Tabitha in Moonlight. Betty Neels

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СКАЧАТЬ horrors of getting traction on the recalcitrant old man, smiled and caught Mr van Beek’s eye. Mr van Beek winked.

      Mr Prosser welcomed them with all the pleasure of a host inviting old friends in for a drink, and a great deal of time was lost while he and Mr van Beek discussed the nutritional value of fish and chips and the psychological effect of eating them from newspaper. ‘Adds a bit of interest,’ declared Mr Prosser. ‘Tell you what, you bring Sister ’ere down to my place when I get ’ome—I’ll give yer the finest bit o’ cod you’ve ever ’ad.’

      Mr van Beek said mildly: ‘Well, that won’t be for a little while yet, you know, but I’ll accept your invitation, as I’m sure Sister will.’

      They both looked at Tabitha, who said hurriedly: ‘Oh, yes—that would be delightful,’ because that seemed to be the answer they expected of her, although privately she was unable to visualize Mr van Beek doing any such thing, and certainly not in her company, but by the time Mr Prosser got back home the man standing opposite her would be lecturing in some other land, or at best, back in his own country. She wondered whereabouts he lived in Holland, a country about which she knew almost nothing. She was struggling to remember a little of its geography when Mr van Beek’s voice, patiently requesting her to hand him an X-ray form, penetrated her thoughts. She said: ‘Oh, sorry, sir,’ and went rather a pretty pink, causing Mr Prosser to remark: ‘You look bobbish, Sister—come up on the pools, ducks?’

      She laughed then, as did the two men with her as they moved down the ward.

      Mr Bow, when they got to him, was looking considerably better. His plastered leg seemed to take up most of the bed and his face was pale, but his eyes were clear and as blue as ever. Tabitha had already seen him, of course, but she had left Mr van Beek to explain what had been done, which he did now, with a masterly absence of the more gruesome details and a good deal of humour. ‘I’ll be back to have a chat, Knotty,’ he concluded, ‘Saturday at some time.’ He glanced at Tabitha as he spoke and she murmured: ‘Of course, sir,’ while regretting bitterly that she would be at Chidlake and would miss him.

      Mr Raynard was better too; his knee dealt with and encased in plaster, he had allowed himself to relax sufficiently to sample the pile of thrillers his wife had thoughtfully provided. He put his book down as Tabitha pulled aside the cubicle curtain and said: ‘Tabby, where have you been? I’ve not seen you the whole morning.’

      ‘I don’t expect you have, sir,’ she replied with composure. ‘You were fast asleep when I came to see you at eight o’clock, and when I came back from Matron’s office you had had your breakfast and had gone to sleep again.’ She added kindly: ‘Plenty of sleep is good for you.’

      He growled something at her and then said: ‘Well, come here— I’ve something for you,’ and when she obeyed, he produced an envelope from under the bedclothes and offered it to her. ‘Your birthday present,’ he said gruffly, ‘a day late, but I got Muriel to do something about it. Open it.’

      She did so and gave a chortle of mingled pleasure and laughter. It was a year’s subscription to Vogue—it would be delightful to leaf through its extravagant pages, although her stepmother and Lilith would laugh at the notion of her taking any of its advice. But they didn’t have to know and there was no reason why she shouldn’t wear pretty clothes even if she were plain. She said warmly: ‘You’re a dear, sir—it’s a gorgeous present. Thank you very much.’

      ‘Glad you like it—did you have lots of presents?’

      Tabitha said: ‘Oh, yes, heaps,’ and looked up to see Mr van Beek’s discerning eyes upon her, just as though he knew that the only present she had had was a scarf from Meg. She flushed guiltily and made for the door saying: ‘I’ve just remembered—something I had to tell Staff…’ and made her escape to the office, where she allowed her cheeks to cool before going back again, her usual calm self.

      Mr van Beek had begun a highly technical discussion with his friend into which he drew her at once, almost as though he hadn’t noticed that she had been gone; she joined in, almost convinced that she had been oversensitive and that he hadn’t given her that peculiarly penetrating look after all. By the time they were ready to go back to see Jimmy’s now unplastered leg, she was persuaded that she had been rather silly.

      The male members of the party, having viewed the leg, fell to a lively discussion on the game of Rugby football and she stood patiently listening until the smell of the patient’s dinners reminded her that the round had taken longer than usual. She sent Mr Steele a speaking glance which Mr van Beek intercepted. ‘Ah, dinners, Sister—am I right?’ He led the way to the ward door, where, probably unaware that the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding were getting cold, he paused to thank her agreeably for her assistance and wish her a good day. She watched the three men walk away without haste up the corridor, Mr van Beek looming head and shoulders above his companions.

      She saw him only very briefly the next day and in the evening she went to Chidlake.

      It was a beautiful early evening, and because she was in no hurry, she took a cross-country route which led her along narrow, high-hedged lanes which wound in and out of villages well away from the main roads and still preserving an old-world charm quite hidden from the motorists on the highway. She stopped briefly at Ottery St Mary for petrol, and took a small back road which climbed steeply towards the coast, and after a while crossed the main coastal road into a country lane roofed with overhanging trees. The lane wound its way casually for a mile or so down to the village and although she couldn’t see the sea yet, it was close by. Presently the trees parted, leaving the lane to go on by itself between fields and an occasional house or row of cottages. Tabitha stopped then, for now she could see Chidlake and, beyond its roof, the sea, with the Dorset coast spreading itself grandly away into the evening’s dimness. The view was magnificent; she sat back and enjoyed it, longing to be going home to her mother and father, instead of to two people who had no love for her; no liking even. She was only too well aware that the only reason she had been invited now was because her stepmother felt that it was the right thing to do.

      Tabitha started up the car and went on down the hill towards her home. She wasn’t looking forward to the next two days, but at least she would see some old friends at the dance, and that would be pleasant. She turned off the lane and up the short drive to the house, a pleasant Georgian edifice, not large, but roomy enough to shelter a fair-sized family in its rambling interior. She stopped in front of the rose-covered porch and got out, taking her case with her, and went indoors.

      The hall extended from front to back of the house and she could see the garden through its open door, still colourful in the evening light, as she went into the sitting room. It was large and low-ceilinged with French windows leading to the lawn beyond. Its furniture was the same as Tabitha remembered from her earliest childhood; beautiful, graceful pieces which had been in the family for many years, and although her stepmother hadn’t liked them, she had had to admit that they suited the house, so they had been allowed, mercifully, to stay. Her stepmother was seated by a window, reading, and although she put down her book when Tabitha went in, she didn’t get up but said sharply: ‘You’re late. We had dinner, but I daresay there’s something in the kitchen if you want it.’ She eyed Tabitha with cool amusement. ‘That’s a pretty dress you’re wearing, but what a pity it’s wasted on you. I must say, Tabitha, you don’t grow any better looking. What a good thing you have the sort of job where looks don’t matter.’

      Tabitha said dryly: ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ and prepared to leave the room again; she had heard it all before, and would doubtless hear it all again at some time or other. She asked: ‘The usual room, I suppose?’ and when Mrs Crawley nodded, went upstairs. At the head of the staircase she crossed the landing, and passing the room which used to be hers but which her stepmother had argued was unnecessary to keep as hers now that she СКАЧАТЬ