Читать книгу Fate Takes A Hand - Betty Neels, Бетти Нилс - Страница 8

MR VAN LINSSEN had expressed no surprise, only grunted, nodded and driven away, leaving her wondering why on earth she had told him. Luckily she wouldn’t have to see him again; she would feel such a fool…

She went indoors and was relieved to see that Trottie wasn’t back yet. It would give her time to change her torn dress and tidy herself up and compose herself before telling her old friend what had happened. She made a pot of tea and sat down to drink it, reflecting what a good thing it was that she didn’t go to work on Mondays; Mrs Pearce was a kind employer but she expected value for her money. She wasn’t over-generous with her wages but she was fair. She was also a businesswoman who would have no compunction in giving Eulalia the sack if business fell off, and if Eulalia were to take too many days off she might look around for someone else. Once Peter was home Trottie would look after him, she thought worriedly. Dear Trottie, always willing and goodtempered, and hating the flat as much as she did.

She got up and began to get tea. The sandwiches were still in her bag—they had better have those…

Trottie came in presently, took one look at Eulalia’s face and asked, ‘What’s happened? Where’s Peter? You look like a ghost.’

When she had been told she said, ‘Poor little fellow. But don’t you worry, Miss Lally, he’ll be as right as rain in no time. What luck that you’re at home tomorrow, and he’ll be no trouble—remember how good he was when he had the measles?’ She gave Eulalia a sharp glance. ‘Did you have any lunch?’ She shook her head. ‘I thought not. We’ll have a nice tea and you can tell me about that doctor. Fancy meeting him like that, and him a medical man. Like it was meant…’

Before she went to bed that night Eulalia phoned the hospital to be told that Peter was asleep after eating a light supper with gusto. Everything was fine, and would she ring after tomorrow’s round at noon? He would have been seen by then and an X-ray taken to make sure that the bones were in the right position.

She couldn’t imagine Mr van Linssen making any mistakes about bones—after all, it was his work. A tiresome man, not worth sparing a thought for. All the same, it was difficult not to think about him, since he was all part and parcel of their disastrous day.

She fetched Peter home the next afternoon, and since he was to go straight to bed for another two days she took him in a taxi, a rare treat which delighted him. He was full of his stay in hospital; he had enjoyed it, he told her, the nurses had been fun, and the doctor who had seen him in Casualty had come to see him before he went to sleep, and in the morning the big man who had told him that he was brave had come to see him too. ‘He wasn’t alone,’ explained Peter. ‘There was Sister with him and two nurses and another doctor and someone who wrote in a book when he said something. I liked him, Aunt Lally, he’s not a bit cross really. He carried a silly little girl all round the ward with him because she was crying.’

‘I’m very grateful to him, Peter, and so thankful that you weren’t really badly hurt. Did he explain that you have to stay quietly in bed for a few days? Dr Burns will come and see you then, and tell us when you can go back to school.’ She put an arm round his small shoulders. ‘Here we are, home again, and there’s Trottie waiting for us.’

He didn’t complain at going to bed but sat up happily enough with a jigsaw puzzle. He hadn’t a headache but, all the same, Eulalia wouldn’t let him read but read to him instead, and presently he settled down and slept, leaving her free to catch up on the household chores.

She began on a pile of ironing while Trottie rested her elderly feet. ‘It’s no good,’ said Eulalia, ‘you’ll have to have a holiday. Somewhere that will suit you both. The seaside would be nice, or somewhere in the country—a farm, perhaps…’

‘Give over, Miss Lally, where’s the money to come from?’ said Trottie.

‘I’ll go to the bank and get an overdraft…’

‘And what about you?’

‘Me? Oh, I’m fine, Trottie, and anyway, I can never have a holiday at this time of year. We’re too busy in the shop. I’ll wait until the tourist season is over.’

‘You said that last year and you didn’t go anywhere.’

‘Well, things cropped up, didn’t they?’

‘You mean gas bills and new trousers for Peter and me having to have new spectacles.’

‘Yes, well, we’ll see. Now, what shall we eat tomorrow? I’ll nip out and shop, if you like. Mrs Pearce won’t mind if it’s only for ten minutes.’

‘How about a nice macaroni cheese? That’s light enough for Peter—fish would be the thing, but I don’t trust fish on Mondays. Mashed swede with a bit of butter, and I’ll cream the potatoes. A little egg custard for afters.’

It was a good thing, reflected Eulalia later that evening, that Peter seemed to be quite well again. She had phoned the doctor and he had promised to look in some time tomorrow.

She went back to work in the morning, leaving Trottie to ask questions of their doctor when he came and get his advice. ‘I know it’s nothing much,’ she said, ‘but he had an awful bang on his head.’

Mrs Pearce was sympathetic but she didn’t offer to let Eulalia go home early. She said with casual kindness, ‘Boys will be boys, won’t they?’ Just as though it had been Peter’s fault, and added, ‘Luckily you have Miss Trott to look after him. I’ll want you to stay a bit later today—Lady Bearsted is sending her secretary for the flowers for her dinner party some time after six o’clock.’

Because she was worried about Peter the day went slowly. Mrs Pearce went home at five o’clock, leaving Eulalia to lock up once the flowers had been fetched. Six o’clock took twice as long as usual to come, and even then there was no sign of the secretary. She came finally, half an hour later, apologetic and harassed. ‘These dinner parties,’ she confided to Eulalia, ‘they’re ghastly. I’m supposed to get these flowers back and arranged on the table and round the rooms before everyone arrives about eight o’clock…’

Eulalia took the flowers out to the waiting taxi, watched it drive away and tore back to get her jacket and lock up. At least the rush hour was almost over and it wouldn’t take too long to get home.

All the same, it was well after seven o’clock when she reached the flat, to stop short on the pavement. Drawn up to the kerb was a dark grey Bentley.

A jumble of thoughts chased themselves round her head. Peter had been taken ill and their doctor had rung the hospital and Mr van Linssen had come to examine Peter. One heard of delayed collapse after concussion-Peter might be desperately ill. She flung open the door, almost tumbling down the steps in her hurry.

Trottie was standing at the table, a teapot in her hand. She looked up as Eulalia came in. ‘You are late, love; you must be tired, and famished into the bargain.’

‘Where’s Peter? What’s that man’s car doing outside? Why is he here?’

She had spoken a good deal louder than usual and Peter called from his room.

‘Aunt Lally—Mr van Linssen’s here—we’re playing draughts…’

Eulalia was feeling as anyone would who had believed the worst had happened and found that there was nothing to worry about. She had a wish to burst into tears but she swallowed them and went to Peter’s little room. Most of it seemed to be taken up by Mr van Linssen’s bulk. ‘Why are you here?’ she wanted to know, and then at Peter’s puzzled look she bent to kiss him and smile.

Mr van Linssen stood up, bending his head to avoid cracking it on the ceiling. ‘I happen to know your doctor,’ he told her smoothly. ‘We decided that it would save time if I were to come and check on Peter’s progress, since if he were to come he would still need to inform me of his findings.’

‘Peter’s all right?’

‘My dear Miss Warburton, if he were not, would we be playing draughts?’

She glared at him. What a nasty way he had of making her feel a fool. She was wondering if he would go now that she was home, and hoped that he would, but Trottie’s voice from the living-room begged them to come and have a nice cup of tea. ‘And I’ll give Peter his supper,’ she finished, and appeared a moment later with the tray. ‘Go and pour the tea, Miss Lally, I’m sure you could both do with a cup, and the doctor can tell you about Peter, for I can see you’re all of a fret.’

Eulalia, aware that Mr van Linssen was looking at her with an air of amusement, frowned and led the way, since there was nothing else she could do. Show him the door, of course, but that would be unthinkable. She should be grateful…

There was one of Trottie’s Madeira cakes on the table beside the teapot. She poured the tea, offered the cake and passed him the sugar-bowl.

‘You work long hours,’ he observed, and bit into the cake.

‘I had to wait to deliver some flowers. How is Peter, Mr van Linssen?’

‘He is perfectly fit, but before he returns to school I want him to be X-rayed again…’ At her look of fright he added, ‘No, no, don’t panic. I merely want to satisfy myself that the bones are correctly aligned and that there is no misplacement. Let me see—it is Tuesday today. Let him stay at home for the rest of this week. Bring him to the hospital tomorrow at ten o’clock.’

He saw the look on her face. ‘No—stupid of me, you would be at your shop. I’ll arrange for him to be fetched and brought back here. Trottie could accompany him, perhaps?’

‘You’re very kind.’ She was always telling him that, she thought. ‘I’m glad he’s quite well. He’s such a dear little boy.’

‘Yes.’

He passed his cup and she refilled it and passed him the cake. ‘Are you having a day off?’ she asked politely.

‘Er—no.’ He thought back over his busy day, which had begun with an emergency operation at four o’clock in the morning and was by no means at an end. ‘This is a delicious cake.’

She offered him more. It would spoil his supper or dinner, or whatever he had in the evenings, but he was a large man. He might have missed his tea.

He had missed his lunch too, but he didn’t tell her that.

He went presently to say goodbye to Peter and to tell him that he would be going to the hospital in the morning for an X-ray. ‘And you can go back to school on Monday.’

‘Oh, good. Will you come and see me again?’

‘Ah, yes, we still have to finish our game of draughts— I’ll see if I can find the time.’

Peter was reluctant to let him go. ‘Are you very busy every day?’

‘Yes, old chap, but now and again I have a day off.’

‘I think perhaps I’ll be a surgeon when I grow up.’

‘A splendid idea!’ They shook hands, and Mr van Linssen shook hands with Trottie too, but when Eulalia took him to the door he bent and kissed her, opened the door and went up the stone steps two at a time without a backward glance.

She banged the door shut. ‘He’s outrageous,’ she said furiously.

‘You’re a pretty girl, Miss Lally. Men like pretty girls.’

Eulalia ground her splendid teeth.

Mr van Linssen drove himself home. He had enjoyed kissing Eulalia but he wasn’t sure why he had done so. She was very pretty—indeed, beautiful when she wasn’t looking cross—but he had known and still did know other pretty women and felt no urge to kiss any of them. True, he kissed Ursula from time to time, but always circumspectly, as she was fussy about her make-up being spoiled. Their engagement was a well-conducted affair, with no display of emotion.

He had decided to marry her because she was so suitable to be his wife, and since he was no longer a young man and had decided that there was no ideal woman in the world for him. He had known from the first that Ursula didn’t love him; she liked him, was fond of him, and very content to marry him, for he had wealth and position and a certain amount of fame in his profession. They would get on well enough together, although she had revealed a pettishness and desire to have her own way which she had been careful not to let him see before they had become engaged. She had lost her temper once or twice and then apologised very prettily, but they had come near to quarrelling when he had told her that for part of the year they would live in Holland. ‘My home is there,’ he had pointed out reasonably. ‘I have beds in several hospitals. My home is in the country and I think that you would like it.’

She had screamed at him—at the idea of burying herself alive in some miserable little village with no shops and none of her friends. She would go mad. Of course, she would go there with him just to visit, but certainly not for more than a week or so. Perhaps they could take some of her friends with them…

He had given her a long, thoughtful look and had walked out of her mother’s house, so angry that he couldn’t trust himself to speak, and then later he had sent her the roses…

He left the main road presently and turned into an elegant little street off Cavendish Square. His house was at the end of a short terrace of Regency houses and was a good deal smaller than the others, with only two storeys, but it had the advantages of easy access to the mews behind and a minute garden at the back. He got out of his car, got his bag from the back seat and trod the three steps to his front door.

A thin middle-aged man opened it. He had a long face with an expression of resigned disapproval upon it, and his staid, ‘Good evening, sir,’ held reproach.

Mr van Linssen clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good evening, Dodge. I’m late—I got delayed.’ He started down the elegant little hall towards his study.

‘Nothing serious, I hope, sir.’

‘I got carried away playing a game of draughts and quite forgot the time.’

Dodge looked astonished. ‘Draughts, sir? Would you like dinner served very shortly?’

Mr van Linssen, his hand on the study door, nodded. ‘Please.’

Dodge coughed. ‘Miss Kendall telephoned shortly after seven o’clock, sir. She asked if you were home. She seemed somewhat agitated, so I took it upon myself to say that you had been detained at the hospital over an urgent case. I was to tell you that she intended to go to the theatre with her friends as arranged.’

‘Oh, lord, I forgot.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Well, it’s too late to do anything about it now. I’ll have dinner and phone later this evening.’

Dodge’s face didn’t alter, his, ‘Very good, sir,’ was uttered in his usual rather mournful tones, but once in the kitchen he informed Mabel, his cat, that it served that Miss Kendall right, always expecting the master to frivol away his precious free time at the theatre and suchlike, when all he wanted to do was to have a quiet evening with a book or in the company of his own friends.

Dodge shook his head sadly and began to dish up. He was a splendid cook, and with the aid of a daily cleaner ran the little house to perfection. He disliked Mr van Linssen’s choice of a bride. He considered her rude and arrogant and spoilt; moreover, despite his mournful manner, he was romantic at heart, and wished for nothing better than a love-match for his master.

Mr van Linssen enjoyed his dinner, finished an article he had been writing for The Lancet, made several phone calls to the hospital and then sat back idly in his chair. There was plenty of work for him to get on with on his desk, but he ignored it. He was mulling over his visit to Peter. A nice child, unspoilt too, and happy despite his orphaned state and lack of a father or uncle. Eulalia was doing her best, he had seen that for himself, and Trottie, waxing chatty over a cup of tea, had told him a good deal. Miss Lally was an angel, she had confided, and never had any time to herself. Even on a Monday, when she was free, there was the washing and ironing and shopping.

Mr van Linssen, who had only a vague idea about the running of a household, had nodded sympathetically. ‘What she wants is a good husband,’ Trottie had said, and had poured more tea.

She was an impetuous girl, he reflected now, outspoken too—not every man would want her for a wife. She was, of course, undeniably pretty. It was a pity that they had got off on the wrong foot, and she had made it obvious that she had no liking for him, although she had thanked him for looking after Peter and meant it.

He shrugged his shoulders, a little irritated at his interest in her, and lifted the phone.

Ursula’s voice, high with bad temper, caused him to wince. ‘I have had a wretched evening,’ she told him, ‘making excuses for you, and of course we were a man short for supper afterwards. Fenno, you will have to give up your appointments at all those hospitals—there’s no need. You’ve private patients enough, and think of the private hospitals there are—you could pick and choose and enjoy a social life.’

It was an old argument which he had always brushed aside. Now he said, ‘But I don’t want to give up my appointments, either here or in Holland, Ursula, nor do I intend to.’

She did some quick thinking. ‘Oh, darling, don’t be cross. I’ve had a beastly time—the play was a bore and some fool spilt wine down my dress—it’s a ruin. I’ll have to go looking for another one, and shopping is so tiring.’

He thought of Eulalia’s tired face when she had got home that evening and fought a rising tide of impatience. ‘I’m sure you’ll find something just as pretty as the frock which is spoilt.’

‘I’ll find something you will like, darling, be sure of that. Don’t let’s quarrel about something which isn’t in the least important.’

Mr van Linssen controlled his rage with an effort. ‘I have to ring off. I’ll phone you tomorrow.’

When, hopefully, he would feel more tolerant.

He fetched Peter the next morning, much to that little boy’s delight. ‘We thought there’d be an ambulance,’ explained Trottie. ‘Shall I come with him? However will he get back?’

‘I’ll bring him back, and there’s no need for you to come, Miss Trott.’

‘There’s coffee on the stove if you could find time for a cup, sir.’

Mr van Linssen sat himself down at the kitchen table, accepted the coffee and a slice of cake and remarked carelessly, ‘You must find this very different from the Cotswolds.’

‘Indeed I do, and so does Miss Lally. Made up her mind to go back there one day she has, bless her, though how she’ll manage that, bless me if I know.’

‘Perhaps she has prospects of marrying? An old friend—an admirer?’

‘Admirers enough,’ said Trottie, ‘but that’s not her way—too proud to accept help. Besides, she’s not found the right man yet.’ She gave a sniff. ‘Besides, he’ll have to be a proper man, if you know what I mean, able to take her troubles on to his shoulders. She’s not one of these modern young women wanting to be something big in the business world, but she’s no doormat, neither—’

She broke off as Peter came into the kitchen, his small face alight with excitement. ‘Are we going in your car? Is that why you’re here?’

‘Indeed it is. Are you ready? We’d better be off or we’ll be late.’

Mr van Linssen allowed Peter to chatter away as he drove to the hospital, but presently he asked casually, ‘Do you want to go to the Cotswolds too, Peter?’

‘Yes, ‘cos Aunt Lally does. We shall go one day. She said so—she’s going to make her fortune and we’ll go to the village where she was a little girl and she’s going to open a flower shop there and we’ll have a dog and a cat and a rabbit and there will be a garden.’

‘You might have to wait a bit, old chap.’

‘That’s what Aunt Lally says too, but I don’t mind. When I’m a man I’ll be a doctor like you, and then I can give her the money.’

Mr van Linssen’s rather stern face broke into a smile. ‘And why not?’ he wanted to know.

He parked the car and led Peter to the X-ray department, and, when he had been X-rayed, handed him over to Casualty Sister, who fed him chocolate biscuits and a glass of lemonade until Mr van Linssen came back to say that everything was splendid and that he was to come back and have a fresh plaster put on his arm in three weeks’ time. ‘You’ll have to keep that one for another five or six weeks, Peter, but you can use your arm as much as you like, as long as you keep it in a sling if it feels tired.’

‘Aunt Lally will be pleased. I’ll tell her.’

‘Maybe I’ll come along some time and explain it to her. Now we must go back.’

‘Are you very busy?’ asked Peter, as they went back to the car.

‘Not this morning, but this afternoon I’m going to operate.’

‘Oh, I’d like to watch you.’

‘So you shall, when you are a medical student and I’m grey-haired and elderly.’

Peter laughed at that. ‘With a beard and floppy moustache and specs!’

‘I do wear spectacles occasionally,’ said Mr van Linssen apologetically.

He didn’t stay when they reached the flat. ‘Everything’s just as it should be, Miss Trott,’ he said. ‘I’ll let your doctor know how things are, and I’ve no doubt he will get in touch with Miss Warburton.’ He sounded all at once very like a medical man, kind in a distant manner,

but quite impersonal.

* * *

When Eulalia got home that evening she listened first of all to Peter’s excited account of his visit to the hospital, and then to Trottie. Everything was all right, it seemed, and she was grateful to Mr van Linssen for taking so much trouble. She had no reason to suppose that he would leave any message for her; all the same, she felt a vague disappointment.

The weather turned suddenly wet and chilly, which meant that on Sunday, instead of their usual trip to one or other of the parks, she and Peter took a long bus ride, sitting on’ the front seat on top, sharing a bag of buns and pointing out everything which took their attention. And on Monday Peter went back to school.

It was halfway through the week when Mr van Linssen walked into the flower shop. Eulalia was alone, for it was the lunch-hour and Mrs Pearce had gone home for a while, leaving her to eat her sandwiches and get on with making bouquets for yet another wedding. She sighed as the doorbell tinkled, hoping it was someone who knew what they wanted and wouldn’t keep her for minutes on end while they decided what to do. She put down the roses in her hands and went into the shop.

Mr van Linssen, looming over the floral displays, looked larger than ever and bad-tempered to boot.

Eulalia went delightfully pink, and to cover her sudden shyness said, ‘Good afternoon, more yellow roses?’

It annoyed her then that she felt shy; from his forbidding appearance he had no recollection of kissing her, and certainly when he spoke it was quite without warmth, ignoring her remark.

‘It is only proper that I should inform you of the result of Peter’s X-ray, Miss Warburton, and as I was passing this way it seemed as good an opportunity as any at which to do it.’

‘It’s all right? Trottie said—’

‘It is perfectly satisfactory. He must return for a new plaster in three weeks’ time and continue to wear it for a further few weeks. He must use his hand normally. Do not get it wet, of course, and if it aches at all there is no reason why he shouldn’t have a sling.’

‘Thank you for telling me. I really am most grateful.’

He nodded impatiently. ‘Do you not close the shop for your lunch-hour?’

‘Heavens, no. Lots of customers come between one and two o’clock.’

‘When do you take your lunch-hour?’

‘Well, I don’t. I mean, I have sandwiches and eat them when there’s time.’

‘The owner?’

What a lot of questions, thought Eulalia. ‘Oh, Mrs Pearce goes home. She has a husband to feed, and she has to see wholesalers and so on—it’s convenient to do that over lunch.’

His growl was so fierce that she wondered what she had said to annoy him. A quick-tempered man, no doubt. ‘You will be good enough to send some flowers to Miss Kendall. What do you suggest?’

‘Well, it depends, doesn’t it? If it’s just a loving gesture, red roses are for love, aren’t they? But if it’s by way of saying you are sorry about something, then a mixture of flowers—roses and carnations and some of those lilies there and an orchid or two…’

‘Perhaps you will make up a bouquet and have it sent round?’

‘A large bouquet? Any particular flowers?’

‘No. Make your own choice. I’ll write a card.’

She watched him scrawl on the card and put it in its envelope.

‘It’s a waste of money,’ she told him cheerfully. ‘Miss Kendall threw the yellow roses at me, you know.’

‘Indeed?’ He gave her a bland look. ‘Don’t you have a delivery boy?’

‘Good heavens, no, that would be eating the profits.’

‘You enjoy your work, Miss Warburton?’

‘I like flowers and arranging them.’

‘But you do not enjoy living in London and working in this shop?’

It wasn’t really a question, just stating a fact, and she wasn’t sure how to answer him. ‘I’m glad to have a job.’ She added with sudden asperity, ‘And I can’t think what business it is of yours.’

‘Upon reflection, nor can I. Good day to you.’

He shut the door gently behind him as he left.

‘High-handed,’ said Eulalia loudly, ‘as well as bad-tempered. If I hadn’t disliked that Miss Kendall on sight, I’d be sorry for her.’

It was almost the end of the following week when Peter rushed to meet her when she got home. ‘Aunt Lally, oh, Aunt Lally, something splendid—Mr van Linssen’s going to take me round his hospital on Sunday afternoon. He knows I’m going to be a surgeon like him and he said I deserved a treat because I’ve been a good boy. Do say I can go—he says he’ll fetch me in his car and bring me back.’

Eulalia took off her jacket and kicked her shoes from her tired feet.

‘Darling, when did he say all this?’

‘He stopped here on his way home and he said he was sorry you weren’t here but he hoped you’d let me go with him. Two o’clock,’ added Peter.

She looked down at the eager little face.’ He didn’t have many treats. His small school-friends had fathers and mothers who took them to fun-fairs and the zoo, and in the summer to the sea for a holiday, but he had never voiced a wish to do that, although she was quite sure that he longed to do the same. She might not like Mr van Linssen, but for some reason or other she trusted him. She said at once, ‘Darling, how lovely. Of course you can go, and how kind of Mr van Linssen to ask you. Did you thank him?’

‘Yes, of course I did, but I said I’d have to ask you first.’

‘Well, I think it’s a splendid idea. How are you going to let him know?’

‘He said he’d be driving past tomorrow morning and it’s Saturday so I’ll be here.’ He lifted a happy face to her. ‘Won’t it be fun?’ His face clouded. ‘Only, what will you do, Aunt Lally? Because Trottie’s going to her friend’s for dinner…’

Eulalia glanced across to the table, where Trottie was arranging knives and forks and spoons. ‘I’ve so many odd jobs to do—not housework, just nice little jobs like sewing on buttons—and I can read the Sunday papers.’

Trottie’s eyes were on her face, and for a moment it seemed as though she would speak, but she only smiled. ‘Sounds nice and peaceful to me,’ she said finally. ‘Dear knows you don’t get much time to yourself.’

‘You must remember every single thing you see,’ said Eulalia, as they sat down to their supper.

* * *

Sunday came with blue skies and bright sunshine, and the three of them went to church before Trottie went to catch her bus. ‘There’s everything ready for your dinner,’ she told them. ‘Be sure and have it early so’s not to keep Mr van Linssen waiting. I’ll be back around seven o’clock, same as usual.’

It was a nice dinner but Peter was too excited to eat much. He was ready and waiting for a long time before two o’clock. ‘Perhaps he won’t come,’ he said, for the tenth time.

‘He said two o’clock, dear, so don’t worry—there’s still ten minutes left.’

He came five minutes later and she went to open the door to him.

Her, ‘Good afternoon, Mr van Linssen,’ was coolly polite. ‘This is very kind of you.’

He stood looking at her. ‘A pleasure. It has struck me that it might be sensible if you were to come too.’ At her frown, he added, ‘There is always the small chance that I might be called away urgently and Peter cannot be left alone. Do you dislike the idea very much?’

Upon reflection, she didn’t dislike the idea at all. ‘I don’t want to spoil Peter’s afternoon.’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll leave you somewhere in safe hands.’

A remark which ruffled her feelings. She was on the point of making a suitably telling reply when Peter joined them. ‘Are we ready? What a pity you can’t come with us, Aunt Lally.’

‘She is coming,’ said Mr van Linssen, and shut the door.

‘Do go and fetch whatever you need to fetch. Peter and I will plan our route round the hospital—you can have five minutes.’

Her eyes sparkled with temper. ‘I don’t ‘ she began with dignity. She caught his eye then. It was very compelling. She mumbled, ‘All right, I won’t be long.’

Thank heaven she hadn’t changed out of the dress she had worn to church; she had intended to get into an old cotton dress and turn out a few cupboards. She brushed her hair, powdered her nose, added some more lipstick, found her bag and went back to the living-room. The pair of them were crouched over a large sheet of paper spread out on the table. A plan of the hospital, she supposed.

‘Won’t anyone mind?’ she asked, as she got into the back of the car. ‘Us walking round?’

‘Not if you are with me,’ he told her gravely.

They went to Casualty first, for once almost empty, and then to the outpatients’ hall, before taking the lift to the first floor to inspect each ward in turn, and in each one he introduced them to the ward sister. ‘Friends of mine,’ he explained, which she found rather high-handed of him. She hardly knew him, and what conversation they had engaged in had hardly been of a friendly nature.

When they reached the theatre block she was left with Theatre Sister in her office and given a cup of tea while Peter, speechless with excitement, was taken to see one of the operating theatres. They were gone a long time, and when they got back Mr van Linssen had a cup of tea too, and Peter a glass of lemonade. Somehow Eulalia hadn’t thought of the operating theatre allied to cups of tea. Sister’s office was quite cosy, too, and she was young and pretty and obviously Mr van Linssen’s slave.

She was one of the junior sisters, she had confided to Eulalia. The theatre superintendent, an awesome lady who ruled the theatres with a rod of iron, only scrubbed for major surgery and always for Mr van Linssen. ‘There are two other sisters, but we aren’t allowed to scrub for him, more’s the pity. He’s quite a dish, isn’t he? Going to get married soon—he never talks about it, though.’

They went unhurriedly back through the hospital and into Casualty once more, where Mr van Linssen explained with patience exactly what happened to a patient when he arrived, answering Peter’s endless questions with apparent tirelessness.

They got back into the car presently and he said casually, ‘I hope you will both come and have tea with me. I’m sure Peter hasn’t finished with his questions…?’

‘Tea?’ asked Peter. ‘Oh, please.’ He turned to look at Eulalia. ‘Aunt Lally, can we go?’

It was impossible to refuse without being rude and spoiling the day for Peter. ‘That would be nice,’ she said pleasantly, and caught him looking at her in his side mirror.

She had supposed that they would go to one of the cafés in any of the parks, but instead he kept to the streets, their surroundings becoming more elegant with every minute. When he stopped before his house and got out and opened her door, she got out too, and stood looking at his house.

‘You live here?’ she asked.

‘Yes. Very convenient for my work.’ He went off to help Peter out, locked the doors and ushered them across the pavement and in through the door being held open by Dodge.

‘I’ve brought some friends for tea, Dodge, if you would let us have it shortly.’

Peter held out his hand. ‘How do you do, Mr Dodge? I’m Peter.’

Dodge shook his hand carefully. ‘How do you do, Peter? I see you’ve been in the wars.’

‘Miss Warburton and her cousin Peter, Dodge.’ And Mr van Linssen smiled a little as Eulalia shook hands too.