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Dr ter Feulen was one of them, pausing to look up as he strode across the hospital courtyard to his car after the emergency operation he had just performed and which had made havoc of his evening. He was tired, and for no reason at all he remembered the neat, plain girl with the lovely eyes who had bidden him have an early night. She would be in bed long ago, he reflected; it was easy to imagine the staid well-ordered life she led. A little moonlight might do her a great deal of good. He laughed at the thought, got into the car and drove himself home.
It was towards the end of the following week that Serena, once more working late, had another visit from Dr ter Feulen. He came without warning, and she stopped typing and sat, her hands in her lap, waiting for what she felt sure was coming. The excellent Miss Payne would be returning and she would no longer be needed. She was surprised how the thought depressed her, for she hadn’t found the work easy at the hospital. Dr ter Feulen was hardly the easiest of taskmasters; in fact he was impatient, frequently ill-tempered and a perfectionist who expected everyone else to be perfect. She watched him cross the room towards her and wondered why he should be the one to tell her and not Mrs Dunn. After all, he had nothing to do with engaging the administrative staff, permanent or otherwise.
Dr ter Feulen drew up a chair and sat down opposite to her, wishing her an austere good evening as he did so.
‘Good evening, sir,’ said Serena, and added in a businesslike voice, ‘I haven’t finished your letters. Do you want me to take them anywhere for you to sign?’ She glanced at the clock and added tartly, ‘I’ll be another fifteen minutes, provided I’m not interrupted.’
‘I am interrupting you, but for a good reason, Miss Proudfoot. I have been to see Miss Payne. She has decided to retire and I have come to offer you her job.’
Serena stared at him, her eyes round with amazement. ‘Me? Do Miss Payne’s work? I couldn’t possibly! She never uttered a word, you said, and I grumble—besides, you don’t …’ She paused and went a rather pretty pink.
‘Like you?’ He studied her face, alight with surprise and near-panic, and reflected that a few similar shocks would do much to improve her looks. ‘Liking has very little to do with it. Let me tell you something, Miss Proudfoot. Miss Payne, as you so succinctly put it, never uttered a word at her awkward hours, but she wasn’t afraid of me. You aren’t afraid of me either, are you?’
She thought about it. ‘No, I don’t think I am.’
‘Good. Then that’s settled. You don’t need to see anyone about it, I’ll attend to the details. You will be better paid, of course.’ He got up from his chair. ‘Oh, and I shall be returning to Holland in two weeks’ time. I have a series of lectures to give and as I’m a consultant at several hospitals there I shall be operating for several weeks. I am also writing a book. I shall want you with me, of course.’
Serena was speechless, while a variety of feelings engulfed her. To travel; see a little of the world, even if it was only a few hundred miles across the North Sea, meet people—she would need new clothes. She said in a bemused voice, ‘Aren’t you coming back here?’
‘Of course. Most of my work is here.’
‘Surely you can’t write a book and operate and lecture, not all at once?’
‘Yes, I can, and I shall expect you to type notes, letters and whatever, answer the phone, check my appointments and type my book. Miss Payne could and did; I see no reason why you shouldn’t do it too—you’re a good deal younger, for a start.’
Serena frowned. Miss Payne was obviously nearing retirement age, so to be told that she was a good deal younger wasn’t much of a compliment. Dr ter Faulen read the frown unerringly. ‘You are twenty-five, half a lifetime younger than Muriel …’
‘Muriel? Oh, Miss Payne. Well, may I think about it? I mean, I’d have to …’ She stopped suddenly and a look of dismay on her face caused him to go back to his chair and sit down again. His ‘Well?’ was uttered with just the right amount of interest and sympathy.
‘I can’t. Truly, I can’t. You see, there’s Mother …’
‘Widowed?’ and when she nodded, ‘She is ill?’
‘No, just—well, just—delicate.’
‘Why is that? She has a heart condition? A chest condition? Diabetes? Arthritis?’ He fired the words at her and she blinked.
‘No, no, nothing like that. She suffers from nerves, she finds it difficult to do things …’
‘Housework, shopping and so forth?’
‘Yes.’
He sighed gently. Selfish widows with loving daughters were still only too common, and this small, neat girl with the beautiful eyes deserved something more in life. He said slowly, ‘In that case we might kill two birds with one stone. Miss Payne, when she accompanied me, had lodgings close to the hospital and came to work just as she did here. There is no reason why your mother should not accompany you and stay at these same lodgings. I shall be in Amsterdam for most of the time, and there is plenty to see and do there.’
‘She doesn’t understand Dutch—nor do I.’
‘My dear girl, almost everyone in Holland speaks English.’
He watched excited hope chase away the dismay. ‘Oh, do you really mean that?’
‘I always say what I mean. Go home and talk it over with your mother and let me know tomorrow morning.’
He got up for a second time and this time, with a nod and a casual goodnight, went away.
She finished her work, tidied her desk and wondered what she should do with the sheaf of letters waiting to be signed. She was hesitating whether to phone the consultants’ room when the head porter rang up. She was to leave everything with him and Dr ter Feulen would collect his letters later.
She handed in her work and hurried to catch her bus, rehearsing what she would say to her mother. Her spirits sank as she neared home—her mother would never consent to the upheaval in her well-ordered life. She let herself into her home, resigned to disappointment but all the same determined to do her best to persuade her parent that a change of scene would do her a great deal of good.
She cast off her outdoor things in the hall and went into the sitting-room.
Her mother was sitting at her writing desk, pen poised. ‘There you are, darling. What splendid news—I’ve had such a long chat on the telephone with Dr ter Feulen. He sounds a delightful man—apologised for keeping you so late and told me how much he depends upon your assistance. And this marvellous job you’re to take over, and going to Holland too! I can hardly wait. He is of the opinion that a change of scene is just what is needed for someone as delicate as I am.’
Her mother paused for breath and Serena said in a voice she strove to keep calm, ‘He rang up? So you know all about it? And you’d like to go? It won’t be too much for you, Mother?’
‘Certainly not! It will probably take a few days for me to get over the journey, but I will willingly tire myself out for you, darling. I’m making a list of the clothes I shall need … Have you had supper? I’ve been so busy … Could you get us something now? I must keep up what strength I have.’ She looked at Serena. ‘You look a bit white, dear. You need a meal too, I dare say.’
‘Mother, I haven’t said I’d take the job yet.’
Her mother gave her an outraged look. ‘Darling, why ever not? What a funny little thing you are! Why ever not?’
‘I wasn’t sure if you would like the idea.’
Her mother laughed. ‘Darling, I love the idea! Tell me, how old is this Dr ter Feulen?’
‘I don’t know—about thirty-five or -six, I should think.’
‘Married?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ A fib, and she wasn’t sure why she had said it.
‘Well, we’re bound to get to know a lot of people in Amsterdam. Pour me a glass of sherry, will you, Serena? I need the stimulant.’
There was little opportunity to think her own thoughts that evening. Mrs Proudfoot made plans, discussed clothes and speculated as to the pleasures in store.
‘Mother, it won’t be quite like a holiday,’ Serena warned carefully. ‘I shall be working very hard every day, so you’ll be on your own for a great deal of the time.’
‘I’m on my own every day now, darling, and deadly boring it is too. If only I had your health and strength.’
They got to bed at last, and Serena lay awake for a long time wondering if she had done the right thing, or rather if the right thing had been done for her, for she had had little say in the matter.
She wasn’t sure if she was pleased at the doctor’s intervention either. He had forced her hand and there was no going back now, for her mother was determined to go. All the same, when she saw him in the morning she would tell him that he had no right to interfere. On this firm resolution she at last slept.
CHAPTER TWO
SERENA was still firmly resolved to speak her mind to the doctor when she went to work in the morning. It was unfortunate that it wasn’t until the end of the day that she had the opportunity to do so.
She was on the way to the side entrance she normally used when she came face to face with him. She slid to a halt and said briskly, ‘Oh, good, I wanted to see you, Dr ter Feulen.’
He stood in front of her, blocking the way. ‘Ah, Miss Proudfoot, should I be greatly flattered at your eagerness to see me again?’ He paused and looked at her earnest, rather cross face. ‘No, that is too much to expect. I have annoyed you?’
She suspected that he was laughing at her. ‘I think it was most—most unfair of you to telephone my mother before I’d had a chance to talk to her. I haven’t said I’ll take the job, have I? So what right have you to—to—to …!’
‘Interfere?’ he suggested helpfully. ‘Meddle in your affairs? No right at all. My intentions were purely selfish. After some years of Muriel’s calm acceptance of my ill humour, impatience and bad handwriting, I have been terrified of engaging her successor. Who knows what foibles she might have? A desire to finish her work at the correct time, an inability to ignore my bad temper, a desire to answer back pertly as well as a failure to spell correctly.’ He smiled at her and she found herself smiling back. ‘You are the nearest thing to Miss Payne that I have met.’
A kind of compliment, Serena decided, and warmed just a little towards him. But only for a moment. ‘You are unobtrusive,’ he went on. ‘There is nothing about you to distract my attention from my work—’
‘Just like Miss Payne,’ said Serena through her teeth.
‘Exactly so, and I must remind you that a change of scene may be a help to your mother and aid her to overcome her ill health. She seemed delighted at the idea.’
Serena, hanging on to politeness by the skin of her teeth, agreed that that was so.
He smiled again, looking faintly smug, and she longed to refuse the job out of hand, but the thought of her mother stopped her. She said reluctantly, ‘Very well, I’ll work for you, Dr ter Feulen.’
‘Splendid.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘And since I have kept you talking I will drive you home and make the acquaintance of your mother.’
She opened her mouth to protest, and closed it again. Getting the better of him was like getting the better of a feather mattress with a solid core of steel.
Her annoyance was very slightly mitigated by the pleasure of riding in a Bentley, but not sufficient for her to do more than answer his casual talk with monosyllables. She opened her front door and said with false politeness, ‘Do come in, Dr ter Feulen,’ and flattened herself against the wall to allow his considerable bulk to get past her.
Her mother’s voice sounded thinly from the sitting-room. ‘Serena? You’re late again, darling—I hope you’ve thought of something nice for my supper, I’m far too exhausted to do anything about it. Perhaps a glass of sherry …?’
The doctor glanced at Serena’s face, which was a little pale and weary after a day’s work. He had been right in his surmise about her mother; a selfish woman, not unkind but quite uncaring of anyone but herself. He put a large hand on her shoulder and smiled a little, and she stifled an urge to fling herself on to his big chest and have a good cry.
‘Come and meet Mother,’ she invited in a small controlled voice.
The doctor had charm. He also had guile and the self-assurance to deal with difficult situations without anyone else realising the fact. Within half an hour, over a glass of sherry, he had arranged matters exactly to his liking, with Mrs Proudfoot agreeing to every word, and although he had included Serena in the conversation she was bound to admit later that she had been given no opportunity to say anything much. The whole matter had been settled by the time he took his leave.
The moment he had gone Mrs Proudfoot went back to her desk. ‘My dear,’ she exclaimed excitedly, ‘this is all so thrilling—and so little time! I shall need several more dresses. Be a darling and start the supper while I go over my list.’
Over supper Mrs Proudfoot discussed the trip. She had for the moment overlooked the fact that it was to be no social round. She was envisaging days packed with outings, theatres and little dinners. In none of these plans did Serena figure.
‘Mother,’ said Serena, matter-of-factly, ‘I don’t suppose it will be quite as exciting as you suppose. We don’t know a soul in Holland—’ she ignored her mother’s quick ‘Dr ter Feulen,’ ‘—I shall be away all day, and I imagine that the lodgings the doctor has in mind will be fairly quiet.’
Her mother made a pouting face. ‘Darling, you are so prosaic! It’s the chance of a lifetime, and you might at least be pleased about it and not spoil my pleasure by boring on about your work.’ She patted Serena’s arm and smiled beguilingly. ‘Serena, don’t mind me saying this, but I am your mother and I want the best for you. Take care you don’t become a prig—sometimes you’re too good to be true.’
She gave a tinkling laugh. ‘There, don’t I sound horrid? But I say it for your own good. You don’t want to spend all your life in a dull office, do you?’ She patted her carefully arranged curls. ‘Besides, I might marry again.’
Serena, the memory of whose father was still a well-hidden sorrow, poured coffee and handed her mother a cup. ‘Anyone I know?’ she asked.
‘Well, no, dear, but I flatter myself that I’m still fairly youthful as well as being good company, and who knows, I might meet someone I like in Holland.’
Perhaps she had done the wrong thing in agreeing to take on the new job, thought Serena worriedly, and when, some days later, she met Dr ter Feulen at the hospital, she begged a moment of his time, and when he paused impatiently with a politely curt, ‘Well, what can I do for you?’ she wasted no time in coming to the point.
‘I don’t think it will help Mother at all to go to Holland,’ she said, not mincing matters. ‘She leads such a quiet life, and she’s delicate …’
‘Since you were worried about your mother’s health, Miss Proudfoot, I made a point of visiting her. And as we are speaking plainly, I must tell you that I formed the opinion that there is nothing the matter with your mother. Her health would improve immediately if she were to take up some occupation—housework, cooking, voluntary work of some kind. If that sounds to you harsh I do not mean it to be so. I have no doubt that during the weeks she will be in Amsterdam she will find friends and perhaps involve herself in some activity or other.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Forgive me, I’m due in theatre.’
Not a very satisfactory conversation, reflected Serena.
She was kept busy at home as well as at work. She had been unable to discover for how long they would be away, but all the same all the particulars appertaining to the closing of the house had to be attended to, arrangements had to be made at the bank so that her mother’s pension could be transferred and passports renewed, which didn’t leave much time over for her own shopping.
It was October now and, although the pleasant autumn weather still held, there was a nip in the air and yet it might not be cold enough for a winter coat. She dug into her savings and got herself a short wool coat in a pleasing shade of aubergine and found a pleated skirt in a matching check. An outsize cream sweater and a couple of blouses completed the outfit and would, she considered, stand her in good stead for the duration of her stay in Holland. A dark green jersey dress, by no means new but a useful addition to her wardrobe, and a brown velveteen dress, very plain but nicely cut, a raincoat, a pair of court shoes and a sensible pair of walking shoes would, she considered, be sufficient for her needs, although at the last minute she added a thick tweed skirt and a rather elderly anorak as well as woolly gloves and a woolly cap. Mrs Dunn had told her that Miss Payne, on a previous visit to Holland, had suffered badly from nipped fingers and cold ears.
Her mother’s wardrobe was much more varied and very large and certainly there was enough to cover the entire winter, but Serena forbore from remarking on this after a first attempt which had ended in her mother saying pettishly that it was obvious that she wasn’t wanted and she might as well stay at home alone as she always was. ‘After all I’ve done for you,’ she ended, and Serena, soothing her back to a good humour, sighed to herself. A good and loving daughter, nevertheless sometimes she longed to have her freedom; to lead her own life and make friends of her own age. She had friends, of course, but nowadays they were either married and living miles away or living on their own with splendid jobs entailing a good deal of travelling and meeting important people. From time to time they had suggested to her that she might share a flat and find a job, but her mother had made that impossible; not by standing in her way but by becoming pale and silent and pathetically cheerful about the future. She would, of course, manage, she told Serena. She would sell their home, of course, for she could never manage to run it alone, and she would find one of those flats where there was a warden to look after one if one became ill and didn’t wish to worry one’s family. There wouldn’t be much money, of course, without Serena’s contribution, but she had no doubt that she would contrive. And all this said with a brave smile and a wistful droop that wrung Serena’s heart and squashed any hopes of a life of her own.
It was several days after her conversation with Dr ter Feulen that she found a letter on her desk when she arrived at work—a typed letter setting out the day on which she and her mother were to travel and from where. They were to fly, and she would receive their tickets in due course. They would be met at Schiphol airport and taken to the boarding-house where rooms had been reserved for them. She was to report for work on the following morning at eight o’clock. Her timetable would be at the boarding-house. He had signed it M. Dijkstra ter Feulen.
When Serena got home she showed her mother the letter. Mrs Proudfoot was put out. ‘I can’t see why we couldn’t go over to Holland in his car! He must be going at about the same time. With my poor health all this business of getting to Heathrow and flying to Amsterdam is bound to upset my nerves.’
Serena held her tongue. The doctor had made it plain that he considered that her mother was as fit as the next woman, but he had spoken in confidence. Perhaps when the time was right, he would suggest that she should change her lifestyle. ‘Possibly he’ll travel at an awkward time,’ she suggested tactfully.
It was two days before they were due to leave that she heard quite by accident that he had already left the hospital. ‘Left late last night,’ Mrs Dunn told her, ‘and he’s not expected back for several weeks, so Theatre Sister tells me, although there are several cases lined up for him before Christmas.’ She eyed Serena curiously. ‘Don’t you know how long you’ll be gone?’
‘Not exactly. It depends on his work in Holland.’
‘Oh, well, you’re a lucky girl, stepping into Miss Payne’s shoes and getting a chance to travel a bit. Mind you, he expects a lot from his secretary. Miss Payne was with him for quite a time, it’ll be hard to live up to her standards …’
Not a very cheering prospect, but one Serena was prepared to ignore. However hard she would have to work she would be in a foreign country and she intended to make the most of it. Moreover, from the moment she stepped on to Dutch soil, she would be earning considerably more money. If they were back home for Christmas, and she was sure that they would be, they would be able to go to a theatre or two, and buy all the extras which made all the difference at the festive season, perhaps have a day shopping at her mother’s favourite stores … ‘I’ll do my best,’ she assured Mrs Dunn cheerfully.
Mrs Proudfoot had insisted on a taxi to Heathrow, an expense which Serena could well have done without, and, once there, her mother complained about having time to wait for their flight, the coffee, the lack of comfortable seats and how exhausted she was. Serena, occupied with luggage, tickets and passports, bit back impatient words, assured her mother that once they were on the plane everything would be fine, and so it was. The flight was brief, the coffee and biscuits they were offered passed the time very nicely and in no time at all they were at Schiphol.
There was a tricky delay while Serena fetched their bags from the carousel and a few anxious moments wondering if they would be met, quickly forgotten when an elderly man approached them. ‘Mrs Proudfoot and Miss Proudfoot? Dr Dijkstra ter Feulen wished me to meet you. My name is Cor, if you will please follow me.’
He was a sturdily built man and made light of their suitcases, walking ahead of them out of the airport entrance and leading them to a dark blue Jaguar. He opened the car door and ushered them in, put their bags in the boot and got into the driver’s seat.
‘A drive of half an hour,’ he told them, and started the car.
Mrs Proudfoot had stopped complaining, for there was nothing to complain about—indeed, she became quite animated as they neared Amsterdam, exclaiming over the churches, old houses and canals once they had gone through the modern encircling suburbs. Cor stopped finally in a narrow street with blocks of flats interspersed with solid houses, built of red brick round the turn of the century. It was to one of these that he led them, rang the bell and waited with them until the door opened. The woman who answered it was middle-aged and stout, with a pleasant face and small beady eyes.
‘The English ladies,’ she greeted them. ‘Welcome. Come in, please.’
Her English was as good as Cor’s but heavily accented. She spoke to him in their own tongue and he went to the car and fetched the luggage and put it in the hall. ‘I wish you a pleasant stay,’ he told them, and Mrs Proudfoot smiled graciously.
Serena shook his hand and thanked him. ‘It was so nice to be met by someone who speaks English; it all seems a bit strange, and we are most grateful.’ She started to open her purse, but he laid a large beefy hand on hers.
‘No, no, miss. That is not necessary—the doctor has arranged all …’
He gave her a beaming smile, said something to their landlady and went away.
‘So, now we will go to your rooms. My name is Mevrouw Blom and I am glad to know you. Come …’
Serena picked up one of their cases and Mevrouw Blom took the other two, while Mrs Proudfoot carried her umbrella. The stairs leading from the narrow hall were steep, covered in serviceable carpeting and led to a narrow landing. Mevrouw Blom opened two of the three doors and waved Serena and her mother into the rooms. They were identical as to furniture: a bed, a table under the narrow window with a small mirror, a small easy chair, a small table by the bed and a large, old-fashioned wardrobe. The floors were wooden, with rugs by the beds and under the windows. There were overhead lights as well as bedside lamps and a radiator against one wall in each room. ‘You will tidy yourselves,’ said Mevrouw Blom cheerfully, ‘and then return to the room below and take coffee.’
‘The bathroom?’ asked Serena.
‘Ah, yes—there is a shower-room.’ The third door was opened to show a tiled shower-room with a washbasin.
