Читать книгу Uncertain Summer - Betty Neels, Бетти Нилс - Страница 8

THERE were quite a lot of people in the doorway—her mother, as small as Serena herself and almost as slim, Susan, who was seventeen and constantly in the throes of some affair of the heart, so that everyone else had the utmost difficulty in remembering the name of the current boyfriend, Margery, twenty, and married only a few months earlier to her father’s curate, a situation which afforded great pleasure to the family and her mother, especially because she was the plain one of the children, and Serena’s two young brothers, home from boarding school for the Easter holidays—Dan was twelve and George, the youngest, was ten. Their father hoped that they would follow in his footsteps and go into the Church, and probably they would, but in the meantime they got up to all the tricks boys of their age usually indulged in.

It was lovely to be home again; she was swept inside on a cheerful tide of greetings and family news, all of which would have to be repeated later on, but in the meantime the cheerful babble of talk was very pleasant. ‘Where’s John?’ Serena tossed her hat on to the nearest chair and addressed Margery.

‘He’ll be here. He had to go and see old Mrs Spike, you know—down by Buller’s Meadow, she’s hurt her leg and can’t get about.’

Serena took off her coat and sent it to join her hat. ‘Being married suits you, Margery—you’re all glowing.’

Her sister smiled. ‘Well, that’s how it makes you feel. How’s the hospital?’

‘Oh, up and down, you know…it’s nice to get away.’

They smiled at each other as Serena flung an arm around her mother’s shoulders and asked her how she was. The rest of the evening passed in a pleasurable exchange of news and the consuming of the supper Mrs Potts had prepared. They all sat around the too large mahogany table, talking and eating and laughing a great deal. The dining-room was faintly mid-Victorian and gloomy with it, but they were all so familiar with it that no one noticed its drawbacks. Presently, when there was no more to be eaten and they had talked themselves to a standstill, they washed up and went back to the sitting-room, to talk again until midnight and later, when they parted for the night and Serena went to her old room at the back of the house, to lie in her narrow bed and wonder what Laurens van Amstel was doing.

Breakfast was half over the next morning when the telephone rang; no one took any notice of it—no one, that was, but Susan, for the family had come to learn during the last few months that almost all the telephone calls were for her, and rather than waste time identifying the young man at the other end of the line, finding Susan and then returning to whatever it was they had been interrupted in doing, it was far better for all concerned if she answered all the calls herself. She tore away now, saying over her shoulder: ‘That’ll be Bert,’ and Serena looked up from her plate to exclaim: ‘But it was Gavin last time I was home—what happened to him?’

Her mother looked up from her letters. ‘Gavin?’ She looked vague. ‘I believe he went to…’

She was interrupted by Susan. ‘It’s for you,’ she told Serena. ‘A man.’

Serena rose without haste, avoiding the eyes focused upon her. ‘Some query at the hospital,’ she suggested airily as she walked, not too fast, out of the room, aware that if that was all it was, she was going to be disappointed. There was no reason why Laurens should telephone—he didn’t even know where she was; all the same she hoped that it was he.

She went into her father’s study and picked up the receiver. Her voice didn’t betray her excitement as she said: ‘Hullo?’

It was Laurens; his voice came gaily over the wire. ‘Serena!’

‘How did you know where I was?’ She sounded, despite her efforts, breathless.

He laughed softly. ‘Your friend Joan—such a nice girl—after all, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t know where you live, is there? What are you doing?’

‘Having breakfast. I’m not sure that I…’

‘You’re not sure about anything, are you, my dear gipsy? I miss you. When are you coming back?’

‘On Monday. I come up on an early morning train.’

‘Not this time—I’ll send Gijs down to pick you up, he’ll drive you.’

She shook her head, although he wasn’t there to see her vehement refusal.

‘No, thank you, I prefer to go by train—it’s very kind…’

‘Rubbish! Gijs won’t mind, he does anything anyone asks of him—more fool he.’ He spoke jokingly and she laughed with him.

‘All the same, I’d rather come up by train.’

He sounded very persuasive. ‘Not to please me? I hate to think of you travelling in a crowded train, and at least Gijs can give you lunch.’

She said in a panicky little voice: ‘But that’s impossible. I’m on duty at one o’clock.’

‘My beautiful gipsy, how difficult you make everything! Gijs will pick you up about nine o’clock on Monday morning. What are you going to do today?’

‘Nothing very interesting, just—just be at home.’ How could she tell him that she was going to make the beds for her mother and probably get the lunch ready as well and spend the afternoon visiting the sexton’s wife who had just had another baby, and the organist’s wife, who’d just lost hers? She felt relief when he commented casually: ‘It sounds nice. Come and see me on Monday, Serena.’

‘Yes—at least, I will if I can get away. You know how it is.’

‘Indeed I do—the quicker you leave it the better.’

‘Leave it?’ she repeated his words faintly.

‘Of course—had you not thought of marrying me?’

Serena was bereft of words. ‘I—I—’ she began, and then: ‘I must go,’ she managed at last. ‘Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye, gipsy girl, I shall see you on Monday.’

She nodded foolishly without speaking and replaced the receiver gently. She hadn’t heard aright, of course, and even if she had, he must have been joking—he joked a lot. She sat down in her father’s chair behind his desk, quite forgetful of breakfast, trying to sort out her feelings. They slid silkily in and out of her head, evading her efforts to pin them down—the only thought which remained clearly and firmly in her mind was the one concerning Gijs van Amstel; she didn’t want to go back to London with him. The idea of being in his company for several hours disquieted her, although she didn’t know why; he had done nothing to offend or annoy her, indeed, he had exerted himself to be civil, and she had no interest in him, only the fact that he was Laurens’s cousin was the common denominator of their acquaintance, so, she told herself vigorously, she was merely being foolish.

She went back to her interrupted breakfast then, and although no one asked her any questions at all she felt compelled to explain into the eloquent silence. When she had finished, omitting a great deal, her mother remarked: ‘He sounds nice, dear, such a change from your usual patients—is his English good?’

Serena, grateful for her parent’s tactful help, told her that yes, it was, very good.

‘And this cousin—he’s coming to fetch you on Monday morning?’

Serena drank her cold tea. ‘Yes.’

‘Where will he sleep?’ her mother, a practical woman, wanted to know.

Serena’s lovely eyes opened wide. She hadn’t given a thought to the man who was coming to fetch her, and now, upon thinking about it, she really didn’t care where he slept. Perhaps he would leave early in the morning. She suggested this lightheartedly and her mother mused: ‘He must be a very nice man then, to spoil a night’s sleep to come and collect someone he doesn’t even know well.’

‘Oh,’ said Serena, her head full of Laurens, ‘he seems to do exactly what Laurens tells him—I suppose he’s a poor relation or a junior partner or something of that sort. He’s got the most awful old car.’

‘Oh?’ it was her father this time. ‘Is he a very young man, then?’

Serena dragged her thoughts away from Laurens and considered. ‘Oh, no—he must be years older—he looks about thirty-five, I suppose. I haven’t really noticed.’

Her mother gave her a swift, penetrating glance and said with deceptive casualness: ‘Well, we can find out on Monday, can’t we?’ she smiled at her eldest child. ‘And how old is this Laurence?’

‘Laurens,’ Serena corrected her gently. ‘About twenty-six.’

‘Good-looking?’ asked Susan, who had been sitting silent all this time, not saying a word.

‘Yes, very. Fair and tall.’

‘What a rotten description,’ Susan sounded faintly bored. ‘If you’ve finished, shall we get washed up? There’s such a lot to do and there’s never time.’

Serena rose obediently from the table, understanding very well that what her younger sister meant was not enough time to do her hair a dozen ways before settling on the day’s style, nor time enough to see to her nails, or try out a variety of lipsticks. She sighed unconsciously, remembering how nice it was to be seventeen and fall painlessly in and out of love and pore for hours over magazines—she felt suddenly rather old.

In the end she did the washing up herself because Susan had her telephone call and the two boys disappeared with the completeness and silence which only boys achieve. She stood at the old-fashioned kitchen sink and as she worked she thought about Laurens, trying to make herself think sensibly. No one in their right minds fell in love like this, to the exclusion of everything and everyone else. She was, she reminded herself over and over again, a sensible girl, no longer young and silly like little Susan; she saw also that, there was a lot more to marriage than falling in love. Besides, Laurens, even though he had told her so delightfully and surprisingly that she was going to marry him—for surely that was what he had meant—might be in the habit of falling in love with any girl who chanced to take his fancy. She began to dry the dishes, resolving that, whatever her feelings, she would not allow herself to be hurried into any situation, however wonderful it might seem. She had put the china and silver away and was on her way upstairs to make the beds when she remembered the strange intent look Gijs van Amstel had given her when Laurens had suggested she should go out with him. There had been no reason for it and it puzzled her that the small episode should stick so firmly in her memory. She shook it free from her thoughts and joined her mother, already busy in the boys’ room.

The day passed pleasantly so that she forgot her impatience for Monday’s arrival. When she had finished her chores she duly visited the sexton’s wife, admired the baby—the sixth and surely the last?—presented the proud mother with a small gift for the tiny creature, and turned her attention to the sexton’s other five children, who had arrived with an almost monotonous regularity every eighteen months or so. They all bore a marked resemblance to each other and, Serena had to admit, they all looked remarkably healthy. She asked tentatively: ‘Do you find it a bit much—six, Mrs Snow?’

Her hostess smiled broadly. ‘Lor’ no, Miss Serena, they’m good as gold and proper little loves, we wouldn’t be without ’em. You’ll see, when you’m wed and ’as little ’uns to rear.’

Serena tried to imagine herself with six small children, and somehow the picture was blurred because deep in her bones something told her that Laurens wouldn’t want to be bothered with a houseful of children to absorb her time—and his. He would want her for himself… The thought sent a small doubt niggling at the back of her mind, for she loved children; provided she had help she was quite sure she could cope with half a dozen, but only if their father did his share too, and Laurens, she was sure, even though she knew very little about him, wasn’t that kind of man. Disconcertingly, a picture of his cousin, lolling against the bed in his well-worn tweeds, crossed her thoughts; she had no doubt that he would make an excellent father, even though he did strike her as being a thought too languid in his manner. And probably he was already a parent. He was, after all, older than Laurens and must have settled down by now. She dismissed him from her mind, bade the happy mother and her offspring goodbye, and departed to make her second visit—a more difficult one—the organist’s wife had lost a small baby since Serena had been home last, it had been a puny little creature with a heart condition which everyone knew was never going to improve, but that hadn’t made it any easier for the mother. Serena spent longer there than she had meant to do, trying to comfort the poor woman while she reflected how unfair life could be.

It was surprising how quickly the weekend flew by, and yet, looking back on it as she dressed on the Monday morning, Serena saw that it had been a tranquil, slow-moving period, with time to do everything at leisure. As she made up her pretty face she found herself wishing that she wasn’t going back to Queen’s, to the eternal bustle and rush of the Accident Room, the hurried meals and the off duty, when one was either too tired to do anything but fall into one’s bed, or possessed of the feverish urge to rush out and enjoy oneself. But if she didn’t go back she wouldn’t see Laurens. She tucked back a stray wisp of hair and stood back to inspect her person; she was wearing a short-sleeved silk blouse which exactly matched the deep clotted cream of her pleated skirt, whose matching jacket she left on the bed with her gloves and handbag, for she still had the breakfast to get. She put on the kettle, skipped into the dining-room and tuned the radio in to the music programme and went back to the stove, trying out a few dance steps to the too-loud music as she cracked eggs into a bowl. She dropped the last one on to the floor when a voice behind her said almost apologetically: ‘I must take the blame for that, but the front door was open and although I rang the bell the music—er—drowned it, I fancy.’

She had whirled round and trodden in the egg as she did so. She said:

‘Damn!’ and then: ‘Good morning, Doctor van Amstel, you’re early,’ giving him the briefest of smiles.

If he was put out by his cool reception he allowed nothing of it to show but said mildly: ‘Yes, I’m sorry for that, too, but Laurens was so anxious that I should be on time.’ His unhurried gaze took in the apron she had tied untidily round her slim waist and moved on to take in the singing kettle and the bacon sizzling in the pan. ‘I’ll come back in half an hour, shall I?’ He gave her a lazy grin and sauntered towards the door just as Mrs Potts trotted in. Showing no surprise at the sight of a very large strange man in her kitchen, she said briskly: ‘Good morning. You’ll be the cousin, I’m sure. How very early you must have got up this morning, you poor boy. You’ll have breakfast with us, of course, it’ll be ready in a minute.’

Serena dished up bacon and put another few slices in. She felt all at once exasperated; she had been rude and inhospitable and the poor man had presumably had no breakfast; after all, he was driving her back. She said contritely: ‘I’m so sorry—I was surprised—I think I must have lost my wits. This is Doctor Gijs van Amstel, Mother—my mother, Doctor, and this is my father,’ she added as her parent joined them. She left them to talk while she got on with the toast, peeping once or twice at the doctor. He dwarfed her father both in height and breadth, his massive head with its pale hair towering over them all. He appeared to be getting on very well with her mother and father and something about his manner made her wonder if her first impression of him had been wrong—perhaps he wasn’t a junior partner at all. Her arched brows drew together in a frown as she pondered this; there was so much she didn’t know about Laurens and this man standing beside her.

They left directly after breakfast, with the entire family waving goodbye from the door and an odd housewife or so from the nearby cottages waving too for good measure. The car bumped a little going up the lane and the doctor said easily: ‘Sorry about the car—I really must do something about it.’ He slowed a little as they turned into the wider road. ‘But I must get Laurens settled first. His car’s a write-off, I’m afraid.’

‘Was it his fault?’

He didn’t look at her. ‘Yes, but I believe his solicitor may be able to prove mitigating circumstances.’ Something in his voice caused Serena to keep silent, but when he went on: ‘Laurens has already ordered a new car,’ she exclaimed: ‘Another E-type Jag?’

‘Yes—a car with great pulling power, I have discovered—especially where girls are concerned.’

Serena’s lovely face was washed with a rich pink. ‘What an offensive remark!’ she uttered in an arctic voice. ‘Just because you’ve got an old Mini…’ she stopped, aware that she was being even more offensive.

‘With no pulling power at all?’ he was laughing at her. ‘Too true, Miss Potts,’ and then to surprise her, ‘I wonder why you dislike me?’

‘Disl…’ Serena, not usually flustered, was. ‘I don’t—that is, I don’t know you—how could I possibly… I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘No? Have you read Samuel Butler?’

‘No—not to remember. A poet, wasn’t he—seventeenth century. Why?’

“‘Quoth Hudibras, I smell a rat; Ralpho, thou dost prevaricate.’”

The pink, which had subsided nicely, returned. ‘I’m not prevaricating—well, perhaps, a little.’

‘That’s better. I always feel that one can’t be friends with anyone until one has achieved honesty.’

She asked, bewildered: ‘Are we to be friends?’

‘We’re bound to see quite a lot of each other, are we not? I think we might make the effort—I’m quite harmless, you know.’

She wondered if he was; his manner was casual and he talked with an air of not minding very much about anything—on the other hand, he read an early English poet well enough to quote him. She inquired: ‘Where did you learn to speak such good English?’

They were going slowly through Dorchester, caught up in the early morning traffic. He shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know—school, and visits here, and university.’

‘A Dutch university?’

‘Yes.’ And that was all he said, much to her annoyance; for all his casual air he was hardly forthcoming. Never one to give up, she tried again. ‘Do you know this part of England well?’

‘Moderately well. I came here when I was a boy.’ His lips twitched with amusement, he added: ‘Visiting, you know.’

She didn’t know, which was so annoying, but she gave up after that and sat in silence while he urged the little car along the road to Puddletown and beyond to Wimborne. They were approaching that small town when he observed; ‘You’re very quiet.’

There were a number of tart replies she would have liked to make to that, but instead she said meekly: ‘I thought perhaps you liked to drive without talking—some people do.’

‘My dear good girl, did I give you that impression? You must forgive me—let us by all means talk.’ Which he proceeded to do, very entertainingly, as he sent the Mini belting along towards the Winchester bypass. Going through Farnham he said: ‘I haven’t stopped for coffee—I thought that a little nearer London would serve our purpose better. You’re on duty at one o’clock, I gather.’

She admitted that she was. ‘It was kind of you to come,’ she began. ‘It’s taken up a great deal of your day.’

‘Well, I can’t think of a better way of spending it,’ he replied pleasantly. ‘I don’t much care for London—a day or so is all right, but it’s hardly my cup of tea.’

‘Oh? What’s your cup of tea, Doctor?’

‘A small town, I suppose, where I know everyone and everyone knows me, a good day’s work and a shelf full of good books and German to keep me company.’

She was aware of an odd sensation which she didn’t stop to pursue. ‘Your wife?’

His bellow of laughter rocked the car. ‘My dog—a dachshund and a bossy little beast. He goes everywhere with me.’

‘He must miss you.’

‘Yes, but Jaap and his wife, who live with me, take good care of him.’

She tried to envisage his home. Did he live in digs? It sounded like it, but surely he had a surgery—or did he share Laurens’s? She longed to ask but decided against it. Instead she started to talk about the hospital, a topic which seemed safe ground and devoid of conversational pitfalls.

It was almost midday when he turned off the A30 and took the road to Hampton where he pulled up outside the Greyhound. ‘Ten minutes?’ he suggested. ‘Just time for something quick—it will have to be sandwiches, I’m afraid, too bad we couldn’t have made it lunch.’

Serena murmured a polite nothing because her mind was so full of seeing Laurens again that even ten minutes’ stop was irksome. She drank the coffee he ordered and nibbled at a selection of sandwiches with concealed impatience.

She had exactly fifteen minutes to change when they reached Queen’s. She thanked her companion hurriedly, said that she supposed that she would see him again, and fled to the Nurses’ Home, to emerge ten minutes later as neat as a new pin and not a hair out of place. She was, in fact, one minute early on duty—and a good thing too, she decided as she made her way through the trolleys, ambulance men, nurses and patients and fetched up by Betsy, who said at once: ‘Oh, good! Thank heaven you’re here. I’m fed up, I can tell you—not a moment’s peace the whole morning. There’s a cardiac arrest in the first cubicle, an overdose in the second and an old lady who slipped on a banana skin—she’s got an impacted fracture of neck of femur—oh, and there’s an RTA on the way in—two so far, both conscious and a third I don’t even know about yet.’

‘Charming,’ declared Serena, ‘and I suppose no one’s been to dinner.’

‘Oh, yes, they have—Harris. Yes, I knew you’d be pleased, ducky, but take heart, you’ve got your two part-timers coming on in half an hour. Harris can’t do much harm in that time.’

‘You must be joking, Betsy. Thanks for holding the fort, anyway. See you later.’ Serena was taking off her cuffs and rolling up her sleeves ready for work. She cast her eyes upwards, adding: ‘If I survive.’

She paused at about four o’clock when the immediate emergencies had been dealt with and the part-time staff nurses, back from their tea, took over. In the office she accepted the tea Agnes had made for her and started to sort out the papers on her desk. It was amazing that so much could accumulate in two days. She was half way through a long-winded direction as to the disposal of plastic syringes and their needles when the telephone rang. It was Joan, wanting to know impatiently why she hadn’t been up to see Laurens.

‘You must be out of your tiny mind,’ said Serena crossly. ‘I haven’t sat down since I got back until this very minute and if I get up there this evening, it’ll be a miracle.’

She slammed down the receiver, feeling mean, and knowing that her ill-humour was partly because she hadn’t been able to get up to Surgical, and saw no chance of doing so until she went off duty that evening. She would apologize to Joan when she saw her. She poured herself another cup of tea and went back to the disposable plastic syringes.

It was gone half past nine when Serena at last went off duty. The night staff nurse and her companion, a male nurse, because sometimes things got a bit rough at night, had come on punctually, but there had been clearing up to do and Serena had elected to send the day duty nurses off and stay to clear up the mess herself. She had missed supper and she thought longingly of a large pot of tea and a piled-high plate of toast as she wended her way through the hospital towards Surgical. One of the Night Sisters was already there because it had been theatre day and there were several post-op. cases needing a watchful eye. She said ‘Hullo,’ to Serena when she saw her and added: ‘He’s still awake, do go in.’

Serena, tapping on the door of number twenty-one, wondered if the whole hospital knew about her friendship with the Dutch doctor and dismissed the idea with a shrug. He was in bed, although he told her immediately in something like triumph that he was to have a walking iron fixed the following morning and that his concussion had cleared completely. ‘Come here, my little gipsy,’ he cajoled her. ‘I’ve been so bored all day, I thought you were never coming.’

‘I told Joan…’ she began.

‘Yes, I know—surely you could have left one of your nurses in charge for just a moment or two? I was furious with Gijs getting back so late—if he’d moved a bit you would have had time to come and see me before you went on duty.’

‘He did move,’ said Serena soothingly. ‘I’ve never seen anyone get so much out of a middle-aged Mini in all my life. He was very kind, too…’

‘Oh, Gijs is always kind.’ Laurens sounded a little sulky and she gave him a startled look which made him change the sulkiness for a smile of great charm. ‘Sorry I’m so foul-tempered—it’s a bit dull, you know. Come a little nearer, I shan’t bite.’

She went and stood close to the bed and he reached up and pulled her down and kissed her swiftly. ‘There,’ he said with satisfaction, ‘now everything’s fine—no, don’t go away.’

She smiled a little shyly and left her hand in his, studying his good looks—he really was remarkably handsome. It was strange that all unbidden, the face of his cousin should float before her eyes—he was handsome too, but with a difference which she didn’t bother to discover just then, although it reminded her to ask: ‘Your cousin—I hope he wasn’t too tired?’

‘Gijs? Tired? Lord no, he’s never tired. He went back to Holland this evening.’

Serena felt a faint prick of disappointment; she hadn’t thanked him properly and now she might never have the opportunity. She said so worriedly and Laurens laughed. ‘Don’t give it a thought, he wouldn’t expect it. And now let’s stop talking about Gijs and talk about us.’

‘Us?’

He nodded. ‘I’ll be fit to get around in a couple of days—I shan’t be able to drive or dance, but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t have dinner together, is there, Serena? When are you free in the evening?’

She told him and he went on. ‘Good—I should get away from here by Thursday or Friday. We’ll dine and make plans.’

Serena, conscious that her conversation, such as it was, had become repetitive, asked ‘Plans?’

‘Of course, my beauty—there’s our glorious future to discuss.’

Serena forced herself to remain calm. All the same, he was going a bit fast for her; perhaps she should change the conversation. She asked sedately: ‘When will you go back to Holland?’ wisely not commenting upon the future.

He smiled a little as though he knew what she was thinking. ‘We’ll talk about that later. Quite soon, I expect—my mother is worrying about me. She’s a splendid worrier, though Gijs will be home by the morning and can soothe her down—he’s good at that. If ever you want a good cry, Serena, try his shoulder. He’s splendid in the part—doesn’t seem to mind a girl crying, though I can’t say the same for myself. I’ve not much patience for women who burst into tears for no good reason.’

He grinned at her and she smiled back, thinking how absurd it was for anyone to want to cry about anything at all. ‘I’m going,’ she said softly. ‘Night Sister will hate me if I stay a moment longer.’ She withdrew her hand.

‘Come tomorrow,’ he urged her as she reached the door. She turned to look at him and even at that distance, in the light of the bedside lamp, she could see how blue his eyes were. ‘Of course.’

On the way over to the home she found herself wondering what colour Gijs’s eyes were. It was ridiculous, but she didn’t know; blue too, she supposed, and now she came to think about it, he had a habit of drooping the lids which was probably why she didn’t know. In any case, it was quite unimportant.

Laurens went on Thursday, but not before he had arranged to see Serena on Friday evening. ‘I’ll be at the Stafford, in St James’ Place,’ he had told her. ‘I’ll send a taxi for you—seven o’clock, if that’s OK.’

She had agreed, enchanted that she was to see him again so soon. She had visited him every day and they had laughed a lot together, and he had been gay and charming and had made no secret of the fact that he was more than a little in love with her, and even though she still felt a little uncertain as to his true feelings she had allowed herself to dwell on a future which excited her.

For once, and to her great relief, she was off duty punctually so that she had time to bath and dress with care in a dress the colour of corn. It was very plain and she covered it with a matching wool coat; the only ornament she wore was an old-fashioned keeper ring her father had given her on her twenty-first birthday which had belonged to her great-grandmother.

The hotel was small as London hotels went, but entering its foyer, she suspected that it catered for people who enjoyed the comforts of life and were prepared to pay for them. She hadn’t thought much about Laurens’s state as regards money. He had an E-type Jaguar, certainly, but a great many young men had those, affording them at the expense of something else, but it seemed that he could afford his Jag and a good life too. She inquired for him with pleasant composure and was relieved of her coat and ushered into the hotel lounge. He was waiting for her, looking very correct in his black tie, although she found his shirt over-fussy. Even as she smiled in greeting her eyes swept down to his leg and he laughed. ‘Serena, forget your wretched plasters for an hour or two—it’s quite safe inside my trouser. I got one of the fellows to cut the seam and pin it together again.’

She laughed then. ‘How frightfully wasteful! Are you all right here—comfortable?’

A silly remark, she chided herself, but she hadn’t been able to think of anything else to say in her delight at seeing him.

‘Very comfortable,’ he told her, ‘and now you’re here, perfectly all right.’ He smiled at her. ‘Will a Dubonnet suit you, or would you rather have a gin and lime?’

‘Dubonnet, thank you. When are you going home?’

‘On Saturday—Gijs will come over for me. I’ll be back in a few weeks, though, to collect the new car.’ His hand covered hers briefly where it lay on the table. ‘Serena, will you come over to Holland—oh, not now—in a few weeks. I want you to meet my mother.’

She blinked her long lashes, her eyes enormous with surprise. ‘But why—I haven’t any holiday due.’

‘Who spoke of holidays? You can resign or whatever it is you do, can’t you?’

‘But I shall want to go back…’

‘Now that’s something we’re going to talk about.’ He smiled as he spoke and her own mouth curved in response.

She ate her dinner in a happy daze, saying very little, not quite sure that it was really all happening, until he asked suddenly: ‘Why do you wear that ring? It’s a cheap thing. I’ll give you a ring to suit your beautiful finger—diamonds, I think.’

Serena felt affronted and a little hurt, but all the same she explained without showing it that it was her great-grandmother’s and that she treasured it. ‘And I don’t like diamonds,’ she added quietly.

Her words had the effect of amusing him very much. ‘My sweet gipsy, you can’t mean that—all girls like diamonds.’

Serena took a mouthful of crême brulée and said, smiling a little, because it was impossible to be even faintly annoyed with him: ‘Well, here’s one girl who doesn’t.’

‘And that’s something else we’ll talk about later,’ he said lightly. ‘When are you free tomorrow?’

She told him happily. ‘And Saturday?’ She told him that too. ‘I’m on at ten for the rest of the day.’

‘Good lord, why?’

She explained about weekends and was gratifyingly flattered when he observed: ‘Just my luck—if it had been last weekend, we could have spent it together.’

‘Not very well,’ Serena, being a parson’s daughter, saw no hidden meanings in this remark, ‘for you can’t drive and I haven’t got a car, you know, and the train journey would have tired you out.’

She spoke happily because it had made everything seem more real because he had taken it for granted that he would have spent the weekend at her home. She certainly didn’t notice the hastily suppressed astonishment in his voice when he answered her.

They talked about other things then, and it was only when she was wishing him goodbye, with the promise to lunch with him on the next day, that he said:

‘You’re quite a girl, Serena—full of surprises, too.’ He kissed her lightly on the cheek and added: ‘Tomorrow.’

She went to bed in a haze of dreams, all of them with happy endings, and none of them, she realized when she woke in the morning, capable of standing up to a searching scrutiny. She decided rebelliously that she wasn’t going to be searching anyway. She dressed with care in the white jacket and skirt and decided against a hat.

They had almost finished their early lunch when Laurens said: ‘I shan’t see you tomorrow then, my sweet. I shall miss you—will you miss me?’

Serena had never been encouraged to be anything but honest. ‘Yes, of course,’ she answered readily ‘very much. But you’re coming back—you said…’

He laughed a little. ‘Oh, yes, I’m coming back, and next time when I go you’re coming with me, remember?’

‘Well, yes,’ she stammered a little, ‘but I wasn’t sure if you meant it.’

He put his head on one side. ‘Then you must be sure. I shall ring you up when I get back, then you will give in your notice to your so good Matron and pack your bags and come to my home and learn something of Holland.’

‘Oh,’ said Serena, her heart was pattering along at a great rate, ‘are you—that is, is this…’

‘It seems so. How else am I to get you, my beautiful gipsy?’

They said goodbye soon after that and when he kissed her she returned his kiss with a happy warmth even though she couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing him for several weeks.

It was fortunate that when she got on duty there was a dearth of patients; it hadn’t been so quiet for weeks. Serena sat in her office, making out the off duty and requisition forms and holiday lists and all the while her head spun with a delightful dreamlike speed, littered with a host of ideas, all of which she was far too excited to go into. It was like dipping into a box of unexpected treasure, and some of her happiness showed on her face so that her friends, noticing it, exchanged meaningful glances amongst themselves.

She had thought that she wouldn’t sleep that night, but she did, and dreamlessly too, and she was glad to have had a good night’s rest when she went on duty in the morning, for the Accident Room was going at full pressure. About half past eleven there was a lull, however, so she went along to her office and drank her coffee and thought about Laurens; she had forgotten to ask him at what time he was going; perhaps he was already on his way… The wistful thought was interrupted by one of the nurses with the news that there was a flasher coming in.

Only one ambulance man came in, carrying a very small bundle in a blanket. As soon as he saw her he said, ‘Glad you’re on, Sister. I got a battered baby here. Proper knocked about, she is…’

Serena forget all about Laurens then. She whisked into the nearest cubicle, saying: ‘Here, Jones, any idea what happened?’ She was already unwrapping the blanket from the small stiff form and winced when she saw the little bruised body. Without pausing in her task she said: ‘Nurse, telephone Mr Travers, please—he’s on duty, isn’t he? Ask him to come at once—tell him it’s a battered baby.’

She had her scissors out now and was cutting the odds and ends of grubby clothing from the baby’s body. ‘Well, Jones?’

‘Neighbours,’ he began. ‘They heard a bit of a bust-up like, and went to fetch the police—the coppers took the baby’s dad off with them, the mum too. There’ll be a copper round to inquire. Hit her with a belt, they said.’

‘With a buckle on the end of it, Jones. The brute—I’d like to get my hands on him!’ Which, considering she was five foot three and small with it, was an absurd thing to say, although the ambulance man knew what she meant.

‘Me, too,’ he said soberly. ‘Shall I give the particulars to nurse, Sister?’

‘Yes, please.’ She was sponging, with infinite care, the abrasions and cuts, hoping she would be able to complete the cleaning process before the baby became conscious again.

Bill was beside her and as she wiped the last of the superficial dirt away, bent over the baby. ‘Alive, anyway,’ he observed, and spoke to someone behind her—someone she hadn’t known was there and who came round to the other side of the examination table as Bill spoke. Doctor Gijs van Amstel. ‘You don’t mind, Serena,’ Bill was intent on the baby, ‘if Doctor van Amstel has a look? He’s by way of being an authority on this sort of thing and he happened to be here…’

Serena nodded, staring at the calm face of the man opposite her, and then went a bright pink because if he was here, surely Laurens would be with him. She dismissed the idea at once because it was hardly the time to let her thoughts stray. She watched the large, quiet man bend over the baby in his turn. His hands were very gentle despite their size, and although there was no expression on his face she knew that he was angry. He said nothing at all until he had finished his examination. Then: ‘I find the same as you Bill—concussion, suspected ruptured spleen—you felt that? and I wonder what fractures we shall see…this arm, I fancy, and these fourth and fifth ribs, there could possibly be a greenstick fracture of this left leg—you agree?’

Bill Travers nodded and Serena found herself admiring the Dutchman for fielding the diagnosis back to the younger, less experienced man. She gave Bill the X-ray form she had ready and then sent a nurse speeding ahead with it, and when she prepared to take the baby she found that both men were with her. The Dutchman seemed to know the radiologist too—the three men crowded into the dark room to study the still wet films and when they came out it was the radiologist who spoke. ‘A couple of greenstick fractures of the left humerus, a hairline fracture of the left femur, and a crack in the temporal bone—and of course the spleen. Quite shocking…have the police got the man who did it?’

‘Yes,’ said Serena savagely, ‘they have, and I hope they put him in prison for life.’ She signed to the nurse who had come with her and they wheeled the trolley back to the Accident Room and presently the men joined her.

‘I’ve telephoned the boss,’ Bill told her—the boss was Mr Sedgley, tall and thin and stooping and wonderful with children. ‘She’s to go straight to theatre. OK, Serena?’

She was drawing a loose gown over the puny frame. She nodded and arranged a small blanket over the gown, then wrote out the baby’s identity on the plastic bracelet she slipped on its wrist. Which done, she sent for the porters and leaving the nurse in charge, went with the baby straight to theatre.

When she got back Bill was still there, so was Doctor van Amstel. There was a policeman with them too and Serena lifted her eyebrows at one of the student nurses, who disappeared, to appear with commendable speed carrying a tray of tea. ‘You too, Sister?’ she whispered. But Serena shook her head; she couldn’t drink tea until she had got the taste of the battered baby out of her mouth. She left the nurses to do the clearing up and went back to her office; the case would have to be entered in the day book and she still had the list of surgical requirements to tackle. She was half way through this when there was a tap on the door and Doctor van Amstel came in. He wasted no time. ‘You must be wondering why I am here and if Laurens is with me. I called to settle some bills and so forth and convey his thanks—he didn’t feel like coming himself. And I want to thank you for taking such good care of him and for cheering him up while he was here. He hates inaction, you know.’

She sat at her desk, looking at him and wishing he would go away. The baby had upset her—she was used to horrible and unpleasant sights, but this one had been so pointless and so cruel, and now on top of that this man had to come—why couldn’t it have been Laurens?

She said woodenly: ‘That’s quite all right. It must have been very dull for him, but he’ll soon be fit again, won’t he?’

He nodded. ‘A pity,’ he observed slowly, ‘that we shan’t meet again.’ His voice was casual, but his eyes, under their drooping lids, were not.

‘Oh, but I daresay we shall,’ Serena declared. ‘Laurens has asked me over to stay with his mother—I expect we shall see each other then.’ She glanced up at him as she spoke and was surprised to see, for a brief moment, fierce anger in his face; it had gone again so quickly that afterwards she decided that she had imagined it.

‘Indeed?’ his voice was placid. ‘That will be pleasant—when do you plan to come?’

‘I—don’t know. Laurens is going to telephone or write.’

‘Ah, yes, of course.’ He held out a hand. ‘I shall look forward to seeing you again, Miss Potts—or perhaps, since you are to—er—continue your friendship with Laurens, I may call you Serena, and you must learn to call me Gijs.’

He smiled and went to the door and then came back again to say in quite a different voice: ‘I’m sorry about the baby. I’m angry too.’

She nodded wordlessly, knowing that he meant what he said. He closed the door very quietly behind him and she listened to his unhurried footsteps retreating across the vast expanse of the Accident Room and wondered why she felt so lonely.