The Final Touch. Betty Neels

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СКАЧАТЬ know what you mean—there’s no harm in a man’s taking a girl out.’

       ‘None at all, only you weren’t very fair, were you? I sat in the Rijksmuseum for hours. Did you forget?’

       ‘No, no, of course not; I thought you’d have the sense not to wait for more than half an hour or so.’ He smiled again—he smiled too easily, she thought. ‘Anyway, no harm done. We had fun together while it lasted, darling, and you’ve got a good job here.’

       ‘Yes, I have.’ Her voice was suddenly sharp. ‘And don’t ever call me darling again.’

       His smile became a sneer. ‘Oh, be your age, for heaven’s sake—good lord, you would think I had intended marrying you.’

       When she stayed silent he said, ‘My God, you did… You must have been out of your mind.’

       She said, her voice quite quiet once more, ‘Yes, I think I was, but I’m sane now.’ And, suddenly impatient, she added, ‘Oh, go away, do.’

       He turned on his heel and went without a backward glance, leaving her standing there, watched with calm interest by the man who had come from the children’s ward. Only when he saw her take out a handkerchief and blow her small nose with unwonted vigour did he put out a hand behind him, push the door soundlessly open and then allow it to swing back with some force so that she was aware of someone there. She didn’t turn round. He hadn’t expected her to; he walked past her rigid back without haste on his way to the medical wing and he was very nearly at the end of the corridor when he heard her muffled sobs.

       He walked back to where she was standing. ‘Staff Nurse Pearson, is it not?’ He had only the faintest of accents and his voice was quiet. ‘Perhaps I can help?’

       She hadn’t turned round and her sniffs were prodigious but she answered him at once. ‘Thank you—but not really, please don’t bother.’

       He said easily, ‘You haven’t been here long, have you? I expect you are feeling homesick, are you not? I was just going out for a breath of air and a cup of coffee. Why not come with me? And do turn round; there is nothing to be ashamed of in tears, you know.’

       He had a compelling voice, she turned round obediently and lifted her face, rendered plain by tears and a pink nose, to his. She hadn’t seen him before; she was sure that she would have remembered him if she had. He was quite overpoweringly tall and massively built and good-looking into the bargain. ‘Are you a visitor?’ she asked.

       ‘Er—no, I work here.’

       ‘A doctor?’

       ‘A surgeon.’ He smiled down at her very kindly. ‘Van der Brons.’ He put out a large firm hand and engulfed one of hers. ‘Go and put on a coat; I’ll be in the entrance hall in ten minutes.’

       He saw her hesitate and added gently, ‘And wear something on your head—it’s a chilly evening.’

       His prosaic remark was somehow reassuring.

       He was in the entrance hall when she got there ten minutes later, looking larger than ever in a thick jacket, his silvery head uncovered. The jacket looked expensive and she wondered uneasily just who he was but his friendly, ‘Ah, there you are,’ dispelled any vague doubts and they went out into the courtyard together and thence into the busy street. It was a chilly damp evening and the streets around the hospital were narrow with ancient houses brooding over them. He took her arm and led her through the narrow alley which brought them out into a better-lit street.

       ‘Coffee first?’ he asked, and didn’t wait for an answer but steered her into a half-empty café and sat her down at a small table. It was very warm there, and he took her raincoat and tossed his jacket over the back of his chair, revealing a beautifully tailored suit, immaculate linen and gold cufflinks. Her uneasy thoughts returned but were swept away by his easy, ‘Toasted sandwiches? And uitsmijter? Soup?’

       She chose sandwiches, he gave the order and they drank their coffee while they waited. However upset she felt, she was given no chance to brood, for he kept up a steady flow of small talk about nothing in particular.

       The sandwiches were delicious and the coffee hot and comforting; Charity’s pale face resumed its normal healthy colour and, led on in a gentle way by her companion, she began to talk, not noticing that his casual questions were encouraging her to tell him something of herself.

       He fetched more coffee from the crowded counter and asked carelessly, ‘Do you intend to stay in Holland for a time or is this just a few months’ visit to see if you like us?’

       She didn’t answer at once. She had a sudden wish to spill her bewilderment and misery and loneliness all over this large placid man, but of course that was an idiotic idea; she didn’t even know who he was, only his name and the fact that he was a surgeon at the hospital. She blushed scarlet, remembering that she and Cor had met in a similar fashion. Perhaps this man had picked her up on the spur of the moment, and how willingly she had agreed to go with him!

       Mr van der Brons, watching her, guessed unerringly what was in her head. ‘I have a sister about your age,’ he said in a soothing voice. ‘She’s in Edinburgh on a six-month course; she qualified here, now she wants to spread her wings—just as you. She is the youngest—I have two other sisters and two brothers. Have you any brothers and sisters?’

       Somehow he had conveyed the impression that he was her elder brother too, so she said readily, ‘No, at least—I have a stepsister. She’s a model and lives in London. She’s very pretty…’

       ‘Your parents?’ The question was so softly put that she hardly noticed it.

       ‘My mother died when I was still a small girl, and my father married again—my stepmother was a widow and had a little girl too. He died just after I started my training and my stepmother has gone to live in the South of France.’

       Before she could regret her chattiness he began to talk about his own family, vague remarks which in truth told her nothing about him or them but allayed her shyness and doubts.

       ‘Do you care for a brisk walk? It will have to be up one street and down another but some of the buildings are charming and the canals are always interesting.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Are you on duty in the morning?’ And when she nodded, ‘Then we have time to walk for half an hour before you need to be back.’

       They went out into the dark evening and he took her arm to cross the street. ‘Do you find the duty hours easier here?’

       ‘Well, seven o’clock is earlier then I was used to in London.’ She had to skip a bit to keep up with him and he slowed his steps. ‘On the other hand, it is nice to be off duty earlier; I mean, half-past three is very handy if one wants to go shopping.’

       He agreed gravely as they started to walk alongside a canal, along a cobbled street lined with gabled houses, their windows lighted, the curtains undrawn. He pointed out the variety of gables to her, described their interiors, remarking that for the most part their owners took great pride in keeping them in good order.

       ‘They look delightful from outside,’ said Charity, ‘I hope I get the chance to see inside one before I go back to England.’

       ‘Well, there’s time enough for that, is there not? Do you have a six-month contract?’

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