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‘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?’
