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They were nearing the park, and made their way down to the platform, where they exchanged the time of day with the conductor and got off at the next stop.
There weren’t many people about, for it wasn’t ten o’clock yet. They wandered along, looking at the bright flowerbeds and presently feeding the ducks, before going to sit down in the sun.
There were plenty of people about now. They wandered on and presently sat down again to eat their lunch, and since Peter wanted to walk and there was plenty of time before they need go back again for tea, they had a last look at the lake and crossed the park to the Mall, crossed into Green Park and turned into Piccadilly, where Eulalia suggested that they might get a bus. However, Peter wanted to walk through the elegant streets with their big houses. ‘We can go as far as Park Lane,’ he pointed out, ‘and catch a bus there.’ Nothing loath, she agreed. She seldom had the chance to walk for any distance and, although the streets of London, however elegant, weren’t a patch on the country roads in the Cotswolds, it was pleasant enough to walk through them.
‘I dare say dukes and duchesses live here,’ said Peter. ‘Do you suppose they’re very grand inside?’
‘Certainly—lovely curtains and carpets and chandeliers…’ She enlarged upon this interesting subject as they walked, until in one of the quiet streets they came upon a magnificent dark grey Bentley and Peter urged her to stop while he took a good look at it. He circled it slowly, admiring it from all angles.
‘I shall have one, when I’m a man,’ he told her, and laid a small, rather grubby hand on its bonnet.
‘Peter, don’t touch. The owner would be very angry if he were to see you doing that.’
She let out a great gusty breath when a quiet voice said in her ear, ‘A wise caution, Miss—er. You should exercise more control over your son.’
They had been standing with their backs to the terrace of grand houses. Now she shot round to face someone who was beginning to crop up far too frequently. ‘It’s you,’ she said crossly. ‘I might have known.’
‘Now, why do you say that?’
‘No reason at all. I’m sorry if Peter has annoyed you; he had no intention of doing so.’ She moved away and took Peter’s hand. ‘Apologise to this gentleman, dear. I know you meant no harm but we mustn’t forget our manners.’
The boy and the man studied each other. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Peter finally, ‘but it’s a super car and I wanted to look at it.’
The man nodded. ‘Goodbye, Peter; goodbye Miss— er.’
He watched them go, smiling a little. A pity he couldn’t remember her surname, and they were hardly on such good terms that he could address her as Eulalia.
‘You look cross, Aunt Lally,’ said Peter, as they reached a bus-stop and joined the short queue.
‘Not with you, love; that man annoyed me.’
‘Was he rich?’ Peter wanted to know. ‘He must be if he lives in one of those houses and drives a Bentley.’
‘I dare say he is, but I really don’t know. Here’s our bus.’
Peter told Trottie all about it when they got home. ‘Aunt Lally was a bit cross with him,’ he explained.
At Trottie’s enquiring look Eulalia said, ‘It was the man who bought the roses,’ in a voice which didn’t invite questions.
* * *
A week went by. Eulalia, fashioning bouquets and taking orders for beribboned, Cellophaned flowers to be sent to wives and girlfriends and mothers, longed silently for her old home, with its large untidy gardens and the fields beyond. She hoped that the people who had bought it were taking proper care of it and had left the frogs in the pool at the bottom of the garden in peace. It would have been nice to show them to Peter.
She gave her head a shake. Moaning over what was past and couldn’t be helped would do no good. Rather, she must think of ways and means for Peter and Trottie to have a holiday once school was over. Somewhere not too far from London, and cheap. A farm, perhaps…
The fine weather had come to stay, at least for a time, and they planned a trip to the Serpentine on Sunday. Trottie was going to have her dinner with one of her elderly friends and Eulalia saw her off before she and Peter, carrying their picnic lunch, set out.
They had got off the bus and were waiting to cross the road when a bunch of youths on motorbikes raced past. They were in high spirits and the road was almost empty and they were going too fast. The last one of all went out of control, mounted the pavement and knocked Peter down, narrowly missing Eulalia, and tearing away.
Peter lay awkwardly, his head on the kerb, an arm bent awkwardly under him. She knelt down beside him, panic-stricken but fighting to keep sensible.
‘Peter—Peter, darling? Can you hear me?’ When he didn’t answer she felt for his pulse and was relieved to find his heart beating strongly. She took off her cardigan and slid it under his head but she didn’t move his arm in case it was broken. Then she stood up as a bus came lumbering along on the other side of the road. She waved and shouted to the driver and he stopped his bus, and the conductor came running across the street.
‘He was knocked down,’ said Eulalia in a voice which shook just a little. ‘I must get him to hospital…’
The conductor was a spruce little man and he looked helpful. ‘The bus passes Maude’s ‘ospital. We’ll have him aboard—quicker than waiting for an ambulance or a taxi.’
‘Bless you. He’s concussed and I think that arm’s broken.’
‘Leave it to me, miss. You go ahead of me; ’e can lie on yer lap. We’ll have ’im right as rain in no time.’
Between them they lifted Peter, and Eulalia lifted the arm gently and laid it across Peter’s small chest and then hurried to the bus. There was only a handful of passengers aboard and no one complained at the delay as she got in, received Peter on to her lap and held him close as the bus pulled away. The hospital was indeed only a very short drive and the driver took his bus into the forecourt and down the ramp to Casualty and then got down to help his conductor carry Peter in. Eulalia paused just long enough to apologise to the other passengers for the delay, and ran after them.
They were standing, the two of them, explaining to a nurse as Peter was laid on a trolley. “Ere she is,’ said the conductor. ‘She’ll give yer the details.’
He and the driver shook hands with her, looking bashful at her thanks. ‘Can’t keep the passengers waiting,’ said the driver. “Ope the nipper’ll be OK.’
‘Your names?’ asked Eulalia. ‘Quickly, for I must go to Peter.’
“E’s Dave Brown and I’m John ’Iggins, miss. Glad to ’ave ’elped.’
She kissed them on the cheek in turn and hurried after the trolley.
Peter had his eyes open now and she took his hand in hers. ‘Peter? It’s all right, love. You fell down, you’re in hospital and a doctor will come and see if you’re hurt.’
‘If you’ll give the details to the receptionist,’ said the nurse, ‘we’ll get him comfy and get someone to look at him. An accident, was it?’
Eulalia told her briefly and took herself off to the reception desk, and by the time she got back Peter was on an examination couch. His clothes had been taken off, the sleeve of his injured arm cut to allow the small arm to be exposed. He was trying not to cry and she went and held his good hand, wanting to weep herself.
The young doctor who came in said, ‘Hello,’ in a cheerful voice, then, ‘So what’s happened to this young man?’
He was gently examining Peter’s head as he spoke. He peered into his eyes, then turned his attention to the arm. ‘Can you squeeze my finger, old chap?’ he wanted to know, and at Peter’s whimper of pain, said, ‘I think an X-ray first of all, don’t you? So we can see the damage.’
He smiled at Eulalia. ‘We’ll take care of him. If you’ll wait here?’
She went and sat down on a bench, oblivious of her torn dress and dishevelled person. There were few people around: two or three at the other end of Casualty, talking quietly, and near them were curtains drawn round one of the cubicles. The curtains parted presently and a big woman with an air of authority came out, followed by a man in a long white coat. She would have known him anywhere because of his great size, and she watched him go and speak to the group near by with a feeling that she was never going to be rid of him. Hopefully, he’d go away without seeing her…
But he had. He shook hands with the two women, and with the man with them, and trod without haste towards her.
He looked different, somehow, and he was different. He was someone in authority, ready to help and capable of doing just that. She stood up to meet him, her skirt in tatters around the hem, dust from the street masking its colour. ‘It’s Peter, he was knocked down by a motorbike—we were on the pavement. He hit his head and I think his arm is broken. He’s been taken to X-Ray. I was told to wait here.’
She was pale with worry and her voice shook and so did her hands, so she put them behind her back in case he should see that and think her a silly woman lacking self-control.
‘Where did it happen?’
She told him. ‘And those two men on the bus, they were so quick and kind. I don’t know what I would have done without them.’
‘I suspect that you would have managed. Sit down again. I’ll go to X-Ray and see how things are.’
She put a hand on his sleeve. ‘Do you work here? I mean, you’re a doctor in Casualty?’
‘Not in Casualty, but I work here upon occasion. I am a surgeon.’ He added, ‘Orthopaedics.’
‘Bones,’ said Eulalia. ‘You’ll help Peter?’
‘It seems that since I’m here I might as well.’
She watched him walk away. He had spoilt everything with that last remark. She had been beginning to like him a little but she had been mistaken; he was a bad-tempered man and rude with it. All the same, she hoped he would do something for Peter. Quite unexpectedly, two tears escaped and ran down her pale cheeks. She brushed them aside impatiently, and just in time as he came back.
‘Mild concussion, and he has a fractured arm just above the wrist. We will give him a local anaesthetic, align the bones and put on a plaster. We’ll keep him overnight for observation…’ And at her questioning look he added, ‘No, no, nothing to worry about. Routine only. You can fetch him in the morning, but telephone first. Keep him in bed for a couple of days and no school for a week.’
‘He’s all right?’
He said impatiently, ‘Have I not said so? Come and see him before we put the plaster on.’
He turned on his heel and walked away, and she followed him through a door and into a small room where Peter lay on a table. He grinned when he saw her. ‘He said I was brave,’ he told her. ‘I’m going to stay here tonight. You will fetch me, won’t you?’
‘Of course, dear.’ She glanced around. There was no sign of any doctor, only a male nurse and a student nurse busy with bowls of water and plaster bandages.
‘Like to stay?’ asked the nurse, and gave her a friendly look.
‘May I?’
‘No problem.’ He turned away and lifted Peter’s good arm out of the blanket. ‘Here’s Mr van Linssen. He’ll have you as good as new in no time at all.’
So that was his name. She watched as he slid a needle into Peter’s broken arm. He did it unhurriedly and very gently, talking all the time to the boy. ‘You’re a lot braver than many of the grown-ups,’ he told him. ‘In a minute or two we’re going to straighten your arm—you won’t have any pain, but you’ll feel us pulling a little. Keep still, won’t you?’
Peter nodded. His lip quivered a little but he wasn’t going to cry. It was Eulalia who felt like crying. She was sure that Peter couldn’t feel any pain but she closed her eyes as Mr van Linssen began to pull steadily while the nurse held the arm firmly.
‘You can look now,’ he said in a hatefully bland voice, so she did. He was holding the arm while the nurse began to slide on a stockinette sleeve and then start to apply the plaster. It didn’t take long and Peter hadn’t made a sound.
Mr van Linssen was smoothing the plaster tidily when Sister put her head round the curtains. ‘Why, Mr van Linssen, I thought you had left ages ago. You’ll be late for that luncheon party.’ Her eyes fell on Peter. ‘Had a tumble?’
‘Knocked down by a motorbike. I’d like him in for the night, Sister. Get a bed, will you? And we’ll make him comfortable. He’s been a model patient.’
She went away and the nurse started to clear up. Mr van Linssen took off his white coat and the student nurse took it from him gingerly. Rather as though he might bite, thought Eulalia. She got up. ‘‘Thank you very much for your help—’ she began.
She was cut short. ‘No need, all in the day’s work, Miss—er?’
He raised his eyebrows, standing there looking at her.
‘Warburton,’ she snapped.
He nodded. ‘Your son’s a nice little chap,’ he said, and walked away.
She turned to the nurse. ‘I’m Peter’s cousin,’ she told him. ‘I did tell the receptionist—he’s an orphan.’
‘Makes no odds,’ said the nurse, and smiled at her; she was very pretty and she had cheered up his day a bit. ‘You were in luck. Mr van Linssen wasn’t even on duty—came in to see the relations of a patient who died—had a hip op here and got knocked down late last night. He may be a consultant and a bit high and mighty but I know who I’d like to deal with my bones if I broke them.’
Sister came back then and Peter was borne off to the children’s ward, sleepy now but rather proud of his plastered arm. Eulalia saw him into his bed and was told by the ward sister that there was no need to come back with pyjamas and toothbrush. ‘He’s only here for the night,’ she said in a comfortable voice. ‘Mind you phone first and we’ll have him ready for you.’
Eulalia thanked her, kissed Peter and went out of the Casualty entrance. At the top of the ramp there was a dark grey Bentley and Mr van Linssen was sitting in it. He opened the door as she reached the car.
‘Get in. I’ll drive you home.’
‘No, thank you. There’s a bus—’
‘Get in, Miss Warburton, and don’t pretend that you aren’t upset. All mothers are when their small children get hurt. Where do you live?’
She got in without another word after she had told him, and they drove in silence until he stopped before the flat. As she got out she said, ‘Thank you, you’re very kind. And I’m not Peter’s mother, only his cousin.’
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_55a6fe48-c834-5805-8d12-892c1831ad80)
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.’
