Читать книгу Promise of Happiness - Бетти Нилс - Страница 6

THE ROAD over the moors was lonely, its surface glistening from the drizzle which had been falling since first light. It was still very early; barely six o’clock, but already full daylight by reason of the time of year—the end of June, but as yet there was no sign of the clouds breaking, so that the magnificence of the scenery was a little marred by their uniform greyness.

There were no houses in sight and no cars, only a solitary figure marching briskly on the crown of the road, the thin figure of a girl, wrapped in a shabby old-fashioned raincoat, her hair tied in a sopping scarf. Marching beside her was a black retriever, no longer young, attached to a stout string, and tucked under the other arm was a plastic bag from the top of which protruded a cat’s head. It was an ugly beast, made more so by its wetness and a battle-scarred ear, but it was quiet enough, taking no notice of the road but fixing its eyes on the girl’s face.

‘We’re free, my dears,’ she told them in a rather breathy voice, because she was walking so quickly. ‘At least, if we can get to Newcastle we are. The main road’s only another mile; there may be a bus,’ she added, more to reassure herself than the animals. ‘Anyway, they won’t find we’re gone for another two hours.’

The dog whimpered gently and she slowed her steps, and said: ‘Sorry, Bertie.’ Without the animals she could have got away much faster, but the thought hadn’t even entered her head. They had been her solace for two years or more and she wasn’t going to abandon them. She began to whistle; they were together and hopeful of the future; she had a pitifully small sum in her purse, the clothes she stood up in, by now very wet, and a comb in her pocket—there had been no time for more; but she was free, and so were Bertie and Pooch. She whistled a little louder.

She intended to join the A696 north of Newcastle with the prospect of at least another six miles to go before she reached the city. She had been walking through moorland, magnificent country forming a small corner of the National Park, but very shortly it would be the main road and Newcastle at the end of it.

The main road, when she joined it presently, was surprisingly free from traffic and she supposed it was too early for a bus. She began to wonder what she would do when she got there and her courage faltered a little at the prospect of finding somewhere to spend the night, and most important, a job. And that shouldn’t be too difficult, she told herself bracingly; she was a trained nurse, surely there was a hospital who would employ her and let her live in—which left Bertie and Pooch… And they would want references… She was so deep in thought that she didn’t hear the big car slowing behind her and then stopping a few paces ahead. It was a large car, a silver- grey Rolls-Royce Corniche, and the man who got out of the driving seat was large too and very tall, with pepper and salt hair and very blue eyes in a handsome face. He waited until the trio had drawn abreast of him before he spoke. He said ‘good morning’ with casual politeness and looked amused. ‘Perhaps I can give you a lift?’ he offered, still casual, and waited quietly for his answer.

‘Well, thank you—but Bertie and Pooch are wet, they’d spoil your lovely car.’ She looked it over before her eyes went back to his face.

For answer he opened the back door. ‘There’s a rug—your dog can sit on it.’ He studied Pooch’s damp fur. ‘Perhaps the cat beside him, or would you rather have him on your knee?’

‘Oh, with me, if you don’t mind, it’s all a bit strange for him.’

He opened the door for her and when they were all settled she said contritely: ‘We’re all so wet— I’m sorry.’

‘It’s of no importance. Where can I set you down?’ He smiled fleetingly. ‘My name’s Raukema van den Eck—Tiele Raukema van den Eck.’

‘Rebecca Saunders.’ She offered a wet hand and he shook it, still with an air of amusement. She really was a nondescript little thing, no make-up and far too thin—her pansy brown eyes looked huge and there were hollows in her cheeks, and her hair was so wet he could hardly tell its colour.

‘Where would you like to go?’ he asked again, and this time there was faint impatience in his voice.

‘Well, anywhere in Newcastle, thank you,’ she made haste to assure him. ‘I must look for a job.’

‘A little early in the day for that, surely?’ he queried idly. ‘You must have left home early—you live close by?’

‘I left home just before four o’clock. It’s six miles away, down a side road.’

Her companion shot her a quick glance. He said on a laugh: ‘You sound as though you’re running away from a wicked stepmother!’

‘Well, I am,’ said Rebecca matter-of-factly. ‘At least, she’s not exactly wicked, but I had to run away; Basil was going to drown Pooch and shoot Bertie, you see.’

‘I am a very discreet man,’ offered Mr Raukema van den Eck, ‘if you would care to tell me about it…?’

Her hands tightened on Pooch’s fur so that he muttered at her. ‘I can’t bother you with something that’s—that’s…’

‘None of my business? I have always found that talking to a stranger is so much easier—you see, they are not involved.’

‘Well, it would be nice to talk about it…’

‘Then talk, Miss…no, Rebecca.’

‘People call me Becky, only my stepmother and Basil call me Rebecca.’

He had slowed the car as the country round them was slowly swallowed by the outskirts of the city, and his ‘Well?’ was encouraging if a little impatient.

‘I’m twenty-three,’ began Becky, ‘my mother died when I was eighteen and I looked after Father at first and when I went to Leeds to train we got a housekeeper. Everything was lovely…’ she swallowed a grief which had never quite faded. ‘My father married again. He died two years ago and my stepmother forced me to go home because she said she was ill and needed me…’

‘People don’t force anyone in these days,’ remarked her companion.

‘Oh, yes, they do.’ She wanted to argue with him about that, but there wasn’t much more time. ‘She wrote to the Principal Nursing Officer and her doctor wrote too. She sent Basil—he’s my stepbrother, to fetch me. She wasn’t really ill—jaundice, but not severe, but somehow I couldn’t get away. I tried once or twice, but each time she told me what she would do to Pooch and Bertie if I went, and I had no money.’ She added vehemently: ‘I don’t suppose you know what it’s like not to have any money? It took me almost two years to save up enough money to get away.’

‘How much did you save?’ he asked idly.

‘Thirty pounds and sixty pence.’

‘That won’t go far.’ His voice was gentle.

‘Well, I thought for a start it would pay our bus fares and breakfast before we look for a job.’

‘Will your stepmother not look for you?’

‘Probably, but they don’t get up until eight o’clock. I call them every morning—they’d wonder where I’d got to. But by the time they’ve asked the housekeeper and looked for me that will be at least another hour.’

‘And what kind of job do you hope to get?’

‘Well, nursing, of course, though I suppose I could be a housekeeper…’

‘References?’ he probed.

‘Oh—if I gave them the hospital at Leeds my stepmother might enquire there and find out—there isn’t anyone else, only my father’s elder brother, and he lives in Cornwall, and I don’t expect he even remembers me.’ She turned to look at him. ‘I suppose you couldn’t…?’

‘No, I couldn’t.’ His tone was very decisive.

She watched the almost empty street and didn’t look at him. ‘No, of course not—I’m sorry. And thank you for giving us a lift. If you’d stop anywhere here, we’ll get out.’

He pulled into the kerb. ‘I am a little pressed for time and I am tired, but I have no intention of leaving you here at this hour of the morning. I intend to have breakfast and I shall be delighted if you will join me.’

He didn’t sound in the least delighted, but Becky was hungry. She asked hesitantly: ‘What about Pooch and Bertie?’

‘I feel sure we shall be able to find someone who will feed them.’

‘I’m very obliged to you,’ said Becky, any qualms melting before the prospects of a good meal.

He drove on again without speaking, threading his way into and across the central motorway, to take the road to Tynemouth and stop outside the Imperial Hotel.

‘Not here?’ asked Becky anxiously.

‘Yes, here.’ He got out and opened her door and then invited Bertie to get out too, handing her the string wordlessly before entering the hotel. He was looking impatient again and as she hastened to keep close, reflecting that the hotel looked rather splendid and that probably the porter would take one look at her and refuse to allow her in—especially with the animals.

She need not have worried. Her wet raincoat was taken from her and leaving Pooch and Bertie with Mr Raukema van den Eck she retired to the powder room with her comb to do the best she could with her appearance. And not very successfully, judging by her host’s expression when she joined him.

They were shown into the coffee room where a table had been got ready for them and what was more, two plates of food set on the floor beside it. Becky took her seat wonderingly. ‘I say,’ she wanted to know, ‘do all hotels do this? I didn’t know— breakfast at seven o’clock in the morning and no one minding about the animals.’

Her companion looked up from his menu. ‘I don’t think I should try it on your own,’ he suggested dryly. ‘They happen to be expecting me here.’ He added: ‘What would you like to eat?’

Becky hesitated. True, he drove a Rolls-Royce and this was a very super hotel, but the car could go with the job and he might have intended to treat himself to a good meal. She frowned; it seemed a funny time of day to be going anywhere…

‘I’m very hungry,’ said Mr Raukema van den Eck. ‘I shall have—let me see—grapefruit, eggs and bacon and sausages, toast and marmalade. And tea—I prefer tea to coffee.’

‘I’d like the same,’ said Becky, and when it came, ate the lot. The good food brought a little colour into her pale thin face and her companion, glancing at her, looked again. A plain girl, but not quite as plain as he had at first supposed. When they had finished she made haste to thank him and assure him that she would be on her way. ‘We’re very grateful,’ she told him, and Bertie and Pooch, sitting quietly at her feet, stared up in speechless agreement. ‘It’s made a wonderful start to the day. I’ll get my coat…would you mind waiting with them while I go? I’ll be very quick…you’re in a hurry, aren’t you?’

‘Not at the moment. Take all the time you need.’ He had taken a notebook from a pocket and was leafing through it.

Becky inspected her person in the privacy of the powder room and sighed. Her hair had dried more or less; it hung straight and fine down her back, a hideous mouse in her own opinion. She looked better now she had had a meal, but she had no make-up and her hands were rough and red and the nails worn down with housework. She didn’t see the beauty of her eyes or the creaminess of her skin or the silky brows. She turned away after a minute or two and with her raincoat over her arm went back to the coffee room. She was crossing the foyer when the door opened and three people came in; a large, florid woman in a too tight suit who looked furious, and a small, elderly lady, exquisitely dressed, looking even more furious, and seated in a wheelchair pushed by a harassed-looking man.

‘I am in great pain,’ declared the little lady, ‘and you, who call yourself a nurse, do nothing about it! I am in your clutches for the next few weeks and I do not like it; I wish you to go.’

The large woman put down the wraps she was carrying. ‘Foreigners,’ she observed nastily. ‘They’re all alike. I’m going!’

She took herself off under Becky’s astonished stare followed by a gleeful chuckle from the little lady, who said something to the man behind the chair so that he went out of the door too. It was then that her eye lighted upon Becky. ‘Come here, young woman,’ she ordered imperiously. ‘I am in great pain and that silly woman who calls herself a nurse took no notice. You have a sensible face; lift me up and look beneath my leg, if you please.’

Becky was an obliging girl; she twitched back the rug covering the lady’s knees in preparation for lifting her and saw why she was in a chair in the first place. One leg was in plaster, the other one had a crêpe bandage round the knee. ‘Which leg?’ asked Becky.

‘The bandaged one.’

It was a pin which shouldn’t have been there in the first place, its point imbedded behind the lady’s knee. Becky made soothing noises, whisked it out, pocketed it and tucked the bandage end in neatly. ‘That must have hurt,’ she said sympathetically. ‘Can I help with anything else?’

The little lady smiled. ‘No, my dear, thank you. You’ve been kind.’ The man had come back with a small case under his arm. ‘I’ll go straight to my room and they can send up breakfast.’ She waved goodbye and Becky heard her telling the porter to let her know…she didn’t hear any more as the lift doors shut.

She went back to the coffee room and was a little surprised to find that her host seemed in no hurry at all. All the same, she bade him goodbye and marched resolutely to the door. It was still raining outside and she had no idea where to go, but she refused his rather perfunctory invitation to stay where she was for an hour or so; he must be longing to be rid of them by now. She went off down the street, walking as though she knew just where she was going, although she hadn’t a clue.

Mr Raukema van den Eck stood where he was, watching her small upright person out of sight. If he hadn’t had an appointment he might have gone after her…it was like putting a stray kitten back on the street after letting it sit by the fire and eat its fill… He frowned with annoyance because he was becoming sentimental and he didn’t hold with that, and the waiter who had just come on duty hesitated before sidling up to him.

‘The Baroness is here, Baron,’ he murmured deferentially.

‘Just arrived?’ He glanced at the man. ‘She’s in her room? I’ll come up at once.’

He ignored the lift, taking the stairs two at a time, to tap on the door which had been indicated to him. It was a large, comfortably furnished room and his mother was sitting, still in her wheelchair, by the window.

‘Mama, how delightfully punctual, and was it very inconvenient for you?’

She lifted her face for his kiss and smiled at him. ‘No, my dear—Lucy was charming about it when I explained and William took the greatest care of me, and after all we didn’t have to leave until six o’clock.’

Her son looked round the room. ‘And the nurse?’

His mother’s very blue eyes flashed. ‘I have given her the sack. A horrible woman; I knew I should not like her when she arrived last night, the thought of spending three weeks in her company made me feel ill, and only a short while ago, as we arrived, I begged her to help me because of the pain and she would not. So I sent her away.’

Her son blinked rapidly, his mind running ahead. Here was a situation to be dealt with and he was due to leave in less than an hour. ‘Where was the pain?’ he asked gently.

‘It was a pin, in the bandage round my knee—at the back where I could not get at it. There was a girl in the foyer—a skinny little creature with enormous eyes; she knew what to do at once when I asked for help. Now why cannot I have someone like her instead of that wretched woman they sent from the agency?’

The faint but well-concealed impatience on the Baron’s features was replaced by a look of pleased conjecture. ‘And why not?’ he wanted to know. ‘Mama, will you wait for a few minutes while I see if I can find her? There is no time to explain at the moment—I’ll do that later. Shall I ring for a maid before I go?’

It was still raining as he got into the car and slid into the early morning traffic, thickening every minute, but he didn’t drive fast. Becky and her companions should be easy enough to see, even in a busy city, but there was always the likelihood that she had gone down some side street. But she hadn’t; she had stopped to ask the way to somewhere or other, that was apparent, for the matronly-looking woman she was talking to was pointing down the street. The Baron slid to a halt beside them, wound down his window and said quietly: ‘Becky…’

She turned round at once and when she saw who it was her face broke into a smile. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she observed. ‘Are you on your way again?’

He was disinclined for conversation. ‘I have a job for you; you’ll have to come back to the hotel, I’ll tell you about it there.’

He waited while she thanked the woman and then got out into the rain to usher Bertie in and settle her and Pooch beside him.

And he turned the car, he said severely: ‘You are far too trusting, Becky—to accept my word without one single question. I might have been intent on abducting you.’

She gave him a puzzled look. ‘But why shouldn’t I trust you?’ she wanted to know. ‘And who in his right mind would want to abduct me?’

‘You have a point there.’ He threw her a sidelong glance. She looked bedraggled and tired; perhaps his idea hadn’t been such a good one after all. On the other hand, some dry clothes and a few good meals might make all the difference. ‘That lady you helped in the hotel—she needs a nurse for a few weeks. She liked you, so I said I’d fetch you back so that she could talk to you…’

‘References,’ said Becky sadly. ‘I haven’t any, you know—and I can’t prove I’m a nurse.’

He had drawn up before the hotel once more, now he turned to her. ‘What would you do if you were given the care of someone with ulcerative protocolitis?’

‘Oh, that’s usually treated medically, isn’t it— they only operate when the disease is severe. I’ve only seen it done once…’ She launched into a succinct account of what could be done. ‘Is that what I’m to nurse?’ she asked.

‘No. What do you know about serum viral hepatitis?’

She wrinkled her brow. ‘I don’t know much about that, only that it’s transmitted in three ways…’ She mentioned them briefly and he asked quietly:

‘The sources?’

She told him those too.

‘And what preventative measures can be taken?’

She had to think hard about those, and when she had remembered all six of them she asked: ‘Are you examining me?’

‘No— You said that you had no references…’

Becky said suddenly: ‘Gosh, how silly I am! You must be a doctor.’

‘Indeed I am, and due to leave here within the hour, so if we might go inside…?’

For all the world as though she had been wasting his time in light conversation, thought Becky. The whole thing must be a dreadful bore for him. With a face like his and a Rolls to boot, he hardly needed to waste time on someone as uninteresting as herself. But she got out obediently, gathered the animals to her, and went back into the hotel.

The little lady she had helped in the foyer turned to stare at her as she entered the room and then took her quite by surprise by exclaiming: ‘Yes, that’s the one. How very clever of you to find her, Tiele— we’ll engage her at once.’ Her eyes fell on Bertie and Pooch. ‘And these animals…?’

‘I have been thinking about them, Mama, but first let me introduce you. This is Miss Rebecca Saunders, a registered nurse, who has run away from her home with her two—er—companions. Becky, this is my mother, the Baroness Raukema van den Eck.’ So that made him a Baron!

Becky had her mouth open to begin on a spate of questions, but he stopped her with an urgent hand. ‘No, there is little time for questions, if you don’t mind, I will explain briefly. Pray sit down.’

He was obviously used to having his own way; she sat, with Pooch peering out from under her arm and Bertie on her feet.

‘My mother, as you can see for yourself, is for the time being unable to walk. She has a compound fracture of tib and fib which unfortunately has taken some time to knit, and a badly torn semilunar cartilage of the other knee. She has had quadriceps exercises for three weeks with some good results, and we hope she may commence active movement very shortly. When she does so, she will need a nurse to assist her until she is quite accustomed to walking on her plaster, and we are satisfied that the other knee will give no further trouble. As you are aware, she had engaged a nurse to go with her, but this arrangement has fallen through and it is imperative that she has someone now—she will be sailing on a cruise ship from this port late this afternoon. Unfortunately, I have to be back in Holland by tomorrow morning at the latest, which means that I must leave very shortly.’ He added, as though it were a foregone conclusion: ‘The post should suit you very well.’

Becky sat up straight. ‘I should like to ask some questions,’ and at his impatient frown: ‘I’ll be quick. Where are we going?’

He looked surprised. ‘I didn’t mention it? Trondheim, in Norway. I have an aunt living there whom my mother wishes to visit.’

‘I have no clothes…’

‘Easily remedied. A couple of hours’ shopping.’

‘What happens when I leave?’ She suddenly caught Pooch close so that he let out a raucous protest. ‘And what about Pooch and Bertie?’ she frowned. ‘How can I possibly…’

‘You will return to Holland with my mother where it should be easy enough for you to get a job in one of the hospitals. I shall, of course, give you any help you may need. As to the animals, may I suggest that I take them with me to Holland where they will be well cared for at my home until you return there; after that it should be a simple matter to get a small flat for yourself where they can live.’

‘Quarantine?’

‘There is none—only injections, which I will undertake to see about.’

It all sounded so easy; she perceived that if you were important and rich enough, most things were easy. All the same she hesitated. ‘I’m not sure if they’ll like it…’

He smiled quite kindly then. ‘I promise you that they will have the best of treatment and be cared for.’

‘Yes, I know, but supposing…’

‘What is the alternative, Becky?’ He wasn’t smiling now and he sounded impatient again.

The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. She couldn’t be sure of getting a job, in the first place, and just supposing she should meet Basil or her stepmother before she had found somewhere to live. He was watching her narrowly. ‘Not very attractive, is it?’ he asked, ‘and you have only enough money for a meal—thirty pounds and—er—sixty pence wouldn’t buy you a bed for more than three nights, you know.’

His mother looked at Becky. ‘My dear child, is that all the money you have? And why is that? And why did you leave your home?’

‘With your permission, Mama; you will have time enough to discuss the whole situation. If Becky could decide—now—there are several matters which I must attend to…’

She was annoying him now, she could see that, but what seemed so simple from his point of view was an entirely different matter for her. But she would have to agree; the idea of parting with her pets was unpleasant enough, but at least they would be safe and cared for and after a week or so she would be able to collect them and start a new life for herself. To clinch the matter she suddenly remembered the quarantine laws; she would never have enough money to pay the fees—besides, there was no one and nothing to keep her in England. ‘Thank you, I’ll take the job,’ she said in a resolute voice.

‘Good, then let us waste no more time. My mother will explain the details later. What fee were you to pay the nurse you dismissed, Mama?’

Son and parent exchanged a speaking glance. ‘Sixty pounds a week with—how do you say?— board and lodging.’

‘But that’s too much!’ protested Becky.

‘You will forgive me if I remind you that you have been living in, how shall we say? retirement for the past two years. That is the normal pay for a trained nurse working privately. Over and above that you will receive travelling expenses, and a uniform allowance.’ He took some notes from a pocket and peeled off several. ‘Perhaps you will go now and buy what you think necessary. Your uniform allowance is here, and an advance on your week’s pay.’

Becky took the money, longing to count it, but that might look greedy. ‘I haven’t any clothes,’ she pointed out, ‘so I’d better buy uniform dresses, hadn’t I?’

‘Yes, do that, my dear,’ interpolated the Baroness. ‘You can go shopping in Trondheim and buy the clothes you need.’

Becky found herself in a taxi, the Baron’s cool apologies in her ear. He intended leaving at any moment; she was to take a taxi back to the hotel when she had done her shopping. ‘And don’t be too long about it,’ he begged her forthrightly, ‘although you don’t look to me to be the kind of girl who fusses over her clothes.’ A remark which she had to allow was completely justified but hardly flattering. She had bidden Bertie and Pooch goodbye and hated doing it, but they had looked content enough, sitting quietly by the Baroness. At the last moment she poked her head out of the taxi window.

‘You will look after them, won’t you? They’ll be so lonely…’

‘I give you my word, Becky, and remember that in a few weeks’ time you will be able to make a home for them.’

She nodded, quite unable to speak for the lump in her throat.

She felt better presently. The Baron didn’t like her particularly, she was sure, and yet she felt that she could trust him and upon reflection, she had saved him a lot of time and bother finding another nurse for his mother. She counted the money he had given her and felt quite faint at the amount and then being a practical girl, made a mental list of the things she would need.

It took her just two hours in which to do her shopping; some neat dark blue uniform dresses, because she could wear those each and every day, a blue cardigan and a navy blue raincoat, shoes and stockings and an unassuming handbag and then the more interesting part; undies and a thin dressing gown she could pack easily, and things for her face and her hair. All the same, there was quite a lot of money over. She found a suitcase to house her modest purchases and, obedient to the Baron’s wish, took a taxi back to the hotel.

She found her patient lying on a chaise-longue drawn up to the window, a tray of coffee on the table at her elbow. ‘I hope I haven’t been too long,’ began Becky, trying not to look at the corner where Bertie and Pooch had been sitting.

‘No, my dear. Tiele went about an hour ago, and your animals went quite happily with him. I must tell you that he has a great liking for animals and they like him.’ Her eyes fell upon the case Becky was carrying. ‘You bought all that you require?’ She nodded to herself without waiting for Becky to reply. ‘Then come and have coffee with me and we will get to know each other. Tiele has arranged for us to be taken to the ship in good time; we will have lunch presently—here, I think, as I do dislike being pushed around in that chair—then we shall have time for a rest before we go. I’m sure you must be wondering just where we are going and why,’ she added. ‘Give me another cup of coffee, child, and I will tell you. I have been staying with an old friend at Blanchland, but unfortunately within two days of arriving I fell down some steps and injured my legs. Tiele came over at once, of course, and saw to everything, and I remained at my friend’s house until I was fit to travel again. I could have remained there, but I have a sister living in Trondheim and as I had arranged to visit her before their summer is over, I prevailed upon Tiele to arrange things so that I might go. I get tired in a car and I suffer badly from air-sickness, so he decided that the best plan was for me to go by ship and since there is time enough, to go in comfort and leisure. We shall be sailing to Tilbury first and then to Hamburg and from there to Trondheim, where I intend to stay for three weeks. By then, with your help and that of the local doctor, I should be able to hobble and be out of this wheelchair. I have no idea how we shall return to Holland—Tiele will decide that when the time comes.’

Becky said: ‘Yes, of course,’ in a rather faint voice. After two years or more of isolation and hard work, events were crowding in on her so that she felt quite bewildered. ‘Where do you live in Holland?’ she asked.

‘Our home is in Friesland, north of Leeuwarden. I don’t live with Tiele, of course, now that I am alone I have moved to a house in Leeuwarden only a few miles from Huis Raukema. I have a daughter, Tialda, who is married and lives in Haarlem. Leeuwarden is a pleasant city, not too large, but you should find work there easily enough—besides, Tiele can help you there.’

‘He has a practice in Leeuwarden?’

‘Yes, although he doesn’t live there.’ She put down her cup and saucer. ‘I have talked a great deal, but it is pleasant to chat with someone as restful as you are, Becky. I think we shall get on very well together. Tiele says that we must arrange our days in a businesslike fashion, so will you tell me what you think is best?’ She opened her bag. ‘I almost forgot, he left this for you—instructions, I believe.’

Very precise ones, written in a frightful scrawl, telling her just what he wanted done for his mother, reminding her that she was to take the usual off duty, that she might possibly have to get up at night if the Baroness wasn’t sleeping, that she was to report to the ship’s doctor immediately she went on board that afternoon and that she was to persevere with active movements however much his mother objected to them. At Trondheim there would be a doctor, already in possession of all the details of his mother’s injuries, and he would call very shortly after they arrived there.

He hadn’t forgotten anything; organising, she considered, must be his strong point.

‘That’s all very clear,’ she told her patient. ‘Shall we go over it together and get some sort of a routine thought out?’

It took them until a waiter came with the lunch menu. The Baroness had made one or two suggestions which Becky secretly decided were really commands and to which she acceded readily enough, since none of them were important, but she thought that they were going to get on very well. The Baroness was accustomed to having her own way but she was nice about it. To Becky, who had lived without affection save for her animal friends, her patient seemed kindness itself. They decided on their lunch and she got her settled nicely in a chair with a small table conveniently placed between them and then went away to change her clothes.

She felt a different girl after she had bathed and done her hair up into a neat bun and donned the uniform dress. She had bought some caps too, and she put one on now and went to join the Baroness, who studied her carefully, remarking: ‘You’re far too thin, Becky, but I like you in uniform. Have you bought clothes as well?’

‘Well, no. You see, I should need such a lot….’

Her companion nodded. ‘Yes, of course, but there are some nice shops in Trondheim, you can enjoy yourself buying all you want there. There’s sherry on the table, child, pour us each a glass and we will wish ourselves luck.’

Becky hadn’t had sherry in ages. It went straight to her head and made her feel as though life was fun after all and in a sincere effort not to be thin any longer, she ate her lunch with a splendid appetite. It was later, over coffee, that her patient said: ‘We have a couple of hours still. Supposing you tell me about yourself, Becky?’