in the hall. ‘I hope you will give me the pleasure of giving you away, my dear,’ he greeted her. ‘Krijn agreed with me that it would be a most fitting thing to do. I have known him for years, you know, and I couldn’t wish for a more charming bride for him.’
Trixie had a sudden wish to burst into tears, but she didn’t know why. She smiled widely instead. ‘Oh, how very nice, I can’t think of anything I should like better.’ She leaned up and kissed his old cheek and took his arm, and they went out of the hospital and got into his car and drove to the church.
It was a small church, a thing of dignity and ancient beauty amid its shabby surroundings. Inside someone had arranged flowers; chrysanthemums and freesias and carnations and roses. There was a posy on the porch seat too, lilies of the valley and violets and rosebuds. She walked down the short aisle on the colonel’s arm, her small nose sniffing appreciatively at their scent, her eyes on the professor’s vast person, standing quite at ease, talking to the vicar. Mies was there too, turning to smile at her from under a sensible hat. Trixie would have liked Krijn to have turned and smiled at her too but he didn’t; she reached his side and peeped up at his calm face. He smiled at her then. She had seen him smile like that so many times at a nervous patient: kindly and impersonal.
It didn’t take long to get married. They bade the vicar goodbye and went out to the two cars and this time the colonel took Mies with him and Trixie got in beside Krijn. The colonel drove off first and by the time the professor drew up before his own front door Mies was there to open it, and when they went into the drawing-room the colonel had a bottle of champagne in his hands. He opened it at once and toasted the bride and groom, complimented Trixie on her charming appearance, told the professor what a lucky chap he was and added, ‘I suppose the honeymoon is a secret?’
‘We’ll send you a postcard,’ said Trixie quickly, because Krijn, just for a brief moment, had looked taken aback; she suspected that a honeymoon hadn’t been among his plans.
They went into lunch presently: smoked salmon, lobster thermidor with a winter salad and, for a dessert, a wedding cake. Mies carried it in proudly. ‘This I make myself,’ she declared triumphantly, ‘my present to you, madam, and you, Professor.’
‘Mies, how wonderful!’ exclaimed Trixie. ‘Thank you very much. Krijn, isn’t it a marvellous present? We have to cut it together. Mies, you must stay and have a slice, and Gladys too, if you would fetch her.’
The professor had hidden his surprise very well. He said something to Mies in Dutch and she laughed happily before going to fetch the maid, and the colonel said cheerfully, ‘I say, what a splendid idea—she’s a treasure, your housekeeper.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘Makes you feel married, doesn’t it? You have to save some for the first christening, you know.’ He chuckled again at Trixie’s pink cheeks.
The little party broke up soon afterwards and they were seen off by the colonel and Mies, waving goodbye from the doorstep, and in the car Trixie said, ‘What a delightful wedding, and thank you for the lovely flowers, Krijn, they were really beautiful.’
‘Flowers? Ah, yes, of course. I’m glad you liked them,’ and she settled back in her seat, happy at his thoughtfulness, unaware that it had been Mies who had reminded him that flowers were absolutely obligatory at a wedding and what about a bouquet for his bride? He had looked up from the book he was reading and told her in an absent-minded manner to do what she thought was the right thing and then he had gone back to his studying and forgotten all about it.
He drove to Timothy’s and parked the car in the consultant’s bay. ‘Would you rather come inside and wait?’ he asked. ‘I don’t expect to be very long.’
‘Then I’ll stay here,’ said Trixie cheerfully, and watched him cross the forecourt to the entrance. She studied his back with loving eyes; he really was a very large man and he dressed with a quiet elegance. She wondered if he would turn round when he reached the door but he didn’t.
She sat quietly for ten minutes or so and then reached for the set of maps in the pocket on the door beside her. There was a large map of Holland; she unfolded it and studied it carefully. There were a great many villages dotted round Leiden; it had been silly of her not to have asked the name of Krijn’s home. Some of the names looked strange; she supposed that she would have to learn Dutch if they were to live for a good deal of the time in Holland. She conned the map, picking out the larger towns; Holland was a country she knew almost nothing about. It would be a good idea to get to know something about it, and what better than a map?
By the time Krijn came back she knew quite a lot about Holland, and she also longed for a cup of tea. If she hadn’t been so much in love with him, she might have felt peevish at the sight of him, at last, coming slowly from the entrance, his registrar on one side, Dr Johnson on the other. They were deep in conversation and it was obvious to her that he had quite forgotten that she had been sitting there for more than an hour and that there was a fe
rry to catch. For fear that he might look up and see her watching him, she looked out of the other window.
Her door was opened and the three men stood there. Dr Johnson and the registrar beaming and offering congratulations and the professor looking at her with a kind of astonished concern.
‘Beatrice, I am sorry that I have been so much longer than I expected. Something turned up...’
She smiled forgiveness, foreseeing any number of occasions in the future when something would turn up. She would get used to that in time, of course.
They would have to drive fast to catch the ferry from Dover. They were still in the heart of the city, caught in the start of the rush-hour, when he reached for the phone.
‘Mrs Grey? Cancel our booking on the ferry, will you? We can’t make it. Get me a place on the next one, please. There should be one later.’ He listened for a moment. ‘Good. Do that—thanks... The least I can offer in apology is tea, Beatrice. We will stop in Bexley.’
‘Won’t we miss the ferry...? But you cancelled it, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, but we can sail on the following one. We shall be an hour or two later home, that is all.’
He stopped the car in Bexley, outside a small cosy-looking café, and they had tea and toast and presently drove on again, in time to go aboard an almost empty ship. The crossing took over three hours and they had dinner on board before disembarking at Ostend. Within a short time they had crossed into Holland at Sluis, caught the ferry at Breskens, and, once in Vlissingen, took the motorway. Trixie was tired by now; the road stretched ahead of them, running through flat polder land, glimpsed in the car’s powerful headlamps. She had no idea where they were; the motorway circumvented the towns and the villages. She was surprised when Krijn told her that they had only a few more miles to go.