Читать книгу Promise of Happiness - Бетти Нилс - Страница 7

AFTERWARDS, thinking about it, Becky came to the conclusion that she had had far too much to say about herself, but somehow the Baroness had seemed so sympathetic—not that she had said very much, but Becky, who hadn’t had anyone to talk to like that for a long time, sensed that the interest was real, as real as the sympathy. She hadn’t meant to say much; only that she had trained at Hull because she had always wanted to be a nurse, and besides, her father was a country GP, and that her mother had died five years earlier and her father three years after her. But when she had paused there her companion had urged: ‘But my dear, your stepmother— I wish to hear about her and this so unpleasant son of hers with the funny name…’

‘Basil,’ said Becky, and shivered a little. ‘He’s very good-looking and he smiles a lot and he never quite looks at you. He’s cruel; he’ll beat a dog and smile while he’s doing it. He held my finger in a gas flame once because I’d forgotten to iron a shirt he wanted, and he smiled all the time.’

‘The brute! But why were they so unkind to you? How did they treat your father?’

‘Oh, they were very nice to him, and of course while he was alive I was at the hospital so I only went home for holidays, and then they persuaded my father to alter his will; my stepmother said that there was no need to leave me anything because she would take care of me and share whatever he left with me. That was a lie, of course. I knew it would be, but I couldn’t do much about it, could I?’ She sighed. ‘And I had already decided that I would get a job abroad. But then Father died and my stepmother told me that I had nothing and that she wasn’t going to give me anything and that I wasn’t welcome at home any more, but I went all the same because Bertie and Pooch had belonged to my father and I wanted to make sure that they were looked after. We still had the housekeeper Father had before he married again and she took care of them as best she could. And then my stepmother had jaundice. She didn’t really need a nurse, but she wrote to the hospital and made it look as though it was vital that I should go home— and then Basil came and told me that they had sacked the housekeeper and that if I didn’t go home they’d let Bertie and Pooch starve. So I went home. The house was on the edge of the village and Stoney Chase is a bit isolated anyway. They made it quite clear that I was to take the housekeeper’s place, only they didn’t pay me any wages to speak of and I couldn’t go anywhere, you see, because I had no money after a little while—once I’d used up what I had on things like soap and tights from the village shop…’

‘You told no one?’

‘No. You see, Basil said that if I did he’d kill Pooch and Bertie, so then I knew I’d have to get away somehow, so each week I kept a bit from the shopping—I had aimed at fifty pounds, but then yesterday Basil and my stepmother were talking and I was in the garden and heard them. He said he was going to drown them both while I was in the village shopping the next day, so then I knew I’d have to leave sooner. We left about three o’clock this morning…’ She had smiled then. ‘The doctor stopped and gave us a lift, it was kind of him, especially as he was in such a hurry and we were all so wet and he didn’t even know if I was making up the whole thing.’ She had added uncomfortably: ‘I must have bored you; I hate people who are sorry for themselves.’

‘I should hardly say that you were sorry for yourself. A most unpleasant experience, my dear, and one which we must try and erase from your mind. I see no reason why you shouldn’t make a pleasant future for yourself when we get to Holland. Nurses are always needed, and with Tiele’s help you should be able to find something to suit you and somewhere to live.’

Becky had felt happy for the first time in a long while.

Their removal to the ship took place with an effortless ease which Becky attributed to the doctor’s forethought. People materialised to take the luggage, push the wheelchair and get them into a taxi, and at the docks a businesslike man in a bowler hat saw them through Customs and into the hands of a steward on board. Becky, who had visualised a good deal of delay and bother on account of her having no passport, even though the Baroness had assured her that her son had arranged that too, was quite taken aback when the man in the bowler hat handed her a visitor’s passport which he assured her would see her safely on her way. She remembered that the doctor had asked her some swift questions about her age and where she was born, but she hadn’t taken, much notice at the time. It was evident that he was a man who got things done.

The Baroness had a suite on the promenade deck, a large stateroom, a sitting room with a dear little balcony leading from it, overlooking the deck below a splendidly appointed bathroom and a second stateroom which was to be Becky’s. It was only a little smaller than her patient’s and she circled round it, her eyes round with excitement, taking in the fluffy white towels in the bathroom, the telephone, the radio, the basket of fruit on the table. None of it seemed quite real, and she said so to the Baroness while she made her comfortable and started the unpacking; there was a formidable amount of it; the Baroness liked clothes, she told Becky blandly, and she had a great many. Becky, lovingly folding silk undies which must have cost a fortune and hanging dresses with couture labels, hadn’t enjoyed herself so much for years. Perhaps in other circumstances she might have felt envy, but she had a wardrobe of her own to gloat over; Marks & Spencer’s undies in place of pure silk, but they were pretty and new. Even her uniform dresses gave her pleasure, and if Bertie and Pooch had been with her she would have been quite happy. She finished the unpacking and went, at her patient’s request, to find the purser’s office, the shop, the doctor’s surgery and the restaurant. ‘For you may need to visit all of them at some time or other,’ remarked the Baroness, ‘and it’s so much easier if you know your way around.’

It was a beautiful ship and not overcrowded. Becky, while she was at it, explored all its decks, peeped into the vast ballroom and the various bars and lounges, walked briskly round the promenade deck, skipped to the lowest deck of all to discover the swimming pool and hurried back to her patient, her too thin face glowing with excitement. ‘It’s super!’ she told her. ‘You know, I’m sure I could manage the wheelchair if you want to go on deck—I’m very strong.’

The Baroness gave her a faintly smiling look. ‘Yes, Becky, I’m sure you are—but what about your sea legs?’

Becky hadn’t given that a thought. The sea was calm at the moment, but of course they weren’t really at sea yet; they had been passing Tynemouth when she had been on deck, but in another half hour or so they would be really on their way.

‘Now let us have some room service,’ observed the Baroness. ‘Becky, telephone for the stewardess, will you?’

The dark-haired, brown-eyed young creature who presented herself a few minutes later was Norwegian, ready to be helpful and friendly. ‘I shall have my breakfast here,’ decreed the Baroness, ‘and you, Becky, will go to the restaurant for yours.’ She made her arrangements smoothly but with great politeness and then asked for the hotel manager, disregarding the stewardess’s statement that he wouldn’t be available at that time. Becky picked up the telephone once again and passed on the Baroness’s request, and was surprised when he actually presented himself within a few minutes.

‘A table for my nurse, if you please,’ explained the Baroness, and broke off to ask Becky if she wanted to share with other people or sit by herself.

‘Oh, alone, please,’ declared Becky, and listened while that was arranged to her patient’s satisfaction. ‘We’ll lunch here,’ went on Baroness Raukema van den Eck, ‘and dine here too.’ And when the manager had gone, ‘You must have some time to yourself each day—I like a little rest after lunch, so if you settle me down I shall be quite all right until four o’clock or so. I’m sure there’ll be plenty for you to do, and I expect you’ll make friends.’

Becky doubted that; she had got out of the habit of meeting people and she didn’t think anyone would bother much with a rather uninteresting nurse. But she agreed placidly and assured her companion that that would be very nice. ‘I’ve found a library, too,’ she said. ‘Would you like a book?’

‘A good idea—I should. Go and find something for me, my dear, and then we’ll have a glass of sherry before dinner. Don’t hurry,’ she added kindly, ‘have a walk on deck as you go.’

It didn’t seem like a job, thought Becky, nipping happily from one deck to the other, and it was delightful to be able to talk to someone again. She wondered briefly what the Baron was doing at that moment, then turned her attention to the bookcases.

They dined in the greatest possible comfort with a steward to serve them, and Becky, reading the menu with something like ecstasy, could hardly stop her mouth watering. Her stepmother kept to a strict slimming diet and Basil had liked nothing much but steaks and chops and huge shoulders of lamb; too expensive for more than one, her stepmother had decreed, so that Becky, willy-nilly, had lived on a slimming diet as well, with little chance of adding to her meagre meals because she had to account for the contents of the larder and fridge each morning. Now she ate her way through mushrooms in sauce ré-moulade, iced celery soup, cold chicken with tangerines and apple salad, and topped these with peach royale before pouring coffee for them both. She said like a happy little girl: ‘That was the best meal I’ve ever had. I used to think about food a lot, you know, when you’re always a bit hungry, you do, but I never imagined anything as delicious as this.’ She added awkwardly: ‘I don’t think you should pay me as much as you said you would, Baroness, because I’m not earning it and I’m getting all this as well…it doesn’t seem quite honest…’

‘You will be worth every penny to me, Becky,’ her patient assured her, ‘and how you managed to bear with that dreadful life you were forced to lead is more than I can understand. Besides, I am a demanding and spoilt woman, you won’t get a great deal of time to yourself.’

Which was true enough. Becky found her day well filled. True, she breakfasted alone in the restaurant, but only after she had spent half an hour with the Baroness preparing that lady for her own breakfast in bed. And then there was the business of helping her patient to dress, getting her into her wheelchair and taking her to whichever part of the ship she preferred. Here they stayed for an hour or so, taking their coffee, chatting a little and enjoying the sun. Becky read aloud too, because the Baroness said it tried her eyes to read for herself, until half an hour or so before lunch when Becky was sent off to walk round the decks or potter round the shop and buy postcards at the purser’s office for the Baroness. They were to dock at Tilbury in the morning and as the ship wouldn’t sail for Hamburg until the late afternoon the Baroness had suggested that Becky could go up to London and do some shopping and rejoin the ship after lunch. But this Becky declined to do; so far, she considered, she hadn’t earned half her salary. She had been hired to look after her patient and that she intended to do. Instead, the two of them spent a peaceful day in the Baroness’s stateroom playing bezique, and taking a slow wander round the deck on the quiet ship. But by tea time the passengers were coming aboard and the pair of them retired once more to the little balcony leading from the suite, from where they watched the bustle and to-ing and fro-ing going on below them.

They sailed soon afterwards and Becky, leaving her patient with a considerable pile of mail to read, went on deck to watch the ship leave. She hung over the rails, determined not to miss a thing, and it was half an hour before she tore herself away from watching the busy river scene and returned to the stateroom. The Baroness was telephoning, but she broke off what she was saying to tell Becky: ‘It is Tiele—making sure that we are quite all right.’ And at Becky’s look of surprise: ‘He’s back in Friesland, and I’m to tell you that Pooch and Bertie have settled down very well.’ She nodded dismissal and Becky slipped away to her own cabin.

She had collected all the literature about the voyage that she could lay hands on, and now she sat down and studied it; Hamburg next and then Trondheim. There was a whole day at sea first, though, and more than a day between Hamburg and Trondheim. She began to read the leaflet she had been given and only put it down when her patient called to her through the slightly open door.

At Hamburg the Baroness declared her intention of going ashore. The purser, summoned to the cabin, assured her that a taxi should be arranged without difficulty, that help would be at hand to wheel the chair down the gangway and that the Baroness need have no worry herself further. To Becky, accustomed to doing everything for herself, it seemed the height of comfort. And indeed, when the ship docked there was nothing for her to do beyond readying her patient for the outing and then walking beside the chair while a steward wheeled it carefully on to the quay. There were several busloads of passengers going on shore excursions and they had been advised by the purser to get back before these returned or the new passengers began to embark. ‘Plenty of time,’ said the Baroness easily. ‘We will drive round the city, take a look at the Binnenalster and the Aussenalster and the driver can take us to a confectioner’s so that you can buy me some of the chocolates Tiele always brings me when he comes here.’

She was arranged comfortably in the taxi, accorded a courteous farewell by the officer on duty whom she warned not to allow the ship to leave until her return, and was driven away, with Becky sitting beside her.

It was all very exciting; first the journey through the dock area, which the Baroness didn’t bother to look at, but which Becky found absorbing, and then presently the shopping streets and a brief glimpse of the inner lake. ‘It is much prettier once we have crossed the Kennedybrucke,’ said the Baroness. She said something to the driver in German and he slowed down to take the pleasant road running alongside the lake, its calm water gleaming in the sunshine, the well kept villas in their splendid grounds facing it. Becky’s face lighted up and a little colour came into it. ‘Oh, this is super!’ she declared. ‘I had no idea…’

Her companion cast her a glance full of sympathy, but all she said was: ‘I think you will like Trondheim better, although it is a great deal smaller, of course.’

They circled the lake slowly before going back to the shopping centre where the driver parked outside a confectioner’s whose windows displayed extravagantly boxed sweets of every sort, and Becky, obedient to her patient’s request, went rather hesitantly inside. There were no difficulties, however. She was perfectly understood, her purchases were made and paid for and with several prettily wrapped boxes she got back into the taxi. It surprised her very much when the taxi stopped once more and the driver got out, went into a café and emerged presently with a waiter carrying a tray with coffee and cream cakes. The tray was set carefully upon Becky’s knees and they were left to take their elevenses in peace. ‘I like my little comforts,’ explained the Baroness placidly. And get them too, thought Becky admiringly.

Their return to the ship was as smooth as their departure had been. A steward was by the taxi door almost before it had stopped and the Baroness was bestowed carefully into her wheelchair once more. Only when she was quite comfortable did she open her handbag and pay the driver—generously too, if the smile on his face was anything to go by. Becky, trotting along beside the chair, wondered what it must be like to be rich enough to command all the attention and comfort one required without apparent effort. Probably one got used to it and took it as a matter of course; thinking about it, she remembered that the Baron hadn’t seemed surprised when she had accepted the job he had offered her out of the blue. She was deeply grateful to him, of course, but at the same time she couldn’t help wondering what he would have done if she had refused.

The Baroness was tired after their outing, so she elected to take a light lunch in her stateroom and then rest, sending Becky down to the restaurant for her own lunch while she ate hers. Becky found the place quite full, for a good many more passengers had boarded the ship that morning. She sat at her table, set discreetly in a corner, and ate a rather hurried meal, in case the Baroness should want her the minute she had finished her own lunch, and then slipped away, smiling rather shyly at the waiter as she did so. She hadn’t quite got used to being waited on.

The Baroness was drinking her coffee but professed herself quite ready to rest. Becky made her comfortable on the sofa along one wall, covered her with a rug and sat down nearby because her patient had asked her not to go away for a little while. ‘I’m expecting a call from Tiele,’ explained the Baroness, ‘and if you would stay until it comes through…’ She closed her eyes and dozed while Becky sat, still as a mouse, listening to the exciting noises going on all around them—people talking, music coming from somewhere, but faintly, the winch loading the luggage, an occasional voice raised in command or order. It was all very exciting; she contemplated her new shoes and thought about the Baron, his mother, the journey they were about to make, Norway, about which she knew almost nothing, and then the Baron again. It was a pity he didn’t like her, but very understandable, and it made his kindness in taking care of Bertie and Pooch all the greater; it couldn’t be much fun doing kindnesses to someone you didn’t care a row of pins for. Her thoughts were interrupted by the faint tinkle of the telephone, and she picked it up quickly with a glance at the still sleeping Baroness. Her hullo was quiet and the Baron said at once: ‘Becky? My mother’s asleep?’

‘Yes, but I think she would like me to wake her, if you would wait a moment.’

He didn’t answer her but asked: ‘You’re settling down, I hope? No snags? You won’t give way to seasickness or anything of that sort, I hope?’ She heard him sigh. ‘You didn’t look very strong.’

Becky’s voice stayed quiet but held indignation. ‘I’m very strong,’ she told him quite sharply, ‘and as the sea is as calm as a millpond, I’m not likely to be seasick.’

‘You seem to have a temper too,’ remarked the Baron. ‘As long as you don’t vent it on my mother…’

‘Well,’ breathed Becky, her chest swelling with rage under the neat dress, ‘I never did! As though I would! And I haven’t got a temper…’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Bertie and Pooch are quite nicely settled.’

‘I’m so glad—I’ve been worrying about them just a little; you’re sure…?’

‘Quite. Now if you would wake up my mother, Nurse?’

She was to be nurse, was she? And what was she to call him? Baron or doctor or sir? She crossed the room and roused the Baroness with a gentle touch on her shoulder and that lady opened her eyes at once with a look of such innocence that Becky didn’t even begin to suspect that her patient had been listening to every word she had uttered.

She went to her cabin while mother and son carried on a quite lengthy conversation and spent ten minutes or so doing things to her face. She had bought make-up, the brand she had always used when she had money of her own to spend, and now she was enjoying the luxury of using it. She applied powder to her small nose, lipstick to her too large mouth, and tidied her hair under her cap and then studied her face. Nothing remarkable; no wonder her employer had dismissed her with the kind of casual kindness he would afford a stray cat. She sighed and then adjusted her expression to a cheerful calm at the sound of her patient’s voice calling her.

The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough with the Baroness remarkably amenable when called upon to do her exercises. The moment they got on shore at Trondheim, Becky had been told to instruct her in the use of crutches, something she wasn’t looking forward to over-much. The Baroness could be a trifle pettish if called upon to do something she didn’t fancy doing, and yet Becky already liked her; she had probably spent a spoilt life with a doting husband and now a doting son, having everything she wanted within reason, but she could be kind too and thoughtful of others, and, Becky reminded herself, she had a wonderful job; well paid, by no means exhausting and offering her the chance of seeing something of the world.

There were almost two days before they would arrive at Trondheim, and Becky found that they went too quickly. A good deal of time was spent on deck, the Baroness in her wheelchair, Becky sitting beside her while they carried on a gentle flow of small talk. There was plenty to talk about; the distant coastline of Sweden and then Norway, their fellow passengers, the day’s events on board; there was so much to do and even though neither of them took part in any of them, it was fun to discuss them. The Captain was giving a cocktail party that evening, but the Baroness had declared that nothing would persuade her to go to it in a wheelchair; they would dine quietly in her stateroom as usual, and Becky didn’t mind; she had nothing to wear and the idea of appearing at such a glittering gathering in a nurse’s uniform didn’t appeal to her in the least. All the same, it would have been fun to have seen some of the dresses…

The Baroness liked to dress for the evening. Becky, helping her into a black chiffon gown and laying a lacy shawl over her knees, wished just for a moment that they had been going to the party, it seemed such a waste…

It wasn’t a waste. Instead of the sherry which the steward brought to the stateroom, he carried a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, and following hard on his heels was the Captain himself, accompanied by several of his officers, and they were followed by more stewards bearing trays of delicious bits and pieces, presumably to help the champagne down. Becky, with a young officer on either side of her, intent on keeping her glass filled and carrying on the kind of conversation she had almost forgotten existed, found life, for the first time in two years, was fun.

When the gentlemen had gone the Baroness sat back in her chair and eyed Becky. ‘You must buy yourself some pretty clothes,’ she observed. ‘You won’t always be on duty, you know—I know there was no time in Newcastle to do more than get the few essentials, but once we are in Trondheim you shall go shopping. Tiele gave you enough money, I hope?’

Becky thought with still amazed astonishment of the notes in her purse. ‘More than enough,’ she explained. ‘A week’s salary in advance and money to buy my uniforms and—and things.’

‘A week’s salary? What is that? Let me see, sixty pounds, did we not say? What is sixty pounds?’ It was lucky that she didn’t expect an answer, for Becky was quite prepared to tell her that for her, at least, it was a small fortune. ‘When we get to Trondheim you will have your second week’s wages—not very much, but I daresay you will be able to find something to wear.’

Becky thought privately that she would have no difficulty at all, although she had no intention of spending all that money. It was of course tempting to do so, but she had the future to think of; she supposed her present job would last a month or a little longer and even though she managed to get another job at once, there would be rent to pay if she were lucky enough to find somewhere to live, and food for herself and the animals until she drew her pay. All the same she allowed herself the luxury of planning a modest outfit or two. They would arrive at Trondheim the next day and a little thrill of excitement ran through her, just for the moment she forgot the future and the unpleasant past; Norway, as yet invisible over the horizon, was before her and after that Holland. Perhaps later she would be homesick for England, but now she felt secure and content, with almost the width of the North Sea between her and her stepmother and Basil.

She fell to planning the little home she would make for herself and Bertie and Pooch and was only disturbed in this pleasant occupation by the Baroness, who had been reading and now put down her book and suggested a game of dominoes before the leisurely process of getting ready for bed.

The next day was fine and warm, the sea was calm and very blue and the shores of Norway, towering on either side of the Trondheimsfjord, looked magnificent. Becky, released from the patient’s company for an hour, hung over the rail, not missing a thing; the tiny villages in the narrow valleys, the farms perched impossibly on narrow ledges half way up the mountains with apparently no way of reaching them, the camping sites on the edge of the water and the cosy wooden houses. It was only when Trondheim came into sight, still some way off on a bend of the fjord, that she went reluctantly back to the Baroness. She had packed earlier, there was little left to do other than eat their lunch and collect the last few odds and ends, but there would be ample time for that; the Baroness had elected to wait until the passengers who were going on the shore excursions had left the ship; they would have to go ashore by tender, and Becky knew enough of her patient by now to guess that that lady avoided curious glances as much as possible.

The passengers were taken ashore with despatch and wouldn’t return until five o’clock. Becky, sent on deck to take a breath of air while her patient enjoyed a last-minute chat with the ship’s doctor, the purser and the first officer, watched the last tender returning from the shore. Trondheim looked well worth a visit and she longed to get a closer look. It was nice to think that she would have two or three weeks in which to explore it thoroughly. There was a lot to see; the cathedral, the old warehouses, the royal palace, the Folk Museum…she pitied the passengers who had just gone ashore and who would have to view all these delights in the space of a few hours. One of the young officers who had come to the Baroness’s cabin joined her at the rail. ‘You get off here, don’t you?’ he asked in a friendly voice. He glanced at her trim uniform. ‘Will you get time to look around Trondheim?—it’s a lovely old place.’

‘Oh, I’m sure I shall—I don’t have to work hard, you know. The Baroness is kindness itself and I get free time each day just like anyone else.’ She smiled at him. ‘I loved being on board this ship.’

He smiled back at her; he was a nice young man with a pretty girl at home waiting to marry him and he felt vague pity for this small plain creature, who didn’t look plain at all when she smiled. He said now: ‘Well, I hope you enjoy your stay in Norway. Do you go back to Holland with the Baroness?’

‘Yes, just for a little while, then I’ll get a job there.’

He looked at her curiously. ‘Don’t you want to go back to England?’

She was saved from answering him by the stewardess coming in search of her to tell her that the Baroness was ready to go ashore now. Getting that lady into the tender was a delicate operation involving careful lifting while Becky hovered over the plastered leg, in a panic that the tender would give a lurch and it would receive a thump which would undo all the good it had been doing. But nothing happened, the Baroness was seated at last, the leg carefully propped up before her and Becky beside her, their luggage was stowed on board, and they made the short trip to the shore. Here the same procedure had to be carried out, although it wasn’t quite as bad because there were no stairs to negotiate. Becky nipped on to the wooden pier and had the wheelchair ready by the time the Baroness was borne ashore. Escorted by a petty officer, they made their way off the pier to the land proper.

There were a lot of people about and a couple of officials who made short work of examining their papers before waving them on to where a Saab Turbo was waiting. The lady sitting in the car got out when she saw them coming, not waiting for her companion, and ran to meet them. She was a small woman, a little older than the Baroness and very like her in looks. The two ladies embraced, both talking at once, and only broke off when the elderly gentleman who had been in the car reached them. The Baroness embraced him too and embarked on another conversation to stop in the middle of a sentence and say in English: ‘I am so excited, you must forgive me, I had forgotten my dear Becky. She has looked after me so very well and she is going to stay with me until I return home.’ She turned to Becky standing quietly a few paces away. ‘Becky, come and meet my sister and brother-in-law. Mijnheer and Mevrouw van Denne—he is Consul here and will know exactly the right places for you to see while you are here. And now if I could be put in the car…?’

An oldish man joined them and was introduced as Jaap the chauffeur, between them Becky and he lifted the Baroness into the back seat where she was joined by the Consul and his wife while Becky, having seen the chair and the luggage safely stowed in the boot, got in beside Jaap.

She tried to see everything as they went through the city, of course, but she would have needed eyes all round her head. But she glimpsed two department stores and a street of pleasant shops with other streets leading from it and she had the palace pointed out to her, an imposing building built entirely of wood, then they were in a wide street with the cathedral at its far end. But they didn’t get as far as that; half way down Jaap turned into a tree-lined avenue with large houses, before one of which he slowed to turn again into a short drive and stop before its solid front door. They had arrived. Becky drew a deep breath to calm herself. It would never do to get too excited; she was a nurse and must preserve a calm front, but her eyes shone with delight and her pale face held a nice colour for once. The Baroness, watching her with some amusement, decided that she wasn’t only a nice girl, she was—just now and again—quite a pretty one, too.