Читать книгу Discovering Daisy - Бетти Нилс - Страница 7

PACKING up the dolls’house, wrapping each tiny piece of furniture carefully in tissue paper, writing an inventory of its contents, took Daisy an entire day, and gave her ample time to reflect upon Mr der Huizma. Who exactly was he? she wondered. A man of some wealth to buy such a costly gift for a child, and a man of leisure, presumably, for he had never mentioned work of any kind. And did he live in England, or merely visit England from time to time?And if so where did he live?

Mr der Huizma, unaware of Daisy’s interest in him and, truth to tell, uncaring of it, was strolling down the centre of the children’s ward of a London teaching hospital. He had a toddler tucked under one arm—a small, damp grizzling boy, who had been sobbing so loudly that the only thing to do was to pick him up and comfort him as Mr der Huizma did his round. Sister was beside him, middle-aged, prematurely grey-haired and as thin as a rail. None of these things were noticed, though, for she had the disposition of an angel and very beautiful dark blue eyes.

She said now, ‘He’ll ruin that suit of yours, sir,’ and then, when he smiled down at her, asked, ‘What do you intend to do about him? He’s made no progress at all.’

Mr der Huizma paused in his stride and was instantly surrounded by a posse of lesser medical lights and an earnest-faced nurse holding the case-sheets.

He hoisted the little boy higher onto his shoulder. ‘Only one thing for it,’ He glanced at his registrar. ‘Tomorrow morning? Will you see Theatre Sister as early as possible? And let his parents know, will you? I’ll talk to them this evening if they’d like to visit…’

He continued his round, unhurried, sitting on cot-sides to talk to the occupants, examining children in a leisurely fashion, giving instructions in a quiet voice. Presently he went to Sister’s office and drank his coffee with her and his registrar and the two housemen. The talk was of Christmas, and plans for the ward. A tree, of course, and stockings hung on the bed and filled with suitable toys, paper chains, and mothers and fathers coming to a splendid tea.

Mr der Huizma listened to the small talk, saying little himself. He would be here on the ward on Christmas morning, after flying over from Holland in his plane very early, and would return home during the afternoon. He had done that ever since he’d taken up his appointment as senior paediatrician at the hospital, doing it without fuss, and presenting himself at the hospital in Amsterdam on the following day to join in the festivities on the children’s ward there—and somehow he managed to spend time with his family too…

A few days before Christmas he called at the shop to collect the dolls’ house. Daisy, absorbed in cleaning a very dirty emerald necklace—a find in someone’s attic and sold to her father by its delighted owner—glanced round as he came into the shop, put down the necklace and waved a hand at the dolls’ house shrouded in its wrappings.

‘It’s all ready. Do take care not to jog it about too much. Everything is packed tightly, but it would be awful if anything broke.’

He wished her good evening gravely, and added, ‘I’ll be careful. And we will unpack it and check everything before Mies sees it.’

‘Mies—what a pretty name. I’m sure she will love it. How old is she?’

He didn’t answer at once, and she wished she hadn’t asked. ‘She is five years old,’ he said presently.

She wanted to ask if he had any more children, but sensed that he wasn’t a man who would welcome such questions. Instead she said, ‘I’ll get Father to give you a hand—have you a car outside?’

When he nodded, she asked, ‘Are you going back to Holland today?’ She sighed without knowing it. ‘Your family will be glad to see you…’

He said gravely, ‘I hope so. Christmas is a time for families, is it not?’He studied her quiet face. ‘And you? Do you also attend a family gathering?’

‘Me? Oh, no. I mean there isn’t a family—just Mother and Father and me.’She added quickly, ‘But we have a lovely Christmas.’

Mr der Huizma, thinking of his own family gathered at his home, wondered if that were true. She didn’t seem a girl to hanker after bright lights, but surely Christmas spent over the shop with only her parents for company would be dull. He dismissed a vague feeling of concern for her as her father came into the shop; theirs had been a chance meeting and they were unlikely to see each other again.

He and Mr Gillard carried the dolls’house out to his car, and before he drove away he came back into the shop to thank her for her work with it, wish her a happy Christmas and bid her goodbye.

There was an air of finality about his words; Daisy knew with regret that she would not see him again.

She thought about him a good deal during Christmas. The shop was busy until the last minute of Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day was filled to the brim, with the morning ritual of opening their presents, going to church and sitting down to the traditional dinner in the late afternoon. On Boxing Day she had visited friends in the town and joined a party of them in the evening—all the same, she found time to wonder about him…

And of course on the following day the shop was open again. It was surprising what a number of ungrateful recipients of trinkets and sets of sherry glasses and china ornaments were anxious to turn them into cash. And then there was a lull. Money was scarce after Christmas, and customers were few and far between, which gave Daisy time to clean and polish and repair with her small capable hands while her father was away for a few days at an auction being held on one of the small estates in the north of the country.

He came back well satisfied; not only had he made successful bids for a fine set of silver Georgian tea caddies and a pair of George the Second sauce boats, but he had also acquired a Dutch painted and gilt leather screen, eighteenth-century and in an excellent condition—although the chinoiserie figures were almost obscured by years of ingrained dirt and dust. It had been found in one of the attics and had attracted little attention. He had paid rather more than he could afford for it, and there was always the chance that it would stay in the shop, unsold and representing a considerable loss to him. But on the other hand he might sell it advantageously…

It fell to Daisy’s lot to clean and restore it to a pristine state, something which took days of patient work. It was a slow business, and she had ample opportunity to think. It was surprising how often her thoughts dwelt on Mr der Huizma, which, considering she wasn’t going to see him again, seemed a great waste of time.

It was towards the end of January, with the screen finished and business getting brisker, when two elderly men came into the shop. They greeted her with courtesy, and a request that they might look around the shop, and wandered to and fro at some length, murmuring to each other, stooping down to admire some trifle which had caught their eye. Daisy, whose ears were sharp, decided that they were murmuring in a foreign language. But they spoke English well enough when her father came into the shop, passing the time of day with him as they continued their leisurely progress.

They stopped abruptly when they saw the screen, right at the back of the shop. For two calm, elderly gentlemen they exhibited a sudden interest tinged with excitement. There was no need for her father to describe it to them; it seemed that they knew as much about it as he did, possibly more. They examined it at length and with great care, asked its price, and without further argument took out a chequebook.

‘I must explain,’ said one gentleman, and Daisy edged nearer so as not to miss a word. ‘This screen— you tell me that you bought it at an auction at the Kings Poulton estate? I must tell you that an ancestress of ours married a member of the family in the eighteenth century and brought this screen with her as part of her dowry. It was made especially for her. You will have seen the initials at the edge of the border—her initials. When we were last in England we enquired about it but were told that it had been destroyed in the fire they had some years ago. You can imagine our delight in discovering that it is safe—and in such splendid condition.’

‘You must thank my daughter for that,’ said Mr Gillard. ‘It was in a shocking state.’

The three of them turned and looked at her. She smiled nicely at them, for the two elderly gentlemen were friendly, and she was intrigued by the screen’s history and the chance discovery they had made of it. ‘It is very beautiful,’she said. ‘I don’t know where you live, but you’ll need to be very careful with it; it’s fragile…’

‘It must return, of course, to our home in Holland— near Amsterdam. And we can assure you, young lady, that it will be transported with great care.’

‘In a van, properly packed,’ said Daisy.

The elder of the two gentlemen, the one with the forbidding nose and flowing moustache, said meekly, ‘Most certainly, and with a reliable courier.’He paused, and then exchanged a look with his companion.

‘Perhaps you would undertake the task of bringing the screen to Holland, young lady? Since you have restored it you will know best how it should be handled, and possibly you will remain for a brief period to ensure that no harm has come to it on the journey.’

‘Me?’ Daisy sounded doubtful. ‘Well, of course I’d love to do that, but I’m not an expert, or qualified or anything like that.’

‘But you would do this if we ask you?’

She glanced at her father.

‘A good idea, Daisy, and you are perfectly capable of doing it. You’ll need a day for travelling, and another day for the return journey, and a day or two to check that everything is as it should be.’

‘Very well, I’ll be glad to do that. I’ll need a couple of days in which to pack the screen…’

The moustached gentleman offered a hand. ‘Thank you. If we may return in the morning and discuss the details? I am Heer van der Breek.’

Daisy took the hand. ‘Daisy Gillard. I’m glad you found your screen.’

His companion shook hands too, and then they bade her father goodbye.

When they had gone, Daisy said, ‘You’re sure I can do it? I can’t speak Dutch, Father.’

‘No problem, and of course you can do it, a sensible girl like you, my dear. Besides, while you’re there you can go to Heer Friske’s shop in Amsterdam—remember he wrote and told me that he had a Georgian wine cooler I might be interested in? Colonel Gibbs has been wanting one, and if you think it’s a genuine piece you might buy it and bring it back with you.’

‘Where will I stay?’ asked the practical Daisy.

‘Oh, there must be plenty of small hotels—he will probably know of one.’

It was surprising how quickly matters were arranged. In rather less than a week Daisy found herself sitting beside the driver of the small van housing the screen on her way to Holland. She had money, her passport, and directions in her handbag, a travelling bag stuffed with everything necessary for a few days’ stay in that country, and all the documents necessary for a trouble-free journey. She was to stay at Meneer van der Breek’s house and oversee the unpacking of the screen and its installation, and from there she was to go to Amsterdam and present herself at Mijnheer Friske’s shop. A small hotel close by had been found for her and she was to stay as long as it was necessary. Two or three days should be sufficient, her father had told her.

Excited under her calm exterior, Daisy settled back to enjoy her trip. Her companion was of a friendly disposition, pleased to have company, and before long she was listening with a sympathetic ear to his disappointment at missing his eldest daughter’s birthday. ‘Though I’ll buy her something smashing in Amsterdam,’ he assured her. ‘This kind of job is too well paid to refuse.’

They crossed on the overnight ferry, and since Mijnheer van der Breek had made all the arrangements for their journey it went without a hitch and in comfort.

It was raining when they disembarked in the early morning, and Daisy, looking around her, reflected that this flat and damp landscape wasn’t at all what she had expected. But presently there was a watery winter sun, and the built-up areas were left behind. They stopped for coffee, and then drove on.

‘Loenen aan de Vecht,’ said the driver. ‘The other side of Amsterdam on the way to Utrecht. Not far now—we turn off the motorway soon.’

He bypassed Amsterdam and emerged into quiet countryside, and presently onto a country road running beside a river. ‘The Vecht,’ said Daisy, poring over the map.

It was a delightful road, tree-lined, with here and there a pleasant house tucked away. On the opposite bank there were more houses—rather grand gentlemen’s residences, with sweeping lawns bordering the water and surrounded by trees and shrubs.

Before long they came to a bridge and crossed it.

‘Is it here?’ asked Daisy. ‘One of these houses? They’re rather splendid…’

They turned in through wrought-iron gates and drew up before an imposing doorway reached by stone steps. There were rows of orderly windows with heavy shutters and gabled roofs above the house’s solid face, and an enormous bell-pull beside the door. Daisy got out and looked around her with knowledgeable eyes. Seventeenth-century, she guessed, and probably older than that round the back.

The driver had got out too and rung the bell; they could hear its sonorous clanging somewhere in the depths of the house. Presently the door was opened by a stout man, and Daisy handed over the letter Mijnheer van der Breek had given her in England.

Invited to step inside, she did so, prudently asking the driver to stay with the van, and was led down a long, gloomy hall to big double doors at its end. The stout man flung them open and crossed the large and equally gloomy apartment to where Mijnheer van der Breek sat. He handed him the letter and waved Daisy forward.

Mijnheer van der Breek got up, shook hands with her and asked, ‘You have the screen? Splendid. It is unfortunate that my brother is indisposed, otherwise he would have shared my pleasure at your arrival.’

‘It’s outside in the van,’said Daisy. ‘If you would tell me where you want it put the driver and I will see to it.’

‘No, no, young lady. Cor shall help the man. Although you must supervise its removal, of course. We have decided that we want it in the salon. When it has been brought there I will come personally and say where it is to go.’

Daisy would have liked five minutes’ leisure, preferably with a pot of tea, but it seemed that she wasn’t to get it. She went back to the van, this time with Cor, and watched while the men took the screen from the van and carried it carefully into the house. More double doors on one side of the hall had been opened, and she followed them into the room beyond. It was large and lofty, with tall narrow windows heavily swathed in crimson velvet curtains. The furniture was antique, but not of a period which Daisy cared for—dark and heavy and vaguely Teutonic. But, she had to admit, a good background for the screen.

Time was taken in getting the screen just so, and she finally heard Mijnheer van der Breek’s satisfied approval. What was more, he told her that she might postpone unwrapping it and examining it until after they had had luncheon. It was only after he had seen his treasure safely disposed that he sent for his housekeeper to show Daisy her room.

Daisy bade the driver goodbye, reminded him to drive carefully and to let her father know that they had arrived safely, and followed the imposing bulk of the housekeeper up the elaborately carved staircase.

She was led away from the gallery above and down a small passage, down a pair of steps, along another passage, and then finally into a room at the corner of the house with windows in two walls, a lofty ceiling and a canopied bed. The floor was polished wood, with thick rugs here and there. A small table with two chairs drawn up to it was in one corner of the room, and there was a pier table with a marble top holding a Dutch marquetry toilet mirror flanked by a pair of ugly but valuable Imari vases. The room was indeed a treasure house of antiques, although none to her liking. But the adjoining bathroom won her instant approval. She tidied her hair, did her face and found her way downstairs, hopeful of lunch.

It was eaten in yet another room, somewhat smaller than the others, but splendidly furnished, the table laid with damask cloth and a good deal of very beautiful silver and china. A pity that the meal didn’t live up to its opulent surroundings.

‘A light lunch at midday,’explained Mijnheer van der Breek, and indeed it was. A spoonful or two of clear soup, a dish of cold meats, another of cheeses, and a basket of rolls, partaken of so sparingly by her host that she felt unable to satisfy her appetite. But the coffee was delicious.

Probably dinner would be a more substantial meal, hoped Daisy, rising from the table with her host and, since he expected it of her, going to examine the screen.

She spent the afternoon carefully checking every inch of the screen; removing every speck of dust, making sure that the light wasn’t too strong for it, making sure that the gilt wasn’t damaged. She hardly noticed the time passing, and she stopped thankfully when the housekeeper brought her a small tray of tea. She worked on then, until she was warned that dinner would be at seven o’clock. She went to her room and changed into a plain brown jersey dress which did nothing to improve her appearance but which didn’t crease when packed…

Both elderly gentlemen were at dinner, so that she was kept busy answering their questions during the meal—a substantial one, she was glad to find; pork cutlets with cooked beetroot, braised chicory and large floury potatoes smothered in butter. Pudding was a kind of blancmange with a fruit sauce. Good solid fare. Either the gentlemen didn’t have a good cook or they had no fancy for more elaborate cooking. But once again the coffee was delicious. Over it they discussed her departure.

‘Perhaps tomorrow afternoon?’suggested Mijnheer van der Breek, and glanced at his brother, who nodded. ‘You will be driven to Amsterdam,’ she was told. ‘We understand that you have an errand there for your father. We are most grateful for your help in bringing the screen to us, but I am sure that you would wish to fulfil your commission and return home as soon as possible.’

Daisy smiled politely and reflected that, much as she loved her home, it was delightful to be on her own in a strange country. She would see as much of Amsterdam as possible while she was there. She would phone her father as soon as she could and ask him if she might stay another day there—there were museums she dearly wanted to see…

She was driven to Amsterdam the next day by the stout man in an elderly and beautifully maintained Daimler. The hotel her father had chosen for her was small and welcoming, down a small side-street crisscrossed by canals. The proprietor spoke English, and led her up a steep staircase to a small room overlooking the street. He reminded her that the evening meal was at six o’clock, then went back to his cubby-hole by the entrance.

It was a gloomy afternoon, already turned to dusk. Too late to visit Heer Friske’s shop, so Daisy contented herself with tidying her person, unpacking her few clothes and then sitting down in the overstuffed chair by the window to study a map of the city. Complicated, she decided, as she found the small square where Heer Friske had his shop. But she had all day before her on the morrow and, since her father had had no objection to her staying for a second day, she would have a whole further day sightseeing before going back on the night ferry.

She went downstairs presently, to the small dining room in the basement, and found a dozen other people there, all of them Dutch. They greeted her kindly and, being a friendly girl by nature, she enjoyed her meal. Soup, pork chops with ample potatoes and vegetables, and a custard for pudding. Simple, compared with the fare at Mijnheer van der Breek’s house, but much more sustaining…

She slept well, ate her breakfast of rolls and cheese and cold meat, drank several cups of coffee and, thus fortified, started off for Heer Friske’s shop. The hotel didn’t provide lunch, and in any case she didn’t intend to return before the late afternoon. As she started to pick her way through the various streets she saw plenty of small coffee shops where she would be able to get a midday snack.

She missed her way several times, but, being a sensible girl, she didn’t get flustered. All the same, she was glad when she reached the shop. It was small and old and the window was crammed with small antiques. She spent a minute or two studying them before she entered the shop. It was dark inside, lighted by rather feeble wall-lights, and extended back into even deeper gloom. The whole place was crowded with antiques. Daisy made her way carefully towards the old man sitting at a desk in the middle of it all.

She said, ‘Good morning,’ and offered a hand, guessing quite rightly that he wasn’t the kind of man who would waste time on unnecessary chat, for he barely glanced at her before resuming the polishing of a rather fine silver coffee pot.

‘Daisy Gillard,’ said Daisy clearly. ‘You told my father that you had a Georgian wine cooler. May I see it, please?’

Heer Friske found his voice and spoke in strongly accented English. ‘You are here to buy it? You are capable?’

‘My father thinks so.’

He got up slowly and led her further into the shop, where the wine cooler stood on top of a solid table. He didn’t say anything, but stood back while she examined it. It was a splendid specimen, in good condition and genuine. ‘How much?’ asked Daisy.

His price was too high, but she had expected that. It took half an hour’s bargaining over several cups of coffee before they reached an amount which pleased them both. Daisy made out a Eurocheque, said that she would return on the following day to make arrangements to convey the unwieldy cooler to the station, and took her leave, pleased with herself and happy to have the rest of the day in which to do exactly what she liked.

By the time she got back to the hotel in the late afternoon she was tired but content; she had crammed the Rijksmuseum, two churches, Anne Frank’s house and a canal trip into her time, stopping only for a brief while to consume a kaas broodje and a cup of coffee.

At dinner she told her companions where she had been and they nodded approval, pointing out that the evening was when she should take the opportunity of walking to the Leidesplein to get a glimpse of the brightly lighted square with its cafés and hotels and cheerful crowds.

Daisy, a cock-a-hoop over her successful day, decided that she would do just that. It was no distance, and although it was a chilly night, with a sparkling frost, there was a moon and plenty of people around. She found her way to the Leidesplein easily enough, had a cup of coffee at a street stall while she watched the evening crowds, and then started back to the hotel.

However, somehow she mistook her way, and, turning round to check where she had come from, took unguarded steps backwards and fell into a canal.

She came to the surface of the icy water and her first thought was thankfulness that she hadn’t had anything valuable about her person; the second was a flash of panic. The water wasn’t just cold, it smelled awful—and tasted worse.There were probably rats… She opened her mouth and bawled for help and swam, very hampered by her clothes, to the canal bank. Slippery stones, too steep for her to scramble up. She bawled again, and, miracle of miracles, a firm hand caught her shoulder while a second grabbed her other arm, almost wrenching it from its socket. She was heaved onto the street with no more ado.

‘Not hurt?’ asked her rescuer.

‘Ugh,’ said Daisy, and was thankfully sick, half kneeling on the cobbles.

‘Only very wet and—er, strong-smelling,’ added a voice she knew.

He bent and set her on her feet. ‘Come with me and we’ll get you cleaned up.’

‘Mr der Huizma,’ said Daisy. ‘Oh, it would be you, wouldn’t it?’ she added wildly. It was nice to have been rescued, but why couldn’t it have been by a stranger? Why did it have to be someone who, if he’d remembered her at all, would have thought of her as a quiet, well-mannered girl with a knowledge of antiques and a liking for walks by the sea. Now it would be as a silly, careless fool.

‘Indeed it is I.’ He had her by the arm. ‘Across this bridge is the hospital where I work. They will soon have you clean and dry again.You didn’t lose anything in the canal?’

‘No. I didn’t have more than a few gulden with me. I only turned round to see where I was…’

‘Of course,’ agreed Mr der Huizma gravely, ‘a perfectly natural thing to do. This way.’

The hospital was indeed close by. He led her, squelching and dripping, into the casualty entrance and handed her over to a large bony woman who clucked sympathetically and led Daisy away before she had time to utter a word of thanks to Mr der Huizma. Her clothes were taken from her, she was put under a hot shower, her hair was washed and she was given injections. The sister, who spoke good English, smiled at her. ‘Rats,’ she said, plunging in the needle. ‘A precaution.’

She was given hot coffee, wrapped in a hospital gown several sizes too large and a thick blanket, and sat on a chair in one of the cubicles. She felt quite restored in her person, but her mind was in a fine jumble. She had no clothes; her own had been taken away, but even if they were washed they would never be dry enough, and how was she to get back to the hotel? No one had asked her that yet. She rubbed her long mousy hair dry and began to worry.

The cubicle curtains were parted and Sister appeared; looming beside her was Mr der Huizma. Daisy stared up at them from the depths of her blanket.

‘My clothes? If I could have…?’

Sister interrupted her in a kind, forceful voice. ‘Mr der Huizma will take you back to your hotel and explain what has happened. Perhaps you would be good enough to bring back the blanket, slippers and gown in the morning?’

‘Oh! Well, thank you. I’m a great nuisance, I’m afraid. Shall I take my clothes with me?’

‘No, no. They are being washed and disinfected. You may collect them in the morning.’

Daisy avoided the doctor’s eye. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so tiresome. I’m very grateful…’

Sister smiled. ‘It is a common happening that people—and cars—should fall in the canals. You will come to no harm, I think.’

Mr der Huizma spoke. ‘Shall we go, Miss Gillard?’

So Daisy, much hampered by the blanket and the too-large slippers, trotted beside him, out of the hospital, and was shoved neatly into the dark grey Rolls Royce outside.

It was a short drive, and beyond expressing the polite hope that she would enjoy the rest of her stay in Amsterdam, he had nothing to say. And as for Daisy, it seemed to her it was hardly the occasion for casual conversation.

At the hotel he ushered her across the narrow pavement and into the foyer, where he engaged the proprietor in a brief conversation, not a word of which Daisy could understand. But presently he turned to her, expressed the hope that she was none the worse for her ducking, and bade her goodbye.

Daisy, at a disadvantage because of the blanket, thanked him again, untangled a hand from the blanket and offered it. His large, cool hand felt strangely comforting.

The next morning, her normal, neatly dressed self, not a hair out of place, she took a taxi to the hospital, handed over the blanket, the gown and the slippers in exchange for her own clothes, and made a short speech of thanks to Sister, who nodded and smiled, wished her a happy day and a safe return home and warned her to be careful.

There was no sign of Mr der Huizma, and there was no reason why there should have been; he was obviously a senior member of his profession who probably only went to Casualty when his skills were required. All the same, Daisy lingered for as long as possible in the hope of seeing him.

Mijnheer Friske had the wine cooler packed up ready for her to take. She arranged to collect it that evening, when she went to get her train to the Hoek. It would be unwieldy, but no heavier than a big suitcase, and there would be porters and her father had said that he would see that she was met at Harwich. She assured Heer Friske that she would be back in good time, checked the contents of her handbag—ticket, passport, money and all the impedimenta necessary for her journey—and set off to spend the rest of the day window shopping, exploring the city and buying one or two small gifts.

Being a girl of common sense, she left her clothes, including those the hospital had returned to her, with the kindly Heer Friske, taking only her coat with her which she presently left at a dry cleaners to be collected later. Everything was going very smoothly, and she intended to enjoy her day.

And she did, cramming in as much as possible; another museum, a church or two, antique shops, browsing round the Bijnenkorf looking for presents.

It was late afternoon, after a cup of tea and an elaborate cream cake, when she started on her way back to Heer Friske’s shop.

She walked through the narrow streets, thinking about her stay in Holland—a very enjoyable one, despite the ducking in a canal that had been the means of meeting Mr der Huizma again. Not quite the meeting she would have chosen. Aware of her lack of looks, she was sure that a soaking in canal water had done little to improve them. And there was nothing glamorous about a hospital blanket.

She was almost at Heer Friske’s shop, walking down a narrow quiet street with no one to be seen, the houses lining it with doors and windows shut, when she was suddenly aware of danger. Too late, unfortunately. Someone snatched her handbag, and when she struggled to get it back someone else knocked her down. She hit the cobbles with a thump, was aware of a sudden terrible pain in her head, and was thankfully unconscious.

The two men disappeared as swiftly and silently as they had appeared. It was ten minutes or so before a man on a bicycle found her, and another ten minutes before an ambulance arrived to take her to hospital.