Читать книгу Grasp a Nettle - Бетти Нилс - Страница 8

MISS CREED SEEMED a little better in the morning, but Jenny, making her ready for the day, wasn’t too happy about her, but there were things she had to do. She left Aunt Bess in Florrie’s capable hands and went away to unpack her things, have a bath and change her clothes. Doctor Toms arrived just as she was finished breakfast and took her back upstairs with him while he examined his patient again, made a few non-committal remarks which only served to make her snort indignantly and then took Jenny aside to explain worriedly that there was an urgent maternity case he had to go to, but that the professor would be over at the earliest possible moment on his return from Yeovil hospital where he had been delivering a series of lectures to post-graduates. He went away then, warning Jenny that it seemed very likely that her aunt would have to go to hospital herself.

Jenny set about making her aunt as comfortable as possible while she kept an ever watchful eye on her condition. There was no dramatic change, but certainly it was deteriorating steadily. Soon after one o’clock Florrie came to relieve her for her lunch, and stayed while Jenny did a brisk round of the old house, making sure that everything was ready for the visitors. The clock tower chimed twice as she went through the door in the entrance hall and up the circular stairs which led to the lobby on the next floor, and the private wing.

There was someone in the lobby and the small apartment seemed crowded by reason of the vast size of the man standing there, and he wasn’t only large, but tall too, with iron-grey hair and bright blue eyes, and although he wasn’t young he was nonetheless handsome. Jenny spared a second to register that fact before saying pleasantly:

‘I think you must have missed your way; this leads to the private part of the house.’

She was affronted by his cool: ‘I am well aware of that, young lady—perhaps you would tell whoever is looking after Miss Creed that I am here. Professor van Draak.’

‘Te Solendijk,’ added Jenny, who had a splendid memory for names. ‘I’m looking after her, I’m her niece, Janet Wren, so perhaps you’ll tell me anything I should know when you’ve seen her—treatment and so on,’ she pointed out kindly, for he looked so surprised.

His thick eyebrows lifted. ‘I hardly think I need to discuss these things with you, Miss…er…it is surely not your business.’

He had a deep voice, probably a delight to listen to when he was in a good mood, which he was not, Jenny decided. She turned her head to look out of the window at the small groups of people coming along the drive towards the entrance and spoke over her shoulder. ‘Of course it’s my business; Miss Creed is my aunt and I shall be nursing her. You have no reason to be so cross, you know.’

He stared down his arrogant nose at her. ‘I am not cross, young lady. I do not allow my feelings to take control of me at any time.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You poor soul,’ she exclaimed warmly, ‘it must be like walking about in a plastic bag!’

He didn’t smile, although his eyes gleamed beneath their heavy lids. ‘You are foolish, Miss Wren, for in that case I should be dead.’

‘That’s what I meant.’ She delivered this telling shot with a sweet smile and opened the door. ‘If you would come with me, Professor…’

He stalked down the corridor beside her, making no attempt to speak, and Jenny, keeping up as best she could, was quite relieved when they reached her aunt’s room. At the door, before she opened it, he said evenly: ‘You do understand that Doctor Toms was unable to come with me—it is a little unusual…’

‘Not to worry,’ Jenny told him cheerfully, ‘he’s an old family friend, you know. Aunt Bess won’t mind,’ she paused, ‘unless you do?’

‘It is usual for the patients’ own doctor to be present,’ he pointed out in his almost faultless English. ‘I am a foreigner—your aunt…’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that.’ She spoke reassuringly. ‘She doesn’t like foreigners as a rule, but I expect she’ll like you.’

She was about to open the door when his hand came down on hers, preventing her. ‘Why do you say that?’

She smiled at him, wishing he didn’t look so unfriendly. ‘You look the part,’ she told him, and when he took his hand away, opened the door.

Florrie, with a few urgent whispers to Jenny, went away, and Miss Creed said sharply from the bed: ‘Jenny? Where have you been? And when is that foreigner coming?’

‘He’s here now,’ said the Professor, his manner so changed that Jenny looked at him in surprise. He didn’t look angry and withdrawn any more, but calm and assured, a rock for any patient to lean upon and pour out their symptoms. His voice was gentle too and although nothing could alter the masterful angle of his nose, his manner was such to win the confidence of the most cantankerous of patients. He had walked across the room, to stand by the bed in full view of his patient while Jenny introduced him, returning Miss Creed’s fierce stare with a mild look which Jenny found hard to believe.

‘You will forgive me,’ said the Professor suavely, ‘that I should come in this fashion without our mutual friend Doctor Toms. I believe he has explained the circumstances to Miss…er…’ He paused and looked enquiringly at Jenny, who gave him a stony stare and didn’t utter a sound; if he wanted to call her Miss Er for the rest of their acquaintance, then let him! She got her own back presently, though.

‘Doctor Toms has told Professor van Draak—oh, dear what a very long name—te Solendijk all about you, Aunt Bess. Do you want me to stay?’

Two pairs of blue eyes were turned upon her, two mouths, firm to the point of stubbornness, snapped: ‘Of course.’ They should get on famously, the pair of them, thought Jenny, casting her own eyes meekly downwards.

The Professor took his time; he was not to be hurried by Miss Creed’s voice, bossy still though weak and slurred, telling him what to do and what not to do. When at length he was finished, she snapped: ‘Well, what’s the matter with me? Or is it just a headache—though I daresay you’ll make the most of it, whatever it is.’

The Professor ignored that, straightening himself slowly and eyeing her with calm. ‘Yes, it is a headache, but that is only a symptom of its cause. I should like to operate on you, Miss Creed. Would you go into hospital?’

‘No. To be mauled about and pay hundreds of pounds for something an aspirin will cure.’

He said impassively: ‘I’m afraid aspirin won’t cure this headache.’ He gave her a long, considered look and she stared back at him defiantly, although it obviously needed an effort; Aunt Bess was pushing herself to her limit. He went on deliberately: ‘If I don’t operate, Miss Creed, you will die.’

‘Plain speaking.’

‘I don’t think you will listen to anything else. I shouldn’t myself.’

‘You will tell me exactly what I have wrong with me and what my chances of living are.’

‘Certainly. You wish Miss…?’

‘Er,’ murmured Jenny helpfully. ‘I’m a nurse and I shall be looking after my aunt, Professor van Draak.’

‘Ah, yes—just so. Then I will explain.’

Which he did very nicely; a minute haemorrhage in the brain, at present only causing severe headaches; difficulty with speech, with breathing, blackouts…‘You will have had those, of course?’ he asked offhand, and nodded when Aunt Bess said quite meekly that yes, she had had several. ‘I shall find the site of the haemorrhage,’ said the Professor, not boastfully but as a man who was quite sure that he would, ‘repair it, and provided you do exactly as you are told, you will be as good as new within a very short space of time.’

Miss Creed considered his words. ‘It sounds reasonable enough,’ she said drowsily, ‘but I’m too tired to decide today—come and see me tomorrow.’

He put his handsome head on one side, contemplating her. ‘I should like to operate tonight,’ he told her calmly.

The lined, elderly face on the pillow lost some of its firmness. ‘Tonight?’

He nodded. ‘The sooner the better. I can arrange through Doctor Toms to have the use of the theatre at Cowper’s,’ the local cottage hospital and not so very far away. ‘You would have to remain there as a patient, but I promise you that the moment you are fit enough to move, you shall return here.’

‘Jenny?’ Miss Creed suddenly sounded very elderly indeed. ‘What shall I do, Jenny?’

‘Just what the Professor asks, Aunt Bess,’ Jenny had been standing at the bedside, opposite the Professor, but she had taken no part in the conversation. Now she came a little nearer. ‘Doctor Toms says that Professor van Draak is a brilliant man, and you know you will only have the best—besides,’ she went on cunningly, ‘you’ll be as right as a trivet by the time Oliver comes to stay.’ Which wasn’t quite true, but she judged that a small fib was justified in the circumstances.

She watched her aunt thinking about it and nobody spoke until Miss Creed said: ‘Get on with it, then.’ Her voice was suddenly strong and autocratic. ‘And be sure and make a good job of it.’

The Professor assured her levelly that he would do just that, adding: ‘Might I have a few words with Miss…your niece? Perhaps someone could be fetched to sit with you for a short time.’

‘Do what you like,’ said Miss Creed rudely. ‘I can see that you’re a man who always wants his own way. Jenny, don’t let him flatten you.’

As they walked back along the corridor, Jenny said: ‘Aunt Bess doesn’t feel well…’ and was cut short by his patient: ‘My dear young lady, no one with a subdural haemorrhage feels well, and if you are referring to her remark that you should not allow me to flatten you, I rather imagine that there would be little possibility of that.’

She stopped so suddenly that he, walking a little behind her and to one side, bumped into her and was forced to catch her by the shoulders to steady her. She brushed him away with a wave of one beautifully kept hand. ‘I can’t imagine why you are so rude, Professor. Do you dislike the English, or just women? Whichever it is, isn’t going to help Aunt Bess very much.’

‘My dear Miss…’

‘Look,’ she interrupted him impatiently, ‘the name’s Wren—quite easy and so much nicer than Er.’

He laughed then, and for the first time she realised with a little shock that when he laughed he looked quite different—years younger; someone she would like to know… She squashed the thought at once and prompted: ‘You were saying?’

He had stopped laughing and was looking down his nose again, holding the door open for her at the head of the little staircase. ‘Merely that I do not dislike the English, nor, for that matter, women. I hope your curiosity is satisfied?’

‘Pooh!’ exclaimed Jenny, and ran down the stairs very fast, but despite his size, he was at the bottom only inches behind her, to open the door and usher her politely into the entrance hall. ‘Where can we talk?’ he asked abruptly.

She led the way through the small groups of people wandering round, out of the door and turned down a little flagged path which led to the tiny church adjacent to the house. Through the churchyard gate, among the ancient tombstones, she said: ‘Here.’

Rather to her surprise he remarked: ‘A peaceful and quite beautiful spot,’ and then leaned himself against the old grey walls of the church, crossed his elegantly shod feet, dug his hands into his jacket pockets and went on: ‘Your aunt is very ill; the thing is to get to the haemorrhage before it does any further damage; any moment it could worsen, although somehow I don’t think it will, but we mustn’t take chances. If I can operate quickly she has a very good chance of recovery.’ He glanced at the paper thin gold watch on his wrist. ‘It is now three o’clock. I have already spoken to Cowper’s; the theatre is available at six o’clock. Doctor Toms will be there, of course, and I have an excellent anaesthetist standing by as well as an extremely able assistant. Will you telephone for an ambulance and bring Miss Creed to the hospital at once? I presume that you will stay there until the operation is over.’

‘Of course. I must see Mrs Thorpe—the vicar’s wife, you know, and our housekeeper…’ Jenny was half talking to herself and he looked amused. ‘The ambulance first, of course, but don’t I have to have your authority for that?’

‘I talked to them a short time ago; they are more or less expecting a call for an urgent case, so there should be no difficulty.’

She eyed him curiously. ‘You were so sure—you had everything arranged.’

‘I like to be prepared—besides, I respect Doctor Toms’ judgment, I merely confirmed what he strongly suspected.’

She said inanely: ‘Yes, well…I suppose so. Have you a car here?’

He nodded in the direction of a magnificent Panther J72 drawn up on the gravel sweep outside the entrance and she opened her eyes wide. ‘Is that yours? I thought…that is, I…’

‘An unlikely car for a not-so-young Dutchman.’ He smiled faintly.

‘No—yes—I mean, she’s a beauty.’ She was suddenly a little breathless. ‘And you’re not even middle-aged!’

‘Forty, as near as not—and you, Miss Wren?’

‘Me? I’m twenty-five.’ She hadn’t meant to tell him that. ‘Where shall I take Aunt Bess?’

‘They will be expecting her. The usual routine before operation—nothing to eat or drink—but of course you know that.’ They were walking towards his car as he spoke and after the briefest of goodbyes, Jenny went indoors to telephone and then see Florrie and Mrs Thorpe. There was no time to lose, but even in her haste she found herself wishing that she could have spared a moment to watch the Professor drive off his splendid car.

Florrie grasped the situation within minutes; Jenny knew that she would be able to leave everything in her capable hands. The same couldn’t be said for Mrs Thorpe, who wasted precious minutes exclaiming: ‘There, I only said to Mr Thorpe yesterday,’ and ‘Well, I never,’ and ‘It’s to be hoped—’ She would have gone on for some time in this tiresome manner if Jenny hadn’t cut her politely short, begged her to organise the visitors on the following afternoon and arrange for Baxter to sell tickets again.

‘Probably I shall be back by then, Mrs Thorpe, but I’ll let you know. Mrs Trott’—Trott was the elderly lodge-keeper-cum-handyman—‘said she would help out if it was necessary at any time, and I’m sure she will—it will only be for a day or two while I’m with my aunt.’

Mrs Thorpe looked important. ‘Now, don’t worry about anything, Jenny, I’ll see to everything.’ Her bosom swelled alarmingly. ‘None of us would dream of letting Miss Creed down.’

Jenny thanked her nicely, glad that her aunt couldn’t hear her doing it, for she had no opinion at all of the vicar’s wife, although she used that lady’s services quite unscrupulously whenever it suited her to do so, and hurried back to her aunt’s room. Miss Creed hadn’t been told that she would be leaving almost immediately; the ambulance Jenny had telephoned for would be arriving very shortly. She sent the devoted Florrie away, found an overnight bag, rammed in what she considered necessary for her aunt’s comfort and approached the bed.

Aunt Bess had her eyes shut, but she spoke immediately in a slurred voice. ‘Don’t imagine that I don’t know that you’re arranging something behind my back, Jenny, because I’m perfectly aware of it.’

‘Yes, Aunt Bess, I’m sure you are, but it’s nothing you haven’t been consulted about. The Professor wants you in hospital—he told you that just now—and I’m packing your bag to take with you. The ambulance will be here in a few minutes.’

‘I’m perfectly able…’ began Miss Creed.

‘No, dear, you’re not—not just at present. I’m coming with you and I shall stay for a bit. Everything’s arranged, so there’s no need for you to worry about a thing.’

‘I’m not worried,’ stated her aunt drowsily. ‘You’re sure that that enormous man knows what he’s doing?’

‘Yes, Aunt, I am.’ Jenny, to her own surprise, discovered that she really was sure about that, which seemed a little silly considering that she had never seen him operate.

And hours later, when he came straight from theatre, still in his green smock and trousers, his grey hair hidden by his cap, to find her in Sister’s office, waiting, she was just as sure.

He said without preamble: ‘Your aunt will be all right. She’s very fit for her age and should make a good recovery, although she will have to take reasonable care. Do you want the details?’

‘Please.’

He gave them at some length and then said: ‘Miss Creed should regain consciousness shortly. She will want to see you, will she not? You are prepared to stay?’

‘Of course. They’ve very kindly arranged for the night.’

‘Good. I’ll be around for a while and I shall be in early in the morning. Doctor Toms had to go straight from theatre. He’s quite satisfied.’

She looked at him rather shyly. ‘Thank you, Professor van Draak, I’m very grateful,’ and felt snubbed when he replied coldly: ‘You have no need to be; it is my work.’ He opened the door, preparatory to leaving. ‘Someone will fetch you very shortly.’

He had gone, leaving her feeling that even if he didn’t like her, and it seemed that he didn’t, he might have been a little less terse. But he hadn’t been terse with Aunt Bess, he had been kind and patient and moreover clever enough to see exactly how contrary she was, and deal with it in the only way she would accept. Jenny had seen her aunt make mincemeat of those who crossed her will too many times not to know that she was the last person to listen to cajoling or persuasion. She got to her feet and walked up and down the little room. Well, the man was a professor of surgery; presumably professors had that little extra something that set them above the rest. She stopped in front of a mirror and poked at her hair in an absent-minded fashion. All the same, he was arrogant and much too indifferent in his manner. She wondered if he were married and if so, if he were happy, although it was no business of hers. Only it had been providential that he happened to be staying with Doctor Toms, for Cowpers, excellent though it was was too small to have consultants attached to its staff and it would have meant her aunt travelling miles to Bristol or Poole or Southampton. As it was he had been allowed to make use of the small hospital’s theatre. She had noticed that he was known to the staff there, too. Possibly he had stayed with Doctor Toms before and come to know the staff there—she would have to ask Doctor Toms.

A nurse came to fetch her then and she went along to the back of the hospital, where the three private rooms were. Miss Creed was in the first of these, surrounded by a variety of equipment, looking very shrunken and frail. She opened her eyes as Jenny went in, smiled a little and closed them again, but presently she said in a thread of a voice: ‘All over?’

Jenny sat down by the bed. She had been keeping a tight check on her feelings, for Aunt Bess loathed emotion or tears. Now she could have wept with sheer relief, but she managed a steady: ‘Yes, my dear, and very satisfactory, too,’ aware as she said it that the Professor had come in silently and was standing behind her. He said something low-voiced to the nurse and went to the foot of the bed. Miss Creed opened her eyes again. ‘Pleased with your handiwork?’ she asked in a woolly voice.

‘Yes, I am, Miss Creed, and you will be too in a very short time. Nurse is going to give you an injection and I should like you to go to sleep again.’

His patient submitted an arm. ‘No choice,’ she muttered, and then: ‘Don’t go, Jenny.’

‘No, Aunt Bess, I’ll be here when you wake.’

So she sat in the chair through the night’s long hours, fortified by cups of strong tea the nurses brought her from time to time, trying to keep awake in case Aunt Bess should wake and want her. But her aunt slept on and towards morning Jenny let her heavy lids drop over her tired eyes and dozed herself, to be wakened gently by the Professor’s hand on her shoulder, and his voice, very quiet in her ear. ‘Your aunt’s regaining consciousness.’ And when she sat up, her copper head tousled and no make-up left on her face at all, he whispered, ‘You’re tired. You will go to bed when your aunt has spoken to you; I would send you away now, but of course she won’t remember those few brief moments directly after the operation. You can return later on.’ And when she would have protested: ‘They will let you have a bed here for a few hours.’

It had been worth the long tedious wait. Aunt Bess opened her eyes and spoke in a normal voice. ‘Good girl,’ and then: ‘Where’s that man?’

‘Here,’ answered the Professor quietly. ‘Everything is quite satisfactory, Miss Creed. I want you to sleep as much as you can. Jenny must go to bed now, she has been up all night.’

‘We’re fond of each other,’ said Aunt Bess in a quite strong voice. ‘I’d do the same for her. But send her to bed, by all means.’ Her voice faded a little and then revived. ‘You will anyway, whatever I say.’

‘Yes. She shall come back when she has rested; you will feel more like talking then.’

Jenny found herself whisked away to an empty room in the pleasant nurses’ home adjoining the hospital. She wasn’t sure of the time, and she was too tired to care. She had a bath, drank the tea one of the nurses brought her, and fell into bed, asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.

She was wakened by one of the day Sisters. ‘Your aunt is asking for you,’ she was told. ‘I’m sorry to wake you like this, but she’s being a little difficult—you could come?’

Jenny shook the sleep from her head. ‘Yes, of course. Is she worse?’

‘No—just unable to settle and not very operative. Here’s a dressing gown and slippers—you don’t mind? We can go through the passage.’

Jenny wrapped herself in the voluminous garment, several sizes too big for her, and thrust her feet into equally large slippers and allowed herself to be led through the covered way to the hospital. ‘What’s the time?’ she asked, half way there.

‘Not quite midday. If you could persuade your aunt to have an injection… We’ll bring you a light meal and you could go to sleep again. You must be worn out.’

‘I’m fine,’ declared Jenny sturdily, and stifled a yawn as she lifted dark, delicately arched brows at the sound of her aunt’s voice, raised in wrath.

And indeed she was in an ill humour; flushed as well, sitting up against her pillows, her blue eyes brilliant under her bandaged head. ‘There you are!’ she cried imperiously. ‘And where have you been, may I ask—leaving me to these silly girls? And where’s that foreigner? I thought he was here to look after me? Heaven knows I shall be expected to pay him a king’s ransom.’

Jenny perched beside the bed. ‘I was having a nap, Aunt Bess—I sat with you during the night and I was a bit sleepy. And Professor van Draak was here for most of the night too, he must have been tired after operating. What’s worrying you, Aunt?’

Miss Creed moved her head restlessly. ‘I want to go home,’ she stated. ‘I’m sick and tired of these people, all shouting at me to have an injection; I do not want to sleep.’

Jenny sighed soundlessly. ‘Look, dear, you’ve had an operation and of course you don’t feel quite the thing, and until you have a nice long sleep you won’t feel much better. We know you don’t feel sleepy, but the injection will send you off in no time…’

‘And what’s he doing here?’ interrupted Miss Creed, looking past Jenny’s shoulder.

The Professor had loomed up beside Jenny. He said now in his calm way: ‘I’ve come to give you your injection, Miss Creed—your niece has explained why you should have it.’ He nodded to Jenny to hold her Aunt’s arm firmly and slid the needle in without further ado.

‘I’m not accustomed to being treated in this manner,’ his patient began angrily. ‘I like my own way…’

‘And so do I,’ agreed the Professor pleasantly. ‘You will feel much more yourself when you wake up—tired and not inclined to do much, but much more comfortable in your head.’

‘Bah…’ began Aunt Bess, the lids falling over her tired eyes, ‘I don’t believe…’

Jenny heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Poor dear, she must be feeling ghastly,’ she said softly, and went on sitting where she was, overcome by tiredness once more. She yawned hugely, pushed up the sleeves of the ridiculous dressing gown and lifted her arms to sweep back her tide of hair, hanging all over the place. She would have gone to sleep then and there if the Professor hadn’t said in a cold voice, ‘Go back to your bed, Miss Wren. I see that you are still in need of sleep.’ His tone was so very icy that she opened her eyes to take a look at him. His face looked icy too, the brows drawn together in a frown.

‘Fallen down on the job, have I?’ she asked pertly, tiredness forgotten for the moment in a wish to annoy him. He had been up most of the night too, but he didn’t look as though he had; he was probably one of those iron-willed men who didn’t allow himself to feel tired or happy or sad or anything else… She opened her mouth to tell him so, but yawned instead and fell asleep, sitting upright, swaying a little.

The Professor looked more annoyed than ever. ‘Will you open the door, Nurse?’ he asked the student left to sit with Miss Creed, and swept Jenny up into his arms as though she were a tiresome child and carried her back down the covered passage, to put her gently on her bed and pull the blanket over her. Jenny, dead to the world, rolled over. If she had been awake to hear his: ‘Troublesome girl, to plague me so,’ uttered in a cold voice, she would most certainly have answered him with spirit. As it was she gave a delicate snore.