Читать книгу Sun and Candlelight - Бетти Нилс - Страница 8

SHE WAS OF THE same mind the next morning and indeed she was of a mind to tell Mr van Diederijk this if she had the opportunity. But there was no chance to speak to him. True, he paid a fleeting visit to the ward, elegant and rather awe-inspiring in his dark grey suiting and expensive tie, but he was very much the consultant; beyond wishing him a pleasant good morning, proffering the notes of the case which he wished to see and escorting him to the ward door with an equally pleasant goodbye, Alethea prudently said nothing. Probably he would come again, when there might be a few minutes in which to tell him that she had no intention of even considering his ridiculous suggestion. What did it matter what Nick thought, anyway? she asked herself as she penned instructions in the day book. It was galling to discover much later in the day, that he had been back while she had been down in X-Ray, speaking her mind about some missing films urgently needed on the ward. What was more, he had stopped to chat to Sue. ‘Almost ten minutes,’ declared that young lady. ‘Anyone would think that he hadn’t anything else in the world to do, and when I asked him if he wanted to see you all he said was: “I think not, Staff, not for the moment.”’ She sighed. ‘He’s very good-looking and his eyes twinkle.’

‘Pooh!’ exclaimed Alethea, suddenly cross for no reason, and then to cover up her little outburst: ‘X-Ray say they haven’t a clue where those films are, they say they gave them to Nurse Jenkins, although no one remembers actually doing that. I’ll have a word with her, I think.’ She wrinkled her pretty forehead. ‘What a waste of time when there’s so much to be done!’

And it wasn’t just the lost films, the whole day had been a series of small hold-ups, misunderstandings and delays. Alethea went off duty finally, glad that it was over. It wasn’t until she was in bed that she remembered that she had meant to go and see the Principal Nursing Officer about leaving. ‘Tomorrow,’ she told herself, and resolutely shut her eyes, but before she went to sleep she found herself remembering very clearly what good company Mr van Diederijk had been at her home, sitting opposite her at her grandmother’s table, tucking into Mrs Bustle’s steak and kidney pie with relish. He grew on one, she decided, and slept.

As so often happened, the next morning went as smoothly as the previous one had gone consistently wrong. Enough staff for once, all the operation cases of the day before doing exactly as they should, even the missing X-Ray films turning up. Alethea, her round done and the wheels of morning work turning smoothly, retired to her office to tackle the off-duty book, fill in the requisitions, make diplomatic telephone calls to the laundry, the dietitian and the Social Worker and presently, to enjoy a cup of coffee with Sue.

She was deep in the off-duty when the door opened and without lifting her head she said: ‘Sue, I want Mr Brook’s leg up a bit…’ and when no one answered she looked up.

‘Good morning,’ observed Mr van Diederijk. ‘Your staff nurse assures me that you are more or less free for a little while. I should like to talk to you.’

She put down her pen. ‘Now?’

‘Now. About Penrose.’ He lifted a large hand as she began to protest and went on in a matter-of-fact voice: ‘He is the only man you have loved.’ It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact.

Alethea went pink and said ‘Yes,’ gruffly.

‘You weren’t having an affair, of course.’

The pink flamed to red and she choked a little. ‘Certainly not!’

‘Forgive me, I don’t know why I asked that question; it was quite unnecessary. I wonder, would you consider marrying me, Alethea?’

Indignation and surprise turned to sheer amazement.

‘Will I what?’ she repeated slowly.

‘Consider marrying me.’ He was as much at his ease as he might have been asking her if she had an empty bed on the ward.

She rearranged everything on her desk, trying to think what to say, and when nothing came, she rearranged everything again.

‘Let us review the situation calmly,’ suggested Mr van Diederijk in an unhurried fashion. ‘You wish to run away from a situation which is no longer tolerable to you, but you haven’t quite enough courage to do so.’ And when she jerked her head up: ‘No, don’t interrupt. You would like a way out, wouldn’t you, for to remain here has become untenable, hasn’t it? But your pride must be kept intact at all costs, your reason for leaving must have nothing to suggest that you are running away. I offer you a means to that end. No, allow me to finish. I need a wife, or more accurately, my home needs a mistress, and I need someone to entertain my friends and provide a secure background for my children.’ He paused and held her astonished gaze with calm blue eyes. ‘Oh, yes, I have been married. My wife and I were divorced by mutual consent ten years ago. She is married to some rich South American and lives in Brazil—or is it Peru? I can never remember. She has no interest in the children—twins, a boy, Sarel, and a girl, Jacomina. They are eleven years old.’

Alethea asked breathlessly: ‘She left them when they were a year old? She couldn’t…’

‘She could and she did. They need a mother very badly, Alethea, but I must make it quite clear that I do not need a wife.’

She pushed a tidy pile of papers away so roughly that they fell in a hopeless muddle to the floor. ‘You could get yourself a housekeeper.’ She remembered as she said it that he already had one. ‘Or a nursemaid,’ she added.

He was quite unruffled. ‘I already have both. My housekeeper I mentioned, she is elderly and excellent, but bringing up children is not part of her work. The nursemaid has been with the children since they were babies. She loves them dearly, spoils them utterly and can no longer cope. They need kind authority, understanding and someone to confide in and love.’

‘Why not you?’ Her voice was a little sharp.

‘I am not a woman. I love them, make no mistake about that, but there are so many things I cannot do or say which a woman—a mother—can.’

Alethea opened her mouth ready to utter the telling remarks she had a mind to utter, but she had no chance. The door opened again and Sue came in, hesitated, said: ‘I’ll bring in the coffee, shall I? You too, sir?’ and retreated.